Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy: Studies in the Composition and Thought of the Shangshu 9004343504, 9789004343504

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Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2017 | doi 10.1163/9789004343504_001

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Studies in the History of Chinese Texts Edited by Martin Kern (Princeton University) Robert E. Hegel (Washington University, St. Louis) Theodore Huters (University of California at Los Angeles) Ding Xiang Warner (Cornell University)

VOLUME 8

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/hct





Origins of Chinese Political Philosophy Studies in the Composition and Thought of the Shangshu (Classic of Documents) Edited by

Martin Kern Dirk Meyer

LEIDEN | BOSTON

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Cover illustration: The Duke of Zhou kneeling in front of the young King Cheng in a rubbing from the “Wu Family Shrines” Wuzhai Shan, Jiaxiang, Shandong, China
 Stone Chamber 1: East Wall 1-E.1
 stone: AD 25–220; rubbing: before 1907
 Rubbing; ink on paper
 87.5 × 199.3 cm Far Eastern Seminar Collection, Princeton University Art Museum 2002-307.1

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 1877-9425 isbn 978-90-04-34349-8 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-34350-4 (e-book) Copyright 2017 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill nv provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, ma 01923, usa. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Contents

Contents Introduction 1 Martin Kern and Dirk Meyer 1 Language and the Ideology of Kingship in the “Canon of Yao” 23 Martin Kern 2 Competing Voices in the Shangshu 62 Kai Vogelsang 3 Recontextualization and Memory Production: Debates on Rulership as Reconstructed from “Gu ming” 顧命  106 Dirk Meyer 4 One Heaven, One History, One People: Repositioning the Zhou in Royal Addresses to Subdued Enemies in the “Duo shi” 多士 and “Duo fang” 多方 Chapters of the Shangshu and in the “Shang shi” 商誓 Chapter of the Yi Zhoushu 146 Joachim Gentz 5 The Qinghua “Jinteng” 金縢 Manuscript: What It Does Not Tell Us about the Duke of Zhou 193 Magnus Ribbing Gren 6 “Shu” Traditions and Text Recomposition: A Reevaluation of “Jinteng” 金縢 and “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” 周武王有疾  224 Dirk Meyer 7 The Yi Zhoushu and the Shangshu: The Case of Texts with Speeches 249 Yegor Grebnev 8 The “Harangues” (Shi 誓) in the Shangshu 281 Martin Kern 9 Speaking of Documents: Shu Citations in Warring States Texts 320 David Schaberg

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10 A Toiling Monarch? The “Wu yi” 無逸 Chapter Revisited 360 Yuri Pines 11 Against (Uninformed) Idleness: Situating the Didacticism of “Wu yi” 無逸  393 Michael Hunter 12 “Bi shi” 粊誓, Western Zhou Oath Texts, and the Legal Culture of Early China 416 Maria Khayutina 13 Concepts of Law in the Shangshu 446 Charles Sanft 14 Spatial Models of the State in Early Chinese Texts: Tribute Networks and the Articulation of Power and Authority in Shangshu “Yu gong” 禹貢 and Yi Zhoushu “Wang hui” 王會  475 Robin McNeal Index 497

Introduction Introduction

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Introduction Martin Kern and Dirk Meyer The Shangshu 尚書, or Classic of Documents (also Shujing 書經), is the fountainhead of Chinese political philosophy and the representation of the Chinese imperial state. It lays out the fundamentals: the triangular relation of power, duty, and obedience between Heaven, the people, and the king; the necessity of penal law; the concept of dynastic rule and the role of the ancestral spirits within it; the importance of cosmic and ancestral sacrifices; the rituals of setting up a new capital; the harmonization of government with the cosmic clockwork; the concentric topography of power as mapped in tribute systems; the ruler-minister relationship; the legitimation and duty of rebellion, as commanded by Heaven; the morally correct way of treating the officers of a subdued dynasty; the question of hereditary versus meritocratic rule; and more. One of the Five Classics that in Han times (202 BCE–220 CE) were defined as the core of ancient Chinese learning, it exerted immeasurable influence on the later scholarly and political tradition, radiating from China into the larger East Asian realm.1 A recent history of Shangshu scholarship in Chinese runs more than 1,600 pages—through the late thirteenth century only.2 To put this further into perspective: not even a quarter of a total of 929 Chinese items from the Han dynasty through the early twentieth century that are traced in another bibliography belong to this relatively early time.3 No matter from which perspective we look at it, the Shangshu is one of the pillars of the Chinese textual, intellectual, and political tradition. In 1770 the French translation of the Shangshu by Father Antoine Gaubil (1689–1759) appeared posthumously (edited by Joseph de Guignes [1721–1800]), the first into a European language.4 In 1846 it was followed by Rev. Walter Henry Medhurst’s (1796–1857) first translation into English.5 While these pioneering works are barely known anymore and largely relegated to footnotes given to antiquarian interests, the breakthrough in the European recognition 1 On the Five Classics, see Nylan 2001. 2 Cheng Yuanmin 2013. 3 Xu Xianhui 2003. The bibliography also contains 9 items by Japanese and Korean scholars. Of the 929 Chinese items, a full 671 come from the last two imperial dynasties, the Ming (1368– 1644) and Qing (1644–1912). 4 Gaubil 1770. Gaubil’s work was reprinted, with minor corrections, by Guillaume Pauthier (1801–1873) in Pauthier 1840. 5 Medhurst 1846.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2017 | doi 10.1163/9789004343504_002

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of the text came with James Legge’s (1815–1897) monumental study and translation in 1865, which for the first time made the Shangshu available to a larger Western audience.6 In 1897 Séraphin Couvreur (1835–1919) followed with a new French translation.7 In 1904 the English astrologer Walter Gorn Old (aka Sepharial [1864–1929]) produced another—by now almost entirely forgotten—translation into English.8 In 1948–1949 Bernhard Karlgren (1889–1978) published his “Glosses on the Book of Documents” in two installments,9 followed, in 1950, by his translation of the modern-script (jinwen 今文) recension of the text, which excluded nearly half of the chapters of the ancient-script (guwen 古文) version translated by Legge, Couvreur, and Old.10 Finally, a new translation prepared by the late Father Paul L. M. Serruys (1912–1999), Michael Nylan, and David Schaberg is currently forthcoming.11 Translations aside, in 1992 Michael Nylan published her concise monograph on the “Great Plan” (“Hongfan” 洪範) chapter of the Shangshu, the single book-length study of any part of the text in any European language.12 Leaving aside a limited number of specialized journal articles, this is it: from 1770 until today, major Western works on the Shangshu can be counted on two hands, with fingers to spare. It is no exaggeration to say that few Western scholars outside Chinese studies, whether political scientists or humanists, have ever heard of the text. It is equally fair to note that only a limited number of Western students of Chinese civilization have ever read the text, or even a single chapter of it. In some kind of reverse— and bizarre—correlation, the Shangshu is as important to the Chinese political tradition as it is neglected in Western scholarship. The mere fact that a text is ignored and badly understudied in the EuroAmerican academy may seem an academic embarrassment of sorts but provides, in itself, rarely cause to finally take up the task. Often, there are good reasons why books, even ones considered important in their culture of origin, remain left aside by scholars who could study them, if they only decided to do so. The Shangshu is different. It is not a text ignored but one that seems to have induced some collective sigh of resignation: its combination of archaic and pseudoarchaic language, further marred by unknown layers of damage and editorial intervention over time, has resulted in an exceedingly difficult and 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Legge 1865; since then reprinted in numerous editions by publishers in Hong Kong, the United Kingdom, and Taiwan. Couvreur 1897. Old 1904. Throughout, Old’s translation draws liberally on Medhurst’s earlier work. Karlgren 1948, 1949; reprinted in Karlgren 1970. Karlgren 1950a; and separately as Karlgren 1950b. From the University of Washington Press. Nylan 1992.

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often ambiguous text. Furthermore, whatever little that can be said about its original composition and early evolution has long been said, while so much more one would like to know remains shrouded in the impenetrable haze of ancient history. The few elliptic, obscure, and contradictory remarks about the origin and early development of the text, which are scattered across a small number of ancient sources and which have inspired thousands of Chinese studies over the past two millennia, are still as elliptic, obscure, and contradictory to us today. As one of our reviewers has noted, “few people who have read it look forward to returning to it. … I belong to the vast majority who have avoided extended study of the text to the degree possible.” The present volume, the first of its kind in any language, is motivated by our collective ambition to overcome this weariness and to examine various chapters of the Shangshu from new perspectives.

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There is no point in rehearsing in detail, in this introduction, the common view on the composition and early history of the Shangshu, which has been conveniently summarized elsewhere (and will not go unchallenged in the present volume).13 Suffice it to say, for the nonspecialist reader, that over the course of the first millennium BCE, a number of royal speeches and in addition a body of expositions on early political thought circulated individually and in various constellations, and probably in both written and oral forms. The received Shangshu is an anthology of such texts, organized according to the projected chronological sequence of their subjects and purported time of composition. The earliest speeches are attributed to the culture heroes of high antiquity, followed by those listed under the (mythological?) Xia 夏 dynasty, the Shang 商 dynasty (ca. 1600–1046 BCE), and, finally, the Zhou 周 dynasty (1046–256 BCE). The texts listed for the Western (1046–771 BCE) and Eastern (770–256 BCE) Zhou periods comprise about half of the anthology. It is generally held that the nominally pre-Zhou texts (or, at a minimum, the nominally pre-Shang texts) were fabricated only over the centuries of the Eastern Zhou period (if not, in some cases, in early imperial times, that is, after the Qin 秦 unification of 221 BCE). In short, the nominally earliest parts of the collection are, in fact, among its very latest, while the speeches attributed to the early kings of the Zhou dynasty—the last of the so-called “Three Eras” (san dai

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Shaughnessy 1993b; Nylan 2001: 120–167.

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三代)—are granted some measure of authenticity relative to their historical

period.14 This picture of reverse chronology of composition is further complicated by the fact that we have not only one but two received versions of the Shangshu: the so-called modern-script and ancient-script recensions. The first consists of only twenty-eight (or twenty-nine) chapters and is believed to come from the early Western Han 西漢 dynasty (202 BCE–9 CE); the second has fifty-eight chapters (including those of the modern-script text), claimed to have been originally written in “ancient” (i.e., pre-imperial) Chinese characters; this ancient-script version, however, is generally taken to be a third- or fourth-century CE “forgery” concocted from a mix of fragments of early Shangshu quotations and newly invented passages. In addition, it is clear from both received texts and newly discovered manuscripts that many other writings similar to those in the Shangshu circulated in late Zhou and possibly early imperial times, including those that are collected in the received Yi Zhoushu 逸 周書 (Remnant Zhou Documents) discussed by Yegor Grebnev in chapter 7 of the present volume.15 Finally, it is worth pointing out that to some extent, affinities in language and content exist between the Zhou chapters of the Shangshu and the large corpus of inscriptions on Zhou bronze vessels, bells, and weapons; these inscriptions, invoked in various chapters by our contributors, number well beyond ten thousand. The question of the “forged” Shangshu in ancient script deserves further comment, and here—both in this introduction and in the chapters that follow—we go significantly beyond the standard accounts summarized so far. While scholars generally agree that the received ancient-script text is not trustworthy, enthusiastic readers of early legend continue to tell the story of how in Western Han times, nearly four hundred years after Confucius, an original, ancient-script version of the text was discovered in the walls of Confucius’s former residence, when the miraculous sounds of zithers, bells, and chimestones arose out of nowhere to scare away a local ruler who attempted to destroy the building. Such fine stories about an earlier, ancient-script text16 remain largely unaffected by the single greatest triumph of Qing dynasty evi14 15

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See, e.g., Chen Mengjia 1985; Jiang Shanguo 1988. For a summary account of the Yi Zhoushu, see Shaughnessy 1993a. For a recent study of parts of the Yi Zhoushu, see McNeal 2012. For an attempt to define the nature of early Shangshu-type texts beyond the Shangshu, see Allan 2012. Allan’s approach and conclusions differ from ours (and from those of most of our contributors) and are hence a welcome addition to the scholarship. It remains indeed uncertain what an ancient-script version of the Shangshu would have been in Han times; see Nylan 1995.

Introduction

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dential scholarship (kaozhengxue 考證學), namely, the seventeenth-century discovery17 that the received ancient-script Shangshu—the text imperially canonized since the seventh-century Correct Meaning of the Five Classics (Wujing zhengyi 五經正義)—is a much later concoction and that, therefore, only the chapters in early imperial modern script, dating back to the early second or late third century BCE, are trustworthy. Resulting from these philological feats was, finally, Sun Xingyan’s 孫星衍 (1753–1818) monumental critical edition Shangshu jinguwen zhushu 尚書今古文注疏 (1815), which still today serves as the basis of any serious engagement with the text. In the West, after Gaubil, Medhurst, Legge, Couvreur, and Old had still found it difficult to let go of the received faith in the ancient-script version, Karlgren bothered with the study and translation of only the modern-script one. Likewise, those who use the Shangshu as a source of historical information usually express their faith in the latter while rejecting the former as a “forgery.” It is, however, by no means clear what “forgery” means in this context. For one, whoever compiled the ancient-script chapters drew on significant amounts of older material found in other sources.18 Meanwhile, the Western Han modern-script chapters—or what has been transmitted as such—postdate their purported events and speakers by centuries and millennia as well. Nevertheless, there is a strongly held belief that a core of twelve chapters of royal speeches that are nominally placed into the eleventh century BCE—the early decades of the Western Zhou dynasty—are “authentic” and “reliable” in the sense of indeed dating from that period, if not in fact having been composed by their purported early Zhou speakers.19 In reality, there is precious little evidence to support this article of faith, and we should once again ask what “authentic” or “reliable” really means. Shangshu quotations in received early texts, together with quotations in the ever-increasing number of newly discovered (though often unprovenanced) manuscripts, show how extremely variable the wording of the text really was, to say the least, and that no transmitted chapter of the Shangshu can possibly reflect its actual appearance during the Western Zhou—if it ever existed at such an early time. But the argument also cuts the other way: traditional scholars have rejected the authenticity of the purportedly early Western Zhou “Harangue at Mu” (“Mu 17 18

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Most importantly by Yan Ruoju 閻若璩 (1636–1704) in his Guwen Shangshu shuzheng 古 文尚書疏證 and Hui Dong 惠棟 (1697–1758) in his Guwen Shangshu kao 古文尚書考. In Michael Nylan’s (2001: 131) words, they present “deutero-canonical” knowledge in that they contain “genuinely old material” that was then “spliced with newer bridging passages of later date to form coherent narratives.” See Shaughnessy 1993b.

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shi” 牧誓) on the basis of a single anachronistic graph in the text—when it is perfectly clear that every Shangshu chapter underwent numerous changes throughout the first millennium BCE. In short, no matter how invested some scholars may remain in these arguments over “authenticity”—and how unshakable their faith in the continuous, stable written transmission of the Western Zhou chapters might be—such arguments are fundamentally bound to fail. The present volume is therefore not defined by preconceived ideas about “authenticity,” the stability of the ancient written tradition, or the primacy of writing—the very practice indicated in the Chinese word shu 書 (documents)—in the culture of early China altogether. We realize that in certain contexts, these concepts and assumptions matter a great deal, especially where the Shangshu is used as a source of historical information. They are not, however, directly relevant to the studies offered in the present volume, except where they are confronted head on. In one way or another, almost all our studies speak to questions of dating and textual transmission, but not in traditional terms. Instead, through detailed textual analysis as well as comparison with other early works, the conclusions offered in this volume are strikingly more complex. The certainty that the eminent philologist Bernhard Karlgren still felt, in the mid-twentieth century, when deciding on the interpretation of individual Chinese characters and words, is long gone: a wealth of new data from unearthed ancient manuscripts, together with more sophisticated conceptual approaches that are informed by neighboring disciplines and cross-cultural comparisons, especially the study of ancient Mediterranean texts, has made us far less sure of ourselves in evaluating the “right” choice for this or that Chinese character. Newly discovered manuscripts show a far greater range of graphic variation in the early writing system than any of our received sources—the material Karlgren and his Qing dynasty predecessors were working from— would have made possible to imagine. Moreover, as many of our studies here reveal, a Shangshu chapter that we read today, or that scholars read as early as in Han times, was often not the result of a singular act of composition but had evolved over time, which turns the entire dating question into something else: not of composition but of recomposition, compilation, and editorship, and of the dynamic processes of textual development over the course of the first millennium BCE.20 This may not be true for every chapter of the text but, as demonstrated over the course of the present volume, is too frequent a phenomenon—indeed, the rule rather 20

As noted by Jiang Shanguo 1988: 133, one of the most relevant questions for each chapter is when it was edited.

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than the exception—to allow us to accept traditional beliefs about single authorship, the pristine integrity and stability of a chapter purportedly first composed in the Western Zhou, or the primacy of writing over all other forms of textual transmission (mnemonic, performative, etc.) in early China. Before and even still during the early empire, it appears that most chapters of the Shangshu were not so much fixed entities but dynamic cultural products that played their role within, and also shaped, the political discourses of their time. Meanwhile, those chapters that appear most coherent and may very well have resulted from acts of singular composition invariably appear to belong to the latest strata of the entire text.

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Why is it important to reflect on the Shangshu from these perspectives? Who needs a collection of essays focused on the text itself, as opposed to the wellestablished historical scholarship that continues to mine the Shangshu for information? Interestingly, among the three works considered to be the early core of the Five Classics, the Shangshu is the only one that Western scholars generally do not study on its own: the other two, the Classic of Poetry (Shijing 詩經) and the Classic of Changes (Yijing 易經 or Zhou Yi 周易), have both received monographic studies (the Changes many more than the Poetry); only the Shangshu, presumably because of its reputation as a mere repository of historical information, has been mostly used but not studied. But how can one use a text one has not truly studied? One cannot, of course; and many of the flawed ways in which the Shangshu is scoured for information are precisely the result of a lack of understanding of the nature, structure, transmission, and rhetoric of the text. Traditional assumptions about all these aspects still guide the seemingly innocuous use of the text as historically reliable for the era it seemingly speaks of—at least with regard to the chapters concerned with the Western Zhou. But what if the text is not of that era? What if it dates centuries later or is not at all a unified artifact but a compilation of disparate sources from different times? This is not merely a text-critical or text-historical question (important as these are); to trace the early Chinese development of political and legal philosophy, it matters greatly whether our text is informed by, and thus to some extent reflects, the practices and ideas of 1000 BCE as opposed to those of 300 BCE. This is obvious wherever a later text misconstrues an earlier reality; here, correctly dating the text is a crucial step toward getting to the facts of history. More complex, and more interesting, is a different scenario, one that seems to fit at least parts of the Shangshu: a very late text may well contain substantial

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strata of much earlier knowledge and may accurately, if only partially, capture the realities of a much earlier time; as such, even a belated composition may be more historically precise than other, older ones. But there is yet another reality at play, and this is the reality of the text itself. A chapter that is a contemporaneous witness to the events it describes has a fundamentally different purpose and meaning compared with one that describes the same events from a retrospective perspective centuries later. The latter, regardless of its accuracy, is an artifact of memory and as such plays an important political and cultural role not for the time it signifies but for its own time of signification. But its function and nature as an artifact of memory do not invalidate its claims for fidelity any more than the function and nature of a contemporaneous witness do. Both are purposefully composed and hence also compromised in their own but different ways. It is one of the major scholarly fallacies at the core of traditional Chinese philology that “early” gets equated with “reliable” (which too often then inspires an ardent desire to “prove” that something is early) and that, in turn, the demonstrable accuracy of a text is taken to prove its status not only as “true” but also as a “truly early,” if not contemporaneous, witness. Likewise, the recently published bamboo manuscripts in the Qinghua University collection (if authentic, presumably from around 300 BCE)21 that show substantial parallels with certain parts of the Shangshu have led some scholars to view them as traces of the “original” Shangshu, or at least as closer to the original, once again “proving” certain assumptions about the antiquity of the materials included there. We are fundamentally uninterested in such “proof” because it leads only to oversimplification and reductionism. Instead, our collection of essays pursues critical issues in early Chinese intellectual history alongside a new understanding of the history of the Shangshu as a text. We believe that the two sides of this inquiry are mutually illuminating; and we further think that the textual archeology of the Shangshu is a sine qua non toward any understanding of the dynamic processes of early Chinese political and legal thought as they developed over the course of the first millennium BCE. In this endeavor, we have been happy to trade false certainty for more ­interesting and productive questions and possibilities. Ours is a collection of essays that rigorously probes the linguistic structures of individual Shangshu 21

Li Xueqin, ed. 2010–. To our knowledge, no scientific testing of these unprovenanced bamboo slips and/or the ink on them has been performed outside the control of Qinghua University. We remain agnostic on the question of authenticity, and several contributors to the present volume, including Meyer, make use of the Qinghua University and other unprovenanced manuscripts in their essays.

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chapters, explores the rhetorical patterns of cultural memory, and examines specific political ideas against a multiplicity of possible historical contexts, from the founding days of the Western Zhou through, nearly a thousand years later, the early empire. Our conclusions are often unexpected to the point of overturning the accumulated wisdom of two millennia; in many cases, they produce radically new and, we believe, decidedly superior readings of individual Shangshu chapters together with surprising analyses of their respective ideological positions and historical background. Our results reveal a canonical text that appears far more diverse, fragmented, and historically interesting than the normalized and normative reading of the learned tradition. We offer new insights into the political agendas of individual Shangshu chapters together with new hypotheses about the circumstances, dates, and procedures of their original composition and early textual history. In this context, we consider matters not only of writing but also of oral transmission and performance; in fact, as noted above, we do not ascribe particular value or cultural prestige to writing as such. In some cases, our conclusions even call the established modern- versus ancient-script divide into question. Anyone familiar with the field of early China studies—in China as much as in the West—will realize that such irreverent, uncompromising questioning is not for the faint of heart.

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In the process, our efforts have been just as much committed to the very text, and texture, of the Shangshu as to the ideas expressed in it. To the authors of the present collection of essays, language—which in the Shangshu usually means very difficult language—is not a mere obstacle to overcome or to ignore in order to get to historical meaning; to the contrary, its analysis is an integral part, and sometimes even the center, of our inquiry. The ideas given voice in the Shangshu are formulated in an idiom that, while often extremely challenging, matters a very great deal, if one wants to get to the “meaning.” We are equally interested in the history of ideas and in the history of texts and the social aspects of textual practices, from the ways in which parts of the Shangshu were composed to those in which they are incorporated in other texts. While it has been our collaborative effort to produce a collection of highly readable essays that hopefully will find their way to readers beyond a narrowly specialized audience, every one of our essays is grounded in the thorough philological and historical analysis of the original text and is informed by a wealth of traditional and modern scholarship in the relevant languages. This is obviously true for those contributions that analyze the textual structure and rhetoric of par-

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ticular Shangshu chapters, but it is no less true for those that examine central ideas of political philosophy and legal thought. To some extent, our dual attention to language and ideology has emerged from newly defined contexts of philological and historical inquiry that only recently have entered the mainstream of the study of early China. For some time now, all but the youngest of the scholars assembled in this volume have been easily recognizable voices in this development; in fact, our very careers developed along and through the issues and methodologies found in this volume. Even those among us who now find themselves serving as deans and department chairs completed their dissertations only in the mid- to late 1990s, barely two decades ago; and we surely sense that our time is different from previous ones. In expanding earlier perspectives, our essays apply a wide range of disciplinary approaches, including those from the fields of political and ­economic history, intellectual and legal history, literary criticism, manuscript studies, religious studies, anthropology, and others. As will be clear from the following studies, we also emphasize comparative perspectives wherever they help us to open prospects that are not overtly suggested by the Chinese ­material itself. Max Müller’s (1823–1900) famous dictum “He who knows one [religion], knows none” remains useful to remember, especially in a field like Sinology, which, after all, is a latecomer within the humanities curriculum ­outside East Asia. In our view, the insights gained from cultural comparisons across ancient civilizations have much to offer to our field even as we cherish the two millennia of Chinese learning through which a text like the Shangshu has reached us. Without Qing dynasty (1644–1912) philology, Western Sinology would be in a much lesser place; but Qing philology, including its contemporary reiterations, is not the end of all there is to know and think about. That said, we do take it upon ourselves to defend the texts of Chinese antiquity against highly politicized contemporary appropriations for transparently nationalistic purposes that in recent years have become visible, especially in the Chinese mainland. When contemporary Chinese political scientists draw on the texts from early China while lacking the necessary training to thoroughly penetrate the linguistic and historical difficulties involved, it is not always easy for them to steer clear of trivial and vulgar preconceptions about some of these ancient writings. With the Shangshu as the fountainhead of Chinese political and legal philosophy, the present collection of essays may therefore also be read as an intervention into the contemporary uses and abuses of Chinese antiquity, and here especially in the fields of the social sciences. It is our hope that the studies assembled here—sometimes technical by necessity but always accessible to the educated nonspecialist—prove useful for political scientists and legal scholars as they grapple with the fundamental

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ideas that were formulated during the foundational period of Chinese political thought and that proved instrumental to the establishment of both the Chinese empire and the Chinese intellectual tradition. Finally, as we embrace cross-cultural comparisons, we certainly hope—and to some extent, as twenty-first-century scholars, even expect—to see other classicists and ancient historians, including those working on the ancient Mediterranean world, discover the richness of early Chinese thought and textual formation for their own comparative purposes and gains. The present volume aims to help in this overdue endeavor. Neither the Chinese nor any other antiquity is most compellingly interpreted purely on its own terms or within the confines of the particular academic tradition it has engendered over the centuries. Certainly, our attempts to rediscover one of the core texts of the entire Chinese tradition have only been improved by our awareness of the ancient world broadly conceived. When we first planned our Shangshu project, we thought of something like the present volume as only the first half of our overall enterprise; the second half, yet to be conceived and prepared in detail, would be to explore ancient political and legal thought in a comparative framework, with China as one case among others, and to discuss the textual and rhetorical forms through which such thought took shape in different cultural environments.

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The initial inspiration to even imagine a project on the Shangshu came unexpectedly and from elsewhere, namely, a conference that Yuri Pines organized at the Hebrew University’s Institute for Advanced Studies in Jerusalem in May 2012, “Ideology of Power and Power of Ideology in Early China.” On that occasion, Martin Kern presented a paper, “The ‘Yao dian’ as Political Rhetoric: Style, Argument, and Purpose,” that emerged from a Shangshu graduate seminar he had just taught at Princeton in the spring of 2012.22 Shortly thereafter, Dirk Meyer, too, became enthusiastic about a larger project on the Shangshu, and so we successfully applied to our two universities for an Oxford/Princeton Collaborative Research Grant to support two conferences, as well as the publication of this volume: the first conference was held in May 2013 at Princeton, and the second, in March 2014 at Oxford. At Princeton, we received generous funding from the Center for International Teaching and Research and the University Center for Human Values and, in addition, administrative support 22

The revised version of this conference paper is in Kern 2015. A Chinese version is Kern [Ke Mading 柯馬丁] 2014.

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from the East Asian Studies Department and Program; at Oxford, the funding came from the John Fell Oxford University Press (OUP) Research Fund and the Davis Funds, with generous additional support from The Queen’s College and the Oriental Institute. When we invited our colleagues from around the world to our project, we were only modestly optimistic about our prospects; after all, considering our collective track record of almost total lack of interest in the text, who would suddenly be willing to work on the Shangshu? Yet the response to our call was overwhelming: just about everyone we asked immediately said yes. Moreover, all agreed to a very simple plan for the first meeting: not to present a discursive paper, as we normally do at our conferences, but to introduce a single chapter, or perhaps two chapters, of one’s own choosing from the perspectives of rhetoric and ideology. Considering the poor state of Shangshu studies regarding these two questions, our first goal was to establish a sound textual basis for all further discussion, a repository of well-examined chapters that would allow us to see both peculiarities and commonalities within and across the ancient book. After we succeeded in this way at the Princeton meeting, the second step was easy: for the Oxford conference, we asked everyone not to write entirely new papers but to develop their Princeton contributions more broadly, and now with an added thematic focus. After two days at Oxford, we knew we had a batch of high-quality papers that not only established entirely new readings of various Shangshu chapters but, equally importantly, also showed unusual coherence as a collaborative body of research. As we could not include all presentations from the two conferences, the idea of coherence then served as the guiding principle in our selection of contributions for publication. As is evident everywhere in the following pages, each essay benefits from its multiple relationships to others, and the sum is significantly more than its parts. Moreover, because Kern’s original Jerusalem essay fits so closely with the other studies (and is repeatedly cited there), we considered it both appropriate for our project and convenient for the reader to have it reprinted in the present collection. A similar decision was made about two further essays that have been published elsewhere by now but that are intimately related to our project: Magnus Ribbing Gren’s essay on the Qinghua University manuscript that is the counterpart to the received Shangshu chapter “The Metal-Bound Coffer” (“Jinteng” 金縢) emerged from the 2012 Princeton graduate seminar and was originally presented at our Princeton conference; it is reprinted here from its recent publication in T’oung Pao.23 Fortuitously, this study is matched by Dirk Meyer’s essay on the same topic, which was first published in Asiatische 23

Ribbing Gren 2016.

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Studien / Études Asiatiques24 and has been thoroughly revised—indeed rewritten—for our present volume. As a result, the current volume now includes three pairs of essays that are closely related in addressing particular parts of the Shangshu: those by Kern and Kai Vogelsang speak to the “Canon of Yao”; those by Ribbing Gren and Meyer address the “Metal-Bound Coffer”; and those by Yuri Pines and Michael Hunter analyze the “Without Idleness” (or “Against Luxurious Ease”; “Wu yi” 無逸). In juxtaposing different readings of the same chapters (that are also further alluded to elsewhere across our volume), we aim to reveal the rich interpretive possibilities of these difficult texts, and we further attempt to present our model of collegiality that includes both mutual inspiration and lively debate. At the same time, needless to say, we could not possibly aim to cover all chapters of the Shangshu, not even all those included in the modern-script recension—that would have required an entire series of massive tomes. Inevitably, specialists will thus be missing the coverage of certain chapters they consider particularly interesting or important; hopefully, these can be addressed in future research, perhaps even inspired by our present efforts. If anything, we view our collection of essays as only the beginning of a new era in Shangshu studies. In this sense, we are quite happy with our business remaining unfinished and incomplete.

…

Our volume opens with Martin Kern’s study of the “Canon of Yao” (“Yao dian” 堯典), the celebrated first chapter of the Shangshu, which presents the foundational myth of how Yao and Shun established Chinese civilization and the Chinese polity at the dawn of history. The essay suggests three key revisions to the traditional understanding of “Yao dian”: it divides the chapter into two clearly distinct narratives about Yao versus Shun, yet without rehabilitating the ancient-script version of the Shangshu, where these are placed into separate chapters; it identifies the Yao narrative as a dramatic and poetic staging of Yao through the emperor’s own performative speech, structured by rhyme, meter, anadiplosis, and other rhetorical devices; and it shows how in both diction and content, the narrative of Shun, organized by catalogs, numerological systematization, and the mimetic representation of comprehensive political unity, departs radically from Yao’s model of archaic kingship. Where Yao is presented as the charismatic and idiosyncratic persona at the dawn of time, Shun appears as the invisible force behind and within the impersonal machinery of the empire; Shun’s account, which appears to be a much younger textual stratum, 24

Meyer 2014.

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offers a vision of rulership fully consonant with the political philosophy of the early imperial state, including the rejection of abdication as a legitimate process for the transfer of power. Kai Vogelsang’s essay, “Competing Voices in the Shangshu,” examines three chapters—“Counsels of Gao Yao” (“Gao Yao mo” 皋陶謨), “Canon of Yao,” and “Punishments of Lü” (“Lü xing” 呂刑)—with respect to their textual integrity. Analyzing linguistic discrepancies and inconsistencies of content, Vogelsang shows that each of these chapters comprises heterogeneous sections that appear in part to stand in outright opposition to one another. The coincidence of linguistic and ideological differences suggests that competing parties advocating strikingly different views of rulership were involved in the composition of these chapters: whereas some sections make a case for “charismatic rule” with a strong emphasis on both the people and the “virtue” of their ruler, others advance the ideal of bureaucratic government. Intriguing as these patterns may be, a cursory glance at the remaining Shangshu indicates that these oppositions are largely confined to the three chapters under discussion. Although other chapters clearly betray a composite nature, they do not follow the same clear lines of linguistic usage or ideological outlook. Altogether, Vogelsang’s chapter, which in many ways harmonizes with, and extends further, Kern’s discussion of “Yao dian,” suggests that the Shangshu as a whole is not built around uniform textual layers or ideological strands. In “Recontextualization and Memory Production,” Dirk Meyer offers a close textual analysis of both the “Testamentary Charge” (“Gu ming” 顧命) chapter and the recently discovered “Prized Instructions” (“*Baoxun” 保訓) bamboo manuscript. By reading “Gu ming” through “*Baoxun,” Meyer identifies reduplicative text patterns in the narrative framing devices of these texts and demonstrates how during the Warring States period certain text patterns stabilize into molds that then determine some of the ways in which events are told. By presenting a historical or legendary event according to such rhetorical molds of text production, the narrativized event can be transposed into different contexts and arguments, representing not only the event itself but a type of event. Taking its position in the narrative continuum of the textual tradition, this normative type not merely frames past events but also establishes how to frame historical narratives more broadly. Once established—as visible in “Gu ming” and “*Baoxun,” when viewed together—it informs the ways and shapes the discursive terms in which intellectual communities conduct their debates and claim both their authority over the past and their cultural identity with it. Thus, texts like “Gu ming” and “*Baoxun,” whose received versions were probably composed only in Warring States times but possibly contain earlier textual

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strata, become important tools in the sociopolitical and philosophical debates of the time. Joachim Gentz’s essay, “One Heaven, One History, One People,” analyzes the cultural and historical contexts of the “Many Officers” (“Duo shi” 多士) and “Many Regions” (“Duo fang” 多方) chapters of the Shangshu together with the “Harangue to Shang” (“Shang shi” 商誓) chapter of the Yi Zhoushu, three Zhou royal addresses to the officers of the subdued Shang dynasty. It discusses the chapters’ relationships with other texts and their argumentative and rhetorical structures to explore when and for what purpose these chapters were written, what their historical function was, and why two such chapters are preserved in the Shangshu. According to Gentz, these texts present a framework of regulations that defined a new sociopolitical order stratified on the principle of meritocracy, together with a mode of discourse based on persuasive reasoning. The situation where a king addresses the subdued officers of the enemy— which, from a cross-cultural perspective, is highly exceptional—highlights this meritocratic ideology as a means of integration and of exerting central control under the Mandate of Heaven. This authority appropriates not only space (by military excursions) but also time by inventing an expanded “patterned” past defined by universal principles and manifested in historical analogies and continuities. Far beyond the Western Zhou, these speeches appear to belong to a cultural archive of texts that provided models of speech acts for further circumstances of conquest and assimilation. In his detailed study of the Qinghua University bamboo manuscript that has its counterpart in the “Metal-Bound Coffer” in the received Shangshu, Magnus Ribbing Gren employs sophisticated philological and linguistic analysis to reveal how the manuscript text differs starkly from the received version and should be read independently of it. Specifically, whereas in the Shangshu chapter the Duke of Zhou offers himself up as a sacrifice for the dying king, in the manuscript version he expresses his straightforward ambition to ascend the throne. As such, the bamboo text represents a continuation of the story of King Wu’s 武 abdication in favor of his meritorious brother (the Duke of Zhou) that is elsewhere recorded in the Yi Zhoushu. Read in this light, the fourthcentury BCE manuscript provides further evidence for the prominence of abdication doctrines during the Warring States period, and it presents the Duke of Zhou in a decidedly different light from later idealizations of his purported self-sacrifice. Abdication doctrines flourished during the Warring States period, but they were deemed subversive in the early empire (as also noted in Kern’s essay on “Yao dian”) and were gradually obliterated. As Ribbing Gren points out, we must assume the existence of two diametrically opposed readings of the “Jinteng” story in late Warring States and early imperial times, each

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with its own significant political implications. What is more, his study shows the critical importance of not forcing newly discovered texts into the existing framework of traditional intellectual history; instead, we must make space for radical challenges to the latter. In “‘Shu’ Traditions and Text Recomposition,” Meyer addresses the same manuscript text, but from a different perspective. Interpreting the performative character of the manuscript narrative through detailed structural analysis, his study casts light on the social uses of texts, in particular their application in politico-philosophical discourse, during the Warring States period. With reference to the theoretical work by Mieke Bal and Jan Assmann on narratology and memory production, Meyer’s analysis casts further light on the circulation of knowledge, as well as on the production and circulation of textualized “Shu” (“Documents”). Meyer considers the “Shu” traditions in dynamic cultural terms, with its constituents incessantly evolving as they continue to be rearticulated in ever-new forms by different communities in varying contexts and situations. He concludes that not only do the form and style of such recomposed texts differ but so do their messages. Meyer considers the manuscript text a carefully composed artifact meant to reveal distrust and doubt about the Duke of Zhou’s integrity—but only in order to address such preexisting sentiments directly and, finally, to dispel them. In this analysis, the manuscript text, unlike the “Jinteng” chapter in the Shangshu, appears designed in a strict hierarchy of narrative elements for rhetorical purposes: it guides its audience through the experience of doubt toward a final discovery of truth. In other words, the manuscript text, once again unlike its received counterpart, is taken as performative and experiential. In “The Yi Zhoushu and the Shangshu,” Yegor Grebnev identifies groups of analogous texts within the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu and proposes a set of formal criteria to classify speeches across the two collections. In particular, Grebnev distinguishes “dramatic” and “nondramatic” speech: while the former is emotionally charged and personalized and contains a richer repertoire of emphatic devices, the latter is a form of treatise only superficially enhanced by such rhetoric. Grebnev further correlates the two different speech types with different types of contextualizing frames—that is, the ways in which a speech is introduced to the audience at its outset. Texts of dramatic speech are often characterized by “background-centered” contextualization that provides a unique setting with memorable background details, while nondramatic speech tends to be introduced by only brief and formulaic framing. Showing the ­prevalence of such distinctions in both the canonical Shangshu and the muchless-esteemed Yi Zhoushu, Grebnev advocates moving beyond the conventional dichotomy where the former appears “genuine” and the latter “dubious.” The variances in compositional patterns and intertextual formulas transcend the

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boundaries between the two collections and reveal concerns and purposes shared by both and by the textual communities that produced them. Kern’s chapter on the “harangues” (shi 誓) in the Shangshu addresses a series of ancient battle speeches. Attributed to the culture heroes of successive dynasties, these thundering addresses were purportedly given on the eve of major military assaults, and especially in cases that resulted in the overthrow of an existing dynasty and the establishment of a new one. The speeches share a series of rhetorical and linguistic features, patterns, and propositions, always in the same sequence; and the coherence of this structural organization across historical periods reveals the constructed and ritualized nature of these texts and marks them as retrospective creations of Zhou cultural memory. The harangues are intensely ideological in portraying their speakers as both fierce and virtuous; and they overwrite the bloody realities of China’s ancient wars with a benign version of history that represents military assault and invasion as a moral necessity sanctioned by Heaven—a worldview best contextualized in the Warring States period. Linguistically, the speeches are shaped as actual performance texts or literary re-creations of such utterances, and it is likely that at least some of them were once staged on ceremonial occasions. Philosophically, they provide the justification for rebellion, regicide, and war, mandated by Heaven and fulfilling the needs of the common people. David Schaberg’s “Speaking of Documents” looks back at the Shangshu from the way it appears across Warring States period texts. As Schaberg reminds us, the core of the text, while seemingly a collection of “documents” (shu 書), comprises speeches that never fully represent the communications they re-create as written communications. Marked by rhetorical patterns of ceremonial archaism, they retained their oratorical presence in authoritative royal utterances over centuries into the Spring and Autumn period (770–453 BCE) and then reappeared in the early empire with the Qin imperial stele inscriptions and Han ritual hymns and edicts. If the Shangshu speeches were also archived in written form, such writing would, from the very beginning, have been embedded in a larger culture of oral performance that could be drawn upon at any time in early history as remembered royal speech, in particular in contexts and for purposes that mimic earlier rituals. As Schaberg demonstrates through detailed case studies of particular citations—and their highly suggestive variants—in Warring States texts, the same ceremonial archaism was responsible for both the preservation of old materials and the production of new archaizing prose, based primarily not on the reading of the old “documents” but on the dynamics of their oral remembrance. In “A Toiling Monarch?” Yuri Pines proposes a new reading of “Against Idleness” (“Wu yi” 無逸), a seemingly more marginal chapter of the Shangshu. Through analyzing the chapter’s content and contextualizing it within the

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political discourse of both Western and Eastern Zhou periods, Pines holds that “Wu yi” presents a radically different vision of monarchy than the majority of known Zhou texts. While some of its recommendations—for example, that the monarch should avoid moral laxity and remain close to his subjects—are commonplace in early Zhou documents, others are highly peculiar. In particular, the chapter’s valorization of the ruler’s personal experience of manual labor before his ascendancy and its unusual selection of paragons, who mostly did not inherit the throne directly, come dangerously close to questioning the principle of hereditary transfer of power. As Pines further suggests, this distinctive perspective, glossed over by the vast majority of later exegetes, may reflect an exceptional background for the chapter’s composition, possibly in the aftermath of the collapse of Western Zhou rule in 771 BCE. Like Pines, Michael Hunter addresses the “Wu yi” chapter, though from a different, broadly comparative perspective. In his analysis, the chapter can be read as both a typical example of and a distinctive contribution to a global genre of ancient wisdom literature we might refer to as “instruction texts.” Depicting scenes in which an older, established authority figure (often a king) imparts the wisdom that his successor (often a prince) will need in order to succeed in his new position, these texts in several ancient traditions exhibit a common ideological agenda, particularly with respect to the value of diligence. “Wu yi” shares many of these same characteristics even as it adopts a more reflective perspective on diligence, arguing that the success of one generation increases the likelihood that subsequent generations will fall into idleness. Diligence, in other words, is an unstable value from a generational perspective. Hunter proposes taking this claim, together with the chapter’s tightly organized structure and certain other cues, as an indication that “Wu yi” was composed as a unified whole and is a text of Warring States philosophy in Shangshu clothing. Finally, Hunter reads “Wu yi” with reference to several recently discovered manuscripts to explore the possibility that the nuanced didactic stance found in “Wu yi” may have been prompted by a different kind of didacticism: that of the banquet hall, where indulgence in pleasure was both encouraged and restrained. In her essay on Western Zhou oath texts and legal culture, Maria Khayutina focuses on “The Oath at Bi” (“Bi shi” 粊誓),25 which renders an oath that a duke of Lu 魯, an early Zhou colony in eastern China, took with his subordinates while preparing for war against neighboring peoples. Examining (and finally rejecting) the oath’s traditional attribution to the first ruler of Lu, bo Qin 伯禽 (ca. eleventh to tenth centuries BCE), Khayutina distinguishes between the 25

For the translation of shi 誓 as “oath” in this chapter title, see n. 2 in Khayutina’s chapter.

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historical setting to which this text relates and the historical context in which it was, plausibly, produced. She concludes that a comparison with Western Zhou bronze inscriptions speaks against an early date for the “Oath at Bi” even though the document reveals familiarity with Western Zhou legal culture, documentary practice, and language. Considering other commemorative texts as well as various historical references in the Zuo Tradition (Zuo zhuan 左傳) and other sources, Khayutina concludes that it is plausible that “Oath at Bi” was produced in Lu during the second part of the seventh century BCE or later. Thus, the text is best understood as a product of local official memory culture that, in imitation of royal Zhou commemorative texts, served the symbolic representation of political power, often camouflaging a moment of crisis. Charles Sanft’s contribution, “Concepts of Law in the Shangshu,” suggests the existence of multiple viewpoints and understandings of law and legal practice in the Shangshu, refuting the long-held view of the Shangshu as being internally consistent in these respects. The actual diversity of thought is perhaps nowhere clearer than in the case of the chapter “Lü xing” (“Punishments of Lü”), which propounds practices strongly at variance with the rest of the Shangshu. Nevertheless, there are shared interests across chapters. Much content relevant to legal practice in the Shangshu concerns systems of justice and their functional, if fallible, processes. It speaks of integrating these processes into systems and returns repeatedly to the potential for error, deception, malfeasance, and, in particular, persistent doubt. It proposes methods for dealing with doubt, including especially the use of redemptions in place of other punishments. Yet despite broad accord across the various Shangshu chapters about the necessity of a legal system, there remains one fundamental disagreement: most of its chapters (as well as other early texts), including the much-cited “Proclamation to Kang” (“Kang gao” 康誥), consider penal practice as necessary but ideally to be done away with, while “Lü xing” holds proper punishment as inherently beneficial. Robin McNeal’s contribution, “Spatial Models of the State in Early Chinese Texts,” explores how descriptions of the spatial layout of the state conceived of political space in terms of the flow of power, authority, and material goods. In particular, McNeal examines how the “Tribute of Yu” (“Yu gong” 禹貢) chapter and other texts depict the movement of usually exotic goods to the political center, and how they engage the notion of a far-flung and diverse empire held together by movement through networks centered on ritual, economic, and political activity. In addition to the well-known portrayal of the Xia dynasty found in “Tribute of Yu,” the “King’s Convocation” (“Wang hui” 王會) chapter of the Yi Zhoushu, describing the tribute systems of the Shang and Zhou, similarly

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participates in the broader discourse centered on the notion that power was generated and maintained through the creation and sustenance of networks of exchange and interaction. This conception of the state—not as a static territory defined by borders but as a dynamic entity defined by movement—may be extended to better grasp the nature of the early Chinese empire. “Tribute of Yu” in particular exerted a profound influence on the imagination of unified political space and cultural geography and helped to transform an imagined past into the structures and institutions of the imperial state.

…

Such is the scope of the present volume, as it has come together in its final form within little more than two years of our second conference. We thank all the participants at the Princeton and Oxford meetings for their presentations and engaged discussions, which helped to enhance every one of the studies assembled here. The essays selected for this book bespeak the ambition and courage of our contributors to chart new, original paths in the study of one of China’s most ancient and most influential texts; reflect the current state of our field in terms of historical, philological, and conceptual sophistication; and, so we hope, retain in written form some lingering echoes of the congenial exchanges during our meetings and beyond. A final word of profound gratitude, spoken on behalf of all contributors to the present volume, goes to one of the two readers of the manuscript: Robert Eno, professor emeritus of Indiana University (who had kindly released the publisher from keeping his identity anonymous). Professor Eno’s—no, Bob’s—review was everything an author and a volume editor can hope for, and then so much more. Clocking in at fortyseven single-spaced pages, it provided an enormous wealth of questions, suggestions, and critical remarks that challenged all of us to do better and to bring our essays to their full potential. With gratitude, we consider him our editor honoris causa. References Allan, Sarah. 2012. “On Shu (Documents) and the Origin of the Shang shu (Ancient Documents) in Light of Recently Discovered Bamboo Slip Manuscripts.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 75.3: 547–557. Chen Mengjia 陳夢家. 1985. Shangshu tonglun 尚書通論. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Cheng Yuanmin 程元敏. 2013. Shangshu xueshi 尚書學史. Shanghai: Huadong Shifan Daxue chubanshe.

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Couvreur, Séraphin. 1897. Chou King: Texte chinois avec double traduction en française et en latin des annotations et un vocabulaire. Sien Hsien: Mission catholique. Gaubil, Antoine. 1770. Le Chou-king, un des livres sacrés des Chinois, qui renferme les fondements de leur ancienne histoire, les principes de leur gouvernement & de leur morale; ouvrage recueilli par Confucius. Paris: N. M. Tilliard. Jiang Shanguo 蔣善國. 1988. Shangshu zongshu 尚書綜述. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1948. “Glosses on the Book of Documents.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 20: 39–315. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1949. “Glosses on the Book of Documents.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 21: 63–206. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1950a. “The Book of Documents.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 22: 1–81. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1950b. The Book of Documents. Göteborg: Elanders Boktryckeri Aktiebolag. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1970. Glosses on the “Book of Documents.” Göteborg: Elanders Boktryckeri Aktiebolag. Kern, Martin [Ke Mading 柯馬丁]. 2014. “‘Yaodian’: Ciling yu wangdao de yishi xingtai” 〈堯典〉：辭令與王道的意識形態 , in Hanxue dianfan dazhuanyi: Du Xide yu “Jinxuan hui” 漢學典範大轉移：杜希德與 “金萱會,” ed. Chen Jue 陳珏, 57–90. Taipei: Lianjing chubanshe. Kern, Martin [Ke Mading 柯馬丁]. 2015. “Language and the Ideology of Kingship in the ‘Canon of Yao.’” In Ideology of Power and Power of Ideology, ed. Yuri Pines, Paul R. Goldin, and Martin Kern, 118–151. Leiden: Brill. Legge, James. 1865. The Chinese Classics. Vol. 3, The Shoo King. London: Trübner. Li Xueqin 李學勤, ed. 2010–. Qinghua Daxue cang zhanguo zhujian 清華大學藏戰國 竹簡. Shanghai: Zhongxi shuju. McNeal, Robin. 2012. Conquer and Govern: Early Chinese Military Texts from the “Yi Zhou shu.” Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press. Medhurst, Walter Henry. 1846. Ancient China: The Shoo-King, or The Historical Classic; Being the Most Ancient Authentic Record of the Annals of the Chinese Empire, Illustrated by Later Commentators. Shanghai: Mission Press. Meyer, Dirk. 2014. “The Art of Narrative and the Rhetoric of Persuasion in the ‘*Jīn Téng’ (Metal Bound Casket) from the Tsinghua Collection of Manuscripts.” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 68: 937–968. Nylan, Michael. 1992. The Shifting Center: The Original “Great Plan” and Later Readings. Nettetal: Steyler Verlag. Nylan, Michael. 1995. “The Ku Wen Documents in Han Times.” T’oung Pao 81: 25–50. Nylan, Michael. 2001. The Five “Confucian” Classics. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Old, Walter Gorn. 1904. The Shu King; or, The Chinese Historical Classic, Being an Authentic

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Record of the Religion, Philosophy, Customs and Government of the Chinese from the Earliest Times; Translated from the Ancient Text, with a Commentary. London: London Theosophical Publishing Society; New York: John Lane. Pauthier, Guillaume. 1840. Les livres sacrés de l’Orient, comprenant: Le Chou-king, ou Le livre par excellence; — Les Sse-Chou ou les quatre livres moraux de Confucius et de ses disciples; — Les lois de Manou, premier législateur de l’Inde; le Koran de Mahomet. Paris: Firmin Didot Frères. Ribbing Gren, Magnus. 2016. “The Qinghua ‘Jinteng’ Manuscript: What It Does Not Tell Us about the Duke of Zhou.” T’oung Pao 102: 291–320. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1993a. “I Chou shu 逸周書 (Chou shu).” In Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide, ed. Michael Loewe, 229–233. Berkeley: Society for the Study of Early China and Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1993b. “Shang shu 尚書 (Shu jing 書經).” In Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide, ed. Michael Loewe, 376–389. Berkeley: Society for the Study of Early China and Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley. Xu Xianhui 許錟輝. 2003. Shangshu zhushu kao (1) 尚書著述考（－）. Taipei: Guoli bianyiguan.

Language and the Ideology of Kingship in the “Canon of Yao”

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Chapter 1

Language and the Ideology of Kingship in the “Canon of Yao” Martin Kern “Yao dian” 堯典 (“Canon of Yao”) is the first chapter of the Shangshu 尚書.* The “Yao dian” chapter of the so-called modern-script Shangshu 今文尚書 includes both the “Yao dian” chapter and the following “Shun dian” 舜典 (“Canon of Shun”) chapter of the ancient-script Shangshu 古文尚書 that first surfaced in 317 CE and is considered an unreliable forgery.1 It is the longer, modern-script version of “Yao dian” that is the subject of the present essay. In my analysis, I will suggest, however, that the two narratives of Yao and Shun reflect different ideological takes on archaic kingship, and that they employ rather different rhetorical means to stake out their respective positions regarding the ideal of government. From this perspective, the accounts of Yao and Shun are far less integrated than might appear from their modern-script versions and should be considered two separate texts. What is “Yao dian”? Traditional scholarship has read this chapter as an idealized account of the ancient rulers of high antiquity, Yao and Shun, who are valorized in a wide range of Warring States (453–221 BCE) and early imperial sources. Guided by the common view of the Shangshu as a set of (however idealized or retrospectively composed) historical “documents,” we are used to taking “Yao dian” as a narrative of history or political mythology, “euhemerized” or “reversely euhemerized.”2 Meanwhile, modern scholarship has dated * The present chapter is revised from its earlier version published in Ideology of Power and Power of Ideology in Early China, ed. Yuri Pines, Paul R. Goldin, and Martin Kern (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 118–151. The present version now supersedes the earlier one. 1 Without trying to rehabilitate the ancient-script version, I do not subscribe to the common notion of “forgery” in this context for two reasons: it fails to recognize that at least parts of the ancient-script Shangshu are based on earlier sources that we still know only in part, and it wrongly elevates the modern-script Shangshu to some sort of original and trustworthy record of antiquity. Yet while the received ancient-script version may postdate the Han dynasty modern-script version by several centuries, the latter postdates the events recorded in the Shangshu by an even much longer span of time. Neither version can be understood as historically reliable; both present foundational narratives of cultural memory, shaped according to the ideological needs of their own time. 2 See Allan 1981; Boltz 1981; Maspero 1924.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2017 | doi 10.1163/9789004343504_003

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the composition—or at least the substantial rewriting—of the received “Yao dian” to late Warring States or imperial Qin–early Han times.3 However, it should be noted that all the rather extensive evidence adduced for a Qin or Han dynasty writing or rewriting of the text comes only from the second half of the chapter—that is, the part that corresponds to “Shun dian” in the ancienttext Shangshu. Thus, how do the two parts of “Yao dian” fit with late Warring States and early imperial intellectual and political history? What do they contribute to the political thought of their time? And what are the rhetorical means by which they advance their ideological goals? In the following, I wish to suggest that we should read the two parts of “Yao dian” neither as a unified whole nor as mere historical or mythological narratives, but instead as works of political rhetoric representing particular ideologies and showing distinctly performative features. Performative Speech and the Construction of Yao: The Opening Passage of “Yao dian”4 Consider the opening passage of the text, which—we should not forget—is the opening passage of the entire Shangshu. In Sun Xingyan’s 孫星衍 (1753– 1818) standard edition, collated by Chen Kang 陳抗 and Sheng Dongling 盛冬鈴, it is punctuated as follows: 曰若稽古帝堯，曰放勳。欽明文思安安，允恭克讓，光被四表，格于 上下。克明俊德，以親九族，九族既睦。平章百姓，百姓昭明。協和 萬邦，黎民於變時雍。5

With minor modifications, the same punctuation is also found in Pi Xirui

皮錫瑞 2004, Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 and Liu Qiyu 劉起釪 2005, Qu Wanli 屈萬里

3 Chen Mengjia (1985: 135–146), Jiang Shanguo (1988: 140–168), and Liu Qiyu (2007: 156–173) assume a Spring and Autumn period (770–453 BCE) date of composition for the original “Yao dian” but also recognize significant Qin-Han elements in the text. Gu Jiegang (1932: vol. 1, 1–45) dates “Yao dian” to the time of Emperor Wu of the Han 漢武帝 (r. 141–87 BCE). 4 In using terms like “performative speech” or “performance text,” I do not mean to imply oral composition or oral transmission. Instead, these terms refer to the linguistic properties that mark the text as structured for oral performance—or, at a minimum, as a written rhetorical representation of such original performativity. Meanwhile, I use “performance” as broadly encompassing various possibilities of embodying and enacting, be it in mere recitation or in a stage setting. 5 Sun Xingyan 1986: vol. 1, 2–10.

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1977, James Legge 1991, and Bernhard Karlgren 1950, with the only difference being in the first two phrases, which Legge and Karlgren parse as 曰若稽古, 帝堯曰放勳 (Legge: “Examining into antiquity, we find that the emperor Yaou was called Fang-heun”). As can be seen, the overall passage is mostly tetrasyllabic, but not entirely; and it is in the different possibilities of parsing the lines seemingly outside the tetrasyllabic scheme that differences in interpretation become most consequential. Legge, Karlgren, Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu, Pi Xirui, and Qu Wanli all interpret the first nine characters in largely the same way: beginning with two references in the Mengzi 孟子,6 the parallel version of “Yao dian” in the Shiji 史 記7—which offers something of a translation of the text from a more archaic idiom into Western Han language—and another account in the Da Dai liji 大 戴禮記,8 there is broad support for this reading. It implies four different points: first, the opening characters yue ruo 曰若 write an initial compound particle that is left to be untranslated; in bronze inscriptions, as well as in early received texts, this compound is attested in the different forms of 粵若, 越若, and 雩若;9 second, ji gu 稽古 refers to the anonymous narrative voice (“if we examine antiquity” or, when read together with the following two characters, “if we examine the ancient Emperor Yao”) that begins its text with a programmatic statement on the ancient emperor;10 third, the second yue 曰 that follows “Emperor Yao” is understood not as “to speak” but as “to be named”; and fourth, the final fang xun 放勳 is then read as Yao’s name, as in the Shiji, where the 6

7 8

9 10

See Mengzi 5.4.125 (“Teng Wen Gong, shang” 滕文公上) and 9.4.215 (“Wan Zhang, shang” 萬章上). In 5.4, the phrase is “Fangxun said: …” (放勳曰). In 9.4, the Mengzi quotes “Yao dian” as follows: “After twenty-eight years, Fangxun perished” (二十有八載，放勛 [= 放 勳] 乃徂落). The received “Yao dian” has “After twenty-eight years, the emperor perished” (二十有八載，帝乃俎落). See Shiji 1.14–15; see also 13.489. Wang Pinzhen 1983: VII.62.121 (“Wu di de” 五帝德), VII.63.126 (“Di xi” 帝繋). In “Wu di de,” the identification of Yao is even attributed to Kongzi 孔子: “Kongzi said: ‘The son of Gaoxin was called Fangxun” (高辛之子也，曰放勳). In “Di xi,” the Da Dai liji states: “Emperor Ku produced Fangxun, who was to be Emperor Yao” (帝嚳產放勳，是為帝 堯). See the discussions in Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 1, 2–5; and in Pi Xirui 2004: 3–5. See also Wu Zhenyu 2010: 274–279. However, both Ma Rong 馬融 (79–166) and Zheng Xuan 鄭玄 (127–200) understand ji gu as an attribute of Yao, saying that Yao “followed and examined the ancient way” (shun kao gu dao 順考古道; Ma Rong) or “adhered to Heaven” (tong tian 同天; Zheng Xuan). See the discussion in Sun Xingyan 1986: vol. 1, 2–4; Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 1, 3–4; Karlgren 1970: 44–45, gloss 1207.

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phrase is interpreted as such.11 In other words, the initial sentence of “Yao dian” sets the stage for a historical narrative of remote antiquity that, however, is still accessible through careful “examination” (ji 稽).12 As the text continues, this reading necessitates taking the following six characters as another single phrase: qin ming wen si an an 欽明文思安安, a series of epithets that are then applied to Yao, the subject just introduced. Commentators differ regarding the interpretation of the individual characters, as traditional texts quote the passage with several variants, including se 塞 for si 思 and yanyan 晏晏 for an’an 安安. Without compelling parallels in other texts, any interpretation of such terms, and especially of reduplicative binomes, remains speculative.13 The initial four-character phrase yue ruo ji gu 曰若稽古 appears once more in the modern-script Shangshu and, in addition, twice more in the ancient-text version. To briefly dispose with the latter: the two chapters that in the ancienttext version follow “Yao dian,” namely, “Shun dian” and “Da Yu mo” 大禹謨 11

12

13

An exception to this last point is the critical comment by the eighth-century commentator Sima Zhen 司馬貞, who questions whether the epithet fangxun is indeed Yao’s name; see Shiji 2.49. Sima extends the same doubt to the “names” of Shun 舜 and Yu 禹 as they appear in the Shiji, Da Dai liji, and elsewhere, as well as in the opening lines of the respective ancient-script Shangshu chapters; see below. Likewise, the pseudo–Kong Anguo 孔 安國 commentary to the ancient-script Shangshu interprets fangxun as descriptive of Yao; see Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 1, 9. On the other hand, in his commentary to Shiji 1.15, Sima Zhen claims that fangxun is Yao’s personal name while Yao is his posthumous temple name (shi 謚). The same is claimed by Zhang Shoujie 張守節 (fl. 725–735) in his commentary to Shiji 1.14 and by Pei Yin 裴駰 (fifth century) in his commentary to Shiji 1.15. Zhang Shoujie, however, also gives specific meaning to the name fangxun: “Yao was able to imitate the merits of the previous era and thus was called fangxun” (堯能放 上代之功故曰放勳), an explanation likely inspired by Zheng Xuan’s commentary that Yao “imitated the meritorious transformation of previous generations” (放效上世之功); for the latter, see Shangshu zhengyi 2.118c. As David Schaberg (1996: 197) has argued, ji 稽 “specifically denotes the citation of historical precedents and language in the construction of deliberative and philosophical arguments.” See Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 1, 9–11. Recent manuscript finds have made it abundantly clear that the methods of traditional scholarship, including the meticulous investigations of Qing dynasty kaozheng 考證 philology, are powerful tools to compare textual parallels in received texts, but that they do not reach beyond the massive editorial interventions by Han (and later) scholars who translated and transcribed archaic texts into the words and characters of their own time. Looking at newly discovered manuscripts from late Warring States and early imperial times, one finds that binomes (such as an’an) and particles were particularly prone to a wide range of graphic variation whenever a traditional text was committed to writing; see Kern 2005, 2002.

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(“Counsels of the Great Yu”), both imitate the beginning of “Yao dian” and have been interpreted in accordance with its Han reading: “Shun dian”: 曰若稽古帝舜曰重華 (Legge: “Examining into antiquity, we find that the emperor Shun was called Ch’ung-hwa.”) “Da Yu mo”: 曰若稽古大禹曰文命 (Legge: “Examining into antiquity, we find that the great Yu was called Wăn-ming.”) These two parallels do not help us to understand “Yao dian.” As read in the traditional way represented by Legge, they merely reveal their inspiration from the particular “Yao dian” reading that took hold in the Han, that is, long before the composition of the two ancient-text chapters. (The modern-script version, in which “Shun dian” is part of “Yao dian,” lacks the introductory paragraph referring to Shun.) There is, however, one more instance of yue ruo ji gu in the modern-script Shangshu, that is, in the presumably early version of the text. This true parallel is the beginning of the chapter “Gao Yao mo” 皋陶謨 (“Counsels of Gao Yao”): 曰若稽古，皋陶曰：允迪厥德，謨明弼諧. Here, the following text makes it unambiguously clear that the final yue 曰 that follows the name Gao Yao cannot mean “is named” but must be taken as the introductory marker—that is, as the verb “said”—for Gao Yao’s following speech (Legge: “On examining into antiquity, we find that Kaou-yaou said, ‘If a sovereign sincerely pursue the course of his virtue, the counsels offered to him will be intelligent, and the aids of admonition will be harmonious’”). In other words, our only true parallel to the opening phrase of “Yao dian” within the modern-script Shangshu does not support the Shiji reading of “Yao dian.” Considering that the two passages are identical and clearly adhere to a formula, we should attempt to read both in a single, consistent fashion; and given that we cannot read the “Gao Yao mo” passage according to the Han interpretation of “Yao dian,” we should read “Yao dian” according to what “Gao Yao mo” requires. In addition to the “Gao Yao mo” passage, one more parallel can be found: at the very beginning of the Yi Zhoushu 逸周書 chapter “Wu mu” 武穆. Here, yue ruo ji gu is directly followed by yue 曰, which then introduces a twelve-line, mostly tetrasyllabic, and partly rhymed poetic passage.14 Finally, another Yi Zhoushu passage, this one in the chapter “Wu jing” 寤儆, is illuminating: a speech attributed to the Duke of Zhou 周公 contains the phrase 奉若稽古維 王, where the initial compound is not yue ruo but feng ruo 奉若, which 14

Yi Zhoushu III.33.339.

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traditional commentators have glossed as cheng shun 承順 (to receive and follow).15 Whether or not feng ruo might have such specific meaning or should be taken as just another, if phonetically distinct, version of the compound particle yue ruo, the following ji gu is emphatically attributed to the king: “He who appraises antiquity is the king.” This understanding is parallel to how the Han commentators Ma Rong and Zheng Xuan have interpreted ji gu 稽古 in “Yao dian,” namely, as the mental activity of Yao.16 Over the past two millennia, much erudition has been devoted to the interpretation of yue ruo ji gu,17 albeit without ever reaching a firm conclusion. Yan Shigu 顏師古 (581–645) in his Hanshu 漢書 commentary notes the despair that must have befallen readers already in Han times when a scholar capable of explaining “Yao dian” spent thirty thousand words on the phrase.18 Considering the many parallels to yue ruo, I follow its by-now-accepted reading as an initial (emphatic?) compound particle.19 At the same time, for a highly stylized text such as “Yao dian,” it is indeed defendable to follow the earliest commentaries by Ma Rong and Zheng Xuan (as well as the “Wu jing” passage in Yi Zhoushu) in taking ji gu as the (grammatically pre-positioned) activity attributed to Yao.20 This understanding is further echoed in the ancient-text Shangshu chapter “Zhou guan” 周官, which has the king uttering the following line: 唐虞稽古， 建官惟百 (Legge: “He said, ‘Yaou and Shun studied antiquity, and established a hundred officers’”). What is more, in the Yi Zhoushu “Wu mu” parallel, the yue 曰 following yue ruo ji gu clearly introduces the following speech—which is also what I propose for “Yao dian.” Thus, I do not accept the parsing and reading of yue fang xun 曰放勳 as “was named Fangxun,”21 nor do I understand the 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Yi Zhoushu III.31.322. See n. 10 above. See, e.g., Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 1, 2–5; Jiang Shanguo 1988: 141–142; Karlgren 1970: 44–45, gloss 1207. Hanshu 30.1724. Yan quotes Huan Tan’s 桓譚 (ca. 43 BCE–28 CE) Xin lun 新論, which may have been ridiculing (and exaggerating) the effort; see Pokora 1975: 92n2. I suspect, however, that the ancient meaning of yue ruo was already lost to the earliest commentators. Pace Sun Xingyan, Pi Xirui, Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu, James Legge, Bernhard Karlgren, Qu Wanli, etc. In rejecting fangxun as Yao’s designation, I consider the readings given in Shiji, Da Dai liji, and other Han sources to be misinterpretations. At the same time, the fact that already the Mengzi understands fangxun as Yao’s personal name raises two possibilities: either this reading, which runs against the structure of the Shangshu text itself, was indeed very early, possibly in a separate tradition of the Yao legend, or the two pertinent Mengzi passages (5.4 and 9.4) were composed only under the influence of Han sources such as the Shiji.

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initial section of “Yao dian” as a pseudohistorical narrative document. Instead, I read the section as a performance text—a text quite possibly not merely to be read but to be staged—that was directly modeled on the much earlier (late Western Zhou?) speeches generally believed to form the historical core of the Shangshu.22 My following reading is consistent with both “Gao Yao mo” and the two parallels in the Yi Zhoushu; it reveals a different linguistic structure and allows us to rethink the rhetoric and ideology of “Yao dian.” While I am confident about reading 帝堯曰 as “Emperor Yao said,” there are good arguments for and against understanding 稽古 as Yao’s own mental activity, which involves either taking only 曰若 or taking the entire 曰若稽古 as the introductory formula. On the one hand, as cited above, there is clear evidence that some ancient scholars attributed the act of “appraising antiquity” to Emperor Yao, which would lead to reading the initial 曰若稽古帝堯曰 as “Ah­— indeed! Appraising antiquity, Emperor Yao said.” In this understanding, it is not the anonymous narrator who “examines antiquity”; Yao himself looks to the past in search of a model of good rule, exhibiting his ability to “imitate [past] merits” (fangxun) while at the same time praising his ancestors for precisely the same. This reading would show Yao as a ruler who faithfully emulates his predecessors, that is, as the “rememberer remembered,” a rhetorical pattern familiar from other early and medieval Chinese texts.23 On the other hand, 曰若稽古 as a whole is well attested as a stable formula in its own right and thus would serve as a perfect framing device for a text that begins by quoting Emperor Yao. This latter choice would then lead to the following: Ah­—indeed! As we appraise antiquity [we find that] Emperor Yao said: 曰若稽古帝堯曰

“Imitating [past] merits, respectful, and bright, accomplished, sincere, and greatly peaceful, truly reverential and able to yield!” 放勳欽明 *-aŋ 文思安安 *-an 允恭克讓 *-aŋ

22 23

See Shaughnessy 1993. See Owen 1986: 17–32; Kern 2000a: 59; Kern 2000b: 140–147.

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“The glory [of the ancient kings] covered [the lands within] the four extremities,24 reaching to [Heaven] above and [Earth] below.” 光被四表 *-aw 格于上下 *-a “They were able to make bright their lofty virtue; by this, they made affectionate to one another the nine family branches— the nine family branches were then close kin.” 克明俊德 *-ək 以親九族 *-ok 九族既睦 *-uk “They made even and distinguished the [noble officials of the] hundred surnames— the hundred surnames were shining and bright. They regulated and harmonized the myriad states— the common folk were thus transformed and concordant.” 平章百姓 *-eŋ 百姓昭明 *-aŋ 協和萬邦 *-oŋ 黎民於變時雍 *-oŋ If we parse the text in this way—instead of reading fang xun as Yao’s fancy personal name—everything else falls elegantly into place, resulting in an extended and remarkably well-ordered speech. This speech consists of four units of different length (three lines, two lines, three lines, and four lines), all of which, except for the concluding line, are tetrasyllabic. It is common in Warring States prose texts for a poetic passage to be capped with an extended concluding line (possibly signaling the end of the section); at the same time, the final line in this case contains two particles—yu 於 and shi 時— that in poetry in the style of the Shijing 詩經 do not count as metric units; in other words, the final line still conforms to the tetrasyllabic meter. All four units employ their own scheme of rhyme or assonance on the final words of their lines. First, we find the rhyme *-aŋ on lines 1 and 3, further supported by the assonating *-an on line 2. Second, we find the rhyme *-aw and *-a. The third unit is marked by the three rusheng 入聲 assonances of *-ək, 24

I divide the text according to its four different rhymes, not according to the number of lines in each rhyme.

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*-ok, and *-uk; and the final unit contains the rhymes and assonances *-eŋ, *-aŋ, *-oŋ, and *-oŋ. These regularities, combined with the regular meter, must have been purposefully composed.25 What we see here, in fact, is what is traditionally identified as poetry in the archaic style of the Shijing, which is formally defined by precisely the same features of rhyme and meter. We also find one reduplicative, an’an 安安 (or whatever other characters one may want to substitute for it), typical of the “Daya” 大雅 ritual hymns in the Shijing but extremely rare in early prose, and two instances of anadiplosis (jiu zu 九族 … jiu zu 九族 and bai xing 百姓 … bai xing 百姓), again a feature typical of, and almost entirely restricted to, the same limited set of “Daya” hymns. Both in the “Daya” and in Yao’s speech, this language of poetry is the language for exalting the past. However one might want to rationalize the traditional reading of the passage, this set of hard linguistic data must be accounted for. There is no question that we are dealing with a poetic text modeled after the language of the “Daya,” attributed to Emperor Yao, who is said to be uttering (yue 曰) it. What further identifies this passage as precisely such a poetic utterance is its uniqueness within the entire “Yao dian” proper (i.e., before the text moves on to Shun, whom Yao then addresses in similarly formulaic fashion, though even there, his speech is not nearly as well ordered as it is here). The remainder of the Emperor Yao narrative, which is about six times as long as the initial eulogy, shows only a limited use of tetrasyllabic meter, no instance of rhyme, almost no reduplicatives,26 no anadiplosis, and no other linguistic features typically identified with the ritual hymns of the Shijing. In other words, the initial passage of “Yao dian” is composed in a diction and a register that decidedly set it apart from the rest of the text; following it, the text immediately falls into an entirely different mode. This combination of regularity (within Yao’s speech) and difference (from the remainder of the text) cannot be accidental. Altogether, the received scholarly consensus regarding the reading of the initial “Yao dian” passage, disregardful as it is of linguistic structure and rhetorical pattern, seems difficult to defend. But how did it become the accepted reading for more than two millennia? How was it possible for highly educated scholars since at least the Han—who were incomparably more deeply immersed in their tradition than any modern interpreter—to look past, even 25

26

None of the rhymed passages identified in the present essay—in fact, no passage from the entire “Yao dian” and “Shun dian” chapters—has been considered in Jiang Yougao 江有誥 (d. 1851?) 1993: 116–118; Long Yuchun 1962–1963, 2009: 182–283; or Tan Jiajian 1995. The only exception is one very brief passage in the later “interview” section where Yao looks for a functionary to ward off a disastrous flood; see below.

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willfully so, what must have been obvious? Here we are largely left to speculation. I suspect that the story of Yao must have circulated in different versions, written and oral, already by Han times. In what appears to be the earliest of these versions, perhaps even built around the archaic poem identified above, fangxun was a verb-object phrase meaning “imitating [past] merits.” This is the version I identify in the received Shangshu. Yet parallel to this reading, something else developed no later than in Han times.27 How could what appears to have started as a phrase end up as a name? Consider the case of Saint Expeditus, a man mentioned in Roman martyrology. As explained by John J. Delaney in his Dictionary of Saints, “popular devotion to him may have mistakenly developed when a crate of holy relics from the Catacombs in Rome to a convent in Paris was mistakenly identified by the recipient as St. Expeditus by the word expedito written on the crate. They began to propagate devotion to the imagined saint as the saint to be invoked to expedite matters, and cult soon spread.”28 In the case of Yao, such a process may have been initiated by a similar act of misreading in one of two ways: first, by a simple misunderstanding of the very passage that opens “Yao dian,” 帝堯曰 放勳, or, second, by the erroneous connection of an early gloss of the type “to imitate past merits is called fangxun” with the figure of Yao himself. The fact that the phrase fangxun appears exclusively in connection with Yao may have contributed to such a misunderstanding. Whatever the case, Han sources such as the Da Dai liji and the Shiji are unequivocal in understanding the term as Yao’s personal name, and Mengzi 9.4 explicitly quotes “Yao dian” as “After twenty-eight years, Fangxun perished” where the received “Yao dian” has simply “After twenty-eight years, the emperor [di 帝] perished,” possibly even suggesting a different early recension of the text—the same one that may well have influenced, or in turn may have been influenced by, the understanding in the Da Dai liji and the Shiji. What is striking here, however, is the fact that Yao was given a personal name (while “Yao” was reconceived as his posthumous temple name) that could be understood, 27

28

Given the uncertain textual history of the received Mengzi, including Zhao Qi’s 趙岐 (d. 201 CE) editorial interventions, we cannot determine isolated passages within it as preHan. Perhaps the reading advanced in the Mengzi already existed during the Warring States period; perhaps it only emerged in the early empire. Delaney 1980: 219. An even more astounding story, in this case of an entirely redefined name, is that of Saint Josaphat, a Christian saint known since the Middle Ages. He is no other than the Gautama Buddha, whose name changed incrementally at each step of the way as his story traveled west and through a series of languages. For a useful account, see Wikipedia, s.v. “Barlaam and Josaphat,” accessed April 23, 2013 .

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and clearly was understood, as expressive of his virtue of “imitating past merits.” In other words, his newly acquired name was more than just a name: it was a powerful characterization that identified the core of Yao as a person, as a sage, and as an emperor. The fact that this identification mirrored Zhou and Han idealizations of the past—including the idealization of Yao himself— only enhanced his stature. Once this compelling name was established and adopted by the authors of the Mengzi, the Shiji, and the Da Dai liji, there was perhaps no going back. The authority especially of the Mengzi and the Shiji must simply have been too strong. The former vouched for the authenticity of “Yao dian” while elsewhere exhibiting a critical attitude toward other texts considered Documents.29 The latter transformed the series of Yao’s performative speeches into a coherent narrative of history—a narrative where names are of utmost importance. Yet this reading always remained somewhat uneasy. In the Shisan jing zhushu 十三經注疏 edition of the seventh-century Shangshu zhengyi 尚書 正義, for example, the discussion of whether to take fangxun, chonghua 重華, and wenming 文命 as the personal names of Yao, Shun, and Yu or whether to understand “Yao,” “Shun,” and “Yu” as personal names or as posthumous temple designations extends, in fits and starts, for well over two thousand characters through pages of commentary at the outset of “Yao dian.”30 Yet despite these efforts, contradictions remained: while Ma Rong takes fangxun explicitly as Yao’s personal name, Zheng Xuan defines xun as gong 功 (merit) and interprets di Yao yue fang xun 帝堯曰放勳 as “Yao imitated the meritorious transformation of previous generations” (Yao fang shangshi zhi gonghua 堯放 上世之功化)31 without ever explaining the function of yue 曰 in front of fangxun. As both commentators understand everything after di Yao yue 帝堯曰 as characterizing Yao, it is possible that Zheng Xuan as well takes fangxun as Yao’s name—a name expressive of Yao’s virtue of “imitating past merits”— even though the commentary never says so. Moreover, even the later Shiji commentator Sima Zhen 司馬貞 (eighth century), who explicitly identifies fangxun in the passage under discussion as Yao’s name (Shiji 1.15) and hence reads the following text as descriptive of Yao, questions this very identification shortly thereafter (without going back to explain the function of yue) (Shiji 2.49). At the very least, the self-contradiction in Sima Zhen’s Suoyin 索隱 commentary suggests a greater fluidity of such commentarial material than is generally assumed. Yet more importantly, the existence of such contradictions 29 30 31

For the latter point, see Mengzi 14.3.325 (“Jin xin, xia” 盡心下). See Shangshu zhengyi 2.118b–119a. Shangshu zhengyi 2.118c.

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and the uneasy way in which the Han commentators take fangxun as both Yao’s name and part of his narrative characterization reveal the lingering uncertainty about this central passage centuries after Mengzi and Shiji. And while it is not unusual for early Chinese historical figures to be referred to by designations acquired only later in life or posthumously,32 the idea that something like “imitating past merits” was the personal birth name (as asserted in traditional commentaries beginning with Ma Rong’s) may be taken as the mark of a gradually developed legend. Altogether, an even larger problem of “Yao dian” looming in the background may account for some of the textual difficulties that have remained unresolved throughout the exegetical tradition. As argued by Bernhard Karlgren and more forcefully by Sarah Allan,33 “Yao dian” is a composite text that combines vestiges of Shang dynasty and possibly even earlier knowledge with cosmological notions datable to Warring States times. As Allan has shown, the correlative cosmology of “Yao dian” is already evident in Shang oracle bone inscriptions— albeit now expanded and integrated into the “Five Phases” (wuxing 五行) system of thought.34 A colorful example of such integration of archaic knowledge that even the earliest commentators on “Yao dian” no longer recognized is the set of calendrical regulations. In traditional commentary, these characterize the dispositions of the people (min 民) according to the seasons: after the spring equinox is set, the people “disperse” (xi 析); after the summer solstice, they “act in accordance” (yin 因); after the autumn equinox, they are “at ease” (yi 夷); and after the winter solstice, they “keep in the warm” (yu 隩). While these terms are perfectly integrated with the larger description of each season, they also are something entirely different—names associated with the celestial quadrants and the winds of some of the four directions as recorded in Shang oracle bone inscriptions.35 Clearly, “Yao dian” here conflates two distinct sets of knowledge, integrating a much older terminology into a new context.36 32 33 34 35

36

See Goldin 2005: 6–11. Karlgren 1946: 264; here cited from Allan 1991: 58. Allan 1991: 58–62. Allan (1991: 60–61, 79–83) may be simplifying the matter slightly. As noted in Robert Eno’s comments on the present essay, these terms appear in the oracle bone inscriptions as “a conflation of a name of the East quadrant, a name that might be related to the West quadrant or wind, the name of the South Wind, and a name perhaps related to the name of the North Wind.” Allan (1991: 58–62) has taken this argument further, suggesting that the “Yao dian” proper is not about Yao at all but that it is the Shang high god di 帝 who appoints Shun as emperor. In this reading, the initial phrase 帝堯曰 would be a much later (Warring States?) interpolation. While this is an intriguing possibility, it lacks specific evidence.

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The Narrative of Yao The opening passage of “Yao dian” discussed above deserves further attention, as it is more than a piece of hitherto-overlooked poetic speech attributed to the ancient emperor. Implied in its formal arrangement is a claim for tradition, spoken in the idiom of tradition. As I have argued elsewhere, the poetic form of Shijing ritual hymns, defined by rhythmic repetition, is a direct reflection of the ideology of the ancestral sacrifice and its commitment of the living to emulate the dead.37 Reproduction, to invoke Stephen Owen’s insightful analysis of the Shijing hymns, is not merely a theme but a linguistic structure—more specifically, a structure of mimesis, as aptly identified by David Schaberg for the early Shangshu speeches.38 This is the framework that Yao adopts when singing of good government: Yao does not speak of himself, nor does he appear as the creator of a new political system. What is more, his speech (or song) does not have any particular audience. It is a self-referential utterance that performs its own act of commemoration as the further model for ritualized remembrance, perpetuation, and reproduction—in other words, the very acts by which Yao’s speech itself retains its presence throughout all further tradition.39 Such representation of an ancient culture hero as the successor to an imagined prehistorical order is itself traditional; an immediate example is the story of Lord Millet (Hou Ji 后稷) as told in the “Daya” hymn “Sheng min” 生民 (Mao 245), where the sage’s mother reverently observes the inherited rituals and as a result becomes pregnant with him. Yet at the same time, Yao also represents a figure of, in Weberian terms, charismatic authority—a disruptive, revolutionary force who initiates a new system of government.40 As much as Yao is portrayed as looking back to tradition, he also is fiercely autonomous, unpredictable, and even idiosyncratic in his actions. Over the course of the “Yao dian” narrative (see below), he emerges as a true authoritarian: by the sheer force of his personality, he overrules his advisers and makes his own decisions. The account that follows the initial section of “Yao dian” is divided into two parts. The first shows Yao giving out appointments to members of the Xi 羲 and He 和 clans to determine the calendar according to correlative cosmology.

37 38 39 40

Kern 2000a, 2009. Owen 2001; Schaberg 1996: 115–128 passim. For “the rememberer remembered,” see references in n. 23 above. See Weber 1978: 241–254.

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Yao’s appointments are grounded in astrology, mapping human activity on the movement of the stars that determine the hemerological order:41 Thereupon he issued his command to the Xi and the He: “Respectfully follow Vast Heaven! Calculate and make figures of the sun and the moon, the stars and the constellations, and deferentially arrange the proper seasons for human activities!”

乃命羲和：欽若昊天。曆象日月星辰。敬授人時。

Following this emphatic command, he appoints four individual members of the Xi and the He clans to take up residence in the regions of the east, south, west, and north, respectively, and to determine the correct dates for the equinoxes and solstices so that both the folk (min 民) and the birds and beasts (niaoshou 鳥獸) live and act in accordance with the seasons. Thus—in the traditional interpretation of the text—after the spring equinox is set, “the people disperse, and birds and beasts breed and copulate” (jue min xi, niaoshou ziwei 厥民析，鳥獸孳尾); after the summer solstice is set, “the people act in accordance, and birds and beasts shed and begin to change their coats” (jue min yin, niaoshou xige 厥民因，鳥獸希革); after the autumn equinox is set, “the people are at ease, and birds and beasts grow snug new coats” (jue min yi, niaoshou mao xian 厥民夷，鳥獸毛毨); after the winter solstice is set, “the people keep in the warm, and birds and beasts have thick coats” (jue min yu, niaoshou rongmao 厥民隩，鳥獸氄毛). In other words, Yao’s officials adjust the calendar to its correct primordial order—the order of human and animal life before history.42 Even as he creates a new social order, Yao’s repetitive commands do not show him as an actual creator or revolutionary: his task is to align human activity with the mechanics of the cosmic clockwork. After the year has been properly established in 366 days and the four seasons are fixed to schedule, the section concludes with a proverb-style tetrasyllabic couplet: Truly ordered are the hundred kinds of artisans; the multitudes all flourish.

41

42

For an excellent account of Yao’s arrangement of the calendar, which almost amounts to a cosmogony, and its comparison to Warring States manuscripts on the same subject, see Kalinowski 2004. In Qin and Han texts, this order is then much extended and centered on the timely activities of the Son of Heaven in the “Monthly Ordinances” (“Yue ling” 月令) in Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋, Liji 禮記, and Huainanzi 淮南子.

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允釐百工， 庶績咸熙。

All this has been accomplished by Yao’s appointments, while the emperor himself does not take an active role in government beyond issuing his initial series of repetitive appointments. Up to this point, we learn nothing about Yao the person, nor are we told about any of his policies. The sage-emperor as created in these two sections is a man without qualities. This changes with the final section of the “Yao dian” proper, before the text turns to Shun. Here, Yao strenuously searches for capable functionaries to manage his realm, to ward off natural disaster, and, finally, to succeed him as emperor. Through a series of brief dialogues with his advisers, Yao now emerges as a highly personal presence, a charismatic leader speaking in an unmistakable and commanding voice that begins every utterance with an exclamation. Repeatedly, he asks his advisers to recommend an able administrator, and in one case (that of Gun 鯀) he even allows for a probationary period of nine years before concluding that the candidate has remained incompetent. What stands out in this sequence of interviews is Yao’s emphatic display of personal, even harsh judgment that remains in constant disagreement with his officials; the matters of appointment and succession are not in their hands but are his own choice, beginning with his stark rejection of his own son: “Alas! He is deceitful and quarrelsome—how could he do?” (吁 ! 嚚訟可乎). Yao’s disagreements with his advisers show him as strong as they are weak: they have opinions, but they do not represent a developed, functioning system of government. The Yao of this lengthy interview section is individual and even idiosyncratic; if the previous sections had rendered him nearly invisible, an abstract, impersonal force operating through the dual authority of tradition and cosmology, now he speaks as an intensely personal figure of archaic charisma. At one point (before giving Gun his probationary appointment), he falls into a dramatic description of the disastrous flood that threatens the folk: The emperor said: “Alas, [Officer of the] Four Peaks!43 Swelling, swelling—the rising flood is causing damage all around! Vast, vast—it engulfs the mountains, overflows the hills! Gushing, gushing—it surges to Heaven; 43

The term si yue 四岳 (lit. “four peaks”) is much debated in early commentaries. All of them concur that it is an official title, but there is widespread disagreement on (a) whether the term refers to a single officer or a group of functionaries and (b) who this or these might be; see the discussion in Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 1, 77–79.

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the folk below are groaning. Is there a capable man whom I could ask to attend to the situation?” 帝曰：咨四岳！ 湯湯洪水方割， 蕩蕩懷山襄陵。 浩浩滔天， 下民其咨。 有能俾乂？

In this speech of dramatic performance, Yao appears as a ruler who cares for his people and who grasps the urgency of protecting them. The power of this speech is further apparent from the fact that lines 3–5 appear nearly verbatim, though in different order, once again in “Gao Yao mo,” this time attributed to Yu as he speaks of his own accomplishments in taming the flood.44 Remarkably, nothing in the entire interview section appeals to either tradition or cosmology—the points of reference in the earlier parts of the chapter—or, for that matter, to any other existing framework of governance. Yao even rejects the idea of hereditary kingship, a move that puts him squarely and fundamentally at odds with the dynastic model of both Zhou and early imperial rule.45 The Narrative of Shun The overall rhetorical representation of Yao in the first half of “Yao dian” differs considerably from the second part of the chapter, which in the ancient-text Shangshu forms a separate chapter, “Shun dian.” As noted above, it is only this second part that furnishes the textual evidence allowing Gu Jiegang, Chen Mengjia, Jiang Shanguo, and others to date “Yao dian” (which they take always as a whole) to imperial Qin or Western Han times. While I would not suggest rehabilitating the ancient-text version, there is no evidence that before the empire, “Yao dian” and “Shun dian” together formed a single “Yao dian” chapter,46 or that altogether, the modern-script version in any way represents 44 45 46

Sun Xingyan 1986: vol. 2, 88. In the ancient-script version, the passage is in the “Yi ji” 益稷 chapter. On the question of hereditary versus meritocratic kingship in early Chinese mythology and political debate, see Pines 2005, 2010; Allan 1981, 2006, 2015. Interestingly, when Mengzi 9.4 explicitly quotes “Yao dian,” it refers to a passage in the “Shun dian” part. While some may consider this to be strong evidence for the pre-Qin

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some “original” Shangshu and not merely the text arranged in the early empire. Instead, I strongly suspect that the two were separate and, furthermore, that each contains its own diachronic textual layers. The earliest evidence for a unified chapter encompassing the accounts of both Yao and Shun is the so-called modern-script version, which may have taken shape at the Qin imperial court (if not later) and, from there, by way of the Qin “Erudite” (boshi 博士) Scholar Fu 伏生,47 was passed down to Han times. Instead, the notable ideological distinction between the two parts suggests the original independence of “Yao dian” from “Shun dian.” As I will show below, unlike Yao’s archaic method of rulership, Shun’s is fully compatible with the imperial ideology of Qin and early Han times. Leaving aside the initial paragraph of the ancient-text chapter “Shun dian,”48 there are two different readings of the first section of what we may call “Shun’s text.” In the first reading, the “emperor”—who must still be Yao—only exclaims “Respectful indeed!” (qin zai 欽哉) before the anonymous narrative voice sets in, now with Shun as the implied topic.49 Yet again, a different reading can be offered, namely, to take the entire initial section as Yao’s first speech to Shun, after he had given him his daughters in marriage: The emperor said: “Be respectful! [If you] cautiously harmonize the five statutory relations,50 the five statutory relations can be observed. [If you] engage with the hundred kinds of governmental affairs, the hundred kinds of governmental affairs will proceed with timeliness.

47 48

49 50

combination of the two parts, it may just as well be due to later (i.e., Han) editing of the Mengzi on the basis of the Western Han modern-script Shangshu. According to the citation index compiled by Chan Hung Kan and Ho Che Wah (2003: 17–47), Mengzi 9.4 is the only passage in all pre-Han literature that invokes a passage from “Shun dian” under the title “Yao dian”; it is, in fact, the only citation purportedly from pre-Han times that mentions the title “Yao dian” at all. On the problematic construction of scholastic lineages for the classics in the Han, including Scholar Fu’s role with regard to the Shangshu, see Cai Liang 2011. Missing in the modern-script chapter, this paragraph of twenty-seven characters at the outset of the ancient-script “Shun dian” looks like an abbreviated imitation of the beginning of “Yao dian” (in the conventional punctuation: 曰若稽古，帝舜曰重華，協于 帝，濬哲文明，溫恭允塞，玄德升聞，乃命以位). This is the reading suggested by Sun Xingyan, Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu, Qu Wanli, James Legge, and Bernhard Karlgren. There is no consensus among the commentators as to the meaning of wu dian 五典, which is here—following the Shiji parallel—tentatively translated as “five statutory relations.”

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[If you] formally receive those at the gates of the four directions, those at the gates of the four directions will be reverent, reverent.” 帝曰：欽哉！ 慎徽五典， 五典克從。 納于百揆， 百揆時敘。 賓于四門， 四門穆穆。

While this passage lacks any regular rhyme pattern, the diction is not that of narrative but of well-ordered speech, with the six tetrasyllabic lines being tightly organized through the triple use of anadiplosis and capped with the reduplicative binome mumu 穆穆 (reverent, reverent).51 This is followed by a brief narrative before Yao once again turns to Shun: When [Yao] sent him to the foot of a mountain, blazing wind, thunder, and rain did not lead him astray.52 The emperor said: “Come here, you Shun! When consulting with you about government, I have examined your words—and your words are well founded and can be followed. After [by now] three years, you shall ascend to the imperial position!”

納于大麓，烈風雷雨弗迷。帝曰：格汝舜，詢事考言，乃言厎可績。 三載汝陟帝位。

It is only after these initial two speeches that the account of Shun turns into narrative. Aside from occasionally falling into a brief sequence of tetrasyllabic lines, this narrative shows none of the poetic features seen in some of Yao’s speeches; and while Yao’s speeches punctuate his entire account, it is unclear how much Shun gets to speak: according to the traditional reading, he remains silent through most of the chapter before finally engaging in interviews and making appointments. While it is possible that parts of what seems to be nar·

51

52

This reading finds support in the parallel Shiji account (Shiji 1.23), where the speech is introduced by the formula 堯 … 使舜 (“Yao made Shun” to “cautiously harmonize the five statutory relations …”). According to the paraphrase of the passage in Shiji, Yao sent Shun into the wilderness as a trial—another topos familiar from Lord Millet in “Sheng min.” After Shun weathered all adverse circumstances, Yao considered him a sage; see Shiji 1.22. The story is paraphrased in various Han texts; see Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 1, 102.

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rative may have been speeches (see below), they are not marked as such, nor do they ever sustain the extended emphatic diction accorded to Yao. However formulaic and impersonal some of Yao’s speeches may be, in the end he appears as a ruler of personal charisma—not least because of the forceful way in which he disagrees with his officials. Shun’s narrative has nothing of this; when he finally engages in dialogues with his officials over whom to appoint to a range of specific administrative tasks, his responses to recommendations are without exception in the affirmative, presenting the emperor not as a decisive or individual force but as a compliant one. Where Yao’s rule is based on the emperor’s personal judgment that overrules flawed advice, the quality and success of Shun’s rule rest with him not as a person but as the emperor, the pinnacle of a perfected, reliable, and authoritative administrative system. If the agency of Yao’s rule lies with the emperor himself, in the account of Shun it shifts to the administrative ranks, or, at a minimum, to the overall unity between the emperor and his bureaucracy. Shun represents, again in Weber’s terms, the routinization of the earlier charismatic power into bureaucratic and legal rule. Although Shun may appear not as a charismatic and emotional persona but as a personified governmental function, in his imperial role he is nevertheless far more activist than his predecessor. More specifically, while Yao’s officers of the Xi and He clans are concerned with the primordial order (in the end including the threat of the all-consuming flood) at the very beginning of history, it is with Shun that cosmic sovereignty is defined in much more specific social and political terms—and in terms that are fully congruent with the early empire. What is more, in his initial quest for cosmic order and his sovereignty over it, Shun does not delegate; he acts. Having received his imperial mandate on “the first day of the first month” (zhengyue shangri 正月上日) in the temple of “the accomplished progenitor(s)” (wenzu 文祖),53 he begins his rule by offering sacrifices to an entire series of cosmic deities, including the spirits of mountains and rivers. This creation of, and appeal to, a cosmic pantheon in support of political rule matches the state religious system of two early emperors: the Qin First Emperor and Emperor Wu 漢武帝 (r. 141–87 BCE) of the Han, both of whom greatly expanded the cosmic sacrifices of their time, creating a cultic system with a host of newly recognized deities that included, among others, Shun himself, who was now venerated as a natural spirit residing on Mount

53

It is unclear to what wenzu refers here, considering Shun’s humble pedigree. The term may refer to Yao’s ancestor(s) or even, as argued by some commentators, Heaven.

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Jiuyi 九嶷山.54 Both the Qin First Emperor (in 211 BCE) and Emperor Wu of the Han (in the winter of 107/106 BCE) performed the wang 望 sacrifice to him55— just as Shun himself had “performed the wang sacrifice to the mountains and rivers” (wang yu shan chuan 望於山川) immediately after his appointment, expressing his sovereignty over the entire realm.56 During all his ritual performances for the cosmic spirits following his enthronement, Shun does not speak a word—in fact, he is not even mentioned as the subject of his actions. The same is true for the following passage that narrates in the briefest terms his subsequent “tours of inspection” (to some extent parallel to the Qin First Emperor’s series of tours between 219 and 210)57 to the mountains of the four directions, undertaken during the second, fifth, eighth, and eleventh months, the months of the equinoxes and solstices: In the second month of the year, [he] went eastward to inspect those under his protection. [He] arrived at Mount Daizong. [He] made a burnt offering and performed in correct order the wang sacrifices to the mountains and streams. [He] then received the lords of the east. He harmonized the season, the month, and the [first] day of the first month [i.e., the beginning of the year]. [He] unified the pitch pipes and the measures of length, capacity, and weight. He arranged the five kinds of rituals, the five kinds of jade, the three kinds of silk, the two kinds of living sacrificial animals, and the one dead sacrificial animal. The gifts were according to the five categories of nobility. When finished, [he] returned home.

歲二月。東巡守。至于岱宗。柴，望秩于山川。肆覲東后。協時月正 日，同律度量衡。修五禮、五玉、三帛、二生、一死。贄如五器。卒 乃復。

While Shun initiates cosmic and social order, all his ritual activities follow fixed patterns that are expressed in the form of seemingly comprehensive and in part numerically organized catalogs. The impression of Shun as an 54 55 56

57

See Bilsky 1975; Holladay 1967; Bujard 2000; Kern 2000b, 1997. For Emperor Wu’s extensive travels, see Loewe 2004: 605–606. Shiji 6.260; Hanshu 6.196. As Bilsky (1975: vol. 2, 248) notes: “The wang sacrifice was offered by [the Qin First Emperor] at the most distant point the tour reached to the gods of still more remote natural features. Thus, the wang was used to show the enormous extent of the empire and of imperial power.” By the time of the Qin First Emperor, the wang sacrifice was long established as the principal ritual of territorial sovereignty; see Kern 2000b: 115. See Kern 2000b.

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impersonal function of government—as opposed to a charismatic, disruptive leader—is further cemented by the repetition of his “tour of inspection” another three times; abbreviating the accounts of Shun’s specific activities, the text simply notes each time that the rituals were the same as before—a series of identical repetitions devoid of any particulars. Finally, the text invokes an even larger structure of order, of which the imperial tours are only a part: “Once in five years [he inspected] those under [his] protection. [In between,] the many lords visited for audience four times” (五載一巡守，群后四朝). This matter-of-fact line is then followed by a set of formulaic phrases strangely at odds with the preceding diction—a rhythmic chant to express the seamless and uniform order followed by the subordinate lords: They broadly submitted reports by their words; they were clearly examined according to their merits; they were given chariots and robes according to their services. 敷奏以言。 *-an 明試以功。 *-uŋ 車服以庸。 *-uŋ Considering how alien, in formal terms, these lines are to the preceding narrative, and that their subject is not made explicit, one might be tempted to read them rather differently, namely, as a chant performed to the subordinate lords. Furthermore, the final line can be read as the result of the first two: You have broadly submitted reports by your words; you were clearly examined according to your merits; [thus,] you are given chariots and robes according to your services. Nothing proves this interpretation. However, the very fact that the three lines are so clearly marked and separated as emphatic speech raises doubts about their being a mere continuation of the previous narrative. What is more, they also appear nearly verbatim in another Shangshu chapter, namely, “Yi ji” 益稷 (or “Gao Yao mo”), and there in a direct speech by Yu.58 In addition, in an explicit quotation from “Xia shu” 夏書 (i.e., the first section of the Shangshu) in Zuo zhuan 左傳, the three lines are invoked in isolation from their context in either Shangshu chapter.59 All this suggests that they formed some kind of 58 59

Sun Xingyan 1986: vol. 2, 109; Legge 1991: 83. In the modern-script Shangshu, “Yi ji” is part of “Gao Yao mo”; in the ancient-script version, the two are separate chapters. Yang Bojun 1993: Xi 27, 445–446.

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independent proverb-like saying that circulated on its own and was incorporated wholesale into early texts, including twice into the Shangshu. The next section continues in formulaic fashion, and once again without a subject: [He] initiated the twelve provinces, raised altars at the twelve mountains. [He] deepened the rivers. [He] made representations of the statutory punishments: banishment mitigates the five [principal] punishments; the whip is the punishment at the magistrates’ courts; the stick is the punishment at schools; money is the punishment for redeemable crimes. Inadvertent offenses and those caused by misfortune are pardoned; brazen and repeated offenses receive the punishment for miscreants. “Be respectful! Be respectful! Be cautious with punishments!”

肇十有二州， 封十有二山。 濬川。 象以典刑： 流宥五刑， 鞭作官刑， 扑作教刑， 金作贖刑。 眚災肆赦， 怙終賊刑。 欽哉欽哉！ 惟刑之恤哉！

All commentators take the highly emphatic final two lines as Shun’s exhortation to his officials—simply because they cannot be part of the anonymous narrative voice. Yet note that nothing separates them from the preceding catalog of punishments (which, incidentally, is at least in part reminiscent of Qin and early Han law).60 The final line of five characters once again—just like the concluding six-character line in Yao’s initial speech—caps the entire tetrasyllabic passage while still adhering to the four-beat meter (as the particle zhi 之 60

For recent studies, see Sueyasu 2009: 112–121; Zhang Jinguang 2004: 553–560; Cao Lüning 2006; Zhu Honglin 2007.

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does not count metrically). Moreover, the extensive catalog of punishments, always ending with the word xing 刑, is dramatic rhetoric and emphasized through the single line that breaks the formal pattern: the one line that speaks of the relief from punishment (“Inadvertent offenses and those caused by misfortune are pardoned”) is also set apart formally by ending on a different word (she 赦), mimetically reflecting the escape from punishment (xing) also on the linguistic level.61 In terms of contents, we witness the same conflict already seen above: the representation of government as comprehensive, systematic, and impersonal is capped by what must be taken as direct speech. At the same time, nothing suggests that this speech—presumably Shun’s own—begins only with the final exclamation; instead, it may just as well encompass the entire tetrasyllabic catalog of punishments. Once again, the traditional habit of reading the chapter as a continuous narrative “document” may well obscure the possibly original nature of the text as largely performative, or perhaps as a collection of shorter performative utterances—perhaps even from diverse sources—now hung upon the skeleton of mythological narrative. One rhetorical characteristic of the text that contributes much to the uncertainties engulfing the question of voice is the fact that from Shun’s acceptance of the throne all the way to the moment of Yao’s death, when Shun once again goes to the ancestral temple, he is not mentioned once throughout the entire narrative—for some 270 characters. (By contrast, the final section, where Shun appoints his officials, is entirely dialogical, with the frequent use of “The emperor said.”) Since some lines are clearly distinguished as direct utterances, one may well assume that others, though less visibly, may represent speech as well. Following the admonition to be cautious with punishments, the text enters into another catalog, this time of the “four criminals.” As before, the subject is only implied. In the following, I use the conventional “he” although it may just as well be “I”: [He] banished Gong Gong to Dark Province, exiled Huan Dou to Exalted Mountain, expelled the San Miao [people] to Threefold Precipice, sent Gun to the terminal point at Feathered Mountain— after these four sanctions, All-under-Heaven became submissive.

流共工于幽州， 61

To have linguistic structure mimetically represent the topic of speech is a feature of early Chinese rhetoric as seen in the Han dynasty fu 賦 as well as in early speeches of political persuasion; see Kern 2003.

46

Kern 放驩兜于崇山， 竄三苗于三危， 殛鯀于羽山， 四罪而天下咸服。

What Shun performs here is more than the punishment of particular criminals (including an entire people). As commentators since Han times have pointed out, these criminals and their places of exile or execution were associated with the barbarian areas of the four directions: Dark Province in the north, Exalted Mountain in the south, Threefold Precipice in the west, and Feathered Mountain in the east.62 Once again, the text suggests a catalog that is both complete and systematic, this time measuring the physical space of the empire by the terminal points to which all crime is relegated. Furthermore, in choosing four different verbs, the passage applies a different type of punishment to each of the four criminals, creating a trifold catalog of different criminals, different punishments, and different locations that again suggests the absolute totality of Shun’s rule, after which “All-under-Heaven became submissive.” Expressed in such diction is the very claim for totalizing sovereignty historically associated with the Qin First Emperor and his mission to make the realm both unified and uniform. Note also how the catalog culminates: after “banishing” (liu 流), “exiling” (fang 放), and “expelling” (cuan 竄) the other criminals, the emperor finally “sends to the terminal point” (ji 殛, here read as ji 極) the last offender, Gun, who is thus condemned to die in the liminal space between civilization and barbarism.63 Shun’s all-encompassing cosmology of the four directions continues through the next passage of unbound prose, before the text falls back into yet

62 63

As made explicit in Da Dai liji; see Wang Pinzhen 1983: VII.62.121 (“Wu di de”). Not all commentators take ji 殛 as ji 極, even though the substitution (a) is perfectly acceptable within the limits of the ji 亟 xiesheng 諧聲 series and (b) fits the other terms exactly. See Duan Yucai 1988: 4B.10a–11a; the extensive discussions in Sun Xingyan 1986: vol. 1, 57; Pi Xirui 2004: vol. 1, 68–69; and Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 1, 183–185; and the entries, with further references, in Hanyu dazidian 1986: 1391; and Feng Qiyong and Deng Ansheng 2006: 386–387. Karlgren’s (1946: 249n1) laconic argument against this substitution (and in favor of reading ji 殛 simply as “to kill”) is unconvincing. That said, the idea is still that Gun ultimately died at Feathered Mountain. The same is true for the other criminals, such as the San Miao (by commentators often understood as “the Three Miao Tribes”), who, in the parallel narratives in both Mengzi 9.3.212 (“Wan Zhang, shang”) and Da Dai liji (Wang Pinzhen 1983: VII.62.121 [“Wu di de”]), were “killed” (sha 殺) at Threefold Precipice.

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another instance of an entirely formulaic idiom that is at least partly in direct speech: Twenty-eight years [after Shun had taken the throne], the emperor [Yao] expired.64 The [noble officials of the] hundred surnames mourned as if for a deceased father or mother. For three years, they stopped and silenced the eight musical notes in the realm within the four seas. On the first day of the first month, Shun went to the temple of the accomplished progenitor(s).

二十有八載，帝乃俎落。百姓如喪考妣。三載，四海遏密八音。月正 元日，舜格于文祖。

He deliberated with the [Officer of the] Four Peaks— to open the gates of the four [directions], to clear the vistas of the four [directions], to penetrate what could be heard from the four [directions].65 詢于四岳： 闢四門， 明四目， 達四聰。

[He] said: “Alas, pastors of the twelve [provinces]!66 64

65

66

In a series of traditional sources, beginning with Mengzi 9.4, the subject here is given not as di 帝 (the emperor) but as fangxun 放勳, here clearly understood as Yao; see Sun Xingyan 1986: vol. 1, 58; Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 1, 187–188. Note also the unusual term 俎落 (“went into decline,” i.e., “perish,” also written 徂落) for Yao’s death, which seems to define his death as a cosmic event. These lines may well be constructed as another speech: “He deliberated with the [Officer of the] Four Peaks: ‘Open the gates of the four [directions], clear the vistas of the four [directions], penetrate what can be heard from the four [directions]!’” For the character zi 咨 (usually “to consult” or “to plan”), the parallel in Shiji 1.38 has ming 命 (to command). While Hanshu (83.3406) has zi 咨, Jinshu 晉書 (14.418, 423, 425, 428, 430, 436; 15.449, 453) consistently writes zhi 置 (to establish). This seems to be an interpretive extension of ming rather than a variant of zi, as zi (*tsij) and zhi (*trək-s) are not phonologically close. Elsewhere in “Yao dian,” zi 咨 repeatedly appears as an initial exclamation in Yao’s and Shun’s speeches, which in the Shiji parallels is consistently rendered (and clarified) as jie 嗟 (alas!). The way in which the Shiji resolves the seemingly different uses of zi in the same text is a typical case of providing an easier reading of an initially more obscure phrasing. While Chinese commentators have accepted this easier reading (see, e.g., Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 1, 194), it must be rejected according to the philological principle of lectio difficilior potior (the more difficult reading is the stronger).

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Be respectful indeed in this matter:67 if you are gentle to those who are distant, kind to those who are near,68 generous to those of virtue, trusting to those who lead the good ones, yet causing difficulties for the cunning men— then the Man and Yi tribes will be submissive and obedient.” 咨十有二牧曰： 食哉惟時， 遠柔能邇。 惇德允元， 而難任人， 蠻夷率服。

After this speech, Shun makes nine appointments, some by merely issuing directives to individuals, others after asking his advisers for recommenda­tions; in four cases, the appointee first declines but is then simply told to take up his duties. Altogether, Shun’s catalog of officials includes twenty-two persons— the twelve pastors, the Officer of the Four Peaks, and the nine appointed functionaries—whom he then finally admonishes to support him in his Heaven-ordained duties. Every three years, the achievements of the appointees are examined; after three such examinations, promotions and demotions are conducted. In Shun’s speech, the subject of examining, promoting, and demoting remains anonymous: the system of bureaucratic government is depicted as running its inevitable course, and it is framed according to the notion of “performance and title” (xingming 刑名) associated with Shen Buhai 申不害 (fourth century BCE) and Han Fei 韓非 (ca. 280–ca. 233 BCE).69 Most of Shun’s appointment speeches are short—between just a few characters and four tetrasyllabic lines; of the speeches followed by an initial refusal from the appointee, the longest is just three lines. While none of Shun’s

67

68 69

I follow Karlgren’s (1970: 96, gloss 1275) suggestion that the yue 曰 in this line has been mistakenly transposed; in accordance with all parallels in the chapter, the line should read 曰咨十有二牧 instead of 咨十有二牧曰. Much has been argued about this line; see Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 1, 194–196; Karlgren 1970: 96, gloss 1276. With Karlgren, I follow the Qing scholar Xu Zongyan 許宗彥, who reads shi 食 as qin 欽 (respectful); at the same time, I follow Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu, who argue to preserve the overall structure of tetrasyllabic lines here. Shi 時 is, as often, to be read as the emphatic demonstrative shi 是 (this). The same phrase appears in the “Daya” 大雅 hymn “Min lao” 民勞 (Mao 253). For a lengthy discussion, see Karlgren 1964: 85–87, gloss 917. Goldin 2013: 8–11. See also Makeham 1990–1991, 1994: 67–83; Creel 1974: 119–124.

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speeches are rhymed, two stand out for their length and rhetorical patterns: the speech to Gao Yao and the speech to Kui 夔: The emperor said: “Gao Yao! The Man and Yi tribes bring disorder to [our] Xia [realm]. There are robbers and bandits, the crafty and the treacherous— you shall take charge! The five kinds of punishments shall have their [determined] applications, the five kinds of applications shall have three kinds of gradations; the five kinds of banishments shall have their [determined] localities, the five kinds of localities shall have three kinds of [specific] places— it is clarity that makes [you] trustworthy!”

帝曰：皋陶！ 蠻夷猾夏， 寇賊姦宄， 汝作士。 五刑有服， 五服三就。 五流有宅， 五宅三居。 惟明克允。

Aside from the regular meter, the striking feature of this speech is its emphasis on numerological concepts and hierarchical order. Here, numbers are not just numbers; what are discussed are not some “five punishments,” “five applications,” and “three gradations” or some “five banishments,” “five localities,” and “three places,” but the five kinds and the three kinds of punishments, applications, and gradations and of banishments, localities, and places. Moreover, for both punishments and banishments, we are given an increasing order of ­specificity, where an overall phenomenon (punishments or banishments) is determined with regard to its general execution (applications or localities), which in turn is further specified with regard to its concrete implementation (gradations and places). In other words, these phrases present the system of punishments in definite and comprehensive fashion. The speech to Kui is different and yet similar: instead of the tetrasyllabic meter, it employs conventional rhetorical patterns of expository prose, “A and yet B” and “A without being B,” together with a series of brief apodictic statements in trisyllabic form. Once again, the impression is one of comprehensive and perfect order—and of an order not described but prescribed:

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The emperor said: “Kui! I command you to codify a system of music to teach our successive sons. They shall be upright and yet gentle, broad-minded and yet firm, hard without being cruel, grand without being arrogant. Poetry shall express intent, song shall extend the words, melody shall follow from [such] extension, and the pitch pipes shall harmonize melody. When the eight notes are made consonant, they will not encroach upon one another— by this means spirits and humans will be in harmony!” 帝曰：夔！命汝典樂，教冑子。 直而溫， 寬而栗， 剛而無虐， 簡而無傲。 詩言志， 歌永言， 聲依永， 律和聲。 八音克諧， 無相奪倫， 神人以和。

In sum, because Shun’s two major appointment speeches outline, first, the system of punishments and, then, the system of music, neither speech would be confused with poetry, unlike Yao’s two speeches—the first his praise of antiquity, the second his address to Shun—which share the diction of the “Daya” hymns. It is their very specificity that makes us read these lines as prose; they are dominated by their contents, not by their emphatic poetic diction in the service of some more general pronouncement. Unlike Yao, Shun never appears as a charismatic speaker or personality. Yao and Shun as Competing Models of Kingship There are other differences between the two sections of “Yao dian.” As noted above, Yao embraces the principle of meritocratic succession and appoints

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Shun as his successor while rejecting his own son. Across a range of Warring States and early Han texts, Shun is likewise portrayed as having appointed Yu 禹 as his successor, once again elevating meritocratic over hereditary rulership—an idea gravely at odds with both Zhou and imperial rule. Yet “Yao dian”—the very text that stands at the core of the Shun legend—does not make this claim at all. In fact, it never touches on Shun’s succession; Shun never retires from the throne, never speaks of handing over his government, and merely appoints Yu as one functionary among others.70 Considering the significance of the topic of abdication, this difference between the first and the second half of “Yao dian” may not be accidental. If “Yao dian”—or at least its second half, “Shun dian” of the ancient-text version—dates to late Warring States or early imperial times, it cannot have been authored and transmitted in complete isolation from, and ignorance of, the entire range of texts that portray Shun as the second great champion of abdication and meritocratic succession.71 If the authors of the text decided to leave aside this central element of Shun’s legend, it was probably on the grounds of a particular ideological agenda—an agenda that was compatible with the ideology of the early empire. Shun was a model to follow and a spirit to address with the wang sacrifice. Yao was not. Or put in different terms: Shun adheres to the imperial perspective on rulership in ways that Yao does not. In Western Han political philosophy, the reference to Yao created a profound dilemma: while in Dong Zhongshu’s 董仲 舒 (ca. 195–ca. 115 BCE) model of dynastic succession according to cosmological cycles, the Western Han could claim Yao as its typological prefiguration and derive its right to rule from him, an appeal to Yao’s model of abdication in favor of a new sage unrelated by blood was tantamount to treason. When, after the appearance of a series of strange portents in 78 BCE, the court scholar Sui Hong 睢弘 suggested that the Han dynasty had run its cosmological course and was now destined to follow Yao’s model of abdication, he was charged with rebellion and put to death.72 70 71

72

Sun Xingyan 1986: vol. 1, 61–63. The prevalence of the theme of abdication and its application to both Yao and Shun have been archeologically confirmed by the bamboo manuscript “Tang Yu zhi dao” 唐虞之道 found at Guodian 郭店, Hubei. For the text, see Jingmenshi bowuguan 1998: 39–41, 157– 159. For a translation and discussion, see Allan 2006. For further analysis, see the excellent study by Pines (2005, with extensive references to Chinese scholarship). In addition, the bamboo manuscripts “Zi Gao” 子羔 and especially “Rong cheng shi” 容成氏 in the Shanghai Museum corpus discuss the issue of abdication; see Pines 2005, 2010, again with a wealth of references. Hanshu 75.3153–3154. See Arbuckle 1995: 588–589; Sukhu 2005–2006: 103–106.

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After Sui Hong, the next figure to identify the Western Han with Yao in order to present Yao’s abdication to Shun as a historical model was none other than Wang Mang 王莽 (ca. 45 BCE–23 CE). When governing as the de facto ruler— before putting an end to the Western Han by proclaiming his new Xin 新 dynasty and himself its founding emperor—Wang had asserted repeatedly that he was occupying the position of the Duke of Zhou (周公之位), that is, of the regent who protected the dynasty at the time of an infant emperor.73 Yet when Wang was on the verge of establishing himself officially as emperor, he reversed his purported identity: now he declared himself the “descendant of Emperor Yu [= Shun]” (虞帝之苗裔) who ruled because the spirit of the Han founding emperor, Han Gaozu 漢高祖 (r. 202–195 BCE), had abdicated his dynasty in Wang’s favor.74 After assuming the throne, Wang continued to invoke the abdication to him, the new Shun, on various occasions not only in speech but also in ritual and administrative activities where he imitated the purported government structure of Shun’s reign, enshrined Shun in the imperial ancestral temple as his ancestor, and, in the hour of his death, carried Shun’s ceremonial knife.75 In short, the one person at the late Western Han imperial court who could invoke Yao’s abdication to Shun as a political model was the man who ended the existing dynasty to set up his own. To all others, the historical example of Yao’s abdication was fraught with ambiguity and peril. Nevertheless, and regardless of the core problem of abdication, the overall vision of Yao as presented in “Yao dian” was acceptable to Han thinkers because it represented a historical time of kingship before the organization of an actual state. Yao was both charismatic and archaic; his refusal to follow his advisers evinced a political structure that was at best incipient, and his principal task at the dawn of history was to harmonize the primordial state of humanity with the course of nature. Shun, by contrast, was the ruler not merely of the next historical period but of a radically different stage in the development of human social, legal, and political organization. Shun appoints a set of administrators all with specific tasks; the result is a catalog of functionaries to run a system of government. This system is characterized by a number of features. First, it has no place for the ruler’s individuality; unlike Yao, Shun operates as the head of a functioning order. 73 74 75

See the various passages in Hanshu 99A. Hanshu 99A.4095. See also Sukhu 2005–2006: 120–124. For the complete genealogical construction, see Hanshu 98.4013. See Hanshu 99B.4105–4108, 4111, 4131, 4144; 99C.4162, 4174, 4190. For a full account of Wang Mang’s claim to be Shun’s descendant, see the excellent study by Michael Loewe (1994).

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Second, it is particularized, regulated, and comprehensive, as seen not only in the unification of weights, measures, and rituals but also in its dealings with the different types of criminals, their punishments, and their places of exile. Third, it reveals a strong sense of order, manifest in the continuous use of numerological organization. Fourth, it is connected to a pantheon of cosmic spirits whose support is regarded as essential to the stability of the state. This stability is guaranteed not by a single deity such as Heaven; instead, it rests on a network of local spirits across the vast physical realm of the empire that could now, as an expression of his territorial sovereignty, be addressed by a cosmic ruler. This, as opposed to appeals to the single deity of Heaven, is also characteristic of Qin and early Han rule.76 Fifth, the appointments handed out by the emperor are invariably successful; the few cases where an appointee attempts to refuse are entirely formulaic, and they are immediately resolved by the emperor’s unquestioned command. Remarkably, this overall representation of Shun matches exactly how his successor Yu is portrayed in the long “Yu gong” 禹貢 chapter of the Shangshu, where the name Yu appears exactly twice: in the very first sentence and in the very last: “Yu laid out the land” (禹敷土) and “Yu presented [or: was presented with] the dark scepter to announce that his work was accomplished” (禹錫玄 圭告厥成功). Everything in between is a completely impersonal and totalizing account of the systematic organization of the realm that is merely initiated by the emperor but that otherwise just seems to fall into place.77 The features of Shun’s (and Yu’s) system of government are eminently compatible with, and quite possibly a reflection of, the political ideology in the service of the Qin and early Han imperial court. What is more, “Yao dian” does not merely describe the ancient rulers—through the very nature of the text, it stages them rhetorically. This is reflected in the different types of speeches attributed to Yao and Shun and even more profoundly in how Shun’s rule is depicted: for the most part, the emperor is never present or even mentioned. What has traditionally been read as a narrative with Shun as the implied subject is a largely subjectless text par excellence—a text that does not distinguish between the actions of the ruler and the successful workings of the anonymous bureaucratic state. Monarchs like the Qin First Emperor or Emperor Wu of the Han could not have failed to realize how much the representation of Shun was also their own. Thus, while a host of other early texts make us see Yao and Shun as the two primordial sages standing for the same political ideals of antiquity, “Yao dian” 76 77

See Loewe 2004: 421–440. See Legge 1991: 93–150.

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sharply differs in their representation, most prominently with regard to the question of imperial succession. No learned man of the Qin and Han would have missed this point, which may once again confirm the unique status of the Shangshu as a truly imperial text—monopolized, edited, and possibly in parts written or rewritten at the imperial courts of the Qin and Han.78 One may wonder how to interpret the striking differences in the representations of the two mythological emperors. One way to understand “Yao dian” (including “Shun dian”) is to take the two emperors as two types of rulers—or, rather, as personifications of two different types of rulership: here the archaic persona of the charismatic emperor who sings of antiquity, there the more recent and largely invisible technocrat who creates, as part of his comprehensive order, the very system of music in which singing has its place. To push this one step further, Yao and Shun may have been viewed not just as two different types after which a monarch could model himself. Instead, Yao and Shun could have been understood as representing two complementary aspects of imperial rule that could be alternately actualized according to the situation. In fact, at least for the Qin and early Western Han, we find not only accounts of bureaucratic government (i.e., Shun’s model) but also representations of charismatic leadership (Yao’s model). This includes a number of political heroes and emperors who on occasion burst into impromptu song performances, including Xiang Yu 項羽 (232–202 BCE) and Liu Bang 劉邦 (Han Emperor Gaozu).79 In positive terms, such a list would also include Emperor Wen 漢文帝 (r. 180–157 BCE) with his emotional deathbed edict expressing his care for the people;80 in pejorative terms, the figure of the charismatic revolutionary would include first and foremost the Qin First Emperor, whose erratic megalomania and random acts of violence are juxtaposed to the solemn texts of his mountain inscriptions in Sima Qian’s 司馬遷 (ca. 145–ca. 85 BCE) Shiji.81 Strictly speaking, in the early historical imagination, both the Qin First Emperor and Emperor Wu of the Han appear as monarchs of, at once,

78

79 80 81

Chen Mengjia 1985: 135–136, 144–146; Jiang Shanguo 1988: 28; Kanaya 1992: 236–240; Kern 2000b: 183–196. Thus, Wang Chong 王充 (27–ca. 100) was only half right when praising the stele inscriptions erected by the Qin First Emperor: “Those who contemplate and recite them see the beauty of Yao and Shun” (觀讀之者，見堯、舜之美); see Huang Hui 1990: 20.855. For the early Chinese historiographic function and rhetoric of song in the depiction of tragic heroism, see Kern 2004. Hanshu 4.131–132. See Kern 2000b: 154–163.

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charisma and bureaucratic legalism: fearsome, idiosyncratic authoritarians who also run a ruthless state machinery.82 Yet another way to look at the different representations of Yao and Shun in the Shangshu is to take the account of Shun as a response to that of Yao—that is, to read the account of Yao as merely leading up to that of Shun. In this reading, the new rulership of Shun truly effaces the old one of Yao, replacing the ideal of archaic rule from the onset of history—a history initiated by Yao— with the new ideal of a cosmic ruler who commands a well-functioning state. There are some indications that this political effacement of Yao is indeed what happened in the minds of the Erudites who studied, edited, and controlled the Shangshu at the imperial court.83 First, for unexplained reasons the modernscript version contains under the header “Yu Xia shu” 虞夏書 (“The Yu and Xia Documents”) the first four chapters: “Yao dian,” “Gao Yao mo,” “Yu gong” 禹貢, and “Gan shi” 甘誓; by contrast, the ancient-text version assigns the title “Tang shu” 唐書 to the account of Yao. As the terms “Tang shu,” “Yu shu” 虞書, and “Xia shu” 夏書 refer to the dynastic designations of Yao, Shun, and Yu, respectively, the modern-script version does not regard Yao to have constituted a dynasty of his own but includes him under Shun’s dynasty of Yu 虞.84 In this, however, the modern-script version may not reflect the Shangshu transmitted by Scholar Fu in Qin and early Western Han times: the received text of his Shangshu dazhuan 尚書大傳—reconstituted by Qing dynasty scholars— treats “Yao dian” (including “Shun dian” of the ancient text) under the rubric “Tang zhuan” 唐傳,85 and no text before the Eastern Han appears to refer to the 82

83

84 85

Seen from a different angle, the tensions between their personal ambition (including their purported desire for personal immortality) and their governmental actions display “the king’s two bodies”—the “body natural” and the “body politic”—described in Ernst H. Kantorowicz’s classic study (1957) of medieval European sovereignty. Note that the copies of the classics in the hands of the court Erudites were exempted from the infamous bibliocaust in 213 BCE, and that the Shangshu was transmitted into the Han by the Qin court scholar Fu 伏 (only later known as Fu Sheng 伏勝, as shown in Cai 2011). See Kern 2000b: 184–194 (with further references). For “Yao dian” as part of “Yu shu,” see Chen Mengjia 1985: 90–91. See Shangshu dazhuan 1B.1a–10a. Griet Vankeerberghen (personal communication, July 2016) suggests that the passage here goes back to Wang Yinglin’s 王應麟 (1223–1296) Kunxue jiwen 困學紀聞 2.4b: “Since the [Shangshu] dazhuan discusses the ‘Yao dian’ under ‘Tang zhuan,’ Scholar Fu did not consider [“Yao dian” part of] ‘Yu shu’” (大傳說堯 典謂之唐傳，則伏生不以是為虞書). Wang evidently wrote on the basis of an early Shangshu dazhuan edition available to him (while our reconstituted text dates many centuries later); if Wang’s (lost) edition can be trusted, then we may conclude—against the transmitted modern-script Shangshu—that in the early Western Han, “Yao dian” was still part of a “Tang shu” and only later, post–Wang Mang, was shifted to the “Yu shu” section.

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“Yao dian” proper as “Yu shu.” In other words, the subjugation of “Yao dian” under Shun’s dynasty may be a distinct Eastern Han phenomenon, as seen, for example, in the Shuowen jiezi 說文解字.86 Second, it appears that in early imperial texts, direct references to Shun’s account (i.e., “Shun dian” of the ancient-text version) outnumber those to Yao’s account (“Yao dian” without the “Shun dian” part) by roughly two to one.87 While this is not an entirely accurate measure of the relative importance accorded to Yao and Shun, it does suggest a general tendency of early imperial writers to pay considerably more attention to Shun’s rule than to Yao’s—not because they necessarily shared the imperial vision of rulership but because that vision had been propagated by the Qin and Han courts. It would go far beyond the scope of the present essay to examine in detail how each and every Qin and Han source refers to Yao and Shun. However, any such attempt to understand early imperial views concerning the two primordial sages would have to begin with their remarkably different representations in the text that stands at the very center of their legends, the Shangshu. For now, I would hypothesize that it may have been precisely its status as a courtsponsored and court-controlled classic that separated the Shangshu from other representations of Yao and Shun (especially with regard to the all-important issue of abdication), and that much early imperial writing and debate outside the court might have responded, in one way or another, to the imperial vision advanced by “official learning” (guanxue 官學). The imperial vision of rulership as idealized in the “Yao dian” account of Shun may not have resonated well with those intellectuals who wrote, taught, and debated at a critical distance to the court—and who were the true victims of imperial persecution not only in 213 BCE (by the Qin First Emperor) but then once again in 136 BCE (by the Han emperor Wu).88 At the same time, the imperial view of rulership, with the emperor in the role not of an autocrat but of a largely impersonal government function, reflected the interests of the official court scholars. The idealization of an emperor who delegated much of his power, followed the advice of his subordinates, and abstained from personal activism driven by his own convictions was precisely in the interest of the learned men who governed the state—and who could point to the model of Shun very effectively when asking their ruler for personal restraint. To praise one’s emperor as a sage always imposed on him 86 87 88

See Chan Hung Kan and Ho Che Wah 2003: 1–16; Liu Qiyu 2007: 156–158. Of eighteen Shuowen quotations listed there, sixteen include the reference “Yu shu.” Chan Hung Kan and Ho Che Wah 2003: 1–47. As argued in Kern 2000b: 190–191.

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the obligation to emulate the ancient model—that is, the very sage whose image had been created by the classical scholars serving in office. To this end, abandoning the idea of abdication and supporting a hereditary dynasty not only was a small price to pay but also helped to sustain the political stability that guaranteed the constant reproduction of the scholarly elite at court. Unsurprisingly, the two most activist and idiosyncratic rulers of the early empire—who also boasted the most monumental accomplishments—ended up with a decidedly negative press in the historical records, written by the scholars: the Qin First Emperor and Emperor Wu of the Han. Across the table, the court scholars who tended so well to their own interests in drawing up and perpetuating images of sagely governance were the salaried ru 儒, the group conventionally called “Confucians” in English. References Allan, Sarah. 1981. The Heir and the Sage: Dynastic Legend in Early China. San Francisco: Chinese Materials Center. Allan, Sarah. 1991. The Shape of the Turtle: Myth, Art, and Cosmos in Early China. Albany: State University of New York Press. Allan, Sarah. 2006. “The Way of Tang Yao and Yu Shun.” In Rethinking Confucianism: Selected Papers from the Third International Conference on Excavated Chinese Manuscripts, Mount Holyoke College, April 2004, ed. Wen Xing, 22–46. San Antonio, TX: Trinity University. Allan, Sarah. 2015. Buried Ideas: Legends of Abdication and Ideal Government in Early Chinese Bamboo-Slip Manuscripts. Albany: State University of New York Press. Arbuckle, Gary. 1995. “Inevitable Treason: Dong Zhongshu’s Theory of Historical Cycles and Early Attempts to Invalidate the Han Mandate.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 115: 585–597. Bilsky, Lester James. 1975. The State Religion of Ancient China. Taipei: Chinese Association for Folklore. Boltz, William G. 1981. “Kung kung and the Flood: Reverse Euhemerism in the ‘Yao tien.’” T’oung Pao 67: 141–153. Bujard, Marianne. 2000. Le sacrifice au Ciel dans la Chine ancienne: Théorie et pratique sous les Han occidentaux. Paris: École française d’Extrême-Orient. Cai, Liang. 2011. “Excavating the Genealogy of Classical Studies in the Western Han Dynasty (206 B.C.E.–8 C.E.).” Journal of the American Oriental Society 131: 371–394. Cao Lüning 曹旅寧. 2006. “Zhangjiashan Han lü shuxing kaobian” 張家山漢律贖刑 考辨. Huanan Shifan Daxue xuebao (shehui kexueban) 華南師範大學學報 (社會科 學版) 2006.1: 90–102.

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Chan Hung Kan 陳雄根 and Ho Che Wah 何志華. 2003. Citations from the “Shangshu” to Be Found in Pre-Han and Han Texts [Xian-Qin liang Han dianji yin “Shangshu” ziliao huibian 先秦兩漢典籍引《尚書》資料彙編]. Hong Kong: Chinese University Press. Chen Mengjia 陳夢家. 1985. Shangshu tonglun 尚書通論. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Creel, Herlee G. 1974. Shen Pu-hai: A Chinese Political Philosopher of the Fourth Century B.C. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Delaney, John J. 1980. Dictionary of Saints. Westminster: Doubleday. Duan Yucai 段玉裁. 1988. Shuowen jiezi zhu 說文解字注. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Feng Qiyong 馮其庸 and Deng Ansheng 鄧安生. 2006. Tongjiazi huishi 通假字彙釋. Beijing: Beijing Daxue chubanshe. Goldin, Paul R. 2005. After Confucius: Studies in Early Chinese Philosophy. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press. Goldin, Paul R. 2013. “Introduction: Han Fei and the Han Feizi.” In Dao Companion to the Philosophy of Han Fei, ed. Paul R. Goldin, 1–21. Dordrecht, Netherlands: Springer. Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛. 1932. Shangshu yanjiu jiangyi 尚書研究講義. N.p. Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 and Liu Qiyu 劉起釪. 2005. Shangshu jiaoshi yilun 尚書校釋譯論. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Hanshu 漢書. 1987. By Ban Gu 班固 (32–92). Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Hanyu dazidian 漢語大字典. 1986. Chengdu: Sichuan cishu chubanshe. Holladay, Edmund Burke. 1967. “State Sacrifices in the Former Han Dynasty according to the Official Histories.” PhD diss., University of California, Berkeley. Huang Huaixin 黃懷信. 2007. Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu 逸周書彙校集注. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Huang Hui 黃暉. 1990. Lunheng jiaoshi 論衡校釋. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Jiang Shanguo 蔣善國. 1988. Shangshu zongshu 尚書綜述. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Jiang Yougao 江有誥. 1993. Yunxue shishu 韻學十書. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Jingmenshi bowuguan 荊門市博物館. 1998. Guodian Chu mu zhujian 郭店楚墓竹簡. Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe. Jinshu 晉書. 1987. By Fang Xuanling 房玄齡 (578–648) et al. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Kalinowski, Marc. 2004. “Fonctionnalité calendaire dans les cosmogonies anciennes de la Chine.” Études chinoises 23: 87–122. Kanaya Osamu 金谷治. 1992. Shin Kan shisōshi kenkyū 秦漢思想史研究. Kyoto: Heirakuji shoten. Kantorowicz, Ernst H. 1957. The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Mediaeval Political Theology. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1946. “Legends and Cults in Ancient China.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 18: 199–365. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1950. The Book of Documents. Göteborg: Elanders Boktryckeri Aktiebolag.

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Karlgren, Bernhard. 1964. Glosses on the “Book of Odes.” Göteborg: Elanders Boktryckeri Aktiebolag. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1970. Glosses on the “Book of Documents.” Göteborg: Elanders Boktryckeri Aktiebolag. Kern, Martin. 1997. Die Hymnen der chinesischen Staatsopfer: Literatur und Ritual in der politischen Repräsentation von der Han-Zeit bis zu den Sechs Dynastien. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Kern, Martin. 2000a. “Shi jing Songs as Performance Texts: A Case Study of ‘Chu ci’ (‘Thorny Caltrop’).” Early China 25: 49–111. Kern, Martin. 2000b. The Stele Inscriptions of Ch’in Shih-huang: Text and Ritual in Early Chinese Imperial Representation. New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society. Kern, Martin. 2002. “Methodological Reflections on the Analysis of Textual Variants and the Modes of Manuscript Production in Early China.” Journal of East Asian Archaeology 4.1–4: 143–181. Kern, Martin. 2003. “Western Han Aesthetics and the Genesis of the Fu.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 63: 383–437. Kern, Martin. 2004. “The Poetry of Han Historiography.” Early Medieval China 10–11.1: 23–65. Kern, Martin. 2005. “The Odes in Excavated Manuscripts.” In Text and Ritual in Early China, ed. Martin Kern, 149–193. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Kern, Martin. 2009. “Bronze Inscriptions, the Shangshu, and the Shijing: The Evolution of the Ancestral Sacrifice during the Western Zhou.” In Early Chinese Religion, pt. 1, Shang through Han (1250 BC to 220 AD), ed. John Lagerwey and Marc Kalinowski, 143–200. Leiden: Brill. Legge, James. 1991. The Chinese Classics. Vol. 3, The Shoo King. Taipei: SMC. Liu Qiyu 劉起釪. 2007. Shangshu yanjiu yaolun 尚書研究要論. Jinan: Qi Lu shushe. Loewe, Michael. 1994. “Wang Mang and His Forebears: The Making of Myth.” T’oung Pao 80.4–5: 197–222. Loewe, Michael. 2004. The Men Who Governed Han China: Companion to “A Biographical Dictionary of the Qin, Former Han and Xin Periods.” Leiden: Brill. Long Yuchun 龍宇純. 1962–1963. “Xian-Qin sanwen zhong de yunwen” 先秦散文中的 韻文. Chongji xuebao 崇基學報 2.2 and 3.1. Long Yuchun 龍宇純. 2009. Sizhu xuan xiaoxue lunji 絲竹軒小學論集. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Makeham, John. 1990–1991. “The Legalist Concept of Hsing-ming: An Example of the Contribution of Archaeological Evidence to the Re-interpretation of Transmitted Texts.” Monumenta Serica 39: 87–114. Makeham, John. 1994. Name and Actuality in Early Chinese Thought. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994. Maspero, Henri. 1924. “Légendes mythologiques dans le Chou King.” Journal asiatique 204: 1–100.

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Owen, Stephen. 1986. Remembrances: The Experience of the Past in Classical Chinese Literature. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Owen, Stephen. 2001. “Reproduction in the Shijing (Classic of Poetry).” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 61: 287–315. Pi Xirui 皮錫瑞. 2004. Jinwen Shangshu kaozheng 今文尚書考證. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Pines, Yuri. 2005. “Disputers of Abdication: Zhanguo Egalitarianism and the Sovereign’s Power.” T’oung Pao 91: 243–300. Pines, Yuri. 2010. “Political Mythology and Dynastic Legitimacy in the Rong Cheng shi Manuscript.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 73: 503–529. Pokora, Timoteus. 1975. Hsin-lun (New Treatise) and Other Writings by Huan T’an (43 B.C.–28 A.D.). Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan. Qu Wanli 屈萬里. 1977. Shangshu jinzhu jinyi 尚書今註今譯. Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu yinshuguan. Schaberg, David. 1996. “Foundations of Chinese Historiography: Literary Representation in Zuo zhuan and Guoyu.” PhD diss., Harvard University. Shangshu dazhuan 尚書大傳. Sibu congkan edition, first series. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1993. “Shang shu 尚書 (Shu jing 書經).” In Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide, ed. Michael Loewe, 376–389. Berkeley: Society for the Study of Early China and Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley. Shiji 史記. 1987. By Sima Qian 司馬遷 (ca. 145–ca. 85 BCE). Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Shisan jing zhushu fu jiaokanji 十三經注疏附校勘記. (1815) 1977. By Ruan Yuan 阮元 (1764–1849). Taipei: Dahua shuju. Sueyasu Ando 陶安あんど [Arnd Helmut Hafner]. 2009. Shin Kan keibatsu taikei no kenkyū 秦漢刑法體系の研究. Tokyo: Research Institute for Languages and Cultures of Asia and Africa, Tokyo University of Foreign Studies. Sukhu, Gopal. 2005–2006. “Yao, Shun, and Prefiguration: The Origins and Ideology of the Han Imperial Ideology.” Early China 30: 91–153. Sun Xingyan 孫星衍. 1986. Shangshu jinguwen zhushu 尚書今古文注疏. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Tan Jiajian 譚家健. 1995. “Xian-Qin yunwen chutan” 先秦韻文初探. Wenxue yichan 文 學遺產 1995.1: 12–19. Wang Pinzhen 王聘珍. 1983. Da Dai liji jiegu 大戴禮記解詁. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Wang Yinglin 王應麟 (1223–1296). Kunxue jiwen 困學紀聞. Sibu congkan edition, third series. Weber, Max 1978. Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretative Sociology. Ed. Guenther Roth and Claus Wittich. Berkeley: University of California Press. Wu Zhenyu 武振玉. 2010. Liang Zhou jinwen xuci yanjiu 兩周金文虛詞研究. Beijing: Xianzhuang shuju.

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Yang Bojun 楊伯峻 1993. Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhu 春秋左傳注. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Zhang Jinguang 張金光. 2004. Qin zhi yanjiu 秦制研究. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Zhu Honglin 朱紅林. 2007. “Zhujian Qin Han lü zhong de ‘shuzui’ yu ‘shuxing’” 竹簡秦 漢律中的 “贖罪” 與 “贖刑.” Shixue yuekan 史學月刊 2007.5: 16–20.

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Chapter 2

Competing Voices in the Shangshu Kai Vogelsang The present chapter analyzes the composition of three Shangshu 尚書 chapters—“Gao Yao mo” 皋陶謨, “Yao dian” 堯典, and “Lüxing” 呂刑 —which are among the most important and most puzzling chapters within the Shangshu.1 The meaning of single characters, phrases, names, titles, and concepts and the punctuation of sentences in all three chapters have been discussed over and over, and there is little point in adding another trifle to this awesome corpus of scholarship.2 Instead, I focus on an aspect that has been largely neglected by traditional and modern commentators—namely, the integrity of these texts.3 Traditional commentaries, by their very nature, have emphasized the coherence of Shangshu chapters, rendering the meaning of phrases and sentences intelligible and arguing for the consistency of larger textual units.4 Rather than following this synthetic approach, I put forth an analytical argument, pointing to inconsistencies within all three chapters. Starting with a detailed analysis of “Gao Yao mo,” I argue that this chapter consists of conflicting parts that appear to be in outright opposition to one another. I then go on to suggest that similar patterns may be detected in “Yao dian” and “Lüxing.” Finally, I discuss the question of what consequences these observations may have for the study of the Shangshu as a whole.

1 Throughout, comparison to Martin Kern’s essay on “Yao dian” (chapter 1 in this volume) is suggested, which by other methods arrives at much the same conclusions as my essay. 2 The summa of this scholarship is perhaps represented by the four volumes of Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005. 3 Questions concerning textual integrity and methods of analysis have been extensively discussed in biblical studies; for a succinct introduction to the field, see Steck 1998: esp. 47–61. 4 Indeed, traditional commentaries go so far as to claim coherence for the entire Shangshu and even “a single, coherent message underlying all Five Classics” (Nylan 2001: 8). This view is not particular to the “Confucian” canon; in fact, the very concept of a canon “is the principle of a new form of cultural coherence” (Assmann 1999: 127) and one of the “most common commentarial assumption[s] regarding the character of canons in most traditions is that they are well ordered and coherent, arranged according to some logical, cosmological, or pedagogical principles” (Henderson 1991: 106).

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2017 | doi 10.1163/9789004343504_004

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“Gao Yao mo” “Gao Yao mo” is the second chapter in the jinwen 今文 (modern-script) recension of the Shangshu, following “Yao dian.”5 Indeed, “Gao Yao mo” is in many ways parallel to “Yao dian”: (1) it has many exact parallels with the latter, starting with the first sentence, yue ruo ji gu 曰若稽古; (2) it shares some exclamations with the latter that are unique to these chapters, namely, yu 俞 and du 都; (3) both “Yao dian” and “Gao Yao mo” have curious textual histories, being made up of two distinct parts: in the case of “Gao Yao mo,” this is the “Gao Yao mo” proper (henceforth A) and “Yi ji” 益稷 (henceforth B). While in the ancient-script recension, these appear as separate chapters, they are integrated as a single “Gao Yao mo” in the modern-script recension. Therefore, it has been assumed that these parts indeed belong together organically.6 However, a closer look at “Gao Yao mo” reveals breaks and inconsistencies. There seems to be no connection between short speeches that follow one another, prose alternates with rhymed passages, lists and songs interfere with narrative passages, new speakers, themes, and concepts appear abruptly, and some passages seem to be outright contradictory. In order to get a detailed impression of the chapter’s structure, it is helpful to first divide it into smaller literary units, which may be done as follows:7 A1 A2 A3 (a)8 A4

Speech by Gao Yao about following virtue; question by Yu. Speech by Gao Yao about caring for oneself and for one’s family; acknowledged by Yu. Speech by Gao Yao about knowing men and giving peace to the people; answer by Yu. Rhetorically styled passage about knowing men, governing, and giving peace to the people. Speech by Gao Yao about the nine virtues; question by Yu.

5 “Da Yu mo” 大禹謨, which follows “Yao dian” and “Shun dian” in the ancient-script recension, has been convincingly shown to be a product of later times (see Yan Ruoqu 2010); it will therefore not be discussed here. 6 See Jiang Shanguo 1988: 32–33, citing Lü Zuqian, Gu Yanwu, Yan Ruoqu, and Hui Dong, who all agree on this issue. 7 The Chinese text follows the edition by Pi Xirui (1998), Jinwen Shangshu kaozheng 今文尚書 考証. For reference purposes, the translation by Karlgren 1950 (with transliteration modified, parenthetical remarks omitted, and spelling adjusted to American English) is given in table 2.1. The same applies to “Yao dian” and “Lü xing” (tables 2.2 and 2.3), discussed below. 8 Passages I consider subsequent additions are marked with lowercase letters; see below for their discussion.

64 (b) A4 (cont.) A5 (c) A6 B1 (d) B2 (e) B3 (f) (g) (h) B4 (i)

Vogelsang

List of nine virtues, trisyllabic meter. Rhetorically styled passage about virtues and officials. Instruction about idleness and personnel management. Rhetorically styled passage about the powers of Heaven, the cosmology of the five elements, and the association of Heaven and the people. Concluding dialogue between Gao Yao and Yu. An “emperor”9 addresses Yu; Yu responds; question by Gao Yao. Speech by Yu, recounting his feats in battling the floods, which Gao Yao acknowledges. Dialogue between Yu and the “emperor” about filling one’s position; partially rhymed. Speech by the “emperor,” outlining a cosmology. Speech by Yu about the duties of the emperor’s subjects, mostly tetrasyllabic, partially rhymed. Speech recounting the deeds of Yu; acknowledged by the “emperor.” Statement about Gao Yao’s deeds. Speech by Kui about music. Report about the “emperor” making a song. Songs by the emperor and Gao Yao, tetrasyllabic and rhymed; concluding remark by the emperor.

Before going into a more detailed analysis, I wish to point out the obvious ­parallels in the structure of parts A and B in “Gao Yao mo.” A1 has Gao Yao making a short statement and Yu responding, “Yes, but how?” (俞，如何); and B1 mirrors this: Yu makes the statement and Gao Yao says, “Ah, but how?” (吁，如 何). Then in A2 Gao Yao makes a slightly longer statement, whereupon Yu bows to the splendid words and says, “Yes” (俞). Similarly, in (d) and B2, Yu expands on his statement, whereupon Gao Yao says, “Yes, we shall take as norm your splendid words” (俞，師汝昌言), and the “emperor” says, “Yes” (俞). After that the parallels are not as exact, but Gao Yao’s speeches dominate the rest of part A just like Yu’s and the emperor’s do in part B. By and large, then, part B seems to mirror the structure of part A. However, a closer look reveals that there are a number of striking differences in vocabulary between these two parts. These would seem to suggest 9 It is not clear who is meant: presumably Shun, Yu’s predecessor on the throne, but the name never appears. Nor is the translation of di 帝 as “emperor” beyond dispute: as the title of a ruler, it is not older than the third century BCE (first mentioned in 288 BCE, Shiji 15.739).

Competing Voices in the Shangshu Table 2.1

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“Gao Yao mo” 皋陶謨 (trans. Karlgren 1950)

A1 曰若稽古，皋陶曰：「允迪厥德， 謨明弼諧。」禹曰：「俞，如何？」 Examining into antiquity [we find that] Gao Yao said: “If [the ruler] sincerely pursues the course of his virtue, the counsel [offered] will be enlightened and the aid [given] will be harmonious.” Yu said: “Yes, but how?”

B1 帝曰：「來，禹，汝亦昌言。」禹拜曰： 「都，帝，予何言！予思日孜孜。」皋陶曰： 「吁，如何？」 The emperor said: “Come, Yu you also [have] splendid words.” Yu did obeisance and said: “Oh, emperor, what [can] I say? I think of daily being diligent.” Gao Yao said: “Ah, but how?” (d) 禹曰：「洪水滔天，浩浩懷山襄陵；下民昏 墊。予乘四載，隨山刊木。暨益奏庶鮮食。予決九 川，距四海，濬畎澮距川。暨稷播奏庶艱食。鮮 食，懋遷有無化居。烝民乃粒，萬邦作乂。」皋陶 曰：「俞，師汝昌言。」

A2 皋陶曰：「都，慎厥身，修思永， 惇敘九族，庶明勵翼，邇可遠在茲。」 禹拜昌言，曰：「俞。」 Gao Yao said: “Oh, he should be careful about his person, the cultivation [of it] should be perpetual. If he amply regulates his nine family branches, all the enlight­ened ones will energetically assist him; [the fact] that what is near can be

Yu said: “The great waters swelled up to Heaven, vastly they embraced the mountains and rose above the hills, the lower people were killed and submerged. I mounted my four [kinds of] conveyances, and all along the mountains I cut down the trees. Together with Yi, I gave to the multitudes the fresh-[meat] foods. I cut passages for the nine rivers and brought them to the seas; I deepened the channels and canals and brought them to the rivers. Together with Ji, I sowed and gave to the multitudes the hard-gotten foods and the fresh[-meat] foods. I exchanged and transferred those who had and those who had not any hoards of stores. The multitudinous people then had grain-food. The myriad states have become well-ordered.” Gao Yao said: “Yes, we shall take as norm your splendid words.” B2 禹曰：「都，帝，慎乃在位。」帝曰：「俞。 」禹曰：「安汝止。惟幾惟康，其弼直，惟動丕 應。徯志以昭受上帝，天其申命用休。」帝曰： 「吁，臣哉，鄰哉。鄰哉，臣哉。」禹曰： 「俞！」

Yu said: “Oh, emperor, be careful about your being in the [high] position.” The emperor said: “Yes.” Yu said: “Be quiet in the position which you occupy, if you attend to the smallest beginnings, you will have

66 Table 2.1

Vogelsang “Gao Yao mo” 皋陶謨 (trans. Karlgren 1950) (cont.)

caused to reach far lies in this.” Yu did reverence to the splendid words and said: “Yes.”

A3 皋陶曰：「都，在知人，在安民。 」禹曰：「吁，咸若時，惟帝其難之。 」 Gao Yao said: “Oh, it lies in knowing men, it lies in giving peace to the people.” Yu said: “Alas, that both [these things] are as they should be, even the emperor finds it difficult [to bring about].”

peace. Your assistants should be virtuous, if you act [through them], there will be a grand response. They will wait for your will, and so it will be manifest that you have received [your mandate] from God on High. Heaven will renew its mandate and apply blessings.” The emperor said: “Oh, ministers, associates! Associates, ministers!” Yu said: “Yes.” (e) 帝曰：「臣作朕股肱耳目。予欲左右有民，汝 翼。予欲宣力四方，汝為。予欲觀古人之象，日月 星辰，山龍、華蟲、作會宗彝、藻、火、粉米黼黻 絺繡。以五采彰施于五色作服，汝明。予欲聞六 律、五聲、八音、在治，忽以出納五言，汝聽。予 違，汝弼。汝無面從，退有後言。欽四鄰。庶頑讒 說，若不在時，侯以明之，撻以記之，書用識哉， 欲並生哉。工以納言，時而颺之；格則承之庸之， 否則威之。」

The emperor said: “My ministers are my legs and arms, ears and eyes. I desire to succor my people, do you assist [me]! I desire to spread my powers through the four quarters, do you act [for me]! I desire to see the symbols of the ancient men. Sun, moon, stars, mountain, dragon, flowery animal, those are made and combined on the ancestraltemple vases; waterplant, fire, peeled grain, rice, white-and-black figure [axe], black-and-blue figure, five-color embroidery on fine dolichos cloth, with five pigments applied into five colors, those are made on the garments; do you distinguish them! I want to hear the 6 pitch-pipes, the 5 notes, the sounds of the 8 kinds of instruments, and the 7 primary tones, sung in order to bring out and bring back the 5 [kinds of] words [to the music]; do you listen! When I err, you shall assistingly correct me; you shall not to my face accord with me, and, having retired, have [other] words afterwards. Be reverent, you four associates! All the stupid ones

Competing Voices in the Shangshu

(a) 知人則哲，能官人；安民則惠，黎 民懷之。能哲而惠，何憂乎驩兜，何遷 乎有苗，何畏乎巧言令色孔壬？

If [the ruler] knows men, he is wise, and he can nominate [proper] men for office; if he gives peace to the people, he is kind; the numerous people cherish him in their hearts. If he can be wise and kind, what anxiety [need there be] in regard to Huan Dou, what displacement [need there be] in regard to the lord of Miao, what fear [need there be] in regard to smart talk, a fine appearance and great artfulness?

67

and calumniating talkers, if they do not abide in those [principles], by the target one reveals them, by the scourge one imprints it on their memory, by the documents one records it; one wishes to keep them alive along with [the rest]. Through the officials, reports are brought in [about them]; if they are good, one promotes them; if they come, one receives them and employs them, if not, one overawes them.” B3 禹曰：「俞哉，帝光天之下，至于海隅蒼生， 萬邦黎獻，共惟帝臣。惟帝時舉，敷納以言，明 庶以功，車服以庸。誰敢不讓，敢不敬應？帝不 時，敷同日奏罔功。」「無若丹朱傲，惟慢遊是 好，傲虐是作，罔晝夜頟頟；罔水行舟，朋淫于 家，用殄厥世。

A4 皋陶曰：「都，亦行有九德，亦言

Yu said: “Yes! Oh emperor, extensively all under Heaven, even to the corners of the sea, the numerous eminent men of the flourishing myriad states all together are the servants of the emperor. The emperor promotes them. Extensively they make reports by their words, they are clearly tested by their achievements, they are endowed with chariots and garments according to their works. Who would dare not to be modest, who would dare not to respond [to you] respectfully? Oh, emperor, if they do not thus extensively and all together daily make reports, there will be no achievements.” The emperor said: “Do not be arrogant like Zhu of Dan; negligence and pleasures, only those he loved, arrogance and oppression, those he practiced, without [difference between] day and night he was obstreperous, without water he went in a boat, he formed a gang of cronies and was licentious in the house, thereby he cut off his succession.” (f) 予創若時。」「娶于塗山，辛、壬、癸、甲；

其人有德，乃言曰：『載采采。』」禹 曰：「何？」皋陶曰：

啟呱呱而泣，予弗子，惟荒度土功。弼成五服，至 于五千，州十有二師，外薄四海，咸建五長。各迪

68 Table 2.1

Vogelsang “Gao Yao mo” 皋陶謨 (trans. Karlgren 1950) (cont.)

Gao Yao said: “Oh, in the actions there are nine virtues; when [we] say that this man has virtue, [we] mean that he initiates the various works.” Yu said: “Which [are the virtues]?” Gao Yao said:

有功，苗頑弗即工，帝其念哉。」帝曰：「迪朕 德，時乃功惟敘。」

Yu said: “When I started work like that, I married in Tushan, on the days xin, ren, gui, jia; when [my son] Qi wailed and wept, I did not treat him as a son. I extensively planned the land works. I assisted in establishing the five dependencies, as far as 5000 [li]; in a province there are 12 districts. Outside I pushed on to the four seas; everywhere I established the five [classes of] chiefs. Each one [of them] pursues a course that is meritorious. [But] the [prince of] Miao is foolish and has not attained to merit. May the emperor ponder it!” The emperor said: “That they pursue the course of my virtue—it is your meritorious work that has arranged it; (g) 皋陶方祗厥敘，方施象刑，惟明。 (b)「寬而栗，柔而立，愿而恭，亂而 敬，擾而毅，直而溫，簡而廉，剛而塞， Gao Yao everywhere reverently carries out your arrangements and everywhere applies the legally 彊而義；彰厥有常，吉哉。 “He is large-minded and yet apprehensive, defined punishments, in an enlightened way.” he is soft and yet steadfast, he is sincere and yet respectful, he is regulating and yet cautious, he is docile and yet bold, he is straight and yet mild, he is great and yet punctilious, he is hard and yet just, he is strong and yet righteous. Displaying his constant norms, he is auspicious indeed!” A4 (cont.)日宣三德，夙夜浚明有家。日嚴 (h) 夔曰：「戛擊鳴球，搏拊琴瑟以詠，祖考來 祗敬六德，亮采有邦，翕受敷施。九德咸 格。虞賓在位，羣后德讓。下管鼗鼓，合止柷 事，俊乂在官，百僚師師，百工惟時。撫 敔，笙鏞以間，鳥獸蹌蹌，簫韶九成，鳳皇來 儀。」夔曰：「於，予擊石拊石，百獸率舞，庶 于五辰，庶績其凝。 “[The one who] daily displays three [of the 尹允諧。」

said 9] virtues, and morning and evening is wise and enlightened, will be a dignitary. [The one who] daily severely and respectfully attends to six [of the 9] virtues, will assist in the affairs and have a state [as feudal lord]. By bringing together and receiving [such men] and by widely

Kui said: “The sounding-boxes, the singing qiustone, the small leathern drum, the guitar and the lute, when with them one sings, the [Spirits of the] ancestors come, Shun’s guests are in their high positions [at the sacrifice]. All the princes are virtuous­ly modest. Below, there are the flutes, the hand-drums and the drums, jointly [with them] there are the hammer and the zhu and yu

Competing Voices in the Shangshu

applying them, [the men of] the nine virtues will all be in service. The eminent and aged ones are in the offices, all the officials [are there] in a host, all the functionaries are observant of the seasons, and follow the five periods; all the achievements are firmly established.” A5 無教逸欲，有邦兢兢業業，一日二 日萬幾。無曠庶官，天工人其代之。

“You should not set an example of laziness or desires to the possessors of states; it is fearsome, it is awe-inspiring, in one day, in two days there are ten thousand first signs of happenings. Do not empty the various offices. The works of Heaven, it is man who carries them out on its behalf.” (c) 天敘有典，勑我五典五惇哉。天秩有

69

sounding-boxes; the reed organs and the bells are in between. Birds and beasts dance. When the hao-music of the Pan-flutes is achieved in nine parts, the male and female phoenixes come and put in an appearance.” Kui said: “Oh, when I strike the stone, when I knock on the stone, all the animals follow [it] and dance, all the governors become truly harmonious.” B4 帝庸作歌，曰：「敕天之命，惟時惟幾。」 On this the emperor made a song, saying: “In rightly disposing the mandate of Heaven, there are the proper times, there are the first symptoms of happenings.”

(i) 乃歌曰：「股肱喜哉，元首起哉，百工熙哉！

禮，自我五禮有庸哉。同寅協恭和衷 哉。天命有德，五服五章哉。天討有 罪，五刑五用哉。政事懋哉懋哉。天聰 明，自我民聰明；天明畏，自我民明 威。達于上下，敬哉有。」

」皋陶拜手稽首颺言曰：「念哉，率作興事，慎乃 憲，欽哉，屢省乃成，欽哉！」乃賡載歌曰：「元 首明哉，股肱良哉，庶事康哉！」又歌曰：「元首 叢脞哉，股肱惰哉，萬事墮哉！」帝拜曰：「俞， 往欽哉！」

“Heaven arranges the existing rules, we carefully regulate our five rules and the five modes of amply practicing them. Heaven regulates the existing rites, we follow our five rites and their five constant norms. Together we reverence [them], concordantly we respect them, [then there is] harmony and correctness. Heaven gives charges to those who have virtue, [there are] five [degrees of] garments and their five [classes of] emblems. Heaven punishes those who have guilt, [there are] five punishments and their five applications. In the affairs of government let us be energetic, let us

And then he sang, saying: “When the legs and arms are joyful, and the head is elated, all the achievements are resplendent.” Gao Yao saluted, he bowed down the head, and raising the voice he spoke and said: “Oh, think! In all actions and works initiated, carefully attend to your laws, be reverent! Frequently examine your achievements, be reverent!” And then in his turn he made a song, saying: “When the head is enlightened, and the legs and arms are good, all the works are quietly prosperous.” And again he sang and said: “When the head is pedantic and the legs and arms are lazy, the myriad works go to ruin.” The emperor saluted and said: “Yes. Go and be reverent!”

70 Table 2.1

Vogelsang “Gao Yao mo” 皋陶謨 (trans. Karlgren 1950) (cont.)

be energetic! Heaven’s hearing and seeing work through our people‘s hearing and seeing, Heaven‘s discernment and severity work through our people‘s discernment and severity. There is correspondence between the upper and the lower [world]. Be careful, you possessors of the soil.” A6 皋陶曰：「朕言惠，可厎行？」 禹曰：「俞，乃言厎可績。」皋陶曰： 「予未有知，思曰贊贊襄哉！」

Gao Yao said: “My words are reasonable, they can be accomplished and practiced.” Yu said: “Yes, your words have been accomplished and have been capable of yielding fine results.” Gao Yao said: “I have no knowledge, I wish daily to assist in achieving [sc. the government].”

that they originally might have not belonged together. The following words occur with significantly different frequency:

Part A

Part B

以 用 (prep.) 乎 汝 乃 (pron.) 予 作 四 之 (part.)

0 0 3 0 1 1 0 0 0

11  4 (incl. 庸)  0  9  5 12  7  5  3 (also often as pronoun)

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Moreover, while the rhetorical figure of pre-positioned objects10 is not seen at all in part A, it is employed three times in part B3: “The emperor promotes them” (惟帝時舉), “negligence and pleasures, only those he loved” (惟慢遊是 好), and “arrogance and oppression, those he practiced” (傲虐是作). Given these observations, which suggest marked linguistic differences between the two parts, it appears worthwhile to reconsider the decision of the ancientscript Shangshu editors to separate them into two distinct chapters. A closer look at the contents of the two parts supports this impression. Part A centers on the virtue of the ruler: he “sincerely pursues the course of his virtue” (允迪厥德, A1), he “should be careful about his person” (慎厥身, A2),11 he “finds it difficult” (其難之, A3), and he unites the nine virtues (九德, A4). Part B, however, is less outspoken about the ruler’s virtue. Rather, it is his ministers who take center stage. The word “minister” (chen 臣) does not even appear in part A, but in part B it becomes very prominent: in (e), the emperor says, “My ministers are my legs and arms, ears and eyes” (臣作朕股肱耳目), and the songs at the very end, in (i), are all about these “legs and arms.” Significantly, the emperor himself says in (f), “That they pursue the course of my virtue—it is your [i.e., Yu’s] meritorious work that has arranged it” (迪朕 德，時乃功惟敘). It is the ministers who foster virtue. Moreover, part A seems to address the emperor primarily as the head of a lineage: he presides over the “nine family branches” (九族, A2), he is expected to be capable of “knowing men” (知人, A3), which perhaps suggests personal acquaintance, and A4 describes a hierarchy of “families” (家; “dignitaries” in Karlgren’s translation) and “states” (邦). Part B, however, shows the emperor surrounded by ministers who are not distinguished by kinship but “tested by their achievements” (明庶以功) and “endowed with chariots and garments according to their works” (車服以庸, both B3): this is strongly reminiscent of late Warring States meritocratic ideas and the system of ranks based on achievements that was perfected in the state of Qin. Moreover, part B starts with Yu’s description of an empire that covers “extensively all under Heaven” (光天之下); reaching “to the corners of the sea” (至于海隅, both B3), it is bordered by the Four Seas, comprising five dependencies (五服, f)12 and even a myriad states (萬邦, d and B3). None of this is mentioned in part A. 10 11 12

For a discussion of this construction, see Zhang Wenguo 2000: 159–171; Qian Zongwu 2004: 424–441. Although the ruler is not explicitly mentioned here, this reading represents the mainstream interpretation at least since Kong Yingda; see Shangshu zhengyi 4.122. Note that this term in (c) means “five kinds of clothing”: another indication of conceptual discrepancies.

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“Gao Yao mo” has been noted for its emphasis on government by virtue— but again, this emphasis is very unevenly distributed. The word “virtue” (de 德) appears only twice in part B (f and h), rather insignificantly at that, but seven times in part A, which also includes the catalog of nine virtues. Moreover, “Gao Yao mo” has been called “the source of seeing people as the basis” (minben 民本) in the Chinese tradition13—but the advice to “give peace to the people” (安民) and the famous passage about “Heaven’s hearing and seeing working through our people’s hearing” (天聰明，自我民聰明) are found only in part A; whereas part B has not much to say about the importance of the people at all. All this would seem to suggest that part B was composed by other authors whose intention was not to continue or reinforce the narrative of part A but to amend or even counter it. Part B seems to be a mirror image of part A in the sense that it reverses the latter’s arguments. It is certainly conceivable that part A predates part B and that the latter reflects the concerns of a well-established bureaucracy whose aim is to control the ruler. One detail may serve to support this thesis. While both parts have parallels—which are perhaps conscious quotations—with “Yao dian,” part B has a curious passage, namely, the part where Yu boasts about his flood control in (d): Yu said: “The great waters swelled up to Heaven, vastly they embraced the mountains and rose above the hills, the lower people were killed and submerged.” 禹曰：洪水滔天，浩浩懷山襄陵；下民昏墊。

This no doubt alludes to “Yao dian” (A5a, below), which reads: The emperor said: “Oh, you Si Yue, voluminously the great waters everywhere are injurious, extensively they embrace the mountains and rise above the hills, vastly they swell up to Heaven.” 帝曰：咨！四岳，湯湯洪水方割，蕩蕩懷山襄陵，浩浩滔天。下民其 咨，有能俾乂？

But, as the comparison shows, the quotation is not exact. Rather, what the passage in part B quotes matches verbatim the Shiji’s 史記 rendering of “Yao dian”: “Well, Si Yue, voluminously the great waters swelled up to Heaven, vastly they embraced the mountains and rose above the hills, the lower people were troubled: is there one who can be ordered to regulate them?” 13

See Jiao Junxia 2009.

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嗟，四嶽，湯湯洪水滔天，浩浩懷山襄陵，下民其憂，有能使治 者？14

Here, twelve characters are entirely parallel, which they are not with “Yao dian.” This suggests that “Gao Yao mo” actually quotes Shiji—yet Shiji also quotes “Gao Yao mo,” but then again with different wording.15 The paradox can be resolved only by supposing that both Shiji and “Gao Yao mo” quote some unknown rendering of “Yao dian.” Whatever the case, it appears that at least part B of “Gao Yao mo” was not created in the same context as the received “Yao dian”—and if part A was, then the two do not belong together. It appears, then, that “Gao Yao mo” consists of two discrete parts that describe different models of rulership. Yet these parts are not homogeneous in themselves, as has been observed before. For example, Liu Hehui has pointed out that the sentence (g) is obviously an interpolation since it is neither Shun’s nor Gao Yao’s speech, and it does not fit with what precedes or follows.16 There are more such passages that do not seem to fit in the context. For example, (a), which is part of a statement by Yu, is his longest statement by far in this first part; in all other instances, he makes only short comments of a sentence at most. But (a) is an elaborated argument proceeding from two theses, employing parallelismus membrorum and culminating in a series of three rhetorical questions. This by itself is remarkable, and what is more, the language of this passage is not pre-Classical but clear, impeccable Classical Chinese. Very similar phrases can be found in Lunyu 論語, Laozi 老子, Zuozhuan 左傳, Xunzi 荀子, and other Classical texts,17 and the phrase “smart talk, a fine appearance” (巧言令色) is exactly parallel to Lunyu 1.3. Could this formally distinct passage be a later addition? If so, then the next sentence of Gao Yao’s, “Oh, in the actions there are nine virtues” (都，亦行有 九德), originally responded directly to what Yu had remarked in A3, before (a): “even the emperor finds it difficult [to bring about]” (惟帝其難之). What Gao Yao is saying is: yes, it is difficult, but the ruler is able to rely on the nine virtues. What follows in (b) is the catalog of these nine virtues. Tradition has it that Gao Yao invented these nine virtues, but actually, similar lists appear in quite a

14 15 16 17

Shiji 1.20. Cf. Shiji 2.79: 禹曰：「鴻水滔天，浩浩懷山襄陵，下民皆服於水」. This is yet another rendering of the same utterance. Liu Hehui 1998: 4. See Chan Hung Kan and Ho Che Wah 2003: 59–60. In addition to the parallels given there, one may adduce Lunyu 12/5, 君子何患乎無兄弟也; and Lunyu 3/24, 何患於喪乎 for syntactical parallels.

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Vogelsang

few other texts, namely, “Yao dian,” “Hongfan” 洪範, Lunyu, Laozi, Guanzi 管子, and Yizhou shu 逸周書: “Gao Yao mo”: Large-minded and yet apprehensive, soft and yet steadfast, sincere and yet respectful, regulating and yet cautious, docile and yet bold, straight and yet mild, great and yet punctilious, hard and yet just, strong and yet righteous. 寬而栗，柔而立，愿而恭，亂而敬，擾而毅，直而溫，簡而廉，剛而 塞，彊而義。

“Yao dian”: Straight and yet mild, large-minded and yet careful, firm and yet not tyrannical, great and yet not arrogant. 直而溫，寬而栗，剛而無虐，簡而無傲。

“Hongfan”: Three virtues: The first is called correct and straightforward, the second is called hard and able, the third is called soft and able. 三德：一曰正直，二曰剛克，三曰柔克。

Lunyu 16/10: The gentleman considers nine things: in seeing he considers clarity, in hearing he considers acuteness, in his countenance he considers mildness, in his demeanor he considers respectfulness, in words he considers faithfulness, in deeds he considers reverence, in doubt he considers asking, in anger he considers difficulties, in the prospect of gain he considers righteousness. 君子有九思：視思明，聽思聰，色思溫，貌思恭，言思忠，事思敬， 疑思問，忿思難，見得思義。

Laozi 58: Therefore, the sage is encompassing but not incisive,18 honest but not injurious, straightforward but not licentious, bright but not dazzling. 是以聖人，方而不割，廉而不劌；直而不肆，光而不燿。

18

This is strangely parallel to A5a, below: “the great waters everywhere are injurious” (方 割)—another subtlety of wording in the Shangshu that is not yet sufficiently understood.

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Guanzi 39: The reason why jade is treasured is that the nine virtues emanate from it. Its warm, glossy glow expresses benevolence; its fine texture expresses wisdom; its unyielding rigidity expresses righteousness; its honesty without injuriousness expresses [good] conduct; its unblemished brightness expresses purity; the way it breaks without a scratch expresses courage; the way its flaws are all visible expresses refinement; the way its ornamental flourish and shiny gloss permeate without overcoming one another expresses forbearance; when knocked, the way its sound spreads clearly and far, pure and unsuppressed, expresses withdrawal. 夫玉之所貴者，九德出焉，夫玉溫潤以澤，仁也。鄰以理者，知也。 堅而不蹙，義也。廉而不劌，行也。鮮而不垢，潔也。折而不撓，勇 也。瑕適皆見，精也。茂華光澤，並通而不相陵，容也。叩之，其音 清搏徹遠，純而不殺，辭也。

Yi Zhoushu 3: Nine virtues: faithfulness, truthfulness, reverence, hardness, softness, harmony, firmness, loyalty, obedience. 九德：忠、信、敬、剛、柔、和、固、貞、順。

Far from being singularly connected to Gao Yao, this seems to be a commonplace that crops up in very different works. Hans Stumpfeldt has made several similar observations with reference to the corpus of Classical Chinese literature.19 He suggests that such lists, rhyming passages, and the like derive from what he calls “texts behind the texts,”20 which have not been transmitted but are quoted or paraphrased in different works. In this case, we might have traces of a list used in education or perhaps for the selection of officials. In any case, it seems to be an independent unit of text quite distinct from what comes before and after. This impression is further supported by the trisyllabic rhythm, the repeated use of the conjunction er 而, and the fact that most of the vocabulary of virtue used here does not appear elsewhere in “Gao Yao mo.” All this suggests that (b) is another addition to the text—a rather crucial one at that. Perhaps the original answer to Yu’s curt question “Which?” (何) in A4 follows this addition: it is the part marked “A4 (cont.),” a passage that has a tetrasyllabic meter, rhymes, and more archaic grammar and contains none of the “virtue words” mentioned before. Paragraph A5 is another turn in the 19 20

See, e.g., Stumpfeldt 2007, 2010. Stumpfeldt 2002: 184–185. For an appraisal of this approach, see the special issue of Oriens Extremus 50 (2011).

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Vogelsang

a­ rgument: now, apparently, the sovereign, who has not appeared before, is addressed, prohibitions come into play, and the rhythm again changes. However, this does not suffice to exclude the passage from the basic textual layer. A more obvious break in style and content immediately follows: (c) is a neatly structured, partially rhymed piece about Heaven’s power, consisting of six sentences that all begin with “Heaven” (天)—the first four and the last two being exactly parallel—with every two sentences capped by an exclamation marked by zai 哉. Another prominent feature of this passage is the groups of five that, of course, reflect the “Five Phases” (wuxing 五行) theory: this is striking, since neither Heaven nor the wuxing cosmology are nearly as prominent anywhere else in part A. Again, judging from form as well as content, this seems to be a paragraph set apart from the context. In sum, three sections seem to have been grafted onto a possibly earlier layer of “Gao Yao mo.”21 They seem to have functioned as commen­taries of sorts, each one expanding on some concept that had been mentioned before: “knowing men” (知人) and “giving peace to the people” (安民), “virtues,” and “Heaven.” This result tallies well with David Nivison’s observation that all ancient Chinese “books,” “no matter whose names they bear, are either obviously layered texts that ‘grew’ over centuries or are suspected to have been added to, taken from, rearranged, or pieced together after the main author (if there was one) died.”22 What is particularly striking about the present example, however, is that the added texts contain the very passages of “Gao Yao mo” that have attracted the most attention: the statements about “virtue,” Heaven, and the wuxing. Moreover, almost all the parallels to “Yao dian” appear in these passages.23 Very similar observations apply to part B, which starts with a disorienting sequence of utterances. After an unnamed emperor prompts Yu to speak (B1), Yu responds, and then Gao Yao interrupts; Yu first answers him (d) before turning back to the emperor. Yu’s entire speech, in which he elaborately boasts about his feats while fighting the floods (d), does not answer the emperor’s 21

22 23

Another peculiarity is remarkable: the conjunction 則 occurs only in (a) and (e) (twice in each). The use of 否則 in (e) is particularly striking; it appears in only one other modernscript Shangshu chapter, the “Wu yi” 無逸 (on which see chapters 10 and 11, by Hunter and by Pines, respectively, in this volume). Nivison 1999: 745. Quotations from other texts are the backbone of many “forged” ancient-script chapters, as Yan Ruoqu 閻若璩 (1636–1704) has demonstrated (see Yan Ruoqu 2010). So here as well, the quotations, rather than indicating a close relation between two chapters, may signal later additions.

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initial prompt. The real answer to the emperor, namely, Yu’s “splendid words” (昌言), follows in B2, when Yu says, “Oh, emperor, be careful about your being in the (high) position” (都，帝，慎乃在位). The intervening paragraph (d), then, seems to be an independent unit. Incidentally, this is the passage that includes the parallels to “Yao dian” (or, rather, Shiji) and other chapters of the Shangshu—just like the passages analyzed as additions in part A. All this supports the impression that this passage may be an addition to the text. The text then continues with a short exchange between Yu and the emperor (B2); but then, in (e), the emperor has a sudden outburst organized in numerical categories, especially the theory of Five Phases. Again, this passage does not seem to fit the narrative, especially since what follows—Yu’s answer in B3— connects directly to what the emperor had said in B2, where the emperor’s last sentence is “Oh, ministers, associates! Associates, ministers!” (吁，臣哉，鄰 哉。鄰哉，臣哉), to which Yu responds in B3: “Oh emperor, extensively all under Heaven … all together are the servants of the emperor” (俞哉，帝光天 之下 … 共惟帝臣). Perhaps this passage also includes the following paragraph about Dan Zhu, since it favors the same grammatical construction, namely, the pre-positioned object. Then there is the next puzzling break in the narration, (f), for now Yu starts elaborating on his own achievements again, which has little to do with the topic discussed before. Instead, it seems very similar to (d) above and is again concluded by a reference to Gao Yao (g); (g) has been identified as an interpolation24 and may belong with (f). In any case, neither seems to belong to the surrounding layers of the text. Nor does the next part (h) fit with the surrounding text. Here, a previously unmentioned person named Kui—the music master—starts talking about music without any apparent connection to what has been said before. This passage is completely out of tune with the rest.25 Rather, it would seem that the main text continues with B4, which has the emperor composing or at least singing a song, which connects to B3, above: yong 庸 and zuo 作 are shared vocabulary, and “rightly disposing the mandate of Heaven” (敕天之命) echoes “extensively all under Heaven” (光天之下). The song has tetrasyllabic stanzas, two of which are quoted, albeit without a rhyme. But then the text continues (i), saying “and then he sang” (乃歌曰)—and what follows are more songs, tetrasyllabic and regularly rhymed. The penultimate 24 25

Liu Hehui 1998: 4. The commentaries trying to integrate the passage are not convincing; see, e.g., Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 1, 477–495. Perhaps significantly, the Shiji, which paraphrases almost all “Gao Yao mo” rather closely, summarizes Kui’s interlude in just one sentence.

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words all rhyme and change from song to song. At a minimum, the regularity of the rhymes suggests much later editing, but even more importantly, the songs do not fit with the preceding text: the latter was about “rightly disposing the mandate of Heaven” (敕天之命), “proper times” (惟時), and “first symptoms of happenings” (惟幾), whereas the last three songs are about the relationship between ruler and ministers. To sum up, “Gao Yao mo” consists of two distinct parts, and both parts include layers of extraneous textual material.26 This suggests that in the Shangshu we must reckon with chapters that are neither homogeneous units nor composite writings where the different layers com­plement or reinforce one another, but that actually contain rival discourses which may ultimately be incompatible. The question, then, is whether there are other chapters like “Gao Yao mo” and whether, perhaps, a pattern can be observed. “Yao dian” If “Gao Yao mo” is a difficult text, this is even more true of “Yao dian.” As early as Han times, the title “Yao dian” alone had given rise to a hundred thousand characters of commentary, its notoriously difficult first four characters—yue ruo jigu 曰若稽古 —reportedly required twenty thousand to thirty thousand characters of explanation,27 and the magisterial Shangshu commentary by Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu devotes almost four hundred pages to “Yao dian” alone.28 Besides posing numerous problems of lexicon and syntax, “Yao dian” also has a curious textual history similar to that of “Ga Yao mo.” While in the ancientscript recension, it is followed by “Shun dian” 舜典, the modern-script recension includes both in a single “Yao dian” chapter. Hence, it has been assumed that the two parts indeed belong together organically. The following analysis will question this assumption. For this purpose, it is useful to first outline the structure of “Yao dian,” identifying its sections according to their contents: 26

27 28

If one removes the additions in B, Gao Yao does not appear in this part at all, which then comes down to a conversation between an “emperor”—presumably Shun—and Yu; this adds to the impression that the two parts of “Gao Yao mo” do not belong together. Zhu Qianzhi (2009: 9.38). For a fresh and very different analysis of this opening sentence, see chapter 1, by Martin Kern, in this volume. Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 1, 1–391. Note that Gu Jiegang (1982: vol. 1, 201–202) forcefully argued that “Yao dian” and “Gao Yao mo” “are certainly forgeries of the Warring States to Qin/Han period; they are connected to the philosophical theories of those times.”

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A1 Praise of Yao, rhymed tetrasyllabic verses. A2 Further praise of Yao in tetra­syllabic verse, employing anadiplosis.29 A3a Account of deeds, recording a commis­sion to Xi and He to establish a calendar. (a) Four symmetrically arranged charges to relatives of Xi and He to verify the calendar according to the four cardinal directions and the four seasons.30 A3b Speech by the “emperor”31 containing an­other instruction to Xi and He concern­ing the calendar and the “hundred works.” A4a Dialogue between the “emperor” and Fang Qi about the recruitment of an able administrator; Zhu is rejected. A4b Dialogue between the “emperor” and Huan Dou about the recruit­ment of an able administrator; Gong Gong is rejected. A5a Dialogue between the “emperor” and Si Yue about floods and the recruit­ment of an able administrator; Gun is considered. (b) Note of (non)completion. A5b Dialogue between the “emperor” and Si Yue about the succession to the throne; Shun is chosen and married to the “emperor’s” daughters. [B1] Praise of Shun; this paragraph is excluded in the modern-script recension. B2 Further praise of Shun in tetrasyllabic verse, employing anadiplosis. B3 Speech by the “emperor,” proposing to install Shun as ruler; Shun declines. B4 Account of deeds [by Shun] upon his accession. (c) Four dated accounts of deeds, recording sacrifices in the four cardinal directions. B5 Five accounts of deeds by Yu during his reign. B6 Dated account of deeds: Yao’s death and the sacrifices thereafter. 29 30

31

Shiji 1.15 has a longer version of this, adding eight lines of verse. Karlgren (1948: gloss 1214) notes that “the Yao tien is here com­posed of two different parts. The primary part consists of the first 18 words … followed by the calendar passages. … This primary passage has been embellished and tampered with by the editor in Western Chou time. He wanted to have the four seasons of the calendar specially represented each by one cult-master, and so he took the Hi Ho above to be two men: Hi and Ho, and invented younger brothers for them, who were sent to the east (Hi Chung), the south (Hi Shu), the west (Ho Chung) and the north (Ho Shu). He therefore added a secondary part, four passages inserted at the head of each season of the original calendar.” Jiang Shanguo (1988: 147) notes that the calendrical knowledge displayed in the passage dates from Zhanguo times. Presumably Yao, but his name is nowhere mentioned except in A1.

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Vogelsang

B7 B8

Speech in verse, admonishing “twelve herdsmen.” Dialogue between Shun and Si Yue about an able officer; Yu is appointed. B9 Three commands by the “emperor,” appointing Qi, Xie, and Gao Yao. B10 Three dialogues between the “emperor” and officials about able officers; Chui, Ziyi, and Bo Yi are appointed. B11a Command by the “emperor,” appointing Kui. (d) A list in metrical rhythm, trisyllabic and tetrasyllabic. B11b Response by Kui; command by the “emperor,” appointing Long. B12 Command by the “emperor” to twenty-two (above-mentioned?) men. B13 Account of deeds concerning exams and promotions. B14 Note summarizing the reign of Shun. First, one notes the striking symmetry between parts A and B: A1 and B1 are eulogies of Yao and Shun, respectively.32 They are followed by more eulogies in tetrasyllabic verse (A2 and B2), both culminating in a hexasyllabic final verse; these, in turn, are followed by the investments of Xi/He33 (A3a) and Shun (B3), respectively; then the deeds performed in the four cardinal directions by Xi/He (a) and Shun (c) are described; Si Yue appears in A5 and reappears B4, B6, B8, and B10; the names Gong Gong and Huan Dou that appear in A4b are seen again in B5, and likewise, the name Gun appears in A5a and B5. Finally, both parts end with dialogues concerning the recruitment of able administrators. All this would seem to suggest that both parts are in close accord with one another. Yet a closer look contradicts this first impression. Martin Kern suggests that the two parts of “Yao dian”—or, in the ancient-script recension, “Yao dian” and “Shun dian”—“reflect different ideological takes on archaic kingship,” since they display “striking differences in the representations of the two mythological emperors.” Interestingly, Kern observes that while in the first part “the agency of Yao’s rule lies with the emperor himself, in the account of Shun it shifts to the administrative ranks.”

32

33

It should be noted that B1 does not appear in the modern-script recension. Perhaps it was part of an early, independent version of B. But, having the character of an introduction, it may have seemed unfitting for a piece that is not treated as independent. Or else, it was an addition by the editors of the ancient-script version. However this may be, it is listed here in brackets in order to demonstrate the symmetry of parts A and B. Karlgren (1946) has plausibly argued that these are not two people but one; see also Karlgren 1948: gloss 1214.

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Table 2.2 “Yao dian” 堯典 (trans. Karlgren 1950)

A1 曰若稽古，帝堯曰放勳。欽明文思安 安，允恭克讓，光被四表，格于上下。

[B1] 曰若稽古帝舜，曰重華，協于帝。濬哲文 明，溫恭允塞。玄德升聞，乃命以位。

Examining into antiquity [we find that] the emperor Yao was called Fangxun. He was reverent, enlightened, accomplished, sincere and peaceful [mild]. He was truly respectful and could be modest. He extensively possessed the four extreme points [of the world]. He reached to [Heaven] above and [Earth] below. A2 克明俊德，以親九族，九族既睦。平章

Examining into antiquity [we find that] the emperor Shun was called Chonghua. He was in accord with the [former] emperor, profound, wise, cultivated and bright. He was mild and respectful and truly sincere. His inscrutable virtue was heard of above, and thereupon he was appointed to the throne.

百姓，百姓昭明。協和萬邦，黎民於變時 雍。

敘。賓于四門，四門穆穆。納于大麓，烈風雷 雨弗迷。

He was able to make bright his lofty virtue, and so he made affectionate the nine branches of the family. When the nine branches of the family had become harmonious, he distinguished and honored the hundred clans. When the hundred clans had become illustrious, he harmonized the myriad states. The numerous people were amply nourished and prosperous and then became concordant. A3a 乃命羲、和，欽若昊天，厤象日月星

He [Shun] carefully displayed the five rules, the five rules [then] could be followed. He was appointed to the general management, the general management was orderly. He received the guests at the four gates, the four gates were stately. He was sent into the great hill-foot forest; violent wind, thunder and rain did not lead him astray.

辰，敬授人時。

And then he charged Xi and He reverently to follow the august Heaven and calculate and delineate the sun, the moon and [the other] heavenly bodies and respectfully give the people the seasons.

B2 慎徽五典，五典克從。納于百揆，百揆時

B3 帝曰：「格汝舜！詢事，考言，乃言厎可 績，三載；汝陟帝位。」舜讓于德弗嗣。 The emperor said: “Come, you Shun, in the affairs on which you have been consulted, I have examined your words; your words have been accomplished and been capable of yielding fine results, [during] three years; do you ascend to the emperor’s high position [the throne].” Shun considered himself inferior in virtue and was not pleased. B4 正月上日，受終于文祖。在璿璣玉衡，以齊 七政。肆類于上帝，禋于六宗，望于山川，徧 于群神。輯五瑞；既月乃日，覲四岳群牧，班 瑞于群后。

[But] in the first month, the first day he accepted the abdication [of Yao] in [the temple of] the

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Vogelsang

Table 2.2 “Yao dian” 堯典 (trans. Karlgren 1950) (cont.)

(a) 分命羲仲，宅嵎夷，曰暘谷。寅賓出 日，平秩東作。日中、星鳥，以殷仲春。 厥民析，鳥獸孳尾。申命羲叔，宅南交。 平秩南訛，敬致。日永，星火，以正仲 夏。厥民因，鳥獸希革。分命和仲，宅 西，曰昧谷。寅餞納日，平秩西成。宵 中，星虛，以殷仲秋。厥民夷，鳥獸毛 毨。申命和叔，宅朔方，曰幽都。平在朔 易。日短，星昴，以正仲冬。厥民隩，鳥 獸氄毛。

Separately he charged Xi Zhong to reside in Yuyi, [at the place] called Yanggu, respectfully to receive as a guest the rising sun, and to arrange and regulate the works of the East. The day being of medium length and the asterism being Niao, he thereby determined mid-spring. The people disperse, the birds and beasts breed and copulate. Again he charged Xi Shu to reside in Nan Jiao, to arrange and regulate the works of the South, and pay respectful attention to the [summer] solstice. The day being at its longest, and the asterism being Huo, he thereby determined mid-summer. The people avail themselves of the [suitable]

Accomplished Ancestor. He examined the xun-stone apparatus and the jade traverse, and thereby verified [the movements of] the seven Directors. And then he made lei-sacrifice to God on High, he made yin-sacrifice to the six venerable ones. He made wang-sacrifice to mountains and rivers, he made comprehensive sacrifices to all the Spirits. He gathered in the five [kinds of] insignia; and when he had determined a month, he determined the day and saw the Si Yue and all the Pastors, and [again] distributed the insignia to all the princes. (c) 歲二月，東巡守，至于岱宗，柴；望秩于 山川。肆覲東后。協時、月，正日；同律、 度、量、衡。修五禮、五玉、三帛、二生、一 死贄、如五器，卒乃復。五月，南巡守，至于 南岳，如岱禮。八月，西巡守，至于西岳，如 初。十有一月，朔巡守，至于北岳，如西禮。 歸，格于藝祖，用特。

In the 2nd month of the year he in the east went round to the fiefs, and came to the Venerable Dai [mountain], he made burnt-offering, he made wang-sacrifice successively to mountains and rivers, and then gave audience to the eastern princes. He put into accord the seasons, the months and the proper days. He made uniform the pitch pipes, the measures of length, the measures of capacity and the weights. He attended to the five kinds of [enfeoffing] rites and the five kinds of [enfeoffing] jade insignia. The three [kinds of] silk, the two [kinds of] living [animals] and the one [kind of] dead [animal] were the gifts presented; they were according to the five capacities. When all was finished, he returned [home]. In the 5th month, he in the south went round to the fiefs, and came to the Nan Yue, and acted in accordance with the rites of the Dai. In the 8th month, he in the west

Competing Voices in the Shangshu

time. The birds and beasts are thin[-haired] and hide[-like]. Separately he charged He Zhong to reside in the West [at the place] called Meigu, respectfully to say farewell to the setting sun, and to arrange and regulate the achievements of the West. The night being of medium length and the asterism being Xu, he thereby determined midautumn. The people are at rest. The birds and beasts have glossy hair. Again he charged He Shu to reside in Shuofang [at the place] called Youdu, to arrange and examine the works of the North. The day being at its shortest, and the asterism being Mao, he thereby determined mid-winter. The people keep in the warmth [of their houses]. The birds and beasts have bushy hair. A3b 帝曰：「咨！汝羲暨和。期三百有六 旬有六日，以閏月定四時，成歲。允釐百 工，庶績咸熙。」

The emperor said: “Oh, you Xi and He, the year has 366 days, by means of an intercalary month you should fix the four seasons and complete the year. If you earnestly control all the functionaries, the achievements will all be resplendent.”

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went round to the fiefs and came to the Xi Yue and acted as in the first case; in the 11th month, he in the north went round to the fiefs and came to the Bei Yue, and acted in accordance with the rites of the west. When he returned, he went to [the temple of] his dead father and grandfather, and sacrificed a bull.

B5 五載一巡守，群后四朝；敷奏以言，明試以 功，車服以庸。肇十有二州，封十有二山，濬川。 象以典刑。流宥五刑。鞭作官刑，扑作教刑，金作 贖刑。眚災肆、赦，怙終賊、刑。欽哉，欽哉，惟刑 之恤哉！流共工于幽洲，放驩兜于崇山，竄三苗 于三危，殛鯀于羽山；四罪而天下咸服。 In five years he went once round to [all] the fiefs, and four times all the princes came to court. They extensively made reports by their words; they were clearly tested by their achievements; they were endowed with chariots and garments according to their works. He delimited the 12 provinces, and raised altars on 12 mountains, and he deepened the rivers. He made a full description of the legal punishments. Banishment is the mitigation of the five [principal] punishments, the whip is the punishment of the magistrate‘s courts, the rod is the punishment of the schools, fines are the punishment for redeemable crimes. Offenses by mishap are pardoned, [but] those who are self-reliant and

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Vogelsang

Table 2.2 “Yao dian” 堯典 (trans. Karlgren 1950) (cont.)

A4a 帝曰：「疇咨若時，登庸？」放齊曰：

persist are punished as miscreants. Be reverent, be reverent! The punishments, to them you should carefully attend! He banished Gong Gong to Youzhou, he banished Huan Dou to Chongshan; he made the San Miao skulk in Sanwei, he killed Gun on Yushan. After these four condemnations, all in the world submitted. B6 二十有八載，帝乃殂落。百姓如喪考妣，

「胤子朱啟明。」帝曰：「吁！嚚訟， 乎？」

三載，四海遏密八音。月正元日，舜格于文 祖。詢于四岳，闢四門，明四目，達四聰。

The emperor said: “Who will carefully attend to this? I will raise and use him.” Fang Qi said: “Your heir-son Zhu is enlightened.” The emperor said: “Alas, he is deceitful and quarrelsome, will he do?”

In the 28th year, Fangxun died, the people were as if mourning for a dead father or mother, for 3 years within the four seas they stopped and quieted the eight [kinds of] music. In the first month, on the first day Shun went to the [temple of] the Accomplished Ancestor. He consulted with the Si Yue, to open up the four gates, to make clear the four views, and to open up the four windows. B7 咨十有二牧，曰：食哉惟時！柔遠能邇，

A4b 帝曰：「疇咨若予采？」驩兜曰： 「都！共工方鳩僝功。」帝曰：「吁！靜言 庸違，象恭滔天。」

The emperor said: “Who will carefully attend to my affairs?” Huan Dou said: “Oh, Gong Gong everywhere has accumulated and exhibited his merits.” The emperor said: “Alas, he smoothly speaks but his actions are perverse. He is in appearance respectful, but he swells up to Heaven.” A5a 帝曰：「咨！四岳，湯湯洪水方割，蕩

惇德允元，而難任人，蠻夷率服。

He said: “Oh, you twelve Pastors, be reverent! Now be gentle with the distant ones and kind to the near ones, treat generously the virtuous men and trust the great men, and balk the insinuating ones; then the Man and Yi barbarians will follow and submit.”

蕩懷山襄陵，浩浩滔天；民其咨。有能俾 乂？」僉曰：「於！鯀哉！」帝曰：「吁！ 咈哉！方命圮族。」岳曰：「异哉。試可， 乃已。」帝曰：「往，欽哉！」

B8 舜曰：「咨！四岳。有能奮庸熙帝之載， 使宅百揆，亮采惠疇？」僉曰：「伯禹作司 空。」帝曰：「俞！咨禹，汝平水土，惟時懋 哉！」禹拜稽首，讓于稷、契暨皋陶。帝曰： 「俞！汝往哉！」

The emperor said: “Oh, you Si Yue, voluminously the great waters everywhere are injurious, extensively they embrace the mountains and rise above the hills, vastly they

Shun said: “Oh, you Si Yue, is there anybody who can start achievements and make resplendent the emperor’s undertakings? I shall make him occupy the general management, to

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swell up to Heaven. The lower people groan. Is there anybody whom I could let regulate it?” All said: “Oh, Gun, indeed!” The emperor said: “Oh, he is offensive. He neglects [my] orders, he ruins his kin.” [Si] Yue said: “He is remarkable. Try him, and if he will do, then employ him.” The emperor said: “Go, and be reverent.” (b) 九載，績用弗成。 After nine years the work was not achieved. A5b 帝曰：「咨！四岳。朕在位七十載；汝

assist in the affairs and be kind to his colleagues.” All said: “Bo Yu [who] is master of the official works.” The emperor said: “Yes. Oh, you Yu, you shall regulate water and land, in this be energetic!” Yu saluted and bowed down the head and ceded to Ji, Xie and Gao Yao. The emperor said: “Oh yes, you shall go!”

能庸命，巽朕位。」岳曰：「否德忝帝位。 」曰：「明明揚側陋。」師錫帝曰：「有鰥 在下，曰虞舜。」帝曰：「俞！予聞。如 何？」岳曰：「瞽子；父頑，母嚚，象傲。 克諧以孝，烝烝乂，不格姦。」帝曰：「我 其試哉！」女于時，觀厥刑于二女。釐降二 女于媯汭，嬪于虞。帝曰：「欽哉！」

穀。」帝曰：「契！百姓不親，五品不遜。汝 作司徒，敬敷五教，在寬。」帝曰：「皋陶！ 蠻夷猾夏，寇賊姦宄。汝作士，五刑有服，五 服三就；五流有宅，五宅三居。惟明克允。」

The emperor said: “Oh, you Si Yue, I have been in the high position [on the throne] 70 years. [If] you can execute [Heaven‘s] mandate, I shall cede my high position.” [Si] Yue said: “[I have] not the virtue, I should disgrace the emperor‘s high position.” [The emperor] said: “Promote one [already] illustrious, or raise one humble and mean.” All to the emperor said: “There is an unmarried man in a low position, called Shun of Yu.” The emperor said: “Yes, I have heard [of him]; what is he like?” [Si] Yue said: “He is the son of a blind man; his father was stupid, his mother was deceitful, [his brother] Xiang was arrogant; he has been able to be concordant and to be grandly filial; he has controlled himself and has not come to wickedness.” The emperor said: “I will try him; I will wive him, and observe his behavior towards my two daughters.” He directed and sent down his two daughters to

B9 帝曰：「棄！黎民阻飢。汝后稷，播時百

The emperor said: “Qi, the multitudinous people will presently starve, you shall be Ruler of the Millet, sow those hundred cereals.” The emperor said: “Xie, the hundred families are not affectionate, the five classes are not compliant, you shall be Master of the Multitude, and respectfully propagate the five instructions, they depend upon large-mindedness.” The emperor said: “Gao Yao, the Man and Yi barbarians disturb the Xia; they are robbers and bandits and villains and traitors. You shall be judge. The five punishments have their applications; in the five applications there are three accommodations. The five banishments have their placings; in the five placings there are three [kinds of] dwellings. If you are discerning, you can be trusted.”

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Table 2.2 “Yao dian” 堯典 (trans. Karlgren 1950) (cont.)

the nook of the Gui river, to be wives in the Yu [house]. The emperor said: “Be reverent!”

B10 帝曰：「疇若予工？」僉曰：「垂哉！」 帝曰：「俞！咨垂。汝共工。」垂拜稽首，讓 于殳、斨暨伯與。帝曰：「俞！往哉，汝諧。 」帝曰：「疇若予上下草木鳥獸？」僉曰：「 益哉！」帝曰：「俞！咨益，汝作朕虞。」益 拜稽首，讓于朱、虎、熊、羆。帝曰：「俞！ 往哉，汝諧。」帝曰：「咨！四岳。有能典朕 三禮？」僉曰：「伯夷。」帝曰：「俞！咨 伯。汝作秩宗。夙夜惟寅，直哉惟清。」伯拜 稽首，讓于夔、龍。帝曰：「俞。往，欽 哉！」

The emperor said: “Who will carefully attend to my works?” All said: “Chui!” The emperor said: “Yes. Oh, you Chui, you shall be Master of works.” Chui saluted and bowed down the head and ceded to Shu, Qiang and Bo Yu. The emperor said: “Yes, go, you shall cooperate [with them]!” The emperor said: “Who will carefully attend to my herbs and trees, birds and beasts in the highlands and the lowlands?” All said: “Yi!” The emperor said: “Yes. Oh, you Yi, you shall be my Forester.” Yi saluted and bowed down the head and ceded to Zhu, Hu, Xing and Pi. The emperor said: “Yes, go, you shall cooperate [with them]!” The emperor said: “Oh, Si Yue, is there anybody who can direct my three [categories of] rites?” All said: “Bo Yi.” The emperor said: “Yes. Oh, you Bo, you shall be Master of Rites. Morning and night, be respectful; in your straightness, be pure.” Po saluted and bowed down the head and ceded to Kui and Long. The emperor said: “Yes, go and be respectful!” B11a 帝曰：「夔！命汝典樂，教冑子。」 The emperor said: “Kui, I charge you to be Director of Music, to teach the descendant sons,”

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(d) 直而溫，寬而栗，剛而無虐，簡而無傲。 詩言志，歌永言，聲依永，律和聲。八音克 諧，無相奪倫，神人以和。

“… [to be] straight and yet mild, large-minded and yet careful, firm and yet not tyrannical, great and yet not arrogant. Poetry expresses the mind, the song is a chanting of [its] words, the notes depend upon [the mode of] the chanting, the pitch pipes harmonize the notes. [When] the eight [kinds of] sounds can be harmonized and not encroach upon each other, Spirits and men will be brought into harmony.” B11b 夔曰：「於！予擊石拊石，百獸率舞。 」帝曰：「龍！朕堲讒說殄行，震驚朕師。命 汝作納言，夙夜出納朕命，惟允。」

Kui said: “Oh, when I strike the stone, when I knock on the stone, all the animals follow [it] and dance.” B12 帝曰：「咨！汝二十有二人，欽哉！惟時 亮天功。」

The emperor said: “Oh, you twenty-two men, be respectful, now you shall assist me in the works [assigned by] Heaven.” B13 三載考績；三考黜陟，幽明庶績咸熙。分 北三苗。

Every three years he examined the achievements [of his subordinates]. After three examinations he degraded or promoted the unenlightened and the enlightened [respectively]. The achievements were all resplendent. He detached and sent to the north the San Miao. B14 舜生三十，徵庸三十，在位五十載，陟方 乃死。

When Shun was 30 years of age, he was called and employed for 30 years, he was on the throne for 50 years and then ascending to his place he died.

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Vogelsang

Shun, then, represents the imperial perspective of impersonal government, whereas Yao represents charismatic rulership. One may regard Yao and Shun as “two complementary aspects of imperial rule that could be alternately actualized according to the situation. In fact, at least for the Qin and early Western Han, we find not only accounts of bureaucratic government (i.e., Shun’s model) but also representations of charismatic leadership (Yao’s model).”34 Their respective depictions in “Yao dian,” Kern argues, “employ rather different rhetorical means,” making the two narratives appear “far less integrated” than the modern-script recension suggests, indeed hinting that they should be “considered two separate texts.”35 This would appear to be the same conclusion as the one reached above about “Gao Yao mo.” Indeed, a comparison of the vocabulary and grammar, similar to the one presented above, also yields significant differences between “Yao dian” A and B. Consider the differences in frequencies for the following words in the two parts:

Part A

Part B

惟 五 民 厥 汝 作

0 0 6 5 2 1 6

 8 16  1  0 15  9  1

Reduplicatives

Moreover, pre-positioned objects again appear only in part B, namely, in B5, “The punishments, to them you should carefully attend” (惟刑之恤哉), and B8, “in this be energetic” (惟時懋哉). This is strikingly similar to what we find in “Gao Yao mo.” In both cases, we can discern two distinct parts that differ in vocabulary and political theory. In both cases, part A seems to represent the perspective of charismatic government centered on the virtue of the ruler,36 and part B seems to make a case for bureaucratic government in which ministers are the most important actors (note the dialogues about their recruitment in both B parts), controlling the emperor and his empire. Moreover, in 34 35 36

Kern, chapter 1 in this volume. Kern, chapter 1 in this volume. The case is not so clear with regard to the “people.” Although part A of “Yao dian” mentions 民 significantly more often than part B does, they are neither a dominant theme nor is care for the people emphasized in the same way as in “Gao Yao mo,” part A.

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both chapters, the latter position is associated with numerological concepts, especially wuxing cosmology, which subsumes the world under groups of five.37 Michael Nylan has suggested “that the Documents represents a repository of sequentially developed approaches to good rule,”38 which she associated with different chapters. Perhaps we can take this thought a step further and suggest that these “sequentially developed approaches” left their traces within single chapters of the Shangshu. One might argue that “Yao dian” and “Gao Yao mo” are special cases because their separate parts have the status of independent chapters in the supposedly inferior ancient-script recension of the Shangshu.39 Yet instead of simply making us revert to the chapter arrangement in the latter, the examples of “Yao dian” and “Gao Yao mo” should alert us to competing voices in other Shangshu chapters as well, including those never split by traditional editors. “Lü xing” At first sight, “Lü xing” would seem to be quite different from “Yao dian” and “Gao Yao mo” not only because it belongs to a different (nominally later) section of the Shangshu, the “Zhoushu” 周書,40 but also insofar as tradition has always treated it as unified. However, a closer look suggests that this chapter, too, contains two quite different, perhaps dissenting voices. For purposes of analysis, “Lü xing” may be divided into eight sections: 37

38

39

40

It is tempting to speculate about the origin of these parts: perhaps one dates to pre-imperial times, the other to Qin/Han times (as suggested by Kern), or maybe they derive from different regional traditions (see below); but, of course, various other explanations are possible. According to Nylan (2001: 137) these are (1) a model of cosmic control; (2) a model of bureaucratic control; (3) royal models of filial duty, sibling concord, and collegial rule; (4) a model of the ruler as rhetorician, who thereby controls the people; and (5) a model of the self-abnegation and “secret virtue” of worthy officials. A similar point could be made about the “Pan Geng” 盤庚 chapter, which is tripartite in the ancient-script recension, and justifiably so, since the speeches documented in these parts are quite disparate. However, they do not seem to represent different theories of rulership as “Yao dian” and “Gao Yao mo” do; therefore, the “Pan Geng” chapter will not be discussed here. The case of “Gu ming” 顧命 and “Kang wang zhi gao” 康王之誥chapters is different yet, since these two ancient-script chapters, which are merged in the modernscript recension, do actually appear homogeneous, so that their fusion seems justified. See chapter 3, by Dirk Meyer, in this volume. Jiang Shanguo (1988: 252–253) dates it to the time of Mu wang. For a discussion from the perspective of legal history, see Charles Sanft’s contribution in this volume (chapter 13).

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A1 Introduction: the prince of Lü plans to create penal laws. A2 Speech by a “king” about the Miao’s cruel punishments, their extermination by the “august sovereign,” and his virtuous order. A3 Speech by a “king” to legal administrators about the Miao’s cruel punishments and their extermination by Shangdi. A4 Speech by a “king” to his relatives, exhorting them to be obedient and respect the penal laws. A5 Speech by a “king” to feudal lords about “auspicious punishments,”41 capped by three rhetorical questions. B1 Catalogue of “procedural law” and other legal rules. A6 Speech by a “king” to officials about caution in punishments. A7 Speech by a “king” to his descendants. These eight parts are rather distinct; moreover, at least some of them seem significantly at odds with one another. Most strikingly, “Lü xing” first has the king railing against the Miao because they created and applied punishments (A2)—and then, a few paragraphs later, it happily describes how to apply punishments and gives a detailed description of procedural law (B1). None of the mythological accounts given in A2 play a role in B1. Moreover, A2 repeatedly appeals to “virtue” (de 德, six times) and shows explicit concern for the people (min 民, ten times). This passage introduces an “august sovereign” (huangdi 皇 帝), who apparently communicates directly with the people: “The august sovereign clearly inquired from the lower people, and widowers and widows made their indictments against Miao. His virtuous severity overawed them, his virtuous enlightenment enlightened them” (皇帝清問下民，鰥寡有辭于苗。德威 惟畏，德明惟明). Only then does he instruct “three lords”—Bo Yi, Yu, and [Hou] Ji—to regulate things for the benefit of the people. The initiative clearly rests with the sovereign, not the “lords” or ministers: the passage is all about charismatic kingship, not bureaucratic government. By contrast, part B1 does not speak about “virtue” or the “people” at all; instead, it abounds in impersonal numerological categories (the number “five” occurs twelve times vs. only once in A2) and gives abstract rules of legal procedure: “Doubtful cases of the five punishments may be pardoned; doubtful cases of the five penalties may be pardoned. … May you investigate it.” The dominant word in this passage is not “punishments” (xing 刑) but “penalties” (fa 罰, seventeen times)—a word that does not appear in A2.

41

On this concept, see chapter 13 in this volume; Karlgren’s translation is “litigations and punishments.”

Competing Voices in the Shangshu Table 2.3 “Lü xing” 呂刑 (trans. Karlgren 1950)

A1 惟呂命。王享國百年耄荒，度作刑以詰四 方

When [the prince of] Lü received his charge, the king had enjoyed the state a hundred years, and he was very old and senile, but he [still] planned to make penal laws, in order to control the [people of] the four quarters. A2 王曰：「若古有訓，蚩尤惟始作亂，延及 于平民。罔不寇賊，鴟義姦宄，奪攘矯虔。苗 民弗用靈，制以刑；惟作五虐之刑，曰法。殺 戮無辜。爰始淫為劓刖椓黥；越茲麗刑并制， 罔差有辭。民興胥漸，泯泯棼棼；罔中于信， 以覆詛盟。虐威庶戮，方告無辜于上。上帝監 民，罔有馨香，德刑發聞惟腥。皇帝哀矜庶戮 之不辜，報虐以威，遏絕苗民，無世在下。乃 命重黎絕地天通，罔有降格。群后之逮在下， 明明棐常，鰥寡無蓋。皇帝清問下民，鰥寡有 辭于苗。德威惟畏，德明惟明。乃命三后恤功 于民：伯夷降典，折民惟刑；禹平水土，主名 山川；稷降播種，農殖嘉穀。三后成功，惟殷 于民。士制百姓于刑之中，以教祗德。穆穆在 上，明明在下，灼于四方，罔不惟德之勤。故 乃明于刑之中，率乂于民棐彝。典獄，非訖于 威，惟訖于富。敬忌，罔有擇言 在身。惟克天 德，自作元命，配享在下。」

The king said: “From ancient times we have the teaching that Qi You was the first to make rebellion. It extended to the peaceful people, there were none who were not robbers and bandits, owl-behaviored [i.e. rapacious], villains and traitors, snatchers and plunderers, forgers and killers. The Miao people did not apply an improving training, they restrained by means of punishments, they created the five oppressive punishments, and called this the law. They killed the innocent, and so they started excessively to practice the cutting off of the

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92 Table 2.3 “Lü xing” 呂刑 (trans. Karlgren 1950) (cont.)

nose, the cutting off of the legs, castration, black-branding; all these who were assigned for punishments, all alike were chastised. They made no distinctions between those who were indicted. The people started to affect each other, they were confused and disorderly, they had no inner feelings in their good faith, and therefore they violated their oaths and covenants. All those punished with a tyrannical severity everywhere declared their innocence to [God on] High. God on High surveyed the people; there was no fragrant virtue, the smell sent out by the punishments was rank. The august sovereign felt grief and pity for the innocence of the punished ones, he requited [those who] tyrannized with their severity, he stopped and exterminated the Miao people, and there were no descendants of them. The charge was given to Chong and Li to break the communication between earth and heaven so that there was no descending or ascending. When the sovereign ruler reached to those in low positions, he clearly elucidated the irregular practices; and [even] widowers and widows were not prevented from speaking. The august sovereign clearly inquired from the lower people, and widowers and widows made their indictments against Miao. His virtuous severity overawed them, his virtuous enlightenment enlightened them. Then he gave charge to three princes, to be zealous about doing meritorious work for the people. Bo Yi sent down the regulations, for restraining the people there were the penal laws. Yu regulated waters and land, presided over the naming of mountains and rivers. Ji sent down and spread the cereals, he cultivated the fine grains. When the three princes had achieved their work, there was ampleness for

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Competing Voices in the Shangshu

the people. Then he trained the gentry in the justness of the punishments, thereby teaching respect for virtue. Very august was he above, very bright were those below, it illuminated in [all] the [regions of] the four quarters, there were none who were not zealous about virtue, and therefore they were enlightened in regard to the just application of the punishments. In all they brought order into the irregular practices of the people. The directors of criminal cases did not end by [applying] severity, they ended by [creating] happiness. Careful and cautious, there were no ruinous words coming from their persons. They upheld Heaven‘s virtue, for themselves they created great charges, and as its [Heaven’s] counterparts they enjoyed them here below.” A3 王曰：「嗟！四方司政典獄。非爾惟作天 牧？今爾何監？非時伯夷播刑之迪？其今爾何 懲？惟時苗民匪察于獄之麗；罔擇吉人，觀于 五刑之中；惟時庶威奪貨，斷制五刑以亂無 辜。上帝不蠲，降咎于苗；苗民無辭于罰，乃 絕厥世。」

The king said: “Oh, you managers of government and directors of criminal cases in the four quarters! Is it not you who are Heaven‘s pastors? Now what should you scrutinize? Is it not that Bo Yi’s conduct in distributing the punishments? Now, what should you make a warning? Is it not those Miao people’s making no examinations in regard to those assigned [for punishment] in criminal cases? They did not select good men, who examined the just application of the five punishments. Those many overawing and bribe-taking ones decided and applied the five punishments, and thereby oppressed the innocent. God on High found this impure, and sent down calamity on the Miao.

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94 Table 2.3 “Lü xing” 呂刑 (trans. Karlgren 1950) (cont.)

The Miao people had no excuse for evading punishment and he cut off their posterity.” A4 王曰：「嗚呼！念之哉！伯父、伯兄，仲 叔季弟，幼子、童孫，皆聽朕言，庶有格命。 今爾罔不由慰，日勤，爾罔或戒不勤。天齊于 民，俾我，一日非終，惟終在人。爾尚敬逆天 命，以奉我一人。雖畏勿畏，雖休勿休。惟敬 五刑，以成三德。一人有慶，兆民賴之，其寧 惟永。」

The king said: “Oh, ponder it! My uncles, brothers and cousins, young sons and young grandsons, all listen to my words. May it occur that you [all] attain to charges. Now, may there be none of you who do not follow [my] encouragements and be daily zealous, may you not perchance be mistrustful and lacking in zeal. Heaven, in arranging for the people, endows us with one day; whether one does not live to a [natural] end or whether one lives to a [natural] end depends upon the man himself. May you respectfully meet Heaven’s will, thereby obeying me, the One Man. Even if one intimidates you, do not be intimidated; even if one flatters you, do not be flattered. Only attend carefully to the five punishments, thus achieving the three virtues. [I], the One Man, shall enjoy happiness and the million people will receive the advantage of it. The tranquility will be perpetual.” A5 王曰：「吁！來！有邦有土，告爾祥刑。 在今爾安百姓，何擇、非人？何敬、非刑？何 度、非及？

The king said: “Oh, come, possessors of states and possessors of lands. I will tell you about litigations and punishments. Now, when you tranquillize the people, what should you select, if not the [proper] men, what should you

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carefully attend to, if not the punishments, what should you plan for, if not the attainment?”

95

B1 兩造具備，師聽五辭。五辭簡孚，正于 五刑。五刑不簡，正于五罰。五罰不服，正 于五過。五過之疵，惟官，惟反，惟內，惟 貨，惟來。其罪惟均，其審克之。五刑之疑 有赦，五罰之疑有赦，其審克之。簡孚有 眾，惟貌有稽；無簡不聽，具嚴天威。墨辟 疑赦，其罰百鍰，閱實其罪。劓辟疑赦，其 罰惟倍，閱實其罪。剕辟疑赦，其罰倍差， 閱實其罪。宮辟疑赦，其罰六百鍰，閱實其 罪。大辟疑赦，其罰千鍰，閱實其罪。墨罰 之屬千，劓罰之屬千，剕罰之屬五百，宮罰 之屬三百，大辟之罰其屬二百：五刑之屬三 千。上下比罪，無僭亂辭，勿用不行；惟察 惟法，其審克之。上刑適輕，下服。下刑適 重，上服。輕重諸罰有權。刑罰世輕世重， 惟齊非齊，有倫有要。罰懲非死，人極于 病。非佞折獄，惟良折獄，罔非在中。察辭 于差，非從惟從。哀敬折獄，明啟刑書胥 占，咸庶中正。其刑其罰，其審克之。獄成 而孚，輸而孚。其刑上備，有并兩刑。」 When both [parties] have appeared fully prepared, the court assessors deal with the five [kinds of] pleading. When by the five [kinds of] pleading one has ascertained and verified [the guilt], one attributes [the case] to [one of] the five punishments; if the five punishments are not found adequate, one attributes it to one of the five redemptionfines; if the five redemption-fines are not applicable, one attributes it to the five cases of errors. The shortcomings called the five cases of error are officialism, insubordination, bribery, hoarding and [office-]seeking. These offenses are on a par. May you investigate it. In doubtful cases of the five punishments there is condoning; in doubtful cases of the five redemption-fines there is condoning. May you investigate it. You

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Table 2.3 “Lü xing” 呂刑 (trans. Karlgren 1950) (cont.)

should ascertain and verify and act in concert with public opinion; you should minutely make investigation. If [the guilt] is not ascertained, you should not deal with [the case]. You should all stand in awe of Heaven’s majesty. When the punishment of black-branding is doubtful and remitted, the redemption fine is 100 huan-weights [of bronze]; but one examines and verifies the crimes. When the punishment of nose-cutting is doubtful and remitted, the redemption-fine is double; but one examines and verifies the crimes. When the punishment of leg-cutting is doubtful and remitted, the redemption-fine is the [same] double plus the difference; but one examines and verifies the crimes. When the punishment of castration is doubtful and remitted, the redemption-fine is 600 huan; but one examines and verifies the crimes. When the great punishment is doubtful and remitted, the redemption-fine is 1000 huan; but one examines and verifies the crimes. The redeemable kinds [of crimes falling] under black-branding are 1000, those under nose-cutting are 1000, those under leg-cutting are 500, those under castration are 300 and those under the great punishment are 200. The kinds [of crimes falling] under the five punishments are 3000. In graver and lighter cases, you should [with precedents] compare the offenses. Do not admit false and disorderly pleadings. Do not use what is obsolete. What you should study is the law. May you investigate it. In regard to a higher punishment, when [the crime] tends towards the lighter side, it should be downwards applied; in regard to a lower punishment,

Competing Voices in the Shangshu

A6 王曰：「嗚呼！敬之哉，官伯族姓！朕言 多懼。朕敬于刑，有德惟刑。今天相民，作配 在下，明清于單辭。民之亂，罔不中聽獄之兩 辭；無或私家于獄之兩辭。獄貨非寶，惟府辜 功，報以庶尤。永畏惟罰，非天不中，惟人在 命。天罰不極，庶民罔有令政在于天下。」

The king said: “Oh, be reverently careful about it, you chiefs of officers, you clansmen and you gentry. My speech is full of apprehension, I am reverently careful about the punishments. The virtuous must think of the punishments. Now, when Heaven would aid the people, it has

97

when [the crime] tends towards the heavier side, it should be upwards applied. For the lighter or heavier redemption-fines there is the balance of circumstances. The punishments and fines are in certain ages light, in certain ages heavy. For adjusting what is not just there are reasons and leading principles. Through the correcting by fines, there is no death, but people come to the extreme in suffering. It is not the specious who should decide criminal cases, it is the good who should decide them. Everything depends on justness. Examine the pleadings with regard to the divergences, [to find] which not to follow and which to follow. Compassionately and carefully you should decide the criminal cases. Publicly open the law codex and together look for the answer; all will then, it is to be hoped, be just and correct. In punishing and in fining, may you examine it. When in a criminal case you have achieved your sure result, then commit to writing your sure result; the punishments should be recorded and completely indicated. When one has combined [two crimes], he should have two punishments.

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Table 2.3 “Lü xing” 呂刑 (trans. Karlgren 1950) (cont.)

created a counterpart for itself here below. You should bring clarity into the one-sided pleadings. In [the] governing [of] the people you should have nothing that is not just, and listen to both pleadings in the criminal cases. Do not perchance privately profit from the two pleading [parties] in criminal cases. Hoardings from criminal cases are no treasures. You only store up culpable deeds, and you will be requited by much guilt. What should be perpetually feared is the punishment. It is not that Heaven is not just; it is man who should fully understand its decrees. If Heaven’s punishments were not perfect, the common people would not have a good government under Heaven.” A7 王曰：「嗚呼！嗣孫！今往何監？非德于 民之中，尚明聽之哉！哲人惟刑；無疆之辭， 屬于五極；咸中有慶，受王嘉師，監于茲祥 刑。」

The king said: “Oh, you inheriting descendants! Henceforth, whom should you scrutinize? Is it not the virtuous ones in the midst of the people? May you enlightenedly listen to it. For restraining the people there are the penal laws. The innumerable legal cases should be applied to the five proper norms, and when all is just there will be happiness. You who receive the king’s fine multitude should scrutinize these [rules of] litigation and punishments.”

Moreover, the ruler is not mentioned at all in B1; the one person appearing in this passage is a shi 師, a “master” or the like, in any case an administrative officer: the entire passage is thoroughly bureaucratic in nature. Although not as outspoken about the role of ministers in advising the ruler or their duties in

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governing the empire, this passage seems to represent a perspective on bureaucratic government similar to those we have seen in “Gao Yao mo” and “Yao dian”—and just as in those chapters, it is juxtaposed to a section representing the perspective of charismatic rulership. Again, it seems that we have competing narratives within one chapter. Linguistic evidence corroborates this impression:

A1

A2

A3

A4

A5

B1

A6

A7

Reduplicatives 其 而 作 明

— — — 1 —

5 — — 3 5

— 1 — 1 —

— 1 — — —

— — — — —

— 19 2 — 1

— — — 1 1

— — — — 1

These data seem to support the impression that there are at least two distinct parts in “Lü xing,” A2 and B1.42 Part A2, which condemns the creation and use of punishments by the Miao, and B1, which lists the rules of legal procedure, exhibit several significant differences in wording. The most conspicuous difference lies in the use of reduplicative words, five of which occur in A2 but none in the remainder of the chapter; moreover, the word ming 明, “bright,” is a clear favorite in A2. On the other hand, the character qi 其, representing a pronoun or a particle, is very frequent in B1 but entirely absent in A2; similar differences, although less significant in number, may be observed in the use of er 而 and perhaps even the verb zuo 作, whose variable distribution in “Gao Yao mo” and “Yao dian” has already been noted. There are, of course, several ways to interpret this evidence. Leaving out the unlikely possibility of chance distribution, one may argue that different contexts (e.g., the “king” speaking to different groups) or literary genres (e.g., speeches vs. lists or catalogs) require different styles and vocabulary and that the divergence in content between A2 and B1 may be understood as supplementary rather than contradictory. Or one may take these discrepancies seriously and argue that they betray the work of different authors or editors who held mutually opposed positions on questions of law and government—in 42

In what follows, I will limit the discussion to these two parts. Although I have preliminarily labeled the other parts A1–A7, their status (do they belong to A or to B, or are they perhaps independent?) is not quite clear. Overall, the evidence is not sufficient to either postulate or refute an A/B division for the entire chapter.

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short, that “Lü xing,” too, contains competing voices. In this case, the question arises whether these voices are the same in all three chapters. In other words: are the textual layers observed in these three cases the same? Does the Shangshu have layers similar to the Torah? Can the Shangshu be analyzed vertically, so to speak, layer by layer, rather than horizontally, chapter by chapter? Looking for Layers If the above observations hold true, they have important consequences for the discussion of political philosophy in the Shangshu. It has already become abundantly clear that we cannot assume one political philosophy for the entire collection—but neither can we talk about the political philosophy of single chapters. Rather, we must reckon with different perspectives within single chapters. But can these different perspectives be linked together? In the process of compiling the Shangshu, did certain editors add to different chapters in similar ways, constructing layers of meaning rather than segments of meaning? It seems plausible that all three chapters under discussion first consisted only of a textual layer similar to the one identified here as “part A,” which represents the perspective of “charismatic rule,” with a strong emphasis on the “virtue” of the ruler and on the “people,” and that another editor later added some or all passages of part B, which makes a case for bureaucratic government.43 In fact, there are indications, at least in “Yao dian,” that these editorial stages may be linked to certain regions. Thus, Xi and He, which appear in “Yao dian” A3, are also mentioned in Chuci 楚辭;44 and certain expressions in “Yao dian” A4 have been identified as belonging to the Chu dialect.45 On the other hand, Chen Mengjia, following Gu Jiegang, detects the influence of the Qin system in several places in “Yao dian.” The twelve regions, twelve mountains (十有二州，封十有二山, both B5), and twelve “pastors” (牧, B7), he argues, must all have numbered nine before the Qin unification but were changed to 43

44 45

Or vice versa; it is entirely conceivable that part B is the older layer in all chapters and that part A was added later on. In no case does it make sense to speak of an “urtext”; what we have, are simply textual units of different origin, none of which may be identified as the “original.” A model for recontextualization of layers within a given text is discussed by Meyer in this volume (chapter 3). This is pointed out by Jiang Shanguo (1988: 147). Zang Kehe 1999: 39.

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accord with the Qin system.46 Moreover, Chen contends that the accounts of “harmonizing the seasons, months, and first days,” as well as the standardization of tones and measures, both in (c), clearly betray Qin influence.47 Finally, the practice of taking a tour of the empire every five years, attributed to Yu in B5, is traceable to the first emperor of Qin.48 The interesting point about these observations is that all the traces of Chu influence appear in part A, and all the traces of Qin influence appear in part B.49 Interestingly, “Gao Yao mo” mentions twelve “masters” (“districts” in Karlgren’s translation; 十有二師) in (f), which is placed in part B, whereas in part A the number “nine” predominates: there are “nine tribes” (九族) in A2 and “nine virtues” (九德) in A4. Moreover, the system of promotion by “achievements” and “works” mentioned in B3 would seem to show Qin influence. So in “Gao Yao mo” can layer A be attributed to Chu and layer B to Qin? Unfortunately, the matter is not quite that simple. If there was one editor or one group of editors who added a certain layer to different parts of the Shangshu, one would expect the criteria found in single chapters to apply to all chapters in question—just as the Jahve and Elohim layers in the Torah can be detected by the same telltale signs in very different parts throughout its five books. But the Shangshu cannot be analyzed quite that neatly. A glance at the tables above reveals that the differences in vocabulary observed in the three chapters are not the same. For example, in “Gao Yao mo” the use of personal pronouns serves as an indicator to distinguish the different parts; whereas the use of wei 惟 in “Yao dian” and the use of de 德, min 民, and fa 罰 in “Lü xing” serve as distinctive criteria. If one applies these criteria to all three chapters, one gets the following picture:

46

47 48 49

Chen Mengjia 2002: 153–158, 388–389. Gu Jiegang proposed this in 1923 but in 1930 modified his view, opting for a Western Han date; Chen Mengjia favors the former interpretation. Chen Mengjia 2002: 159–160. Chen Mengjia 2002: 160–161; Kern 2000: 106–118, 191–192. Of course, this passage may also have been the “precedent” for the emperor’s tours. As noted in chapter 1 in this volume (Kern). One may add that in A2, the number of tribes mentioned is nine, not twelve. If Chen Mengjia’s theory is right, this part shows no sign of Qin reworking: the latter is apparent only in B.

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Gao A

以 用 (prep.) 乎 汝 乃 (pron.) 予 作 四50 之 (part.)

— — 3 — 1 1 — — — Pre-pos. obj. — 惟 2 五 8 民 5 厥 3 Reduplicatives 4 德 7 罰 — 乃 (conj.) 2 其 4 之 (pron.) 3

Yao A

Lü A2

Gao B

Yao B

Lü B1

7 1 1 2 — 2 1 2 — — — — 6 5 6 2 — 2 2 —

4 1 — — — —  3  1  5  1 10  1 10 —  5  6 —  3 — —

11  4 —  9  5 12  7  5  3  3 11  7  3  2  2  2 —  7  3  6

7  1 — 15  1 15  9  8 —  2  8 16  1 —  1  3 —  6 — 1

—  1 — — — — — —  9 — 13 12 — — — — 17 — 19  4

In a perfect case, with the same editor employing his vocabulary consistently, the three columns on the left should display comparable usage, as should the three on the right (except for technical words like fa 罰, “penalties,” which are not to be expected in most chapters). However, the table shows no such perfect division. To be sure, there are some patterns: for instance, in the use of personal pronouns, reduplicative words, and perhaps the archaizing pronoun jue 厥. But on the whole, the picture is far from consistent. For example, the preposition yi 以 appears only in part B of “Gao Yao mo,” but in “Lü xing” it is used only in part A, and it is evenly distributed in “Yao dian”; zuo 作, which seems typical of the B parts in “Gao Yao mo” and “Yao dian,” appears only in part A of “Lü xing”; wei 惟, which appears far more often in the B parts of “Gao Yao mo” and “Yao dian,” is almost equally distributed in “Lü xing”; nai 乃, which appears only in part A of “Lü xing,” is significantly more frequent in the B parts of “Gao Yao mo” and “Yao dian”; and so forth. Such inconsistencies are so numerous 50

Excluding 四岳.

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that no convincing argument can be made for any homogeneous layer throughout these three chapters.51 Some of the numbers given above certainly need to be qualified. For example, of the eight wu 五 in “Gao Yao mo” part A, seven appear in the very last passage, which has been identified above as an insertion, and the eighth one appears right before it. And in the case of the seven yi 以 in “Yao dian” part A, four appear in a passage that equally seems to be a later insertion. Such observations may certainly alter the picture; but they do not make it any more clear-cut. In fact, they ultimately point to the deeper-rooted problem that besets every analysis of the Shangshu: the multiplicity of its textual units. Not only do single chapters display internal differences, but the differences themselves differ from chapter to chapter. The book is not only “horizontally” but also “vertically” heterogeneous: there appear to be no consistent layers that recur in different chapters. Rather, many of these chapters appear to be a patchwork of small independent units that were added to a presumptive—and perhaps very small—core. The number of “interpolations” identified in the above chapters may serve to illustrate this picture. It seems to reflect the Shangshu’s convoluted lines of transmission, the bewildering amount of editions in Han times alone,52 and the fact that later Han and Tang editions conflated these editions into one text. Given the complexity of the text’s history, this picture is not at all surprising; in fact, any degree of uniformity would be a surprise. For modern scholars of the Shangshu, this means that they have to analyze not only every chapter but also every paragraph by itself, taking into account the larger contexts to which they may belong and also the numerous interpolations, glosses that slipped into the text, and so forth. The manifold and perhaps competing voices in the Shangshu will continue to puzzle scholars.

51

52

Much less, of course, can this argument be made for the Shangshu as a whole. There are several chapters in which heterogeneity of contents coincides with linguistic differences, however. “Yu gong” is one: its first part abounds with wei 惟 (thirty-four occurrences), which is entirely absent in the other parts; and the third part is characterized by numbers and measurements in li 里, which are alien to the others; but these variations differ from the ones discussed above. Chen Mengjia (2002: 38–53) discusses seven editions and shows how they were combined. Michael Nylan and He Ruyue (2014: 5–6) list fourteen editions from pre-Qin to the fourth century.

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References Assmann, Jan. 1999. Das kulturelle Gedächtnis: Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen. Munich: C. H. Beck. Chan Hung Kan 陳雄根 and Ho Che Wah 何志華. 2003. Citations from the “Shangshu” to be Found in Pre-Han and Han Texts [Xian-Qin liang Han dianji yin “Shangshu” ziliao huibian 先秦兩漢典籍引《尚書》料彙編]. Hong Kong: Chinese University Press. Chen Mengjia 陳夢家. 2002. Shangshu tonglun 尚書通論. Shijiazhuang: Hebei jiaoyu chubanshe. Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛. 1982. Gushi bian 古史辨. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 and Liu Qiyu 劉起釪. 2005. Shangshu jiaoshi yilun 尚書校釋譯論. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Henderson, John B. 1991. Scripture, Canon, and Commentary: A Comparison of Confucian and Western Exegesis. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jiang Shanguo 蔣善國. 1988. Shangshu zongshu 尚書綜述. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Jiao Junxia 焦俊霞. 2009. “Minben sixiang zhi yuan—Gao Yao mo” 民本思想之源—— 《皋陶谟》. Suzhou Daxue xuebao (Zhexue shehui kexue ban) 5: 55–57. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1946. “Legends and Cults in Ancient China.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 18: 199–365. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1948. “Glosses on the Book of Documents I.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 20: 39–315. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1950. “The Book of Documents.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 22: 1–82. Kern, Martin. 2000. The Stele Inscriptions of Ch’in Shih-huang: Text and Ritual in Early Chinese Imperial Representation. New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society. Liu Hehui 劉和惠. 1998. “Chongdu Shangshu Gao Yao mo—jianlun Gao Yao mo de lishi diwei” 重讀《尚書 • 皋陶謨》—兼論皋陶謨的歷史地位. Anhui shixue 2: 3–6. Ma Yong 馬雍. 1982. Shangshu shihua 尚書史話. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Nivison, David. 1999. “The Classical Philosophical Writings.” In The Cambridge History of Ancient China: From the Origins of Civilization to 221 B.C., ed. Michael Loewe and Edward L. Shaughnessy, 745–812. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nylan, Michael. 2001. The Five “Confucian” Classics. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Nylan, Michael, and He Ruyue 何如月. 2014. “On the So-Called ‘Preface’ (xu 序) for the Documents.” Paper presented at the Oxford Shangshu conference, Oxford University, March. Pi Xirui 皮錫瑞. 1998. Jinwen Shangshu kaozheng 今文尚書考証. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Qian Zongwu 錢宗武. 2004. Jinwen Shangshu yufa yanjiu 今文尚書語法研究. Beijing: Shangwu yinshuguan.

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Shangshu zhengyi 尚書正義. 2001. Ed. Li Xueqin 李學勤. Taipei: Taiwan guji chuban youxian gongsi. Shiji 史記. 1997. By Sima Qian 司馬遷. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Steck, Odil Hannes. 1998. Old Testament Exegesis: A Guide to the Methodology. Trans. James D. Nogalski. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Stumpfeldt, Hans. 2002. “Ein Diener vieler Herren: Einige Bemerkungen zum Yen-tzu ch’un-ch’iu.” In Und folge nun dem, was mein Herz begehrt: Festschrift für Ulrich Unger zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. Reinhard Emmerich and Hans Stumpfeldt, 183–208. Hamburg: Hamburger sinologische Gesellschaft. Stumpfeldt, Hans. 2007. “Ein Lied der ‘Lieder’?—Vorläufige Bemerkungen zu einem Passus in Erh-ya 3.” Oriens Extremus 46: 28–47. Stumpfeldt, Hans. 2010. “Thinking beyond the ‘Sayings’: Comments about Sources concerning the Life and Teachings of Confucius (551–479).” Oriens Extremus 49: 3–27. Yan Ruoqu 閻若璩. 2010. Shangshu guwen shuzheng 尚書古文疏證. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Yu Wenzhe 于文哲. 2011. “Shangshu Gao Yao mo guge jiedu” 《尚書·皋陶謨》古歌解讀. Mingzuo xinshang 20: 4–5. Zang Kehe 臧克和. 1999. Shangshu wenzi hegu 尚書文字校詁. Shanghai: Shanghai jiaoyu chubanshe. Zhang Wenguo 张文国. 2000. Shangshu yufa yanjiu 《尚書》語法研究. Chengdu: Ba Shu shushe. Zhu Qianzhi 朱謙之. 2009. Xin jiben Huan Tan Xin lun 新輯本桓谭新論. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju.

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Chapter 3

Recontextualization and Memory Production: Debates on Rulership as Reconstructed from “Gu ming” 顧命 Dirk Meyer Informed by Reinhart Koselleck’s considerations about the intrinsic gap between historical events and their verbal recognition,1 this study analyzes memory construction in the politico-philosophical debate of the Warring States period by taking primary reference to “Gu ming” 顧命 (“Testamentary Charge”) from the modern-script (jinwen 今文) recension of the Shangshu 今 文尚書. “Gu ming” as understood here is not primarily a document that records historical change through events but a multilayered intellectual enterprise where ancient communities come to terms with the changing realities of their social and intellectual experience. “Gu ming” presents the act of succession from King Cheng 成王 (r. 1042/1035– 1006 BCE) to his son Zhao 釗, the future King Kang 康王 (r. 1005/1003–978 BCE).2 It is a particularly lengthy text in two parts where speech is framed by the use of contextualizing narrative. Here King Cheng commands loyalty from the ministers to his son and heir. The act of commanding loyalty marks the text as a ming 命 (command), as is also noted in the present denotation of the text. Despite its outlook, “Gu ming” should not be seen as an actual witness to the act of succession from King Cheng to the future King Kang, nor should it be considered primarily as an instance of the—retrospectively invented—category “ming.” Instead, in its present constitution the text is an Eastern Zhou (770–256 BCE) artifact that takes a vital moment of the Zhou’s past as its central theme and translates sociopolitical angst into a founding myth of the Zhou. By so doing, the text connects to the wider debate on appropriate forms of rulership in the politico-philosophical setting of the late Eastern Zhou period, for which it (re)deploys a common textual framing device.

1 See Koselleck 2000, 2006. 2 My dates customarily follow Shaughnessy 1999a: 25. Note, however, that I do not consider these dates absolute but rather approximations with a margin of error of about thirty years.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2017 | doi 10.1163/9789004343504_005

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“Gu ming” Ming 命 are generally understood as speeches where royal entitlements are bestowed on individuals.3 Besides “Gu ming,” the only other modern-script chapter of the Shangshu marked as ming is “Wen hou zhi ming” 文侯之命, a rather brief record of a king’s voice commanding one of his ministers. But “Wen hou zhi ming” differs significantly from “Gu ming” in structural terms. Unlike “Gu ming,” it makes no use of narrative frames or any other contextualizing materials. The Qinghua “Fu Yue zhi ming” 傅說之命 manuscript in three parts—if we accept that it is not a modern forgery—may also be placed in the retrospective ming category of “Shu” 書 texts that predate the early imperial library projects.4 Because “Wen hou zhi ming” contains no framing structures that may contextualize the king’s speech within a historicizing narrative, the text is largely “ahistorical.”5 The structural differences between these writings and the small number of texts explicitly labeled ming reveal that ming is a retrospectively imposed category rather than a set of conventions that drove the initial text production—let alone the initial speech performance related in the text. It is therefore important to read a text such as “Gu ming” on its own terms and not through the 3 Legge (1960: 249) considers ming to be texts that “relate the designation of some officers to a particular charge or fief, with the address delivered to him on the occasion.” 4 Obviously, “Fu Yue zhi ming” should not be considered a Shangshu text but rather should be understood as an expression of wider “Shu” traditions, and so I wish to differentiate those “Shu” traditions from the Shangshu, with the latter denoting the received anthology. I capitalize “Shu” to show that texts of those traditions—written out or not—formed a recognizable corpus of high cultural value in early China, despite the still diffuse boundaries of the emerging anthology in pre-imperial times. Only during the late Eastern Zhou could the “Shu” grow into a more defined body of written texts, which hardened into one entity probably at the Qin imperial court and then with the early imperial libraries. For further discussions, see Matsumoto 1968: 520; Chen Mengjia 1985: 11–35; Kanaya 1992: 230–257; Liu Qiyu 1997: 4–24; Lewis 1999: 105–109; Kern 2000: 181–195; Schaberg 2001: 72–80; Vogelsang 2002; Meyer 2012: 23–24. Note that Shaughnessy (1991: 242–243) also considers the “Bi ming” 畢命 chapter of the ancient-script recension to be authentic because its dating formula is quoted in the Hanshu. Sarah Allan (2012 and also 2015) goes beyond the canon-centered exegetical paradigm and defines the “Shu” as a literary genre. Commendable as her approach is, I find it problematic for considering “Shu” only in the framework of written texts; see Meyer, forthcoming. 5 “Ahistorical” here does not mean that the text is devoid of historical knowledge but that it lacks historicizing contexts. Whether or not texts of the “Shu” traditions are framed in historical terms is important for understanding them. The ahistorical nature of a text might help to indicate early layers of principal text production. This issue, plus “Wen hou zhi ming” and “Fu Yue zhi ming,” will be discussed in more detail in Meyer, forthcoming.

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framework of its purported “genre.”6 In this study I therefore inquire into the form and function of the textual devices that frame and contextualize an event such as expressed in “Gu ming.” Such devices, I claim, allowed “Gu ming” to be connected to a wider mid- to late Eastern Zhou debate on rulership. “Gu ming” combines brief speeches with extensive narrative material. The story presented in the text can be summarized as follows: King Cheng fears that his death is imminent, and so he presents those attending him with a request about his succession. Then, after having conducted a ritual washing, he delivers a speech in which he stresses the unbroken line of rightful rule from Kings Wen 文 and Wu 武 (r. 1049/1045–1043 BCE) to himself, as well as demanding the loyalty of his attendees in support of his son Zhao. I consider this to be the core of “Gu ming.” Then the king dies and Zhao is prepared for his succession. The text offers a description of the ritual in preparation for Zhao’s succession that in length, form, and attention to detail is unseen elsewhere in textualized “Shu” traditions. The text closes with the conclusion of the ritual after an announcement made by Zhao, the new King Kang. Three things relating to the content and textual form of “Gu ming” need to be pointed out. First, by recording the last will of King Cheng that his son Zhao be enthroned as king after King Cheng’s death, “Gu ming” pronounces the notion of primogeniture. Because this account is placed in the context of King Cheng’s imminent death, the text connects with other expressions within the “Shu” traditions that document the transition of power from ruler to successor as a matter of urgency.7 Second, and related to this point, “Gu ming” can be linked to a group of texts that explicate their very existence as written entities. By constructing a narrative that can be understood as giving a reason (the emergency created by the king’s imminent death and, therefore, his need to quickly name a successor) for its physical existence, it thus expresses a sense of unease about, and therefore the need to explain, the event of recording what may well (or should ideally?) exist primarily in oral form.8 Unlike texts with 6 Maria Khayutina’s analysis of “Bi shi” 粊誓 in chapter 12 of this volume supports my conclusion. 7 Yegor Grebnev, in chapter 7 of this volume, calls such texts “alarming.” 8 Texts of the “Shu” traditions that reflect on their material existence include “Jinteng” 金縢 (and the Qinghua manuscript “Zhou Wu Wang you ji Zhou Gong suo zi yi dai wang zhi zhi” 周武王有疾周公所自以代王之志— henceforth “Zhou Wu Wang you ji”) plus the Qinghua manuscript “*Baoxun” 保訓 (more on these texts below). Krijgsman (2014) discusses those cases of textual self-reflexivity, which he also traces in the Shanghai manuscript “*Wu Wang jian zuo” 武王踐阼.

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the formula wang ruo yue 王若曰, “the king spoke thus,”9 which normally presents a text as an idealized summary of the reported event, the rhetorical fabric of “Gu ming” is such that it presents the text as though it was recording an event witnessed by a chronicler present at the time. Third, “Gu ming” belongs to those texts of the “Shu” traditions that give voice to multilayered events where the main event produces a number of related subevents that span an extended period of time.10 I discuss these features one by one in this study. At this point suffice it to say that on the whole they seem characteristic of a rather late date of text production. By presenting the text as though it was a recording by someone witnessing the events following the death of King Cheng, “Gu ming” is situated historically just one generation after King Wu. Shortly after leading a campaign against the citadel of Chong 崇, where the Zhou attempted to bring the Fen River valley under their military control, King Wen died.11 King Wu succeeded him and soon led a major campaign against the Shang 商. A decisive battle was fought successfully at Muye 牧野. King Wu subsequently assigned two, perhaps three, younger brothers of his to oversee the former Shang domain,12 while keeping Zhou Gong Dan 周公旦, the famous Duke of Zhou, in the Zhou capital to act as chief adviser. Not long after the decisive campaign against the Shang, King Wu died too,13 throwing the young dynasty into a major crisis. The Duke of Zhou stepped in for King Cheng to oversee government on his behalf. Ancient sources make it plain that the legitimacy of this move was doubted.14 Possibly as a reaction to 9

10

11 12 13 14

The literature on the purpose of wang ruo yue is too extensive to be reviewed here. Lothar von Falkenhausen (2011: 242ff.) suggests reading it as “the king said approvingly” in bronze texts because, so Falkenhausen, the words of the king were a response to what was being reported by the person received in the audience. (See also Behr 1996: n. 505, for further references; Zhang Huaitong 2008; Xin Yihua 2002.) I consider the formula “the king spoke thus” as more apt for the texts of the “Shu” traditions—that is, removed from the milieu of Western Zhou bronzes. This feature probably marks a novel form of text production in the “Shu” traditions. The aspect of extended events in textualized “Shu” traditions is first mentioned in Meyer 2014: 945; its correlation with increased modes of narrativization of textualized “Shu” is discussed in Meyer, forthcoming. See Shaughnessy 1999b: 307. See Shaughnessy 1999b: 310. They were Guanshu Xian 管叔鮮, Caishu Du 蔡叔度, and perhaps Huoshu Chu 霍叔處. Shaughnessy (1999b: 310) dates this event two years after the campaign. The different manifestations of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” and “Jinteng” give evidence to this. While the Qinghua manifestation of the text plays with the question of whether the move of the Duke of Zhou was legitimate, the canonized version of the text rather explicitly

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the potential coup d’état,15 a revolt was fought against the Duke of Zhou, which soon culminated in years of open war, shaking the very foundations of the Zhou. Every literarization of a historical event is written against the background of either historical or sociopolitical and philosophical contexts, which I also assume to be the case for “Gu ming.” Through the portrayal of an ideal case of royal succession, “Gu ming,” it would seem, testifies to the ultimate challenge of the young dynasty to establish lasting structures of rule and stable patterns of royal succession. “Gu ming” in the Modern-Script Recension of the Shangshu In response to Hu Shi 胡適 (1891–1962) and his caution about the reliability of the modern-script recension of the Shangshu in 1922, Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 (1893–1980) proposed organizing the Shangshu into three main chronological categories: texts from the Western Zhou (1046–771 BCE), texts from the Eastern Zhou (770–256 BCE), and texts from the late Eastern Zhou and the Qin and the Han.16 He took “Gu ming” as an Eastern Zhou text. However, to this day, Gu Jiegang remains a rather isolated voice. The dominant trend in scholarship is to think of it as a text dating from the Western Zhou to the early Spring and Autumn period.17 However, to consider “Gu ming” a text of Western Zhou to early Spring and Autumn making is conceptually problematic, as is calling it “genuine.”18 The term “genuine” (or “authentic”) when applied to the Shangshu is normally used to indicate the earliest stratum of text production. Yet without a doubt, many

15

16 17

18

interprets his actions as justified, and so do later texts such as the Shiji 史記 (see the discussion in Stryjewska 2013). According to Wang Hui 1993: esp. 940–943, Song 誦, the future King Cheng, must have been twenty-three years of age at the time of King Wu’s death. It is rather unlikely that this was deemed too young to rule. Gu Jiegang 1982: vol. 1, 200ff. Based on Creel 1970: 447–463, Shaughnessy (1993: 379) notes that those chapters attributed to the reign of King Cheng, especially the first seven years of that reign, when the Duke of Zhou acted as regent for the young king, make up the core layer of the Shangshu. With the exception of “Wu yi” 無逸 and “Li zheng” 立政, he dates them to the Western Zhou. Implicit claims about “Gu ming” as a Western Zhou text are also made in Shaughnessy 1999b: 294, 317–318. In his discussion of the gao chapters, Vogelsang (2002) raises the possibility of a late Western Zhou or early Spring and Autumn date for the early layers of the Shangshu. Kern (2007: 123ff.; 2009: 183) arrives at a similar conclusion and assumes a late Western Zhou date for “Gu ming.” See also Dobson 1962 for a comparison of the language in the Shangshu with that in Western Zhou bronze texts. With the exception of “Pan Geng” 盤庚, which is listed in the “Shang” 商 division, the “genuine” chapters all fall in the “Zhou” division of the Shangshu.

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Shangshu chapters postdate by centuries the events they appear to “witness,” contain deliberate archaisms, and furthermore seem to reflect multiple stages of composition and compilation. They are not unified but layered texts, combining elements from different sources and traditions into one entity. Thus, Jiang Shanguo correctly noted that the question is not whether a Shangshu chapter is genuine (真) or fabricated (僞) but when it was put together and edited (整編).19 “Gu ming” is no different in this regard. In the editions by Ma Rong 馬融 (79–166) and Zheng Xuan 鄭玄 (127–200), which Sun Xingyan 孫星衍 (1753– 1818) believed to be based on the ancient-script (guwen 古文) recension of the Shangshu, “Gu ming” includes “Kang wang zhi gao” 康王之誥, that is, the chapter directly following it in the modern-script recension.20 For reasons I discuss elsewhere,21 I follow Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu in thinking that “Gu ming” and “Kang wang zhi gao” are best read as one entity.22 Speech and Ritual For my analysis, I divide “Gu ming” into seven elements: 1.

2. 3.

19 20 21 22

 The specification of the context: this element frames the account by defining the time (but not the space) of the setting, and it provides the contextual information against which the account is constructed. No meta-level information is given regarding the sociopolitical background against which “Gu ming” is produced.  The King’s charge: King Cheng stresses his rightful place in the Zhou line of rule and makes a plea to the attending officers to support his son Zhao.  The death of the king: this element serves as a subframe to scaffold the account of the ritual by specifying the contextual information, such as event and location.

Jiang Shanguo 1988: 133. See Sun Xingyan 2004: 504. In the Qin–early Western Han modern-script recension of Fu Sheng 伏勝, the two texts were listed as one, namely, as chapter 24. In Meyer, forthcoming. Interestingly this follows the ancient-script recension. Note that in their essays in the present volume (chapters 1 and 2), both Kai Vogelsang (for “Gao Yao mo” 皋陶謨) and Martin Kern (for “Yao dian” 堯典) identify two distinct texts in each of these chapters. While this is the opposite of what I see in “Gu ming,” their findings also match the ancientscript recension, where “Gao Yao mo” (into “Gao Yao mo” and “Yi ji” 益稷) and “Yao dian” (into “Yao dian” and “Shun dian” 舜典) are separated into two chapters each.

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4.

 The king’s postmortem ritual: here the text provides an elaborate account of the ritual with exceptionable attention to detail. This element takes the form of a catalog.  The command and its intonation: after Zhao is enthroned, the Grand Secretary intones King Cheng’s command to him. The new king (King Kang) receives it reverently and holds a drink sacrifice.  Oath: the king is confirmed as the rightful successor. The Grand Protector and the Eldest of Rui announce to the new king his royal duties, to which King Kang responds that he will reverently observe them.  Conclusion of the ritual: the many lords leave and King Kang continues the mourning rites for his father.

5. 6. 7.

The first two elements form the first contextual unit of the text. They form the “core” of “Gu ming.” For ease of reference I call them section A. Elements 3–7 can be subsumed under “description of the ritual” and make up section B. The individual elements can be further subdivided and I do so in my analysis of the text. Text and Analysis Section A follows generic patterns repeatedly seen in textualized “Shu” traditions.23 While I take the elements of section A as the core of “Gu ming,” they do not necessarily form the earliest parts of textual production. But they form the intellectual basis of the text. This bit of text provides a mold that ensures a stable pattern of text production. This mold, I demonstrate below, became reproducible in other contexts too, where it served quite different purposes. After section A, the diction of “Gu ming” changes radically to an astoundingly comprehensive description of the ritual event. This part—in the form of five catalogs—has no corresponding item in the “Shu” traditions known so far. Finally, the text shifts again to the standard “Shu” pattern when closing with the new king’s oath. Such shifts between narrative, speech, and catalog, as well as the subevents relating to the king’s death that prolong the time period covered by the text, are uncommon in texts of the “Shu” traditions. In the case of “Gu ming,” I suggest that they are indicative of a core text that was extended and repeatedly recomposed over time. Part 1 The Frame (Specification of Context) The initial element situates “Gu ming” in time and concern. Such frames are common devices in textualized “Shu” traditions to define the limits—mostly 23

For different types of Shangshu and Yi Zhoushu 逸周書 patterns, see Grebnev, chapter 7 in this volume.

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in time and space—of an account. In the case of “Gu ming,” as in many other texts of the “Shu” traditions, it follows common opening formulas that correspond closely to texts cast in bronze. 1

It was in the fourth month,24 at the birth of po.25 The king [King Cheng] was indisposed [because of sickness].26 2 On the day jiazi,27 the king washed his hair and his face.28 He was dressed with his official cap and his robe by his attendants.29 3A The king leaned on a jade-embroidered bench30 as he summoned at once Shao, that is, the Grand Protector Shi31—[who was leading in] the Eldest of Rui and Tong—and the Duke of Bi—[who was leading in] the Marquis

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

Zheng Xuan believed this to be the twenty-eighth year of King Cheng’s reign (Sun Xingyan 2004:479–480), but most later scholars disagree; see Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 4, 1712–1713. Misled by Liu Xin’s 劉歆 (ca. 50 BCE–23 CE) analysis of sheng ba 生霸 as wang 望, the pseudo–Kong Anguo 孔安國 commentary to the ancient-script recension understands this to mean “starting to wane.” The mistake is continued in Cai Shen’s 蔡沈 (1167–1230) Shujing jizhuan 書經集傳; see Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 4, 1713. The Hanshu “Lüli zhi” 漢書律曆志 (21.1017) quotes “Gu ming” by taking po 魄 (*phʕrak) as po 霸 (*phʕrak-s); see Qu Wanli 1983: 128. The two are homophonous and hence interchangeable. This line has a close counterpart in the manuscript texts “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” and “*Baoxun.” Yi 懌 (*laʔ) is generally read as yu 豫 (*laʔ-s), “indisposed.” With explicit reference to “Gu ming,” the Hanshu “Lüli zhi xia” (21.1017) paraphrases this line as “The king was indisposed due to sickness” (wang you ji, bu yu 王有疾、不豫). Wang Guowei (1959: 19–26) interprets this as the first day of the waning moon but does not explain his reasoning; Zeng Yunqian 2012), following Han commentators, entertains the same reading; while Legge (1960: 544–545) disagrees. Like Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu (2005: vol. 4, 1714), I remain hesitant about the actual point of reference of jiazi. Grebnev, in chapter 7 of this volume (Table 7.4), holds that jiazi belongs to the dating pattern of the previous line. That may be the case and would not change the analysis of this passage. Although phonetically problematic, hui 頮 (*m̥ ˤut-s)—and its archaic form hui 靧 (*qhʕuj-s)—are sometimes taken as equivalent to mei 沬 (*mˤat-s); see Sun Xingyan 2004: 480. Zheng Xuan (Sun Xingyan 2004: 481) explains xiang 相 as attendants in charge of the king’s clothing. However, it might make more sense to read xiang as an adverb of reciprocity where the action suggests “a mutual bond of some kind between subject and object” (Pulleyblank 1962: 233). The Zhou li, in “Chunguan zong bo,” describes different types of benches used for different ceremonies. The jade-embroidered bench is thought to be the most valuable ceremonial one. Here, Zheng Xuan’s commentary makes an explicit reference to “Gu ming” (20.317). Shaogong Shi 召公奭 and Taibao Shi 太保奭 are the same person.

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of Wei and the Duke of Mao—plus the Captains’ Lineages, the Tiger Warriors, the Hundred Officers, and the Superintendents of Affairs.32 3B [At this], the king exclaimed: “Wuhu! My illness is progressing rapidly. [I] am at imminent risk [of dying]. Daily I have a new flare-up of pain, and it lasts for increasingly longer intervals. I fear I shall not succeed in giving an oath in which I declare my succession. Therefore, I shall now carefully lay my charge to you who are present with special instructions:” 1 惟四月，哉生魄，王不懌。 2 甲子，王乃洮頮水，相被冕服。 3A 憑玉几，乃同 [召] 太保奭，芮伯，彤伯，畢公，衛侯，毛公，師氏， 虎臣，百尹，御事。33 3B 王曰：嗚呼！疾大漸。惟幾，病日臻。既彌留，恐不獲誓言嗣，茲予 審訓命汝。34 I take this entire part as the initial frame of “Gu ming” and split it into three subelements. The first one situates the account in time and concern. It mentions the reason for the account and defines it in temporal terms. No location is given. The text resembles bronze-text language with perhaps some degree of variation in that the primary event—the illness of the king—appears before the specification of the sexagenary cycle.35 The mention of the sexagenary cycle serves to introduce a new event (and the second subelement of the frame) that is, however, not on the same plane with the initial event, the king’s illness, but closely related to and in fact depen32

33

34

35

One may also take yushi 御事 not as title, “Superintendents of Affairs,” but as “to take charge of affairs.” In taking it as a title, I follow Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu (2005: vol. 4, 1723). As for the elements indicating an individual’s seniority among siblings, I follow Falkenhausen 2006: 70. The modern-script recension of the Shangshu does not have the character shao 召. The Duke of Shao 召公 was the elder brother of the Duke of Zhou. At the time of King Kang he held the title of taibao 太保, “Grand Protector.” See Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 4, 1716–1717. This sentence contains many problems. The first is ji 幾, which, according to Pines 2002: 696, did not attain the meaning “imminent,” as a secondary reading to “trigger” (of a crossbow), prior to the fourth century BCE. For the remainder of the line, see Zeng Yunqian 2012: 275. Here, it would seem that the clause “the king was indisposed” (wang bu yi 王不懌) serves as a reference point; by contrast, in bronze texts we might expect 王不懌 to appear at the end of the phrase: wei si yue, zai sheng po, jiazi, wang bu yi 惟四月，哉生魄，甲子，王 不懌. On dating patterns in texts of the “Shu” traditions, see Grebnev, chapter 7 in this volume.

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dent on it: the ritual washing of the king’s hair and face. This information marks a subcontext within the frame. It introduces a linear progression of episodes before the various officials are summoned before the king (the third subelement of the frame). It is notable that it is introduced by mentioning the day in the sexagenary cycle: the first day of that cycle, jiazi. After the officials have entered, the text gives voice to the king himself. As usual in “Shu” and bronze texts, the king is never referred to in any other way than just wang 王 (king).36 For us, the later recipients of the text who are far removed from the Eastern Zhou communities that claimed memory of the Zhou’s “foundational past,”37 the identity of the king is revealed only through the mention of his son, Zhao. The king’s speech contains two elements. Because the opening bit of it establishes the context for the subsequent message, selfreferentially introducing the following as his speech, I take it as part of the initial frame. With the king’s speech, the language of “Gu ming” changes from a documentary to a much more personal style. Introduced with the theatrical exclamation wuhu 嗚呼 (OC *ʔʕa qhʕa), the speech presents a dramatic appeal to his attendees.38 Moving on from the temporal contextualization, the frame situates the king’s speech in sociopolitical terms. The king gives voice to his profound fear that he might not last long enough to declare his succession formally, which is why he lays his charge with special instructions to the men present. To frame speech in such a way is rather exceptional, and most texts of the “Shu” tradi36 37

38

This is the overarching pattern in the modern-script recension of the Shangshu. Exceptions apply mainly to the mention of Kings Wen and Wu. On the concept of foundational history, see Assmann 2011: 38, 59, 61ff. The concept refers to how cultural memory transforms “factual” history into “remembered history,” by which it is transformed into “myth.” Myth, in turn, is “foundational history” that is vital to “identity” in that its narrative intends to illuminate the present through the past from the perspective of the present. The connection with the foundational past of a people is vital for the constructed identity of the remembering group. For this, ceremony is a key element. But in the same way in which ceremony is key for remembrance, it also shapes memory itself. I return to the issue of Eastern Zhou communities in my conclusion. The exclamation wuhu seems to be strongly genre specific. While it appears in eight odes of “Daya” 大雅 (“Greater Elegantiae”) and “Zhou song” 周頌 (“Eulogies of Zhou”) in the Shijing as the phonetically close 於乎 (*[ʔ]a ɢˤa)—the perhaps related yu jie hu 于嗟乎 (*[ʔ]a tsAj ɢˤa) occurs only in “Guo feng” 國風 (“Airs of the States”)—it occurs forty-nine times in speeches in the modern-script Shangshu and fifty-three times in the Yi Zhoushu, and it is used repeatedly in bronze texts (often as 烏虖 or 於虖). While it also occurs in texts such as the Zuo zhuan, Lunyu, and the Zhuangzi, those instances are few and far between.

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tions simply provide the reference to a king’s speech by saying: “I have an announcement to make.”39 Part 2 The King’s Charge 1 “In days of yore, the lords Kings Wen and Wu40 displayed their repeated brilliance,41 and they defined a standard of refinement that [they] set forth through [their own] model. And so they toiled, but in so doing, they never went too far. In this way they were able to reach Yin and they succeeded in setting up the ‘Great Mandate.’42 I, the one in the line of succession, have respectfully welcomed ‘Heaven’s fearsome [charge].’43 I have inherited and guarded the ‘Great Instructions’44 of Kings Wen and Wu and never dared to transgress them foolishly. 39

40

41 42 43

44

As seen, for instance, in “Gan shi” 甘誓 and “Tang shi” 湯誓. Texts of the ancient-script recension predominantly introduce speeches with “he had an announcement to make.” Other examples that refer to a king’s illness similarly to “Gu ming” (e.g., “Jinteng” and the Qinghua “Zhou Wu Wang you ji”) do not give an active role to the king (see Meyer, forthcoming). Note the combined use of Kings Wen and Wu. Kern (2009: 149), working from the Jinwen yinde 金文引得 concordance, points out that this pair never occurs on the bronzes from the early period and just once during the mid–Western Zhou—the Shi Qiang-pan 史牆 盤— and six times on late Western Zhou bronzes. Furthermore, Kings Wen and Wu are mentioned as a unit twenty-one times in bronze texts from the mid–Spring and Autumn, and the mid–Warring States periods. Kern concludes that their ideal image as “the primordial double ancestors” became formulaic much later, that is, centuries after their deaths. For a detailed discussion of chong guang 重光, see Zeng Yunqian 2012. The term “Great Mandate” (daming 大命) appears repeatedly in bronze texts from the late Western Zhou to the late Warring States. In “Jun Shi” 君奭, the term “Heaven’s fearsome [charge]” (tianwei 天威) appears four times. The ancient-script “Tai shi” 太誓 also has this term, as does the modern-script “Lü xing” 呂刑, and so does the Yi Zhoushu (in “Jigong jie” 祭公解). With some variation, it also appears in the ancient-script “Tang gao” 湯誥: “[I] will promote Heaven’s Mandate and manifest [its] might” (天命明威). Outside the “Shu,” the term appears only twice in early Western Zhou bronze texts (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 02837 and 04341), but it appears in the Zuo zhuan (in Xi 2; in a phrase that is repeated with some variation in the literature), and five odes of the Shijing use phrases that incorporate the term (Mao 194, 195, 198, 265, 272), suggesting that it had a certain presence in the texts of the time. The term “Great Instructions” (da xun 大訓) never appears in bronze texts and is used only three times in the Shangshu, of which two instances occur in “Gu ming.” The other appearance is in the ancient-script recension of “Bi ming” 畢命. Note that it may also be possible to take the “Great Instructions” not as a proper name but simply as one of many variants of the notion of important instructions. Examples include guang xun 光訓,

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2

But now that Heaven has sent down [terminal] sickness, I fear [that I shall soon reach the point] where I shan’t rise, nor get my mind clear. 3 May you reverently listen to these clear words of mine:45 3A Reverently guard my eldest son, Zhao, and greatly assist him to succeed when facing difficulties. 3B ‘Be gentle to the distant [states] and connect with those that are near’; ‘make tranquil the many states, small and large, through advice.’46 3C Consider how the man must regulate himself47 in the wake of ‘fearsome dignity,’48 and so, do not, when Zhao is covetous, ever approach him with anything inappropriate!”49 1

2 3

45

46 47

48

49

50 51

昔君文王、武王宣重光，奠麗陳教，則肄，肄不違，用克達殷集大 命。在後之侗，敬迓天威，嗣守文武大訓，無敢昏逾。 今天降疾，殆弗興弗悟。50 爾尚明時朕言。51 “radiant instructions” (in “Gu ming”); yi xun 遺訓, “constant instructions” (in “Jiu gao” 酒誥 and “Cai Zhong zhi ming” 蔡仲之命); and gu xun 古訓, “lessons of antiquity” (in “Bi ming”). This is an obvious allusion to the dedication line in bronze texts. The line similarly appears in the ancient-script recension of “Yue ming” 說命, where it occurs in the king’s charge to Yue. Late Spring and Autumn, Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 00220 and 00221. Baxter (1992: 365) thinks that the word luan 亂 (*rˤon-s) is cognate to bian 變 (*pron-s), “change.” “Shi gu” 釋詁 of the Er ya 爾雅 glosses it as zhi 治 (*C.lrə), “to regulate, order, govern” (Sun Xingyan 2004: 485), and so does the Shuowen jiezi (9693, under yi bu 乙部). Phonetically, this is problematic though. In gloss 1464 to “Pan Geng” Karlgren (1970: 202) considers the possibility that luan 亂 is a “misspelled” si 司, “to regulate, order, govern,” as commonly written with the signific 𤔔 in bronze texts and thus read si (*s-lə) and not luan. I consider this a viable alternative to the commonplace gloss of zhi 治, “to regulate, order, govern,” for luan 亂, “chaos, disorder.” Trusting Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng, “fearsome dignity” (weiyi 威儀) appears more than fifty times in the bronze texts from the late Western Zhou, middle Western Zhou, and late Spring and Autumn periods. I here read “not regulated” (fei li 非理) as “inappropriate.” The two sentences of admonishment imply that the ministers’ conduct toward the many states is directly applicable to their conduct toward an individual, Zhao, the king’s son. Pace Karlgren and Sun Xingyan, I follow Cai Shen’s Shujing jizhuan: 232 and parse the sentence not after but before dai 殆. There are two ways of reading shi 時 here. One is as an unemphatic form for the demonstrative shi 是 or zhi 之 (*tə), which might be the better fit. (Note that shi 時 [*də] and shi 是 [*deʔ] are used interchangeably in excavated texts.) This would give “May you in perpetuity endeavor this and [respectfully receive] my words.” But shi 時 (*də) could also be

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3A 用敬保元子釗，弘濟于艱難。 3B 柔遠能邇，安勸小大庶邦。 3C 思夫人自亂于威儀，爾無以釗冒貢于非幾。52 The king’s charge is a powerful example of early Chinese rhetoric. What for the Zhou is actually a novel act of orderly hereditary succession is, subsequently, coated with layers of charged language that suggest tradition, stability, and the transmission of power as routine. The core of the speech has three components, and it follows a clear division of past-present-future that, on a meta-level, characterizes many speeches of the “Shu” traditions, as well as bronze texts. In the first part, the king’s speech evokes the rule of Kings Wen and Wu. It situates the position of King Cheng within this line of rule and stresses his natural and legitimate place in it. Declaring that he never went against the spirit of Kings Wen and Wu and reverently welcomed Heaven’s fearsome charge, the speech skillfully applies a purported historical scenario to the present situation. By juxtaposing the present with the past, the speech demands the same loyalty from the ministers toward King Cheng’s son that King Cheng purports to have shown toward King Wu, and that King Wu before him had shown to King Wen. This is not done in explicit terms but through the presence of parallel allusions. Subsequent to the evocation of the past to serve the present in order to secure future loyalty to Zhao, the speech pronounces three separate admonitions. The central admonition is on the political level where King Cheng cautions his men about their handling of the states; it is framed by two statements about the ministers’ conduct toward the future king. The formal arrangement of the charge suggests that these elements are intertwined. Drawing on established authority, the king’s charge must have resonated with the expectations of its audiences. The speech adopts commonplaces and stock phrases otherwise known from bronze texts, but it also contains innovative elements known to us only from this particular event. The use of established phrases allows the audiences to situate the speech within the wider confines of accepted narrative and, hence, tradition. Concepts such as Kings Wen and Wu

52

taken as zhi 之 (*tə) in the sense of “to go, proceed.” This would render a sentence with an implied object of the type “May you in perpetuity endeavor to follow my words.” Ming 明 (*mraŋ) could also be read in the sense of meng 孟 (*mˤraŋ-s), “eldest,” which, phonetically, is possible. (See also Bai Yulan 2008: 261.) The Shi ming 釋名 reads it as “to endeavor, exert one’s strength on something.” (See Sun Xingyan 2004: 485.) The Shangshu jinguwen zhushu explains ji 幾 as ji 機 (*kəj), “mechanism,” glossed as li 理 (*rəʔ), “regulate” (in Sun Xingyan 2004: 485). Because of the shared phonophoric, reading ji 幾 as ji 機 (*kəj) and ji 機 (*kəj) as li 理 (*rəʔ), “regulate,” is unproblematic.

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as a pair are likely to have had considerable appeal at the time when the speech was produced. The “Great Mandate” (da ming 大命) and “Heaven’s fearsome charge” (tianwei 天威) were laden notions that appear repeatedly in bronze texts, as well as in other texts of the Shangshu, while terms such as the “Great Instructions” (da xun 大訓), which King Cheng claims to have inherited from Wen and Wu and scrupulously followed,53 have no verbatim presence outside “Gu ming.”54 The intertextual setting in which the speech was placed creates a sense of cultural affinity and acquiescence within a wider meaning community,55 where the celebration of the past enables claims of legitimacy for the present. Once momentum has been established to claim consistency between past, present, and future, the speech falls into a eulogizing tone that is common of prayers in bronze texts. The charge to the ministers is made up of routine phrases used repeatedly in bronze texts where the king demands that the high ministers act cautiously toward other political entities: 3 “May you reverently listen to these clear words of mine: 3A ‘Reverently guard my eldest son, Zhao, and greatly assist him to succeed when facing difficulties.’ 3B ‘Be gentle to the distant [states] and connect with those that are near’; ‘make tranquil the many states, small and large, through advice.’” Although the text makes use of stock phrases when talking about political action toward other political entities,56 the request concerning the ministers’ behavior toward the king’s son is phrased in his own words, albeit words of 53

54

55 56

The “Great Mandate” is mentioned eight times in the Shangshu: “Pan Geng” 盤庚, “Xibo kan Li” 西伯戡黎, “Da gao” 大誥, “Kang gao” 康誥, “Jiu gao” 酒誥, “Jun Shi” 君奭, and “Gu ming”; it also appears in the ancient-script recension of “Tai Jia” 太甲. This excludes, however, texts of the ancient-script recension such as “Bi ming.” Note that I do not wish to say that these elements were genuine “inventions” of this speech but, rather, that they were somewhat innovative and do not seem to occur elsewhere in the records. The use of “instructions” in combination with an adjective as a set phrase otherwise occurs predominantly in texts of the ancient-script recension. For a discussion of meaning communities in the context of Zhou textuality, see Meyer 2014: 939–940. The phrase “Be gentle to the distant [states] and connect with those that are near” (柔遠 能邇) appears repeatedly in bronze texts from the late Western Zhou (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 02836, 04326, NA0757), as well as in the Shangshu (“Yao dian,” “Pan Geng,” and “Wen hou zhi ming” and also the ancient-script chapter “Lü ao” 旅獒). The phrase “Tranquilize the many states, small and large, through guidance” (安勸小大庶邦) is reflected in eight identical inscriptions from the late Spring and Autumn period (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 00210, 00211, 00217, 00218, 00219, 00220, 00221, 00222). For critical engagement with

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gravity. The result is clear. Through the dialogic presence of past and present, the speech creates a continuum of the present with the past that makes past actions—idealized as they are—become applicable to the present and the future. “Gu ming” marks an important moment in the history of the Zhou. It is therefore perhaps not all that surprising that key elements of the fabula—the material or content that is worked into a story57—of frame and command also appear beyond this one text. But the extent to which “Gu ming” resonates with “*Baoxun”58 保訓 from the Qinghua collection of manuscripts is so remarkable that it demands further inquiry into the relationship between the two texts. As in “Gu ming,” “*Baoxun” has the king suffering from an illness and fearing imminent death, a situation requiring that his successor be declared immediately. “*Baoxun” “*Baoxun,” from the Qinghua collection of manuscripts, is written on eleven bamboo slips, all of 28.5 centimeters in length and carrying twenty-two to

57

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the parallels between bronze texts and the Shangshu, see the studies by Jiang Kunwu (1989) and, focusing predominantly on the Shijing, Chen Zhi (2012: 1–64). Bal 2009: 5–7. Bal (1977) refines Genette’s (1972) three-level model of narrative constitution: the narrative proposition (récit), that is, the oral or written discourse, which gives an account of an event; the sequence of the events that are the object of the discourse (histoire); and the act of narration (narration). Bal notes that Genette’s narration relates to récit and histoire in that narration details the process of proposition while both récit and histoire relate to the product of an activity. Genette thus remains within the problematic framework of the two-level differentiation as devised by the Russian formalists (Schmid 2014: 218–221). Bal (1977: 4) therefore suggests a division between text-récit-histoire, which she translates as “text-story-fabula” (in Bal 1985: 5–6). In her three-layer model the text is the signifier of the story; the story is the signifier of the fabula. I here follow Bal’s textstory-fabula distinction, to which I add the distinction between text and manuscript. I define “text” as the textual matter transmitted. It is the formulation of an idea that can take either oral or written form or both at once and is abstracted from any material carrier. A text can therefore travel orally and independently of material contexts. “Manuscript” is the material textual representation, that is, the physical manifestation of a text (Meyer 2012: 8). See Ehlich 1982 and 1983 for a more in-depth discussion of “text.” (I develop the narrative constitution of “Shu” texts in more depth in Meyer, forthcoming.) I add the asterisk to indicate that there was no designation on the manuscript and the title was assigned to it by modern editors. In this I follow the practice introduced by Rodo Pfister, who in turn follows the convention in Buddhist studies and historical linguistics.

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twenty-four graphs each.59 The text of “*Baoxun” can be roughly divided into three parts. First is a frame that situates the event in time and concern. Just as in “Gu ming,” I subdivide the frame into three main parts. Next comes the primary speech of the king, which narrates two parallel historical situations. Third is the closing of the admonition. The Opening Frame of “*Baoxun” Speech in “*Baoxun” is framed in much the same way as in “Gu ming,” but some differences apply. In “Gu ming,” the king calls on his officials, while in “*Baoxun” he addresses his son. And while the king in “Gu ming” instructs his officials in fear that he will not last long enough to give a formal declaration to pass on the “Great Instructions” (da xun 大訓), in “*Baoxun” the king fears the loss of the “Prized Instructions” (baoxun 保訓) and therefore presents his charge in written form. In both cases, the king describes his suffering in dramatic terms before moving on to the charge, the core part of the speech. In “*Baoxun”:60 1

It was in the fiftieth year of Our King that he was indisposed [because of illness]. The king pondered on the many days that had passed [since he came to the throne], and he feared that the “Prized Instructions” might be lost. 2 On [the day] wuzi, the king washed his face. On [the next day] jichou, at dawn … 3A … 59

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The slips of the manuscript are cut evenly at both ends; they show no consistent use of notches but the marks remain where the connecting cords used to be (a number of manuscripts display the routine use of notches to keep the cords in place on the slips), and not much space is left at either end of the slip, except for the final slip, where the lower third carries no writing. This signals the end of the text in material terms. For the most part, the manuscript is well preserved, with just the top half of the second slip broken off. I estimate that twelve to thirteen characters are missing there. The manuscript contains the conventional signs for the repetition of graphs but no other reading marks (breath marks?). The calligraphy is uniform and apparently by a single hand. (Note that the production of the manuscript does not correspond to the composition of the text and the two activities must be kept apart. For the distinction between “scribe” and “scribal hand,” see Bagnall 2013.) From their material appearance, my initial impression is that the slips were bound together after the writing. The slips are not numbered at the back. In my reconstruction of “*Baoxun,” I use the edition in Qinghua Daxue cang Zhanguo zhujian 2010 as the base text but depart from it occasionally by way of more recent scholarship. The symbol □ indicates that a graph is missing. For a comprehensive overview of different readings, see Hu Kai and Chen Minzhen 2011.

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3B [The king] said thus: “Fa! My suffering is progressing rapidly, and I fear that I shan’t [last] to instruct you. In days of yore, when the previous rulers passed on the ‘Prized [Instructions],’ they always received them through recitation. But now that my suffering is so severe, I fear that I shan’t [last] to intone them in full, and so you will receive them in writing. Be reverent! Do not ever desecrate [them]!” 1 2 3A 3B

惟王五十年，不豫。王念日之多歷，恐墜保訓。 戊子，自靧水。己丑，昧 [爽] □□□□□□□□□□□□□ □□□ [王] 若曰: “發，朕疾漸甚，恐不汝及訓。61 昔前人傳保，62 必受之以誦。63 今朕疾允病，恐弗唸終，64 汝以書65 受 之。欽哉！勿淫！

The frame here follows the exact modular arrangement of “Gu ming,” with the various modules appearing in exactly the same sequence, as though they followed a predefined scheme. Even some key elements of the fabula remain intact. First, the initial bit of the frame situates the whole event in temporal— but not in spatial—terms. This element also specifies the concern of “*Baoxun”: the king is in imminent danger of dying and so he fears that the “Prized Instructions” might be lost. Illness is put in euphemistic terms. The central image of the ritual of the washing of the face appears next. As in “Gu ming,” it 61

Meng Pengsheng (2009) reads graph 2/6 slip 2).

as jian 漸 (*[dz]amʔ) (2/6 indicates graph 6 on

62

The editors of the Qinghua Manuscripts suggest reading graph 3/6 as 寶 (*pʕuʔ), “treasure,” in reference to its use in the context of dynastic change, such as bao ming 寶命, “prized Mandate.” The two graphs 保 and 寶 are homophonous though, and their meaning is related. I therefore read the graph parallel to graph 1/16 ( ) rather than changing it to 寶, while keeping its connotations.

63

With reference to “Gu ming,” graph 3/11 (song 誦) (*sə-[l]oŋ-s) is sometimes read as tong 詷 (*[l]ʕoŋʔ) and interpreted as 童 (*[d]ʕoŋ), “young boy” (Li Shoukui 2010: 81). Although phonetically plausible, to read it as song, “to recite,” suits the passage better because it nicely keeps the term in opposition to the written document. (See the discussion in Chen Wei 2010: 60.)

64 65

See Lin Zhipeng 2010 for the reading of 3/19 as nian 念 (*nʕim-s), “to intone.” Li Feng (2008: 112; 2001–2002: 50) argues that shu refers to the text as opposed to its material carrier. I doubt whether this passage really confirms his hypothesis.

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is headed by a specification of the day in the sexagenary cycle. Then there is a gap, for the slip is incomplete. Presumably eleven to thirteen characters are missing before the third element continues with the formal opening of the speech, which forms element 3B of the frame. Given the structural coherence of the two texts, we can assume a similar contextualization to appear at this point in “*Baoxun” as we see in “Gu ming” at the same place, had the slip been complete. Last comes the opening of the speech. As in “Gu ming,” the increasingly severe situation of the king’s illness is stressed here. It calls for immediate action on the part of the king to give instructions about his succession—hence the physical existence of the text.66 This brief summary highlights the exceptional overlap between the two texts. The following fine-grained comparison of the key elements in “Gu ming” ([GM]) and “*Baoxun” ([BX]) presents an even clearer picture (with the bold font indicating structural discrepancies between the two texts): 1[GM] 惟四月 哉生魄 ，王不懌。 1[BX] 惟王五十年，不豫。 王念日之多歷，恐墜 保 訓。 2[GM] 甲子，王乃洮頮水， 相被冕服 。 2[BX] 戊子，自靧水。己丑，昧 [爽] □□□□□□□□□□□□□ 3A[GM] 憑玉几，乃同 [召] 太保奭，芮伯，彤伯，畢公，衛侯，毛公，師 氏，虎臣，百尹，御事。

3A[BX] □□□ 3B[GM] 王曰：嗚呼！疾大漸。 惟幾 ， 病日臻 。 既彌留 。恐不獲誓言嗣， 3B[BX]

茲予審訓命汝。 [王] 若曰: “發，朕疾漸甚。恐不汝及訓。昔前人傳保，必受之以 誦。今朕疾允病，恐弗唸終，汝以書受之。欽哉！勿淫！

Initial frame (1): “Gu ming” has lunar information, but “*Baoxun” does not. “*Baoxun” adds the king’s reflections on the past. Subframe (2): the same elements appear in both texts. Not much can be said about the latter half because of the incomplete slip. Setting of the speech (3A): not much can be said about the latter half because of the incomplete slip. Opening of the speech (3B): the opening contains four elements, shared by both texts. First, voice is given to the speaker (king); second comes either the address as in “Gu ming” or the addressee as in “*Baoxun”; third is the description of the illness; fourth is the fear of leaving it until too late to give 66

On the disproportional stressing of the king’s illness in “*Baoxun” in reference to the existence of the text, see also the discussion by Krijgsman, forthcoming.

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the instructions, hence their existence in the present form. With the formula “the king said thus” in the first element, “*Baoxun” is closer to the majority of “Shu” and bronze texts. While the king in “Gu ming” opens with an emphatic exclamation, “*Baoxun” immediately addresses his son, Fa, although this difference is only on the surface because wuhu and Fa! are both emphatic forms of address. Their sole difference is that in one case the addressee of that address is specified while in the other he is implied. The third element, the description of the illness, is expressed in nearly identical terms. The fourth element, the fear of “*Baoxun” running out of time to give the instructions and therefore deciding to provide them right away, differs between the two texts only insofar as in “Gu ming” they are given orally, while in “*Baoxun” the king states the need for them to be written down. Although “Gu ming” and “*Baoxun” present different stories, key elements of the fabula correspond closely, and so too does the configuration of the frame. It therefore appears that the structure common to “*Baoxun” and “Gu ming” allows for different modular elements of the content to be put in much the same mold, with the result that the different contextual elements become mutually interchangeable. In one case we have King Cheng; in the other, King Wen. While King Cheng addresses his ministers, King Wen addresses his son, possibly in written form through the present charge. In both cases there is the felt need to explain—or legitimize—the existence of the text, and in much the same terms. While “Gu ming” explains the presence of the oral charge and “*Baoxun” justifies its written existence, the fundamental intent of the two texts is the same. Both report on the event of transferring power at death’s door. The analysis therefore suggests that the textual form presents a mold that determines the way the events are told. But that is perhaps not all. The event itself, now shaped according to the rhetorical mold, becomes transposable to further uses in different contexts and arguments, representing not only itself but a normative type of event. The King’s Charge in “Gu ming” and “*Baoxun” With the charge itself, the similarity between the two texts breaks off. While “Gu ming” presents a charge to the ministers that is put in rather grave diction, “*Baoxun” uses different anecdotes to suggest continuity with the past: 1 In days of yore, Shun long acted as a common person; he personally plowed the thicket at Mount Li, and reverently, he sought the center.67 67

The question of what zhong in “*Baoxun” means precisely remains open and lies outside the scope of this essay. It seems clear, however, that it constitutes a vital element in assuming power. For a summary of the discussions focusing on zhong in “*Baoxun,” see

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 He examined his own intent and [saw that it] never transgressed against the many desires of the multitudinous people. When he had implemented [good rule] on those above and below, far and near, he changed position [with Yao] and established the standards. [He] gave measure to the material manifestations of Yin and Yang; all followed without going against the flow. As Shun attained the center, his decrees never altered the substance [of the things], nor did he change their name.  As a person he was faithful in adhering to this, and he was “reverent without being remiss,”68 and on this account he initiated the virtue descending thrice.69 Di Yao considered him excellent, and so bestowed his charge on him.  Wuhu! Revere it! 昔舜久作小人， 親耕于鬲茅，70 恭求中。 自稽厥志，不違于庶萬姓之多欲。厥有施于上下遠邇，乃易位設稽。測 陰陽之物，咸順不逆。舜旣得中，言不易實變名。 身茲服惟71 允，翼翼不懈， 用作三降之德。帝堯嘉之，用授厥緒。   嗚呼！祗之哉！

2 In days of yore, [Shang Jia] Wei appropriated the center from He [Bo] to take his revenge on You Yi. You Yi atoned for his crimes. Wei was without harm and returned the center to He.  Wei did not neglect his ambition [to obtain the center] and passed this on to his sons and grandsons. When it came to Cheng Tang, he followed it reverently and without remiss and on this account received the Great Mandate.  Wuhu! Fa! Respect it! 昔微假中于河，以復有易，有易服厥罪。微無害，乃追中于河。 微志弗忘，傳貽子孫，至于成湯。祗服不懈，用受大命。   嗚呼！發，敬哉！

68

69

70

71

Hu Kai and Chen Minzhen 2011. The compound yiyi 翼翼 occurs ten times in the Shijing. A similar phrase—jing er bu xie 敬而不懈— occurs in the “Wu xing” 五行 manuscript from Guodian tomb 1 (see Meyer 2012: 120–121, 293, 305). Hu Kai and Chen Minzhen (2011: 76–79) take it as “Three Descended Virtues.” With reference to “*Rongcheng shi” 容成氏 in the collection of manuscripts from Guodian tomb 1, Li Xueqin (2009) understands it as referring to Yao, who is said to have paid three visits to Shun. In Qinghua Daxue cang Zhanguo zhujian 2010: vol. 1, 145, the graphs 4/7–8 are read as li qiu 歷丘 (*[r]ʕek *[k]whə). My reading of li mao 鬲茅 (*k.rʕek C.mʕru) follows Hu Kai and Chen Minzhen 2011: 50. Graph 6/21 was initially transcribed as bei 備 (*[b]rək-s). It is used interchangeably with fu 服 (*[b]ək).

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3 I have heard that when the Mandate is insufficiently old, it lacks the means to extend itself. But now that you comply and are not remiss, you will have something to proceed from. It is not yet the time for you to receive the Great Mandate yourself.  Respect it! Do not desecrate it! The days won’t ever suffice in numbers [to achieve the goals], and nighttime isn’t long. 朕聞茲不久命，未有所延。今汝祗服毋懈，其有所由矣。 不及爾身受大命。 敬哉！毋淫！日不足，惟宿不永。72

The charge is divided into three parts: two anecdotes, each of which is followed by a formal closure, plus an admonishment directed at Fa, the future King Wu. The two anecdotes work in parallel to each other. On the one hand, there is Yu Shun, the legendary ruler and personification of filial piety and rightness who, on the basis of his virtues alone, receives All-under-Heaven from Yao. The anecdote concerning his initial humbleness, including the stock image of plowing the fields and other kinds of manual labor, appears across the literature from the Warring States period. It represents Shun as the archetype of a commoner appointed because of his merit in Warring States period thinking.73 Juxtaposed to this is the case of Wei, cited next. Wei, or Shang Jia Wei 上甲微, was the predynastic founding ancestor of the Shang royal lineage. The term zhong 中 —here translated as “center”—is of primary importance in both anecdotes. Shun obtained it and ruled the world accordingly, while Wei borrowed it and took revenge on You Yi 有易 for the death of his father. No matter what exactly zhong means, it here indicates power, perhaps even legitimate rule, over a political entity. It allows Shun to rule All-under-Heaven and enables Shang Jia Wei to take revenge on You Yi. The two cases further stress that determination and resilience are key to achieving one’s goal. Never remiss in his duties, Shun was finally appointed by Yao. Never abandoning his ambition, Shang Jia Wei’s determination finally culminated in the divine Cheng Tang, who defeated King Jie of Xia 夏桀王 and overthrew the Xia lineage to establish Shang rule.

72 73

My reading of this line follows that of Ji Xusheng 2013: 108. See, e.g., Mozi 墨子 (Sun Yirang 2001: 9.57–58, 10.68), the Guodian manuscript “Qiong da yi shi” 窮達以時, Guanzi 管子 (Li Xiangfeng 2004: 66.1205), or Han Feizi 韓非子 (Wang Xianshen 1998: 36.349). Allan (1981: 37, 44–45) discusses the repeated structural patterns in the representation of characters of this type.

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The closing of the admonition applies both cases to the present. It warns Fa that it takes stamina to bring his ambitions to fruition and take control of All-under-Heaven. Recontextualization and Memory Production In both “Gu ming” and “*Baoxun,” the king’s speech is framed through narrative structures and thus placed within a given, historical situation. By so doing, the text transmutes the immediacy of the speech, and the communicative event underlying the text is brought to the fore.74 When speech is recontextualized thus within a historical situation, real or imagined, it is no longer just reenacting the event—the speech now becomes a mediated, archived object. It is no longer performative or addresses the immediate witnesses of the occasion. Thus, the text that includes the speech becomes a reference tool, oral or written, to inform a wider audience across the distance of time. It becomes a lieu de mémoire, a place that stores—in fact, constructs—memory.75 As a “site of memory” now informing and shaping the identity of wider groups and their debates, the event gains new and different relevance because it is now a type of event. It is therefore no longer the original event that matters—what matters is the message as transported in the text. Texts such as “Gu ming” and “*Baoxun” thus become tools for politico-philosophical debate. Note that the analysis above equally applies when assuming that the speech (and not just the historicizing frame) was invented purely for the sake of the text when it was produced to serve in politico-philosophical debates taking place at a later time (say, in late Eastern Zhou times) than the events being recorded. Even such an invented speech was archived in the narrative continuum of history and thus available, as historical reference, for the retrospective construction of memory. These considerations also allow us to reconsider the remaining parts of “Gu ming.” Following the admonition, the text continues with an elaborate description of events after King Cheng’s death. I take this as section B of the text. Section B describes the ritual in which Zhao is installed as successor king. It consists of five elements: the “frame” (“the death of the king”); the “postmortem ritual”; the “command and its intonation”; the “oath” that confirms the

74 75

On the conceptualization of the communicative event, see Jakobson 1960; Hymes 1962, 1974a, 1974b. See also Bauman and Briggs 1990. On lieu de mémoire, see Nora 1989.

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new king as legitimate successor; and the “conclusion of the ritual,” when the many lords leave while Zhao, the new king, continues to mourn his father. The detailed description of the ritual in “Gu ming” is unique in texts of the “Shu” traditions and often taken as an outstanding example of early Western Zhou ritual.76 Most studies on “Gu ming” therefore focus on this part of the text.77 Whether this section of “Gu ming” is actually as old as many commentators suggest is secondary to my point here. Structurally, its place in “Gu ming” is comparable to its counterpart in “*Baoxun”; like the latter, it serves as archived knowledge and hence as a reference tool in Eastern Zhou politicophilosophical discourse. Just like the frame that contextualizes the king’s charge in the core part of the text, the postmortem ritual too is presented in the voice of an all-observing chronicler to contextualize—and therefore fix in time—a message underlying the event: 1A Then, having received [the king’s] order, [the officers] returned. An embroidered screen was brought into the courtyard. 1B On the next day, the day yichou, the king died. 2 The Grand Protector gave orders to Second-Born Xuan and Nan Gongmao and made them assist Lü Ji, the Marquis of Qi,78 with two shield-andspear men and a hundred tiger-swift guards, and receive Zi Zhao at the [eastern side] of the southern gate [of the ancestral temple],79 inviting [him] [延] to enter the bright room [of the temple]80 and mourn at the place of the ancestors.81 76 77 78

79 80

81

Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 4, 1881. For a discussion of traditional scholarship on the description of the ritual in “Gu ming,” see Meyer, forthcoming. Following Norman (1988: 86), Schüssler (2007: 583) takes yuan 爰 (*ɢwa[n]) as an ungrammatical form of yu zhi 于 (*ɢw(r)a) 之 (*tə), “there,” where it is a fusion of yu 于 (*ɢw(r)a) “plus an *-n with a demonstrative meaning.” Karlgren (1970: 158) glosses yuan 爰 as yuan 援 (*[ɢ]wa[n]), “to support, to assist,” which is a good and simple solution because the two share the same phonophoric. I take bi 俾 to be the result of the orders in the sense of “… thus causing them to …” Opinions differ about the location of the southern gate. See Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 4, 1741. In Shangshu jizhu yinshu, Jiang Sheng explains yi shi 翼室 as the room next to the imperial tomb. The pseudo–Kong Anguo commentary takes it to mean “bright room” (ming shi 明室); for both, see Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 4, 1742–1743. Karlgren follows this reading. Because the passage under review is the locus classicus of yi shi 翼室, the precise meaning of that term is unclear and contested. See Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 4, 1743.

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On the day dingmao, an order was given [by the Grand Protector Shi] to make a document [of the deceased king’s charge] and lay out the ritual regulations.82

1A 茲既受命還。83 出綴衣于庭。 1B 越翼，日乙丑，84 [成] 王崩。85 2 太保命仲桓、南宮毛俾爰齊侯呂伋，以二干戈、虎賁百人，逆子釗於 3

南門之外，延入翼室，恤宅宗。 丁卯，命作冊度。

The frame contains three elements. The first one—split into two separate but contextually related events—specifies the reason for conducting the ritual (the king’s death) and situates the event in temporal terms. The second element specifies the location of the event and names its main actors, while the third element conceptualizes the written existence of the ritual account with reference to official record keeping. To a degree, this tripartite frame mirrors the frame of the core of “Gu ming,” most prominently in their shared concern with the existence of the (written) account. As the “postmortem ritual” follows on from here, the language changes. The text now upholds strictly parallel patterns and contains elements of formal but eulogizing representations of the ritual where the language marks the rituality of the event. It contains five catalogs of ritual description, headed by a time specification. The final block of this description prepares for the intonation of the command. I here quote the first element:

82

83 84

85

Karlgren (1970: 160) has “[o]rder was given to make a document about du the measures.” Li Min and Wang Jian (2004: 374) take zuo ce 作冊 as an official title. The pseudo–Kong Anguo commentary in the Shangshu zhengyi 尚書正義 suggests that a record was made of the charge pronounced orally by the king. My translation here is based on Kern’s (2007: 156) analysis of the phrase. Following Legge 1960: 549, I read zi 茲 (*tsə) adverbially, shi shi 是時, “then.” Sun Xingyan (2004: 486) states that yi 翼 (*ɢwrəp) is read as yi 翌 (*ɢwrəp). The character 翌 is used for li 昱 (*ɢwrəp), “the following day.” The same sentence pattern also appears in the ancient-script recension of “Wu cheng” 武成 and “Shao gao” 召誥. Making explicit reference to “Gu ming,” the Hanshu “Lüli zhi xia” (21.1017) has “King Cheng died” (成王崩). Duan Yucai states that the modern- and ancient-script recensions of Ma Rong and Zheng Xuan both had “King Cheng died” (成王崩) before the king’s name was erased in the pseudo–Kong Anguo recension. Duan considers that a mistake, a view shared by Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu (2005: vol. 4, 1736–1737).

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Seven days after [the event of the king dying], on the day guiyou, the Senior Officer commanded the officers to have a coffin made from the gathered wood.86 越七日，癸酉，伯相命士須材。

1 Servants set out the screens embroidered with axes, together with an embroidered screen.87  Between the windows and facing south, [they] spread out in two layers bamboo-strip mats with black-and-white silk borders88 and the usual89 stool embroidered with multicolored jades.  In the side space along the western wall,90 facing east, [they] spread out in two layers smooth (rush) mats with stitched borders and the usual stool with patterned cowries.  In the side space along the eastern wall, facing west, [they] spread out in two layers sumptuous mats with painted borders and the usual stool with carved jades.  In the western side-room, facing the south, [they] spread out in two layers young-bamboo mats with dark, ample borders91 and the usual stool with lacquer.92 狄設黼扆綴衣。

86

87

88

89

90 91 92

The character xu 須 (*[s]o) is problematic. Karlgren (1970: 161) dismisses Zeng Yunqian’s (1884–1945) suggestion to read it as ban 頒, “issue, promulgate,” as a Song-specific usage. He suggests taking it as a verb, “making it necessary, obligatory,” which he takes to mean “exact.” Di 狄 (*lˤek) is normally read as “low servant” in the Shangshu (Schüssler 2007: 209). Fu 黼 (*p(r)aʔ) is a loan for fu 斧 (*p(r)aʔ), “ax, hatchet” (Zeng Yunqian 2012: 279). Zeng further suggests reading yi 扆 (*ʔəjʔ) as yi 依 (*ʔəj), “lean upon.” I see, however, no reason to deviate from the reading of “screen” here. Here fu 敷 (*ph(r)a), “spread widely,” is glossed as bu 布 (*pˤa-s), “to spread out (a mat)”; chun 純 (*[d]u[n]) is glossed as yuan 緣 (*lon), “border” (Sun Xingyan 2004: 488–489). The reading of “bamboo-strip mats with black-and-white silk borders” for mie 篾 follows the pseudo–Kong Anguo commentary. Legge 1960: 553. The Zhou li states that “as a matter of principle, for auspicious events, the stool is changed; for nonauspicious events, the usual stool is taken” (凡吉事變几，凶事 仍几). See the description of xu 序 in Legge 1960: 553 (based on Er ya 爾雅). A more elaborate explanation is in Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 4, 1750ff. Karlgren 1970: 163. The ritual import of that “stool” is not clear. Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu (2005: vol. 4, 1752– 1755) summarize the many different attempts to explain it.

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牖間南嚮，敷重篾席，黼純，華玉仍几。 西序東嚮，敷重厎席，綴純，文貝仍几。 東序西嚮，敷重豐席，畫純，雕玉仍几。 西夾南嚮，敷重筍席，玄紛純，漆仍几。

Subsequent to this element the postmortem ritual continues in this style for another four catalogs. While the first element describes the spatial arrangements of screens, mats, and stools, the subsequent and equally parallel elements describe the spatial display of a variety of other ritual objects, as well as the attendees of the ritual, who wear official caps and hold five different types of weapons. There is a marked stress on cardinal directions throughout, and all five catalogs embody the ritual space in written form. By giving representation to the four cardinal directions, the ritual captures the totality of space and, hence, of the universe. The regular sentence patterns and the wellordered arrangement of parallel constructions mark the rituality of the occasion linguistically. However, just as seen in the “core” part of “Gu ming” where speech becomes archived, here too it is through its narrative historical contextualization that the text is no longer a reenactment of the ritual itself. Following the postmortem ritual and Zhao’s enthronement, King Cheng’s command to his successor is intoned by the Grand Secretary, thus confirming Zhao’s legitimacy. His duties are announced, and he promises to observe them reverently. 1A [Facing south, the Grand Secretary] announced to the [new] king the written charge (with the orders of the dead king).93 He said: 御王冊命。曰：

2A “Our august sovereign [the dead King Cheng],94 leaning on the jadeembroidered stool, brought forward and promoted his last order.95 He commanded you to inherit the instructions [of the ancient Kings Wen and Wu],96 to look down favorably upon and rule the state of Zhou, to follow and extol the great laws, to make All-under Heaven harmonious97 93 94 95

96 97

See the discussion in Kern 2007: 157. Here I follow Karlgren 1970: 71. Sun Xingyan (2004: 502) interprets this passage differently. He assumes that the new king is now made to lean on the jade-embroidered stool in the same fashion as his father did when delivering his testamentary charge. I consider this unlikely. Instead, this is a representation of the situation when King Cheng emphasized the dramatic setting of his charge and the pressing order. See Zeng Yunqian 2012: 284. See Sun Xingyan 2004: 502.

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and in agreement with one another,98 thus responding to and extolling [Kings] Wen and Wu’s glorious instructions.” 皇后憑玉几，道揚末命，命汝嗣訓，臨君周邦，率循大卞，燮和天 下，用荅揚文武之光訓。

 King [Kang] bowed twice, rose, and responded:  “How insignificant am I, the last small child [of the great line of kings]; how should I be capable of governing the four regions and reverently stand in awe of Heaven’s majesty?”99  Thereupon [he] accepted the tong wine cup and mao jade. The king thrice advanced [the wine cup to the spirits],100 thrice he made a libation [by pouring it out], and thrice he set [the cup] down. The Supervisor of the Minister of Rites said [to the spirits]:  “[Accept this] sacrifice!” The Grand Protector received the wine cup, descended [the steps], washed his hands, took another wine cup, held the jade libation ladle, and made a [matching] libation. He handed the wine vessel to the [Assistant] Minister of Rites and bowed. The king bowed in return. The Grand Protector received the wine cup, made a libation, lifted it to his lips [to prove it], set it down, handed the wine cup to the [Assistant] Minister of Rites and bowed. The king bowed in return.  The Grand Protector descended. [The utensils] were removed.101   王再拜，興，荅曰： 眇眇予末小子，其能而亂四方，以敬忌天威？ 乃受同、瑁。王三宿，三祭，三吒。   上宗曰：饗！ 98

99 100

101

Just as above where two words render the same notion—dao 道 (*[kə.l]ˤuʔ), “bring forward,” and yang 揚 (*laŋ), “make known”; shuai 率 (*s-rut), “to follow,” and xun 循 (*sə. lu[n]), “to follow”—xie 燮 (*s.qhʕ(r)ip) and he 和 (*ɢˤoj) do so too. This seems to be a special rhetorical trope in the delivery of a highly refined speech. In fact, Kern (2000: 153–154) has identified the same rhetorical pattern, hendiadys, in imperial stele inscriptions. Kern notes that in ritual texts it serves to intensify the linguistic value of what is said, stressing claims of universality. Since in a hendiadys the two words each carry their full semantic value, their effective “doubling” evokes a sense of normativity. On luan 亂 as a misspelled si 司, “govern, regulate, order,” see n. 47 above. Su 宿 (*[s]uk) is taken for su 肅 (*siwk), glossed by the Er ya as jin 進, “to advance, to present.” The different main vowel of the two in Old Chinese might be a problem. However, there are Shijing rhyme contacts between *-iw and *-u, and I do not want to exclude the possibility that su 宿 (*suk-s) and su 肅 (*siwk) were used interchangeably. The reading follows the pseudo–Kong Anguo interpretation.

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太保受同，降，盥，以異同，秉璋以酢，授宗人同，拜。王荅拜。 太保受同，祭，嚌，宅，授宗人同，拜。王荅拜。   太保降，收。

3B The Grand Protector and the Eldest of Rui both advanced, bowed to each other with their hands clasped and, together, twice bowed, knocking their heads to the floor. They said:  “We presume, respectfully, to announce to you, Son of Heaven, that August Heaven altered the Mandate of the great state of Yin. It was that [Kings] Wen and Wu of Zhou greatly received its approval102 so that they were able to attend to the western lands zealously. The newly ascended king103 in all [cases] held on to the right balance between reward and punishment. He was able to104 consolidate his achievements, and thus he broadly handed down blessings to his successor. May you, our king, now reverently [receive] these! Display and make majestic the six captaincies, and do not ruin our high ancestor’s singleminded command!” 太保暨芮伯咸進，相揖，皆再拜稽首。曰： 敢敬告天子，皇天改大邦殷之命。惟周文武誕受羑若，克恤西土。惟 新陟王畢協賞罰，戡定厥功，用敷遺後人休。今王敬之哉！張皇六 師，無壞我高祖寡命。

The King announced thus:  “All you [lords] of the many states and [chiefs] of the domains of Hou, Dian, Nan, and Wei, I, the One Man, Zhao, announce and declare to you [the following]:  ‘The ancient [Kings] Wen and Wu greatly made tranquil and enriched [the people of our territories] and never did they maltreat105 or incriminate [them]. In this, they only halted106 at the point where ultimate impartiality and fidelity were achieved, and so they became illustrious in All-under-Heaven. Consequently, since they also had warriors like bears 102 103 104 105

106

This follows Cai Shen’s proposal as outlined at length in Karlgren 1970: 172. I.e., the deceased King Cheng. Following Sun Xingyan 2004: 506, I read kan 戡 as ke 克. Karlgren (1970: 173) takes wu 務 (*m(r)o-s) for wu 敄 (*m(r)oʔ), which is used synonymously for wu 侮 (*m(r)oʔ), “to maltreat.” Karlgren discusses this relation in detail in gloss 413. Karlgren (1970: 174) reads: “They caused them to come to a (uniform =) universal fidelity.” As noted in the Er ya, zhi 厎 (*tijʔ) is used for zhi 止 (*təʔ), “to stop.” Zhi 止, on the other hand, is used interchangeably with zhi 之 (*tə), “go to.” Seeing this as a result of the previous declaration, which Karlgren does, one can indeed read: “[thus making them] go to (= come to) …”

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and ministers without divided loyalty who protected and regulated the royal house, they began their Mandate from God on High. August Heaven [thus] instructed [them in] its way and gave them [the lands] in the four directions. Wen and Wu thereupon appointed and established all the lords and erected protective walls that [still] remain with us, their successors. Now that I have you, my several uncles, will you, together, consider continuing to act in care of this spirit and appease the subjects of those, your former lords, who served under our former kings? Although you will be physically outside the capital, may your hearts never be not in the royal house! Thus, in your service, zealously attend to what is suitable,107 and do not leave me, the tender boy, in shame.’” 王若曰： 庶邦侯、甸、男、衛，惟予一人釗報誥：   昔君文武丕平富，不務咎，厎至齊信，用昭明于天下。則亦有熊羆 之士，不二心之臣，保乂王家，用端命于上帝。皇天用訓厥道，付畀 四方，乃命建侯樹屏，在我後之人。今予一二伯父尚胥暨顧，綏爾先 公之臣服于先王。雖爾身在外，乃心罔不在王室。用奉恤厥若，無遺 鞠子羞。

The account is then finalized by a concluding frame that marks the end of the ritual: Upon hearing the charge, the many lords bowed to one another, with their hands clasped, and hurried out. [The king] went out, took off his official cap, and returned [to the temple] to assume the mourning garments. 群公既皆聽命，相揖，趨出。 出釋冕，反喪服。

With its theater-style stage ending, the description of the ritual has thus come full circle.108 The bird’s-eye view of the scene, in which the main actors leave after bowing to one another one last time, and the new king takes off his ceremonial dress to put on his mourning garments, marks the finality of the event. 107 108

Karlgren 1970: 172. Utzschneider (2007a, 2007b) discusses dramatic features in early textuality in universal terms. With reference to Kern’s 2009 discussion of Shangshu speeches as recitation texts, Grebnev (chapter 7 in this volume) deepens Utzschneider’s notion of the “dramatic” for early Chinese texts, in particular those of the “Shu” traditions. To the dramatic features identified by Grebnev, one might add theatrical “stage directions” used to frame speech.

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At the same time, it reconnects the ritual description to the core of “Gu ming” (section A) and thus serves as a closing device not just for the ritual account but for “Gu ming” as a whole. In his oath, introduced again with wang ruo yue, “the king said thus,” the new king refers to the past rulers Wen and Wu. Here many concepts are used that are highly specific to “Shu”-type texts. The term shu bang 庶邦 (the many states), for instance, has only two occurrences outside the Shangshu in preHan literature,109 but it occurs twelve times in the Shangshu,110 for the most part in royal speeches.111 In “Gu ming” it appears twice: once in King Cheng’s speech, the other time in that of his son and successor. Thus, through his speech, the new king formally emulates King Cheng and becomes his obvious counterpart. Through this textual parallel, the new king is given full legitimacy as rightful heir and ruler. Conclusion Acts of decontextualizing are always, at the same time, acts of entextualizing. While both the speech and the catalogs in “Gu ming” may have originated in very different circumstances, in their recontextualization within this particular text they attain a new function and meaning. The elements of speech and catalog have lost their immediacy. The same can be said of the speech and the anecdotes in “*Baoxun,” as well as of the text on the whole. In fact, it applies to textualized “Shu” traditions whenever the immediacy of speech is erased by framing devices that fix speech in a particular historical context. Such texts become lieux de mémoire and carry a particular message. “Gu ming” does so by channeling the memory of existential threat to generate a remembrance of the past in a way that is meaningful to the present. Against the background of turmoil, it elevates the succession after King Cheng’s death to become part of the ideal past of the Zhou. Times of existential threat and sociopolitical angst are thus reconfigured into a founding myth of the Zhou. “Gu ming” therefore serves to shape historical memory and could be used as a tool in the politico-philosophical discourse of its time. Texts such as “Gu ming” do not 109 110 111

That is, in a bronze text from the late Spring and Autumn, Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 00220 (and its counterpart 00221), plus in “Xu” 序 of Yi Zhoushu. In “Da gao,” “Jiu gao,” “Zi cai” 梓材, “Shao gao,” “Wu yi,” and “Gu ming” (and, in addition, in the ancient-script recension of “Wu cheng” and the preface to “Duo fang” 多方). The exception to this is “Shao gao,” where the term appears in the narration of an allobserving chronicler.

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primarily document historical facts. Intead, they conceptualize past experience to provide guidance for the future. And “*Baoxun”? First of all, working on the assumption that “*Baoxun” is not a forged artifact, it has a clear terminus ante quem: ca. 300 BCE, when the manuscript was produced.112 But “*Baoxun” is not just a material artifact from the Warring States period; it is fundamentally a Warring States period text.113 On current textual evidence, Yao and Shun as a pair did not feature prominently as examples of moral conduct before the Warring States, nor did yin and yang as a pair gain prominence much before then.114 Moreover, the two anecdotes in “*Baoxun” seem to underpin the sociopolitical concern of the text to license rebellion and, in addition, to promote meritocracy as a viable model in lieu of rule by hereditary right.115 In neither of the two pseudohistorical cases used in the text was rule obtained by right of birth: Shun was given All-underHeaven by Yao and Cheng Tang took it from Jie 桀. Jie, according to Eastern Zhou thinkers, had lost the Mandate and so the right to rule. Looking back at both the opening of the text and the closure of the admonition, the same also applies to Fa, the future King Wu, who ended Shang rule. King Wu did not inherit All-under-Heaven. He took it by force because the Shang had lost the Mandate. The Mandate, abdication, and rule by merit were pivotal concerns during the Warring States period and triggered intense debates at the time,116 exemplified in a wide range of texts.117 112

113 114

115 116 117

The authenticity of the slips was confirmed through radiocarbon testing of some of the broken and noninscribed slips. They were dated to 305 BCE, with a margin of error of circa thirty years. The ink, however, was not tested, and so there remains at least the theoretical possibility that a forgery was produced by writing on blank ancient slips. On the issue of forgery, see Hu Pingsheng 2008. See also the discussion in Allan 2015: 300. I here refer to the two concepts in their abstract sense to describe the totality of things, rather than in their early sense, where they denote “shady valley” (yin 陰) and “sunny slope” (yang 陽). Roughly around the fourth century BCE, yin and yang began to be used for abstract concepts. See also Allan 1997: 11ff., 56ff., 137ff. See also Allan 2015. Gu Jiegang 1982: vol. 7, 30–109) holds that the abdication dictum appeared with the Mozi and the idea of promoting the worthy (shang xian 尚賢) in the fifth century BCE. Manuscripts from the mid- to the late Warring States period testify that this was one of the most prominent themes at the time. “Tang Yu zhi dao” 唐虞之道, “Rongcheng shi” 容 成氏, and “Zigao” 子羔 may be cited here. (For “Tang Yu zhi dao,” see Guodian Chu mu zhujian 1998: 39–41, 157–159; for “Rongcheng shi” and “Zigao,” see Shanghai Bowuguan cang Zhanguo Chu zhushu 2001–: vol. 2, 31–47, 183–189, 91–146, 247–293.) For a discussion of the theme of abdication in the Warring States period, see Pines 2010; see also Pines 2009, 2008, 2005–2006: 169–75; 2005; Graham 1989: 293; Liu Zehua 2000; Allan 2006.

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In intellectual terms, “*Baoxun” is right within the debate. The text appears to argue precisely against the position articulated in “Gu ming,” in which hereditary rule is celebrated as the ultimate source of stability. It is possible that “*Baoxun” did not just argue against the general idea presented in “Gu ming” but was actually a response to that particular text. The following features may serve to gauge the texts’ relatedness. To begin with, the two texts—both positioned in the wider “Shu” traditions—are closely related to each other chronologically. While “Gu ming” presents itself as a witness to the succession of rule from King Cheng to his son, “*Baoxun” positions itself two generations before that event by bearing witness to the succession of rule from King Wen to King Wu, the father of King Cheng. Second, “*Baoxun” and “Gu ming” appropriate exactly the same frame, which, at first sight, appears to relate one text to the other rather explicitly. The reduplication even goes so far that individual elements of the fabula of the one text are repeated in the frame of the other. Especially striking here is the element of the ritual washing that is repeated nearly verbatim: 王乃洮頮水, “the king washed his hair and face,” in “Gu ming,” versus 自靧水, “the king washed his face,” in “*Baoxun.” The two graphs hui 靧 (*qhʕuj-s) and hui 頮 (*qhʕəj-s) are nearly homophonous and used interchangeably. Except for “*Baoxun,” the word has only a limited presence outside “Gu ming” in Zhou literature.118 The unique correspondence between “Gu ming” and “*Baoxun” is unlikely to be just coincidental. The paucity of the term outside the two texts is surprising, and the status of “Gu ming” in the political world of the Warring States should give us cause for reflection. As part of the modern-script recension of the Shangshu, “Gu ming” is considered a genuine pre-Qin text. In stark contrast to the years of turmoil surrounding the Duke of Zhou’s regency, it presents the transfer of power from one generation to the next as a routine act, suggesting a tradition of stability that was rooted in ritual practice. With this particular representation of history, “Gu ming” becomes a text of utmost significance. A text of that kind, one would thus think, should have a remarkable presence in the literature—yet the opposite is the case. Lines from the Shangshu in pre-Qin literature amount 118

The nearest would be the occurrence of hui 靧 (*qhʕuj-s) (頮 reads *qhʕəj-s) in the Liji 禮記 “Nei ze” 內則 (12.11) and “Yu zao” 玉藻 (13.5), where it appears, however, in a dif­ ferent and unrelated context. That does not mean that the act of ritual washing at the imminence of death is not recorded at all in pre-imperial texts. The equivalent—but phonetically rather distant—word mei 沬 (*mˤat-s) is recognized as early as in oracle-bone inscriptions (Jiaguwen zidian 1989: 1207), and the phrase “let us [ritually] wash the face” (我沬其) appears in bronze texts from the Warring States period too (Hu Kai and Chen Minzhen 2011: 21–23).

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to about three hundred references,119 but no Warring States text refers to “Gu ming.” This situation changes only during the Han, beginning with a single reference in Shiji;120 thereafter, the earliest references and quotations all date only from the Eastern Han (25–220 CE).121 One begins to wonder whether “Gu ming” really is what tradition makes us believe it is. In fact, when reading “Gu ming” with reference to “*Baoxun,” things seem to fall into place more gently. “Gu ming” should not just be read as an attempt to translate the post–Duke of Zhou situation (as mentioned in my introduction) into a founding myth of the Zhou. Rather, it should be taken as an attempt to formulate a claim for rule by hereditary right by means of that myth. To read it side by side with “*Baoxun” is to place “Gu ming” into Eastern Zhou intellectual history, when a discourse about ideal forms of government intensified and arguments for hereditary rule versus appointment through merit were debated passionately. This includes ideas licensing rebellion, as suggested in “*Baoxun.” It also implies that “*Baoxun” should not be read as a countertext to “Gu ming” in terms of a chronological progression, but that we should consider the possibility that “Gu ming” and “*Baoxun” are both products of the same intellectual debate, advancing opposite positions. With this, I do not wish to say that “Gu ming” in its entirety was an Eastern Zhou fabrication, as certain elements of the text may well be of a much older date. But the making of the text as a lieu de mémoire to be used in politico-philosophical discourse is clearly indicative of Eastern Zhou textual intervention. As an Eastern Zhou take on the cultural accomplishments of the Western Zhou, “Gu ming” presents a systematization and, hence, fixation of that image. The celebration of ritual and the long description in the form of five catalogs are important elements of this. As an idealized image of the past, the text provides a framework for the legitimacy of present claims. The manifestations of speech and ritual in “Gu ming” are therefore less a case of genuinely performative acts within the institutions of political commemoration in the Western Zhou than the expression of a retrospect idealization of such an event for politico-philosophical ends. In this way, a narrative is constructed by which the political community could endow its own ideas with the most ancient origins. It is for this reason that texts such as “Gu ming” and “*Baoxun” do not give 119 120 121

See the discussion in Liu Qiyu 1997: 4ff.; Chan Hung Kan and Ho Che Wah 2003: 261–265. Shiji 4.134. For studies of the quotation of the Shangshu in the transmitted literature, see Chen Mengjia 1985: 11–35; Liu Qiyu 1997: 4–24; Qu Wanli 1983; Chan Hung Kan and Ho Che Wah 2003. The preconceived mold and modular nature of “Gu ming,” together with the absence of an authorial voice, might help to explain its pre-imperial invisibility.

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an unspecific, generic account of ritual but portray a highly specific event that claims historical reality and, hence, validity in its application to the present. It does not matter which of the two texts came first, “*Baoxun” or “Gu ming.” As mentioned, it is not even necessary to assume that either of the two manifestations that we now have was produced in direct response to the other, for we know virtually nothing of other instantiations of the fabula that potentially might have been worked into yet another story.122 It is conceivable that both texts are responses to a common debate and do not just stand on their own. Future text finds may cast light on elements shared among intellectually related texts that may have been used by a wider community as traveling concepts123 in support of the formulation of a new argument. As Martin Kern reminds us, “the speeches [in the Shangshu] were not talking facts”124—and the same is certainly true for the narrative elements that contextualize them. As such, it is possible that these elements became modules to be used in different contexts,125 constantly adapted and rewritten over the course of time. This does not mean, of course, that texts with these elements are devoid of any historical knowledge;126 rather, such elements were used to construct an idealized memory of a common past to provide guidance to the present. References Allan, Sarah. 1981. The Heir and the Sage: Dynastic Legend in Early China. San Francisco: Chinese Materials Center. Allan, Sarah. 1997. The Way of Water and Sprouts of Virtue. Albany: State University of New York Press. Allan, Sarah. 2006. “The Way of Tang Yao and Yu Shun: Appointment by Merit as a Theory of Succession in a Warring States Bamboo Slip Text.” In “Rethinking Confucianism: Selected Papers from the Third International Conference on Excavated Chinese 122

123 124 125 126

Although rather different from “Gu ming” and “*Baoxun,” the metastructure of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” bears substantial overlap with these texts, and the “Wu quan” 五權 chapter from the Yi Zhoushu appropriates some key features of the frame in “Gu ming” and “*Baoxun” by initiating its account with the sentence “it was when the king was indisposed because of illness” (維王不豫) (Huang Huaixin et al. 2007: 489). For the notion of “traveling concepts,” see Bal 2001. Kern 2007: 124. See also Schaberg 2001: 26. Schaberg has shown that imagined speech was a common rhetorical device in Eastern Zhou historiography. A similar claim has been made with regard to the production of meaning in Warring States period written thinking. See Meyer 2012: 204. Cf. Kern 2009: 183.

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Li Feng. 2008. Bureaucracy and the State in Early China. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Li Feng. 2001–2002. “‘Offices’ in Bronze Inscriptions and Western Zhou Government Administration.”Early China 26–27: 1–72. Li Min 李民 and Wang Jian 王健. 2004. Shangshu yizhu. Ed. Shisan jing yizhu 十三經譯 註. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Li Shoukui 李守奎. 2010. “Baoxun er ti” 保訓二題. In Chutu wenxian 出土文獻 1, 78–86. Shanghai: Zhongxi shuju. Li Xiangfeng 黎翔鳳. 2004. Guanzi jiaozhu 管子校注. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Li Xueqin 李學勤. 2009. “Qinghua jian Baoxun shidu buzheng” 清華簡保訓釋讀補正. Zhongguo shi yanjiu 中國史研究 3: 5–8. Lin Zhipeng 林志鵬. 2010. “Qinghua Daxue cang Zhanguo zhushu Baoxun jiao shi” 清 華大學藏戰國竹書保訓校釋. Jianbo yanjiu 簡帛研究. Accessed May 2013 . Liu Qiyu 劉起釪. 1997. Shangshu yuanliu ji chuanben kao. Shenyang: Liaoning Daxue chubanshe. Liu Zehua 劉澤華. 2000. Zhongguo de wangquan zhuyi 中國的王權注意. Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chubanshe. Matsumoto Masaaki 松本雅明. 1968. Shunjū Sengoku ni okeru Shōsho no tenkai 春秋戰 國にぉける尚書の展開. Tokyo: Kazama shobō. Meng Pengsheng 孟蓬生 2009. “Baoxun ‘ji shen’ shi jie” 保訓 ‘疾甚’ 試解. Accessed May 2012 . Meyer, Dirk. 2012. Philosophy on Bamboo: Text and the Production of Meaning in Early China. Leiden: Brill. Meyer, Dirk. 2014. “The Art of Narrative and the Rhetoric of Persuasion in the ‘*Jīn téng’ (Metal Bound Casket) from the Tsinghua Collection of Manuscripts.” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 68.4: 937–968. Meyer, Dirk. Forthcoming. Monumentalising the Past: Traditions of Documents 書 and Political Argument in Early China. Nora, Pierre. 1989. “Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire.” Representations 26: 7–24. Norman, Jerry. 1988. Chinese. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pines, Yuri. 2002. “Lexical Changes in Zhanguo Texts.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 122.4: 691–705. Pines, Yuri. 2005. “Disputers of Abdication: Zhanguo Egalitarianism and the Sovereign’s Power.” T’oung Pao 91.4–5: 243–300. Pines, Yuri. 2005–2006. “Subversion Unearthed: Criticism of Hereditary Succession in the Newly Discovered Manuscripts.” Oriens Extremus 45: 159–178. Pines, Yuri. 2008. “To Rebel Is Justified? The Image of Zhouxin and the Legitimacy of Rebellion in the Chinese Political Tradition.” Oriens Extremus 47: 1–24.

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Pines, Yuri. 2009. Envisioning Eternal Empire: Chinese Political Thought of the Warring States Period. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press. Pines, Yuri. 2010. “Political Mythology and Dynastic Legitimacy in the Rong Cheng shi manuscript.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 73.3: 503–529. Pulleyblank, Edwin G. 1962. “The Consonantal System of Old Chinese.” Asia Major 9: 58–144, 206–265. Qinghua Daxue cang Zhanguo zhujian (yi) 清華大學藏戰國竹簡壹. 2010. Ed. Qinghua Daxue chutu wenxian yanjiu yu baohu zhongxin 清華大學出土文獻研究與保護中 心編. Shanghai: Zhongxi shuju. Qu Wanli 屈萬里. 1983. Shangshu yiwen huilu 尚書異文彙錄. Qu Wanli xiansheng quanji 3. Taipei: Lianjing chubanshe. Schaberg, David. 2001. A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center. Schmid, Wolf. 2014. Elemente der Narratologie. Berlin: De Gruyter. Schüssler, Axel. 2007. ABC Etymological Dictionary of Old Chinese. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press. Shanghai Bowuguan cang Zhanguo Chu zhushu 上海博物館藏戰國楚竹書. 2001–. Ed. Ma Chengyuan 馬承源. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Shangshu zhengyi 尚書正義. 1980. Ed. Shisanjing zhushu 十三經注疏. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1991. Sources of the Western Zhou History: Inscribed Bronze Vessels. Berkeley: University of California Press. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1993. “Shang shu 尚書 (Shu jing 書經).” In Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide, ed. Michael Loewe, 376–389. Berkeley: Society for the Study of Early China and Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1999a. “Calender and Chronology.” In The Cambridge History of Ancient China: From the Origins of Civilization to 221 B.C., ed. Michael Loewe and Edward L. Shaughnessy, 19–29. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1999b. “Western Zhou History.” In The Cambridge History of Ancient China: From the Origins of Civilization to 221 B.C., ed. Michael Loewe and Edward L. Shaughnessy, 292–351. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shiji 史記. 1987. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Shujing jizhuan 書經集傳. 2010. By Cai Shen 蔡沈 (1167–1230). Nanjing: Fenghuan chubanshe. Stryjewska, Anna. 2013. “The ‘Zhou Wu Wang’ (‘Jin Teng’) from Qinghua Manuscripts: Translation, Commentary and Comparison with Received Counterparts.” MSt thesis, University of Oxford. Sun Xingyan 孫星衍 2004. Shangshu jinguwen zhushu 尚書今古文注疏. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Sun Yirang 孫詒讓. 2001. Mozi jiangu 墨子閒詁. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju.

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Utzschneider, Helmut. 2007a. “Is There a Universal Genre of ‘Drama’? Conjectures on the Basis of ‘Dramatic’ Texts in Old Testament Prophecy, Attic Tragedy, and Egyptian Cult Plays.” In Literary Construction of Identity in the Ancient World: Proceedings of a Conference, Literary Fiction and the Construction of Identity in Ancient Literatures; Options and Limits of Modern Literary Approaches in the Exegesis of Ancient Texts, Heidelberg, July 10–13, 2006, ed. Hanna Liss and Manfred Oeming, 63–79. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Utzschneider, Helmut. 2007b. “Ist das Drama eine universale Gattung? Erwägungen zu den ‘dramatischen’ Texten in der alt. Prophetie, der attischen Tragödie und im ägyptischen Kultspiel.” In Gottes Vorstellung: Untersuchungen zur literarischen Ästhetik und ästhetischen Theologie des Alten Testaments, 269–290. Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament 9/15. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Vogelsang, Kai. 2002. “Inscriptions and Proclamations: On the Authenticity of the ‘Gao’ Chapters in the Book of Documents.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 74: 138–209. Wang Guowei 王國維. 1959. Guantang jilin 觀堂集林. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Wang Hui 王暉. 1993. “Zhou chu Tangshu shou feng shiji san kao” 周初唐叔受封事跡 三考. In Xi Zhou shi lunwenji 西周史論文集, 933–943. Xi’an: Shanxi renmin jiaoyu chubanshe. Wang Xianshen 王先慎. 1998. Han Feizi jijie 韓非子集解. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Xin Yihua 辛怡華. 2002. “Shishi jinwen zhong de ‘wang ruo yue’” 試釋金文中的 “王若 曰.” Huaxia wenhua 華夏文化 4: 11–12. Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 殷周金文集成. 1984–1994. Ed. Zhongguo shehui kexueyuan kaogu yanjiusuo 中国社会科学院考古研究所. Shanghai: Zhonghua shuju. Zeng Yunqian 曾運乾. 2012. Shangshu zhengyi 尚書正讀. Shanghai: Huadong Shifan Daxue chubanshe. Zhang Huaitong 張懷通. 2008. “‘Wang ruo yue’ xin shi” “王若曰” 新释. Lishi yanjiu 歷史 研宄 2008.2: 182–188.

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Chapter 4

One Heaven, One History, One People: Repositioning the Zhou in Royal Addresses to Subdued Enemies in the “Duo shi” 多士 and “Duo fang” 多方 Chapters of the Shangshu and in the “Shang shi” 商誓 Chapter of the Yi Zhoushu Joachim Gentz The Shangshu 尚書 chapters “Many Officers” (“Duo shi” 多士) and “Many Regions” (“Duo fang” 多方) purport to be royal addresses to the subdued highranking people of the previous dynasty. “Duo shi” addresses the remaining officers of the Yin 殷 who have been resettled at the new city of Luo 洛 (announced in the chapter “Luo gao” 洛誥). The speech is purportedly made by the Duke of Zhou 周公 at the new capital of Luo on behalf of King Cheng 成 upon the king’s return from an unspecified military expedition to Yan 奄. The speech “Duo fang” is also given by the Duke of Zhou on behalf of King Cheng. It is given at the old capital Hao 鎬 and addresses the former Yin officers living in Luo and the high-ranking officeholders of the numerous regions under the former rule of Yin. The present study analyzes the cultural and historical contexts of these chapters, their intertextuality with other texts, and their argumentative and rhetorical structure to explore when and for what purpose these chapters were written, what their historical function was, and why two such chapters have been transmitted in the Shangshu. “Duo shi” and “Duo fang” in Comparative Perspective At first sight the occurrence of these chapters in the Shangshu is not surprising. Military conquests and postbattle speeches are common phenomena throughout human history. Under closer scrutiny, however, speeches like “Duo shi” and “Duo fang” represent a cultural outlier in antiquity. Nowhere in the writings of other early kingdoms was I able to find a single text in which the victorious new king reasons with his subdued subjects, explains and justifies his conquest to his former enemies, and asks them for their cooperation.1 1 The only similar text I have come across so far is an Egyptian postbattle speech to subdued © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2017 | doi 10.1163/9789004343504_006

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Colleagues working on Middle Eastern royal inscriptions whom I asked for parallel cases just shook their heads, astounded and slightly amused. This is not because of a lack of source material. Six hundred to six hundred and fifty royally commissioned texts are known today that were composed only in the short Neo-Assyrian period of seventy-five years, between 744 and 669 BCE, when Assyria became the dominant power in southwestern Asia. Not a single one resembles the intent of these two Shangshu chapters. If we examine utterances of kings in the Middle East, which are mainly preserved in thousands of royal inscriptions from Mesopotamia, Egypt, and Persia, as well as in texts from the Old Testament, we find completely different literary representations of how kings dealt with their enemies. Assyrian commemorative inscriptions, like Hittite and Egyptian ones, placed great emphasis upon military campaigns, especially in the genres of annals and letters to gods.2 These texts are quite stereotypical and monotonously report on victories and destructions. Often combined with records of military campaigns are hunting reports. As reports of killing and destruction in faraway places, they are clearly constructed as contrasts to the building work that follows thereupon and takes place in their own homeland in, for example, Assyria.3 In most of these military reports enemies are spared only when they submit. Otherwise, we find reports of the destruction and plundering of cities and massacres of enormous numbers of people. The surviving populace is then in many cases deported and resettled in newly built cities.4 Such texts were often publicly displayed in monumental stone inscriptions, and the subdued people were confronted with their contents as a fait accompli. The corpus of royal inscriptions from Neo-Assyria includes similar reports of destroyed and plundered cities, of captured soldiers whose hands were cut

enemies on the “Dream Stela of Tanutamani on his enthronement and Egyptian campaign from the Amun Temple at Gebel Barkal,” dated ca. 664 BCE (translated in Eide et al. 1994: 193–207). The ninth and last section of this text (pp. 202–207) records the peace treaty concluded between Tanutamani and the subdued chiefs (lines 39–42). Compared with the two Shangshu speeches, however, the Egyptian king is depicted in an entirely different position vis-à-vis his subdued enemies. He does not offer them anything and asks for nothing from them but acts in the role of the god Rê. He explains his victory as the fulfillment of a divine plan in the spirit of traditional kingship dogma and is depicted as exceptionally generous in allowing his enemies to live. The enemies are “placed on their bellies, kissing the ground before him,” and beg to serve him “like those who are without anything.” I am indebted to Marwan Kilani, who pointed this text out to me in Oxford in March 2014. 2 Van Seters 1997: 60–61, 64–65. 3 Galter 1997: 58. 4 Schramm 1973: 14, 38.

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off, and of deportations of whole populations. Some quotations from the Royal Inscriptions of Sennacherib, king of Assyria (704–681 BCE), illustrate this: [… With] the power and might of (the god) Aššur, my lord, [I fought] with [them (and) defeated them …] I killed their [warriors] (and) I filled the mountain gorges with them (their corpses).5 In my ninth palû, (the god) Aššur, my lord, encouraged me and I marched against the lands Bīt-Kap[si, Bīt-Sangi], Bīt-Urzakki, Media (lit. “land of the Medes”), Bīt-Zualzaš, Bīt-Matti, (and) Tupliaš. I captured, plundered, destro[yed], devastated, (and) burned with fire the cities Bīt-Ištar, Kin[kangi, Kindigiasu], Kingialkasiš, Kubušḫatidiš, Upušu, Aḫsipuna, Girgirâ, (and) Kim­[baz­ḫa­ti, together with] citie[s] in their environs.6 The inscriptions are all phrased in highly formulaic language and follow a limited number of standard compositional patterns: I conquered (and) defeated the lands [Uparia, Bustus], Ariarma—the land of roosters—Saksuk[ni, Araquttu, Karzibra, Gukinnana, (and) BītSagbat, Mount Silḫazu, which] they call [the fort]ress of the Babylonian(s), [… (and) I carried off] their booty. I carried off […, their horses, their mules, their Bactrian camels, their oxen], (and) their sheep and goats, without number. [I destroyed, devastated, (and) burned with fire their] cit[ies; I reduced (them) to mounds and ruins].7 For forty-five days I set up my camp [aro]und his city and confined him (there) like a bird in a cage. I cut down his plantations, … (and) orchards, which were without number; I did not leave a single one (standing).8 Like the Zhou, Sennacherib encountered numerous rebellions (in the territories of Babylon), but there is not a single text in which he addresses his former enemies or even expostulates with them. He also conducted wars with Egypt and Judah and reports these battles in glorifying inscriptions. He laid siege to Jerusalem, and Assyrian accounts treat this as a great victory, maintaining that the siege was so successful that Hezekiah, the king of Judah, was forced to give 5 6 7 8

Grayson and Novotny 2012: 9. Grayson and Novotny 2012: 15. Grayson and Novotny 2012: 17. Grayson and Novotny 2012: 20.

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a monetary tribute, and that the Assyrians left victoriously, without losses of thousands of men and without sacking Jerusalem. According to biblical accounts, however, the siege was a great disaster for the Assyrians. Sennacherib had to withdraw because the “angel of Yahweh went out and struck down 185,000 in the camp of the Assyrians.”9 With respect to the way enemies are dealt with, the biblical accounts do not differ from other Middle Eastern sources. When King David captured Jerusalem, he ordered his soldiers: “Whoever would strike the Jebusites, let him get up the water shaft to attack ‘the lame and the blind,’ who are hated by David’s soul.”10 A final example from Persia may illustrate the attitude toward subdued people in early kingdoms. King Darius, in his famous Behistun Inscription, com­posed sometime between 522 and 486 BCE, gives a quite schematic report of his many military campaigns (in the first year alone he fought nineteen battles). According to the formulaic pattern of his historical records, he always killed the chiefs and chief followers and did to the others “according to his will”: (54) King Darius says: “As to these provinces which revolted, lies made them revolt, so that they deceived the people. Then Ahuramazda delivered them into my hand; and I did unto them according to my will. […] (63) Whosoever helped my house, him I favored; he who was hostile, him I destroyed.”11 All these royal statements from the ancient Middle East reflect an attitude that does not allow any negotiations with conquered people. Yet, they do not necessarily reflect different degrees of ferocity or cruelty of different cultures. Royal inscriptions, especially those from Assurnasirpal II (883–859 BCE) but also Assurbanipal (669–631 BCE), are far more brutal in their reports of what the kings did to their enemies than the relatively harmless formulaic descriptions that I have quoted from Sennacherib.12 Yet these kings do not appear any more brutal than the kings of any other state as portrayed in contemporary sources.13 The numerous Egyptian depictions of an oversized pharaoh slaying his enemies may point to another interpretation of such pictorial and literary 9 10 11 12 13

2 Kings 19:35, translation from the American Standard Version. 2 Sam. 5:8, translation from the American Standard Version. Lendering 2013. Grayson 1991: 199–201, quoted in Fuchs 2009: 67. Fuchs 2009: 65.

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representations of cruelty.14 Renate Müller-Wollermann discusses these depictions and similar Egyptian texts as symbolic representations of the pharaoh’s political, social, and cosmological role. She interprets the oversized depictions of the violent pharaoh as symbolic concealment of true power relationships. According to her, symbolic violence is applied in situations when rulers are reluctant or, more probably, unable to apply real violence.15 How, then, should we interpret the “Duo shi” and “Duo fang” chapters of the Shangshu, in which the Duke of Zhou, representing the young King Cheng, addresses the officers of the Shang and reasons with them about why they should support and cooperate with the Zhou? The chapters clearly reflect an effort to not only threaten these officers but also convince them by force of argument. Do these chapters present an exceedingly powerful ruler who is in a position to argue? To analyze these chapters more accurately in a comparative mode we must first turn to other early Chinese texts. In Western Zhou bronze inscriptions we find descriptions of military campaigns that are similar to those in the ancient Middle Eastern sources. Dozens of inscriptions report on military campaigns. One of the most detailed inscriptions is the Xiao Yu-ding 小盂鼎, probably cast during the reign of King Kang 康王 (1005–978 BCE): Yu with many flags with suspended Guifang … entered the Southern Gate, and reported saying, “The King ordered Yu to take … and attack the Gui tribe … I have captured three leaders, over 4800 scalps, 13,081 prisoners … tens of horses, thirty chariots, 355 oxen, and thirty-eight sheep.” Yu further … said, “… called on me to campaign, and I captured one leader, 237 scalps … prisoners, 104 horses, and over one hundred chariots.” The King said, [“Excellent!”] Yu bowed prostrate and brought forth the captured leaders into the Great Court. The King ordered Rong to interrogate the leaders, inquiring about their reasons. … “The Elder of Ke … the Guihun tribe. The Guihun thereupon took a new … and followed the Shang.” The leaders were then beheaded at … The King called upon … to charge Yu thus, “Take the captured scalps through the temple gate to present at the Western Shrine. Take the … in to make burnt offerings at the Temple of Zhou.”16 14 15 16

Schoske 1982; Swan-Hall 1986; Gundlach 1988. Müller-Wollermann 2009: 48. 盂以多旂佩，鬼方子□□入三門。告曰：王令盂以□□伐鬼方。□□□馘□ ，執酋三人，獲馘四千八百又二馘，俘人萬三千八十一人，俘馬□□匹，俘 車卅輛，俘牛三百五十五牛，羊卅八羊。盂又告曰：□□□□，乎蔑我征，

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This report from the early Western Zhou period follows the typical scheme of reports that we still find on bronzes from the late Western Zhou: the king orders A to campaign against B (sometimes with the order to spare neither young nor old). Then the numbers of killed and captured soldiers are reported, as in the Jinhou Su bells 晉侯穌鐘 inscription from 794 BCE, where in a campaign that lasted no longer than twenty days, 480 severed heads and 114 prisoners were reported:17 The king personally commanded Jinhou Su: “Lead your armies leftward crossing X and to the north crossing [] to attack the Su Yi.” Jinhou Su cut off 120 heads and captured 23 prisoners. The king arrived at Xun Citadel. The king in person distantly inspected the armies. The king arrived at Jinhou’s camp. The king descended from his chariot and, standing facing south, personally commanded Jinhou Su: “From the northwest corner, ram and attack Xun Citadel.” Jinhou Su led his Secondary Legion, Young Nobility, and Spearmen to advance down to enter, cutting off 100 heads and capturing 11 prisoners. The king arrived at Naolie. The Yi of Naolie went out fleeing. The king commanded Jinhou Su: “Lead the Grand Chamber’s Minor Vassals and Charioteers to follow, and catch and drive them out.” Jinhou cut off 110 heads and captured 20 prisoners; the Grand Chamber’s Minor Vassals and Charioteers cut off 150 heads and captured 60 prisoners.18 Or, as in the Xiao Yu-ding above and most other bronzes, A returns and reports on the numbers of ears or scalps taken from the dead (or the number of severed heads hoisted upon spears, as in the Yu-gui 敔簋,19 which mentions a

17 18

19

執酋一人，獲馘二百卅七馘，俘人□□人，俘馬百四匹，俘車百□輛。王 若曰：□。盂拜稽首，以酋進，即大廷。王令榮訊酋，榮即酋訊厥故。□ {走 克} 伯□□鬼獯，鬼獯虘以新□從。成，折酋於□。王呼□伯令盂以人馘入 門，獻西旅，□□入燎周廟。 Trans. Eno 2010: no. 37, Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 02839; Shaughnessy 1999: 320. Cf. Shaughnessy and Nivinson 2000: 34–35. 王親令晉侯蘇：率乃師左洀（周）鑊，北洀（周）□，伐夙夷。晉侯蘇折首 百又廿，執訊廿又三夫。王至於城，王親遠省師。王至晉侯蘇師，王降自 車，立，南鄉，親令晉侯蘇：自西北遇 (隅) 敦伐城。晉侯率厥亞旅、小子、 呈戈（秩）人先，陷入，折百首，執訊十又一夫。王至淖列，淖列夷出奔， 王令晉侯蘇：帥大室小臣、車仆從，述 (遂) 逐之。晉侯折首百又一十，執訊 廿夫﹔大室小臣、車仆折首百又五十，執訊六十夫。 Trans. Shim 1997: 49–53. Eno 2010: no. 103, Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 04323.

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number of 100, while another inscription20 counts 500), the number of captives, and the booty. These reports are very similar to what we find in the Middle Eastern inscriptions. In the Egyptian texts hands are cut off instead of scalps, ears, or heads. But they employ the same scheme of tallying the numbers of the dead, the captives, and the booty as proof of the military leader’s merit. These numbers are recorded for commemoration and to report them to the numinous beings, spirits, gods, and ancestors. The findings from the bronze inscriptions also coincide with passages from early Chinese noninscriptional texts that record many cases of “sanctioned violence.” Mark Edward Lewis has provided very helpful interpretations and summaries of these passages. He points out the association between military training and hunting and demonstrates how (as in the ancient Middle Eastern texts) war, sacrifice, and the hunt are interrelated in many early texts and symbolically interchangeable.21 Warfare and religious sacrifices were both regarded as service to the ancestors. Warfare was, according to Lewis, even regarded as a form of religious sacrificial ritual.22 Lewis quotes an example from the Zuo zhuan 左傳 where a commander proposes to collect the corpses of the Jin enemy into a large tomb mound as a monument to bring glory to the ancestral cult. Although the king of Chu rejects this practice in this particular instance, he acknowledges it in general.23 One text not mentioned by Lewis, even though it perfectly constructs this specific interrelationship of war, sacrifice, religious service, and hunt is the “Great Capture” (“Shifu” 世俘) in the Remnant Zhou Documents (Yi Zhoushu 逸周書).24 It reports the violent Zhou conquest of the Shang in a similar enumerative and detailed style as the bronze inscriptions. Following Gu Jiegang and others,25 Edward Shaughnessy has extensively discussed the chapter and believes that “Shifu” offers “the fullest account of the Zhou conquest.”26 The following excerpt provides some insight into its character: King Wu hunted and netted 22 tigers, 2 panthers, 5,235 stags, 12 rhinoceri, 721 yaks, 151 bears, 118 yellow-bears, 353 boars, 18 badgers, 16 king-stags, 50 musk-deer, 30 tailed-deer, and 3,508 deer. King Wu had pursued and 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

Guoji Zibo-pan 虢季子伯盤 (Eno 2010: no. 116, Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 10173). See also the Duo You-ding 多有鼎 (Eno 2010: no. 118, Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 02835). Lewis 1990: 18–20. Lewis 1990: 22, 26. Lewis 1990: 25–26. Huang Huaixin 1995: 477–494. Gu Jiegang 1963; Chen Mengjia 1985: 290. Shaughnessy 1997: 31. See also Shaughnessy 1991: 228.

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campaigned in the four directions. In all, there were 99 recalcitrant countries, 177,779 ears taken registered, and 310,230 captured men. In all, there were 652 countries that willingly submitted. … King Wu descended from [his] chariot and caused Scribe Yi to intone the document in the declaration to heaven. King Wu then shot the hundred evil ministers of (Shang king) Zhou. He beheaded and offered their sixty minor princes and great captains of the caldrons, and beheaded their forty family heads and captains of the caldrons. The supervisor of the infantry and the supervisor of horse first [attended] to their declaration of the suburban sacrifice; then the southern gate was flanked with the captives to be sacrificed, all of whom were given sashes and clothes to wear. The ears taken were first brought in. King Wu attended to the sacrifice and the Great Master shouldered the white banner from which the head of Shang king Zhou was suspended and the red pennant with the heads of his two consorts. Then, with the first scalps, he entered and performed the burnt-offering sacrifice in the Zhou temple. … Five days later on yi-mao (day 52), King Wu then sacrificed in the Zhou temple the ears taken of the many countries, declaring, “Reverently, I, the young son, slaughter six oxen and slaughter two sheep. The many states are now at an end.” [He] reported in the Zhou temple, saying, “Of old I have heard that [my] glorious ancestors emulated the standards of the men of the Shang; with the dismembered body of [Shang king] Zhou, I report to heaven and to Ji [i.e., Hou Ji].” … He sacrificed 504 oxen to heaven and to Ji, and sacrificed 2,701 sheep and boar, the minor offering, to the hundred spirits, the water and the earth.27 I take the comparative evidence from the ancient Middle Eastern inscriptions as indicating a wider pattern of propaganda on dealing with enemies in early kingdoms and understand the bronze inscriptions as texts that feature this 27

武王狩，禽虎二十有二，貓二，麋五千二百三十五，犀十有二，氂七百二十 有一，熊百五十有一，羆百一十有八，豕三百五十有二，貉十有八，麈十有 六，麝五十，麇三十，鹿三千五百有八。武王遂征四方，凡憝國九十有九 國，馘磿億有十萬七千七百七十有九, 俘人三億萬有二百三十，凡服國六百五 十有二。… 武王降自車，乃俾史佚繇書于天號。武王乃廢于紂矢惡臣百人， 伐右厥甲小子鼎大師，伐厥四十夫家君鼎師，司徒、司馬初厥于郊號。乃夾 于南門用俘，皆施佩衣衣先馘入。武王在祀，大師負商王紂縣首白旂，妻二 首赤旂，乃以先馘入，燎于周廟 … 越五日，乙卯，武王乃以庶國祀馘于周 廟，翼予沖子，斷牛六，斷羊二，庶國乃竟。告于周廟，曰：古朕聞文考脩 商人典以斬紂身，告于天、于稷 … 用牛于天、于稷五百有四，用小牲羊、豕 于百神水土社二千七百有一。 Huang Huaixin 1995: 458–470, trans. Shaughnessy 1997: 35–37.

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same pattern. While I accept Shaughnessy’s conclusion that “Shifu” probably is of Western Zhou origin, I disagree that it provides a reliable and accurate account of the “real” historical event. I assume, rather, that we have to treat this text, like the Shangshu texts—and indeed the bronze and Middle Eastern inscriptions—as propagandistic constructions of an ideal reality. I assume that these texts were produced to support conventional claims in a ritual setting dominated by sacrificial categories of reciprocity and exchange. Like the exact numbers of the sacrificial offerings or the gift lists that we find as typical elements in other kinds of bronze inscriptions, the numbers of killed and captured enemies and booty are reported as part of a communication that served to regulate exchanges of material goods, merits, and blessings with numinous beings. The subdued enemies are perceived in terms of numbers of either captured prisoners or body parts (scalps, severed heads, ears, hands—all as tokens for dead bodies). Legitimation of the conquest is sought by listing huge numbers of killed soldiers and captured humans, animals, and plundered goods. This ideology of slaughtering and sacrificing that we find in all these early postbattle records throughout the Middle East and in China therefore differs from what we find in the Shangshu accounts, which reflect a different set of purposes. It is difficult to reconcile the brutish style of these conquest reports with the humane and respectful addresses of the “Duo” chapters in the Shangshu. It is equally difficult to reconcile these detailed conquest reports and the bureaucratic style of their quantifications with the brief report and references to conquests that have been transmitted in the Shangshu. The Shangshu refers to the conquest in a new abstract religiopolitical language of overthrowing the Shang as part of the Zhou ruler’s duty imposed by Heaven. In these references the logic of a reciprocal exchange between men’s meritorious service to numinous beings and the latter’s blessing is still present; the rhetoric of sacrifice, however, is abolished. Referring to Mengzi 7B.3, where Mengzi calls into question a Shangshu passage from the “Accomplishment of Martiality” (“Wu cheng” 武成) chapter because it reports on the violence of the Zhou conquest, Shaughnessy argues that Mencius’s view of history seems to have prevailed along with the Confucian school. Therefore, such texts and passages were ignored (the Shiji 史記 makes no use of the “Shifu” chapter in its account of the Zhou conquest) or even expunged from the sources.28 Another Yi Zhoushu chapter that narrates how 28

Shaughnessy and others hypothesize that the “Shifu” chapter is the original “Wu cheng” chapter of the Shangshu that for exactly these reasons was excluded from the Shangshu discourses.

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King Wu dealt with the captured Shang officials, likewise believed by some to date from the Western Zhou,29 is the “Harangue to Shang” (“Shang shi” 商誓 ).30 In contrast to the “hundred evil ministers” (bai e chen 百惡臣) and other dignitaries who, following the sacrificial mode, are shot and beheaded in “Shifu,” the “hundred officials” (baiguan 百官) and other officials who are addressed in “Shang shi” are treated with great care, following a mode of dealing with subordinates that is also prevalent throughout the Shangshu. “Shang shi” is thus of greatest relevance when discussing the “Duo shi” and “Duo fang” chapters. Although classified as a shi 誓 (harangue), it differs from the harangues in the Shangshu in structure and diction31 but seems close to the two “Duo” chapters there.32 To summarize: among the transmitted early Chinese texts we find three text types that propagate different models of dealing with the officers of a subdued dynasty:

• Type 1: Conquest reports in bronze inscriptions and the “Shifu” chapter of •

•

29 30 31

32

the Yi Zhoushu that list detailed numbers of captured and executed enemies. These resemble conquest reports in Middle Eastern inscriptions. Type 2: A brief conquest report in the “Wu cheng” chapter of the Shangshu in which enemies turn against and kill each other or flee immediately once King Wu puts on his battle garments. We do not know whether the subsequent resuming of the old course of government (zheng you jiu 政由舊) or the giving of offices and employment to the worthy and able reported in the text includes the subdued officers. Type 3: Addresses to subdued officers in the “Shang shi” chapter of the Yi Zhoushu and the “Duo shi” and “Duo fang” chapters of the Shangshu in which the willingness of these officers to cooperate with the new rulers poses the central problem of the text.

Huang Huaixin 1995: 2. See my translation of this chapter in the appendix. See Martin Kern’s discussion of the “harangues” in this volume (chapter 8). The “Shang shi” chapter first uses the verb “to announce” (gao 告) when referring to its own mode of presentation, but it also refers to its own speech as “words” (yan 言), as “announcing a charge” (gao ming 誥命), and as “bright charge” (ming ming 明命)—but never as a “harangue” (shi 誓 ) . In the self-reflective meta-announcements, both “Duo” chapters refer to themselves as “announcing” (gao 告) something. Chen Mengjia (1985: 309–310) classifies the “Duo” chapters as announcements and charges, not as harangues.

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I take these types, on the one hand, as expressions of different ideologies and, on the other, as fulfilling various functions in different contexts. The type 1 texts appear to be rather bureaucratic accounts of quantifiable battle events, composed according to formulas in which numbers could be inserted. The catalog form and detailed numbers of these accounts suggest that they were based on empirical records of the events, records that (as these accounts claim) were (or should ideally have been) used in ritual communications with gods, spirits, and ancestors, reflecting the logic of exchange within these sacrificial contexts.33 They seem to reflect forms of postbattle memorial texts, composed soon after the event, as common in many ancient cultures. In these texts, the higher the number of killed and captured enemies and the larger the amount (and variety) of booty, the greater and more glorious was the victory. Type 2 texts also report on the conquest but reflect a different assumption about how an ideal and glorious victory should be envisioned. Here, victory is purportedly achieved by means of moral power that needs no military intervention. The enemies, convinced by the virtuous model of the new ruler, offer no opposition and even turn against those who do not submit immediately. The ideal ruler does not fight and does not report the number of executions and captures. As in the type 1 conquest narratives, the subdued enemies serve as indicators or even empirical proofs of the ruler’s splendor and merit. While in type 1 the number of captured and killed enemies reflects the military power of the king, it is the moral power of the king that is signified by the enemies as living subjects in type 2. The type 3 texts follow the logic of the second assumption. Enemies won over by moral example can no longer be treated as adversaries but have to be regarded as part of one’s own people. As a result, the subdued former enemies in type 3 harangues represent, not the adversarial other, but a particular part of the “self” in need of reformation. In addressing this particular group, the “Shang shi” and “Duo” chapters therefore follow a rhetorical and compositional pattern also used in other Shangshu harangues when particular groups that are not in line with the king’s commands are admonished.

33

For a discussion of the sacrificial logic of exchange, see Mauss 1923–1924; and, with an analytical focus on the aspect of violence therein, Girard 1972, chaps. 1 and 2. For the early Chinese context, see Schaberg 2005; Cook 1997.

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Content, Compositional, and Argumentative Structure of the “Duo” and “Shang shi” Chapters and Their Rhetorical and Literary Forms34 A Content Structure The “Shang shi” chapter can be divided into six main parts (italics indicate which parts of the chapter are shared with other chapters): 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

 Address to the audience Metareflection on the speech: Zhou only executes Heaven’s order  Historical precedent: wisdom of the Shang kings following Hou Ji  The infamous tyrant Zhou of Shang turned against Heaven’s order  Heaven thereupon transferred its Mandate to Zhou  Order to cooperate combined with a threat to exterminate those who do not obey

The “Duo shi” chapter basically follows the same pattern: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Introduction providing the context of the speech  Address to the audience The ruin of Shang is the punishment of Heaven executed by Zhou  Historical precedent: the Xia were likewise overthrown by Shang  The infamous tyrant Zhou of Shang turned against Heaven’s order  Heaven thereupon transferred its Mandate to the Zhou  Order to cooperate combined with a threat to exterminate those who do not obey

The “Duo fang” chapter follows the same pattern as well: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 34

Introduction providing the context of the speech Address to the audience Indictments of recent transgressions of the subdued Shang (statement)  Historical precedent: the Xia were likewise overthrown by Shang  The infamous tyrant Zhou of Shang turned against Heaven’s order  Heaven thereupon transferred its Mandate to the Zhou Indictments of recent transgressions of the subdued Shang (in the form of questions)  Order to cooperate combined with a threat to exterminate those who do not obey There are a number of differences in the modern- and ancient-script recensions of the “Duo” chapters as well as in their representations in the Han and Tang Stone Classics and several early Japanese editions; see Zang Kehe 1999. However, these differences by and large do not affect the interpretation of the principal argument in the texts.

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All three chapters share five parts of the speech and follow a similar compositional line. First, the audience is admonished (in “Duo shi” and “Duo fang” this follows an introductory part providing the social or historical and local context of the speech). A historical precedent is then adduced to demonstrate that the Zhou, who have a singular relationship to the Shang, have legitimately replaced the Shang. This is followed by the core argument that the last Shang ruler turned against Heaven, and that the Heavenly Mandate thereupon was trans· ferred to the virtuous Zhou, who by their conquest only followed the order from the Lords on High (Shangdi)35 and executed Heaven’s punishment. The chapters end with a command to cooperate with the new regime combined with a promise to reward those who obey and a warning to inflict the punishments of Heaven on those who do not. This compositional line is almost identical with the fixed sequence of elements that Martin Kern describes in his analysis of the harangues (shi 誓) of the Shangshu.36 Many of these elements of the harangues share an identical formulaic terminology and rhetoric (such as the use of the pivotal term jin 今) with the “Duo” chapters, and it appears that what had been announced in a standard prebattle harangue had to be asserted in the same form also in a postbattle harangue (and vice versa) by the authors of these chapters, making the “Duo” chapters mirror the “harangues” almost symmetrically. The differences between the “Shang shi” (SS), “Duo shi” (DS), and “Duo fang” (DF) chapters can most easily be detected by looking at those elements that do not overlap. The core elements shared by all three chapters are

• Address to the audience • Historical precedent • The infamous tyrant Zhou of Shang turned against Heaven’s order • Heaven thereupon transferred its Mandate to the Zhou • Order to cooperate combined with a threat to exterminate those who do not obey

Elements shared by only two chapters are

• Introduction providing the context of the speech (DS, DF) • Historical precedent: the Xia were likewise overthrown by the Shang (DS, DF)

35

36

Pace Sarah Allen’s (2007) arguments identifying Shangdi with the polestar, I follow Shima (1958: 188–216) and Robert Eno (1990b), who hypothesize that Shangdi was a collective term for a group of ancestors rather than a single spirit. Chapter 8 in the present volume.

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The introduction is part of the standard form of most Shangshu chapters.37 That it is missing in the “Shang shi” chapter might indicate that these introductions were added at some point during the complex editing process of the Shangshu. Although neither the time nor the place of the speech are given, “Shang shi,” like several other Shangshu chapters,38 provides more detailed information about the audience in its address. All three chapters (and many other early Chinese texts) share the element of a historical precedent, with the “Duo” chapters sharing exactly the same historical narrative. Elements that occur in only one of the three chapters are

• Metareflection on the speech (SS) • Historical precedent: wisdom of the Shang kings following Hou Ji (SS) • The ruin of Shang is the punishment of Heaven executed by Zhou (DS) • Indictments of recent transgressions of the subdued Shang (statement) (DF) • Indictments of recent transgressions of the subdued Shang (in the form of questions) (DF)

Of these, the metareflection on the speech occurs as an introductory part also in some other chapters such as “Gu ming” 顧命 and “Kang wang zhi gao” 康王 之誥. Mention of the wisdom of the Shang kings and the indictments belong to the broader categories of “historical precedents” and “indictments of the enemy,” which can be found in many chapters of the Shangshu as well. References to Hou Ji 后稷, however, occur only twice in the Shangshu, in “Shun dian” 舜典 and “Lü xing” 呂刑, in both cases in a line mentioning other famous early ministers.39 Hou Ji is also mentioned twice in the Yi Zhoushu, namely, in connection with Shangdi and the Zhou.40 “The ruin of Shang is the punishment of Heaven executed by the Zhou” (in DS) belongs to the part “Heaven thereupon transferred its Mandate to the Zhou” (SS, DS, DF). Thus, all of the above listed parts can be regarded as belonging to a set of elements that occur in other Shangshu chapters as well. 37 38

39 40

See Yegor Grebnev’s contribution in the present volume (chapter 7). See the beginnings of “Harangue at Mu” (“Mu shi” 牧誓), “Establishment of Government” (“Li zheng” 立政), “Testamentary Charge” (“Gu ming” 顧命), and “Announcement of King Kang” (“Kang wang zhi gao” 康王之誥) and different passages in “Announcement about Drunkenness” (“Jiu gao” 酒誥). Legge 1991: 43–44, 595. Yi Zhoushu, “Zuo Luo jie” 作雒解 (verbatim also in Liji, “Mingtang wei” 明堂位) and “Ji Gong jie” 祭公解; Huang Huaixin 1995: 568, 997.

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B Composition and Intertextuality These main parts can be further broken down into smaller and more coherent compositional units, a type of structure reminiscent of Lothar Ledderose’s model of Chinese script and art as consisting of “modules,” taken from a cultural “repertoire,” that can be combined in different ways to create a variety of linguistic and artistic forms.41 Accordingly, we can analyze the three chapters as consisting of a number of modules that are combined in different ways to produce the texts. Most of these modules can be found in numerous chapters of the Shangshu. I will list them roughly according to their occurrence in the “Shang shi” and “Duo” chapters. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 41

Historical setting of the speech Time when the speech was made Place where the speech was made Indication of who is speaking Audience to which the speech was addressed Instruction to be attentive and carefully listen to the speech Self-reflective meta-announcement on the function and status of the speech The virtuousness of an early dynasty or its ruler(s) (Xia: Yu, Hou Ji; Shang: Cheng Tang; Zhou: King Wu) The wickedness of a late dynasty or its last ruler (Xia: Jie; Shang: Zhou) Heaven’s disapproval Heaven’s withdrawal of the Heavenly Mandate Loss of the Mandate Receiving of the Mandate Ruin of a dynasty Heaven’s punishment Heaven’s order to punish Heaven’s support Heaven’s withdrawal of support Ledderose 2000. Note that what Ledderose calls “modules” have been called “constituents” or “paragraphs” by Broschat (1985: 87–127), “components” by Meyer (2002, 2005), “building blocks” by Boltz (2005), and “literarische Kleinstformen” by Richter (2006: 254). What Ledderose (2000: 1, 2, 20, 21, 25, etc.), Seiwert and Ma (2003: 489–494) in a similar model for Chinese sectarian religions, and Kern (in chapter 8 in the present volume) call “repertoire” has been called “reservoir” by Boltz (2005: 59). For “repertoire” as a broader cultural studies term, see Hannerz 1969: 186–188, quoted by Swidler (1986: 277), who famously has interpreted it as a cultural “tool kit.” See also the critical reflection on that concept in Silber 2003.

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Zhou having no intent to attack the Shang Zhou being without mistake/guilt Shang bearing guilt Shang people bearing no guilt Zhou executing Heaven’s punishment Zhou conquest of Shang Zhou merely following Heaven’s order Zhou not daring not to follow Heaven’s order Instruction to follow Heaven Instruction to follow and obey Zhou Reward for cooperation Punishment for resistance Accusing questions: “Why do you not … ?”

Sentence by sentence, the following passage from “Duo shi” is a combination of such modules: [4] The king spoke to the effect: [5] “You, the many remaining officers of Yin! [15] Unpitying, Heaven in its autumn mood sent down ruin on Yin, [17] and we, the lords of Zhou, received its favoring decree. [26] We felt charged with its bright terrors, [23] carried out the punishments that kings inflict, [24] rightly disposed of the appointment of Yin, [25] and finished the work of Di. [5] Now, you numerous officers, [19] it was not our small state that dared to aim at the appointment belonging to Yin. [18] But Heaven was not with Yin, [18] for indeed it would not strengthen its misrule. [17] It therefore helped us; [19] did we dare to seek the throne of ourselves? [18] Di was not for Yin, [20] as appeared from the mind and conduct of our inferior people, in which there is the brilliant dreadfulness of Heaven.”42 [4] 王若曰： [5] 爾殷遺多士！ [15] 弗弔，旻天大降喪於殷； [17] 我有 周佑命， [26] 將天明威， [23] 致王罰， [24] 敕殷命 [25] 終於帝。 [5] 肆爾多士 [19] 非我小國敢弋殷命， [18] 惟天不畀， [18] 允罔固亂， [17] 弼我； [19] 我其敢求位？ [18] 惟帝不畀， [20] 惟我下民秉為，惟 天明畏。

42

Trans. Legge 1991: 454–455, amended.

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These modules are typically combined into larger discursive units, which appear, with some verbatim parallels, also in other chapters. Compare the following beginnings of chapters: “Duo shi” 多士: 4-5-15-17 [4] The king spoke to the effect: – [5] “You, the many remaining officers of Yin! – [15] Unpitying, Heaven in its autumn mood sent down ruin on Yin, – [17] and we, the lords of Zhou, received its favoring decree.43 [4] 王若曰： – [5] 爾殷遺多士！ – [15] 弗弔，旻天大降喪於殷； – [17] 我有周佑命。 “Jun Shi” 君奭: 4-5-15-12-17 [4] The Duke of Zhou spoke to the effect: – [5] “Prince Shih! – [15] Unpitying, Heaven sent down ruin on Yin; – [12] Yin has lost its appointment, – [17] and we, the lords of Zhou, have received it.44 [4] 周公若曰： – [5] 君奭！ – [15] 弗弔，天降喪于殷； – [12] 殷既墜 厥命； – [17] 我有周既受。 “Da gao” 大誥: 4-7-5-15 [4] The king spoke to the effect: – [7] “Ho! I make a great announcement – [5] to you, the representatives of the many States, and to you, the managers of my affairs. – [15] Unpitying, Heaven sent down numerous calamities on my House.45 [4] 王若曰： – [7] 猷大誥 – [5] 爾多邦，越爾御事！ – [15] 弗弔，天 降割于我家不少。

Other typical combinations are 8-9-18-15 and 8-9-10-11-16. Some of these sequences are surprisingly stable, as David Schaberg has shown in his detailed comparison of the modules in the “Jun Shi” chapter with all their parallels in other Shangshu chapters,46 while others appear in various recombinations, and still others work on the basis of “family resemblances.”47 The repetitive use 43 44 45 46 47

Ibid. Trans. Legge 1991: 474, amended. Trans. Legge 1991: 362, amended. See Schaberg 1996: 201–210, 218–222. This term was coined by Ludwig Wittgenstein in his Philosophical Investigations (1953) to describe a method of identifying things not by means of one common feature but by a pool of similarities of which they share several but not all. Martin Kern finds the same phenomenon in the harangues: “However, while each text may lack one or two features, it still contains all the rest” (see chapter 8 in this volume).

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of some of these particular modules constitutes a rather dense intertextuality between some of the Shangshu chapters that is not seen to the same extent in any other early Chinese texts. Some of these modules are reminiscent of other kinds of early texts. The detailed descriptions of the cruelty of the tyrants Jie and Zhou recall announcements of indictment (gao zui 告罪); the praise of the virtues of the early rulers Hou Ji, Cheng Tang, and King Wu recall eulogies (song 頌), epithets, and encomia on ancestral tablets and sagas of the ancient kings;48 the reports of the virtuous actions of the Zhou may be compared with announcements (gao 告) of merit and prayers to the ancestors to seek their blessings and protection; the orders to follow Heaven or to follow the new rulers of the Zhou are reminiscent of charges (ming 命); the promises of reward and threats of punishment imply a contractual element that we also find in oaths (shi 誓) and covenants (meng 盟); the accounts of historical precedents can be compared with historical narratives. In many of the Shangshu chapters all these different text types seem to be skillfully combined into sequences that form arguments. As I will argue below in my discussion on dating, the Shangshu has very few intertextual parallels with other sources. Most parallels of terms, phrases, and expressions appear in other Shangshu chapters, including ancient-script chapters.49 Many of the modules pointed out above are restricted to the texts of the “Shu” traditions.50 The two “Duo” chapters—“Duo shi” more than “Duo fang”— show a number of parallels with a limited number of other Shangshu chapters, especially “Jun Shi” and “Jiu gao” 酒誥. Most parallels, however, can be found between the two “Duo” chapters themselves. “Shang shi” in turn has more parallels with the “Tai shi” 泰誓 chapters (especially “Tai shi, shang” 泰 誓上) than with the “Duo” chapters (with which it also shares numerous parallels). C Argumentative Structure By linking “Shang shi”—which is ascribed to King Wu (unlike the two “Duo” chapters, which are ascribed to King Cheng or Zhou Gong)—to the execution of Shangdi’s order, the king marks his speech as highly authoritative. The 48 49

50

See Shaughnessy 2007: 855–861, 877. If we assume that most of the ancient-script chapters are later productions, then these would have been modeled on the earlier modern-script chapters. In this case these later compositions reflect a thorough understanding of the thematic contexts, modular nature, compositional principles, and linguistic specificity of the earlier chapters. For this somewhat broader view of “texts of the ‘Shu’ traditions,” see Meyer’s chapter 3 in this volume.

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historical precedent that is then propounded refers back to the high ancestor of Zhou, Hou Ji 后稷, who had been mandated by Shangdi as well. King Wu claims that Hou Ji’s agricultural inventions, such as the introduction of millet—used for both food and sacrifices—had been held in high esteem by the sage Xia king Yu as well as the Shang. Thus, the Zhou ancestor was already an active and recognized part of the divine regime of the Xia even before the Shang had received their Mandate; furthermore, the institution he created continued to be of vital importance to the Shang’s successful governance and communication with the divine powers. These claims construct a historical position for the Zhou clan within the continuum of the divinely sanctioned regimes, which makes them a natural candidate for a legitimate succession. King Wu then proceeds to offer more recent historical evidence that the Zhou have rightfully taken over the Mandate. Defining the new position of the Zhou between Heaven and Earth, the king also formulates his conditions for protecting the Shang people and guaranteeing them a comfortable life. Overall, the argumentation moves along the lines also found in the “Duo” and other Shangshu chapters that discuss the conquests of wicked enemies, be it the conquests of the Xia (“Gan shi”), the Shang (“Tang shi”), or the Zhou (“Tai shi,” “Mu shi” 牧誓, “Jiu gao” 酒誥, “Shao gao” 召誥, “Jun Shi” 君奭,“Li zheng” 立政). The main difference in the line of argumentation between “Shang shi” and the “Duo” chapters lies in their claims of historical precedents. By constructing a historical analogy between the reasons for the Shang and the Zhou conquests, the “Duo” chapters (like some other Shangshu chapters) claim a continuation of an established pattern of dynastic succession and thus the same legitimacy that the Shang (rightfully) claimed for themselves after their conquest of the Xia. They each do this but with a slightly different attitude. Explaining the Zhou conquest, “Duo shi” asserts repeatedly that it was not Zhou’s own desire to overthrow the Shang, but that they merely executed Shangdi’s command and implemented an order and a role bestowed upon them by Heaven; the argument focuses on issues of responsibility and guilt, with all guilt placed on the Shang. “Duo fang,” on the other hand, depicts a sharp contrast between the moral wickedness and negligence of the Shang and the shining virtues of the Zhou: the Zhou are chosen to replace the Shang because they were morally able to continue the divine regime. The focus here lies on merit and failure. “Duo fang” also addresses yet another issue. While “Shang shi” announces that “today I will for the first time give you my instructions” (今惟新誥命爾), “Duo fang” twice indicts the subdued people for not obeying the orders already given to them, ending with an entire list of questions to urge the former Shang people to obey and cooperate with the Zhou.

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Altogether, the three chapters thus reflect slightly different argumentative strategies of asserting legitimate rule. Where “Shang shi” claims that the Zhou have been part of the divine regime since the Xia and therefore naturally take over from the Shang, the “Duo” chapters argue that the Zhou play exactly the same role that the Xia and the Shang played before in a historical pattern of dynastic moral rise and decline, either as merely fulfilling a duty conferred on them by Heaven or as a morally superior agent. In each case, however, the Zhou do not claim to create something new, to reform or change the existing order. Instead, they take their now rightful place appointed by Heaven, which puts them in the position formerly held by the Shang and, furthermore, puts the subdued Shang in the position of the formerly subdued Xia. The logic of the conquest is constructed in a twofold analogy: between the wicked last rulers of Xia and Shang (punished by the Lords on High in Heaven, including the Xia and Shang ancestors)51 and between the virtuous first rulers of Shang and Zhou (the new legitimate power). In addition, the Duke of Zhou, who delivers the “Duo” speeches on behalf of King Cheng, ensures that the virtuous royal ancestors, Kings Wen and Wu, enter the general pantheon of the Lords on High in a widened Heaven—a Heaven invented by the Zhou as the common realm of all former wise kings, where the ancestors of Zhou have now come to join the sacred genealogy of ancient sages.52 The main argumentative purpose of these chapters is, first, to make this twofold analogy plausible to the former Shang officers and, second, to define the new place and identity of the former Shang officers and the new Zhou rulers within this threefold relationship of former wicked rulers, new legitimate rulers, and Heaven. D Rhetoric and Literary Forms The explanation of this new relationship to the subdued Shang is also noteworthy for the rhetorical form in which the king addresses them. Martin Kern has observed a heavy use of first- and second-person pronouns in “Duo shi” and has interpreted this as “a feature typical of liturgical speech” and “a conscious stylistic choice that adds rhythm, intensity, and a rhetorical emphasis on personality to the speech.” He describes the text as one that “comes to life only as a performance text. In its extremely formalized diction, and in particular through its emphasis on the first-person pronoun, it exudes the 51 52

Passages in the second half of the “Pan Geng, zhong” 盤庚中 chapter (Legge 1991: 238– 240) and the “Shao gao” 召誥 chapter (Legge 1991: 426) support this interpretation. For the phrase that the Zhou ancestors “flanked [Shang]Di on the left and the right” (在 帝左右), see below.

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royal charisma of the king as persona, political institution, and ancestral model.”53 This is certainly a sensitive reading. The power of the speech, however, rests not on the charisma of the royal authority alone but also on the repeated references to the authority of the Heavenly laws that have reshuffled the power relationships between the Shang and the Zhou. By constantly alternating between first- (yu 予, wo 我, zhen 朕) and second-person (er 爾, ru 汝) pronouns and, further, between the different superhuman agencies (tian 天, [shang]di [上] 帝, xianzu 先祖, zong 宗, Cheng Tang 成湯, Di Yi 帝乙, Hou Ji 后 稷, Yu 禹, xian zhewang 先哲王, [wen]kao [文] 考), all three texts perpetually weave the new pattern of this threefold relationship. The beginning of the chapter “Duo shi” serves as a good example of the density of this rhetoric. The words marked in bold represent one of the three players (or what stands for them). Verbs, auxiliary verbs, and adverbs rendered in italics show relational actions carried out among those players: The king spoke to the effect: “You, the many remaining officers of Yin! Unpitying, Heaven in its autumn mood sent down ruin on Yin, and we, the lords of Zhou, received its favoring decree. We felt charged with its bright terrors, carried out the punishments that kings inflict, rightly disposed of the appointment of Yin, and finished the work of Di. Now, you numerous officers, it was not our small state that dared to aim at the appointment belonging to Yin. But Heaven was not with Yin, for indeed it would not strengthen its misrule. It therefore helped us; did we dare to seek the throne of ourselves? Di was not for Yin, as appeared from the mind and conduct of our inferior people, in which there is the brilliant dreadfulness of Heaven.”54 王若曰：「爾殷遺多士！弗吊，旻天大降喪於殷；我有周佑命，將天 明威，致王罰，敕殷命終於帝。肆爾多士，非我小國敢弋殷命，惟天 不畀，允罔固亂，弼我；我其敢求位？

There are hardly any words in this passage that do not serve to give expression to the way the threefold relationship between the Shang, the Zhou, and the superhuman agencies is envisioned by the speaker. The function of these constant alternations is not to blend their positions but to tell them apart through the rhetorical force of parallel constructions and verbatim repetitions. Another example from the “Duo fang” chapter may illustrate this. The repetitiveness of personal pronouns as the first words of the lines is supported by the repetition 53 54

Kern 2009: 186–188. Legge 1991: 454–455, amended.

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of identical words at the ends of the lines: ming 命 —and other words rhyming in the geng 耕 and yang 陽 rhyme groups—are connected to er 爾, while zhi 之 is connected to wo 我. To reproduce the rigid rhetorical structure of the Chinese text and make its syntax apparent, I concede a number of awkward formulations in my translation: Now, I, why [do I] presume to make all these announcements? I have indeed greatly issued my instructions to you people of the four states. You, why [do you] not show sincere and generous obedience in your many regions? You, why [do you] not assist and cooperate in protecting the Mandate that our Zhou kings received from Heaven? Now, You still dwell in your dwellings and cultivate your fields. You, why [do you] not benefit our kings and consolidate the Mandate of Heaven? You instead repeatedly act insubordinate. Your heart-minds do not yet care. You instead do not greatly feel at home under the [new] Mandate of Heaven, You instead despise and reject the [new] Mandate of Heaven, You instead do not yourself follow the norms and yet count on the sincere correctness [of others]. I have indeed at times taught and announced this to you. I have indeed at times fought against this and have confined you for this,  two times,  three times. So when you further continue to ignore the instructions, which I issue to you, I then will greatly punish this with death.   今 我曷敢多誥？ 我惟大降爾四國民命。 爾曷不忱裕之于爾多方？ 爾曷不夾介乂我周王享天之命？

[耕] [陽] [耕]

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Gentz 今 爾尚 宅爾宅   畋爾田。 爾曷不惠王熙天之命？ 爾乃迪屢不靜。 爾心未愛。55 爾乃不大宅天命， 爾乃屑播天命， 爾乃自作不典圖忱于正。 我惟時其教告之。 我惟時其戰耍囚之， 至于再， 至于三。 乃有不用我降爾命， 我乃其大罰殛之。



[耕] [耕]



[耕] [耕] [耕] [之] [之]



[耕] [之]

Another example from the same chapter shows an even stricter composition: You yourself create disharmony, Your homes are not peaceful, Your cities can be made bright,

you indeed should just be har·  monious! you indeed should just be harmo·  nious! you indeed should just diligently   do your work!

自作不和，爾惟和哉！ 爾室不睦，爾惟和哉！ 爾邑克明，爾惟克勤乃事。

The literary forms of both “Duo” chapters reflect this woodcuttish style of distinct lines also on the macro-level of text composition. “Duo shi” is composed of clear-cut argumentative units with formal markers like parallelisms, general authoritative statements, and double-directed parallelisms.56 Its line of argument begins with the general problem of the legitimacy of the conquest, first with references to Heaven and the Lords on High, then with reference to patterns of historical precedence. From there, the argument turns to the Shang’s 55 56

This line clearly deviates from both the syntactical and the rhyme schemes. A “double-directed parallelism” consists of two parallel lines that, in a Janus-faced manner, have parallel features with both the preceding and the following sentence, often to bridge two paragraphs in a text. See Gentz 2005, 2015.

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historical guilt and the order to obey the Zhou. Finally, it engages with the concrete situation of the officers at Luo. The argumentation of “Duo fang” is similar but less well organized. Yet its composition is even stricter in its listings, parallelisms, and formal markers of the argumentative units. My following translation again serves to reveal the structural features of the Chinese text: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

57

The king spoke to the effect: I announce and declare to you [from the] numerous regions, It is not that Heaven wanted to abolish the ruler of Xia, It is not that Heaven wanted to abolish the ruler of Yin, But indeed your ruler, with your numerous regions, behaved excessively, and when it came to attending to the Heavenly Mandate, he made trifling retreats. But indeed the ruler of Xia, when it came to attending his governance, did not assemble for sacrifices.57 Heaven sent down this ruin, and a ruler of one of the states intermitted it. But indeed your last Shang king indulged in his leisure, and when it came to attending to his governance, he did not make the sacrifices illustrious. Heaven thereupon sent down this ruin. Indeed, even the sages when incapable of thinking will become savages; Indeed, even the savages when capable of thinking will become sages. Heaven indeed then allowed five years for successors who might be adequate rulers to be produced, but none of them could be appreciated. Heaven indeed then searched in your numerous regions, rousing people greatly by means of its majesty to encourage someone to attend Heaven. But indeed of you [from the] numerous regions nobody was able to attend it.

My translation of the middle parts of sentences 6, 7, and 13 is guided by the strict parallelism of lines 6 and 7 as well as 13 and 14. It also follows a basic strategy to interpret the Shangshu more in the light of the sacrificial language of the bronze inscriptions (with ji 集, xiang 享, juan zheng 蠲烝, and ling cheng 靈承 all bearing connotations to sacrificial contexts) than of a minben 民本 (people-as-foundation) concept as we find it in Legge’s translations, see Gentz, forthcoming.

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13 But indeed our Zhou kings efficaciously received the splendid ­bles­sings,58 were able to adequately make use of their virtue, and properly carried out the sacrifices to spirits and Heaven. 14 Heaven indeed thereupon provided patterns for instruction, and as we used them propitiously it chose us to confer Yin’s Mandate to us and to rule over your numerous regions. 1 王若曰： 2 誥告 爾多方, 3 非天庸釋 有夏, 4 非天庸釋 有殷, 5 乃惟 6 乃惟 7 乃惟

爾辟, 以爾多方，大淫 圖天之命, 屑有辭。 有夏， 圖厥政, 不集于享; 天 降時喪, 有邦間之。 爾商後王, 逸厥逸, 圖厥政, 不蠲烝; 天惟 降時喪。

8   惟聖罔念作狂;   X 9   惟狂克念作聖。 10 天惟五年 須暇之子孫， 誕作民主； 罔可念聽。 [文部] 11 天惟求 爾多方， 大動以威， 開厥顧天。 [文部] 12   惟 爾多方， 罔堪顧之。    X 13   惟 我周王， 靈承于旅， 克堪用德，惟典神天。 14 天惟式教 我用休， 簡畀殷命， 尹爾多方。

The formal parallelism of lines 3 and 4 supports the claim that the two historical events of the Shang and the Zhou conquest belong to an identical pattern of history.59 58

59

I follow the most convincing reading here: that of Yu Xingwu 2009: 250), who points out that lingcheng 靈承 in bronze inscriptions always means to numinously receive something from above and who reads lü 旅 as jiaxiu 嘉休 (favorable blessings). I am grateful to Joern Grundmann for pointing this out to me. The sequence er duo fang 爾多方, you Xia 有夏, and you Yin 有殷 in lines 2–4 is repeated in lines 5–7 (with er Shang hou wang 爾商後王 as a variant for you Yin 有殷) and thus emphasized. This suggests that the numerous regions are regarded as a part of this pattern.

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Lines 8 and 9 lead from the reasons why Heaven sent down ruin on the former dynasties (lines 3–7) to the reasons why Heaven chose the Zhou as their successors (lines 10–14), bridging two sections that are conceived as parallel yet oppositional: the rise of Zhou mirrors the fall of Shang. Lines 8 and 9 represent this reverse parallelism in their chiastic structure as a double-directed parallelism that binds both parts together.60 They also explain the pivotal factor that drives this inversion: reflection (nian 念). The oppositional pairs in these proverb-like lines, where sagehood and savagery can switch places, are literally hinged on the centrally positioned notions of being capable (克念) or incapable (罔念) of contemplation (nian 念). Lines 10–14 in turn pivot on lines 12 and 13. Lines 10–12 show how people who could have received the Heavenly Mandate were incapable of receiving it despite Heaven’s assistance (as a historical illustration of the abstract principle formulated in line 8). Lines 13–14 show how the Zhou, in contrast, were able to learn from (much less obvious) Heavenly patterns and consequently received the Mandate (thus illustrating line 9). The transition is constructed in the pivotal line 12 with its multiple parallelisms both backward to lines 10–11 and forward to lines 13–14 that create a dense web of semantic and formal identities and oppositions involving personal pronouns, metric patterns, and negations and affirmations of identical actions.61 The central tetrasyllabic unit in line 13 (克堪用德), with its strongly affirmative ke kan 克堪 facing the negating wang kan 罔堪 in line 12 (罔堪顧之), is flanked by two further, equally strong units (靈承于旅 and 惟典神天); here, one might even suggest that the literary form—in a manner reminiscent of unequal military units facing each other—exposes the weakness of Yin (with just one four-character unit) versus the strength of Zhou (with three four-character units). All told, it appears that “Duo fang” employs the design of textual microstructure to support the argument in more sophisticated and successful ways. While “Shang shi” follows largely the same line of argument as the two “Duo” chapters and also uses explicit markers such as gu 古 or xi 昔 (in antiquity) versus jin 今 (now) for historical contrast, it is less strictly composed: apart from two blocks of five tetrasyllabic lines to portray the last and the first Shang 60 61

See n. 56. William Baxter (1998: 236) has described similar parallelisms in the Laozi as “semantic parallelism or antithesis with corresponding words in adjacent lines.” For a more specific analysis of “parallelisms of identical members,” see Gentz 2015: 117–118, 122–125. In these particular parallelisms, one or several identical graphs take a parallel position in two adjacent lines or stanzas. The “Duo” chapters make frequent use of this literary form.

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ruler, respectively, there are no listings, parallelisms, or other formal markers to distinguish textual units, and parts of the text appear misplaced. That said, “Shang shi” accords with the basic structure and sequence of its main parts and clearly belongs to the same text type as the “Duo” chapters. The Shangshu Context of the “Duo” Chapters The “Duo” chapters share terminology, concepts, arguments, rhetorical patterns, and historical contents with many other chapters in the Shangshu. They also share particular systematic features such as topic and rhetorical pattern with some chapters, while sharing specific historical contents with others. The basic topic of the “Duo” chapters is the explanation of the reasons for a dynastic conquest to an audience yet to be convinced of the legitimacy of the conquest so as to actively support it. In this regard, the “Duo” chapters belong with the shi 誓, “harangues.” Both groups of chapters also share the same rhetorical and argumentative structure, including certain basic components of speech arranged in a particular sequence. Like the “Duo” chapters, the “harangues” construct a threefold relationship between superhuman agents and new and old rulers. They also include chapters that in their discussions of the conquest emphasize the aspects of responsibility versus guilt and others that focus on aspects of moral failure versus accomplishment. “Gan shi,” “Tang shi,” and “Mu shi” are all mainly concerned with the question of responsibility and, like “Duo shi,” assiduously emphasize the mere fulfillment of Heaven’s order. “Tai shi shang,” in contrast, depicts in greater detail than any other Shangshu chapter the moral squalor of the last Shang ruler versus the splendid virtues of the Zhou rulers and hence more closely resembles “Duo fang.” Some Shangshu chapters provide additional reasons to legitimate the conquest: auspicious divination (“Tai shi, zhong” 泰誓中, “Da gao” 大誥, “Luo gao” 洛誥), the merit of virtuous ancestors (“Tai shi, xia” 泰誓下), the support of worthy ministers (“Jun Shi,” “Li zheng,” “Zhou guan” 周官), and drunkenness as a negative criterion (“Jiu gao” 酒誥, “Wu yi” 無逸), for which we also have striking inscriptional evidence from the Da Yu-ding 大盂鼎 bronze inscription from ca. 982 BCE.62 The historical contents reflected in the “Duo” chapters relate to the consolidation phase after the Zhou conquest during the reign of King Cheng (1042/1035–1006 BCE). In this respect, they belong to a group of Shangshu 62

See Shaughnessy 1991: 110.

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chapters that have as one of their central themes the question of how to deal with the remnant Yin officers and people (“Da gao,” “Weizi zhi ming” 微子 之命, “Kang gao” 康誥, “Jiu gao,” “Zi cai” 梓材, “Shao gao,” “Luo gao”). Modern scholars consider most of these chapters to belong to the earliest layer and core part of the Shangshu. All connected to the Duke of Zhou, these chapters provide glimpses into what must have been a consensual attitude toward the Yin, namely, an inclusivist approach not only toward the people and their qualifications for office but also toward their history and culture, including their institutions such as law, divination, and sacrifice. The entire chapter “Weizi zhi ming” (“Command to the Count of Wei”) deals with the appointment of the Duke of Song, who is charged with the continuation of the Shang royal genealogical line. As a member of the Shang royal clan on friendly terms with the Zhou, he is regarded as a guest of the Zhou royal house, who greatly praise the virtue of his ancestors. In “Kang gao,” Kang Shu, who rules over the principality of Wei 衛, the main city of which is the old Yin capital, is encouraged to study the old Shang kings in order to know how to rule the Yin people; he is admonished to protect them, to renew them (xin min 新民), and even to act according to their law (fa bi Yin yi 罰蔽殷彝). In “Jiu gao,” the Duke of Zhou addresses the same Kang Shu, who is depicted as having to deal with the devastating Shang habit of drinking. He suggests that Yin officers addicted to drinking should not be put to death but be taught to abandon drinking. In “Zi cai,” Kang Shu is yet again advised to be on good terms with the people, ministers, and families of his principality, to respect, encourage, and protect them, and to not give way to oppression. The peaceful and appropriate interaction with the former Yin people is a constant theme discussed in these chapters. The chapters “Shao gao” and “Luo gao” in turn deal with the building of the new city of Luo. This city is built by Yin people, and a large population of Yin is then also settled there; thus, they need to be ruled. Similar to “Luo gao,” “Shao gao” suggests that Yin officers should cooperate to regulate their nature and to improve it on a daily basis (jie xing wei ri qi mai 節性惟日其邁). Like “Kang gao,” “Luo gao” stresses that the rituals of Yin should be employed in the city they dwell in, that the officers should be employed according to their merit, and that they should enjoy prosperity. The “Duo” chapters partly address the mass resettlement to Luo. They conclude the block of Shangshu chapters that start with “Da gao,” and all deal with the presence of the people of Yin. However, the “Duo” chapters do not advise the Zhou rulers as to how to govern and reeducate the Yin. Instead, they demonstrate practical examples of how to deal with, communicate, and argue with the Yin. In this sense the chapters reflect the practical application of the principles of leniency, educative effort, and

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forbearance that are formulated as theoretical guidelines in the other chapters. The two “Duo” chapters provide concrete textual models and examples of rulership. The unique combination of two different types of Shangshu chapters— conquest harangues and chapters dealing with the Yin people—generated an idealized account of how the early Zhou kings dealt with their subdued enemies in situ within a unified cultural realm. The chapters thereby reconcile the antagonism between the Zhou and the Shang and establish the Zhou’s claim of ruling peacefully in perpetuating the same Mandate in an identical role within the same divine regime and a common (reconstructed and appropriated) history, a first concept of “Huaxia history.” Historical rupture—the conquest— becomes defined as continuity. These chapters thus take their place within a literary corpus that was constructed for, and contributed to, the new ideology of a unified realm. This explains why the “Duo” chapters, together with “Shang shi,” constitute a distinct and peculiar type of text, which cannot be found in any other kingdom of the early literate cultures. But why do we have three of these texts? Why Three? Why were all three texts transmitted, and two of them in the Shangshu? One of these speeches, ideally in a slightly better organized form, would have sufficed to create an ideal model of the past for commemoration, mythical imagination, propaganda, or emulation. The fact that three versions of this text type have been preserved, two within one collection, however, indicates that an advantage was perceived in having two or three variants available for authoritative referencing. Providing multiple variants of a text genre instead of one fixed normative version did not aim to commemorate multiple historical events but to present a flexible model of an effective speech to subdued officers for variable adaption under different historical circumstances. These texts may thus have served as prototypes and templates to be perpetually rewritten for further speech acts in similar contexts.63 Chen Mengjia has interpreted the formula wang ruo yue (the king spoke thus) as indicating that the king did not perform the speech himself but

63

In his essay on the harangues (chapter 8 in this volume), Kern describes these as different textual realizations based on a larger body, or “repertoire,” of textual material and imagination.

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ordered someone else to perform the speech on his behalf.64 Western Zhou bronze inscriptions furnish rich evidence that royal speeches were indeed proclaimed by some high official in the presence of the king. Similarly, “Shang shi” and the “Duo” chapters might reflect three separate occasions in which the king did not perform this speech himself. In the case of the “Duo” chapters, it is Zhou Gong who performs the speech, while “Shang shi” does not mention the speaker or provide any context but directly starts with wang ruo yue. There is no evidence that the king was present at the time of any of the proclamations. This might further indicate that copies of such speeches traveled independently from the king and yet embodied his own voice at different places at the same time. They might—even in later times—have been used by rulers of Zhou principalities, heads of lines of the royal kin or other powerful families who, as representatives of the king in the larger Zhou polity, executed the royal mandate in their estates and led military campaigns on their own.65 As blueprints for local adaptation, such documents would not have needed specific historical contextualization. We can even imagine that they were distributed to render the king’s voice omnipresent, replacing him as he became less personally involved in the regulation of affairs,66 a shift of power from the presence of the king to the text and its administrator that is closely associated with the Duke of Zhou.67 The longevity of these speeches as a model was remarkable. In 1644, following the Manchu conquest, Dorgon (愛新覺羅·多爾袞, 1612–1650), the first Manchu regent and de facto ruler, addressed the subdued people of Beijing. In its basic structure and argumentation, his speech is identical with “Shang shi” and the “Duo” chapters.68 However, Dorgon’s speech did not accomplish its purpose.69 64

65 66 67 68

69

Chen Mengjia 1985: 146–170; emphatically followed by Allan 2012: 553. For a different interpretation of wang ruo yue in bronze inscriptions (in my view not applicable to the monologic Shangshu speeches), see Falkenhausen 2011: 264–267. Khayutina 2014: 54–56. Creel 1970: 433–434. Lewis 1999: 211–213. See a translation of this speech in Wakeman 1975: 81. The method of composing such texts from modules was still prevalent at this time: the first part of this decree can also be found in nearly identical form in a reply that Dorgon sent to Wu Sangui in 1644 (see Cheng, Lestz, and Spence 1999: 26–27). On November 8, 1644, when the six-year-old Shunzhi emperor was enthroned, he compared his uncle Dorgon’s achievements to those of the Duke of Zhou. A year after Dorgon had made his speech, the residents of Yangzhou still refused to submit. A massacre lasted ten days after the city fell on May 20, 1645. Traditionally, the num-

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Dating Parallels to Bronze Inscriptions After earlier attempts by Wang Guowei 王國維 and other scholars to point out parallels between the Shijing and the Shangshu,70 Jiang Kunwu 姜昆武, Chen Zhi 陳致, and others have more recently and on the basis of much broader inscriptional evidence shown the many parallels between bronze inscriptions, the Shijing, and the Shangshu on the level of two-, three-, and four-character compounds.71 Many of these, especially those on mid- to late Western Zhou bronzes, can also be attested for the “Duo” chapters. Yet the intertextuality within these three corpora is far more intense than that between them.72 A character like kan 侃 (uprightness), for example, quite common on bronze-bell inscriptions, does not appear once in any of the Five Classics; huang kao 皇考 (august deceased father), very common on bronzes, occurs several times in the Shijing but is not used once in the entire Shangshu. Similarly, the highest density of intertextual elements in the Shijing odes can be found among the odes themselves. Even the chapters in the Yi Zhoushu, which share many terms and phrases with the Shangshu, clearly show an even greater density of intertextuality among themselves. The Shangshu is no exception. Most parallels of terms, phrases, and expressions appear in other Shangshu chapters and to a far lesser degree in other texts. In his comparison of the language of bronze inscriptions and the “Gao” chapters in the Shangshu, Kai Vogelsang tried to show the lack of commonalities and the different usage of characters, stylistic and rhetorical devices, and grammatical features in the two different corpora.73 His conclusion is that the

70 71

72

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ber of victims was reported as close to 800,000. See Struve 1998. See Wang Guowei 1959. See Jiang Kunwu 1989. Of the 160 compounds listed there, only 3 are composed of three characters; all the others have only two. Chen Zhi (2012) lists four-character parallels. A striking example is the four-character phrase rou yuan neng er 柔遠能邇, which occurs in the late Western Zhou Qiu-pan 逑盤 (aka Lai-pan 逨盤) bronze inscription as well as in the “Shun dian” 舜典, “Gu ming” 顧命, and “Wen hou zhi ming” 文侯之命 chapters of the Shangshu and in the “Min lao” 民勞 (Mao 253) ode of the Shijing. For the complex intertextual relationships between bronze inscriptions, see Matsui 2008: 707–704 (reverse pagination); these occur in a number of inscriptions but in very few transmitted texts. For intertextual references to a common template, see Falkenhausen 2006a: 55; 2006b: 254, 257; Kern 2007; Shaughnessy 2007. The parallels between the Mao Gong-ding 毛公鼎 and the Shi Hong-gui 師訇簋 are so obvious that Nivison (1996–1997) dates the two inscriptions to the same period. Vogelsang 2002, with reference to Kryukov 2000.

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language of the bronze inscriptions is not identical with that of the “Gao” chapters and that the bronzes and the Shangshu have to be regarded as two different kinds of sources. Using the far more comprehensive “Digital Archives of Bronze Images and Inscriptions” (殷周金文暨青銅器資料庫) of the Academia Sinica, I have used Vogelsang’s approach to compare the “Duo” chapters against the bronzes and come to the same conclusions. Many of Vogelsang’s observations apply also to the “Duo” chapters, and a number of central terms and repeated expressions in these chapters do not occur in any Western Zhou bronze inscription.74 Given the lack of terminological and conceptual overlap (especially with regard to “Shang shi”; Hou Ji, for example, does not appear in the epigraphic record),75 bronze inscriptions do not help in dating the “Duo” chapters. Ideology The “Duo” chapters, like other Shangshu chapters (“Tai shi, zhong,” “Shao gao,” “Jun Shi,” “Li zheng,” etc.) and indeed the composition of the Shangshu as a whole, construct a historical analogy between the Shang and the Zhou conquests. The main purpose of this analogy is for the Zhou to create a continuous genealogy that reaches far beyond the confined historical frame and limited social status of their own Zhou clan. Two much-studied bronze inscriptions, the Shi Qiang-pan 史牆盤 and the Qiu-pan 逑盤 (or Lai-pan 逨盤),76 dating from the late tenth and the late ninth century, respectively, reflect similar endeavors of the Wei 微 and Shan 單 lineages to associate their own ancestral lines closely to the Zhou ancestral line or to even manipulate historical memory to include one of their ancestors in the Zhou line. Similar activities seem to have created a “contentious and an intensely genealogy-aware climate” that continued into the eighth century BCE.77 The idea to associate one’s own royal genealogy with the royal genealogies of former dynasties may reflect a comparable quest for status and power, and further, it goes hand in hand with attempts at spatial expansion. The claim to rule a great diversity of regional cultures in a unified regime of All-under-Heaven 74

75

76 77

Including 王罰, 怨, initial 猷, 朕言, 紂, 夏, 在今, 今後, 康寧, 曷不, 曷敢, 罔顯, 弗弔, 大降, 民主, which do not occur in any inscription; others appear only once (我聞, 在昔, 天降喪, 天降大喪), and yet others are found only in Spring and Autumn (成湯, 先人, 民, 殺, 罰) and Warring States (下民, 嗣王, 嗚呼) inscriptions. Following Eno’s, Matsui’s, and most Chinese transcriptions I have seen rather than Shaughnessy’s (1991: 188) interpretation of 司 as 后 in his translation of the Shi Qiang-pan (also in the Academia Sinica database). Falkenhausen 2006b; Shaughnessy 2007; Matsui 2008. Falkenhausen 2006b: 248.

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(tianxia 天下)—a term that apart from the mid–Western Zhou (?) Bin Gong-xu 豳公盨 inscription occurs on only one late Spring and Autumn bronze bell and two Warring States bronzes—appropriates diversity into a greater unified order and is envisioned in terms of an expanded universal family with Heaven as father and the king as his son.78 A similar expansionist and inclusivist claim was also made on history, which was now appropriated to include the major royal lineages culminating in that of the Zhou. Looking at the cumulative growth of the anthology of the Shangshu over many centuries as an instance of documented cultural memory, we see history expanding backward to the canons of the mythical kings Yao and Shun. As these productions of cultural memory begin to include historical precedents as literary devices, the past is no longer the mere straight line of a genealogical catalog but provides— in well-composed speeches and narratives—general abstract principles of a more complex sociopolitical order and thus becomes a “patterned past.”79 This new concept of a past (an “embryonic philosophy of history” associated with the Duke of Zhou)80 in the earliest layers of the Shangshu, including the “Duo” chapters, reflects the increasing complexities of mid–Western Zhou state and society that extend beyond the prerogatives of aristocratic clans to general administrative structures of governance according to generally binding rules that regulate human action and relationships in a new bureaucratic manner. It also reflects the transition from a segmented society primarily organized in kinship groups to a stratified society marked by new social belongings where social classes transgressed individual family bonds and became comparable to one another,81 leading to “a uniform repertoire of rules for the management of human relationships.”82 The concept of a Heavenly Mandate, taken away from those who did not sufficiently struggle to keep it and conferred on those who earned it by effort, reflects the meritocratic principle that evaluates merit— gong 功 is the term associated with the sage-kings and ancestors who serve as models to emulate—and improvement by means of training and education and promotes those who are successful in achieving it.

78

79 80 81 82

Creel (1970: 417–433) argues that this claim was made without an awareness of the enormous tasks required to manage it. It therefore constituted a “dilemma of the Western Zhou.” Schaberg (2001) established this concept in his analysis of rhetorical and literary patterns in the Guoyu and Zuo zhuan. Creel 1970: 83. Vogelsang 2013: 70–71. Falkenhausen 2006a: 402.

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Yet promotion as a social and political practice begins only during the mid– Western Zhou.83 At the same time, the ancestors in their newly elevated positions as functionaries of Di above in heaven (“flanking Di on the left and the right” 在帝左右,84 “at the place of Di” 在帝所,85 or “at the [Celestial] Court of Di” 在帝廷86) are more remote than ever before. The loyalty and goodwill of the vassals upon which the Shang and early Zhou rulers still depended87 are superseded by the goodwill of Heaven, which, however, is not reliable.88 These ideological and conceptual features so typical for the core Shangshu (including the “Duo”) chapters are characteristic traits of the changes that occurred during the mid–Western Zhou period, from the tenth century onward. It is unlikely that the “Duo” chapters could have been written before this time. Historical Function of the Chapters If the “Duo” chapters were indeed produced a century (or centuries) after the events they purport to report, then the historical function of these chapters has to be explained accordingly. At some point long after the conquest, the two speeches suggested to the descendants of the Yin that there existed a kind of compact on peaceful coexistence and cooperation between the early Zhou kings and their Yin forefathers, set forth by King Cheng and accepted by the Yin. This provided an authoritative model for all later Zhou kings to follow and implied that all later descendants of the Yin remained bound to the agreement with King Cheng, forestalling future actions of the Yin people against their Zhou lords. Furthermore, the speeches were constructed to appear as authentic documentations of the leniency, fairness, and respect with which the early Zhou kings allegedly treated the Yin. They serve as self-presentations of the Zhou vis-à-vis the Yin and other people from the “numerous regions.” They might also have served as perfect historical models of civil and diplomatic appeasement during the reigns of the later Zhou kings Gong 共 (r. 917/915–900), Yi 懿 83 84

85 86 87 88

Li Feng 2008: 214, 216; Li Feng 2013: 150. In the inscription on the late Western Zhou Di-zhong 狄鐘 bronze bell (侃先王，先王 其嚴在帝左右; see Chen Mengjia 1956: 580; Zhang Yachu 2001: vessel 49) and the Shijing ode “Wen Wang” 文王 (Mao 235, with the passage 文王陟降，在帝左右 in particular quoted in Zuo zhuan, Xiang 30, as well as in Mozi 墨子, “Ming gui, xia” 明鬼下). Shu Yi-zhong 叔夷鐘: 及其高祖，赫赫成唐，又嚴在帝所 (Zhang Yachu 2001: vessels 272–278 and 285). Hu-gui 㝬簋 (or 胡簋): 用康惠朕皇文烈祖考，其格前文人，其瀕在帝廷陟降 (Zhang Yachu 2001: vessel 4317). Creel 1970: 52–53. Eno 1990a: 26–27.

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(r. 899/897–873), Xiao 孝 (r. 872–866), and Yi 夷 (r. 865–858), providing ideological guidelines for the smaller Zhou polity and instructing local representatives of the Zhou in the greater Zhou polity on how to control nonsubmissive groups with an ideology of, and path toward, reconciliation that could serve both parties.89 While bronze inscriptions continued to depict military campaigns, the Shangshu discourses advocated the implementation of civil provisions. Their claims for new lenient laws and the employment of meritorious officials stood against measures of political oppression through warfare and harsh punishments that still dominated the political and social practice and began to cause more negative than positive results for the consolidation of the Zhou state. Like marital alliances, this kind of argumentative speech might have served the larger Zhou polity as a new means of appeasement and control that was more economical and efficient than military campaigns.90 However, an echo of the militaristic mode can still be found in the closing formulas of the “Duo” chapters and “harangues,” where the Zhou king sets up a clear alternative of either cooperating with his leniency or receiving the harshest punishments (i.e., the threat of falling back on the usual measures). Finally, the “Duo” chapters also represented an attempt by the Zhou elite at establishing their own position in “All-under-Heaven” vis-à-vis the Shang and the numerous regions. It was an attempt at an inclusivist positioning of a self (wo 我) against—or rather over—various others (er 爾) in a framework of a unified whole. The creation of an expanded Zhou genealogical line was part of this same endeavor to consolidate a relationship with the subdued powers of the past, with the Zhou now leading a new meritocracy where new roles and social belongings had to be defined. Conclusion Among early literary cultures, “Shang shi,” “Duo shi,” and “Duo fang” form a unique group of texts aimed at appeasing subdued people after a conquest or the suppression of a rebellion and encouraging them to cooperate. They are exceptional in early world literature in regarding the subdued people as part of a common sacred realm with shared values, a shared language and script, and a shared history and cultural memory. They assume that under the common command of Heaven all people live as members of a cosmic family in a realm imagined as “All-under-Heaven.” Even though early bronze inscriptions and 89 90

Matsui 2008: 681. All dates after Shaughnessy 1991: 254–271. Khayutina 2014.

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the “Shifu” chapter of the Yi Zhoushu indicate that the historical reality of the Zhou conquest must have been much more violent, the discursive depiction of the appeasement process in these chapters had a considerable impact on Chinese political culture. These chapters were part of an endeavor to provide a new stable model of how to consolidate the culturally and socially diverse Zhou state within a framework of regulations that defined general and relative positions for a new stratified society. This was envisioned through a new sociopolitical order based on ritual and legal rules that reflected a new value system of meritocratic morality. The idealized narratives about the hard work of the early Zhou kings, especially King Wen, provided the new civil models for this kind of new moral heroes. In making the effort to argue and to convince through highly sophisticated and complex means of literary composition, the literary form of the chapters reflects this struggle to achieve order. The fixed formulas of the older bronzes, which were known and understood only by those who already formed part of the ritual community, are replaced by variable combinations of more easily accessible textual modules that, by invoking the authority of the older texts in echoes of archaic terms and expressions, construct meaning in a very different way. The texts themselves now become tools within a competitive discourse. The success of a text is no longer grounded in its ritual performance but begins to follow the meritocratic principle of reasoning and convincing by adducing stronger and superior arguments in a battle of words. The culturally awkward situation of a king addressing the subdued officers highlights this meritocratic ideology, together with its weapon of argumentative discourse, as a new means of ­integration and of exerting central control under a newly defined authority that claims to have earned its status by merit. This authority appropriates not only space (by military excursions) but also time by inventing an expanded, “patterned” past that is defined by universal principles and is based on historical analogies. The representatives of this new authority are portrayed in the early Shangshu chapters as anxious, concerned, worried, diligent, dutiful, and arguing with their subordinates and even with the ­subdued former enemies whose territories and histories they have just appropriated. Talking to them is part of this new, inclusivist program of Zhou governance. Following the breakdown of the Western Zhou in 771 BCE, the meritocratic principle of governance introduced by the Zhou increasingly led to competitive struggles between regional powers. In this later context, the Shangshu speeches seem to belong foremost to a cultural archive of texts that provides models of speech acts for specific political circumstances. These models promise to be efficacious because friends and foes alike regard them as expressions of their shared moral principles. As David Schaberg demonstrates in his

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contribution to this volume (chapter 9), the Shangshu is largely absent in Warring States literature. Although we do find the Shangshu (or Shangshu-like texts) occasionally quoted, there is no evidence that the texts themselves were performed (as those of the Shijing were) or applied to arrive at decisions (as those of the Yijing and the Chunqiu were). We can only speculate that their continuing prominence lies in their use as templates from which new texts could be generated to meet the demands of the current time while still conveying the spirit and voice of the ancient kings. The texts, rewritten and adapted, continued to enable the ruler to speak in his own voice, albeit transformed, as if in the voice of his sage ancestors. Appendix: Translation of the Yi Zhoushu 逸周書, “Shang shi jie” 商誓解91 (1) The king spoke thus: “I tell you, elder leaders of the Shang, from the clans of … Ji, Geng, Su, and Zhi, as well as the elder Shang officers of all ranks … and Grand Scribe Bi and Minor Scribe Xi, as well as all the active and retired officials and honored people, … and all the leaders who have come. Respect this! Intently listen to my words. Apply them to support and to create a bright governance.” 王若曰：“告爾92 伊舊何父□□□□幾、耿、肅、執，乃93 殷之舊官人序文,94 □□□□, 及太史比、小史昔,95 及百官、里居、獻民,96 □□□ 來尹師之。敬諸戒 !97 疾聽朕言,98 用胥生蠲尹。 91 92

93 94 95 96

97

98

Text according to Huang Huaixin 1995: 477–494. “Duo fang” 多方 is the only Shangshu chapter that starts with gao er 告爾. “Duo shi” 多 士 is the only other chapter that also uses this address after the formula wang ruo yue 王 若曰 in its text. Sun Yirang 孫詒讓 and Liu Shipei 劉師培 read nai 乃 as ji 及 (Huang Huaixin 1995: 478–479). Zhuang Shuzu 莊述祖 and Sun Yirang read xuwen 序文 in the meaning of shuwei 庶位 (Huang Huaixin 1995: 478–479). Compare with the catalog of officers in “Jiu gao” 酒誥, where a taishi 太史 and a neishi 內 史 are addressed; see also the following note. For similar catalogs of addressees, see the beginnings of “Mu shi” 牧誓, “Li zheng” 立政, “Gu ming” 顧命, and “Kang wang zhi gao” 康王之誥 and different passages in the “Jiu gao.” In the latter, we find baixing liju 百姓里居 parallel to the baiguan liju 百官里居 in “Shang shi.” I follow Kong Anguo 孔安國 for “retired officers.” See a similar list also in the Ling-yi inscription (Shaughnessy 1991: 197). Tang Dapei 唐大沛 reads jing zhu jie 敬諸戒 as jing zhi zai 敬之哉, which also appears at the end of the text in combination with ting zhen yan 聽朕言 (Huang Huaixin 1995: 480). “Tai shi, shang” 泰誓上 has “all listen to my words” (咸聽朕言).

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(2) The king said: “Ah, you multitudes. In my speech I do not dare to turn against the Heavenly Mandate; I am going to execute Shangdi’s imposing command and perspicuous punishments. Today indeed I will for the first time give you my instructions. Respect them! My speech will indeed be a bright command from the first word to the last.” 王曰：嗟,99 爾眾 ! 予言非敢顧天命，予來致上帝之威命明罰。今惟新誥命爾，敬 諸 ! 朕話言自一言至于十話言，其惟明命100 爾。 (3) The king said: “In antiquity, Hou Ji, on account of Shangdi’s words, was able to seed all the kinds of grain and accomplished Yu’s achievements. And indeed all the people in the world have since used Hou Ji’s excellent grain to offer sacrifice. The former wise Shang kings brightly sacrificed to the Lords on High □□□□ also indeed used our Hou Ji’s excellent grain to proclaim harmony and to assist in feasting. As a consequence, it was indeed for this reason that the former wise Shang kings, by using this [grain of the Zhou for all their sacrificial proceedings,] made our Western Regions illustrious. 王曰：在昔后稷，惟上帝之言，克播百穀,101 登禹之績102 。凡在天下之庶民，罔 不維后稷之元103 穀用蒸享。在商先哲王,104 明祀上帝，□□□□亦維我后稷之元 穀，用告和，用胥飲食。肆商先哲王維厥故，斯用顯我西土。105 (4) But now, [King] Zhòu of Shang has put the world in disorder and despair, he has not made Shangdi illustrious, he has exerted random violence against the noble clans, and he has turned against the Heavenly Mandate. Since Shangdi has not been made illustrious, it has commanded my Accomplished Deceased Father, saying: ‘Exterminate Shang’s great offender Zhòu.’

99

100

101 102 103 104 105

This initial interjection can be found in a number of Shangshu chapters, especially in the harangues (“Gan shi” 甘誓, “Yin zheng” 胤征, “Tang gao” 湯誥, “Tai shi, shang,” “Mu shi,” “Bi shi” 費誓, and “Qin shi” 秦誓). The expression “bright command” (明命) is often used in relation to Heaven or Shangdi. A ruler claiming this for himself implies that his command is an extension of the Heavenly bright command. See the parallels in Shangshu, “Lü xing” 呂刑 (稷降播種，農殖嘉穀) and “Shun dian” (播時百穀). Tang Dapei reads xu 績 as gong 功 (Huang Huaixin 1995: 481). Pan Zhen 潘振, Zhuang Shuzu, Chen Fengheng 陳逢衡, Tang Dapei, and others read yuan 元 as shan 善 (Huang Huaixin 1995: 481). The expression “former wise kings” is used in three “gao” chapters of the Shangshu (“Kang gao,” “Jiu gao,” and “Shao gao”). A similar expression (顯于西土) is also used in “Tai shi, xia” 泰誓下. The term “Western Regions” is used only in harangues and gao chapters in the Shangshu.

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今在商紂，昬憂天下，弗顯上帝，昏虐百姓，奉106 天之命。上帝弗顯,107 乃命朕 文考曰: 殪商之多罪紂。

(5) Therefore, I, the little son Fa, do not have the temerity to be oblivious to the Heavenly Mandate. My Deceased Father completely conformed to Hou Ji’s governance, and therefore, Shangdi said [to us]: ‘You must attack him.’ Indeed, on this very [auspicious] day jiazi, executing Heaven’s great punishment by subduing [the Shang], and accomplishing Shangdi’s reward, I removed Zhòu’s Mandate. I certainly will never have the temerity to act against the Heavenly Mandate. Respect this! 肆予小子發,108 不敢忘天命。朕考胥翕稷政，肆上帝曰：必伐之。予惟甲子,109 尅致天之大罰。110 □ (成) 帝之來,111 革紂之□ (命),112 予亦無敢違天命,113 敬諸 ! (6) Earlier in our Western Regions, in a speech of agreement, I proclaimed to all that the noble clans of Shang were of no fault, that it was indeed only this one man [King Zhòu]. I have already killed Zhòu and received the Heavenly Mandate. I am furthermore going to make this Mandate propitious. You officeholders,114 retired officials 106

107

108 109 110

111

112 113 114

Ding Zongluo 丁宗洛 and Liu Shipei propose replacing feng 奉 with qi 棄 (Ding) or wei 韋 (Liu) as another negative ascription and in contrast to wu gan wei tianming 無敢違天 命 in the following paragraph (Huang Huaixin 1995: 482). This is supported by the second contrastive bu gan wang tianming 不敢忘天命 at the beginning of the following paragraph. In the Shangshu, Zhòu 紂 is never portrayed as attempting to uphold the Heavenly Mandate but always turns against it (and is thus rejected by Shangdi). This block of five tetrasyllabic lines, which portrays the last Shang ruler, Zhòu 紂, corresponds to another such block further down in paragraph 8, which portrays the first Shang ruler, Cheng Tang 成湯. This phrase has a verbatim parallel in “Tai shi, shang.” 予小子 is a common formula in the Shangshu, the Shijing, and bronze inscriptions. The inscription on the Li-gui bronze confirms this date as auspicious for a “great event.” See Shaughnessy 1991: 89. The phrase “executing Heaven’s punishments” (致天之罰) occurs verbatim in both “Duo” chapters and also in “Tang shi.” Other harangues have similar phrases: “Tai shi, shang” (厎 天之罰), “Tai shi, xia” (恭行天罰), and “Gan shi” and “Mu shi” (恭行天之罰). Sun Yirang points out a Mozi parallel (“Fei gong, xia” 非攻下): “After the king had overthrown the Yin, he accomplished Di’s reward” (王既已克殷，成帝之來). Zhuang Shuzu reads lai 來 as lai 賚 (Huang Huaixin 1995: 484). Zhuang Shuzu, Tang Dapei, and Zhu Junsheng 朱駿聲 read ming 命 in place of the lacuna (Huang Huaixin 1995: 483). This is the third time that the text uses this formula with only slight variation: 非敢顧天 命 in paragraph 2 and 不敢忘天命 in paragraph 5. I follow Tang Dapei here, who reads baixing 百姓 as baiguan 百官 (Huang Huaixin 1995: 485). See the parallel in paragraph 1.

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and leaders [of the states], it is now the Zhou who give you commands … you great leaders of the states, you must not have the temerity to not report to and seek audiences with us, the Zhou. Even you, the great leaders of the states, I would not reprieve if Shangdi said: ‘You must attack them.’ And today I indeed clearly declare to you, I have already overtaken from … [King] Zhòu and have the affair fully presented to Shangdi. The Heavenly King has the Mandate. And you noble clans and honored people want to continue your posterity. Indeed, if you respect this Heavenly Mandate, we will not order you noble clans around without [prior] declarations. The Western Regions are suffering and exhausted; how can this [battle] be carried out again? If Heaven indeed implements another exhaustion, raises us in battle, and accuses and exhausts us [for not having accomplished its Mandate], then we will not be able again to be of one mind [with you]. So you many nobles, each one, out of respect, ought to help ensure that Heaven eternally blesses our Western Regions. 昔在我西土，我其齊言,115 胥告商之百姓無罪，其維一夫。予既殛紂承天命，予 亦來休命。116 爾百姓、里居、117 君子，其周即命。□□□□□□□□□□□□□ □□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□爾冢邦君,118 無敢其有不告見于我有周。其比 冢邦君我無攸愛，上帝曰：必伐之。今予惟明告爾，予其往追□紂，達𧽕 1集之 帝。天王其有命。爾百姓、獻民，其有綴艿。夫自敬其有斯天命，不令爾百姓無 告。西土疾勤，其斯有何重 ? 天維用重勤，興起我，罪勤我。無克乃一心。120 爾多 子，其人自敬助天永休于我西土。

(7) You noble clans, you will then also have a peaceful place there. If you accord with the Heavenly Mandate and don’t restlessly raise chaos, then my [Grand] Protector Shi will support you for this. Do not usurp the Heavenly Mandate. As in my speech at the Zhou [Western Regions] I said that the Shang people were of no fault and that our Mandate is now with the Zhou. Who then acts first [in usurping the Mandate] I will 115 116 117 118

119 120

In Zuo zhuan (Xiang 27), qi yan 齊言 is used in exactly this contractual sense as speech of a covenant. See the parallel in paragraph 2: 予來致上帝之威命明罰. “Jiu gao” has a verbatim parallel: 百姓里居. “Zhong jun” 冢君 is an established term for hereditary rulers and foremost leaders. “Tai shi, shang” and “Mu shi” have 我友邦冢君 and 爾友邦冢君; “Wu cheng” 武成 and “Shao gao” have 庶邦塚君; “Da gao” 大誥 has 爾庶邦君 twice. The term 冢邦君, however, appears only in “Shang shi” here. I therefore translate it in the sense of 邦冢君, as several commentators also propose (Huang Huaixin 1995: 485). Lu Wenchao 盧文弨 and Tang Dapei read zhen 𧽕 as zhen 臻 (Huang Huaixin 1995: 486). The expression “to have one mind” occurs several times in the Shangshu: “Tai shi, shang” (予有臣三千，惟一心), “Tai shi, zhong” 泰誓中 (乃一德一心), and “Pan Geng, xia” 盤 庚下 (式敷民德，永肩一心).

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thereupon treat as guilty. I will then indeed according to the Way of the former kings lead a return to order. If you noble clans transgress the ruling order, then it is not myself who bears the [guilt of causing] disorder but only you.” 爾百姓，其亦有安處在彼。宜在天命，□ (弗)121 及惻122 興亂。予保奭123 其介124 有斯。勿用天命，若朕言在周曰: 商百姓無罪，朕命在周。其乃先作，我肆罪疾。 予惟以先王之道御復正。爾百姓越則, 非朕負亂, 惟爾。 (8) Our king said: “Noble clans, I heard that in days of old the former wise Shang king Cheng Tang was able to establish the order of Shangdi and protect the lives of the Shang people. He was able to ensure the efficacy of the Three Powers,125 to resolve the doubts of the Shang people and thereby make them assist their ruler. 在我王曰：百姓，我聞古商先哲王成湯，克辟上帝，保生商民，克用三德，疑126 商127 民弗懷，用辟厥辟。128 (9) Now Zhòu has discarded the established norms of Cheng Tang. Thereupon, Shangdi has commanded my small state and said: ‘Make an end to the state of Shang.’ Thereupon, I gave your noble clans bright commands. If they are not willing to apply my commands, then I will kill and extinguish all of you, great leaders of the states, and all the noble clans of the Shang.”

121 122 123

124 125

126 127 128

Ding Zongluo reads fu 弗 in place of the lacuna (Huang Huaixin 1995: 488). Ding Zongluo, Zhu Junsheng, and Tang Dapei all read ji 及 as fan 反. Tang Dapei reads ce 惻 as ce 側 (Huang Huaixin 1995: 488–489). Chen Fengheng and Tang Dapei read bao shi 保奭 as referring to the Duke of Shao, who is called [Grand] Protector Shi (Bao Shi 保奭) twice in the Shangshu (“Jun Shi” 君奭 and “Gu ming”) (Huang Huaixin 1995: 489). Duke Shao figures more prominently in Western Zhou texts than the Duke of Zhou (Shaughnessy 1997: 108–109, 140). He was in charge of the Western Regions after King Cheng ascended the throne (Shiji 34.1549–1550); this might have been projected retrospectively to the time of King Wu. “Duo fang” parallel: “We Zhou will indeed greatly support and reward you” (我有周惟其 大介賚爾). Tang Dapei lists the three powers as they are defined in the “Hong fan” 洪範 chapter of the Shangshu: “correctness and straightforwardness” (zheng zhi 正直), “strong government” (gang ke 剛克), and “mild government” (rou ke 柔克) (Huang Huaixin 1995: 490). Zhu Youzeng 朱右曾 interprets yi 疑 as ding 定 (Huang Huaixin 1995: 490). Ding Zongluo points out that the text should have Xia people 夏民 here instead of Shang people 商民 (Huang Huaixin 1995: 490). This block of five tetrasyllabic lines corresponds to a similar block in paragraph 4 above, portraying the last Shang ruler, Zhòu 紂.

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今紂棄成湯之典，肆上帝命我小國129 曰：革商國。肆予明命汝百姓，其斯弗用 朕命，其斯爾冢邦君商庶百姓，予則□130 劉滅之。

(10) The king said: “Ho! My Heavenly Mandate is already achieved indeed! You can all receive Heaven’s blessing at our Zhou, and with this small state the Mandate will not change. 王曰：靃 ! 予天命維既 ! 咸汝克承天休131 于我有周，斯小國于有命不易。132 (11) Earlier, at our [crossing at] Mengjin, if Di had blessed and distinguished the Shang, what state would we have? But he commanded me, the little son. Thereupon, I led an army against the Yin and distinguished the various ranks … promoted my assistants, and thereupon, I cut off the Mandate of Yin. 昔我盟津,133 帝休辨商，其有何國 ? 命予小子，肆我殷戎，亦辨百度，□□美左 右，予肆劉殷之命。

(12) Now I do indeed generously protect you, although my scribes and grand scribes are against me in this. Seeing how we have to pacify you, the scribes have great doubts about your cooperativeness, respectfulness, and deference. If anyone dares to trifle with or overstep [the authority of] this one speech, then I am going to implement Shangdi’s bright Mandate. I will treat you respectfully … noble clans and will govern you with all [our] righteousness and all [our] punishments. Even though I will return to the Western Regions, I will unexpectedly come and punish immediately. So be respectful! All of you who have heard my words, do not expect another declaration.” 今予維篤祐爾，予史、太史違我。史視爾靖，疑胥敬請。其斯一話，敢逸僭，

129 130 131 132

133

In the Shangshu, the formula “my small state” (我小國) is used only once, in “Duo shi.” None of the many different commentarial suggestions on how to fill this lacuna (nai 乃, xian 咸, qian 虔, si 肆; see Huang Huaixin 1995: 491) changes the meaning of the sentence. The phrase “to receive Heaven’s blessings” (承天休) is also used in “Tang gao.” The phrase 命不易 is a fixed Zhou idiom that can be found several times in the Shangshu and the Shijing. Yi 易 is translated either as “change” (the Mandate will not change) if it is used in confirming statements or as “easy” (the Mandate is not easily preserved) in admonishing addresses. I read paragraph 10 as a confirming statement claiming the security of the Mandate with the Zhou. Tang Dapei reads Mengjin 盟津 as Mengjin 孟津, the place where the Zhou army crossed the Yellow River during their conquest of the Shang, six days before the decisive battle at Muye (Huang Huaixin 1995: 491). Phonologically this is sensible with Old Chinese pronunciations of 盟 (*mraŋ) and 孟 (*mˤraŋ-s). In the Guwen Shangshu, King Wu delivered a harangue on the occasion of the crossing at Mengjin. This is part of the tripartite “Great Harangue” (“Tai shi”). Legge (1991: 297–299) has appended this to his translation.

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予則上帝之明命。予爾拜拜134 □百姓，越爾庶義、庶刑。135 子136 維137 及西土，我 乃其來即刑。乃敬之哉！庶聽朕言，罔胥告。138

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Commentators do not know how to interpret this baibai. They regard it as a mistake and offer different emendations (Huang Huaixin 1995: 492–493). I also believe that the text is corrupt here, but none of the commentarial explanations appear convincing to me. “Li zheng” uses the similar phrase “all litigations and precautionary measures” (庶獄 庶慎) three times. Most editions have yu 予 in place of zi 子 (Huang Huaixin 1995: 494). Tang Dapei interprets wei 維 as sui 雖 (Huang Huaixin 1995: 494). “Duo fang” ends on a similar note: “I will indeed not make many declarations” (我不惟 多誥 !).

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Eide, Tormod, Tomas Hägg, Richard Holton Pierce, and László Török, eds. 1994. Fontes Historiae Nubiorum: Textual Sources for the History of the Middle Nile Region between the Eighth Century BC and the Sixth Century AD. Vol. 1, From the Eighth to the Mid-Fifth Century BC. Bergen: Department of Classics, University of Bergen. Eno, Robert. 1990a. The Confucian Creation of Heaven: Philosophy and the Defense of Ritual Mastery. Albany: State University of New York Press. Eno, Robert. 1990b. “Was There a High God Ti in Shang Religion?” Early China 15: 1–26. Eno, Robert. 2010. “3.10 Inscriptional Records of the Western Zhou.” Indiana University, History G380—Class Text Readings—Spring 2010. Accessed August 5, 2013 . Falkenhausen, Lothar von. 2006a. Chinese Society in the Age of Confucius (1000–250 BC): The Archaeological Evidence. Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California, Los Angeles. Falkenhausen, Lothar von. 2006b. “The Inscribed Bronzes from Yangjiacun: New Evidence on Social Structure and Historical Consciousness in Late Western Zhou China (c. 800 BC).” Proceedings of the British Academy 139: 239–295. Falkenhausen, Lothar von. 2011. “The Royal Audience and Its Reflections in Western Zhou Bronze Inscriptions.” In Writing and Literacy in Early China, ed. Li Feng and David Prager Banner, 239–270. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Fuchs, Andreas. 2009. “Waren die Assyrer grausam?” In Extreme Formen von Gewalt in Bild und Text des Altertums, ed. Martin Zimmermann, 65–119. Munich: Herbert Utz Verlag. Galter, Hannes D. 1997. “Assyrische Königsinschriften des 2. Jahrtausends v. Chr.: Die Entwicklung einer Textgattung.” In Assyrien im Wandel der Zeiten, ed. Hartmut Waetzoldt and Harald Hauptmann, 53–59. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag. Gentz, Joachim. 2005. “Zwischen den Argumenten lesen: Doppelt gerichtete Parallelismen zwischen Argumenten als zentrale Thesen in frühen chinesischen Texten.” In “Komposition und Konnotation—Figuren der Kunstprosa im Alten China,” ed. Wolfgang Behr and Joachim Gentz, special issue, Bochumer Jahrbuch für ostasiatische Forschung 29: 35–56. Gentz, Joachim. 2015. “Defining Boundaries and Relations between Textual Units: Examples from the Literary Tool-Kit of Early Chinese Argumentation.” In Literary Forms of Argument in Early China, ed. Joachim Gentz and Dirk Meyer, 112–157. Leiden: Brill. Gentz, Joachim. Forthcoming. “‘God has Conferred Even on the Inferior People a Moral Sense’: Legge’s Concept of the People (min) in his Translation of the Book of Docu­ ments.” In James Legge and Scottish Missions to China, ed. Alex Chow. Girard, René. 1972. La violence et le sacré. Paris: Grasset. Trans. Patrick Gregory as Violence and the Sacred (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1977). Grayson, A. Kirk. 1991. Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC, I (1114–859 BC). Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

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Grayson, A. Kirk, and Jamie Novotny, eds. 2012. The Royal Inscriptions of Sennacherib, King of Assyria (704–681 BC), pt. 1. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Accessed August 5, 2013 . Gu Jiegang. 1963. “Yi Zhoushu ‘Shifu’ pian jiaozhu xieding yu pinglun” 逸周書世俘篇校 註寫定與評論. Wenshi 文史 2: 1–42. Gundlach, Rolf. 1988. “‘Erschlagen des Feindes’: Der Krieg als politisches Mittel und kulturelles Problem im pharaonischen Ägypten.” In Geisteswissenschaften—wozu? Beispiele ihrer Gegenstände und ihrer Fragen, ed. Hans-Henrik Krummacher, 245–265. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Hannerz, Ulf. 1969. Soulside: Inquiries into Ghetto Culture and Community. New York: Columbia University Press. Huang Huaixin 黃懷信. 1995. Yi Zhoushu huijiao jizhu 逸周書彙校集注. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Jiang Kunwu 姜昆武. 1989. “Shi Shu” chengci kaoshi 詩書成詞考釋. Jinan: Qi Lu shushe. Kern, Martin. 2007. “The Performance of Writing in Western Zhou China.” In The Poetics of Grammar and the Metaphysics of Sound and Sign, ed. Sergio La Porta and David Shulman, 109–176. Leiden: Brill. Kern, Martin. 2009. “Bronze Inscriptions, the Shijing and the Shangshu: The Evolution of the Ancestral Sacrifice during the Western Zhou.” In Early Chinese Religion, pt. 1, Shang through Han (1250 BC–220 AD), ed. John Lagerwey and Marc Kalinowski, 143– 200. Leiden: Brill. Khayutina, Maria. 2014. “Marital Alliances and Affinal Relatives (sheng and hungou) in the Society and Politics of Zhou China in the Light of Bronze Inscriptions.” Early China 37: 1–61. Kryukov, Vassilij M. 2000. Tekst i Ritual: Opyt Interpretatsii Drevnekitaiskoj Epigrafiki Epokhi In’-Chzhou. Moscow: Pamiatniki Istoricheskoj Mysli. Ledderose, Lothar. 2000. Ten Thousand Things: Module and Mass Production in Chinese Art. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Legge, James. 1991. The Chinese Classics. vol. 3, The Shoo King; or, The Book of Historical Documents. Taipei: SMC. Lendering, Jona. 2013. “The Behistun Inscription, Translation 2.” Accessed August 5, 2013 . Lewis, Mark Edward. 1990. Sanctioned Violence in Early China. Albany: State University of New York Press. Lewis, Mark Edward. 1999. Writing and Authority in Early China. New York: State University of New York Press. Li Feng. 2008. Bureaucracy and the State in Early China: Governing the Western Zhou. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lewis, Mark Edward. 2013. Early China: A Social and Cultural History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Matsui Yoshinori 松井嘉徳. 2008. “Western Zhou History in the Collective Memory of the People of the Western Zhou: An Interpretation of the Inscription of the ‘Lai pan.’” Tōyōshi kenkyū 東洋史研究 66.4: 712–664 (reverse pagination). Accessed December 17, 2014 . Mauss, Marcel. 1923–1924. “Essai sur le don: Forme et raison de l’échange dans les sociétés archaïques.” L’année sociologique, 2nd ser., 30–186. Meyer, Dirk. 2002. “The Power of the Component and the Establishment of the Guodian Tomb One Bamboo-Slip Manuscript Zhong xin zhi dao as a Text.” MA diss., Leiden University. Meyer, Dirk. 2005. “A Device for Conveying Meaning: The Structure of the Guodian Tomb One Manuscript ‘Zhong xin zhi dao.’” In “Komposition und Konnotation—Figuren der Kunstprosa im Alten China,” ed. Wolfgang Behr and Joachim Gentz, special issue, Bochumer Jahrbuch für ostasiatische Forschung 29: 57–78. Müller-Wollermann, Renate. 2009. “Symbolische Gewaltdarstellung im Alten Ägypten.” In Extreme Formen von Gewalt in Bild und Text des Altertums, ed. Martin Zimmermann, 47–64. Munich: Herbert Utz Verlag. Nivison, David S. 1996–1997. “The Authenticity of the Mao Kung Ting 毛公鼎 Inscription.” In Ancient Chinese and Southeast Asian Bronze Age Cultures, ed. F. David Bulbeck and Noel Barnard, 311–344. Taipei: SMC. Richter, Matthias. 2006. “Der Alte und das Wasser: Lesarten von Laozi 8 im überlieferten Text und in den Manuskripten von Mawangdui.” In Han-Zeit: Festschrift für Hans Stump­feldt aus Anlaß seines 65. Geburtstages, ed. Michael Friedrich, Reinhard Emmerich, and Hans van Ess, 253–273. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Schaberg, David. 1996. “Foundations of Chinese Historiography: Literary Representation in Zuo zhuan and Guoyu.” PhD diss., Harvard University. Schaberg, David. 2001. A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center. Schaberg, David. 2005. “Command and the Content of Tradition.” In The Magnitude of Ming, ed. Christopher Lupke, 23–48. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press. Schoske, Sylvia. 1982. “Das Erschlagen der Feinde: Ikonographie und Stilistik der Feindvernichtung im alten Ägypten.” PhD diss., University of Heidelberg. Schramm, Wolfgang. 1973. Einleitung in die Assyrischen Königsinschriften. Zweiter Teil. Leiden: Brill. Seiwert, Hubert, and Ma Xinsha. 2003. Popular Religious Movements and Heterodox Sects in Chinese History. Leiden: Brill. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1991. Sources of Western Zhou History: Inscribed Bronze Vessels. Berkeley: University of California Press. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1997. Before Confucius: Studies in the Creation of the Chinese Classics. Albany: State University of New York Press.

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Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1999. “Western Zhou History.” In Cambridge History of Ancient China, ed. Michael Loewe and Edward L. Shaughnessy, 292–351. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 2007. “The Writing of a Late Western Zhou Bronze Inscription.” Asiatische Studien 61.3: 845–877. Shaughnessy, Edward L., and David S. Nivinson. 2000. “The Jin Hou Su Bells Inscription and Its Implications for the Chronology of Early China.” Early China 25: 29–48. Shim, Jaehoon. 1997. “The ‘Jinhou Su Bianzhong’ Inscription and Its Significance.” Early China 22: 43–75. Shima Kunio 島邦男. 1958. Inkyo bokuji kenkyū 殷墟ト辞硏究. Hirosaki: Hirosaki Daigaku Chūgoku Kenkyūkai. Silber, Ilana Friedrich. 2003. “Pragmatic Sociology as Cultural Sociology: Beyond Repertoire Theory?” European Journal of Social Theory 6.4: 427–449. Shiji 史記. 1985. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Struve, Lynn A. 1998. Voices from the Ming-Qing Cataclysm: China in Tigers’ Jaws. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Swan-Hall, Emma. 1986. The Pharaoh Smites His Enemies: A Comparative Study. Munich: Deutscher Kunstverlag. Swidler, Ann. 1986. “Culture in Action: Symbols and Strategies.” American Sociological Review 51.2: 273–286. Van Seters, John. 1997. In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Vogelsang, Kai. 2002. “Inscriptions and Proclamations: On the Authenticity of the ‘Gao’ Chapters in the Book of Documents.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 74: 138–209. Vogelsang, Kai. 2013. Geschichte Chinas. Stuttgart: Reclam. Wakeman, Frederic, Jr. 1975. The Fall of Imperial China. New York: Free Press. Wang Guowei 王國維. 1959. “Yu youren lun Shi Shu zhong chengyu shu” 與友人論詩書 中成語書. In Guantang jilin 觀堂集林. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 殷周金文集成. 1984–1994. Ed. Zhongguo shehui kexueyuan ­kaogu yanjiusuo 中国社会科学院考古研究所. Shanghai: Zhonghua shuju. Yu Xingwu 于省吾. 2009. Shuangjianyi Shangshu xinzheng 雙劍誃尚書新証. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Zang Kehe 臧克和. 1999. Shangshu wenzi jiaogu 尚書文字校詁. Shanghai: Shanghai jiaoyu chubanshe. Zhang Yachu 张亚初. 2001. Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng yinde 殷周金文集成引得. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju.

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Chapter 5

The Qinghua “Jinteng” 金縢 Manuscript: What It Does Not Tell Us about the Duke of Zhou Magnus Ribbing Gren The Duke of Zhou and the “Jinteng” Chapter The “Jinteng” 金縢 (“Metal-Bound Coffer”) chapter in the received version of the Shangshu 尚書 offers a narrative that in its general outlines is straightforward and unambiguous.* It begins with the statement that King Wu of Zhou 周 武王 had fallen ill soon after the conquest of the Shang dynasty. His brother, the Duke of Zhou 周公, made a prayer to their family ancestors, in which he offered to sacrifice his own life in exchange for that of King Wu, who was needed to ensure the stability of the newly established royal house. The Duke of Zhou then prognosticated with tortoise shells, and receiving a favorable response he felt at ease knowing that King Wu would suffer no harm. The documents related to his prayer were secretly stored away in a metal-bound coffer. When King Wu eventually did die, suspicions were raised regarding the intentions of the Duke of Zhou toward his nephew, the young successor King Cheng 成王. As a result of various events both human and natural, the details of which have been subject to some disagreement among commentators, the metal-bound coffer was opened and the Duke of Zhou’s act of self-sacrifice was made public, immediately eliminating all suspicions of his loyalty and moral character. Although modern historians generally consider it an authentic pre-Qin text, the provenance and accuracy of the “Jinteng” chapter have been questioned by numerous historical figures, including Cheng Yi 程頤 (1033–1107) and Yuan Mei 袁枚 (1716–1797).1 Yuan Mei in particular listed several reasons showing that the “Jinteng” chapter made little sense in relation to other accounts of the duke’s life. The recent discovery of a bamboo manuscript bearing what appears to be a ca. 300 BCE version of the “Jinteng” chapter, however, has led some

* The present essay is reprinted here, with minor modifications, from its first publication in T’oung Pao 102.4–5 (2016): 291–320. 1 Cheng Yi and Cheng Hao 1981: 290; Yuan Mei 1988: 22.1622–1626.

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scholars to conclude that such doubt is unwarranted.2 Liu Guozhong, for example, commented: “Now the reappearance of the Qinghua bamboo manuscript ‘Jinteng’ has substantiated the fact that ‘Jinteng’ was a chapter in the preQin Shangshu, and the debate over its authenticity has naturally been resolved” (现在清华简《金縢》的重新面世,证实了《金縢》确实是先秦《尚书》中 的一篇,对于该篇真伪的争论自然也就不辩自明了).3 But while the manuscript is similar enough to received versions of the story, including those of the Shangshu and the Shiji 史記, it also differs from these versions in significant ways. The present study deals with those differences and suggests a reading of the “Jinteng” manuscript that does not base itself on presuppositions introduced by the received versions. To begin with, passages in other early Chinese texts that relate the story of the Duke of Zhou and his relationship with King Wu and King Cheng do not provide a coherent and unambiguous account of the events described in “Jinteng” or of their significance. Wang Chong’s 王充 (27–ca. 100) Lunheng 論衡 is the earliest text to explicitly recognize the divide in opinions over the interpretation of the Duke of Zhou’s relationship to the throne: “Jinteng” says: “In the autumn the grain flourished, but before it had been reaped, there were great lightning and thunderstorms in heaven. The grain was all bent down, and all the large trees were uprooted. The men of the state were greatly horrified.” At this time the Duke of Zhou died. Learned men theorized that [the natural calamities] were due to King Cheng being hesitant with regard to the Duke of Zhou, because if he were to bury the duke according to the rituals of a Son of Heaven, [it could be inappropriate since] the duke had been another’s minister, but if he were to bury the duke according to the rituals of a minister, [it could be inappropriate since] the duke had the achievement [of a ruler]. While the king hesitated over how to bury the Duke of Zhou, Heaven inspired horror with its abnormalities of great lightning and rain, with the purpose of displaying the sagely achievement [of the duke]. The ancient-script [guwen] specialists think that when King Wu died, the Duke of Zhou acted as a deputy [to King Cheng]. Guan[shu] and Cai[shu] spread rumors that made the king suspicious of the Duke of Zhou, and [to avoid confrontation] the Duke of Zhou went to live in exile in Chu. Consequently, 2 It should be pointed out that this is an unprovenanced manuscript, acquired on the Hong Kong antiquities market. For a discussion of the ethical aspect of studying such Chinese manuscripts, see Goldin 2013. 3 Liu Guozhong 2011: 41.

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it was in order to awaken King Cheng [to this injustice] that Heaven brought lightning and rain.

《金縢》曰：“秋大熟,未獲,天大雷電以風,禾盡偃,大木盡拔。邦人大 恐。” 當此之時,周公死。儒者說之,以為成王狐疑于周公,欲以天子禮 葬公,公人臣也；欲以人臣禮葬公,公有功。王狐疑于葬周公之間,天 大雷雨動恐示變,以彰聖功。古文家以武王崩,周公居攝,管、蔡流言, 王意狐疑周公,周公奔楚,故天雷雨,以悟成王。4

The problem presented here was whether the Duke of Zhou had inherited the throne after King Wu and ruled as king, as “learned men” in general assumed, or if he had merely aided the young King Cheng in ruling the kingdom and therefore been unfairly slandered by his brothers, as the so-called ancientscript specialists argued. While Wang Chong did not clearly prefer either position, judging from the structure of his statement it may be surmised that in the early part of the Eastern Han, the perception of the Duke of Zhou as a minister who would choose to go into exile rather than be suspected of calling himself king was not universally accepted and in fact appears more as a minority position upheld and promoted by a limited group of textual specialists. The present study demonstrates how the “Jinteng” manuscript in the Qing­ hua collection of manuscripts is most properly read, not as a variant of the received Jinteng story, but rather as a written instantiation of a very different narrative that relates how the Duke of Zhou, with the blessings of Heaven and the ancestral spirits, inherited the Zhou kingdom after the demise of King Wu. As discussed toward the end of this essay, the significant discrepancies between these two narratives may plausibly be understood in light of Warring States debates between proponents of hereditary succession and those who argued that leaders should be picked on the basis of achievements rather than pedigree. With the establishment of the Chinese empire during the Qin and Han dynasties, and in particular after the Wang Mang 王莽 (ca. 45 BCE–23 CE) interregnum, arguments for merit-based succession were deemed subversive and gradually erased from the written tradition. It is only with the discovery of preQin manuscripts that documents promoting abdication and merit-based succession may again be brought into dialogue with the received tradition, and it is within the context of such a dialogue that the present study places the Qinghua “Jinteng” manuscript.

4 Huang Hui 1990: 18.787–788.

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The Legend of the Duke of Zhou Ruling as King While the received Shangshu quite unambiguously insists that the Duke of Zhou was never interested in occupying the position of king, not a few sources suggest otherwise. For example, many early texts state explicitly that after the duke’s death, King Cheng buried him as a Son of Heaven. After the duke’s death, furthermore, his fiefdom in the state of Lu 魯 was granted the royal prerogative of offering sacrifices to Heaven. The connection between this and the series of natural disasters described in the “Jinteng” chapter is drawn directly in several sources, a few of which I introduce and translate below. One of the more succinct and suggestive passages is found in the Baihutong 白虎通, which states: When the Duke of Zhou died, Heaven behaved abnormally for his sake. King Cheng buried him according to the rituals of a Son of Heaven and ordered that the state of Lu perform the suburban sacrifice in order to clarify his absolute filial piety toward the one whom Heaven supported.

周公身薨，天為之變，成王以天子之禮葬，命魯郊，以明至孝天所興 也。5

“The one whom Heaven supported” in this passage obviously refers to the Duke of Zhou. The Shiji contains one of the more inclusive accounts of the duke’s life, and this is how it describes King Cheng’s decision to let the state of Lu perform the suburban sacrifice to Heaven, a ceremony reserved for the supreme leader: After the Duke of Zhou died, in the autumn, before the harvest had been reaped, there were strong winds, thunder, and rain. The grain was all bent down and large trees were uprooted. The Zhou state was in grave terror. King Cheng and his great ministers put on court robes and unrolled the writings of the metal-bound coffer. And so the king discovered the prayer in which the Duke of Zhou took the enterprise on himself and substituted for King Wu. The two dukes and the king asked the archivist and the various officers in charge. They all said: “Yes, it is true, long ago the Duke of Zhou ordered us not to dare speak about it.” King Cheng held the document and wept, saying: “From now on there will be no need to prognosticate! Long ago, the Duke of Zhou exerted himself for the royal 5 Chen Li 1994: 4.156.

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family, but I the young one did not know about it. Now Heaven moves its majesty to announce the virtue of the Duke of Zhou. I, the little child, wish to welcome it. That also is the appropriate thing to do according to the family rituals of our state.” The king went into the suburbs, and then it rained, the wind withdrew, and the grain all rose up. The two dukes ordered the men of the state to rise and replant all the broken trees. The year became very fruitful. At this point, King Cheng then ordered that the state of Lu may perform the suburban sacrifice to King Wen. That the state of Lu may use the ritual and music of the Son of Heaven was in order to repay the Duke of Zhou’s virtue. 周公卒後，秋未穫，暴風雷［雨］，禾盡偃，大木盡拔。周國大恐。 成王與大夫朝服以開金縢書，王乃得周公所自以為功代武王之說。二 公及王乃問史百執事，史百執事曰：「信有，昔周公命我勿敢言。」 成王執書以泣，曰：「自今後其無繆卜乎！昔周公勤勞王家，惟予幼 人弗及知。今天動威以彰周公之德，惟朕小子其迎，我國家禮亦宜 之。」王出郊，天乃雨，反風，禾盡起。二公命國人，凡大木所偃， 盡起而筑之。歲則大孰。於是成王乃命魯得郊祭文王。魯有天子禮樂 者，以褒周公之德也。6

One of many difficulties with this passage is to explain what is meant by the verb “to welcome” (ying 迎). It may be understood as King Cheng going as far out as the suburbs to welcome the Duke of Zhou back from his military campaign. However, in the Shiji account the “welcoming” takes place after the duke’s death. This is only one among many confusing aspects of the duke’s life as recorded in the received Shiji, whose account reads more like an anthology of legends, not always chronologically arranged. For example, the Shiji contains two isolated descriptions of how the Duke of Zhou offered his life to the spirits in order for an ailing superior to recuperate: the first time for King Wu and the second time for King Cheng. It also contains two references to the Duke of Zhou residing in the east: one two-year military campaign right after King Wu’s death and one period of self-chosen exile in Chu that supposedly also took place while King Cheng was still a child.7 Eastern Han sources, conversely, more frequently treat these as variant interpretations of one event and not as two isolated events. Be that as it may, consider specifically the last two sentences of the Shiji passage quoted above, recounting how King Cheng offered the suburban sacrifice

6 Takigawa 1959: 33.1522–1523. 7 On this particular issue, see Shaughnessy 1997: 101–136.

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to the state of Lu. A very similar account appears in Zheng Xuan’s 鄭玄 (127– 200) commentary to the Shijing ode “Bi gong” 閟宮 (Mao 300): King Cheng thought the Duke of Zhou’s achievements were great and ordered that the state of Lu may perform the suburban sacrifice to Heaven and include the royal ancestor Hou Ji. As the sacrificial animal there should be used a purely brown ox, just as used by the Son of Heaven. And Heaven in return blessed and comforted them, bringing them large fortunes.

成王以周公功大，命魯郊祭天，亦配之以君祖後稷，其牲用赤牛純 色，與天子同也，天亦飨之宜之，多予之福。8

Similar accounts are found in many texts, including the “Mingtang wei” 明堂位 chapter of the Liji 禮記, the Hou Hanshu 後漢書,9 and the Shangshu dazhuan 尚書大傳 as quoted in Yan Shigu’s 顏師古 (581–645) commentary to the Hanshu 漢書.10 Even more direct than these passages, however, is the “Duoyi jie” 度邑解 chapter of the Yi Zhoushu 逸周書, where, following the destruction of the Shang capital, a sleepless King Wu explains to the Duke of Zhou how he worries about not yet having secured the realm and Heaven’s support. He then proceeds to ask the Duke of Zhou to inherit the throne and the Zhou royal enterprise. The Yi Zhoushu reads: The king said: “Dan, you are my intelligent younger brother, and so I have further demands of you. You are so busy that you cannot eat in peace, not to speak of taking care of your household. Now Heaven requires your service, for the spirits of heaven and earth have already decided my lifespan. I have not been able to bring peace to this state, but you have remained by my side. Although you are young, you are very wise. From the august ancestors of antiquity to those of the present, you are able to narrate for me all their virtues and achievements and make me emulate them. Therefore, I am just like a farmer cultivating my land, and when I am hungry, I look to you for my harvest. I have acted improperly and failed to secure positions with the Heavenly Emperor for our august ancestors. You, young one, pursue my ambitions and you shall be able to control this realm of ours. This way I will rest assured. If you miss home, your virtue 8 9 10

Ma Ruichen 1989: 20.1143. Hou Hanshu 61.2027–2028. Hanshu 67.2926.

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will not reach those above, and the people will not come together below, nor will I be able to sit with our high ancestors. And if Heaven does not offer its support, the future will bring disasters. Will you then be able to resolve them? However, if you as younger brother succeed me, the older brother, what need is there for me to perform the divination? Therefore, I will now establish you, Dan, [as my successor].” Dan was terrified, cried, and raised his hands in front of his chest. 王曰：「旦，汝維朕達弟，予有使汝，汝播食不遑暇食，矧其有乃 室，今維天使予，惟二神授朕靈期，予未致于休予，近懷于朕室，汝 維幼子，大有知。昔皇祖底于今，勖厥遺得，顯義告期，付于朕身， 肆若農服田，饑以望穫，予有不顯，朕卑皇祖，不得高位于上帝，汝 幼子庚厥心，庶乃來班朕大環，茲于有虞意，乃懷厥妻子，德不可追 于上，民亦不可答于下，朕不賓在高祖，維天不嘉，于降來省，汝其 可瘳于茲，乃今我兄弟相後，我筮龜其何所即，今用建庶建。」叔旦 恐，泣涕共手。11

The reliability of the Yi Zhoushu in relation to the Shangshu has of course been questioned. In pre-Qin times, however, no distinction was made between Shangshu and Yi Zhoushu or between the chapters that are now classified under these respective titles.12 The title Yi Zhoushu as the name of a body of textual material first appears as used by Xu Shen 許慎 (ca. 55–ca. 149), and what has been observed with regard to the content and structure of early Chinese manuscripts only strengthens the hypothesis that dealing with these titles as two separate textual units is methodologically problematic.13 In the Yi Zhoushu passage, the Duke of Zhou does not answer King Wu’s request either in the positive or the negative. I propose, however, that the Qinghua “Jinteng” manuscript may convincingly be read as the Duke of Zhou’s request for and acceptance of the position of Son of Heaven after the death of King Wu. In this reading of the Qinghua text, the Duke of Zhou accepts and fulfills King Wu’s decision to have the duke succeed him, secure Heaven’s support, and bring peace and stability to the newly established Zhou reign. This reading avoids a number of interpretive problems one would otherwise face when trying to understand the manuscript in terms of the received Shangshu.

11 12 13

Huang Huaixin 1995: 505–510. Li Xueqin 2011. Li Xueqin 2011.

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The Manuscript Does Not Mention the Duke’s Self-Sacrifice The starting point for the following analysis is the observation that the Qinghua manuscript does not contain any of the passages directly and unambiguously referring to self-sacrifice on the part of the Duke of Zhou that are included in received texts. Within the received “Jinteng” chapter, there are three such passages: 1.

2.

3.

The phrase “use Dan to substitute his person” (以旦代某之身) introduces a specific request directed by the Duke of Zhou to his spirit ancestors. At the end of his prayer, the Duke of Zhou then asks whether or not the spirits will grant his request and explains what different actions he will take in response to either a negative or an affirmative answer. Following the Duke of Zhou’s prayer, the chapter records a conversation between the duke and King Wu, where the Duke of Zhou assures his older brother that he “will suffer no harm” (王其無害). This implies that the duke’s prayer and subsequent divination had the aim of curing King Wu’s illness. After recounting how the Duke of Zhou hid his prayer document in the metal-bound coffer, the chapter proceeds to report the purported “result” of the duke’s activities, namely, that on the following day the king recuperated (王翼日乃瘳).

These are the only extant references in all of pre-Han literature that refer directly to the Duke of Zhou offering to sacrifice his life on behalf of King Wu. All of them also appear in slightly modified versions in the Shiji. The fact that none of these references are included in the Qinghua “Jinteng” manuscript, which otherwise remarkably closely follows the received Shangshu version, while not proving conclusively that they do not “belong” there, at least should make us reflect on the assumptions we bring to our reading of the manuscript. From this perspective, I will examine two passages in the text that have been notoriously difficult for traditional and modern commentators to resolve. The Qinghua “Jinteng” begins by situating the event chronologically three years after the Zhou conquest and then states that King Wu had fallen severely ill. The Duke of Zhou then constructs three platforms, one for each of his and King Wu’s ancestors, positions himself on a fourth platform, and has an official read out his prayer. The text of the prayer is similar but not identical to its received counterpart, which in Bernhard Karlgren’s translation reads as follows:

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Your chief descendant So-and-so has met with an epidemic sickness and is violently ill. If you three kings really (have the debt of a great son towards Heaven =) owe a great son to Heaven (i.e. if he must die), then substitute me, Tan, for So-and-so’s person. I am good and compliant, clever and capable, I have much talent and much skill, I can serve the Spirits. Your principal descendant does not, like me, Tan, have much talent and much skill, he cannot serve the Spirits. But he has been appointed in the Sovereign’s hall, extensively (i.e. everywhere) to possess the (regions of) the four quarters and thereby be able firmly to establish your descendants on the earth here below. Of the people of the four quarters, there are none who do not revere and fear him. Oh, do not let fall the precious mandate sent down by Heaven, then our former kings will also forever have a reliance and resort (i.e. sacrifices to sustain them). Now I will announce the inquiry to the great tortoise. If you grant me my wish (sc. that the king may recover), I will with the pi jade disc and the kuei tessera return and wait for your order (sc. to be called away by death). If you do not grant me my wish, I will shut up the jade disc and the tessera (i.e. no more function as officiant in sacrifice). 「惟爾元孫某，遘厲虐疾。若爾三王是有丕子之責于天，以旦代某之 身。予仁若考能，多材多藝，能事鬼神。乃元孫不若旦多材多藝，不 能事鬼神。乃命于帝庭，敷佑四方，用能定爾子孫于下地。四方之民 罔不祗畏。嗚呼！無墜天之降寶命，我先王亦永有依歸。今我即命于 元龜，爾之許我，我其以璧與珪歸俟爾 命；爾不許我，我乃屏璧與 珪。」14

The most obscure sentence in this passage is, in Karlgren’s translation, “If you three kings really (have the debt of a great son towards Heaven =) owe a great son to Heaven (i.e. if he must die)” (若爾三王是有丕子之責于天). The manuscript counterpart to this sentence is similar but presents some significant variation: 爾母(毋)乃有備子之責才(在)上. First, the manuscript lacks the conjunction ruo 若 (if), the noun san wang 三王 (three kings), and the emphatic shi 是. Instead, the manuscript version has two characters mu nai 母乃 that the editors consider a graphic variant of wu nai 毋乃, “is it not,” marking a rhetorical question. Second, the character yu 于 in the manuscript version is written cai 才, which the editors consider the common graphic variant for zai 在 (at), and the manuscript has shang 上 (above) rather than tian 天 (Heaven). Finally, instead of the character pi 丕 in the received text, the manuscript presents a 14

Karlgren 1950: 35.

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previously unencountered variant bei 備 (*brək-s) for the first character in the four-character phrase 丕子之責. Does the Prayer Speak of King Wu or the Duke of Zhou? In place of the variants pi 丕 / bei 備, the Shiji account has fu 負. The manuscript variant bei 備 does not offer support for any particular interpretation in previous scholarship. At the same time, however, according to Karlgren’s strict conditions for phonetic similarity in Old Chinese—that words must share a homorganic initial and belong to the same rhyme group—備 (*brək-s) is ­phonetically so close to the received variants 負 (*bəʔ) (Shiji) and 丕 (*phrə) (Shangshu) that it cannot on its own be used to subvert earlier interpreta­tions.15 The second character, zi 子, in the phrase 丕子之責 also has several variants in the textual tradition, including zi 茲 and ci 慈.16 The commentarial confusion regarding 備/負/丕 and 子/茲/慈 suggests that they together form something of a technical term. This hypothesis is further substantiated by He Xiu’s 何休 (129–182) commentary to the Gongyang zhuan 公羊傳 and Xu Guang’s 徐廣 (352–425) commentary to the Shiji, both of which explain this character combination as referring to “the illness of a duke.”17 Even if we do not accept this reading as such, it demonstrates that some early commentators read the two characters as a binome rather than as two separate words. The discovery of yet another character variant only strengthens this assumption. In the following, I suggest a new interpretation that fits the excavated text well but could not have been thought of by earlier commentators who worked exclusively with received versions of the text. The “Dazhuan” 大傳 chapter of the Liji contains the following passage: That the various sons [who are not the firstborn] do not sacrifice is in order to clarify who is the lineage head. That the various sons are not allowed to wear the three years’ mourning dress for their firstborn sons is because their firstborn sons do not succeed their second-degree [zu] ancestor. When an additional son [biezi] becomes the second-degree [zu] ancestor, he who succeeds him becomes [main] lineage head. His 15 16 17

Karlgren 1963: 1–18. As conveniently summarized in Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 3, 1253–1260. See, e.g., Pi Xirui 1989: 13.292.

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children who then succeed him, now the first-degree [ni] ancestor, become minor lineage heads. 庶子不祭，明其宗也。庶子不得為長子三年，不繼祖也。別子為祖， 繼別為宗，繼禰者為小宗。18

The Liji zhengyi 禮記正義 compiled in the Tang dynasty under Kong Yingda’s 孔穎達 (574–648) editorship explains the meaning of the term “additional son” (biezi 別子) as it appears in the above passage: [Biezi] refers to the younger brothers of a feudal lord’s firstborn son. They are differentiated [bie] from the legitimate successor and therefore called “additional sons.” … When they are called the “various sons” or “princes,” this is because as long as the primary successor has not been enthroned, the various sons and princes may still sacrifice to their father. That they are now called “additional sons,” however, is to clarify that the successor has been established as such. They are called “additional sons” because, although they are princes, they may no longer sacrifice to their father. 謂諸侯適子之弟，別於正適，故稱別子也 … 若稱庶子及公子，若世子 不立，則庶子公子皆得有禰先君之義。今言別子，明適子在故云。謂 之別子者，公子不得禰先君。19

During the Han dynasty, the “additional son” was frequently referred to as zhizi 支子 (branch son). Thus, the Mao commentary to the line “the grandchildren of King Wen spread the trunk and branches for a hundred generations” (文王 孫子，本支百世) in the ode “Wen Wang” 文王 (Mao 235) explains: “The ‘trunk’ refers to the ‘trunk’ [main] lineage, and ‘branches’ refer to the [lineages of] the ‘branch’ [other] brothers” (本，本宗也；支，支子也).20 While the Liji passage is the earliest transmitted source where the term “additional son” is used, another compound, beizi 北子, which appears in bronze inscriptions and more recently in excavated manuscripts, may refer to the same phenomenon. Li Xueqin 李學勤 suggests that 北子 in the following bronze inscription should be understood as “additional son”:

18 19 20

Sun Xidan 1989: 34.913–914. Liji zhengyi 1122. Ma Ruichen 1989: 797.

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Liu Zuo, the “additional son,” made this gui-vessel to offer food to his grandfather Ri Yi. May his children and grandchildren always treasure it for a myriad years. 翏作北子乍簋，用遺(饋)厥祖父日乙。其萬年子子孫孫永寶。21 There are several such instances of beizi in bronze inscriptions, most of which occur immediately before a personal name. Song Huaqiang 宋華強 has shown that the term beizi occurs with some frequency in bamboo manuscripts excavated in the 1960s from Wangshan 望山 in Hubei and suggests that these support Li Xueqin’s argument that 北子 be understood as “additional son.” In other contexts, the compound appears in the phrase “the king’s additional son” (王之北子). Song Huaqiang further points out that beizi/biezi probably could be used as a first-person pronoun.22 The character 北 (*pʕək) belongs to the zhi 職 rhyme group, while 別 (*pret) belongs to the yue 月 rhyme group. Phonetic interchange between these rhyme groups is uncommon but does occur. Thus, the “Tian wen zhi” 天文志 chapter of the Hanshu contains the sentence “the moon from the south enters the southern border of the Altair star” (月南入牽牛南戒), where jie 戒 (*kʕrək-s) appears to write the word usually written jie 界 (*kʕret-s).23 Nevertheless, Song Huaqiang does not think that the relationship between 北 (*pʕək) and 別 (*pret) should be explained in phonological terms. Instead, he provides additional textual examples from both received texts and excavated manuscripts where 北 appears to carry the meaning of 別, whose early epigraphic form is . Song further argues: It is possible that the character in the received dictionaries is always a miswriting of the character 北. In Warring States bamboo manuscripts and so on. If from Chu the character 北 is written [in the forms] the upper and lower parts on each side were written with just a little distance between them, it would turn into and could then be mistaken for the other character.

21 22 23

Li Xueqin 2004. Song Huaqiang 2009. Hanshu 26.1296. Another example of phonetic interchange between the two rhyme groups is huo 或 (*ɢwrək) (職) for he 曷 (*gʕat) (月).

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有可能傳世子書中的 字都是 “北” 字的訛體。戰國楚簡文字 “北” 字作 等形，左右上下兩筆寫開一些，就成 “ ” 形了，有可能被人誤 認爲是另外一個字。24

The Chinese commentarial tradition also contains instances of the character 北 being read as 別. The “Shun dian” 舜典 chapter of the Shangshu, for example, contains the sentence fen bei san miao 分北三苗.25 With reference to that Shangshu phrase, Pei Songzhi’s 裴松之 (372–451) commentary to the Sanguo zhi 三國志 quotes part of a memorial by Yu Fan 虞翻 (164–233), which in turn cites a gloss attributed to Zheng Xuan that “bei is the old character for bie” (北 古別字).26 Similarly, the Shiji jijie 史記集解 has Zheng Xuan paraphrasing the same Shangshu sentence as “splitting them up and exiling them” (分析流之).27 For the purposes of the present essay, as long as the relationship between 別 and 北 can be accepted, it matters less whether it is phonologically or paleographically based. Assuming that the identification of 北子 with 別子 is correct, the compound 備子 in the Qinghua “Jinteng” manuscript may well refer to the same word. The three variants of the received and manuscript “Jinteng” versions 備 (*brək-s), 負 (*bəʔ), and 丕 (*phrə) all belong to the zhi 之 rhyme group. Whereas interchange between the 之 and 月 (to which 別 belongs) rhyme groups is quite rare, there is significant overlap between the rhyme groups 之 and 職 (to which 北 belongs).28 The most obvious and relevant example is bei 背 (*pʕək-s) (之) for 北 (*pʕək) (職). On phonological grounds, with their homorganic initials and as members of the 之 and 職 rhyme groups, the characters 備 (*brək-s), 負 (*bəʔ), and 丕 (*phrə) could write the same word as 背 (*pʕək-s). There also is direct evidence for their interchangeability. For example, the “Li sheng Lu Jia liezhuan” 酈生陸 賈列傳 chapter of the Shiji contains the phrase “King Xiang broke the contract and did not join” (項王負約不與).29 In the Hanshu, the sentence has been rephrased to read “King Xiang turned his back on the contract and did not join” (項王背約不與), evidently taking for granted the interchangeability of bei 背 and fu 負.30 Similarly, the Shiji chapter “Pingjin hou zhu fu liezhuan” 平津侯主 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

Song Huaqiang 2009: 126. See the “Yao dian, xia” 堯典下 chapter in Sun Xingyan 1986: 73. Sanguo zhi 57.1323. Takigawa 1959: 1.58. Cf. Feng Qiyong and Deng Ansheng 2006. Takigawa 1959: 97.9. Hanshu 43.2109.

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父列傳 contains “[He] faced south with his back to the screen, folded his sleeves, and greeted the princes and dukes” (南面負扆攝袂而揖王公).31 The

Hanshu renders the same sentence as “[He] faced south, turning his back on the screen, folded his sleeves, and greeted the princes and dukes” (南面背依攝 袂而揖王公).32 Moreover, 負 (*bəʔ) is interchangeable with fu 服 (*bəʔ). The “Kao gong ji” 考工記 chapter of the Zhou li 周禮 contains the sentence “The pinfu carriage is two and two-thirds ax-handles wide” (牝服二柯有參分柯之二).33 In his commentary to this passage, Zheng Xuan states: “Fu 服 is to be read fu 負” (服讀為 負).34 This is relevant since 備 is also very common as a loan for 服 in its various senses and appears in common binomes like yibei 衣備 = yifu 衣服 (clothing) and zhengbei 征備 = zhengfu 征服 (to subdue).35 Considering the above, if we are ready to accept that 北子 as it appears in bronze inscriptions and excavated manuscripts refers to what in the Liji is called “additional sons” (別子), there is nothing problematic about accepting that 備子 (Qinghua manuscript) or 負子 (Shiji) could refer to the very same thing. But the evidence is not limited to the above, and I think it is possible to demonstrate beyond doubt that 備 and 別 are cognate words. In the Jingyi shuwen 經義述聞, Wang Yinzhi 王引之 (1766–1834) presents a convincing argument for glossing 別 (*pret) as bian 徧 (*pʕen-s; wide, extensive).36 He quotes the following passage from the “Kang gao” 康誥 chapter of the Shangshu: Shangshu: 往敷求于殷先哲王用保乂民 Pseudo–Kong Anguo commentary: 汝往之國當布求殷先智王之道用安 治民

You should go to the capital and search extensively for the Way of the former wise kings of Yin and use it to rule your people. Shangshu: 汝丕遠惟商耇成人宅心知訓 Pseudo–Kong Anguo commentary: 汝當大遠求商家耇老成人之道常以居 心則知訓民

You should search wide and far for the Way of the old and accomplished men of Shang, for if you keep it always in mind, you will know how to guide your people. 31 32 33 34 35 36

Takigawa 1959: 112.20. Hanshu 64A.2806. Sun Yirang 1987: 86.3522. Sun Yirang 1987: 86.3523. Feng Qiyong and Deng Ansheng 2006: 82. Wang Yinzhi 1920–1936: vol. 5, 57.

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Shangshu: 別求聞由古先哲王用康保民 Pseudo–Kong Anguo commentary: 又當別求所聞父兄用古先智王之道用 其安者以安民

Further, you should search extensively for accounts of how your father and older brother used the Way of the former wise kings and use that which worked well to bring peace to your people. Shangshu: 弘于天若德裕乃身不廢在王命 Pseudo–Kong Anguo commentary: 大于天爲順德則不見廢常在王命 Be greatly obedient to Heaven, so that your accumulated virtue will not be wasted, and the royal Mandate will be ever present in you. The parallelism in these sentences strongly suggests that 別 is semantically related to words like fu 敷 (*pha; spread out), 丕 (*phrə; wide, large), and hong 弘 (*ɢwʕəŋ; vast). Consider further the following passage from the Mozi 墨子: “Heaven loves the people dearly, Heaven loves the people inclusively” (且天之 愛百姓厚矣，天之愛百姓別矣).37 Wang Yinzhi also glosses 別 in this Mozi passage as 徧.38 Finally, the “Yueshu” 樂書 chapter of the Shiji contains the parallel sentence “he whose achievement is great, his music will be complete; he whose rule is accomplished, his rituals will be replete” (其功大者，其樂 備，其治辨，其禮具), to which the Shiji jijie commentary gives the following variant: “bian in one instance is written bie” (辨一作別).39 Judging from the parallelism in this passage, 別 again appears to be synonymous with words like da 大 (*lʕat-s; large), 備 (complete), and ju 具 (*go-s; replete). Since 負 is common in the binome yinfu 殷負 = yinfu 殷阜 (plenty), where it carries the meaning “large” (da 大),40 all the “Jinteng” variants discussed above備, 負, 丕, and 別share with each other one semantic field and carry a rough meaning of “large; extended; widespread; complete.” The term 別子 as it appears in the Liji, therefore, should probably not be understood as “other sons [than the firstborn]” but rather, as I have translated it throughout this essay, “additional sons.” It might perhaps also be understood through its Han dynasty synonym 支子 (branch sons), seeing that as they branch out, they “extend,” “widen,” and “add to” the clan whose trunk ideally remains undivided through a lineage of firstborn sons (zhangzi 長子 or shizi 適子). Consequently, it is perfectly plausible that 備子 in the Qinghua manuscript (for 丕子 in the received Shangshu version) is one of several possible graphic 37 38 39 40

Sun Yirang 2001: 211; W. P. Mei’s translation. Wang Niansun 1985: 75. Takigawa 1959: 24.24–25. Feng Qiyong and Deng Ansheng 2006: 869.

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variants of a term that in the Liji is written 別子. Thus, 備子 in the manuscript refers not to the firstborn son, King Wu, as some commentators have suggested (and as translated by Karlgren) but to the Duke of Zhou himself as an “additional son.” The following analysis demonstrates how such a gloss produces a strong reading of the manuscript text. Did Heaven Demand of the Zhou Ancestral Spirits the Death of King Wu? As already mentioned, at the very end of the received sentence “if you three kings really (have the debt of a great son towards Heaven =) owe a great son to Heaven (i.e. if he must die)” (若爾三王是有丕子之責于天), the manuscript version has “above” (zai shang 才[在]上) instead of the Shangshu and Shiji version “in Heaven” (yu tian 于天). This led pre-Song commentators to gloss ze 責 as “to owe something to someone” (負人物).41 The sentence is thus taken to mean: “Is it that you [the ancestral spirits] owe to Heaven a firstborn child?” In the Song dynasty, Cai Shen 蔡沈 (1167–1230) dismissed such a reading, suspecting that there were characters missing from the sentence: After “in Heaven” I suspect there is a passage missing. The traditional reading is that Heaven demands to take King Wu. This is incorrect. 「于天」之下疑有缺文，舊説謂天責取武王者，非是。42 Cai Shen glosses ze 責 as “responsibility, duty” and explains what he thinks the passage must have originally meant: Since King Wu is the first son of Heaven, the three kings should fulfill their protective duty to Heaven and not let him die. 蓋武王為天元子，三王當任其保護之責于天，不可令其死也。43 However, Cai Shen must have realized that such a reading could not be de­­ fended grammatically. There would have had to be a passage missing that meant something like “do not let him die.” Otherwise, the following sentence, “use Dan to substitute his person” (以旦代某之身), would make little sense. It 41 42 43

See Kong Yingda’s subcommentary in Shangshu zhengyi 396. Cai Shen 1987: 80. Cai 1987: 80.

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is evident, therefore, that Cai Shen chose a grammatically defunct reading as the lesser of two evils, as he realized how absurd it would be to assume that the Zhou ancestral spirits were being pressured by Heaven into removing King Wu from his earthly duties as heir to their newly established kingdom. The idea of ancestral spirits retaining their social roles and attending to their tasks after death is supported primarily by the “Pan Geng” 盤庚 chapter of the Shangshu. But there the ancestors either punish their descendants for misbehaving on earth and thus not living up to the accumulated virtue (de 德) of the clan, or they send blessings and protection. There is no early textual support for the idea that Heaven would demand from the spirit ancestors the offering of a living descendant. Fortunately, the manuscript version on this point saves us from having to choose between a culturally improbable but grammatically acceptable reading, on the one hand, and a grammatically problematic paraphrase, on the other. The term 才(在)上 not only implies no direct reference to Heaven but also appears quite frequently in bronze inscriptions, where it without exception refers to the ancestral spirits. Consider the following examples: My deceased father dwells gloriously above and aids me on earth. 皇考嚴才上，異才下44 My deceased father who dwells gloriously above 皇考其嚴才上45 Both inscriptions, and there are many more, show that 才上 (above; in Heaven) was commonly used in referring to the relationship between dead ancestors and living descendants. If the manuscript passage is interpreted with this usage of 才上, it does not refer to Heaven but should be read in conjunction with the pronoun er 爾 as a reference to the ancestral spirits: “You [ancestral spirits] … above.” Taking now all of the above into account, my translation of the whole prayer in the Qinghua manuscript reads as follows:

44 45

Guo diao lü-zhong 虢弔旅鐘, accessed May 15, 2016 . Shi fu-zhong 士父鐘, accessed May 15, 2016 .

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Your firstborn grandson Fa has met with a terrible disease. Is it not that you above have a demand for your additional son [to take his place in the ancestral line]? Your firstborn grandson Fa is not the equal of [me,] Dan, that is, in being good and compliant, clever and capable, talented and skilled, able to serve the spirits, and of being mandated in the [Heavenly] Emperor’s court to possess the four quarters and settle your sons and grandsons down here on earth. If you accept me [as his successor], I will present you with this bi-disk and gui-tablet. If you do not accept me, I return with this bi-disk and gui-tablet. 爾元孫發也，遘害虐疾，爾毋乃有備子之責在上？隹爾元孫發也，不 若旦也，是年若巧能，多才多藝，能事鬼神，命於帝廷，溥有四 方，以定爾子孫於下地。爾之許我，我則晉璧與珪；爾不我許，我乃 以璧與珪歸。46

The Duke of Zhou Offers to Replace King Wu as Ruler In the following I will focus on the two passages in the manuscript that read (1) 其所為自以代王之敚 and (2) 周公之所自以為自以代武王之敚. There are two similar passages in the received text, which in Karlgren’s translation read (1) “the prince then proffered himself” (公乃自以為功) and (2) “the words by which Chou Kung proffered himself to take the place of Wu Wang” (乃得周公 所自以為功代武王之說).47 The discrepancies between the manuscript and the received versions are significant and make it highly problematic to apply commentaries based on the received text to the reading of the manuscript text. In the following, therefore, I limit my engagement with the commentarial tradition to the interpretation of two central characters, one of which is gong 功 (received Shangshu) versus (manuscript), and the other is shuo 說 (received Shangshu) versus duo 敚 (manuscript). On the basis of the interpretation of these two characters, a straightforward reading of the manuscript text may be established. The interchangeability of 敚 and 說 is widely attested. The character 敚 appears frequently in prayer or divination texts found among the Warring States bamboo manuscripts from Baoshan 包山 (Hubei). The character in these texts usually appears as a verb in the phrase “for this reason, propitiate it 46 47

Here I represent the text as interpreted in modern characters. See my annotated translation below for additional notes. Karlgren 1950: 35–36.

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[i.e., the spirits or Heaven]” (以其古[故]敚之). It seems straightforward to take 敚 in the Qinghua “Jinteng” manuscript as referring to some sort of prayerrelated action.48 Another piece of suggestive evidence is found in the “Rongcheng shi” 容成氏 text among the Warring States bamboo manuscripts held in the Shanghai Museum. Toward its end, “Rongcheng shi” relates how King Wu, before moving his forces against the Shang, said: “The completely virtuous matter is that I convince [敚] him [Zhouxin] to be replaced; second to it, I shall invade and replace him” (成德者，吾敚而代之。其次，吾伐而代之).49 Although it is rather unclear how 敚 is to be understood here, it is presented as a less violent alternative to fa 伐 (kill; subdue by military force) in the act of dai 代 (replacing) a ruler. I find it plausible that 敚 in “Rongcheng shi” is closely related to the same character in the “Jinteng” manuscript, and that it refers to an act of willingly ceding and transferring power through ritual observances involving Heaven and the ancestral spirits—that is, what we today may refer to as an act of abdication. Indeed, we find in the Mencius a similar description of Yao’s abdicating the throne in favor of Shun. There, the “Wan Zhang” chapter relates how Yao “made him [Shun] preside over the sacrifices, and the many spirits were pleased; this [is what is meant by] Heaven accepting him [as the new ruler]” (使之主祭而百神享之，是天受之).50 This strongly supports my reading of the Qinghua “Jinteng” manuscript as a description of the Duke of Zhou’s ritual activities: not as a self-sacrifice for his brother King Wu but rather as a royal succession ceremony for the good of the Zhou kingdom. As for , the Shiji gives the variant zhi 質 rather than 功 in the first of the received passages under discussion but is identical to the received “Jinteng” in the second. It has been commonly assumed that and its variants relate somehow to the duke’s self-sacrifice. Jiang Sheng 江聲 (1721–1799) interpreted the Shiji variant 質 as follows: “It refers to the ‘hostage’ in [a passage like] ‘Zhou and Zheng exchanged hostages’” (周鄭交質之質).51 Implying a similar interpretation, Mi Yan has suggested taking as a loan for gong 貢 (tribute).52 Although this loan is well attested, it leads to a very forced and probably grammatically impossible reading of gong zi 貢自 as “to present himself as tribute.” Alternatively, it has been argued that the manuscript variant supports a reading suggested by several Qing scholars that takes 功 as gong 攻, that is, as 48 49 50 51 52

See, e.g., Chen Minzhen and Hu Kai 2011: 38–39. The translation follows Pines 2010: 523. Jiao Xun 1987: 19.644 (Mengzi 5A.5). Jiang Sheng 1988: 395.888a. Mi Yan 2011.

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one of the “great invocator’s” (da zhu 大祝) responsibilities in the Zhou li.53 Zheng Xuan’s gloss “with ‘gong’ and ‘shuo’ a request is made to them [the spirits] by means of words” (攻、說，則以辭責之) appears to fit the context.54 However, while this reading provides a cluster of terms with related meanings, it becomes exceedingly difficult to construct the sentence grammatically. Moreover, Li Xueqin has argued that since 攻 in the Baoshan manuscripts refers to an exorcism ritual (gongjie 攻解 or gongchu 攻除) directed at evil spirits, it cannot possibly be what the “Jinteng” character 功 refers to.55 Since we are not bound to accept the story of the duke’s self-sacrifice, may simply be read as 功 in its common meaning of “merit, achievement.” The character appears frequently and unambiguously in this sense in other early Chinese manuscripts.56 Furthermore, as Huang Hui has demonstrated, Wang Chong’s Lunheng consistently paraphrases the “Jinteng” story in ways that imply that he read gong 功 as gongde 功德 (merit).57 There is no lack of 功 in this usage in received texts, and it appears as such in grammatical constructions almost identical to those of the manuscript text. The “Shui nan” 說難 chapter of the Han Feizi 韓非子, for example, contains the following passage: Whenever a noble man acquires a scheme and desires to regard it as his own achievement, and the persuader knows about this, those who are in that position are in danger. 貴人或得計而欲自以為功，說者與知焉，如此者身危。58 On the basis of the above analysis, I translate the two passages as follows: (1) “his written prayer that, on the basis of his achievements, he replace the king” (其所為功自以代王之敚) and (2) “the Duke of Zhou’s written prayer that, on the basis of what he regarded as his achievements, he replace King Wu” (周公 之所自以為功自以代武王之敚).

53 54 55 56 57 58

Chen Minzhen and Hu Kai 2011: 38–39; Hong Yixuan 1822: chap. 1. See Zheng Xuan quoted in Sun Yirang 1987: 49.1987. Li Xueqin 2008. Bai Yulan 2008: 255–256. Huang Hui 1990: 18.792. Wang Xianshen 1998: 88.

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Conclusion The above argument could not have been made before the discovery of the Qinghua “Jinteng” manuscript. Most scholars working on this manuscript have read it in conjunction with the received versions and concluded that they are basically the same text.59 The general narrative has been taken for granted, and in-depth studies of the text have focused on deciding on a case-by-case basis what should be the preferred graphic variants. As this essay has demonstrated, however, the crucial difference between the manuscript and the received versions lies not in graphic variants but in the lack of any explicit reference in the manuscript text to the Duke of Zhou offering to sacrifice his life for King Wu. This is the observation that makes it possible to offer a solution to the longstanding commentarial confusion over the passages discussed above, and with those riddles resolved, the “Jinteng” story is much less the anomaly it was to readers like Cheng Yi and Yuan Mei. It remains to answer the question why the received versions of Shiji and Shangshu both differ from the manuscript. If my reading can be accepted, we have to assume the existence in the Han dynasty, at the latest, of two diametrically opposed versions of the “Jinteng” story, each with its own political implications. Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 (1893–1980) once suggested that the strong ruler-minister distinction between King Cheng and the Duke of Zhou was created by Eastern Han exegetes in reaction to Wang Mang’s usurpation of the throne and his use, for that purpose, of a pre-Qin image of the Duke of Zhou as a strong ruler. These Eastern Han interpolations, according to Gu Jiegang, would have included revising certain Shiji passages: The early Zhou historical events recorded in the “Basic Annals of Zhou” chapter of the Shiji are similar to the received prefaces to the Shangshu, and we can say with certainty that it was in order to disseminate their own political views that Eastern Han scholars either copied the revised Shangshu prefaces into the Shiji or rewrote the original text of the Shiji.

《史記 • 周本紀》中所記周初史事和《今本書序》文字相同，也該斷說 為東漢以後人為了達到他們的政治的宣傳目的，因而把改定的《書 序》文字鈔進去或是把《史記》原文改寫了的。60

59 60

By contrast, Dirk Meyer (2014 and chapter 6 in the present volume) shows that the two texts develop different narratives with contrasting sociopolitical implications. Gu Jiegang 1998: 36.

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With regard to the “Jinteng” chapter, it is indeed with Eastern Han exegetes like Ma Rong 馬融 (79–166) and Zheng Xuan that we see the appearance of completely new interpretations. The most obvious one is the already-mentioned ancient script reading of the passage “the Duke of Zhou resided in the east” (Zhougong ju dong 周公居東) as referring, not to a military campaign, but to a period of self-chosen exile to avoid suspicions of usurpation. It would be worth investigating further the possibility that the Qinghua “Jinteng” as discussed here represents a version of the narrative about the Duke of Zhou and his relationship to King Wu and King Cheng that preceded a hypothetical Eastern Han reinterpretation and indeed rewriting. In this earlier version—although we should not discard the possibility that the two versions coexisted even before the Han dynasty—the Duke of Zhou was unequivocally presented as having succeeded to the Zhou throne after the demise of King Wu, with the endorsement of the ancestral spirits and of Heaven, and that he subsequently passed the rule on to his nephew. The “Jinteng” manuscript does not pass negative judgment on the Duke of Zhou for these actions; quite the contrary, what matters most to the narrative is not the life or death of one man but the fate of the newly established Zhou kingdom. This brings us to the wider context in which the Qinghua “Jinteng” may be understood. If authentic, the manuscript was in all probability written down during the Warring States period. This was a time without a centralized monarchy that witnessed the demise of old aristocratic lineages and the rise of political thinkers who depended to a considerable degree on their intellectual achievements in the pursuit of social station. While incessant interstate conflicts produced the ideal of unity under a single and hereditary ruling house, recently discovered manuscripts suggest that such arguments for hereditary succession were formulated in response to an opposing argument for royal abdication in favor of worthy men, who deserved the throne because of their merit and achievement.61 The main reason we do not find much of the latter tradition in transmitted texts was its highly subversive nature under the hereditary ruling houses of the Qin and Han dynasties.62 Consequently, it is necessary to consider the extent to which certain texts were manipulated or revised during the Han dynasty, when they were transcribed into Han script.63 In the wake of the Wang Mang interregnum in particular, Eastern Han scholars had compelling reasons to 61 62 63

Yuri Pines and Sarah Allan have both written extensively on this topic; see, e.g., Pines 2005a, 2005b; Allan 2015. Possible traces of the abdication doctrine’s suppression during the Eastern Han are identified in Martin Kern’s chapter on “Yao dian” in this volume (chapter 1). Allan 2015: 22.

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reinterpret canonical texts in a way that further downplayed the ancient abdication doctrine. And if Eastern Han scholars to some extent managed to create interpretive ambiguity surrounding Yao’s abdication to Shun, as argued by Martin Kern, they were even more successful in effacing the Duke of Zhou’s seemingly irregular succession to the throne after the demise of King Wu.64 It is therefore quite plausible that the Qinghua “Jinteng” manuscript, with its emphasis on the Duke of Zhou as successor to King Wu because of his merit and achievement, represented a version of the story that favored meritocratic over hereditary succession, which in turn explains why this legend about the Duke of Zhou was so significantly revised to create the received account of the “Jinteng” narrative in the Shiji and the Shangshu. Appendix: Annotated Translation of the Qinghua “Jinteng” Manuscript65 Title: The Duke of Zhou’s ambition to replace the king on account of King Wu of Zhou’s illness.66 【Slip 14 (back)】周武王又(有)疾，周公所自以弋(代)王之志。

Text: Three years after King Wu had conquered Yin, the king was unwell for a lasting period of time.67 The two dukes beseeched the Duke of Zhou, saying: “We request 64 65

66

67

Cf. Kern’s chapter on “Yao dian” in this volume (chapter 1). The transcription follows Li Xueqin 2010: vol. 1; as well as Chen Minzhen and Hu Kai 2011. For a different translation, see Dirk Meyer’s contribution (chapter 6) in this volume. I have used the following abbreviations in the notes: SJ (Shiji), SJJJ (Shiji jijie), SS (Shangshu), SWJZ (Shuowen jiezi), and YZS (Yi Zhoushu). The manuscript title was never included in received versions of “Jinteng,” but it strongly supports a reading of the manuscript version as describing the Duke of Zhou’s unambiguous intention to ascend to the throne in place of King Cheng. Liao Mingchun 廖名春 (2006) adduces parallels to show that 之志 occurs as part of text titles in Zuo zhuan, meaning simply “the record of …,” but on the basis of my discussion, I am inclined to a more literal reading as above. Instead of bu yu you chi 不𤶠又𡰥, received variants include you ji fu yu 有疾弗豫 (SS); you ji bu yu 有疾不豫 (SJ); bu yu you jia 不豫有加 (YZS); and you ji bu yu 有疾不悆

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ribbing gren to perform a mu-divination on behalf of the king.”68 The Duke of Zhou said: “[You] may not treat the former kings as family.”69 【Slip 1】武王旣克 (殷)三年，王不𤶠，又𡰥。二公告周公曰：「我亓(其)爲 王穆卜。」周公曰：「未可㠯(以)【Slip 2】 (慼) (吾)先王。」 The Duke of Zhou then made three elevated platforms on the same leveled ground.70 He made one elevated platform on the southern side [of the leveled ground], and the Duke of Zhou stood on it, holding a bi-disk and a gui-tablet.71 周公乃爲三坦 (壇 )同 (墠 )，爲一坦 (壇 )於南方，周公立 (焉 )，秉璧 (植 ) 珪。

68

69

70 71

(SWJZ); and the Qinghua “Baoxun” 保訓 manuscript also has an instance of bu yu 不𤶠. SWJZ glosses 悆 as “happy” (xi 喜), and the “Gu ming” 顧命 chapter of the SS has the phrase wang bu yi 王不懌, which the pseudo–Kong Anguo commentary paraphrases “the king was sick and therefore unhappy” (wang you ji, gu bu yue yi 王有疾，故不悅懌). My translation “unwell” covers both physical and mental aspects of the king’s illness. Liao Mingchun (2011) argues that 𡰥 may be read as 㾕, glossed as “cold disorder” (hanbing 寒 病) (SWJZ), suggesting that the word order of the manuscript and received versions has merely been inverted. However, Liao’s suggestion lacks textual parallels. Song Huaqiang (2011) follows the Qinghua editors’ reading of 𡰥 as a variant of 𨒈, glossed as “delayed, lasting” (chi 遲) (SWJZ). Er ya 爾雅 glosses gao 告 as “beseech, request” (qing 請). SJ specifies the “two dukes” as Tai gong 太公 and Shao gong 召公, that is, the minister Jiang Ziya 姜子牙 and King Wu’s younger halfbrother and Grand Protector Ji Shi 姬奭. Liu Qiyu follows Qing scholars in taking mubu 穆卜 to be a technical term regarding divination. The common gloss of 穆 as “respectful” (jing 敬) or “harmonious” (mu 睦) adds no relevant information in this case. See Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: 1225. The character is transcribed as qi 慼, corresponding to qi 戚 in SS and SJ. The Kong Anguo commentary quoted in the SJJJ reads 戚 as the verb “to approach” (jin 近), while Zheng Xuan’s gloss reads 戚 as the verb “to worry” (you 憂). Zheng’s gloss coincides with the SWJZ glossing of qi 慽 as “sorrow, worry” (憂). Liao Mingchun (2011) read 戚 as a variant of chu 俶, meaning “to move” (dong 動) in the sense that a mu-divination would not be sufficient to “move” the hearts of the former kings (只憑“穆卜”，不可能打動我們 的先王). I think that 戚 here is better understood in its common meaning of the putative verb “to regard as family, to associate closely with.” Regarding glosses on tan 坦 and shan 墠, see, e.g., Chen Minzhen’s note on this passage in Chen Minzhen and Hu Kai 2011. I follow Song Huaqiang’s (2011) suggestion that bing 秉 and zhi 植, which appear in switched positions in SS, may be regarded as synonymous in this case.

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The shi-official then made an invocation based on a written document72 and beseeched the former kings, saying: “Your firstborn grandson Fa has met with a terrible disease.73 Is it not that you above have a demand for your additional son [to take his place in the ancestral line]?74 Your firstborn grandson Fa is not the equal of [me,] Dan, that is, in being good and compliant, clever and capable,75 talented and skilled, able to serve the spirits, and of being mandated in the [Heavenly] Emperor’s court to possess the four quarters and settle your sons and grandsons down here on earth.76 If you accept me [as his successor], I will present you with this bi-disk and gui-tablet.77 If you do not accept me, I return with this bi-disk and gui-tablet.” 史乃册【 Slip 3】祝，告先王曰 ：「尔 (爾 )元孫癹 (發 )也， (遘 )(害 ) (虐 ) 疾，尔 (爾 )母 (毋 )乃有備子之責才(在 )上。隹 (惟 )尔 (爾 )元孫癹 (發 )也，【 Slip  4】不若但(旦)也，是年(佞)若丂(巧)能，多 (才)多埶(藝)，能事 (鬼)神，命 于帝 ( 庭 ) ，尃 ( 溥 ) 又 ( 有 ) 四方，㠯 ( 以 ) 奠 ( 定 ) 尔 ( 爾 ) 子【 Slip 5 】孫于下 (地)。尔(爾)之 (許)我，我則 (厭)璧與珪；尔不我 (許)，我乃㠯(以)璧與 珪 (歸)。

72 73

74 75

76

77

The shi 史 here was probably a high-ranking ritual specialist in charge of written documents, the invocation of which was one of his primary responsibilities. See Kern 2010. I am not competent to deal with the paleographical problems of transcribing this line, but I follow the transcription gou hai nüe ji 遘害虐疾 and interpret it in a general way as translated above. See discussion above. Liao Mingchun (2011) has suggested that the character shi 是 here implies a cause-andeffect relationship (相當於 “因為”), but he provides no supporting early textual parallels. Song Huaqiang (2011) thinks that 是 is a variant of shi 寔 in the sense of “truly, indeed” (shi 實). I take 是 as introducing further explanation to what precedes it. I am unsure how to interpret the words nian ruo qiao neng 年若巧能; my translation follows Karlgren 1950: 35. The received “Jinteng” suggests that King Wu should be the subject of this passage ming yu di ting 命于帝庭, and Liao Mingchun (2006) has pointed out that from this perspective, the manuscript version is “illogical” (邏輯混亂). The manuscript version, however, is straightforward if we assume that the whole passage following 是 and ending with xia di 下地 refers to the Duke of Zhou. has been identified in other manuscripts as the character yan 厭. Accepting that identification for the “Jinteng” manuscript, Song Huaqiang (2011) has argued that 厭 (*ʔem) is a graphic variant of gan 贛 (*komʔ), glossed as “to give” (ci 賜) (SWJZ). He further demonstrates that 贛 appears with this meaning in bronze inscriptions. See Xu Zaiguo 2003.

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ribbing gren The Duke of Zhou then put into the metal-bound coffer his written prayer that, on the basis of his achievements, he replace the king.78 He then ordered the servicemen, saying: “Do not dare to speak of this!” 周公乃內 (納 )亓 (其 )【 Slip 6】所爲 (功 )，自㠯 (以 )弋 (代 )王之敚，于金 (縢)之匱，乃命執事人曰：「勿敢言。」 Later, King Wu died.79 Because King Cheng was young in the position [of ruler], Guan Shu and his various brothers spread rumors in the capital, saying: “The duke will not be beneficial to the young child.”80 (就)𨒥(後)，武王力(陟)，(成)王由【Slip 7】(幼)才(在)立(位)，官(管)弔(叔) 﨤(及)亓(其)羣兄俤(弟)乃流言于邦，曰：「公𨟻(將)不利於需(孺)子。」 The Duke of Zhou then told the two dukes: I … have nothing with which to face again the former kings.81 The Duke of Zhou went east for three years, and the troublemakers were then apprehended. Later, the Duke of Zhou left to the king a song called “Zhouxiao.”82 But the king did not welcome the duke.83

78 79 80

81

82 83

See discussion above. No consensus exists over how exactly to explain the character li 力 here, but scholars agree that it must mean “to die.” The Qinghua editors take you 由 as “still, yet” (you 猶). I read it in conjunction with nai 乃 in the following clause as “because … so …” According to SJ, Guan Shu was the third son of King Wen’s primary wife, younger than King Wu but older than the Duke of Zhou. The bamboo slip here lacks what seem to have been four characters. The received “Jinteng” has the three characters fu pi wo 弗辟我. The pseudo–Kong Anguo commentary and SWJZ both gloss 辟 as “subdue by law” (fa 法). Ma Rong and Zheng Xuan both gloss 辟 as “withdraw, avoid” (bi 避). This is related to the commentarial debate mentioned above over whether the Duke of Zhou led a military expedition to subdue a political revolt in the old Shang territories or went into voluntary exile. Scholars generally agree that zhou 周 (*tiw) is a graphical variant of chi 鴟 (*thij) and that 周鴞 corresponds to Mao ode 155. For ni 逆, received texts have the variants qiao 誚 (SS), xun 訓 (S), and rang 讓 (pseudo– Kong Anguo commentary). The meaning of the manuscript character 逆 here is ambiguous, as it carries two meanings based on the same word stem, either “go to meet, welcome” or “go out against, reproach.” Chen Jian (2011) reads the character in its positive sense as “welcome, accept” and further suggests from a paleographical perspective how the various variants might have come about. I agree, assuming that the reading of 逆 here should be consistent with that of the same character in the following passages: “I, the young one, wish to personally welcome the duke” (wei yu chongren qi qin ni gong 惟余沖人其親逆 公) and “the king then went to welcome the duke” (wang nai chu ni gong 王乃出逆公).

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周公乃告二公曰：「我之【Slip 8】 □□□□ 亡(無)㠯(以) (復)見於先王。 」周公石東三年，𥛔(禍 )人乃斯𠭁(得 )。於𨒥(後 )，周公乃 (遺 )王志 (詩 )， 【Slip 9】曰《周(鴟)鴞》。王亦未逆公。

That year the autumn crops were greatly abundant, but there was no harvest. In the sky there were fierce winds and lightning. The crops were all bent down, and large trees were all uprooted.84 The men of the state … caps, the officials in black robes, and thus opened the metal-bound coffer.85 是 (歲 )也， (萩—秋 )大䈞 (熟 )，未 (穫 )。天疾風㠯 (以 )靁 (雷 )，禾斯妟 (偃 )，大木斯 (拔 )。邦人【 Slip 10】□□□□覍 (弁 )，夫〓 (大夫 ) (綴— 端)，㠯(以)𢼄(啓)金  (縢)之匱。 The king obtained the Duke of Zhou’s written prayer that, on the basis of what he regarded as his achievements, he replace King Wu.86 The king asked the servicemen, who said: “That is true, but the duke ordered us not to dare speak about it.”87 The king, sobbing, grasped the document.88 He said: “Formerly the duke worked diligently for the royal family, but I, the young one, did not know about it! Now August Heaven is moving the spirits to make manifest the duke’s virtue.89 I, the young one, wish to personally welcome the duke, and to do so is also in accord with the rituals of our state.90 The king then went to welcome the duke, as far as the suburb. 84 85 86 87

88

89

90

The character si 斯 is commonly glossed “all, completely” (jin 盡) in early texts. See Chen Minzhen and Hu Kai 2011: 58. The manuscript appears to lack four characters because of a broken slip. The reading of as duan 端 in the sense of “black ritual robes” (xuanduan 玄端) follows Chen Jian 2011. See discussion above. As several scholars have pointed out, the character yi 殹 should be interpreted in the same way as the received variant yi 噫, which Wang Niansun 王念孫 (1744–1832) read as a graphic variant of yi 抑 in the sense “however, but.” See Wang Yinzhi 1982: 67. The Qinghua editors read bu 捕 as “spread out” (bu 布), but various possibilities have been suggested for taking 捕 in the sense of “to hold, grasp.” See Song Huaqiang’s comment as quoted in Chen Minzhen and Hu Kai 2011: 65–66. The character gui 鬼 (*k-ʔujʔ) could be taken as a graphic variant of either wei 畏 (*ʔuj-s) or wei 威 (*ʔuj) in the sense of “awe-inspiring,” but I do not see the point of such a substitution. The interpretation of this passage is closely related to the modern-script versus ancientscript commentarial debate mentioned above. According to Zheng Xuan, who has been taken in this case to represent the ancient-script tradition, this passage refers to King Cheng welcoming the Duke of Zhou back from his self-chosen exile in Chu. The SJ, however, explicitly states that the “welcoming” occurred after the death of the duke, in which case the passage must refer to burial rituals. This supports the claims discussed above that

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ribbing gren 王 𠭁 ( 得 ) 周 公 之 所 自 㠯 ( 以 ) 爲   ( 功 ) ， 㠯 ( 以 ) 弋 ( 代 ) 武 王 之 敚 。 王 𦖞 ( 問 )

執【 Slip 11 】事人，曰 ：「信，殹公命我勿敢言。」王捕 ( 搏 ) 箸 ( 書 ) 㠯 ( 以 ) (泣 )，曰 ： 「昔公堇 (勤 ) (勞 )王 (家 )，隹 (惟 )余 (沈—沖 )人亦弗﨤 (及 ) 【Slip 12】智(知)。今皇天(動)鬼，㠯(以)章(彰)公悳(德)。隹(惟)余 (沈—沖) 人亓(其) (親)逆公，我邦 (家)豊(禮)亦宜之。」王乃出逆公【Slip 13】至鄗 (郊)。

That evening, Heaven turned the winds around, and the crops all rose up. As for the large trees that had been uprooted, the two dukes [Jiang Ziya and Ji Shi] ordered the men of the state to plant them all again. The year was greatly prosperous, and the autumn brought a great harvest. 是夕，天反風，禾斯 (起)▃， (凡)大木 (之所) (拔)，二公命邦人 (盡) (復) (築)之▃。 (歲)大又(有)年， (萩—秋)【Slip 14】則大 (穫)┗。

References Allan, Sarah. 2015. Buried Ideas: Legends of Abdication and Ideal Government in Early Chinese Bamboo-Slip Manuscripts. Albany: State University of New York Press. Bai Yulan 白於藍. 2008. Jiandu boshu tongjiazi zidian 簡牘帛書通假字字典. Fuzhou: Fujian renmin chubanshe. Cai Shen蔡沈. 1987. Shujing jizhuan 書經集傳. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Chen Jian 陳劍. 2011. January 9 post to Qinghua jian Jinteng yandu zhaji 清華簡金縢研 讀札記 . Accessed May 22, 2016 . Chen Li 陳立. 1994. Baihutong shuzheng 白虎通疏證. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Chen Minzhen 陳民鎮 and Hu Kai 胡凱. 2011. “Qinghua jian Jinteng jishi” 清華簡金縢 集釋 . Accessed May 22, 2016 . Cheng Yi 程頤 and Cheng Hao 程顥 . 1981. Er Cheng ji 二程集 . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Feng Qiyong 馮其庸 and Deng Ansheng 鄧安生. 2006. Tongjiazi huishi 通假字彙釋. Beijing: Beijing Daxue chubanshe. Goldin, Paul R. 2013. “Heng Xian and the Problem of Studying Looted Artifacts.” Dao 12.2: 153–160. King Cheng eventually recognized the duke as his predecessor on the throne and gave him a royal burial. On the various commentarial positions, see, e.g., Karlgren 1970: 257– 258 (gloss 1583).

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Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛. 1998. “Zhougong zhizheng chengwang: Zhougong dongzheng shishi kaozheng zhi er” 周公執政稱王周公東征史事考證之二. In Zhougong shezheng chengwang yu Zhou chu shishi lunji 周公攝政稱王與周初史事論集, ed. Guo Weichuan 郭偉川, 1–15. Beijing: Beijing tushuguan chubanshe. Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 and Liu Qiyu劉起釪. 2005. Shangshu jiaoshi yilun 尚書校釋譯論. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Hanshu 漢書. 1962. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Hong Yixuan. 1822. Dushu conglu 讀書叢錄. N.p.: Fuwenzhai. Hou Hanshu 後漢書. 1965. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Huang Huaixin 黃懷信. 1995. Yi Zhoushu huijiao jizhu 逸周書彙校集注. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Huang Hui 黃暉. 1990. Lunheng jiaoshi 論衡校釋. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Jiang Sheng 江聲. 1988. Shangshu jizhu yinshu 尚書集注音疏. In Qing jingjie 清經解, ed. Ruan Yuan 阮元. Shanghai: Shanghai shudian. Jiao Xun 焦循. 1987. Mengzi zhengyi 孟子正義. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1950. “The Book of Documents.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 22: 1–81. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1963. “Loan Characters in Pre-Han Texts.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 35: 1–128. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1970. Glosses on the “Book of Documents.” Stockholm: Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities. Kern, Martin. 2010. “Offices of Writing and Reading in the Rituals of Zhou.” In Statecraft and Classical Learning: The “Rituals of Zhou” in East Asian History, ed. Benjamin A. Elman and Martin Kern, 64–93. Leiden: Brill. Li Xueqin 李學勤. 2004. “Zhangzi, Zhongzi he Biezi” 長子、中子和別子. In Zhongguo gudai wenming yanjiu 中國古代文明研究, ed. Li Xueqin, 91–94. Shanghai: Huadong Shifan Daxue. Li Xueqin 李學勤. 2008. “Shangshu Jinteng yu chujian daoci” 尚书金縢与楚简祷辞. In Wenwu zhong de gu wenming 文物中的古文明, ed. Li Xueqin, 408–412. Beijing: Shangwu yinshuguan. Li Xueqin 李學勤. 2010. Qinghua Daxue cang zhan’guo zhujian 清華大學藏戰國竹簡. Vol. 1. Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi chuban jituan. Li Xueqin 李學勤. 2011. “Qinghua jian yu Shangshu, Yi Zhou shu de yanjiu” 清华简 与《尚书》《逸周书》的研究. Shixue shi yanjiu 史學史研究 142.2: 104–109. Liao Mingchun 廖名春. 2006. “Qinghua jian yu Shangshu yanjiu” 清華簡與尚書研究. Wen shi zhe 文史哲 321: 120–125. Liao Mingchun 廖名春. 2011. “Qinghua jian Jinteng pian bushi” 清華簡金縢篇補釋. Accessed May 22, 2016 .

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Liji zhengyi 禮記正義. 2001. Taipei: Taiwan guji chubanshe. Liu Guozhong 劉國忠. 2011. “Cong Qinghua jian ‘Jinteng’ kan chuanshi ben ‘Jinteng’ de wenben wenti” 從清華簡《金縢》看傳世本《金縢》的文本問題. Qinghua Daxue xuebao 清華大學學報 (zhexue shehui kexue ban 哲學社會科學版) 26.4: 40–43. Ma Ruichen 馬瑞辰. 1989. Maoshi zhuanjian tongshi 毛詩傳箋通釋. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Meyer, Dirk. 2014. “The Art of Narrative and the Rhetoric of Persuasion in the ‘*Jinteng’ (Metal Bound Casket) from the Tsinghua Collection of Manuscripts.” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 68.4: 937–968. Mi Yan 米雁. 2011. “Qinghua jian Jinteng gong zi shigu” 清華簡示工字試詁. Accessed May 22, 2016 . Pi Xirui 皮錫瑞. 1989. Jinwen Shangshu kaozheng 今文尚書考證. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Pines, Yuri. 2005a. “Disputers of Abdication: Zhanguo Egalitarianism and the Sovereign’s Power.” T’oung Pao 91: 243–300. Pines, Yuri. 2005b. “Subversion Unearthed: Criticism of Hereditary Succession in the Newly Discovered Manuscripts.” Oriens Extremus 45: 159–178. Pines, Yuri. 2010. “Political Mythology and Dynastic Legitimacy in the Rong Cheng shi Manuscript.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 73: 503–529. Sanguo zhi 三國志. 1982. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Shangshu zhengyi 尚書正義. 2001. Taipei: Taiwan guji chubanshe. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1997. Before Confucius: Studies in the Creation of the Chinese Classics. Albany: State University of New York Press. Song Huaqiang 宋華強. 2009. “You Chujian ‘beizi’ ‘beizong’ shuodao jiagu jinwen ‘dingzong’ ‘chizong’” 由楚簡 “北子 ” “北宗 ”說到甲骨金文 “丁宗 ”“啻宗 .” Jianbo 簡帛 4: 123–134. Song Huaqiang 宋華強. 2011. “Qinghua jian Jinteng jiaodu” 清華簡金縢校讀. Accessed May 22, 2016 . Sun Xidan 孫希旦. 1989. Liji jijie 禮記集解. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Sun Xingyan 孫星衍 . 1986. Shangshu jinguwen zhushu 尚書今古文注疏 . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Sun Yirang 孫詒讓. 1987. Zhou li zhengyi 周禮正義. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Sun Yirang 孫詒讓. 2001. Mozi xiangu 墨子閒詁. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Takigawa Kametarō 瀧川龜太郎. 1959. Shiji huizhu kaozheng 史記會注考證. Taipei: Da’an chubanshe. Wang Niansun 王念孫. 1985. “Mozi san” 墨子三. In Dushu zazhi 讀書雜誌, vol. 2, ed. Wang Niansun. Beijing: Zhongguo shudian. Wang Xianshen 王先慎. 1998. Han Feizi jijie 韓非子集解. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Wang Yinzhi 王引之. 1920–1936. Jingyi shuwen 經義述聞. In Qingren zhushu shisan Jing 清人注疏十三經, vol. 5. Sibu beiyao ed.

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Wang Yinzhi 王引之. 1982. Jingzhuan shici 經傳釋詞. Hunan: Yuelu shushe. Xu Zaiguo 徐在國. 2003. “Xincai Geling Chu jian zhaji (er)” 新蔡葛陵楚簡札記(二). Accessed May 22, 2016 . Yuan Mei 袁枚. 1988. Xiaocang shanfang shiwen ji 小倉山房詩文集. Shanghai: Shang­hai guji chubanshe.

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Chapter 6

“Shu” Traditions and Text Recomposition: A Reevaluation of “Jinteng” 金縢 and “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” 周武王有疾 Dirk Meyer This essay analyzes the art of narrative in “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” 周武王有疾 (“King Wu of Zhou Suffered from Illness”) and in its counterpart in the modern-script recension of the Shangshu 尚書 to reconstruct the rhetoric of persuasion in these texts. “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” is often misleadingly referred to as “*Jinteng” 金縢 (“Metal-Bound Coffer”) in reference to its Shangshu counterpart. The former dates to the Warring States period and is part of the Tsinghua collection of manuscripts (henceforth Qinghua Manuscripts). By making explicit the strategies by which meaning is constructed in “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” in comparison to its transmitted counterpart, I cast light on their different audiences as well as on their social use in the politico-philosophical discourses of their respective periods. In this, I develop and partly emend my previous reading of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji.”1 The Duke of Zhou and King Wu The tale goes as follows. Zhou Gong 周公, the famous Duke of Zhou, takes the place of King Cheng 成王 (r. 1042/1035–1006 BC) after King Cheng’s father, King Wu 武王 of Zhou (r. 1049/1045–1043 BC), fell ill and died.2 The Duke of Zhou holds a private divination where he consults the spirits with regard to his intentions and then stores the record of the divination in a metal-bound coffer. Much later, moved by suspicion, King Cheng has the coffer opened to find that the Duke of Zhou acted in good faith. Different texts tell the tale in various ways. The most prominent examples are the “Jinteng” chapter of the Shangshu and the “Lu Zhou gong shijia” 魯周公 1 As provided in Meyer 2014a. 2 My dates customarily follow Shaughnessy 1999a: 25. Note, however, that I do not consider these dates absolute but, rather, approximations with a margin of error of about thirty years.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2017 | doi 10.1163/9789004343504_008

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世家 (“Hereditary House of Duke Zhou of Lu”) chapter of the Shiji 史記. Further renditions exist in Hanshu 漢書 and Lunheng 論衡,3 testifying to its general popularity in early imperial times. The wide distribution of the fabula (the material or content that informs the making of these texts and that is worked into a story of some sort)4 during the early empires, itself worthy of closer investigation, is however not the focus of the present exercise. Instead, I focus on a pre-imperial textualization of the fabula as given in the manuscript text “Zhou Wu Wang you ji Zhou Gong suo zi yi dai wang zhi zhi” 周武王有疾周公所自以代王之志 (“The Record of the Duke of Zhou Putting Himself Forward in Place of the King When King Wu Was Suffering from Illness” [henceforth “Zhou Wu Wang you ji”]), which is part of the Qinghua Manuscripts.5 The title is written on the back of the final slip, 14, of the manuscript. The textualization of the fabula in “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” is remarkable in several ways. If authentic, it is our only rendition of the tale so far to unambiguously date from pre-imperial times. Moreover, “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” closely corresponds with the transmitted “Jinteng” in both content and form. However, it also differs from the latter to the extent that the two texts articulate different stories. This difference is the focus of my current investigation, for it casts light on how contrasting communities creatively adapted a common fabula to serve their ends. This suggests that “Shu” 書 type writings— including those preserved in the Shangshu—were not static but a dynamic set of traditions, with its constituents incessantly evolving, whenever contrasting communities rearticulated a certain item for their ends.6

3 Wang Chong 王充 discusses a number of themes from “Jinteng” explicitly in the “Gan lei” 感 類, “Qi shou” 氣壽, and “Si wei” 死偽 chapters of the Lunheng. In the Hanshu, the trope of putting oneself forward in the place of the king is applied to Wang Mang 王莽 (ca. 45 BCE–23 CE), who performs a ritual and places the record of his prayer in a metal-bound coffer when Emperor Ping 平帝 (9 BCE–6 CE) suffers from severe illness; see Hanshu 99A.4078, 99C.4184. 4 For a discussion of this terminology, see n. 57 in my “Recontextualization and Memory Production,” chapter 3 in this volume. 5 See Qinghua Manuscripts, vol. 1, 14–17, for the photographic reproduction of the slips; 157–162 for the transcription of the text and annotations. 6 This point is discussed in detail in Meyer, forthcoming.

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“Zhou Wu Wang you ji”: Text on Bamboo “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” is part of a collection of unprovenanced manuscripts acquired on the Hong Kong antiquities market in 2008.7 For the most part, the slips of this collection are in remarkably good condition.8 Judging from their calligraphy, the slips appear to come from the ancient kingdom of Chu 楚, but since they were looted and then purchased, nothing is known about their archeological context. Nevertheless, the authenticity of the manuscripts has been confirmed through radiocarbon testing of some of the broken and noninscribed bamboo slips; they are now dated to ca. 305 BCE, with a margin of error of about thirty years.9 On the other hand, the ink was never tested, and there exists the theoretical possibility that a forgery was produced on blank ancient slips.10 A few instances where cracks in the slips of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” cut right through the calligraphy seem to suggest that the writing predates the cracks;11 thus, while questions remain, I consider “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” authentic. The text is written on fourteen bamboo slips that were connected by three horizontal cords.12 Unbroken slips of the manuscript are 45 centimeters long. The upper ends of slips 8 and 10 are missing, and presumably three to four characters are lost in each place. Slips 7 and 9 also lack the upper tip but do not seem to be missing graphs. Slips 9 and 10 are broken at their lower ends, but no graphs are missing there. For the most part, the characters are clearly legible. The calligraphy is uniform and apparently by one hand.13 Unbroken slips contain from twenty-nine to thirty-two graphs.14 The exception is the final slip, which carries just three graphs plus a mark signaling the end of the text ( ). The remainder of the slip is left blank. According to the still visible traces of the cords, the slips were connected at the very top, the very bottom, and in the 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

See Liu Guozhong 2011: 36. Liu Guozhong 2011: 54. See Li Xueqin 2009. On the issue of forgery, see Hu Pingsheng 2008; Renfrew 2000; Goldin 2013. Examples include 4/13 , 4/12 , 9/11 , and 9/12 . I refer to individual graphs in the manuscript as follows: 4/13 is the thirteenth from the top on slip 4.

See Qinghua Manuscripts, vol. 1, 157. A powerful distinction between “scribe” and “scribal hand” is made in Bagnall 2013. Slip 1 contains 30 graphs; slip 2 contains 29; slip 3, 30; slip 4, 29; slip 5, 29; slip 6, 31; slip 7, 32 (slip broken at top but with no graph missing); slip 9, 30 (slip broken at top and bottom but with no graph missing); slip 11, 30; slip 12, 30; slip 13, 29. This does not take into account cases of ligature or signs for reduplication. Slips 8 and 10 are broken, and no exact counting of the graphs is possible.

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center.15 The slips show no cut notches for the cords. The fact that no single graph was covered by the cords and that slips 3 and 8 seem to have left a slightly bigger gap between the characters where the traces of the middle cord remain may suggest that the writing came after the binding. Either way, the fourteen slips are numbered in sequence on their backs, and a thin diagonal line is carved across the entire back of the manuscript from the top end of slip 1 to the upper third of slip 14.16 This may suggest one or more of the following situations: the scribe faithfully copied the text from an existing Vorlage and so he aligned his slips in advance (possibly to make more than one copy), or he used the numbering and the line to ensure the physical integrity of the manuscript against the dangers of textual loss or confusion in the case of broken cords. Either one of these motivations would reveal an emphasis on textual integrity in the process of manuscript production. Besides the mark in the form of a hook on the final bamboo slip, which indicates the end of the text (

), the manuscript contains a number of other

marks: marks for repetition (e.g., on slip 5), ligatures writing (e.g., = for 之所; slip 13), repetition marks for fixed terms written in shorthand (e.g.,  夫= for 大夫; slip 10), and reading or punctuation marks, possibly used to indicate textual “breath groups” (e.g., ▃; slip 4). Of the sixty-three places in the text where modern editors would add either a comma or a full stop, the copyist (or a later reader)17 indicates twenty-nine with his reading or punctuation marks (including the final end mark). Places where modern editors would put a comma are marked more consistently than where one would put a full stop. This might suggest that the more obvious reading pauses were not always deemed in need of marking. Finally, the full title of the text as written on the back of the lower third of slip 14 does not merely identify the physical manuscript; it foregrounds the central notion of the text.18

15 16

17 18

In Meyer 2014a: 943 I said by mistake “with no other cord at the centre.” While the exact purpose of such a slanting line—carved (as in this case) into the back of the slips with a sharp knife or drawn in ink with a brush—remains uncertain, wherever such a line occurs together with the numbering of the slips, the two always correlate. See Sun Peiyang 2011; Staack 2012, 2015. This cannot be decided, as the marks do not seem to affect the spacing between the individual graphs. I discuss this phenomenon in detail in Meyer, forthcoming.

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Text and Fabula In this study I follow Mieke Bal’s basic three-layer distinction between text, story, and fabula;19 and I further differentiate between text—that is, the textual matter that can take either oral or written form or both at once—and manuscript, the material representation of text written on lightweight stationery, such as bamboo or wood in China or papyrus in Greece.20 While a text may well be shaped by its material conditions or contexts, it also exists apart from its materiality. This differentiation is crucial for the following discussion, as key thematic elements of the fabula in “Jinteng” remain fairly stable throughout the different known manifestations of it, while the textual representations of the story derived from this are each very different. Stable elements of the fabula are, in particular, the euphemistic description of the illness of King Wu; his subsequent death; the proposal that the Duke of Zhou should conduct a divination; the prayer in which he suggests to the spirits that he put himself forward in the place of the king; the placing of the record of his prayer in a metal-bound coffer; King Cheng’s suspicion toward the Duke of Zhou’s actions and the duke’s subsequent presentation of an ode to King Cheng; the mention of the destruction of the crops by wind and rain when King Cheng refuses to meet the duke; the opening of the coffer and the subsequent confirmation of the duke’s loyalty; and the final recovery of the crops. These are important constancies in the presentation of the story about the Duke of Zhou and his loyalty to King Cheng, and they remain surprisingly stable throughout the literature. However, despite these consistencies, marked differences apply, especially with reference to the pre-imperial manifestation of the story as presented in the Qinghua “Zhou Wu Wang you ji,” on the one hand, and the transmitted “Jinteng” of the Shangshu and “Lu Zhou gong shijia” of the Shiji, on the other. While structurally, “Jinteng” and the Qinghua “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” are rather similar, “Lu Zhou gong shijia” presents a more longwinded narrative and, organizationally, a much less well integrated presentation of the text. Of the three texts, “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” is the shortest, with just under four hundred graphs; “Jinteng” has an additional hundred or so graphs; and the “Lu Zhou gong shijia” from the early imperial period is close to twice as long as “Zhou Wu Wang you ji.”21 Altogether, “Lu Zhou gong shijia” tells a story that is 19 20 21

See Bal 2009. See also my discussion in chapter 3 in this volume. See also my discussion in n. 57 in chapter 3 in this volume. For an in-depth discussion of “text,” see Ehlich 1983, 1984. For exact word counts, see Stryjewska 2013: 20.

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far more complex than that of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” or “Jinteng.” It contains a much larger number of events; it stages a significantly different story line from the other two texts; and at times, it is even internally incoherent.22 The uneven distribution of the key elements of the fabula in the texts deserves closer investigation. Especially revealing are those elements that are not extant across the different texts. “Zhou Wu Wang you ji,” the shortest of the three, is particularly relevant here: some of the elements it lacks are precisely those that help to portray the Duke of Zhou in an unambiguously favorable light in “Jinteng” and “Lu Zhou gong shijia.” They include the description of the divination and its auspicious outcome;23 the duke’s reassurance to the ministers participating in the divination that the king will suffer no harm from the duke’s actions; King Wu’s recovery following the divination; and the mention of the Duke of Zhou acting as regent.24 Altogether, the manuscript text “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” presents a muchtruncated manifestation of the story in comparison to its transmitted counterparts. Theorists of written communication argue that text development is often characterized by expansion rather than contraction.25 The transmitted counterparts of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” show obvious characteristics of later text development, suggesting that “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” reflects an earlier version.26 This is especially pellucid where components absent in “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” fundamentally add to the clarity of the story in “Jinteng” and “Lu Zhou gong shijia,” especially with regard to the duke’s intention. More central to my present inquiry, however, is the question of why a given fabula was developed so differently in the three different texts, and what this might tell us about the different sociopolitical and philosophical purposes of 22

23 24 25

26

Stryjewska 2013: 22. Because of the long-winded character of the story line in “Lu Zhou gong shijia” and its internal inconsistencies, Stryjewska calls the presentation of the story in “Lu Zhou gong shijia” a “patchwork narrative.” This element is the longest section of “Jinteng.” Stryjewska (2013: 26) counts forty-three graphs in “Jinteng” and seventy-six in “Lu Zhou gong shijia” for it. Stryjewska (2013: 11–27) provides a detailed analysis of the different components in the three renditions. See the discussion in Carr 2011: 45ff., 70ff., 99, on trends of text growth in the course of text transmission and reformulation. For early China, Allan (2015: 27–28) suggests a model where independent units are combined into one, more complex text; I have proposed the same for the “Wu xing” 五行 and “Xing zi ming chu” 性自命出 / “Xing qing lun” 性情論 texts from Guodian 郭店 and in the Shanghai Museum collection (Meyer 2012). Note, however, that this says nothing about the date of the material worked into the texts. Despite my suggestion that the Shangshu “Jinteng” is of a later date, it may still contain earlier material.

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the communities that created, preserved, and transmitted them. Which components of the fabula were essential for whom in the presentation of a given story, and to which ideological ends? Why are certain components absent (from the perspective of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji”) or present (from the perspective of “Jinteng” and “Lu Zhou gong shijia”)? What exactly is the story in the different texts? Can we identify the communities that actualized the fabula in such different ways? Structure and Thought Just like “Jinteng,” the Qinghua “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” also unfolds a narrative that spans a lengthy time period, covering more than just one single event. Compared with other “Shu” texts, this is rather untypical; moreover, both “Jinteng” and “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” lack lengthy speeches commonly seen in the Shangshu, featuring short dialogical excerpts and isolated utterances instead. I suggest that texts such as “Jinteng” and “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” present a new complexity in textual composition, one where text communities negotiate items of relevance in novel ways. The character of the king as a mere persona in “Zhou Wu Wang you ji,” playing a less active role than in early layers of the Shangshu, is yet another indication of this. Both “Jinteng” and “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” focus on the conflict between the Duke of Zhou and King Cheng, as developing from the primary event where the duke conducts a divination on behalf of King Wu. (Note, however, that the divination itself is not made explicit in “Zhou Wu Wang you ji.”) Other events occurring in the text can all be subordinated to the duke’s initial actions: King Wu’s illness and death; King Cheng’s premature succession; rumors about the duke; the duke’s displacement and the unrest in the kingdom; the capture of the leaders of the rebellion; King Cheng’s suspicion against the duke; the devastation and final recovery of the harvest. Following its progression of events, I split “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” into three main units—A, B, and C—of altogether eight building blocks. This structure differs from the transmitted “Jinteng,” where I see only two main units, and it is lost entirely in the longer “Lu Zhou gong shijia.” In “Zhou Wu Wang you ji,” unit A runs from slips 1 through 6; it narrates the primary event of the divination. Unit C runs from slip 9 to the end of the text and nearly equals unit A in length, narrating the opening of the coffer. It may be seen as a resolution to the conflict. Unit B, bridging A and C, consists of just one building block (slips 6–9). I further propose the following, more detailed division:

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Unit A: 1.  The frame: providing the story’s basic context, this section specifies the time (but not space) of the account. 2.  Contradictions in the duke’s behavior: the duke’s actions deviate from what he declares. 3.  The duke’s prayer, in two parts: preparation for the prayer and contents of the prayer. 4.  The closure of ritual. Unit B: 1.  Bridge: connecting units A and C by providing contextual information. Unit C: 1.  Heaven sends signs: admonishing the king. 2.  The opening of the coffer: the king is persuaded to open the coffer. 3.  Heaven sends signs: signaling approval. The Primary Event: Unit A Unit A consists of four building blocks to narrate the primary event of the divination (which itself is not made explicit). Unit A alone takes no wider macroscopic perspective but—after the introductory first line—moves immediately into the event: A1 1. 2. 3. 4.

It was three years since King Wu had defeated Yin. The king was indisposed for a long while because [he suffered from severe] illness. The two dukes [ritually] announced to the Duke of Zhou, saying: “Let us reverently perform the oracle divination for the king.” The Duke of Zhou responded: “We must not upset our former kings.” Thereupon the Duke of Zhou made three [earthen] altars on the same platform and one on the southern side [of it]. The Duke of Zhou stood on it, holding a bi jade disk and carrying a gui jade tablet.

1. 2.

 武王既克殷三年，王不豫有遲。27  二公告周公曰「我其爲王穆卜。」

27

The transcription of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” is based primarily on Qinghua Manuscripts. I will comment on characters only where I differ from the editors’ interpretation. For a different translation, see Magnus Ribbing Gren’s contribution to this volume (chapter 5).

232 3. 4.

Meyer

 周公曰：「未可以 慼吾先王。」28  周公乃爲三壇同墠，爲一壇於南方。周公立焉，秉璧，戴珪。29

The opening in line 1 places the narrative in a historical setting. While texts of the early layers of the Shangshu (and, likewise, Zhou bronze inscriptions) often just reference a generic king, “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” specifies him explicitly as King Wu and locates the events of the text just before his death. This is important. First, through its historical setting, the text formally opens the narration to more general, unspecific audiences, as is typical of Warring States period writings.30 Second, King Wu’s death was not an event of routine succession but threatened the consolidation of Zhou rule soon after the conquest of 1045 BCE. The duke assumed power as a regent because, according to the transmitted texts that approve of the Zhou, King Cheng was deemed too young to rule. But the reality was probably more complicated, and the younger brothers of King Wu31 soon led a revolt against the duke.32 Open war followed, leaving the newly established Zhou on the brink of collapse.33 Provoking years of instability, turbulence, and warfare, the incident of the duke’s interregnum left a lasting mark in Zhou cultural memory to the extent that it became part of the “foundational past” of the Zhou.34 “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” too must be seen in this light. As shown below, it represents the attempt to reconfigure the presence of threat into a founding myth of the Zhou. The ambiguous role played by the Duke of Zhou in all this is key. 28 29 30 31 32

33 34

Graph 2/1 is taken as qi 慼, “worry, grief; to distress,” by the editors. This corresponds to the transmitted “Jinteng,” which has that graph without the heart component (戚). I follow Shen Pei 2011: 111–121 in reading (2/25) as dai 戴, “to carry.” For a discussion of the targeting of audiences in Warring States period argumentative texts, see Meyer 2012: 103, 207. They were Guanshu Xian 管叔鮮, Caishu Du 蔡叔度, and perhaps Huoshu Chu 霍叔處. Archeological evidence confirms that the whole event is not as clear as the Zhou sources like to portray it. According to Wang Hui 1993: 940–943, Song 誦 (the personal name of the future King Cheng) must have been already about twenty-three years of age at the time of King Wu’s death and hence not too young to rule on his own. Ulrich Unger (1976), arguing from both inscriptional evidence and transmitted sources, suggests that the duke ruled as king and not just as regent, thus continuing the Shang practice of brother-succession. By contrast, Shaughnessy (1997: 101–136 and, further, 137–164) is adamant that Western Zhou scribes never took the duke as one of their kings. The tumultuous events are summarized in Shaughnessy 1999b: 307–310. On the concept of foundational history, see Assmann 2011: 38, 59, 61–63. The concept entails cultural memory transforming “factual” history into “remembered history,” by which it turns into “myth.” Myth, in turn, is “foundational history” in that its narrative intends to illuminate the present through the past.

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We cannot assume that the audiences of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” would face the text without such cultural assumptions. The circulation of texts and knowledge at the time of the manuscript’s production, while no longer limited to the relatively closed circles around the king and his advisers,35 was still largely restricted to well-educated elite groups.36 These audiences, including those of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji,” who encountered the duke in texts from the Warring States period would not have encountered a historical person of Rankean type but an idealized persona developed to Zhou taste. They knew that the Duke of Zhou had assumed power; they also may well have been aware of the doubts surrounding his legitimacy. As will be shown, the authors of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” actively incorporated such doubts, exposing the ambiguity inherent in the duke’s role in Zhou history. For much of the text, the authors entertain sentiments of suspicion on behalf of their audience. Contextualization in unit A is used only to demarcate the larger contours of the narration. The er gong 二公 who enter the stage (line 2) right after the initial frame exemplify this well. While in theory they could just be “two dukes,” that is, historically unspecified persons who could be identified in different ways by different audiences, I consider this unlikely. Unlike the transmitted “Jinteng,” which seems to address a broad, nonspecific audience (and as such functions well as part of the received Shangshu), “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” appears firmly tied to a particular meaning community37—that is, an audience of insiders to whom the actual identity of “the two dukes” (likely Tai Gong 太公 and Shao Gong 召公, as in “Lu Zhou gong shijia”) would be clear. The text unfolds a “drama of a universal kind” where everything revolves around two main characters, the Duke of Zhou and King Cheng. The textual function of the two dukes here is merely to propose a divination on behalf of the waning King Wu, a proposal to be refused instantly by the Duke of Zhou (line 3). His actions, however, speak a different language (line 4), presenting to the text recipient multiple possibilities of interpretation: after preparing the altars and while carrying the state insignia of power, he does precisely what he 35 36

37

Lewis 1999: 64; Meyer 2014b: 27. These would have been largely the community of shi 士, non-landed lower-level aristocrats. For a discussion of the formation of the group of shi 士 possessive of social and learned skills, see Yu Yingshi 1980; Pines 2009: 115. For the archeological record regarding the sub-elite of the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, see Falkenhausen 2003. On the basis of Anna Wierzbicka’s (1999: 32–33) concept of “speech communities,” I use the term “meaning community” in distinction to the more narrow concept of “text communities.” While all text communities constitute a meaning community of some kind, the opposite does not necessarily apply. Groups that share the “emotional universe of a culture” (Harris 1995, cited from Wierzbicka 1999: 31) informed by the same cultural memory represent a “meaning community,” whether or not they are text based.

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claimed he would not do, namely, to address the spirits of the former Zhou kings. The apparent contradiction between the duke’s actions and declarations is addressed nowhere in “Zhou Wu Wang you ji.” It is one among several loose ends in the text that find no resolution and that further the sense of suspicion that proves a vital element of the text’s message. Line 4, with its ambiguity regarding the duke’s intention, is transitional, leading to the next passage, where the Scribe announces to the former kings the duke’s prayer. Meanwhile, the king remains entirely passive; he is simply ill. Structurally, segment A1 of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” is generally close to its counterpart in the Shangshu “Jinteng.” However, in “Jinteng,” the ill king is not named at the outset, which is more typical of Shangshu texts; and while lines 2 and 3 are stable in both manifestations of the fabula, “Jinteng” fills line 4 with additional narrative material: “he [i.e., the duke] took the business [of the divination] upon himself” (公乃自以為功); he “faced north,” that is, from a subordinate position toward the ruler, signaling the absence of ambition to usurp the throne; and finally, “Jinteng” includes the exact address of his prayer, further emphasizing the duke’s loyalty. The following segment, A2, begins with an announcement by the Scribe: A2 1.

1.

The Scribe then announced the prayer document to the former kings as follows: “It is Fa [i.e., King Wu], your first grandchild, who has been struck by misfortune, as he suffers severe illness. Is it not you who bear responsibility for the great son before the one above [Heaven]? Indeed, it is your first grandchild, Fa, who does not compare to [me], Dan [i.e., the duke]!”  史乃册祝告先王曰：爾元孫發也，遘害虐疾。爾毋乃有丕子之責在 上？惟爾元孫發也，不若旦也。38

This is then followed by the duke’s prayer: A2 2.

38

“The one [Dan] is clever and ingenious; he has many talents and skills and [thus] is able to serve the deities.

Regarding 3/19備 (丕), I here follow the suggestion by Miyan (2011) to read it as pi 丕 (*pʰrə) rather than bei 備 (*brək-s). The graph 丕 is also used in the modern-script “Jinteng.”

“Shu” Traditions and Text Recomposition

3. 4.

2. 3. 4.

235

[He] was given the Mandate in the courtyard of the [high] god to broadly possess the four quarters and to secure your descendants below on earth. If you were to approve of me, I would present this bi jade disk and the gui jade tablet; but if you were not to approve of me, I would then return with the bi jade disk and the gui jade tablet.”  是佞若巧能，多才，多藝，能事鬼神。  命于帝廷，敷有四方，以定爾子孫于下地。  爾之許我，我則厭(瘞)璧與珪。爾不我許，我乃以璧與珪歸。」

Without being fully explicit, this section invites the audience to understand the duke’s intention to usurp the power of the state both for his own gain and for the benefit of the entire Zhou domain. Purportedly superior in talents to King Wu and eager to protect the dynasty established by the former kings, the duke appears as a true successor: he claims the mandate to rule by appropriating conventional language that is usually reserved for a ruler (“to broadly possess the four quarters and to secure your descendants below on earth”). While lines 2 and 4 are phrased in personal terms, line 3, as the principal insertion, formulates the principle of successful rulership.39 In this compositional structure of the text, the duke thus draws on traditional political rhetoric to advance his personal goals. In this part, differences between “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” and the transmitted “Jinteng” mainly apply to changes in the speech. The first change applies to the announcement of the prayer by the Scribe, which has two additions in “Jinteng”; the second difference applies to the duke’s prayer, which in “Jinteng” is restructured as an extended speech. In both cases, these elements eliminate ambiguity on the part of the Duke of Zhou and his actions. Thus, the phrase “let me, Dan [the personal name of the duke], be a substitute for his person [i.e., King Wu]” (以旦代某之身), missing in “Zhou Wu Wang you ji,” explains precisely what the duke’s role in the event really is. Likewise, “Jinteng” cites the prayer with the duke saying how the people of the Zhou polity are in awe of the king, and that the Heavenly Mandate given to the Zhou line of kings must not be lost. Here again, “Jinteng” is explicit about the duke’s intention to save the king. Thus, the compositional balance of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” is not upheld

39

The literary form of a principal insertion normally provides the crucial information of a text unit. It is placed between two (conceptually) parallel passages. (See Meyer 2012: 98–99, 116–117, 179.)

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in “Jinteng”; in its place, “Jinteng” contains additional phrasing to elucidate the role of the duke.40 Finally, A3 closes the account of unit A by keeping the Gestus of actual event witnessing. It, too, contains personal speech, with a final exhortation vividly enforcing the notion of conspiracy: A3

The Duke of Zhou thereupon put the speech in which he presented himself [to the former kings] in the place of the king into a metal-bound coffer and ordered those who assisted in the ritual by saying: “Do not dare talk about [it]!”

周公乃納其所為貢自以代王之說，于金縢之匱，乃命執事人曰：「勿 敢言。」41

Unit A closes with a description of the event of storing away the written account of the ritual. The physical action of closing the metal-bound coffer also marks the closure of the event. Nothing has been said about the precise nature or the content of the divination that was presumably carried out, nor has the outcome of the event been made explicit. The audience remains in the dark whether the Duke of Zhou was successful in his request to the former kings. Instead of resolving the sense of suspicion and conspiracy, the unit further reinforces these sentiments by putting a final exhortation into the mouth of the Duke of Zhou. Serving as a final stamp on this unit, this rhetorical point 40

That strict forms of composition loosen in continuous text transmission is a widespread phenomenon in early textuality and applies to all known cases of texts from the Warring States period with transmitted counterparts. Widely discussed cases include the Guodian Laozi materials and the “Zi yi” 緇衣 (“Black Robes”) manuscripts from Guodian and in the Shanghai Museum collection. Thus, the loosened structure in the transmitted “Jinteng” suggests its later date of composition relative to “Zhou Wu Wang you ji.” A systematic study of how strict patterns of composition become loosened in later text recensions is Kern 2005.

41

Graph 6/3 poses a problem in the interpretation of this passage. The Qinghua Manuscripts editors identify it as , which they read as gong 功 (*kˤoŋ), “achievement, merit.” The two share the same phonophoric, making this interpretation highly plausible. Contextually, another choice would be to read the graph as gong 貢 (*kˤoŋ-s), “tribute, present,” but also “to present to.” This, too, shares the same phonophoric with . I take this to be the better solution to this passage; but instead of reading it as a noun in the sense of “tribute” or “sacrifice” as suggested by Miyan (2011), I take it as a verb, saying that the duke “presented himself [to the former kings] in the place of King [Wu].” This leaves the unit structurally intact, furthering its sense of suspicion and conspiracy.

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confirms all the doubts about the duke’s real intentions. Unit A of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” takes no interest in presenting the Duke of Zhou favorably. The next unit, B, does little to overcome the sense of suspicion against the Duke of Zhou. Structurally, it serves as a bridge that connects the event of the divination to unit C. While unit A was told from the close-up perspective of immediate involvement, the text gains macroscopic perspective in unit B. The transmitted “Jinteng” is rather different in both structure and content. It includes as an additional element of the fabula the exact description of the divination carried out by the duke. “Jinteng” narrates how the duke “divined with three tortoise shells, all consistently favorably” (乃卜三龜，一習吉); the narrative then describes how the duke opens the bamboo tubes42 and looks at the writings, to find that those responses are favorable too, thus confirming, as the duke explains, the continuation of King Wu’s rule: [See their] shape! The king will suffer no harm. “Small child that I am” [so the king will say], “[I] have newly received the favor from the three kings—it is through them that elongated [futurity] is now laid out. [I] await the issue; [the three kings] can arrange for me, the one man.” 體！王其罔害。予小子新命于三王，惟永終是圖；茲攸俟，能念予一 人。

“Jinteng” continues to describe how the duke returns, placing the tablets with the prayer into the metal-bound coffer, whereafter the king indeed recovers from his illness. The duke’s intentions could not be put more clearly, making the audience unanimously appreciate him as a loyal servant of his rulers. None of these elements appear in “Zhou Wu Wang you ji,” where suspicion and doubt are fully entertained to this point. The Bridge: Unit B In “Zhou Wu Wang you ji,” unit B serves as a contextualizing element by adding to the narrative a quasi-historical perspective. It is interspersed with small bits of speech, and for the first time the conflict between the Duke of Zhou and King Cheng comes to the fore. The unit presents this conflict as a direct result of the duke’s secretive behavior in unit A. However, no information about the circumstances or the precise intentions of the duke is disclosed:

42

The meaning of yue 籥 (lit. “flute”) is not entirely clear. Karlgren (1970: gloss 1574) explains it as bamboo tubes, which “have always been used in China as receptacles.”

238 B 1. 2. 3. 4.

1. 2. 3. 4.

Meyer

Thereafter, King Wu had already ascended [i.e., died] and King Cheng was still young in his position when Guanshu and his group of brothers spread a rumor in the state by saying: “The Duke [of Zhou] will not be to the benefit of the young child.” Then the Duke of Zhou proclaimed to the two dukes, saying: “Our … I have nothing left for which to be received again by the former kings.” The Duke of Zhou had been settled in the east for three years when the offenders were caught. But when the Duke of Zhou thereupon presented the king with an ode called “Eagle Owl,” the king would still not receive him.  即後武王陟，成王猶幼在位。43  管叔及其羣兄弟，乃流言于邦曰：「公將不利於孺子。」  周公乃告二公曰：「我之 □□□□44無以復見於先王。」  周公宅東三年，禍人乃斯得。於後，周公乃遺王詩曰雕鴞，王亦未迎 公。

Unit B presents a very abbreviated account of a historically complex series of events, broken up by two brief excerpts of related speech. The duke’s address (line 3) is incomplete, leaving some uncertainty about what this passage actually says. It is clear, however, that the duke’s speech is in direct response to the slander against him. It is addressed to the two dukes who assisted him during the ritual (A1) but without a sign as to his real intentions. The historical events in this unit are presented in such a manner that they are too brief and too enigmatic to inform the noninitiated text recipient. King Wu’s death; the enthronement of the immature King Cheng; the mention of Guanshu and his brothers with no further information on their identity or role; the resettlement of the Duke of Zhou; the seizure of offenders; the continuous refusal of King Cheng to receive the Duke of Zhou: none of these features would speak to anyone not already familiar with the dominant version of the story.45 There is no mention of the Duke of Zhou acting on behalf of—the 43

44 45

Regarding 6/24 (即), the Qinghua Manuscripts editors identify the graph as jiu 就 although it contains the signific 止 not normally seen in Chu script versions of 就. I follow Chen Minzhen et al. 2011: 44 and read it as ji 即, “to approach, go to,” “on the point of.” The squares □□□□ stand for characters that are missing because of the broken slip. For a summary of the events between the battle of Muye and the suppression of the rebellion, including the actions by Guanshu and his brothers, see Shaughnessy 1999b: 307.

“Shu” Traditions and Text Recomposition

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officially immature—King Cheng; there is no mention of years of unrest. This passage, it is clear, does not report on decisive events in the history of the house of the Zhou. Instead, the purpose of unit B is, not to inform an audience already well acquainted with the orthodox narrative of the Zhou, but to remind them. As the purpose of this unit is therefore not historical, it is structural. Unit B links A with C and contextualizes “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” by summarizing the turbulent years of rule, unrest, and change in just a few words. Thus, the historical perspective given in this unit is at once important and unimportant. It is important as a dramaturgic structural link connecting the oppositional narratives of units A and C to a shared historical moment, and both into an organic narrative whole. At the same time, because of its extreme ellipsis, it is unimportant as a historical account. Within the dramaturgy of the narrative, the Duke of Zhou presents a poem to the king in response to the seizure of the offenders (line 4).46 As noted, the audience would probably understand that “the offenders” were those who rebelled when the duke assumed power from King Cheng. Calling them “offenders” puts them in clear opposition to King Cheng but also to the duke ruling on behalf of the king. That despite the capture of the delinquents, the king was still not willing to receive the duke displays, for the first time, an open tension between the two—a tension not even resolved with the presentation of an ode. Regardless of its historical vagueness, which neither discloses the content of the poem nor reveals the nature of the king’s grudge, unit B, situated at the center of the narrative, marks the dramaturgic moment that foregrounds the conflict between the Duke of Zhou and King Cheng. In this, it exhibits the central theme of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji.” Despite some (for my purposes here insignificant) lexical differences, unit B is surprisingly stable vis-à-vis the transmitted text, except for the additional line in “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” stating that “King Cheng was still young in his position,” which is missing in “Jinteng.” The phrase “the duke will not be to the benefit of the young child” (公將不利於孺子), quoting the rumors in direct 46

An ode titled “Diao Xiao” 雕鴞 is unknown in the received literature. “Jinteng” here refers to an ode “Chi Xiao” 鴟鴞—an ode of that title appears in the Shijing 詩經 (Mao 155)— and identifies the Duke of Zhou as its author. However, Shaughnessy (1997: 119–121) rightly points out that the Mao ode is unlikely to have been composed by the duke. Whether or not the odes mentioned in “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” and “Jinteng” are the same is irrelevant for the narrative analysis. Nonetheless, “Diao Xiao” 雕鴞 (*tˤiw-ɢʷaw) and “Chi Xiao” 鴟鴞 (*tʰij-ɢʷaw) are phonetically very close and likely interchangeable. Probably under the influence of the “Jinteng” narrative, the Mao interpretation of the Shijing ode “Chi Xiao” suggests that it expresses the sadness of the unrecognized.

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speech, is even verbatim identical in “Jinteng” and continues in “Lu Zhou gong shijia” with only minor emendations,47 making it a stable element across the different realizations of the fabula. The remaining three building blocks, unit C, present the three-part resolution of the conflict. These are, first, Nature’s response to the king’s refusal to meet the Duke of Zhou (C1); second, the opening of the coffer to reveal that the duke had acted with good intent (C2); Nature’s response to the king’s decision to meet the duke (C3). The Resolution of the Conflict: Unit C Contextually, the line mentioning the duke’s settlement in the east and his presentation of the ode to King Cheng belongs to unit B. Structurally, however, I like to discuss it in the context of unit C. C1 1.

2.

The Duke of Zhou had been settled in the east for three years when the offenders were caught. But when the Duke of Zhou thereupon presented the king with an ode called “Eagle Owl,” the king would still not receive him. That year, the autumn harvest had greatly ripened but had not yet been gathered when Heaven sent fierce winds with thunder and flattened the entire crop—[even] the great trees were all uprooted. The men of the state … the ceremonial cap, and the Chief Minister put on his robe, opening the metal-bound coffer.

1.

 周公宅東三年，禍人乃斯得。於後，周公乃遺王詩曰雕鴞，王亦未迎

2.

公。  是歲也，秋大熟，未穫，天疾風以雷，禾澌偃，48大木澌拔。邦人 □□□□ 弁，大夫端，49以啟金縢之匱。

47

“Lu Zhou gong shijia” states that “the Duke of Zhou will not be to the benefit of the young King Cheng” (周公將不利於成王), thus keeping the structure intact and only filling in additional information.

48

Chen Minzhen et al. (2011: 58) take 9/23 ally accepted reading of this graph.

49

My reading of 10/6 (綴) as duan 端, “ritual robe,” follows the argument presented in Chen Minzhen et al. 2011: 61.

(斯) as si 澌, “exhaust.” This is now the gener-

“Shu” Traditions and Text Recomposition

C2 1. 2. 3.

4. 1. 2. 3. 4. C3 1. 2. 3.

241

The king received the prayer in which the Duke of Zhou had put himself forward in the place of King Wu. The king [went on to] question those who had carried out the affair, who said: “Ah, it is true indeed. But the duke ordered that we must not dare to talk about [it].” The king held fast to the writings and said, weeping: “In the past, the duke worked hard for the king and the royal family and only I in my youth clearly did not manage to understand this. But now August Heaven mobilized its awe to display the duke’s virtue. Let me, the young boy, go in person and meet the duke—the rites of our domain and family do indeed accord with this.”  王得周公之所自以爲貢，以代武王之說。50  王問執事人，曰：「信。噫。公命我勿敢言。」  王捕書以泣，51曰：「昔公勤勞王家，惟余沖人亦弗及知。今皇天動

威，以彰公德。  惟余沖人其親逆公，我邦家禮亦宜之。

And so the king left to meet the duke, reaching the outskirts of the capital. On this evening, Heaven withdrew the wind, and the crops rose up again in their entirety. As for the big trees that were uprooted, the two dukes ordered the men of the state to reerect them all. The year produced an abundant harvest, and come autumn, it was gathered in all its plenty.

1. 2. 3.

 王乃出逆公至郊。  是夕，天反風，禾澌起。52凡大木之所拔，二公命邦人盡復築之。  歲大有年，秋則大穫。

50

For the reading of 貢, see the discussion of 6/3 in n. 41 above.

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The Qinghua Manuscripts editors read 11/13 (捕) as bu 布, “spread out.” This has met with general disapproval. By now, the generally accepted reading is bu 捕, taken in the sense of “to hold.” See also the discussion in Chen Minzhen et al. 2011: 65–67 for the suggestion of reading the graph as bo 搏, “seize.” For si 澌, see the discussion of 9/23 in n. 48 above.

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Parallel to unit A, where the focus is on the Duke of Zhou and the events happening under his aegis, unit C now presents a narrative with a close focus on King Cheng. And like unit A, unit C lacks contextualization and instead presents a dramatic story. In this way “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” reflects the tension between the Duke of Zhou and King Cheng in formal terms by setting the two text units A and C in structural opposition, bridging them with unit B. Unit C1 recounts two main events: the king is unwilling to receive the Duke of Zhou, and thunderstorms flatten the crops before they can be harvested. Unit C3 describes how the king finally agrees to receive the duke, upon which the winds abate and the crops rise up again. Neither C1 nor C3 contain any speech. Speech appears only in C2, where a dialogue is constructed that exhibits King Cheng’s wish to seek the truth. C2 is thus a structurally unique component positioned between the two parallel units C1 and C3. Placed in the center and formally highlighted, C2 carries the main thought of such text.53 In the present text, it portrays the king’s painful insight that his distrust of the Duke of Zhou was mistaken. Most importantly, C2 is not only central but pivotal: it is here where the situation of C1 is changed into that of C3. These two units are strikingly parallel: the king’s refusal to meet the duke (未迎公) is followed by Heaven’s destruction of the crops before the harvest (未穫), while the king’s willingness to meet the duke (王逆公) is answered by Heaven’s blissful granting of an abundant harvest (則大穫).54 As noted by Joachim Gentz in his discussion of the Gongyang commentary to the Chunqiu, “Jinteng” is the only place in the received Shangshu where Heaven responds directly to human action.55 In “Zhou Wu Wang you ji,” Heaven’s intervention is brought about by the king’s pivotal change of attitude and action, which is dramaturgically marked by the employment of direct speech. From Heaven’s first interference, the king realizes his failure in distrusting the Duke of Zhou; by then correcting himself and giving formal expression to his inner change by receiving the Duke of Zhou humbly outside the gates, he immediately effects Heaven’s second intervention, turning disaster into blessing. The earlier sections of the text did not reveal the true nature of the duke’s intentions; only now, through Heaven’s response, do they become clear. Compared with the previous units, unit C is comparatively stable between “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” and the transmitted “Jinteng.” Yet two points are worth noting—one of difference and one of stability. First, the picture of 53 54 55

See also the discussion of A2 above on the feature of the “principal insertion.” Stryjewska 2013: 13. See Gentz 2001: 212n205.

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narrativization56 between units A and C is reversed. While the transmitted “Jinteng” employs narrative elements to erase any ambiguity around the persona of the duke from the outset, presenting his actions as strictly loyal and selfless, “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” augments the narrative only in unit C to elucidate even more dramatically the role of the duke in preserving the house of the Zhou. Formally, such pointed emphasis is realized through narrative markers of temporality that signify the correlative nature of events, such as “that year, the autumn harvest had greatly ripened” (C1); “on this evening [after the king met the duke], Heaven withdrew the wind” (C3); and “the year produced an abundant harvest, and come autumn, it was gathered in all its plenty” (C3). The second point of interest is the high stability of speech between “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” and “Jinteng.” Down to verbatim phrasing, this coherence of speech stands in clear contrast to the contextually stable but lexically loose narration in the two manifestations of the fabula. For example, “Ah, it is true indeed. But the duke ordered that we must not dare to talk about [it]” (信。 噫。公命我勿敢言) of C2 is identical to the phrase in “Jinteng.” Altogether, it appears that in the “Shu” traditions, speech enjoyed and produced much greater stability in textual transmission than the narrative structures surrounding and contextualizing it.57 Conclusion In contrast to the transmitted renderings of the story, “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” does not provide an unambiguous representation of the Duke of Zhou. In much of the narration, right up to the point where Heaven sides with the duke, the authors of the text actively entertain, and repeatedly reinforce, suspicion about his actual role in the events closely connected to the crisis of the Western Zhou. Distrust and doubt about the duke’s integrity, it becomes plain, must have framed the memory of the meaning community for whom the text was composed. “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” speaks to these communities by taking seriously their doubts, in fact nourishing them, just to prove them wrong, with finality, in the closing unit of the text. From a dramaturgic perspective, “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” is therefore presented as a well-composed artifact. Unlike the transmitted “Jinteng,” the text is put in a strict A–B–C construction, with the three components arranged 56 57

On the concept of “narrativization,” see White 1981. The element of speech stability in textualized “Shu” traditions is addressed in detail in Meyer, forthcoming.

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hierarchically. Unit A presents a self-sufficient narrative that focuses on the Duke of Zhou, foregrounding doubts about him. In a conceptually parallel mode, unit C is likewise nearly self-sufficient while focusing on King Cheng. Placed in between, the contextualizing unit B connects the two narratives into an organic whole and exhibits the polarity of the Duke of Zhou and King Cheng as the central theme of this text. The story presented in “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” thus comes full circle. Unlike “Jinteng,” by staying up close to the events without relating their larger historical context, “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” limits its recipients’ perspective: their sentiments of mistrust are resolved only at the very end. The audience is thus guided through the same sequence of doubt that King Cheng experienced toward the duke. This self-reflexive mode in the presentation of the story extends to the presence of the text itself.58 Leading its audience through a process of doubt to the final discovery of truth, “Zhou Wu Wang you ji”—as both text and physical object—performs and embodies the king’s discovery of the duke’s written prayer in the metal-bound coffer. Like the physical object of the prayer, “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” is a material artifact that proves the duke’s loyalty to the Zhou. To argue that “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” contains all elements of the fabula necessary for its rhetorical success does not require it to have all the elements of the story fully expressed and written out. Clearly, with elements such as the unnamed “two dukes” in unit B and the elliptic summary of complex historical events in unit C, the text merely hints at a considerably larger body of information that must already have been part of the community’s cultural memory. Here again, “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” is more than a narrative: it is performative in the sense that it requires its audience to activate the historical background stored in cultural memory. In its elegant symmetrical brevity, which also constitutes its fundamental incompleteness, the text stages itself as an aesthetic artifact that becomes fully meaningful only in its reception by a community of insiders. This, to me, is indicative of another feature. The fact that “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” speaks to the meaning community of beholders of hegemonic Zhou culture and memory insinuates that successful text reception requires some degree of acquiescence with regard to the conclusion in “Zhou Wu Wang you ji,” and thus to the values propagated by the Zhou. It thus appears that a community with severe skepticism about the motives of the Duke of Zhou cannot constitute the target audience of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji.” More likely, “Zhou 58

I owe this observation to Rens Krijgsman (2014), who discusses a similar case in reference to “*Wu Wang jianzuo” 武王踐阼.

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Wu Wang you ji” was “preaching to the converted,” that is, a community that subscribed to orthodox Zhou values while also being aware of, and perhaps even sharing, some of the doubt over the duke’s position in Zhou cultural memory. In such an environment, the text would also have addressed, in the Warring States period, the growing concerns about the relation between rulers and subjects more generally. More so than “Jinteng,” which informs its audience right from the start about the duke’s integrity, “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” celebrates the victory of idealized Zhou values over heterogeneous elements by reinvoking sentiments of doubt that were already part of the political discourse. In addressing and then overcoming doubt, the text reconfigures the original threat to the Zhou dynasty into a positive element of Zhou cultural memory in order for the story to speak to issues of the ruler-subject relationship at the time when “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” was composed.59 In this, the text is an intervention into the sociopolitical and philosophical discourse of the Warring States period and goes beyond mere Zhou propaganda to portray the Duke of Zhou as a loyal statesman in selfless service to his lord. The same is true of the transmitted “Jinteng.” As discussed above, the element of contextualization in unit B of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” adds a quasi-historical perspective to the narrative of conflict. But this unit tells a story (“eine Geschichte”)—it is not history (“Historie”), to differentiate the two with Reinhart Koselleck and his formative work on conceptual history.60 The primary function of unit B is not to provide a historical account (for which it would be far too elliptic) but to construct a narrative that could be employed to outline a basic pattern of human conflict. This story was adaptable to different situations of discord; despite the specificity of the events surrounding the Duke of Zhou and King Cheng, “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” illustrates a larger theme of high sociopolitical and philosophical import, that is, the structurally recurring patterns in the interaction between lord and subject and the ideal of unbroken loyalty. While the same might be said of the transmitted “Jinteng,” and while the two texts are informed by the same fabula, the dramatized dimensions of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji” are much lessened in the narrative of “Jinteng,” suggesting that the two texts served different purposes and were used differently by their respective communities. The actuality of “Zhou Wu Wang you ji”—a text that embodies the experience of doubt and belief on the part of audiences—thus clearly lies in performance, that is, the formalized reenactment of that incident of disbelief. 59 60

See n. 34 above for Jan Assmann’s theory of cultural memory and “foundational history,” where accounts of the past serve to illuminate the present. Koselleck 2006: 70–76.

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The structural and visual properties of the text seem well suited to oral performance,61 possibly including the marking up of breathing points in the manuscript, which would have facilitated intoning the text aloud. By contrast, “Jinteng” is a more sober, and more historically complete, narrative of memory rather than the reenactment of it. Because of this, it is also the version of the fabula that has been preserved in the received tradition, continuing to speak to audiences further and further removed from the experience embodied in “Zhou Wu Wang you ji.” References Allan, Sarah. 2015. Buried Ideas: Legends of Abdication and Ideal Government in Early Chinese Bamboo-Slip Manuscripts. Albany: State University of New York Press. Assmann, Jan. 2011. Cultural Memory and Early Civilization: Writing, Remembrance, and Political Imagination. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bagnall, Roger. 2013. “Ostraka and the Culture of Writing in Egypt’s Deserts.” Paper presented at “Workshop on Manuscript and Text Cultures,” Queen’s College, Oxford, May 29. Bal, Mieke. 2009. Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative. 3rd ed. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Carr, David M. 2011. The Formation of the Hebrew Bible: A New Reconstruction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Chen Minzhen 陳民鎮 et al. 2011. “Qinghua jian ‘Jinteng’ jishi” 清華金縢集釋. Accessed July 2013 . Ehlich, Konrad. 1983. “Text und sprachliches Handeln: Die Entstehung von Texten aus dem Bedürfnis nach Überlieferung.” In Schrift und Gedächtnis: Beiträge zur Archäo­ logie der literarischen Kommunikation, ed. Aleida Assmann, Jan Assmann, and Christof Hardmeier, 24–43. Munich: Wilhelm Fink. Ehlich, Konrad. 1984. “Zum Textbegriff.” In Text—Textsorten—Semantik: Linguistische Modelle und maschinelle Verfahren, ed. Annely Rothkegel and Barbara Sandig, 9–25. Hamburg: Buske. Falkenhausen, Lothar von. 2003. “Social Rankings in Chu Tombs: The Mortuary Background of the Warring States Manuscript Finds.” Monumenta Serica 51: 439–526. Gentz, Joachim. 2001. Das “Gongyang zhuan”: Auslegung und Kanonisierung der Früh­ lings- und Herbstannalen (Chunqiu). Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag.

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Here I correct my earlier remarks in Meyer 2014a.

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Goldin, Paul R. 2013. “Heng Xian and the Problem of Studying Looted Artifacts.” Dao 12.2: 153–160. Hanshu 漢書. 1962. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Harris, Paul. 1995. “Development Constraints on Emotion Categories.” In Everyday Concepts of Emotion: An Introduction to the Psychology, Anthropology, and Linguistics of Emotion, ed. James A. Russell et al., 353–372. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic. Hu Pingsheng 胡平生. 2008. “Jianbo bianwei tonglun” 簡帛辨偽通論. Paper presented at the International Forum on Bamboo and Silk Documents, University of Chicago. Accessed May 2013 . Karlgren, Bernard. 1970. Glosses on the “Book of Documents.” Stockholm: Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities. Kern, Martin. 2005. “Quotation and the Confucian Canon in Early Chinese Manuscripts: The Case of “Zi yi” (Black Robes).” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 59.1: 293– 332. Koselleck, Reinhart. 2006. Begriffsgeschichten: Studien zur Semantik und Pragmatik der politischen und sozialen Sprache. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag. Krijgsman, Rens. 2014. “Moulding the Past—Writing, Text, and Memory in Early Chinese Manuscripts.” Paper presented at the seminar series “Cultural Materiality: Concepts at Stake in Comparative Manuscript Studies,” URPP Asia and Europe, Zurich, May 21. Lewis, Mark Edward. 1999. Writing and Authority in Early China. Albany: State University of New York Press. Li Xueqin 李學勤. 2009. “Lun Qinghua jian ‘bao xun’ de ji ge wenti” 論清華簡 “保訓” 的幾個問題. Wenwu 6: 76. Liu Guozhong 劉國忠. 2011. Zoujin Qinghua jian 走進清華簡. Beijing: Gaodeng jiaoyu chubanshe. Meyer, Dirk. 2012. Philosophy on Bamboo: Text and the Production of Meaning in Early China. Leiden: Brill. Meyer, Dirk. 2014a. “The Art of Narrative and the Rhetoric of Persuasion in the ‘*Jīn téng’ (Metal Bound Casket) from the Tsinghua Collection of Manuscripts.” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 68.4: 937–968. Meyer, Dirk. 2014b. “Bamboo and the Production of Philosophy: A Hypothesis about a Shift in Writing and Thought in Early China.” In History and Material Culture in Asian Religions, ed. Benjamin Fleming and Richard Mann, 21–38. London: Routledge. Meyer, Dirk. Forthcoming. Monumentalising the Past: Traditions of Documents 書 and Political Argument in Early China. Miyan 米雁. 2011. “Qinghua jian ‘Qi ye,’ ‘Jinteng’ yandu si ze” 清華簡 ‘耆夜’, ‘金縢’ 研讀 四則. Accessed July 2013 . Pines, Yuri. 2009. Envisioning Eternal Empire: Chinese Political Thought of the Warring States Period. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press.

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Qinghua Daxue cang Zhanguo zhujian 清華大學藏戰國竹簡. Ed. Qinghua Daxue chutu wenxian yanjiu yu baohu zhongxin 清華大學出土文獻研究與保護中心編. 2010–. Shanghai: Zhongxi shuju. Renfrew, Colin. 2000. Loot, Legitimacy and Ownership: The Ethical Crisis in Archaeology. London: Duckworth. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1997. Before Confucius: Studies in the Creation of the Chinese Classics. Albany: State University of New York Press. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1999a. “Calender and Chronology.” In The Cambridge History of Ancient China: From the Origins of Civilization to 221 B.C., ed. Michael Loewe and Edward L. Shaughnessy, 19–29. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1999b. “Western Zhou History.” In The Cambridge History of Ancient China: From the Origins of Civilization to 221 B.C., ed. Michael Loewe and Edward L. Shaughnessy, 292–351. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shen Pei 沈培. 2011. “Shi shi Zhanguo shidai cong zhi cong shou (huo cong ye) zhi zi” 試 䆁戰 國時代从 ‘之’ 从 ‘首’ (或从 ‘頁’) 之字. In Zhongguo Jianboxue guoji luntan wenji 中國簡帛學國際論壇文集, 111–121. Taiwan Daxue Zhongguo Wenxuexi. Accessed January 2015 . Shiji 史記. 1987. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Staack, Thies. 2012. “The ‘Neglected Backyard’ of Early Chinese Manuscripts.” Paper presented at “EASCM 4: Excavated and Purchased Manuscripts,” Paris, July 4–5. Staack, Thies. 2015. “Identifying Codicological Sub-units in Bamboo Manuscripts—Verso Lines Revisited.” Manuscript Cultures 8: 157–186. Stryjewska, Anna. 2013. “The ‘Zhou Wu Wang’ (‘Jinteng’) from Qinghua Manuscripts: Translation, Commentary and Comparison with Received Counterparts.” MSt thesis, University of Oxford. Sun Peiyang 孫沛陽. 2011. “Jiance beihuaxian chutan” 簡册背劃綫初探. Chutu wenxian yu guwenzi yanjiu 4: 449–462. Unger, Ulrich. 1976. “Die t’ai-pao-kuei-Inschrit.” In Festschrit für Alfred Hofmann zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Wolfgang Rehm, 184–195. Bochum: Horst Erdmann Verlag. Wang Hui 王暉. 1993. “Zhou chu Tangshu shou feng shiji san kao” 周初唐叔受封事跡三 考. In Xi Zhou shi lunwenji 西周史論文集, 933–943. Xi’an: Shanxi Renmin jiaoyu chubanshe. White, Hayden. 1981. “The Narrativization of Real Events.” Critical Inquiry 7.4: 793–798. Wierzbicka, Anna. 1999. Emotions across Languages and Cultures: Diversity and Universals. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Yu Yingshi 余英時. 1980. Zhongguo zhishi jieceng shilun: Gudai pian 中國知識階層史 論：古代篇. Taipei: Lianjing chubanshe.

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Chapter 7

The Yi Zhoushu and the Shangshu: The Case of Texts with Speeches Yegor Grebnev In the present study, I wish to reconsider the Shangshu 尚書 and the Yi Zhoushu 逸周書 (Remnant Zhou Documents) as a combined textual corpus.1 Although 1 The received Yi Zhoushu and the Zhoushu 周書 mentioned in the Hanshu 漢書 “Yiwen zhi” 藝文志 are two different arrangements of not entirely identical material. This important fact is often overlooked and creates much confusion. The misunderstanding is caused by the table of contents in the extant Yi Zhoushu that mentions titles of seventy chapters (of which fiftynine remain and eleven are lost). This number roughly agrees with the seventy-one chapters mentioned in “Yiwen zhi,” and if “Zhoushu xu” 周書序 (“Sequential Outline of the Zhou Documents”) at the end of the collection is counted as the seventy-first chapter, the number matches that in “Yiwen zhi” exactly. One might conclude that the Yi Zhoushu, with the exception of eleven lost chapters, has been preserved almost intact, except for evidence mitigating against such a conclusion (see McNeal 2012: 75–82). For example, as Zhou Yuxiu (2005: 24–47) has shown in her study of “Shi xun jie” 時訓解 (“Seasonal Interpretations Explained,” chap. 52), both the language and contents of this chapter betray its Eastern Han origins; apparently, it postdates “Yiwen zhi.” Wang Yinglin 王應麟 (1223–1296) in his Yuhai 玉海 cites passages from “Shi li xu” 諡例序 (“Prolegomena to the Precedents of Posthumous Names”) written by Shen Yue 沈約 (441–513). Shen Yue apparently mentions two different arrangements of the Zhoushu where chapters titled “Shifa” 諡法 (“The Order of Posthumous Names”) were positioned under different numbers. While in one case, he mentions an arrangement with two chapters—“Shifa, I” (“Shifa, shang” 諡法上, 56) and “Shifa, II” (“Shifa, xia” 諡法下, 57)—elsewhere he mentions only a single “Shifa” as chapter 42, whereas the received Yi Zhoushu contains “Shifa jie” 諡法解 (“The Order of Posthumous Names Explained,” 54) (Wang Yinglin 1987: 1034 [54.41a]). No matter whether Shen Yue consulted one or two redactions, the chapters were certainly arranged differently than in the received text. The fact that the Yi Zhoushu continued to undergo significant changes well into medieval times can be further deduced from the arrangement of the extant redaction that is divided into ten sections with a commentary attributed to Kong Chao 孔晁 (third century). This arrangement probably combines features of two different redactions known from medieval bibliographies, one in ten sections with no mention of a commentary and another in eight sections with Kong Chao’s commentary (Shaughnessy 1993). These examples of textual-historical complexities suffice to demonstrate that the transmission history of the Yi Zhoushu was rather complicated, and more such examples can be found in the important contribution of Yanaka Shin’ichi 谷中信一 that remains largely unnoticed outside Japan (Yanaka 1987). That being so, how could it be that the extant redaction agrees with “Yiwen zhi” so accurately? In my opinion, the only possible

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the notion of a relationship between these two collections is not new,2 most existing studies have been limited to examining particular texts within the Yi Zhoushu that appear to be the most reminiscent of the Shangshu.3 As a result, the Yi Zhoushu is no longer neglected as a source of secondary importance.4 Nevertheless, the criteria employed to identify the relatedness between certain texts from the Yi Zhoushu and the Shangshu are not always clearly defined. Considering that both collections are heterogeneous and cannot be efficiently analyzed in toto, it would be desirable to have a methodological framework to identify groups of texts with similar formal characteristics that would be applicable to both the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu. So far no such framework exists.5

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way to explain this is to assume that, at one of the later stages of the Yi Zhoushu’s formation, the editors of the table of contents, well aware of “Yiwen zhi,” consciously made the edited work as consistent with the ancient record as possible. Therefore, the Yi Zhoushu, despite its ancient origins, may have a much more significant medieval component than is commonly believed. The theory that the Zhoushu “must be the remnants of the hundred chapters mentioned by Confucius” (gai Kongzi suo lun bai pian zhi yu ye 蓋孔子所論百篇之余也) was put forward either by Liu Xiang 劉向 (79–8 BCE) or by Yan Shigu 顏師古 (581–645). It is preserved in a conflated line of commentary to the entry on the Zhoushu in “Yiwen zhi” (Hanshu 30.1706), and it is impossible to establish with certainty which part is a quotation from Liu Xiang and which was appended by Yan Shigu. In any case, the relatedness of the two collections must have been obvious long before Yan Shigu, owing to such facts as the equivalence of titles in the Zhoushu and the “Zhoushu” part of the Shangshu and the placement of the Zhoushu under the same rubric of “Yiwen zhi” as the Shangshu. Among the important attempts to identify groups of texts in the Yi Zhoushu that are reminiscent of the Shangshu are Jiang Shanguo 1988: 439–440; Liu Qiyu 1989: 95–97; Qu Wanli 1983: 397–398; Huang Huaixin 1992: 125–126. Another reason why the Yi Zhoushu has gained more attention is a series of influential studies on the “Shifu” 世俘 (“Great Capture”) chapter, a unique text in the Yi Zhoushu that contains a detailed depiction of the circumstances of the Zhou conquest of ca. 1045 BCE. The conquest is widely celebrated in ancient sources but “Shifu” is unusual in its depiction of cruelty, archaism of language, and abundance of detail. For important studies, see Gu Jiegang 1963; Shaughnessy 1980. Such a framework should be a methodologically justified set of criteria that could be applied to the whole corpus—or to a formally identifiable major subset of comparable material within the corpus. While many texts in the Yi Zhoushu evidently contain non-archaic language, disregarding them is methodologically unjustified because (1) there may be different degrees of archaism, and while certain texts are universally acknowledged as “archaic,” some borderline cases are difficult to fit within a simplified dichotomous classification; (2) while it has already become commonplace to compare the Yi Zhoushu against the Shangshu, a reverse comparison can also be beneficial, as it may reveal later features within the more respected collection and identify some patterns of its diachronic development.

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This problem is not restricted to the case of the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu. Indeed, for virtually all received textual collections from ancient China, there is no uncontested, reliable information about the dating, authorship, and intellectual affiliation of their specific sections.6 In this situation, the “time-tested” traditional titles, such as the Shangshu, the Yi Zhoushu, the Laozi 老子, or the Guanzi 管子, often appear as the most reliable starting points of research. However, in many cases using the traditional labels is very problematic, if not altogether impossible. This is certainly true for the present study, where I attempt to probe into the formation of textual traditions reflected in the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu at a relatively early stage, presumably before the massive compilation and standardization efforts that took place during and after the Han.7 Refusing to employ the book titles Shangshu and Yi Zhoushu as meaningful analytical concepts and considering them only as the culmination of a complex process of textual formation and transmission, I attempt to identify groups of analogous texts within the two collections and establish criteria that would allow us to link certain fragments of textually related material across the two collections. The Yi Zhoushu and the twentyeight modern-script chapters of the Shangshu8 together constitute a suffi­ciently large array of textual material to allow us to define groups of related textual types.9 Below, I will attempt to identify these types on the basis of a definite set of criteria. By so doing, I hope to contribute to an improved analytical framework for the study of both the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu and 6 Earlier approaches to establishing the chronology of received texts on the basis of their grammatical features (Karlgren 1926) are now treated with suspicion because of the scarcity of data and the acknowledgment of the complex layered character of most received texts. For a more recent debate on dating, see, e.g., Schaberg 2001: 315–324; Pines 2002. While no substantial progress in the absolute dating can be expected any time soon, the precision and reliability of relative chronology can be significantly increased if the methods of compositional analysis of texts are combined with the studies of the historical evolution of ancient Chinese. 7 On the unprecedented philological enterprises undertaken by Han scholars, see Nylan 2009, 2011. 8 I do not discuss the chapter “Tai shi” 泰誓 (“Great Harangue”) because of the dubious provenience of the received version and the numerous complexities surrounding the reconstruction of the purportedly more authentic version cited in a number of early sources. For an overview of these issues, see Martin Kern’s chapter 8 in this volume. 9 By a “textual type” I understand a group of texts sharing common compositional patterns. This includes the inventory of structural elements above the level of the phrase, their compositional functions in the text, and the range of expressive devices and textual formulas employed in each of these structural elements. Although textual types can be related to genres, I avoid the term “genre” because it invites large-scale generalizations, whereas my understanding of textual types is narrower, more technical, and perhaps more suitable for fine-grained analysis of textual structures in their diachronic evolution.

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possibly even open up broader methodological venues for the investigation of textual relationships between different texts from received ancient Chinese collections.10 Interestingly, a similar approach has been suggested for a historically informed recategorization of early Buddhist texts.11 I start my analysis by defining the criteria for determining the relatedness of texts within the two collections.12 I limit the scope of my work to texts with speeches because such texts constitute the majority of the Shangshu and approximately half of the Yi Zhoushu; besides, speeches are more relevant in formal comparison since they follow stricter compositional conventions and thus have a larger number of recurring and directly comparable textual features than nonspeech texts. Therefore, I use most of my criteria to distinguish between different texts presented as speeches. In particular, I identify whether a speech is “dramatic” or “nondramatic,” what type of contextualization is used in its opening part, and whether it contains catalogs (I discuss the terms “dramatic,” “nondramatic,” “contextualization,” and “catalogs” below). Next, I identify groups of texts that have similar sets of formal features and discuss

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Textual types that I identify in this study are not restricted to the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu. In fact, seemingly related texts can be found in such collections as Liu tao 六韜 (Six Bow Cases) and Da Dai liji 大戴禮記 as well as in some recently excavated texts, such as the well-known collection of bamboo strips held at Tsinghua (Qinghua) University. However, my goal in this study is not to cover all the relevant material but rather to develop a systematic analytical framework that could be applied to a wide range of texts, both known and as yet unpublished. For this purpose, the joint corpus of the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu is most suitable, as it provides a large number of sufficiently diverse texts that, nevertheless, demonstrate many shared characteristics. Joy Manné (1990) has created a typology of suttas in the Pāli Nikāyas relying predominantly on the use of introductory and closing formulas. Readers familiar with Mark Edward Lewis’s Writing and Authority in Early China will notice that some of the criteria used in my classification are similar or identical to the ones set up by Lewis in his brief analysis of the Shangshu, including the balance between speech and narrative and the use of catalogs (Lewis 1999: 100–105). While I agree with Lewis in many of his conclusions, including those concerning the relatively late origin of texts in which narrative and catalogs prevail, I do not think that his “transition from the realm of the state to that of the schools” explains such developments satisfactorily. The emancipation of textuality from exclusive use in state contexts indeed triggered important changes, but those occurred within textual communities whose structure and operation may have been very different from the conventional understanding of “schools.” Dirk Meyer (2012) has discussed some of these developments in his analysis of excavated philosophical texts.

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briefly the significance of these newly established groups for future studies of the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu.13 I examine all chapters from the modern-script Shangshu except “Yu gong” 禹貢 (“Tribute of Yu”),14 which I consider a nonspeech text. In the Yi Zhoushu, I examine the following chapters:15 Section 2: 11 “Da kuang, I” 大匡 I (“The Great Rectification”),16 12 “Cheng dian” 程典 (“Testament at Cheng”) Section 3: 21 “Feng bao” 酆保 (“Safeguarding at Feng”), 22 “Da kai” 大開 (“The Greater Inception”),17 23 “Xiao kai” 小開 (“The Lesser Inception”), 24 “Wen jing” 文儆 (“Alarming of King Wen”), 25 “Wen zhuan” 文傳 (“King Wen’s Tradition”), 26 “Rou wu” 柔武 (“Soft Warfare”), 27 “Da kai Wu” 大開武 (“The Greater Inception of King Wu”),18 28 “Xiao 13

14 15

16

17

18

My classification may appear overly mechanical since I prioritize the easily identifiable formal textual features over the more intricate ones and largely disregard the contents of texts. Indeed, it would be possible to make my study more fine-grained by highlighting the important differences in texts that otherwise appear formally similar. This improvement, however, would have required me to rely more on subjective interpretation and would have made my classification lose much of its transparency, which I prefer to avoid. Nonetheless, I acknowledge that a scrutiny of textual intricacies would complement my detached formalistic analysis and perhaps challenge it in important ways. I am grateful to Robert Eno, whose criticism has allowed me to reconsider the limitations of my approach and to adjust some claims that were insufficiently substantiated in an earlier version of this study. I follow Legge’s translations of chapter titles of the Shangshu with some modifications. Translations of Shangshu passages below are my own. The translations of chapter titles are preliminary. For the sake of convenience, I will hereafter omit the character jie 解 when mentioning the individual chapters of the Yi Zhoushu. This character appears to have been originally employed to mark chapters with commentary, but later this distinction was lost, and in the modern redaction all chapters—with or without commentary—have this character appended to the chapter titles, which renders it meaningless. See Huang Huaixin 1992: 71–89; McNeal 2002: 49; Zhou Yuxiu 2005: 47–52; Zhang Huaitong 2008: 75–77; Wang Lianlong 2010: 57–62. The Yi Zhoushu contains two texts titled “Da kuang” 大匡: chapter 11 in section 2 and chapter 37 in section 4. In order to distinguish between these two texts, I call them “Da kuang, I” and “Da kuang, II,” respectively. Chapters 22 (“Da kai”), 37 (“Da kuang, II”), and 38 (“Wen zheng”) formally do not contain speeches, as they do not contain a character yue 曰 marking the opening of the speech. Nevertheless, because of their typological similarity to a large group of texts with speeches in the Yi Zhoushu, I do not exclude these texts from consideration. The reasons behind this decision are discussed in more detail below. The titles of chapters 27 “Da kai Wu” 大開武 (“The Greater Inception of King Wu”) and 28

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Section 4: Section 5:

Section 6: Section 7: Section 8: Section 9:

kai Wu” 小開武 (“The Lesser Inception of King Wu”), 29 “Bao dian” 寶典 (“Treasured Testament”), 30 “Feng mou” 酆謀 (“Pondering at Feng”), 31 “Wu jing” 寤儆 (“Alarming at Awakening”) 34 “He wu” 和寤 (“Peaceful Awakening”), 37 “Da kuang, II” 大匡 II (“The Great Rectification”), 38 “Wen zheng” 文政 (“Cultured Government”), 40 “Da ju” 大聚 (“The Great Assembly”) 43 “Shang shi” 商誓 (“Harangue to Shang”), 44 “Duo yi” 度邑 (“Measuring of the Capital”), 45 “Wu jing” 武儆 (“Alarming of King Wu”), 46 “Wu quan” 五權 (“Five Balances”), 47 “Cheng kai” 成開 (“King Cheng’s Inception”), 49 “Huang men” 皇門 (“The Great Gate”), 50 “Da jie” 大戒 (“The Great Cautioning”) 56 “Chang mai” 嘗麥 (“Tasting of Wheat”), 57 “Ben dian” 本典 (“Basic Testament”) 58 “Guan ren” 官人 (“The Officials”), 59 “Wang hui” 王會 (“The King’s Assembly”) 60 “Zhai gong” 祭公 (“The Duke of Zhai”) 63 “Rui Liangfu” 芮良夫, 64 “Taizi Jin” 太子晉 (“Heir Apparent Jin”), 66 “Yin zhu” 殷祝 (“Yin Incantation”), 67 “Zhou zhu” 周祝 (“Zhou Incantation”)

Criteria Used to Identify the Formal Similarity between Texts 1 Narrative and Speech19 This criterion indicates whether a text contains extended narrative passages that are not compositionally subjugated to speech. While all texts in the combined corpus contain some narrative, of which yue 曰 (“it was said”), wang yue 王曰 (“the king said”), or wang ruo yue 王若曰 (“thus said the king”)20 imme­

19

20

“Xiao kai Wu” 小開武 (“The Lesser Inception of King Wu”) are corrupt and difficult to translate. As first suggested by Sun Yirang 孫詒讓 (1848–1908) and recently reiterated by Robin McNeal (2012: 131, 216), they should perhaps be reconstructed as “Da Wu kai” 大武 開 (“The Greater Inception of King Wu”) and “Xiao Wu kai” 小武開 (“The Lesser Inception of King Wu”), respectively, see Huang Huaixin et al. (2007: 272). I leave the Chinese titles unchanged but follow McNeal’s suggestion in their English translations. I adopt a very technical understanding of “narrative” as any part of a text that is not explicitly presented as a speech, either monologic or dialogic. A similar distinction between speech and narrative was drawn by David Schaberg (2001: 12) in his magisterial study of the Zuo zhuan 左傳 and Guoyu 國語. For a recent analysis of the wang ruo yue 王若曰 formula in the context of Western Zhou bronze texts, see Falkenhausen 2011. According to Falkenhausen, in bronze texts

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diately preceding a speech might be the shortest examples, only a few of them contain narrative that is not compositionally subjugated to speech. However, there is a clear distinction between a narrative used to introduce or furnish speech and a compositionally self-sufficient one, which I prefer to call speech-independent narrative. In this study, only those texts that contain speech-independent narrative will be considered as having narrative, while those texts where the narrative is subjugated to the speech will be considered as “pure speeches.”21 2 Dramatic and Nondramatic Speech As texts with speech constitute the majority of the combined corpus of the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu, a more fine-grained division of different types of speech is necessary. I will not take into account the obvious distinction between monologic and dialogic speech, because there appears to be no significant difference between these two kinds on the level of composition. Instead, I propose to consider the difference between what I call “dramatic” and “nondramatic” speeches, of which the former are emotionally laden and personalized and have a richer repertoire of emphatic devices, while the latter appear as treatises superficially furnished by emphatic devices reminiscent of dramatic speeches.22 One of the criteria to distinguish between dramatic and

21

22

this formula should be read as “the king approvingly said,” as it marks the opening of an utterance by the king in response to a speech pronounced by a subject. This ritual context was possibly one of the initial sources of the Shangshu tradition; however, additional precaution is necessary when applying Falkenhausen’s discovery to the reading of the Shangshu texts, which might have undergone a long evolution after having received the initial influence from the tradition reflected in Western Zhou bronze texts. Therefore, in those texts of the Shangshu that do not demonstrate any apparent relationship with the ritual context of bronze texts, I prefer to translate the wang ruo yue formula with the more conventional rendition “thus said the king.” It is not always possible to decide with confidence whether a certain passage in the text is speech or narrative. In what follows I predominantly rely on conventional readings presuming that the speech fragments are preceded by the character yue 曰, commonly used to mark the opening of a transcribed oral utterance already in Western Zhou bronze texts (Falkenhausen 2011: 240). The distinction between “dramatic” and “nondramatic” texts proposed in this study is inspired by a theory advanced by Helmut Utzschneider (2010), who suggests that drama can be seen as a universal genre shared by various ancient textual cultures. I have also been influenced by Martin Kern (2009: 151), who proposes to understand the early stratum of the Shangshu as “texts for formal recitation—that had their place, and were preserved and perpetuated, within the institutions of religious and political commemoration from mid–Western Zhou times onward.”

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nondramatic speech is the even distribution of first- and second-person pronouns, vocatives, and exclamations throughout the text. Unlike nondramatic speeches, where such elements normally occur only at the very beginning and at the very end of the text, in dramatic speeches they are more evenly distributed. This even distribution creates an impression of personal communication tied to a specific situation and a feeling of dialogic involvement that persists throughout the entire text. In the nondramatic speeches, however, this dialogic involvement tends to fade away after several introductory passages—only to reappear toward the end of most such texts in the stylized postface formula where one of the speakers praises the veracity of the received instruction and exhorts himself (and the audience) to follow it with due vigilance.23 Background-Centered, Template-Based, and Other Kinds of Contextualization I understand contextualization as a compositional technique used to position a speech in a certain temporal and spatial setting, to define speakers and their target audience at the time of pronouncement, and to identify the disposition of speakers before or during the speech. Contextualization is an important compositional device that allows the text to present itself to the audience and that reflects specific concerns of the composers or editors of the text. Not all texts in the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu are contextualized, but among those that are, there are clearly several distinctive approaches toward contextualization. The background-centered contextualization is employed to create a unique elaborate setting for the speech. It is important that these settings are never identical, and there are always some contextualization details that make the setting of each text recognizably original. Because of this focus on the dis­ tinctive details in the background, I call this contextualization technique “background-centered.” Elements of contextualization in such texts include a relatively vivid description of background events, mention of the speakers and their audience, and naming of the action(s) immediately accompanying the speech or motivating it. Further, it is important to distinguish between larger-scale events, such as a military campaign, the arrival of the king to the capital, or a natural omen, and smaller-scale actions performed by the speaker within the described setting before the speech or—adverbially—through the 3

23

The only exception is chapter 23, “Xiao kai,” where personal pronouns and exclamations are evenly dispersed throughout the text. However, I believe that this text is typologically closer to nondramatic speech, for reasons that will be explained below.

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speech itself.24 Texts with background-centered contextualization contain both these elements, and it is the larger-scale background event that apparently serves as a temporal reference point for the speech. The opening passages in texts with background-centered contextualization may also mention a specific date and place, but these elements are optional. Texts with template-based contextualization are less preoccupied with the provision of a unique background for the speech, but they put a stronger emphasis on the date and, with a few exceptions, the place, providing these details in a language reminiscent of Western Zhou texts on ritual bronzes. Opening passages in texts contextualized in this way are less rich in detail and more formulaic. Such texts provide only rudimentary background details for the speech, and (with only one exception) no descriptions of larger-scale background events are given.25 On the other hand, opening passages in such texts may also include an “inquiry,” an initial question that kindles the conversation recorded in the text, while the texts with background-centered contextualization never contain such initial questions. Tables 7.1 and 7.2 give several examples of introductory passages from texts with background-centered and template-based contextualization to clarify the distinction.26 As the two examples from the Shangshu in table 7.1 indicate, texts with background-centered contextualization may or may not contain dates, but they always mention an event of a larger scale that serves as a temporal reference for the speech. Even though most texts with background-centered contextualization contain rather elaborate introductory passages, in some texts (such as “Xi bo kan Li” [“The Chief of the West’s Conquest of Li”]) these 24

25

26

The opposition between large-scale background events and smaller-scale accompanying actions is comparable to the distinction between internal and external frame proposed by Meyer in chapter 3 in this volume and is based on very similar observations. The exception is chapter 21, “Feng bao,” whose opening passage mentions that “the princes of nine regions arrived at Zhou.” However, the structural position of this element in the opening passage is extremely odd since it is inserted in the middle of what can be identified as the indivisible contextualization formula in bronze texts: 維二十三祀庚子 朔，九州之侯咸格于周。王在酆，昧爽，立于少庭。 (In the twenty-third ritual cycle, on day gengzi at the new moon, the princes of nine regions arrived at Zhou. The king was at Feng. Before dawn, he stood in the lesser courtyard.) No such mention of any third party in between the date and the king’s location is possible in bronze texts, especially considering that the action ge 各 / 格 (to arrive) in contextualizing passages of bronze texts is reserved for the king. No other text in the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu breaks this pattern. A fuller discussion of the various contextualization patterns of the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu and their possible connections with epigraphic texts is presented in my doctoral thesis (Grebnev 2016).

258 Table 7.1

Grebnev Examples of introductory passages from texts with background-centered contextualization in the Shangshu

Text

Date

Larger-scale background events

Smaller-scale accompanying actions and recipients of the speech

“Xi bo kan Li”

—

西伯既戡黎。 It was when the chief of the West had conquered Li.

祖伊恐，奔告于王。 Zu Yi was afraid; [he] hurriedly reported to the king.

惟五月丁亥 In the fifth month, day dinghai,

王來自奄至于宗 周。 the king came from Yan and arrived at Zongzhou.

周公曰：王若曰：猷告 爾四國多方。惟爾殷侯 尹民。我惟大降爾命。 The Duke of Zhou said: “Thus said the king: ‘I will discourse and tell you, [the people of] the four states and many regions. It is to you, officials and people of the hou of Yin, that I greatly bestow a decree issued for you!’”

西伯戡黎

“Duo fang” 多方

passages are rather brief while still conforming to the same pattern. The structure of introductory passages in texts with template-based contextualization is, however, quite different. As table 7.2 shows, texts with template-based contextualization normally do not mention any larger-scale background events, and the role of the primary temporal reference is taken over by a date, which is usually given in formulas reminiscent of texts on ritual bronzes. Also, a new element, the “Inquiry,” which serves as a bridge between the introductory passage and the main text, appears in some of these texts. Texts with rudimentary contextualization employ a technique that is formally very different from background-centered contextualization but that seems to serve partly the same compositional function. In such texts, no separate opening passage with background information is provided. However, the

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Table 7.2 Examples of introductory passages from texts with template-based contextualization in the Yi Zhoushu

Larger-scale Smaller-scale background accompanying actions and events recipients of the speech

Text

Date and place

“Wen zhuan” 文傳 section 3, chapter 25

文王受命之九 — 年，時維莫 春，在鄗。 In the ninth year of King Wen’s receiving of the Mandate, in the time of late spring, [the king was] at Hao. 維王一祀二 — 月，王在酆。

“Da kai Wu” 大開武 section 3, chapter 27

In the king’s first ritual cycle, the second month, the king was at Feng.

Inquiry

太子發曰a：吾語 — 汝我所保所守， 守之哉。 [The king summoned] the heir apparent Fa, saying: “I tell you: what I preserve and what I keep, you should [also] keep!” 密命訪於周公旦 嗚呼！余夙夜維商密 不顯，誰和？告歲之 曰： 有秋，今余不獲其 落，若何？ [He] secretly “Wuhu! I am daily and ordered Dan, the nightly [perplexed that] Duke of Zhou, to pay a visit and said: the secrets of Shang are not exposed. How [do I put my mind] at peace? It is reported that the year has yielded its harvest, but now I do not get its produce. What can be done about [it]?”

a Lu Wenchao 盧文弨 (1717–1796) proposes adding a character, zhao 召, at the beginning of this passage, building on a citation preserved in the Taiping yulan 太平御覽 of 978 (Huang Huaixin et al. 2007: 237). This emendation is necessary for a sensible reading of the text. However, I am reluctant to accept the other emendations of this passage proposed by Lu Wenchao, as they substitute a fully valid reading with a “more complete,” but not always critically justified, reading of the version preserved in citations.

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very first opening phrase within the speech contains certain information about the recipients of the speech and the attitude of the speaker. Such a pattern is present in the “Tang shi” 湯誓 (“Harangue of Tang”), “Weizi zhi ming” 微子之 命 (“Command to the Count of Wei”), “Da gao” 大誥 (“Great Announcement”), and “Jun Shi” 君奭 (“Lord Shi”) chapters of the Shangshu and in the “Shang shi” chapter of the Yi Zhoushu. Here is an example of such an opening phrase, from “Da gao”: Thus said the king: “I intend to make a great announcement to you, [the people] of many states, and you, the many intendants of affairs!”

王若曰：猷大誥爾多邦越爾御事。

Only a few texts employ a structurally distinctive pattern that I label alarming contextualization. At the focus of the opening passages of such texts is not a larger-scale background event or the patterned time-and-place information but rather a description of an alarming circumstance in a king’s life, such as a revelation received in a dream or a grave physical condition. Additionally, this contextualization is characterized by a distinct structural pattern that distinguishes it from background-centered and template-based contextualization. In the latter two types, the date is always positioned before the description of background and accompanying events. By contrast, in alarming contextualization, the year, the month, and the “lunar phase” (yuexiang 月相) are placed before the description of an alarming event, while the day notation (either cyclical days or a numerical count of days) is placed thereafter. The examples in table 7.3 reveal this peculiarity. It is notable that the distinctive pattern of contextualization employed in the four texts in table 7.3 possibly relates them to the “Jinteng” 金縢 (“Metal-Bound Coffer”) and “Gu ming” 顧命 (“Testamentary Charge”) chapters in the Shangshu, which also contain similar alarming opening passages where the information regarding the king’s condition is placed between two bits of temporal information (see table 7.4).27 Finally, there are some texts with writing-informed contextualization. Al­though this type of contextualization bears some similarity to the other types mentioned above, it produces a radically different understanding of the context, as it focuses not on the circumstances of the speech but on the circumstances of the composition of a text. An example of such contextualization is chapter 12 of the Yi Zhoushu, “Cheng dian” 程典 (“Testament at Cheng”): 27

A similar contextualization technique is also employed in “*Baoxun” 保訓 of the Qinghua manuscripts collection. Dirk Meyer’s comparative analysis of “Gu ming” and “*Baoxun” in this volume (chapter 3) provides a very telling example of how very different texts could have been created with this type of contextualization.

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In the third month, after the po was born, King Wen assembled the lords of the six regions to present [gifts] and [to express their] zeal toward Shang. The Shang king, on account of his relatives’ slander, was infuriated [with King Wen] beyond measure. The princes did not anticipate28 [it] and turned against King Wen. King Wen found this unbearable and thereupon composed the “Testament at Cheng” in order to direct [them] in the three kinds of loyalty, saying: … 維三月既生魄，文王合六州之侯，奉勤于商。商王用宗讒，震怒無 疆。諸侯不娛，逆諸文王。文王弗忍，乃作程典，以命三忠，曰：

4 Catalogs Organization of knowledge by means of ordered lists (most commonly, numbered lists) is a well-attested feature in Warring States texts, but the Yi Zhoushu is notorious for its abundance of gnomic catalogs of prescriptions and abstract notions that remain unexplained in traditional commentaries.29 Nevertheless, even though such catalogs are sometimes regarded as characteristic of the Yi Zhoushu, not every text in the collection contains catalogs; and, on the other hand, there are comparable catalogs in some texts of the Shangshu. Hence, the presence or absence of catalogs may be an important criterion to establish the formal relationship between texts. An example of the typical catalog style is the following fragment of chapter 21, “Feng bao,” of the Yi Zhoushu: The six guards: The first: those who are clear-sighted about humaneness cherish mercy. The second: those who are clear-sighted about wisdom design plans. The third: those who are clear-sighted about martiality promote the brave. The fourth: those who are clear-sighted about talents promote the officers. The fifth: those who are clear-sighted about skills set an example for the officials. The sixth: those who are clear-sighted about the Mandate promote the government.

28 29

I read yu 娛 (to amuse) as yu 虞 (to anticipate). Lu Wenchao reports that one edition that he consulted had 虞 in place of 娛 (Huang Huaixin et al. 2007: 167). Zhao Boxiong (1999) was perhaps the first to identify numbered lists as a peculiar feature of Warring States texts that can be effectively used in establishing their relative chronology. See also Zhou Yuxiu 2005: 236–250.

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Table 7.3 Introductory passages from texts with alarming contextualization in the Yi Zhoushu Title

Date (year, month)

— “Wen jing” 文儆 section 3, chapter 24

維四月朔 “Wu jing” 寤儆 section 3, chapter 31 In the fourth month, at the new moon,

Alarming event (king’s condition)

Date (day)

維文王告夢，懼後祀之無 庚辰 保。 King Wen made an On day gengchen, announcement concerning a dream. He feared that the heira would not be preserved. 王告儆。 — the king made an announcement concerning an alarm [received in a dream].

惟十有二祀四月 “Wu jing” 武儆 section 5, chapter 45 In the twelfth ritual cycle, in the fourth month,

王告夢。

— “Wu quan” 五權 section 5, chapter 46

維王不豫。 The king was indisposed.

丙辰

On day bingchen, the king made an announcement about a dream.

于五日 On the fifth day,

a I read housi 後祀 (later sacrifice) as housi 後嗣 (heir), following Gao Sisun’s 高似孫 (1158– 1231) Shilüe 史略 (Outline of Historical Works), which contains a summary of an unpreserved but often more reliable redaction of the Yi Zhoushu with citations from the opening passages of most chapters (Shilüe 6.8a). b At this place a character is missing in the extant redaction of the Yi Zhoushu. Several Qing scholars propose ignoring the lacuna, as an additional character would break the consistency of a series of four-character phrases (Huang Huaixin et al. 2007: 303–304). While this reasoning can be questioned, I follow it for lack of better alternatives. c It is possible to accept an alternative reading proposed by Sun Yirang, who suggests that zhi 枝 (branch) stands for the graphically similar ban 板 (board) (Huang Huaixin et al. 2007: 485). This would lead to the reading “the jiao treasure [inscribed on] a metal board.”

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Accompanying action

Inquiry

詔太子發曰：汝敬之哉！

—

[the king] summoned heir apparent Fa, saying: “You should be reverent toward this!”

召周公旦曰： He summoned the Duke of Zhou, Dan, saying:

嗚呼！謀泄哉！今朕寤有商驚予，欲與無□b 則，欲攻無庸，以王不足，戒乃不興，憂其深 矣！ “Wuhu! The plans are leaking! Today, as I was awakening, Shang alarmed me: ‘If you want to receive [rulership], you have no [appropriate] rank, and if you want to attack, you have no military achievements; you do not suffice to be king, and beware not to start out!’ My anxiety is very severe!” —

出金枝c郊寶開和d細e書，命詔周公旦，立後 嗣，屬小子誦文及寶典。王曰：嗚呼！敬之 哉！汝勤之無蓋！ there were taken out: the jiao treasure [decorated with] metal rods, the writings on silk concerning inception and harmonization. [The king] ordered the Duke of Zhou, Dan, to be summoned to establish the heir, to admonish the offspring to recite the ornate writing and the treasured testament. The king said: “Wuhu! Be reverent toward this and do not cause harm!” 召周公旦曰： — [the king] summoned the Duke of Zhou, Dan, saying: …

d The compound kaihe 開和 (tentatively translated as “inception and harmonization”) occurs in chapter 27, “Da kai Wu,” of the Yi Zhoushu: 維王其明用開和之言，言孰敢不格？ (If you, O king, intelligently use the words of inception and harmonization, then, [as a result of these] words, will there be anyone who would dare not to conform to proper patterns?) e Following Zhu Junsheng 朱駿聲 (1788–1858), I read xi 細 (minute, thin) as chou 紬 (silk fabric). The two characters are similar in shape, and the infrequent chou 紬 could have been replaced by the common xi 細 (Huang Huaixin et al. 2007: 485).

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Table 7.4 Introductory passages from texts with alarming contextualization in the Shangshu Title

Date (year, month)

King’s condition

Date (day)

Accompanying action and recipients of the speech

“Jinteng” 金縢

既克商二 年，

王有疾弗 豫。

—

—

In the second year after the conquest of Shang,

the king had an acute illness; he would not recover. 王不懌。

甲子，

王乃洮頮水。相被冕服，憑玉 幾。乃同。召太保奭、芮伯、 彤伯、畢公、衛侯、毛公、師 氏、虎臣、百尹、御事。 the king washed his face. He was assisted in putting on the headwear and the attire, leaning on the jade tablet. Then the king called an assembly. He summoned Great Protector Shi, the Earl of Rui, the Earl of Tong, the Duke of Bi, the Marquis of Wei, the Duke of Mao, the master of court affairs, the royal guard, various officers, and superintendents of affairs.

“Gu ming” 顧命

惟四月哉生 魄，

In the fourth the king was month, during indisposed. the birth of po,a

On the day jiazi

a For a discussion of the confusing and sometimes diametrically opposite meanings of po (which refers either to the radiance or, on the contrary, to the light-consuming dark substance of the moon) in ancient texts, see Shaughnessy 2009. I hesitate to give a definite calendrical interpretation to this and other “lunar phase” terms.

六衛： 一明仁懷恕， 二明智設謀， 三明武攝勇， 四明才攝士，

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265

五明藝法官， 六明命攝政。

While this example is representative of the style of cataloging found in a subset of texts in the Yi Zhoushu, I would tentatively extend the recognition of catalogs beyond such rigid, numbered lists to other kinds of ordered information. In particular, I would include spatially arranged lists of ritual dispositions (e.g., in “Chang mai” in the Yi Zhoushu and “Gu ming” in the Shangshu). Below is an example of such a list from “Gu ming.” I have to acknowledge, nevertheless, that the proliferation of catalogs in Warring States texts is still unexplained and that different types of catalogs might have originated as a result of different factors. The low-ranking officials set up the patterned screen and the stitched garments. In between the windows facing south, they spread layered bamboo mats with black and white edging and a small table decorated with colorful jade. In the western corner facing east, they spread layered reed mats with stitched edging and a small table decorated with patterned shells. In the eastern corner facing west, they spread layered cane mats with painted edging and a small table decorated with engraved jade. In the western passage facing south, they spread layered bamboo mats with black-thread edging and a lacquered small table.

狄設黼扆、綴衣。 牖間南響：敷重篾席、黼純、華玉仍几。 西序東嚮：敷重厎席、綴純、文貝仍几。 東序西嚮：敷重豐席、畫純、雕玉仍几。 西夾南嚮：敷重筍席、玄紛純、漆仍几。

Groups of Texts with Shared Formal Features I will now provide the description of significant textual types in the joint corpus of speeches in the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu. It is possible to establish several groups of texts with shared sets of compositional features that encompass the majority of speeches in the joint corpus. I believe that this classification is important for understanding the selection criteria employed in the two collections and ultimately for the development of better reading strategies of individual texts in these collections.

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 Type 1. Dramatic Speeches (Prevalent Type in the Shangshu)

Type of text

Type of contextualization

Catalogs

Speech, dramatic

Background-centered (sometimes rudimentary) or absent

Absent

Texts in the Shangshu: “Gan shi” 甘誓 (“Harangue at Gan”), “Tang shi,” “Pan Geng” 盤庚, “Xi bo kan Li” 西伯戡黎, “Weizi zhi ming,” “Mu shi” 牧誓 (“Harangue at Mu”), “Da gao,” “Kang gao” 康誥 (“Announcement to the Prince of Kang”), “Jiu gao” 酒誥 (“Announcement about Drunkenness”), “Shao gao” 召誥 (“Announcement of the Duke of Shao”), “Luo gao” 洛誥 (“Announcement concerning Luo”), “Duo shi” 多士 (“Many Officers”), “Wu yi” 無逸 (“Against Slothfulness”), “Jun Shi,” “Duo fang” 多方 (“Many Regions”), “Li zheng” 立政 (“Establishment of the Government”), “Wen hou zhi ming” 文侯之命 (“The Mandate of Marquis Wen”), “Bi shi” 費誓 (“Harangue at Bi”), “Qin shi” 秦誓 (“Harangue of the Marquis of Qin”) (nineteen out of twentyeight chapters). Texts in the Yi Zhoushu: “Shang shi” 商誓, “Duo yi” 度邑, “Zhai gong” 祭公 (three out of thirty-three chapters). Dramatic speeches are most characteristic of the Shangshu, but there are also three similar texts in the Yi Zhoushu. Most of these texts are relatively long (over one thousand characters), with the exception of the four “harangues” (shi 誓) and “Xi bo kan Li,” “Weizi zhi ming,” and “Wen hou zhi ming.” All these texts create the impression of an immediate dialogic involvement by means of firstand second-person pronouns, vocatives, and exclamations that are evenly distributed throughout the text. The majority of dramatic speeches have background-centered contextualization; however, a number of texts have only rudimentary contextualization (“Tang shi,” “Weizi zhi ming,” “Da gao,” “Jun Shi,” “Shang shi”) or no contextualization at all (“Jiu gao,” “Wu yi,” “Li zheng,” “Wen hou zhi ming,” “Bi shi,” “Qin shi,” “Zhai gong”).30 30

“Shao gao” and “Luo gao” in the Shangshu are special for including long fragments of speech-independent narrative. The speech in “Shao gao” is preceded by a relatively long list of separately dated events arranged in chronological order; this “chronicle” probably has a different compositional function than the introductory passages in dramatic speech, which usually describe only one event immediately related to the speech. “Luo gao,” on the other hand, contains a closing passage with speech-independent narrative whose

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Template-based contextualization does not occur in such texts, and it is possible to trace a correlation between background-centered contextualization and the dramatic character of speeches. This correlation is not surprising in light of Helmut Utzschneider’s observations according to which dramatic texts are characterized by the way they visualize the speakers’ entrances.31 In other words, what I have separately identified as “dramatic speech” and “background-centered contextualization” may in fact be two components of one compositional pattern used in early dramatic texts. It should be noticed that I have applied a formalistic approach to the identification of dramatic speeches; that is, I have selected texts that are char­acterized by a relatively even distribution of dramatic elements and the absence of numerical catalogs. Nevertheless, the attribution of such texts as “Wu yi” to the category of dramatic speech can be justifiably questioned because, as Mick Hunter points out, it does not provide any details “to connect it with a specific historical figure or moment.”32 However, I prefer to leave this text in the category of “dramatic speech” since more research is necessary to offer reliable criteria to distinguish between “authentically dramatic” texts and those that only imitate certain elements of this compositional pattern.

31

32

structure is very much reminiscent of epigraphic texts produced during or shortly after the Shang dynasty. Just like some oracle-bone inscriptions and early bronze texts, the closing passage in “Luo gao” employs an encircling pattern of contextualization where the different bits of temporal information are positioned at the very beginning and the very end of the passage. Here are the opening and closing parts: On the day wuchen, the king was in the new capital. The sacrifice on the occasion of the new year was presented: to King Wen was offered one red bull; to King Wu was offered one red bull. … It was in the twelfth month, when the Duke of Zhou, Dan, safeguarded the receiving of the Mandate by [Kings] Wen and Wu, in the seventh year. 戊辰 。王在新邑。烝祭歲：文王騂牛 一，武王騂牛一。 … 在十有二月，惟周公誕保文武受命，惟七年。 This interesting passage was certainly composed by someone who was aware of the distinctive structural pattern of Shang and early Western Zhou texts that, as far as we can judge from the evidence of the bronze texts, was superseded by a new pattern already during the mid–Western Zhou. I believe that this portion of “Luo gao” can be justifiably read separately from the rest of the text. Utzschneider (2010: 67) identifies the following basic characteristics of “dramatic” texts: “(1) by means of direct speeches and addresses, changing speakers, themes, and perspectives, they evoke the impression of actors’ entrances; (2) the speeches visualize the scene of the entrances—in other words, they stage the location and other visual circumstances embodied in the speeches.” See Hunter’s contribution to this volume (chapter 11).

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Type 2. Nondramatic Speeches (Prevalent Type in the Yi Zhoushu)

Type of text

Type of contextualization

Catalogs

Speech, nondramatic

Template-based

Present

 Texts in the Shangshu: “Hong fan” 洪範 (“Great Plan”) (one out of twentyeight). Texts in the Yi Zhoushu: “Feng bao” 酆保, “Da kai” 大開, “Xiao kai” 小開, “Wen zhuan” 文傳, “Rou wu” 柔武, “Da kai Wu” 大開武, “Xiao kai Wu” 小開武, “Bao dian” 寶典, “Feng mou” 酆謀, “Da kuang, II” 大匡 II, “Wen zheng” 文政, “Da ju” 大聚, “Wu quan” 五權, “Cheng kai” 成開, “Da jie” 大戒, “Ben dian” 本典 (sixteen out of thirty-three). Nondramatic speeches are most characteristic of the Yi Zhoushu; remarkably, “Hong fan” in the Shangshu also shares much of the same pattern. Most of these texts are of medium length (between three hundred and seven hundred characters), although there are a number of shorter texts, with fewer than two hundred characters, while “Hong fan” extends to more than three thousand. All such texts have template-based contextualization. Nondramatic speeches usually consist of three sections: an introductory passage, a main body that contains the argumentative core of the text, and a postface (except for “Hong fan” and “Rou wu”) that seems to constitute, with the introductory passage, a bipartite framing. The introductory passage provides basic date-and-place information and positions the speakers in a generic environment in which the conversation purportedly took place. The main body of such texts is predominantly devoted to catalogs, where the presence of the speaker is imperceptible. In the postface, the speaker reappears only to urge his interlocutor to appreciate the message and pay due reverence to it. Such postfaces rely heavily on uniform formulas that occur repetitively in different texts. Overall, a high degree of structural consistency across nondramatic speeches further adds to the impression that these texts were created with a similar compositional template in mind. One can imagine that contextualization is used in nondramatic texts as a tribute to the textual tradition of dramatic speeches and perhaps as a means to confer more authority to the text by the adoption of a respected textual pattern that is also known from texts on ritual bronzes. However, the tradition of dramatic speeches is followed only in the opening and closing passages; the main contents of nondramatic speeches are focused on systemized knowledge and not on personalized, emotionally laden utterances.

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Table 7.5 Distribution of personal pronouns and exclamations: “Bao dian” (nondramatic speech) and “Duo shi” (dramatic speech)

Title

Distribution of personal pronouns and exclamations: 吾, 我, 余, 予, 朕, 爾, 汝, 敬哉, 嗚呼

“Bao dian,” Yi Zhoushu (573 characters) “Duo shi,” Shangshu (570 characters)

Table 7.5 exemplifies how a typical nondramatic speech differs from a dramatic speech in the distribution of some lexical elements that create the impression of a personalized message and immediate dialogic involvement. While the description provided above is generally true for most nondramatic speeches, it is important to point out certain exceptions that exhibit deviations from the main compositional pattern. Chapters “Da kai,” “Da kuang, II,” and “Wen zheng” do not contain the speech marker yue 曰, and formally they should be classified as narrative. Nevertheless, these texts follow the same compositional pattern as most nondramatic speeches: their opening passages contextualize the text in a certain time and locality and relate it to the king; the body of these texts consists of numerical catalogs that have no immediate relationship with the opening passage; finally, “Da kai” and “Wen zheng” contain distinctive postfaces with exclamations and personal pronouns, while “Da kuang, II” uses some personal pronouns and exclamations in the middle of the text. “Xiao kai,” despite sharing many features with nondramatic speeches, has a main body that is formed by a set of instructions and not by numerically arranged catalogs of knowledge; although references to numerical catalogs, such as the “three extremities” (san ji 三極), the “four relatives” (si qi 四戚), and the “five harmonies” (wu he 五和) appear in the text, it does not expound them any further.33 And even though “Xiao kai” contains a number of rather evenly distributed personal pronouns and exclamations, the artificial nature of this “speech” by the king to his unborn posterity makes it clear that “Xiao kai” is 33

In his contribution to this volume (chapter 2), Kai Vogelsang, following Hans Stumpfeldt (2002: 184–185), suggests that such unexpanded categories are references to “texts behind the texts” that have not been preserved despite their seemingly commonplace status at the time.

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only an imitation of the style of dramatic speeches. I therefore take this text, despite its significant deviation from the common pattern, as typologically closer to nondramatic speech. Type 3. Brief Speech Related to Dream Revelations Type of text

Type of contextualization

Brief speech (too short to Alarming be classified as either dramatic or nondramatic)

Catalogs Present or absent

Texts in the Shangshu: none. Texts in the Yi Zhoushu: “Wen jing” 文儆, “Wu jing” 寤儆, “Wu jing” 武儆 (three out of thirty-three). This interesting group consisting of three texts in the Yi Zhoushu is characterized by several features: the texts are very short (fewer than two hundred characters), they do not contain numerical catalogs (although “Wen jing” and “Wu jing” contain nonnumbered lists), they have a specific, alarming con­ textualization, and their titles contain the character jing 儆 (admonition, forewarning). This textual type introduces a certain degree of diversity into the Yi Zhoushu, where the speeches would have appeared more uniform otherwise, either being nondramatic numerical catalogs or reminiscent of one of the types that also exist in the Shangshu.  Type 4. Texts with Writing-Informed Contextualization Type of text

Type of contextualization

Catalogs

Speech

Writing-informed

Present or absent

Texts in the Shangshu: “Lü xing” 呂刑 (“Punishments of Lü”) (one out of twenty-eight). Texts in the Yi Zhoushu: “Da kuang, I” 大匡 I, “Cheng dian” 程典, “Rui Liangfu” 芮良夫 (three out of thirty-three).

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One speech in the Yi Zhoushu (“Rui Liangfu”) and one in the Shangshu (“Lü xing”) have an opening passage that describes not the event of the announcement of the speech but rather the event of its composition (zuo 作). While this difference may appear insignificant to a modern reader, it may be much more important when considered in the context of the gradual transition from oral to written modes of composition and performance of texts. It is notable that, with the exception of “Lü xing,” dramatic speeches in the Shangshu never refer to the act of composition. The circumstances of composition are the main focus of “Shu xu” 書序 (“Sequential Outline of the Documents”), which describes who composed the individual chapters and on what occasion and arranges them in a sequential order. In the received Shangshu, “Shu xu” is not preserved as a single text; rather, it is divided into smaller fragments that are inserted as “prefaces” before the chapters they refer to. The opening passages in “Lü xing” and “Rui Liangfu” are reminiscent of such “prefaces,” as they also describe the circumstances of the texts’ composition, and in the case of “Lü xing” this results in a redundant prefacing of one text with two different descriptions. It is plausible that the opening passages of these two texts were composed under the influence of “Shu xu,” or alternatively, they might have derived from some parallel “sequential outlines” that have not survived in full. Further research of the patterns of opening passages might reveal how such “sequential outlines” could have influenced the composition of some relatively late chapters preserved in the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu.34 Like “Lü xing” and “Rui Liangfu,” “Da kuang, I” and “Cheng dian” are also contextualized as having been initially created in writing. However, what makes these two chapters special is the fact that their opening passages mentioning composition in writing constitute structurally indivisible parts of the texts, whereas in “Lü xing” and “Rui Liangfu” these passages can be seen as separate: to remove them would not affect the coherence of what follows. Furthermore, “Lü xing” and “Rui Liangfu” contain dramatic speech, while “Da kuang, I” and “Cheng dian” consist of nondramatic speech reminiscent of the prevailing type of the Yi Zhoushu. Since, in “Da kuang, I” and “Cheng dian,” the passages describing the circumstances of composition are blended into the 34

As noted above, the Yi Zhoushu also contains a text, “Zhoushu xu” 周書序 (“Sequential Outline of the Zhou Documents”), that is made up of brief descriptions of individual texts, reminiscent of the Shangshu. Apparently, the Shangshu’s “Shu xu” served as a model for this text, and recently Wang Lianlong (2010: 46–57) has argued that “Zhoushu xu” might have been written during the Jin 晉 dynasty (265–420), that is, several centuries after the collection was initially assembled. Although Wang attempts to analyze “Zhoushu xu” as a single-layered text, I like to think of it as the result of multistage accretion. Nevertheless, I agree with Wang that we cannot regard it as contemporaneous to the initial compilation of the collection.

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main text, it is possible to see them as artifacts of a textual practice that perceived the shu texts holistically, not distinguishing between the main contents and the “prefaces” extracted from the “Sequential Outline.” Newly created texts influenced by this holistic reading would present the circumstances of composition as an organic part of the text and would exclude the possibility of reading them separately. Type 5. Plot-Based Stories with Dialogues Type of text

Type of contextualization

Catalogs

Speech + narrative

Alarming, background-centered

Absent

Texts in the Shangshu: “Jinteng” (one out of twenty-eight). Texts in the Yi Zhoushu: “Taizi Jin” 太子晉, “Yin zhu” 殷祝 (two out of thirty-three). These texts are special for combining speech and narrative as elements of a consistent plot-based story: the somewhat obscure account of the Duke of Zhou’s intercession on behalf of the ill king and the consequent discovery of the proof of his good intention in “Jinteng”; the story of conversations with the Zhou royal heir Jin 晉 and his untimely death in “Taizi Jin”; and the story of the ascension to power of Cheng Tang after his threefold refusal to accept rulership in “Yin zhu.” The interaction of narrative and speech in these three plot-based stories clearly sets them apart from all other types reviewed here.35 It is worth observing, nevertheless, that “Jinteng” employs a contextualization pattern reminiscent of the alarming settings of dream revelations; so far it is not clear what compositional function this element plays in “Jinteng” and what kind of literary allusions it was supposed to bring forth in the minds of its audience.36 35

36

This peculiarity of “Jinteng” has already been pointed out by Zhu Yuanqing (2008), who calls it “China’s earliest piece of ‘fiction’” (Zhongguo zui zao de yi pian xiaoshuo 中國最 早的一篇小說). Meyer (2014) examines the compositional structure of the manuscript counterpart of “Jinteng,” “Zhou Wu Wang you ji Zhou Gong suo zi yi dai wang zhi zhi” 周武王有疾周公 所自以代王之志 (“The Record of the Duke of Zhou Putting Himself Forward in Place of the King When King Wu Was Suffering from Illness”) from the Qinghua manuscripts and demonstrates how the structure of the text assists in its construction of “a narrative with recall value by outlining basic patterns of human conflict” (Meyer 2014: 963). See also Meyer’s chapter 6 in the present volume.

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Texts with Speeches That are Difficult to Classify Texts in the Shangshu: “Yao dian” 堯典 (“Canon of Yao”), “Gao Yao mo” 皋陶謨 (“Counsels of Gao Yao”), “Gaozong rong ri” 高宗肜日 (“Day of the Supplementary Sacrifice to Gaozong”), “Zi cai” 梓材 (“Timber of the Catalpa”), “Gu ming” (five out of twenty-eight). Texts in the Yi Zhoushu: “He wu” 和寤, “Huang men” 皇門, “Chang mai” 嘗麥, “Guan ren” 官人, “Wang hui” 王會, “Zhou zhu” 周祝 (six out of thirtythree). It should also be pointed out that certain texts in the joint corpus cannot be easily classified under the categories proposed in this essay. In particular, “Gaozong rong ri” and “Zi cai” in the Shangshu and “He wu” in the Yi Zhoushu cannot be definitively classified as dramatic speeches because they do not contain enough linguistic elements characteristic of this type, although this may possibly be explained by their relative brevity. “Yao dian,” “Gao Yao mo,” and “Gu ming” in the Shangshu, as well as “Chang mai” in the Yi Zhoushu, contain parts that abound in personal pronouns and other emphatic devices alongside elements with significantly large catalogs (presented as narrative or integrated into speeches) where the “dialogic mode” fades away. In other words, these texts seem to combine the different concerns of the textual types of dramatic and nondramatic speech: reconstruction of a personal and emotionally laden response of a certain legendary figure to a specific situation and transmission of systemized knowledge. In my opinion, this combination of textual concerns testifies to the hybrid character of these texts.37 The chapter “Huang men” in the Yi Zhoushu could be classified as a dramatic speech, but dramatic elements in it are clearly concentrated at the very beginning and at the very end, which is characteristic of nondramatic speech. Chapters “Guan ren” and “Zhou zhu” in the Yi Zhoushu are formally presented as speeches, but they lack contextualization and use some dramatic language only at the beginning, while the bulk of these relatively long (over 850 characters) texts consists of impersonal treatises. The chapter “Wang hui” of the Yi Zhoushu is a composite text in which the shorter, second part is styled as a dialogue that contains a long catalog listing tribute presenters and gifts offered; otherwise, it does not demonstrate any important characteristics of nondramatic speech.

37

This observation seems to support the findings of Martin Kern, Dirk Meyer, and Kai Vogelsang (chapters 1–3 in this volume) who demonstrate that “Yao dian,” “Gao Yao mo,” and “Gu ming” contain many elements that can be interpreted as traces of multilayered textual formation.

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Discussion I have attempted to show that a formal analysis of texts in the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu reveals certain textual types whose scope is not limited to either one of these two collections. The analysis was based on criteria such as the ­balance of speech and narrative, the distinction between dramatic and nondramatic speech, the particular contextualization technique employed, and the presence of knowledge systemized in catalogs. Dramatic speech and nondramatic speech are most common and perhaps the most important types revealed in this analysis. While the type of dramatic speech is more prevalent in the Shangshu and the type of nondramatic speech is more widely present in the Yi Zhoushu, there is a significant overlap, as texts of each type can be found in both collections. For me, dramatic speech with its unique contextualization technique focusing on larger-scale background events, its manner of delivery of pronouncements, as well as its emotional expression, is easily imagined in the context of ritualized performance, such as seasonal commemorative ceremonies.38 The particular circumstances of the speech and the personality of the speaker are brought to the fore, and the argument flow is heavily influenced by the emotional attitude of the speaker as he is portrayed in the text. The texts of nondramatic speeches, on the other hand, demonstrate a different set of priorities, focusing primarily on the systemized knowledge transmitted in a textual message styled as a speech and not on the figure of the speaker and the circumstances of the speech’s initial pronouncement. Furthermore, the repetitive and formulaic nature of those parts of nondramatic speeches that are most reminiscent of dramatic speech seem to further confirm that the dramatic elements are reproduced here only as ossified artifacts of a once-vibrant ritual tradition that has, nevertheless, preserved its authority over and influence on the textual audience.39 38

39

The surviving circumstantial evidence regarding such ritualized performance of written texts is limited but not entirely absent. Perhaps the most elucidating is the chapter “Yueji” 樂記 (“Records of Music”) of the Liji 禮記, which is in part paralleled by the chapter “Bian yue jie” 辯樂解 (“Distinguishing the Music Explained”) of the Kongzi jiayu 孔子家語. In particular, these texts discuss the ceremony “Wu” 武 that commemorated King Wu’s conquest of the Shang (Sun Xidan 1989: 1013–1029; Kongzi jiayu 8.7b–10b). This ceremony included music, choreography, and, most probably, the performance of fixed texts. I would like to thank Robert Eno for reminding me of this evidence, in the absence of which the suggestions regarding the ritualized performance of some of the received texts would appear less convincing. A very inspiring field study of oral texts of the Mewahang Rai in East Nepal by Martin Gaenszle (2002) gives an example of how the balance between the ossified forms and the changing needs of everyday reality is achieved in the ritual practice of a community whose textual culture is still unaffected by a mature tradition of written texts.

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It seems plausible to consider a genetic relationship between dramatic and nondramatic speech, as well as to view the shift of focus from dramatic representation of revered legendary figures to systemized knowledge as a chronological development that occurred in a continuous textual tradition, and not just as a result of an unskilled “imitation” or “forgery” of established canonical patterns during the Warring States period. It is also possible to envision that the qualitative change from dramatic to nondramatic could have been a consequence of the maturing textual tradition and the rising awareness of written texts as primary carriers of knowledge.40 Once this understanding was established, new texts would be created as convenient and transparently structured containers of knowledge, no longer relying on the obscure and cumbersome form of dramatic speeches. Consequently, dramatic speeches of the legendary rulers would no longer be appreciated for their applicability in ritual contexts but rather would be valued for the knowledge that they contained.41 Where sufficiently concise and systemized knowledge was absent in such texts, that knowledge could have been relatively easily supplied by means of “productive transmission” or through a commentarial tradition.42 This explanation of the relationship between dramatic and nondramatic speech is very tentative. Further study of the common and unique structural and linguistic patterns employed in these two types will provide the evidence necessary to substantiate or question these claims. However, it is also foreseeable that further research will reveal important subdivisions within these two types and furnish details that will challenge and qualify the simple dichotomous division of royal speeches sketched out here. The texts in the Shangshu 40

41

42

Concerning the inapplicability of the simplistic opposition between “oral” and “written” modes of textual production to the ancient world and the gradual nature of the development of literary practices, see Carr 2005. Meyer (2012) explains the development of ancient Chinese manuscript culture in the context of the widespread penetration of writing beyond the centers of power. In chapter 3 of this volume, Meyer argues that a similar dynamic underlies “Gu ming” in its received form. My suggestion concerning the use of royal speeches as a compositional device in texts that are designed to transmit practical knowledge is partially informed by similar phenomena in the ancient Egyptian textual tradition reflected in such texts as Instructions of Ptahhotep, Instructions for King Merikare, and Instructions of King Amenemhet I for His Son Sesostris I. They represent a well-attested genre of “instruction texts” that are organized very similarly to nondramatic speeches, containing personalized opening and closing passages while their main parts concentrate on universal wisdom that lacks any personal dimension (Lichtheim 1975: 61–80, 97–109, 135–139; Williams 1990: 20–24). See also Mick Hunter’s contribution to the present volume (chapter 11) for a more extensive discussion of instructions as a common genre across ancient cultures. The issue of “productive transmission” has been extensively discussed in Egyptology. See Assmann 1995: 4–6; Parkinson 2002: 51.

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and the Yi Zhoushu are shaped by complex processes of textual formation and transmission, and sophisticated explanations will likely be required to clarify their typology and genetic relationship. The distinct textual type of dream revelations is another discovery of this study. While the texts of this type are uniquely found in the Yi Zhoushu, it is notable that texts employing similar contextualization techniques are found in the Shangshu (“Jinteng” and “Gu ming”) as well as in the recently discovered “*Baoxun” from the Qinghua manuscripts. This observation calls for a more careful consideration of the textual material in the Yi Zhoushu, as some common textual patterns in this collection apparently had a strong and far-reaching influence on other texts produced in early (most likely Warring States) China. Having discussed the different types of speech texts in the Yi Zhoushu, I would like to step back and characterize briefly where these texts appear in the collection and what, if anything, their distribution might tell us about the composition of the Yi Zhoushu as a whole. The Yi Zhoushu is divided into ten sections, each including a different number of chapters: from two in section 7 to thirteen in section 3. Nondramatic speech is represented in sections 3 (nine chapters), 4 (two chapters), 5 (three chapters), and 6 (one chapter). Dramatic speech can be found in sections 5 (two chapters) and 8 (one chapter). Brief speeches related to dream revelations are found in sections 3 (two chapters) and 5 (one chapter). Speeches contextualized as products of writing are located in sections 2 (two chapters, both reminiscent of nondramatic speech) and 9 (one chapter, reminiscent of dramatic speech). Finally, both plot-based stories with elements of dialogue in the Yi Zhoushu are located in section 9. As this overview shows, the distribution of textual types in the Yi Zhoushu is not even; some sections are dominated by nonspeech texts, whereas nondramatic and dramatic speech is more common in other sections. Speeches are generally more common in the central sections 3–6, yet even these central sections are heterogeneous and combine speech texts of different types with nonspeech texts. All this makes the Yi Zhoushu appear very different from the Shangshu, which contains predominantly dramatic speech. It therefore seems that in the Shangshu an attempt was made to ensure the typological consistency of the collection.43 At the same time, the Yi Zhoushu appears more like an assem43

The traditional classification of the Shangshu into “testament” (dian 典), “counsel” (mo 謨), “harangue” (shi 誓), “instruction” (xun 訓), “announcement” (gao 誥), and “decree” (ming 命) focuses on the contents of speeches rather than on the more abstract formal compositional features I emphasize in the present study. For a recent discussion of the shu genre informed by this traditional approach, see Allan 2012. While this tradition cannot be neglected, its universal validity is questionable because the criteria for the

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blage of very different texts that, if one follows the logic of its last chapter, “Zhoushu xu” 周書序, had only one thing in common: they were believed to be somehow related to the Zhou dynasty. However, the very presence of dramatic speech in the Yi Zhoushu makes it impossible to put too much emphasis on formal textual proximity as the foundation of the Shangshu. Clearly, the Yi Zhoushu contains texts that were typologically close to the bulk of the Shangshu material and yet did not make it into the classic. For example, the use of the “Duo yi” in the Shiji 史記 suggests that this text continued to be available during the Western Han, but there is no evidence that it was included in the canon.44 That makes it difficult to envision the formation of the Shangshu as a process of gradual recovery of typologically similar material after the purported loss and dispersion during the Qin. Most likely, canonicity was bestowed upon those texts that not only showed a degree of typological consistency but also corresponded to some other—as yet unknown—criteria. What implication did the noncanonical status have for the Yi Zhoushu? If we answer this question from the perspective of late imperial scholarship, we might say that canonical texts were treated as authoritative and possibly authentic, whereas noncanonical texts were treated with doubt and skepticism.45 This, however, does not seem to apply fully to earlier periods. “Yiwen zhi” positions the Zhoushu at the beginning of the bibliography and places it in a category related to the Shangshu classic, and Xu Shen 許慎 (ca. 55–ca. 149) refers to it as a valid source of archaic language in his Shuowen jiezi 說文解字. This suggests to me that the collection was treated with sufficient respect by Han scholars. During the Tang 唐 dynasty (618–906) the authority of the collection (or at least some parts of it) was so high that the contents of the “Shi xun” 時訓 chapter—at that time believed to have been authored by the Duke

44 45

distinction between different types are not known, and the whole system is undeniably a product of later scholarship rather than a framework accepted by the original composers of the speeches. See Shiji 4.128–129. The earliest preserved editorial remarks by Song scholars, such as those written by Li Tao 李燾 (1115–1184) and Ding Fu 丁黼 (?–1236), are filled with polemical fervor as their authors argue that the collection is not what it is commonly believed to be: that is, it does not originate from the famous Ji zhong 汲冢 discovery of ca. 279 CE (Huang Huaixin et al. 2007: 1186–1187; for a discussion of the many complexities surrounding this discovery, see Shaughnessy 2006: 131–184; Barnard 1993). However, until well into the Ming dynasty, such editorial remarks were still published in books bearing the conventional title Ji zhong Zhoushu 汲冢周書 (The Zhou Documents from the Tomb in Ji County). All this created an aura of doubt and confusion and clearly did not contribute to the increase of the textual authority of the Yi Zhoushu.

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of Zhou—were used to “rectify” the text of “Yue ling” 月令 in the classic Liji 禮 記, and the resulting text known as “Tang yue ling” 唐月令 continued to be a standard until the middle of the eleventh century.46 This example demonstrates that the Yi Zhoushu, despite being a noncanonical text, could under certain circumstances possess a higher degree of textual authority than the canon. References Allan, Sarah. 2012. “On Shu 書 (Documents) and the Origin of the Shang shu 尚書 (Ancient Documents) in Light of Recently Discovered Bamboo Slip Manuscripts.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 75.3: 547–557. Assmann, Jan. 1995. Egyptian Solar Religion in the New Kingdom: Re, Amun and the Crisis of Polytheism. Studies in Egyptology. London: Kegan Paul International. Barnard, Noel. 1993. “Astronomical Data from Ancient Chinese Records: The Re­ quirements of Historical Research Methodology.” East Asian History 6 (December): 47–74. Carr, David McLain. 2005. Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Falkenhausen, Lothar von. 2011. “The Royal Audience and Its Reflections in Western Zhou Bronze Inscriptions.” In Writing and Literacy in Early China, ed. Li Feng and David Prager Branner, 239–270. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Gaenszle, Martin. 2002. Ancestral Voices: Oral Ritual Texts and Their Social Contexts among the Mewahang Rai of East Nepal. Münster: LIT. Grebnev, Georgiy. 2012. “Formirovanie kalendarnykh i fenologicheskikh predstavleniĭ v Kitae po materialam Yi Zhou shu” [The Formation of Calendrical and Phenological Notions in China as Reflected in the Yi Zhoushu]. MA diss., Moscow State University. Grebnev, Yegor. 2016. “The Core Chapters of the Yi Zhou shu”. DPhil thesis, Oxford University. Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛. 1963. “Yi Zhoushu Shifu pian jiaozhu xieding yu pinglun” 逸周書世 俘篇校注寫定舆評綸. Wenshi 文史 2: 1–41. Hanshu 漢書. 1964. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Huang Huaixin 黄懷信. 1992. Yi Zhoushu yuanliu kaobian 逸周書源流考辨. Xi’an: Xibei Daxue chubanshe. Huang Huaixin 黄懷信 et al. 2007. Yi Zhoushu huijiao jizhu 逸周書彙校集注. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe.

46

For more information about this text, see Liu Ciyuan 1997. I have discussed “Shi xun” and its transmission history in my M.A. dissertation (Grebnev 2012).

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Jiang Shanguo 蔣善國. 1988. Shangshu zongshu 尚書綜述. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1926. On the Authenticity and Nature of the “Tso Chuan.” Göteborg: Elanders Boktryckeri Aktiebolag. Kern, Martin. 2009. “Bronze Inscriptions, the Shijing, and the Shangshu: The Evolution of the Ancestral Sacrifice during the Western Zhou.” In Early Chinese Religion, pt. 1, Shang through Han (1250 BC–220 AD), ed. John Lagerwey and Marc Kalinowski, 143– 200. Leiden: Brill. Kongzi jiayu 孔子家語. Sibu congkan chubian 四部叢刊初編 edition. Lewis, Mark Edward. 1999. Writing and Authority in Early China. New York: State University of New York Press. Lichtheim, Miriam. 1975. Ancient Egyptian Literature: A Book of Readings. Vol. 1, The Old and Middle Kingdoms. Berkeley: University of California Press. Liu Ciyuan 劉次沅. 1997. “Xi’an Beilin de Tang yue ling keshi ji qi tianxiang jilu” 西安碑 林的唐月令刻石及其天象記錄. Zhongguo keji shiliao 中國科技史料 1997.1: 88–94. Liu Qiyu 劉起釪. 1989. Shangshu xueshi 尚書學史. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Manné, Joy. 1990. “Categories of Sutta in the Pāli Nikāyas and Their Implications for Our Appreciation of the Buddhist Teaching and Literature.” Journal of the Pali Text Society 15: 29–87. McNeal, Robin. 2002. “The Body as Metaphor for the Civil and Martial Components of Empire in Yi Zhou shu, Chapter 32; With an Excursion on the Composition and Structure of the Yi Zhou shu.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 122.1: 46–60. McNeal, Robin. 2012. Conquer and Govern: Early Chinese Military Texts from the “Yi Zhou shu.” Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press. Meyer, Dirk. 2012. Philosophy on Bamboo: Text and the Production of Meaning in Early China. Leiden: Brill. Meyer, Dirk. 2014. “The Art of Narrative and the Rhetoric of Persuasion in the ‘*Jīnténg’ (Metal Bound Casket) from the Tsinghua Collection of Manuscripts.” Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 68.44: 937–968. Nylan, Michael. 2009. “Classics without Canonization: Learning and Authority in Qin and Han.” In Early Chinese Religion, pt. 1, Shang through Han (1250 BC–220 AD), ed. John Lagerwey and Marc Kalinowski, 721–776. Leiden: Brill. Nylan, Michael. 2011. Yang Xiong and the Pleasures of Reading and Classical Learning in China. American Oriental Series, vol. 94. New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society. Parkinson, Richard B. 2002. Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt: A Dark Side to Perfection. Athlone Publications in Egyptology and Ancient Near Eastern Studies. London: Continuum. Pines, Yuri. 2002. “Lexical Changes in Zhanguo Texts.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 122: 691–705. Qu Wanli 屈萬里. 1983. Xianqin wenshi ziliao kaobian 先秦文史資料考辨. Taipei: Lianjing chuban shiye gongsi.

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Schaberg, David. 2001. A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography. Harvard East Asian Monographs 205. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1980. “‘New’ Evidence on the Zhou Conquest.” Early China 6: 57–79. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1993. “I Chou Shu 逸周書 (Chou Shu).” In Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide, ed. Michael Loewe, 229–233. Berkeley: Society for the Study of Early China and Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 2006. Rewriting Early Chinese Texts. Albany: State University of New York Press. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 2009. “Lunar-Aspect Terms and the Calendar of China’s Western Zhōu Period.” In Time and Ritual in Early China, edited by Xiaobing Wang-Riese and Thomas O. Höllmann, 15–32. Asiatische Forschungen 153. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Shiji 史記. 1959. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Stumpfeldt, Hans. 2002. “Ein Diener vieler Herren: Einige Bemerkungen zum Yen-tzu ch’un-ch’iu.” In Und folge nun dem, was mein Herz begehrt: Festschrift für Ulrich Unger zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. Reinhard Emmerich and Hans Stumpfeldt, 183–208. Hamburg: Hamburger sinologische Gesellschaft. Sun Xidan 孫希旦. 1989. Liji jijie 禮記集解. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Utzschneider, Helmut. 2010. “Is There a Universal Genre of ‘Drama’? Conjectures on the Basis of ‘Dramatic’ Texts in Old Testament Prophecy, Attic Tragedy, and Egyptian Cult Plays.” In Literary Construction of Identity in the Ancient World, ed. Hanna Liss and Manfred Oeming, 63–79. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Wang Lianlong 王連龍. 2010. Yi Zhoushu yanjiu 逸周書研究. Beijing: Shehui kexue wenxian. Wang Yinglin 王應麟. 1987. Yu hai 玉海. Nanjing: Jiangsu guji chubanshe. Williams, Ronald J. 1990. “The Sage in Egyptian Literature.” In The Sage in Israel and the Ancient Near East, 19–30. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Yanaka Shin’ichi 谷中 信一. 1987. “Itsu Shū sho kenkyū (san): Sono bunkengakuteki kōsatsu” 逸周書研究(三):その文献学的考察. Waseda daigaku kōtō gakuin kenkyū nenshi 早稲田大学高等学院研究年誌 31: 17–38. Zhang Huaitong 張懷通. 2008. “Yi Zhoushu xin yan” 逸周書新研. PhD diss., Nankai University. Zhao Boxiong 趙伯雄. 1999. “Xianqin wenxian zhong yi shu wei ji” 先秦文獻中以數爲 紀. Wenxian 文獻 4: 25–32. Zhou Yuxiu 周玉秀. 2005. Yi Zhoushu de yuyan tedian ji qi wenxiaxue jiazhi 逸周書的語 言特點及其文獻學價值. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Zhu Yuanqing 朱淵清. 2008. “Shuo Shangshu Jin teng” 說尚書金縢. Dongfang Zaobao 東方早報 11.23: B15.

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Chapter 8

The “Harangues” (Shi 誓) in the Shangshu Martin Kern Of the various speeches made either when war was imminent or in the course of the war itself, it has been hard to reproduce the exact words used either when I heard them myself or when they were reported to me by other sources. My method in this book has been to make each speaker say broadly what I supposed would have been needed on any given occasion, while keeping as closely as I could to the overall intent of what was actually said. Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War 1.221

⸪ On Wednesday, March 19, 2003, on the eve of the Iraq War, Colonel Tim Collins gave a rousing prebattle speech to some eight hundred men of the First Battalion of the Royal Irish Regiment stationed in Kuwait, twenty miles south of the Iraqi border: We go to Iraq to liberate, not to conquer. We will not fly our flags in their country. We are entering Iraq to free a people and the only flag which will be flown in that ancient land is their own. Show respect for them. There are some who are alive at this moment who will not be alive shortly. Those who do not wish to go on that journey, we will not send. As for the others, I expect you to rock their world. Wipe them out if that is what they choose. But if you are ferocious in battle remember to be mag­ nanimous in victory. … Don’t treat [the Iraqi people] as refugees for they are in their own country. Their children will be poor, in years to come they will know that the light of liberation in their lives was brought by you. … Allow them dignity in death. Bury them properly and mark their graves. …  The enemy should be in no doubt that we are his nemesis and that we are bringing about his rightful destruction. … [Saddam] and his forces 1 Thucydides 2009: 12.

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will be destroyed by this coalition for what they have done. As they die they will know their deeds have brought them to this place. Show them no pity.  It is a big step to take another human life. It is not to be done lightly. I know of men who have taken life needlessly in other conflicts, I can assure you they live with the mark of Cain upon them. If someone surrenders to you then remember they have that right in international law and ensure that one day they go home to their family. … If you harm the regiment or its history by overenthusiasm in killing or in cowardice, know it is your family who will suffer. You will be shunned unless your conduct is of the highest for your deeds will follow you down through history. We will bring shame on neither our uniform nor our nation. …2 As Collins explained in April 2004 on the occasion of being named Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) at Buckingham Palace, “[I]t’s an interesting reflection on modern times: because the speech was written down by a journalist in shorthand, only one version exists. There’s no recording or film of it, so it can’t be corrupted or changed, and that’s what has given it longevity.”3 According to Wikipedia, “The ‘Mark of Cain’ line from the speech inspired the title of the 2007 Film4 Productions drama The Mark of Cain. In the film a commanding officer makes a speech based on Collins’ to his men. The last episode of the 2008 television series 10 Days to War features a version of the speech performed by Kenneth Branagh as Collins....4 In the video game Modern Warfare 3, Tim Collins’s inspirational speech is quoted when you die.”5 The rousing battle speeches are a genre to themselves that—as in Major Collins’s case—can materialize in repeated iterations across various media; as such, they also are a stock element of contemporary films featuring monu­ mental battles.6 Perhaps the most stirring example in European literature is the Saint Crispin’s Day Speech on the eve of the battle of Agincourt (1415), as 2 For the full speech, see “UK Troops Told: Be Just and Strong,” BBC News, March 20, 2003, accessed May 8, 2013 . 3 “Iraq War Colonel Awarded OBE,” BBC News, April 7, 2004, accessed May 8, 2013 . 4 , accessed May 10, 2014. 5 Wikipedia, s.v. “Tim Collins (British Army officer),” accessed May 8, 2013 . 6 See the entry “Top 10 Movie Battle Speeches” as ranked by the website WatchMojo.com ; also ; both accessed February 15, 2014.

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imagined in Shakespeare’s Henry V, written in about 1599.7 This speech has been enacted not only in uncounted stagings of the play but also in film, such as in Kenneth Branagh’s highly decorated performance in 19898 and, even more famously, by Laurence Olivier (1944).9 This latter example is particularly poignant: while historically set in the Hundred Years’ War with France, the film—subsidized by the British government—was released in November 1944 just months after the D-Day invasion of France and was dedicated to the “Commandos and Airborne Troops of Great Britain the spirit of whose ancestors it has been humbly attempted to recapture.”10 It is precisely in such instances of the historical imagination, ever available to become transposed to the present and actualized with intense urgency, that a harangue survives the iconic battle branded into a nation’s cultural memory. We do not know the words King Henry V spoke on the eve of the battle of Agincourt, but Shakespeare—like Thucydides long before him—found the words that “would have been needed” on the occasion. These words have remained true in the profound sense that myth is true and as such could be called upon to make sense of the present. In Jan Assmann’s formulation: What counts for cultural memory is not factual but remembered history. One might even say that cultural memory transforms factual into remembered history, thus turning it into myth. Myth is foundational history that is narrated in order to illuminate the present from the standpoint of its origins.... Through memory, history becomes myth. This does not make it unreal—on the contrary, this is what makes it real, in the sense that it becomes a lasting, normative, and formative power.11 It is from this perspective of “cultural memory” that I examine the battle harangues (shi 誓) in the Shangshu 尚書 in order to understand the raison d’être of these speeches in the early Chinese historical imagination. In other words, 7 8

9

10 11

; accessed February 15, 2014. ; ; ; all accessed February 15, 2014. ; ; ; all ac­cessed February 15, 2014. Wikipedia, s.v. “Henry V (1944 film),” accessed February 15, 2014 . Assmann 2011: 37–38.

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I consider them not to be the actual words spoken but those that were retrospectively imagined; they remember and mythologize the past to serve the needs of the present for a foundational narrative of origin.12 As such, the ­purportedly earliest speeches were created as idealized artifacts to literally overwrite the actual historical events and to make history conform to the moral norms of a later age. In terms of their composition, I envision a process of several stages that largely conforms with Dirk Meyer’s notion of “framing”:13 a. b. c. d. e.

the (possible) original speech that may or may not have been given on the occasion; the subsequent imagination or reimagination of the speech at some later point, possibly centuries removed from the occasion, and quite likely for performance purposes; the framing of the speech as an integral part of a collection and repertoire of speeches that taken together marked some of the defining moments in the construction of historical memory; the integration of the speech into the circumscribed anthology of the Shangshu, in whatever form that anthology may have been first created; the subsequent reorganization of the anthology into its received form, which itself was likely a process of several stages stretching across several centuries.14

While the very first of these stages may be purely imaginary, the subsequent four, certainly extending into the Han dynasty (202 BCE–220 CE) and beyond, all involved various interventions of editing, reorganizing, and possibly rewriting, the extent of which has become invisible to our eyes. Most importantly, the repeated integration of the speeches into new textual frameworks must be viewed as recurrent acts of reframing within a continuously evolving intellectual and political history of early China—acts that were always contingent on their own historical contexts and during which the speeches only gradually attained the shape in which we have them today. Except for some extremely brief quotations or references, we have no information regarding the speeches’ possible textual transmission outside the anthology of the Shangshu. As a 12 13 14

For the same conclusion regarding records of divination in the Shangshu, see the coda to the present chapter. See Dirk Meyer’s chapter 3 in the present volume. For a succinct survey of the complicated history of the received text, see Shaughnessy 1993; also Nylan 2001: 120–167.

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matter of fact, we know nothing about their transmission before they entered the anthology. The resulting texts in the received tradition are overtly ideological. As C. H. Wang noted many years ago, most early Chinese texts do not dwell on the details of heroic valor or the clash of arms.15 In what Wang calls the “ellipsis of the battle,” the actual acts of war are rendered largely invisible. The battle speeches discussed below show the military leaders as political paragons of morality and restraint, but never as warriors. This is particularly true of the “Harangue at Mu” attributed to King Wu of Zhou 周武王, who in 1046 BCE ­conquered the Shang dynasty by military force and who in his speech urges his troops—like Colonel Collins before invading Iraq—to act both fiercely and humanely and to “not press and assault those who flee” (弗迓克奔). Yet as Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 (1893–1980) and more recently Edward L. Shaughnessy have demonstrated compellingly,16 we do have a separate document— “Great Capture” (“Shifu” 世俘) in the Remnant Zhou Documents (Yi Zhoushu 逸周書)17—that shows the battle as a bloodbath of epic proportions and King Wu as a man without mercy. On close linguistic and historical analysis, both Gu and Shaughnessy conclude that “Great Capture” is a document chronologically very close to—if not contemporary with—the conquest; it also is most likely some version of an earlier text titled “Accomplishment of Martiality” (“Wu cheng” 武成) that for its depiction of violence was rejected as spurious in the Mengzi 孟子, “whose idealized view of history came to prevail.”18 In other words, what is successfully inscribed into the cultural memory is not the “realistic account” (Shaughnessy) of the mass-scale slaughter, preserved in a collection of “remnant” documents, but the canonical and almost certainly retrospectively imagined speech that shows King Wu not only as fierce but also as regal and humane. As discussed below, this redacted version of the events matches the other accounts of the conquest and its aftermath—which is to say that all of these should be considered not as documentary accounts but as idealizing constructions of “remembered history.”

…

15

16 17 18

C. H. Wang 1988: 53–72. While one may think of the Zuo zhuan 左傳 as a major exception to this rule, its descriptions of actual fighting are nowhere comparable to, say, those of the Iliad. Gu Jiegang 1963; Shaughnessy 1997: 31–67. Huang Huaixin 2007: 410–446. Shaughnessy 1997: 40. This “Wu cheng” text is not to be confused with the ancient-script Shangshu chapter of the same name.

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The Shangshu contains a series of speeches that are labeled “harangues” (shi 誓): 1. 2.

3.

4. 5. 6.

“Harangue at Gan” (“Gan shi” 甘誓), attributed to the Xia 夏 king Qi 啟, given to the royal troops before battling rebel forces; “Harangue of Tang” (“Tang shi” 湯誓), attributed to the first Shang 商 king, Lü 履, given to his troops before attacking the army of the last Xia king, Jie 桀, a battle that resulted in the establishment of the Shang dynasty; “Great Harangue” (“Tai shi” 泰誓), in three parts, attributed to King Wu of Zhou before attacking the Shang, given to the Zhou nobles and troops before embarking on the attack against the troops of the last Shang king, Zhouxin 紂辛; “Harangue at Mu”, again attributed to King Wu, given at dawn before attacking the Shang troops, a battle that resulted in the establishment of the Zhou dynasty; “Harangue at Bi” (“Bi shi” 費誓 [also 肸誓 or 粊誓]), attributed to the Lord of Lu 魯, bo Qin 伯禽, oldest son of the Duke of Zhou 周公, given to his troops before battling rebel forces;19 “Harangue of Qin” (“Qin shi” 秦誓), attributed to Lord Mu 穆 of Qin, given to his officers after a battle at Zheng 鄭 in 627 BCE, from which Qin had withdrawn while leaving behind three officers who then were captured by the Jin 晉 army.

In addition, another text titled “harangue” is found in the Remnant Zhou Documents, the “Harangue to Shang” (“Shang shi” 商誓). This text presents a speech that King Wu purportedly gave to the captured Shang officers after the Zhou conquest;20 as such, it is not a battle speech but rather is similar to the “Many Officers” (“Duo shi” 多士) and “Many Regions” (“Duo fang” 多方) chapters in the Shangshu.21 What is a “harangue”? Early dictionaries and commentaries explain the verb shi 誓 as “to bind and oblige” (yueshu 約束; from which derives the other principal meaning of shi as “oath”), “to exhort” (jie 誡), and “to proclaim a command” (xuan haoling 宣號令), all in the context of addressing one’s troops before leading them into battle. In this sense, both the “Harangue of Qin” and the “Harangue to Shang” are anomalous titles. The origins of these titles are 19 20 21

For a study, see Maria Khayutina’s chapter 12 in this volume. See Huang Huaixin 2007: 449–464. For a study of these texts, see Joachim Gentz’s chapter 4 in this volume.

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unclear, though the opening of the “Harangue of Qin” includes the phrase yu shi gao ru 予誓告汝 (I proclaim to you as an exhortation) where shi is used adverbially to gao 告, “to proclaim”; verbatim the same phrase appears in the opening of the “Harangue at Gan.” Shi further appears in the closing line of the “Harangue of Tang” (“if you do not obey the words of [this] harangue” [er bu cong shi yan 爾不從誓言]), in the openings of all three parts of the “Great Harangue” (“listen clearly to [this] harangue” [ming ting shi 明聽誓]; “[the king] harangued” [shi 誓]; “[the king] clearly harangued the multitude of officers” [ming shi zhong shi 明誓眾士]), and twice in the opening paragraphs of the “Harangue at Mu” (“[the king] harangued” [shi 誓]; “I shall make a harangue” [yu qi shi 予其誓])—but neither in the “Harangue at Bi” nor in the “Harangue to Shang.” In addition, across the Shangshu the term shi appears once in the spurious ancient-script (guwen 古文) chapter “Counsels of the Great Yu” (“Da Yu mo” 大禹謨), where Yu “harangues the troops” (shi yu shi 誓 于師),22 and once in “Testamentary Charge” (“Gu ming” 顧命),23 where the word is used adverbially in the sense of “bindingly” or “as an exhortation” toward the king’s descendent (“speak bindingly to [my] successor” [shi yan si 誓 言嗣]). In short, while shi in most cases refers to a prebattle harangue, it also is used twice—both times in its adverbial function—to denote a solemn, binding, or exhortative quality of speech. Either way, “harangues,” just like “commands” (ming 命) or “proclamations” (gao 誥), are invariably issued by a leader to those below him. Through their circumscribed diction and lexicon— including the self-referential use of the word shi—they were doubly marked: as royal speech and as the speech that “would have been needed” (Thucydides) for the occasion. Conversely, “harangues” marked both the speaker’s superior status and the unique importance of the occasion. Taken together as a sequence in their retrospective framing, they created the ideal history of dynasties by staging the very moments when these dynasties were brought into being (or were defended against disaster); and they created the ideal sequence of founding kings by staging them as speakers and agents of superior authority and commitment who through the mere force of their virtue and words determined the course of history. At one point in the early history of the Shangshu, they were assembled into a repository of speeches, speakers, and events that all were defined through one another.

22

23

Here, Emperor Yu 禹 “harangues the troops” to indict the Miao 苗 rebels and rally his troops to “punish their crimes” (fa zui 伐罪); see Legge 1991: 64–65. This passage is clearly modeled on the various harangues discussed in the present essay. Legge 1991: 546. For a study of the chapter, see Dirk Meyer’s chapter 3 in this volume.

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The historical framings of the harangues noted above are, of course, the ones received from tradition—and most of them are questionable. First, there is general (though not unanimous) agreement that the “Harangue at Gan” and the “Harangue of Tang” postdate their purported speakers by many centuries.24 Next, while part of the “Great Harangue” is included in Sima Qian’s 司馬遷 (ca. 145–ca. 85 BCE) Shiji 史記 and quoted in a considerable range of Warring States (453–221 BCE) and early imperial texts,25 it is not part of the received modernscript (jinwen 今文) recension of the Shangshu but included only in the ancient-script version, which was likely compiled in the early fourth century CE; its early history seems extraordinarily complex—possibly involving no fewer than six different versions from different periods—and the text must be treated with great caution.26 Third, philological arguments have been advanced against the received “Harangue at Mu” as a text from the time of King Wu; most modern scholars believe it to postdate the Western Zhou by centuries, and its early reception does not appear to have begun before the Han dynasty.27 Fourth, the “Harangue at Bi” likewise does not fit other early Western Zhou texts and is generally regarded as coming from a somewhat later period; it has no reception history before the early empire and is barely referred to even in the received Han literature.28 While most chapters from the Shangshu have few echoes in the received Warring States literature—indicating their generally limited availability to pre-imperial intellectual communities—the lack of resonance of the “Harangue at Bi” even in Han times surprises; either the text was not widely available, or it could not rival the status of the speeches 24

25

26 27 28

See, e.g., Jiang Shanguo 1988: 200–203; Chen Mengjia 1985: 112; Zhang Xitang 1958: 185–186; Shaughnessy 1993: 378. Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu (2005: vol. 2, 875, 889), by contrast, believe that the “Harangue at Gan” may be from the Shang dynasty (while including some later phrases) and that the “Harangue of Tang” likewise reflects the realities of the early Shang but that the text then underwent further rephrasing during the Eastern Zhou. See the discussion in Jiang Shanguo 1988: 213–225; for citations of “Great Harangue” in other early texts, see Chan Hung Kan and Ho Che Wah 2003: 160–169. Judging from citation patterns, the original “Great Harangue” was the most widely quoted harangue in Warring States and Han times, being invoked by a particularly broad range of texts, including the Mozi 墨子, the Mengzi 孟子, the Guoyu 國語, the Zuo zhuan, and the Guanzi 管子. It also shares language with more Han texts than any other of the harangues. To some extent, this may be a function of its sheer length: in its received version, the tripartite “Great Harangue” is about three times as long as “Harangue at Mu,” which in turn is the longest of all the other harangues. See Chen Mengjia 1985: 53–68; Matsumoto 1988: 65–172; Jiang Shanguo 1988: 213–225. For the early reception history, see Chan Hung Kan and Ho Che Wah 2003: 170–173. Jiang Shanguo 1988: 250–251. For the early reception history, see Chan Hung Kan and Ho Che Wah 2003: 285–286.

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attributed to much more ancient paragons. Finally, as noted above, the single “harangue” that in the traditional narrative is placed into the Spring and Autumn era (770–453 BCE), the “Harangue of Qin” attributed to Lord Mu of Qin, differs strikingly from the other five; unlike these, it is not a prebattle harangue to prepare the speaker’s troops for an attack. The “Harangue of Qin” also has a unique early reception history: it is repeatedly invoked in the Liji 禮記 (Records of Ritual) chapter “Great Learning” (“Da xue” 大學) and fur­ thermore shares language with the Gongyang Tradition (公羊傳) but not with any other pre-Han text.29 Another unique feature of the “Harangue of Qin” is its repeated use of reduplicatives—a linguistic phenomenon almost entirely absent from all the other harangues and quite possibly a reflection of its ­relatively late date of composition when reduplicatives had become a much more common feature of Zhou ritual language (which, of course, does not make the other harangues necessarily earlier just because they largely lack reduplicatives).30 In the following, I will focus on the “Harangue at Gan,” the “Harangue of Tang,” and the “Harangue at Mu,” which together form a consistent set of texts. They share a repertoire of conspicuous features and constitute what one may call a specific “genre”—and a coherent repository—of prebattle harangues among the royal speeches of antiquity. Some but not all of their elements are also present in the “Harangue at Bi” and the “Harangue of Qin.” These latter two texts, however, are altogether different in structure, outlook, and diction, as are the three parts of the received “Great Harangue,” which represent three separate speeches that are largely devoted to the indictment of the last ruler of Shang. The Structure and Rhetorical Features of the “Harangue at Gan,” “Harangue of Tang,” and “Harangue at Mu” The three prebattle harangues under discussion are all fairly short, ranging from 88 (“Harangue at Gan”) to 245 (“Harangue at Mu”) characters. The principal structure and main rhetorical features are visible already in the short “Harangue at Gan”:31 29 30

31

See Chan Hung Kan and Ho Che Wah 2003: 287–289. “Harangue at Gan,” “Harangue of Tang,” and “Harangue at Bi” do not contain a single reduplicative; “Harangue at Mu” contains one; and the tripartite “Great Harangue” contains two. “Harangue of Qin,” a text of 248 characters with a considerable number of repeated phrases, contains six different ones. For my translations of the different harangues in the present essay, I have used

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[For] the great battle at Gan, [the king] summoned the six [military] dignitaries. The king said: “Ah! Men of the six services, I proclaim to you as an exhortation: 大戰于甘，乃召六卿。王曰：嗟！六事之人，予誓告汝：

The Lord of Hu violates and despises the five moving forces, and he neglects and discards the three standards.32 On this account, Heaven destroys him and severs his Mandate. Now, I, indeed,33 respectfully execute the punishment appointed by Heaven. 有扈氏威侮五行， *-aŋ 怠棄三正。 *-eŋ 天用勦絕其命。 *-eŋ 今予惟恭行天之罰。

If [you] on the left do not perform the duty of the left, you do not honor the Mandate.34 If [you] on the right do not perform the duty of the right, you do not honor the Mandate. If [you] charioteers go against the correct way of managing the horses, you do not honor the Mandate. 左不攻于左，汝不恭命。 *-eŋ 右不攻于右，汝不恭命。 *-eŋ 御非其馬之正 (*-eŋ)，汝不恭命。 *-eŋ Those who fulfill the Mandate will be rewarded in front of the ancestors; those who do not fulfill the Mandate will be killed at the altar of the soil. Thus, I will kill you together with your wives and children.”

32

33 34

the following principal editions, translations, and commentaries: Sun Xingyan 1986; Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005; Pi Xirui 2004; Karlgren 1970; Legge 1991. In many cases (especially with “Harangue of Tang”), the language is obscure and open to multiple interpretations. Readers interested in the philological arguments will easily find detailed discussions in the sources just mentioned. While my own readings of particular words and phrases are based on these discussions, they are by no means self-evident; still, in general, I decided against overburdening the text with very extensive philological notes. There is considerable (and inconclusive) discussion about what wu xing 五行 (five moving forces) and san zheng 三正 (three standards) may signify; see Sun Xingyan 1986: 210– 211; Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 2, 868–873; Karlgren 1970: 167–169 (glosses 1398–1399). I have no opinion one way or the other and leave the terms as abstract as possible. Here and below, I consistently translate the emphatic copula wei 惟 as “indeed.” The word translated as “Mandate” here is ming 命, which also means “my command” or “my orders”; for the rationale behind translating it as “Mandate,” see below. Ultimately, the king’s “orders” are the extension of his “Mandate” received from Heaven.

The “Harangues” (Shi 誓 ) in the Shangshu 用命 (*-eŋ) 賞于祖， 弗用命 (*-eŋ) 戮于社。 予則孥戮汝。35

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*-a *-a *-a

The text is constructed as a fixed sequence of elements: a brief prose introduction that sets the scene; the king’s speech beginning with an exclamation; the king explicitly addressing his troops; the indictment of the enemy; the assertion that Heaven has withdrawn its support from the enemy; the claim that the king will now execute the punishment appointed by Heaven; the exhortation of his troops to fulfill their duties; and, finally, a violent threat to exterminate those who do not obey the king’s command. Not all these elements are present in every “harangue”: both the “Harangue of Tang” and the “Harangue at Bi” lack the prose introduction, while the “Harangue at Mu” contains a significantly longer one; the initial exclamation (jie 嗟)—in the Shangshu, a word largely confined to the harangues and similar texts—is missing only in the “Harangue of Tang”;36 and the indictment of the enemy and the role of Heaven are much abbreviated in the “Harangue at Bi.” However, while each text may lack one or two features, it still contains all the rest. Moreover, the sequence of these features is followed exactly in each of the “Harangues.” Rhetorically, the “Harangue at Gan” uses a series of patterns that recur in the other harangues as well. In addition to the initial exclamation, the harangue is marked by the intense use of first- and second-person personal pronouns; distinct sequences of rhyme; the performative self-reference to the “harangue” (“I proclaim to you as an exhortation”); catalogs and repetitions (“you on the left... you on the right... you do not honor the Mandate... you do not honor the Mandate...”); and positive and negative alternatives and their consequences (“those who fulfill the Mandate... those who do not fulfill the Mandate...”). Of particular interest is the use of the word “now” (jin 今) for its double function to mark both time and contrast. First, the harangue is situated as a dramatic performance at a specific historical point, the moment before the battle. But second, it serves as the speech’s discursive pivot: what is before “now” describes the terrible status quo that is going to be resolved by the battle (“On this­ 35

36

Sun Xingyan 1986: 208–214. The harangue is also included in Shiji 史記 2.84 (“Xia benji” 夏本紀), as well as in Mozi, “Ming gui xia” 明鬼下, where it is quoted as “Harangue of Yu” 禹誓 and at one point is slightly expanded; see Sun Yirang 2001: 240–242. The exclamation jie occurs in “Harangue at Gan,” “Harangue at Mu,” “Great Harangue,” “Harangue of Qin,” “Harangue at Bi,” and, in the Remnant Zhou Documents, “Harangue to Shang.” It also appears in the Shangshu chapter “Punishments of Lü” (“Lü xing” 呂刑) and in the ancient-script chapters “Punitive Expedition of Yin” (“Yin zheng” 胤征) and “Proclamation of Tang” (“Tang gao” 湯誥).

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account, Heaven destroys him and severs his Mandate”); what follows “now” is the application of just force that will lead to the world as it should be (“Now, I, indeed, respectfully execute the punishment appointed by Heaven”). In this, the battle speech is not merely a preparation for the actual battle. In a reversal of significance, the battle is the inevitable result of what is laid out compellingly in the speech. Inscribed into the cultural memory are not the acts of war but the acts of speech: in the remembrance of war as the necessary means for the execution of justice, it is the battle that provides the occasion for the speech, and for the representation of the idealized speaker, not the other way around. Rhetorically, this is highlighted in the dual meaning of the pivotal “now” that stages—in the text but likely also in reenactments of the “harangue” (see below)—the speaker as a dramatic performer and that focuses the attention on the speech itself. In turn, the battle itself, as well as its outcome, is certain and contributes nothing to the historical imagination. The various elements noted here all serve to intensify the speech, to give it the rhythm of force and inevitability, and to present the king as a charismatic and intensely personal speaker—who, however, by way of speaking in prescribed patterns, is not expressing himself arbitrarily. In the same way as he justifies his imminent attack on the enemy as “executing the punishment appointed by Heaven,” he also speaks to his troops in highly formalized patterns that mark his speech as commensurate with his task. His own appointment is fundamentally religious, as is shown by how he deals with his troops: those who obey him will be rewarded in front of the ancestors; those who disobey him will be killed before the spirits of the soil. As can be seen in the arrangement of the text above, the word “Mandate” (ming 命) is at the very center of the “Harangue at Gan”: it appears six times, and in four of these instances it is in the rhyme position at the end of the line. Even in the remaining two cases, it marks the end of a syntactic unit (“Those who fulfill / do not fulfill the Mandate...”), that is, in front of another caesura; literally, ming punctuates the larger part of the speech. The word has two dimensions and a clear direction from Heaven to the king and from there to the audience: it is Heaven’s “Mandate” to the king, from where it extends in the form of “commands” (also ming) to his troops. As anyone who disobeys the king’s commands ultimately disobeys the Heavenly Mandate, and consequentially will be killed in front of the spirits, the king himself does not act out of his own volition either. Mandated by Heaven, he must act. Remarkably, the word ming appears just once, now as a verb, in the “Harangue of Tang.” Otherwise, the structural, rhetorical, and ideological perspectives identified in the “Harangue at Gan” are also found here, but now embedded into a more complex speech:

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The king said:37 “Come, you multitudes, and listen completely to my words! It is not that I, the young son,38 have the temerity to move forward and rise up in rebellion. The ruler of Xia has many crimes, and Heaven has mandated that he be killed. 王曰：格爾眾庶，悉聽朕言。非台小子，敢行稱亂。有夏多罪，天命 殛之。

Now, you are in multitudes; you say: ‘Our lord has no compassion for us multitudes. He causes us to cast aside our husbandry and to bring disaster on the correct Xia [way of government].’ 今爾有眾。汝曰：我后不恤我眾，舍我穡事，而割正夏。

I, indeed, hear the words of you multitudes. The house of Xia has crimes. I am fearful of the God-on-High and do not have the temerity not to be correct.39 予惟聞汝眾言。夏氏有罪，予畏上帝，不敢不正。

Now you may say: ‘The crimes of Xia—what can be done about them!40 The king of Xia in everything obstructs the efforts of the multitudes, in everything brings disaster upon the City of Xia; the multitudes are in peril and not harmonized.’41 今汝其曰： 夏罪其如台。 夏王率遏眾力， 率割夏邑。 有眾率怠弗協。

*-ə *-ək *-əp *-ep

[I] say: ‘Will we expire on this day?42

37 38 39 40

41 42

Note that here and also in “Harangue at Mu” below, the king is not at all king at the time of his speech; he is the king only retrospectively, after the conquest. “The young son” or “the little one” (xiao zi 小子) is the king’s self-designation vis-à-vis his ancestors. Another possibility is to read zheng 正 as 征 (to march against [Xia]). I follow the early interpretation suggested by the parallel passage in Shiji 3.95 (有罪，其 奈何？); see also the discussions in Sun Xingyan 1986: 218; Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 2, 883; Pi Xirui 2004: 199. For different interpretations see Karlgren 1970: 172–173 (gloss 1405); Legge 1991: 175. Reading dai 怠 as 殆; see Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 2, 883. The line 時日曷喪 is highly controversial among commentators; see Karlgren 1970: 174 (gloss 1407). Shiji 3.95 is more explicit: 是日何時喪? (When will this sun expire?). Here,

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[Then] I and you will all perish! Since the virtue of Xia is [deficient] like this, today I must move forward. 曰： 時日曷喪。 予及汝皆亡。 夏德若茲， 今朕必往。

*-aŋ *-aŋ *-ə *-aŋ May you support me, the solitary man, to deliver the punishment appointed by Heaven! I will then greatly reward you. Among you, may there be none who does not trust me! 爾尚輔予一人， *-in 致天之罰。 *-at 予其大賚汝。 *-a 爾無不信， *-in I shall not eat my words! If you do not obey the words of [this] harangue, I will kill you together with your wives and children, and there will be none who will be pardoned.’” 朕不食言。 *-ən 爾不從誓言， *-ən 予則孥戮汝， *-a 罔有攸赦。43 *-ak While the text lacks both the introductory narrative and the king’s exclamation, almost all the other structural, rhetorical, and ideological elements of the “Harangue at Gan” are also present here. But there is much more. Even though the text does not mention the ancestral spirits or the altar of the soil, the king’s speech is marked as religious by his self-designation “I, the young son” (yi xiao zi 台小子), a standard formula used by a ruler to position himself toward both Heaven and his ancestral spirits; in addition, the king declares himself to be “fearful of the God-on-High.” Rhetorically, the text is less repetitive while being far more rhythmic; most of its lines are tetrasyllabic and as such represent a

43

the fifth-century commentator Pei Yin 裴駰 quotes Shangshu dazhuan 尚書大傳 2.13a: “[The Xia king] Jie said: ‘The sky having the sun is like me having the people. Does the sun perish? If the sun perishes, then I will perish’” (天之有日，猶吾之有民。日有亡哉？ 日亡吾乃亡矣; Pei Yin quotes the last phrase as日亡吾亦亡矣). Sun Xingyan 1986: 215–220; Shiji 3.95 (“Yin benji” 殷本紀).

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strong sense of order, authority, and adherence to prescribed form. It is also remarkable that the text speaks of “the king”—which Tang is not at the time of his rebellion. This—just like the claim for the Mandate both here and in the “Harangue at Gan”—reflects the retrospective view of the successful rebellion and of the new dynasty that Tang founded as its first king; furthermore, it gives a sense of both dignity and inevitability to the future king while he still speaks as a rebel.44 Of particular interest are the repeated passages where the king anticipates the speeches of the multitudes—or rather their leaders—who are still the subjects of the soon-to-be-overthrown king of Xia. In trying to marshal his troops, Tang speaks to an elite he wants to win over for what he claims is not a (lawless) rebellion. These leaders of the multitudes now face a choice of loyalty: to the rebel or to their ruler, the king of Xia; to the old regime or to the possible future one. It is, seemingly, to these functionaries that Tang declares “It is not that I, the young son, have the temerity to move forward and rise up in rebellion.” As he begins the indictment of the king of Xia, he recognizes the multitudes and lets them make the case for killing their ruler. To this indictment by the people he then responds with a dual claim in favor of the military attack: he “hears” the multitudes, and he is “fearful” of the high god. Having thus received the Mandate from both the powers above and the folk below, rising against the king of Xia is not his choice but his inescapable duty, according to which he “does not have the temerity not to be correct.” This rhetorical move is then followed by another quotation of the multitudes: “The crimes of Xia—what can be done about them!” While this sentence is open to different interpretations, all commentators agree that the quotation itself is limited to just this phrase, with the next three lines then again being spoken by Tang. This is not certain at all; instead, the rhyme scheme, comprising three *-ə rhymes (including the two rusheng 入聲 rhymes *-ək and *-əp) and the assonating *-ep rhyme in the final line, may suggest a single speech. Either way, the four rhymed lines are then followed by a second yue 曰 (“[I] say”) that marks the following as another speech, which I take as comprising only two lines (that are highly disputed in their meaning): “Will we expire on this day? / Then I and you will all perish!” Depending on the interpretation, there are different ways to determine the speaker; in my reading, this rhymed couplet begins Tang’s final response to the multitudes. The couplet is quoted in 44

Assuming that “Harangue of Tang” is a Zhou invention, the rhetoric here is transparently based on the Zhou’s own view of themselves and projected from there back to Tang: when King Wu rises in rebellion (see “Harangue at Mu” below), he already is portrayed as “the king,” complete with an entire bureaucracy of officials in his service.

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Mengzi 1A.2 and could thus be seen as isolated, or even as an independent proverb, but its rhyme continues: Will we expire on this day? [Then] I and you will all perish! Since the virtue of Xia is [deficient] like this, today I must move forward.

時日曷喪。 *-aŋ 予及汝皆亡。 *-aŋ 夏德若茲， *-ə 今朕必往。 *-aŋ

In formal terms, nothing suggests ending the quotation after the first two lines. Instead, this passage of four lines is followed by two others of the same length, each with its own rhyme pattern: the first shows an embracing (or “envelope”) rhyme of *-in around *-at/*-a, while the second contains two couplet rhymes of *-ən and *-a/*-ak. Each of these three passages has a clearly demarcated theme: the first quatrain offers Tang’s determination to march against Xia, no matter the risk; the second is an appeal to the multitudes to support and trust him, combined with the promise of great rewards; and the third is the concluding threat that he will not retreat (“I will not eat my words!”) and will kill anyone who is not with him. In sum, the speech in its received form is a highly patterned, carefully constructed artifact, with its sequence of individual sections consistently and coherently marked in both form and content. Tang’s is the voice of the classic rebel, but one who rejects the label of rebellion (luan 亂) in order to define his actions as legitimate. His argument is classically Mencian: if the ruler makes his people suffer, it is morally legitimate (or even imperative, in Tang’s rhetoric) to remove him—an axiom underlying both the “Harangue of Tang” and the “Harangue at Mu.”45 Not surprisingly, within the Mengzi, the clearest statement on the legitimacy of killing a tyrannical ruler is in Mengzi 1B.8, which raises the examples of Tang killing Jie (the last Xia king) and King Wu killing Zhouxin (the last Shang king). The same rationale, once again with allusions to Jie and Zhouxin, is elaborated upon in Xunzi 荀子46 and Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋,47 both of which depict war and rebellion against tyrannical rule as not only justified but also as necessarily successful. Nowhere do these texts, or any of the harangues, argue in favor of aggression merely out of a sense of moral superiority (let alone less noble motives). Instead, the justification for war and rebellion derives exclusively from the misdeeds of a ruler toward his own people, for which Heaven then ap-

45 46 47

For a convenient summary of this point, see Lau 2003: xxxix–xlii. Chapter 15, “Yi bing” 議兵. Books 7 and 8 with its various subchapters on warfare.

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points the ultimate punishment. In summoning and exhorting his troops, no speaker of the early harangues is portrayed as acting on his own volition. Of course, the seemingly dialogical structure of the “Harangue of Tang,” where the future king responds to the plaint of the suffering folk, is a rhetorical construction. The multitudes, after all, do not speak; their voices are created within Tang’s own speech. Unlike King Qi in the “Harangue at Gan,” Tang does not simply command his troops; instead, he “hears” and responds and only then gives his own tripartite speech marked by rhyme, rhythm, and meter. As the “Harangue of Tang” is without a doubt a Zhou text and hence an artifact of retrospective imagination, the true audience addressed by Tang is not that of the “multitudes” but the political public of a much later time. In its own sophisticated way, the “Harangue of Tang” incorporates the entire discourse on the justification of regicide, claiming the legitimacy of overthrowing the doomed king of Xia as endowed by both Heaven and the common folk. If anything, this complexity of argumentation marks the text not as an early prototype of a “harangue” but as a rather late refinement of the genre. Among the elements that speak decisively for a Zhou date for the “Harangue of Tang” is the implied use of the Mandate of Heaven, which here is more meaningfully employed than in the “Harangue at Gan,” even if asserted, on the surface, less forcefully. In strictly historical terms, for both texts the Zhou notion of the Mandate of Heaven is an anachronistic projection; but for the “Harangue at Gan,” it further is a misguided transposition of the concept of dynastic change to the suppression of a local rebel. Accordingly, when later texts discuss the legitimacy of regicide in conjunction with the Mandate of Heaven, the “Harangue at Gan” is not among their points of reference.48 These are, instead, the “Harangue of Tang” and the “Harangue at Mu,” as both are given by rebel leaders on the verge of overthrowing an existing dynasty and establishing their own. In their received form, the two texts are similar in ideology, reflecting a political discourse that seems far more at home in the fourth or third centuries BCE than at any earlier time. For one, no Western Zhou bronze inscription comes close to the discursive sophistication displayed in these powerful speeches; and equally importantly, the idealizing “ellipsis of the battle” (C. H. Wang) common to both harangues is forcefully contradicted by the “Great Capture” as well as by the inscriptional record from Western Zhou times through the Spring and Autumn period.49 While the “Harangue at Mu” and 48 49

For a discussion of the issue, see Pines 2008. See Shaughnessy 1997: 31–67 and especially the essay by Joachim Gentz in this volume (chapter 4), both citing “Great Capture” together with the inscriptional evidence.

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“Harangue of Tang” share their ideological underpinnings, their rhetorically sophisticated formal structures are distinct from one another. (This fact alone speaks against the idea that the “Harangue of Tang” followed the blueprint of the “Harangue at Mu.”) Of these two texts, the “Harangue at Mu” is the significantly longer one (of 245 vs. 144 characters) and contains an expansive range of different rhetorical elements: The time was the jiazi day at dawn. In the morning, the king arrived in the open fields of Mu in the outskirts of [the City of] Shang and made a harangue. The king in his left wielded the yellow battle-ax, in his right held up the white banner, which he brandished. He said: “From far away you are, men of the western lands.”

時甲子昧爽。王朝至于商郊牧野乃誓。王左杖黃鉞，右秉白旄以麾。 曰：逖矣西土之人。

The king said: “Ah! Great officers of my friendly states, manager of affairs, minister of the multitudes, minister of the horses, minister of public words, secondary officers, instructors, captains of thousands, captains of hundreds, and further men of Yang, Shu, Qiang, Mao, Wei, Lu, Peng, and Pu: lift up your dagger-axes, join your shields, raise your lances—I shall make a harangue.” 王曰：嗟我友邦冢君、御事、司徒、司馬、司空、亞旅、師氏、千夫 長、百夫長、及庸、蜀、羌、髳、微、盧、彭、濮人。稱爾戈，比爾 干，立爾矛。予其誓。

The king said: “The ancients had a saying: ‘The hen should not call the morning. If the hen calls the morning, the house will come to an end.’ Now for Shou, the king of Shang, it is indeed the words of his wife that he follows. He blindly discards the sacrifices he should present and fails to respond [to the blessings he has received from the spirits]. He blindly discards his paternal and maternal uncles who are still alive and fails to employ them. Thus, indeed, the vagabonds of the four quarters, loaded with crimes—these he honors, these he exalts, these he trusts, these he enlists, these he takes as high officials and dignitaries, to let them oppress and tyrannize the people and bring villainy and treachery upon the City of Shang. 王曰：古人有言曰：牝雞無晨。牝雞之晨，惟家之索。今商王受，惟 婦言是用，昏棄厥肆祀弗荅。昏棄厥遺王父母弟不迪。乃惟四方之多 罪逋逃。是崇是長，是信是使，是以為大夫卿士，俾暴虐于百姓，以 姦宄于商邑。

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Now, I, Fa, indeed respectfully execute the punishment appointed by Heaven. In today’s affair, do not exceed six steps, seven steps; then stop and adjust [your ranks]. Officers, exert yourselves! Do not exceed four attacks, five attacks, six attacks, seven attacks; then stop and adjust [your ranks]. Exert yourselves, officers—you shall be martial and imposing! Be like tigers, like leopards, like black bears, like brown bears! In the outskirts of Shang, do not press and assault those who flee, but make them serve the western lands. Exert yourself, officers! You who do not exert yourselves will face personal destruction! 今予發，惟恭行天之罰。今日之事，不愆于六步、七步乃止齊焉。夫 子勖哉，不愆于四伐、五伐、六伐、七伐乃止齊焉。勖哉夫子，尚桓 桓。如虎、如貔、如熊、如羆。于商郊，弗迓克奔，以役西土。勖哉 夫子。爾所弗勖，其于爾躬有戮。50

The first distinguishing feature of the “Harangue at Mu” is a tripartite introduction, a contextualizing narrative of thirty-three characters that stages the king: first, it provides the (auspicious) date and the location and states that the king “made a harangue”; next, it presents the king in his regal gear; and third, it identifies his troops: “From far away you are, men of the western lands.” Remarkably, this introduction is given to a text that already contains its own historical context: it calls King Wu, the speaker, by his personal name Fa 發; it indicts at great length the last Shang ruler; and it identifies the location of the speech as “in the outskirts of Shang.” In short, compared with the other speeches, the initial framing seems extraneous and might be a retrospective addition to the “harangue” proper, even if the latter itself postdates the purported event by centuries already. But if this is the case, why would this framing have been considered helpful or even necessary when other speeches in the Shangshu that include much less historical detail could stand on their own? The answer may be found in the middle section of the introduction: “The king in his left wielded the yellow battle-ax, in his right held up the white banner, which he brandished.” The ornate paraphernalia do not mark the appearance of a warrior; they are the ritual insignia of a ruler who solemnly assumes the warrior’s posture. The “yellow” battle-ax, likely “yellow with gold,”51 is not a weapon but an iconic attribute of intrinsic value and prestige. It is indexical of a commitment to traditional ritual, of the future king’s sheer wealth and control over material resources, and, anachronistically, of its royal status at the moment of his imminent rebellion. Whether or not the “white” banner sig50 51

Sun Xingyan 1986: 282–290; Shiji 4.122–123 (“Zhou benji” 周本紀). Legge 1991: 300; see also the early gloss in Shiji 4.123.

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nified the geographical origin of the Zhou,52 the combination of “yellow battle-ax” (huang yue 黃鉞) and “white banner” (bai mao白旄) is never associated with any other historical figure of early China. By Han times, at the latest, the two items combined had become the single defining feature of King Wu’s iconography even as his speeches, including the “Great Harangue,” were contextualized in different and inconsistent ways.53 It is very possible that this colorful iconography of King Wu wielding his yellow ax and brandishing his white banner had entered the historical imagination via an early performance tradition. This tradition may have developed in the choreography of the Zhou ancestral sacrifices (see below)—whether before the fall of the Western Zhou in 771 BCE or between 771 and 256 BCE, the year when the Zhou state was formally vanquished—from where it became recalled in the various literary accounts of the Zhou conquest, including, at some point, by being attached to the “Harangue at Mu.” Following the introductory frame, the “harangue” proper begins in typical fashion with the standard opening of Zhou royal speeches, “the king said” (wang yue 王曰); this formula then launches an extensive catalog of officers and tribes before stating “I shall make a harangue” (yu qi shi 予其誓). The remaining two-thirds of the text are again divided into two sections of almost equal length: the first, once again opened with “the king said,” is an extensive indictment of the king of Shang, while the second—now with the king identifying himself by his personal name Fa—rouses the troops to exert themselves. The concluding threat, another standard feature, is brief: “You who do not exert yourselves will face personal destruction!” The “Harangue at Mu” employs the same rhetorical features as observed before: the initial exclamation, the performative self-reference to the “ha­­rangue” as well as to the occasion, and the use of first- and second-person personal pronouns (with the latter, however, now restricted to the final formulaic threat). On the other hand, the features of rhyme and meter that figure so prominently in the “Harangue of Tang” are virtually absent. What stand out most, however, are the catalogs and repetitions, beginning with the two extensive catalogs of functionaries and tribes. Through these totalizing lists, the king demonstrates not just overwhelming military power but the comprehensive coalition that he has assembled in his support. Thus, the “Harangue at Mu” legitimates King Wu’s conquest as the deed not of a single man but of the true 52 53

In Warring States correlative cosmology, white is the color of the west, which would then suggest a Warring States date for the introductory frame. See Shiji 4.122, 32.1479 (“Qi Taigong shijia” 齊太公世家); Liu Wendian 1988: 6.192 (“Lan ming” 覽冥) and 20.687 (“Taizu” 泰族); Major 2010: 215, 826.

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leader of the people from all quarters—just like the “Harangue of Tang” is addressed to, and spoken on behalf of, the “multitudes.” Possibly anachronistic, however, is King Wu’s catalog of dignitaries: among other officials, the future king already has the “minister of the multitudes, minister of the horses, minister of public words,” all of whom would be among the highest officials of a developed Zhou state.54 Just as he assembles the various tribes, displaying his all-inclusive command of the multitudes, he also brings to the battle an already complete bureaucracy that is similar to bureaucracies cataloged elsewhere, such as in “The Establishment of Government” (“Li zheng” 立政),55 in a considerable number of mid- to late Western Zhou bronze inscriptions, and, on the largest scale, in the Rituals of Zhou (Zhou li 周禮). An additional element is the rhetorical use of an ancient saying introduced by “The ancients had a saying...” (guren you yan yue 古人有言曰). The same formula appears verbatim also in the third part of the “Great Harangue” and in the “Harangue of Qin” and, further, in the “Proclamation about Alcohol” (“Jiu gao” 酒誥).56 Rhetorically, it is a claim for tradition and authority: ready to overthrow the current dynasty, the future king appeals to a piece of common wisdom that precedes the corrupt ruler of the present and that can be invoked to judge him. In other words, the current rule is perverted not merely by current standards but by the agreed-upon standards of old, or of all time; in addition, the saying invokes a “natural” and therefore unquestionable analogy (“The hen should not call the morning”) to judge the behavior of the ruler. All three harangues discussed above present their speakers as charismatic leaders (in the Weberian sense) who speak in an intense, forceful voice to rouse—and also threaten—their people. The repeated use of first- and second-person pronouns, the catalogs, the exclamations, and the self-reference to the speech as a “harangue,” spoken with the urgency of “now,” all signify the drama of the moment, the exceptional personality of the speaker, and the pivotal turning point of history.57 Yet the “Harangue at Mu,” in staging the king in his regal gear and invoking the comprehensive order of good government, also shows this charisma as less 54

55 56 57

For other anachronistic elements in “Harangue at Mu,” see Matsumoto 1988: 167–169; Zhang Xitang 1958: 186–187. While such titles can be found in Western Zhou bronze inscriptions, we do not know whether the Zhou had employed them before the conquest of 1046 BCE. Legge 1991: 515–516. Legge 1991: 296, 627, 409. I have dwelled on the figure of the charismatic leader more extensively in my essay on the “Canon of Yao” (“Yao dian” 堯典), where the sage-king Yao is portrayed in precisely this way; see chapter 1 in the present volume.

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personal than institutional. Its codified, ritualized, and formulaic idiom is also unmistakable in entire phrases that are shared among the harangues and related texts. These include the initial exclamations jie 嗟, the indictments of the enemy, and the expressions of the king’s violence. The single word jie is largely confined to the harangues and so is the language enumerating the crimes of the enemy. As shown above, these catalogs appear briefly in the “Harangue at Gan” and the “Harangue of Tang,” but it is only in the context of the Zhou conquest that the indictment takes up a large part of the battle speech, reflecting the Zhou’s intense demand for political legitimacy either immediately after the conquest or at a later time of crisis, when the conquest was recalled as foundational memory.58 This is true for the “Harangue at Mu” and for all three parts of the “Great Harangue”; it is also true for the “Harangue to Shang” chapter of the Remnant Zhou Documents and for the Shangshu chapters “Many Officers” and “Many Regions,” where the rulers of Zhou speak to the former officers of Shang. The latter three speeches are the counterparts to the harangues: they are given not before but sometime after the battle, and then not to the Zhou troops but to the captured officers.59 Rhetorically, they complete the conquest by addressing the conquered. In all these texts, the two most frequently repeated terms to indict the Shang are yin 淫 (excessive) and bao 暴 (violent) that together mark the loss of ritual propriety and the oppressive rule imposed on the common folk. The harangues use equally formulaic language for their announcement of violence toward the enemy and the threat of punishment toward their own troops. “I respectfully execute the punishment appointed by Heaven” (予惟恭 行天之罰) appears in the “Harangue at Gan” and the “Harangue at Mu,” as well as, slightly abbreviated (as 致天之罰), in the “Harangue of Tang” and twice in the “Great Harangue.” With minor rephrasing it also appears twice in the ancient-script chapter “The Punitive Expedition of Yin” (“Yin zheng” 胤征) as well as in the three speeches to the captured Shang officers, “Harangue to Shang,” “Many Officers,” and “Many Regions.” Likewise, “I will kill you together with your wives and children” (予則孥戮汝) is shared by the “Harangue at Gan” and the “Harangue of Tang,” while the “Harangue at Mu” threatens the troops with “personal destruction” (于爾躬有戮), and the “Harangue at Bi” warns of 58 59

In the Shijing, the indictment of the Shang is advanced most forcefully in the “Daya” 大雅 hymn “Dang” 蕩 (Mao 255). In a similar double move, the Shangshu mentions divinations that predict the success of the Zhou conquest first to the doomed last Shang king (in “The Chief of the West Killed Li” [“Xi bo kan Li” 西伯戡黎]) and then to the future Zhou king Wu (in “Great Harangue”); see the coda to the present chapter.

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“great punishment” (大刑). While other Shangshu chapters devoted to the Zhou such as “Against Luxurious Ease” (“Wu yi” 無逸), “Establishment of Government,” “Proclamation about Alcohol,” “Proclamation to Kang” (“Kang gao” 康誥), “Punishments of Lü” (“Lü xing” 呂刑), and “The Chief of the West Killed Li” (“Xi bo kan Li” 西伯戡黎) also invoke the misdeeds of the Shang and their just and Heaven-ordained punishment, these notions are not part of the structural core of the text there. A remarkable feature of the three harangues discussed here, and another striking instance of an “institutional voice,” is the idiom of rhyme, meter, and poetic structure. As seen above, the “Harangue at Gan” and the “Harangue of Tang” contain sustained rhymed and largely tetrasyllabic passages; the same is true of the “Great Harangue,” including in its passages that are quoted in the Mozi and the Mengzi.60 This is the idiom of the ritual hymns of the Shijing 詩 經. The “Harangue at Mu” also contains a particular syntactic pattern typical of ancient poetic language, namely, in the sequence “these he honors, these he exalts, these he trusts, these he enlists” (是崇是長，是信是使). Here again, we are facing not some idiosyncratic choice (even though the pattern is unique among the harangues) but a fixed pattern of institutional language use.61 Reflections on the Harangues in Early Chinese Cultural History At some point during the Zhou dynasty, there existed a blueprint for prebattle harangues. We do not know when exactly these speeches were composed or how they changed over time. In his analysis of parallels between the “Great Harangue” and the “Harangue at Mu,” and how the former is quoted (also under different titles) in Warring States texts, Nomura Shigeo 野村茂夫 has argued that “Great Harangue” was not so much the title of a particular text but rather encompassed an entire range of texts concerned with the founding of the Zhou dynasty; that these texts were originally orally transmitted; and that only late in the Warring States, a text such as the “Harangue at Mu” was ­extracted and isolated from the surrounding “Great Harangue” material.62 60 61 62

Consider, e.g., the quotations in Mengzi 3B.5 and Mozi, “Fei ming xia” (Sun Yirang 2001: 255–256). See Kern 2000a: 106–109. Nomura 1965. By contrast, Matsumoto (1988: 165–167) insists that despite their overlap, the two “harangues” were two separate texts; he speculates that after the original (Warring States period) “Great Harangue” was lost, its later versions were inspired by “Harangue at Mu.”

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Based on Nomura’s discussion of textual parallels, the linguistic features of the texts, and the way they are quoted in various Warring States writings, this is an eminently attractive hypothesis. It frees us from the traditional—and methodologically unsustainable—assumption that the received texts are discrete entities that in some inexplicable way survived over centuries in more or less pristine form and that therefore can be dated individually on the basis of their linguistic properties.63 Nomura’s view of the “Great Harangue” material as a textual repertoire that changed over time and only gradually sedimented into isolated texts removes the traditional concerns with strict textual identity in favor of a more capacious and more flexible scenario where different parts of the textual material could be invoked on different occasions and in different texts. Such a scenario fits the available evidence of quotations from what eventually was to become the Shangshu, considering how unevenly—indeed poorly—these passages match the received text in the great majority of cases. Moreover, it asks us to rethink what we mean by the canonization of the written anthology: most likely, this canonization, which took place only in late Warring States and early imperial times, was not merely an act of collecting and preserving preexisting texts but, as a far more invasive procedure, constituted and isolated these texts out of a larger repertoire of material from different periods. Such an act of textual formation would further be the best explanation for the remarkable structural and ideological coherence between the various harangues no matter to which historical period they are attributed individually. After all, the purported speakers of the different harangues were separated by centuries, and it would be adventurous to suggest that King Wu carried with him copies of the earlier speeches. Few modern scholars would consider the “Harangue at Gan” and the “Harangue of Tang” historical documents dating from the time of their purported occasions. Their language is Zhou language of various layers, ranging from Western Zhou through early imperial times. As described above, the transmitted harangues share a basic structure, a common ideology, and a diction and vocabulary that even included entire phrases repeated verbatim. In their accumulation, these shared features connect the harangues with one another as much as they set them apart from all other texts. At the same time, in their exclamations, self-references to the speech proper (“I shall make a harangue”) as well as to their dramatic occasions, their emphatic use of first- and second-person personal pronouns, and their adoption of poetic structures shared with the ritual hymns of the Shijing, 63

See also the discussions by Vogelsang (chapter 2) and Meyer (chapters 3 and 6) in this volume.

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they display unmistakable instances of performative speech. Even more, the harangues present themselves as extemporized speech, delivered impromptu at the moment before the attack and referring to the here and now. This, ­evidently, is a construction, clearly revealed by the phenomenon of shared lines and other formulaic structures that are best understood as instances of an artificially “impoverished” language64 or the “restricted code” of traditional authority.65 But what does this mean for the nature and purpose of these texts, in particular of those attributed to the much earlier Xia and Shang rulers? If they were Zhou fabrications, why were they fabricated? What was their use in Zhou times? A common argument for the production of the “Harangue of Tang” is that “since the text justifies the Shang conquest of Hsia, it could have been created by the Chou founders to justify their own conquest of Shang.”66 This is a plausible suggestion except for seemingly implying that the “Harangue at Mu,” and then also the presumed “Great Harangue,” could be attributed to the “founders” (presumably King Wu) of the Western Zhou. This presumption is dubious, as argued by Herrlee G. Creel, who declared the “Harangue at Mu” “almost certainly not what it purports to be, a speech by King Wu.”67 The same conclusion was shared by Chen Mengjia, Zhang Xitang, and Matsumoto Masaaki, who all suspected the text to date from the Warring States;68 Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu argued that the text shows clear linguistic evidence of post–Western Zhou editing or rewriting;69 Jiang Shanguo, on the other hand, opted for an earlier, and possibly Western Zhou, date.70 Yet all these hypotheses are largely moot as soon as we adopt the scenario of a diachronically layered textual repertoire from which a text like the “Harangue of Mu” was isolated, just like the received version of the “Great Harangue,” with which it shares enough similar lines to make the two texts cognate and yet not identical.71 Beyond the “Harangue at Mu” itself, the issue at stake is this: if the Zhou 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71

Bloch 1974: 60. Ahern 1981: 54–55. For further discussion, see Kern 2000a: 58–66; 2000b: 148–154. Shaughnessy 1993: 378. Creel 1970: 456. Chen Mengjia 1985: 112; Zhang Xitang 1958: 186–187; Matsumoto 1988: 167–169. Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 3, 1140–1142. Jiang Shanguo 1988: 226–227. Beyond the harangues and the Shangshu, I consider the notion of “repertoire” or textual “material”—first advanced by Stephen Owen (2006: 73–138) for the formation of early medieval Chinese poetry—a fruitful contribution toward a general theory of Chinese textuality. To cite just one of any number of examples where “repertoire” may be the best explanation to make sense of a relationship between texts: the poem “Xishuai” 蟋蟀

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founders did not create their own prebattle harangues, then they also did not create something like the “Harangue at Gan” or the “Harangue of Tang.” Instead, all these texts were part of a common repertoire, or possibly of several separate such repertoires,72 that at some point during the late Warring States gave rise to the formation of the texts in a form recognizably related to their received versions. To my mind, the three harangues discussed in the present essay, together with the overall “Great Harangue” repertoire of which the received tripartite version is only one actualization, are imagined speeches, or, in the words of Thucydides, expressions of what “would have been needed on any given occasion.” Henri Maspero, in his magisterial 1927 book La Chine antique, included the harangues among the pieces he considered “libretti” to be performed with the dance reenactments of historical events at the early Chinese ancestral sacrifices.73 None of the harangues offers a historical account of a battle or conquest; instead, through its strongly performative features of speech, each mimetically stages the conquering hero as a dramatis persona.74 If there is any

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(“Cricket”) in the received Shijing now has a parallel in the Qinghua University manuscript “Qi ye” 耆夜 (perhaps dating from around 300 BCE). The manuscript version of the poem is clearly related to the received text, with which it shares the same title and a considerable number of (sometimes slightly variant) phrases; see Li Xueqin 2010: 150, and pls. 67–68. Clearly, the two texts are not mutually independent, but neither are they the same text. Unfortunately, much of the discussion so far has centered on how these particular two texts are somehow directly related to one another; thus, Li Feng (2013), Huang Huaixin (2012), and Li Xueqin (2011) all believe the manuscript to be the earlier version of the subsequently redacted poem in the received anthology (meaning, these show two different stages in the formation of the same poem). Cao Jianguo (2011) sees it exactly the other way around, taking the manuscript poem as an “imitation” of the one in the Shijing. While all this may be possible, nothing suggests that there was any kind of direct relationship between them in terms of one being recomposed on the basis of the other. I find it much more plausible that the two poems are just two (of potentially many more) separate actualizations of material from a common repertoire. For a similar case (and a similar conclusion), see also the insightful discussion of the two “Wu xing” 五行 (“Five Aspects of Virtuous Conduct”) manuscripts from Guodian 郭店 and Mawangdui 馬王堆 in Meyer 2012: 77–130. As has often been noted, the Mohists appear to have had their own body of “documents,” though it is by no means certain what was included there and how this material may have overlapped with that held by other intellectual communities. See, e.g., Lewis 1999: 106– 108; Matsumoto 1988: 153–158, 405–456. Maspero 1978: 274–275. Another case of a ritually staged speech may be that of the Shangshu chapter “Testamentary Charge” (“Gu ming” 顧命) together with several of the early ritual hymns from the Shijing; see Fu Sinian 1980: vol. 1, 204–233; Shaughnessy 1997: 169–174; see also C. H. Wang

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truth to the “Great Harangue” as originally including several successive situations on the march to war, each with its own speech by the future King Wu and possibly including a text like the “Harangue at Mu,” the entire buildup before the battle consists of a continuous representation of its protagonist as a speaker. We do not need to wonder who was there to copy in shorthand (as was done with Colonel Collins’s speech in March 2003) the words of the future king. As revealed by their generic features, modular structure, and restricted idiom, these speeches do not preserve the words of just their respective individual occasions, nor can they be viewed as individual texts created in mutual isolation. Much like the pronouncements in the Qin First Emperor’s seven stele inscriptions that were erected in the aftermath of the imperial unification of 221 BCE, the harangues and their related texts must be seen as individual selections from, or actualizations of, a common underlying hypotext.75 Built from modular units of intertextual selection, they preserve “what would have been needed,” what should be remembered by future generations, and, most importantly, what defined the idealized figure of a dynastic founder. From this perspective, the harangues constructed a series of historical paragons as dramatis personae and endowed them with charismatic, if institutional, voices to express their motivations and justifications. Taking the speeches as products of the retrospective imagination, that is, as successive, historically contingent framings, we can resolve their contradiction between the restricted, shared, and hence institutional idiom, on the one hand, and the seemingly impromptu expression of the individual persona, on the other. Within the anthology of the Shangshu, the harangues are provided with brief prefaces that situate each of them historically and, as a sequence, create the order of dynastic founders and other political heroes significant to the cultural memory. Yet this final instance of selective framing is still transparent to a more ancient one that had shaped, contained, and preserved the speeches over time long before the anthology was formed: the performance tradition likely centered in the institution of the Zhou ancestral sacrifice. In this context of dramatic enactment, le roi mise en scène was given his space to speak in a voice that was at once his own and that of the ritual institution and its memory, and through which successive generations commemorated the defining moments of history as morally right and inevitable. At least for the Zhou conquest, if not for

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1988: 18–20. As noted above, in “Testamentary Charge,” the dying King Cheng 成 (1042/1035–1006 BCE) refers to his own testamentary instruction to his son as to “speak bindingly” (shi yan 誓言). See Legge 1991: 546. For a detailed analysis, see Kern 2000b: 119–154. For a more general perspective on the principle of modular composition in Chinese texts and artifacts, see Ledderose 2000.

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even earlier dynasties that set the models for the Zhou, the (long-deceased) heroic king was represented in the most compelling form possible—by his own words, spoken at the foundational moment that made him king and that brought his dynasty into existence. Cast in this symbolic form, the moment of origin could forever be repeated in every new performance of the king’s own words and awe-inspiring appearance—choreographed as wielding the yellow battle-ax and brandishing the white banner—just as the foundational myths of other civilizations, week after week and year after year, are performed and reperformed, binding together the religious and political communities that perpetuate themselves by way of their shared cultural memory.76 In the Zhou ancestral temple, every such reperformance of King Wu’s speech evoked the imagined original harangue as the dynasty’s primordial call into being: the act of speech that constituted the scenario of war and mandated the troops to fight. To the cultural memory and its choreography, it was evidently important to overwrite the bloody reality of war—vividly detailed in “Great Capture” as well as in the epigraphic record—with an idealized account that effaced all mention of the actual violence. This idealized vision of the conquest extended further to “Many Officers” and “Many Regions,” which portray the early Zhou rulers in their humane lenience toward the captured leaders of Shang. In “Great Capture,” those officers are slaughtered on an epic scale; in the Shangshu, they are warned and instructed through royal speech. The received early literature includes at least two passages indicating not only the continuous knowledge of a repertoire of earlier speeches, including the “harangue” of King Wu,77 but indeed their ritual performances. The first is a passage in the Zuo zhuan 左傳. In the fourth year of Duke Zhao 昭公 (537 BCE), the Chu 楚 minister Jiao Ju 椒舉 addressed his ruler, King Ling of Chu 楚 靈王 (r. 540–529 BCE), on the occasion of hosting the regional lords: “I have learned that ritual is the only thing that the regional lords submit themselves to. Now, you receive the regional lords for the first time, and thus you must be cautious about ritual. Whether or not you will achieve hegemony will depend on this meeting. [King] Qi of Xia held the banquet at the Terrace of Jun, [King] Tang of Shang claimed the Mandate at the grand capital of Bo, [King] Wu of Zhou performed the harangue at the 76

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As thoroughly theorized by Assmann 2011; see also Assmann 2006. For a fuller discussion of the royal speeches as texts of early Chinese cultural memory and performance, see Kern 2009: 182–188. The “harangue” referred to here is traditionally believed to be the first part of “Great Harangue.”

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Ford of Meng, [King Cheng] reviewed his troops at the southern slope of Mount Qi, [King] Kang gave audience at the Palace of Feng, [King] Mu held his assembly at Mount Tu, [Lord] Huan of Qi marshaled his troops at Shaoling, and [Lord] Wen of Jin issued the covenant at Jiantu. Which of these ceremonies will you use? Xiang Xu of Song and Gonsun Qiao of Zheng are there, the finest men of the regional lords. You shall make your choice.” The king said: “I will use [the ceremony] of [Lord] Huan of Qi.” The king sent out to inquire about ritual from the Master of the Left and Zichan. The Master of the Left said: “A small country practices it, a large country uses it, how would I have the temerity not to submit what I have learned?” He then presented six types of ritual by which a ruler united the regional lords. Zichan said: “A small state offers up its duties, how would I have the temerity not to submit what one is obliged to?” He then presented six types of ritual for the different ranks of nobility when meeting with a ruler. 臣聞諸侯無歸，禮以為歸。今君始得諸侯，其慎禮矣。霸之濟否，在 此會也。夏啟有鈞臺之享，商湯有景亳之命，周武有孟津之誓，成有 岐陽之搜，康有酆宮之朝，穆有涂山之會，齊桓有召陵之師，晉文有 踐土之盟。君其何用？宋向戌、鄭公孫僑在，諸侯之良也，君其選 焉。」王曰：「吾用齊桓。」王使問禮於左師與子產。左師曰：「小 國習之，大國用之，敢不薦聞？」獻公合諸侯之禮六。子產曰：「小 國共職，敢不薦守？」獻伯子男會公之禮六。78

This passage shows that the enactments of earlier military rituals were preserved (real or imagined) and available (“Which of these ceremonies will you choose?”) for reenactment: they could be “presented” (xian 獻), that is, performed. The text refers explicitly to King Wu’s harangue at the Ford of Meng, which is part of the “Great Harangue” in its gradual move toward the decisive battle at Mu. In addition, the text invokes the Xia king Qi and the Shang king Lü (Tang), the speakers of the two earlier “harangues.” From this evidence, there can be little doubt that a text like the “Harangue at Mu”—or any other part of the larger “Great Harangue” repertoire—could be staged as liturgical ritual, most likely in the Zhou ancestral temple. In fact, in the “Records of Music” (“Yueji” 樂記) in the Liji, Confucius himself offers a detailed account of how the ritual dance suite “Wu” 武 (“Martiality”; also “Da wu” 大武, “Great Martiality) was performed as a pantomime, enacting King Wu’s conquest of the Shang; and immediately following this description of the individual dance movements, Confucius asks his interlocutor, “Have you alone not heard the 78

Yang Bojun 1995: 1250–1251 (Zhao 4.3).

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Verbalization of Muye?” (且女獨未聞牧野之語乎). Muye, the “Wilderness of Mu,” is where King Wu is said to have delivered his harangue. Following this question, Confucius delivers a vivid account of how King Wu—visualized in his ceremonial garb and demeanor—invested the descendants of the former kings, abandoned his weapons and chariots, established the regional lords, and set up the various social norms and ritual practices. “So did the Way of Zhou reach throughout the four quarters,” Confucius concludes, “as ritual and music were communicated and penetrated the realm—is it not appropriate that ‘Martiality’ was performed in slow, long-lasting moves?” (若此，則周道四達， 禮樂交通。則夫《武》之遟久，不亦宜乎).79 The account of the “Records of Music,” of course, is better considered a late (possibly even Han dynasty) idealization than as reliable historical information. But from the perspective of cultural memory, this distinction is beside the point. What matters is that from the Western Zhou period all the way to the early empire, there existed a continuous tradition—amply attested in the transmitted literature as well as in the archeological record—where ritual and music were performed in the context of the ancestral sacrifice and other court ceremonies to commemorate and perpetuate the past. Whether or not the “Verbalization of Muye” (牧野之語) was itself the title of a particular recitation,80 it is clear that King Wu’s “Harangue at Mu” was part and parcel of this commemorative practice and as such closely connected with the music and dance suite “Martiality.” It is in this context of the ancestral sacrifice and larger system of court ritual that the archive of memory—whether or not it existed in ­writing—was continuously performed, reimagined, communicated, and perpetuated. This, quite simply, is what ritual does in premodern societies, and the above-cited passages from Zuo zhuan and Liji tell us just as much.81 How shall we then imagine the original performance of a text like the “Harangue at Mu”? Where should it be placed historically? And how did the knowledge of it—real or imagined—survive through centuries until it entered texts such as Zuo zhuan and Liji? It is certainly possible that the “Harangue at Mu,” or the entire repertoire of the “Great Harangue” altogether, was already part of the commemorative culture of the late Western Zhou when in the face of tangible dynastic decline, the political concept of the Mandate of Heaven, 79

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See Sun Xidan 1989: 1023–1029; Legge 1967: vol. 2, 121–125. On the song and dance suite “Martiality,” see Wang Guowei 1975: 2.15b–17b; Sun Zuoyun 1996: 239–272; C. H. Wang 1988: 8–25; Shaughnessy 1997: 165–195; Du Xiaoqin 2013. As argued in Eno 2000, with additional examples for the use of yu 語 in the possible sense of “recitation.” Connerton 1989; Assmann 2006, 2011; Tambiah 1985: 123–166; Kern 2000a.

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together with the remembrance of Kings Wen and Wu as a joint pair, emerged in full force and with unprecedented urgency.82 It is even possible that King Wu did deliver a rousing battle speech on the eve of the conquest, which was then, in whatever form, either transmitted or reimagined at some later point. Whatever the case, from the fact that Warring States and Han authors knew about both a “Great Harangue” and a “Harangue at Mu,” it appears that more than a single version of King Wu’s battle speech existed, and that these different versions gradually found their way into different written accounts. It is also possible that to the very end of the Zhou state, until 256 BCE, the conquest of 1046 BCE was still remembered in performance. At the same time—judging from texts like Zuo zhuan and Liji—it is also clear that knowledge not only of the harangues but also of their presence in performances of music, dance, and speech had spread beyond the Zhou ancestral temple: certainly to Confucius’s home state of Lu but apparently also to the whole Chinese realm, where, finally, the liturgical repertoire became gradually transposed into the repository of the textualized philosophical tradition. It is in this tradition that the Mengzi quotes the “Great Harangue” to argue that it is Heaven, together with its people, that establishes a ruler: “Heaven sees as its people see; Heaven listens as its people listen” (天視自我民視，天聽自我民聽).83 Coda Elsewhere I have discussed records of divination in the Shangshu.84 The following table lists all instances of such records throughout the text. From the vast number of late Shang (ca. 1250–1046 BCE) oracle bones and from further records of milfoil and other divinatory practices in various historical sources, it appears that divination was a constant and integral element of early Chinese rulership. It is therefore curious that only ten chapters of the Shangshu contain any records of it, including two ancient-script chapters.85 Two of these records refer to specific historical moments in high antiquity (“Counsels of the Great Yu”) or mid-Shang times (“Pan 82 83 84 85

See Kern 2009: 148–151. Mengzi 5A.5. The same idea is also expressed at the end of the Shangshu chapter “Counsels of Gao Yao” (“Gao Yao mo” 皋陶謨); see Legge 1991: 74. The present discussion is an abbreviated and revised version of Kern, forthcoming. Here, the distinction between ancient- and modern-script chapters is not relevant, as the pertinent passages of the two ancient-script chapters “Counsels of the Great Yu” and “Great Harangue” are also attested in other pre-Qin sources. In the case of “Great Harangue,” the Guoyu 國語 even invokes the chapter title; see Xu Yuanhao 2002: 91 (“Zhouyu, xia” 周語下).

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Geng”),86 while the remaining eight are all related to the early Zhou rulers. Among the Zhou chapters, “The Great Plan” (“Hong fan” 洪範) purports to contain a “divine Great Plan of governance”87 delivered to King Wu. As such, the “Great Plan” systematically maps out the place of divination in governance without reference to any particular historical event.88 In similarly unspecific terms, in “Lord Shi” (“Jun Shi” 君奭) the Duke of Zhou mentions how, since high antiquity, virtuous ministers have assisted their rulers by always heeding the divinations of the tortoise and the milfoil stalks (故一人有事 于四方，若卜筮，罔不是孚),89 reminding us again of the constant presence of divination in governance. The remaining six instances of divination records in the Shangshu rhetorically define the critical moments in early Zhou history: 1.

2.

86 87 88 89 90 91 92

In “The Chief of the West Killed Li” (“Xi bo kan Li” 西伯戡黎), the high minister Zu Yi 祖伊 warns the last Shang king, Zhouxin: “Son of Heaven, Heaven has already ended the Mandate of our Yin [dynasty]; the perfected [wise] men and the great tortoise have not dared to foresee auspiciousness! It is not that the former kings do not aid us latter men; it is only that the king has become lascivious and dissolute and by this brings the end upon himself. Thus, Heaven has abandoned us” (天子，天既訖我殷命。格人元龜，罔敢知吉。非先王不相 我後人，惟王淫戲用自絕。故天棄我).90 In both language and ideology—from the term “Son of Heaven” (tianzi 天子) to the indictment of the Shang king— this account is part of the overall “Great Harangue” (“Tai shi” 泰誓) and “Harangue at Mu” (“Mu shi” 牧誓) conquest narrative: a work of Zhou imagination and political propaganda.91 The complementary record to this purported Shang divination announcing the dynastic collapse is included in “Great Harangue.” Here, after listing the crimes of Shang, King Wu announces the conquest: “Heaven is about to rule the people by using me. My dreams concur with my divination, doubling the blessed auspicious portent. The attack on Shang must succeed” (天其以予乂民。朕夢 協朕卜，襲于休祥。戎商必克).92 The passage appears verbatim in Guoyu (from where it is probably taken). In addition, King Wu’s divination is mentioned in the Gui cang 歸藏 divination manual excavated at Wangjiatai 王家台 Legge 1991: 63, 246. Nylan 2001: 139. For a study of the entire chapter, see Nylan 1992. Legge 1991: 334–338. Legge 1991: 479. Legge 1991: 268–271. See Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 2, 1067–1070. Legge 1991: 291.

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Divination in the ancient- and modern-script chapters of the Shangshu

Chapter title

Ancient- or modernscript

Historical period referenced

“Da Yu mo” 大禹謨 “Pan Geng” 盤庚 “Xi bo kan Li” 西伯戡黎 “Tai shi” 泰誓 “Hong fan” 洪範 “Jin teng” 金縢 “Da gao” 大誥 “Shao gao” 召誥 “Luo gao” 洛誥 “Jun Shi” 君奭

Ancient Modern Modern Ancient Modern Modern Modern Modern Modern Modern

High antiquity Mid-Shang Fall of Shang/Rise of Zhou Zhou Zhou Zhou Zhou Zhou Zhou Zhou

3.

93 94 95

(Hubei).93 Warring States texts thus affirm that King Wu launched the conquest only after having his dreams divined and the tortoise consulted.94 Altogether, the accounts in “The Chief of the West Killed Li” and “Great Harangue” are mutually complementary, with the first predicting the fall of Shang and the second the rise of Zhou. In “Metal-Bound Coffer” (“Jin teng” 金縢), the Great Duke 太公 and the Duke of Shao 召公 suggest to “respectfully divine” (mu bu 穆卜) after King Wu has fallen ill, while the Duke of Zhou objects. Instead, he decides to offer the ancestral spirits his life in exchange for King Wu’s, writing his prayer and commitment on a set of bamboo slips. In his prayer, he announces to the spirits that “now I will present my inquiry to the great tortoise” (今我即命于元龜).95 After divining with “the three tortoises,” he finds all of them auspicious (乃卜三龜，一習吉); there­after, he opens “the bamboo receptacles to look at the (oracular) writings” and finds them “likewise auspicious,” concluding that “according to the configurations, the king will suffer no harm” (啟籥見書， See Shaughnessy 2002: 98 (slip 198); now much revised and expanded in Shaughnessy 2014: chapters 4 and 5. The Gui cang is believed to predate the Warring States, though we do not know to what extent the third-century BCE manuscript from Wangjiatai may reflect a more ancient text. Following Karlgren 1970: 254 (gloss 1573).

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Kern 乃并是吉。公曰：體，王其罔害).96 The “Metal-Bound Coffer” narrative is thus

4.

of crucial significance in two respects: first, it depicts the critical moment when the dynasty was endangered merely three years after its founding; and second, it establishes the selfless virtue of the Duke of Zhou. Remarkably, the Qinghua bamboo manuscript version of the story does not present the duke in this way97—nor does it record any act of divination. If genuine, the unprovenanced manuscript reflects a strikingly different version of the story and shows that the Shangshu’s record of divination was not universally shared across competing versions. “Great Announcement” (“Da gao” 大誥) presents the most emphatic account of divination in the Shangshu. First, the Duke of Zhou states that the “tranquilizing king”98 has left him the great precious tortoise, which the duke then uses to divine about military action against an insurrection that threatens the young dynasty. Claiming that “my divinations have all been auspicious” (朕卜并吉) and that “I have obtained the auspicious divination!” (予得吉卜), he insists: “I, being the young son, do not dare to discard the Mandate from God-on-High! Heaven bestowed blessings on the tranquilizing king and gave rise to our small state of Zhou. It was the tranquilizing king who acted on the result of divination and thus was able to calmly receive this Mandate! Now, as Heaven shall assist the people, how much more must I divine and act on it!” (予惟小子，不 敢替上帝命。天休于寧王，興我小邦周。寧王惟卜用，克綏受茲命。今天其 相民，矧亦惟卜用). He then concludes emphatically: “Now that I have

5.

96 97 98

99

explored the divination to the utmost, how could I dare not follow it? If I were to follow the tranquilizing man in having these fine territories, how much more so now that the divinations are all auspicious! And so with you, I will grandly march eastward. Heaven’s Mandate is unerring: what the divination displays is indeed like this!” (予曷其極卜，敢弗于從。率寧人有指疆土，矧今卜并吉。肆 朕誕以爾東征。天命不僭。卜陳惟若茲).99 Just like the speakers of the various harangues, the duke claims to have no choice but to obey Heaven’s will in taking military action. “Announcement of the Duke of Shao” (“Shao gao” 召誥) contains only a brief account of divination. As the Grand Protector 太保 (the Duke of Shao) inspects the eastern localities for the site of a new capital, he finally arrives at Luo 洛, Legge 1991: 355–356. See chapters 5 and 6 in this volume. According to Qiu Xigui (1992: 73–80), ning 寧 was an early miswriting for wen 文, which leads to the reading of ningwang 寧王 (the tranquilizing king) as “King Wen”; likewise, see Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: vol. 3, 1266–1267. Legge 1991: 365–374.

The “Harangues” (Shi 誓 ) in the Shangshu

6.

315

obtains a positive divination about settling there, and begins to lay out the new city (太保朝至于洛，卜宅，厥既得卜，則經營).100 In the immediately following chapter, “Announcement about Luo” (“Luo gao” 洛誥), the Duke of Zhou performs extensive divinations about the locale; and having obtained positive results, he sends a messenger to the king to present them (朝至于洛師。我卜河朔黎水，我乃卜澗水東，瀍水西，惟洛食。我又 卜瀍水東，亦惟洛食。伻來以圖，及獻卜). The duke’s efforts are then acknowledged by the young King Cheng: “The duke did not dare not to revere Heaven’s blessings; he came and inspected the locality for residence. May he establish [the new capital of] Zhou to accord with the blessings! Having settled the locality, he sent a messenger to come here; and [the messenger] came here to show me how the divinations and blessings were constantly auspicious” (王 拜手稽首曰：公不敢不敬天之休，來相宅。其作周匹休。公既定宅，伻來。 來視予卜休恆吉).101 After suppressing the rebellion mentioned in “Great

Announcement,” establishing the new capital was the duke’s second major accomplishment—and once again he is portrayed as acting only according to Heaven’s intent.

Taken together, these six records of divination all focus on the four most critical moments in the early years of Western Zhou rule: (a) the initial conquest; (b) the illness and demise of the dynastic founder, King Wu, connected to the rise of the Duke of Zhou and the resolution of the first succession crisis in Chinese history; (c) the suppression of the rebellion that threatened the young dynasty; and (d) the establishment of the new capital. In each case, divination is used to determine the right course of action, which is then pursued without hesitation; the proposed course of action is found to be auspicious, and so is the eventual outcome. There is no instance of an inauspicious divination (other than the one conducted by the Shang, foretelling their imminent defeat, of course), nor is there any case where the action affirmed by divination turns out to be ill-fated. Twice—for the conquest and for the founding of the new capital—we find not one but two complementary divinations, both confirming the same course of action and both claiming Heaven’s Mandate: first, those in “The Chief of the West Killed Li” and “Great Harangue” that foretell the fall of Shang and rise of Zhou; and second, those in “Announcement of the Duke of Shao” and “Announcement about Luo” that confirm Luo as the site of the new capital. From what we know about Shang and Western Zhou history, we would indeed expect that such major political and military moves required careful divinations— just as the oracle would have been consulted for various other purposes. But the 100 101

Legge 1991: 421–422. Legge 1991: 436–438.

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representation of divination in the Shangshu is strictly selective and formulaic. Each time, the narrative follows the same pattern: the protagonist decides on a course of action; he then divines about its auspiciousness; and the auspicious result is claimed as Heaven’s Mandate, which must be followed. In this tripartite rhetorical structure, the act of divination transforms a military or political task into the inescapable execution of the Mandate: the ruler’s action is no longer his own original initiative but an obedient response to Heaven itself. In their logic of inevitability and their moral imperative, these records of divination thus dovetail precisely with the harangues. Beginning with “The Chief of the West Killed Li,” it is obvious that they are retrospective rhetorical constructions: each divination predicts the Zhou’s proposed course of action as auspicious, and the prediction is then unfailingly fulfilled. In other words, the future foretold in the Shangshu divinations lay already in the past by the time their records were composed. That divinations are mentioned for only very few occasions reinforces the purpose of their records: to highlight the decisive moments of early Zhou rule, to claim this rule as heavenly mandated, and to show the Zhou rulers’ most significant actions—first among them the conquest told in “Great Harangue” and “Harangue at Mu”—as tightly connected and unified in their single moral imperative and political justification.

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Eno, Robert. 2000. “Evidence for Dramaturgical Origins of Early Chinese Historical Narratives.” Paper presented at the conference “Text and Ritual in Early China,” Princeton University, October. Fu Sinian 傅斯年. 1980. Fu Sinian quanji 傅斯年全集. Taipei: Lianjing chuban shiye gongsi. Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛. 1963. “Yi Zhoushu ‘Shifu’ pian jiaozhu xieding yu pinglun” 逸周書世 俘篇校註寫定與評論. Wenshi 文史 2: 1–42. Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 and Liu Qiyu 劉起釪. 2005. Shangshu jiaoshi yilun 尚書校釋譯論. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Huang Huaixin 黃懷信. 2007. Yi Zhou shu huijiao jizhu 逸周書彙校集注. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Huang Huaixin 黃懷信. 2012. “Qinghua jian ‘Qiye’ jujie” 清華簡《耆夜》句解. Wenwu 文物 2012.1: 77–93. Jiang Shanguo 蔣善國. 1988. Shangshu zongshu 尚書綜述. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1970. Glosses on the “Book of Documents.” Göteborg: Elanders Boktryckeri Aktiebolag. Kern, Martin. 2000a. “Shi Jing Songs as Performance Texts: A Case Study of ‘Chu Ci’ (‘Thorny Caltrop’).” Early China 25: 49–111. Kern, Martin. 2000b. The Stele Inscriptions of Ch’in Shih-huang: Text and Ritual in Early Chinese Imperial Representation. New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society. Kern, Martin. 2009. “Bronze Inscriptions, the Shijing and the Shangshu: The Evolution of the Ancestral Sacrifice during the Western Zhou.” In Early Chinese Religion, pt. 1, Shang through Han (1250 BC–220 AD), ed. John Lagerwey and Marc Kalinowski, 143– 200. Leiden: Brill. Kern, Martin. Forthcoming. “Early Chinese Divination and Its Rhetoric.” In Coping with the Future in East Asia: Theories and Practices of Divination, ed. Michael Lackner. Leiden: Brill. Lau, D. C. 2003. Mencius: A Bilingual Edition. Hong Kong: Chinese University Press. Ledderose, Lothar. 2000. Ten Thousand Things: Module and Mass Production in Chinese Art. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Legge, James. 1967. Li Chi: Book of Rites. New York: University Books. Legge, James. 1991. The Chinese Classics. Vol. 3, The Shoo King. Taipei: SMC. Lewis, Mark Edward. 1999. Writing and Authority in Early China. Albany: State University of New York Press. Li Feng 李峰. 2013. “Qinghua jian ‘Qiye’ chudu ji qi xiangguan wenti” 清華簡《耆夜》 初讀及其相關問題. In Disijie guoji hanxue huiyi lunwenji: Chutu cailiao yu xin shiye 第四屆國際漢學會議論文集：出土材料與新視野, ed. Li Zongkun 李宗焜, 461–491. Taipei: Zhongyang yanjiuyuan. Li Xueqin 李學勤. 2010. Qinghua Daxue cang zhanguo zhujian (yi) 清華大學藏戰國竹 簡（壹）. Shanghai: Zhongxi shuju.

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Chapter 9

Speaking of Documents: Shu Citations in Warring States Texts David Schaberg We may … note that the restrictions implied by formalisation are all the more powerful because the abandonment of the freedom implied by natural discourse is in the direction of rare forms of everyday discourse. This itself is due to formalisation. The relative fixity of formalised language isolates it from the processes of historical linguistics and so a secondary result of formalisation becomes the typical archaism of the language of traditional authority and even more the language of ritual.1

⸪ Considered—naively—as a record of linguistic development, the canonical early Chinese texts imply a strikingly discontinuous sort of evolution. Between texts associated with the Western Zhou, such as the older portions of the Shangshu 尚書 and of the Shijing 詩經, and Warring States texts like the Zuo zhuan 左傳, there lies a dark age of change, in which syntax and vocabulary were transformed. Some words dropped out of regular use or took on new meanings. Some syntactical patterns emerged while others disappeared. Even on the level of rhetoric and logic, a disjointed, haranguing style of address common for the early period seems to have given way to the structured arguments of large-scale Warring States speeches and essays. Many works composed after the break seem both to delight in the discontinuity and to deny it: even as they cite ancient-looking material, juxtaposing it in the starkest ways with their own very different language, they give no hint that they regard that older language as anything other than their own or as being characterized by uniquely linguistic difficulties. In this way, and for their own reasons, these works forestall any gradualist view of the development of their language and instead confirm a dualistic separation of texts and passages into the archaic or archaiz-

1 Bloch 1975: 17.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2017 | doi 10.1163/9789004343504_011

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ing—marked by the use of certain words and syntactical patterns found in Western Zhou exemplars—and the non-archaic or standard. It is important to recognize the role that rhetoric has played in the formation of this dualism. Despite the early writers’ implicit assertion that old language was also a part of their own, and despite scholarly perspectives that seek, in one way or another, to minimize the leap from one language to another,2 the fact remains that in the texts that Warring States, Qin, and Han elites chose to preserve, the shift into an archaic voice is always immediately recognizable. There may be a small number of alternative modes within the archaic, but as a group these are clearly separated from the possibilities available in later prose writing. Without question, one reason that the middle ground between the two modes of writing is barely represented—and is therefore not recognizable as middle ground—is that writers who adopted the archaic voice, whether in citation or in new compositions, enjoyed the incongruity. Far more than Shijing citations, more even than Zhouyi 周易 citations (which are routinely accompanied by thorough if tendentious exegesis), Shangshu citations demand that listeners and readers stretch to comprehend the words of the old rulers and their helpers. In early Chinese archaism, linguistic difference is an index of the temporal, moral, and political distance between past and present. Anyone who draws attention to this distance is also claiming to overcome it and challenging us to do the same. How might it change our understanding of the Shangshu to recognize the role of archaism in Warring States, Qin, and Han texts? More generally, what comes of seeing that the textual evidence that has come down to us, from canonical texts to epigraphic scraps, does not amount to a representative or transparent documentation of the language in its development but is instead a sample formed through the rhetorical needs of writers and the various occasional and generic uses of writing itself? Shu 書—conceived as the act of writing or as the resulting script—can no longer be understood in isolation from the circumstances (social, religious, ritual) that would have made it meaningful. It can no longer be regarded—as it still is in some quarters—as a natural reflex of ordinary speech or as a widespread, almost unremarkable, aspect of government business. And as a result, the magical membrane that, by fiat of Western Han canonization, separates the modern-script (jinwen 今文) chapters of the Shangshu from all other pre-Han and Han examples of archaic prose must be dissolved. A bad scholarly habit hallows all the jinwen chapters 2 Roger Ames and Henry Rosemont argue that written Chinese constituted a language apart from spoken Chinese, with rules of intelligibility that connect late literary Chinese closely to Western Zhou Chinese; see the introduction to Ames and Rosement 1998.

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by their association with the few among them thought to date to the Western Zhou: acknowledging the fact of archaism forces us instead to see a sort of continuum, in which the same set of literacy skills that preserved the older pieces in the Shangshu probably also allowed the composition of the later pieces and, more importantly, probably also allowed for the citation and composition of much archaic-looking material that would not ultimately be gathered into the fold of an imperially sanctioned Shangshu. If our evidence makes it clear that many Warring States writers were capable of citing and composing archaic-looking prose, and if that ability of theirs was, as seems likely, essential to the transmission of some texts and the creation of others, then can it make any sense at all to consider the chapters of the Shangshu in isolation from the other products of archaism or from the groups and institutions that used archaism? In support of the argument that follows, one should imagine a countercanonical anthology and an untraditional process of collation. The anthology, were it ever to be completed, would gather together every bit of Han and preHan text (prose, rhyme-prose, and verse) that marks its archaism in one way or another: for instance, by adopting jue 厥 in place of qi 其 and you 攸 in place of suo 所, by avoiding constructions with zhe 者 and ye 也, or by favoring certain kinds of “tetralogism,” or the construction of four-character phrases, even when that requires the insertion of meaningless particles. Not every archaizing text adopts all the features, but few mix them freely with non-archaic features. Thanks to the predilection of early writers for a sharp distinction between archaic- and non-archaic-looking prose, selection criteria are clear and the identification of materials for inclusion in the anthology would be relatively easy. The finished product would incorporate all of the Shangshu, much of the Shijing and Yi Zhoushu 逸周書, all genuine Shang and Western Zhou epigraphic remains, numerous passages from Warring States historical, rhetorical, and philosophical texts, the stele inscriptions of Qin Shihuang, the sacrificial hymns of the Han emperor Gaozu, and a large number of Western Han imperial decrees (zhao 詔). The anthology does not have to be complete to be useful; I give further details on its contents and their significance below. The collation, also sampled below, starts from a most traditional sort of textual scholarship: the identification of allusions and variations in the body of a text. What is untraditional, though not completely without precedent in traditional scholarship, in this process of collation is its focus on words rather than graphs. Just as it may help us to imagine a complete anthology of archaic and archaizing passages, it may help to imagine the possibility—still just barely out of our reach, but perhaps not for long, given the progress being made in historical phonology and in the digital marking of texts—of comparing any given string of sounds (the sounds designated by a series of graphs in a Shu citation,

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for instance) with a large number of other strings within a defined corpus such as the proposed archaistic anthology. The aim of collation would be, not to bypass the written language, but to identify those places where different ­choices in writing obscure fundamental identity in the words and sentences themselves. Archaism was not, at least in the period under consideration, a phenomenon that took place entirely in writing, without reference to the spoken word. Only collation of the type described here can make sense of Warring States period data, which make it clear that writers knew of some ­archaic writings, including some of the materials they called Shu, primarily through sound rather than through sight. In order to understand the use of Shu citations in Warring States texts, one must be able to see how these individual acts of writing fit within a longer tradition of archaistic citation, recitation, and composition. Examining first the patterns of citation that are found in texts from the Warring States period, I argue that the best explanation for archaism and for the particulars of Shu citation in that period lies in the observation that it was then and had long been possible to speak the archaic, perhaps in a very restricted set of possible communications, both in repetition of old texts and in composition of new. Without this sort of speaking, it is difficult or impossible to account for the proliferation of archaizing texts, for the graphic variations and phonetic similarities among many archaistic passages, or for the importance of archaism in certain ritual settings. With it, the activities of Warring States speakers and writers in and away from the courts of rulers make for a substantial historical connection between the earliest recorded ceremonial utterances of rulers and the organized archaism of the Qin and Han emperors. I then turn to the Western Zhou and the Spring and Autumn period and, building upon the Warring States data, offer some hypotheses on the use of archaism in written and spoken communications among the courts of these earlier eras. Finally, I jump ahead to the Qin and Han and to imperial courts’ employment, at the highest levels of administration, of what might be called a ceremonial archaism. Building on the work of Michael Nylan, Martin Kern, and others, I hypothesize that this ceremonial archaism accounts not only for the prestige accorded the Shangshu but also for its compilation, its form, and its title. I also offer some reflections on the relationship between the Shangshu and the Shiji. Citation and Archaism in the Warring States In the Warring States period, as before and after, there was a general continuity between the act of citing Shu and the production of archaic-seeming text. If we seek to account for the massive production of archaizing prose in this period,

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then we must acknowledge the role that citation of purportedly ancient Shu texts would have played in preserving the linguistic markers of antiquity. And we cannot appeal directly to written transmission as a source of archaistic expertise: if early Western Zhou Shu texts were widely available in written form and widely read, then they would presumably have exercised some greater control on the generation of new archaistic texts. But to judge from the available evidence, this level of textual control in Shu transmission does not appear to have been reached until much later, and then only under conditions of imperial sponsorship and canonization.3 Meanwhile, the number of pian 篇 and scattered passages that present Warring States material in archaic form easily surpasses the small number of received texts thought to be genuinely early. Within the Shu itself, most chapters of the jinwen Shangshu—which remains the earliest known written version of complete Shu chapters and the only one with a credible pre-Han pedigree4—are now thought to be of Warring States origin. The Yi Zhoushu, although it includes some chapters that may be of genuinely early date, consists mainly of chapters that place late material in archaizing frames.5 Other more scattered passages—the long opening entry in Lunyu 論語 20, anecdotes in Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋6—adopt an archaic style in accounts that make no pretense of a relation to Shu chapters, while still others, in even greater numbers, adopt the looser archaistic technique of framing theoretical arguments (on military strategy, on ruling policy, on medicine) as the conversation of early rulers and their ministers. “Shu” was in part a manner of speaking; productive archaism could hardly have existed otherwise. If “Shu” was a manner of speaking, it was also, quite apparently, large­­ ly a matter of hearsay. The Warring States Shu citations indicate no gen­­eral, centralized reference point in a widely shared text; they are centerless, diffuse, or, more properly, suspended in the forms of archaistic competence that related to specific occasions of use. Even by the remarkably loose standards adopted by Liu Qiyu in his review of Warring States “citations” of the Shu, only fifteen of the jinwen chapters are cited 3 The first reference to a forgery of Shangshu material that I can find—that is, the first indication of some authoritative control being placed on the production of archaistic narrative and on the contents of antiquity—comes in Hanshu 88.3607. 4 As Zheng Qiao 鄭樵 (1104–1162) argued: “If the Documents have lost chapters, they already existed no longer in the time of Confucius” (quoted in Kern 2000: 189). 5 See McNeal 2002. Liu Qiyu (1997: 41) believes that seven chapters of the Yi Zhoushu date to the Western Zhou. 6 See Lunyu 20.1; Chen Qiyou 1984: 945–946.

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in pre-Qin literature.7 This number is deceptive not only because some of the texts Liu counts as pre-Qin texts (the Da Dai liji 大戴禮記 and Gong­yang zhuan 公羊傳, for instance) likely include Han material but also ­because he accepts as “citation” much that does not meet the basic criteria of citation. A two-word echo—like “four assistants” (sifu 四輔), which accounts for four of the seven “citations” from “Luo gao” 洛誥—cannot convince us that the authors who used it had read “Luo gao,” particularly since they do not ­mention the Shu text by name. The figure of a king who for three years after his accession does not speak—the figure that accounts for all of the four “citations” of “Wu yi” 無逸—is a commonplace; even with the few added details these “citations” give, there is little reason to think that reading alone could account for them.8 When something that is represented as a Shu “citation” has obviously become a common saying—like “I, the One Man, shall enjoy ­happiness and the million people will receive the advantage of it” (一人有慶， 兆民賴之), which accounts for five of sixteen “citations” of “Lü xing” 呂刑9— the relevance of citation to textual transmission is called into question. For caution’s sake, too, it is probably worth recognizing that the technique of “forgery” that produced the pseudo-guwen chapters (in which Shu cita­tions culled from early works were pieced together under the appropriate chapter titles with a glue of archaistic prose) was likely not new. With the evidence that certain chapters like “Yao dian” 堯典 and “Hong fan” 洪範 had been adapted to Qin and Han uses, it is conceivable that some other parts of the jinwen Shangshu likewise originated as compilations, in which case the “cited” text would become one among many “citing” texts. It is time to acknowledge the extremely limited nature of the contact between known written versions of Shu chapters and the “citations” of Shu that appear in Warring States texts. Chen Mengjia 陳夢家, who tabulated all Shu citations in several key pre-Qin works, found 168 citations in all.10 Of these, as 7

8

9 10

For the following, see Liu Qiyu 1989: 14–22. His other reviews of citations, on pp. 24–25, 26–32, and 33–47, are immensely helpful as collections but do not succeed in demonstrating that Warring States Shu discourse was organized around shared written texts. Pre-Qin Shu citations are also reviewed in detail in Fang Shulin 1975; Chan Hung Kan and Ho Che Wah 2003; Matsumoto Masaaki 1966. I discuss the multiple versions of the anecdote of King Zhuang 莊 of Chu’s first three years in office—in which he is figured as a bird that does not sing—in Schaberg 2005b: 203–215. The translation is that of Karlgren 1950: 76. The Zuo zhuan, Xiang 13.3 (Yang Bojun 1995: 1000; Durrant, Li, and Schaberg 2016: 1001), includes the sentence that follows these two. The number is not precise, since Chen includes a few mentions of the Shu that are not citations of words from the Shu.

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his markings indicate, 111 are not found in the jinwen text.11 Even in Liu’s list of pre-Qin citations of chapters that would later find their way into the jinwen version, one finds upon comparing “citation” and Shu source that the norm is not perfect correspondence—although that does occur in several cases—but difference, ranging from slight variations of one or two graphs (in citations that average, at most, fifteen graphs long) to significant discrepancies in wording, order, and content. Moreover, a preponderance of citations derive from two or three chapters, and from limited sections of these chapters. The availability of complete texts of various works, including the Shu, in the Han and afterward should not blind us to the likelihood that in earlier periods no such thing as a “complete text” existed, and that scholars who had the good fortune to see any written text associated with the Shu may not have seen more than a few pian, and not necessarily the same pian that their counterparts elsewhere would have seen. The postcanonization sanctity of the Shu in no way guarantees its integrity and availability in the pre-imperial era. Most pre-Qin citations of chapters now in the jinwen Shangshu come from three chapters: “Kang gao” 康誥 (thirty-one citations, by Liu’s count), “Hong fan” (nineteen citations), and “Lü xing” (sixteen citations). Other chapters are cited more rarely, or not at all, or echoed so distantly that “citation” is a misnomer. Might we then safely conclude that at least these three chapters were known as written texts by the writers who cited them? We may not. The “Kang gao” citations, most of them found in the Zuo zhuan, come from only eight of the seventeen pericopes of the “Kang gao” text as it is divided in the Shisanjing zhushu 十三經注疏 edition. The fact that certain of the “citations” among the thirty-one are repeated strongly suggests that these allusions, all of them quite short, had become common sayings: “It is the Mandate that does not remain in constancy” (惟命不于常; four instances); “You will then make great your illustrious service” (乃大明服; two instances); King Wen “could make bright his virtue” (克明德; two instances); governing “is clasping a newborn to your breast” (若保赤子; two instances); and Heaven commanded King Wen to “kill the warlike Yin” (殪戎殷; two instances, though one of these introduces a ­significant variant).12 Nowhere in these or any other pre-Qin citation of the Shu do we find what we occasionally see in certain Shi citations: an extended citation corresponding directly to a known received text and presented with interspersed exegetical material to form the basis of a speech or essay.13 11 12 13

Chen Mengjia 1985: 11–32. See Liu Qiyu 1989: 18–20. For examples, see Schaberg 2001: 76–78. The closest parallels in Shu references would be the discussions of early sages in Mengzi 孟子 and the Mozi 墨子 citations discussed

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I conclude that writers were in the habit of thinking of Shu mostly in short passages of a sentence or two and may not in many cases have known long enough passages to produce systematic citation with exegesis; the mnemonic aid provided by Shi structure and rhyme was ruled out in Shu citations, except to the extent that their transformation into common sayings favored memorable patterns. “Hong fan” citations show the same overall pattern as “Kang gao” citations but furnish one singularly interesting example of development of a passage in directions that suggest oral transmission. The following “Hong fan” passage is cited in a number of other texts: Have nothing onesided, nothing partial, / the king’s way is smooth and easy; / have nothing partial, nothing onesided, / the king’s way is wellarranged; / have nothing deflected, nothing perverse, / the king’s way is straight. / If you bring together those who have correctness, / then they will turn to the one who has correctness (sc. yourself).

無偏無黨，王道蕩蕩。無黨無偏，王道平平。無反無側，王道正直。 會其有極，歸其有極。14

The Mozi, citing a “Zhou poem” (Zhou shi 周詩), gives the following version of the Shu passage, completing it with four modified lines from the Shi: The king’s way is exceedingly smooth; / It shows no partiality, shows no partisanship. / The king’s way is exceedingly level; / It shows no partisanship, shows no partiality. / Its straightness is like that of an arrow; / Its evenness is like that of a whetstone. / It is what the noble man walks upon; / It is what the petty man looks upon.

王道蕩蕩，不偏不黨。王道平平，不黨不偏。其直若矢，其易若厎。 君子之所履，小人之所視。15

Matsumoto Masaaki and Mark Edward Lewis, remarking on discrepancies of this sort—which are especially common in Mozi citations of the Shu—have

14 15

below. These sometimes echo extant Shu passages but never parallel them as precisely as is common in Shi citations. Karlgren 1950: 32. Mozi, “Jian ai, xia” 兼愛下 (Wu Yujiang 1993: 179). The four final lines appear to derive from Shi, “Da dong” 大東 (Mao 203), which has “The Zhou way is like a whetstone; its straightness is like an arrow. It is what the noble man walks upon, what the petty man looks upon” (周道如砥。其直如矢。君子所履。小人所視).

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argued that the Mohists and the ru schoolmen must have possessed two distinct texts of the Shu.16 In light of larger patterns in Shu citations, I find it difficult to believe that the two groups possessed much in the way of written Shu texts at all, and if their texts were different, that made them absolutely typical of the general variability of Shu knowledge. “Lü xing” presents a slightly different view of citation. Although it is typical in that many of its citations are clearly common sayings, one citation of it, also from the Mozi, is highly unusual: (2) 皇帝清問下民，有辭有苗，(1) 曰群后之肆在下，明明不常，鰥寡 不蓋，(3) 德威維威，德明維明。乃名三后，恤功於民。伯夷降典， 哲民維刑，禹平水土，主名山川，稷隆播種，農殖嘉穀，三后成功， 維假於民。 Here, for comparison’s sake, is the jinwen Shangshu version of the same passage, with translation. The numbers indicate the difference in the order of sentences in the two versions: (1) When the sovereign ruler reached to those (below =) in low positions, he clearly elucidated the irregular practices (sc. punishments); and (even) widowers and widows were not (covered up =) prevented from speaking. (2) The august sovereign clearly inquired from the lower people, and widowers and widows made their indictments against Miao. (3) His virtuous severity overawed them, his virtuous enlightenment enlightened them. Then he gave charge to three princes, to be zealous about doing meritorious work for the people. Bo Yi sent down the regulations, for restraining the people there were the (punishments =) penal laws. Yu regulated waters and land, presided over the naming of mountains and rivers. Ji sent down and spread the cereals, he cultivated the fine grains. When the three princes had achieved their work, there was ampleness for the people. (1) 群后之逮在下，明明棐常，鰥寡無蓋。(2) 皇帝清問下民，鰥寡有辭 于苗。(3) 德威惟畏，德明惟明。乃命三后，恤功于民。伯夷降典，折

民惟刑。禹平水土，主名山川。稷降播種，農殖嘉穀。三后成功，惟 殷于民。17

16 17

Matsumoto 1966: 520; Lewis 1999: 106–107. Karlgren 1950: 74–76.

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The Mozi passage is remarkable because it is one of only two pre-Qin Shu citations I have identified that show lexical variation—possibly based on misreading and miscopying—based on graphic similarity when compared with the jinwen Shangshu: here long 隆 for jiang 降, jia 假 for yin 殷, and possibly si 肆 for dai 逮.18 If Shu texts ancestral to our jinwen Shangshu were available in written form to pre-Qin writers, and if these writers were learning of their contents primarily by reading them, we would expect most variants to be variants like these. As it is, such graphic variants are otherwise absent, and even this most promising example of a literate connection has other features—the reordering of sentences, the omission of certain words, and the minor phonetic variants (wei [*ʔui] 威 for wei [*ʔuih] 畏; ming [*min ~ *meŋ] 名 for ming [*mrin ~ *mreŋ] 命; zhe [*trat] 哲 for zhe [*tet] 折)19—that show up almost every time one collates pre-Qin citations with the received jinwen Shangshu. It makes as much sense to speculate that the lexical variants resulting from copyists’ mistakes crept in over the transmission of either the Mozi or the Shangshu as to assume that they indicate the Mohists’ possession of a variant Shangshu text. A large proportion of Shu citations in Warring States texts show merely graphic variants rather than lexical ones, that is, instances where variant characters are used that normally write other words but of the same or closely similar sound. Any of these might indicate either a process of text reproduction that somehow involved oral/aural transmission (two-person copying with reading aloud, for instance) or a transmission that relied entirely on memory of words and phrases rather than graphs. In light of the brevity of most Shu citations, their aphoristic character, and the larger context of archaism, the latter possibility seems more likely. Let us consider a few examples.20 The received “Wu yi” has the following passage on the Yin king Gaozong 高宗: At the start, when he came to the high position (i.e. ascended the throne), then, it is said, the light was obscured (i.e., the ruler withdrew into seclusion) and for three years he did not speak. His speaking without words (i.e., by his example) was harmonious. 作其即位，乃或亮陰。三年不言，其惟不言。言乃雍。21 18 19 20 21

The other is a “Jun Shi” 君奭 citation in Liji, “Zi yi” 緇衣, which has guan 觀 for Shangshu’s quan 勸. For the purposes of this essay, the Old Chinese reconstructions are those of Schuessler 2007. I discuss some others in Schaberg 2001: 79–80 and notes thereto. Karlgren 1950: 58.

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Although the meaning of “the light was obscured” is unclear, both to us and to early citers of “Wu yi” it appears to have to do with mourning. In “Tan Gong” 壇 弓, Zizhang 子張 asks Confucius about this passage, citing a slightly different version as Shu: The Shu says, Gaozong “for three years did not speak. When he did speak, it was joyous.” Did this happen? 書云。高宗三年不言。言乃讙。有諸。22 The Liji citation omits, or simply lacks, a difficult line found in the presumed source and supplies huan 讙 (*hwan/*hwân, *hon/*hôn) for yong 雍 (*ʔoŋ(ŋ/h)). Lüshi chunqiu’s treatment of the same material is revealing: Gaozong was Heaven’s Son. When he ascended the throne, it was truly dark, and for three years he did not speak. Fearful, his high ministers and high officers were concerned about it. Gaozong then said, “Because I, the One Man, rectify the four directions, I fear only that my words will not belong to the right king; it is for this reason that I do not speak.”

高宗，天子也。即位諒闇，三年不言。卿大夫恐懼，患之。高宗乃言 曰：以余一人正四方，余唯恐言之不類也，茲故不言。23

The phrase liang an 諒闇 (“it was truly dark”; *raŋ *ʔǝ̂ms) seems to relate both phonetically and semantically to the Shu’s liang yin 亮陰 (“the light was obscured”; *raŋh *ʔǝm). The narrative material supplied here is otherwise non-archaizing; but in the king’s own quoted words, a light archaism returns in the first-person “I, the One Man,” in the exalted yu 余, and in the use of wei 唯. It seems to have been possible, in lore of the early kings, to improvise rather freely around the sounds and concepts of putative Shu passages. “Kang gao” has the following passage: Heaven then grandly ordered King Wen to kill the great Yin and grandly receive its mandate; its states and people became orderly. 天乃大命文王殪戎殷，誕受厥命。越厥邦厥民惟時敘。24

22 23 24

Sun Xidan 1989: 274. Chen Qiyou 1984: 1155. Karlgren 1950: 39.

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Zhongyong 中庸 echoes it in the following: King Wu extended the thread of the Great King, King Ji, and King Wen. He made one the military uniforms and possessed the world. In his own person he did not lose his illustrious reputation throughout the world. 武王纘大王，王季，文王之緒。壹戎衣而有天下。身不失天下之顯 名。25

Here, yi rong yi 壹戎衣 (“made one the military uniforms”; *ʔit *nuŋ *ʔǝi) corresponds to Shu’s yi rong yin 殪戎殷 (“to kill the great Yin”; *ʔits *nuŋ *ʔǝnʔ).26 Language from the Shu narration has apparently crept into the Liji account of the same event—or at the very least the two texts echo some shared third source—but the transcription into graphs changes the meaning drastically while largely preserving the same sounds. “Kang gao” has the following passage: The king said: You should set forth those items of the law and take for punishments and verdicts the norms of the Yin. Use their just punishments and just killings. Do not use them so as to agree with you, Feng (i.e., your personal wishes). Then you will be entirely compliant, saying, “It is in order”; yet saying (sc. modestly), “There has not yet been (a sufficient) compliance.” 王曰。外事。汝陳時臬事，罰蔽殷彝。用其義刑義殺。勿庸以次汝 封。乃汝盡遜曰時敘。惟曰未有遜事。27

The Xunzi 荀子 cites a part of this passage twice, with interesting differences. First, in “Zhi shi” 致士: The Shu says, “Just punishments and righteous killings: do not use what [simply] accords. You it will be who says, ‘There has not yet been compliance.’” 書曰：義刑義殺，勿庸以即。女惟曰：未有順事。28 25 26

27 28

Zhu Xi 1986: 2.12a. One wonders if the presence of er 而 (*nǝ) after yi 衣 in the Liji version results from the interpretation of yin’s 殷 -n final as er’s n- initial. Zheng Xuan explained the discrepancy by noting that in Qi, yin 殷 (Yin) was pronounced like yi 衣 (uniforms); see Liji zhushu 1815: 885–886. Such regional pronunciations may indeed have contributed to differences among transcriptions. Karlgren 1950: 40–41. Wang Xianqian 1988: 262.

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Here ji 即 (“accords”; *tsit) corresponds to the Shu’s ci 次 (“agree”; *tshis/h < *snhis?); less interesting is the correspondence of shun 順 (*m-luns) with the synonymous xun 遜 (*sûns), both meaning “compliant.” Compared with the Shu, the Xunzi version looks like a simplification and abbreviation. The “You zuo” 宥坐 chapter cites the same passage: The Shu says, “Just punishments and just killings: do not use what [simply] accords. I it will be who says, ‘I do not yet have compliance.’” 書曰：義刑義殺，勿庸以即。予維曰未有順事。29 Here yu wei yue 予維曰 (*laʔ or *jaʔ *wi *wat) may correspond to the Shu’s xu wei yue 敘惟曰 (*s-laʔ *wi *wat), requiring a different punctuation and changing the meaning of the line. Alternatively, it may correspond to ru wei yue 女惟 曰 (*naʔ *wi *wat) in “Zhi shi.” It is significant both that the Xunzi could be internally inconsistent in citing the Shu and that, whatever the path of citation, the variant appears to be based on homophony or phonetic similarity. Here the written Shu as we know it does not convincingly provide a stable center from which citations depart; the image is rather of multiple viable versions of the line. For passages supposed to derive from Shu but not found in the jinwen Shangshu, patterns of variation in citation are just the same. Mozi’s “Ming gui, xia” 明鬼下 has the following: What is more, “Qin Ai” says, “In obtaining a pearl there is none that is too small; in the destruction of a clan there is none that is too great.” 且禽艾之道之曰：得璣無小，滅宗無大。30 Lüshi chunqiu handles the line differently: This is what the Shu is referring to when it says, “A favor, however minute, is not small.” 此書之所謂『德幾無小』者也。31 Both passages invoke the authority of the Shu. But they can use that authority only by providing different transcriptions of the homophonous de ji 得璣／德 幾 (“obtaining a pearl” / “a favor, however minute”; *tǝk *kǝi). 29 30 31

Wang Xianqian 1988: 522. Wu Yujiang 1993: 343. Chen Qiyou 1984: 894.

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Similar variants were still showing up in the Han. According to the “Fang ji”

坊記 chapter of Liji,

The Master said, “Father and son do share the same ritual position; this is in order to enhance reverence. The Shu says, ‘Their ruler does not act as ruler; he destroys his ancestors.’” 子云：父子不同位。以厚敬也。書云：厥辟不辟，忝厥祖。32 But according to the “Yu bei” 玉杯 chapter of Chunqiu fanlu 春秋繁露, The Shu says, “Their ruler does away with their sacrifices.” 書曰：厥辟去厥祇。33 As in a previous example, one citation (in “Yu bei”) appears to abbreviate the other. It is unclear whether the phrase qu jue zhi 去厥祇 (“does away with their sacrifices”; *khah *kot *ke) relates to tian jue zu 忝厥祖 (“destroys his ancestors”; *lhîm? *kot *tsâ) semantically or phonetically or both. The citation of Shu in archeologically recovered texts does nothing to change the impression received texts give. “Cheng zhi wen zhi” 成之聞之 (CZWZ), one of the Guodian 郭店 bamboo manuscript texts, cites Shu or unknown Shu-like texts five times.34 Of the three of these five that are attested elsewhere, one six-character citation from “Jun Shi” 君奭 matches the jinwen Shangshu perfectly, but two others, from “Jun Shi” and “Kang gao,” respectively, show predictable phonetic variants. Here are the citations, with the corresponding Shu passages: CZWZ: “Jun Shi” says, “Assist the two men of ours. Do not let there be a case of according in voice alone.” 君奭曰：襄我二人，毋有合在音。35 Shangshu, “Jun Shi”:

襄我二人。汝有合哉。言曰：在時二人，天休滋至。

32 33 34 35

Sun Xidan 1989: 1288. Su Yu 1992: 34. Guo Yi 1998: 278–292. Jingmen shi bowuguan 1998: 51, 168.

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Follow up the work of our two men; you should (have agreement =) act in accord (with them). It is said that at the time of those two men, Heaven’s grace evermore arrived.36 CZWZ: “Kang gao” says, “Do not turn back the great constant (?). King Wen made the punishments; punish these without pardon (?).” 康誥曰：不還大暊，文王作罰，刑茲亡 。37 Shangshu, “Kang gao”: I say, may you speedily follow King Wen’s (rules of) punishments, and punish these without pardon. Those who are not compliant should be greatly subjected to rules. 曰：其速由文王作罰，刑茲無赦。不率大戛。38 In the “Jun Shi” citation, as elsewhere, the writers of the two texts apparently heard and transcribed the same words differently, reversing the meaning of one phrase and requiring different punctuation in the different versions. In the “Kang gao” citation, the order of the words differs from the jinwen Shangshu, and the absence of the Shu opening phrase necessitates a reinterpretation of the whole passage. Another rich source of Shu citations in recently discovered manuscripts is “Zi yi” 緇衣, a text known to us both from the version included in the Liji and from versions found at Guodian and among the “Shanghai Museum Chu Bamboo Documents.” Let us consider just one citation, from “Lü xing”: “Lü xing”: 苗民弗用靈，制以刑。惟作五虐之刑，曰法。 The Miao people did not (use =) apply an improving training, they restrained by means of punishments, they created the five oppressive punishments, and called this the law.39 Liji: 甫刑曰：苗民匪用命，制以刑。惟作五虐之刑曰法。40 Guodian: 呂刑云：非用臸，制以刑，惟作五虐之刑曰法。41

36 37 38 39 40 41

Karlgren 1950: 62. Jingmen shi bowuguan 1998: 52, 168. Karlgren 1950: 42. Karlgren 1950: 74. Sun Xidan 1989:1323. Jingmen shi bowuguan 1998: 19, 130.

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Shanghai: 呂刑云：苗民非甬命，制以刑，惟作五霝之刑曰霝。42 Mozi: 呂刑之道曰：苗民否用練折則刑，唯作五殺之刑，曰法。43 The Mozi citation serves to indicate that the major point of variation and uncertainty among the versions of this passage is in the spot where the Mozi has lian 練 (*rêns) and the others have versions of ming 命 (or its sound). The Guodian and Shanghai texts also write the final fa 法 differently. The Liji’s way of citing the title of the Shu chapter, with fu 甫 (*paʔ) corresponding to lü 呂 (*raʔ), is interesting for its variation. It does not appear that the manuscript texts represent an earlier or more reliable reference to the Shu; nor do the differences between them (or among all these versions) seem to derive from copyists’ errors. In many ways, the evidence from different transcriptions and transmissions of Shu tags closely parallels what Martin Kern has demonstrated to be the case with manuscript versions of the Shijing and suggests that the same sorts of interactions between literate and oral transmission were at work whether the transmitted materials were poetry or prose.44 The Archaic, Written and Spoken Turning now to the periods preceding the Warring States, we can consider what factors served to put Shu passages in circulation in such a way as to produce the citation patterns we have observed. To judge from epigraphic remains and from received texts, writing was in the early Western Zhou a technique practiced largely in the royal court and among families and ruling elites closely linked to the court. Its main application appears to have been in the recording (or re-creation in a durable medium) of the circumstances and content of the king’s utterances and those of his nearest aides.45 To be sure, the sample is skewed: among the perishable materials that have indeed perished—clues to which survive in brush-written graphs on bone and bronze and in the composition of graphs that seem to depict writing materials—there may have been bundles of administrative documentation that had little direct connection with the scene of royal speech.46 In one model of the historical origins of writing, this additional material seems a necessary part of the overall context: “At a 42 43 44 45 46

Ma Chengyuan 2001: 190. Wu Yujiang 1993: 116. Kern 2005: 181–182. Kern 2007. Bagley 2004.

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time when social production and social relations have not yet developed to the point where they make people feel the necessity of a method for recording language in order to record events or to transmit information, it is unlikely that writing will be created.”47 In another model, however, the origins of writing are neither so socially diffuse nor so simply related to problems of record keeping and communication. Writing, like any new technology, could have developed only in accordance with existing needs, not in anticipation of the greater needs it would eventually create and fill: only its existence and gradual evolution would have made it possible to imagine the literate bureaucracy to come. From this perspective, the prominence of royal speech in the surviving Western Zhou texts is probably not an accident. As I have argued elsewhere, the earliest known uses of writing tend to make it an adjunct of ritual speech, a way of underlining, emphasizing, or re-creating utterances that already have their own prestige and importance.48 That oracle bones, bronze inscriptions, and investiture documents (no longer extant but referred to in inscriptions) reproduced the words that the king and other important rulers uttered in ­divination, sacrifice, and ceremonies of gift exchange is not because writing was a generally available tool that happened to capture these words in durable media but because these words, pronounced in these ritual contexts, already mattered for themselves. Indeed, the way that royal speech is staged and foregrounded both in oracle bones and in bronze inscriptions strongly suggests that the words spoken by the king as he divined or distributed gifts had long been thought worthy of hearing, repeating, and remembering. The citation habits of the Warring States period and, less directly, the ceremonial speech habits of the Spring and Autumn period suggest that for a long time written accounts of ancient speech coexisted with more active memory and with the ability to use ancient and archaizing language in the production of some new utterances. It has often been observed that the sections of the Shangshu thought to be oldest, that is, those regularly dated to the Western Zhou, are in every case devoted largely to written re-creation (or recording, if you will) of the spoken words of the king and his most powerful associates. The titles of many of the chapters reflect their focus on authoritative speech and appear to recognize a few distinct genres of speech. The terms gao 告／誥 (proclamation), ming 命 (command), and shi 誓 (oath, harangue) bespeak the imperative character of 47

48

Qiu 2000: 2. See also Qiu 2000: 63: “The contents of the Shang ‘bamboo books and codices’ mentioned in the Shangshu were no doubt far more important than the Shang bone and bronze inscriptions and were much longer than the latter as well.” See Schaberg 2005a. There I cite Steiner 1994: 63 and Thomas 1992: 62–63.

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the utterances these chapters claim to re-create, and indeed almost all the jinwen chapters, even many whose titles do not refer explicitly to speech, seem to be designed to frame remembered injunctions. These are not fully historical accounts of past events (since in many cases the identity of the speaking king is left obscure) nor rational arguments for royal institutions but loosely structured series of commands, whose claim on our obedience depends largely on their attribution to a speaking king, on the putative allegiance of his first, live audience, and on our willingness to imagine ourselves his latter-day subjects. Despite the use of the term shu in the Warring States period, and probably earlier, as a loose designation for the collection of materials these chapters were thought to belong to, none of the early chapters fully represent the communications they re-create as written communications. This observation may strike some readers as absurd: is it not clear that the chapters of the Shu are written? It is, but it is equally clear that these chapters offer remarkably little evidence that written communication was a primary or intrinsically authoritative mode of communication in the Western Zhou royal court. Their few references to writing are highly ambiguous and relate to special, limited uses that are directly dependent upon the power projected in spoken utterances.49 As if to suggest that in this period writing alone could not bring about the performative effects of the speech act, the chapters consistently locate the real source of their words’ authority in the identity of the speakers, in the setting and circumstances of speech, and in the act of speaking.50 As purported transcripts, they perhaps had the same dependent relation to other forms of commemoration that ritual writings had. That is, the importance they attributed to the words of kings may indicate not that they were the sole records of royal speech but, on the contrary, that remembered royal speech was frequently quoted and discussed. We should therefore not assume that written versions of early Shu chapters replaced other forms of recollection when it is more likely that they supplemented and served them—and particularly when the evidence shows that the ability to produce some new and original utterances 49

50

Kern 2007. References to writing in the jinwen Shangshu, including both early and late texts, are the following: a command to a scribe (zuo ce 作冊) to recite an investiture document in “Luo gao” 洛誥; a reference to the Yin’s “canons” (dian 典) and “bound strips” (ce 冊) in “Duo shi” 多士; the Duke of Zhou’s hidden document in the later “Jinteng” 金縢; a command (ming 命) issued in writing (shu 書) by the Lord of Zhou in “Shao gao” 召誥; and references to “canons”—their nature and use unclear—in “Kang gao.” Within the chapters, as in the chapter titles, the singular importance of verbal utterance is clear from frequent reference to “proclaiming” (gao 告/誥), “commanding” (ming 命), “hearing” (ting 聽), etc.

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resembling those attributed to early Western Zhou rulers survived at least into the Spring and Autumn period and probably beyond. One objection to this view of the early Shu chapters is that, unlike the early inscriptions, these are not for the most part related to any clearly defined ritual. Royal prognostications and investiture commands took place in the context of carefully orchestrated rituals, which inscriptions rarely fail to describe in some detail, but many of the earliest Shu chapters lack even date notations, not to speak of any reference to ritual, and begin abruptly with “the king said” or “the Duke of Zhou said.” Here links between received texts and inscriptions are informative. As many authors have noted, several of the Shu chapters, as well as texts now found in the Shi and Yi Zhoushu, resemble investiture ­inscriptions.51 The most striking divergences between the received texts’ representations of investiture occasions and the inscriptions are to be found in the closing lines of the pieces, where inscriptions differ by making reference to the bronze vessels that are their medium. If, as the prevailing model of the origins of writing in China would have it, bronze inscriptions are accidental survivors from a much larger and more diverse world of court documentation, then their closing formula (enjoining descendants to treasure the vessel the caster has made) is an addition to and adaptation of conventional investiture writing for the special case of the bronze inscription. However, if we entertain the idea that writing was first useful in China as a means of underlining certain types of royal ritual speech, including the commands that kings pronounced in the course of investiture ceremonies, then bronze inscriptions, with their closing formula, form an initial norm, while the received texts that resemble them are an extension of their function. Under this model, the oldest speeches among the jinwen Shangshu chapters may derive ultimately from early efforts to transcribe the proclamations of kings and their most important advisers. But since these transcriptions, unlike inscriptions, would have required copying and recopying in a milieu that clearly included an active oral reproduction, discussion, and sometimes creation of royal words, the text as first transcribed would have faced various pressures for change from competing accounts. If we assume that the Western Zhou political elite had any intellectual life outside its written texts, then the latter must be understood not as absolutes but as elements in that life, however little we may be able to reconstruct of it. The “writings” would have coexisted from the very beginning with the habit and necessity of speaking about them. Considered from this perspective, the five proclamations (gao) and the chapters that seem to be coeval with them are products neither of the 51

I have included a list of authors and the relevant texts in Schaberg 2005a: 34–35.

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commitment of words to writing for the marking of speech in the context of any specific ritual (like divination or investiture) nor of a general, nonritual practice of transcribing speeches. Instead, they represent the commemoration of words, both in memory and in writing, in a quasi-ritual context, that is, in a context that mimics some of the relations adopted in specific rituals but that itself extends far beyond the possible scope of any single ritual. “Kang gao”— for Warring States writers the best known of the texts that would be included in the Shu—purports to record an address that in several basic features resembles an investiture charge: Kangshu 康叔 is appointed to rule over the inhabitants, former subjects of Yin, of the Yin capital.52 As in some inscriptions, heavy emphasis is laid not only on the common theme of faithful adherence to ancestral models of behavior but also on certain practical aspects of law. Like a bronze inscription, too, and like such jinwen chapters as “Wen hou zhi ming” 文侯之命, “Kang gao” serves to legitimate one noble line in its rule over a portion of the realm. But as the apparently wide dissemination of “Kang gao” would suggest, it incorporates a function that is foreign to most bronze inscriptions: it speaks through this particular occasion of address, king to Kangshu, to a much more general audience. Its injunctions, however they might have informed the political behavior of the first ruler of Wei 衛, were received, probably from an early time, as relevant to a broader range of political actors and situations. Moreover, they reflect this mode of reception in the way they are formulated: the function of the text has affected its form. Far more than the typical bronze inscription, “Kang gao” is occupied with repeatable, gnomic statements that many participants in Zhou power would have found useful.53 The closest parallel to the aphoristic tone of such statements is to be found in the early Shi texts, from which “Kang gao” differs in lacking rhyme and the physical descriptions that specify ritual function. The pro­ clamation to Kang thus presents itself as a partly decontextualized investiture address and a relatively unpatterned echo of sacrificial singing: it is a ritual utterance sufficiently freed from ritual particulars to become a common 52 53

So the Zuo zhuan tells us, and nothing in the text of “Kang gao” contradicts this frame narrative. See Yang Bojun 1995: 1538. Consider, for instance, this advice on governing: “Grandly take as pattern keen virtue, so as to put your heart at ease. Look carefully to your own character” (丕則敏德，用康乃 心。顧乃德). Or the following: “Make bright the Mandate that you serve. Regard highly what you have heard, so as to pacify and govern the people” (明乃服命。高乃聽。用康 乂民). In both passages, as throughout much of “Kang gao” and the other early Shu texts, the particulars of time, place, and the identity of actors are secondary to an emphasis on moral abstractions and their relevance to the general problem of the Zhou line’s new governance.

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possession of numerous ruling lines, including ultimately the Spring and Autumn period lines as remembered in Warring States period texts. The other early chapters likewise read as expressions, divorced for the most part from ritual occasion, of the kinds of lessons that the Zhou elite used to define itself in its relation with the people it ruled. Quotation markers are another element of early Shu chapters that may imply the coexistence of written transmission and oral repetition of the king’s words. In presenting what appear to be long speeches, Shu chapters regularly reintroduce the speaker every several sentences. The first quotation frequently opens with “The king spoke to the effect” (wang ruo yue 王若曰); subsequent quotations open with “The king said” (wang yue 王曰). Although a few bronze inscriptions—Da Yu-ding 大盂鼎, Mao Gong-ding 毛公鼎, and the shorter Shi Hong-gui 師訇簋—may also show this pattern, in these inscriptions the separation of utterances suggests a correspondence with divisions in the investiture ritual itself: the king speaks in his opening remarks of grand past models, then moves on to commands to the caster, then speaks of specific gifts. In Shu speeches no such external divisions motivate the renewal of the quotation marker. One might expect the renewed reference to the speaker to correspond with movement from one topic to another, but even this correspondence is weak, with wang yue sometimes interrupting a passage that is thematically of a piece. At the very least, the repetition of wang yue renews the stress on the spoken nature of the words and on their association with royal authority. It may also reflect a habit of remembering the words of the king (which, to repeat, lack the sort of obvious internal structuring found in later speeches) in relatively brief, independent passages. Finally, if it is indeed the case that oral discourse on the kings’ utterances in some ways conditioned the reproduction of written representations of these utterances, then it is conceivable that the repeated quotation markers that appear in a Shu chapter are not divisions of an originally unified speech but are instead a sign that various remembered components of a famous address have been stitched together in memory and, ultimately, in the act of transcription. The prevailing scholarly assumption about the circulation of early Shu chapters in the Western Zhou and afterward holds that written versions were dominant: these, it is held, were what literate elites knew and cited, these were recopied in sufficient numbers to be available for wide reference, and these would have limited any tendencies toward drift in what people said as they taught, conversed, or delivered formal speeches.54 This view deserves complication. The Shu chapters’ own ambiguous juxtaposition of references to heard 54

Chen Mengjia 1985: 11–35.

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knowledge and references to written texts should give us pause, as should their repeated quotation markers and the resemblance of their content to that of the “Daya” 大雅 odes, texts that (although we possess them in writing) owed much of their power and legitimacy to the notion that they could be performed in the context of ritual and cited and recited outside ritual.55 Even as we recognize the importance of literacy as a tool for ruling elites, we should see too that even in Warring States period accounts of elite education during the Spring and Autumn period (when we would expect literacy to be more widespread than during the Western Zhou), reading and writing play essentially no role.56 Could written versions of Shu speeches have controlled discourse under such circumstances, as we tend to imagine they did? Or would there have been some accommodation between written texts—hallowed by their association with ritual, accessible and readable to some but not to all—and the larger world of political memory and discourse? And if there was such an accommodation, how do we account for the apparent linguistic antiquity of the five gao and other chapters? That is, if the accommodation between written and spoken knowledge was in any way productive, if the copying of old materials was in any way influenced by developments in contemporary political thought, why would the old chapters have retained any of their genuine Western Zhou linguistic character?57 The answer may lie as much in the practices of elite speech as in the successes of elite literacy. To judge from the Zuo zhuan, Zhou kings and certain other individuals speaking under special circumstances were entitled, even expected, to employ a form of archaism that recalls Shu speeches. Although the language used on such occasions is for the most part more formulaic than the language found in Shu speeches and has grammatical features that tie it to nonceremonial speech represented in the Zuo zhuan, these speeches nonetheless read as archaizing, and markedly so. Five examples stand out for their adoption of vocabulary, grammatical patterns, and rhetoric that distinguish them clearly from speeches attributed to other characters.

55 56

57

Kern 2009: 154–155. See discussion in Schaberg 2001: 65, with note. Statesmen do write letters to each other, but it is unclear whether they wrote for themselves or entrusted the task to a specialist. See, e.g., Zuo zhuan, Wen 17.4, Xiang 24.2a, Zhao 6.3. Kern, in his chapter on the “harangues” in this volume (chapter 8), demonstrates that elements of political thought in several Shangshu chapters likely reflect intellectual trends of the Warring States period rather than of the Western Zhou.

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1. King Xiang (r. 652–619) addresses Guan Zhong 管仲: The king said, “My uncle! I commend thy merit, and I respond to thy admirable virtue, which I deem steadfast and will not forget. Go forth and discharge thy duties and do not contravene my orders!”

王曰：舅氏！余嘉乃勳！應乃懿德，謂督不忘。往踐乃職，無逆朕 命！58

This passage’s resemblance to Shu style was such as to prompt the composer of the guwen Shangshu chapters to include similar lines in his reconstruction of “Weizi zhi ming” 微子之命 (“Command to the Count of Wei”).59 2. King Xiang, presenting investiture-type gifts, recognizes Lord Wen 文 of Jin (r. 636–628) as hegemon (here hou bo 侯伯): He said, “The king tells his paternal uncle, ‘Respectfully obey the king’s command and thereby pacify the domains in all directions. Discipline and banish all who would do ill to the king.’” The Prince of Jin declined the gifts three times and then complied with the king’s command, saying, “I, Chong’er, presume to bow twice, with my forehead touching the ground, to receive and proclaim the grandly illustrious command you have bestowed on me.” He accepted the written command and departed.

曰：「王謂叔父：敬服王命，以綏四國，糾逖王慝。」晉侯三辭，從 命，曰：「重耳敢再拜稽首，奉揚天子之丕顯休命。」受策以出。60

We should attend especially to the apparent presentation of a written version of the command as part of the ceremony. Archaizing speeches by the king can perform their work without writing and occasionally adopt writing as a supplement, but the Zuo zhuan does not give representations of kings’ using written texts to replace their own speech. If specific ritual speech practices and archaistic composition practices coexisted, as this episode suggests, speech rather than writing was the necessary and sufficient element in ritual performance. The written command would survive the ceremony and commemorate

58 59 60

Zuo zhuan, Xi 12.4 (Yang Bojun 1995: 341–342). For the translation see Durrant, Li, and Schaberg 2016: 307. For a brief discussion, see Schaberg 2001: 139, with note. Shangshu zhushu 13.195–196. Zuo zhuan, Xi 28.3 (Yang Bojun 1995: 465); Durrant, Li, and Schaberg 2016: 421.

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it, but according to the Zuo zhuan’s view of things, it would not obviate the work of original (if formulaic) composition and viva voce utterance. 3. King Ling 靈 (r. 571–545) bestows a command upon Lord Ling of Qi (r. 581–554): The king sent the Liu Duke Ding to bestow the following charge on the Prince of Qi: “In the past the senior uncle, the Grand Lord, assisted our former king. He was like the arms and the legs of the Zhou house, and he was teacher and guardian to the myriad people. For successive generations, there was recompense for the grand tutor, who was the glorious exemplar for the eastern seas. That the royal house was not destroyed was due to its reliance on the senior uncle. Now I charge you, Huan, to assiduously follow the statutes of the uncle. Continue the work of your ances­­tors and do not shame your forebears. Be reverent! Do not neglect my command!” 王使劉定公賜齊侯命，曰：昔伯舅大公右我先王，股肱周室，師保萬 民。世胙大師，以表東海。王室之不壞，繄伯舅是賴。今余命女環， 茲率舅氏之典，纂乃祖考，無忝乃舊。敬之哉！無廢朕命！61

An archaizing flavor is apparent in the syntax (e.g., the inversion in shi lai 是賴, “this it relied upon”), in the diction (especially such words as zuo 胙, zuan 纂, and tian 忝), and in the formulaic phrases in the final lines of the command. 4. A reconciliation between Jin and Wei brings a posthumous command for a Wei ruler from King Jing 景 (r. 544–520): The king sent the Cheng Duke Jian to Wei on a condolence visit and also bestowed a retroactive commission upon Lord Xiang, which said, “Our uncle, having ascended to Heaven, is counted among the attendants to the left and right of the former kings and ancestors, there to aid them in their service to the god on high. Would I dare to forget Gaoyu and Yayu?”

王使郕簡公如衛弔，且追命襄公曰：叔父陟恪，在我先王之左右，以 佐事上帝，余敢忘高圉、亞圉？62

61 62

Zuo zhuan, Xiang 14.8 (Yang Bojun 1995: 1018–1019); Durrant, Li, and Schaberg 2016: 1027. Zuo zhuan, Zhao 7.11 (Yang Bojun 1995: 1294); Durrant, Li, and Schaberg 2016: 1429.

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5. Finally, two envoys from the royal court visit Jin with a request from King Jing 敬 (r. 519–476): In autumn, in the eighth month, the Zhou king sent Fu Xin and Shi Zhang on a visit to Jin to request that Chengzhou be fortified. The Son of Heaven said, “Heaven has sent down disaster upon Zhou, causing all our brothers to have thoughts of insubordination, which have become a source of sorrow for you, our uncle. For ten years now one or two nephew domains, our closest intimates, have had no leisure to take their ease, and for five years they have exerted themselves in manning a garrison. I, the one man, have not forgotten this even for a single day, and I am as full of worry as a farmer looking forward to his harvest and awaiting the time with anxiety. My greatest wish is that you, our uncle, should dispense a great beneficence, resurrecting the enterprise of the two Wen rulers,63 assuaging the woes of the Zhou house, and seeking the blessings of Kings Wen and Wu in order to confirm your position as covenant host and to make illustrious your good name. In times past, King Cheng gathered the princes to fortify Chengzhou so that it would serve as an eastern capital where cultured virtue could be exalted. Now, we wish to seek blessings and avail ourselves of the numinous power of King Cheng, repairing the walls of Chengzhou so that the exertions of the garrison may be reduced, the princes may be at ease, and the vermin may be banished afar, and this depends upon Jin’s strength. I shall submit it to you, Uncle, causing you to plan anew about it, so that I, the one man, will have no reason to arouse resentment among the hundred clans, while you will win the credit for a glorious act of generosity, which the former kings will reward.”

秋八月，王使富辛與石張如晉，請城成周。天子曰：天降禍于周，俾 我兄弟並有亂心，以為伯父憂。我一二親昵甥舅不遑啟處，於今十 年。勤戍五年。余一人無日忘之，閔閔焉如農夫之望歲，懼以待時。 伯父若肆大惠，復二文之業，弛周室之憂，徼文、武之福，以固盟 主，宣昭令名，則余一人有大願矣。昔成王合諸侯城成周，以為東 都，崇文德焉。今我欲徼福假靈于成王，修成周之城，俾戍人無勤， 諸侯用寧，蝥賊遠屏，晉之力也。其委諸伯父，使伯父實重圖之，俾 我一人無徵怨于百姓，而伯父有榮施，先王庸之。64 63

64

Prince Wen of Jin helped King Ping of Zhou during the period of the Zhou house’s move to the eastern capital; the king’s command to the prince is cited at Xuan 12.2f. For Lord Wen of Jin’s efforts on behalf of King Xiang of Zhou, see Xi 25.2. Zuo zhuan, Zhao 32.3 (Yang Bojun 1995: 1517–1518); Durrant, Li, and Schaberg 2016: 1719– 1721.

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Similar archaic tones are found in some diplomatic exchanges, in the formal communications of combatants before and during battle, and in a eulogy that Lord Ai 哀 of Lu (r. 494–467) is supposed to have composed for Confucius.65 High archaism, with its strong echoes of Shu language, seems to be reserved for the king. These episodes do not mean that Zhou kings spoke a distinctly archaiclooking form of Chinese or that they did so consistently on certain occasions or even that certain Warring States observers thought they had once done so. Instead, they suggest that archaizing speech, instead of being a distinctly Western Zhou form known primarily from written documents, could function in limited ways as a living, productive aspect of ceremonial behavior. An active ceremonial archaism, employed in exchanges among states and especially between the royal court and the states, provides the immediate context for the genesis of the Shu as depicted in Zuo zhuan. In a famous episode in which the state of Wei defends its ritual precedence over Cai at a covenant ceremony, it is a ritual specialist, Priest Tuo 祝佗, who displays a stunning mastery of speech and of early Zhou history in recalling three speeches—“Bo Qin” 伯禽, “Kang gao,” and “Tang gao” 唐誥—in which kings founded states.66 Of these only “Kang gao” is extant. Although it is likely, given Priest Tuo’s remarks on it, that what the Zuo zhuan authors had in mind was similar or identical to the Shu chapter of the same name, and although that chapter is the one that the Zuo zhuan and other Warring States texts cite more often than any other, the speaker does not refer to it or the others as Shu chapters or indeed as written texts of any sort and does not aver that they are preserved in an archive. However, in citing two other instances of royal speech, the commands to the Cai founder and to Lord Wen of Jin, Priest Tuo does refer to writing (called mingshu 命書 and zaishu 載書, respectively). His silence about written texts of the first three speeches may be accidental, or it may indicate that these were well enough known qua speech—apart from reading—not to require explicit comment of 65

66

For examples of archaism in diplomatic exchanges, see Zuo zhuan, Wen 12.5 (Yang Bojun 1995: 588–589; Durrant, Li, and Schaberg 2016: 527), Cheng 13.3 (Yang Bojun 1995: 861–865; Durrant, Li, and Schaberg 2016: 803–809), Zhao 22.2 (Yang Bojun 1995: 1433; Durrant, Li, and Schaberg 2016: 1605), Zhao 26.9 (Yang Bojun 1995: 1475–1479; Durrant, Li, and Schaberg 2016: 1665–1667). For battlefield communications, see Xuan 12.2 (Yang Bojun 1995: 733–734; Durrant, Li, and Schaberg 2016: 651), Xuan 15.2 (Yang Bojun 1995: 761; Durrant, Li, and Schaberg 2016: 679), Cheng 2.3 (Yang Bojun 1995: 790, 794, 799; Durrant, Li, and Schaberg 2016: 715, 718, 723). For Lord Ai’s eulogy, see Ai 16.3 (Yang Bojun 1995: 1698; Durrant, Li, and Schaberg 2016: 1943). Zuo zhuan, Ding 4.1 (Yang Bojun 1995: 1535–1542; Durrant, Li, and Schaberg 2016: 1747– 1751).

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this sort. In either case, the Zuo zhuan clearly suggests that for a certain individual, a master of ritual and speech, and for his audience, the proclamations to early Zhou investiture recipients were conceived of as speeches (even in the written texts he cites, his citations begin with explicit markings of the king’s speech) and were known and citable apart from explicit reference to any specific written version. Priest Tuo’s citational habits may reflect the circumstances of a period in which written transmission coexisted with a surviving tradition of memorization, recitation, and certain forms of archaistic composition. Ceremonial Archaism and the Shangshu in Qin and Han Evidence from the Qin and Western Han periods suggests that skill in the production of archaic-looking language survived beyond the Warring States period, at least for certain specialized purposes, and may have played a role in the creation of the Shangshu. Archaizing gestures in early imperial prose are neither randomly distributed nor associated solely with narratives of remote antiquity. Citations from Shi and Shu (including many chapters and passages not found in our jinwen Shangshu) account for many archaic-looking passages, but other passages clearly originated in the context of a productive archaism closely linked to the ceremonial legitimation of imperial authority. One need not review every single archaic echo or turn of phrase to see a pattern emerging. Tales of early rulers from Huangdi 黃帝 to King Wu 武 and beyond some­times attribute to them a stylized, archaic mode of speech.67 The archaizing mode appears to have been especially appropriate to accounts relating to ceremonial activities.68 In certain cosmological and teratological texts, including the single most important Western Han commentary on the Zhouyi, a mildly archaist style seems to have been the norm.69 Perhaps as part of the general trend toward the elevation of Confucius as a lawgiver and uncrowned sage-king, certain of the statements attributed to him adopt grammatical and lexical options closer to Western Zhou speech than to the vernacular of the Lunyu.70 And as Kern has shown, both the stele inscriptions of Qin Shihuang 67 68 69

70

See Qu Shouyuan 1996: 259, 681–682; Yang Weijie 1976: 286; Xiang Zonglu 1987: 98–99. In addition to some of the passages cited in the previous note, see, e.g., Qu Shouyuan 1996: 826; Xiang Zonglu 1987: 490; Zhang Jue 2006: 158; Wang Hui 2008: 72. See the numerous citations from Jing Fang’s 京房 Yizhuan 易傳 in the “Wuxing zhi” 五行 志 chapter of Hanshu (27A.1329 et passim). These citations are related to the larger issues of Qin-Han ceremonial archaism discussed below. In the “Shao xian” 少閒 chapter of Da Dai liji, Confucius speaks of Three Dynasties history, slipping into an archaizing language; see Wang Pinzheng 1983: 212–223. Qu Shouyuan

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and many of the sacrificial hymns used in the Han court adopt features of stylistic archaism—in this case, features of Shi diction and prosody—in such a way as to invest new verbal compositions with the solemnity and prestige of ancient works.71 Again, the context of memory was also the context of production, and the associations of archaism were very useful to ruling elites in ceremonial settings. Deserving of special note is the Shiji, in which lengthy passages of archaic prose lie side by side with equally lengthy passages of archaizing prose. No early text has as much in common with the jinwen Shangshu as the Shiji: at the very beginning of the work, in the “Benji” 本紀 chapters that form the basis of Sima Qian’s claim as a universal historian, the Han work presents itself as a rewriting, a reordering, and a reenactment of the Shangshu’s accounts. These accounts are often adapted in such a way as to make them easily readable without sacrificing the linguistic markers that connect them with archaic prose.72 At the same time, in the stele inscriptions attributed to Qin Shihuang, in some decrees (zhao 詔) attributed to the Han emperor Wu 武, and in Sima Xiangru’s 司馬相如 long posthumously discovered “text” or “document” (shu 書) on the feng 封 and shan 禪 sacrifices, the authors of the Shiji make it clear that the writing of archaist prose and verse was not only a living practice but a ceremonially crucial one. In Sima Qian’s own composition, too—as, for instance, in the précis of chapters he included in Shiji 130—archaism was a stylistic option that lent solemnity and authority to the expression of historical judgments, particularly in the context of a panoptic view of the past. Liu Xiang 劉向 (79–8 BCE) would adopt the same method in the song 頌 judgments appended to the anecdotes collected in his Lienü zhuan 列女傳, as would Ban Gu 班固 (32–92) in the chapter summaries in Hanshu 漢書 100. The most common occasion for archaistic prose in Hanshu is the decrees of Emperor Wu and his successors. A search for basic features of archaistic style (jue 厥 for possessive qi 其 and the like) in the work returns a fine selection of zhao, each of which puts the sound of antiquity at the service of a reigning emperor in a moment of command.73 As Martin Kern has shown in his groundbreaking books on Qin stele inscriptions and the sacrificial hymns of the Han

71 72 73

1996: 698 has some archaizing words from Confucius in his capacity as sikou 司寇 (and perhaps as “uncrowned king”?). Lunyu 20 might well belong to the Western Han efforts, also represented in these other passages, to associate Confucius with the sage-kings through the use of archaism. Kern 1997, 2000. For details on the intersections between Shangshu chapters (both extant and lost) and Shiji, see Jin Dejian 1963: 61–80. See Hanshu 1962: 6.166–167, 171, 180; 8.252, 255, 257, 259; 9.281, 283; 10.303, 309, 324; 11.343.

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emperors Gaozu and Wu, the most public speech acts of the most powerful early Chinese emperors relied heavily on archaizing rhetoric and on allusions to Western Zhou texts, the Shi and Shu in particular.74 What should be clear from our prospective anthology of archaism is that the rhymed texts Kern discusses are the leading edge of a broader, if blunter, tendency in the most active reigns, a movement that sought not only to speak at times in the voice of antiquity and to claim some of its authority but also to mold genuinely and putatively archaic materials (the Shu included) to its own uses. Early imperial archaistic and traditionalistic rhetoric did not merely cite and imitate the Shi and Shu, nor did it emerge in any simple way from a milieu in which Shi and Shu were known in both spoken and written form. Instead, rhetoric played an important role in the shaping of both Shi and Shu. Drawing upon the work of Kanaya Osamu, Kern writes: “The significance of these texts at the Qin imperial court was perhaps due to their inherited status. As hallowed writings, they were, first of all, studied, edited, and taught by the officially appointed Qin erudites; and only on this basis, then, were they modified to serve the new political needs of representation.”75 He leaves open the possibility that certain “texts and imperial rituals (like the First Emperor’s feng 封 and shan 禪 sacrifices on Mt. Tai and Mt. Liangfu, or his tours of inspection) were newly fabricated under the Qin” and further notes that “the textual scholarship that furnished references to Shun as well as to the feng and shan sacrifices of high antiquity would have served to produce an imperial cultural memory in order to traditionalize and ritualize what was actually new.”76 Looking beyond the immediate context of the Qin inscriptions, into the imperial institutions of the second century BCE, it is apparent that the ritual and political uses Kern identifies for the Qin continued to shape the Shu. As noted above, archaizing tendencies show up prominently in texts relating to teratology, including Jing Fang’s commentary on the Yi. This link between archaism and themes of imperial manipulation of the cosmos—a link present already in the Qin steles—reminds us of a neglected aspect of Western Han Shu scholarship. Emphasis in recent centuries on questions of authenticity and on the genuine antiquity of the Western Zhou chapters has in some ways skewed our understanding of what the Shu was, and what it was useful for, in the first century of the Han dynasty. What is sometimes called the “mysticizing” (shenxue hua 神學化) trend in Western Han Shu scholarship is not, from the perspective of Kern’s work and other evidence, so much a temporary change in direction as 74 75 76

See Kern 1997, 2000. Kern 2000: 192. Kern 2000: 192–193. I have converted romanization in cited passages to pinyin.

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a basic, defining feature.77 From the very moment of the Han court’s somewhat murky reception of the Shu chapters, in oral recitation from memory by the nonagenarian Qin court academician (boshi 博士) Fu Sheng 伏勝 during the reign of Emperor Wen 文 (r. 179–157), these chapters were enrolled in the service of ceremonial archaism. Fu Sheng recited to Chao Cuo 晁錯, who on his return to the imperial court won favor by citing the Shu in his addresses to the emperor and was appointed tutor to the heir apparent, the future Emperor Jing 景.78 The Hanshu account of this event is useful for its inclusion of a letter (shu 書) that Chao Cuo is said to have presented to the emperor after being appointed academician. Arguing for the importance of studies of “techniques and numbers” (shu shu 術數) in the education of princes, Cuo notes that “the writings the imperial heir apparent has read [du 讀] may be many, yet he does not have a deep understanding of techniques and numbers; this is because he has not asked for explanations of the writings. To recite [song 誦] much yet not to know explanations for it is what is known as exerting oneself without achieving anything worthwhile.”79 As Cuo’s remarks imply, his lessons for the heir would include reading, memorization, and recitation, and any texts the student acquired (the Shu among them) would be directly useful in the administrative and ritual calculations of imperial rule. If this constitutes a characteristically Western Han reception of the Shu, it is also a distant continuation of the aspects of royal speech discussed in the second section of this essay. Presumably because of their relevance to the business of imperial ritual, cosmologically significant chapters of the Shu played a far more important role in Western Han scholarly discourse than other chapters. The Shangshu dazhuan 尚書大傳, attributed to Fu Sheng himself, is largely concerned with the numbers and correspondences of correlative cosmology. As Michael Nylan has observed in her study of the “Hong fan” chapter, it is probable that no single chapter in all the works that were to form the Confucian canon was cited as frequently during the Han as “Hong fan”: “So influential were studies of the ‘Plan,’” she writes, “that they constituted a separate branch in classical learning of equal importance with the Documents itself.”80 And Kern’s studies of 77 78

79 80

For accounts of cosmological aspects of Western Han Shu scholarship, see Li Weitai 1976: 42–49; Liu Qiyu 1989: 75–81; Li Zhenxing 1994: 22–23. Shiji 101.2745–2746. The prominence of Shu scholarship among tutors to the emperors and their sons is emphasized by Li Zhenxing (1994: 15–16). Kern (2005: 191–192) offers a comprehensive list of instances of recitation of classical texts in court and beyond. Hanshu 49.2277. Nylan 1992: 45.

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imperial inscriptions and hymns leave no doubt that “Yao dian,” the first chapter in the jinwen Shangshu, was important to the Qin and Han courts primarily for its information concerning the feng and shan sacrifices.81 There is some evidence that the association of the Shu with these sacrifices also had a part in the selection and presentation of the jinwen chapters. The Shiji twice tells how Qin Shihuang, a proponent of Five Phases notions of history, consulted with scholars of traditional texts (rusheng 儒生) of Qi and Lu—men who elsewhere are called academicians (boshi 博士)—before undertaking the sacrifices for the first time. In one version of the story the emperor dismisses the scholars after they offer conflicting advice on ritual details; in another he entrusts them with the task of composing the archaizing stele inscriptions he will place on Mount Tai and elsewhere.82 One cannot but wonder whether Fu Sheng, said to be from Qi, was among these scholars.83 As the “Qin Shihuang benji” version of the episode makes clear, this first Qin sacrificial tour to the east takes place in the twenty-eighth year of Shihuang’s reign.84 The number would have had some resonances for Qin besides its obvious association with the number of lunar lodges (xiu 宿). It was in the twenty-eighth year after Shun’s 舜 accession that Yao 堯 died.85 According to the Hanshu, the Qin unification came in the twenty-eighth year after the final destruction of the Eastern Zhou.86 Under the Han, the association of the number twenty-eight, the feng and shan sacrifices, and the emerging Shu canon developed further. Emperor Wu—the ruler under whom Sima Xiangru composed his archaistic treatise on the feng and shan sacrifices, and the ruler whose decrees first show a remarkable turn to archaism—first entertains the notion of conducting the sacrifices in the autumn of the twenty-eighth year of his reign.87 It is difficult to think of the number as an accident: more likely, either the emperor acted in conscious accordance with historical precedents, or his scholars molded historical pre­ cedents for his purposes. Meanwhile, several passages represent the feudal 81 82 83 84 85 86 87

Kern 2000: 109–112. For the first, see “Feng shan shu” 封禪書 (Shiji 28.1366–1367); for the second, see “Qin Shihuang benji” 秦始皇本紀 (Shiji 6.242). Shiji 101.2745. Shiji 6.242. This is the twenty-eighth year since the ruler’s accession in Qin; it is only the third year since the Qin unification. Gu Jiegang 1990: 1; Shiji 1.30. It is probably also relevant to note that Shun addresses twenty-eight subordinates in the chapter; see Gu Jiegang 1990: 2. Hanshu 25A.1200. Shiji 28.1393. For the emperor’s own explicit reference to this twenty-eighth year, see Shiji 28.1391.

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lords (zhuhou 諸侯) or other subordinate rulers as surrounding the sovereign like the twenty-eight lunar lodges.88 In scholarship and book culture, as in astronomy and the scheduling of imperial sacrifices, twenty-eight was also a significant number. By the end of the Western Han, the imperial archives contained numerous important texts in twenty-eight-juan editions, including multiple Shi commentaries, astronomical treatises, and divination manuals.89 In this context, the number of chapters in Fu Sheng’s oral recitation—apparently twenty-eight, later increased to twenty-nine with the addition of “Tai shi” 泰誓90—could not have been i­solated from larger numerological needs. Kong Yingda 孔穎達 (574–648), citing a letter written to Kong Anguo 孔安國 (d. ca. 100 BCE), believed that until the appearance of the ancient-script (guwen 古文) texts reputed to have been found in the walls of Confucius’s home, Han scholars thought the number of chapters corresponded to the number of lunar lodges.91 Sima Qian too was aware of the bibliographical significance of the number twenty-eight. In his postface he reflects explicitly on the numbers of chapters in different sections of Shiji, mentioning the twenty-eight lodges in connection with the thirty “Hereditary Houses” (shijia 世家), which like the lodges surround and support a sovereign center.92 It is also notable that he chose to make “Feng shan shu” 封 禪書 the twenty-eighth chapter of his work. Sima Qian was closely associated with the great Shu scholar Ni Kuan 兒寬 in the calendrical reforms of 104 BCE, which like other such reforms were thoroughly informed by Shu learning.93 Shu scholarship may in fact constitute the most substantial link among the official and unofficial functions of the taishi 太史. It is not that he was simply a calendrical expert whose avocational historical work was indirectly justified by the pre-imperial origins of the term shi 史. As Michael Nylan has demonstrated, Sima Qian’s work was deeply conditioned by personal and institutional religious factors.94 Shu scholarship, I would argue, lay at the heart of Sima Qian’s politico-religious views, account88 89 90 91 92 93 94

Hanshu 20.358, 27B-B.1508, 99A.4070. Hanshu 30.1707, 1763–1764, 1769–1770. See Liu Qiyu 1989: 68. For several other explanations of the discrepancy in numbers of chapters, see Wei Yingqi 1976: 41–42. Liu Qiyu 1989: 70. See also Zhu Tingxian 1987: 50. Shiji 130.3319. For a discussion of numerological interpretations of the Shiji’s structure, see Hardy 1999: 51. Hanshu 21A.974–975. For one example of Shu lore in calendrical science, see Hanshu 97B.3978. Nylan 1998–1999: esp. 211.

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ing not only for his creation of a new form of historical writing but also for a large part of the content and form of his work. Resonances between the chapter comment on “Feng shan shu” and the closing of Sima Qian’s postface embody this relationship. In the treatise, Sima Qian writes: I have accompanied the emperor [Wu] when, presenting offerings to Heaven, Earth, the many spirits, and famous mountains, he went to perform the feng and shan. I entered the Palace of Longevity and attended to the words used in worshiping the spirit there, and I thus have had an opportunity to carefully observe the ideas of the fangshi and officials in charge of sacrifice. Thereafter, I retired so as to discourse, in order, upon all that has happened from antiquity in the service of the ghosts and gods, presenting in full the outer form and inner meaning [of these sacrifices]. Later there will be noble men who will be able to peruse the records.

太史公曰：余從巡祭天地諸神名山川而封禪焉。入壽宮侍祠神語，究 觀方士祠官之意，於是退而論次自古以來用事於鬼神者，具見其表 裏。後有君子，得以覽焉。95

In this passage, as throughout Shiji, the “famous mountains” (mingshan 名山) are eight sites of imperial sacrifice throughout the realm, Mount Tai among them.96 But in one crucial instance, that of Sima Qian’s postface, readers have unaccountably interpreted the term mingshan differently: … I made the Documents of the Grand Scribe. I organized it in such a way as to recover remnants and supplement cultural accomplishments, thus completing the discourse of a coherent way of thought, which assembles differing traditions on the Six Classics and puts in order the varied sayings of the hundred thinkers. I concealed it at a famous mountain, placing a copy in the capital, to await the sage and noble men of future generations.

為太史公書。序略，以拾遺補蓺，成一家之言，厥協六經異傳，整齊 百家雜語，藏之名山，副在京師，俟後世聖人君子。97 95 96 97

Shiji 28.1404. I have adopted and supplemented the partial translation of Nylan 1998– 1999: 241. Sima Qian enumerates them at Shiji 20.468. See also Shiji 15.685, 28.1357, 1367, 1371–1372, 1377, 1380, 1393, 1396–1397, 1401–1402. Shiji 130.3320–3321.

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Perhaps starting in the Tang, commentators on Shiji identified this “famous mountain” as an archive in the capital.98 But both the mention of the mountain itself and the anticipation of future readers in this passage recall “Feng shan shu,” while the mention of a manuscript concealed in the mountain recalls hidden texts, ritual objects, and secretive ceremonies referred to in the treatise.99 Michael Nylan has suggested that Sima Qian implicitly compares his archiving of his text to the burial of sacrificial inscriptions at sacred mountains.100 Whether figuratively “buried” in an otherwise unknown archive or actually deposited at one of the sacrificial sites, the Grand Scribe’s Shu becomes, in a metaphorical sense, the Shu of his day, implicated from the beginning— in Sima Tan’s deathbed injunctions101—with the feng and shan sacrifices and tied to these at the very end. In a literal sense, too, it is a Shu edition for its age: it reproduces, either verbatim or in accessible paraphrase, much of the Shu, connecting the archaism of those early texts smoothly with the contemporary history and prose of the Shiji’s later chapters. We may entertain one further speculation: if, as seems likely, the Shiji versions of Shu chapters were the first 98

99 100

101

In his “Suoyin” 索隱 commentary ap. Shiji 130.3321, Sima Zhen 司馬貞 (eighth century) states that mingshan was an archive, presumably in the capital. He cites a passage from Mu tianzi zhuan 穆天子傳 in which King Mu 穆, traveling north, reaches the Qunyu 羣 玉 “Gathered Jades” Mountain(s), “which the ancient kings referred to as their ‘archive of writing strips’ [cefu 策府].” He cites Guo Pu’s 郭璞 (276–324) commentary on the text: “This was the storehouse in which emperors and kings of old stored their writing strips.” But the term cefu 策（冊）府 seems to appear in no early text other than this one, which may date to ca. 350 BCE (Loewe 1993: 342). Zuo zhuan refers in three places to a mengfu 盟 府, or “storehouse of covenant documents,” and it is possible that the cefu was a real institution of the same kind, or a term modeled on mengfu. But even mengfu appears only in Zuo zhuan, and the whole notion of a stable institution of early government archives looks inadequately provenanced. Mount Qunyu is likewise unattested in early texts outside Mu tianzi zhuan, though Guo Pu does identify it with Jade Mountain (Yushan 玉山), home of Queen Mother of the West, in his commentary on Shanhaijing 山海經 (Yuan Ke 1992: 50). Given the thinness of the evidence for a real archive called mingshan, I regard it as possible that Sima Qian had a copy of his text secreted sacrificially, as it were, at Mount Tai or another sacred site. Shiji 28.1360, 1366–1367. Nylan (1998–1999: 210), citing Hanshu 62.2735: “Sima Qian specifically links his work with the immortal dead when he writes that his completed work is to be deposited and ‘hidden away in Fame Mountain (名山) and passed on to the proper people’ (HS 62.2736 [sic]). Sima Qian thus likens his history to inscriptions composed for mountain sacrifices designed to communicate with spirits and immortals. Such inscriptions were then buried in famous mountains in the hopes that they would last for all time.” Shiji 130.3295.

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many readers encountered, and were further framed in the most prestigious and awe-inspiring textual representation of imperium, then might Sima Qian’s work not account for the elevation of the Shu? Might the jinwen Shangshu be inspired by the Shiji, rather than the other way around? In the preceding pages I have generally avoided the title Shangshu, referring to the collection instead by the title Shu, which is standard in Warring States references. The longer title, attested no earlier than the Han, is hardly justified by the various theories scholars have advanced for its adoption.102 Reflections on archaism, particularly the productive archaism at work in the composing of Western Han imperial decrees (zhao), suggest an alternative explanation. According to An Zuozhang 安作璋, the office of shangshu 尚書, or “Chief Steward for Writing,” first appeared under the Qin system of government.103 The official title appears to describe the officeholder’s duties: he was to “master” or “manage” (shang 尚, glossed zhang 掌) documents.104 Among these documents were official communications to and from the court, including zhao.105 If it is conceivable that these functionaries’ involvement with imperial communications necessitated a mastery of the archaistic style, then it is surely significant that under Emperor Wu, Sima Qian held the office of shangshu (though, as a eunuch, he held the alternative title zhongshu 中書) and, further, that in the years after Emperor Wu’s reign, the power of the shangshu steadily increased.106 The Shangshu, I hold, is so titled not because of its “elevation” or its “antiquity” but because of its close association with the archaistic speech acts of the Qin and Western Han. Institutions for the production of authoritative language had changed vastly over the course of the first millennium BCE, but the coexistence of old traditions and new compositions was a constant.

102 103 104 105 106

Liu Qiyu 1989: 7. For theories on the meaning of “Shangshu,” see also Zhu Tingxian 1987: 3; Jiang Shanguo 1988: 1–2. An Zuozhang 1984: 260. For the English version of the title, see Hucker 1985: 410. An Zuozhang 1984: 182. An Zuozhang 1984: 264–265. See Shiji 107.2853, where the shangshu is responsible for a posthumous decree of Emperor Jing. For the equivalence of zhongshu and shangshu, for Sima Qian’s appointment, and for development of shangshu, see An Zuozhang 1984: 261. At Hanshu 88.3607, a forged Shu text is dismissed after it fails in collation with zhongshu 中書. If these are “the books kept by the Son of Heaven,” as Yan Shigu writes, are they unrelated to the office of the same name?

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Conclusion If reconstruction of the early Chinese past on the basis of late institutional and textual evidence is a standard practice, then reconstruction by interpolation should be at least as creditable. If it is possible, then, to build up our picture of Western Zhou institutions from data that date, in substantial amounts, from the late Warring States and early imperial period—if it is possible to start from the assumption that the bureaucratic literacy of the Qin and Han reflects in some measure the arrangements that had been made nearly a millennium before—then it should be acceptable also to consider Warring States period textual activities from the perspective of what preceded them and followed them. Indeed, it should be safer to proceed in this manner. But it will offer a somewhat different view of what the Shu was (or were) and how it was used during the Warring States period. Written versions of the utterances of early Zhou rulers—whatever their origins and authenticity—could not have existed without a surrounding milieu of unwritten recollection, recitation, discussion, and reflection. Despite the artificial distinction that the canonization of the Shu has imposed, this unwritten culture of royal speeches must not be separated from a practice of royal and diplomatic archaism that appears (if Zuo zhuan is to be trusted) to have survived into the Spring and Autumn period or later. After the Warring States period, with the Qin unification, archaism reappears in the official political and ritual speech of the sovereign, first in the stele inscriptions of Qin Shihuang, then in the sacrificial hymns of Emperor Gaozu of the Han, then most prominently in the decrees of Emperor Wu and his successors, as well as in other writers’ texts on early rulers and on imperial sacrifices. Sima Qian’s great formal innovation, his framing of the Documents of the Grand Scribe, apparently owes much to the confluence of historical knowledge, ritual expertise, and calendrical science in his Shu scholarship. The citation of Shu and Shu-like material in Warring States texts indicates that ceremonial archaism was responsible both for the preservation of old materials (both in written versions and in the possibility of speaking them aloud) and for the production of new archaizing prose. Such a model, with its combination of a motivated oral practice and irregular access to old texts, accounts readily for the nature of the Warring States citations, which are usually brief, are often repeated, take on certain aphoristic characteristics (including rhyme), and show up in multiple versions containing graphic variants based on phonetic proximity, rather than lexical variants based on graphic similarity (and writing mistakes). By contrast, the accepted model of transmission, according to which various thinkers or schools possessed written texts (sometimes differing from each other) of the Shangshu—and perhaps of even more of the

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Shangshu than the jinwen chapters—does little to explain the characteristics of citations in the Warring States period. The failing of this model is that it projects a postcanonization Shu back into a period when the canon’s high degree of integrity and coherence was unlikely, if not impossible. The Shu had not simply become the Shangshu: one can assume that it had, but doing so creates problems rather like those facing Ptolemaic systems of astronomy; one can make the equations work, to be sure, but there is another, simpler way. If this alternative way of proceeding calls into question the status of writing in pre-imperial China, it has the compensatory advantage of evoking a world of living speech in which the sound of antiquity (a sound often enough referred to as if it were silent, an unpronounced Shu) was still a part of intellectual discourse. References Ames, Roger, and Henry Rosemont. 1998. The “Analects” of Confucius: A Philosophical Translation. New York: Ballantine Books. An Zuozhang. 1984. Qin Han guanzhi shigao 秦漢官制史稿. Vol. 1. Jinan: Qi Lu shushe. Bagley, Robert. 2004. “Anyang Writing and the Origin of the Chinese Writing System.” In The First Writing: Script Invention as History and Process, ed. Stephen D. Houston, 190–249. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bloch, Maurice, 1975. Political Language and Oratory in Traditional Society. London: Academic Press. Chan Hung Kan 陳雄根 and Ho Che Wah 何志華. 2003. Citations from the “Shangshu” to Be Found in Pre-Han and Han Texts [Xian-Qin liang Han dianji yin “Shangshu” ziliao huibian 先秦兩漢典籍引《尚書》資料彙編]. Hong Kong: Chinese University Press. Chen Mengjia 陳夢家. 1985. Shangshu tonglun 尚書通論. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Chen Qiyou 陳奇猷 . 1984. Lüshi chunqiu jiaoshi 呂氏春秋校釋 . Shanghai: Xuelin chubanshe. Durrant, Stephen, Waiyee Li, and David Schaberg. 2016. Zuo Tradition. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Fang Shulin 方書林. 1975. “Han yiqian de Shangshu” 漢以前的尚書. In Shangshu lunwen ji 尚書論文集, vol. 1, ed. Chen Xinxiong 陳新雄 ‬and Yu Dacheng 于大成, 133–175. Taipei: Muduo chubanshe. Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 . 1990. Shangshu tongjian 尚書通檢 . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Guo Yi 郭沂. 1998. “Guodian Chu jian ‘Cheng zhi wen zhi’ pian shuzheng” 郭店楚 簡《成之聞之》篇疏證. Kongzi yanjiu 1998.3. Hanshu 漢書. 1962. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju.

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Hardy, Grant. 1999. Worlds of Bronze and Bamboo: Sima Qian’s Conquest of History. New York: Columbia University Press. Hucker, Charles O. 1985. A Dictionary of Official Titles in Imperial China. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Jiang Shanguo 蔣善國. 1988. Shangshu zongshu 尚書綜述. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Jin Dejian 金德建. 1963. Sima Qian suojian shu kao 司馬遷所見書考. Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chubanshe. Jingmen shi bowuguan 荊門市博物館. 1998. Guodian Chu mu zhujian 郭店楚墓竹簡. Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1950. “The Book of Documents.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 22: 1–81. Kern, Martin. 1997. Die Hymnen der chinesischen Staatsopfer: Literatur und Ritual in der politischen Repräsentation von der Han-Zeit bis zu den Sechs Dynastien. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Kern, Martin. 2000. The Stele Inscriptions of Ch’in Shih-huang: Text and Ritual in Early Chinese Imperial Representation. New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society. Kern, Martin. 2005. “The Odes in Excavated Manuscripts.” In Text and Ritual in Early China, ed. Martin Kern, 149–193. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Kern, Martin. 2007. “The Performance of Writing in Western Zhou China.” In The Poetics of Grammar and the Metaphysics of Sound and Sign, ed. Sergio La Porta and David Shulman, 109–175. Leiden: Brill. Kern, Martin. 2009. “Bronze Inscriptions, the Shijing and the Shangshu: The Evolution of the Ancestral Sacrifice during the Western Zhou.” In Early Chinese Religion, pt. 1, Shang through Han (1250 BC–220 AD), ed. John Lagerwey and Marc Kalinowski, 143– 200. Leiden: Brill. Lewis, Mark Edward. 1999. Writing and Authority in Early China. Albany: State University of New York Press. Li Weitai 李偉泰. 1976. Liang Han Shangshu xue ji qi dui dangshi zhengzhi de yingxiang 兩漢尚書學及其對當時政治的影響. Taipei: Taiwan University. Li Zhenxing 李振興. 1994. Shangshu xueshu 尚書學述. Taipei: Dongda tushu gongsi. Liji zhushu 禮記注疏. 1815. In Shisanjing zhushu, vol. 5. Taipei: Yiwen, 1973. Liu Qiyu 劉起釪. 1989. Shangshu xueshi 尚書學史. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Liu Qiyu 劉起釪. 1997. Shangshu yuanliu ji chuanben 尚書源流及傳本. Shenyang: Liaoning Daxue chubanshe. Loewe, Michael. 1993. Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide. Berkeley: Society for the Study of Early China and Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley. Ma Chengyuan 馬承源. 2001. Shanghai bowuguan cang zhanguo Chu zhushu 上海博物 館藏戰國楚竹書. Vol. 1. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe.

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Matsumoto Masaaki 松木雅明. 1966. Shunjū sengoku ni okeru shōjo no tenkai 春秋戰國 における尚書の展開. Tokyo: Kazama shobō. McNeal, Robin. 2002. “The Body as Metaphor for the Civil and Martial Components of Empire in Yi Zhou shu, chapter 32; With an Excursion on the Composition and Structure of the Yi Zhou shu.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 122: 46–60. Nylan, Michael. 1992. The Shifting Center: The Original “Great Plan” and Later Readings. Nettetal: Steyler Verlag. Nylan, Michael. 1998–1999. “Sima Qian: A True Historian?” Early China 23–24: 203–246. Qiu Xigui. 2000. Chinese Writing. Trans. Gilbert L. Mattos and Jerry Norman. Berkeley: Society for the Study of Early China and Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley. Qu Shouyuan 屈守元. 1996. Hanshi waizhuan jianshu 韓詩外傳箋疏. Chengdu: Ba Shu shushe. Schaberg, David. 2001. A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center. Schaberg, David. 2005a. “Command and the Content of Tradition.” In The Magnitude of Ming, ed. Christopher Lupke, 23–48. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Schaberg, David. 2005b. “Playing at Critique: Indirect Remonstrance and the Formation of Shi 士 Identity.” In Text and Ritual in Early China, ed. Martin Kern, 194–225. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Schuessler, Axel. 2007. ABC Etymological Dictionary of Old Chinese. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Shangshu zhushu 尚書注疏. (1815) 1973. In Shisanjing zhushu, vol. 1. Reprint, Taipei: Yiwen. Shiji 史記. 1987. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Shisanjing zhushu 十三經注疏. (1815) 1973. Reprint, Taipei: Yiwen. Steiner, Deborah Tarn. 1994. The Tyrant’s Writ: Myths and Images of Writing in Ancient Greece. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Su Yu 蘇輿 1992. Chunqiu fanlu yizheng 春秋繁露義證. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Sun Xidan 孫希旦. 1989. Liji jijie 禮記集解. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Thomas, Rosalind. 1992. Literacy and Orality in Ancient Greece. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wang Hui 王輝. 2008. Yili zhushu 儀禮注疏. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Wang Pinzheng 王聘珍. 1983. Da Dai liji jiegu 大戴禮記解詁. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Wang Xianqian 王先謙. 1988. Xunzi jijie 荀子集解. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Wei Yingqi 魏應麒. 1976. “Shangshu pianmu yitong kao” 尚書篇目異同考. In Shangshu lunwen ji 尚書論文集, vol. 1, ed. Chen Xinxiong and Yu Dacheng, 41–58. Taipei: Muduo chubanshe. Wu Yujiang 吴毓江. 1993. Mozi jiaozhu 墨子校注. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju.

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Xiang Zonglu 向宗魯. 1987. Shuoyuan jiaozheng 說苑校證. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Yang Bojun 楊伯峻. 1995. Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhu 春秋左傳注. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Yang Weijie 楊維傑. ‪1976. Huangdi neijing Lingshu yijie 黃帝內經靈樞譯解. Taipei: Lequn. Yuan Ke 袁珂. 1992. Shanhai jing jiaozhu 山海經校注. Chengdu: Ba Shu shushe. Zhang Jue 張覺. 2006. Wu Yue chunqiu jiaozhu 吳越春秋校注. Changsha: Yuelu shuju. Zhu Tingxian 朱廷獻 . 1987. Shangshu yanjiu 尚書研究 . Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu yinshuguan. Zhu Xi 朱熹. 1986. Sishu jizhu 四書集註. Chengdu: Ba Shu shushe.

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Chapter 10

A Toiling Monarch? The “Wu yi” 無逸 Chapter Revisited Yuri Pines “Wu yi” 無逸 is a relatively marginal chapter of the Shangshu.* It is rarely cited in pre-imperial texts; it inspired only a few scholarly discussions; it lacks the ideological importance of such documents as “Kang gao” 康誥 or the theoretical sophistication of “Lü xing” 呂刑; and it is less related to specific historical events of the early Zhou period than most of the “declarations” (誥) or “harangues” (誓). My initial interest in “Wu yi” was spurred by the chapter’s most notable feature: it is arguably one of the earliest texts that systematically presents Shang and early Zhou history so as to elucidate the functioning of Heaven’s Mandate (天命). Having reread the text, though, I discovered that its content is richer and more intellectually engaging; in particular, its views of the nature of rulership and of the monarch’s relation with the people deserve utmost attention. In what follows I first translate the chapter; then I analyze its major ideas; and then I try to contextualize the “Wu yi” ideology in the intellectual atmosphere of the early Zhou period and relate it to later developments during the formative age of Chinese political culture—namely, the Warring States period (Zhanguo 戰國, 453–221 BCE).1 Having done this, I shall try to date the text. I conclude with a few observations about the possibility of a fresh look at early Zhou ideology as reflected in the Shangshu. Translation “Wu yi” records an alleged admonition of the Duke of Zhou 周公 (d. ca. 1035)2 to his nephew, King Cheng 成王 (r. ca. 1042/1035–1021), soon after the latter’s enthronement. A significant portion of the text is cited (or partly retold) in the * This research was supported by the Israel Science Foundation (grant no. 240/15) and by the Michael William Lipson Chair in Chinese Studies at The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. 1 Hereafter all the dates are before the Common Era unless indicated otherwise. 2 All dates for the Western Zhou and Shang kings follow the suggestions of the Xia-Shang-Zhou Chronology Project team (Xia-Shang-Zhou 2000).

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2017 | doi 10.1163/9789004343504_012

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chapter “Lu Zhou gong shijia” 魯周公世家 (“Hereditary House the Duke of Zhou of Lu”) in the Shiji 史記; segments of the modern-script version survive in some of the Han citations and in the remnants of the Han steles. There are minor variants among different citations, but presupposing the existence of fixed ancient- and modern-script recensions is premature. Even in a single text such as the Shiji, the title “Wu yi” is transcribed differently: once as 毋逸 and once as 無佚.3 Probably, manifold versions of the text simply coexisted alongside one another. The chapter comprises seven sections, each of which opens with the phrase “The Duke of Zhou said” (周公曰). I have given numbers to each of the sections for the convenience of later discussion. My translation is based primarily on the punctuation and annotation by Pi Xirui 皮希瑞, with further consultations of the texts annotated by Sun Xingyan 孫星衍 and Liu Qiyu 劉起釪 and with the modern translation by Huang Huaixin 黃懷信.4 1. The Duke of Zhou said: “Wuhu! The superior man should not be idle in his position.5 First, he must understand the hardship of sowing and reaping, then he may be idle; only then will he know the distress of the lower men.6 Look at the lower men: the parents exert themselves sowing and reaping; but if the son has no idea of the hardship of sowing and reaping,

3 Shiji 33.1520 and 4.133. Cheng Yuanmin (2013: 276) counts the following variants in early citations: the first character can be written as 無, 毋, or 亡; the second, as 逸, 佚, 佾, or 劮. 4 Pi Xirui 1998; Sun Xingyan 1998; Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005; Huang Huaixin 2002. Liu Qiyu (1917–2012) started his work on the annotations of the Shangshu in the early 1960s, but the work was interrupted (and most of his note cards destroyed) at the beginning of the Cultural Revolution (1966–1976). The work restarted in 1976, owing to Mao Zedong’s explicit desire to see a modern annotated edition of the Shangshu that would make the text comprehensible. Liu Qiyu proceeded for more than two decades, finishing his magnum opus in 1999. Although Gu Jiegang (who died in 1980) could only proofread a few chapters (and not “Wu yi”), Liu added his mentor’s name as coauthor of the book. In what follows, I refer to the glosses in Gu and Liu’s edition as Liu Qiyu’s. For more details, see Liu’s preface (Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: 1–24). 5 Liu Qiyu (Gu and Liu 2005: 1531) suggests that junzi 君子 here refers to the ruler only; however, the text can easily be read as applying to elite members in general. See also Hunter’s discussion in chapter 11 in the present volume. 6 Following Wang Yinzhi 王引之 (1766–1834), I read yi 依 as yin 隐, which is then glossed as tong 痛 (pain, distress) (see, e.g., Huang Huaixin 2002: 310). Liu Kunshen (2000: 9–10) suggests that the text here depicts a dialectical mode of learning: first the king should experience the peasants’ hardships; then he may be idle; thereby he will understand the difference between idleness and hard work.

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he is idle, is sluggish in his tasks,7 and, moreover,8 humiliates his parents, saying: ‘These men of old, they know nothing!’”9 周公曰：「嗚呼！君子所，其無逸。先知稼穡之艱難，乃逸；則知小 人之依。相小人，厥父母勤勞稼穡，厥子乃不知稼穡之艱難乃逸，乃 諺既誕，否則，侮厥父母曰：『昔之人，無聞知！』」

2. The Duke of Zhou said: “Wuhu! I have heard that in the past, King Zhongzong of Yin was stern and pious, respectful and fearful toward Heaven’s Mandate; he rectified himself;10 he was reverent and cautious in ordering the people and did not have the temerity to be idle and at ease. Therefore, Zhongzong enjoyed his rule for seventy-five years.  “As for Gaozong, he spent a long time laboring outside [the palace], therefore being together with the lower men.11 When he ascended the throne, he stayed at a mourning hut12 and did not talk for three years; he was not talking, but when he did talk, his words were harmonious.13 He did not have the temerity to be idle and at ease; he brought blessing and tranquillity to the land of Yin, and there was no resentment among either the inferior or the superior [people]. Therefore, Gaozong enjoyed his rule for fifty-nine years.

7 8 9

10

11 12 13

Following Pi Xirui’s (1998: 364) emendation based on the Han stone version, nai yan ji dan 乃諺既誕 should be nai xian 乃憲 (read as fa 法, equivalent to ye 業) ji yan 既延. Reading fouze 否則 as pize 丕則 as in the Han stone version (Pi Xirui 1998: 364). Shiji 33.1520 has “Parents toil for a long time, while the descendants are self-indulgent and extravagant, forgetting [the parent’s toil], thereby bringing about the demise of their family. Can the son but be observant!” (為人父母，為業至長久，子孫驕奢忘之，以亡 其家，為人子可不慎乎！). It is likely that Sima Qian 司馬遷 is retelling the archaic “Wu yi” version in more comprehensible Han language. For reading 嚴恭寅畏天命 as a single sentence, I follow Li Guangji 1999; Li also argues that the next phrase, zi du 自度, should be connected to the following zhi min zhi ju 治民 祗懼; yet this argument is based on replacing du 度 with Bo 亳, supposedly the Shang capital in Zhongzong’s time. This latter interpretation seems to me far-fetched. Most commentators agree that yuan ji 爰暨 should be read as wei yu 為與. See Sun Xingyan 1998: 436; Pi Xirui 1998: 365. There is much controversy about liang’an 亮陰. See Pi Xirui’s (1998: 366) note; in all likelihood it is a kind of mourning residence. Reading yong 雍 as huan 讙 (as in many early citations of this text) and adopting Zheng Xuan’s 鄭玄 (127–200 CE) gloss of huan 讙 as hexie 和諧 (cited from Sun Xingyan 1998: 438). Li Guangji (1999) prefers reading it as quan 勸 (to encourage); Liu Qiyu argues for the reading as guan 觀: “worth looking at” or “instructive.”

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 “As for Zujia, it was not appropriate that he become king;14 hence, he spent a long time among the lower men. When he ascended the throne, he was well aware of the distress of the lower men, he was able to protect and be kind toward the commoners, and he did not have the temerity to offend widowers and widows. Therefore, Zujia enjoyed his rule for thirtythree years.15  “Thereafter, the kings who inherited the throne were idle during their lives; since they were idle during their lives, they did not understand the hardship of sowing and reaping, nor did they hear about the work of the lower men; they sought nothing but addiction to joy. Thereafter, nobody enjoyed longevity: some reigned for ten years, some for seven or eight years, some for five or six years, some for four or three years.” 周公曰：「嗚呼！我聞曰：昔在殷王中宗，嚴恭寅畏天命，自度，治 民祗懼，不敢荒寧。肆中宗之享國，七十有五年。其在高宗，時舊勞 于外，爰暨小人。作其即位，乃或亮陰，三年不言；其惟不言，言乃 雍。不敢荒寧，嘉靖殷邦。至于小大，無時或怨。肆高宗之享國，五 十有九年。其在祖甲，不義惟王，舊為小人。作其即位，爰知小人之 依；能保惠于庶民，不敢侮鰥寡。肆祖甲之享國，三十有三年。自時 厥後，立王生則逸；生則逸，不知稼穡之艱難，不聞小人之勞，惟耽 樂之從。自時厥後，亦罔或克壽：或十年，或七、八年，或五、六 年，或四、三年。」

14 15

“Not appropriate” (bu yi 不義) here apparently means that Zujia was not the designated heir apparent. Pi Xirui (1998: 369–370) argues, on the basis of multiple citations in Han sources, that the original structure of section 2 differed from the ancient-script version current today: he proposes replacing Zujia with Taijia 太甲, aka Shang Taizong 商太宗, and placing the sentences referring to him at the beginning of the section (according to the historical sequence in which Taijia precedes Zhongzong [aka Taiwu 太戊] and Gaozong [aka Wu­­ ding 武定]; the latter’s reign was calculated by the Xia-Shang-Zhou Chronology Project team to span fifty-nine years [1250–1192]; see Xia-Shang-Zhou 2000). Liu Qiyu (Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: 1532–1538) adopts this restructuring. The problem for both scholars is that they presuppose the lateness of the “Wu yi” version cited in the Shiji (which accords with the ancient-script recension), but there are no reasons to do that. It is more likely that some transmitters, puzzled by the elevation of the otherwise-undistinguished Zujia, tried to create a historically more convincing narrative; but by doing so they undermined the internal logic of the document, which depicts the decreasing length of the Shang kings’ reigns. Furthermore, an attempt to reconcile “Wu yi” with the known dates of Shang history is problematic: it is clear that at least insofar as the late Shang kings are concerned, the document is completely off target, and I see no reason to expect historical sensitivity from its authors with regard to earlier rulers.

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3. The Duke of Zhou said: “Wuhu! It is also the Great King and King Ji of our Zhou who were able to be restrained and fearful. King Wen endorsed humble occupations, such as dealing with husks16 and working in the fields. Good-hearted and mild, resplendent and reverent, he lovingly protected the lowly people and kindly supported the widowers and widows. From morning to dusk he had no leisure time to eat at ease, harmonizing the myriad people. King Wen did not have the temerity to entertain himself with amusements or hunting17 but wholly concerned himself with the correct provisions [for the myriad states?].18 King Wen had received Heaven’s Mandate at the middle of his life, and he enjoyed his rule for fifty years.” 周公曰：「嗚呼！厥亦惟我周大王、王季，克自抑畏。文王卑服，即 康功田功。徽柔懿恭，懷保小民，惠鮮鰥寡。自朝至于日中昃，不遑 暇食，用咸和萬民。文王不敢盤于游田，以庶邦惟正之供。文王受命 惟中身，厥享國五十年。」

4. The Duke of Zhou said: “Wuhu! Henceforth, you, Successor King, should not excessively indulge in drinking,19 idleness, amusement, and hunting; just concern yourself with correct provisions for the myriad people. Do not say blithely: ‘Today I shall indulge in joy,’ as this cannot be made into a constant lesson for the people, cannot be constantly approved by Heaven. Those who behave in such a manner commit a huge transgression! Do not go astray into calamity like King Shou [i.e., Zhouxin] of Yin,20 who became submerged by the power of ale!” 周公曰：「嗚呼！繼自今嗣王，則其無淫于觀、于逸、于游、于田， 以萬民惟正之供。無皇曰：『今日耽樂。』乃非民攸訓，非天攸若， 時人丕則有愆。無若殷王受之迷亂，酗于酒德哉！」

5. The Duke of Zhou said: “Wuhu! I have heard that in times of old, men warned each other, protected each other, and taught each other, while

16

17 18 19 20

Adopting Guo Moruo’s 郭沫若 (1892–1978) reading of kang 康 as kang 糠 (see Shi Sheng­ huai 1979: 48). I also accept the reading of bei fu 卑服 as “humble occupations”; an alternative would be that King Wen wore “humble clothes.” Reading tian 田 as tian 畋. The words shu bang 庶邦 do not appear in the Han stone inscription. Replacing guan 觀 with jiu 酒 as in the citation from Hanshu 85.3445 (“Gu Yong’s Biography” [谷永傳]). Zhouxin 紂辛 (r. ca. 1075–1046), the last king of the Shang dynasty, is the paradigmatic bad last ruler whose misbehavior cost his dynasty the Mandate of Heaven (Pines 2008).

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among the people none deceived each other.21 When he (the ruler?) did not heed [the advice], the men [around him] were warning him; if he was wreaking havoc on the correct models of the former kings, then the people, both lowly and superior, were resentful and cursed him with their mouths.”22 周公曰：「嗚呼！我聞曰：『古之人猶胥訓告，胥保惠，胥教誨；民 無或胥譸張為幻。』此厥不聽，人乃訓之；乃變亂先王之正刑，至于 小大民，否則厥心違怨，否則厥口詛祝。」

6. The Duke of Zhou said: “Wuhu! From King Zhongzong of Yin until Gaozong, Zujia, and further until King Wen of our Zhou, these four men were of great understanding. When someone told them: ‘The lower men resent you and curse you,’ they became even stronger in respecting virtue. When they transgressed, they said: ‘I really transgressed!’ Really like that: they just did not have the temerity to be angry [at criticism].23 If you are not tolerant,24 some people will deceive you, saying: ‘The lower men resent you and curse you,’ and you will believe this. In such a case, you will not always think of your laws;25 your heart will not be broad and lenient; you will wantonly punish the guiltless and kill the innocent. [The people’s] resentment will be uniform and it will coalesce around your own body.” 周公曰：「嗚呼！自殷王中宗，及高宗，及祖甲，及我周文王，茲四 人迪哲。厥或告之曰：『小人怨汝詈汝。』則皇自敬德。厥愆，曰： 『朕之愆允若時』。不啻不敢含怒。此厥不聽，人乃或譸張為幻。 曰：『小人怨汝詈汝。』則信之。則若時，不永念厥辟，不寬綽厥 心；亂罰無罪，殺無辜。怨有同，是叢于厥身。」

7. The Duke of Zhou said: “Wuhu! Let the Successor King scrutinize this!” 周公曰：「嗚呼！嗣王其監于茲！」

21 22 23

24

25

In the modern-script version, there is no “people” and no “each other,” which means that it was the ruler who was not deceived, paralleling the warning in the next section. I adopt Pi Xirui’s (1998: 378) reading of fouze 否則 as pize 丕則 (then). Liu Kunsheng (2000: 10–11) assumes that the sentence is not complete here and a bamboo slip may have been missing in the original text. Indeed, the connection between this and the next phrase is not clear. In the modern-script version, ting 聽 is replaced by the synonymous sheng 聖. Karlgren (1950: 59) indeed prefers to translate “if you are not wise”; but I adopt Pi Xirui’s (1998: 378) gloss, according to which sheng 聖 stands here for rong 容. Following Sun Xingyan’s (1998: 444) gloss of pi 辟 as “law” and Cao Yang’s (1989: 35) gloss. Huang Huaixin (2002: 315) prefers instead a direct reading of pi as “your ruling position.”

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Analysis The Duke of Zhou’s admonition in “Wu yi” is presented as a historical text. The addressee, presumably King Cheng, should learn from the experience of his predecessors, so as to emulate the success of paragon rulers of the past, such as King Wen and the early Shang kings, and to avoid the misfortune of the Mandate losers, such as the last king of Shang, Shou 受 (aka Zhouxin 紂辛, r. ca. 1075–1046). In particular, he must be fully aware of the commoners’ hardships and pay attention to their needs and tolerate their criticisms. Yet the most strongly pronounced message is the one outlined in the chapter’s name, that is, to avoid idleness—a title first mentioned in the Shiji. The term yi 逸 (or 佚 in some recensions) is a polysemous term; it can refer to idleness and laziness, to relaxation and being at ease, and to licentiousness and excessiveness, and it has a great variety of further, unrelated meanings.26 As such, yi lacks a clearly pronounced negative or positive association, and its selection as an object of admonition is relatively rare. In “Wu yi,” yi refers predominantly to laziness and idleness (alternatively called huangning 荒寧) or to lax morality and indulgence (e.g., indulgence in joy, danle 耽樂, or in ale, xu yu jiu de 酗于酒德); however, at least once it signifies legitimate relaxation.27 Of these three meanings, the second one is unequivocally negative: excessiveness, licentiousness, and indulgence are singled out as deplorable features of a monarch’s behavior beginning with the earliest known texts of the Western Zhou period, such as “Jiu gao” 酒誥 (see more below) and the Da Yu-ding 大盂鼎 inscription. It is for this reason, perhaps, that James Legge opted to translate “Wu yi” as “Against Luxurious Ease.” Yet in “Wu yi,” it is also plainly clear that the major source of the Duke of Zhou’s concern is not just the “luxurious ease” and indulgence of his nephew but overall laziness and idleness, which are considered unforgivable characteristics of a ruler. What does it mean “not to be idle”? One might expect this to refer to the ruler’s engagement in government activities, as it is said about King Wen: “he lovingly protected the lowly people and kindly supported the widowers and widows. From morning to dusk he had no leisure time to eat at ease, 26

27

See, e.g., discussion by Xin Ting (2013), who also identifies many graphic variants of the character 逸. Among these meanings one finds “to rush,” “to hasten,” “to lose,” “to order,” “to be pleased,” “to commit mistakes,” and so forth. For yi in Western Zhou oracle-bone inscriptions in the meaning of “to perform sacrifices,” see Xin Ting 2014. In the recently published dictionary of ancient glosses (Zong Fubang, Chen Shinao, and Xiao Haibo 2007), the character 逸 merits seventy-four explanations! See sections 2 and 4; for a single positive invocation of yi, see section 1: “First, he [the superior man] must understand the hardship of sowing and reaping, then he may be idle.”

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harmonizing the myriad people. King Wen did not have the temerity to entertain himself with amusements or hunting but wholly concerned himself with the correct provisions [for the myriad states?]” (sec. 3). This advice for a ruler is uncontroversial and commonplace in many texts. But what about the opening phrases that the ruler “must understand the hardship of sowing and reaping …; only then will he know the distress of the lower men”? An immediate interpretation of this passage would be that it is just a metaphor: the ruler must work hard just as the peasant does. Alternatively, Michael Hunter considers that the emphasis is on understanding the peasants’ toil without necessarily experiencing it.28 I think, nevertheless, that a second look at the text reveals a deeper meaning of the peasant metaphor. The Duke of Zhou enumerates four paragons of non-idleness: Kings Zhongzong, Gaozong, and Zujia of the Shang and King Wen of Zhou. Among these four, Zhongzong regularly appears as a model monarch: he “was stern and pious, respectful and fearful toward Heaven’s Mandate; he rectified himself; he was reverent and cautious in ordering the people and did not have the temerity to be idle and at ease” (sec. 2). Yet when we come to Gaozong and especially Zujia, we are told of their unusual backgrounds. Gaozong “spent a long time laboring outside [the palace], therefore being together with the lower men” (sec. 2); Zujia, who apparently was not supposed to inherit the throne, “spent a long time among the lower men” (sec. 2). It was this experience that proved an asset to Zujia: “When he ascended the throne, he was well aware of the distress of the lower men, he was able to protect and be kind toward the commoners, and he did not have the temerity to offend widowers and widows” (sec. 2). Finally, the greatest paragon of all, King Wen, also “endorsed humble occupations, such as dealing with husks and working in the fields” (sec. 3). Since three of the four paragons appear to have started their careers doing manual work, and since this was supposedly the main reason for their peopleoriented policies, the conclusion is clear: an education that involves manual labor is the best means of ensuring the ruler’s ability to rule properly! This odd supposition seems to be corroborated in the Duke of Zhou’s narrative regarding the later generations of the Shang kings: “the kings who inherited the throne were idle during their lives; since they were idle during their lives, they did not understand the hardship of sowing and reaping, nor did they hear about the work of the lower men; they sought nothing but addiction to joy” (sec. 2). Here it is clear that the idleness of the kings refers not just to their inadequate functioning as political leaders but also to their lack of experience with manual labor before they ascended the throne, which prevented them 28

See chapter 11 in this volume.

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from understanding the peasants’ hardships. Because of this lack of understanding, they were seduced by “addiction to joy,” bringing about Heaven’s dissatisfaction. It seems then that the proper education of the heir should indeed include manual labor, or at least a prolonged stay among the peasants, as this is the best way to imbue the future ruler with an appropriate work ethic and understanding of the people. This is one of the most striking ideas expressed in “Wu yi,” an idea that, insofar as I can judge from my survey, has been completely overlooked by later commentators and modern scholars.29 Understanding the people’s hardship and being “not idle” are the most important imperatives expressed by the Duke of Zhou. Yet there is a second important topic: heeding the people’s remonstrance and being attentive to their feelings. This topic is discussed in sections 5 and 6 of the text; and while these sections are somewhat equivocal and possibly suffer from textual corruption, the basic message can still be determined with relative certainty. The ruler should take into account the people’s sentiments and humbly heed their criticisms. There is a certain lack of clarity with regard to the following sentence in section 5: “In times of old, men warned each other, protected each other, and taught each other, while [among the people] none deceived [each other].” Who are the “men” (ren 人) mentioned at the beginning? Are they the elites, who should warn, protect, and teach the ruler, or are they “lowly people”? The first interpretation would fit the modern-script version, which omits “the people” (min 民) and “each other” (xu 胥) at the end, so that the entire sentence can be read as referring to the ruler’s relationship with his courtiers.30 However, repeated references in the next sentences to the “lowly people” (xiao min 小民) suggest that such a limited interpretation misses the point. “Wu yi” focuses on the ruler’s relations with the entire community of his subjects rather than only with his elite advisers. These elite advisers, if present at all, are never explicitly identified in the text, which, as I shall show below, is one of the important peculiarities of “Wu yi.” If my interpretation is correct, then the text depicts the lower stratum as an influential political actor: the ruler should heed the people’s voices, learn about 29

30

Here lies my disagreement with Michael Hunter’s view of “Wu yi” (chapter 11 in this volume). Hunter considers the admonition to “understand” (zhi 知) the people’s hardship in section 1 of the text as referring to “knowing” rather than “experiencing.” This interpretation is entirely valid in the context of the single given passage, but when considered together with historical examples in sections 2–3, it seems clear to me that a personal experience of the people’s hardship is considered essential for the ruler’s “understanding” of their lot. This understanding is clearly supported by some of the commentators, such as Duan Yucai 段玉裁 (1735–1815), as cited in Pi Xirui 1998: 376–377.

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their experience, and address their concerns. The final warning of the Duke of Zhou to the effect that the resentment of the “lowly people” may threaten the ruler’s survival accentuates these points. As I shall demonstrate later, this emphasis on the people as the singularly important determinant of political success or failure echoes many other chapters of the Shangshu. Yet, again as in many other Documents, the ultimate kingmaker is not the people but Heaven. The idea of Heaven’s Mandate as the foundation of one’s right to rule is present in the background of the text: it is mentioned twice explicitly (once with regard to the Shang and once with regard to the receipt of the Mandate by King Wen of Zhou) and is hinted at through much of the historical part of the text. However, the “Wu yi” interpretation of the nature of Heaven’s Mandate differs somewhat from the rest of the Shangshu. Heaven’s intervention into political life is conceptualized as related neither to the people’s actions nor to omens and portents (which are in any case negligible in the Shangshu)31 but, rather, is manifested primarily through the ruler’s longevity. To put it simply: good rulers are expected to enjoy lengthy terms in office, while bad ones are cut off after a few years. The idea that Heaven’s support of the ruler or the lack thereof is reflected in the length of the ruler’s tenure is a curious one. Its advantage is clear: it creates an objective and easily observable criterion for judging the ruler’s performance and his relations with the supreme deity. To assess Heaven’s approval or disapproval of an incumbent, one does not have to wait for the rare occasion of the transfer of Heaven’s Mandate to another dynasty, but rather, one needs merely to observe his longevity in office. Thus, whenever a ruler attains a relatively long tenure, it can be considered a token of Heaven’s approval. Yet the introduction of this criterion by which Heaven’s attitude can be measured is a double-edged sword: how would one make sense of the brevity of tenure of a supposedly impeccable monarch or, alternatively, of the long term of a mediocre ruler? Insofar as the Duke of Zhou provided examples from the bygone age of early Shang history, the fantastic longevity of its kings could be accepted; but already for the late Shang kings, the fallacy of the “Wu yi” claim that each of them occupied the throne for just a few years is obvious.32 Even more prob31

32

It should be mentioned here that omens and portents in the context of Heaven’s transfer of the Mandate might have been much more important in the Western Zhou period than the Shangshu indicates. See Luo Xinhui 2015. Judging from the chronology accepted by the Xia-Shang-Zhou Chronology Project team (Xia-Shang-Zhou 2000), only two immediate successors of Zujia had short reigns; but then Wuyi 武乙 reigned for thirty-five years (1147–1113 BCE), Wending 文丁 for eleven years (1112–1102), Thearch Yi 帝乙 for twenty-six years (1101–1076), and the last king, Zhouxin 紂辛, for thirty years (1075–1046) before he was overthrown.

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lematic is how to fit King Cheng’s father and predecessor, King Wu 周武王, who reigned for just four years before his death in 1043 BCE, into the historical model promoted by the Duke of Zhou. Should we assume that this paragon was actually less endorsed by Heaven than is commonly accepted? The text of “Wu yi” remains curiously silent about this all-important personality, whose length of tenure does not seem to fit the Duke of Zhou’s scheme; not a few scholars have tried to resolve the riddle of this contradiction by proposing different, sometimes fantastic, interpretations.33 In any case, the plain equation of Heaven’s endorsement of a ruler with the length of his tenure in “Wu yi” was not the mainstream view, in which Heaven’s Mandate was, instead, focused on dynastic change. Contextualization: “Wu yi” and Western Zhou Ideology To better understand the position of “Wu yi” within the corpus of the Shangshu, I want to compare its views of rulership with those expressed in the supposedly contemporaneous documents associated with the Duke of Zhou. In the modern-script version of the Shangshu, twelve chapters (from “Da gao” 大誥 to “Li zheng” 立政) are attributed or related to the Duke of Zhou. Even though this attribution is questionable, there are many indications that the majority of these chapters, especially the so-called Eight Declarations 八誥 and the “Jun Shi” 君奭 chapter, are closely related.34 There are more doubts about the dating of the “Jinteng” 金縢 and “Li zheng” chapters, and I shall avoid overreliance on them in the discussion below, although fundamentally they do not alter my analysis. It should be emphasized from the beginning that by exploring these chapters as a coherent corpus, I do not intend to make a decisive pronounce33

34

Qu Wanli 屈萬里 (1984: 105), for instance, averred that the text may be directed at King Wu rather than at King Cheng; yet he did not address the question of how the younger brother, the Duke of Zhou, could pose himself as his elder brother’s teacher. Alternatively, Han Gaonian and Deng Guojun (2011) interpreted “Wu yi” as a ritual text that was read at the heir’s capping ceremony. This ritual context explains in their eyes the omission of references to King Wu, to whom King Cheng would not be allowed to sacrifice directly. This is an interesting but unconvincing hypothesis: after all, the Shang kings mentioned in section 2 were also not the objects of sacrifice but just paragons of good rule. I borrow the term “Eight Declarations” from Du Yong 1998. Du considers these chapters— which include five “declarations” (gao 誥) in addition to the “Duo fang” 多方, “Duo shi” 多士, and “Zi cai” 梓材 chapters—as an integral whole. For the close relationship between “Jun Shi” and “Shao gao” 召誥 and, by extension, other “declarations,” see Shaughnessy 1997: 101–136.

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ment on their dating, nor on their original interrelatedness; nor do I claim that “Wu yi” necessarily belongs to the intellectual framework of the “Duke of Zhou corpus.” My working hypothesis is that the Eight Declarations and the “Jun Shi” chapter reflect the earliest layer of the Shangshu and, later modifications aside, that they basically reflect Western Zhou ideology. By comparing “Wu yi” with these chapters, I hope to attain a better understanding of the peculiarities of the “Wu yi” chapter’s message. Some of the ideas expressed in “Wu yi” are shared by almost all other Documents texts related to the Duke of Zhou. The notions that the ruler owes his position to Heaven’s Mandate and that he should emulate meritorious ancestors and learn from the mistakes of his predecessors are ubiquitous motifs and do not require further discussion.35 Two other common features of “Wu yi” and the Duke of Zhou corpus are the call on the ruler to avoid moral laxity and the imperative to be attentive to and take care of the common people.36 Yet with regard to these two points a more detailed comparison is needed. The requirement of the ruler to maintain proper personal conduct recurs throughout the Zhou section of the Shangshu. In particular, “Jiu gao” 酒誥 is similar to “Wu yi” in this respect: it hails early Shang rulers, who “did not have the temerity to be leisurely or self-indulgent” (不敢自暇自逸), and accuses later Shang rulers of being addicted to drink so that “there was nothing venerable to manifest to the people” (罔顯于民祗). These later rulers “unrestrainedly followed their whims, engaging in licentious, dissipated, and disordered behavior, and, for the sake of being at ease, sacrificed their awe-inspiring decorum” (誕惟厥縱，淫泆于非彝，用燕喪威儀).37 “Duo shi” 多士 similarly criticizes the Xia rulers for “great licentiousness and dissipation” (da yinyi 大淫 泆[=淫佚]) and repeats almost verbatim the “Jiu gao” invectives against the late Shang sovereigns. “Duo fang” 多方 presents a similar picture: the Xia rulers are said to have been “self-indulgent, unable to pity the people; they were only increasingly dissipated and benighted, and until the very end failed to follow God’s instructions” (有夏誕厥逸，不肯慼言于民，乃大淫昏，不克終日勸于 35 36

37

For a good summary, see Liu Zehua 1996: 17–29; cf. Du Yong 1998: 204–225. This is often identified as the concept “people as root” (minben 民本). An understanding of early Chinese political thought as focused on the people as the “root” or “foundation” of the polity has become widespread since the early twentieth century and is frequently discussed among current Chinese scholars. Some identify the minben idea as possibly conducive to a Chinese indigenous path to democracy, while others oppose this view. See Pines 2009: 187–214, q.v. for further references. For a more recent comprehensive survey of minben thought, see Zhang Fentian 2009. Cited from Pi Xirui 1998: 324–326.

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帝之迪).38 The term 逸 (or 佚) recurs in these texts, strengthening their simi-

larity to “Wu yi.” And, as in the latter, yi in the Duke of Zhou corpus may refer to either licentiousness or idleness or, rarely, to legitimate tranquillity.39 A few of the texts in the Zhou section of the Shangshu promoted the ideal of a diligent ruler, so cherished by the “Wu yi” authors. One example of endorsement of the Shang rulers who “did not have the temerity to be leisurely or self-indulgent” is cited above. Elsewhere, in the “Kang gao” 康誥 chapter, the Duke of Zhou advises his younger brother Feng 封, the founder of the Wei 衛 domain, as follows: “The lower men are difficult to protect; you must fully exhaust your heart. Do not be at ease, loving idleness and relaxation; only then will you truly order the people” (小人難保；往盡乃心，無康好逸豫，乃其乂 民).40 Here both the content of the advice and even the context are quite ­similar to those of “Wu yi”: a young and inexperienced ruler is urged by an elder statesman (the Duke of Zhou in both cases) to understand the importance of properly governing the common people by avoiding idleness. Yet neither “Kang gao” nor any other chapter speaks of the need for the ruler to personally ex­perience the life of the common people so as to understand their hardship and improve his functioning. None of the chapters extol the merit of the heir’s education in manual labor prior to his ascendance, making “Wu yi” the exception. Turning to the second pillar of the “Wu yi” view of rulership, that is, the ruler’s dependence on and need to be close to the people, once again we discover many ostensible similarities between “Wu yi” and other Duke of Zhou chapters. For instance, “Kang gao” explains that King Wen attained the Mandate because “he was able to manifest his virtue and be careful in punishing; he did not have the temerity to offend widowers and widows; he employed the employable, revered the reverent, overawed those who had to be overawed” (克明 德慎罰；不敢侮鰥寡，庸庸，祗祗，威威).41 Some of these actions, in particular taking care of widowers and widows, are presented as King Wen’s major merits in “Wu yi” as well. The ruler’s ability to attain the support of the “lowly people” 小民 is mentioned approvingly in such documents as “Jiu gao” and “Shao gao.” The people serve as a barometer of Heaven’s intent (“the awesomeness and intentions of Heaven are discernible from the people’s feelings” [天畏

38 39 40 41

See Pi Xirui 1998: 357–358 (“Duo shi”), 395 (“Duo fang”). For this rare positive usage of yi in the phrase “God-on-High leads to tranquillity” (上帝 引逸), see Pi Xirui 1998: 357 (“Duo shi”). Pi Xirui 1998: 312. Pi 1998: 310.

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棐忱，民情大可見]);42 they are also the major source of Heaven’s concern. Thus, malpractice and abuses by Jie 桀, the last Xia king, caused Heaven to pick the Shang founder, Tang 湯, as the new “master of the people” (min zhu 民主).43 Similarly, the cruelty of the last Shang ruler, Zhouxin, caused Heaven, pitying “the people of the four corners” (si fang min 四方民), to again replace its “primary son” (yuan zi 元子).44 “Protecting the people” (bao min 保民) is identified as the major task of the Zhou government, if the new leaders want to escape the miserable fate of the Xia and the Shang.45 All these topics are duly present in “Wu yi,” and as such the text belongs to the core ideology of the Duke of Zhou segment of the Shangshu. Yet there is one subtle and yet substantial difference. Namely, in “Wu yi” we find only the lower strata and the ruler. Elites, officials, regional leaders, and the like are not present, at least not explicitly (they are alleged to be among the ruler’s admonishers, but they are never clearly identified). In contrast, each of the other texts in the Zhou section of the Shangshu places the elites on a par with the commoners as significant political actors. In some texts the importance of the elites is merely hinted at by stating that the declaration was issued in the presence of or addressed to the “[leaders of] many states” (duo bang 多邦) and “managers of affairs” (yushi 御事) (“Da gao”), “many officers” (duo shi 多士) (“Duo shi”), holders of the hou 侯, dian 甸, and nan 男 domains, in addition to the guardians (cai wei 采衛) (“Kang gao”), and the like. Other chapters (“Da gao,” “Jun Shi”) explicitly identify the ministers of King Wen as shareholders in the receipt of the Mandate.46 Yet other chapters (“Zi cai”) emphasize that preserving amicable relations with officials is essential for the ruler’s success. All these features are conspicuously absent from “Wu yi.” We can now summarize the position of “Wu yi” in relation to the early Zhou documents. On the one hand, the chapter shares many of these texts’ ideas, terms, and emphases: its warning against the ruler’s laxity and the imperative to heed the people and to care for their needs are all among the pillars of Zhou ideology. On the other hand, the chapter’s exceptionality is observable on three levels. First, its insistence that the ruler would benefit from personally experiencing the subjects’ hardships is unparalleled. Second, the apparent omission of the elites from the focus of the ruler’s concern distinguishes “Wu yi” from the rest of the Zhou documents. And third, as mentioned in the 42 43 44 45 46

“Kang gao,” as cited from Pi Xirui 1998: 312. “Duo fang,” as cited from Pi Xirui 1998: 395. “Shao gao,” as cited from Pi Xirui 1998: 338–342. See, e.g., “Kang gao,” “Mu cai.” For the analysis of the “Jun Shi” chapter, see Shaughnessy 1997: 109–113.

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previous section, its perception of Heaven’s Mandate as manifested in the length of a ruler’s tenure is also highly exceptional. How should we understand these peculiarities? Are they incidental, or do they reflect differences in the text’s authorship, dating, or audience in comparison to other Zhou documents? I shall return to this question in the final section of this essay; but first let us compare “Wu yi” with Warring States period texts, which explore common topics of the ruler’s functioning.47 A Subversive Classic? “Wu yi” and Warring States Period Thought The impact of Western Zhou documents (or allegedly Western Zhou documents) during the Eastern Zhou period (770–256) differs considerably from one text to another, reflecting either differences in individual documents’ circulation or in their ideological appeal to Eastern Zhou thought or both. “Wu yi” clearly does not belong to the ranks of influential documents. Not only is it cited infrequently and very selectively (see below), but more significantly, its fundamental messages do not appear to have been endorsed or shared by any other Eastern Zhou texts. Let us start on the level of political vocabulary. As we have seen, in “Wu yi” (and in the Zhou documents in general) the term yi (either 逸 or 佚) is used overwhelmingly in its negative senses; yet in later texts this is not the case. While the association of yi with licentiousness, loose morality, and self-indulgence remains visible, this usage—in the context of discussing the behavior of either a ruler or a shi 士 —is rare. More significantly, the use of yi to indicate idleness, the hallmark of the “Wu yi” approach, becomes even rarer.48 Most 47

48

My discussion jumps from the Western Zhou to the Warring States period primarily because there are not enough relevant and reliably datable sources for the intermediate Spring and Autumn period (Chunqiu 春秋, 770–453). In the Zuo zhuan 左傳, which I consider as reflective of the Chunqiu intellectual atmosphere (Pines 2002), the issue of Heaven’s Mandate remains marginal. Many (albeit not all) of the Zuo zhuan speeches aver that Heaven plays an important role in the success or failure of political actors, but this is never discussed in the context of the monarch’s right to rule his domain (see Pines 2002: 57–70 for further details). Heaven’s Mandate is treated in several chapters of the Yi Zhoushu 逸周書, but the dating of each of the relevant chapters remains controversial; I therefore do not discuss them in this study (for a recent study of the Yi Zhoushu dating, see Zhang Huaitong 2013). An interesting invective against idleness is recorded in an anecdote about the sagacious mother of a Lu 魯 noble, Gongfu Wenbo 公父文伯 (Guoyu 國語, “Luyu, xia” 魯語下, 5.13:193–198). The mother explains how her own domestic spinning fits the overall pattern

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commonly, yi is associated with legitimate relaxation and rest rather than with idleness per se; the latter is indicated by the term duo 惰, which is not attested in the Duke of Zhou section of the Shangshu. The difference between the two terms is clear: for instance, Xunzi 荀子 (ca. 310–ca. 230) comments that the superior man is “relaxed but not idle” 佚而不惰.49 The divergence between “Wu yi” and the Warring States period texts becomes explicit when the ruler’s functioning is concerned. Whenever the term yi appears in the context of ruler-related discussions, its connotation, in marked distinction from “Wu yi,” is overwhelmingly positive. Relaxation is considered a legitimate quest of any human being; and it is doubly legitimate for the ruler. Although the concept of the ruler’s relaxation is not prominent prior to the fourth century BCE, afterward it becomes extraordinarily widespread, permeating the majority of political texts of the late Warring States period. For instance, Xunzi explains his vision of the Son of Heaven: The Son of Heaven is the one whose power is the heaviest, and whose body is the most relaxed; his heart is the most pleased, and his will has nothing to complain about; his body does not work, as he is the most respected.50

天子者，埶至重而形至佚，心至愉而志無所詘，而形不為勞，尊無上 矣。

This depiction of the Son of Heaven differs markedly from the concept of the toiling monarch in “Wu yi.” Much of Xunzi’s political advice is aimed at attaining this perfect state of affairs so that the ruler’s “body will be relaxed and the state well ordered, his merits great and name illustrious; at best it will be pos-

49 50

of everyone’s involvement in appropriate labor so as to avoid indulgence and moral laxity. This passage contains certain parallels to “Wu yi” (see a somewhat perfunctory discussion in Shen Libin and Zhao Junfang 2000), but the differences in emphasis between the two texts are pronounced. Most notably, in the Guoyu version, the nature of everyone’s labor should differ according to his or her social station: only the lower men should labor using their “force” (li 力), while the rulers and the nobles should work with their “hearts” (xin 心); their labor is to perform rituals and control administration. Only the elite’s womenfolk should perform manual labor, that of weaving and spinning (for the parallel idea of “separation of labor” based on class, see Mengzi, “Teng Wen gong, shang” 滕文公上, 5.4.124, 5.3.118–119; Xunzi, “Fu guo” 富國, 6.10.182). Most interestingly, the lengthy Guoyu text, which refers to the “instructions of the former kings” (xian wang zhi xun 先王之訓), never cites “Wu yi.” Xunzi, “Fei shi er zi” 非十二子, 3.6.105. Xunzi, “Zheng lun” 正論, 12.18.333; cf. “Junzi” 君子, 17.24.450.

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sible to become the True Monarch, and at worst a hegemon” (則身佚而國 治，功大而名美，上可以王，下可以霸).51 The same idea is echoed in many other texts. Thus, the authors of the Guanzi 管子 promise the ruler who relies on law, techniques (shu 數), public-spiritedness (gong 公), and the Great Way that “his body will be relaxed and All-under-Heaven will be well ordered” (身佚 而天下治).52 Another of the Guanzi chapters warns against yi 佚 as licentiousness but also promises the ruler who knows how to utilize others’ knowledge and power that he will attain the blessed state of yi 逸 as relaxation.53 Shen Dao 慎到 (fl. ca. 300 BCE) advocates the system in which the ruler should be “relaxed and joyful, while the ministers are assigned laborious tasks” (君逸樂 而臣任勞).54 Similar promises of a relaxed life under proper implementation of laws and techniques occur in the Han Feizi 韩非子.55 And, finally, the Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋, the major synthesis of pre-imperial intellectual trends, also contains several statements on the desirability of the ruler’s quietude and relaxation.56 One should not overemphasize the contrast between “Wu yi,” which focuses on the ruler’s training, and the Warring States period texts that advocate the idea of relaxation as the ruler’s reward for implementing the authors’ recommendations. Yet the obvious difference in the emotive meaning of the term yi in both cases is significant. It may perhaps explain the paucity of references to “Wu yi” in pre-imperial works. According to Liu Qiyu’s survey, “Wu yi” is cited only four times in pre-imperial works;57 of these, three citations refer to the anecdote about Gaozong, who supposedly did not speak for three years, while the fourth hails the industriousness of King Wen without mentioning his humble background. Chan Hung Kan 陳雄根 and Ho Che Wah 何志華 define “citations” more liberally and thus add several more instances of supposed quotations from “Wu yi,” but even those do not change the picture 51 52 53 54 55 56

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Xunzi, “Wang ba” 王霸, 7.11.222; “Jun Dao” 君道, 8.12.230, 246. Guanzi, “Ren fa” 任法, 15.45.900. Guanzi, “Xing shi jie” 形勢解, 12.64.1187. Shenzi, “Min za” 民雜, 32. Han Feizi, “Wai chu shuo you xia” 外儲說右下, 14.35.343; cf. “Zhu Dao” 主道, 1.5.26–28. “Hence, those of the ancients who excelled in rulership exerted themselves in selecting people and were at ease in dealing with affairs” (故古之善為君者，勞於論人，而佚 於官事; Lüshi chunqiu, “Dang ran” 當染, 2.4.96; cf. “Shi jie” 士節, 12.2.623; “Cha xian” 察 賢, 21.2.1441). In his comment on this essay, Robert Eno reminded me that with the exceptions of “Kang gao,” “Lü xing,” “Hong fan” 洪範, and “Tang shi” 湯誓, most of the modern-script Shangshu chapters are hardly cited at all in Warring States period texts. From this perspective, the paucity of references to “Wu yi” is not exceptional.

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substantially.58 I have found one additional citation, which may be indicative of the Warring States period authors’ unease regarding the message of “Wu yi.” Yanzi chunqiu 晏子春秋 records Yan Ying’s 晏嬰 (d. ca. 500) remonstration against Lord Jing’s 齊景公 (r. 547–490) obsession with hunting, which damaged the peasants’ livelihood. The lord replied to the remonstrance: I heard: When the chancellor is worthy, the state is well ordered; when the minister is loyal, the sovereign is at ease. My years are numbered, and I want to engage in what makes me joyful and to finish my life doing what pleases me; please be at rest, master!

吾聞相賢者國治，臣忠則主逸。吾年無幾矣，欲遂吾所樂，卒吾所 好，子其息矣！

Yanzi said: “In the past, King Wen did not have the temerity to entertain himself with amusements or hunting;59 therefore, the state prospered and the people were at peace. King Ling of Chu did not suspend the Ganxi campaign and erected the Zhanghua Terrace, and the people rose up against him.60 Now if you, my lord, do not change, you will endanger the altars of soil and grain and will become the laughingstock of the regional lords. I have heard that the loyal does not shun death and the remonstrator does not fear recrimination. If you, my lord, do not listen to me, I will leave.”61 58

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The anecdote about Gaozong appears in the Lunyu 論語 (“Xian wen”), the “Fang ji” 坊記 chapter of the Liji 禮記, and the “Zhong yan” 重言 chapter of the Lüshi chunqiu. A reference to King Wen, who “from morning to dusk had no leisure time to eat at ease, harmonizing the myriad people,” appears in the “Chu yu” 楚語 section of the Guoyu 國語; see more in Liu Qiyu 1996: 20. Chan Hung Kan and Ho Che Wah (2003: 240–241) add many supposed citations of the phrase 不敢侮鰥寡, which depicts Zujia (sec. 2), but I believe that all these citations refer to the same phrase from a much more prominent text, “Kang gao,” which attributes this moral policy to King Wen. Chan Hong Kan and Ho Che Wah (2003: 239) also identify references to the Gaozong anecdote in the “Tan gong, xia” 檀弓 下 and “Sangfu si zhi” 喪服四制 chapters of the Liji, unnoticed by Liu Qiyu. Citing “Wu yi,” sec. 4. The Ganxi hunting cum military expedition was undertaken by King Ling of Chu (r. 540– 529) at the apex of his power and shortly before his downfall; the campaign and the erection of the Zhanghua Terrace are manifestations of the king’s insatiability and hubris. See the discussions in Schaberg 2001: 194–203; Wai-yee Li 2007: 307–316. Yanzi chunqiu 2.8.73. I partly borrow from the forthcoming translation of the text by Yoav Ariel (cf. the translation by Olivia Milburn [2015: 212–213]). For an argument in favor of reading Yanzi chunqiu as a pre-imperial text, see Cook 2015.

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Pines 晏子曰：「昔文王不敢盤于遊田，故國昌而民安；楚靈王不廢乾溪之 役，起章華之臺，而民叛之。今君不革，將危社稷，而為諸侯笑。臣 聞忠不避死，諫不違罪。君不聽臣，臣將逝矣。」

This exchange is remarkable. Lord Jing—in an unmistakable emulation of late Warring States period discourse—argues that he has the right to enjoy his life of ease since he has a worthy minister in his service. Yan Ying counters this argument by pointing out the dangers of excessive laxity. In his response, Yan Ying invokes a line from “Wu yi,” which suggests that the anecdote’s authors were aware of the text.62 Yet if this is the case, then why did the authors not invoke “Wu yi” to criticize the principle of the ruler’s “being at ease” but instead only warned against his excessive obsession with hunting? The anecdote’s authors notably do not refer to the “Wu yi” chapter’s fundamental opposition to the ruler’s idleness, although it would have been easy to counter Lord Jing’s appeal to his right to be yi by resorting to the canonical text that explicitly rejects that right. That such an expected counterargument was not made may suggest that it was not considered a good argument in the first place. That Warring States period (and later) texts eschew the “Wu yi” attack on idle rulers is not incidental. The chapter’s praise of hardworking sovereigns was at odds with the mainstream thought of that age. As I have argued elsewhere, texts from the second half of the Warring States period onward consistently try to “deactivate” the sovereign and to convince him to refrain from everyday policy-making, relegating his tasks to meritorious aides. The dominant vision of pre-imperial (as well as imperial) thinkers was that of a “non-acting” (wu wei 無爲) ruler, one who enjoys the utmost ritual superiority over his subjects but who limits his intervention into political life.63 For thinkers who worked hard to convince the monarchs to refrain from excessive activism, the pivotal message of “Wu yi” might have been somewhat unwelcome. If the insistence on an active sovereign in “Wu yi” was problematic for Warring States period thinkers, then its recommendation that the ruler should have some experience of manual labor was perhaps outright subversive. To be sure, the idea of a toiling monarch was not alien to Warring States period 62

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It is of course possible that the line is cited not from “Wu yi” but from a common third source. Nonetheless, since the eight characters 文王不敢盤于遊田 are identical to those in “Wu yi” (the longest segment from “Wu yi” to appear in any pre-imperial text), I believe that we have a case of direct citation here. See details in Pines 2009: 82ff., esp. 106–107. For the imperial period attitudes, see Pines 2012: 63–69.

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thought: such paragons as the rulers Shun 舜 and Yu 禹 in antiquity were renowned as having performed harsh labor prior to their ascendancy. Shun “cultivated land at Mount Li, made pottery on the [Yellow] River’s banks, went fishing in the Lei marshes” (舜耕歷山，陶河瀕，漁雷澤);64 Yu “personally held the sack and the spade, uniting all the streams under Heaven; no hair was left on his calves and legs” (禹親自操橐耜，而九雜天下之川；腓無胈，脛無 毛).65 Yet these exemplar sovereigns were not ordinary rulers: they did not inherit the throne but received it thanks to their predecessors’ abdication. Their personal experience was highly exceptional and did not fit the system of hereditary rule.66 More fundamentally, the very idea that a ruler should gain labor experience prior to his ascendancy was dangerously close to advocacy of nonhereditary modes of power transfer, which, as I have argued elsewhere, failed to gain legitimacy in the mainstream thought of the Warring States period.67 There were other advocates of the value of work experience for the ruler, such as the so-called “propagators of Shennong” 為神農之言者 (later dubbed Agriculturalists 農家),68 but their ideas, like those of the opponents of hereditary power transfer, remained a “political heresy,” to use Angus C. Graham’s terminology.69 Insofar as mainstream political thought is concerned, the idea of a ruler engaging in manual labor could be proposed only as a highly ritualized act, such as, for example, symbolic plowing at the year’s start, but not as a firsthand experience among the “lower men.”70 Looking from this angle, we can understand how controversial “Wu yi” might have appeared to a Warring States period reader. The insistence of the Duke of Zhou on the advantages of an upbringing outside the palace for a future ruler challenged the system of hereditary monarchy. Not incidentally, three of the four paragons mentioned in “Wu yi”—Gaozong, Zujia, and King Wen—did not start their careers as appropriate heirs to the throne, and it was their peculiar experience that became their major asset when they finally assumed power. The logic of these examples comes dangerously close to questioning the system of hereditary power transfer. It is possible that my reading of “Wu yi” as a subversive text is far-fetched; but let us look at how much, if at all, it influenced those texts that shared its 64 65 66 67 68 69 70

Mozi, “Shang xian, zhong” 尚賢中: 2.9.77. Zhuangzi, “Tianxia” 天下, 33.863, referring to the Mohists’ presentation of Yu. On the topos of abdication and related legends, see Allan 1981, 2015; cf. Pines 2005b. Pines 2005b, 2009: 54–81. For their views, see Mengzi, “Teng Wen Gong, shang” 騰文公上: 5.4.123. See Graham 1989: 292–299. For the recommendation that the Son of Heaven engages in ritual plowing, see, e.g., Guoyu, “Zhouyu” 周語, 1.6.14–22; Lüshi chunqiu, “Mengchun ji” 孟春紀, 1.1.2.

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major concern: the proper education of an heir apparent. Strikingly, none of the known pre-imperial texts that address this topic refer to “Wu yi” at all. For instance, the paradigmatic text in this lore, the “Wen Wang shizi” 文王世子 chapter of the Records of Ritual (Liji 禮記), discusses extensively how to train an appropriate heir. The training should be focused on texts and rituals and conducted in a neat home framework, under the guidance of a Grand Preceptor 太傅 and a Junior Preceptor 少傅; the idea that an heir would intermingle with peasants and other lowly folk is inconceivable. “Wen Wang shizi” repeatedly invokes the Duke of Zhou’s instructions to King Cheng; yet these are never related to “Wu yi” but rather to an otherwise unknown text Methods of Training Heirs (Shizi fa 世子法).71 It is possible, of course, that “Wu yi” was unknown to the authors of “Wen Wang shizi”; but it is equally possible that it was deliberately ignored because of its political sensitivity and its equivocal stance toward hereditary monarchy.72 Yet another point made by “Wu yi” to which pre-imperial thinkers paid little if any attention was its peculiar concept of Heaven’s Mandate as manifested in the ruler’s longevity. We should remember that the concept of Heaven’s Mandate, which was so prominent in the Western Zhou and later in imperial political culture, was of relatively negligible importance in the intermediate Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods. Except for Mozi 墨子 (ca. 460–390) and Mengzi 孟子 (ca. 380–304), no major thinker of that age stressed Heaven as the primary determinant of the right to rule.73 Yet even for a staunch believer in Heaven’s Mandate, the “Wu yi” version of its manifestation probably sounded very odd. After all, even minimal historical knowledge sufficed to show that not every morally upright ruler was blessed with longevity, and that not all the mediocrities on the throne suffered a rapid demise. The only passage in a Warring States period text that may echo the “Wu yi” conceptualization of Heaven’s Mandate is Mengzi’s insistence that the length of Shun’s tenure as Yao’s 堯 chancellor (twenty-eight years) demonstrated Heaven’s 71 72

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Liji 12.8.553. Aside from “Wen Wang shizi,” another major discussion on the upbringing of the heir apparent appears in the “Chu yu 楚語 1” section of the Guoyu (15.1.483–487). This text speaks much of textual, moral, and ritual education but eschews any discussion of practical experience for an heir apparent even in the field of government, much less menial occupations. The marginality of Heaven’s Mandate in the Warring States period has been pointed out by Loewe (1994: 85–111), albeit Loewe did not notice Mozi’s insistence on Heaven as the primary kingmaker. Interestingly, the First Emperor of Qin (r. as emperor 221–210 BCE) conspicuously omitted references to Heaven from his imperial propaganda (for which see Kern 2000; cf. Pines 2014a).

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explicit endorsement of Shun.74 Aside from this single instance, the views on the Mandate expressed in “Wu yi” remained without observable parallel.75 Once again, contrary to our expectations of a canonical scripture, “Wu yi” appears not as representative of the mainstream ideological orientation of the Eastern Zhou period but rather as a marginal—and in some respects even subversive—text. The Dating: The Text and the Context I now turn to the question of the dating of “Wu yi.” Normally, this question should have been addressed at the start of the discussion; but in the case of “Wu yi” a researcher faces a problem. The document itself does not provide sufficient clues for its dating; it neither contains obvious anachronisms that would allow us to securely date it to the Warring States period, nor does it contain specific data from the early Western Zhou that would strengthen its connection to the historical Duke of Zhou. Most scholars routinely treat it as an early Western Zhou text; yet there is also a minority opinion, exemplified by Liu Qiyu, which postulates a later date for the chapter. Liu raised six historical and linguistic points that, in his eyes, are indicative of the Eastern Zhou traits in the text. According to his—somewhat odd—view, the text was initially prepared by the Duke of Zhou but was subsequently rewritten well into the Eastern Zhou period.76 Not all of Liu’s points are equally convincing. For 74

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Mengzi, “Wan Zhang, shang” 萬章上: 9.5.219. Another possible parallel with the “Wu yi” approach to explaining the lengths of rulers’ reigns occurs in “Yao dian” (discussed by Kern, chapter 1 in this volume); there Yao is said to have ruled for seventy years before abdicating in favor of Shun (Pi Xirui 1998: 34). It is possible that this lengthy tenure was fabricated by the “Yao dian” authors as proof of Heaven’s support for Yao; but it is more likely that they had a subtler goal of suggesting that only after a comparably long tenure does abdication become an acceptable method of power transfer (Pines 2005b: 274–275). Indirect support for the “Wu yi” view of longevity as the manifestation of one’s virtue may be found in a saying that the Doctrine of the Mean (Zhongyong 中庸) attributes to Confucius: “Hence, the [possessor of] great virtue should surely attain his position, surely attain his emoluments, surely attain his name, and surely attain his longevity” (故大德必得其 位，必得其祿，必得其名，必得其壽; Zhongyong 17, in Sishu, 25). It is curious how this “just deserts” doctrine coexisted with the accumulated historical experience that could easily demonstrate its fallacy. Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: 1547–1549. Liu Qiyu’s supposition of a lengthy textual history for “Wu yi” is odd: “Wu yi” is a perfectly integrated document (see Hunter, chapter 11 in this volume), and it is likely that it was produced as an organic whole rather than undergoing a lengthy process of accretion, as implied by Liu.

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instance, his insistence that under the Western Zhou system of “agricultural slaves” 農奴 it would be impossible for a son of a hard-toiling peasant to enjoy a relaxed life, as is suggested in section 1 of “Wu yi,” is highly speculative: the validity of his quasi-Marxist paradigm of a “slave society” for the Western Zhou case is highly disputable since we know next to nothing about the lives of Western Zhou peasants. Some of Liu’s other points deserve more attention: for instance, his insistence that the occurrence of the possessive zhi 之 after the first-person pronoun zhen 朕 can be considered a sign of the chapter’s lateness should not be ignored.77 Most importantly, Liu is undoubtedly correct in arguing that the presentation of Shang history in “Wu yi” is at odds both with historical facts and with the narration in other Shangshu chapters related to the Western Zhou. This observation can serve as a starting point for the dating discussion. The list of the Shang “good” and “bad” kings in the “Wu yi” is doubly puzzling. First, as mentioned above, it markedly deviates from historical reality: any person living in the Duke of Zhou’s time would not have failed to see the fallacy of attributing extremely short reigns to Shang’s last rulers. Second, as noticed by Liu Qiyu, this list, which omits Thearch Yi 帝乙 from the sequence of good kings and instead includes Zujia 祖甲, who is not mentioned positively in any other Zhou document,78 differs markedly from excurses into Shang history in such documents as “Jiu gao,” “Duo shi,” and “Duo fang.” It is highly unlikely then that the “Wu yi” list was originally part of the same corpus as these documents. More plausibly, the text was composed centuries after the end of the Shang, when memories of its erstwhile rulers became vague enough to allow manipulation of the length of their tenures. This observation allows me to tentatively conclude that the chapter was not composed before the end of the Western Zhou period. But can we be more precise about its dating? To do so, let us focus on the overall picture of the Zhou polity as seen from the text. In my eyes, neither the 77

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Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: 1547–1549. I have not spotted the compound 朕之 in preimperial texts; but its single occurrence in “Wu yi” does not suffice, in my eyes, to date the chapter to Han times. Zujia’s singularly positive presence in “Wu yi” bewildered commentators. Many considered him identical to the second Shang king, Taijia, but were puzzled by the apparent breach of chronological sequence in presenting him after Zhongzong and Gaozong (see also n. 15 above). A more interesting—even if highly speculative—solution was offered by Zheng Xuan. Zheng argued that Zujia was offered the throne instead of his elder brother but considered this inappropriate and hence escaped and lived among the commoners, inheriting the throne only after his father’s and brother’s deaths. See Shangshu zhengyi 16.221–222.

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model of an heir who resides and works with peasants nor the idea of a ruler who is close to his subjects and who may be admonished by the entire population of his domain fits the monarch of a large territorial state akin to those of the Warring States period.79 Also, the conspicuous absence of territorial lords or of other officials from “Wu yi” presupposes a setting that is clearly distinct from the powerful early Western Zhou polity. The text may ostensibly fit the predynastic Zhou: a primeval polity at the beginning of its evolution from the level of an extended lineage to that of a nascent state. In such a lineage-based polity, the connections between the ruler and the ruled are incomparably closer than in a territorial state; admonitions by lower strata are politically relevant; an heir can be expected to perform menial work; and the political impact of the commoners is a reality rather than an ideological abstraction. In this tiny state, the “lower men” (xiao ren 小人) or the “lowly people” (xiao min 小民) of whom the text speaks may well be identical to the Zhou clansmen, a usage that I have identified in some other early Zhou texts.80 And yet, it is clear that the text was not produced in predynastic Zhou, and even the supposition that it preserves the memories of the predynastic past is not easily reconcilable with its anachronistic presentation of Shang history. Is there any other period in Zhou history when the pattern of a tiny polity depicted in “Wu yi” could be valid? Here allow me to speculate. I think that the situation of a tiny polity became valid for the Zhou again in the immediate aftermath of the disastrous collapse of the Western Zhou state in 771 BCE. Having lost most of its lands, its supporters, and its prestige, Zhou was reduced again to a kind of lineage-state. It is important to remember the very small size of the political units of the early Spring and Autumn period (Chunqiu 春秋, 770–453) (and, by inference, of the Western Zhou period as well). Zuo zhuan 左傳, for example, mentions that after the disastrous defeat by the Di 狄 tribesmen in 660, only 730 “men and women” of the state of Wei 衛 remained alive.81 However terrible the massacre by the Di was, the original population of the Wei capital could not have numbered more than a few thousand people, at the time a situation per79

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Of course, tiny polities, of which the most notable was the Zhou royal domain itself, continued to exist throughout the Warring States period; but in terms of political thought these polities were negligible, and it is highly unlikely that they would have served as a source of inspiration for the “Wu yi” authors. Pines 2009: 189–191. Note that in “Wu yi” the terms “lower men” and “lowly people” are interchangeable: for example, section 5 warns that the “lowly people” will curse the ruler, while in section 6 the cursers are the “lower men.” Zuo zhuan, Min 2.266.

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haps typical of much of the Zhou world.82 Whether or not this tiny size justifies the application of a “city-state” model to these polities is beyond the scope of the present discussion.83 If we set aside the problem of which label—“citystate” or “lineage-state”—is more appropriate, the fundamental issue is that the majority of contemporaneous polities were small enough to make some of the observations in “Wu yi” and many of its recommendations surprisingly valid. The question to be asked is whether these recommendations could reasonably apply to the Zhou domain, which, even if tiny, was not a regular regional political unit but the seat of the “Son of Heaven.” Normally, the answer would be negative. And yet when we go back to the immediate aftermath of the 771 debacle, it seems that Zhou was reduced then, even if for a short while, to a minor regional polity. The dramatic events that led to the collapse of the Western Zhou and their impact on early Eastern Zhou political life have been recently analyzed by Li Feng and will not be addressed here anew.84 Yet a remarkable piece of new evidence may explicate the depth of the Zhou crisis. The second section of the recently published bamboo manuscript “Xinian” 繫年 from the Qinghua (Tsinghua 清華) University collection85 tells of the events after 771: … King You and Bopan86 both were killed, and Zhou was annihilated. The rulers of the states and various officials thereupon established the younger brother of King You, Yuchen, at Guo: this was King Hui of Xie.87 21 years after his establishment [749], Lord Wen of Jin, named Chou, killed King Hui at Guo. For nine years [749–741] Zhou was without a king, and the rulers of the states and regional lords then for the first time ceased attending the Zhou court. Thereupon, Lord Wen of Jin greeted 82

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Tian Changwu and Zang Zhifei estimate that in the early Spring and Autumn period, even large capital cities comprised no more than three thousand families (Tian Changwu and Zang Zhifei 1996: 178, and general discussion on 167–183). For the most recent attempt to apply this model to the Spring and Autumn period states, see Lewis 2006: 136–150. For criticism of this model, see Pines 2005a: 174–181; Li Feng 2008: 284–287. Li Feng 2006. For an introduction to the “Xinian” manuscript, see Pines 2014b. Bopan is named Bofu 伯服 in other sources; he was the designated heir apparent selected by King You (r. 781–771) to replace the former heir, the future King Ping. According to the Zhushu jinian 竹書紀年 (Bamboo Annals), Xie was a location from which Yuchen reigned. Hui was his posthumous name. See citation in Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhengyi 52.2114.

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King Ping at Shao’e and established him at the royal capital. After three years [738] he relocated eastward, stopping at Chengzhou.88 …… 幽王及伯盤乃滅，周乃亡。邦君諸正乃立幽王之弟余臣于虢，是 攜惠王。立廿又一年，晉文侯仇乃殺惠王于虢。周亡（無）王九年， 邦君諸侯焉始不朝于周，晉文侯乃逆平王于少鄂， 立之于京師。三 年，乃東徙，止于成周。

This extraordinarily interesting narrative introduces several possible alternatives to the previously understood picture of the early years of the Eastern Zhou. Some of its new details are fascinating, especially the fact that “for nine years Zhou was without a king, and the rulers of the states and regional lords then for the first time ceased attending the Zhou court.” The detailed meaning of this phrase and the very bold supposition that Zhou lacked a legitimate king for the whole nine years are contested, but limitations of space prevent me from discussing this topic here.89 Yet at the very least we may conclude that during a few decades between the annihilation of the Western Zhou and the reestablishment of the dynasty at Chengzhou, the power of Zhou reached its nadir, and in terms of its size, prestige, and, possibly, functioning mode, the Zhou did not differ much from a predynastic lineage-state. If my guess is correct, then it may provide a clue for the dating of “Wu yi” and explain some of the text’s peculiarities. In the aftermath of awful turmoil, when the dynasty lost its power, when its basic norms were undermined and its ideological foundations were questioned, conditions were ripe for the appearance of a nonorthodox text. It is tempting to view some of the features of “Wu yi” as directly related to that turmoil. It is possible, for instance, that succession struggles that crippled the Zhou house caused the authors to develop a certain skepticism toward the hereditary transfer of power. It is also possible that the personal experience of King Ping (d. 720 BCE), who underwent a prolonged period of hardship before ascending the throne and who later contributed toward the partial restoration of the dynasty’s fortunes and 88 89

Qinghua Daxue cang Zhanguo zhujian 2011: 138. The sequence of events depicted in “Xinian” 2 may fit well the chronology of the Zhou final relocation to the east (i.e., to Chengzhou). A heretofore-not-understood prediction in the Zuo zhuan from year 638 says that the Rong tribes would settle in the area of the Yi River 伊川 precisely one hundred years after King Ping’s relocation eastward; this prediction makes sense only if we accept the relocation as having occurred in 738, which is precisely what the “Xinian” says. On the other hand, the “Xinian” 2 chronology runs contrary to the Shiji chronology of regional lords, such as Marquis Wen of Jin 晉文侯 (r. ca. 780–746). For some of the debates over the precise meaning of the “Xinian” 2 account, see, e.g., Wang Hongliang 2012; Deng Shaoping 2012; Xu Shaohua 2016; Li Ling 2016.

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achieved remarkable longevity, was a source of inspiration for the authors of “Wu yi.”90 And insofar as post-771 Zhou was just a tiny polity, we may understand why reliance on the “lowly people” could have been more significant than focusing on officials and on regional lords, who “ceased attending the Zhou court.” Needless to say, none of these conjectures can be proven. Yet at the very least I hope I have provided a plausible scenario that explains some of the peculiar features of “Wu yi.” Epilogue Having noticed the potentially subversive message of “Wu yi,” I could not but wonder how much—if at all—my understanding of the text may have been shared by the imperial literati. Although reviewing all the references to “Wu yi” through the twenty-one centuries of imperial rule would be an unmanageable task, I decided to make a sample study. I focused on a single passage, the message of which is clearly at odds with the mainstream political culture of the Warring States period and of the subsequent imperial age, namely, the phrase that depicts Zujia—“it was not appropriate that he become king; hence, he spent a long time among the lower men” (不義惟王舊為小人)—and checked its quotations in the electronic Siku quanshu 四庫全書 database. The results are revealing. The phrase is cited almost one hundred times, but never in an admonition to the emperor. Whenever the exegetes discuss it, they invariably focus on the identity of the king under discussion (Zujia or Taijia) and never analyze how a future ruler’s stay among the lower men might benefit his rule. The only (partial) exception is a discussion by the Ming scholar Zhan Ruoshui 湛若水 (1466–1560). Zhan starts by suggesting—similar to Hunter in this volume—that the Duke of Zhou insists on the ruler’s need to understand rather than to personally experience the peasants’ hardship. Yet then he continues: Later rulers, who were born deep in the palace and grew up well fed, knew nothing of the hardships of poor neighborhoods. Is it surprising 90

The traditional narrative speaks of King Ping as a king from the moment of his father’s demise in 771; according to the Bamboo Annals, he reigned for years parallel to another incumbent, the rival king at Xie. According to the chronology in “Xinian,” however, he assumed real power only in 740 and reigned for two decades thereafter. By the end of his reign, insofar as we can judge from the Zuo zhuan, the royal house had regained some of its prestige, even if not its military prowess. King Ping’s longevity can be inferred by the fact that he was the heir apparent already in the 770s; by the time of his death in 720, he must have been at least sixty-five to seventy years old.

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then that they were benighted and oppressive and pitilessly cast away the people’s wealth? It reached the point of the country’s root being pulled out, so that crisis and collapse followed. Can one but be fearful of that? 後世人主，生於深宫，長於豢養，不知閭閻之疾苦：無怪其為昏、為 虐、輕棄民財而不知恤也。及邦本既㧞而危亡隨之：可不懼乎!91

Zhan Ruoshui is as unequivocal as an imperial man of letters could allow himself to be: under the dynastic principle of political succession, the rulers are raised “deep in the palace” and “well fed,” and this causes them to have no understanding of the people’s hardships. The results, predictably, are wanton, oppressive, and wasteful behavior and the coming collapse. While Zhan does not directly advocate an extrapalace upbringing for the future emperors, this message can clearly be inferred from his analysis. One can only wonder whether or not he had in mind the erratic behavior of the by-his-time recently deceased emperor Ming Wuzong 明武宗 (r. 1505–1521), whose lack of understanding of the realities of extrapalace life may have contributed to his excesses.92 Yet Zhan Ruoshui’s audacity remained exceptional. Reading “Wu yi”—supposedly, the production of the Duke of Zhou himself—as critical of the hereditary form of rule would demand extraordinary intellectual and political courage. It would mean not only defying generations of early commentaries but, more dangerously, approaching the red line of questioning the appropriateness of the dynastic principle of power transfer. Understandably, a commentator—or an imperial tutor—would instead prefer to focus on less controversial ideas in “Wu yi,” such as the recommendation to the ruler to heed remonstrance, to be attentive to the multitudes, and to eschew self-indulgent behavior. This was indeed the dominant, almost exclusive reading of this chapter throughout the millennia. Somewhat ironically, then, generations of emperors who were taught “Wu yi” might have remained forever ignorant of what I see as the major message of this text: a ruler should experience the life of the “lower men” so as to understand his subjects’ hardships and treat them fairly. If some of the imperial tutors or other literati discerned this message in the text, they might have found it too sensitive to point out. The conventional reading of the text as an invective against “luxurious ease” was backed by millennia of commentaries and citations and eventually became so powerful that even modern scholars 91 92

Zhan Ruoshui 1528, 97.1. For Wuzong’s reign, see Geiss 1988. Recall that Zhan Ruoshui composed his Gewulun 格物論, from which the above passage is cited, shortly after Wuzong’s demise.

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remain under its sway. I have not found a single researcher who does not read the text from a “Confucian” or “traditional” perspective and who has tackled its ideological exceptionality. More research on the reception of “Wu yi” in the imperial period is needed. But even this short essay suffices to show that a fresh look at the millennia-old documents may bring about new understandings. Beneath the repetitiveness and seeming dullness of much of the Shangshu, we may discover gems of alternative political ideas, which were glossed over by generations of readers but which may become highly rewarding for our research into Zhou political thought. References Allan, Sarah. 1981. The Heir and the Sage: Dynastic Legend in Early China. San Francisco: Chinese Materials Center. Allan, Sarah. 2015. Buried Ideas: Legends of Abdication and Ideal Government in Recently Discovered Early Chinese Bamboo-Slip Manuscripts. Albany: State University of New York Press. Cao Yang 草秧. 1989. “Yi pian youxiu de gudai huiwen—Shang shu-Zhou shu-Wu yi xiyi” 一篇優秀的古代會文— 《尚書·周書·無逸》析譯. Mishu zhi you 秘書之友 5: 34–36, 26. Chan Hung Kan 陳雄根 and Ho Che Wah 何志華. 2003. Citations from the “Shangshu” to Be Found in Pre-Han and Han Texts [Xian-Qin liang Han dianji yin “Shangshu” ziliao huibian 先秦兩漢典籍引《尚書》資料彙編]. Hong Kong: Chinese University Press. Cheng Yuanmin 程元敏. 2013. Shang shu xueshi 尚書學史. Shanghai: Huadong shifan Daxue chubanshe. Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhengyi 春秋左傳正義. 1991. Annotated by Du Yu 杜預 and Kong Yingda 孔穎達. In Shisan jing zhushu fu jiaokanji 十三經注疏附校勘記, comp. Ruan Yuan 阮元 (1764–1849), vol. 2, 1697–2187. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Cook, Scott. 2015. “The Changing Role of Minister in the Warring States: Evidence from the Yanzi chunqiu 晏子春秋.” In Ideology of Power and Power of Ideology in Early China, ed. Yuri Pines, Paul R. Goldin, and Martin Kern, 181–210. Leiden: Brill. Deng Shaoping 鄧少平. 2012. “Qinghua jian Xinian yu liang Zhou zhiji shishi zongkao” 清華簡《繫年》與两周之际史事綜考. Shenzhen Daxue xuebao (renwen shehuikexue ban) 深圳大学学报 (人文社会科学版) 3: 60–61. Du Yong 杜勇. 1998. “Shang shu” Zhou chu bagao yanjiu 《尚書》周初八誥研究. Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe.

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Geiss, James. 1988. “The Cheng-te Reign, 1506–1521.” In The Cambridge History of China, vol. 7, The Ming Dynasty, 1368–1644, pt. 1, ed. Frederick W. Mote and Denis Twitchet, 403–439. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Graham, Angus C. 1989. Disputers of the Tao: Philosophical Argument in Ancient China. La Salle, IL: Open Court. Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 and Liu Qiyu 劉起釪. 2005. Shangshu jiaoshi yilun 尚書校釋譯論. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Guanzi jiaozhu 管子校注. 2004. Comp. Li Xiangfeng 黎翔鳳. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Guoyu jijie 國語集解. 2002. Comp. Xu Yuangao 徐元誥. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Han Feizi jijie 韩非子集解. 1998. Comp. Wang Xianshen 王先慎 (1859–1922). Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Han Gaonian 韓高年 and Deng Guojun 鄧國均. 2011. “Zhou chu guanli yishi yuege ji yishi songci kaolun—yi Zhou song si shi yu Zhou shu-Wu yi wei zhongxin” 周初冠禮 儀式樂歌及儀式誦辭考論———以《周頌》四詩與《周書·無逸》為中心. Xibei Shida xuebao (shehui kexue ban) 西北師大學報（社會科學版） 48.6: 9–13. Hanshu 漢書. 1997. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Huang Huaixin 黃懷信. 2002. Shangshu zhuxun 尚書注訓. Jinan: Qilu shushe. Karlgren, Bernhard, trans. 1950. The Book of Documents. Stockholm: Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities. Kern, Martin. 2000. The Stele Inscriptions of Ch’in Shih-huang: Text and Ritual in Early Chinese Imperial Representation. New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society. Lewis, Mark E. 2006. The Construction of Space in Early China. Albany: State University of New York Press. Li Feng. 2006. Landscape and Power in Early China: The Crisis and Fall of the Western Zhou, 1045–771 BC. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Li Feng. 2008. Bureaucracy and the State in Early China: Governing the Western Zhou. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Li Guangji 黎廣基. 1999. “Shangshu-Wu yi pian xin zheng” 《尚書·無逸篇》新證. Nanjing shida xuebao (shehui kexue ban) 南京師大學報 (社會科學版) 6: 128–131. Li Ling 李零. 2016. “Du jian biji: Qinghua Chu jian Xinian di yi zhi si zhang” 讀簡筆記： 清華楚簡《繫年》第一至四章. Jilin Daxue shehui kexue xuebao 吉林大學社會科學 學報 56.4: 168–176. Li, Wai-yee. 2007. The Readability of the Past in Early Chinese Historiography. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center. Liji jijie 禮記集解. 1995. Comp. Sun Xidan 孫希旦 (1736–1784). Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Liu Kunsheng 劉坤生. 2000. “Shangshu-Wu yi yu Shijing ruogan wenti kaobian” 《尚書· 無逸》與《詩經》若干問題考辮. Shantou Daxue xuebao (renwen kexue ban) 汕頭 大學學報 (人文科學版) 16.3: 8–15.

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Liu Qiyu 劉起釪. 1996. Shang shu xue shi 尚書學史. Rev. ed. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Liu Zehua, ed. 1996. Zhongguo zhengzhi sixiang shi 中國政治思想史. Hangzhou: Zhejiang renmin chubanshe. Loewe, Michael. 1994. Divination, Mythology and Monarchy in Han China. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Luo Xinhui. 2015. “Omens and Politics: The Zhou Concept of the Mandate of Heaven as Seen in the Chengwu 程寤 Manuscript.” In Ideology of Power and Power of Ideology in Early China, ed. Yuri Pines, Paul R. Goldin, and Martin Kern, 49–68. Leiden: Brill. Lüshi chunqiu jiaoshi 呂氏春秋校釋. 1990. Comp. Chen Qiyou 陳奇猷. Shanghai: Xuelin. Mengzi yizhu 孟子譯注. 1992. Comp. Yang Bojun 楊伯峻. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Milburn, Olivia, trans. 2015. The Spring and Autumn Annals of Master Yan. Leiden: Brill. Mozi jiaozhu 墨子校注. 1994. Comp. Wu Yujiang 吳毓江 (1898–1977). Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Pi Xirui 皮錫瑞. 1998. Jinwen shangshu kaozheng 今文尚書考證. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Pines, Yuri. 2002. Foundations of Confucian Thought: Intellectual Life in the Chunqiu Period, 722–453 B.C.E. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press. Pines, Yuri. 2005a. “Bodies, Lineages, Citizens, and Regions: A Review of Mark Edward Lewis’ The Construction of Space in Early China.” Early China 30 (2005): 155–188. Pines, Yuri. 2005b. “Disputers of Abdication: Zhanguo Egalitarianism and the Sovereign’s Power.” T’oung Pao 91, nos. 4–5: 243–300. Pines, Yuri. 2008. “To Rebel Is Justified? The Image of Zhouxin and Legitimacy of Rebellion in Chinese Political Tradition.” Oriens Extremus 47: 1–24. Pines, Yuri. 2009. Envisioning Eternal Empire: Chinese Political Thought of the Warring States Era. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press. Pines, Yuri. 2012. The Everlasting Empire: Traditional Chinese Political Culture and Its Enduring Legacy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Pines, Yuri. 2014a. “The Messianic Emperor: A New Look at Qin’s Place in China’s History.” In Birth of an Empire: The State of Qin Revisited, ed. Yuri Pines, Lothar von Falkenhausen, Gideon Shelach, and Robin D. S. Yates, 258–279. Berkeley: University of California Press. Pines, Yuri. 2014b. “Zhou History and Historiography: Introducing the Bamboo Manuscript Xinian.” T’oung Pao 100.4–5: 325–359. Qinghua Daxue cang Zhanguo zhujian 清華大學藏戰國竹簡. 2011. Vol. 2. Ed. Li Xueqin 李學勤. Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi. Qu Wanli 屈萬里. 1984. Shang shu jin zhu jin yi 尚書今註今譯. Taipei: Lianjing. Schaberg, David. 2001. A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center.

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Shangshu zhengyi 尚書正義. 1991. In Shisan jing zhushu fu jiaokanji 十三經注疏附校勘 記, vol. 1, 109–258. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Shaughnessy, Edward L. 1997. Before Confucius: Studies in the Creation of the Chinese Classics. Albany: State University of New York Press. Shen Libin 沈利斌 and Zhao Junfang 趙俊芳. 2000. “Liang ‘yi’ zhi bi—Shang shu-Wuyi yu Guoyu-Lun laoyi duidu” 两 “逸” 之比——《尚書·無逸》與《國語·論勞逸》對讀. Sichuan jiaoyu xueyuan xuebao 四川教育學院學報 16.1–2: 42–44. Shenzi jijiao jizhu 慎子集校集注. 2013. Comp. Xu Fuhong 許富宏. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Shi Shenghuai 石聲淮. 1979. “Zhou Wenwang ‘bifu ji kanggong tiangong’ bian” 周文王 “ 卑服即康工田工” 辨. Huazhong shuyuan xuebao 華中師院學報 3: 48–53. Shiji 史記. 1997. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Sishu zhangju ji zhu 四書章句集注. 2001. Comp. Zhu Xi 朱熹 (1130–1200). Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Sun Xingyan 孫星衍. 1998. Shangshu jinguwen zhushu 尚書今古文注疏. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Tian Changwu 田昌五 and Zang Zhifei 臧知非. 1996. Zhou Qin shehui jiegou yanjiu 周 秦社會結構研究. Xian: Xibei Daxue chubanshe. Wang Hongliang 王紅亮. 2012. “Qinghua jian Xinian zhong Zhou Pingwang dongqian de xiangguan daikao” 清華簡《繫年》中周平王東遷的相關年代考. Shixue shi yanjiu 史學史研究 4: 101–109. Xia-Shang-Zhou duandai gongcheng zhuanjia zu 夏商周斷代工程專家組. 2000. XiaShang-Zhou duandai gongcheng 1996–2000 nian jieduan chengguo baogao: Jianben 夏商周斷代工程 1996–2000 年階段成果報告：簡本. Beijing: Shijie tushu chuban gongsi. Xin Ting 新亭. 2013. “Da Ke-ding de ‘yi yu shangxia’ jiqi yiyi” 大克鼎的 “逸于上下” 及其 意義 . Xin Ting 新亭. 2014. “Qishan Zhougongmiao bujia ‘Wang simei ke banyi yu miao’ de guancha he sikao” 岐山周公廟卜甲 “王斯妹克奔逸于廟” 的觀察和思考 . Xu Shaohua 徐少華. 2016. “Qinghua jian Xinian ‘Zhou wu wang jiu nian’ qianyi” 清華簡 《繫年》“周無王九年” 淺議. Jilin Daxue shehui kexue xuebao 吉林大學社會科學學 報 56.4: 183–187. Xunzi jijie 荀子集解. 1992. Comp. Wang Xianqian 王先謙 (1842–1917). Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Yanzi chunqiu yizhu 晏子春秋譯注. 1996. Comp. Chen Tao 陳濤. Tianjin: Tianjin guji chubanshe. Zhan Ruoshui 湛若水. 1528. Gewu tong 格物通. E-Siku quanshu edition.

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Zhang Fentian 張分田. 2009. Minben sixiang yu Zhongguo gudai zhengzhi sixiang 民本 思想與中國古代政治思想. Tianjin: Nankai Daxue chubanshe. Zhang Huaitong 張懷通. 2013. Yi Zhoushu xin yan 逸周書新研. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Zong Fubang 宗福邦, Chen Shinao 陳世鐃, and Xiao Haibo 蕭海波, eds. 2007. Guxun huizuan 故訓匯纂. Beijing: Shangwu.

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Chapter 11

Against (Uninformed) Idleness: Situating the Didacticism of “Wu yi” 無逸 Michael Hunter In my effort to make sense of and contextualize the “Wu yi” 無逸 (“Without Idleness”) chapter of the Shangshu 尚書, I shall approach the text from three different perspectives. In the first section, I analyze “Wu yi” as both a product of and a response to a kind of generic didacticism. By “generic” I do not just mean its relationship to the received Shangshu, the wider “Shu” 書 (documents) tradition, or even the early Chinese intellectual tradition. My contention is that “Wu yi” can be read as an early Chinese example of a global genre of ancient wisdom literature that I shall refer to as “instructions.” From the Sumerian Instructions of Šuruppak to the ancient Egyptian Instructions of Ptahhotep, from the legend of Ahiqar to Hesiod’s Works and Days, or from the book of Proverbs to the Theognidea, much ancient wisdom literature takes the form of advice imparted by a king, adviser, or father figure to a son or successor. Even a cursory survey of this literature reveals a number of striking parallels across cultures and historical eras, parallels that in the Near Eastern and Mediterranean contexts have been interpreted as evidence of cross-cultural intellectual and literary exchange. However, adding early China to the comparative mix prompts a different approach, one that treats the common ideas, values, and strategies of these texts as intrinsic features of a more or less universal template. If we find that Egyptian viziers, Sumerian kings, Greek wise men, and Chinese regents all extolled the virtues of listening and hard work, then perhaps we might understand such convergences as responses to a common dynamic underlying these scenes of instruction.1 From this broader perspective, the mere fact that a given instruction resembles the generic template becomes less interesting than the question of how it adapts and varies that template, and what those variations tell us about the circumstances of its composition. Having established that comparative framework in the first section, I then turn to an analysis of the argument and form of “Wu yi” in the second and third 1 For examples of a broadly comparative approach to the reading of the Shangshu, see the contributions of Martin Kern (chapters 1 and 8) and Joachim Gentz (chapter 4) in this volume.

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sections, in the course of which I argue that “Wu yi” is best read as a nuanced critique of the conventional values found in most other examples of the genre. In this respect, both substantively and formally “Wu yi” is among the most philosophical contributions to the “Shu” tradition. In a final section, I speculatively explore a set of intertextual parallels between “Wu yi,” the Shi 詩 (Odes), and certain recently excavated manuscripts to suggest that the distinctive take of “Wu yi” on the generic scene of instruction might have been prompted by a rather different sort of didacticism, that of the banquet hall. Instructions: A Global Genre As defined here, a scene of instruction is an effort to correct, or at least ameliorate, a wisdom deficit between an older, more experienced authority figure and a younger, less experienced individual who has recently assumed, or will soon assume, a position of responsibility. By reciting the core lessons of the instruction text, the older authority transmits wisdom to his successor, thereby guaranteeing the latter’s prosperity and, perhaps more crucially, the success of the institution or clan. Insofar as instruction texts have an explicit audience and goal, they are also scenes of persuasion (shui 說); as such, they often include exhortations to the listener to accept the lessons in question. By implicitly acknowledging the possibility of failure, such exhortations reflect anxieties about the long-term survival and integrity of the relevant social or political unit, be it the clan, state, social class,2 or occupational group.3 As it happens, several Shangshu chapters (and one looted “Shu” manuscript) are constructed as prototypical scenes of instruction:

• “Yi xun” 伊訓, in which the regent Yi Yin 伊尹 instructs the newly enthroned “successor king” (si wang 嗣王) Tai Jia 太甲; “Tai • Jia” 太甲, which describes Tai Jia’s initial intransigence and eventual acceptance of Yi Yin’s instructions; “Xian • you yi de” 咸有一德, in which Yi Yin offers further instruction to Tai Jia on the eve of his “retirement” (gui 歸);

2 For a statement of elite or aristocratic values, see especially the Theognidea, a text attributed to Theognis of Megara (sixth century BCE?). 3 In ancient Egypt, one prominent subgenre of instructions literature concerns the training of scribes. For a translation of a handful of these texts, including the Satire on the Trades, see Simpson 2003: chap. 8.

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• “Wu yi” and “Li zheng” 立政, in which the Duke of Zhou instructs an unnamed “successor king”;4 “Gu • ming” 顧命, in which King Cheng 成王 instructs his successor via his ministers; the • “*Baoxun” 保訓 manuscript from the Qinghua University find (ca. 300 BCE), in which King Wen 文王 on his deathbed passes on “treasured instructions” (baoxun 寶訓) to his son and successor, King Wu 武王.5

Determining what counts as a “scene of instruction” is somewhat complicated by the imprecision of the Shangshu’s own genre labels and the numerous formal and thematic continuities across those genres.6 Xun 訓, the term most often translated as “instruction,” often refers to knowledge passed down from fathers to sons or ancestors to descendants but also serves as a more generic label for “teachings,” as when the king of “Pan Geng” 盤庚 is described as delivering a xun to his subjects, or when the minister advisers of “Gaozong rong ri” 高宗肜日 and “Lü ao” 旅獒 deliver xun to their kings.7 What distinguishes the classic scene of instruction from other speech genres is a certain parity between speaker and audience in the former. The audiences of appointment speeches (ming 命) and proclamations (gao 誥)—for instance, the “many officers” (duo shi 多士) of “Duo shi” 多士 and “Duo fang” 多方 —possess a certain status by virtue of their position within an official hierarchy whose legitimacy depends on the institution of kingship. To ignore the king’s command is thus to delegitimize one’s own place in the sociopolitical order. In the scene of in4 The title “Wu yi” is attested as early as the Shiji, where it is written in two variant forms: 無佚 (Shiji 6.133) and 毋逸 (Shiji 33.1520). 5 Three chapters in this list—“Wu yi,” “Li zheng,” and “Gu ming”—belong to the supposedly older modern-script (jinwen 今文) recension of the Shangshu, the rest to the ancient-script (guwen 古文) recension. Given my interest in reading scenes of instruction as examples of a cross-cultural genre, the distinction between ancient- and modern-script chapters will not concern me in this chapter. 6 On the difficulties of defining the “Shu” genre generally, see Allan 2012. Evidence of Sima Qian’s confusion about the genre of “Wu yi” in particular can be found at Shiji 4.133, which lumps it together with “Duo shi” 多士 as a gao 告 (proclamation) even though the received version of “Wu yi” is addressed to the “successor king” (si wang 嗣王). The lack of clear-cut genre distinctions is a less vexing problem if we read Shangshu chapters not as faithful representations of specific historical events but as texts intended to serve as sources of timeless wisdom and virtue. If the sources themselves are confused about the precise relationship between speaker and audience, perhaps that is because their authors were writing for a much wider audience. 7 See “Pan Geng, shang” (Sibu congkan [chubian] [hereafter SBCK] 5/2a), “Gaozong rong ri” (SBCK 5/13a), and “Lü ao” (SBCK 7/7a).

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struction, however, there is a fundamental identity between speaker and audience, the crucial difference being the variable of time: the king speaks to the future king, the acting regent to the newly empowered king, or the father to the son.8 Insofar as both parties occupy, or will soon occupy, the same position, appeals to the authority of that position carry less persuasive force.9 Consequently, the speakers of instruction texts often resort to other means to ensure the compliance of the next generation, including appeals to common sense, conventional wisdom, shared values, and historical precedent. This is precisely what makes the scene of instruction an appropriate occasion for the transmission of general advice or wisdom. The most basic element of the generic scene of instruction is the exhortation to heed the advice of the speaker: “Kang gao” 康誥: “Go, Feng. Do not disregard the statutes you should reverence; hearken to what I have told you” (往哉，封！勿替敬典，聽朕告 汝).10  Instructions of Ptahhotep 5,9: “Do not be haughty because of your knowledge, / But take counsel with the unlearned man as well as with the learned.”11  Instructions for Merikare 135ff.: “Make no detraction from my dis· course, / For it establishes all the precepts of kingship.” 8

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The instructions of the Shangshu introduce an interesting wrinkle to this dynamic with their emphasis on the role of ministers, especially Yi Yin and the Duke of Zhou. Note Gaozong’s statement in the first part of “Yue ming” that he seeks a “good assistant who will speak in my place” (良弼其代予言), which neatly encapsulates the role of the ideal minister who acts as a stand-in for the king and even possesses the authority to instruct the next generation. The title “Xian you yi de” 咸有一德 (“Both with a Unified Virtue”), a phrase uttered by Yi Yin as a description of his bond with the Shang founder, communicates the same idea. This analysis is somewhat complicated by the institution of ancestor worship, in which the position of the living king is nominally subordinate to that of his deceased ancestors. For instance, the instruction of “Yi xun” takes place within the ancestral temple after Yi Yin presents the young king to the “former kings” (xian wang 先王); in “Gu ming,” a dying King Cheng delivers his instructions to his ministers, who then pass the text on to his heir in an elaborate ceremony (for which see Meyer’s chapter 3 in this volume). SBCK 8/6b. This and all subsequent Shangshu translations in this section are from James Legge (available at ctext.org/shang-shu). Translations of all Egyptian sources are from Simpson 2003: Instruction for Merikare (Simpson 2003: 152–165), Instruction of Amenemhet I (166–171), the Sehetepibre stele (172– 174), Instructions of Ptahhotep (129–147), Satire on the Trades (431–437), Advice to the Youthful Scribe (439), and The Instruction of a Man for His Son (175–177).

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 Instructions of Amenemhet I 1,1: “You who have risen as a god, / Give heed to what I shall say to you, / So that you may reign over the land, rule the shores (of the Nile), / And bring about an abundance of what is good and beneficial.”  Sehetepibre stele II,10: “I have something important to say; I shall have you hear it, and I shall let you know it: the design for eternity, a way / of life as it should be and of passing a lifetime at peace.”  Instructions of Šuruppak 1–13: “My son, let me give you instructions: you should pay attention! Zi-ud-sura, let me speak a word to you: you should pay attention! Do not neglect my instructions! Do not transgress the words I speak!”12  Proverbs 4:1–2: “Listen, children, to a father’s instruction, and be attentive, that you may gain insight; for I give you good precepts: do not forsake my teaching.”13 Placed at the beginning, conclusion, or both of a set of instructions, such exhortations often function as formal markers of a transition from a narrative or occasional prologue to the instructions proper. In many texts, the exhortation to listen takes the form of praise for those who demonstrate the virtues of listening and of condemnation for those who do not: Ptahhotep 16,4: “It is good to hear and it is good to speak, / But he who can hear possesses what is advantageous. / Hearing is beneficial to the hearer; / Hearing is better than everything, / For (through it) good affection comes into being.”  Ptahhotep 16,10–12: “How good it is when a son heeds his father, / And how joyful is he by whom it may be said: / ‘My son is pleasing, for he is skilled in obedience.’ As for him who heeds what is said to him, he will be self-sufficient / And respected by his father; / He will be remembered in the mouths of the living, / Both those who are on the earth and those who will be.”  “Zhong Hui zhi gao” 仲虺之告: “I have heard the saying, ‘He who finds instructors for himself, comes to the supreme dominion; he who says that others are not equal to himself, comes to ruin. He who likes to put questions, becomes enlarged; he who uses only his own views, becomes

12 13

Black et al. 1998–2006. All biblical quotations refer to the New Revised Standard Version (New Oxford Annotated Bible, 4th. ed.).

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smaller (than he was)’” (予聞曰：能自得師者王，謂人莫己若者亡。好 問則裕，自用則小).14 Still other versions dramatize the scene of instruction in such a way as to underscore the importance of listening. These include “Tai Jia” in the Shangshu, whose eponymous king “does not consider or listen to” (罔念聞) Yi Yin’s 伊尹 instructions until after he is made to take up residence near the tombs of the “former kings” (xian wang 先王);15 the “*Baoxun” manuscript, which opens with King Wen on his deathbed “reflecting on his many bygone days and fearing lest his treasured instructions fall away” (念日之多歷，恐墜寶訓);16 the ancient Egyptian Instructions of ‘Onchsheshonqy, whose protagonist writes down lessons on pottery shards for his son on the eve of his execution by the pharaoh;17 and the legend of Ahiqar, a humorously nightmarish variation on these themes. In the beginning of the legend, the heirless Ahiqar, chancellor to the Assyrian king Sennacherib (r. 705–681 BCE), adopts and then instructs his nephew Nadan, who subsequently turns against Ahiqar and nearly succeeds in having him killed. A later version of the story ends with a bizarro variation on the instructions genre in which Ahiqar berates Nadan so forcefully that Nadan literally explodes: And when Nadan heard that speech from his uncle Ahiqar, he swelled up immediately and became like a blown-out bladder. And his limbs swelled and his legs and his feet and his side, and he was torn and his belly burst asunder and his entrails were scattered, and he perished, and died.18 Nadan’s early Chinese cousins are perhaps the last Xia 夏 and Yin 殷 kings, who ignored their advisers’ remonstrations with equally disastrous (if less gruesome) results. Such characters represent a kind of worst-case scenario for the instructions genre: charges whose refusal to listen leads to their own downfall as well as that of the dynasty. Whether expressed as an imperative, a moral precept, or a dramatic narrative, the importance of listening is the first and

14 15 16 17 18

SBCK 4/4a. SBCK 4/9a. Hu Kai and Chen Minzhen 2011. Simpson 2003: 497ff. This excerpt is from the Arabic version of the tale translated by A. S. Lewis (in Charles 1913: 776). The earliest version of the story (which does not include this excerpt) is known from an Aramaic manuscript dated to the fifth century BCE.

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most fundamental precept of instructions’ didacticism. There is little point in instructing a charge who does not listen. Many instructions also emphasize the traditional nature of the imparted wisdom as something inherited from the speaker’s ancestors or predecessors. These statements often go hand in hand with exhortations to pass down the instructions to future generations and thereby maintain an unbroken line of transmission: Satire on the Trades 30: “Honor [your] father and mother who have placed you on the path of the living. Mark this, which I have placed before your eyes, and the children of your children.”  Theognidea 27–28: “These things I tell you, Kurnos, for your good: / I learned them, as a boy, from gentlemen.”19  Proverbs 4:3–6: “When I was a son with my father, tender, and my mother’s favorite, he taught me, and said to me, ‘Let your heart hold fast my words; keep my commandments, and live. Get wisdom; get insight: do not forget, nor turn away from the words of my mouth.’”  “Lü ao” 旅獒: “If you really pursue this course (which I indicate), the people will preserve their possessions, and the throne will descend from generation to generation” (允迪茲生，民保厥居，惟乃世王).20  “Jiu gao” 酒誥: “King Wen admonished and instructed the young nobles. … He said, ‘… Let the young also hearken wisely to the constant instructions of their fathers’” (文王誥教小子 … 惟曰 … 聰聽祖考之彝 訓).21  “Li zheng” 立政: “I, Dan, have received these excellent words of others, and tell them all to you, young son, the king” (予旦已受人之徽言，咸告 孺子王矣).22 Not coincidentally, instruction texts in various cultures belong to a traditional genre of literature. Not only do a number of examples refrain from naming the speaker and/or audience of the instruction, but even many historically situated instructions are known via manuscripts dated centuries after the fact. One of the most striking examples of a self-conscious traditionalism is the introduction to the Instructions of Šuruppak (1–13), a text addressed to Zi-ud-sura, the Sumerian Noah: 19 20 21 22

Wender 1973: 98. SBCK 7/8a. SBCK 8/7b. SBCK 10/14b.

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In those days, in those far remote days, in those nights, in those faraway nights, in those years, in those far remote years, at that time the wise one who knew how to speak in elaborate words lived in the Land; Curuppag, the wise one, who knew how to speak with elaborate words lived in the Land. Curuppag gave instructions to his son; Curuppag, the son of UbaraTutu, gave instructions to his son Zi-ud-sura. The speaker of the Instructions of Amenemhet I (2,5) describes the circumstances of his assassination before lamenting that he never had the chance to choose a successor: And so ruin occurred while I was without you, / When the courtiers had not yet heard that I would hand over [the throne] to you, / When I had not yet sat down with you so as to confirm your succession; / For I was not ready for it, I did not expect it; / My heart had not conceived of indolence on the part of the servants. The traditional or retrospective nature of these “texts with a history” goes hand in hand with their lack of specificity and comparatively generic exposition.23 For instance, despite its attribution to an elderly vizier, the Instructions of Ptahhotep offers little practical advice to his successor. The text’s general appeal is evident in a series of hypotheticals addressed to various social roles within ancient Egyptian society: for example, “If you plow and there’s growth in the field …” or “If you are a magistrate of standing …”24 Ptahhotep’s text clearly had a much wider audience than its narrative frame would suggest. Another thread running throughout these texts is their characterization of wisdom as something that can be, and must be, learned.25 Far from expressing a full-fledged epistemology, such statements nevertheless reflect a generic commitment to the transmissibility of knowledge. If the prince is born wise, then there is no wisdom deficit to be corrected; if wisdom cannot be learned, then the instructions are pointless. The tendency to view wisdom as a transferrable commodity also facilitated its representation as something that could be lost or added to, even by the wise:

23 24 25

Kern 2002: 145ff. Lichtheim 1973: 7: “[T]he maxims embody the pragmatic wisdom of the upper-class Egyptian, and formulate a code of behavior befitting the gentleman of the Old Kingdom.” See Lichtheim 1973: 6: “At all times [the genre of Instructions] was inspired by the optimistic belief in the teachability and perfectibility of man.”

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 “Duo gao” 多誥: “The wise, through not thinking, become foolish, and the foolish, by thinking, become wise” (惟聖罔念，作狂；惟狂克念， 作聖).26   Ptahhotep 5,5: “[N]o one is born wise.”   Ptahhotep 5,9: “For no one has ever attained perfection of competence, / And there is no craftsman who has acquired [full] mastery.”   Advice to the Youthful Scribe: “One teaches apes dance, and one tames horses.”   The Instruction of a Man for His Son 4: “[God] educates the ignorant to wisdom.”  Proverbs 4:7: “The beginning of wisdom is this: Get wisdom, and whatever else you get, get insight.” If statements on the learnability of wisdom represent a generic commitment to a rudimentary theory of knowledge, statements on the importance of work or diligence are its practical counterpart. Instruction texts are not just intellectual exercises: in the words of “Yue ming” 說命, “It is not knowing it that is arduous; it is practicing it that is arduous” (非知之艱，行之惟艱).27 In keeping with this sentiment, instruction texts routinely urge their audiences to exert themselves in the implementation of the instructions and, conversely, to avoid the dangers of idleness:   Šuruppak 177: “The negligent one ruins (?) his family.”   Advice to the Youthful Scribe: “O scribe, do not be idle, do not be idle, or you shall be curbed straightway.”   Theognidea 463–64: “The gods don’t make us terrible or great / With ease: fame comes to those who work for it.”   Works and Days 286–292: “Badness can be caught / In great abundance, easily; the road / To her is level, and she lives near by. / But Good is harder, for the gods have placed / In front of her much sweat; the road is steep / And long and rocky at first, but when / You reach the top, she is not hard to find.”28 The importance of hard work is an especially common refrain throughout the speeches of the Shangshu. Terms for hard work or diligence (wu 務, qin 勤, lao 勞) and idleness or laziness (yi 逸, dai 怠, yu 豫) abound, as do statements on 26 27 28

SBCK 10/8a. SBCK 5/11a. Wender 1973: 112.

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various difficulties (nan 難, jian 艱) that demand vigilance on the part of the sovereign:  “Da Yu mo” 大禹謨: “If the sovereign can realize the difficulty of his sovereignship, and the minister the difficulty of his ministry, the government will be well ordered, and the black-haired people will sedulously seek to be virtuous” (后克艱厥后，臣克艱厥臣，政乃乂，黎民敏德).29  “Xian you yi de” 咸有一德: “It is difficult to rely on Heaven; its appointments are not constant” (天難諶，命靡常).30  “Kang gao”: “Where you go, employ all your heart. Do not seek repose, nor be fond of ease and pleasure” 往盡乃心，無康好逸豫).31  “Kang gao”: “[I]t is difficult to preserve (the attachment of) the lower classes” (小人難保).32  “Jun Shi” 君奭: “The favour of Heaven is not easily preserved; Heaven is difficult to be depended on” (天命不易，天難諶).33  Yi 逸 (idleness or ease) is also a powerful force in the Shangshu’s retelling of dynastic history; for example, in “Duo fang,” “indulgence in ease” (逸厥逸) is blamed for the Shang kings’ downfall, and in “Jiu gao,” it is stated that Heaven punished Yin “because of [their] ease” (惟逸).34 In light of parallels with other wisdom traditions, such accounts can be read as narrativized versions of a generic exhortation to diligence. The Argument of “Wu yi” As a speech attributed to an older, wiser authority figure—the Duke of Zhou 周公, presumably in his role as regent to King Cheng 成王 —and addressed to a newly enthroned “successor king” (si wang 嗣王), “Wu yi” shares a number of features in common with the generic scene of instruction. (For a complete translation of “Wu yi” and a breakdown of each of its seven sections, see Yuri Pines’s contribution to this volume. My translations offered below are not 29 30 31 32 33 34

SBCK 2/1a. SBCK 4/12a. SBCK 8/2b. SBCK 8/2b. SBCK 10/1b. See “Duo fang” (SBCK 10/8a) and “Jiu gao” (SBCK 8/9b). For a more in-depth discussion of yi 逸 and its wider context, see Pines, chapter 10 in this volume.

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identical with his.) The most obvious of these is the injunction against yi 逸 in the title and in the very first line of the text: The Duke of Zhou said, “Hark! A noble man in the beginning should be without idleness.35 If first you understand the toils and troubles of sowing and reaping and then [allow yourself to be] idle, only then you will understand commoners’ sorrows.36 When observing commoners, [you see that] their fathers and mothers toil and labor at sowing and reaping, [but] if their sons are idle and willful without having understood the toils and troubles of sowing and reaping, then eventually they insult their fathers and mothers, saying, ‘People of former times didn’t know anything.’” 周公曰：嗚呼！君子所其無逸。先知稼穡之艱難乃逸，則知小人之 依。相小人，厥父母勤勞稼穡，厥子乃不知稼穡之艱難，乃逸乃諺。 既誕，否則侮厥父母曰：昔之人無聞知。37

The negative example of the sons of commoners (lit. “petty men” [xiaoren

小人])38 who “do not understand the toils and troubles of sowing and reaping” (不知稼穡之艱難) and thus indulge in “idleness” (yi 逸) is the bridge connect-

ing the first major theme of “Wu yi” with the second—the dangers of ignoring advice and received wisdom. As a direct result of their disdain for hard work, idle sons insult their parents and display a general contempt for the past. “People of former times didn’t know anything!” (昔之人聞知) is a fitting refrain

35

36 37 38

This line, and the characters 所 and 其 in particular, have inspired a great deal of debate in the scholarly literature, some of which is summarized by Karlgren (1949: 105–115). Zheng Xuan 鄭玄 (127–200) glossed 所 as the intransitive verb 處 meaning “in his official position.” This is also the reading adopted by Pines in his translation of “Wu yi.” Li Zuotang (1984) followed Zheng Xuan in his reading of 所 but glossed 其 as the rhetorical question marker 豈 and adduced several examples of this usage from elsewhere in the Shangshu. In contrast, Karlgren read 其 as 期 to translate the line as “what the noble man aims at is …” Here I adopt Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu’s (2005: 1531) reading of 所 (following Yu Shengwu) as a graphical error for 啓, a character that appears in a number of bronze inscriptions with the meaning “in the beginning.” Here reading yi 依 (*ʔəj) as ai 哀 (*ʔʕəj) in parallel with the phrase 小人之勞 in section 2. For reconstructions of Old Chinese, see Baxter and Sagart 2012. My translations of “Wu yi” in this section follow Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: 1530–1660. Generally speaking, the antonyms junzi 君子 (noble men) and xiaoren 小人 (petty men) can be translated in sociopolitical terms (“princes” and “common men”) or in moral terms (“princely men” and “petty men”). As the usage of these terms in “Wu yi” is somewhat ambiguous, the translations “noble men” and “petty men” should not necessarily be taken in a strictly moral sense.

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for the stock figure of the unwilling listener who, like Ahiqar’s adopted son Nadan or like Tai Jia in the eponymous Shangshu chapter, embodies anxieties about the education of the next generation. Section 2 develops the theme of the virtues of hard work with its account of three exemplary Yin 殷 kings: Zhongzong 中宗 (Tai Wu 太戊), Gaozong 高宗 (Wu Ding 武丁), and Zujia 祖甲.39 Zhongzong “understood the sorrows of petty men” (知小人之依) by virtue of having been a “petty man” himself prior to assuming the throne, Gaozong was a model of restraint (“he did not dare to be dissolute” [不敢荒寧]), and Zujia “toiled outside [the palace]” (勞於外) prior to his accession. Perhaps somewhat predictably, section 2 then contrasts the exemplary kings with their negative complements, the later Yin kings who “were born into idleness and [so] neither understood the toils and troubles of sowing and reaping nor learned of the labors of petty people” (生則逸，不知 稼穡之艱難，不聞小人之勞); consequently, “there were none who were able to reach old age” (罔或克壽). Section 3 extends the historical argument further by adding King Wen to the list of exemplary kings: “Morning, noon, and evening he did not even take time to eat and thereby was able to unite the myriad peoples in harmony” (自朝至于日中昃，不遑暇食，用咸和萬民). Unlike in section 2, no complementary mention is made of bad Zhou kings, presumably because the responsibility for avoiding the example of the later Yin kings falls on the shoulders of the “successor king” and his descendants. The unresolved question of the fate of King Wen’s descendants explains the abrupt shift in section 4 from the eulogistic narrative of sections 2 and 3 to an overtly didactic mode. Not coincidentally, this is also the first section of “Wu yi” in which the speaker names his audience: “From now on, Successor King, do not indulge overmuch in wine, idleness, excursions, or hunts, but devote yourself to the conduct of good government” (繼自今嗣王，則其無淫于觀于逸于 遊于田，以萬民惟正之供).40 The rest of the section hammers away at that theme with a series of emphatic negatives (wu 無 … fei 非 … fei 非 … wu 無). The fifth section of “Wu yi” marks a return to the second major theme of “Wu yi,” the importance of heeding advice. It opens, fittingly enough, with a 39

40

Following Pi Xirui (1998: 369–370), Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu (2005) have argued, on the evidence from textual variants and parallels, that the list of kings in the received version of “Wu yi” was originally Taizong 太宗 (Taijia 太甲), Zhongzong 中宗 (Taiwu 太戊), and Gaozong 高宗 (Wu Ding 武丁). While I am inclined to agree with that emendation, I have kept the list of Yin kings in the received version of “Wu yi” because the question of their identities is more or less irrelevant to my argument. For the reading of guan 觀 as jiu 酒, see Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: 1540–1541 and also the variant quotation (prefaced with jing yue 經曰, “a classic says”) preserved in a memorial submitted by Gu Yong 谷永 in 29 BCE (Hanshu 85.3445).

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piece of received wisdom: “I have heard it said, ‘As for the ancients, because of their mutual instruction and exhortation, protection and mercy, and training and edification, there were none among the people who spread false rumors or sowed confusion’” (我聞曰：古之人，猶胥訓告，胥保惠，胥教誨，民無或 胥譸張為幻). If “this [lesson] is not heeded” (此厥不聽), others will follow the king’s negative example and “distort and disorder the correct models of the former kings” (變亂先王之正刑). Section 6 develops this theme further by invoking the examples of the four kings from sections 2 and 3, all of whom responded to gao 告 (reports) by taking responsibility for their mistakes and redoubling their commitment to virtue. Like section 5, section 6 spells out the negative consequences of not heeding this advice (此厥不聽): the people’s “resentment” (yuan 怨) will be “concentrated on the person [of the ruler]” (叢于 厥身). Finally, the seventh section of “Wu yi” concludes with the most generic of commands: “The Duke of Zhou said: ‘Hark! Successor King, may you examine this!’” (周公曰：嗚呼！嗣王其監于茲). Reduced to a series of exhortations to listen and to avoid idleness, “Wu yi” reads as an entirely unremarkable contribution to the instructions genre. But even if its core themes are generic in the broadest sense, the argument “Wu yi” makes about those themes is subtle: idleness is not simply the opposite of hard work but also its indirect result. The hard-earned success of one generation tends to encourage the idleness of the next: sons enjoy the fruits of their parents’ labors without experiencing those labors for themselves. To repeat the crucial line from “Wu yi” section 1, “When observing commoners, [you see that] their fathers and mothers toil and labor at sowing and reaping, [but] if their sons are idle and willful without having understood the toils and troubles of sowing and reaping …” (相小人，厥父母勤勞稼穡，厥子乃不知稼穡之艱 難，乃逸乃諺). An excerpt attributed to “Wu yi” in the Shiji makes the point even more explicitly: Those who serve as parents to others, when their endeavors last for a long time their sons and grandsons are haughty and profligate and forget [their duties], thereby destroying their family. 為人父母，為業至長久，子孫驕奢忘之，以亡其家。41

41

Shiji 33.1520. It is tempting to identify this excerpt as a lost fragment of the first section of “Wu yi” that followed the observations about the sons of “petty men” with a more abstract statement about “parents” generally. It is also possible to read the Shiji excerpt as a commentary on or paraphrase of the version in the received “Wu yi” or even as an alternative version of the same tradition.

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The second section of “Wu yi” gives the sociological argument of the first section a historical dimension: as a direct result of the successes of Kings Zhongzong, Gaozong, and Zujia, later Yin kings “were born into idleness” (生則 逸) and thus “did not understand the toils and troubles of reaping and sowing or learn of the labors of commoners” (不知稼穡之艱難，不聞小人之勞). Ironically, had the former kings not been so exemplary, their descendants might have had the opportunity to experience character-building hardship for themselves. From this perspective, idleness is not simply a moral failing of an individual but the intergenerational failure of a clan to preserve and cherish the memory of hard work. “Wu yi” announces its solution to the problem of idleness in the first two sentences of section 1: A noble man in the beginning should be without idleness. If first you understand the toils and troubles of sowing and reaping and only then [allow yourself to] be idle, then you will understand the sorrows of petty men. 君子所其無逸。先知稼穡之艱難乃逸，則知小人之依。

Here the word zhi 知 (understand) is crucial. “Wu yi” does not require the successor king to personally undergo the trials and tribulations either of his forebears or of commoners. Its only demand is that he “understand” the labors of others and adjust his own conduct accordingly.42 As seen in section 2, the sins of the later Yin kings are a lack of “understanding” (zhi 知) and a failure to “hear” (wen 聞) about the toils and tribulations of others. This focus on knowing as opposed to experiencing also has a subtle rhetorical payoff: all the king needs to avoid the dangers of idleness is the knowledge contained within the text of “Wu yi” itself. Moreover, idleness in “Wu yi” is not an unmitigated evil. Once acquired, knowledge of toil sanctions an appropriate degree of idleness (“first understand … and then [allow yourself to be] idle”). Moderation, not abstinence, is the ideal: in the words of section 4, “do not indulge overmuch in wine, idleness, excursions, or hunts” (無淫于觀于逸于遊于田).43 42

43

This is the crux of my disagreement with Yuri Pines’s reading of “Wu yi” (chapter 10 in this volume): in my view, the successor king is required only to become an informed monarch, not a “toiling” one. On this point, see also Liu Kunsheng 2000: 9–10. “Wu yi” is by no means the only text in the Shangshu to suggest that idleness is acceptable under the proper conditions. “Duo shi” (SBCK 9/6a) suggests that the Xia dynasty ­collapsed because its kings “did not moderate their ease” (不適逸); the king of “Pan Geng” (SBCK 5/3b) speaks of his ancestors and those of his audience as having “shared their ease and toils” (胥及逸勤); and “Jiu gao” (SBCK 8/8a) permits its audience to “allow themselves to

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The comparatively nuanced take of “Wu yi” on the problem of “idleness” might be contrasted with the Qinghua University “*Baoxun” 寶訓 (“Treasured Instructions”) manuscript, a classic scene of instruction that is also a far more conventional take on the generic theme of diligence. Attributed to King Wen and addressed to his son and successor, King Wu 武王, “*Baoxun” also exhorts its audience against “wantonness” (yin 淫, repeated twice) and “negligence” (xie 懈, repeated thrice) and even cites the example of a sedulous sage-king: “Previously, Shun for many years was a commoner who personally tilled the wild grass on Mount Li” (昔舜久作小人，親耕于鬲茅).44 But that is where the parallels with “Wu yi” end. At no point does the text suggest that King Wu is entitled to take a break every now and then to indulge in a little idleness. In short, I propose that we read “Wu yi” as a metadiscursive comment on one of the core values of the instructions genre. On the one hand, it carves out a rhetorical space for kings and noblemen to justify the pursuit of pleasure. On the other, “Wu yi” highlights a tension within the generic didacticism of the Shangshu and related texts: the very virtues that are conducive to the material success of one generation indirectly contribute to the vices of the next. Glorious exemplars (the three Yin kings) and ancestors (King Wen) can be emulated but only to a degree, because someone born a prince cannot relive the struggles of his predecessors. In the end, the best that can be hoped for is that future generations “understand” the sacrifices of their forebears and of the common people and moderate their idleness accordingly. The Form of “Wu yi” It is probably no coincidence that the nuanced argument and intellectual orientation of “Wu yi”—exemplified in section 1’s exhortation to “first understand” (先知)—go hand in hand with a comparatively abstract exposition. The first such clue is the lack of any historical or occasional introduction, unlike most other Shangshu speeches. Not only does the text refrain from naming the si wang 嗣王 (successor king),45 unlike other speeches attributed to the Duke of

44 45

take their ease” (自介用逸) after they have cultivated their virtue and conducted the proper rituals. However, no other “Shu” text develops this idea into a full-fledged argument like that found in “Wu yi.” For a comparison, consider the Mengzi 7B/24 (SBCK 14/9a) statement that “the four limbs’ [preference] for rest and ease is due to their nature” (四肢之於安佚也，性也). Hu and Chen 2011. For the identification of the si wang with King Cheng, see Shiji 33.1520, “Lu Zhou gong shijia” 魯周公世家 (“The Hereditary House of the Duke of Zhou of Lu”), according to

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Zhou and addressed to a king, but “Wu yi” never has the speaker pay obeisance to the king or otherwise acknowledge his own (nominally) inferior position.46 Its attribution to the Duke of Zhou aside, there is nothing within “Wu yi” itself to connect it to a specific historical figure or moment. Whatever the circumstances of its composition, “Wu yi” makes little effort to seem like a historically situated text.47 The other respect in which the form of “Wu yi” mirrors its argument is in the coherence of its organization and language. One of the distinguishing features of Shangshu speeches is their repeated use of formulaic quotation markers (e.g., wang ruo yue 王若曰 or wang yue 王曰) to demarcate the sections therein. Although it is possible in many cases to construct readings in which section B logically follows from A and leads to C, as a general rule the connections from one section to the next are implicit at best. However, section 6 of “Wu yi,” the penultimate section of the text, is an exception to that rule: “From the Yin kings Zhongzong, Gaozong, Zujia, and also our Zhou king Wen, these four men made use of their wisdom” (自殷王中宗及高宗及祖甲及我周文王，茲四人迪 哲). In the course of establishing the necessity of heeding advice, the text refers back to the very kings praised as exemplars of hard work in sections 2 and 3, thereby reintegrating the second major theme of the text with the first. “Wu yi” also exhibits a remarkable degree of repetition on the level of individual words and phrases, both within and across sections. These include the core themes of “understanding difficulty” (zhi nan 知難) and “understanding commoners’ sorrows” (知小人之依) in sections 1 and 2, the formulaic descriptions of the exemplary kings in sections 2 and 3, and the coordination of “not listen-

46

47

which “Wu yi” and “Duo shi” were addressed to King Cheng after the duke’s self-imposed exile to Chu 楚. Shiji 4.133 gives a somewhat different account of “Wu yi” in “Zhou benji” 周本紀 (“Basic Annals of the Zhou”): “After King Cheng had moved the remnant peoples of Yin, the Duke of Zhou commanded and instructed them as king and made ‘Duo shi’ and ‘Wu yi’” (成王既遷殷遺民，周公以王命告，作多士無佚). However, this description fits “Duo shi” much better than it does “Wu yi.” In the early part of the reign of Emperor Ai 哀帝 (r. 7–1 BCE), Wang Shun 王舜 and Liu Xin 劉歆 submitted a memorial in opposition to a proposal to abolish Emperor Wu’s 武帝 shrine, in the course of which they cited “Wu yi” as the Duke of Zhou’s “exhortation” (quan 勸) to King Cheng. See Hanshu 73.3125–27. See Li Zuotang 1984: 45–46, citing the examples of “Luo gao” 洛誥 and “Li zheng” and the Yi Zhoushu 逸周書 (Remnant Zhou Documents) chapters “Da jie” 大戒, “Ben dian” 本典, and “Feng bao” 酆保. Moreover, unlike other “Zhou shu” speeches, which typically identify the intended audience immediately after each formulaic section marker (e.g., “The Duke of Zhou says, ‘Hark!’” [周公曰：嗚呼]), “Wu yi” obeys this formula only once, in section 7. For a similar argument with respect to the lack of historicizing contexts in “Wen hou zhi ming” 文侯之命, see Meyer, forthcoming.

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ing” (bu ting 不聽) with “resentment” (yuan 怨) in sections 5 and 6.48 No less than the overt signposting of section 6, these threads contribute to the impression that “Wu yi” was composed as a unified whole. The coherence of its argument, its structural symmetry, and its linguistic patterning not only make “Wu yi” arguably the most integrated speech in the entire Shangshu but also smack of a more philosophical idiom. Perhaps the most obvious such hint is the first word of the text: junzi 君子. A term that appears only eight times in the Shangshu, junzi 君子 is often best translated in sociopolitical terms as “prince” or “nobleman”—that is, as a male member of the ruling elite.49 But given the ahistorical tenor and conceptual sophistication of “Wu yi,” this junzi looks suspiciously like the generic moral exemplar (the “noble” or “princely man”) whose invocation is one of the hallmarks of Warring States and early imperial intellectual discourse, all the more so given its placement at the head of the text as part of an exhortation to “understand” (zhi 知).50 A Banquet Hall Didacticism? If “Wu yi” was motivated primarily by conceptual or metadiscursive concerns, then why attribute it to the Duke of Zhou as opposed to a generic king or some other adviser figure? In the remainder of this chapter, I venture an answer to this question through a curious yet nebulous set of associations between “Wu yi” and the “Xi shuai” 蟋蟀 ode (“Cricket,” Mao 114), the first stanza of which reads as follows: The cricket is in the hall, / The year is drawing to a close. If we do not enjoy ourselves now, / The days and months will have slipped by. Do not be so riotous / As to forget your homes. Amuse yourselves, but no wildness! / Good men are always on their guard.

48 49 50

Additional intratextual parallels can be found across all sections of “Wu yi” with the exception of section 7, the shortest and most perfunctory section of the text. References to junzi appear in bronze inscriptions from the late Western Zhou onward, seemingly always as a collective noun meaning “nobles” or “princes.” For other examples of the mention of junzi at the head of a philosophical text, see Xunzi 1 (“Quan xue” 勸學), Mozi 2 (“Xiu shen” 脩身), Mengzi 3B/3, 4A/18, 6B/12, 6B/14, and 7A/32, and Da Dai liji 大戴禮記 46, 49, 51, and 55.

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If “Wu yi” exemplifies the generic didacticism of the scene of instruction, “Xi shuai” exemplifies the didacticism of the banquet song. The key difference between these genres hinges on the role of pleasure (le 樂).52 Whereas instructions in the Shangshu and elsewhere are, at best, ambivalent about the idleness or pleasure-seeking of princes and kings, pleasure and celebration are the banquet’s raison d’être. As such, exhortations to enjoy oneself are as common within banquet songs as exhortations to listen are within instruction texts. At the same time, “Xi shuai” does not advocate an unbridled hedonism.53 Pleasure must be moderated (“Amuse yourselves, but no wildness!” [好樂無荒]) lest it spill out of the banquet hall and negatively affect the social order.54 In recent years, the discovery and publication of the Qinghua University “Qi ye” 耆夜 manuscript have introduced scholars to a complete version of “Xi shuai” within the context of a banquet scene purported to have taken place after King Wu’s 武王 conquest of Qi 耆. After a brief narrative introduction, the text describes a series of five toasts, each of which consists of a “song” (ge 歌). The fifth and final song of the series is “Xi shuai,” which the text attributes to none other than the Duke of Zhou: The Duke of Zhou grasped his goblet, but before he had drunk from it a cricket jumped up into the hall, upon which the duke made the song “Cricket”: … The cricket is on the mat, / The year is drawing to a close. Now these junzi, / If they are not happy and joyous, 51 52

53

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SBCK 6/1a–b. For the translation, see Waley 1996: 90–91. Le 樂 and yi 逸 / 佚 are often used interchangeably in the early literature, for example, in the Guoyu 國語 (SBCK 2/12b), Han Feizi 韓非子 (SBCK 19/2b), Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋 (SBCK 16/5b), Huainanzi 淮南子 (SBCK 19/2b), and Guanzi 管子 (SBCK 1/2a). For background on the discourse of pleasure in the early Chinese context, see especially Nylan 2001 and the introductory remarks in Owen 1998: 9–14 (which include a brief discussion of “Xi shuai”). Two other references to “Xi shuai” in the early corpus, one in the Zuo zhuan 左傳 (SBCK 18/12b) and the other in the Yantie lun 鹽鐵論 (SBCK 1/10b), understand “Xi shuai” as an ode about “a lord who protects his family” (保家之主) and “criticism of [excessive] restraint” (刺儉), respectively. Waley (1996: 114) in his translation of “Xi shuai” represented this tension as a dialogue between the “feasters,” who speak in the first half of each stanza, and an admonishing “monitor” in the second half of each stanza.

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The days and months will have passed them by, / Engaged from dawn to dusk. [But] do not be too content, / So that you might end your days with good fortune. Be content and joyous without being wild— / This is the worry of fine men of service.55 周公秉爵未飲，蟋蟀趯陞于堂, 〔周〕公作歌一終，曰蟋蟀： 蟋蟀在席，歲聿云暮。今夫君子，不喜不樂。日月其邁，從朝及夕。 毋已大康，則終以祚。康樂而毋荒，是惟良士之懼懼。56

“Xi shuai” stands out from the four other songs performed at the banquet in at least three respects: it is performed last; at thirty lines it is almost four times longer than the other songs of “Qi ye”; and it is the only song not addressed to a specific banqueter as part of a toast. Instead, “Xi shuai” appears to function as a didactic comment on the occasion as a whole. A detailed comparison between the received and manuscript versions of “Xi shuai” is beyond the scope of this chapter, but for present purposes it suffices to note that (a) the manuscript version shares the banquet hall didacticism of the received version, (b) the feasters of the manuscript version are referred to as junzi 君子, the first word of “Wu yi,” and (c) the song is attributed to the Duke of Zhou.57 Thus far, I have offered little concrete evidence of a relationship between “Wu yi” and “Xi shuai” aside from their attribution to the Duke of Zhou and their shared interest in moderating the pleasure or idleness of junzi. Also noteworthy is the use of the word le 樂 both in “Xi shuai” and in sections 2 and 4 of “Wu yi,” the only instances in the whole of the “Zhou Documents.” Yet another hint comes via the Shanghai Museum “*Kongzi shilun” 孔子詩論 manuscript, in a comment that briefly defines the core meaning of “Xi shuai”: Kongzi said, “‘Xi shuai’ [is about] understanding difficulty.” 孔子曰：蟋蟀，知難。

55

56 57

Here I have included only the second of the three stanzas quoted in “Qi ye” because its reconstruction is less tentative than the first, and because it more closely parallels the first stanza of the received version. Yan Weiming and Chen Minzhen 2011: 5–6. The participation of a certain Zuoce Yi 作冊逸 (Maker of Documents Yi) in the banquet, the very same yi of “Wu yi” 無逸, is yet another tantalizing, if probably meaningless, connection. This same Yi also makes an appearance in “Luo gao” 洛誥 (SBCK 9/5a), where he is charged by King Cheng with reciting a record of the Duke of Zhou’s accomplishments to the spirits of the Zhou founders.

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The comment is as curious as it is opaque. The characters zhi 知 (understand, recognize) and nan 難 (difficulty) do not appear in any known version of “Xi shuai,” nor is it obvious how the notion of “understanding difficulty” is supposed to clarify the meaning of the ode. Although Ma Chengyuan identified this “difficulty” with the theme of the transience of time (e.g., “the days and months will have slipped by” [日月其除]), Huang Huaixin has argued more persuasively that nan 難 refers to the challenge of moderating one’s pleasure to maintain a balance between enjoyment and restraint.58 Whatever its interpretation, the “Kongzi shilun” line hints at a more substantial connection with “Wu yi,” the second sentence of which trumpets the importance of “understanding the toils and difficulties of sowing and reaping” (知稼穡之艱難). To recap: in “Qi ye,” we find the Duke of Zhou composing the “Xi shuai” ode in order to instruct his fellow junzi banqueters, including King Wu, about the proper pursuit of pleasure; in “Kongzi shilun,” Kongzi identifies the core lesson of the “Xi shuai” ode as “understanding difficulty” (zhi nan 知難); and in “Wu yi,” the Duke of Zhou instructs a “successor king” about the informed idleness of the junzi, in the course of which he thrice emphasizes the importance of “understanding … difficulties” (知 … 難). Admittedly, the connections are tenuous at best. But it is tempting to speculate that behind the attribution of “Wu yi” to the Duke of Zhou lay a tradition of banquet song didacticism exemplified by the “Xi shuai” ode and associated with the Duke of Zhou. (Of course, assuming that “Wu yi” is the earlier tradition, or that there was a more dynamic interplay between the two, would lead to a different conclusion.) If so, then such a tradition might have appealed to the “Wu yi” author as a source of an alternative yet equally legitimate didacticism premised on the necessity of pleasure. Not only was that tradition a more fruitful intellectual resource for thinking through the problem of pleasure, but it might have also provided some rhetorical cover for the “Wu yi” author’s nuanced take on one of the core values of the “Shu” tradition. Read against the “Xi shuai” ode, the point of “Wu yi” was not to reject the traditional values of the ancient sage-kings and their advisers but to reconcile them with the values of the banquet hall.

58

See Shanghai bowuguan cang Zhanguo Chu zhushu, vol. 1, 157; Huang Huaixin 2004: 69–72.

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Conclusion “Wu yi” has never been a serious contender for inclusion among the “earliest” or “most authentic” chapters in the Shangshu,59 in part because of its dubious attribution to the Duke of Zhou. Liu Qiyu noted several reasons to doubt the text’s antiquity, including its readability relative to other speeches attributed to the Duke of Zhou, certain linguistic peculiarities,60 and disagreements with other extant sources (including a few Shangshu chapters) regarding the history of the Shang kings.61 However, Liu concluded that such idiosyncrasies were a result of the text’s transmission history and that “Wu yi” was based originally on records of the Duke of Zhou’s lectures. Offering a reading of “Wu yi” as a “subversive” or “nonorthodox” text, Yuri Pines in this volume suggests that it might have been composed not long after the fall of the Western Zhou dynasty in 770 BCE, when the Zhou kings personally experienced many hardships and perhaps came to rely on the support of the common people. In my view, however, Liu’s observations together with my own about the text’s ahistoricity, its argument, and the coherence of its organization suggest a very different scenario. As both a product of and a response to the “Shu” tradition, “Wu yi” stands at a critical remove from the genre even as it makes use of its basic form and themes. In endorsing the junzi’s informed pursuit of pleasure (“first understand … then be idle” [先知 … 乃逸]), perhaps under the influence of a “Xi shuai” tradition, the “Wu yi” author argued for a reconsideration of the blackand-white didacticism found in other “Shu” texts. The energy invested in integrating the form and message of “Wu yi” may have been the price of that dissent: presumably, an author who simply embraced or parroted traditional “Shu” values (see, e.g., “*Baoxun”) would have had less need for such argumentation. Faced with the challenge of making a nuanced moral argument, the “Wu yi” author borrowed from the richest tradition of argument making at his disposal—that of early Chinese intellectual discourse. In this way, the metadiscursive qualities of “Wu yi,” a philosophical text in “Shu” clothing, point to a much later date of composition, perhaps in the late Warring States period. Just 59 60 61

Shaughnessy 1993: 379. These include the use of the phrase 朕之愆 (as opposed to the expected 朕愆) in section 6. Gu Jiegang and Liu Qiyu 2005: 1547–1549. With regard to the Shang kings, whereas “Wu yi” criticizes all post–Zujia kings as having overindulged in idleness, “Jiu gao” (SBCK 8/8b), “Duo shi” (SBCK 9/6b), and “Duo fang” (SBCK 18/7b) praise all Shang kings “from Tang the Successful through Di Yi” (自成湯 [咸] 至于帝乙), the penultimate king. The claim that no king after Zujia reigned for more than a few years also contradicts accounts in other sources.

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as importantly, they also establish its credentials as an important contribution to the global genre of the instruction text. References Allan, Sarah. 2012. “On Shu 書 (Documents) and the Origin of the Shang shu 尚書 (Ancient Documents) in Light of Recently Discovered Bamboo Slip Manuscripts.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 75.3: 547–557. Baxter, W., and L. Sagart. 2012. “Baxter-Sagart Old Chinese Reconstruction (Version 1.00).” Accessed March 1, 2012 . Black, J. A., G. Cunningham, E. Fluckiger-Hawker, E. Robson, and G. Zólyomi. 1998–2006. The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature. Faculty of Oriental Studies, University of Oxford. Accessed March 10, 2014 . Charles, R. H., ed. 1913. The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament in English, with Introductions and Critical Explanatory Notes to the Several Books. Vol. 2. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 and Liu Qiyu 劉起釪. 2005 Shangshu jiaoshi yilun 尚書校釋譯論. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Hanshu 漢書. 1962. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Hu Kai 胡凱 and Chen Minzhen 陳民鎮. 2011. “Qinghua jian ‘Baoxun’ jishi” 清華 簡《保訓》集釋. In Fudan Daxue chutu wenxian yu guwenzi yanjiu zhongxin wangzhan lunwen 復旦大學出土文獻與古文字研究中心網站論文. Accessed August 28, 2014 . Huang Huaixin 黃懷信. 2004. Shanghai bowuguan cang Zhanguo Chu zhushu “Shi lun” jieyi 上海博物館藏戰國楚竹書《詩論》解義. Beijing: Shehui kexue wenxian chubanshe. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1949. “Glosses on the Book of Documents, Part Two.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 21:63–206. Kern, Martin. 2002. “Methodological Reflections on the Analysis of Textual Variants and the Modes of Manuscript Production in Early China.” Journal of East Asian Archaeology 4.1–4: 143–181. Li Zuotang 李祚唐. 1984. “Junzi suo, qi wu yi?” 君子所，其無逸 ? Tianjin Shifan Daxue xuebao 1984.4: 45–47. Lichtheim, Miriam. 1973. Ancient Egyptian Literature. Vol. 1, The Old and Middle Kingdoms. Berkeley: University of California Press. Liu Kunsheng 劉坤生. 2000. “Shangshu-Wu yi yu Shijing ruogan wenti kaobian” 《尚書 · 無逸》與《詩經》若干問題考辮. Shantou Daxue xuebao (renwen kexue ban) 汕頭 大學學報 (人文科學版) 16.3: 8–15.

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Meyer, Dirk. Forthcoming. Monumentalising the Past: Traditions of “Documents” 書 and Political Argument in Early China. Nylan, Michael. 2001. “On the Politics of Pleasure.” Asia Major, 3rd ser., 14.1: 73–124. Owen, Stephen. 1998. “The Difficulty of Pleasure.” Extrême-Orient Extrême-Occident 20: 9–30. Pi Xirui 皮錫瑞 1998. Jinwen shangshu kaozheng 今文尚書考證. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Shanghai Bowuguan cang Zhanguo Chu zhushu 上海博物館藏戰國楚竹書. 2001–. Ed. Ma Chengyuan 馬承源. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Shaughnessy, Edward. 1993. “Shang shu 尚書 (Shu jing 書經).” In Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide, ed. Michael Loewe, 376–389. Berkeley: Society for the Study of Early China and Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley. Shiji 史記. 1987. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Sibu congkan (chubian) 四部叢刊 (初編). 1922. Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan. Digitized by the Unihan Digital Technology Co. in 2001. Version 1.0. Simpson, William Kelly, ed. 2003. The Literature of Ancient Egypt: An Anthology of Stories, Instructions, Stelae, Autobiographies, and Poetry. 3rd ed. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Waley, Arthur, trans. 1996. The Book of Songs. Ed. Joseph R. Allen. New York: Grove Press. Wender, Dorothea. 1973. Hesiod: Theogony and Works and Days”; Theognis: “Elegies.” London: Penguin Books. Yan Weiming 顏偉明 and Chen Minzhen 陳民鎮. 2011. “Qinghua jian ‘Qi ye’ jishi” 清華 簡《耆夜》集釋. In Fudan Daxue chutu wenxian yu guwenzi yanjiu zhongxin wangzhan lunwen 復旦大學出土文獻與古文字研究中心網站論文. Accessed March 2013 .

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Chapter 12

“Bi shi” 粊誓, Western Zhou Oath Texts, and the Legal Culture of Early China Maria Khayutina The text known as “Bi shi” 粊誓 renders an oath that an unnamed ruler of Lu took with his subordinates in the run-up to a war and is one of the final four chapters of the Shangshu尚書, which are sometimes seen together as a “medley of texts from early in the Spring and Autumn period.”1 Regarded as somewhat marginal, these chapters enjoyed relatively little attention in the Chinese exegetic tradition. Admitting that they circulated independently before some still-unknown editorial body included them in the Shangshu, it is stimulating to inquire about their nature, date, and objectives and to attempt to locate each of them within the context of early Chinese culture, thought, society, and politics. The present chapter addresses the following questions:

• What is the historical setting of “Bi shi”? • How does it correlate with authentic oath texts from the period that it pretends to reflect?2 • In which historical context was it plausibly produced? • What functions was it supposed to fulfill at the time of production? The text of “Bi shi” reads as follows: The duke said: “Alas! [You], men, do not shout! Listen to [my] command!3 March on these Yi of the Huai [River] and the Rong of Xu who have arisen jointly!” 公曰: 嗟！人無譁，聽命！徂茲淮夷﹑徐戎並興！ 1 Shaughnessy 1993: 380. 2 Beginning around the early ninth century BCE, the word shi 誓 is attested as the legal term “oath” in original epigraphic documents. Other Shangshu chapters that include this word in their title, especially battle speeches, contain extensive moralizations and should be understood as “harangues” rather than “oaths” (see Martin Kern’s chapter 8 in the present volume). “Bi shi” is concerned with particular legal issues and does not contain such elements. It is therefore appropriate to translate shi as “oath” here. 3 The title gong 公 (male, patriarch) is conventionally translated into English as “duke.”

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2017 | doi 10.1163/9789004343504_014

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“Stitch4 together your armor and helmets, bind your shields, do not dare not to be compassionate! Get ready your bows and arrows, hammer5 your dagger-axes and lances, sharpen the points and edges [of your weapons]! Do not dare not to be good!” 善敹乃甲冑，敿乃干。無敢不弔！備乃弓矢，鍛乃戈矛，礪乃鋒刃。 無敢不善！

“Now marked oxen and horses have been wantonly released.6 Block up your traps, fill up your pitfalls! Do not dare to injure the marked [animals]. [If] the marked [animals] are injured, you will be submitted to the regular punishments.” 今惟淫舍牿牛馬。杜乃擭，敜乃穽，無敢傷牿！牿之傷，汝則有常 刑。

“The oxen and horses will trot away;7 male and female servants will flee and abscond. Do not dare to trespass [as you] pursue [them].8 If you respectfully bring them back, I will reward you. If you trespass [as you] pursue them [and] do not bring them back, you will be submitted to the regular punishments.” 馬牛其風，臣妾逋逃。勿敢越逐！祗復之，我商賚爾！乃越逐，不 復，汝則有常刑。

“Do not dare to rob and steal, to climb over walls [of settlements] or walls [of houses], to abduct horses and oxen, to entice male and female servants. [If you do so], you will be submitted to the regular punishments.” 無敢寇攘，踰垣牆，竊馬牛，誘臣妾！汝則有常刑。

4 Liao 敹 (stitch) refers to the procedure of stringing together thick leather plates. 5 Duan 鍛 (hammer) denotes the cold-hammering of cast metal to increase the hardness of edges and points (Wagner 1992: 57; Yang Junchang et al. 2003). 6 Gu 牿 is a very rare word and much discussed by commentators here. Etymologically, it may refer to the selection and “announcement” (to the ancestors) of sacrificial animals, hence my “marked.” 7 Reading feng 風 for fan 颿 (trot). 8 Yue 越 (trespass) may refer either to the territory of Lu or to one’s authority. In the first case, the duke may be warning his subordinates not to abscond themselves while pursuing the fugitives. In the second case, he may be warning against excessive violence—for example, the killing of fugitive animals and slaves.

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“On the day jiaxu, I will campaign against the Rong of Xu. Pile up your dried grain, do not dare not to attend. [If you do not attend], you will be submitted to the great punishment.” 甲戌我惟征徐戎。峙乃糗糧，無敢不逮！汝則有大刑。

“Men of Lu from the three [internal] suburbs [of the capital] and the three [outer] regions! Pile up your wooden posts and bars! On the day jiaxu, I will [start] construction works. Do not dare not to supply [the materials]. If you do [not supply them], you will be submitted to every kind of punishment,9 [but] not killed.” 魯人三郊三遂：峙乃楨榦！甲戌我惟築。無敢不供！汝則有無餘刑， 非殺。

“Men of Lu from the three [internal] suburbs [of the capital] and the three [outer] regions! Pile up your hay and straw; do not dare not to provide plenty of it. [If you do not provide enough], you will be submitted to the great punishment.”10 魯人三郊三遂：峙乃 芻茭，無敢不多！汝則有大刑。

The Problem of the Title In most contemporary editions of the Shangshu, this text is reproduced under the title “Bi/Fei shi” 費誓 (“Oath [or “Harangue”] at Bi/Fei”).11 Many authors equate Bi/Fei with the Bi/Fei 費 / 鄪 principality or fief of the Spring and Autumn period located in present-day Fei 費 County (Shandong).12 However, this identification is not well founded. The Shangshu dazhuan 尚書大傳, attributed to Fu Sheng 伏勝 (mid-third to early second century BCE) and representing the modern-script tradition, calls 9

10 11

12

Wu yu 無餘 means “nothing left,” “without any remainder.” Legge (1991: 625) translates this expression as “various punishments,” and Karlgren (1950: 80) reads it as “punishments not liable to condonement.” Qu Wanli (1983a: 249) follows earlier commentaries suggesting that, apart from the death penalty, every punishment without any exception could be applied. Qu Wanli 1983a: 247–249. Qu Wanli 1983a: 246; Zang Kehe 1999: 553. Most scholars agree that 費, normally pronounced fei, should be read bi and understood as the place-name Bi; see Shaughnessy 1993: 380. The chapter is published under different titles in Duan Yucai 1990: 334; Yang Yunru 2005: 438; Lin Zhiqiang 2005: 99. Qu Wanli 1983a: 246; Jiang Shanguo 1988; Zang Kehe 1999: 553; Nienhauser 2006: 140.

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the text “Xian shi” 鮮誓 (“Oath [concerning] Fresh Food”).13 Xu Guang 徐廣 (352–425) mentioned that it was also called “Xian shi” 獮誓 (“Autumn Hunt Oath”).14 As the first part of the oath is concerned with hunting, and the last part is concerned with delivery of foodstuffs, both titles fit the content of this text.15 In the ancient-script tradition, this text was transmitted under the title “Bei/ Bi shi” / 粊誓.16 According to the Shuowen jiezi 說文解字, bi 粊 is a graphic variant of bei , “bad crops.”17 The title can be translated literally as “Oath concerning Bad Crops.” In contrast to “Xian shi,” it may emphasize the prohibition against delivering bad products. However, the scholars of the ancient-script tradition regarded Bei/Bi as a place-name. Until the eighth century CE, they agreed that Bi was located in the eastern suburbs of Qufu 曲阜, the residence of Lu dukes.18 The challenge to this opinion came from scholarship on the Shiji 史記. Sima Qian 司馬遷 (ca. 145–ca. 85 BCE) integrated a slightly abridged version of this oath into the Shiji’s “Lu Zhou gong shijia” 魯周公世家 (“Hereditary House of the Duke of Zhou of Lu”),19 ending his account with the words “[The duke] made this ‘Xi (Bi?) shi,’ then pacified the Rong of Xu and established Lu” (作此肸誓，遂平徐戎，定魯).20 The Shiji commentator Sima Zhen 司馬貞 ( fl. 713–742) identified “Xi shi” 肸誓 with “Bi shi” 粊誓, claiming that Bi corresponded to the place-name Bi/Fei 費 / 鄪 found in the Zuo zhuan 左傳.21 Sima 13 14 15 16 17

18 19

20 21

Shangshu dazhuan, 56. Duan Yucai 1990: 334, including the reference to Xu Guang. Xian 獮 and xian 鮮 were close in sound and one could be a mistake for the other. Cf. Pi Xirui 1989: 467. See Xue Jixuan 1782: 15.13; Duan Yucai 1990: 334; Yang Yunru 2005: 438; Lin Zhiqiang 2005: 99. See Duan Yucai 1990: 334. Further variants include and . A Japanese copy of the ancient-script Shangshu based on an early Tang manuscript spelled the title as “Fei shi” 棐誓, where fei 棐 possibly represents a misspelling of (bi/fei?). See Qu Wanli 1983b: 134; Lin Zhiqiang 2005: 99. Cf. Kong Yingda 1999: 562; Xue Jixuan 1782: 15.13. Sima Qian knew both the modern-script Shangshu transcribed by Fu Sheng and the ancient-script Shangshu recovered by Kong Anguo 孔安國 (?–100 BCE), which was lost and falsified later. It is possible that the shorter version of “Bi shi” quoted in the Shiji derives from the ancient-script Shangshu. Shiji 33.1524. Cf. Nienhauser 2006: 141. See Shiji 33.1525. See also Qu Wanli 1983a: 246. Notably, Li Daoyuan 郦道元 (466–572), who carefully collected historical references (especially deriving from the Shangshu, Shijing, and Zuo zhuan) relevant for every place listed in his Shuijing zhu 水 經 注, was not able to attach any such references to Fei County 費縣, localized in the Wen 汶 River valley in Shandong (Li Daoyuan 1989: vol. 2, 24.2052).

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Zhen did not provide any evidence for this localization and, possibly, ignored the fact that this Bi was located ca. 110 kilometers southeast of Qufu. The existence of at least five different titles for the same text, rendering an oath of a duke of Lu, represents just one among many discrepancies between various manuscript versions of the Shangshu that circulated in medieval China. In 744 Tang Xuanzong 玄宗 (r. 712–756) ordered Wei Bao 衛包 (fl. ca. 744) to prepare the standard text of the Shangshu. Wei Bao amended the ancient-script Shangshu, mostly replacing archaic characters with modern characters according to the modern-script version.22 In the case of “Bi shi,” he opted for Sima Zhen’s identification instead of adopting the modern-script variant of the title.23 In 759 this new standard text was engraved on stone steles that were erected on Mount Hua 華 and remained the basis for all printed editions of the Shangshu. Song Taizu 太祖 (r. 960–976) mandated the destruction of the remaining nonstandard versions of the Shangshu,24 and the title “Bi shi” 粊誓 was cast from memory. In the following, I suggest a return to this relatively early title as distinctly plausible. The Historical Setting of “Bi shi” The Shangshu “Small Preface” (“Xiao xu” 小序) attributes “Bi shi” to bo Qin 伯禽 (r. ca. late eleventh to early tenth century BCE),25 the son of Zhou gong Dan 周公旦 (also known as the “Duke of Zhou”) and first ruler of Lu.26 According to the “Small Preface,” bo Qin “made” (zuo 作) it on the occasion of the uprising of the Yi of Huai and the Rong of Xu, and the “Small Preface” associates the latter with the rebellion of King Cheng’s 成 (r. 1042/1035–1006 BCE) uncles Guan shu 管叔 and Cai shu 蔡叔.27 Together with the third uncle, Huo 22 23 24 25

26 27

Chen Mengjia 1985: 332; Lin Zhiqiang 2005: 95; Rong Xinjiang 2013: 368. See Duan Yucai 1990: 334. Jiang Shanguo (1988: 250) and Lin Zhiqiang (2005: 95) agree with Duan. For Taizu’s reform, see Rong Xinjiang 2013: 368. In a family, siblings were distinguished according to their birth order as bo 伯 (first-born), zhong 仲 (second-born), shu 叔 (middle-born), and ji 季 (junior). See Gassmann 2006: 320ff. The birth ranks and other kinship terms will be italicized hereafter in order to distinguish them from lineage or personal names. Kong Yingda 1999: 562; Qu Wanli 1983a: 305; Legge 1991: 13–14. The “Small Preface” is sometimes referred to as the “Preface to the Documents.” See Shaughnessy 1993: 376. King Cheng was the son of King Wu 武 (r. ca. 1045–1043 BCE), the founder of the Zhou dynasty. The dates for individual reigns of Zhou kings prior to 841 BCE remain a subject of debate, and a number of alternative chronologies are concurrently in use today. Neverthe-

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shu 霍叔, they supported the Shang descendant Lu fu 祿父, also known as Wu Geng 武庚, in an attempt to withdraw the eastern territories from Zhou control. This revolt was remembered as a major threat to the young Zhou dynasty. If the Rong of Xu and the Yi of Huai arose as allies of the traitorous uncles, defeating them was indeed a matter of highest importance for the survival of the dynasty. The Shiji “Lu Zhou gong shijia” offers a slightly different version, according to which the insurrection of the Yi of Huai and the Rong of Xu happened when bo Qin already resided in Qufu, that is, when the uncles’ rebellion had already been suppressed. In this case, it might have been just an internal matter of the Lu principality. “Bi shi” was possibly regarded as somewhat inferior to the chapters whose protagonists were Zhou kings or the Duke of Zhou. Different understandings of its historical setting may explain the different positions that it occupies in the modern- and ancient-script recensions of the Shangshu.28 Some scholars suspect that “Bi shi” was placed near the end of the Shangshu for chronological reasons. Thus, they suggest that its historical setting may be later than given in the “Small Preface,” namely, either during the reign of King Mu 穆 of Zhou (r. ca. 956–918 BCE)29 or even during the reign of Duke Xi 僖 of Lu (r. 659–627 BCE).30 However, the historical setting of “Bi shi” is defined by its reference to the “arising” of the Yi of Huai and the Rong of Xu. This event left many traces in the early received literature.31 King Cheng’s war against the Yi of Huai served as

28

29 30

31

less, each chronology allows for the relative ordering of events. For the sake of consistency, the dates in this chapter will be adopted from Shaughnessy 1991: 283. In the modern-script recension, it follows “Gu ming” 顧命 (“Testamentary Charge”), which is concerned with the succession from King Cheng to the future King Kang (see Dirk Meyer’s chapter 3 in the present volume); and it precedes “Lü xing” 呂刑 (“Punishments of Lü”), which is associated with King Mu (see chapter 13, by Charles Sanft, in the present volume). In the ancient-script recension, it occupies the penultimate position just preceding “Qin shi” 秦誓 (“Oath of Qin”), attributed to Duke Mu 穆 of Qin (r. 659–621 BCE). Cf. Sun Xinyan 1986: 510. For criticism see Pi Xirui 1989: 467–469. Yu Yongliang (1930: 80) attributes the text to Duke Xi; for criticism, see Creel 1970: 457. Yu’s hypothesis has remained attractive to others; see Qu Wanli 1968: 134–135; 1983a: 246–247; 1984: 172–173; Wu Yu 1980: 173; Jiang Shanguo 1988: 250. On the basis of the parallels with the texts of the Shangshu, early inscriptions referring to the “Eastern Region” or to rebelling Yi are often regarded as dating from the reign of King Cheng (see Chen 1955: 168–175; Guo 1957). In particular, the Rang-fangding 方鼎 (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 02739; Baoji, Shaanxi Province; early Western Zhou) was commissioned by a participant of a campaign of a duke of Zhou against the Eastern Yi (dong Yi 東 夷). Many scholars suppose that this must be Dan, although theoretically, this could be Dan’s descendant, not mentioned in transmitted sources, who inherited the title. Another

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the historical setting for “Da gao” 大誥 (“Grand Proclamation”) as well as for one chapter in the ancient-script Shangshu.32 Sima Qian assumed further that the “Duo fang” 多方 (“Many Regions”) chapter was also related to this war.33 Memories of the “rebellion” of Xu during King Cheng’s reign spread even wider. The Zuo zhuan represents Xu and Yan 奄 as exemplary renegades.34 The war against Yan during the reign of King Cheng served as the historical setting for the “Duo shi” 多士 (“Many Officers”) and “Duo fang” chapters in both the modern- and ancient-script Shangshu, as well as for two chapters that no longer exist.35 The “Zuo Luo” 作雒 (“Constructing [the City on] the Luo [River]”) chapter of the Yi Zhoushu 逸周書 (Remnant Zhou Documents) states that the wars against Yan and Xu, as well as against King Cheng’s uncles, took place at the same time: When King Wu conquered Yin, he appointed Crown Prince Lu fu in order to preserve the Shang ancestral sacrifices. [He] installed Guan shu in the east and installed Cai shu [and] Huo shu in Yin in order to oversee the Yin subjects. After the king had returned [to the west], in the twelfth month of the year [he] died in Hao [and was] put in the coffin in Zhou under Qi. The Duke of Zhou assumed the position of chancellor of the Son of Heaven. The three younger brothers [of King Wu] together with [the states] to the east of Yin, Xu [and] Yan, rebelled together with the Xiong [and] Ying. The Duke of Zhou [and] the Duke of Shao suppressed the

32

33 34 35

inscription, the Lu-hou zun 魯侯尊 (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 04029; unprovenanced; early Western Zhou), mentions the command of a king to Ming gong 明公 (identifiable as a son of a duke of Zhou on the basis of other inscriptions) to “strike the Eastern Region” (fa dong yu 伐東或). The ruler of Lu, who commissioned this vessel, reported his achievements in this war. Some scholars directly relate this inscription to “Bi shi” and identify Ming gong with bo Qin (Guo Moruo 1957: 10b–11a; Yang Chaoming 2001). However, other inscriptions featuring Ming gong or referring to the “Eastern Region” probably date from the reign of King Zhao 昭. Altogether, they corroborate that, during the early Western Zhou period, the Zhou led wars in the east and Lu was involved in them, but they cannot be regarded as direct evidence for the events referred to in “Bi shi.” Qu Wanli 1983a: 300. According to the “Small Preface,” two other chapters of the Shangshu dealt with King Cheng’s war against the Yi of Huai: “Cheng wang zheng” 成王政 and “Zhou guan” 周官. See Qu Wanli 1983a: 302–303. The first is no longer available; the second one exists in the ancient-script version. Shiji 4.133. Yang Bojun 1995: 1206 (Zhao 1). Cf. Zang Kehe 1999: 409, 461; Qu Wanli 1983a: 302–303. Other chapters include the lost “Cheng wang zheng” and “Pugu” 蒲姑. See Qu Wanli 1983a: 302.

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[rebellious] elder brothers within [the borders] and consolidated the rulers of principalities outside.36 武王克殷，乃立王子祿父，俾守商祀，建管叔于東，建蔡叔、霍叔于 殷，俾監殷臣。王既歸，乃歲十二月崩鎬，肂于岐周。周公立，相天 子。三叔及殷東，徐奄及熊盈以略。周公、召公，內弭父兄，外撫諸 侯。

Although the passage does not explicitly mention Lu in connection with Yan and Xu, this connection becomes evident in the Zuo zhuan.37 The modernscript Zhushu jinian 竹書紀年 (Bamboo Annals) provides further evidence that in the Warring States period, the “rebellion” of Xu was associated with that of the Yi of Huai, and that both of them were associated with the reign of King Cheng. This text states: Second year. Men of Yan, men of Xu, and the Yi of Huai entered Bei and rebelled [from there].38 二年，奄人、徐人及淮夷入于邶以叛。

The place-name Bei 邶 here can be related to the place-name Bei/Bi 粊 / as in “Bi shi.” If so, the Zhushu jinian and “Bi shi” possibly refer to the same histo­ rical memory shared among various early texts.39 If the Zhushu jinian entry for the second year of King Cheng is based on “Bi shi,” this would suggest that the latter was considered authoritative by the late fourth century BCE. Taken together, the Zuo zhuan, Yi Zhoushu, and Zhushu jinian suggest that the preimperial historical memory included a conflict between Zhou and Xu during the reign of King Cheng. This conflict was related to the Lu principality and bo Qin and, furthermore, was perceived as a general, and not only local, challenge to the Zhou dynasty. The considerable weight of this memory may explain why “Bi shi” became incorporated in the Shangshu. Both the Yi of Huai and Xu resurfaced several times on the Western Zhou political scene. Later wars may have served to keep the memory of the first “rebellion” alive. Another conflict between Zhou and Xu took place almost one hundred years after the first one. According to various transmitted sources, King Mu of Zhou recognized the ruler of Xu as the “Elder” (bo 伯) over other 36 37 38 39

Huang Huaixin 1996: 253–254. Yang Bojun 1995: 1536–1537 (Ding 4). Wang Guowei 2008: 244. Wang Guowei (2008, passim) has shown that many Zhushu jinian entries can be traced back to the Shangshu, the Yi Zhoushu, and the Shijing.

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“eastern lords.”40 Inscriptions on several bronze vessels dating from the reign of King Mu refer to an uprising of the Rong of Huai 淮戎, particularly Hu , and the Yun Rong 戎 of the “Eastern Region.”41 According to the Zhushu ji­ nian, King Mu later incited Chu 楚 against the “Rong of Xu,” thus “using barbarians to control other barbarians.”42 More than a century later, King Xuan 宣 of Zhou (827–782 BCE) went to war against the Yi of Huai and Xu, which is commemorated in the “Chang wu” 常武 ode in the Shijing; in the Zhushu ji­ nian, this war is referred to as against the “Rong of Xu.”43 There are no hints of Lu’s involvement in these two later wars led by Zhou kings; hence, “Bi shi” cannot be associated with either one. During the Spring and Autumn period, Lu participated in only one war against Xu, in 667 BCE,44 while during the reign of Duke Xi, Lu and Xu were allies.45 Wars between Lu and the Yi of Huai during the Spring and Autumn period are not attested. Thus, the Spring and Autumn period as a whole does not qualify as the historical setting for “Bi shi,” which supports the traditional view of “Bi shi” as depicting the war under King Cheng. This, of course, does not mean that the text must have been composed at that time. The Ideological Background of “Bi shi”: Western Zhou Oaths and Commands Unlike other shi 誓 (“oaths” or “harangues”) in the Shangshu, the speaker of “Bi shi” calls his speech not a shi but a “command” (ming 命). The word “oath” appears only in the chapter title. What does this text have in common with genuine “oath” or “command” texts from the Western Zhou period? Oath texts or references to oaths occur in bronze inscriptions rarely and only from the middle Western Zhou period onward, when the sacred space of sacrificial bronze vessels was gradually opened up to include other aspects of life,46 though oaths may have been recorded in earlier periods on (perishable) wood or bamboo only. One of the most detailed oath texts on bronze can be 40 41

42 43 44 45 46

See Shiji 5.175; Hou Han shu 85.2808. Dong-ding 鼎, Dong-gui 簋 (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 04322; Baijia 白家, Fufeng, Shaanxi; middle Western Zhou); Ban-gui 班簋 (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 04341; middle Western Zhou). Wang Guowei 2008: 250. Qu Wanli 1983c: 543; Wang Guowei 2008: 257. Yang Bojun 1995: 233 (Zhuang 26). Cf. Yang Bojun 1995: 349 (Xi 15), pace Yu Yongliang’s suggestion noted above. The Western Zhou period is conventionally subdivided into three subperiods: early (King

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found on the San Shi-pan 散氏盤 basin from ca. the early ninth century BCE. The beginning of the inscription lists settlements and fields restituted to the San 散 lineage by the king of Yu 夨 (虞) after a local territorial conflict.47 It specifies the landmarks of the borders of territorial possessions and lists the names of all persons involved in measuring and demarcating the land. Further, it records where and when the land transfer was fixed by an oath, identifies the persons who took the oath together, states their obligations, and defines penalties for breaking the oath: It was the king’s ninth month, the year-star was in the yi-mao [sign]. [The king of] Yu commanded Xian, Ju, X, [and] Lü to take an oath, saying: “We have already returned the fields and objects to the San lineage. [We] were in error. Truly, I have [the same] mind [as] the San lineage. [If I] steal, [I shall] substitute one thousand and be fined one thousand [lüe units of metal?], deposed, and banished.” Xian, Ju, X, [and] Lü hence took an oath. Then the Western Palace’s Xiang [and] Wu fu took an oath, saying: “We have already returned the wet fields to the San lineage [and] demarcated the fields. [If] we commit a fault [and cause] disorder, [we shall] substitute one thousand and [shall] be fined one thousand [lüe?].” The Western Palace’s Xiang [and] Wu fu thus took an oath. Its chart was produced in the Eastern Yard of the king of Yu’s New Palace at Dou. Its left-hand side was tied up with a rope. Secretary Zheng, zhong Nong.48 唯王九月，辰才（在）乙卯。夨 (虞) 卑鮮、且、 、旅誓，曰：「我 既付散氏田器。有爽，實余有散氏心。賊，則爰千、罰千，傳棄之」 。鮮、且、 、旅則誓，迺卑（俾）西宮襄、武父誓曰：「我既付散 氏溼田， （畛）田。余又爽 (亂)，爰千罰千」。西宮襄、武父則 誓。氒（厥）為圖，夨 (虞) 王于豆新宮東廷。氒（厥）左執 (縶) 縷。 史正、中農。

An oath was thus a legal instrument by which obligations and penalties for noncompliance were fixed.49 Its text was pronounced aloud and written down

47 48

49

Wu to King Zhao, 1045–957 BCE), middle (King Mu to King Yi, 956–858 BCE), and late (King Li to King You, 857–771 BCE). Yu was a small kingdom in western Shaanxi, ruled by a Ji-surnamed lineage, possibly descending from King Wen’s uncle Yu zhong (see Ch’en Chao-jung 2017; Khayutina 2015). San Shi-pan 散氏盤 (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 10176), discovered in Fengxiang 鳳翔 County, Shaanxi. For full translations and analysis, see Lau 1999: 334–345; Skosey 1996: 387–392. Cf. Maspero 1934–1935: 307; Liu Yongping 1998: 151.

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for safekeeping. Another example from ca. the mid-ninth century BCE corroborates these observations. Two almost identical inscriptions on ding 鼎 and gui 簋 vessels reflect a legal case between the vessels’ commissioner, Ge Bi 鬲比, and his neighbor Mu of You and Wei 攸衛牧.50 Mu attempted to appropriate Ge Bi’s fields and settlements. Ge Bi brought the case to the Zhou king for trial.51 The king dispatched two representatives, Secretary Nan 史南 and Lü of the Guo lineage 虢旅, to investigate the situation. Finally, Guo Lü made You Wei Mu swear an oath, saying: “If I will not make a ­retribution to Ge Bi and resent dividing settlements and fields, I shall be punished.”52 虢旅廼事攸衛牧誓曰：敢弗具付鬲比，其且射（厭）分田邑，則 徵（懲）。

In a dispute, the guilty party swore an oath to recognize the agreed-upon conditions, and in a regular transaction the seller acknowledged the alienation of his property by means of an oath.53 An inscription could also record a case when someone did not fulfill the obligations incurred by a previously sworn oath.54 It is possible, though not yet supported by Western Zhou epigraphic evidence, that legally binding oaths were also taken in military contexts, comparable to what we find in “Bi shi.”55 Such epigraphic evidence mostly derives from the Zhou metropolitan region in present-day Shaanxi Province, but some recent finds corroborate that oaths were also used elsewhere. One oath text discovered in 2007 comes from 50 51 52

53 54 55

Ge You Bi-ding 鬲攸比鼎 (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 04278) and Ge You Bi-gui gai 鬲攸比 簋蓋 (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 02818). Note that in the Ge You Bi inscriptions, gao 告 is used as a legal term. For the transcription and analysis, see Ma Chengyuan 1986–1990: no. 426. For discussions of this case, see Lau 1999: 362–367; Skosey 1996: 105–106, 422–427. Lau follows a number of Chinese authors (e.g., Guo Moruo) and accepts that this vessel was cast during the reign of King Li 厲 (r. ca. 857–842 BCE). Skosey accepts Shaughnessy’s (1991) date of 795 BCE. See, e.g., Wei-ding 衛鼎 (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 02832), discovered in Dongjia 董家, Qi­­ shan 岐山 County, Shaanxi Province. Sheng-yi (he) 匜 (盉) (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 10285), discovered in Dongjia, Qishan County, Shaanxi. The Shi Qi-ding 師旂鼎 inscription (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 02809), from the middle Western Zhou period, renders a case in which a certain shi (“Captain” or “Master”) Qi failed to follow the king in a military campaign, for which he was “justly” sentenced by his superior to a fine of three hundred lüe 鋢, similar to the case reflected in the Sheng-yi.

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the Ba 霸 state cemetery at Dahekou 大河口, Shanxi Province.56 The text, on a beautiful late Western Zhou bird-shaped he 盉 vessel, reads: Qi [swore] an oath saying: “I shall hold on to the duke’s command. If I myself will not [do it], then [I shall be] whipped; [my] body [shall be] driven around and exposed.”57 [I] responded to his oath, saying: “As I already have said, I [shall also] hold on to the duke’s command. If I change my words, I shall be expelled.” To extol the duke’s command, I make these treasured pan [and] he [vessels]. Grandsons and sons of sons shall use them for ten thousand years!58 誓，曰：余某弗 (稱) 公命，余自無，則鞭。身茀傳出。報氒誓， 曰：余既曰，余 [爯攴](稱) 公命。襄余亦改朕辭，出棄。對公命，用 乍寶盤盉，孫子子其萬年用！

This example demonstrates that an oath could be enforced in response to an overlord’s “command” (ming 命). “Commands” represented the usual means for enforcing decisions at various levels of the hierarchical society of the Western Zhou and Spring and Autumn periods.59 Kings regularly issued commands to their officials in the course of the so-called ce ming 冊命 (appointment) ceremonies, where the written text of the charge was read aloud and handed over to the appointee.60 Any other overlord could issue commands to his subordinates. The commands sometimes explicitly warned their recipients against behaving improperly. These warnings were usually very general and appealed to the recipients’ morality—for instance, instructing them “not to dare not to be good” (bu gan bu shan 不敢不善).61 The recipients usually formally accept56 57

58 59 60 61

Shanxi sheng kaogu yanjiusuo Dahekou mudi lianhe kaogudui 2011: 17. The meaning of fu chuan chu 茀傳出 puzzles all translators. Li Xueqin (2011) supposes that fu 茀 is an upper part of a chariot, and chuan 傳 stands for zhuan 轉, which he understands as a type of chariot. Accordingly, he thinks that the author of this oath was going to travel to various places in a chariot, possibly with the intent of proclaiming his oath publicly. Other authors see parallels between the expressions fu chuan chu and chu qi 出棄 in this inscription and the expression chuan qi chu 傳棄出 in the oath recorded in the San Shi-pan inscription. Ulrich Lau (1999: 339) translates the latter as “man verstoße mich (umgekehrt, im Gegenteil) als Revanche” (I shall be [to the contrary] expelled as retribution). Transcription after Li Xueqin 2011: 3. Dobson 1968: 269–270. See Qi Sihe 1947; Kane 1982–1983; Kern 2007: 152–157. Cf. Shanfu Shan-ding 膳夫山鼎 (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 02825; Fufeng 扶風 County, Shaanxi); Jian-gui 諫簋 (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 04285; Fufeng County, Shaanxi).

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ed the command by the act of “extolling in response” (dui yang 對揚) without swearing an oath. It is noteworthy that whoever issued a ming never stated his own responsibilities or pronounced an oath. As the inscription from Dahekou demonstrates, oaths represented a means by which subordinates unilaterally responded to commands, whereby they obligated themselves not to act against their words and explicitly acknowledged appropriate punitive sanctions. Going back to “Bi shi,” at first glance the text seems to conform to the spirit of Western Zhou legal culture, but a closer inspection reveals substantial differences. From a Western Zhou perspective, the speech of the duke addressed to his subordinates was not an oath but a command. Indeed, the word “oath” appears only in the—retrospectively assigned?—title “Bi shi,” not in the body of the chapter; there, the speech is called ming, which hence agrees with Western Zhou practice. At the same time, the setting of “Bi shi” qualifies as an especially serious case, in which a commander would require the command’s recipients to swear an oath. Thus, the title “Oath [concerning] Bi” may refer not to the duke’s command but to the following oath-taking that the command necessitated. On the other hand, “Bi shi” mentions sanctions, which are unlikely to be listed in a Western Zhou command text: punishments were the subject of a shi, not of a ming. The mingling of two legal acts and two types of documentary records separated from each other in Western Zhou legal practice signals that “Bi shi” is not an original document of this period but a literary adaptation. While some Western Zhou oath texts could be very specific in their listing of offenses, the command texts extremely rarely mention particular illegal activities. When they do, they refer only to crimes committed by third parties, and they never warn the command’s recipient against committing specific of­ fenses. The moral warning “do not dare not to be good” in “Bi shi” fits the Western Zhou standard of “commands,” whereas its parallel warnings such as “do not dare not to supply [the materials]” seem too specific for this textual format. Western Zhou inscriptional oath texts usually identify not only offenses but also punishments. If the men of Lu responded to the duke’s command by swearing an oath, they would most likely have acknowledged explicitly that in the case of treason they would be banished, killed, or subjected to some other sanction. In contrast, although “Bi shi” creates a semblance of differentiating between various kinds of punitive sanctions, it refers to them in only general or euphemistic terms. Such sanctions as “regular punishments” or “the great punishment” are not attested in Western Zhou bronze inscriptions. This too suggests that “Bi shi” is not a document from the early Western Zhou epoch. It is improbable that the authors of “Bi shi” did not know what kinds of punishments were used during the Western Zhou period. Rather, they may have

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deemed such details unimportant, avoided them for ethical reasons, or merely used the ancient historical setting in order to lend weight to a new program. Further discrepancies can be observed in the communicative aspects of the speech. Western Zhou documentary records, including command and oath texts, trial decisions, and contracts, all emphasize the act of speaking (yue 曰).62 It was evidently important that, even when a text was prepared in advance, its words were physically pronounced and thus transformed into a speech act with illocutionary force. The word yue can be recognized as a conventional legal “enacting” element, “a performative in form and function.”63 While placing much emphasis on the act of speaking, Western Zhou records are completely disinterested in the act of listening (ting 聽). Those who gave orders or promises during this period seem to never doubt that their words would be heard. By contrast, “listening to the command” is regularly mentioned in the Zuo zhuan as an act of expressing obedience and finds its way into some bronze inscriptions of the Spring and Autumn period.64 Apparently, commanders over time became more concerned about whether their subordinates had properly internalized their orders. Therefore, while the call to “listen to the command” in “Bi shi” seems unusual for the early Western Zhou period, it fits well into the legal and political culture of the Spring and Autumn period.65 The authors of “Bi shi” furthermore seem to “modernize” the Western Zhou administrative system. Sui 遂, translated above as “[outer] region,” supposedly corresponds to sui 隧, attested several times in the Zuo zhuan as an administrative division in Lu and in some neighboring principalities during the Spring and Autumn period.66 On some occasions, sui is distinguished from jiao 郊, which may refer to the immediate suburbs of cities. Western Zhou bronze in62 63 64

65

66

Cf. Kern 2007: 150–157. See Kurzon 1997: 5–8. For “legal performatives,” see Kurzon 1989. Cf. Huanzi Meng Jiang-hu 洹子孟姜壺 (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 09729; late Spring and Autumn); Zhongshan wang-ding 中山王鼎 (Yin Zhou jinwen jicheng 02840; Warring States). References to “listening” can also be revealed as anachronisms in some “proclamations” and other early “oaths/harangues” in the Shangshu. In contrast, in “Qin shi,” whose protagonist was identified as a Spring and Autumn period ruler of Qin, the order to “listen to the command” is not anachronistic. Notably, the similarity between “Bi shi” and “Qin shi,” observed by Yu Yongliang, refers exclusively to their introductory lines, in which both protagonists require their audience to listen to their words. Notably, “listening to the command” is missing in the quotations from “Bi shi” and other Shangshu chapters in the Shiji (Shiji 33.1524). It is possible that they represent post-Shiji interpolations in the current text of the Shangshu. Cf. Yang Bojun 1995: 961 (Xiang 9).

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scriptions reveal that the contemporary residential and administrative hierarchy consisted of yi 邑 (settlements) and li 里 (villages), with territories in the vicinity of the royal residences designated as bi 鄙, and the shi 師 units located at various distances from the center. The evidence for the existence of sui and jiao units during the Western Zhou period is very weak.67 In sum, the authors of “Bi shi” seemed to possess a good knowledge of Western Zhou legal culture, documentary practice, and language. It is plausible that they had access to some written materials from that epoch. By choosing the ancient form of the “oath” and by introducing some expressions resembling the language of Western Zhou “commands,” they possibly attempted to produce a text that their contemporary readers would recognize as an ancient document. At the same time, they possibly knowingly combined two distinct Western Zhou legal forms, commands and oaths, and modernized the historical-geographical setting of the scene by referring to “suburbs” and “outer regions,” thus adapting this text to the perceptions of their contemporary readership. The Historical Context for the Composition of “Bi shi” “Bi shi” is written in a plain style and is easily legible. Such legibility is often regarded as an indication of the later date of some texts in comparison to the earliest Shangshu chapters,68 even though Western Zhou bronze inscriptions are often plain and easily legible as well. Yet stylistic elements, such as the parallelism of phrases, suggest that “Bi shi” does not date from the early Western Zhou period.69 That said, from an ethical perspective, “Bi shi” adequately reflects the zeitgeist of the Western Zhou period. Unlike the “proclamations” (gao 誥) or other “oaths/harangues” in the Shangshu, “Bi shi” contains no moralizations or accusations.70 It does not blame the Rong of Xu as “traitors” or “criminals” and does not draw on any other arguments to justify war. It simply identifies war as a circumstance and the reason for demanding the obedience

67

68 69 70

See Yang Kuan 1964, 1965; Yu Xingwu 1965. The Shi Mi-gui 史密簋 inscription discovered in 1986 mentions sui ren 遂人 (see Fang Shuxin 1998; Li Feng 2008: 172–173), though Sui may be a place-name here. See Nylan 2001: 133. See, e.g., Jiang Shanguo 1988: 250. For the analysis of other shi in the Shangshu, see Martin Kern’s chapter 8 in the present volume.

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of the duke’s subordinates. Similarly, Western Zhou bronze inscriptions almost never moralize and seldom mention pretexts to justify wars. Since “Bi shi” does not mention the Zhou king, its authors most likely did not belong to the Zhou court. Various transmitted sources signal that the political and intellectual climate in Lu was particularly fertile for producing such texts around the seventh century BCE. One argument presented by Yu Yongliang, who suggested identifying the protagonist of “Bi shi” as Duke Xi of Lu, was based on some correspondences between this text and the “Bi gong” 閟 宮 (Mao 300) hymn in the “Lu song” 魯頌 (“Lu Eulogies”) section of the Shijing. “Bi gong” is a hymn addressed to the ancestors of the Lu ruling house, composed in Lu after the model of the “Daya” 大雅 (“Great Hymns”) of the Shijing that are associated with the royal court.71 It traces the Lu genealogy from the legendary ancestor of all Ji-surnamed lineages, Hou Ji 后稷, to the Great King (tai wang 大王, the founder of the Zhou lineage Dan fu 亶父), then to the first Zhou kings, Wen 文 and Wu 武, then to the Duke of Zhou and the first Duke of Lu (i.e., bo Qin), then to Duke Zhuang 莊 (r. 692–663 BCE), and, finally, to the reigning ruler, the son of Duke Zhuang. There is common agreement that “Bi gong” was written during the reign of Duke Xi of Lu, the third son of Duke Zhuang. After a prayer for the well-being and longevity of the reigning duke, the hymn calls on the “august ancestor, the Duke of Zhou,” and prays for happiness, wealth, and protection for the state of Lu. In this part, the text alternates between prayers and lists of economic and military assets of the current duke. In two of its stanzas the hymn touches upon the geography of Lu:

71

泰山巖巖 魯邦所詹 奄有龜蒙 遂荒大東 至于海邦 淮夷來同 莫不率從 魯侯之功

Mount Tai is rocky, lofty, This is what the state of Lu looks toward. [Lu] grandly possesses Meng and Gui [Mountains], And further expands to the Great East. As it reaches to the states of the Sea, The Yi of Huai came to seek accord. There is no one who did not follow— These were the achievements of the Lord(s) of Lu!

保有鳧繹 遂荒徐宅 至于海邦 淮夷蠻貊 及彼南夷

[Lu] protects and possesses Fu and Yi [Mountains], And further expands to the Residence of Xu. As it reaches to the states of the Sea, The Yi of Huai, the Man and Mo, And those Southern Yi:

See, e.g., “Mian” 綿 (Mao 237) in Qu Wanli 1983c: 459.

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Khayutina 莫不率從 There is no one who did not follow. 莫敢不諾 There is no one who did not agree— 魯侯是若 Such were the Lord(s) of Lu!72

Yu Yongliang surmised that “Bi gong” praises the military achievements of Duke Xi of Lu against the Yi of Huai and the Rong of Xu and that these actions also constitute the historical setting of “Bi shi.”73 However, as noted above, it is unlikely that Duke Xi could be the protagonist of “Bi shi.” If huang 荒 (“weedcovered,” “wasteland,” “desolate,” “vast,” “distant,” “to cover,” “to expand to”) in the above stanzas from “Bi gong” refers to military actions against Xu, the hymn may commemorate Duke Zhuang’s war of 667 BCE. Yet Duke Zhuang did not deal with the Yi of Huai; furthermore, since “Bi gong” repeatedly refers to the ancestors, it is more likely praising their military feats, perhaps even since the reign of bo Qin. In any case, “Bi gong” is a noteworthy monument of the historical memory culture of Lu during the seventh century BCE. The parallels with “Bi gong” are more relevant for identifying the plausible historical context of the “Bi shi” text’s production rather than its retrospectively imagined historical setting.74 “Bi gong” makes it plain that during the seventh century BCE, the Lu court followed the example of the Zhou royal court and sponsored the production of poems commemorating the foundation of the ruling lineage. It praises the ruling duke in exalted terms as a living embodiment of the glory of his ancestors. As Martin Doornbos has observed in case studies from other cultures, symbolic exaltation of power is often, and sometimes successfully, applied as a “key antidote to centrifugal forces” in declining political institutions.75 The Zhou’s gradual decline in power after 771 BCE may thus be an important factor in understanding the historical context in which the royal court sponsored and spread commemorative texts, including parts of the Shangshu and Shijing. In the seventh century BCE, the situation in Lu became similarly critical. The main line of the Lu ruling house faced increasing competition for power from its three collateral branches: the Mengsun 孟孫, Shusun 叔孫, and Jisun 季孫

72 73 74

75

Qu Wanli 1983c: 609. Yu Yongliang 1930: 78. Yu Yongliang’s contemporary Yang Yunru 陽筠如 (1901–1946) also pointed out the parallels between “Bi shi” and “Bi gong.” Yang Yunru (2005: 438–439) suggested more cautiously that “Bi shi” could have been composed at about the same time as “Bi gong,” but he did not question the traditional historical setting of “Bi shi,” that is, in the time of King Cheng. Doornbos 1985: 34.

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descendants of the three younger sons of Duke Huan 桓 of Lu (r. 711–694 BCE).76 As “Bi gong” may show, the political elites of Lu soon recognized the potential of monumentalizing the past in the form of “foundational texts” for strengthening the ruling house and politically consolidating the society.77 Other texts referring to the foundational period of Lu, such as “Bi shi,” could likely have been produced in the same historical milieu.78 Moreover, the address of the protagonist of “Bi shi” to the “men of Lu from the three suburbs and the three outer regions,” emphasized through repetition, could be directly related to the contemporary political agenda of the Lu ruling house, as it strove to prevent the drifting away of its three branch lineages. Commemorating the past in order to generate political unity in the present was possibly not the only intent of “Bi shi.” With its detailed list of prohibitions, obligations, and penalties with regard to the “men of Lu,” this text can also be understood in the frame of the Spring and Autumn period’s legal culture. A key to the legal aspects in the historical context of “Bi shi” can be found in the Zuo zhuan and the Guoyu 國語. These earliest transmitted historiographical narratives, covering political history from about the late eighth through the mid-fifth centuries BCE, developed into their present form during the fourth through second centuries BCE. They certainly may contain errors and deliberate manipulations of facts. As in the case of the Shangshu, the trustworthiness of the speeches of various polities’ statesmen cited in these texts is debatable.79 In my view, it can be assumed that both the Zuo zhuan and the Guoyu more or less adequately reflect the history of events of the Spring and Autumn period, whereas the speeches only approximately render the views of this period’s politicians and intellectuals as they were remembered during the Warring States period. According to the Zuo zhuan, in 609 BCE, Pu 僕, the crown prince of the Ju 莒 principality in southern Shandong, murdered his father, Duke Ji 紀, and fled to neighboring Lu. Duke Xuan 宣 of Lu (r. 608–591 BCE), who had just assumed power after the death of his father, accepted Pu’s gifts and offered him asylum.80 Jisun Hang fu 季孫行父, also known as Ji Wenzi 季文子 (ca. 635–568 BCE), the 76 77 78 79 80

These “three Huan” (san Huan 三桓) lineages gained control over the main lineage in the mid-sixth century BCE (Lewis 1999: 598). On “foundational texts,” see Stock 1997: 16–23. On the construction of “foundational memory,” see Assmann 2011: 37. Yang Yunru 2005: 438–439. Cf. Schaberg 2001 to Pines 2002. The story is recorded under Year 18 of Duke Wen (r. 626–609 BCE), the final year of his reign. According to the Chunqiu, Duke Wen died in the second month, whereas Duke Ji of Ju was murdered in the fifth month.

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leader of the Jisun collateral branch of the Lu ducal house, remonstrated against this decision. He ordered the minister of crime (sikou 司寇) to expel Pu and sent Grand Secretary Ke 大史克 to the duke with the following explanations: The former minister Zang Wen zhong taught the rituals of how to serve one’s ruler to Jisun Hang fu. Hang fu accepted [his teachings] and repeatedly returned to [them in practice], not daring to lose the path. [Zang Wen zhong] said: “[If you] see [someone who serves] his ruler according to propriety, serve him, similar to a pious son who takes care of his father and mother. [If you] see [someone who serves] his ruler contrary to propriety, execute him, similar to an eagle or hawk that pursues small birds. Our ancient ruler the Duke of Zhou regulated the rituals of Zhou, saying: ‘Regulations are for observing virtue, by virtue one deals with affairs, by affairs one measures merits, by merits one nourishes the people.’ He made the ‘Oath-Command,’ saying: ‘To slander is to murder, to hide a murderer is to conceal, to accept bribes secretly is to steal, to steal objects is wrongdoing. To respect the name of one who conceals or to rely on benefits from wrongdoing is greatly violating virtue, [for which] there are regular [punishments] without pardon.’” This is [written] in the Nine Punishments [and] must not be forgotten.81 先大夫臧文仲教行父事君之禮，行父奉以周旋，弗敢失隊 (隧) ，曰： 「見有禮於其君者，事之，如孝子之養父母也；見無禮於其君者，誅 之，如鷹鸇之逐鳥雀也。先君周公制周禮曰：『則以觀德，德以處 事，事以度功，功以食民。』作誓命曰：『毀則為賊，掩賊為藏，竊 賄為盜，盜器為姦。主藏之名，賴姦之用，為大凶德，有常無赦。』 」在九刑，不忘。

This passage quotes an “Oath-Command” (shiming 誓命) allegedly issued by the Duke of Zhou and available in written form as part of the book Nine Punishments (Jiu xing 九刑). The latter book is mentioned in the Zuo zhuan once again in the famous plea of shu Xiang 叔向 (?–ca. 528 BCE), the principal minister of Jin 晉, in connection with the first publication of penal statutes Xing shu 刑書 in Zheng in 536 BCE. Shu Xiang compared the Jiu xing, disseminated by the Zhou court, with the penal statutes of the Xia and Shang dynasties that allegedly had been issued by these dynasties’ founders, Yu 禹 and Tang 湯. This comparison confirms that the Jiu xing pretended to be a “document” from the founding period of the Zhou dynasty. At the same time, shu 81

Yang Bojun 1995: 633–635 (Wen 18).

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Xiang criticized all three of these collections of laws as products of epochs of “disordered government” (luan zheng 亂政).82 Since the reigns of Yu and Tang were regarded as exemplary, shu Xiang’s assessment could refer only to the dynasties’ later periods, when they were in decline. And since shu Xiang included the Jiu xing in his critique, the implication is that it must have appeared only after the Zhou government also had become “disordered,” that is, well after the time of the Duke of Zhou. If shu Xiang in Jin seemed to doubt the antiquity, authenticity, and legitimacy of the Jiu xing in 536 BCE, seventy years earlier Grand Secretary Ke had praised this very “book” as an ancient, authentic, and authoritative source of law. Although the Jiu xing is not preserved, the quotation in the Zuo zhuan demonstrates that the “Oath-Command of the Duke of Zhou,” purportedly part of this collection of texts, was comparable to “Bi shi” in both nature and content, discussing offenses and penalties. Notably, it also referred to the “regular punishments” (chang 常 [刑]). The Zuo zhuan thus indicates that during the seventh century BCE at the latest, there was a written tradition that traced systematic legal regulations to the Duke of Zhou. “Bi shi,” featuring the Duke of Zhou’s son bo Qin, as the user of laws established by the Duke of Zhou, should perhaps be understood in the framework of this tradition. Zang Wen zhong 臧文仲 (ca. 700–617 BCE, aka Zang sun Chen 臧孫辰), mentioned in the quoted passage, was possibly the key figure fostering this tradition in Lu. During the reigns of Dukes Zhuang and Xi, he was the principal minister of Lu.83 He was proficient in ancient poetry, which he quoted as an authoritative source in his persuasions, particularly while discussing the “clear virtue of the former kings” (xian wang zhe ming de 先王之明德) or juxtaposing “propriety” (li 禮) to “crime” (zui 罪) when speaking of Yu 禹, Tang 湯, Jie 桀, and Zhou 紂.84 Zang Wen zhong’s speeches in the Zuo zhuan reflect his belief that the past should serve as the model for the present. Zang Wen zhong also repeatedly appears as a prominent figure in the “Lu yu” 魯語 (“Speeches of Lu”) section of the Guoyu. In some of these anecdotes, he again acts as an expert on punishments: There are only five types of punishments. Great punishments [are effectuated] using armed warriors. [Punishments] of the next degree [are 82 83

84

Yang Bojun 1995: 1275 (Zhao 6). He was first referred to in the Chunqiu for the year 666 BCE. The Zuo zhuan shows him active already in 683 BCE. His death is recorded in the Chunqiu under 617 BCE (see Yang Bojun 1995: 188 [Zhuang 11], 238 [Zhuang 28], 574 [Wen 10]). See Yang Bojun 1995: 188 (Zhuang 11), 395 (Xi 22).

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effectuated] using axes and halberds. Intermediary punishments [are effectuated] using knives and saws. [Punishments] of the next degree [are effectuated] using drills and branding instruments. Light punishments [are effectuated] using the whip and the stick, so as to keep the people in awe. Therefore, great [punishments] are displayed in plains and fields, while small [punishments] are carried out in marketplaces or courtyards. The five types of punishments [are effectuated] in three places, and none [of them is performed] secretly.85 刑五而已 …．大刑用甲兵，其次 用斧鉞，中刑用刀鋸，其次用鑽笮， 薄刑用鞭扑，以威民也．故大者陳之原野，小者致之市朝．五刑三 次，是無隱也．

Along with “Bi shi,” this is one of the very few transmitted texts in which “great punishments” (da xing 大刑) are mentioned. Performed in “plains and fields” by “armed warriors,” they are associated with military matters, which further matches the context of “Bi shi.” It is not clear whether Zang Wen zhong here refers to the Jiu xing or any other source. In any case, the example indicates that there was a strong historical memory of seventh-century BCE statesmen’s preoccupation with legal issues and their attempts to systematize offenses and punishments.86 Zang Wen zhong’s teachings were remembered after his death.87 Both the Lunyu 論語 (5/18 and 15/14) and the Zuo zhuan contain critical statements allegedly pronounced by Confucius (551–479 BCE) that characterize him as a man “without knowledge” and “without humaneness.”88 And yet, Sima Qian regarded Zang Wen zhong as one of Confucius’s intellectual predecessors.89 Zang Wen zhong and men of his ilk apparently recognized the need to have normative foundations for legal decisions. Some such foundations could be found, for instance, in “Kang gao” 康誥. Purportedly a command of King Wu addressed to his younger brother Kang shu 康叔, the first ruler of Wei 衛 principality, this text is one of the five “proclamations” that are commonly regarded as the earliest core of the Shangshu.90 According to the Zuo zhuan, starting in 85 86 87 88 89 90

For another anecdote including Zang Wen zhong’s statements about punishments, see Xu Yuangao, Wang Shumin, and Shen Changyun 2002: 152 (“Lu yu shang,” 1:7). Xu Yuangao, Wang Shumin, and Shen Changyun 2002: 154 (“Lu yu shang,” 1:8). Xu Yuangao, Wang Shumin, and Shen Changyun 2002: 423 (“Jin yu,” 8:4); Yang Bojun 1995: 1088 (Xiang 24). See Yang Bojun 1995: 525 (Wen 2). See Shiji 76.2186. For the traditional date of the “proclamations,” see Shaughnessy 1993: 377–380. For a critical revision, see Vogelsang 2002.

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the seventh century BCE, statesmen of some principalities occasionally referred to “Kang gao” when determining crimes and pondering penalties.91 “Kang gao” states some general principles of early Chinese law, such as the application of punishments as a deterrent and the consideration of intent as the basis for determining sanctions. It assumes that the judicial power wielded by the rulers of principalities was limited. It suggests not only that the Zhou king had a greater say in these matters but also that the conquered population should be treated in accordance with its own laws.92 “Jiu gao” 酒誥, unanimously regarded as having been composed at about the same time as “Kang gao,” is concerned with drunkenness as a particular kind of offense, but it exemplifies the two latter principles too.93 Both these texts plausibly reflect the perspective of the Zhou royal house, which claimed a guiding role despite the fact that the principalities were internally autonomous and progressively independent from shortly after their foundation.94 Neither text provides a systematic overview of offenses and correlated punishments. During the Spring and Autumn period, the demand for normative texts that would strengthen the autonomy of the principalities’ rulers in their legal decisions would likely have increased. Progressing social complexity coupled with population growth also required stated legal guidelines. The Zuo zhuan reflects the attempts to systematize laws and create a written normative legal base in the principalities beginning in the seventh century BCE. Zhao Dun 趙盾, a minister of Jin, conducted a reform of the local regulations and laws in 620 BCE, three years before the aged Zang Wen zhong died in Lu.95 Zhao Dun’s innovations were accepted in Jin as “regular laws” (chang fa 常法).96 Zang Wen zhong’s statements scattered across the Zuo zhuan and Guoyu signal that he undertook comparable, although perhaps less consequential, efforts in Lu. Less than one century after Zhao Dun’s reform, Zi Chan 子產 (?–522 BCE), the principal minister of Zheng, put together and made openly accessible the first collection of penal regulations, Xing shu. If the Zuo zhuan can be trusted, during the seventh century BCE, the elites of principalities were receptive to the official memory culture spread by the Zhou court, as they often quoted texts known today as earlier parts of the 91 92 93 94 95 96

Yang Bojun 1995: 501 (Xi 33), 1413 (Zhao 20). See Qu Wanli 1983b: 143–156. See Qu Wanli 1983b: 157–166; cf. Liu Yongping 1998: 122–124. For the “drifting away” of principalities that began in the mid-tenth century BCE, see Li Feng 2006: 116–121. See Caldwell 2014: 9–14. Yang Bojun 1995: 546 (Wen 6).

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Shijing and Shangshu. These texts glorified the epoch of the Zhou conquest of Shang as the common foundational past and represented the historical figures involved in the conquest as models for emulation. If such texts were well known and popular, those who intended to produce new normative texts understood that they could increase their own authority by tracing their regulations back to charismatic and institutional figures of the past, such as the Duke of Zhou or the first ruler of a principality. Hence, the Jiu xing derived its authority from the Duke of Zhou, whereas “Bi shi” was traced to the first Duke of Lu. Both sources deal with definitions of crimes as well as with types and methods of punishments. Moreover, “Bi shi” postulates the duke as the principality’s supreme judicial power, thus answering the practical governmental needs of the Lu ducal house. Technically, producing texts similar to “Bi shi” was not a difficult task for learned men of Zang Wen zhong’s circle. As a minister, he certainly had access both to the archives of Lu and to the ducal temple where bronze vessels with inscriptions commissioned by former Dukes of Lu were preserved. If these archives or vessels contained some records from the first reigns of Lu, they would be similar to early Western Zhou bronze inscriptions from other places. Thus, they would differ from the current text of “Bi shi” in the ways discussed above. Quite certainly, the archives also contained many more recent command and oath texts, similar to those in middle to late Western Zhou bronze inscriptions. After studying these materials, “ancient documents” could easily be fabricated. Conclusions My analysis supports the traditional view that the historical setting of “Bi shi” corresponds to the foundational period of the Zhou dynasty. It shows that “Bi shi” was written not fully in accordance with the norms of Western Zhou legal and documentary practices, although its authors possibly had some ­knowledge of both. The authors of “Bi shi” appropriated some archaizing elements of the language of Western Zhou commands to make the text appear like a genuine ancient document. In introducing some conceptual and linguistic elements of their own time, such as references to administrative structures of the Spring and Autumn period, the authors may not have been aware of their anachronistic nature, or they may have been confident that their audience would not recognize them as anachronisms. Both formal deviations and the presence of anachronisms reveal that “Bi shi” is not a document from the reign of King Cheng but, like most other Shangshu chapters, was written in a later historical

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context. It is plausible that it could have been produced in Lu during the seventh century BCE or somewhat thereafter. The example of the “Bi gong” hymn of the Shijing demonstrates that during the seventh century BCE, the ducal house of Lu cultivated the veneration of both the Duke of Zhou and the first Duke of Lu (bo Qin). Because of the increasing chronological distance from the time of these rulers, the decision to make them the focus of commemorative practice was not necessarily an obvious one.97 Theoretically, over the course of the seventh through third centuries, the focus of Lu’s ancestral worship could have shifted many times to more or less recent—but particularly influential—ancestors.98 Unfortunately, authentic written sources that could shed light on the situation in Lu during the Western Zhou period are extremely scarce. However, there is no doubt that, during the Spring and Autumn period, Lu participated in the common ritual structure that embraced all major Ji-surnamed lineages related by patrilineal kinship to the Zhou royal line. Both bronze inscriptions and the transmitted literature demonstrate that, at least from the middle Western Zhou period onward, official Zhou ideology indeed focused on the epoch of the first Zhou kings and the conquest of Shang.99 In order to bind the other Ji, the kings encouraged the worship of other lineages’ founders who constituted links between their branches and the royal trunk. During the Western Zhou period, this strategy was successfully implemented in the Zhou metropolitan region.100 It is, however, unclear whether the kings were able to maintain the same kind of relationships with such remote lines as that of Lu between the time of bo Qin and the late ninth century BCE. The figure of bo Qin could well have been rescued from oblivion at about the time when Duke Wu 武 of Lu (r. 824–816 97

98

99 100

The specific practices of ancestor worship in China were not uniform. While some families worshiped the spirit tablets of their most remote ancestors with the highest reverence and discarded the tablets of some intermediate ancestors as the descent line extended, other families kept only the tablets of their most recent ancestors and discarded older ones (see Lakos 2011: 30, with further references). The first strategy was typical for lineages where ancestral worship served to keep together a large ramified descent group, while the second strategy was justifiable for families that did not develop into lineages. It is unclear whether the rulers of Lu maintained a ramified lineage binding together several lines of descendants of the Duke of Zhou or bo Qin. Therefore, the importance of these figures in the commemorative practice of Lu is not self-evident. Shifts of focus between different sets of Shang royal ancestors testify that worship could be modified in accordance with changes in the political situation within the ruling li­­ neage. See Keightley 1999: 256n46. On the veneration of the first Zhou kings, see Kern 2009: 147–150. See Khayutina, forthcoming.

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BCE) went to Zhou in order to seek King Xuan’s support in regulating succession within the Lu family.101 Whenever Lu became a regular member of the royal ritual structure, by then at the latest its ideology and practices of political and cultural memory, perhaps codified in ritual prescriptions, followed the same lines as those of the royal Zhou. The stylistic similarity between “Bi gong” and the “Daya” poetry of the Shijing suggests that these poems were already known in Lu no later than the seventh century BCE and that the royal memory culture stimulated a comparable process of official memory production on the local level. In this historical context, other texts commemorating the foundational period of Lu history were likely to emerge. Besides, according to the Zuo zhuan, some “proclamations” later known as parts of the Shangshu also circulated in the principalities already during the seventh century BCE. These texts could have served as models, too, for other types of new commemorative writings produced during this time. Hence, although “Bi shi” cannot be dated exactly, it is plausible that it was composed in Lu at about the same time as “Bi gong.” It is noteworthy that the memory culture of both the royal house and Lu principality emphasized their distant, glorious pasts at times when both royal and ducal powers were gradually weakening in the face of the increasing independence of principalities, on the one hand, and of the ambitions of the secondary branches of the Lu ruling house, especially the “three Huan,” on the other. In both cases, the memory culture served the symbolic representation of power that helped, according to Doornbos’s definition, to “camouflage the processes of institutional decline.”102 By representing the reigning duke as an illustrious successor of the Duke of Zhou, the sponsors of “Bi gong” straightforwardly bridged past and present and presented much “evidence” for their claim that authority had remained with the main line of the house of Lu. If the gap between past and present could be bridged so easily, then bo Qin’s reminder about the obligations of the “men of Lu” to the ruling house in “Bi shi” was also relevant to the political agenda of Lu during the Spring and Autumn period. Eventually, despite many crises and the dramatic loss of political power, the Zhou royal house sustained itself until 256 BCE, while the direct descendants of the Duke of Zhou were able to keep the Lu throne until 255 BCE. This may suggest that, in both cases, sponsoring exalted memories of the founding ancestors proved an efficient strategy for the lineage’s survival. The commemoration of the past as a remedy against political competition within the ducal house was not the only purpose of “Bi shi.” The text can also 101 102

Cf. Shiji 33.1527. Doornbos 1985: 25.

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be understood as furnishing ideological support to the ducal power before the entire elite of Lu, since it provided a normative base for the duke’s judicial authority. “Bi shi” stages its protagonist not as a charismatic leader but as a representative of institutionalized power. His persona and the circumstances under which he acts seem secondary to what he does, namely, to establish rules, enforce decisions, and specify sanctions for misdeeds. “Bi shi” does not make any effort to justify those actions but clearly assumes that the ruler already possesses legitimate authority. Proclaiming the ruler as the ultimate source of jurisdiction within his principality, listing liabilities of his subordinates, identifying prohibitions, and making an attempt to systematize penalties, “Bi shi” was responsive to the needs of the gradually developing state structures in the principalities of the Spring and Autumn period. Although the political elites of the early Spring and Autumn period recognized the necessity to define sociopolitical rules, it was not obvious how to provide regulations with authority. The Xing shu, put together by Zi Chan in Zheng, received sharp criticism from conservative statesmen and gradually sunk into oblivion. In contrast, the Jiu xing, apparently disseminated by the royal court and attributed to the Duke of Zhou, appears to have circulated as authoritative in various principalities for a considerable time. Its example suggests that in the frame of Zhou official memory culture, which was focused on the conquest of Shang, legal regulations had a better chance of gaining acceptance if they could be traced back to charismatic figures of the early Zhou, while their real authors remained anonymous. By representing the Duke of Lu as the practical user of laws that had been established, as many were to believe, by the Duke of Zhou, “Bi shi” followed the trend of borrowing authority from the past for the creation of regulations that could be applied to the present. As a text purportedly derived from the foundational period of Lu, it was subsequently preserved for several centuries before it fell into the hands of the Shangshu editors. The latter, however, more likely selected this text not because of its political and legal intent, related to the political agenda of Lu, but because of its connection to the war against the Yi of Huai and the Rong of Xu, which was remembered as an important building block in the foundational history of the Zhou dynasty. Now part of the Shangshu anthology, “Bi shi” had acquired yet another purpose, meaning, and frame of reference. References Assmann, Jan. 2011. Cultural Memory and Early Civilization: Writing, Remembrance, and Political Imagination. New York: Cambridge University Press.

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Caldwell, Ernest. 2014. “Social Change and Written Law in Early Chinese Legal Thought.” Law and History Review 32.1: 1–30. Ch’en Chao-jung 陳昭容. 2017. “On the Possibility that the Two Western Zhou States Yu and Rui Were Originally Located in the Jian River Valley.” In Imprints of Kinship: Studies of Recently Discovered Bronze Inscriptions from Ancient China, ed. Edward L. Shaughnessy, 189–207. Hong Kong: Chinese University of Hong Kong Press. Chen Mengjia 陳夢家. 1955. “Xi Zhou tongqi duandai (yi)” 西周銅器斷代 (一). Kaogu xuebao 考古學報 1955.9: 137–175. Chen Mengjia 陳夢家. 1985. Shangshu tonglun 尚書通論. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Creel, Herlee G. 1970. The Origins of Statecraft in China. Vol. 1, The Western Chou Empire. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Dobson, W. A. C. H. 1968. “Some Legal Instruments of Ancient China: Ming and Meng.” In Wenlin: Studies in Chinese Humanities, ed. Chow Tse-tsung, 269–282. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Doornbos, Martin. 1985. “Institutionalization and Institutional Decline.” In Development and Decline: The Evolution of Sociopolitical Organization, ed. Henri J. M. Claessen, Pieter van de Velde, and M. Estellie Smith, 23–35. South Hadley, MA: Bergin and Garvey. Duan Yucai 段玉裁. 1990. Shuowen jiezi zhu 說文解字注. Taipei: Limin wenhua shiye. Fang Shuxin 方述鑫. 1998. “Shi Mi gui mingwen zhong de Qi shi, zutu, suiren—binglun Xi Zhou shidai xiangsui zhidu yu bing zhidu de guanxi” 《史密簋》銘文中的齊師、 族徒、遂人 —— 兼論西周時代鄉遂制度與兵制的關系. Sichuan Daxue xuebao 四 川大學學報 1998.1: 84–90. Gassmann, Robert. 2006. Verwandtschaft und Gesellschaft im alten China: Begriffe, Strukturen und Prozesse. Bern: Peter Lang. Guo Moruo 郭沫若. 1957. Liang Zhou jinwen ci daxi tuli kaoshi 兩周金文辭大系圖錄考 釋. Beijing: Kexue chubanshe. Huang Huaixin 黃懷信. 1996. Yi Zhoushu jiaobu zhuyi 逸周書校補註譯. Xi’an: Xibei Daxue chubanshe. Jiang Shanguo 蔣善國. 1988. Shangshu zongshu 尚書綜述. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Kane, Virginia C. 1982–1983. “Aspects of Western Chou Appointment Inscriptions: The Charge, the Gifts, and the Response.” Early China 8: 14–28. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1950. The Book of Documents. Stockholm: Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities. Keightley, David N. 1999. “The Shang: China’s First Historical Dynasty.” In The Cambridge History of Ancient China, ed. Michael Loewe and Edward L. Shaughnessy, 232–291. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Kern, Martin. 2007. “The Performance of Writing in Western Zhou China.” In The Poetics of Grammar and the Metaphysics of Sound and Sign, ed. Sergio La Porta and David Shulman, 109–176. Leiden: Brill. Kern, Martin. 2009. “Bronze Inscriptions, the Shijing, and the Shangshu: The Evolution of the Ancestral Sacrifice during the Western Zhou.” In Early Chinese Religion, pt. 1, Shang through Han (1250 BC–220 AD), ed. John Lagerwey and Marc Kalinowski, 143– 200. Leiden: Brill. Khayutina, Maria. 2015. “King Wen, a Settler of Disputes or Judge? The ‘Yu-Rui Case’ in the Historical Records and Its Historical Background.” In Auf Augenhöhe: Festschrift zum 65. Geburtstag von Heiner Roetz; Bochumer Jahrbuch zur Ostasienforschung, ed. Wolfgang Behr, Licia Di Giacinto, Christina Moll-Murata, and Ole Döring, 261–276. Bochum: IUDICIUM Verlag. Khayutina, Maria. Forthcoming. “Reflections and Uses of the Past in Chinese Bronze Inscriptions from ca. 11th to 5th Centuries BC: The Memory of the Conquest of Shang and the First Kings of Zhou.” In Historical Consciousness and Historiography (3000 B.C.–A.D. 600), ed. John Baines, Tim Rood, Henriette van der Blom, and Samuel Chen. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kong Yingda 孔頴達. 1999. Shangshu zhengyi 尚書正義. Beijing: Beijing Daxue chubanshe. Kurzon, Dennis. 1989. “Telling the Truth: The Oath as a Test of Witness Competency.” International Journal for the Semiotics of Law 1989.1: 49–63. Kurzon, Dennis. 1997. It Is Hereby Performed …: Explorations in Legal Speech Acts. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Lakos, William. 2011. Chinese Ancestor Worship: A Practice and Ritual Oriented Approach to Understanding Chinese Culture. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars. Lau, Ulrich. 1999. Quellenstudien zur Landvergabe und Bodenübertragung in der Westlichen Zhou-Dynastie (1045?–771 v. Chr.). Sankt Augustin: Institut Monumenta Serica. Legge, James. 1991. The Chinese Classics. Vol. 3, The Shoo King. Taipei: SMC. Lewis, Mark Edward. 1999. “Warring States Political History.” In Cambridge History of Ancient China, ed. Michael Loewe and Edward L. Shaughnessy, 587–650. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Li Daoyuan 郦道元. 1989. Shuijing zhu shu 水經注疏. Nanjing: Jiangsu guji chubanshe. Li Feng. 2006. Landscape and Power in Early China: The Crisis and Fall of the Western Zhou, 1045–771 BC. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Li Feng. 2008. Bureaucracy and State in Early China. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Li Xueqin 李學勤. 2011. “Shi shi Yicheng Dahekou niaoxing he mingwen” 試釋翼城大河 口鳥形盉銘文. Wenbo 文博 2011.4: 3–4.

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Skosey, Laura. 1996. “The Legal System and Legal Tradition of the Western Zhou (ca. 1045–771 B.C.E.).” PhD diss., University of Chicago. Stock, Brian. 1997. Listening for the Text: On the Uses of the Past. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Sun Xingyan 孫星衍 . 1986. Shangshu jinguwen zhushu 尚書今古文注疏 . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Vogelsang, Kai. 2002. “Inscriptions and Proclamations: On the Authenticity of the “Gao” Chapters in the Book of Documents.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 74: 138–209. Wagner, Donald B. 1992. Iron and Steel in Ancient China. Leiden: Brill. Wang Guowei 王國維. 2008. Jinben Zhushu jinian shuzheng 今本竹書紀年疏證. In Guben Zhushu jinian jizheng 古本竹書紀年輯證, ed. Fang Shiming 方詩銘 and Wang Xiuling 王修齡. 2nd ed. rev. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Wu Yu 吳璵, trans. 1980. Xinyi Shangshu duben 新譯尚書讀本. Taipei: Sanmin chubanshe. Xu Yuangao 徐元誥, Wang Shumin 王樹民, and Shen Changyun 沈長雲. 2002. Guoyu jijie 國語集解. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Xue Jixuan 薛季宣. 1782. Shu guwen xun 書古文訓. Siku Quanshu edition. Yang Bojun 楊伯峻. 1995. Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhu 春秋左傳注. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Yang Chaoming 楊朝明. 2001. “‘Bi shi’ shidi guanjian” 《費誓》时地管見. Qi Lu xuekan 2001.2: 38–41. Yang Junchang 楊軍昌, Sun Bingjun 孫秉君, Wang Zhankui 王占奎, and Han Rubin 韓 汝玢. 2003. “Shaanxi Qishan Wangjiazui xian Zhou mu M19 chutu tongqi de shiyan yanjiu” 陕西岐山王家咀先周墓 M19 出土铜器的实验研究. Kaogu yu wenwu 考古與 文物 2003.5: 84–90. Yang Kuan 楊寬. 1964. “Lun Xi Zhou jinwen zhong liushi bashi he xiangsui zhidu de guanxi” 論西周金文中六𠂤八𠂤和鄉遂制度的關系. Kaogu 考古 1964.8: 414–419. Yang Kuan 楊寬. 1965. “Zai lun Xi Zhou jinwen zhong liushi bashi de xingzhi” 再論西周 金文中 “六𠂤” 和 “八𠂤” 的性質. Kaogu 考古 1965.10: 525–528. Yang Yunru 楊筠如. 2005. Shangshu hegu 尚書覈詁. Xi’an: Shaanxi renmin chubanshe. Yu Xingwu 于省吾. 1965. “Guan yu ‘Lun Xi Zhou jinwen zhong liushi bashi he xiangsui zhidu de guanxi’ yiwen de yijian” 關於《論西周金文中六𠂤八𠂤和鄉遂制度的關 系》一文的意見. Kaogu 考古 1965.3: 131–133. Yu Yongliang 余永梁. 1930. “Bi shi de shidai kao” 粊誓的時代考. In Gushi bian 古史辨, vol. 2. Reprinted in Minguo congshu di si bian 民國叢書第四編 65: 75–82. Zang Kehe 臧克和. 1999. Shangshu wenzi jiaogu 尚書文字校詁. Shanghai: Shanghai jiao­ yu chubanshe.

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Chapter 13

Concepts of Law in the Shangshu Charles Sanft No one who has written on the Chinese legal tradition doubts the position of the Shangshu 尚書 as one of its seminal works. In his analysis of the text’s contents, Zhu Dekui 朱德魁 proposes that the Shangshu constitutes the core of all historical study, referring to Liu Zhiji’s 劉知幾 (661–721) dictum “All scholars must first become thoroughly conversant with this text, and next read the many texts” (凡學者必先精此書, 次覽群籍).1 Zhu lists “discussing the application of law” (lun ren fa 論任法) as the tenth of sixteen types of content he sees in the Shangshu, which cover basically every area of history.2 Scholars such as the eminent jurist and historian Shen Jiaben 沈家本 (1840–1913) also draw from many chapters of the Shangshu in tracing the origins of the Chinese penal system.3 Shen, Zhu, and other writers treat what they consider the reliable text of the Shangshu (i.e., excluding certain chapters they believe to be spurious) as an organic whole, the various parts of which can equally be brought to bear to elucidate or supplement each other. They assume historicity and internal agreement. With all respect to these scholars, though, that approach is flawed. Even the traditional understanding of the text is not one of consistency but rather of variety, at least in terms of the stories of its chapters’ origins. And without the assumption—which I argue is untenable—that the text illuminates a single vision or a set of closely related visions of society, many ideas about the Shangshu and its interpretation dissolve. Here I am going to argue that the notions of law and legal practice evident in the Shangshu exhibit some consistency but more variety. I suggest that both of these—places of disagreement and of agreement—inform us about concepts of law in the Shangshu. That points of agreement do this is self-evident; I think disagreement does, too, for when the text exhibits opposing perspectives, it illuminates points of debate. I will return repeatedly to “Lü xing” 呂刑, the only chapter of the Shangshu to consider legal matters at length. Other chapters make reference to legal and 1 Pu Qilong 1978: 4.97. 2 Zhu Dekui 2002: 35, 38. 3 Shen Jiaben 1985.

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related practices. “Kang gao” 康誥 is famous for its numerous pronouncements in this respect, though it is far from the only chapter to exhibit this interest. Still other chapters also refer to the law. Rather than focus exclusively on any one chapter here, however, I will draw from a variety, although “Lü xing” will appear most frequently. The text of the Shangshu is notoriously recondite, and past readers have explained its contents in many ways. This variety of reading often concerns such a basic level of understanding that it simultaneously constitutes a variety of interpretation. As Bernhard Karlgren puts it in remarks prefacing his translation of the Shangshu, [T]he Shangshu, through its lapidary style and archaic language, is often exceedingly obscure and frequently offers passages which, from the point of view of grammar, allow of several widely divergent interpretations. Thus every new translation will inevitably be nothing more than a new attempt at interpretation.4 It is difficult to judge whether Karlgren’s tone (“nothing more than”) conveys frustration with an implacable text or with the future translators with whose work he expected comparison, or something else. But because of the unity of translation and interpretation, in the following I choose the rendering that best matches my understanding of the text, offering my own when none of the available versions fits my reading. The Importance of Law and Legal Practice in the Shangshu All chapters of the Shangshu that mention the law and legal practices agree about one essential point: these are matters of great importance for the ruler. One famous example comes in “Kang gao,” which contains the often-quoted phrase “He evinced virtue and was prudent about penalties” (明德慎罰).5 In its original context this praises King Wen 文, and Zuo zhuan 左傳 declares this to be “the means by which King Wen created the Zhou” (文王所以造周也).6 The “Duo fang” 多方 chapter of the Shangshu expands the applicability of the phrase, asserting of ancient thearchs, “Down to Emperor Yi there was none that did not evince virtue and act prudently about penalties” (至于帝乙, 罔不 4 Karlgren 1950: 1. 5 Shangshu zhengyi 尚書正義 201. 6 Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhengyi 春秋左傳正義 428 (Cheng 2).

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明德慎罰).7 Like other lines I will discuss, this one is often cited in a manner

that treats it as an exhortation even though it was originally descriptive. At any rate, the connection between penal practices and good government recurs throughout the text, as what follows will show. The Frailty of Legal Processes Legal decisions portrayed in the Shangshu generally take the form of judgments reached by adhering to a particular process, as opposed to judgments that are ad hoc or based on whim. Specific persons hold delegated power and follow specific procedures in wielding that power. The interest in process is so pronounced that Geoffrey MacCormack refers to chapters of the Shangshu as espousing “procedural justice.”8 MacCormack’s observation is accurate but I would add an important qualification. Nowhere does the Shangshu indicate that arriving at a just outcome is the automatic result of adherence to procedure. On the contrary, and as I will show, the Shangshu depicts those processes as fallible and in need of sedulous effort to ensure a proper result. The interplay of adherence to procedure and potential for error is nowhere more clearly expressed than in “Lü xing,” which posits three legal matters as the key for maintaining a tranquil populace: At present you want to keep the common people at peace. Whom shall you select, if not proper men? What shall you pursue assiduously, if not proper punishment? What shall you plan for, if not proper judgments?9

7 Shangshu zhengyi 256. 8 MacCormack 1996: 146. 9 The interpretation of ji 及 in this line is difficult. I have followed Wang Shishun (1982: 277) and Zeng Yunqian (1964: 284). They cite Yu Yue (1956: 131–132), who takes ji 及 in this line as a graphic error for fu. Wang and Zeng note that Shuowen jiezi 說文解字 glosses fu as zhi 治, “to regulate, handle,” in context referring to deciding legal cases; see Xu Shen 1963: 64. Yu Yue himself explains fu as yi 宜, “appropriate, fitting.” The line in Shiji 4.138 parallel to this from “Lü xing” in fact has yi, which is a clarification of the original sense. Many commentators simply follow the Shiji text; see, e.g., Sun Xingyan 1986: 530; Qu Wanli 1977: 181; Zhu Tingxian 1987: 656. Zhu Junsheng (1935: 4B.32b) reads ji 及 as die 疊, which he explains as in Shuowen jiezi, “to consider for many days before deciding a legal case.” Zhou Bingjun (1984: 295) and Jiang Hao and Qian Zongwu (1990: 442) follow this reading. Although attractive in terms of sense, Zhu Junsheng does not justify his reading of ji as die and I am unable to find support for it.

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在今爾安百姓. 何擇非人. 何敬非刑. 何度非及.10

These three—men, punishment, and legal decisions—are the core of the system that “Lü xing” says will generate beneficial punishment and result in a stable state. They are perforce interconnected, and of the three, the last is the most important. For it is in reaching decisions that the other two aspects come into play. Individual men have key roles in the “Lü xing” system, as it is they who are to evaluate evidence, determine guilt, and adjust penalties. “Lü xing” refers to them as “masters” (shi 師). There is little discussion of who these masters are; the only explicit stipulation is “It should not be the glib that decide legal cases—only the good shall decide them” (非佞折獄, 惟良折獄).11 There are no directions for finding or managing them, nor is there any concrete indication about how to ensure that the glib find no place in the system. While “Lü xing” portrays proper punishment and legal decisions as the result of a specific process, it makes clear that the procedure itself is subject to failure. Carrying it out is only part of how the goal of beneficial punishment is achieved and is ultimately less crucial than the exercise of proper judgment. “Lü xing” summarizes its process for deciding cases in the command to “use only investigation and the law” (惟察惟法). The investigations it proposes consist of just one kind of task: the evaluation of oral statements. “Lü xing” makes no reference to the material evidence that features prominently in Qin and Western Han criminal processes. “Lü xing” calls the content of the investigation the “five kinds of statements” (wuci 五辭) but gives no information about what the five are. Qu Wanli 屈萬里 (1907–1979) explains them as testimony relating to law and subject to evaluation according to the five observations.12 But that is a matter of interpretation. “Lü xing” describes the process of evaluating statements in only the briefest of terms, instructing the official responsible for this task to “examine the statements for discrepancies—what does not follow and what does” (察辭于差, 非 從惟從).13 The goal is to determine whether or not the five statements were “confirmed and creditable” (jianfu 簡孚).14 It is here that an official exercising magisterial authority would use his judgment to arrive at a decision.

10 11 12 13 14

Shangshu zhengyi 300. Shangshu zhengyi 303. Qu Wanli 1977: 181. Shangshu zhengyi 303. Shangshu zhengyi 300.

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After determining the existence of the crime based on the statements, the adjudicating official decides specific guilt by choosing the condign punishment in a three-step process: If the five statements are confirmed and credible, then correct [the offender] according to the five punishments. If [the applicability of] the five punishments cannot be confirmed, then correct him according to the five penalties. If the five penalties cannot be followed, then correct [the official bringing the case]15 according to the five kinds of errors. The faults of the five kinds of errors are [unfair treatment because of] official status, payback, influence, extortion, and bribery. These crimes are equal [to other types of crimes]. Look into them! 五辭簡孚, 正于五刑. 五刑不簡, 正于五罰. 五罰不服, 正于五過. 五過之 疵惟官、惟反、 惟內、 惟貨、 惟來. 其罪惟均, 其審克之.16 The presentation of the process here is, in its phrasing, so systematic that it imitates the very sort of algorithmic reasoning it advocates. The position of the “five kinds of errors” (wuguo 五過) in this process has occasioned disagreement among commentators. I follow Sun Xingyan 孫星衍 (1753–1818), Qu Wanli, and others who take them to be culpable malfeasance committed by officials and the subsequent list to be the classes of these errors.17 Karlgren considers and rejects this reading, believing it unlikely that the text would shift responsibility from the accused individual to an official.18 Other readers take the five errors to be crimes committed by mistake and the list that follows to be problems that can arise in dealing with them.19 I think there are good reasons to accept the reading Sun and others put forth and to understand these crimes as malfeasance. First, there is a consistent focus throughout “Lü xing” on the function of the legal system as a system, and these five are problems at the systemic level. Furthermore, these are the only specific crimes mentioned in the chapter, and they are absent from the discussion of doubt. This indicates that the five errors are crimes of a character

15 16 17 18 19

I follow Sun Xingyan 1986 on how, at this point, an error becomes the fault of the person bringing the case. See discussion below. Shangshu zhengyi 300. Sun Xingyan 1986: 531; Qu Wanli 1977: 181; Zhu Tingxian 1987: 657. Karlgren 1949: 186–187. Zhou Bingjun 1984: 196; Zeng Yunqian 1964: 284–285; Yang Yunru 2005: 457–458; Wang Shishun 1982: 276 (trans.); Jiang Hao and Qian Zongwu 1990: 444.

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distinct from that of ordinary delicts, which fits with the notion that they lie with the official involved and not the original accused. The three-step process for resolving a case by assigning the appropriate punishment seems to leave no room for a trial to conclude without someone being punished. But this is not due to some sort of disturbed harmony, to which punishment was supposed to restore equilibrium—an erroneous understanding of early penal thought that Karl Bünger long ago refuted.20 Rather, the system builds in the possibility of official malfeasance in the form of officials who bring a case when unwarranted because of one of the five named reasons. In sum, “Lü xing” presents a system that is vulnerable, in that it requires the use of judgment to make decisions—decisions that are threatened by glib men in positions of power, official error, and malfeasance. “Kang gao” presents a conception of legal processes that I would suggest is, while different in the focus of its presentation, analogous to the fallible process that “Lü xing” portrays. The “Kang gao” chapter takes the form of the king’s exhortation to his younger brother Feng 封 and concerns primarily duties and functions connected with punishment. The standard understanding of the chapter is that it explicates how to “evince virtue and be prudent in penalties,” a phrase that occurs at the beginning of the chapter.21 Much of the chapter’s content takes the form of pronouncements without clear referents, making them (like so much of the Shangshu) amenable to various interpretations. A brief passage in the chapter gives what I read as a general statement concerning decisions about penalties. My translation of that passage follows Qu Wanli’s modern Chinese rendering, which is in basic accord with the canonical commentary and subcommentary of the Pseudo–Kong Anguo 孔安國 and of Kong Yingda 孔穎達 (574–648), respectively: It is not the case that you, Feng, may presume to punish another or kill another. Do not arbitrarily punish another or kill another! It is also not the case that you may presume to punish another by amputation of the nose or ear. Do not arbitrarily punish another by amputation of the nose or ear!

20 21

Bünger 1983: 146. Xia Chuancai 1998: 133. As Xia explains, the received text of “Kang gao” is generally believed to start with a forty-eight-character interpolation, which Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–1101) suggests resulted from a misplaced strip that properly belonged in the “Luo gao” 洛誥 chapter. I follow this understanding.

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Sanft 非汝封刑人殺人, 無或刑人殺人. 非汝封. 又曰劓刵人. 無或劓刵人.22

While Karlgren’s reading is close to this in its basic sense, he turns some of what Qu and others take as statements into rhetorical questions; Karlgren also makes a couple of significant emendations to the text. Together these things lead him to express the potential danger of improper punishment more forcefully: “Is it not you, Feng, who punish people and kill people?—do not erroneously punish or kill people! (And again) is it not you, Feng, who cut the nose or the legs off people?—do not erroneously cut the nose or legs off people.”23 In all understandings, this passage takes the form of a warning against improper judgments. It places great weight upon the person making those judgments, in keeping with its hortative rhetoric, and has no counterpart to the institution present in “Lü xing.” Nevertheless, in their focus on proper decision-making in a legal context, and the vulnerability of those processes to miscarriage, the two chapters share an interest in proper judgment properly achieved. The interest in being “prudent about penalties” (shen fa 慎罰) surely can be understood in these terms. And that interest is unambiguously if differently embraced by different chapters. What readers have probably too seldom noted is that this interest is based upon the combined understanding of how important legal systems are for rule and how vulnerable they are to error or impropriety. The Role of Legal Practice in Society Despite the general agreement that legal practice is a necessary, if fallible, part of government in the various chapters, there is profound disagreement within the Shangshu concerning its fundamental place and function in society. There is basic discord about whether the law is a stopgap to be used only until it can be disposed with, or whether it is in itself worthwhile. A capsule form of this conflict exists in the varying opinions expressed in the Shangshu about 22

23

Shangshu zhengyi 202–203; Qu Wanli 1977: 100. Cf. the translation in Legge 1960: 389–390: “‘It is not you, Fung, who inflict a severe punishment or death upon a man; you may not of yourself so punish a man or put him to death.’ Moreover, he says, ‘It is not you, Fung, who cut off a man’s nose or ears; you may not of yourself cut off a man’s nose or ears.’” Karlgren 1950: 40–41. Karlgren emends the text by turning huo 或 into huo 惑, “erroneously,” and er 刵, “amputate the ear,” into yue 刖, “amputate the leg.” The latter is particularly problematic.

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whether punishment is xiang 祥, “portentous, propitious,” or a “beneficial” thing in itself. “Lü xing” refers to legal penalties as “beneficial punishment” (xiangxing 祥 刑). The phrase “I will tell you of beneficial punishment” (告爾祥刑) begins the description of the legal system that forms the core of the chapter, and the chapter as a whole ends by enjoining, “Oversee [the population] according to these beneficial punishments” (監于茲祥刑). In this way, the notion of “beneficial punishment” rhetorically unites the core of the chapter, taking on special prominence in the process. The description of punishment as “beneficial” is unexpected because it runs counter to prominent strains of early Chinese thought, including as expressed in other chapters of the Shangshu (as the subsequent discussion will show). It is surely for this reason that many readers both ancient and modern have sought to explain the sense of the phrase xiangxing as it appears in “Lü xing” to mean something other than what the component graphs would indicate. The most familiar sense of xiang 祥 is “portent; portentous, propitious.” Wang Chong 王充 (27–ca. 100) employs this sense when he writes, “When a good portent arises, the state will invariably flourish; when a bad portent appears, the dynasty will invariably perish” (善祥出, 國必興; 惡祥見, 朝必亡).24 This sense is also reflected in Du Yu’s 杜預 (222–284) commentary on Zuo zhuan, where he defines, “Xiang is the portent of good fortune or ill” (祥, 吉凶 之先見者).25 Xiang is most familiar in the sense of not just a portent but a positive portent. Thus, Shuowen jiezi 說文解字 defines it as “a blessing … another [definition] is good” (福也 … 一云善). I suggest that this implication functions, too, in the context of “Lü xing”: properly enacted penal practice is beneficial, and it moreover bodes well for the polity. Already in the second century, Zheng Xuan 鄭玄 (127–200) proposed that the phrase xiangxing 祥刑 in “Lü xing” should be read xiangxing 詳刑, explaining, “Xiang means to ‘deeply examine [cases]’” (詳, 審查之也).26 Some other readers, both premodern and modern, follow Zheng in this respect.27 The phonetic alternation of the graphs xiang 祥 and xiang 詳 is attested in other texts, making this reading possible from the perspective of loan character us-

24 25 26 27

See Huang Hui 1990: 213. Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhengyi 236. Hou Hanshu 39.1309–1310. E.g., Sun Xingyan 1986: 530; Yang Yunru 2005: 456; Huang Shisan, Shangshu qi meng 尚書 啟幪 5.43a–b; Pi Xirui (1989: 450) refers to Hou Hanshu 後漢書 39.1309–1310 and Hanshu 漢書 100B.4242, both citing “Lü xing” and writing xiang 詳.

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age.28 Karlgren goes even further down the same interpretive path, emending the text to read “litigations and punishments” (songxing 訟刑).29 Despite its popularity with prominent readers, I find this approach weak. Narrowly considered, it makes understanding the phrase xiangxing too easy: nothing could be as innocuous and readily understood as the careful examination of legal cases. Furthermore, the principle of lectio difficilior suggests that an unexpected received text is preferable to an emendation that makes the text say something expected.30 Matthias Richter refers to readings that resolve interpretive difficulties by proposing substitutions or emendations to painlessly remove those difficulties as “lectio facilior” and calls for their rejection (or at least their very skeptical consideration). Although Richter speaks of recovered texts specifically, his point applies equally to reading and interpreting received texts as well.31 The phrase xiangxing is a clear example of that phenomenon: from a strictly textual standpoint there is no reason to think that the text means something other than what it says—except that it is unexpected. Without strong textual evidence to the contrary, the received version, which says “beneficial punishment,” should stand. Additionally, taken in the context of “Lü xing” as a whole, interpreting xiangxing as “carefully considered punishment” is too narrow. Examining cases is but one part of a text that discusses the principles of the system and the types and quantities of punishments, among other things. This seems to be a case in which interpretation has been influenced by the preference for consistency within the Shangshu, for “Kang gao” recommends thorough deliberation measured in terms of time spent thinking: “If you need to imprison someone, consider it for five or six days, or as long as ten days, then decide about the imprisonment” (要囚, 服念五 六日, 至于旬時, 丕蔽要囚).32 This portrays good decisions as achieved by means of thorough consideration on the part of the ruler—consideration measured in terms of time spent. And, as the Pseudo– Kong Anguo commentary on the “Kang gao” line explains, the number of days spent pondering thus expresses the import given to the decision. If one assumes consistency, then it would seem natural for “Lü xing” to express a similar 28 29 30

31 32

See Gao Heng 1989: 270–271. Karlgren 1950: 75–76. Preferable, of course, does not necessarily mean correct in all instances. Nor is this the sole means at the disposal of the textual critic; it is but one among many. As Robert Eno noted in a comment on this chapter, one ought not imagine that the tasks of textual criticism can be reduced to this single rule of thumb. Richter 2013: 93–94. Shangshu zhengyi 203; translated following Qu Wanli 1977: 101.

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idea in a different way. Yet I would argue that homogenization would lead to a misunderstanding of the text. Understood as “beneficial punishment,” xiangxing emerges as the thematic center of “Lü xing,” a text that proposes legal punishment to be necessary and effective as a means of creating social order. And despite Zheng Xuan and others, the majority of commentators ancient and modern in fact understand xiangxing in a manner akin to “beneficial punishment.”33 This reading goes back to the Pseudo–Kong Anguo commentary, which paraphrases “I will tell you of beneficial punishment” as “I will tell you of the way of using punishments well” (告汝以善用刑之道), an interpretation that Kong Yingda endorses in his canonical subcommentary. Many other readers gloss xiang 祥 in this context as “fine, good, well” (shan 善), too. The word xiang can mean “propitious,” and the Shuowen jiezi definition “blessing … another [definition] is shan” (cited above) reflects the viability of both senses in Eastern Han times. I follow readers like Kong Yingda in general but go further to interpret xiang in xiangxing as “beneficial” rather than merely “good” or “proper.” Daodejing 道 德經 55 says, “Augmenting life is called xiang” (益生曰祥). Daodejing is of course arguing in a context quite different from that of “Lü xing,” but the line attests to the viability of this reading in early times. And I argue the “Lü xing” depiction of punishment shows it to be something that augments proper rule and thus life. When Qiu Jun 丘濬 (1421–1495) writes about “Lü xing” in discussing penal practices as part of statecraft, he explains that a well-functioning system of criminal law benefits and preserves the lives of both good and bad people: it scares the latter from offending, saving them from the punishment that would necessarily follow; this deterrent effect then also protects good people from would-be criminals.34 “Lü xing” presents punishment as a necessary part of functional governance. For this reason, I argue that xiangxing is more than punishment that is good: it is punishment that does good. Legal Practice as Unpropitious, Unbeneficial The notion that punishment itself could be good and propitious challenges the commonly encountered idea that it was at best a necessary evil, a notion expressed, inter alia, elsewhere in the Shangshu. It is surely this fact that leads 33 34

Qu Wanli 1977: 181n25; Zeng Yunqian 1964: 284; Zhou Bingjun 1984: 295; Jiang Hao and Qian Zongwu 1990: 442n2; Wang Shishun 1982: 277; Zhu Tingxian 1987: 657. Qiu Jun, Daxue yanyi bu 大學衍義補 101.8a–b.

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so many prominent scholars to propose lectio facilior readings to resolve the threat of internal contradiction within the Shangshu. Famous lines ascribed to Confucius in Lunyu 論語 are probably the most noteworthy expression of the critical attitude toward punishment: Lead them with government and order them with punishment, and the people will avoid those but lack shame. Lead them with virtue and order them with ritual, and they will have a sense of shame and be correct. 道之以政, 齊之以刑, 民免 而無恥; 道之以德, 齊之以禮, 有恥且格.35 A Warring States bamboo manuscript entitled “Ji Kangzi wen yu Kongzi” 季康 子問於孔子 has Confucius approvingly quote another’s words about punishments, which call a liking for punishment the opposite of xiang 祥, the same word I argue is best understood in context as “beneficial.”36 Other lines attributed to Confucius in Lunyu reject execution as a means to enforce morality, saying that a true ruler’s desire for good in itself would suffice to influence the population without execution.37 Still elsewhere the figure of Confucius expresses a preference for the absence of legal cases over deciding them himself.38 Thus, Yang Honglie 楊鴻烈 writes that Confucius (as portrayed in Lunyu, though Yang would not make that distinction) “did not admit that the law was necessary.”39 Of course, these citations do not mean that the person Confucius—insofar as he might be knowable to us—held a particular viewpoint or that the opinions attributed to him are consistent across texts. Nevertheless, they do represent a particular attitude toward punishment, which denigrates and ­subordinates it to moral cultivation. And chapters of the Shangshu other than “Lü xing” portray punishment in a manner that shows it to be undesirable but necessary. For instance, “Pan Geng” 盤庚 says, in James Legge’s (1815–1897) translation:

35 36 37 38 39

Lunyu zhushu 論語注疏 16 (Lunyu 2/3). Ma Chengyuan 2005: 216. My thanks to Michael Hunter for bringing this to my attention. Lunyu zhushu 109 (Lunyu 12/19). Lunyu zhushu 108 (Lunyu 12/13). Yang Honglie 1964: 49. Of course, one could point out—as Martin Kern did in commenting on this chapter—that according to Shiji 47.1915, Confucius held the position of sikou 司寇, which was responsible for legal decisions and punishments.

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Your ancestors and fathers urgently represent to my High sovereign, saying, “Execute great punishments on our descendants.” So they intimate to my High sovereign that he should send down great calamities. 丕乃告我高后曰, 作丕刑于朕孫. 迪高后丕乃崇降弗祥.40 What Legge translates as “great calamities” in context here refers to punishments. The text presents “great calamities” as negated xiang (fu xiang 弗祥). Like “Ji Kangzi wen yu Kongzi,” it uses the word xiang 祥 (beneficial) to juxtapose punishment with inauspiciousness (fu xiang)—thus linking the two, though by positioning them in opposition rather than saying one equals the other. This suggests that there was a link between xiang and punishment that existed—even if the relationship was negative (i.e., not something). That relationship went beyond a single text (the “Lü xing” line is generally interpreted in isolation) to hint at a broader connection. At the very least, the quotation from “Pan Geng” shows that the Shangshu contains multiple understandings of whether or not punishments are xiang. “Kang gao” offers yet another kind of contrast. It presents the goal of punishment, but not the means, as good: “[W]hen at fault, the people should be guided to happiness and peace” (爽惟民, 迪吉康).41 This is the sort of educational result Shen Jiaben alludes to when he suggests that punishment in the Shangshu was supposed to teach the populace, not frighten it.42 The “Da Yu mo” 大禹謨 chapter of the Shangshu takes the educative line one step further. It too allows that punishments are necessary and a form of education. It moreover proposes that if administered properly, they would become self-canceling: [Gao Yao, you are] intelligent in the use of the five punishments to assist the inculcation of the five duties, with a view to the perfection of my government, and that through punishment there may come to be no punishments, but that the people accord with the path of the Mean. 明于五刑, 以弼五教, 期于予治, 刑期于無刑, 民協于中.43 One sentence in particular from this passage is commonly cited out of context in hortative form: “Punish in the expectation of no punishment” (刑期于無刑). 40 41 42 43

Legge 1960: 240; cf. Karlgren 1950: 24. Shangshu zhengyi 205; trans. Karlgren 1950: 42. Shen Jiaben 1985: 9. Shangshu zhengyi 55; trans. Legge 1960: 58–59; the italics are in Legge’s original and represent content he inserted.

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The usual understanding of this line, probably influenced by the passage attributed to Confucius that I quote above, treats it as a part of “government by means of virtue” (de zhi 德治). A similar idea occurs in Zuo zhuan, which explains the phrase “prudence in penalties” (shen fa) as meaning “To strive to do away with them” (務去之).44 The idea that punishments should ultimately eliminate themselves may perhaps appear idealistic. Yet the texts that argue for the necessity of punishment and treat it as a means to reach a situation in which they are not necessary include propunishment writings that are not generally seen as idealistic.45 Shangjun shu 商君書, for example, advocates harsh penalties for those who violate the law.46 Yet it too shares the notion that penalties are a means to do away with penalties, saying, “If you use punishment to get rid of punishment, the state will be ordered” (以刑去刑, 國治).47 It elaborates upon this notion as follows: When carrying out punishments, if you treat light [crimes] heavily, then light [crimes] will not arrive and serious [crimes] will not come. This is called using punishment to get rid of punishment. When punishment is gotten rid of, the task is complete. 行罰, 重其輕者, 輕者不至, 重者不來, 此謂以刑去刑, 刑去事成.48 Han Feizi 韓非子 (d. 233 BCE) has been called “the great synthesizer of legalism”49 and credited with bringing system to legalist thought.50 The text Han Feizi 韓非子 approvingly quotes the above passage twice, once explicitly attributing it to Shang Yang 商鞅 (d. 338 BCE), the putative author of the Shangjun shu.51 Deng Xiaoping 鄧小平 (1904–1997) expressed an analogous pragmatic attitude on this point in the 1990s. He argued in favor of the yanda 嚴打 anticrime campaigns by saying, “Resolving the problem of the commission of crimes will be a long-term struggle” (解決刑事犯罪問題, 是長期的鬥 爭).52 The prospect of resolving this matter presents misdeeds not as a permanent part of human society but rather as something that can be ended through 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52

Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhengyi 428. Guo Linhu 2012: 61. See, e.g., Jiang Lihong 1986: 37. Jiang Lihong 1986: 32. Jiang Lihong 1986: 81. Graham 1989: 268. Yang Honglie 1964: 112. Chen Qiyou 2000: 587, 1174–1175. Zhu Daren 1996: 2.

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punishments (such as those of the yanda campaigns), after which point those punishments would no longer be necessary. Some readers have sought to link “Lü xing” to the idea that punishment should ultimately do away with itself. Cai Shen 蔡沈 (1167–1230), in explicating “Lü xing,” says that while punishment is inherently bad, when it serves to end punishment there is nothing better, and he cites the lines from “Da Yu mo” given above in support.53 In commenting upon “Da Yu mo” itself he further clarifies, “Even though [the ruler] does not avoid use of punishments, in reality they are the means by which he expects to reach a place without punishment” (雖不免於用刑而實所以期至於無刑之地).54 The canonical Pseudo–Kong Anguo commentary explains the notion of xiangxing similarly: “Although you may sometimes carry out punishments, use killing to stop killing. In the end there will be no offenders. Punish in the expectation of having none to punish” (雖或行刑, 以殺止殺. 終無犯者. 刑期於無所刑).55 “Lü xing” makes no mention of a situation in which punishment would not be necessary. And if one sees penal practices as the means for regulation and governance, as “Lü xing” does, then such a moment seems unlikely to arrive. Thus, while it lacks the bombastic rhetoric of Shangjun shu,56 “Lü xing” allots penal practices an apparently permanent place that texts like Shangjun shu and Han Feizi do not. While “Lü xing” makes passing mention of virtue in relation to penal practices, it proposes only punishment as the means for achieving social order. Indeed, “Lü xing” goes further than asserting that it is possible to punish well; it not only says that punishment brings benefit but asserts that punishment is necessary. “Lü xing” posits a penal system as a requisite for proper government, saying simply, “That which regulates people is penalty” (哲 [: 折] 人惟刑).57 Nor will just any sort of penalty work; “Lü xing” stipulates, “If heavenly penalties do not come, the common folk will not enjoy good governance in the realm” (天罰不極, 庶民罔有令政在于天下). Sun Xingyan explains, “The king carries out penalties in place of Heaven; therefore, it says ‘heavenly penalties’” 53 54 55 56 57

Cai Shen, Shujing jizhuan 6.29b. Cai Shen, Shujing jizhuan 1.24b. Shangshu zhengyi 55. Cf. discussion in Pines 2012. Following Wang Yinzhi 1985: 4.65, to read zhe 哲 as zhe 折; see also Wang Shishun 1982: 281; Jiang Hao and Qian Zongwu 1990: 446n19; Zhou Bingjun 1984: 301; Zeng Yunqian 1964: 290. Yang Yunru (2005: 465) argues for 折 without reference to Wang Yinzhi and cites other, related examples. Other commentators take zhe 哲 as written, in the sense of “wise, knowledgeable,” to mean “Wise men shall carry out punishments”; see Shangshu zhengyi 304; Qu Wanli 1977: 185; Sun Xingyan 1986: 542; Zhu Tingxian 1987: 661.

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(王者代天行罰, 故云天罰).58 Thus, the inclusion of “heavenly” as a modifier in this context does not reflect direct supernatural participation in the penal system but rather the proper function of a system that Heaven endorsed by granting rule to the king. This invocation of Heaven’s fiat recalls the Shangshu harangues that Martin Kern studies in this volume (chapter 8). In those texts, the figure of the king claims to act on behalf of Heaven in punishing external enemies, though Heaven plays no direct role in the course of events. Essentially, both types of text claim Heaven’s authorization for punitive acts. And both do so in a manner that forswears any demonstration of supernatural approval beyond the fact of the king’s position and his (presumed) success in the venture at hand. The Functions and Application of Punishments Propositions about the way punishments function similarly vary across texts within the Shangshu. “Shun dian” 舜典 outlines a group of punishments and their uses as follows: [Shun] gave delineations of the statutory punishments, enacting banishment as a mitigation of the five great inflictions; with the whip to be employed in the magistrates’ courts, the stick to be employed in schools, and money to be received for redeemable crimes. Inadvertent offences and those which might be caused by misfortune were to be pardoned, but those who offended presumptuously or repeatedly were to be punished with death. 象以典刑. 流宥五刑, 鞭作官刑, 扑作教刑, 金作贖刑. 眚災肆赦, 怙終賊 刑.59 Despite the fact that important components of historical Chinese penal systems are absent (e.g., penal labor), Shen Jiaben praises the system outlined here as complete and says that the principles of later systems derived from it.60 I will return below to the question of intent and “inadvertent offences” that this passage broaches. For the moment, I wish to point out that “Shun dian” posits a connection between certain specific punishments and specific domains: whipping and caning with officialdom and education, respectively; bronze (Legge’s “money”) with redemption; and death for recalcitrance 58 59 60

Sun Xingyan 1986: 541. Shangshu zhengyi 40; trans. Legge 1960: 38–39. Shen Jiaben 1985: 8.

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or recidivism. It appears that the realm of what we would call criminal law is represented metonymically by reference to the “five kinds of punishments” (wu xing 五刑), for all of which banishment (liu 流) can be substituted; there is no indication of the conditions under which such a substitution would take place. “Lü xing” gives a sort of conceptual flowchart for the application of punishments in the passage I quoted already concerning the determination of punishment. It begins with the evaluation of the “five statements.” If those five indicate that employing the “five kinds of punishments” (wu xing) is appropriate, then the magistrate should do so. If not, then the magistrate is to consider application of the “five kinds of penalties.” If neither a “punishment” nor a “penalty” is indicated, the case becomes a matter of “the five kinds of errors,” which is to say, malfeasance on the part of the official who prosecuted a case in which there was actually no crime. The text explains the five errors as five kinds of unfair treatment, which it says can result from deferring to official status, requiting a favor of some sort, the exertion of improper influence, extortion, and bribery.61 There is no indication here of what specifically the various punishments were in any of these cases. A different passage in “Lü xing,” which I discuss below, lists the amounts of money that can be substituted for punishments in certain cases. It suggests that the “five kinds of punishments” comprised tattooing (mo 墨), amputation of the nose (yi 劓), amputation of the foot (fei 剕), castration (gong 宮), and death (dapi 大辟), and commentators since no later than Ma Rong 馬融 (79– 166) have accepted this list.62 Shen Jiaben points out that these five likely occur together as a set because all were corporal.63 Comparison of passages from “Shun dian” and “Lü xing” shows their approaches to be fundamentally different. “Shun dian” names a single punishment to remit all the “five punishments”—namely, banishment.64 The other punishments that it names are distinct from each other and assigned to separate domains of application. In contrast, “Lü xing” presents its punishments as components of a single, incremental system. When a person or a crime shifts out of one domain, he, she, or it moves into another. “Lü xing” also refers in the preceding passage to fines paid in lieu of mutilating punishments, indicating that while the “five kinds of punishments” 61 62 63 64

Shangshu zhengyi 300. Shangshu zhengyi 301; see Ma Rong’s commentary in Shiji 1.24; see also Shen Jiaben 1985: 7. Shen Jiaben 1985: 7. Note that, as Martin Kern pointed out to me, “Shun dian” mentions different types of banishment; see his chapter 1 in this volume.

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apparently excluded purely monetary penalties, its penal system provided for a total of six types of sanction (i.e., those five plus fines). But beyond presenting a monetary equivalent for each— and without explaining under what conditions those alternates would apply—“Lü xing” gives no clarifying information. Many readers have equated the “Lü xing” fines with redemptions, an approach I will argue against in the following section. Redemption of Crimes The basic idea of a “redemption” (shu 贖) is a fine paid in place of a punishment. The Pseudo–Kong Anguo commentary on Shangshu explains the term, saying, “When one by error falls into a crime, [that person may] pay money [jin 金] to redeem the punishment” (誤而入刑出金以贖罪).65 The word “redemption” (shu) appears just twice in the canonical Shangshu. The most famous instance is the well-known line from “Shun dian,” which I quoted above in Legge’s translation: “money [is] to be received for redeemable crimes.” Karlgren translates it as “fines are the punishment for redeemable crimes”; I would render it “bronze acts as the redemption of a punishment” (金作贖刑).66 The other instance of the word comes not in the text proper of a chapter but rather in the preface to “Lü xing,” which many commentators elide. Legge translates the text in a footnote, following the explanation of the Pseudo–Kong Anguo commentary: “[Lü] received the orders of king [Mu] to set forth the lessons of [Xia] on the redemption of punishments, and there was made [Lü] on Punishments [‘Lü xing’]” (呂命穆王訓夏贖刑, 作呂刑).67 Kong Yingda explains it differently: The Marquis of Lü received King Mu’s command to undertake the ministerial position of the sikou to the Son of Heaven. King Mu thereupon used the words of the Marquis of Lü to explicate Yu of Xia’s laws for redeeming punishments. The Marquis of Lü accorded with the king’s command and promulgated [the law] in the realm. The scribe recorded these matters and created the “Punishments of Lü.”

65 66 67

Shangshu zhengyi 40. Shangshu zhengyi 40; Legge 1960: 38; Karlgren 1950: 5. Shangshu zhengyi 295; Legge 1960: 588.

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呂侯得穆王之命為天子司寇之卿. 穆王於是用呂侯之言訓暢夏禹贖刑 之法. 呂侯稱王之命而布告天下. 史錄其事作呂刑.68

The term for redemption does not occur in the actual text of “Lü xing.” Any assertion of a connection between it and redemption requires creating a link not explicit in its content. Nevertheless, most readers do not doubt that the following lines from “Lü xing” describe redemption: Cases to receive the punishment of tattooing in which there is doubt may be reduced to be punished by a fine of 100 huan. Check the veracity of the crime. Cases to receive the punishment of nose amputation in which there is doubt may be reduced to be punished by a fine of twice [the previous, i.e., 200 huan]. Check the veracity of the crime. Cases to receive the punishment of foot amputation in which there is doubt may be reduced to be punished with a fine of two and a half times [the previous, i.e., 500 huan]. Check the veracity of the crime. Cases to receive the punishment of castration in which there is doubt may be reduced to be punished by a fine of 600 huan. Check the veracity of the crime. Cases to receive the greatest punishment [i.e., death] in which there is doubt may be reduced and punished by a fine of 1,000 huan. Check the veracity of the crime. 墨辟疑赦, 其罰百鍰, 閱實其罪. 劓辟疑赦, 其罰惟倍, 閱實其罪. 剕辟疑 赦, 其罰倍差, 閱實其罪. 宮辟疑赦, 其罰六百鍰, 閱實其罪. 大辟疑赦, 其 罰千鍰, 閱實其罪. The word she 赦 is conventionally rendered in English as “amnesty,” and such a translation is viable in certain contexts.69 Yet I argue here that she is better understood as “to reduce [a punishment],” as in my translation. That “amnesty” would not work as a translation is clear from the text itself. The definition of the English term “amnesty” is “A general overlooking or pardon of past offences, by the ruling authority.”70 That does not fit the “Lü xing” context, in which there is neither a general pardon of crime nor a release from punishment; it is rather a mitigation of specific, severe aspects of the penalty for an act. Qiu Jun furthermore noted that an amnesty typically applies across the board to crimes, while the text here concerns only cases in which doubt exists.71 It may finally be noted that recent research suggests “amnesty” may in 68 69 70 71

Shangshu zhengyi 295. Cf. McKnight 1981. Oxford English Dictionary, s.v., “amnesty.” Qiu Jun, Daxue yanyi bu 109.8a.

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fact not be an accurate understanding of the word she—at least in certain Qin and early Western Han legal contexts: Miyake Kiyoshi 宮宅潔 has argued that a she did not denote a release from punishment but rather a reduction in severity from labor incarceration to a status between that and freedom.72 The “Lü xing” practice thus reduces a given penalty and changes it to a different mode: the payment of a set amount of bronze takes the place of a permanently mutilating punishment. Many writers have criticized the “Lü xing” system, asserting it to be fundamentally different from the system of redemption that “Shun dian” records. In his influential commentary on Shangshu, Cai Shen deems the redemption of punishment to be the focus of “Lü xing” and criticized its approach. Cai Shen expresses his understanding of acceptable redemption in commenting on the “Shun dian” approach, which he treats—unlike “Lü xing”—as by definition representing the governance of a sage-ruler: “Redemption” is the redemption of a crime. It is probably the case that for the most minor of crimes, even though they may cross over to become [more serious] crimes punishable by whipping or beating, there may still be something within the situation itself or in the law to consider. 贖, 贖其罪也. 蓋罪之極輕, 雖入於鞭扑之刑而情法猶有可議者也.73 Cai holds it permissible to convert lesser punishments like banishment, beating, and caning to fines, which he understands as the practice of redemption under the “Shun dian” system. But in commenting on “Lü xing” he repudiates the notion of permitting redemption for crimes like murder. Cai suggests that “Lü xing” does not represent the penal system of a sage-king and was included in Shangshu not as a model but instead as a warning.74 Zhu Xi 朱熹 (1130–1200) similarly condemns the use of redemption for serious crimes, saying specifically that it would permit rich people to commit murder with impunity. He, too, treats “Lü xing” as a warning and not an example.75 Wang Bo 王柏 (1197– 1274) repeats many of the same criticisms.76 Later readers have often concentrated on the financial aspect of redemption. Zhu Junsheng 朱駿聲 (1788–1858), for instance, writes of the “Lü xing” version that King Mu needed the money to pay for the costs of his excessive 72 73 74 75 76

Miyake 2011: 189–222. Cai Shen, Shujing jizhuan 1.14a–b. Cai Shen, Shujing jizhuan 6.25a–b, 31a. Zhu Xi 1973: 79.3275. Wang Bo 1673: 9.4a–b.

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travels. But Zhu also rejects the redemption of capital crimes, pointing to its presence in “Lü xing” as evidence of King Mu’s senility.77 Speaking of redemptions more generally, Zhao Kun 趙坤 and Bie Yafei 別亞 飛 say that the redemption of punishments was a way to maintain the privileged position of the upper classes, as only those of high status could afford to pay.78 On the other hand, Guo Moruo 郭沫若 asserts that redemptions amounted to the sale of legal cases, which he views as a positive indication that the “ruled classes” had achieved sufficient wherewithal to buy their way out of punishment.79 When one examines the description dispassionately, without trying to determine whether redemption is fair in the abstract, an interesting point about the “Lü xing” presentation emerges: after naming the financial equivalent for each punishment, “Lü xing” instructs the official to “check the veracity of the crime” 閱實其罪. The position of this phrase at the end of each line suggests that the action it enjoins comes after the payment of the fine substituting for a punishment. This indicates that the question of guilt remained open. Instead of a redemption fully resolving the case, as many commentators have proposed, it seems more likely that this in fact reflects a third state between condemnation and exculpation, a state of doubtful guilt, which is also doubtful innocence. It means that a decision has been rendered but the possibility of another outcome remains. “Lü xing” does not address the implications of this situation, such as what becomes of the fine should the accused later be found certainly guilty. The Place of Doubt in Legal Processes The Shangshu twice touches upon how doubt affects legal decisions, in contexts that suggest two different approaches to doubt. “Da Yu mo” addresses this in a well-known passage. Legge rightly translates it as a description, though this too is often taken out of its original context and treated hortatively: In cases of doubtful crimes, you deal with them lightly; in cases of doubtful merit, you prefer the high estimation. Rather than put to death an innocent person, you will run the risk of irregularity and error. This life-

77 78 79

Zhu Junsheng 1935: 4B.21a, 4B.25a. Zhao Kun and Bie Yafei 2011: 26. Guo Moruo 1954: 148–149.

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loving virtue has penetrated the minds of the people, and this is why they do not render themselves liable to be punished by your officers. 罪疑惟輕 , 功疑惟重 . 與其殺不辜 , 寧失不經 . 好生之德 , 洽于民心 . 茲用不犯于有司 .80 This passage implies a broad but straightforward preference for giving the benefit of the doubt in cases of punishment or reward. It praises particularly the willingness to commit an error that spares a guilty person rather than kill an innocent and says that this approach to justice has led to a situation in which the population does not break the law. In other words, it suggests that a ruler’s generosity in applying punishment can bring about a situation in which punishment is no longer necessary. There seems to be no reason to think that the doubt would concern anything except whether or not a crime has actually occurred (“in cases of doubtful crimes”). Yet Cai Shen explains the role of doubt in this passage as follows: When the crime has already been determined but in the law there is doubt whether it may be [punished] heavily or lightly, then go with the light. … This means that it [the law] permits either killing or going without killing. If you kill [a person], then you fear falling into a situation of [executing] someone who is not guilty; if you do not kill, then you fear erring in terms of lightness or letting him off. While both of these are not [in accord with] the Sage’s purpose of supreme fairness, killing someone who is not guilty is something the Sage especially could not bear. Therefore, compared to killing him, … it would be better to leave him whole for the moment and bear the blame oneself for an error in punishment. … 罪已定矣而於法之中有疑其可重可輕者則從輕 … 謂法可以殺可以無 殺, 殺之則恐陷於非辜, 不殺之恐失於輕縱. 二者非聖人至公至平之意而 殺不辜者尤聖人不忍也. 故與其殺之 … 寧姑全之而自受失刑之責 …81 Cai spends much of this comment explaining the reason for the course of action, which boils down to “supreme fairness” (zhigong zhiping 至公至平). And he positions doubt to concern not the existence of crime but rather the application of the law when he says, “in the law there is doubt.” He also makes a small but significant interpretive move that the text itself does not support: he inserts “for the moment” to explain the outcome of this preference so that it becomes “to leave [the culprit] whole for the moment” rather than prescribing 80 81

Shangshu zhengyi 55; trans. Legge 1960: 59. Cai Shen, Shujing jizhuan 1.25a.

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a lighter penalty. But what is certain is that, for him, the salient doubt concerns the application of the law, while the original text of “Da Yu mo” seems to refer to a more fundamental doubt about the presence or absence of a crime or meritorious action. In contrast, in “Lü xing” the specific legal decision is the location of doubt: it is less a doubt about the existence of a crime or guilt or innocence than it is about the effects of doubt on the institutional process: If there is doubt about [a case that is subject to the] five punishments, it is reduced; if there is doubt about [a case that is subject to the] five penalties, it is reduced. Look into this! [For a crime to be] confirmed and credible, the multitude should [agree] and the details match.82 If [a delict] is not confirmed, it is not heard; all must be strict about applying heavenly dominion. 五刑之疑有赦. 五罰之疑有赦. 其審克之. 簡孚有眾. 惟貌有稽. 無簡不聽. 具嚴天威.83 “Lü xing” does not seek to resolve doubts about legal decisions through concrete means such as additional investigation or questioning. Rather, it accepts doubt as inevitable and allows it to exist, granting it a place in the system and the cases so afflicted. The most notable characteristic of redemptions in “Lü xing” is their function in relation to doubt. The meaning of doubt in the “Lü xing” context has been the subject of much discussion among readers. Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–1101) says that such doubt did not concern the commission of a crime but rather the application of the law.84 Geoffrey MacCormack links doubt to uncertainty about the existence of mens rea, which early law required for conviction.85 Cai Shen argues that doubt in this context concerned instances in which a crime was not proven, or that the statements did not match the crime.86 Shen Jiaben understands doubt in this context as the result of evidence that was ambiguous and did not unequivocally condemn or absolve either side.87 Given the lack of explanation in the text of “Lü xing,” Guo Linhu’s 郭林虎 broad approach seems best: he accepts

82 83 84 85 86 87

See Sun Xingyan 1986; et al. Shangshu zhengyi 300. Su Shi, Shu zhuan 19.10a. MacCormack 1986–1987: 41–42. Cai Shen, Shujing jizhuan 6.30a. Shen Jiaben 1985: 427.

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both kinds of possibility, suggesting that doubt could exist about the commission of a crime and/or about the appropriate punishment in a given case.88 “Lü xing” thus proposes a penal system that is pragmatic and not idealistic, in the sense that it does not seek perfection. Rather, it seeks to generate credible judgments by allowing for the chance of error and proposes processes to rectify problems that might occur. The goal was for this necessary institution to produce results that would be credible to the observing masses of ordinary people. Intent Intent had a decisive position in early penal practice, and under attested early imperial practice it could be the determining factor concerning the existence or severity of a crime.89 The interest in mens rea is also explicitly part of the Shangshu conception of crime. This is articulated in “Kang gao” as follows: When men commit small crimes, which are not mischances, but purposed, themselves doing what is contrary to the laws, intentionally, though their crimes be but small, you may not but put them to death. But in the case of great crimes, which are not purposed, but from mischance and misfortune, accidental, if the offenders confess unreservedly their guilt you may not put them to death. 人有小罪非眚, 乃惟終, 自作不典, 式爾, 有厥罪小, 乃不可不殺. 乃有大 罪非終, 乃惟眚災適爾, 既道極厥 辜, 時乃不可殺.90 Readers like Cai Shen explain this passage from “Kang gao” in conjunction with the following from “Da Yu mo,” which Legge (whose translation I use here) renders as description rather than exhortation; the text’s status as a model permits both understandings:91 You pardon inadvertent faults, however great; and punish purposed crimes, however small. In cases of doubtful crimes, you deal with them lightly; in cases of doubtful merit, you prefer the high estimation. Rather

88 89 90 91

Guo Linhu 2012: 59–60. Sanft 2010–2011. Shangshu zhengyi 202; trans. Legge 1960: 388. Cai Shen, Shujing jizhuan 4.45a.

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than put to death an innocent person, you will run the risk of irregularity and error. 宥過無大, 刑故無小. 罪疑惟輕, 功疑惟重. 與其殺不辜, 寧失不經.92 Intent is a point in which “Lü xing” differs from ideas prominent in these other chapters. Scholars sometimes suggest that its system of accepting fines in place of punishments was intended to cover unintentional crimes.93 Yet there is no indication of that in the text itself—nor can one really deem a fine no punishment. What “Lü xing” proposes is a compromise in cases of doubt, in which a punishment that can be more or less undone (a fine) replaces the permanence of a corporal punishment, which cannot. “Kang gao” portrays one class of crimes as not subject to considerations of intent. This class consists of crimes that might be called purely moral, in that they concern internal states and there is no connection to specific concrete action. Since the mind-set was the act, there could be no debate about the intent, which probably explains why these are subject to punishment without reduction: The king said: “Feng, the chief evils and great wrongs are being unfilial and being unbrotherly. When a son does not fittingly pursue his father’s affairs, greatly harming his progenitor’s heart; or the father does not care for his son but instead detests him; when a younger brother does not think of Heaven’s directives and does not respect his elder brother; or when the elder brother does not think of the pitifulness of the youngster and is greatly unbrotherly toward his younger brother; when it comes to this, even though for our officials they may have committed no crime, yet the people’s regulations given by Heaven are greatly disordered. I say, then, that you must apply the punishments created by King Wen and punish these [persons] without mitigating [the penalty].” 王曰, 封, 元惡大 憝, 矧惟不孝、不友. 子弗祇服厥父事, 大傷厥考心; 于 父不能字厥子, 乃疾厥子; 于弟弗念天顯, 乃弗克恭厥兄; 兄亦不念鞠子 哀, 大不友于弟; 惟弔茲, 不于我政人得 罪; 天惟與我民彝大泯亂, 曰乃其 速由文王作罰, 刑茲無赦.94

92 93 94

Shangshu zhengyi 55; trans. Legge 1960: 59. E.g., Zhu Junsheng 1935: 4b.24a. Shangshu zhengyi 204; translated with reference to Qu Wanli 1977: 102; cf. Legge 1960: 392–393.

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Commentators at least as far back as Pseudo–Kong Anguo have tried to explain the reference to “officials” (lit. “men of government,” zhengren 政人) here as coming in an implied rhetorical question, explaining it to mean “Have they not for our officials committed a crime?” Yet there is nothing in the original to indicate this, making Qu Wanli’s straightforward reading, which I follow in my translation, the best. Yang Honglie writes about the centrality of the notion that “virtue is primary and punishment supporting” (dezhu xingfu 德主刑輔) in the Shangshu, pointing to “Kang gao” and its exclusion of accidental crimes and focus on morality as example. In that analysis, penal practice worked as an extension of the ruler’s virtue to create moral order.95 “Kang gao” creates in effect two spheres of jurisdiction: moral crimes subject to the virtue of the ruler and excluded from mitigation through fines, and crimes subject to officials’ decisions and attendant uncertainty. Put differently, this is the difference between an idealized system of intuitive legal decisions based on moral judgments and a pragmatic system that relied upon the application of an iterative process to generate its results. It is the difference that divides the legal systems of “Kang gao” and “Lü xing.” Conclusion It has been my central goal in this chapter to highlight the variety of perspectives on the law and legal practice found within the Shangshu. By doing this, I have sought to undermine commentarial strategies that depend on a supposition of unanimity and consistency across chapters. I have examined the different attitudes present in the Shangshu about the most basic of questions concerning the position of punishment in society. “Lü xing” presents punishment as beneficial and requiring a permanent place in society, and offers practical means for dealing with the uncertainties inherent in reaching legal decisions. “Kang gao” and other Shangshu chapters accept that punishments have their utility in their immediate context and can have desirable effects. Yet they also point to a time when they would be rendered unnecessary. All chapters reflect the understanding that the law is central to the functioning of society, that the legal system requires care and attention, and that failure to provide that care and attention will have serious repercussions for the ruler. One might argue that interpreting “Lü xing” to imply that punishments will always be a necessary part of governance is uncertain, since the text does not 95

Yang Honglie 1964: 30–31.

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come right out and say that. Yet I would insist that “Lü xing” is best understood in just this way. In the intellectual context of “Lü xing,” looking toward a future—if sometimes a very distant future—in which punishment would be unnecessary was by far the most common conception. This applies whether one considers the narrow context of the Shangshu’s various chapters or the broader context of Warring States thought. But “Lü xing” argues for something else, for establishing a penal system. This aligns it with the Zhou li 周禮, a “constitutional” text that describes systems that were supposed to endure, including penal systems.96 It goes nearly but not entirely without saying that no ruler in China has sought to demonstrate his moral potency by vacating all laws. The statutes and the systems for employing them have varied but there has always been something. The day when legal systems will be abrogated remains as distant today as it was two thousand and more years ago, when the chapters of the Shangshu were created. For this reason I suggest that ultimately “Lü xing,” with its permanent place for punishment and law, with its interest in the benefits those things bring, is the Shangshu chapter that best reflects attitudes toward legal practice in China throughout its history. “Kang gao” and other chapters that present an idealized picture of rule that depends mainly on virtue, with punishment only as support, have proved rhetorically potent, and rhetorical power is real. But the pragmatic utility of a bureaucratic legal system has been more concretely influential. While that is surely not due to the influence of “Lü xing,” such an approach to governance does find early expression in this fascinating chapter of the Shangshu. References Bünger, Karl. 1983. “Das chinesische Rechtssystem und das Prinzip der Rechtsstaatlichkeit.” In Max Webers Studie über Konfuzianismus und Taoismus: Interpretation und Kritik, ed. Wolfgang Schluchter, 134–173. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. Cai Shen 蔡沈. Shujing jizhuan 書經集傳. Siku quanshu edition. Chen Qiyou 陳奇猷. 2000. Han Feizi xin jiao zhu 韓非子新校注. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhengyi 春秋左傳正義. 2001. In Shisanjing zhushu 十三經注疏, ed. Ruan Yuan 阮元 (1764–1849). Taipei: Yiwen yinshuguan. Gao Heng 高亨. 1989. Guzi tongjia huidian 古字通假會典. Ji’nan: Qi-Lu shushe.

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Graham, A. C. 1989. Disputers of the Tao: Philosophical Argument in Ancient China. La Salle, IN: Open Court. Guo Linhu 郭林虎. 2012. “Chuyi ‘Shangshu’ zhong de xingfa sixiang” 芻議 “尚書” 中的 刑法思想. Beijing zhengfa zhiye xueyuan xuebao 北京政法職業學院學報 80: 57–62. Guo Moruo 郭沫若. 1954. Zhongguo gudai shehui yanjiu 中國古代社會研究. Beijing: Renmin chubanshe. Hanshu 漢書. 1962. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Hou Hanshu 後漢書. 1965. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Huang Hui 黃暉. 1990. Lunheng jiaoshi 論衡校釋. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Huang Shisan 黃式三. Shangshu qi meng 尚書啟幪. Jingju yishu 儆居遺書 edition. Jiang Hao 江灝 and Qian Zongwu 錢宗武. 1990. Jinguwen Shangshu quanyi 今古文尚書 全譯. Guiyang: Guizhou renmin chubanshe. Jiang Lihong 蔣禮鴻. 1986. Shangjun shu zhui zhi 商君書錐指. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1949. “Glosses on the ‘Book of Documents’ II.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 21: 63–206. Karlgren, Bernhard. 1950. “The Book of Documents.” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 22: 1–81. Legge, James. 1960. The Chinese Classics. Vol. 3, The Shoo King. Reprint, Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Lunyu zhushu 論語注疏. 2001. In Shisanjing zhushu 十三經注疏, ed. Ruan Yuan 阮元. Taipei: Taiwan Yiwen yinshuguan. Ma Chengyuan 馬承源, ed. 2005. Shanghai bowuguan cang Zhanguo Chu zhushu 上海 博物館藏戰國楚竹書. Vol. 5. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. MacCormack, Geoffrey. 1986–1987. “The Lü Hsing: Problems of Legal Interpretation.” Monumenta Serica 37: 35–47. MacCormack, Geoffrey. 1996. The Spirit of Traditional Chinese Law. Athens: University of Georgia Press. McKnight, Brian. 1981. The Quality of Mercy: Amnesties and Traditional Chinese Justice. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press. Miyake Kiyoshi 宮宅潔. 2011. Chūgoku kodai keiseishi no kenkyū 中國古代刑制史の研 究. Kyoto: Kyōto Daigaku Gakujutsu Shuppanka. Pi Xirui 皮錫瑞. 1989. Jinwen shangshu kaozheng 今文尚書考證. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Pines, Yuri. 2012. “Alienating Rhetoric in the Book of Lord Shang and Its Moderation.” Extrême-Orient, Extrême-Occident 34: 79–110. Pu Qilong 浦起龍 . 1978. Shi tong tongshi 史通通釋 . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Qiu Jun 丘濬. Daxue yanyi bu 大學衍義補. Siku quanshu edition.

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Qu Wanli 屈萬里. 1977. Shangshu jinzhu jinyi 尚書今注今譯. Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu yinshuguan. Richter, Matthias L. 2013. The Embodied Text: Establishing Textual Identity in Early Chinese Manuscripts. Leiden: Brill. Sanft, Charles. 2010–2011. “Dong Zhongshu’s Chunqiu jueyu Reconsidered: On the Legal Interest in Subjective States and the Privilege of Hiding Family Members’ Crimes as Developments from Earlier Practice.” Early China 33–34: 141–169. Schaberg, David. 2010. “The Zhouli as Constitutional Text.” In Statecraft and Classical Learning: The Rituals of Zhou in East Asian History, ed. Benjamin A. Elman and Martin Kern, 33–63. Leiden: Brill. Shangshu zhengyi 尚書正義. 2001. In Shisanjing zhushu 十三經注疏, ed. Ruan Yuan 阮 元. Taipei: Taiwan Yiwen yinshuguan. Shen Jiaben 沈家本. 1985. Lidai xingfa kao 歷代刑法考. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Shiji 史記. 1959. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Su Shi 蘇軾. Shu zhuan 書傳. Siku quanshu edition. Sun Xingyan 孫星衍. 1986. Shangshu jinguwen zhushu 尚書今古文注疏. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Wang Bo 王柏. 1673. Shu yi 書疑. Tongzhitang edition. Wang Shishun 王世舜. 1982. Shangshu yi zhu 尚書譯注. Chengdu: Sichuan renmin chubanshe. Wang Yinzhi 王引之. 1985. Jingyi shuwen 經義述聞. Nanjing: Jiangsu guji chubanshe. Xia Chuancai 夏傳才. 1998. Shisanjing gailun 十三經概論. Tianjin: Tianjin renmin chubanshe. Xu Shen 許慎. 1963. Shuowen jiezi 說文解字. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Yang Honglie 楊鴻烈. 1964. Zhongguo falü sixiang shi 中國法律思想史. Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu yinshuguan. Yang Yunru 楊筠如 . 2005. Shangshu hegu 尚書覈詁 . Xi’an: Shaanxi renmin chubanshe. Yu Yue 俞樾. 1956. Gushu yiyi juli 古書疑義舉例. In Gushu yiyi juli wuzhong 古書疑義舉 例五種. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Zeng Yunqian 曾運乾. 1964. Shangshu zhengdu 尚書正讀. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Zhao Kun 趙坤 and Bie Yafei 別亞飛. 2011. “Qianxi ‘Shangshu—Lü xing’ de ‘li’ yu ‘fa’” 淺 析 “尚書—呂刑” 的 “禮” 與 “法.” Liupanshui shifan gaodeng zhuanke xuexiao xuebao 六盤水師範高等專科學校學報 23.4: 25–27. Zhou Bingjun 周秉鈞. 1984. Shangshu yi jie 尚書易解. Changsha: Yuelu shushe. Zhu Daren 朱達人. 1996. “Guanyu ‘yanda’ douzheng de xianshi sikao” 關於 “嚴打” 鬥爭 的現實思考. Gongan yanjiu 公案研究 4: 1–5. Zhu Dekui 朱德魁. 2002. “Dui ‘Shangshu’ neirong de fenlei” 對 “尚書” 內容的分類. Guizhou minzu xueyuan xuebao (zhexue shehui kexue ban) 貴州民族學院學報 (哲學 社會科學版) 3: 35–39.

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Chapter 14

Spatial Models of the State in Early Chinese Texts: Tribute Networks and the Articulation of Power and Authority in Shangshu “Yu gong” 禹貢 and Yi Zhoushu “Wang hui” 王會 Robin McNeal Recent scholarship has highlighted many of the fundamental uncertainties scholars face when trying to describe the early Chinese state in historical terms. What was the scope and structure of early Chinese states? To what extent can models useful in describing state formation in other parts of the world be applied fruitfully in China? And just how many states were there in the formative period?1 Most or perhaps all of these questions emerge in part from, or can be analyzed with respect to, the problematic relationship between transmitted textual sources and archeologically discovered material remains and paleographic materials. To state the case plainly, the transmitted textual record appears to describe a single, centralized Chinese state, of wide-reaching political and cultural influence, with a well-articulated bureaucratic or protobureaucratic administrative hierarchy, stretching diachronically across the period of the Three Dynasties (the Xia, Shang, and Zhou) and perhaps even earlier, and geographically over a vast territory including the Wei River valley, the North China Plain, the Shandong peninsula, and much of the central and lower Yangzi River watershed. The archeological record, which has grown increasingly rich over the last two generations of scholarship, gives us a strikingly different picture, one of great cultural diversity and complexity and of still inchoate political institutions and changing social structures.2

1 For a survey of recent approaches to this issue, see Yates 1997. 2 The disparity between traditional textual accounts of early China and the evidence from modern archeology is a major theme of Loewe and Shaughnessy 1999 and is reflected in the book’s overall organization and taken up in various ways by individual contributors; see, e.g., Loewe and Shaughnessy’s introduction (1999: 1–18) and the conclusion to Bagley’s chapter (Bagley 1999). See also the review by Schaberg (2001), which aptly notes the challenges involved in such a project and some of the ways in which portions of the Cambridge volume succeed in, or fall short of, integrating textual and archeological materials. Falkenhausen 2006

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The notion of a centralized state with a single, unilinear history reaching back to a handful of sagely founders was an intellectual and textual invention. We are apt now to look back through the complex jumble of historical and archeological sources and try to discern the emergence of not just “civilization” or “the early state” but the rise of “the Chinese state”—not because the earliest data always lead us in this direction but because several important traditional sources created this entity and projected it onto the past, forever coloring the way our sources have come down to us and the ways we understand them or ask questions of them. In his widely influential book Imagined Communities, Benedict Anderson posited the importance of the novel in the creation of modern nations, by allowing for a group of far-flung strangers to share a group identity as a single audience, a single readership. His work has helped highlight the importance of such imagination in conjuring and sustaining the very idea of a nation.3 Contributors to the equally influential volume The Invention of Tradition made a similar argument, focusing on the modern concoction of various pseudotraditions for contemporary political purposes.4 Neither book is particularly interested in the implications of such insights for scholars of the premodern era, so neither seriously asks if the processes in question might in fact be very old, or if modern “inventions” might often be reconfigurations of older inventions. We can forgive them this oversight: their tasks are mired in the scale of modernity, with its mass media and industrial or information age economy. The premodern world, as if that were a single entity, looks to them almost unrecognizable (“the past is a foreign country”). Yet a field of scholarship has in fact sprung up around these very questions. Most of our colleagues in history or political science departments will politely inform us that we cannot use the word “nation” when speaking of premodern states, but within their own disciplines, the issue is far from settled.5 We may not want to worry ourselves with some of their squabbles, but below the surface of our terminology lurk important questions. If, on the one hand, we cannot speak of “nations,” and then, certainly, not of “nationalism,” and if, on the other hand, we are compelled to understand the role of such cultural artifacts as the novel in helping create those bonds of sentiment that we understand provides a rich introduction to and analysis of the archeological record of the Zhou period, critically informed by the historical evidence. 3 Anderson 1991. 4 Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983. Hobsbawm, throughout his introduction to the volume, is aware of the problem noted here but never seriously pursues the question of the historical depth of the processes of the invention of tradition. 5 Anthony D. Smith has devoted much of his career to arguing for the existence of nations in the premodern era. See, inter alia, Smith 2000.

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to be a part of nationalism as an entirely modern phenomenon, then what are we to say of the great works of China’s antiquity that helped readers over millennia imagine, identify with, embrace, and even long for the great unified Chinese state? It would be hard to argue that in the centuries after the fall of the Eastern Han in the third century CE there was not a strong nostalgia for the unified empire among many of the literate elite. From where did generations of Chinese poets, administrators, and canonical scholars draw their deep sense of historical memory if not these ancient works?6 I have in mind here a handful of texts in particular, texts that we can think of as charters, texts that continue to exert a powerful hold on how people see China’s past and present—texts that conjure the Chinese state, empire, and nation. Chief among these texts are the Shiji 史記 and the work examined in the present volume, the Shangshu. The two texts are quite different, and of course they do not stand alone. Poised between them must have been other works, mostly lost to us now, some perhaps similar to the Bamboo Annals (Zhushu jinian 竹書紀年) of the late third century BCE. The Shiji was composed on the backs of such texts: we can discern how passages from the Shangshu at times served as the building blocks of the Shiji. The Shangshu, of course, taken as we have it today as a single comprehensive text laid out in what purports to be chronological order, is itself composed of the building blocks of what became its chapters, units of text that were once simply called shu 書 (something like “historical documents”), of which there were certainly many. That they were susceptible to (various) arrangements and associations that created megatexts was not entirely a late discovery, as many of these units seem to have been composed within a single tradition, with other exemplars in mind. The Yi Zhoushu is the other surviving instance of a text built from individual chapters now linked by an overarching chronological arrangement, making it, in effect, a history. By way of their late Warring States or early Han compilation, the texts of the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu were turned into “books” and hence characterized by this narrativizing chronology, so that individual chapters that on their own do not appear to present a narrative per se nevertheless became subsumed into the larger, imagined narrative structure of the work. The so-called prefaces to the two works make this explicit for most chapters by rendering them as moments or events in the chronology.7 Attention to how this chronology, and therefore the larger historical narrative that it allowed readers to imagine, was constructed, and to the difficulties that this construction sometimes entailed, is an important step toward 6 Owen 1986 explores this. 7 McNeal 2002 discusses the chronology of the Yi Zhoushu.

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understanding how the narrative of a single line of moral-political authority transmitted from ruler to ruler and dynasty to dynasty came to dominate the way literate Chinese thought about their past.8 While the opening chapters of the Shangshu present a special set of narrative problems (particularly “Yao dian” 堯典 and “Shun dian” 舜典), it is perhaps fair to say that “Yu gong” 禹貢 (“Tribute of Yu”) is the least integrated of the chapters that narrate the overall story of Yao, Shun, and Yu.9 Unlike the chapters around it, “Yu gong” does not record dialogue, it does not emphasize the patronage and personal bonds within the court, and it does not employ a heavy moral vocabulary. We certainly want to understand “Yu gong” in relation to the rest of the Shangshu, but to understand this chapter itself, we also need to look outside the larger text that became its home. Within the tradition of “Shu” documents, “Yu gong” cannot be categorized easily; it shares little affinity with speeches, harangues, oaths, or ritual announcements. Yet in spite of what may be described as its narrative deficiencies, the text has been very influential, impressing its cultural geography on elite Chinese imaginations for two millennia.10 The importance that has been accorded to “Yu gong” within elite Chinese literary traditions beckons us, requiring that we find perspectives that will illuminate the text’s contribution not only to the Shangshu but also to the possibility of imagining China as a unified spatial entity. Studies of the early Chinese state have largely overlooked the fact that early textual representations of political structures in China often portray the state as a hierarchical system of nested networks of power that emerged through the political integration of smaller regions into a grand, unified whole. “Yu gong” is the most robust articulation of this idea in the classical tradition. During the formative classical era, from roughly the fifth through first centuries BCE, when texts that would soon become canonical began to flourish, the notion of a tribute system was crucial in many conceptions of

8 9 10

See also Martin Kern’s discussion of the narrativizing chronology of the “harangues” (chapter 8 in this volume). For a discussion of the narrative difficulties of “Yao dian” and “Shun dian,” see Kern’s chapter 1 in this volume. The current academic journal dedicated to historical geography, Jiuzhou 九州, is but one contemporary example of the influence of “Yu gong.” Hu Wei’s 胡渭 Yu gong zhuizhi 禹貢 錐指 (Hu Wei 1996) is a rich historical geography organized as an exegesis of “Yu gong.” Tong Shuyue and Gu Jiegang 2004 is a fascinating critical study of early Chinese conceptions of space and geography that addresses the origins and early history of the spatial agendas of “Yu gong” and other texts.

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the state.11 This notion no doubt had some real-world antecedents in the ritual and political system of the Western Zhou, which, at least for some time, served as the basic conceptual framework for most political theorists of the classical era, even though the old Zhou system was either decrepit or largely defunct by their time. When these thinkers began to imagine the shape of new, more centralized, and more universal monarchies, they often began by idealizing that older ritual and political system, imagining its structures and processes as far more systematic, widespread, and integrated than they are likely to have ever been.12 “Yu gong” as we now know it dates to perhaps the fourth or third century BCE and describes the layout of the unified empire created by the legendary sage-ruler Yu (traditional founder of the Xia dynasty, ca. twentieth century BCE), who elsewhere is portrayed as having conquered the mythical floodwaters by dredging canals, draining the land, and imposing order on the physical world.13 His travels throughout the imagined empire are not so much celebrated in this text as implied—most of the text could have been written and understood completely absent the flood motif. There are no heroic descriptions of his achievements here, but not because they have been hidden or erased; unlike the “Yao dian” or “Shun dian,” there is no internal evidence of the 11

12

13

My dating and understanding of the classical period is based on my understanding that the state-sponsored work on reconstituting and cataloging the intellectual traditions of the pre-imperial era carried out largely during the first century BCE served to constitute and also effectively close the canon. The focus of classical scholarship in the Common Era largely shifts from collecting and reconstituting the canon to explicating it, and commentarial traditions, of which we have only hints in the Western Han period, increasingly become the standard mode of intellectual activity. Some details of this process are addressed in McNeal 2003: esp. 166–170. The most striking example of how an idealized historical memory of the old Zhou system informed the way many thinkers conceptualized politics is perhaps the way the Shiji anachronistically projects that system back even to the most remote historical era it addresses, the time prior to the rise of the Five Emperors. The description given of the era of Shennong 神農 and Yandi 炎帝 clearly portrays the political and ritual system of the time to be characterized by the sort of loyalties and ritual duties understood to define the Zhou world, such as regular audiences and tribute missions from the various lords to the center (see “Wudi benji,” Shiji 1.3). Beyond the Shiji, many descriptions of politics in, for example, the early military texts and many chapters of the Guanzi 管子 show clearly how thinkers arguing for new political forms often did so within the rubric of the idealized multistate system, again, with an anachronistic embrace of older forms of political loyalties and social forms (see, e.g., the Simafa 司馬法). On the imaginative process involved in creating empire, see Pines 2009. On the dating of the text and its mythical geography, see Lewis 2006b: chap. 1.

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intentional historicizing of an older mythic tale.14 Rather, the text is concerned with spatial order and, above all else, with revenue. Descriptions of this spatial and economic order fall into two major divisions, which comprise the bulk of the text: the first lists and describes the Nine Provinces (jiuzhou 九州) themselves, and the second describes a series of concentric circles, the Five Domains (wufu 五服), a system that apparently should be understood as superimposed over the Nine Provinces. These two sections are not particularly well integrated—that is, they do not obviously portray the spatial configuration of empire in similar or even compatible ways—and though they share several themes or motifs, each could stand independently. Though neither of these sections emphasizes the work of Yu in laying out the physical and sociopolitical order described in the text, they are held together by a third, intervening section that centers on Yu’s work surveying the land and channeling rivers. It is possible, though not necessary, to read this section as if it cast the creation of this spatial order, described in two alternative ways in the opening and closing sections, as part of the epic story of Yu conquering the floods. Again, the language and focus of this middle section do not themselves make explicit reference to the overtly mythical motifs of Yu’s accomplishments, though it seems likely that for most readers some of those motifs would have naturally been invoked simply through association. While the authors and compilers of “Yu gong” are likely to have had a rich body of lore at their disposal, they appear to us less concerned with narrative than with spatial layout and some of its cosmological and political implications. What saves the chapter from being a mere static presentation of spatial configuration is the fact that the background narrative of Yu’s journey throughout the realm is always implied and occasionally made explicit. Yu’s movements define the empire and establish links among its various regions, allowing the flow of tributary goods and revenue, and therefore political allegiance, from all corners of the empire to the center.15 The attentive reader will notice that we are now speaking not just of the Chinese state but of empire. Indeed, “Yu gong” provides one of the earliest detailed descriptions of the origin and scale of the Chinese empire. The term “empire” usually denotes centralized hegemonic control over a large territory, comprising distinct states, ethnic groups, or regional cultures.16 The chapter’s 14 15 16

For a classic study of such historicization, see Boltz 1981. See Lewis 2006a: chap. 5; and see Dorofeeva-Lichtmann 2009 for a detailed study of the political and religious order conjured by the text. On the relationship between Yu’s work taming the floods and the notion of distinct regional cultures, see Lewis 2006b: 41–47; but on the difficulty of employing modern

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concern with the productive capacity and exotic tribute offerings presented by political representatives from the peripheral regions is a gesture to both the territorial reach and the coercive power of empire, and the tribute system as a whole becomes a synecdoche of empire. And yet this tribute system disguises or shifts attention away from coercive power, displacing it with the bonds of loyalty that compel vassal lords to participate and submit resources to the political center. Yu’s movements across vast territories become not just the charter for the geographic scope of empire but also its model of dynamic operation. The empire is power articulated across geographic space and cultural difference.17 The first section of “Yu gong” which describes the soil quality and agricultural capacity, expected revenue, and typical tribute items of the Nine Provinces, moves from Jizhou 冀州, the north-central province, northeast to Yanzhou 兗州, then south down the coastal region through Qingzhou 青州, Xuzhou 徐州, and finally Yangzhou 揚州 before moving west to Jingzhou 荊州. The text then describes Yuzhou 豫州, arguably the geographic center (though the text itself does not treat it as the political or cultural center), lying north of the province of Jing and south of the point of the descriptions’ origins, in Jizhou. Finally, the text moves us further west, to Liangzhou 梁州 and lastly Yongzhou 雍州, to complete its circuit (see fig. 14.1).18

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notions of ethnicity to the reading of ancient Chinese texts, see Chin 2012. The comparative notion of empire has proven to be somewhat problematic, often proceeding in grand, ahistorical fashion; Perdue 1998 begins with a brief but very pertinent critique of comparative empire studies, noting some of the problems and benefits of treating different historical moments in imperial China within the comparative framework. Perdue also notes the widespread tendency among historians in China to resist treating the Chinese empire as comparable to other empires, rejecting the notion that Chinese imperial power relied on military expansion, conquest, and colonialism and positing instead a peaceful unity achieved through moral transformation. Such historical fantasies are largely rooted in the mythical histories and genealogies built around such figures as Yao 堯, Shun 舜, Yu 禹, the Yellow Emperor 黃帝, and Yan Di 炎帝. It is important that this cultural difference is not erased. The cultural diversity of empire as here conceived creates a dynamic tension that remains endlessly productive, allowing a continuing discourse on the moral transformation and integration of outlying peoples and regions. The process of empire building is never completed, since the center always asserts its cultural and moral superiority while hoping to extend its political reach to new peripheries. While one might suppose that the Nine Provinces could somehow be linked to the notion of a magic square, the actual physical layout described and the route implied by the order of provinces does not give us any neat mathematical structures. This fact may serve to alleviate or disguise the problem of the (mis)placement of the center, in Ji, but it did not

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Figure 14.1 A schematic layout of Yu’s movements creating the Nine Provinces. Jizhou is the point of departure but cannot spatially be considered the center.

Although this section of the text is focused on description, the revenue from each province is then described as moving along river systems. The text is, of course, widely read, but little attention has been paid to the fact that the realm it describes is not a territorially bounded, static entity but rather a series of dynamic, interconnected networks, always defined by the movement of goods and people throughout them.19 The real goal of “Yu gong,” then, is to describe a systematic, idealized empire where power is exercised across real space, symbolized by the ritual movement of tribute and state revenue along a complex series of networks that integrate diversity (descriptions of tribute always emphasize regional diversity) to create unity: the tribute system, the state, and ritual and political practices constitute the glue holding the diverse regions together. The text describes these

19

stop the emergence of later interpretations that perceived complex cosmological significance in the asymmetry of the Nine Provinces (see, e.g., Dorofeeva-Lichtmann 2009: 602–605). There are exceptions. Dorofeeva-Lichtmann 2009 is a careful study of “Yu gong” and many related texts that emphasizes “Yu’s establishment of order in terrestrial space” (624) and the “process-oriented character” of these texts (596).

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networks as primarily defined by waterways and mountain ranges and refers to or implies Yu’s achievements in creating, repairing, and linking these networks. Like so many of our early texts, “Yu gong” incorporates some accurate and reliable information into its portrayal of early China. The tribute system it describes is not imagined out of whole cloth but seems to be based on imperfect memories and exaggerated idealizations of the old Western Zhou political and economic realm and the emerging multistate system (still visible to us in bronze inscriptions of the era that record ritualized gift exchange, cooperative military service, and intermarriage among the Zhou nobility and the royal house), as well as on more contemporary information regarding the sorts of local materials available in different regions of China. Such interactions as it subsumes under the rubric of tribute (e.g., trade relations and political alliances) would likely have occurred within networks very much defined by geographic configurations, chief among them river systems and their related mountain ranges. Other texts in the Chinese tradition employ this basic structure—river systems and mountain ranges—to describe the dynamic relations of different regions across empire. The Shuijing zhu 水經注 (usually understood as the Annotated Classic of Waterways but conceivably the Annotated Itineraries of Waterways), from the sixth century CE, is a very influential example, which in turn served as a precedent for numerous later encyclopedic projects.20 From the formative classical era itself, however, the other most important text to employ water as an organizing concept in articulations of power and order in the social realm and the cosmos at large is the Shanhai jing 山海經. The Shanhai jing (Itineraries through Mountain Ranges and Waterways) contains several different conceptual schemes that present the layout of the world in terms of networks of river systems and their related mountain ranges. Like “Yu gong,” this text is interested in the movement of goods and people through elaborate networks that always converge on or imply a political and cultural center. In this respect, the human political order, the physical geography it is inscribed on, and the broader patterns of cosmic order embracing them are understood as homologous realms, each manifesting a natural and systematic tendency toward centralization. The opening five books of this text, named separately as “Wuzang shan jing” 五藏山經, or “Mountain Itineraries of the Five Treasuries,” have been described by Dorofeeva-Lichtmann as a spiritual landscape, an imaginary, comprehensive guide to the diverse flora, fauna, and demonology of the empire that, like “Yu gong,” integrates difference into unity 20

Nylan (2010) demonstrates how this text employs geographic space and historical memory to turn the space of empire into the memory-charged place of empire.

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through its employment of a single systematic description.21 This section of the Shanhai jing takes mountain ranges as its dominant structural feature, rather than river systems, but the two approaches are obviously closely related, river systems and mountain ranges being the two defining topographical features of most landscapes. The following parts of the Shanhai jing reproduce the same grand-scale structural features of the opening five books, that is, the division of the world into regions, named for the four cardinal directions plus the center, and then proceed to describe the mythical and natural history of these regions and their defining bodies of water and waterways. As noted, “Yu gong” employs an alternative spatial framework, the division of the known world into Nine Provinces, but the two texts became linked early in the broader canonical tradition when, at an unknown time, a few closing lines attributed to Yu were added to the end of the fifth book of the Shanhai jing. Here, Yu enumerates the mountains and total distances recorded in the preceding five books of the text, noting how many produce copper or iron and summarizing the importance of the distribution of various resources throughout the realm. While Yu hardly figures in the first five books of the Shanhai jing, these closing lines link the text’s itineraries to his travels through the known world, and its long detailed descriptions of local flora and fauna can be related to his creation of a vast network of tribute routes that integrated the realm into an empire.22 In this way, differences between the noncanonical but otherwise influential Shanhai jing and the authoritative “Yu gong” were glossed over, if not completely resolved, and these important traditions about the first creation of spatial political order were linked to one another. Yu’s Nine Provinces 21

22

Dorofeeva-Lichtmann 2003. Here and in other work, Dorofeeva-Lichtmann notes many conceptual links between “Yu gong” and the Shanhai jing; see esp. Dorofeeva-Lichtmann 1995: 59–61; and Dorofeeva-Lichtmann 2009, which also offers analysis of a broad range of other early texts and passages that represent the world or empire in schematic spatial ways. It is important to note that the Shanhai jing in fact employs several similar descriptive schemes that on close examination are not easily reconcilable, but their collection into a single work and the fact that these schemes seem to grow from a single conceptualization of space and cosmology give the entire work a pervasive, if sometimes also elusive, sense of unity. The exact nature of the relationships between the first five books and the spatial schemes of the remaining sections of the text remains difficult to discern. Several interpretations are presented in Dorofeeva-Lichtmann 2007. The lines in question are unusual, and therefore likely a later intrusion, in part because no similar comments are made at the end of other sections of the Shanhai jing, and in part because almost exactly the same lines are attributed to Guan Zhong 管仲 at the start of the “Di shu” 地數 chapter of the Guanzi, which is itself clearly a hodgepodge text likely dating to the second century BCE (see Rickett 1998: 421–422).

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were understood to correspond to topographical and cultural features of the Chinese state, while the division into Five Domains represented a political gradient, concentric circles whose distance from the center marked a decrease in political control. The Shanhai jing divides the known world into five regions that operate conceptually much like the Nine Provinces, allowing readers and commentators to ignore the structural differences in favor of a single inter­ pretive approach. At an even higher order of organization, the notions of five regions, Five Domains, and Nine Provinces are linked to not just terrestrial order but cosmic order as well, through the numerological symbolism of the value-laden numbers 5 and 9. As we will see below, the cosmological symbolism did not stop with the depiction of time and space. The division of the world in the Shanhai jing into five regions is a very old notion, with clear ties to some of China’s oldest myths and also links to later numerological concerns. Many texts that preserve these myths have a prominent spatial component (this includes the “Yao dian” and “Shun dian” chapters of the Shangshu), and this emphasis on descriptions of spatial configuration informs another early text, also an idealization of the spatial reach of empire and the flow of power across space. In this text, topography (such as waterways and mountain ranges) is not the main concern. Rather, the hierarchical integration of diverse cultural and political entities is presented. The text in question shares with “Yu gong” and the Shanhai jing a concern with the idealized movement of power through a systematically integrated empire built out of diverse components, and it sees in the submission of tribute offerings a concrete expression of the power of the king to create a political, economic, and ritual center to which all things good would be drawn. The text I have in mind, really two different texts combined into one, as we will see, has received far less attention than the canonical “Yu gong,” and so I will examine it in more detail.23 Chapter 59 of the Yi Zhoushu, “Wang hui” 王會 (“The King’s Convocation”), is set in the early years of the Western Zhou, during the young King Cheng’s 成王 reign (ca. late eleventh century BCE). The chapters of the Yi Zhoushu are a diverse mix of materials actually deriving from or, in some cases, later understood to be related to the early Zhou court. Sometime probably in the very late third century BCE they were collected and laid out according to a sense of their chronology, covering primarily the reigns of Kings Wen 文, Wu 武, and Cheng. The original text comprised seventy or 23

The text is studied extensively in Hwang 1996: chap. 6. Hwang’s focus is on spatial configuration of monuments, buildings, and the like, and he reads “Wang hui” in relation to not only the texts discussed here (such as the Shanhai jing) but also other texts concerned with directionality, as well as to architecture and relics such as decorative bronze mirrors.

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seventy-one pian, with “Wang hui” coming late in the chronology.24 Like “Yu gong,” this text is set at a founding moment, when political authority is established and a system for integrating the empire is initiated. Both texts, then, present a charter for a form of political and ritual unity across vast geographic distance. After the long rule of King Cheng’s grandfather, King Wen, who built up alliances and strengthened the Zhou house, and the very brief reign of his father, King Wu, who accomplished the overthrow of the Shang but passed away soon after, the task of setting in place institutions to secure their newly won territories fell largely on the shoulders of the young King Cheng, who was likely guided while in his minority by his uncles, for instance, the Duke of Zhou 周公. The so-called modern-edition Bamboo Annals (Jinben Zhushu jinian 今本竹書 紀年) mentions a great convocation of Zhou nobles and allies at this time, an event that in “Wang hui” becomes a foundational moment in the ritual and political order of the Zhou. The text purports to provide details of the spatial arrangement and visual richness of the assembled vassals and the unusual gifts they presented at this convocation, serving as a representation of the tribute system that provided the umbrella for hierarchical alliances and interactions within the Zhou realm.25 The text begins with a visual description of the convocation and seems to describe a three-tiered platform erected outside for the event, with some sort of awning and elaborate feather decorations (see fig. 14.2). The arrangement of nobles on the top two tiers of the platform is itself a structural depiction of historical memory of the power configurations that conveyed legitimacy on the early Zhou house and allowed its extension over the realm. At the center of the top platform is King Cheng, wearing a multicolored robe and a hat with jade decorations, and with jade insignia in his sash. Arrayed to his left and right are Tangshu 唐叔, King Cheng’s younger brother, enfeoffed at Tang, probably 24 25

See McNeal 2002 on the chronology, and McNeal 2012: chap. 3, on the text history and authenticity. The entry is in the sixth year of King Cheng in the Jinben Zhushu jinian. Wang Yinglin 王應麟 (1223–1296) is the first person we know of in the commentarial tradition to explicitly link the Bamboo Annals line with both the preface to Mao 266, “Qing miao” 清廟, which mentions a convocation of the various lords, and “Wang hui.” Kong Zhao’s 孔兆 third-century CE commentary to “Wang hui” is generally in agreement with this historical contextualization, but of course in all these cases, it is difficult to discern independent evidence of the convocation, since the status of the modern edition of the Bamboo Annals is problematic, and most or all other mentions of such a convocation are likely to be based largely on “Wang hui” itself. See the collected comments in Huang Huaixin et al. 2007: 295–296.

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Figure 14.2 Tentative depiction of the multitiered platform described in the “Wang hui” chapter of the Yi Zhoushu.

located in modern-day Shanxi 山西 Province; Xunshu 荀叔, the former King Wu’s younger brother, enfeoffed at Xun, also in modern-day Shanxi; the Duke of Zhou, also a brother of King Wu; and the Grand Duke, Tai Gong 太公. All face south. The text describes the first three standing to King Cheng’s right, with the Grand Duke standing alone at his left, but commentators over the years have been troubled by the visual imbalance, and some suggest emending the text to place the Duke of Zhou to his left as well.26 Indeed, numerous minor emendations to the text are necessary to render the chapter readable, but there may have been a logic to the separation of the Grand Duke, who was not a blood relative of the Zhou. On the next level, the text describes four more figures: positioned to King Cheng’s right are descendants of the Xia and Shang dynasties; to his left are the enfeoffed descendants of Yao 堯, called here the Duke of Tang 唐公, and of Shun 舜, called here the Duke of Yu 虞公. All face south. There seem to be steps 26

See the comments in Huang Huaixin et al. 2007: 800–801. I follow He Qiutao 何秋濤 in taking Xun 荀 as equivalent to 郇, and thus departing from the Kong commentary, which describes Xunshu here as another younger brother of King Cheng (unknown from other sources).

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between the different levels, and two invocators stand on the stairs just below this level. On the far eastern side of this platform stand officers in charge of medicine. Guoshu 郭 (虢) 叔, that is, the ruler of Guo, whose founder was King Wen’s younger brother, stands to the east (when facing south) and is in charge of accepting tribute items. Several more close relatives and allies occupy this level as well: the Marquis of Ying 應侯 and the ruler of Cao 曹叔, both members of the Zhou ruling house, along with other state rulers from other clans. Then the text refers to three groups of allied states, named with the same term, fu, “domain,” used in the latter half of “Yu gong”: the bifu 比服, the yaofu 要服, and the huangfu 荒服, describing concentric circles increasingly far out from the court. At the lowest level are various low-ranking officers. The text to this point is concerned with describing the ritual spatial layout of a familio-political hierarchy. But now suddenly the emphasis of the text shifts to a listing of tribute goods. They are described as laid out on the three faces of the ritual platform, and the emphasis is very much on the unusual and the lavish. All sorts of seafood and fish are presented, along with various bizarre animals (such as the nine-tailed fox) and other exotica. Some of the descriptions are reminiscent of passages in the Shanhai jing; for example, some sort of ape is described as “like a yellow dog, with a human face, that is able to talk” (若黃狗，人面，能言).27 Commentators over the centuries have not missed the chance to read this portion of the text against descriptions in the Shanhai jing, but to insist that, for example, a creature in “Wang hui” described as a sort of dog that is “able to fly and can eat tigers and leopards” (能 飛，食虎豹) must be the same as a creature in the Shanhai jing described as “like a white dog with a black head, that flies away when it sees people” (如白 犬而黑頭，見人則飛) is to insist that the exotic creatures of such texts were real.28 But if we are not to read the text literally, then how are we to read it? Before addressing this question, it is important to look at the end of the “Wang hui” chapter. Appended to the end of “Wang hui” is a separate short text named “Yi Yin chao xian” 伊尹朝獻, or “System of Court Visits and Tribute in the Time of Yi Yin.”29 Yi Yin, loyal minister to the Shang founder, Tang, is something of a liter27 28 29

Huang Huaixin et al. 2007: 871. Huang Huaixin et al. 2007: 851. The citation from the Shanhai jing is given in the commentary by Wang Yinglin (Huang Huaixin et al. 2007: 852). The Yi Zhoushu attributes the text to a Shangshu 商書 (Shang Documents). There is a section titled Shangshu 商書 in the extant canonical Shangshu 尚書, along with a section named “Zhou shu” (“Zhou Documents”), but it seems likely that the reference in Yi Zhoushu is to a separate work. Elsewhere in the Yi Zhoushu mention is made of a Xia shu 夏書 (Xia Documents).

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ary mirror to the Duke of Zhou, and in this text, set early in the founding years of the Shang dynasty, another description of the tribute system, here organized according to the four directions and the center, is laid out. The text as preserved in “Wang hui” is relatively short and opens: Tang asked Yi Yin: “When the various feudal lords come and submit tribute, there are some whose region does not itself produce horses or oxen, but they submit gifts from yet a more distant place. The requirements of their tribute service and their actual ability to produce these items are at odds, and this is not beneficial. Now I would like them to rely on the advantages of their own regions when submitting tribute items; they must be easy for them to obtain and not costly.” 湯問伊尹曰：諸侯來獻，或無馬牛之所生而獻遠方之物，事實相反不 利。今吾欲因其地勢所有獻之，必易得而不貴。30

Yi Yin then proceeds to describe the tribute of the four directions, moving in the order that is standard for most classical texts, from east to south and then to west and finally north. Despite the Shang king’s call for simplicity, the relatively brief list of goods presented emphasizes items that, from the perspective of the center, are still exotic: all sorts of fish and fish products from the east; pearls, tusks, and feathers from the south; minerals and turtles from the west; and jades, horses, and fine bows from the north. Thus, preserved here in the “Wang hui” chapter of the Yi Zhoushu and in the “Yu gong” chapter of the Shangshu are models of the articulation of ritual, economic, and political power throughout each of the purportedly earliest Chinese dynasties, the Xia, Shang, and Zhou. That such texts were imagined and created for each of these dynasties points to the importance of this idea of the flow of power across space to early Chinese thinkers—as both a concrete and a metaphorical phenomenon. None of the three texts are authentic; the language of all three suggests dates in the Warring States era.31 They emerged at a time when monarchs and political theorists had begun to imagine a new dy30 31

Huang Huaixin et al. 2007: 909–910. “Yu gong” is probably the earliest, dating in something like its received form perhaps as early as the fourth century BCE and being almost certainly composed at least in part from older materials. “Wang hui” and the associated “Yi Yin chao xian” are more likely to date from the late third century BCE, and while it is not impossible that there is a core to “Wang hui” that is quite old, we have no evidence to speculate about gradual accretion or even about what the oldest core might have contained. Dating of the texts is discussed in Hwang 1996: chap. 6.

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nastic order and to project their imaginings back onto their own historical past, conjuring the empire they dreamed of building. The very specific, detailed nature of the lists of tribute items presented in these texts requires some explanation. As noted above, such specificity has contributed to a tendency to see these texts as accurate reflections of real geographic and cultural configurations and to read the lists of fantastical tribute items from afar as literal records of real things. No doubt there are features of these lists that bear some connection to reality on the ground. But there are better explanations for the great specificity found in these texts. “Yu gong” and “Wang hui” both emphasize the great diversity of exotic tribute items moving toward the political center, and the Shanhai jing, while not explicitly about tribute, may nevertheless be read as a guide to mastery of the exotica of empire.32 Mary W. Helms has written extensively on the need to understand such movement of goods in premodern societies from the peripheries to the center not primarily in economic terms but in ideological terms: meaning, power, and value are generated at the center precisely through the movement of goods from beyond the pale, distance of origin itself being a primary criterion for the ability of these items to symbolize or embody authority: “Involvement with distant realms by the acquisition of goods from geographically distant places highlights activities that are seen to combine, organize, and symbolically stabilize diverse dimensions of the near and the far; highlights, in other words, the imposition of order as a fundamental cosmological-political principle.”33 Helms draws on an enormous pool of historical and ethnographic material to argue that most preindustrial societies construct a cosmology and a sense of geographic space that privileges exotic items from the periphery. Her approach gives us a way to interpret the rich detail of texts such as “Wang hui” and “Yu gong.” Both texts center on the movement of items to the court, and that movement not only demonstrates the court’s power but, in the textual world that is conjured here, creates and sustains it. “Yu gong” has been far more influential than “Wang hui,” in part simply because it is housed in the canonical Shangshu, whereas the Yi Zhoushu enjoyed some popularity in the early centuries of the imperial era but slid into obscurity after the Tang dynasty. “Yu gong” is also the 32

33

The implied center of the Shanhai jing, in such an interpretation, is the reader himself, who through the text is able to complete an imaginative journey and master the realm without leaving home. Thus, despite the similarities emphasized above, the Shanhai jing and “Yu gong” remain very different texts. And yet, they complement one another, the latter conjuring a cultural and political geography and the former allowing the creation of a subject position within that world. Helms 1993: 168. Also see Helms 1988, for an extended exploration of these ideas. Helms draws on some Chinese textual data, including the Mu tianzi zhuan 穆天子傳.

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more ambitious of the two, portraying the creation of the physical layout of the world onto which the tribute system is superimposed. Where “Yu gong” employs the tribute system as a metonym for all of empire, the text of “Wang hui” employs the ritual act of submission of tribute gifts to the throne as a symbol for the entire tribute system and all the power it stands for. “Yu gong” describes Yu’s journeys throughout the realm as a means of creating that very realm.34 “Wang hui” portrays the lavish grandeur of the court, which has drawn rulers from near and far to converge at the center, and the lavish decorations at the ceremony to receive them are intended as a grand theatrical enactment of the state. The brief “System of Court Visits and Tribute in the Time of Yi Yin” as now preserved at the end of “Wang hui” seems to play against this grandeur to make an ideological point about frugality and a concern for those vassal states required to submit onerous tribute payments.35 All three texts, then, helped to conjure a sense of state power rooted in a vast network of hierarchically linked polities, the center defined by its very ability to incorporate outlying regions and compel regular court visits and tribute payments from far afield. This vision of imperial power, imagined and projected onto a legendary past, became a model for what we would now call foreign relations, a clear example of how the historical imaginary came to create and maintain a political reality. One of the best measures of the importance the Shangshu has had over the last two millennia is precisely its ability to enforce on the future its vision of the past. 34 35

Compare also the notion that travels to the exotic periphery serve to create a sense of the center, in Davison 1991. Arguments in favor of a frugal ethic of rulership from the late Warring States, Qin, and Western Han era not only hark back to similar earlier Mohist rhetoric and ethical positions centered in a paternalistic concern for the welfare of the commoners found in the Shangshu and other canonical works but also contribute to an increasingly sophisticated discourse on frugality and lavishness that integrates these positions with a distrust of flowery language (often associated with Confucianism but perhaps better understood as a well-established rhetorical and ethical tradition). Over the course of the Han dynasty, this discourse played out in such diverse realms as poetry and language, morality and selfcultivation, politics, and economics. See Kern 2003, esp. 419–431, on reading the rich language of Han fu as a celebration of the exuberance of the lavish that is then undermined or inverted to offer a moral lesson about simplicity and frugality. Kern’s analysis includes a reading of the all-encompassing scope of, for example, the celebration of the imperial park as a microcosm that mirrors the comprehensive enumeration of the exotica of tribute in the texts discussed above. See also Chin 2014 on, among other facets of the discourse on frugality and lavishness, the relationship between economic theories, politics, and poetry.

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More broadly, “Yu gong” and its textual family outside the Shangshu offer us insights into how the state, a term so often burdened with the baggage of modernity, was understood or imagined to have functioned by early political thinkers in China. Their vision of the state as a series of dynamic networks, visible largely through ritual activity, is worthy of our critical attention. From the fourth to second centuries BCE, when the sources discussed above were written, concern with centralization began to dominate political and philosophical thought, as the remnants of the multistate system of the late Zhou era were consolidated into a unified empire. Conceptualizing the state from its earliest advent in China down to this period as a series of dynamic networks suggests new ways of understanding this process of consolidation and centralization. As the infrastructure of the Warring States polities expanded and grew denser, increasingly sophisticated networks of communication, trade, and the like were grafted together with new networks of social mobilization and militarization. The state-as-network model slowly converges with the state-as-bounded-territory model as these networks become more uniform and predictable within and across states and as they become more dense and enduring. The much-celebrated symbolic and concrete unifying actions of the founder of the Qin empire, such as tours of sacred mountains and creation of regularized weights, measures, and script, can in many respects be understood as the culminating acts of integration among a series of converging networks.36 Such integration, while imagined by the Qin founder as universal and permanent, was of course not at all inevitable and was only a fragile and incomplete imposition of uniformity and order, real and symbolic, on what was to remain a volatile and dynamic system of interregional interactions throughout the imperial era and beyond.37 36

37

On understanding the state as a series of nested networks, see McNeal 2014, and compare the discussion of “conceptual topographies” in Flad and Chen 2013: 11–13. It is tempting to include the apparent mobility of the rulers and capitals of the earliest Chinese states, the Shang and early Western Zhou, in this analysis of the dynamic state. Keightley (1983), for example, has argued that the Shang kings were often on the move, but it is unclear to what extent this mobility remained institutionally important, or might have been remembered, in later ages, when the texts addressed in this study were written and compiled. It is possible that real movement of early kings or capitals, tied to military pressures, trade needs, or the logistics of geography and agriculture, was over time replaced by more symbolic forms of movement, ritualized enactments of kingship that harked back to earlier times, but it would be difficult to establish such a conjecture. For a recent analysis of the unifying policies of the Qin, see Sanft 2015. Kern 2000 is a study of the Qin inscriptions erected during the First Emperor’s tours of the eastern frontier, providing another important example of an imperial journey that creates the very empire

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References Anderson, Benedict. 1991. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origins and Spread of Nationalism. Rev. ed. London: Verso. Bagley, Robert. 1999. “Shang Archaeology.” In The Cambridge History of Ancient China: From the Origins of Civilization to 221 B.C., ed. Michael Loewe and Edward L. Shaughnessy, 124–231. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Boltz, William G. 1981. “Kung Kung and the Flood: Reverse Euhemerism in the ‘Yao tien.’” T’oung Pao 67: 141–153. Chin, Tamara T. 2012. “Antiquarian as Ethnographer: Han Ethnicity in Early Chinese Studies.” In Critical Han Studies: The History, Representation, and Identity of China’s Majority, ed. Thomas S. Mullaney, James Leibold, Stéphane Gros, and Eric Vanden Bussche, 128–146. Berkeley: University of California Press. Chin, Tamara T. 2014. Savage Exchange: Han Imperialism, Chinese Literary Style, and the Economic Imagination. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center. Davison, Jean M. 1991. “Myth and the Periphery.” In Myth and the Polis, ed. Dora C. Pozzi and John M. Wickersham, 49–63. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Dorofeeva-Lichtmann, Vera. 1995. “The Conception of Terrestrial Organization in the Shan hai jing.” Bulletin de l’École française d’Extrême-Orient 82: 57–110. Dorofeeva-Lichtmann, Vera. 2003. “Mapping a ‘Spiritual’ Landscape: Representations of Terrestrial Space in the Shanhaijing.” In Political Frontiers, Ethnic Boundaries, and Human Geographies in Chinese History, ed. Nicola Di Cosmo and Don J. Wyatt, 35–79. London: Routledge/Curzon. Dorofeeva-Lichtmann, Vera. 2007. “Mapless Mapping: Did the Maps of the Shanhai jing Ever Exist?” In Graphics and Text in the Production of Technical Knowledge in China: The Warp and the Weft, ed. Fancesca Bray, Vera Dorofeeva-Lichtmann, and Georges Métailié, 217–294. Leiden: Brill. Dorofeeva-Lichtmann, Vera. 2009. “Ritual Practices for Constructing Terrestrial Space (Warring States–Early Han).” In Early Chinese Religion, pt. 1, Shang through Han (1250 BC–220 AD), ed. John Lagerwey and Marc Kalinowski, 595–644. Leiden: Brill. Falkenhausen, Lothar von. 2006. Chinese Society in the Age of Confucius (1000–250 BCE): The Archaeological Evidence. Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology. Flad, Rowan K., and Pochan Chen. 2013. Ancient Central China: Centers and Peripheries along the Yangzi River. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Helms, Mary W. 1988. Ulysses’ Sail: An Ethnographic Odyssey of Power, Knowledge, and Geographical Distance. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. it celebrates. These imaginative conjurations of the Chinese empire do not dissipate over time, as later imperial tours and major textual projects that intend to comprehensively catalog the geographic variation of empire demonstrate.

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Helms, Mary W. 1993. Craft and the Kingly Ideal: Art, Trade, and Power. Austin: University of Texas Press. Hobsbawm, Eric, and Terrence Ranger, eds. 1983. The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hu Wei 胡渭. 1996. Yu gong zhuizhi 禹貢錐指. Shanghai: Shanghai guji. Huang Huaixin 黃懷信 et al. 2007. Yi Zhoushu huijiao jizhu 逸周書彙校集注. Rev. ed. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. Hwang, Ming-chorng. 1996. “Ming-tang: Cosmology, Political Order and Monuments in Early China.” PhD diss., Harvard University. Keightley, David N. 1983. “The Late Shang State: When, Where, and What?” In Origins of Chinese Civilization, ed. David N. Keightley, 523–564. Berkeley: University of California Press. Kern, Martin. 2000. The Stele Inscriptions of Ch’in Shih-huang: Text and Ritual in Early Chinese Imperial Representation. New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society. Kern, Martin. 2003. “Western Han Aesthetics and the Genesis of the Fu.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 63.2: 383–437. Lewis, Mark Edward. 2006a. The Construction of Space in Early China. Albany: State University of New York Press. Lewis, Mark Edward. 2006b. The Flood Myths of Early China. Albany: State University of New York Press. Loewe, Michael, and Edward L. Shaughnessy, eds. 1999. The Cambridge History of Ancient China: From the Origins of Civilization to 221 B.C. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. McNeal, Robin. 2002. “The Body as Metaphor for the Civil and Martial Components of Empire in Yi Zhou shu, Chapter 32; With an Excursion on the Composition and Structure of the Yi Zhou shu.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 122.1: 46–60. McNeal, Robin. 2003. “The Development of Naturalist Thought in Ancient China: A Review of W. Allyn Rickett’s Guanzi.” Early China 29: 161–200. McNeal, Robin. 2012. Conquer and Govern: Early Chinese Military Texts from the “Yi Zhou shu.” Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press. McNeal, Robin. 2014. “Erligang Contacts South of the Yangzi: The Expansion of Interaction Networks in Early Bronze Age Hunan.” In Art and Archaeology of the Erligang Civilization, ed. Kyle Steinke and Dora C. Y. Ching, 173–187. Princeton, NJ:. P.Y and Kinmay W. Tang Center for East Asian Art, in association with Princeton University Press. Nylan, Michael. 2010. “Wandering in the Land of Ruins: The Shuijing zhu 水經注 (Water Classic Commentary) Revisited.” In Interpretation and Literature in Early Medieval China, ed. Alan K. C. Chan, 63–102. Albany: State University of New York Press. Owen, Stephen. 1986. Remembrances: The Experience of the Past in Classical Chinese Literature. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

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Perdue, Peter C. 1998. “Comparing Empires: Manchu Colonialism.” International History Review 20.2: 255–262. Pines, Yuri. 2009. Envisioning Eternal Empire: Chinese Political Thought of the Warring States Era. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press. Rickett, W. Allyn. 1998. Guanzi: Political, Economic, and Philosophical Essays from Early China. Vol. 2. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Sanft, Charles. 2015. Communication and Cooperation in Early China: Publicizing the Qin Dynasty. Albany: State University of New York Press. Schaberg, David. 2001. “Texts and Artifacts: A Review of the Cambridge History of Ancient China.” Monumenta Serica 49: 463–515. Shiji 史記. 1959. By Sima Qian 司馬遷. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju. Smith, Anthony D. 2000. The Nation in History: Historiographical Debates about Ethnicity and Nationalism. Hanover, NH: University Press of New England. Tong Shuye 童書業. 2004. Tong Shuye lishidili lunji 童書業歷史地理論集. Shanghai: Shanghai guji. Tong Shuye 童書業 and Gu Jiegang. 2004. “Handai yiqian Zhongguoren de shijie guannian yu yuwai jiaotong de gushi” 漢代以前中國人的世界觀念與域外交通的故事. In Tong Shuye lishidili lunji, 129–168. Shanghai: Shanghai guji. Yates, Robin D. S. 1997. “The City-State in Ancient China.” In The Archaeology of CityStates: Cross-Cultural Approaches, ed. Deborah L. Nichols and Thomas H. Charlton, 71–90. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press.

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Index Index

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Index abdication 15, 51–52, 56–57, 136, 136n116, 136n117, 195, 214–215, 379, 381n74. See also kingship; succession Advice to the Youthful Scribe 396n11, 401 “Agriculturalists” (nong jia 農家) 379 Ahiqar 394, 398, 404 amnesty (she 赦) 45, 95, 463–467 anadiplosis 13, 31, 40, 79 ancestral worship; sacrifice 35, 300, 307, 310, 422, 431–432, 439–440 appointments 35–37, 40, 48, 53. See also ceming 冊命 archaism; archaic; archaizing 2, 17, 25, 31–32, 52–55, 75, 102, 111, 181, 250n5, 277, 320–324, 341–348, 447 ceremonial 323, 345–349 written vs spoken 335–346 archive; archiving 15, 127–128, 131, 181, 345, 351, 353 Assmann, Jan 16, 62n4, 115n37, 232n34, 283, 308n76 Assurbanipal (669–631 BCE) 149 Assurnasirpal II (883–859 BCE) 149 audience 9, 16, 35, 43, 127, 157–159, 172, 233–239, 244–246, 337, 339, 394–396, 399–400 authenticity; authentic (also genuine) 4–6, 16, 33, 107n4, 110–111, 137, 179, 193–194, 225, 226, 277, 322, 413, 435

Bo Yi 伯夷 80, 86, 90, 328 bronze inscriptions 19, 25, 150–156, 175–178, 179n84–86, 180, 203–204, 206, 209, 254n20, 266n30, 301, 336, 338–340, 424–429, 438, 439, 483 Ban-gui 班簋 424n41 Bin Gong-xu 豳公盨 178 Da Yu-ding 大盂鼎 172, 340, 366 Di-zhong 狄鐘 179n84 Dong-ding 鼎 424n41 Dong-gui 簋 424n41 Ge You Bi-ding 鬲攸比鼎 426n50 Ge You Bi-gui gai 鬲攸比簋蓋 426n50 Hu-gui 㝬簋 (or 胡簋) 179n86 Jinhou Su-zhong 晉侯穌鐘 151 Lu-hou zun 魯侯尊 422n31 Mao Gong-ding 毛公鼎 176n72, 340 Qiu-pan 逑盤 (aka Lai-pan 逨盤) 176n71, 177 Rang-fangding 方鼎 421n31 San Shi-pan 散氏盤 425, 427n57 Shi Hong-gui 師訇簋 176n72, 340 Shi Qi-ding 師旂鼎 426n55 Shu Yi-zhong 叔夷鐘 179n85 Xiao Yu-ding 小盂鼎 150–151 Yu-gui 敔簋 151–152 bureaucracy 41, 72, 156, 178, 301, 336 Bünger, Karl 451

Ba 霸, state of 427 Baihutong 白虎通 196 Bal, Mieke 16, 228 Ban Gu 班固 (32–92) 347 Bei 邶 423 419, 423 Bei/Bi /粊

Cai Shen 蔡沈 (1167–1230) 113n25, 208–209, 459, 464, 466–468 Cai shu 蔡叔 420, 422 calendar 35–36, 79. See also correlative cosmology Cao shu 曹叔 488 catalog (rhetorical feature) 42, 45–48, 52, 112, 129–131, 135, 261–265, 291, 300 ce ming 冊命 (appointment) 427 chang fa 常法 (regular laws) 437 Chao Cuo 晁錯 349 Cheng Yi 程頤 (1033–1107) 193 chronology; narrativizing chronology 251n6, 386n90, 477, 478n8, 485–486, 486n24 Chu 楚 vs. Qin 秦 100–101 Chunqiu fanlu 春秋繁露 333

beizi 備子 201–208 Bi 費/鄪 418–419 biezi 別子 202–204 binome 26, 38, 40, 202, 206, 207. See also reduplicatives bo Qin 伯禽 (ca. eleventh to tenth centuries BCE), first ruler of Lu 魯 18, 286, 420–423, 431–433, 435, 439–440 boshi 博士. See “Erudite”

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2017 | doi 10.1163/9789004343504_017

498 citation 39n46, 320–335, 377 City of Luo 洛 146, 173 Classic of Changes (Yijing 易經 or Zhou Yi 周 易) 7, 182, 321 Classic of Documents (Shujing 書經 or Shangshu 尚書) ancient-script Shangshu (guwen Shangshu 古文尚書) 2, 4–5, 38, 194, 288, 361, 363n15 “Bi ming” 畢命 (“Command to the Duke of Bi”) 107n4, 116n44, 119n54 “Bi shi” 粊 誓 (“The Oath at Bi”) 18, 183n99, 266, 286, 288, 416–441 “Cai Zhong zhi ming” 蔡仲之命 (“Command to Zhong of Cai”) 116–117n44 “Cheng wang zheng” 成王政 (“The Governance of King Cheng”) 422n32, 422n35 “Da gao” 大誥 (“Great Announcement”/ Grand Proclamation) 119n53, 135n110, 162, 172, 173, 185n118, 260, 266, 314, 370, 373, 422 “Da Yu mo” 大禹謨 (“Counsels of the Great Yu”) 26–27, 63n5, 287, 402, 457–459, 459, 465–467, 468–469 Duke of Zhou corpus in 371–372 “Duo fang” 多方 (“Many Regions”) 15, 146–182, 258, 266, 286, 370n34, 371, 382, 395, 402, 413n61, 422, 447–448 “Duo shi” 多士 (“Many Officers”) 15, 146–182, 266, 269, 286, 305, 337n47, 370n34, 371, 373, 382, 395, 395n6, 406n43, 408n45, 422 “Gan shi” 甘誓 (“Harangue at Gan”) 55, 116n39, 164, 172, 183n99, 184n110, 266, 286, 288 “Gao Yao mo” 皋陶謨 (“Counsels of Gao Yao”) 14, 27, 29, 38, 43, 55, 63–78, 88–89, 101–103, 111n22, 273, 311n83 “Gaozong rong ri” 高宗肜日 (“Day of the Supplementary Sacrifice to Gaozong”) 273, 395 “Gu ming” 顧命 (“Testamentary Charge”) 14, 89n39, 106–139, 159, 176n71, 182n96, 216n67, 260, 264, 265, 273, 275n41, 276, 287, 395, 396n9, 421 Han steles version of 361

Index













“Hongfan” 洪範 (“Great Plan”) 2, 74, 186n125, 268, 312–313, 325–327, 349, 376n57, 370 “Jinteng” 金縢 (“Metal-Bound Coffer”) 12, 15, 16, 108n8, 109n14, 116n39, 193–220, 224–225, 228–230, 234–246, 260, 264, 272, 276, 313, 337n49, 370 “Jiu gao” 酒誥 (“Announcement about Drunkenness”) 117n44, 119n53, 135n110, 159n38, 163, 164, 172–173, 266, 301, 366, 371–372, 382, 399, 402, 406n43, 413n61, 437 “Jun Shi” 君奭 (“Lord Shi”) 116n43, 119n53, 162–164, 172, 177, 186n123, 260, 266, 312–313, 333–334, 370–371, 402 “Kang gao” 康誥 (“Proclamation to Kang”) 19, 119n53, 173, 206, 266, 303, 326–327, 330–334, 339, 345, 360, 372–373, 376n57, 396, 402, 436–437, 447, 451, 454, 457, 468–470, 471 “Kang wang zhi gao” 康王之誥 (“Announcement of King Kang”) 89n39, 111, 159, 182n96 “Li zheng” 立政 (“Establishment of the Government”) 110n17, 159n38, 164, 172, 177, 182n96, 266, 301, 370, 395, 399, 408n46 “Luo gao” 洛誥 (“Announcement concerning Luo”) 146, 172–173, 266–267, 315, 325, 337n49, 408n46, 411n57, 451n21 “Lü ao” 旅獒 (“Hounds of Lü”) 119n56, 395, 399 “Lü xing” 呂刑 (“Punishment of Lü”) 14, 19, 63n7, 89–102, 116n43, 159, 183n101, 270–271, 291n36, 303, 325, 326, 328, 334, 360, 421n28, 446–471 modern-script Shangshu (jinwen Shangshu 今文尚書) 2, 4–5, 288, 324–329, 332–334, 361, 365n21, 368, 370, 376n57 “Mu shi” 牧誓 (“Harangue at Mu”) 5–6, 159n38, 164, 172, 182n96, 183n99, 185n118, 266, 285, 288, 299–300, 312 “Pan Geng” 盤庚 (“Pan Geng”) 89n39, 110n18, 117n47, 119n53, 165n51, 185n120, 209, 266, 313, 395, 406n43, 456–457 “Pugu” 蒲姑 (“Pugu”) 422n35

499

Index









“Qin shi” 秦誓 (“Harangue of the Marquis of Qin”) 183n99, 266, 286, 289, 301, 421n28, 429n65 “Shao gao” 召誥 (“Announcement of the Duke of Shao”) 129n84, 135n110, 164, 165n51, 173, 177, 183n104, 185n118, 266, 313, 314, 337n49, 370n34, 372 “Shun dian” 舜典 (“Canon of Shun”) 23–24, 26–27, 31n25, 38–39, 50–56, 63n5, 78, 80, 111n22, 159, 176n71, 205, 460–461, 464, 478–479, 485 “Tai Jia” 太甲 (“Tai Jia”) 119n53, 394, 398, 404 “Tai shi” 泰誓 (“Great Harangue”) 116n43, 163, 164, 172, 177, 183n99, 187n133, 251n8, 286, 288, 301, 312, 313, 351 “Tang shi” 湯誓 (“Harangue of Tang”) 116n39, 164, 172, 184n110, 260–266, 286, 288, 297, 305, 376n57 “Weizi zhi ming” 微子之命 (“Command to the Count of Wei”) 173, 260, 266, 342 “Wen hou zhi ming” 文侯之命 (“The Mandate of Marquis Wen”) 107, 119n56, 176n71, 266, 339, 408n47 “Wu cheng” 武成 (“Accomplishment of Martiality”) 129n84, 135n110, 154–156, 185n118, 285 “Wu yi” 無逸 (“Against Idleness”) 13, 17–18, 76n21, 110n17, 135n110, 172, 266–267, 303, 325, 325, 329–330, 360–388, 393–414 “Xian shi” 獮誓 (“Autumn Hunt Oath”) 419 “Xian shi” 鮮誓 (“Oath [concerning] Fresh Food”) 419 “Xian you yi de” 咸有一德 (“Both with a Unified Virtue”) 394, 396n8, 402 “Xiao xu” 小序 (“Small Preface”) 420–421 “Xi bo kan Li” 西伯戡黎 (“The Chief of the West’s Conquest of Li”) 119n53, 257, 258, 266, 302n59, 303, 312, 313 “Yao dian” 堯典 (“Canon of Yao”) 11, 13–15, 23–57, 62, 63, 72–74, 78–89, 99, 100–103, 111n22, 119n56, 159, 273, 301n57, 325, 350, 381n74, 478–479, 485



“Yi ji” 益稷 (“Yi Ji”) 38n44, 43, 63, 111n22 “Yi xun” 伊訓 (“The Instructions of Yi Yin”) 394, 396n9 “Yu gong” 禹貢 (“Tribute to Yu”) 19, 53, 55, 103n51, 253, 478, 479–485, 489–490 “Yue ming” 說 命 (“Command to Yue”) 117n45, 396n8, 401 “Zhong Hui zhi gao” 仲虺之告 (“The Proclamations of Zhong Hui”) 397 “Zhou guan” 周官 (“The Offices of Zhou”) 28, 173, 422n32 “Zi cai” 梓材 (“Timber of the Catalpa”) 135n110, 173, 273, 370n34, 373 Classic of Poetry (Shijing 詩經) 7, 30–31, 35, 115n38, 125n68, 132n100, 176, 179n84, 182, 198, 239n46, 303, 320, 321, 335, 424, 431–432, 438–440 “Bi gong” 閟宮 (“The Solemn Temple”) 198, 431–432, 439–440 “Chang wu” 常武 (“The Constant Martiality”) 424 “Daya” 大雅 (“Greater Elegantiae/Great Hymns”) 31, 35, 48n68, 50, 115n38, 302n58, 341, 431, 440 “Guo feng” 國風 (“Airs of the States”) 115n38 “Lu song” 魯頌 (“Lu Eulogies”) 431 “Xi shuai” 蟋蟀 (“Cricket”) 305n71, 409–413 “Zhou song” 周頌 (“Eulogies of Zhou”) 115n38 collation 322–323 composition 321–323, 342–343, 346–347 Confucius (Kongzi 孔子) 4, 25n8, 250n2, 309–310, 330, 346n70, 411–412, 436, 456, 458 conquest of Shang 161, 285, 305, 309, 438–439, 441 context; contextualization 107–108, 111–115, 123–124, 127–131, 135–139, 233, 237–239, 240–243, 256–258, 260–261, 284, 416, 430, 432–433, 440 correlative cosmology 34–35, 300n52, 349 cosmic order 41–42, 483, 485 cosmic spirits 41–42, 53 coup d’état 110 Couvreur, Séraphin (1835–1919) 2, 5

500 Creel, Herrlee G. (1905–1994) 110n17, 178n78, 305 crisis 109, 109, 243, 302, 315, 384 Cultural Revolution (1966–1976) 361n4 Da Dai liji 大戴禮記 25, 26n11, 28n21, 32–33, 252n10, 325, 346n70, 409n50 Dan fu 亶父 431 Daodejing 道德經 455 Deng Xiaoping 鄧小平 (1904–1997) 458 Di 狄 tribesmen 383 Doctrine of the Mean (Zhongyong 中庸) 331, 381n75 “documents” (shu 書): tradition; -type text 16, 17, 45, 107, 107–109, 135, 225, 230, 477–478 Dong Zhongshu 董仲舒 (ca.195-ca.115 BCE) 51 Dorgon ( 愛新覺羅·多爾袞, 1612–1650) 175 dramatic speech. See speech; textual type Duan Yucai 段玉裁 (1735–1815) 46n63, 129n85, 368n30 Duke Huan 桓 of Lu (r.711–694 BCE) 433 Duke Mu 穆 of Qin (r.659–621 BCE) 286, 421n28 Duke of Shao 召公 (died ca. 1000 BCE) 114n33, 186n123, 313, 314, 422 Duke of Song 宋公 173 Duke of Zhou (also: Zhou Gong Dan 周公旦) 15–16, 27, 52, 109–110, 114n33, 137, 146, 165, 173, 175, 178, 186n123, 193–215, 286, 360–375, 379–382, 395, 402–405, 407–413, 419–422, 431, 434–435, 438–441, 486, 487, 489 Duke Wu 武 of Lu (r.824–816 BCE) 439 Duke Xi 僖 of Lu (r.659–627) 421, 424, 431–432 Duke Xuan 宣 of Lu (r.608–591 BCE) 433 Duke Zhao 昭 of Lu (537 BCE) 308 Duke Zhuang 莊 of Lu (r.692–663 BCE) 431–432 Du Yu 杜預 (222–284) 453 Eastern Region 421–422n31, 424 Eastern Zhou period (770–256 BCE) 3, 18, 106–108, 110, 127, 136, 138, 374, 381, 384–385

Index Emperor Ping of Han 漢平帝 (9 BCE–6 CE) 225n3 Emperor Wen of Han 漢文帝 (r.180–157 BCE) 54, 349 Emperor Wu of Han 漢武帝 (r.141–87 BCE) 24n3, 41–42, 53–57, 347, 350, 354–355, 408n45 errors, five (wuguo 五過) 450–451 “Erudite” (boshi 博士) 39, 55, 349–350 Euhemerization 23 evidential scholarship (kaozhengxue 考證學) 4–5, 26n13 exile 46, 53, 194–197, 214 fabula 120, 120n57, 122–124, 137–139, 225, 228–230, 234, 237, 240, 243–246 Falkenhausen, Lothar von 109n9, 254n20, 255n21, 475n2 Fangxun / fangxun 放勳 25–34, 47n64, 81, 84 Fei 費 418–419. See also Bi feng 封 and shan 禪 sacrifices 347–348, 350–353 Five Classics (wujing 五經) 1, 7, 62n4, 176 Five Domains (wufu 五服) 480, 485 Five Phases cosmology 34–38, 76–77, 350. See also “Wu xing” forgery; forged 4–6, 23, 23n1, 76n23, 107, 136, 136n112, 226, 275, 324n3, 325, 354n106 formula, language; style 29–31, 41–47, 109, 124, 174, 184n108, 187n129, 254n20, 257n25, 294, 301–302, 305, 338 founding myth; foundational past 106, 115, 135, 138, 232, 283, 308 frame (also: subframe; framing) 14, 111–115, 120–124, 127–129, 177, 284, 300 Fu Sheng 伏勝. See Scholar Fu fuzi 負子 206 gao 誥 (proclamations; declarations) 155n31, 163, 276n43, 287, 336, 338–341, 360, 370–371, 370n34, 395, 395n6, 430 Gaozong 高宗 (aka. Wuding 武定, Shang king, r. ca. 1250–1192 BCE) 329, 330, 362, 363n15, 365–367, 376, 377n58, 379, 395, 396n8, 404, 404n39, 406, 408 Gaubil, Antoine (1689–1759) 1, 5 genealogy 165, 177–178

Index Genette, Gérard 120n57 Gongfu Wenbo 公父文伯 (Lu noble fl. 500 BCE) 374n48 Gongyang zhuan 公羊傳 202, 242, 289, 325 Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 (1893–1980) 24, 25, 26n11, 26n13, 37n43, 38, 78, 100, 101n46, 110, 136n116, 213, 288n24, 285, 305, 361n4, 363n15 Guan shu 管叔 218, 238, 420, 422 Guan Zhong 管仲 342, 484n22 Guanzi 管子 74, 75, 251, 376, 410n52, 479n12, 484n22 Gui cang 歸藏 divination manual 312, 313n94 Guignes, Joseph de (1721–1800) 1 Gun 鯀 37, 45–46, 79–80, 84, 85 Guodian Manuscripts 郭店簡 51n71, 125n68, 125n69, 126n73, 229n25, 236n40, 306n71, 333–335 “Cheng zhi wen zhi” 成之聞之 333 “Tang Yu zhi dao” 唐虞之道 51n71, 136n117 “Wu xing” 五行 125n68, 229n25, 306n71 “Xing zi ming chu” 性自命出 229n25 Guo Moruo 郭沫若 (1892–1978) 364n16, 426n52, 465 Guoshu 郭(虢) 叔 488 Guoyu 國語 254n19, 288n25, 311n85, 312, 374n48, 377n58, 380n72, 410n52, 433, 435, 437 Han 漢 dynasty (202 BCE-220 CE) 1, 23n1, 24, 51–52, 203, 213–214, 284, 348, 491n35 Han Fei 韓非 (ca.280-ca.233 BCE) 48, 458–459 Han Feizi 韓非子 126n73, 212, 376, 410n52 Han Gaozu 漢高祖 (r.206–195 BCE) 52, 54, 322, 348, 355 Han Jingdi 漢景帝 (r. 157–141 BCE) 349 Hanshu 漢書 28, 107n4, 113n25, 129n85, 198, 204, 206, 225, 347, 349–350, 353n100 “Yiwen zhi” 藝文志 (“Monograph on Arts and Writings”) 249n1, 250n2, 277 harangue (shi 誓) 155, 158, 276n43, 283–316, 336, 418, 421n30, 429n65, 431–432. See also oath Heaven (tian 天) 1, 165–166, 171, 179, 180. See also Heaven’s Mandate

501 Heaven’s Mandate (tian ming 天命) 116n43, 314–316, 360, 362, 364, 367, 369–374, 380–381. See also Heaven Hemerology 36 Henry V 283 Hesiod 393 He Xiu 何休 (129–182) 202 historical precedents 157–159, 163–164, 168, 170, 178, 350 historical setting 232, 416, 420, 422, 424, 429, 432, 438 homophony 332 Hou Hanshu 後漢書 198, 453n27 Hou Ji 后稷 (Lord Millet) 35, 159, 160, 163, 164, 166, 177, 183–184, 198, 431 Huai Rong 淮戎. See Rong of Huai Huai Yi 淮夷. See Yi of Huai Huangdi 黃帝. See Yellow Emperor Huo shu 霍叔 420 Hu Shi 胡適 (1891–1962) 110 ideal; idealized; idealization 15, 23, 56, 109, 116n40, 120, 138–139, 156, 174, 181, 233, 284, 292, 307–308, 310, 479n12, 482 imagination 20, 54, 283–284, 292, 297, 300, 307 imperial ideology 39, 51 imperial sovereignty 41–42 instruction, genre 18, 114–124, 275n41, 393, 394–402 Instructions for Merikare 396, 396n11 Instructions of Amenemhet I 396n11, 397, 400 Instructions of ‘Onchsheshonqy 398 Instructions of Ptahhotep 275n41, 393, 396–397, 400–401 Instructions of Šuruppak 393, 397, 399, 401 intent (mens rea) 460, 468–470 intertextuality 146, 160–163, 172–174, 176 investiture 336, 337n49, 338–340, 342, 346 Jiang Shanguo 蔣善國 24n3, 38, 79n30, 89n40, 111, 305 jiao 郊 (suburb) 429 Jiao Ju 椒舉 308 Jing Fang 京房 (78–37 BCE) 346n69, 348 Jingyi shuwen 經義述聞 206 Jisun 季孫 432 Jisun Hang fu 季孫行父 433

502 Jiu xing 九刑 434–436, 438, 441 Ji Wenzi 季文子 (ca.635–568 BCE). See Jisun Hang fu Jizhong Zhoushu 汲冢周書 (The Zhou Documents from the Tomb in Ji County) 277n45 Ju 莒 433 junzi 君子 (superior man; noble man) 361n5, 403n38, 409, 411–412 Kangshu 康叔 173, 339, 436 Kantorowicz, Ernst H. 55n82 Karlgren, Bernhard (1889–1978) 2, 5–6, 25, 34, 79n30, 129n82, 130n86, 133n105–106, 201–202, 208, 210, 447, 450, 452, 454, 462 King Cheng of Zhou 周成王 (r. 1042/1035– 1006 BC) 106–110, 118–119, 135–137, 146, 165, 172, 179, 194–198, 224, 228–245, 360, 366, 370n33, 380, 420–424, 438, 485–487 King Darius (c. 550–486 BCE) 149 King David (r. ca. 1010–970 BCE) 149 King Gong 共 (r. 917/915–900) 179 King Ji 王季 331 King Jie 桀 (trad. 1728 – 1675 BCE) 136, 160, 163, 286, 296, 373, 435 King Jing of Zhou 周敬王 (r. 519–476) 344 King Jing of Zhou 周景王 (r. 544–520) 343 King Kang of Zhou 周康王 (r. 1005/1003–978 BCE) 106–108, 150, 421n28 King Li 厲 (r. ca.857–842 BCE) 426n52 King Ling of Chu 楚靈王 (r. 540–529 BCE) 308, 377, 377n60 King Ling of Zhou 周靈王 (r. 571–545) 343 King Lü 履 of Shang 286 King Mu 穆 of Zhou (r. ca.956–918 BCE) 421, 423–424, 462 King Qi 啟 of Xia 286, 297, 309 kingship (also rulership; government) bureaucratic 14, 41, 48, 53–55, 88–89, 90, 98, 100 charismatic; charisma 13–14, 37, 41–43, 50–55, 88–89, 90, 100, 292, 301–302, 307, 438, 441 hereditary 18, 38, 51, 57, 118, 136–138, 185n118, 195, 214–215, 379–380 imperial vision of 56

Index

meritocratic; meritocracy 38n45, 50–51, 136, 181, 215 See also abdication; succession “King’s two bodies” 55n82 King Wen of Zou 周文王 (d. ca. 1047 BCE) 124, 165, 181, 203, 364–369, 373–373, 376–379, 395, 398, 404, 407–408, 431, 441, 469, 485–486 King Wu of Zhou 周武王 (r. 1049/1045–1043 BC) 15, 160, 163–164, 165, 193–202, 208–215, 285, 370, 395, 431, 485–486 King Xiang of Zhou 周襄王 (r. 652–619) 205, 342, 344n64 King Xiao 孝 (r. 872?–866 BCE) 180 King Xuan 宣 of Zhou (827–782 BCE) 424, 440 King Yi 懿 (r. 899/97–873 BCE) 179–180 King Yi 夷 (r. 865–858 BCE) 180 King Zhou 紂 (r. 1075–1046 BCE) 160, 163 Kong Anguo 孔安國 26n11, 113n25, 128n80, 129n82, 351, 419n19. See also pseudoKong Anguo Kong Chao 孔晁 (third century CE) 249n1 Kong Yingda 孔穎達 (574–648) 203, 351, 451, 455, 462 Kong Zhao 孔兆 486n25 Kongzi jiayu 孔子家語 “Bian yue jie” 辯樂解 (“Distinguishing the Music Explained”) 274n38 Koselleck, Reinhart 245 Krijgsman, Rens 108n8, 123n66, 244n58 Kui 夔 49–50 layers, textual 39, 77–78, 100–103, 178, 230–232 le 樂 (pleasure) 410–411, 410n52 Legge, James (1815–1897) 2, 5, 25, 27, 107n3, 366, 456–457, 460, 462, 465–466, 468 legitimacy 109, 119, 131, 135, 138, 164, 168, 172, 233, 297, 302, 341 Lienü zhuan 列女傳 347 lieu de mémoire 127, 135, 138 Liji 禮記 (Records of Ritual) 137n118, 198, 202–208, 289, 330–334, 377n58, 380 “Da xue” 大學 289 “Fang ji” 坊記 333, 337n58 “Wen Wang shizi” 文王世子 380 “Yueji” 樂記 274n38, 309

503

Index “Yue ling” 月令 36n42, 278 Liji zhengyi 禮記正義 203 lineage solidarity 431–433, 439 literacy 322, 341, 355 Liu Qiyu 劉起釪 (1917–2012) 305, 324, 361, 361n4, 376, 377n58, 381–382 Liu Xiang 劉向 (ca. 79–8 BCE) 250n2, 347 Liu Xin 劉歆 (ca. 50 BCE–23 CE) 113n25, 408n45 Liu Zhiji 劉知幾 (661–721) 446 Lord Ai of Lu 魯哀公 (r. 494–467 BCE) 345 Lord Jing of Qi 齊景公 (r. 547–490 BCE) 377–378 Lord Ling of Qi 齊靈公 (r. 581–554) 343 Lord Wen of Jin 晉文公 (r. 636–628 BCE) 342, 344n63, 345, 384 loyalty 106–108, 118, 228, 234, 245 Lu 魯, state of 416–420, 422–424, 428–429, 431–441 luan zheng 亂政 (disordered government) 435 Lunheng 論衡 194, 212, 225 Lunyu 論語 73–74, 324, 346, 456 Lu fu 祿父 421. See also Wu Geng Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋 296, 324, 330–332, 376 MacCormack, Geoffrey 448, 467 macroscopic perspective 231, 237 Mandate (also: Mandate of Heaven) 15, 77–78, 116, 167, 235, 297, 310. See also Heaven’s Mandate Mao Zedong 毛澤東 (1893–1976) 361n4 Ma Rong 馬融 (79–166) 25n10, 28, 33, 111, 214, 461 Marquis of Ying 應侯 488 Marquis Wen of Jin 晉文侯 (r. ca. 780–746 BCE) 385n89 Maspero, Henri 306 material: existence; carrier; contexts 120n57, 121n59, 136, 228 Matsumoto, Masaaki 303n62, 305, 327 meaning: communities; community; construction 119, 233, 233n37, 243–244 Medhurst, Walter Henry 1, 5 memory artifact of 8



construction of 106, 127 cultural; culture of 9, 17, 23n1, 115n37, 178, 232, 243–246, 283, 292, 307–308, 310, 348, 440 foundational 302 historical 135, 423, 436, 477, 479n12, 483n20, 486 mode of transmission 329, 336, 339–340, 349, 420 Mengsun 孟孫 432 Mengzi (also Mencius) 孟子 25, 25n6, 28n21, 32–33, 38n46, 46n63, 211, 285, 296, 311, 375n48, 381n74 Mengzi 孟子 154, 285, 296, 380 merit, meritocracy (gong 功) 33, 164, 178, 180, 181 mimetic representation 13 ming 命 (appointment speeches) 395 ming 命 (command; mandate) 106–107, 287, 292, 336, 416, 424–430, 434–438 modular; module 122, 124, 138n121, 163n49, 307 mold (also: text mold) 112, 124 Mozi 墨子 179n84, 184n111, 207, 291n35, 303, 327–329, 332, 335 Müller, Max (1823–1900) 10 multitudes (zhong 眾) 293, 295–298, 301 Muye 牧野 109, 187n133, 238n45, 310 narration; narrative; narratology 13–16, 23–26, 35–50, 120n57 as opposed to speech 254–255 contextualizing 106, 299 historical 23–24, 26, 33, 40–41 mythological 23–24, 45 Ni Kuan 兒寬 (d. 103 BCE) 351 Nine Provinces (jiuzhou 九州 ) 478n10, 480–482, 484–485 Nomura, Shigeo 野村茂夫 303–304 Numerology 49, 53 Nylan, Michael 2, 89, 323, 349, 351, 353, 483n20 oath 336, 416, 418–421, 424–430, 434–438. See also harangue “oath-command” (shiming 誓命) 434–435 Old, Walter Gorn (aka Sepharial [1864–1929]) 2, 5

504 omens and portents 369 orality (also: oral form; orally; oral vs. written) 3, 9, 17, 24n4, 32, 108, 120n57, 127, 228, 246, 271, 274n39, 275n40, 303, 327, 329, 335, 340, 351 Pauthier, Guillaume (1801–1873) 1n4 Pei Songzhi 裴松之 (372–451) 205 people in “Wu yi” 無逸 362–373 “people as a root” (minben 民本) ideology 72, 169n57, 371, 371n36 performance; performative 17, 24n4, 29, 33, 38, 45, 107, 127, 165, 181, 224, 271, 274n38, 283, 291, 300, 305–308, 310–311, 429 pian 篇 324, 326 Pi Xirui 皮錫瑞 (1850–1908) 24–25, 63, 361, 363n15 pizi 丕子 201–208 poetic form; meter 30–31, 35, 44, 49. See also tetrasyllabic meter Priest Tuo 祝佗 345–346 primogeniture 108 Proverbs (title) 393, 397, 399, 401 pseudo-Kong Anguo 孔安國 26n11, 113n25, 134n80, 135n82, 206–207, 216n67, 218n81, 451, 454, 455, 459, 462, 470 Pu 僕, prince of Ju 433 punishment (xing 刑) 44–46, 49–50, 90, 302–303, 417–418, 421, 428, 434–438 beneficial 449, 452–455, 459, 470 five (wufa 五罰, wu xing 五刑) 450, 457, 461, 467 prudence about (shen fa 慎罰) 447, 451, 452, 458 unbeneficial 455–460 Qin First Emperor; Qin Shihuang 秦始皇 41–42, 46, 53–57, 101, 307, 322, 346–347, 350 Qinghua University bamboo manuscript 清 華大學簡 “*Baoxun” 保訓 (“Prized Instructions”) 14, 108n8, 120–127, 135–139, 215n67, 260n27, 276, 395, 398, 407, 413 “Fu Yue zhi ming” 傅說之命 (“The Charge to Yue from the Rocks of Fu”) 107, 107n4–5

Index “Qi ye” 耆夜 306n71, 410–412 “Xinian” 繫年 384, 385n89, 386n90 Qufu 曲阜 419–420 quotation marker 340–341 Qu Wanli 屈萬里 (1909–1979) 24–25, 370n33, 449–451 recitation 24n4, 122, 134n108, 255n22, 323, 349–351, 355 redemption (shu 贖) 95–97, 460, 462–465, 467 reduplicatives 26, 31, 40, 88, 99, 102. See also binome repetition (rhetorical feature) 35, 43, 291, 300, 340, 408, 433 repository; repertoire 160, 174n63, 255, 287, 289, 304–306, 308–311 rhetoric; rhetorical: literary forms 109, 118, 132n98, 157–172, 181, 289–303, 320–322, 348 rhyme 30–31, 40, 167–168, 202–205, 291–292, 295–296 Richter, Matthias 454 ritual hymns 31, 35, 322, 347 insignia 299 language 289 performance 42–43 Rong of Huai 424 Rong of Xu 416, 418–424, 430, 432, 441 Rong tribesmen 385n89 Ru 儒 57, 328 ruler and the people 366–373 and Heaven’s Mandate 366, 369–370 and heir’s education 367–368, 372, 380 length of tenure 369–370, 374, 380–382, 381n74 “non-acting” (wu wei 無爲) 378 sage 33, 40n52, 51–57 Saint Crispin’s Day Speech 282 Sanft, Charles 19 Satire on the Trades 394n3, 396n11, 399 Scholar Fu 伏生/ 伏勝 39, 55n83, 111n20, 349–351, 418, 419n19 scribe; scribal 121n59, 226–227, 234–235

Index Sehetepibre stele 396n11, 397 Sennacherib, king of Assyria (704–681 BCE) 148–149, 398 Serruys, Paul L.M. (1912–1999) 2 Shakespeare 283 Shangdi 上帝 (God-on-High) 158–159, 163–166, 179, 183–187 Shang 商 dynasty (ca.1600–1046 BCE) 3, 34, 267n30, 288n24, 363n15, 364n20, 369–373, 382–383 Shanghai Museum Manuscripts 上博簡 51n71, 108n8, 211, 229n25, 236n40, 334–335 “Ji Kangzi wen yu Kongzi” 季康子問於孔 子 456–57 “*Kongzi shilun” 孔子詩論 411–412 “Rongcheng shi” 容成氏 125n69, 136n117, 211 “*Wu Wang jianzuo” ( 武王踐阼) 108n8 “Xing qing lun” 性情論 229n25 “Zigao” 子羔 136n117 “Zi yi” 緇衣 236n40, 334 Shangjun shu 商君書 458–459 Shangshu 尚書, the title. See Classic of Documents shangshu 尚書, the office (“Chief Steward for Writing”) 354 Shangshu dazhuan 尚書大傳 55, 55n85, 198, 349, 418 Shangshu jinguwen zhushu 尚書今古文注疏 (1815) 5, 118n52 Shang Yang 商鞅 (d. 338 BCE) 458 Shanhai jing 山海經 483–485, 488, 490 Shen Buhai 申不害 (fourth century BCE) 48 Shennong 神農 479n12 Shen Yue 沈約 (441–513) 249n1. See also “Shi li xu” shi 士 (social stratum, men-of-service) 233n36, 374 shi 誓. See oath; harangue Shiji 史記 (Records of the Historian) 25, 32–34, 154, 196–197, 202, 205–208, 211–215, 225, 288, 361, 366, 395n4, 395n6, 405n41, 407n45, 419, 477, 479 “Lu Zhou gong shijia” 魯周公世家 224–225, 228–230, 233, 240, 361, 407n45, 419, 421

505 “Shi li xu” 諡例序 (“Prolegomena to the Precedents of Posthumous Names”) 249n1 Shuijing zhu 水經注 419n21, 483 Shujing jizhuan 書經集傳 113n25 Shun 舜, legendary thearch 13, 23, 26n11, 38–57, 78–81, 125–126, 136, 178, 211, 348, 379–381, 478, 481n16, 487 Shuowen jiezi 說文解字 56, 117n47, 277, 419, 448n9, 453, 455 Shusun 叔孫 432 Shu Xiang 叔向 434–435 “Shu xu” 書序 (“Sequential Outline of the Documents”) 271 sifu 四輔 (“four assistants”) 325 Sima Qian 司馬遷 (ca.145-ca.85 BCE) 54, 288, 347, 351–354, 362n9, 395n6, 419, 422, 436 Sima Xiangru 司馬相如 (ca. 179–117 BCE) 347, 350 Sima Zhen 司馬貞 (eighth century) 26n11, 33, 353n98, 419, 420 siwang 嗣王 (successor king) 394, 395n6, 402–407 speech 3, 24–53, 63–64, 249–280 acts 181, 337 as opposed to narrative 254–255 community (communities) 233n37 ceremonial 336, 341, 345–346 dramatic and nondramatic 16, 252, 255–256 imagined 306 improvised 305 performative 24, 24n4, 33, 45, 291, 304–305 remembered 337, 340 rhymed 48–49 See also textual type Spring and Autumn period (Chunqiu 春秋, 770–453 BCE) 17, 110, 119n56, 178, 176n74, 289, 323, 336, 340, 374n47, 383, 416, 424, 429 state as empire 480–481, 492 as nation 476–477 as network 478–479, 482, 491–492, 492n36 early state and state formation 475–476 statements, five (wuci 五辭) 449–450, 461, 467

506 Stele inscriptions 54n78, 307, 322, 346–348, 350, 355 story 108, 120, 120n57, 225, 228–230, 243–246 Stryjewska, Anna 229n22–24 succession (also: transfer; transmission of power) 37, 50–54, 106–108, 137, 164, 195, 214–215. See also abdication; kingship sui 遂/ 隧, administrative unit 429 Sui Hong 睢弘 51, 52 Sun Xingyan 孫星衍 (1753–1818) 5, 24, 111, 131n95, 361, 450, 459 Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–1101) 451n21, 467 Taijia 太甲, aka Shang Taizong 商太宗 (Shang king, r. ca. sixteenth century BCE) 363n15, 382n78, 386, 404n39 taishi 太史 (“grand historian”) 182n95, 351 Tai wang 大王, see Dan fu 431 Tang 湯, founder of the Shang dynasty (ca. 1600 BCE) 126, 160, 163, 166, 295–296, 373, 434–435, 488–489 Tangshu 唐叔 486–487 tetrasyllabic meter 25–27, 30–31, 36–40, 48–49, 64, 75–80, 171, 294, 303. See also poetic meter tetralogism 322 textual affinity 251–253, 274–277 textual authority 277n45, 278 textual control 324 textual formation 251, 276, 304 textual type (in the Shangshu and the Yi Zhoushu) 251n9 brief speeches related to dream revelations 270 dramatic speech 265–267, 274–275 nondramatic speech 255–256, 274–275 plot-based stories 272 texts with writing-informed contextualization 270–272 Thearch Yi 帝乙 (Shang king, r. ca. 1101–1076 BCE) 166, 369n32, 382 Theognidea 393, 399, 401 The Peloponnesian War 281 Three Dynasties 346n70, 475, 489 “Three Huan” (san Huan 三桓) 433n76, 440 Thucydides 281, 283, 306 tianxia 天下 (All under Heaven) 177–178

Index tours of inspection 42–43, 348 traveling concepts 139 tribute (gong 貢) 149, 211, 236n41, 478, 480–491 Unger, Ulrich (1930–2006) 232n32 variants; variation 195, 197, 201–202, 217, 306n71, 322–323, 326, 329, 332, 335, 419 violence 54, 147–156, 181, 285, 302, 308 virtues, nine 九德 73–75 Wang Bo 王柏 (1197–1274) 464 Wang C.H. 285 Wang Chong 王充 (27–ca. 100CE) 54n78, 194–195, 212, 225n3, 453 Wang Guowei 王國維 (1877–1927) 113n27, 176 Wangjiatai 王家台 (Hubei) 312 Wang Mang 王莽 (ca.45 BCE-23 CE) 52, 195, 213–214, 225n3  “wang ruo yue” 王若曰 109, 109n9, 135, 174–175, 254, 254n20, 340, 408 wang 望 sacrifice 42 Wang Yinglin 王應鄰 (1223–1296) 55n85, 249n1, 486n25 Wang Yinzhi 王引之 (1766–1834) 206–207, 361n6, 459n57 Warring States period (Zhanguo 戰國, ca. 453–222 BCE) 14–15, 17, 23–24, 30, 34, 51, 106, 126, 136, 224, 232, 236n40, 245, 323, 355, 360, 374–382 Wei 衛, state of 173, 339, 372, 383, 436 Wei Bao 衛包 420 weights and measures 53, 492 Wending 文丁 (Shang king, r. ca. 1112–1102 BCE) 369n32 Western Zhou period (ca.1046–771 BCE) 366, 370–374, 381–386 Works and Days 393, 401 “Wu” 武, commemorative ceremony 274n38 “Wu” 武, ritual dance suite (“Martiality”; also “Da wu” 大武, “Great Martiality”) 309 Wu Geng 武庚 421 Wujing zhengyi 五經正義 (Correct Meaning of the Five Classics) 5

507

Index Wuyi 武乙 (Shang king, r. ca. 1147–1113 BCE) 369n32 Xia Shu (Xia Documents 夏書) 488n29 Xia 夏 dynasty (semi legendary, ca. 2070–1600 BCE) 3, 164–165, 295, 371–372 Xiang Yu 項羽 (232–202 BCE) 54 Xia-Shang-Zhou chronological project 360n2, 363n15, 369n32 Xing shu 刑書 434, 437, 441 xiu 宿 (lunar lodges) 350 Xu Guang 徐廣 (352–425) 202, 419 xun 訓 (instructions) 218n83, 276n43, 395 Xunshu 荀叔 487 Xunzi 荀子 (ca. 310–ca. 230 BCE) 375 Xunzi 荀子 73, 296, 331–332 Xu Rong 徐戎, see Rong of Xu. Xu Shen 許慎 (ca.55-ca.149) 199, 277 Yandi 炎帝. See Shennong Yang Yunru 陽筠如 432n74 Yan Shigu 顏師古 (581–645) 28, 198, 250n2 Yan Ying 晏嬰 (d. ca. 500 BCE) 377–378 Yanzi chunqiu 晏子春秋 377 　 Yao 堯, legendary thearch 13, 24–38, 50–57, 178, 381n74, 478, 487 Yellow Emperor 黃帝 346, 481n16 yi 逸 (or 佚) (idleness, laziness, relaxation, being at ease, licentiousness, excessiveness, and so on) 366, 366n26, 371–378, 401–407, 410n52 Yi of Huai 416, 420–424, 431–432 Yi Yin 伊尹 394, 396n8, 398, 488–489 Yi Yin chao xian 伊尹朝獻 488–491 Yi Zhoushu 逸周書 (Remnant Zhou Documents) 4, 15, 16, 27–29, 75, 122n43, 139n122, 159, 176, 181, 198–199, 249–280, 322, 374n47, 422, 477, 485, 490 “Bao dian” 寶典 (“Treasured Testament”) 254, 268 “Ben dian” 本典 (“Basic Testament”) 254, 268 “Chang mai” 嘗麥 (“Tasting of Wheat”) 254, 265, 273 “Cheng dian” 程典 (“Testament at Cheng”) 253, 260–261, 270–271 “Cheng kai” 成開 (“King Cheng’s Inception”) 253, 268



“Da kai” 大開 (“The Greater Inception”) 253, 268–269 “Da kai Wu” 大開武 (“The Greater Inception of King Wu”) 253, 259, 263nd, 268–269, 299–300 “Da kuang, I” 大匡 I (“The Great Rectification”), chapter 11 253, 270–271 “Da kuang, II” 大匡 II (“The Great Rectification”) 253n17, 254, 268–269 “Da jie” 大戒 (“The Great Cautioning”) 254, 268 “Da ju” 大聚 (“The Great Assembly”) 254, 268 “Duo yi” 度邑 (“Measuring of the Capital”) 254, 266, 277 “Feng bao” 酆保 (“Safeguarding at Feng”) 253, 257n25, 261, 268, 408n46 “Feng mou” 酆謀 (“Pondering at Feng”) 254, 268 “Guan ren” 官人 (“The Officials”) 254, 273 “He wu” 和寤 (“Peaceful Awakening”) 254, 273 “Huang men” 皇門 (“The Great Gate”) 254, 273 “Rou wu” 柔武 (“Soft Warfare”) 253, 268 “Rui Liangfu” 芮良夫 254, 270–271 “Shang shi” 商誓 (“Harangue to Shang”) 15, 156–188 (translation: 182–188), 254, 260, 266, 286 “Shifa” 諡法 (“Order of Posthumous Names”) 249n1 “Shifu” 世俘 (“Great Capture”) 152–156, 250n4, 285 “Shi xun” 時訓 (“Seasonal Interpretations”) 249n1, 277–278 “Taizi Jin” 太子晉 (“Heir Apparent Jin”) 254, 272 “Wang hui” 王會 (“The King’s Assembly”) 19, 254, 273, 485–489, 490–491 “Wen jing” 文儆 (“Alarming of King Wen”) 253, 262–263, 270 “Wen zheng” 文政 (“Cultured Government”) 253n17, 254, 268–269 “Wen zhuan” 文傳 (“King Wen’s Tradition”) 253, 259, 268

508 Yi Zhoushu 逸周書 (cont.) “Wu jing” 武儆 (“Alarming of King Wu”) 27, 28, 254, 262–263, 270 “Wu jing” 寤敬 (“Alarming at Awakening”) 27, 254, 262–263, 270 “Wu quan” 五權 (“Five Balances”) 139n122, 254, 262–263, 268 “Xiao kai” 小開 (“The Lesser Inception”) 253, 256n23, 268–269 “Xiao kai Wu” 小開武 (“The Lesser Inception of King Wu”) 253–254, 268 “Yin zhu” 殷祝 (“Yin Incantation”) 254, 272 “Zhai gong” 祭公 (“The Duke of Zhai”) 254 “Zhou zhu” 周祝 (“Zhou Incantation”) 254, 273 “Zuo Luo” 作雒 (“Constructing [the City on] the Luo [River]”) 422 Yu 禹, legendary Thearch 51–53, 55–56, 160, 164, 166, 379, 434–435, 479, 480–484 Yuan Mei 袁枚 (1716–1797) 193, 213 “yueruo jigu” 曰若稽古 25–28, 63, 78 Yu Fan 虞翻 (164–233) 205 Yugong zhuizhi 禹貢錐指 478n10 Yu Yongliang 余永梁 421n30, 431–432 “Zhou Wu Wang you ji Zhou Gong suo zi yi dai wang zhi zhi” 周武王有疾周公所 自 以代王之志 (“The Record of the Duke of Zhou Putting Himself Forward in Place of the King When King Wu Was Suffering from Illness”) (also: “Zhou Wu Wang you ji”) 225 zhao 詔 322, 347 Zhao Dun 趙盾 437

Index Zi Chan 子產 (?-522 BCE) 437, 441 Zizhang 子張 330 Zhou li 周禮 113n30, 130n89, 206, 212, 301, 471 Zhushu jinian 竹書紀年 384n87, 423, 477, 486 Zuo zhuan 左傳 (Zuo Tradition) 19, 43, 116n43, 152, 179n84, 285n15, 308–309, 326, 341–346, 353n98, 374n47, 383–384, 385n89, 386n90, 421–423, 429, 433–437, 440, 447, 453, 458 “Zhoushu xu” 周書序 (“Sequential Outline of the Zhou Documents”) 249n1, 271n34, 277 Zheng Xuan 鄭玄 (127–200) 25n10, 26n11, 28, 33, 111, 129n85, 198, 205–206, 212, 214, 216n69, 218n81, 219n90, 362n13, 382n78, 403n35, 453, 455 Zhang Shoujie 張守節 (fl. 725–735) 26n11 Zhouxin 紂辛 (Shang king, r. ca. 1075–1046 BCE) 286, 296, 366, 369n32, 373, 435 zhongshu 中書, the office 354 Zhongzong 中宗 (aka Taiwu 太戊, Shang king, r. ca. fifteenth century BCE) 362, 363n15, 365, 367, 382n78, 404, 406, 408 Zhouyi 周易 321, 346 Zujia 祖甲 (Shang king, r. first half of twelfth century BCE) 363, 365, 367, 369n32, 377n58, 379, 382, 382n78, 386, 404, 406, 408, 413n61 Zang Wen zhong 臧文仲 434–438 Zhan Ruoshui 湛若水 (1466–1560) 386–388 Zang sun Chen 臧孫辰 435. See also Zang Wen zhong Zhu Xi 朱熹 (1130–1200) 464