Selfless Offspring: Filial Children and Social Order in Medieval China 0824828666, 9780824828660

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Selfless Offspring

Selfless Offspring Filial Children and Social Order in Medieval China

Keith Nathaniel Knapp

University of Hawai‘i Press Honolulu

Chapter 5 of this book was originally published as “Reverent Caring: The ParentSon Relationship in Early Medieval Tales of Filial Offspring” in Filial Piety in Chinese Thought and History, ed. Alan K. L. Chan and Sor-hoon Tan (London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2004), 44–70. Reproduced with permission from Taylor & Francis Group. © 2005 University of Hawai‘i Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America 10 09 08 07 06 05 654321 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Knapp, Keith Nathaniel. Sel¶ess offspring : ¤lial children and social order in medieval China / Keith Nathaniel Knapp. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-8248-2866-0 (hardcover : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0-8248-2866-6 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Filial piety—China. 2. Confucian ethics. 3. Parent and child—China. I. Title: Filial children and social order in early medieval China. II. Title. BJ1533.F5K63 2006 173—dc22 2005010802 University of Hawai‘i Press books are printed on acid-free paper and meet the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Council on Library Resources.

Designed by University of Hawai‘i Press Production Staff Printed by Integrated Book Technology, Inc.

For my parents, Arthur and Carol

Contents

Acknowledgments

/

Introduction /

1

ix

1.

Extended Families and the Triumph of Confucianism

2

The Narratives: Origins and Uses /

3.

Accounts of Filial Offspring: Models for Emulation

4.

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism / 82

5.

Reverent Caring

6.

“Exceeding the Rites”: Mourning and Burial Motifs /

7.

Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons? Conclusion

/

/

/

46

113

/

137

164

187 /

191

/ 195

Glossary

/ 261

Select Bibliography Index

13

27

Appendix: Variants of the Ding Lan Tale Notes

/

/

271

/ 293

vii

Acknowledgments

Having started in 1989, this work has had a long period of gestation. Many people and institutions have made its completion possible. At the dissertation stage, with his searing constructive criticism, David Johnson made me clarify and strengthen each chapter and verse. Albert Dien and John Kieschnick provided invaluable advice and encouragement. Carlton Benson, Susan Glosser, Mark Halperin, Madeline Hsu, Chris Reed, Tim Westin, Bruce and Mei-ling Williams, and Marcia Yonemoto all furnished helpful comments. Several Foreign Language and Area Studies fellowships, a China Times Young Scholars Award, and an Andrew Mellon Dissertation Grant enabled me to complete the project. Research for my manuscript pro¤ted immensely from interactions with my East Asian colleagues. Kuroda Akira of Bukkyô University, one of the few people who knows the ¤lial piety stories better than myself, enriched my understanding of the tales through his insightful scholarship and our many excursions together to look at artifacts. Luo Feng, the head of the Ningxia Institute of Cultural Relics and Archaeology, and Zhao Chao, a research associate at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, have both taught me much about the stories’ images and their archaeological context. Financial assistance has come most generously from the Citadel Foundation: it has underwritten several research trips to East Asia and the purchase of many reference books normally found only at major research centers. Although not primarily intended for this project, an American Council of Learned Societies’ Committee on Scholarly Communication with China Grant, funded by the National Endowment of the Humanities, gave me the boon of spending ¤ve months combing northern China for illustrations of ¤lial piety stories. ix

x

Acknowledgments

As for preparation of the manuscript itself, the extensive comments of Anne Behnke Kinney, Michael Nylan, Cynthia Chennault, Kyle Sinisi, and the University of Hawai‘i Press’ anonymous readers have deeply improved the text. Readers of individual chapters, such as Roger Ames, Lynda Coon, Kathy Haldane Grenier, Joshua Howard, Sarah Schneewind, Aida Yuen-Wong, and members of the Southeast Early China Roundtable, have also made substantial contributions. Susan L. B. Corrado has vastly improved the work’s readability and accuracy through her meticulous copyediting. Jenn Harada has expertly shepherded it through the production process. Patricia Crosby has been an exemplary executive editor who has answered every query and smoothed every wrinkle. Last, but not least, I am grateful for the patience and support of my family members. My wife, Jade, has been regaled with more ¤lial piety tales than any human could bear. My daughter, Melissa, has sacri¤ced much of her time with her favorite playmate. My parents have waited years on end to see the ¤nal product of a journey that their love of history inspired. As is ¤tting for a tome on ¤lial piety, this volume is dedicated to them.

Introduction

F

ilial piety tales are stories in which children go to extremes to care for their parents. Because the stories spice plain and stodgy Confucianism with fantastic elements and manifest the extreme implications of Confucian logic, modern Chinese intellectuals and Western Sinologists alike have had dif¤culty in accepting, much less understanding, them.1 The famous master of modern prose Lu Xun (1881–1936) mocked the narratives for rarefying ¤lial piety to the extent that ordinary people had no hope of realizing it and for encouraging inhumane behavior. He reserved his harshest judgment for the ¤lial exemplar Guo Ju, who was willing to bury alive his own child to ensure his elderly mother’s survival. Lu tells us that upon reading this story, At ¤rst I broke into a real cold sweat for that child, not breathing freely again until the crock of gold had been dug up. But by then not only did I no longer aspire to be a ¤lial son myself, I dreaded the thought of my father acting as one. At that time our family fortunes were declining, I often heard my parents worrying as to where our next meal was to come from, and my grandmother was old. Suppose my father followed Kuo Chu’s example, wasn’t I the obvious person to be buried? If things worked out exactly as before and he too dug up a crock of gold, naturally that would be happiness great as Heaven; but small as I was at the time I seem to have grasped that, in this world, such a coincidence couldn’t be counted on.2

Consequently, from that day forth, Lu always viewed his elderly grandmother with a certain amount of loathing and suspicion. Indeed, even many late imperial Confucians found it dif¤cult to countenance Guo’s act as ¤lial.3 Nevertheless, even though the tales discouraged Lu from 1

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Selfless Offspring

aspiring to be a ¤lial child, one should note that The Twenty-four Filial Exemplars (Ershisi xiao) was the ¤rst book Lu owned and that its stories made an indelible impression upon him. These fantastic Confucian tales have equally dismayed turn-of-thecentury Christian missionaries and Western scholars who have been no more kind in their criticism than early twentieth-century Chinese intellectuals. A number of missionaries found the tales to be weird and alarming to the extent that they omitted translating those they deemed repugnant.4 Western academics have not been much kinder. A great French sociologist regarded them as little more than children’s fairy tales: “All these labored and puerile anecdotes savor of the schoolmaster.”5 One historian calls illustrations of the ¤lial tales “proto-comic strips” and views the acts reported in the accounts as “absurd,” “grotesque,” “cruel,” “shocking,” “repulsive,” and “peculiar”; indeed, he devotes more energy to underscoring why the tales are strange than to explaining why Chinese found them so compelling.6 Another historian has called these accounts the “carnival side-shows of the historic Chinese spectacle” and suggested that Chinese found them interesting “primarily because they are bizarre.”7 The similarity of these criticisms to those of the Christian missionaries should alert us to their cultural bias. Other Western scholars have merely chosen to ignore the stories. Even though The Twenty-four Filial Exemplars was probably one of the best known and most readily available books in late imperial China, it has rarely been translated into Western languages.8 At the same time, both Western and Japanese scholars have used the stories as raw data for information on Chinese daily life, without taking into account their contrived and didactic nature. If one believes that “the bizarre tales of self-sacri¤ce and strange antics to satisfy egocentric parents and in-laws are . . . true accounts of life in the Latter Han dynasty,”9 then one risks seeing an imaginary event as a historical reality. For instance, one scholar takes the story of the ¤lial grandson Yuan Gu, whose father abandons his elderly grandfather in the mountains, as evidence that euthanasia was practiced in early China.10 Since a preponderance of evidence suggests that, in historical times at least, Chinese venerated the elderly, the creator of this story was probably not reporting historical fact, but instead was trying to shock his readers to underscore ¤lial piety’s reciprocal nature. The tale might have even originated in India.11 In short, since the purpose of ¤lial piety tales was to promote their authors’ vision of how things should be, they distorted as much as they described social reality. That is to say, the “facts” reported in them are subordinated to their message. As a prominent European medievalist warns in regard to didactic texts, “The histo-

Introduction

rian who uses it runs the risk of mistaking imaginary realities for material ones and of distorting the meaning of the text that was not intended to provide evidence of the kind the scholar is after.”12 By exiling the stories to the realm of children’s literature, well-meaning Asian scholars have also misconstrued them. Due to the tales’ simplicity, child protagonists, and miraculous content, many East Asian historians believe that collections of ¤lial piety tales were compiled as teaching aids for the uneducated and young.13 This was indeed true for some of the late imperial-period collections, but it certainly was not the case for early imperial-period ones. Consequently, these historians wrongly assume that the goals of the texts were unchanging and that the nature of later works was the same as earlier ones. In other words, they fail to take into account how the varying context of the tales changed their uses and meanings. In short, up until now, scholars have dismissed the tales as nonsense, naively used them as transparent windows into the past, or narrowly viewed them as children’s literature. Some analysts have even managed to concurrently hold all three of these views. The Tales’ Significance Not taking the ¤lial piety stories seriously is a mistake because from AD 100 straight to the 1949 Communist takeover of China, they were immensely popular among all social classes. Their enduring popularity was due to the effectiveness with which they illustrated the paramount cultural value of xiao (¤lial piety), which has shaped nearly every aspect of Chinese social life: attitudes toward authority, patterns of residence, conceptions of self, marriage practices, gender preferences, emotional life, religious worship, and social relations. In fact, during the imperial age, Chinese largely de¤ned good behavior in terms of whether or not one was a good son or daughter.14 Xiao has had such an extraordinary impact on Chinese social life that Chinese and Japanese scholars have claimed that it is the basis of Chinese culture.15 One student of Confucianism has even claimed that xiao was and still is the basis of East Asian religiosity.16 Beginning from at least the Warring States period (481–221 BC), narratives about historical personages who embodied this virtue have circulated throughout China. To make this abstract value comprehensible, the stories translated it into concrete behavior that others could imitate. Moreover, being both simple and striking, one could easily remember and retell such stories. As a result of their ubiquity and simplicity, the narratives became a primary means of teaching ¤lial piety and the standard by

3

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Selfless Offspring

which people de¤ned how an ideal son or daughter should act. Thus rather than a “carnival sideshow,” these tales were a “main attraction” that allows us to plumb the depths of the premodern Chinese social and moral universe. Although Warring States authors were already transmitting ¤lial anecdotes, the early medieval era (AD 100–600) was the “Golden Age” of the narratives.17 It was at this time that the ¤lial piety stories evolved into their mature form, exploded in number, and ¶ourished more than ever before or since. During this period, literati created a new genre of collections of ¤lial piety narratives, which more often than not were called Accounts of Filial Offspring (Xiaozi zhuan).18 Building on these stories, historians added special chapters to the dynastic histories dedicated to the lives of ¤lial children. The best poets of the age, such as Cao Zhi (192–232) and Xie Lingyun (385–433), rhapsodically evoked these anecdotes in their verse.19 Even royalty such as the Liang dynasty’s Emperor Yuan (r. 552–555), as well as Wu Zitian (r. 684–704), China’s ¤rst and only female emperor, compiled an Accounts of Filial Offspring.20 Scenes from these narratives adorned lacquered goods, cof¤ns, sarcophagi, funerary shrines, government buildings, and even palaces. The stories thereby enjoyed a prestige among China’s cultural elite that they would never again have. Thus, owing to the respect the anecdotes commanded at that time, understanding their functions and messages will shed light on many aspects of early medieval China, such as how the educated elite de¤ned merit and worth, how they envisioned ideal social relations both inside and outside the family, how they talked about and justi¤ed social class, how they understood the world as an interdependent moral cosmos, how they attached great importance to Confucian values and rituals, and how they gendered virtue. After the early medieval era, even though the tales no longer enjoyed the same acclaim they once had among the elite, they were still widely circulated. A new genre of popular works called The Twenty-four Filial Exemplars, which ¤rst appeared in the late Tang or Five Dynasties period, propagated these tales among a less elevated clientele.21 That ¤lial piety stories frequently adorned the tombs and cof¤ns of the Liao (907–1125), Jin (1115–1234), and Song (960–1279) dynasties testify to the esteem in which these works were held.22 By the Ming dynasty (1368–1644), Guo Jujing’s (¶. 1295–1321) Poems on the Twenty-four Filial Exemplars (Ershisixiao shi), a text dedicated to teaching children, became the most popular example of The Twenty-four Filial Exemplars genre. Due to this illustrated primer’s ubiquity, by late imperial times almost everyone, literate or illiterate, knew these stories. Furthermore, many of these narratives became

Introduction

subject matter for popular literature.23 Yet one should note that many of this collection’s tales date to the early medieval period.24 Since most contemporary Chinese are still familiar with at least a couple of accounts from The Twenty-four Filial Exemplars, a great number of these early medieval creations still have currency today. The ¤lial piety tales were so appealing that they even found audiences abroad. Collections of these narratives were transmitted throughout medieval East Asia.25 The tales were so well known that they gradually became part of Northeast Asia’s folk culture. While conducting ¤eldwork in Korea, an elderly, illiterate woman told two anthropologists a story about a son who wanted to abandon his elderly mother in the mountains. He avoided committing this un¤lial act only because his own son pointed out that the same fate would await him when he became old and in¤rm.26 Unbeknownst to the anthropologists, this oral “folktale” is actually the early medieval story of Yuan Gu. The conservative appeal of these stories was so great that even nineteenth-century American missionaries, in an attempt to instill a sense of ¤lial obligation in the hearts of unruly American youth, propagated these tales in the United States.27 In short, these anecdotes’ formulation of ¤lial piety was so compelling that it transcended both time and space. Study of the tales, then, will not only tell us much about the early medieval period in which many of them originated, but will also reveal why hierarchically organized, agrarian cultures found these tales so irresistibly attractive. Methodology and Goals One of the narratives’ most interesting aspects is that their heyday occurred during China’s tumultuous early medieval era, more descriptively known as the “Period of Disunity.” From AD 100 to 600, China was often subject to civil wars, “barbarian” revolts, coups d’etat, and peasant rebellions. Beginning in the fourth century, Inner Eurasians governed North China, the mythical cradle of Chinese civilization, while weak native regimes set up shop in the underpopulated, backward and despised, malarial South. Intellectually, Taoism and Buddhism, rather than Confucianism, dominated the thoughts and conversations of China’s best minds. Is it not odd, then, that these tales came to the fore precisely when both the imperial state and Confucianism were at their nadir? Hence the primary question that this study answers is, Why did these accounts ¶ourish in this particular period? In other words, why did early medieval people ¤nd reading and transmitting these stories so compelling?

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Selfless Offspring

My approach borrows from the methods and insights of recent studies of European hagiographies and exempla. Rather than dismissing the tales as trite or silly, one must understand why early medieval people took them seriously. In the words of the prominent medievalist Caroline Walker Bynum, one must “put the behavior, the symbols, and the convictions of women and men in the distant past into their full context. Only by considering all the meanings and functions of medieval practice and belief can we explain medieval experience without removing its creativity and dignity.”28 In a similar fashion, my study makes a thorough examination of the context in which the ¤lial piety tales were created—the aims of their creators, the circumstances under which they were written, the identity of their readers, the ideology that informed them, and the historical trends that shaped their contents. Moreover, unlike previous studies that looked only at a small number of ¤lial children’s tales, this volume looks at more than 330 accounts as well as contemporary texts that have similar aims and format, such as other collective biographies of exemplars, family instructions, primers, unof¤cial biographies, Confucian apocrypha, and apocryphal Buddhist scriptures. Furthermore, since these tales were often depicted pictorially, this volume also uses archaeological and iconographical evidence to examine the tales’ audiences and meanings. Only by looking at the ¤lial piety narratives through early medieval eyes, rather than postmodern Western ones, can we begin to assimilate their signi¤cance. One of the important points that these recent studies have driven home is that texts such as hagiographies and exempla are not transparent historical records; instead, they are propaganda that their transmitters circulated to realize speci¤c ends.29 Recent studies have shown that the true value of such texts lies in their disclosure of the cultural values of the society that produced them.30 That is, they divulge the types of behavior and values that the texts’ creators desired to promote or discourage. At the same time, since the stories’ transmitters also had to tailor their message to the audience’s tastes, these texts reveal their consumers’ interests. As Peter Brown, the noted historian of late antiquity, has so eloquently put it, In studying both the most admired and the most detested ¤gures in any society, we can see, as seldom through other evidence, the nature of the average man’s expectations and hopes for himself. It is for the historian, therefore, to analyze this image as a product of the society around the holy man. Instead of retailing the image of the holy man as suf¤cient in itself to explain his appeal to the average late Roman, we should use the image like a mirror, to catch, from a surprising angle, another glimpse of the average late Roman.31

Introduction

In sum, even if hagiographies and exempla do not tell us exactly “how it really was,” they contain precious testimony concerning the attitudes and assumptions of their authors and audiences.32 Using this same logic, ¤lial piety stories were tools of persuasion through which a Confucian view of the ideal parent-child relationship was propagated. That being the case, historical accuracy takes a backseat to the tale’s didactic message. Hence this study focuses on how the authors thought ¤lial piety should be practiced. To forcefully convey their message, the tales’ creators radically altered the context of old motifs and introduced many new ones as well. Since variations of common plots may signi¤cantly alter their meaning, different versions of the same tale can reveal much about the values of the society that created them.33 Thus by looking at variants in the ¤lial piety stories and analyzing the ideology that informs them, this volume will show that these tales were popular because they answered the concerns of both their authors and their audience. Although these motifs do not tell us much about the actual behavior of early medieval children, they disclose a tremendous amount of information about how the narratives’ transmitters wanted children to act and their fears of how they were acting. Not only are ¤lial piety tales propagandist in nature, like European hagiographies and exempla, but Confucian ¤lial children are in many ways analogous to Christian saints: they practice an asceticism in which they deny themselves ordinary pleasures, such as savory food, warm clothing, government posts, and legitimately earned wealth; they live an active life dedicated to serving their parents and transforming the behavior of people around them through their example; and the divine world con¤rms their sanctity by favoring them with miracles.34 What separates Christian saints and Chinese ¤lial children is the object of their piety: the former serve a transcendent god, the latter their immanent parents.35 Nevertheless, I think the similarities are striking enough that we can plausibly view ¤lial children as Confucian saints. Doing so illuminates the role exemplary ¤lial children played in the Chinese imagination and also helps us discern the religious qualities of early Confucianism. Looking at the ¤lial piety stories as propaganda and the ¤lial children as saints also enables us to view early medieval Confucianism in an entirely different light. The tales’ popularity during the early medieval period indicates that although Confucianism might have lost its appeal for the philosophically inclined, it still had a great deal of relevance for elite men who were striving to maintain or enhance the welfare of their families. This helps explain how Confucianism could lose its philosophical

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vigor, yet still in¤ltrate and take over the literati’s values and ritual practice. Moreover, the Confucianism that accomplished this was not the philosophical Ru (Confucian) teachings of the Warring States, but the religiously laden teachings of Han Confucianism.36 My argument unfolds in the following manner: chapter 1 sets the stage by describing the two related historical trends that help account for the narratives’ popularity—the growth of extended families and the increasing penetration of Confucianism into the values and ritual practice of China’s learned elite. The chapter will show that extended families were increasingly popular among the early medieval upper class because this type of kinship structure was important for maintaining a family’s local status and power. At the same time, though, to keep these fragile, large families from fragmenting, patriarchs found it expedient to embrace Confucianism. Chapter 2, which focuses on the ¤lial piety stories themselves, examines their structure, historicity, origins, functions, and transmission. It argues that though a few of the most famous narratives started as folktales, the majority stemmed from the oral culture of elite families. To honor a living or dead kin member and boost one’s family’s fortune and legitimacy, relatives, patrons, and retainers told stories about his/her ¤lial exploits. Private biographies and geographical works then transmitted these tales that the family cult created to the larger community. Chapter 3 moves from the tales themselves to the collections in which they were gathered, the Accounts of Filial Offspring. This chapter indicates that although these texts probably already existed in the Eastern Han, it was only in the Southern Dynasties (317–589) that they became widespread among the educated elite. The collections’ authors were middle to high of¤cials from prominent families who were writing for juveniles and adult men of a similar background. The explicit purpose of compiling these collections was to provide members of the elite with models of good behavior to emulate; the implicit purpose was to indicate that the compiler himself was a ¤lial child. Chapter 4 shifts from the texts to their motifs. It argues that the stories’ miracles derive from the Han Confucian ideology of humanity’s unity with heaven and earth. Consequently, many of the miracles found in the stories also appear in the Confucian apocrypha, the textual embodiments of Correlative Confucianism. Early medieval patriarchs admired these tales because of the important messages they bore: familial hierarchy is sanctioned by heaven; the spirit world richly rewards those who serve their parents well; virtuous local men share in the emperor’s legitimacy to rule, and virtue is what secures high of¤ce and wealth. The popularity of the miracle

Introduction

tales indicates that long after the Eastern Han disappeared, its ideology as embodied in the tales continued to remain important to the learned elite. Chapters 5 and 6 explore the meanings of the most common motifs in the early medieval tales—that of nurturing one’s parents and mourning them in an exemplary fashion. Even though early Confucians dismissed caring for parents as so basic that it was hardly worth mentioning, early medieval tales celebrated how exemplary offspring went to extremes to take care of their parents. Indeed, they did not merely care for their parents, but did so in a manner that exalted their parents’ status while degrading their own, a behavior that was known as “reverent caring.” Early medieval narratives probably de¤ned ¤lial piety as nurturing because in a time of weak governmental authority, it was precisely this concrete aspect of ¤lial piety that best displayed familial solidarity and cohesiveness. As for mourning, Warring States and Western Han narratives merely urged observation of the three-year mourning ritual and sternly rebuked people who exceeded it. Early medieval accounts, on the other hand, lavished praise on people who went beyond the rites. The reason for this difference is that before the Eastern Han, practice of the three years’ mourning rites was rare, but by its second half such rites had become the elite’s normal practice. Hence the tales emphasize exceeding the rites—not to urge people to perform them, but to do so with sincerity. In other words, these narratives are ¤ghting the apathy that attended the Confucian mourning rites’ institutionalization. The ¤nal chapter of this volume shows that women largely performed the same ¤lial acts as men—but they usually did so because they lacked brothers to perform them. The only major difference between male and female ¤lial piety, then, is that women had to go to greater extremes to prove their ¤lial sincerity. Consequently, their exemplary actions usually involved violence—¤lial daughters and daughters-in-law often committed suicide or infanticide. Even in stories that do not feature violence, ¤lial daughters and daughters-in-law had to suffer greater deprivation than their male counterparts. Overall, though, ¤lial daughter narratives are few, whereas stories of chaste wives are plentiful. The prevalence of remarriage and the novelty of extended families likely produced this situation. Sources My argument rests upon an examination of over 330 distinct ¤lial offspring accounts. These narratives stem from three sources: private collections of ¤lial piety stories, the dynastic histories’ collective biographies of

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extraordinary ¤lial children, and sections on ¤lial piety from Tang (618– 907) and Song (960–1279) encyclopedias. Early medieval literati transmitted ¤lial piety tales through privately compiled collections that were usually titled Accounts of Filial Offspring, which ranged in length from one to thirty chapters. Unfortunately, none of these works that are recorded in the dynastic histories’ bibliographic chapters has survived, but one can ¤nd fragments of them in Tang and Song encyclopedias.37 The treasure trove of texts recovered at Dunhuang has also supplied us with fragments of what might have been Accounts of Filial Offspring, but they are more likely to be encyclopedia sections on ¤liality.38 Nonetheless, the problems with using these texts are legion: ¤rst, encyclopedias preserve only a fraction of the accounts that were in these texts. Second, their compilers routinely abbreviated the narratives and undoubtedly pruned narrative elements that did not match the category under which they were placing the story. Third, the compilers might have also misattributed stories to Accounts of Filial Offspring, especially since they often copied the passages from other encyclopedias rather than the original work. Fortunately, three fully intact Accounts of Filial Offspring have managed to survive until today. One of these, Accounts of Filiality (Xiao zhuan), is an indubitable Six Dynasties (AD 220–589) text attributed to the famous poet Tao Yuanming (365–427).39 Two manuscripts titled Accounts of Filial Offspring have survived in Japan, one of which is called the Yômei Xiaozi zhuan, the other the Funabashi Xiaozi zhuan.40 Recent Japanese scholarship has indicated that the former dates to the Six Dynasties, the latter to the Tang.41 These two texts are doubtlessly related: each has the same forty-¤ve accounts in the exact same order and with the exact same plots. The primary difference between the two is that the Funabashi version commits many errors in regard to personal and place names, is more colloquial in language, and uses Buddhist terminology.42 All three texts are invaluable because they provide us with a much clearer sense of the content and form of Accounts of Filial Offspring than do the encyclopedia fragments. For example, the many lengthy tales in the two Japanese manuscripts underscore the extent to which compilers of the encyclopedias abbreviated the stories. Although this volume is primarily based on tales from Accounts of Filial Offspring, it also draws upon the dynastic histories’ special chapters on ¤lial offspring, which went by a variety of names and oftentimes included the lives of those who embodied virtues that were closely associated with ¤liality, such as yi (righteousness) or you (brotherly friendliness).43 I will

Introduction

generically call these chapters in the dynastic histories “Biographies of the Filial.” During the Six Dynasties period, compilers of dynastic histories usually gave “Biographies of the Filial” pride of place among their collective biographies, indicating the esteem in which they held ¤lial children. The narratives in the “Biographies of the Filial” are for the most part similar to those found in Accounts of Filial Offspring; indeed, many of the former repeat anecdotes from the latter almost word for word. The ways in which the “Biographies of the Filial” differ are as follows: 1) They include more anecdotes, many of which concern how ¤lial children displayed exemplary behavior towards non-kinsmen. 2) They give an extensive resume of the posts or the rewards that the government offered ¤lial children and information about their deaths. 3) They give greater prominence to the rewards that the government bestowed upon the exemplars than the miracles their behavior occasioned. By emphasizing the governmental recognition that ¤lial children enjoyed, these biographies encouraged other people to practice ¤liality so that they, too, could receive government largesse; perhaps more importantly, they underlined that the emperor strove to recognize and reward the virtuous, an act that con¤rmed the ruler’s own virtue. In addition to private and public collections of ¤lial piety tales, this volume also makes use of sections on ¤lial piety in Tang and Song encyclopedias, which contain narratives largely culled from early medieval works. Although we cannot positively conclude that all of the early medieval anecdotes found in the Tang/Song encyclopedias’ ¤lial piety sections were included in Accounts of Filial Offspring, since the encyclopedia narratives have the same format and content as other ¤lial piety stories, there is the strong possibility that they might have been. For example, the story of Lu Ji (187–219), who during an interview with the warlord Yuan Shu stole three oranges for his mother, appears in neither the remaining fragments of Accounts of Filial Offspring nor in the three extant ones. Nevertheless, its inclusion in both the section on ¤liality in the encyclopedia called Records for Beginning Learners (Chuxue ji) and in The Inquiries of the Unenlightened (Mengqiu), an eighth-century history primer, testi¤es that by the early Tang it was already recognized as a well-known ¤lial piety narrative.44 In fact, Lu Ji’s story was so famous that it became canonized as one of the stories in The Twenty-four Filial Exemplars. Thus it is fair to assume that early medieval people would have viewed it like any story found in an Accounts of Filial Offspring. In sum, by looking closely at the audience and motifs of the ¤lial piety stories, this volume provides a view of early medieval China that

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challenges deeply held assumptions. In a period in which Confucianism was supposedly in decline, the cultural elite was embracing its rituals and values on an unprecedented level. In an era when aristocratic families dominated the government for generations on end, the tales advocate that public of¤ce should be distributed based on virtue rather than birth. In a time when patriarchs supposedly ruled over their family members with an iron ¤st, the stories reveal that their authority was quite fragile and limited. This volume thereby presents a picture of a China very much in ¶ux—Confucianism is just becoming the ritual practice of the elite, families tend to be small and easily fragmented, and loyal wives are more important than ¤lial daughters. In short, it shows that tales Sinologists have long sneered at for their banality still have much to teach us.

1

Extended Families and the Triumph of Confucianism

B

efore embarking on our exploration of the tales, it is necessary to brie¶y discuss the two most important historical trends that fueled the ¤lial piety stories’ popularity: the growth of extended families among the elite and the gradual penetration of Confucianism into upperclass values and rituals. Although both of these trends are of central importance in understanding the early medieval period, Western scholars have not paid much attention to either phenomenon. Western scholarship on early medieval China has concentrated on the great families whose prominence and durability have given the period its special character. Initial studies noted how for centuries a limited group of families—that is, a super elite—played a disproportionate role in that era’s social and political life.1 By pointing out that few of the great families continuously secured high of¤ce and that lineage falsi¤cation was rampant, more recent works have cast doubt on the political in¶uence and stability of these great families.2 Most scholars now agree that after the Eastern Jin (317–420), even though these famous clans constituted the social elite, they had little effect on politics at the national level.3 Nevertheless, due to the weakness of decentralized early medieval governments and the abeyance of the rule of avoidance, lesser elite families had a profound social and political impact on their home areas.4 When it comes to the question of why these lesser elite families were so powerful at the local level, Holcombe notes that their in¶uence was in part connected with their kinship structure. The lineage formed the spine of the early medieval Chinese social system, and networks of reciprocal obligations radiated outward from the core family to the entire clan and beyond. With the hierarchy of the medieval local community, the local magnate played the role of paterfamilias: protector and provider, with heavy moral connotations of Confucian benevolence.5 13

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In other words, the agnatic lineage’s cohesion was an important element of the prominent families’ strength. Contrary to this, Holgrem has pointed out that maternal relatives and in-laws were probably more important in promoting an elite family’s fortune than were its ties to the agnatic lineage.6 None of these studies, though, has suggested that the lesser elite families’ ability to dominate their localities was in part due to an important change in family structure. That change was the emergence of extended families among the elite—a transformation that is crucial to making sense of the popularity of the ¤lial piety tales. The Growth of Extended Families Although relatively neglected in the West, the subject of the shape and size of the Chinese family has long attracted East Asian scholarly attention, especially in Japan. Even though they differ on whether it was elementary or stem in type, Chinese and Japanese now seem to agree that the typical Han dynasty family, regardless of class, was quite small—consisting of only four or ¤ve people.7 After their father’s death, brothers usually created their own households and sometimes even divided the family estate while their father was still alive.8 Nevertheless, among the elite, extended families were becoming increasingly prevalent, particularly in the Eastern Han (AD 25–220). To support this contention, scholars cite evidence from censuses, of¤cial documents, literary texts, as well as archaeology.9 The picture that emerges from these facts shows that even though most families remained small in size, a number of elite families were becoming large and immensely complex in character. A further indication of the growth of extended families is the appearance of leishi tongju (successive generations residing together) households, which shared a common budget, ate together (the sources stress this by sometimes saying that the family had but one stove), and lived together for generations without dividing the patrimony. That both the government and the people esteemed this type of family indicates that many upperclass Chinese viewed it as the ideal model for family organization. Nevertheless, upon looking at Eastern Han examples of leishi tongju families, it becomes apparent that they were still rare and often short-lived. For example, “Wei Ba (d. 111) lost his parents while he was young, he lived together (tongju) with his brothers. His province and village admired their harmonious relations.”10 Notice that Wei Ba’s ability to live together with his brothers was enough to earn his region’s admiration. A bit more impressively, Cai Yong (133–192) “lived together with his uncle and cousins,

Extended Families and Triumph of Confucianism

for three generations the patrimony was not split. His district and allies esteemed his righteousness.”11 Compared with later leishi tongju families, these households were short-lived. In fact, most scholars of the Han family agree that large, extended families of this type were extremely rare.12 Nonetheless, that these families existed at all and garnered their contemporaries’ praise indicates that in the Eastern Han extended families were becoming more common and appreciated. A number of explanations have been put forth to explain the growth of extended families among the elite. One of the most popular is that due to the ¤rst-century BC introduction of the “alternating ¤elds system” (daitianfa) and oxen-pulled plows, agriculture became much more productive and labor intensive. Consequently, to take advantage of these innovations, elementary families began adding members to have a larger labor force. Most commonly, adult sons began living with their parents.13 According to Inaba, after the reign of Emperor Wu of the Han (r. 141–87 BC), the growing importance of Confucianism and the gradual decline of the monetary economy made pooling resources and limiting expenses by living together an attractive strategy; consequently, families became bigger.14 Hori, on the other hand, believes that to survive, families deemed it advantageous to have strong internal leadership; hence they became bigger and turned over power to the family head.15 Although there is room to doubt that the stem family ever became the predominant family form in the Eastern Han,16 the evidence that many Eastern Han elite families were larger and more complex in nature than commoner families seems irrefutable. Even so, most of these scholars believe that such extended families were primarily stem types that did not last long after the patriarch’s death. Moreover, these slightly larger families did not necessarily resemble the late imperial families in which a dictatorial patriarch ruled over a large and exceedingly complex household. According to Utsunomiya, the center of the Han family was not its aging parents, but its able-bodied sons and their wives; rather than being dictatorial heads of the family, aging parents merely played the role of experienced consultants.17 During the Six Dynasties, though, extended families became much more widespread among both the elite and commoners, especially in the north. A number of facts reveal that many families were becoming bigger and more complex. First, unlike the Qin dynasty (221–206 BC), which legally discouraged fathers and adult sons from living together, the Wei dynasty (AD 220–265) prohibited fathers and sons from having separate ¤nances.18 Since one usually shared wealth and expenses with those with whom one was living, this law prohibiting separate ¤nances obviously

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Selfless Offspring

was meant to encourage, or more likely recognize, the legality of stem and grand families. With no legal restrictions on household size, some elite families became huge. Thus members of the elite sometimes used the term baikou (the one-hundred mouths) to refer to their families, which, in fact, sometimes did have over a hundred members.19 Unintentionally con¤rming this, Yan Zhitui (531–591) thought that even a modestsized elite family should have twenty members and twenty slaves.20 Also, unlike the Eastern Han, the Six Dynasties has many examples of leishi tongju families, some of which lasted for seven generations and had up to two hundred members.21 Obviously, if one praises a household for staying together for this long and for having this many members, those that lasted merely three to four generations and had a hundred members must not have been rare. The growing prevalence of extended families can also be seen in court debates over whether brothers should wear mourning robes for their sisters-in-law. Many literati argued that since brothers and sisters-in-law live in the same household, the former should mourn the latter.22 Similarly, in contrast to Eastern Han ¤lial piety tales that praise men who reside with their brothers, Six Dynasties tales praise those who reside with a dizzying array of kin: uncles, cousins, widowed sisters-in-law, or fatherless nephews and nieces.23 Even commoner families became slightly larger and more varied in type.24 According to many scholars, by the Tang dynasty, large, complex families were the norm among the upper classes,25 and not uncommon among the lower classes. The average family on a tax register from AD 747 had 6.3 people. Of its ¤fty-six households, fourteen, or 25 percent, had nine or more members. Fifteen families, or 27 percent, had six to eight members.26 Thus over half of the register’s recorded families were large. The biggest family had eighteen members and included the family head, his elderly mother, his three wives, his son and two daughters, his two younger brothers, each of whom had two wives, the son and daughter of one of his brothers, and his two middle-aged sisters. That this family was undoubtedly rich can be seen in that each of the family’s adult males had concubines. What accounts for this shift from small to large families among the local elite? Historians have not been able to agree. Some maintain that it occurred because of the Wei dynasty’s new tax system in which each household, no matter how numerous its members, paid the same ¤xed amount in corvée labor taxes. The purpose of this law was to encourage demographic growth in areas where labor was scarce. To take advantage of this law, the size of households swelled.27 Other scholars believe that

Extended Families and Triumph of Confucianism

families grew for defense purposes and to exploit large landholdings.28 No matter what the cause, though, it is evident that large extended families were common among the elite and not rare among commoners. The Stubborn Persistence of Elementary Families Nevertheless, maintaining harmony in extended families was exceedingly dif¤cult. When asked how his family managed to reside together for nine generations, Zhang Gongyi (¶. 665) wrote on a piece of paper the character ren (to endure, or forbear) more than a hundred times.29 Anthropologists have likewise remarked that jealousy and competition often mar Chinese fraternal relations.30 In premodern families, that brothers often had different mothers doubtlessly generated even more animosity. Thus although extended families increased in number during the early medieval period, one cannot underestimate their fragility and the extent to which elementary households continued to be common, even among the elite. The anthropologist Margery Wolf has also eloquently articulated the danger of what she calls the “uterine family” to the extended household’s unity. Since a Chinese woman leaves her natal family and moves in with her husband’s, the latter views her as an outsider. The daughter-in-law can gain acceptance within the family only by producing male children. Due to this situation, her interests are not tied to her husband’s family’s welfare, but to the welfare of her children, who provide her with status and a future means of support. The wife’s children are thus her “uterine family.” Consequently, a woman will jealously guard her uterine family’s interests at the cost of domestic tranquility, even to the extent that she may urge the division of the family estate, thereby enabling her to live alone with her husband and children. Thus once sons or brothers marry, a family is always under the threat of division.31 Although Wolf’s insights come from observations made in modern Taiwan, early Chinese writers also recognized the threat that wives and children posed to extended family unity. The stock phrase “¤lial piety diminishes due to wife and child” (xiao shuai yu qizi) indicates as much.32 Yan Zhitui viewed wives and children as cracks and holes in the walls of fraternal solidarity—if the ¤ssures they create are not sealed immediately, the walls will collapse.33 Hence if a man champions his wife and children’s interests, he will certainly come into con¶ict with his brothers. Some Chinese scholars have argued that throughout the early medieval period most families continued to be comparatively small. Census

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records con¤rm this: most dynasties had, on the average, ¤ve or six people per household.34 One reason for the fragility of extended families was short life expectancy. According to population registers from Dunhuang, a man usually married when he was between twenty-¤ve and thirty years of age; on average, he had a life expectancy of only thirty-two years. In order to see his son marry and have children, he would have to live until he was forty¤ve to ¤fty years old, but given his expected life span, chances are good that he would not live to see that day.35 Similarly, upon taking an of¤cial post, migrating, or working as a hired laborer, an adult male was often absent from his extended family.36 Due to tensions between brothers and sistersin-law, after a patriarch died, extended families composed of adult brothers were particularly likely to break up. Historians have pointed out that since histories of the Northern Dynasties praise adult brothers who live together but do not criticize those that divide the family estate, partition after the parents’ death must have been normal.37 Yan Zhitui thought that if wives generate fraternal tension, each brother should go his own way.38 Even in the Tang, when extended families were much more prevalent than in earlier times, families tended to break up with the death of elderly parents.39 The same AD 747 population register that indicates the existence of many extended families at Dunhuang also reveals the existence of many fragmented families, which consisted of one married couple or less.40 One can also doubt whether families were as big as household registers claimed because oftentimes several nuclear families that functioned separately were registered as one household. A study of the Dunhuang population registers indicates that in relatively peaceful times nuclear families accounted for the majority of households; however, in chaotic times the number of extended families rose sharply, while that of nuclear families dropped precipitously. This happened because a number of nuclear families or fragmented nuclear families registered together as a single household. Despite their joint registration, each family within the household probably still held its wealth separately and functioned independently. Hence many of the huge households on the registers were merely administrative ¤ctions and did not represent what families actually looked like.41 A similar phenomenon known as “one household with several stoves” (yi men shu zao) existed during the Southern Dynasties. This means that close relatives resided in the same compound, but they had already split the family estate and were living as economically independent households.42 Although he might be overstating the case, a Liu-Song of¤cial named Zhou Lang (424–460) gives us a sense of the pervasiveness of this custom and its social rami¤cations.

Extended Families and Triumph of Confucianism

The withering of the moral teachings has brought us to this. Nowadays, among gentlemen-grandees and those below them, in seven out of ten families, even while their parents are still alive, brothers have separate ¤nances. Likewise among commoners, in ¤ve out of eight families, fathers and sons have separate wealth. Extreme cases in which close relatives do not even know when each other is in danger or has died, do not aid each other when they are hungry or cold, or who slander or defame each other out of jealousy are too numerous to count. We should emphasize the prohibitions [of having ¤nances separate from one’s parents and brothers] in order to change this custom. To those who already excel in family affairs, attention should be devoted to rewarding them. From now on, those who do not change should have their wealth con¤scated.43

Zhou suggests that one of the negative consequences of this custom is that once the patrimony is split, family members treat each other as outsiders or, as other Six Dynasties writers would say, xingluren (passers-by on the road). In other words, family division was worrisome because as soon as relatives lived apart, kinship solidarity would rapidly deteriorate, to the extent that sons would no longer feel inclined to extend special treatment or concern to their parents or siblings. This apathy towards close kin with whom one no longer lived could take many forms, such as demanding payment for services, exploiting kin for pro¤t, or failing to render aid in times of need.44 Consequently, early medieval patriarchs viewed division of the patrimony as an inferior means of household management. In sum, although extended families were undeniably becoming more common among both the elite and commoners during the early medieval period, they were also exceedingly dif¤cult to keep together. If a patriarch was lucky to live long enough to have his adult sons reside with him, he still had no guarantee that his sons would continue to be civil to each other, much less live with each other, after his death. Small families functioned suf¤ciently well during times of peace and when under government protection, but they were unsafe havens when times were chaotic and the might of local bullies went unchecked. To protect one’s hearth and home, living with one’s relatives as a single household was an important strategy for both protection and prosperity. Living in extended families was clearly one of the structural keys by which eminent households dominated their localities. Early medieval texts repeatedly make it clear that small families are weak ones. Han dynasty (206 BC–AD 220) names for commoner families, such as danmen (lone gates), danjia (lone families), xijia (minute families), gumen (isolated

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gates), danwei (single and obscure [families]) and guwei (isolated and obscure [familes]), and hanmen (cold gates), all emphasize their small size and lack of kin and connections.45 Likewise, the authors of ¤lial piety stories often connect poverty with being bereft of a father, brothers, or uncles;46 that is, they explicitly relate a family’s economic health to the number of adult males it has. The ¤lial son Bing Yuan (d. 211), for example, enviously noted that only those people with a father or elder brothers could afford to go to school.47 In a memorial to the emperor, the ¤lial son Li Mi (224–287) blamed his lack of uncles and brothers for the recent decline of his family. Since we have no uncles and have had brothers who have died an early death, our family (men) has declined and our honors have diminished. Moreover, our parents only had children quite late in their life. Abroad, we have no close relatives, while at home, we have no children who are ¤ve feet tall to guard the gate. We are orphaned and alone. Our form and shadow mourn for each other.48

Economically, a family with many adult males could pool its labor resources and capital, take advantage of the new agricultural methods that demanded intensive labor, and supervise a great number of agricultural workers. Politically, such a family could develop a network of of¤ceholding (whether it be at the local or national level) close relatives who could yield their in¶uence to shelter the family from taxes, secure at least local of¤ce for junior family members, and contract marriages to other in¶uential families. Militarily, such a family was also better able to defend itself and its interests, since during chaotic times the core of a powerful family’s military organization was its kinsmen.49 One should remember, too, that during the Southern Dynasties, even though brothers frequently had separate ¤nances, they still found it expedient to live together in the same compound. Consequently, for the patriarchs of locally eminent families, maintaining a large, extended family was a pressing, but dif¤cult to accomplish, necessity. Confucianism’s Penetration into the Lives of the Early Medieval Elite A development that is closely related to the emergence of extended families is the spreading in¶uence of Ru (Confucian)50 values and rituals among China’s upper class. In other words, the early medieval elite were

Extended Families and Triumph of Confucianism

more “Confucianized” than either their Warring States or Western Han predecessors. This is not to say that they had completely embraced Ru values and rituals; some scholars argue that the cultural elite did not become thoroughly Confucianized until late in the Tang dynasty.51 Nevertheless, to a large extent, early medieval literati strived to live according to many of the Confucian precepts. Even though this change had an indisputably profound effect on the way Chinese viewed their world and behaved within it—which is comparable to the impact that Christianization had on Europe—the questions of how and why China’s educated class came to embrace Confucianism have attracted remarkably little scholarly attention, except in Japan. Scholars have traditionally assumed that Confucianism became China’s governing ideology during Emperor Wu’s reign (r. 141–87 BC), because his administration undertook the following actions: ¤rst, in 141 BC, the government prohibited men who had studied Legalist teachings from assuming of¤ce. Second, in 136 BC, the government established master teachers only for the Five (Confucian) Classics (Wujing), rather than the works of other philosophical schools. Third, in 124 BC, an imperial edict established the Imperial University; its curriculum was based on the Five Classics. Students who demonstrated by means of an examination that they were fully conversant with one classic could obtain public of¤ce. In short, these decrees made it clear that the government sanctioned only the Ru teachings and that familiarity with them could lead to public of¤ce. Since one had to be versed in Confucianism to gain admittance to premodern China’s most prestigious, and in many ways most lucrative, profession—of¤ce holding—this was when China’s learned elite became Confucianized. Nevertheless, many scholars now doubt whether Confucianism had much of an impact on the elite until late in the Western Han dynasty (206 BC–AD 8). An array of Han specialists believes that Ru teachings were of marginal importance during Emperor Wu’s time.52 During his thirty-seven year reign, only 1.9 percent of his high of¤cials (i.e., the Three Dukes and Nine Ministers) were Confucian scholars. Moreover, many of the policies that his administration pursued, such as government monopolies of industries, smacked more of Legalism than Confucianism.53 Although all candidates for of¤cialdom now had to study the Five Classics, this does not mean that they all were deeply committed to Ru values, because they merely had to attend the Imperial University for one year and pass an examination on just one of the Five Classics.54 Furthermore, the classics were subject to non-Confucian interpretations.55 Thus, just because the of¤cial

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curriculum was based on Confucian texts does not mean a student was thoroughly imbued with Confucian norms. Many of these same scholars argue that Confucianism became China’s guiding political philosophy only during Emperor Yuan’s time (r. 48–32 BC), because 27 percent of his government’s highest ministers were Confucian scholars.56 Moreover, many of the government’s policies show the imprint of Ru ideology, such as the reduction of imperial expenditures, the abolishment of government monopolies on the production of salt and iron, and the opening of imperial parks to commoners.57 However, one Japanese scholar has cogently argued that 27 percent is a very low ¤gure, especially since throughout most of the Eastern Han nearly 70 percent of the high ministers were known Confucian scholars. In other words, Confucianism did not become the guiding philosophy of China’s governing elite until the Eastern Han.58 As chapter 6 will indicate, members of the Western Han elite rarely practiced the three years’ mourning rites, which were the crowning achievement of a Ru’s ritual life. Hence one cannot say that the Western Han cultural elite was largely Confucianized or that Confucianism became the empire’s ideology. Other scholars have argued that Confucianization occurred at the beginning of the ¤rst century AD. Both Nishijima and Itano hold that when the emperor used the Confucian apocrypha (chenwei) to sanction his possession of absolute power, he subjugated himself to heaven’s will—that is, Confucianism’s ideological constraints. Hence it was at this point that Ru teachings were established as the empire’s of¤cial ideology.59 Watanabe Yoshihiro agrees that it was during Emperor Guangwu’s reign (AD 25–57) that Ru teachings became the dynasty’s of¤cial ideology, but for different reasons. According to him, during the Western Han, Ru high of¤cials constantly attempted to make Confucianism attractive to the powerful Han emperors, but during Guangwu’s reign, the opposite happened: the emperor attempted to use Ru teachings to legitimate his authority. Confucianism now became the touchstone of the dynasty’s legitimacy, which for Watanabe marks the true beginning of Confucian ascendancy.60 Although these arguments are compelling and certainly indicate that Confucianization was under way, their exclusive focus on the emperor seems too narrow. Does the fact that the emperors now used Confucianism to legitimate their authority mean they fully embraced Confucian values and rituals? This explanation also fails to tell us to what extent other members of society adhered to Ru ideology. A better way to evaluate the in¶uence of Confucianism is to see how it affected upper-class behavior; scholars have done this by investigating

Extended Families and Triumph of Confucianism

both the availability of Ru education and the extent to which members of the upper class adopted Confucian ceremonies. Using the ¤rst approach, Higashi has concluded that China’s upper class became Confucianized during the Eastern Han, which is when Confucian education became widespread. This is nowhere more evident than in the Imperial University’s growth: it started off in 124 BC with only ¤fty students, but by Emperor Shun’s reign (126–144) had thirty thousand.61 Moreover, during the Eastern Han, local government schools increased in number, while private schools ¶ourished as never before. In fact, well-known of¤cials or Ru masters sometimes had thousands of students, and a few even had over ten thousand.62 As Higashi points out, this spread of Confucian education was important not only because it meant that Ru ideology was indoctrinating more men, but because it created a powerful bond between them: disciples would ritually treat their master as their father. Consequently, Ru education’s spread signaled the formation of interregional social networks that consisted of masters, disciples, and classmates. For Higashi this situation generated a social class of Confucian intellectuals that became manifest in the middle of the Eastern Han.63 Using the second approach, Vandermeersch has similarly concluded that it was during the Eastern Han that Confucianism became popularized among the upper classes. He has noted that during this period the following ritual innovations occurred: 1) Emperors began reviving ancient Ru rituals, such as the rites of the archery contest, nurturing the elderly, and the village feast, all of which had long been in abeyance. 2) For the ¤rst time, agents of the state worshipped and gave posthumous titles of nobility to Confucius.64 3) As different social groups adopted the Confucian teachings, they adapted the Ru funerary rites to meet their needs; hence in addition to mourning one’s parents for three years, one did the same for his patron or teacher.65 Unintentionally, Powers has successfully used iconography to provide supplementary proof that the Confucian transformation of the upper class was an Eastern Han phenomenon. He has shown that in this era there appeared an artistic style in tomb decoration that he terms the “classical tradition,” which featured pictorial matter from the Five Classics. Unlike the earlier ornamental tradition whose intricate and exquisite design called attention to the tomb owner’s wealth, through its depiction of Confucian stories, the classical tradition called attention to the tomb owner’s virtue.66 Powers has clearly put his ¤nger on a signi¤cance change, but since decorating tombs with images of Confucian moral tales appears to be unprecedented, rather than a revival, I think it is better to see this as a

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completely new style. It appeared because it was serving the unique ideological needs of a new ruling group—the Confucianized learned elite; thus its emergence signals the relative triumph of Ru teachings. All this evidence points to the fact that it was during the Eastern Han that Confucianism became the primary basis of the upper-class ethos and ritual practice. Of course, this is by no means to say that the cultural elite was completely Confucianized, but it does mean that Ru teachings heavily in¶uenced the values and ceremonies of educated people. As chapter 6 will indicate, this change occurs late in the ¤rst century AD. During that point in time we witness a convergence of signi¤cant trends: the imperial practice of sacri¤ces to Confucius, the formation of vast Ru master-disciple networks, the application of Confucian mourning rules to patrons and teachers, the appearance of Confucian tales in tomb art, the praise of men who exceed the rites in mourning their parents, and the appearance of ¤lial piety miracle tales. The near simultaneous emergence of all these phenomena indicates that the ¤rst important wave of Confucianization washed over China’s learned elite in the late ¤rst century AD. Why, though, did Confucianism not triumph earlier? Rather than merely looking at the growing prevalence of Ru education, perhaps a better explanation would be that Confucianism’s rise was tied to the emergence of a newly important social group—local in¶uential families. Since extended families were a key component in ensuring a lineage’s ¤nancial health, physical security, and local power, ambitious household heads embraced Ru values and rituals because they facilitated the formation and maintenance of such large kin structures.67 With regard to the Yi dynasty’s Confucianization of the Korean upper class, Duncan has argued that the coming of neo-Confucianism did not reshape the Korean family; instead, it merely reinforced and justi¤ed a new family system that was already forming.68 In the same way, Ru teachings did not give rise to patriarchal extended families in China; instead, family heads that attempted to establish or maintain extended families found Confucianism attractive. For a household to be able to contain several elementary families and still function as a cohesive unit, family heads realized that they had to strengthen hierarchical order within the family.69 The ideology known as Correlative Confucianism, which chapter 4 will argue was embodied in the ¤lial piety stories, was especially attractive to heads of extended families. By equating the patriarch’s authority with that of a country’s ruler and the subservience a child owed his parent with that which a retainer must give his lord, this ideology offered a clear vision of familial hierarchy. Moreover, by appealing to cosmology, it provided

Extended Families and Triumph of Confucianism

this hierarchy with a compelling justi¤cation. By way of illustration, the ¤rst-century BC Garden of Persuasions (Shuo yuan) relates, “Among people males are yang and females yin. Within the household, the father is yang and the son is yin. In government, the lord is yang and the retainer is yin. Therefore, yang is esteemed and yin slighted. Yang is honorable and yin low class. This is the Way of Heaven.”70 Since within their realms males, lords, and fathers belong to the superior metaphysical principle of yang, they are equivalent to each other, while females, retainers, and sons are equivalents due to their sharing in the inferior principle of yin. Thus in the same fashion that retainers treat their lords and wives their husbands, sons should hold their fathers in awe, follow their directives without hesitation, and willingly die for them. The family head, in turn, like a lord and a husband, administers the family’s affairs while looking after its welfare. In short, embracing Ru conceptions of the family thus enhanced the authority of the family head and provided rituals that highlighted and strengthened a familial hierarchy based on generation, age, and gender. Confucian-style familial hierarchy facilitated the longevity of extended families by also introducing into them a court-like atmosphere. Since family members both work and reside together, they quickly become intimate with each other. This intimacy, though, can weaken the authority of the patriarch and make him less likely to use his powers to their full extent; thus the lines of authority within a family can quickly become blurred. As a result, within his household a patriarch should act like a lord and treat his family members like retainers. Zhang Zhan, for instance, “was circumspect, serious, and fond of the rites. His actions were all based on rules. When he was in a dark room, he would cultivate his uprightness. Even when he was together with his wife and children, he still acted like a severe lord.”71 By strictly following the rites, the court’s formality, which highlights distinctions between ranks, replaces some of the home’s intimacy. For example, “[Fan Chong] by nature was warmhearted and generous, but he also had rules and regulations. For three generations his family held its wealth in common. During the morning and evening audiences, his sons and grandsons would pay their respect to him by observing the rituals, [they] always did so as if they were at the court.”72 Despite his inclination to be intimate and indulgent with his family members, the existence of rules and regulations within Fan’s household produced hierarchy-af¤rming formality. This passage also implies that it was precisely this sense of hierarchy that enabled his family to remain together for three generations. Other accounts that credit Confucianism with instilling a court-like hierarchy within a household are

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numerous.73 Confucian ideals thereby promoted hierarchy by formalizing the relationships between parents and children and curtailing intimacy between them. By making themselves into the equivalent of rulers, family heads probably hoped that sons and grandsons, as both ¤lial sons and loyal retainers, would be even more willing to obey their parents’ orders and subordinate their own interests to those of the family. That Confucian learning was important for political and social advancement no doubt impelled one to acquire a Ru education; nevertheless, it was the need for familial order that led in¶uential families to enthusiastically assimilate Confucian values and rituals.

2

The Narratives Origins and Uses

Simply put, this book is about stories, and it should logically start with a discussion of the tales themselves. But before doing so, furnishing a complete translation of one the narratives will give the reader a vivid sense of the form and content of an early medieval ¤lial piety tale. (1) Qiu Jie was a man from Wucheng in Wuxing. (2) Upon suffering his mother’s death, he would not eat any cooked vegetables because they were tasty. (3) After being ill for more than a year, he suddenly dreamt that he met his mother who said: “To die only means to be apart. What in the world would make you endure this kind of hardship? When you ate raw vegetables, you met with frog poison. In front of my spirit bed there is a bowl that has three balls of medicine. Retrieve it and eat them.” Jie awoke with a start. As expected he found a bowl that had three balls of medicine. He ate them. He thereupon excreted several pints of tadpoles. (4) For generations the Qiu family treasured that bowl, but in the seventh year of the Great Illumination reign of the [Liu-] Song Dynasty (AD 464), it was lost in a ¤re.1

Due to the miraculous content of tales such as this one, many scholars assume that the ¤lial piety tales are folkloric in origin. This chapter’s purpose is to determine who created the individual ¤lial piety stories and to what end. Since tales like this one were obviously ¤rst transmitted among members of the protagonist’s family, this chapter will also examine the process by which they came to the attention of the larger community and why. Even though the earliest and best-known tales did originate as folktales, the majority emerged from oral storytelling that took place within elite households. To honor or ¶atter their relatives, patrons, or friends, literati created oral narratives that showed them embodying Ru virtues and meticulously carrying out Confucian rituals. To glorify relatives or patrons 27

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after their deaths and to indicate that the family’s prestige was based on their virtue, relatives or subordinates would then incorporate these accounts into the protagonist’s epitaph or unof¤cial biography. In other words, elite families transmitted these tales in written form to justify their privileged position within society. Later on, men who wanted to glorify the region in which they lived or identi¤ed with would then include them in collective biographies of regional worthies. Hence oral tales that began as vehicles to enhance the legitimacy of individual families soon became a means by which the community exhibited its local pride. Structure of the Tales Unlike ¤lial piety anecdotes from before the Eastern Han, early medieval narratives share an easily recognizable, nearly uniform structure. They usually consist of either three or four segments. The opening one, in the style of a biography, localizes and historicizes the ¤lial exemplar by stating his or her name, style, and native place. By doing so, it indicates that the exemplar was a historical person, of recent date, and from a speci¤c place, thereby adding verisimilitude to the account and signaling that these outstanding forms of ¤lial action can still be performed. Although sometimes omitted, the introductory section ends with a formulaic statement about the hero or heroine’s character, such as “by nature his/her ¤lial piety was perfect” (xing zhixiao). Oftentimes, a phrase like this is a dead giveaway that one is reading a ¤lial piety tale. The second segment consists of one or more narrative elements that describe the subject’s ¤lial acts. The third segment depicts the rewards that the exemplar’s ¤lial piety earned, which could be either supernatural or secular in nature, such as offers of public of¤ce, fame, auspicious omens, or miraculous boons. In the fourth and ¤nal segment, the compiler praises the protagonist, comments on his/her ¤liality, or adds either an illustrative quotation from the classics or a eulogy. Filial piety stories that survive as fragments in encyclopedias usually do not have this fourth segment, but this was probably because the encyclopedias’ compilers omitted them.2 The aforementioned tale of Qiu Jie exhibits the typical four segments of an early medieval story: the numbers in parentheses indicate each segment. After the ¤rst segment clearly tells us the protagonist’s name and native place, the second (2) describes the exemplary way in which he mourned his mother. Qiu was so distraught that he refused to eat anything that even remotely tasted good; instead, he subjected himself to eating unappetizing and ultimately dirty salads. Even though this resulted in

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a yearlong illness, he did not relent. The third segment (3) describes how his act of sincere ¤liality brought about a supernatural reward—the dream of his mother and the medicine balls that cured him of his malady. The last segment (4) is the author’s comment, which in this case atypically dwells not on the exemplar’s ¤liality, but rather on the relic that remained from the ¤lial miracle. By way of contrast, earlier ¤lial piety narratives usually lack segments one and three. Let us look at one of the most famous early ¤lial piety stories. (2) [Han] Boyu made a mistake. His mother beat him. When he began weeping, she said, “On other days that I have beat you, you have never wept. Why do you do so today?” He responded, “On other days when I have committed an error, your beating always hurt, but today, due to your [failing] strength, you are no longer able to cause me pain. This is the reason I weep.” (4) Therefore, it is said, “The highest [form of conduct] is that, when your parents become angry, [resentment] neither registers in your thoughts nor does it become manifest in your appearance. Also, you deeply accept your guilt to the extent that it causes [your parents] to sympathize with you. The mediocre form is that when your parents become angry, [resentment] neither registers in your thoughts nor does it become manifest in your appearance. The lowest form is that when your parents become angry with you, [your resentment] registers in your thoughts and it becomes manifest in your appearance.3

What is immediately noticeable about this account is that it is not related in the style of a biography at all. It begins by narrating neither Boyu’s style nor his native place, thus he cannot be assigned to a speci¤c time or place. Like so many other early accounts, the protagonist is a person from the remote past—in many cases the early tales feature Confucius’ disciples. Also dissimilar to early medieval tales, there is no segment describing the rewards that Boyu received because of his exemplary ¤liality. After dictating Boyu’s ¤lial action, the transmitter of the tale immediately launches into his comment, the contents of which plainly convey that the tale’s purpose is merely didactic. Why are early medieval tales so different from their predecessors? The answer to that question will become clear as this chapter unfolds, but one must keep in mind how authors employed the earlier ¤lial piety stories. Long before Accounts of Filial Offspring ever came into existence, ¤lial devotion narratives were already circulating in China, as scattered references in Warring States and Western Han works attest. Many of the people who

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made use of these works were what Crump has called “persuaders,” who belonged to the social group called shi (gentlemen, or more precisely during the pre-Qin period, knights or lower of¤cers) that roamed from court to court trying to gain a ruler’s favor by convincing him that they offered the best possible counsel.4 One of the rhetorical tools at a persuader’s disposal was an exemplum: a short, self-contained, didactic story used to illustrate a point being made in a larger argument.5 In stating the general principles of his argument, a persuader would explain and support them by either alluding to or recounting one or more exempla. Tales about ¤lial devotion were merely one type of exemplum. The only difference between them and other exempla was that they were the sole creations of Confucians who used them to concretely depict their conception of ¤lial devotion. When a Ru persuader wanted to make a point about ¤lial piety, he probably fabricated a tale that met his doctrinal needs and attributed it to a famous disciple of Confucius. These stories were so well known and closely identi¤ed with Confucian ideas that opponents attacked the Ru school by criticizing the tales’ exemplars. With obvious reference to a particular narrative, the author of Intrigues of the Warring States (Zhanguo ce) argues that a devoted son like Zengzi could not possibly be a good of¤cial because he would never spend a night apart from his parents.6 Authors from other schools also used the ¤lial devotion exempla as foils for their own arguments.7 That these tales never stood alone and were always used to support a larger point indicates that, unlike their early medieval counterparts, Warring States authors did not view the stories as worthy subjects in themselves.8 In much the same way as their predecessors, Western Han Confucian philosophical works such as Mr. Han’s Exoteric Commentary [to the Book of Songs] (Hanshi waizhuan), Garden of Persuasions (Shuo yuan), The New Narratives (Xin xu), and Accounts of Outstanding Women (Lienü zhuan) continued to use stories of exemplary people. In fact, they even utilized many of the same stories, a number of which were drawn from Warring States material.9 Moreover, their authors wrote these works of persuasion to advise rulers, just as their predecessors had done.10 Nevertheless, the way their authors employed the stories gradually began to change. The most surprising feature is the prominence that exemplar stories assume. In fact, much of the content of these books is stories about exemplars—the Accounts of Outstanding Women entirely so. Furthermore, sometimes the stories stand on their own—that is, they are no longer merely adjuncts of a larger text.11 For example, a tale about the ¤lial and loyal son Shen Ming has a biographical introduction that closely resembles one found in early medieval accounts

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of ¤lial children. It reads, “There was a shi from Chu named Shen Ming. He took care of a garden to nurture his parents. He was famous throughout Chu for his ¤lial devotion.”12 Note, however, that this story lacks segment three in which the ¤lial exemplar is rewarded for his ¤liality. Moreover, many of the ¤lial piety accounts in the Western Han Ru works still frequently bear traces of being wrenched from their original context, such as the story of Han Boyu, which has no introduction. Didactic Fictions To fully understand the nature of these accounts, it is imperative to ascertain whether they are factual. In commenting on the historicity of such narratives in History of the Later Han (Hou Han shu), Bielenstein has noted that they are highly formalized. They appear in a standardized pattern that reappears frequently; consequently, they “represent a special technique of writing, a conscious exaggeration, not a rendering of facts.”13 Holzman, on the other hand, thinks that Bielenstein has thrown these anecdotes “out of court without a jury.” He explains, “I see no reason why we should not take Fan Ye [the compiler of History of the Later Han] at his word when, for instance, he says men ate one another, simply because he says it more than once.”14 Although he is undoubtedly right that simple formulas such as “men gave each other their children to eat” probably do indicate historical occurrences of cannibalism, repetitive moral stories are yet another matter. According to Lau, since the most important aspect of an illustrative story is the point being illuminated, the actual identity of the exemplar is unimportant and can differ.15 Similarly, Petersen points out that the phenomenon of the same story having different protagonists is one of the best indicators of a tale’s ¤ctionality.16 Moreover, since other studies have shown how compilers of the dynastic histories easily incorporated legendary stories about famous persons into the biographies, one should be wary of almost all stories included in court-sponsored historical writings.17 If the narratives were indeed records of speci¤c, unique actions, then one would expect to see a wide variety of ¤lial deeds. However, the feats attributed to ¤lial offspring are extremely stereotyped and limited in number. In fact, early medieval authors credit many different ¤lial sons and daughters with performing the exact same exemplary act—that is, examples of the same story having different protagonists abound. One common tale is that of a ¤lial child who lies exposed to attract mosquitoes away from his mother or father’s bed. Authors of Accounts of Filial Offspring credit this same ¤lial sacri¤ce to Shentu Xun, Wu Meng (¶. 270–310), Deng Zhan (3rd

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cent.), and Zhan Qin,18 whereas they associate lying on ice in search of ¤sh with Wang Xiang (185–269), Wang Yan (258–318), as well as Fan Liao (1st cent.).19 The act of racing to the tomb of a parent who feared thunder while alive appears in tales about Cai Shun (¶. late ¤rst century), Wang Xiang, Zhu Mi, and Wang Pou (3rd cent.).20 One could argue that since Cai Shun was from the Eastern Han and Wang Pou and Wang Xiang from the Western Jin that both Wangs were merely imitating Cai’s behavior. But this assumes that the act was so well known that both men knew of it. A simpler explanation would be that this ¤lial action was a trope that early medieval writers would attribute to those men who were well known for their ¤liality, regardless of what acts they had actually performed. A hint that this was indeed the case comes from Liu Jun (462–521), commentator to New Tales of Worldly Persuasions (Shishuo xinyu). After relating how Tao Kan’s (259–334) mother refused ¤sh that he presented to her while acting in his of¤cial capacity, Liu remarks, “When Meng Zong (d. 270) was the director of the Thunder Pond, he gave salted ¤sh to his mother, but she would not accept it. This was not a story about Kan. I believe that later people, due to Meng’s action, borrowed it and made up this tale.”21 Although Liu thinks that Meng actually did perform the act that Tao was credited with (a questionable assumption), Liu’s comments underline how easily exemplary acts could be transferred to other men who were virtuous. Nevertheless, for contemporaries, since men of such ¤ne moral ¤ber could easily perform these feats, how could one doubt such accounts? Instead of reporting fact, the ¤lial piety tales for the most part portray historical individuals performing the speci¤c acts that the Confucian ritual codes prescribed for sons and daughters. In regard to anecdotes found in Mr. Han’s Exoteric Commentary, Hightower makes the same point when he says, In fact, I regard all these anecdotes as unhistorical, though I do not deny the possibility that many may be based on actual events and deal with historical persons. It is rather that such stories were preserved not as a record of events, but as themes illustrative of ritually prescribed conduct. As such they could be applied to any person, historical or ¤ctional, whose activity ¤tted a given role.22

Likewise, ¤lial piety tales illustrate ritual behavior and could be applied to anyone who was known to be ¤lial. This technique of using stories about ¤lial sons to illuminate the ritual codes can be found as early as the Book of Rites (Li ji). In a number

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of places, it sets forth a litany of actions that a son or daughter should perform. Then, elsewhere in the same chapter, it provides a ¤lial exemplar whose conduct exactly replicates this behavior. The Book of Rites states, Right after [a parent] has died, [one] should be melancholy, as if one is in dire straights. Once [the parent] is placed in the cof¤n, [one] should look around in a startled fashion, as if one is seeking something but could not obtain it. Once [the parent] is buried, [one] should look ¶urried and restless, as if one is looking expectantly for someone who has not yet arrived. After a year’s mourning, [one] should look heart-broken. After two years’ mourning, [one] should look empty.23

The second half of the same chapter describes Yan Ding in the same manner. Yan Ding excelled at mourning. Right after [his parent] had died, he looked around in a startled fashion, as if he had something he was seeking but could not obtain. After [the corpse] was placed in the cof¤n, he looked about expectantly, as if he had someone he wanted to follow but could not catch up. After burial, he was broken-hearted, as if resting and not being able to await his or her return.24

Whether Yan actually performed these acts is impossible to say, but through a comparison of these two passages, it is obvious he is merely used to give a human face to these rigid ceremonial directives. Early medieval ¤lial piety stories served the same purpose: they were concrete illustrations of the Confucian rites in action. Many of the acts ¤lial children perform are found in the ritual codes, most particularly the Book of Rites. For example, its “Quli” chapter states, “A rule for all children is that in winter they must keep their parents warm; in summer they must keep them cool.”25 Two early medieval stories that illustrate this injunction are those of Huang Xiang (56–106) and Luo Wei (Eastern Han). “In the summer, [Huang] fanned his father’s bed and pillow; in the winter, he used his body to warm his father’s mat.” “Luo’s mother was seventy. In the winter, he would use his body to warm a mat and then afterwards would give her his place.”26 Again, the “Quli” chapter states that one should not shout at a dog in front of one’s honored guest; Bao Yong (1st cent.) divorced his wife when she shouted at a dog in front of his mother.27 The “Quli” says, “Do not remove your cap; do not bare your chest [even] when performing physical labor; do not lift up your lower garments [even] in the summer.”28 To prevent the nudity of nearby

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farm laborers from desecrating his mother’s tomb, Guo Yuanping (d. 479) sold his house and bought all the land that surrounded the tomb; during the summer, he wore a full set of clothes and worked the land himself.29 That Xiao Yi (508–554), Emperor Yuan of the Liang, asked to be buried with both an Accounts of Filial Offspring and the Book of Rites’ “Quli” chapter further intimates this tie between the Ru ritual codes and the ¤lial piety stories.30 In short, many of the ¤lial piety stories were models of how one should perform the Confucian rites. The Orality of the Filial Piety Stories The presence of miracles in the tales might suggest that ¤lial piety stories began as folktales; in other words, as oral narratives that are produced by and circulated among the lower classes. To be sure, some of the most famous and most reproduced ¤lial piety stories possess many of the characteristics of folktales, such as those of Shun, the sage king who did not hold a grudge against his murderous parents; Guo Ju; Dong Yong, who sold himself to pay the costs of his father’s burial; and Ding Lan, who treated a statue of his dead parent as if it were alive. Unlike the great majority of ¤lial exemplars who are historical personages, the protagonists of these tales are probably ¤ctional—they are extremely dif¤cult to locate historically. Although the tales’ creators generally identi¤ed Dong Yong as a native of Qiansheng Prefecture, three accounts place him elsewhere.31 When he lived is even murkier. It is equally dif¤cult to date the famous Guo Ju,32 to the extent that one scholar thinks he lived during the Western Han, whereas another places him during the Jin period (265–420)—a gap of almost three hundred years.33 Incidentally, despite their fame, none of these ¤gures has a biography in the period’s dynastic histories. Second, unlike other ¤lial piety narratives, these tales have a number of different variants. Although accounts tied to historical persons might differ slightly in some of their details, they usually reproduce the same version of a devoted child’s act and often employ the exact same language. Their transmission through written, ¤xed texts doubtlessly accounts for this consistency. The tales with ¤ctional heroes, on the other hand, are replete with variants. In early versions of the Ding Lan tale, the statue he carves is an image of his father; in later versions, it is his mother. In some versions, Ding’s long-suffering wife attacks his wooden “mother”; in others, the assailant is an aggrieved neighbor to whom the statue has somehow expressed its unwillingness to lend the household’s hoe or ax. In some versions, Ding punishes the assailant; in others, a supernatural

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phenomenon does the trick for him (see the appendix for this legend’s different versions and variants). Since oral tales have no ¤xed text, this might indicate why the Ding Lan story has so many versions. In fact, its range of variants strikingly resembles that found when researchers asked residents of Taipei in 1967–1968 to relate the story of “Grandaunt Tiger,” which most of the participants learned orally from a relative.34 Although the folkloric tales constitute a small minority of the narratives, they are the earliest and most popular. Almost all of the folkloric tales are depicted pictorially at the AD 151 Wu Liang shrine.35 Despite the existence of hundreds of ¤lial piety narratives, these were the ones most frequently used as decorative motifs. Moreover, whereas ¤lial piety tales tied to speci¤c historical ¤gures usually appear in only one Accounts of Filial Offspring, these folkloric accounts appear in many. Thus even though a small minority, they had an importance that far outweighed their number. Nevertheless, one must note that the Ding Lan story is exceptional in its many differing versions: most of the other folkloric stories have only limited differences from one source to another, which probably indicates that despite their humble origins, elite written culture had already entirely digested these tales. Elite Family Narratives The majority of early medieval ¤lial accounts were not folkloric, but rather emerged from an oral culture that was current among the learned elite. In wondering why a famous Qing scholar, Ji Yun (1724–1805), would compile a collection of ghost stories, Chan has shown how Ji gathered his tales through informal conversations about the supernatural with his friends, functionaries, and family members.36 In other words, a casual, oral culture was thriving in elite homes, in which friends or family members would swap tales of ghosts or extraordinary occurrences. One of the people who swapped tales at some point would write them down, add his own comments to each one, and then publish them in book form. This type of elite oral storytelling already existed in early medieval China. The skeptic Wang Chong (27–97) informs us, The nature of the worldly and vulgar is to be fond of fantastic and weird tales and delight in untrue and absurd writings. Why is this? Truthful matters do not delight their minds and only the absurd and frivolous surprise their ears and move their hearts. Consequently, gentlemen of talent and those who excel at discussions add to and exaggerate factual matters and make them

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into beautiful and resplendent stories; those who use brush and ink create baseless writings and untrue and absurd biographies. Listeners believe [these narratives] are true, and retell them constantly; readers take them as factual matters, and continuously transmit them. Since they are transmitted continuously, their words become recorded on bamboo and silk; since they are narrated without end, they wrongly enter the ears of the wise. It might reach the point where the emperor will call [a man who creates these absurd tales] “teacher” and be taught these false and vile theories, and where high and local of¤cials will read their untrue and absurd books.37

This passage makes it obvious that literate, upper-class people delighted in both hearing and reading extraordinary stories, which they would transmit both orally and in writing. Of great interest is the fact that Wang places oral and written transmissions on an equal footing—that is, he does not privilege writing and associates both with the literate class. Thus no matter whether they are oral or written in form, fantastic stories were equally likely to reach the ears and eyes of society’s highest people. Another source that sheds light on this oral culture is Tang Lin’s (ca. 600–659) Records of Miraculous Retribution (Mingbao ji), which is a collection of Buddhist miracle tales. Unlike early medieval collections of anecdotes that were largely based on written materials, this work endeavors to include only tales that had never before been recorded. As a result, more than any other, it gives us a sense of how medieval Chinese transmitted oral tales about the extraordinary. Family members, fellow high of¤cials, and monk acquaintances related the majority of this work’s tales to Tang. Lower-class people such as villagers, an acupuncture doctor, and boatmen gave him the remainder. He also mentions the circumstances under which he heard some of the tales. In one case a story was related to him while he sat with a group of of¤cials waiting for the emperor. In another, while sick in bed, a visiting fellow of¤cial tried to cheer him up with one.38 Thus both the testimony of Wang Chong and Tang Lin indicate that casual storytelling among the elite was just as prevalent in the early medieval period, if not more so, than in the Qing. This same casual, elite storytelling produced the ¤lial piety stories about historical exemplars. Household members, together with retainers and friends, doubtlessly exchanged oral tales about the virtuous exploits of the family’s prominent members and ancestors.39 The last line of the Qiu Jie story, which relates how his family treasured the medicine bowl for generations, gives us a vivid sense that his descendants passed on this story from generation to generation, long after his death. This same matrix

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probably generated many other ¤lial piety stories concerning contemporary historical persons. Although speculative, here is a way that this process might have worked. Literati familiar with the ritual codes would read about the ¤lial exploits of past exemplars. Then, when engaged in informal conversation, they would attribute the same exploits to a friend, patron, relative, or ancestor that was already known for his/her ¤liality. This is why early medieval men often depicted contemporary ¤gures performing the same ¤lial acts as famous past exemplars. For example, the Book of Rites tells us that when his father was sick and refused food, the young King Wu of the Zhou (11th cent. BC) would also refuse food. Only when his sick father ate would he eat.40 The Eastern Han tale of Ru Yu (2nd cent.) nearly replicates King Wu’s actions: when Ru was ¤ve years old, he would not eat or drink anything unless his sick mother did so. Even when she forced herself to eat and claimed to be better, he was still unwilling to eat.41 As time went on and the acts of exemplary ¤lial offspring became well known, relatives and friends would attribute those acts to their own prominent brethren or ancestors, which is why there are so many copycat emulations. What these accounts reveal, then, is not what actions these ¤gures actually performed, but how the people who were honoring them borrowed motifs from earlier accounts to describe their virtue. The Material Rewards of Outstanding Filiality Why would people concoct such tales about their prominent family members or ancestors? As Geary has pointed out, the purpose of hagiographic writing is rarely just didactic: “In a sense, the answer to the question Why did they [the hagiographers] write? is simple: they sought to glorify God. But in glorifying God, they also glorify the individual saint, the place he or she lived or was buried, the community where God chose to be glori¤ed through his saints. Glori¤cation is one of the major propagandist roles of hagiographic texts.”42 In the same manner, the obvious purpose of creating a ¤lial piety narrative is to call attention to ¤lial piety’s wonders. Attaching a family member’s name to a speci¤c tale glori¤es that individual and his/her family, which is why these accounts give such speci¤c information about the exemplar’s name and native place. For the creators of these stories, this was probably the tale’s most important part because it signaled that this family was noteworthy and superior to others.43 A reputation for ¤liality was important because it could earn a person and his/her family valuable political and social rewards. Throughout

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the Eastern Han, the primary means to secure public of¤ce was to be put forward by one’s locality as a man who was “¤lial and incorrupt” (xiaolian). Local of¤cials recommended men under this category supposedly due to their possession of exemplary ¤lial behavior. The importance of having a virtuous reputation to be recommended for public of¤ce led many men to perform extreme, or even fraudulent, acts to secure one.44 Having a ¤lial piety tale circulated about oneself would testify to one’s embodiment of this highly valued Confucian virtue, thereby facilitating his quest for public of¤ce. Wang Fu (¶. 150), a recluse and social critic, reveals that his contemporaries often gained of¤ce not on the basis of their merit, but rather through the in¶uence of their friends and patrons who would fabricate stories about their virtues, thus making them sound as if they were carbon copies of the virtuous Yan Hui. These false testimonies would then be included in a candidate’s “behavioral dossier” (xingzhuang), which established his credentials for holding public of¤ce.45 In other words, the people who created the dossier were his political allies who had an interest in embellishing his credentials. This close connection between having a virtuous reputation and access to of¤ce probably explains why so many famous ¤lial sons were Eastern Han men. In the succeeding Six Dynasties period, even though the use of the “¤lial and incorrupt” recommendation category as a means of entry into the government dropped precipitously, having a reputation for ¤lial piety was still an important means for being summoned to public service. By the Western Jin (265–317), since the government now predominately distributed public of¤ce based on one’s family pedigree, the actual content of “behavioral dossiers” became much less important than before.46 Similarly, by the Eastern Jin (317–420), the “¤lial and incorrupt” recommendation category became a secondary means for obtaining public of¤ce, to the extent that only members of lesser elite families, often called “cold gate [families]” (hanmen), would deign to enter government by this means.47 Still, for members of these lower-ranking families, exemplary ¤liality was a means into the bureaucracy and possibly higher status. Of the thirteen Southern Dynasties (317–581) “¤lial and incorrupt” candidates that we know about, ¤ve were famous ¤lial sons.48 The small number of known candidates underscores, though, how unimportant this recommendation category had become. Nonetheless, a ¤lial son did not necessarily have to enter government in this manner—government of¤cials could directly summon him to of¤ce. “Biographies of the Filial” in dynastic histories indicate that this happened often. For example, the famous ¤lial son Wang Xiang was a recluse for over thirty years. Despite

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frequent summons from local of¤cials to take of¤ce, he refused them all. Finally, already advanced in age, he accepted an of¤ce from the regional inspector and eventually became one of the highest-ranking members of the government.49 Furthermore, governments frequently offered posts to the sons of famous ¤lial paragons.50 Even if one did not receive public of¤ce, a reputation for ¤liality could still earn one’s family many privileges and rewards. The government might honor ¤lial offspring in the following ways: by putting a banner in front of their village, attaching a plaque to their compound’s gate, erecting a commemorative stele, or even changing the village’s name to re¶ect that a ¤lial child had lived there. The government might provide material rewards as well. Often, the household of a ¤lial exemplar would be exempted from taxes for a certain period of time. Its members might also receive gifts and titles from the emperor. For instance, in response to the extraordinary ¤liality of Yu Qimin (d. 458), the government put a banner in front of his village and a stele in front of his tomb, remitted his family from the cloth and land tax for three generations, gave his mother one hundred sacks of grain, and changed the name of his village to “Hamlet of the ¤lial and Righteous.”51 In short, there were many incentives to establish one’s name through ¤lial acts and, perhaps even more importantly, through stories about one’s ¤liality. Legitimacy through Hidden Merit Beyond the immediate aim of gaining public of¤ce or material rewards, telling ¤lial piety stories about a family’s prominent member or ancestor was important because it legitimated that family’s privileged position within local society. These tales did so by revealing that an elite family owed its position to its ancestors’ “hidden merit” (yinde). By the end of the ¤rst century BC, people commonly believed that due to their ancestors’ vast accumulation of good deeds, some families enjoyed much greater success than others. These good deeds were called “hidden merit” because they were not publicized. Nevertheless, the spirit world took note of them and rewarded their authors and their descendents generation after generation. After narrating the meritorious acts and lofty honors that the Yuan family continuously enjoyed, Cai Yong remarked, “If you seek after the origin of their original blessing and how they have reached this point today, it is because of the merit that their ancestors have accumulated, and because hidden merit will be openly rewarded.”52 Hidden merit was a powerful idea because it could explain why evildoers

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might go unpunished in life, while good people might meet with disaster.53 Due to the popularity of this idea, Fan Yan, an elder brother of the famous historian Fan Ye (398–445), even compiled a work called Accounts of [those who accumulate] Hidden Merit (Yinde zhuan). Re¶ecting how common this belief was, early medieval Taoists believed that one inherited the sins of one’s ancestors (chengfu) or even one’s lord, if you were either his retainer or servant.54 Hence those who wanted to attain immortality had to ¤rst make sure that their ancestors had their sins absolved and were comfortably transferred to heaven.55 Chen Ch’i-yün indicates that one of Xun Yue’s (148–209) most important purposes in writing the Records of the Han (Han ji) was to show that the Han imperial family had much more hidden merit than any of its potential rivals—that is, it was the only family that had enough virtue to rule China.56 Obviously, then, stories about ¤lial ancestors were a simple and effective means of justifying one’s family’s prominence in a locality. In a number of ways one can discern that ¤lial piety stories illustrated that a family’s position was based on its ancestors’ hidden merit. First, at least a few of the protagonists of these tales were the ¤rst member of the family to gain regional, if not national, prominence. For instance, the famous ¤lial sons Wang Xiang, Yan Han (¶. 317–342), Chen Shi (104– 187), and Wei Biao (d. 89) were all among the ¤rst noteworthy members of their families.57 Second, the tale’s protagonists usually belonged to at least locally powerful families. After recounting the ¤lial exploits of Wei Tong (¶. 6–2 BC) and Wu Shun, the fourth-century Records of the States South of Mount Hua (Huayang guozhi) tells us that the Wei and Wu clans were among their district’s most powerful lineages (daxing, “great surnames”).58 This same source tells us that the ¤lial son Jiang Shi (¶. AD 60) owned six hundred mu of land, which would make him a fairly wealthy landowner.59 Just in the Eastern Han period alone it is clear that many other ¤lial sons came from powerful families as well.60 Moreover, according to Xing, of the 265 “¤lial and incorrupt” candidates (from the Eastern Han and Three Kingdoms periods) for whom we have biographical information, only eighteen were said to be poor, and not a few of these men were from prominent families that had fallen on hard times. Indeed, most “¤lial and incorrupt” candidates came from families that were both wealthy and had produced of¤cials in the past—52 percent of the candidates had relatives that were of¤cials, many of whom were of the highest rank. In other words, “¤lial and incorrupt” candidates, many of whom were the protagonists of the ¤lial piety tales, tended to come from Han China’s most in¶uential families.61

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Third, a few of the ¤lial piety tales themselves intimate that a speci¤c family is enjoying the roots of success planted by a ¤lial ancestor. For example, after narrating how Yang Gong, a poor man, used his supernatural reward to marry the daughter of an illustrious family, we read, “They gave birth to ten sons who had perfect virtue and extraordinary brilliance. They all reached the positions of nobles or ministers. Today the various Yangs of the right side of Beiping are his descendents.”62 This tale’s function is obviously to explain why the Yangs of Beiping have enjoyed such great success. Likewise, the Qiu Jie story, which was transmitted long after his death, was almost certainly meant to explain his family’s prosperity. Indeed, during the Six Dynasties period, the Wuxing Wucheng Qius was one of great lineages of southeastern China.63 In short, many of these stories were propaganda that powerful families would circulate about themselves to indicate why they were worthy of the privileges and luxuries they enjoyed. Since these tales were probably created for the consumption of the larger community, how were they transmitted beyond the family? Transmission to the Wider World Besides word of mouth, behavioral dossiers and epitaphs oftentimes transmitted ¤lial piety tales to the larger community. Behavioral dossiers were probably one of the ¤rst places where such narratives were recorded. The authors of these documents were primarily interested in the moral conduct and learning of a candidate for public of¤ce. In the Eastern Han, a local of¤cial who wanted to recommend a candidate to of¤ce would create this document. During the Six Dynasties, the recti¤er (zhongzheng) would put the dossier together from materials that the candidate furnished. Lu Yaodong thinks the early medieval period produced so many biographies precisely because these documents were so numerous.64 Nevertheless, since the dossiers would have been primarily passed among government of¤cials who were considering candidates for of¤ce, their circulation would have been rather limited. Epitaphs were another type of document in which oral accounts of a person’s extraordinary conduct would have been recorded. As Liu Xie (ca. 465–532) makes clear, the overriding purpose of eulogies was to manifest and immortalize the virtuous conduct of the deceased.65 These documents, which were prone to embellishment and exaggeration of the deceased’s virtues, would have been the perfect forum to jot down tales about his or her outstanding conduct.66 If someone famous wrote the eulogy, it could also be circulated widely as part of his collected works; otherwise, though, one

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would not expect the epitaph to be known to many outside the vicinity of the deceased’s tomb. How a person’s ¤lial exploits usually came to be known is through works called “separate biographies” (biezhuan), which were especially popular from AD 200 to 400. Separate biographies were accounts written by a relative, in-law, retainer, or admirer and were probably based on either the subject’s behavioral dossier or his epitaph.67 Other sources for these works included autobiographical materials compiled by the biography’s subject.68 Unlike of¤cial biographies in the dynastic histories, separate biographies devote a great deal of attention to the subject’s childhood and personal life and are much more focused on the subject’s character. They usually mention the subject’s name, native place, ancestors, of¤cial posts, death date, and evaluations of his character, as well as anecdotes that describe his persona.69 A similar form of writing was the family biography (jiazhuan), which consisted of accounts devoted to an eminent family’s most noteworthy members. Tang historian Liu Zhiji’s (661–721) explanation of the reasons for writing family histories doubtlessly holds true for the separate biographies as well. He tells us, “Lofty families and their resplendent descendents accumulate merit for generations. A talented son who receives [the management of] the house desires to make manifest his parents’ accomplishments. Due to this, he records the noteworthy acts of his ancestors to make them known to the generations to come.”70 In other words, the purpose behind these histories was to show that the family possessed “hidden merit” and that recent ancestors have accumulated even more. The heir thereby uses these documents to try to maintain the family’s prestige. Hence Xiao Gang, Emperor Jianwen of the Liang (r. 550–552), on the occasion of his older brother’s death, compiled a separate biography of him so that he could make known his brother’s virtuous deeds.71 Since the primary motive of writing this type of biography was to glorify its subject and add to the family’s luster, it is no wonder that tales about an ancestor’s virtue would be included and celebrated in such works. That ¤lial piety stories would become known through separate biographies or family biographies is due to the fact that these works were doubtlessly circulated more widely than either epitaphs or behavioral dossiers. Early medieval historians’ dependence on these works underscores their importance. For example, of the two hundred works that Pei Songzhi (372–451) relied on to construct his commentary to the History of the Three Kingdoms (Sanguo zhi), ¤fty are either separate biographies or family biographies.72 Liu Jun’s commentary to New Tales of Worldly Persuasions makes

The Narratives

use of eighty-nine different separate biographies, and Imperial Survey of the Taiping Era (Taiping yulan) uses 106.73 In compiling his Lives of Eminent Monks (Gaoseng zhuan), the monk Hui Jiao (d. 554) used separate biographies extensively.74 Many famous ¤lial children were subjects of separate biographies: from those quoted in extant works, we know that at least nine famous exemplary offspring had such works devoted to them.75 Since the separate biographies quoted in extant works probably represent only a small portion of those that existed, many more famous ¤lial children were probably the subjects of such books. Moreover, many famous ¤lial children were doubtlessly included in their family biographies. We know, for example, that Yang Gong was included in his family’s A Narration of the Yang Clan’s Geneaology (Yangshi puxu).76 Unfortunately, as Liu Zhiji pointed out, since these works concerned only members of one family, they tended to disappear when the family was no longer prominent.77 Perhaps this is why the imperial library, and thereby the dynastic histories’ bibliographic chapters, contained none of the separate biographies and only a few of the family biographies. By including ¤lial piety tales in biographies of famous men from a particular locality, early medieval authors expanded the reach of the narratives. These works were usually called Accounts of Former Worthies (Xianxian zhuan) or Accounts of [Virtuous] Elders (Qijiu zhuan), which were current in China from about AD 100 to 400. Nearly all of these works was associated with a speci¤c area that was identi¤ed in its title, such as The Past Worthies of Runan or The [Virtuous] Elders of Chenliu. Their authors were predominately members of famous native families of that region. Most obviously, these books aimed to glorify the region by demonstrating that its superior physical environment produced good social customs among its people, which was evident in its many outstanding local notables.78 To this end, these works often incorporated tales of exemplary children. Watabe maintains that “elders” and “worthies” were merely euphemisms for powerful clans and that these works were written to reveal the region’s outstanding families.79 If correct, this would once again intimate that famous ¤lial sons were usually the scions of local elite families. Like family biographies, though, their appeal was largely limited to the area that produced them. As Liu Zhiji put it, “They praise their canton’s worthies; they beautify their country’s lineages. If you distribute them within that country, they are circulated widely; if you place them in another area, you rarely hear of anyone that loves to hear about [its] remarkable [features].”80 Even so, that commentators such as Pei Songzhi and Liu Jun extensively quoted these works suggests their circulation went well beyond their home district.

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Selfless Offspring

Geographical works also circulated ¤lial piety tales. As Chittick has shown, these works begin to appear in the Eastern Han and continued to be produced in large numbers throughout the early medieval period. They were primarily composed of what he calls “locality stories”—that is, short anecdotes used to describe a place’s local aura (feng) and customs (su). Especially important in these works are entries on tombs, stele, and shrines because they connect noteworthy people with speci¤c locations within the region.81 Local ¤lial piety narratives often found their way into this type of work. In Li Daoyuan’s (472–527) Commentary on the Classic of Waterways (Shuijing zhu), for instance, the anecdotes are recounted in connection with the tombs of outstanding ¤lial offspring or steles that commemorate their ¤lial exploits.82 As we shall see in the next chapter, the authors of Accounts of Filial Offspring also frequently wrote geographical works. This type of writing offers the best opportunity to view stories about ¤lial heroes that circulated in speci¤c localities but did not necessarily attain national fame. Conclusion Despite the fact that ¤lial piety stories appear to have folkloric qualities, this chapter has shown that very few of them stemmed from the oral culture of commoners; instead, most originated from elite storytelling. Family members, retainers, and friends would tell extraordinary tales about the virtues of a family’s most prominent member, which would then be incorporated into that person’s “behavioral dossier.” This, in turn, would be submitted to the government to aid that ¤gure in being considered for an of¤cial position, or it would become incorporated into his epitaph. In either case, the purpose of the story was to enhance the prestige of the family and suggest that its privileged position within local society was due to the treasury of merit that its ancestors had accumulated. These stories, which were ¤rst fabricated for local consumption, soon found a wider audience. To add more luster to a family’s name, kin, retainers, or friends would write a separate biography devoted to one of the prominent individuals of that family. This private biography, which would emphasize the person’s moral virtues and special character, served to spread knowledge of the subject’s extraordinary deeds to audiences beyond his/her locality. By incorporating these accounts into biographies of regional worthies, other literati would emphasize the importance and noteworthiness of their own region versus that of others. Hence tales designed to glorify a particular family could be conveniently used to glorify

The Narratives

a particular region as well. The authors of geographical works found these stories useful as well because they could be used to show that a particular region’s sublime environment produced men of excellent moral quality. All of these sources—separate biographies, family histories, accounts of regional worthies, and geographical works—in turn became the source materials for collections of ¤lial piety tales, which we will now examine.

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3

Accounts of Filial Offspring Models for Emulation

A

lthough numerous individual ¤lial piety stories might have been created to further the ambitions or legitimate the power of a particular elite family, the accounts took on a different type of signi¤cance when literati gathered and circulated them as books. The creation of such works, which were frequently titled Accounts of Filial Offspring, attests to the high value that Chinese attached to ¤lial piety and the narratives that illustrated it. The compilers of these collections used them to disseminate the ¤lial piety stories to an even wider audience. But when exactly did the Accounts of Filial Offspring ¤rst appear? Who were their compilers and audience? What were the goals behind their compilation? Two assumptions have obscured the early history of Accounts of Filial Offspring and an understanding of their purposes and audiences. The ¤rst is that Liu Xiang (77–6 BC), the originator of the Accounts of Outstanding Women, also created the subgenre of Accounts of Filial Offspring. This assumption is based on the existence of fragments from a text titled Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring (Liu Xiang Xiaozi tu). The second assumption is that ¤lial piety narratives are fairy tales meant for young children. Modern scholars have come to this conclusion for three reasons: ¤rst, the simplicity and melodramatic nature of the tales suggests that they were selected to appeal to the ignorant and uneducated. Second, the most famous collection of ¤lial piety tales, Guo Jujing’s Poems on the Twenty-four Filial Exemplars, was expressly compiled for children. Both it and the works it inspired became staples of children’s literature. Third, due to the fact that many of the anecdotes’ protagonists are children, the tales’ intended audience must have been children who could identify with the narratives’ heroes.1 This chapter will prove that such assumptions are fallacious. After underlining the doubtful authenticity of Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring, 46

Accounts of Filial Offspring

I will suggest that the ¤rst Accounts of Filial Offspring appeared in the Eastern Han, but that these texts became popular only in the Northern and Southern Dynasties period. By looking at archaeological evidence, we will then move on to the question of the Accounts’ audience. We will see that the tales’ consumers included many of¤cials and members of the nobility. To ascertain the aims and audience of these works, the chapter’s ¤nal section will look at the goals and functions of other, better-known works that were part of the same genre of biographies of exemplars. By this means I will demonstrate that Accounts of Filial Offspring were indeed no different in kind than other works of this genre—that is, their purpose was to present educated adults with moral exemplars after whom they could model themselves. The Spuriousness of Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring The fragments of a work titled Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring have long bedeviled researchers of the ¤lial piety stories.2 If this work is authentic, then Accounts of Filial Offspring already existed at the end of the Western Han; if fake, then the ¤rst known work of this subgenre appears as late as the Eastern Jin (317–420). Through a combination of internal and external evidence, this section will show that the work was indeed a forgery and probably materialized only in the latter half of the Six Dynasties. Simply put, the evidence for Liu Xiang’s authorship of this text is negligible and late. Neither the ¤rst-century AD History of the Han (Han shu) biography of Liu nor its bibliographic chapter mention his compilation of this text.3 In fact, the earliest work that attributes its authorship to Liu is a Buddhist encyclopedia, The Dharma Garden and Pearl Forest (Fayuan zhulin) (AD 668), which quotes four of its stories.4 Another reference occurs in the examination answers of Li Lingchen (ca. 710) and Xu Nanrong (ca. 710), where both list the creators of the various types of collective biographies of exemplars. In a passage that is identical in content, if not exact wording, to that of Xu, Li wrote, The Accounts of the Capital’s Outstanding Elders (Jingzhao qilao zhuan) was created by Emperor Guangwu; the Accounts of Chenliu’s Immortals (Chenliu shenxian zhuan) began with Ruan Cang; Liu Xiang crafted the Tableaus of Filial Offspring (Xiaozi tu); Liang Hong originated the Records of Recluses (Yiren ji).5

Since Li and Xu were unlikely to assert new theories in examination papers, their answers indicate that by the early Tang many of the learned commonly assumed that Liu Xiang created the ¤rst Accounts of Filial Offspring.

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In sum, the ¤rst known testimony to his creation of this work comes some 670 years after his death. Yet this notion that Liu created the Accounts of Filial Offspring subgenre did not go unchallenged. The historian Liu Zhiji, a contemporary of Li Lingchen, put forth a similar list of collective biographies’ originators, but he credits Xu Guang (352–425) for being the ¤rst author of an Accounts of Filial Offspring, not Liu Xiang.6 Furthermore, when lambasting Liu Xiang’s works for intentionally spreading falsehoods, Liu Zhiji mentions many of Liu Xiang’s other books, but not his Tableaus of Filial Offspring.7 Since a text attributed to Liu Xiang was in circulation during Liu Zhiji’s day, the latter must have known of the text. He probably did not mention it because he did not believe it was Liu Xiang’s work; had he believed so, he would have condemned it along with the rest of Liu Xiang’s anecdotal works. Perhaps this is why the bibliographic chapters of the dynastic histories do not mention the text.8 A few anecdotes from Li Yanshou’s (612–678) History of the Southern Dynasties (Nan shi) that mention a Tableaus of Filial Offspring hint at this work’s late origins. The ¤rst anecdote concerns Wang Ci (5th cent.) when he was eight years old. To judge the boy’s prospects, his maternal grandfather, Liu Yigong, the prince of Jiangxi, spread before the child various objects and urged him to choose what he liked. The boy chose a lute, inkstone, and a Tableaus of Filial Offspring, thereby gaining his grandfather’s esteem.9 In short, like lutes and inkstones, Tableaus of Filial Offspring was something a re¤ned gentleman would possess. The second anecdote, which concerns a Southern Qi noble named Xiao Feng, tells us that princes could not read heterodox books: the only works allowed to them were the Five Classics and Tableaus of Filial Offspring.10 This story unintentionally underlines the importance of the Accounts of Filial Offspring—the court recognized these works as being on par with the Five Classics as teaching tools. Signi¤cant, too, is the fact that both anecdotes connect Tableaus of Filial Offspring with children. Nonetheless, neither of these anecdotes proves that Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring already existed in the ¤fth century. An earlier text, Xiao Zixian’s (489–537) History of the Southern Qi (Nan Qi shu), contains biographies of both Wang Ci and Xiao Feng. The History of the Southern Qi’s version of the Wang Ci anecdote matches that found in the History of the Southern Dynasties word for word, except for one crucial difference—it is missing the characters “and the Tableaus of Filial Offspring.”11 Similarly, Xiao Feng’s History of the Southern Qi biography completely lacks the anecdote that mentions Tableaus of Filial Offspring.12 What accounts for these

Accounts of Filial Offspring

discrepancies? One probable explanation is that when Xiao Zixian compiled History of the Southern Qi, Tableaus of Filial Offspring had yet to be written or was not yet well known, or he deemed it unimportant. However, when compiling History of the Southern Dynasties over a hundred years later, Li Yanshou added Tableaus of Filial Offspring to the lute and inkstone that Wang Ci had to select because in Li’s day it had become something all young gentlemen should read. As for the biography of Xiao Feng, it could be that Li Yanshou used another, later source to supply that story.13 Although the History of the Southern Dynasties accounts fail to show that Tableaus of Filial Offspring existed in the ¤fth century, they add further proof that such a work was popular in seventh-century upper-class circles. Note that neither of these anecdotes, though, connects this work with Liu Xiang. As for internal evidence, modern scholars who have questioned the authenticity of the Liu Xiang work have pointed out that one of its surviving fragments identi¤es Dong Yong as a man of the Former Han (QianHan). Since Liu lived in the Western Han, how could he know that there would be a subsequent Han dynasty? Consequently, they conclude that someone who lived after Liu wrote the story.14 Nevertheless, it could be that the addition of the word “former” (qian) to the word “Han” was merely a copyist’s error, which later encyclopedias reproduced.15 However, even more substantive internal evidence suggests that Tableaus of Filial Offspring is indeed a later work. By comparing its version of the sage-king Shun tale with those found in bona ¤de Liu Xiang works such as Accounts of Oustanding Women and The New Narratives, we can gain a sense of whether the same author penned all three versions. Since the same man supposedly wrote, or at least edited, all of them, one would expect them to be similar to each other. Although the wording and details of the Shun narrative in both texts are by no means identical, their overall plots closely resemble each other. After initially listing the vices of Shun’s parents and half brother, both indicate that despite the enmity shown towards him, Shun served his family well. Whereas Accounts of Outstanding Women narrates in full how his family conspired to kill him while he was painting a barn and deepening a well, The New Narratives mentions these incidents only brie¶y. Both versions stress that although his parents were attempting to assassinate him, he still thought of nothing other than pleasing them. The New Narratives then describes the bene¤cial effect that Shun had on the people of Mount Li.16 The two accounts differ only insofar as they have different goals: Accounts of Outstanding Women glori¤es the perfect conduct of the daughters of the sage-king Yao, while The New

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Narratives glori¤es how Shun’s ¤lial piety transformed the behavior of the Mount Li people. The description of Shun’s life in Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring fundamentally differs from these two accounts. It reads, When Shun’s father began to lose his sight, he became befuddled to the point where he agreed with his second wife’s words. Shun hid in the cavity of the well. At home, Shun’s father was in poor ¤nancial straits. He lived in a market town. While sleeping one night, he dreamt that he saw a phoenix, which called itself “rooster.” It held rice in its mouth and used it to feed him. It said the rooster is one of your descendants. [Shun’s father] gazed at it and recognized it as a phoenix. He used Dream Book of the Yellow Emperor to divine this dream. This descendent will be a worthy one. Shun also divined its meaning with the same results. Every year, the rice that Shun’s father bought contained coins. This had to be the work of Shun. For three days and nights, Shun’s father looked up to heaven and confessed his sins. Upon reaching this point, he listened to the voice of the man from whom he usually bought things. It sounded like that of his dead son. Shun came in front of him and licked his eyes. Shun’s father’s eyes suddenly opened and could see. [Shun’s act] moved and broke the hearts of the people of the market; the great sage’s perfection of the way of ¤liality [touched] the intelligent spirits.17

Strikingly, the scenes of Shun’s relatives trying to murder him, which are central to the version in Accounts of Outstanding Women, are unimportant— the barn incident is not even mentioned. Moreover, Shun’s father is never referred to by name, but is said to be literally blind. In contrast, both The New Narratives and Accounts of Outstanding Women call the father Gusou, which literally means “blind one,” but in these texts his blindness seems to be ¤gurative rather than literal, in the sense that he cannot see right from wrong.18 Additionally, unlike the bucolic setting of The New Narratives and Accounts of Outstanding Women tales, all the action in this account takes place in a market town. Elements such as the dream, Shun’s clandestine support of his father while selling him rice, Gusou’s confession of his sins, and the miracle of Shun healing his blindness are completely absent from the earlier accounts.19 These arresting dissimilarities signal that someone other than Liu Xiang wrote Tableaus of Filial Offspring. In fact, this version of the Shun legend is so abrupt and incomplete that it makes sense only when one reads later versions of the story. According to these later narratives, after Shun escaped his parents’ attempts to kill

Accounts of Filial Offspring

him at the barn and in the well, he ¶ed to Mount Li, where he began farming. While everyone else was experiencing a famine, Shun had a bumper crop. After trying to kill Shun, his father went blind and his stepmother became stupid. Without recognizing him, at the market the stepmother on several occasions bought rice from Shun, who would use the opportunity to mix money in with the rice he sold her or would refuse payment. After this happened numerous times, Gusou suspected that this was his son. He thereupon went to the market and discovered that it was indeed true. Shun then wiped the tears from his father’s eyes, immediately restoring his sight. The sage-king Yao heard of this and gave his two daughters in marriage to Shun.20 Although the version in Tableaus of Filial Offspring still differs from the later accounts, it resembles them far more than the versions in Accounts of Outstanding Women and The New Narratives. One common element that Tableaus of Filial Offspring shares with the story’s later versions is its emphasis of the fact that after his father tried to murder him at the well, Shun lived apart from his father and yet still endeavored to materially support him. The Tableaus of Filial Offspring version implies that, in line with the later narratives, Shun is living on Mount Li after having escaped his relative’s plots. In early versions of the story, though, Shun’s stay on Mount Li is not at all related to his family’s attempts to murder him. The great historian Sima Qian (ca. 145–ca. 86 BC) places Gusou’s attempts to murder his son at the granary well after Shun had already lived on Mount Li for three years; his stay there is merely one of the many tests by which he proved himself worthy of becoming Yao’s successor.21 In a number of early narratives, Shun’s stay on Mount Li is important because he morally transforms the behavior of the people living there.22 The ¤rst extant text to link his parents’ attempts on his life and his living on Mount Li is the ¤rst-century AD History of Yue’s Destruction [of Wu] (Yue jue shu), which says, “Shun had a natural father and a stepmother. His mother repeatedly wanted to kill Shun. He departed to till Mount Li. Within three years he had a bumper crop. Away from home he nurtured himself, but his parents went hungry.”23 Note that this version criticizes Shun because while he was enjoying a bountiful harvest on Mount Li, he did nothing to care for his parents. Hence although this version is closer to the later ones, it is still quite different from Tableaus of Filial Offspring. The miracle of Shun curing his father’s blindness also points to the later origin of Tableaus of Filial Offspring. Since none of the early versions of the tale say anything about Gusou’s blindness, they also lack the miracle of Shun curing his father’s ailment, which is an essential element of all the

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later versions. Not only is this miracle absent from earlier versions, it is also qualitatively different from the story’s other fantastic occurrences. In early versions of the tale, Shun saves himself from his parents’ plots in ways that do not require supernatural intervention;24 however, Shun’s act of curing his father’s illness is accomplished through a miracle. By indicating that Shun’s unsurpassed ¤lial piety caused the spirits to help cure his father, the last line of Tableaus of Filial Offspring text makes this abundantly clear.25 As Nishino has indicated, the miracle of curing parents’ blindness is common among Six Dynasties ¤lial piety tales.26 A ¤fth-century lacquered cof¤n from Ningxia further intimates the later provenance of the Shun tale in Tableaus of Filial Offspring. This cof¤n’s exterior was adorned with eight scenes of the Shun story: 1) Shun’s stepmother setting ¤re to the barn while he is repairing the roof; 2) Shun’s father and half brother ¤lling with stones the well in which Shun is hiding; 3) Shun escaping from his neighbor’s well; 4) Gusou losing his sight; 5) Shun’s stepmother carrying ¤rewood to the market to sell; 6) Shun buying her ¤rewood for twenty times its worth; 7) Gusou desiring to go to the marketplace to meet Shun; 8) Shun speaking with his father, who immediately regains his sight.27 Scenes four through eight are completely alien to classical versions of the story but closely mirror the plot of later versions of the Shun tale. Although the scenes do not exactly correspond to the Tableaus of Filial Offspring tale, clearly the latter is a variant of this illustrated version. Since the great majority of Han dynasty texts no longer exist, one cannot absolutely discard the possibility that Liu Xiang wrote an Accounts of Filial Offspring, but the extant evidence shows that it is unlikely. We can positively say, though, that Liu Xiang was not the author of what we know as Tableaus of Filial Offspring. The ¤rst positive evidence of this work’s existence appears only in the seventh century. So at its earliest, Tableaus of Filial Offspring might have been created in the sixth century and became widely disseminated in the seventh. Since the association of Liu’s name with this work is the only piece of evidence that he created it, this attribution is almost certainly wrong. But if he did not create the ¤rst Accounts of Filial Offspring, who did? Early Pictorial Evidence of Accounts of Filial Offspring Archaeological evidence suggests that by the second century AD a recognized pantheon of celebrated ¤lial offspring already existed. The evidence consists of images of ¤lial piety tales that adorn Eastern Han funerary shrines, tombs, and grave goods. These objects are usually embellished not

Accounts of Filial Offspring

with of just one image of a ¤lial piety story, but many.28 These images, moreover, are nearly always arrayed next to each other in the same or adjacent registers. As table 1 indicates, despite the geographical distance that separated them, the ¤lial offspring depicted in the artifacts are largely identical. Table 1: Filial Children on Eastern Han Artifacts

Shun Min Ziqian Zengzi Lao Laizi Ding Lan Xing Qu Dong Yong Bo Yu Li Shan Wei Tang The Filial Crow Yuan Gu Zhang Xiaomu Zhu Ming Jin Midi Sanzhou Xiaoren Yang Gong Zhao Xun Shen Sheng

Wu Shrines, Shandong Pictorial Stones

Helinge’er, Mongolia Murals

Baisha, Henan Pictorial Stone

(√)1 √ √ √ √ √ √ √ √ √ √ √ √ √ √ √ √ √

√ √ √

√

√ √

√ √

Lelang, N. Korea Lacquered Basket

Leshan, Sichuan Pictorial Stone

Dawenkou, Shandong Pictorial Stone

√

Murakami Mirror

√ √

√

√ √ √ √ √

√ √

√ √ √

√

(√)2

√ √ √

√

√

√ √

1. Two Chinese archaeologists posit that a hitherto unidentified carving at the Wu Liang shrine is that of Shun going up the roof of a barn that his stepmother is about to burn down. Although there is no accompanying inscription, this identification seems entirely plausible. See Jiang Yingju and Wu Wenqi, Handai Wushi muqun shike yanjiu (Jinan: Shandong meishu, 1995), 76–77, and plate 31. Cited in Kuroda, Kôshiden no kenkyû, 188. Kuroda has further identified three more Eastern Han images of this story. See his “Jûka zeigo,” in Ronshû Taiheiki no jidai, ed. Hasegawa Tadaishi (Tokyo: Shindensha, 2004), 412–415. 2. The iconographical features of one of the images at Dawenkou obviously are those of the Dong Yong story. Nevertheless, the inscription that accompanies the image misidentifies it as that of Zhao Xun. See Wang Entian, “Taian Dawenkou han huaxiangshi lishi gushi kao,” Wenwu 12 (1992): 73–78.

Of the seven artifacts, ¤ve have images of the tales of Yuan Gu, Ding Lan, and Min Ziqian; four have the stories of Xing Qu and Bo Yu; and three have Zengzi, Dong Yong, Wei Tang,29 and Li Shan. In fact, only the Wu

53

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Selfless Offspring

family shrines have many tales that the others lack. This is probably because the shrines have so many more depictions of the stories than any other artifact, not because they were working with a different pantheon of exemplars. Not only are the ¤lial offspring largely the same, but they are also portrayed uniformly. Representations of the Dong Yong narrative, no matter where they are found, show him holding an agricultural implement while looking at his father, who is sitting on a one-wheeled cart under a tree30 (see ¤gs. 1 and 2). Likewise, depictions of the Yuan Gu tale always show his abandoned grandfather sitting on the ground while Yuan, holding a litter in one hand, remonstrates with his father. Although the details of the images on each artifact might differ slightly, the overall scene and gestures remain the same. Given the tremendous geographical and cultural distance that separated Sichuan from Henan and Shandong, much less Korea, if these images were based on oral stories, one would expect that the ¤lial offspring depicted would differ immensely per region. Moreover, one would imagine that even renditions of the same story would vary greatly. That the ¤lial offspring images have such a degree of uniformity is remarkable. What accounts for it? Wu Hung believes that the images of ¤lial children at the Wu Liang shrine were based on an Accounts of Filial Offspring rather than oral tradition. He makes this judgment in part because other images at the shrine were copied from written sources31 and in part because one can ¤nd all of the shrine’s ¤lial piety stories in later Accounts of Filial Offspring. He thus concludes that “[t]hese carvings, in fact, can be viewed as the earliest and most complete surviving version of the Xiaozi zhuan.”32 He goes so far as to say that the images were based on an updated version of Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring. Although mistaken on the latter point, Wu is right in believing that the images at the Wu Liang shrine were based on a written text, which was probably an early Accounts of Filial Offspring. The uniformity of the Eastern Han images leaves no doubt that they were copied from the same or a derivative written text. Further con¤rmation comes from the cartouches with inscriptions that accompany the ¤lial piety stories at the shrine. The inscription identifying the Dong Yong tale consists of six characters that tell us whence he hailed: “Dong Yong, a man from Qiansheng.” Since most other inscriptions merely say who the character is or contain a brief description of the story, this identi¤cation seems quite strange. Upon looking at Accounts of Filial Offspring entries on Dong Yong, though, this line begins to make sense, because both Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring

Accounts of Filial Offspring

Fig. 1: Dong Yong caring for his father. Carving on Shen family stone tower. Quxian, Sichuan. Eastern Han. Courtesy of Wenwu Chubanshe.

Fig. 2: Dong Yong caring for his father. Carving on pictorial stone. Wu Liang Shrine. Jiaxiang, Shandong, AD 151. Courtesy of Foreign Languages Press.

and Zheng Jizhi’s Accounts of Filial Offspring begin with this same biographical statement.33 A plausible explanation for this unusual inscription would be that the person inscribing the text merely copied the ¤rst line of Accounts of Filial Offspring with which he was working. In the same vein, upon examining the shrine’s Lao Laizi inscription with existing texts of this tale, one ¤nds that although not exactly the same, the language and

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Selfless Offspring

content are close indeed.34 Thus although the depiction of ¤lial piety stories at the Wu Liang shrine is not an Accounts of Filial Offspring in itself since only ¤ve of the seventeen images are accompanied by text, they were almost certainly derived from an early, unknown work of this type, one that probably had images as well as text. Recent research adds even more credence to the Eastern Han existence of an Accounts of Filial Offspring. Lin has noted that the order of ¤lial exemplars found at the Wu Liang shrine closely matches that of their counterparts at the Helinge’er tomb in Mongolia. Furthermore, this order of exemplars nearly reproduces that found in the two Accounts of Filial Offspring that have survived in Japan. In other words, the ¤lial images found at the Wu Liang shrine and the Helinge’er tomb, as well as the two manuscripts, probably all were based on a common ancestor—that is, an Accounts of Filial Offspring that existed during the Eastern Han.35 Using iconographical evidence, Kuroda further strengthens this point. He notes that two Han iconographical mysteries are cleared up only by reference to later Accounts of Filial Offspring. First, many of the Eastern Han depictions of the Min Ziqian tale show Min’s younger stepbrother driving his family’s cart. No Han accounts of this tale make note of this detail. However, both Shi Jueshou’s Accounts of Filial Offspring and Yômei Xiaozi zhuan do; moreover, the four characters they use to do so are the same as those found in an Eastern Han cartouche that accompanies an image of this story. Similarly, Eastern Han images of the tale invariably show Zengzi speaking to his mother while she is working at the loom. This depiction does not adhere to Han written versions of this tale, in which Zengzi’s mother throws down her shuttle and ¶ees after hearing for a third time that her son has murdered someone. In fact, the only version of the tale in which Zengzi’s mother steadfastly believes in her son’s goodness and does not ¶ee is found in Yômei Xiaozi zhuan. This suggests that the text was based on an earlier Accounts of Filial Offspring that was the basis for the depiction of this story in the Eastern Han iconography. Last, Kuroda notes that the Helinge’er depictions of exemplary females closely follow the order of their appearance in Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women. If that is the case, then the order of ¤lial exemplars found at the Helinge’er tomb and at the Wu Liang shrine probably reproduces the order of the stories found in the Eastern Han version of Accounts of Filial Offspring.36 The connection between early Accounts of Filial Offspring and images could shed light on the origins and date of this subgenre. Xing has documented how, in the late Warring States and Western Han, paintings of past worthies as well as contemporary ¤lial sons and loyal of¤cials often deco-

Accounts of Filial Offspring

rated the walls of palaces and ancestral temples. By the Eastern Han, these images spread to the walls of government of¤ces and schools.37 Some scholars think that likenesses of famous exemplary men and women preceded the works dedicated to them and that the collective biographies of exemplars were in fact based on such images of these ¤gures and their eulogies. For example, “When Feng (Ying Shao’s [ca. 140– ca. 206] father) became commandant-in-chief, he ordered that each of the various government of¤ces in both the prefectures and the kingdoms submit the image and eulogy of a past [local] person. Shao thereupon connected their names and recorded them as The Records of Men’s Dossiers (Zhuang ren ji).”38 Liu Xiang himself stated that he composed Accounts of Outstanding Women to have it painted on the four sections of a screen.39 The postface of Accounts of Outstanding Immortals (Liexian zhuan) maintains that this work was based on the seven hundred or more immortals depicted in Ruan Cang’s Tableaus of Outstanding Immortals (Liexian tu).40 The Accounts of Filial Offspring subgenre could have been generated in the same manner; hence its earliest texts might have included both illustrations and narratives. Perhaps this is why the individual biographies tend to be so short. Such humble origins might also explain why the authors and names of Eastern Han works of this subgenre were not widely publicized. This connection between images of the stories and early Accounts of Filial Offspring also provides us with some sense of the date of these texts. Tombs and funerary shrines with ¤lial piety images seem to appear only in the last one hundred years of the Eastern Han,41 with the Wu Liang shrine—the most important of these—dating to AD 151. Since the shrine’s images show evidence of being based on an Accounts of Filial Offspring and include images of ¤lial sons who lived during the Eastern Han, it means that the prototype of this subgenre was probably created in the ¤rst half of the second century AD and soon made its way as far as Sichuan in the west and Korea in the east. Earliest Literary Evidence of Accounts of Filial Offspring Moving from archaeological to literary evidence, Cao Zhi’s occasional poem, “Essay on Numinous Fungi” (Lingzhi pian), is the ¤rst surviving literary text that presents a series of ¤lial piety tales.42 It reads, in part, In ancient times there was Yu Shun. His father and mother were stubborn and deceitful. He was utterly ¤lial in the furrows of the ¤elds,

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Grandly he did not act contrary to benevolence. When Bo Yu was seventy, He wore motley [clothes] to please his parents, When his loving mother whipped him and it didn’t hurt, He sobbed and tears wet his kerchief. Ding Lan lost his mother while young And pitied himself so early orphaned. He carved wood to be his severe parents [yanqin], And morning and night brought the three sacri¤cial animals. When they were insulted by a violent man, He broke the law, forgetting the punishment. The stick people cried blood for him, And he was exonerated and preserved his name. Dong Yong suffering family poverty, His old father had no riches to bequeath. He undertook to borrow to provide his father sustenance, Worked for hire to bring him sweet fat. Creditors came ¤lling his gate, And he didn’t know how to repay them. The heavenly spirits were moved by his perfect virtue, A goddess took hold of a loom for him.43

This poem is signi¤cant for two reasons. First, to express his longing for his deceased father, Cao Zhi was not content to merely retell one or two stories; instead, he recounts ¤ve. This suggests that to convey the full weight and depth of one’s ¤lial piety, one had to evoke a number of stories.44 Second, rather than randomly selecting tales from his memory, he recalled as a group the stories he learned by reading an Accounts of Filial Offspring. That the stories he relates are all found at the Wu shrines and Helinge’er and are roughly in the same order as those further indicates that Cao is recalling tales from such a text. Third, the Accounts of Filial Offspring that Cao read was slightly different from its Eastern Han predecessor and its Southern Dynasties’ successors. Its Dong Yong tale is conspicuously different from later versions. In it, Dong strives to pay off debts he has incurred in lavishly providing for his living father, rather than endeavoring to pay off debts incurred in burying his dead father. Interestingly, the “Essay on Numinous Fungi” version of the tale resonates well with the early medieval pictorial representations of the story, which emphasize Dong’s devotion to his living father by showing him, while working in the ¤eld, looking back tenderly at the old

Accounts of Filial Offspring

man (see ¤gs. 1 and 2). Unlike Eastern Han images and inscriptions, “Essay on Numinous Fungi” is ambiguous concerning whether Ding Lan’s wooden parent is his mother or father (see appendix). Finally, since Cao Zhi was both a famous poet and social personage of central importance— his father laid the foundation for the Wei dynasty (220–265), his brother was its ¤rst emperor—his use of these tales to express sorrow for his father’s death sheds light on the esteem they enjoyed during this period. Accounts of Filial Offspring and the “Biographies of the Filial” Another way of ascertaining the ¤rst appearance of Accounts of Filial Offspring is to look at when court historians began to dedicate special chapters to ¤lial offspring in the dynastic histories. The creation of collective biographies for types of people frequently came about because private works about such people were already in vogue. Privately compiled works about exemplary women and hermits, such as Accounts of Outstanding Women and Accounts of Recluses (Yimin zhuan), predated the ¤rst appearance of chapters dedicated to them in the dynastic histories.45 It seems plausible, then, that the dynastic histories’ “Biographies of the Filial” developed in the same way: the existence of Accounts of Filial Offspring prompted their appearance. Hence the ¤rst creation of a “Biographies of the Filial” might indicate the prior existence and popularity of Accounts of Filial Offspring. Han Records of the Eastern Pavilion (Dongguan Han ji), which was compiled at various stages during the Eastern Han,46 was the ¤rst state-sponsored history that devoted biographies to people who were important solely because of their outstanding ¤liality.47 Almost all of these men spent their early lives outside of government and gained of¤ce only as a reward for their ¤lial behavior. Although Records of the Historian (Shi ji) and History of the Han also have accounts of ¤lial men, their biographies, on the contrary, focus more on their of¤cial careers and embodiment of Confucian virtues other than ¤lial piety.48 Since Ban Gu’s History of the Han shows no inclination to single out people for their ¤liality, the Han Records of the Eastern Pavilion biographies devoted to men known solely for their ¤liality were probably written during the later stages of that work’s compilation. Thus perhaps by the beginning of the second century AD, court historians were already devoting biographies to individuals who were noteworthy solely because of their ¤lial piety. Adding weight to this possibility is the fact that, precisely at the beginning of the second century, “perfect ¤liality” (zhixiao) became a recruitment category for selection to the civil service.49 Unfortunately, we do not know

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whether the compilers of Han Records of the Eastern Pavilion grouped these biographies together in a single chapter; what is clear, though, is that they thought ¤lial offspring were important enough to be included in their work. Hua Qiao’s (d. 293) History of the Han’s Later [Half] (Han hou shu) is the ¤rst known dynastic history that exclusively devoted a chapter to ¤lial offspring.50 Chapter 39 of Fan Ye’s History of the Later Han, which probably modeled itself after Hua Qiao’s chapter on ¤lial exemplars, preserves Hua’s preface and at least two of his chapter’s biographies.51 Nevertheless, unlike its successors, Hua’s chapter did not have a special name—its title merely consisted of the surnames of the individuals featured within. When speaking of this chapter, Liu Zhiji says, “the Accounts of Liu Ping and Jiang Ge, and so on.”52 Following Hua’s lead, Fan’s chapter title also merely lists the surnames of the ¤lial children whose biographies appear within. If Fan’s placement of this chapter in his History of the Later Han is at all indicative of where Hua placed his chapter, he put it not among the chapters on types of people, but rather among the chapters on individuals. Thus neither Hua nor Fan envisioned it as a collective biography of ¤lial children. The ¤rst dynastic history to give a special title to such a chapter and place it among the collective biographies’ chapters is Shen Yue’s (441–513) History of the Song (Song shu). He titled his chapter “Biographies of the Filial and Righteous” (Xiaoyi zhuan).53 One cannot overstate the signi¤cance of the creation of these special chapters. The appearance of such a chapter in Hua Qiao’s history reveals that by the late third century, historians held ¤lial piety in such high regard that they felt the need to draw attention to its contemporary exemplars. Nevertheless, in History of the Han’s Later [Half], ¤lial heroes were still not so signi¤cant that their chapter merited a special name or place within the history. The creation of Hua’s chapter also strongly hints at the prior existence of Accounts of Filial Offspring. No doubt, it was from these texts that the chapters dedicated to ¤lial children gained their inspiration and some of their content. By giving his chapter on ¤lial children a special name and placing it among the collective biographies, Shen Yue elevated ¤lial offspring to the level of a distinct group of people who were now as praiseworthy as recluses, virtuous women, famous Confucian scholars, and upright of¤cials. One should note, too, that Shen placed his “Biographies of the Filial and Righteous” at the head of the collective biographies, thereby implying they were more important than the rest.54 Note that he created this chapter and its unique name precisely at the height of the production of Accounts of Filial Offspring.

Accounts of Filial Offspring

Evidence of probable borrowing from Accounts of Filial Offspring is nowhere clearer than in the account of Cai Shun in History of the Later Han. Like so many of the lives in Accounts of Filial Offspring, this “biography” merely consists of a number of ¤lial episodes strung together—in this case three. Similar to an incident that happened to Zengzi, the ¤rst episode has Cai’s mother summoning him home by biting her ¤nger. The second episode relates that when a ¤re threatened to consume his mother’s cof¤n, Cai embraced the cof¤n and wailed, thereby miraculously causing the ¤re to shift its direction. The last episode recounts that Cai’s mother was afraid of lightning storms during her life; hence ever since her death, every time there was a storm, Cai rushed to her grave to comfort her.55 Since this “biography” is entirely composed of ¤lial piety anecdotes, it was probably taken from an Accounts of Filial Offspring. The historian merely had to add sentences that connected the anecdotes to make it look more like a regular biography. Hence the historian added lines between the anecdotes that tell us that Cai’s mother died at the age of ninety, that Han Chong recommended him for of¤ce, that Cai refused the of¤ce because it would distance him from his mother’s tomb, and that Cai died at the ripe old age of eighty. Without these facts, the account would have been a perfect ¤t for an Accounts of Filial Offspring. That this is an attached biography, which Fan Ye probably added to Hua Qiao’s existing biographies, increases even more the possibility that Fan merely took an entry from an Accounts of Filial Offspring, added a few details, and placed it within his work. Hence it seems clear that by the Western Jin Accounts of Filial Offspring began to inspire and inform the writing of dynastic histories. Nevertheless, the names and number of these early works remain unknown. Northern and Southern Dynasties’ Accounts of Filial Offspring Although archaeological and textual evidence point to the prior existence of Accounts of Filial Offspring, our ¤rst direct testimony of these texts dates from the Northern and Southern Dynasties (317–589). Table 2 sets out all of the known Accounts of Filial Offspring, their authors, titles, length, and the dynastic history bibliography or historical source in which they are ¤rst cited. As the table plainly indicates, Northern and Southern Dynasties writers accounted for the lion’s share of known Accounts of Filial Offspring. Of the twenty-four known examples, eighteen were products of this period. Of these eighteen, Southern Dynasties writers produced fourteen. If we were able to pinpoint the origins of numbers sixteen through eighteen,

61

Table 2: Information on Accounts of Filial Offspring Author

Position

Dynasty

Title

Length

Source

Xiao Guangji (5th c.)

Bulwark-general of the state (rank 3)

E. Jin

Xiaozi zhuan

15 juan

Shishuo xinyu zhu 1.14 (6th c.)

Xu Guang (fl. 416)

Chamberlain for the E. Jin national treasury (rank 1)

Xiaozi zhuan

3

Shitong 10.274 (early 8th c.)

Yu Panyou (5th c.)

Recluse

E. Jin

Xiaozi zhuan

1

Jiu Tang shu 46.2002

Tao Yuanming District magistrate (365-427) (rank 7)

E. Jin

Xiao zhuan

1

Tao Yuanming ji 8.313-21 (6th c.)

Zheng Jizhi (5th c.)

Liu-Song

Xiaozi zhuan zan 10

Shishuo xinyu zhu 1.47

Wang Shaozhi Palace attendant (380-435) (rank 3)

Liu-Song

Xiaozi zhuan zan 3 or 151

Sui shu 33.976

Zhou Jingshi (5th c.)

?

Liu-Song

Xiaozi zhuan

unknown Yiwen leiju 89.1548 (early 7th c.)

Wang Xinzhi2 (5th c.)

Grand master for splen- Liu-Song did happiness (rank 3)

Xiaozi zhuan

unknown Chuxue ji 1.21 (late 7th c.)

Shi Jueshou (5th c.)

Recluse

S. Qi

Xiaozi zhuan

8

Sui shu 33.976

Song Gong (fl. 491)

Inspector of law enforce- S. Qi ment (rank 5)

Xiaozi zhuan

10

Sui shu 33.976

Liu Qiu (5th c.)

Recluse

S. Qi

Xiaozi zhuan

unknown Nan shi 73.1822

Xiao Yan3

Emperor Wu of the Liang

Liang

Xiaozi zhuan

30

Xin Tang shu 58.1480

Xiao Yi

Emperor Yuan of the Liang

Liang

Xiaode zhuan

30

Sui shu 33.976

Anonymous

Supernumerary senior recorder (rank 3)

S. Dynasties Xiaozi zhuan 2 (Yômei bunko)

Han Xian zong Vice director of the secre- N. Wei (d. 499) tariat (rank 4)

Xiaoyou zhuan

10

Anonymous

N. and S. Dynasties

Xiaozi zhuanlüe 2

Attributed to Liu Xiang

N. and S. Dynasties

Xiaozi tu or Xiaozi zhuan

Reishûkai (833) Wei shu 60.1345 (6th c.) Sui shu 33.976

unknown Fayuan zhulin 49.362 (7th c.)

Author

Position

4

Dynasty

Title

Length

Source

N. and S. Dynasties

Xiaoyou zhuan

8

Anonymous

Tang

Xiaozi zhuan (Funabashi)

2

Lang Yuling (fl.660)

Assistant editorial direc- Tang tor (6b)

Xiaozi houzhuan 30

Xin Tang shu 58.1483

Li Xiyu (7th c.)

Aide to the superior area Tang command (rank 3a)

Zhongxiao tuzhuan

20

Jiu Tang shu 46.2002

Wu Zhao (624-705)

Empress Wu Zetian

Tang

Xiaonü zhuan

20

Xin Tang shu 58.1487

?

Za Xiaozi zhuan 2

Tang

Xiaoxing zhi

Shen Xiu?

Anonymous Zhao Chong (fl. 841-846)

?

20

Sui shu 33.976

Jiu Tang shu 46.2002 Xin Tang shu 58.1486

1. Whereas Sui shu states that this work was three juan, Jin Tang shu says it was fifteen (46.2002). Perhaps in an effort to reconcile this contradiction, Xin Tang shu states that his Xiaozi zhuan was 15 juan, whereas the eulogies attached to it were three juan long (58.1480). Wang Shaozhi’s Nanshi biography states that he wrote a Xiaozi zhuan in three juan (24.662). 2. This work is known only through quotations from Tang and Song encyclopedias, such as Chuxue ji 1.21 and Taiping yulan 13.3b. Some scholars think the character xin in his name was merely a copyist’s error for the character shao. Thus Wang Xinzhi’s Xiaozi zhuan should be Wang Shaozhi’s Xiaozi zhuan. See Guxiao huizhuan, by Huang Renheng (Guangzhou: Juzhen yinwuju, 1925), 13.3b; and Yao Zhenzong, “Suishu jingji zhi kaozheng,” Ershiwu shi bubian, 6 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1955), 4:5350. Although this explanation is plausible, Wang Xinzhi could have written a Xiaozi zhuan, which unlike that of Wang Shaozhi, did not make it into the bibliographic chapters of the histories. Adding to the likeliness that he might have written such a text are the facts that either his great-grandfather or grandfather wrote Lienü houzhuan and that he himself wrote a local geographical work called the Nankang ji (Jin shu, 51.1435–1436). Hence his family had a tradition of writing local histories and biographies of exemplars. For his biography, see Song shu, 92.2270. 3. The attribution of this Xiaozi zhuan to Xiao Yan is doubtful for three reasons: First, Xin Tang shu, a Song dynasty work, is the first to mention this text. Second, its thirty-juan length is suspiciously the same as that of Xiao Yi’s Xiaode zhuan. Third, it is not quoted in any surviving Tang or Song dynasty encyclopedia. These facts make one wonder whether the compilers of Xin Tang shu mistakenly listed Xiao Yi’s work twice and attributed one of the titles to Xiao Yan, since they knew he had written a poem titled “A Prose-poem on Filial Thoughts.” 4. Sui shu merely lists an anonymous Xiaoyou zhuan in eight juan. Jin Tang shu (46.2002) lists Xiao Yi as the author of a text with the same title in eight juan. Since Xiao Yi was already author of one Xiaozi zhuan, the editors of Jin Tang shu might have thought it made sense to credit him with this anonymous Xiaoyou zhuan as well. Interestingly, Xin Tang shu credits Shen Xiu, not Xiao Yi, with authoring a Xiaoyou zhuan in eight juan (Xin Tang shu, 46.2002). All three of these entries are probably referring to the same text. This work might have had illustrations of the stories. Xin Tang shu tells us that when Li Qijun was serving as the regional inspector of Changzhou, he put up many schools. On the walls of these schools he had copies of the illustrations found in Xiaoyou zhuantu drawn to show the students (Jiu Tang shu, 146.4736).

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which were almost certainly written during the Northern and Southern Dynasties period, the number of texts with southern origins might go even higher. No wonder, then, that Liu Zhiji believed a southerner, Xu Guang, was the originator of this subgenre. In fact, only one of the known Six Dynasties authors, Han Xianzong (d. 499), lived in the north. Since he lived later than the earliest southern authors, his text might have been inspired by southern examples. This information suggests that the Accounts of Filial Offspring subgenre ¤rst became prominent and ¶ourished during the Southern Dynasties. Consequently, it must have had special resonance for southerners. The southern predilection for these texts might have been a reaction to the licentiousness and extravagance with which the disfranchised southern elite associated the powerful, northern émigré elite. One of our best informants on this fourth-century cultural clash is Ge Hong (284– 363). He describes the members of the émigré elite as marked by the following malicious tendencies: granting of¤ce not on the basis of one’s talent or virtue, but on one’s wealth or connections; rewarding men for their ability to engage in clever speech, rather than the quality of their achievements or scholarship; intentionally ignoring social conventions and good manners—instead, they merely satisfy their material desires by drinking excessively, taking drugs, and engaging in sexual hedonism.56 Since the heroes of Accounts of Filial Offspring embodied respect for hierarchy, sel¶essness, self-discipline, and achievement based on merit, by compiling these works, southern literati might have been both subtly criticizing the political and moral corruption of the émigré elite and championing themselves as the true defenders of the Chinese moral tradition. Table 2 above also illuminates how this subgenre changed over time. At ¤rst, these works were predominately named Accounts of Filial Offspring (Xiaozi zhuan). If the known works are at all representative, it was only in the Liang dynasty that authors began to slightly vary the titles of these collections by changing the second character of their names so that titles such as Accounts of the Filial and Virtuous (Xiaode zhuan) or Accounts of the Filial and Friendly (Xiaoyou zhuan) began to appear. Although of¤cials continued to compile Accounts of Filial Offspring during the early Tang, by middynasty no works with the same or similar title appear in the imperial bibliographies. The only work with a remotely similar title was Zhao Chong’s Treatise on Filial Behavior (Xiaoxing zhi); nevertheless, since its title is different, its contents and aims might have been different as well. Indeed, Wang Sanqing’s research on encyclopedias suggests that many of the ¤lial piety stories found at Dunhuang are fragments of encyclopedias, not Accounts of

Accounts of Filial Offspring

Filial Offspring. The one collection of ¤lial piety stories that Wang has been able to reconstruct that was not drawn from an encyclopedia section on ¤liality seems more akin to a Twenty-four Filial Exemplars popular text than a scholarly Accounts of Filial Offspring.57 These facts indicate that by the mid-Tang prominent men were no longer authoring these texts. So far out of favor did this subgenre fall that none of its works survived into the Southern Song.58 Several aspects of Accounts of Filial Offspring suggest that they were intended for adult consumption. Although some were short, many were lengthy—something one would not expect if they were meant for children.59 Furthermore, since a number were as long as twenty or thirty juan, they must have contained hundreds of ¤lial piety accounts. Even though two Accounts of Filial Offspring that survive in Japan are only one roll long, each work has forty-¤ve tales. Hence unlike later Twenty-four Filial Exemplar– style tracts, it is doubtful that any of these works had only twenty-four tales. Another potential indicator of whether these works were meant for children would be the inclusion of illustrations. With the exception of Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring, none of the other works indicate that they had images. In other words, although the earliest Accounts of Filial Offspring might have been illustrated, when the subgenre emerges onto the historical record, they are merely documents composed of text. Who wrote these texts? Although information on many of the authors is not plentiful, we do know that they shared a number of characteristics. First, they were usually high of¤cials who came from eminent families. Of the eighteen known authors, eight were of¤cials who reached positions in the middle and higher echelons (rank ¤ve and above) of the central government, while three became emperors. Almost all the compilers came from prominent families that had regional, if not national, fame. Of the authors whose choronyms we know, a few came from nationally prominent great families,60 while others came from lineages that had produced many central government of¤ceholders.61 For example, Wang Xinzhi’s family produced ¤ve generations of high of¤cials and was prominent from the Jin through the Song.62 Even the authors who were recluses came from well-known and well-connected families.63 In sum, the authors were nearly all important personages from politically signi¤cant families. Perhaps this provides us with a clue as to why the author of the Eastern Han Accounts of Filial Offspring remains unknown—he was of little social standing, hence his work was not included in the imperial library. Many of the authors were historians and proli¤c writers. Several wrote dynastic histories and geographical works.64 The latter are particularly

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noteworthy because, like Accounts of Filial Offspring, their contents often record fantastic events or phenomena.65 These authors’ strong historical bent suggests that for them Accounts of Filial Offspring were merely yet another type of historical work—a type that expressed the kind of person they aspired to be or wanted to be known as, a point to which I will return. One last shared characteristic, but an important one, is that many of these men were known for their keen interest in promoting ¤lial piety, which took many different forms. In addition to writing an Accounts of Filial Offspring, Yu Panzuo wrote a commentary on The Classic of Filial Piety. Shi Jueshou was so well known for his ¤liality that the compilers of History of the Southern Dynasties included him in their “Biographies of the Filial.”66 Liu Qiu was so ¤lial that he inspired his student, Han Huaiming, a famous ¤lial son in his own right, to quit his studies and dedicate his life to caring for his mother.67 Indeed, Liu’s ¤lial conduct was so outstanding that his life was included in Emperor’s Yuan’s Accounts of the Filial and Virtuous. As governor, Wang Shaozhi recommended for of¤ce the famous ¤lial sons Wu Kui (5th cent.) and Pan Zong (¶. 400) as “¤lial and incorrupt” candidates.68 Obviously, the authors of these texts were deeply committed to encouraging this virtue. Curiously, the apparent decline in the subgenre of Accounts of Filial Offspring coincides with a growing imperial interest in it. Even though these texts unequivocally began to gain prominence during the Jin (265– 420), it was only during the Liang dynasty (502–556) that royalty began to compile them. The reason for this gap is that during the Southern Dynasties’ ¤rst half, literati were establishing that the possession or authorship of an Accounts of Filial Offspring demonstrated one’s own ¤lial virtue. By the period’s second half, aspirants to the throne realized that compiling these texts would add luster to their own legitimacy. The ¤rst royal to unequivocally write such a work was Xiao Yi, the seventh son of Emperor Wu of the Liang who would later become Emperor Yuan. Since his emperorship lasted only two years (r. 552–554), he probably compiled his Accounts of the Filial and Virtuous well before assuming the throne. His authorship of this work, along with his Accounts of Loyal Retainers, intimates that through these works he was attempting to establish his credentials as both a ¤lial son and a loyal subject. Royally compiled Accounts of Filial Offspring were also frequently written for the bene¤t of princes. For instance, while serving as an aide to Crown Prince Li Hong (651–675), Lang Yuling (¶. 660) added to Xiao Yi’s Accounts of the Filial and Virtuous, creating a thirty-juan work called The

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Later Accounts of Filial Children (Xiaozi houzhuan), which he presented to the appreciative crown prince.69 Lang ostensibly created this work to enhance Li’s ¤liality, but he was probably merely aiming to attain Li’s good will. Wu Zetian, on the other hand, supposedly ordered the creation of an Accounts of Filial Offspring to admonish the wayward Crown Prince Li Xian (652–684).70 If this was indeed the case, she had this work written for a man who was already in his twenties.71 Although admonishing the wayward crown prince might have been one of her motives, she no doubt had others. Guisso has emphasized that due to the hostility with which Confucians viewed female participation in government, while Emperor Gaozong (r. 650–683) was still alive, Wu worked diligently to burnish her Confucian credentials.72 Since her Accounts of Filial Offspring was written well before Gaozong’s death, probably one of her motives for sponsoring it was to indicate that she was the epitome of a ¤lial daughter, which is suggested by the work’s title: Accounts of Filial Daughters.73 With no doubt the same aim in mind, she also ordered the compilation of an Accounts of Outstanding Women. Nevertheless, soon after publication of these works, imperial fascination with this subgenre disappeared rapidly. In sum, although an Accounts of Filial Offspring most certainly existed before the Northern and Southern Dynasties, it was during this period that they reached the height of their popularity and prominence. During that time, eminent historians whose families had long traditions of of¤cial service compiled them, and even princes endeavored to add luster to their names by doing the same. After the early Tang, though, they appear to have gradually lost the elite’s favor. In the dynastic histories’ bibliographies, one ¤nds few references to Accounts of Filial Offspring created during the Tang dynasty; instead, one ¤nds much cruder versions of collections of ¤lial piety tales surviving at Dunhuang. By Southern Sung times, all Accounts of Filial Offspring completely disappear in China— clearly their age had passed. The Patrons of Images of Filial Piety Stories Having examined the identity of Accounts of Filial Offspring authors, let us now turn to determining their audience. To supplement the literary record, this section will focus on archaeological evidence. Early medieval tombs and grave goods have furnished numerous depictions of ¤lial piety tales. Since tomb owners (or their descendents) played a large role in selecting the images that would adorn their ¤nal resting places,74 tombs and

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grave goods decorated with ¤lial piety narratives provide us with a keen sense of the identity of the tales’ consumers. The patron’s discretion in choosing iconographical elements is apparent in that only a few of the decorated tombs or shrines from the Han display images of ¤lial piety tales.75 Thus, that tomb owners chose to decorate their eternal abode with ¤lial piety tales indicates that they were not only familiar with the tales, but also attached great signi¤cance to them. Since these same people probably knew the tales from reading Accounts of Filial Offspring, the images also indirectly provide us with a sense of this type of text’s readership. In the Eastern Han, those who adorned their tombs or funerary shrines with the tales were of¤cials who primarily served in regional posts. The tomb at Helinge’er belonged to a man who held a series of regional of¤ces: prefect, acting chief commander, and ¤nally a commandant who protects the Wuhuan—a high position that commanded a salary of two thousand piculs of grain.76 Although the identity of the tomb owner who was buried with the exquisite lacquered basket is unknown, that his grave contained an offering from his former subordinate indicates that he, too, must have been at least a district magistrate or a high of¤cer in the prefecture.77 Although Wu Liang (78–151) was a recluse, his nephew Wu Ban (d. 145) served as the chief clerk of Dunhuang, while his other nephew Wu Rong (d. 167), who attended the Imperial University, was recommended for of¤ce as a “¤lial and incorrupt” candidate and reached the position of aide to the chamberlain for the imperial insignia.78 Studies of other Eastern Han tombs decorated with pictorial stones suggest that their occupants were typically of¤cials who held regional posts or were members of local, powerful clans.79 From their lavishly constructed tombs, elaborately embellished funerary shrines, and rich grave goods, it is also evident that the occupants of these Eastern Han tombs were wealthy. Since the Helinge’er tomb is large (nineteen meters long), multichambered, and elaborated decorated, the tomb owner’s family must have been immensely rich. The inclusion of a depiction of an estate and all its various economic activities in the innermost and most personal chamber provides the viewer with an idea of the source of his wealth.80 An inscription on one of the commemorative towers at the Wu family graveyard provides us with a sense of how costly an undertaking it was: the two towers alone cost 150,000 cash (one could live comfortably on one hundred cash a day), while the accompanying stone lions cost 40,000.81 In the Lelang grave, the tomb lord and his two wives were buried in lacquered cof¤ns, and nearly all of their grave goods were lacquerware. Since such ware was highly prized during this period, it again

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attests to the tomb owner’s wealth. Katô has noted that Han tombs with individually carved pictorial stones were expensive undertakings.82 Although admittedly small, our sample of Eastern Han tombs with ¤lial piety images is suggestive. First, we do not ¤nd representations of ¤lial children in the tombs of royalty—only in those of of¤cials. Moreover, they do not appear in tombs near the capital, but rather in provincial tombs. Thompson describes the elite tombs of the capital area as having fewer rooms and little or no decoration, and as being smaller in size than their provincial counterparts.83 In other words, these images seem to have been favored by members of the provincial, rather than the metropolitan, elite that favored much more lavish burials. Perhaps the author of the Eastern Han Accounts of Filial Offspring was a relatively obscure member of the provincial elite, thus his work did not gain the court’s attention. We should also keep in mind that tombs with representations of ¤lial children begin to appear only in the second century, which is precisely when central government power was declining and local elite power was ascending. Hence during the Eastern Han, images of tales of ¤lial children seem to have had a special appeal for members of powerful local families. Owners of Six Dynasties grave goods adorned with ¤lial piety tales had much loftier status than their Eastern Han counterparts. They often lived in the capital and were high of¤cials or nobles. In some cases they were both. The earliest example is Zhu Ran (182–249), whose tomb contained a lacquered dish illustrated with the story of the ¤lial son Bo Yu. Zhu was an important general, high-ranking of¤cial, marquis, and intimate friend of Sun Quan (182–252), the founder of the Wu dynasty (220–280).84 Sima Jinlong (d. 484), the tomb owner buried with a lacquered screen, which was unearthed in Datong (the early capital of the Northern Wei), and who was the son of a famous of¤cial and imperial Särbi princess, was the king of Langye, governor of Shuozhou, and minister of the personnel bureau (rank 3). Obviously, he was a member of the Northern Wei’s uppermost social stratum.85 As far as can be determined, since these objects were not scienti¤cally excavated, stone cof¤ns, beds, and funerary shrines unearthed near the Northern Wei capital of Luoyang also belonged to men who were high of¤cials and sometimes nobles.86 Even one of the few provincial examples from this period, a tomb in Ningxia made famous due to its painted lacquer cof¤n, might have also belonged to a man who was both a high of¤cial and a noble.87 If this cof¤n, as Chinese archaeologists believe, belonged to a man of Särbi descent, it would indicate that ¤lial piety stories were esteemed not only by Chinese, but also their Inner Eurasian conquerors.88

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Signi¤cantly, paralleling the decline in interest in Accounts of Filial Offspring, few excavated Tang tombs or grave goods are adorned with the ¤lial piety stories. To date, one of the few known Tang depictions of these tales is found on a stupa-shaped pottery vessel, which has four ¤lial piety stories inscribed on its sides, plus four assemblies of small clay ¤gurines next to each inscription. It was found in the tomb of an important Inner Eurasian general named Qibi Ming (649–695).89 Perhaps his interest in the ¤lial piety stories was connected with the fact that he served under Wu Zetian and wanted to show his embrace of Chinese culture. Yet it is also necessary to point out how insigni¤cant these images are within the overall context of the tomb. The ¤lial piety stories adorn neither the walls of the tomb nor the sides of a sarcophagus. Moreover, since the clay ¤gures are quite small and the inscriptions are etched into the body of the pot, neither is very noticeable nor immediately recognizable.90 Furthermore, the narratives decorate a Buddhist object. Hence even within this tomb the ¤lial piety tales seem to be of less importance than in the past. In sum, during the Northern and Southern Dynasties, not only were high of¤cials and nobles composing Accounts of Filial Offspring, but they were also enthusiastic consumers of their tales that used images of the narratives to adorn their eternal abodes. Moreover, in that era, although members of the local elite continued to be interested in these narratives—as two pictorial stones with the depictions of Guo Ju and Lao Laizi from Dengxian in southern Henan Province make evident 91—members of the metropolitan elite were now fervent connoisseurs of the stories. Also, with the exception of Dengxian, Northern and Southern Dynasties’ images of ¤lial piety tales occur entirely in northern China. Since most of the authors of Accounts of Filial Offspring were men who lived in southern China, this means that the tales, and the collections that conveyed them, circulated broadly and found favor with northerners and southerners, Chinese and non-Chinese alike. This situation seems to have ¤nally ended in the Tang. Indicative of changing tastes, Tang tomb lords no longer chose to adorn their graves or cof¤ns with ¤lial piety tales. Perhaps this also signals that literati were no longer so interested in compiling, reading, and transmitting Accounts of Filial Offspring. Using Exemplars to Create Exemplars Having shown that the early medieval elite esteemed Accounts of Filial Offspring as well as their illustrations, we now turn to the question of why. What purposes did these texts and pictures serve to garner so much

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respect? Also, although we have established that it was the upper class that transmitted and valued these texts and their illustrations, can we sharpen our understanding of for whom among the upper class these texts and images were meant? In a seminal article, Brown argues that men in second-century to sixth-century Rome, whether pagan or Christian, strove to perfect themselves by trying to imitate and reproduce the behavior of worthy men of the past. For Christians, the ultimate exemplar was Christ, whose behavior was copied by martyrs and saints. Since books contained the words and deeds of past worthies, they were the guides by which men of the present strove to make themselves into men of the past.92 In early medieval China, modeling oneself after men of excellence was also of critical importance because it was believed that young people would naturally imitate the behavior of others. According to Yan Zhitui, When men are young, their minds and emotions are not settled. With whomever they closely associate, they are imbued, soaked, molded and dyed with the way of thinking, laughing, and acting. Even though they have no intention of imitating their associates, they are quietly moved and unconsciously changed, and naturally they end by resembling each other. As for conduct and skill, the case is even clearer, for these are easier to learn. Therefore, “to live with good people is like staying in a room of orchids where, after a long time, one will naturally be sweet-scented; to associate with bad people is like living in a dried-¤sh shop, where, after a long time, one would invariably become imbued with the odor.”93

Hence for a young man to learn proper behavior, nothing was more important than exposing him to people who behaved well. Just being with such people would transform his conduct for the better. Even book learning could not equal model emulation.94 Of course, the men most worthy of imitation, such as sages, were almost impossible to encounter. Nevertheless, one still had access to them through books that recorded their words and deeds.95 Through reading these works, one improved his or her behavior by viewing how the ancients conducted themselves. One thereby learns things like how to serve one’s parents—not through grasping ¤lial piety as an abstract principle, but by viewing the speci¤c ways in which the ancients were ¤lial.96 Thus contemporaries viewed replication of the acts of past exemplars as an unquali¤ed good in itself. For instance, when Yu Liang (289–340) had an uncontrollable horse, he explained his refusal to sell it by noting,

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If I sell it, there has to be a buyer, and so I will be harming the new owner. I would far rather inconvenience myself than shift the risk to someone else. Long ago Sun Shu-ao killed a two-headed snake for the bene¤t of those who might come after him. Isn’t it a mark of understanding to imitate the excellent stories of antiquity?97

By replicating Sun Shu’ao’s virtuous act, Yu not only performed a good deed, but simultaneously displayed his knowledge and appreciation of past worthies. Appreciating past worthies was important because they were always in the minds of early medieval men. The past sages were not distant, unreachable phantoms; instead, they were accessible companions who were always present in the literati’s conversations and thoughts. Consequently, educated men and women often employed them as a yardstick to measure their contemporaries’ worthiness.98 Some men were so virtuous that contemporaries even perceived them to be embodiments of the sages.99 Discussing past exemplars and comparing oneself or others to them was thus an important means by which early medieval people de¤ned themselves and calculated a person’s worth. However, gentlemen not only wanted to be compared to the ancients, they yearned to have some kind of intimate relationship with past worthies. In their death testaments, a number of early medieval literati asked to be buried next to famous virtuous men.100 Zhao Qi (108–201) even created a tomb for himself in which he had the images of four great statesmen—Ji Zha (¶. mid-6th cent. BC), Zi Chan (d. 522 BC), Yan Ying (ca. 580–510 BC), and Shu Xiang (d. ca. 520 BC)—painted in the positions of guests, while his own image occupied the host’s seat.101 Thus it appears that he intended to spend eternity engaged in delightful conversation with these renowned gentlemen. Spiro argues that one of the reasons Southern Qi royalty had portraits of the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove in their tombs was so they would be associated and could commune with these exemplars of re¤nement and wit.102 Ji Kang (224–263) compiled Accounts of Sagely and Worthy Lofty Gentlemen (Shengxian Gaoshi zhuan), which contains reports about recluses from high antiquity down to the present, “with a desire to befriend those men for a thousand years.”103 In short, by remembering their words, actions, and likenesses, one could still come into the ancients’ presence. Since past worthies were so important to how men viewed themselves and others, being able to identify who they were and correctly appraising their merits became an important activity in itself. Thus the relative merits

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of past exemplars became a serious topic of discussion, on a par with political, military, literary, and philosophical matters.104 At any moment, an educated man might be called upon to defend his region by naming its famous people.105 A man’s contemporaries might even slight him based on his ¶awed evaluation of past worthies. Wang Huizhi’s (d. 388) contemporaries deemed him arrogant because in his reading of Accounts of Lofty Gentlemen (Gaoshi zhuan), he thought Sima Xiangru (d. 117 BC) was loftier than Jing Dan (1st cent.).106 Thus even though Zhao Qi compiled a collection of biographies of Changan’s worthy native sons, he was so afraid his contemporaries might misunderstand his judgments that he was willing to show this work only to an intimate friend.107 Knowing the emphasis that early medieval culture put on emulation and exemplars, we will now explore the reasons why literati wrote Accounts of Filial Offspring. Since few prefaces from these works survive, let us begin by seeing how contemporaries classi¤ed these texts and interpreted their aims. In bibliographies, early medieval scholars placed Accounts of Filial Offspring in the history section under the category “miscellaneous accounts” (zazhuan). Miscellaneous accounts were private, book-length compilations of short narratives whose contents were thought to be historical but not entirely reliable. Their subjects were noteworthy people who either performed or were involved in fantastic events. The prototypes of these works were almost certainly the collective biographies in Sima Qian’s Records of the Historian, such as his chapters on “Assassin-retainers,” “Wandering Knights,” “Money-makers,” and “Harsh Of¤cials.” In the postscript to the “miscellaneous accounts” section of the bibliographic treatise in his History of the Sui (Sui shi), Wei Zheng (580–643) explains how this genre of works was created. Sima Qian and Ban Gu gathered [the records of past historians and memorials from across the country] and wrote [their histories]. Of¤cials who provided aid and steadfast support [to the state] and gentlemen (shi) who relied on righteousness and excellence all had records therein. However, as to those who had outstanding conduct and lofty purity, but were not entrapped by “the world,” the Records of the Historian only has a biography of [Bo] Yi and [Shu] Qi,108 while the History of the Han only records Yang Wangsun109 and his kind. All the rest are omitted and not mentioned. Again, during the Han, Ruan Cang wrote the Tableaus of Outstanding Immortals and Liu Xiang, while he was collating and putting into order the books [of the imperial library], began to write the [accounts] of the Outstanding Immortals, Outstanding

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Gentlemen (Lieshi), and Outstanding Women. All of these works followed his lofty inclinations and were urgently completed by him. They were not in the standard histories.110

Those works that Wei put in the “miscellaneous accounts” category, then, are independent ones that convey the lives of extraordinary individuals whom the standard histories tend to overlook, such as recluses, immortals, and women, because they are not part of “the world”—that is, they are neither of¤cials nor potential of¤cials. Hence these works tended to depict the lives of outstanding people who had little or no contact with the state. Signi¤cantly, works of this genre outnumber all other types of early medieval historical writings, and no other period came close to matching this period’s output of miscellaneous accounts.111 The Tang historian Liu Zhiji viewed the miscellaneous accounts that concerned speci¤c types of exemplars as constituting a distinct group of texts that he called “separate accounts” (biezhuan). Each of these texts advocates a separate virtue or ethic by gathering together tales of people who have manifested it in their conduct. The works Liu included in this category are Accounts of Filial Offspring, Accounts of Recluses, Accounts of Loyal Retainers, and Accounts of Outstanding Women. As Liu puts it, all of these works are the same in that they lead people to goodness; that is, they are all didactic in nature.112 However, for Liu they all suffer from the same defect—they lack originality. As for the “separate accounts” (biezhuan), they do not originate out of one’s own thoughts; they do not proceed from one’s own words. Their compilers merely widely select [items] from previous histories and gather them together into books. Those books that are suf¤cient in new words and other supplementary information generally do not number more than one out of ten. If one is of the ilk that has not heard or studied much, then he greatly praises and admires these works; as for those scholars who explore the deep and search the hidden, then these books contain no material that can be of use.113

Liu considers these works to be inferior histories because their authors do not seek out new material, but merely rehash items found in previous ones. Hence for serious historians they offer little of value. Nevertheless, he admits that they garner high praise from shallow literati. But whom does he mean? Upon re¶ecting on the phrase “one of the ilk that has not heard or studied much,” one might think that he meant adolescents or young adults who had barely started to plumb the depths of traditional

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literature. This of course is one possibility. But in other places in his work, the people Liu condemns as not suf¤ciently learned are court historians like Gan Bao (¶. 317–350) who incorporated fantastic materials into their histories.114 Thus Liu could merely mean that these separate accounts were created for run-of-the-mill scholars of any age. Like other works that Liu labeled “separate accounts,” Accounts of Filial Offspring were meant to neither ¤ll in the historical record’s lacunae nor furnish factual accounts. More than anything else, they aimed at providing eye-catching examples of unusual people who were models of ¤lial behavior. As the compiler of the Yômei Xiaozi zhuan states in his preface, “These are all virtuous people who have the ¤lial hearts of sages and will certainly bring about that which the gentleman admires. I have not chosen the commonplace (fanyong).”115 This interest in extraordinary behavior naturally led the compilers of Accounts of Filial Offspring and other separate accounts to choose material that was emotionally compelling and morally instructive, rather than that which was completely historically accurate. According to Liu Zhiji, in separate accounts works such as Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women and Accounts of Outstanding Immortals, many items are ¤ctional parables that the author knowingly recast as historical accounts to incite his readers.116 That is, instead of reporting history, such authors were fraudulently creating history. Their purpose in fabricating these accounts seems quite apparent: the compilers were trying to make theoretical principles of correct behavior palpable to their audience by illustrating them with historical people who performed the speci¤c acts constituting that virtue or ethic. Obviously, for these acts to have legitimacy in the eyes of the authors’ contemporaries, they had to be done by “real” people. This once again indicates that early medieval people preferred to guide their behavior with concrete models rather than abstract principles. The few intact Accounts of Filial Offspring explicitly call attention to their didactic function; moreover, they imply that their intended audience might well be educated adults. Tao Yuanming’s Accounts of Filiality explicitly states that its readers should imitate the behavior of the exemplars described within: “Oh you multitude of commoners, take these previous exemplars as models!”117 Although this comment appears only at the end of the section on commoners, it no doubt applied to the four other classes described within the work as well. The preface of the Yômei Xiaozi zhuan also plainly states that it is a teaching tool. I have now recorded [the lives] of many ¤lial offspring and have divided them into two rolls (juan), in order to show and instruct later generations

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(housheng). As for those who are knowledgeable in ¤liality and righteousness, and men who have comprehensive knowledge and gentlemen who have superior intelligence, I hope you will not sneer at this work.118

The didactic function of these texts is clear. But once again, the pressing question becomes, Whom are these texts meant to instruct? The aforementioned preface, like Liu Zhiji’s comments that scholars of wide learning will not ¤nd these texts useful, makes it clear that scholars with profound knowledge are not the text’s intended audience. This might mean, therefore, that adolescents and young men, due to their relative dearth of knowledge, were. Yet as Liu asserted, people who have comprehensive knowledge and superior intelligence are in short supply, hence those who were meant to read this work might have been just ordinary scholars. Moreover, since the author of Yômei Xiaozi zhuan was afraid that superior intellects might belittle his text, he clearly thought that they, too, might read it. Furthermore, since his remark above might merely be an expression of humility, the author might have expected that other well-read men would read this work. Another indication that the Accounts of Filial Offspring were not only supposed to provide children with examples of morally impeccable people, but were also meant to spur adults to moral greatness can be seen in the feelings that perusing these works aroused. According to the ethos of the day, reading accounts of past worthies should kindle in a person a burning desire to reproduce their behavior. According to History of the Liang Dynasty (Liang shu), [Xiao Yili] by nature was impassioned (kangkai) and desired to establish a sterling reputation. Every time he read a book and saw [the deeds of] a loyal retainer or an outstanding gentleman, he would always put down the scroll and sigh, saying, “Within one’s lifetime, there should be once when we are not ashamed before the ancients.”119

Clearly, reading biographies of worthies fueled Xiao’s ambitions: it made him feel an even greater urge to perform acts that would equal, if not outshine, theirs. An important word in this passage is kangkai,, which is directly related to another compound, kairan, both of which are often employed when speaking of a person who is reading about exemplars. Kangkai and kairan share the meaning of stirring one’s ardor or ambition.120 The appearance of these compounds seems to imply that perusing these works had almost a visceral effect on their readers: the accounts compelled the reader to admire and imitate the exemplars contained

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within. A letter in which Ji Kang emphatically denies having any interest in public of¤ce shows this clearly: “Everytime I read the biographies of Shang Chang and Tai Tong [two Eastern Han recluses], my passion is aroused (kairan) and I yearn for them and wish for their character.”121 Paintings of exemplars were supposed to have the same emotional effect on the viewer. As Cao Zhi put it, There is no one who, seeing a picture of usurping ministers stealing a throne, would not grind his teeth; nor any who, contemplating a ¤ne scholar of high principles, would not forget to eat. At the sight of loyal of¤cials dying for their principles, who would not harden their resolve, and would not sigh at beholding banished ministers and persecuted sons? Who would not avert his eyes from the spectacle of a licentious husband or a jealous wife? . . . From this we may know that paintings are the means by which events are preserved in a state in which they serve as models [for the virtuous] and warnings [to the evil].122

No matter one’s age, both images and accounts of exemplars were supposed to have the same effect on its consumer—they aimed at affecting his or her feelings. They should either provoke revulsion, thereby leading the consumer away from that behavior, or generate intense admiration that will cause one to yearn to do the same thing. Precisely because accounts of exemplars were supposed to incite men and women to attain even higher levels of moral conduct, the preface to the Funabashi Xiaozi zhuan explicitly states that it was written for ambitious men. It reads, “It is my hope that gentleman who possess ambition (you zhi zhi shi) will peruse [this text] ceaselessly and forever transmit it.”123 In other words, this work was intended for people who wanted to perfect themselves. The author hoped that those people in turn would continue to transmit it to other purposeful people. Funabashi Xiaozi zhuan is doubly important because it is probably derived from Yômei Xiaozi zhuan or shared a common ancestor. This suggests that the author’s comment in the latter composition that he fears knowledgeable men will scoff at his work was merely an expression of humility and that he, too, aimed his work at literati who were deeply interested in morally enhancing themselves. Accounts of Filial Offspring as Expression of Filial Piety But was providing adolescents and adults with models of ¤lial behavior the only purpose behind writing Accounts of Filial Offspring? Was an ardent desire to emulate ¤lial exemplars the only reason one read these works? If

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that were the case, these works probably would not have been so popular. An additional reason people compiled and read them was that by doing so they were displaying their own virtue. By showing admiration for the ancient worthies, one was demonstrating that oneself was admirable. By presenting himself as host to such ¤ne gentlemen as Ji Zha, Zi Chan, Yan Ying, and Shu Xiang, Zhao Qi was not only showing his veneration for them, but also making a statement about his own worth as well—obviously implying that he was equal to those ¤ne gentlemen. The desire to be like the worthies itself demonstrated that one was already similar to them. In his admonition to his students, Yu Pu (3rd cent.) said, Whoever studies should not worry that his talent will be insuf¤cient; instead he should worry that his ambition is not ¤rmly established. Therefore, it is said, “Those who wish to have a thoroughbred will have a mount like a thoroughbred; those who wish to have the conduct of Yan [Hui] will be of the same kind as him.”124

In short, the quality of one’s conduct is determined by one’s will. If one ardently desires to be virtuous, one will be virtuous. Thus by reading or writing an Accounts of Filial Offspring or other biographies of exemplars, one displayed the virtue one wanted to realize and simultaneously indicated that he/she already possessed it. In other words, the act of compiling biographies of exemplars thus implied that the writer had the same virtuous behavior as the people he/she was writing about. It probably is no coincidence that in addition to having the images of sagely ministers painted in his tomb Zhao Qi also authored an account of local worthies, The Triumphal Record of the Sanfu Region (Sanfu juelu). Compiling this work probably had the same purpose as the paintings in his tomb: it implied that Zhao, too, was a man of extraordinary worth. Similarly, Xiao Ziliang (460–494), king of Jingling, offered Shen Yue a commission to write an Accounts of Lofty Gentlemen that would maintain that one could be a recluse whether he was an of¤cial at court or an unknown in the countryside. As Shen’s letter of refusal makes evident, Xiao asked him to compile this work because Xiao viewed himself as an example of a court recluse.125 It is not dif¤cult to imagine, then, that Wu Zetian ordered the compilation of an Accounts of Filial Women and an Accounts of Outstanding Women because she wanted others to see her as both a ¤lial and exemplary woman. Likewise, in his “Essay on Numinous Fungi,” by retelling the stories of famous dutiful children to express his own yearnings to serve his deceased father, Cao Zhi was no doubt intimating that the same ¤lial spirit animated him.126

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A few Accounts of Filial Offspring authors were indeed known for their ¤lial conduct. Shi Jueshou himself experienced a miracle due to his ¤lial piety, which prompted him to write his Accounts of Filial Offspring.127 If the preface to his work still existed, the story of his ¤lial miracle would most likely be found there, just as the ghastly experience of Gan Bao’s servant found its way into the preface to Gan’s Notes on Searching for Spirits (Soushen ji). Shi’s writing of an Accounts of Filial Offspring not only called attention to his own ¤lial miracle, in which the spirits acknowledged him as being “¤lially perfect,” but it was also an act of sonly devotion in itself.128 Liu Qiu, too, was an outstanding ¤lial son. Once, he refused to lecture for the entire day, instead remaining alone and weeping. Upon inquiring into the matter, his student learned that that particular day was the anniversary of Liu’s maternal grandfather’s death.129 Liu himself compiled his Accounts of Filial Offspring in response to another person’s perfect ¤liality.130 By doing so, he shows his own ¤liality by admiring that of others. In short, writing an Accounts of Filial Offspring was a means of advertising one’s own ¤liality. If one had neither the time nor the inclination to compile an Accounts of Filial Offspring, one could display one’s own ¤liality simply by being emotionally stirred by reading one of these texts. An early expression of this theme occurs in accounts in which a ¤lial son is emotionally affected by reading the “Lu-e” poem (Mao no. 202) of the Book of Poetry (Shi jing), which stresses the efforts one’s parents expended to raise oneself. For example, after the death of Wang Pou’s mother, “Whenever [he] read the Book of Poetry to the line of ‘Grieve, grieve for my parents. They gave birth to me; they toiled for me,’ he would reread the line and shed tears. His students and disciples discarded the section with the ‘Lu-e’ poem [which contains this line].”131 This act in particular was seen as an outstanding expression of Wang’s ¤lial piety, so much so that an Accounts of Filial Offspring fragment features precisely this act as emblematic of his ¤liality.132 In the same manner, at the end of his “Essay on Numinous Fungi” poem, Cao Zhi speaks of feeling sorrow while reading the “Lu-e” poem. Xiao Yi, Emperor Yuan of the Liang, uses the same motif to emphasize the ¤liality of his father, Xiao Yan, Emperor Wu of the Liang, but this time he has his father reading an Accounts of Filial Offspring rather than the Book of Poetry. Upon suffering the death of Empress Xian [his mother], Xiao Yan [when he was a young boy] wailed and leapt about to the fullest extent. [Even] Gao Chai [a famous ¤lial son] could not have surpassed the grief he experienced while mourning. Every time he read an Accounts of Filial Offspring, without

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ever ¤nishing a scroll, he would stop reading and grieve. Due to these actions, his family cherished and esteemed him, and would never let him sit under the eaves of a building (to protect him from possible danger).133

Since reading a work about ¤lial piety and emotionally reacting to it were acts usually associated with adults, Xiao Yi uses this incident to demonstrate both his father’s precociousness and ¤liality. By retelling the story this way, Xiao Yi makes Xiao Yan’s ¤liality outshine that of Wang Pou. Needless to say, through the act of praising his father’s ¤liality, Xiao Yi also calls attention to his own. To further underscore that reading works about ¤liality evidenced one’s own possession of that virtue, we ¤nd that among the few things Xiao Yi requested be buried in his tomb were Accounts of Filial Offspring and the Classic of Filial Piety.134 Conclusion This chapter has established a number of signi¤cant points. It has shown that Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring was neither written by Liu Xiang nor even produced in the Han dynasty. Nevertheless, ample archaeological and literary evidence indirectly testify to the existence of an Accounts of Filial Offspring from the Eastern Han onward. That we do not know this work by name might be due to its author’s social obscurity. The Accounts of Filial Offspring reached the pinnacle of their popularity during the Northern and Southern Dynasties. During this time, high of¤cials and men hailing from prominent families authored these works. Near the end of the period and into the early Tang, imperial princes began to author or commission the compilation of these works. By the mid-Tang, though, such Accounts of Filial Offspring no longer attracted the attention of prominent men; by the Southern Sung, they had completely disappeared. Who read these works and for whom were they written? Looking at archaeological evidence, it becomes apparent that during the Eastern Han the patrons who admired these stories were members of rich provincial families who used illustrations of the tales to show their commitment to Confucian ideals. By the Northern and Southern Dynasties period, both the highest metropolitan of¤cials and imperial princes decorated their tombs and grave goods with these stories. In other words, in this period, the metropolitan elite, rather than the provincial elite, became the dominant patrons of the Accounts of Filial Offspring and their illustrations. Textual evidence indicates that these texts were written as historical works that documented the lives of nonof¤cials whose outstanding conduct

Accounts of Filial Offspring

should be emulated. Hence they were meant to aid both educated adolescents and adults in morally perfecting themselves. The Accounts of Filial Offspring enjoyed great popularity in early medieval China because emulation of past worthies was an essential means of de¤ning oneself and judging others. In this period, through comparisons with ancient exemplars, people measured their own worth and that of others. Regions were judged on the basis of how many outstanding men they produced. In the early medieval mentality, then, past worthies were not dead and remote memories, but rather living standards of behavior. In such an atmosphere, reading works like Accounts of Filial Offspring were a means by which one became thoroughly familiar with the deeds of the exemplars, so that one could either reproduce such deeds or see how well contemporaries reached the standards of the past. Perhaps even more important, reading or writing biographies of exemplars was in itself a means of expressing virtue. By writing or reading an Accounts of Filial Offspring, literati showed that they both admired ¤liality and were ¤lial themselves, just as by writing or reading accounts of recluses, they showed that they were, at least in spirit, detached from the vulgar world. Since in the eyes of the early medieval upper classes only reclusion rivaled ¤liality in importance, it is not surprising that the Accounts of Filial Offspring had their heyday during this time.

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Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

A

lthough it is well known that Confucius “did not speak of marvels, feats of strength, acts of disorder, or spirits,”1 the Ru authors of early medieval ¤lial piety stories crammed their accounts with extraordinary phenomena. Of the 186 tales from Accounts of Filial Offspring, 80, or roughly 43 percent, contain marvelous happenings.2 Even the dynastic histories’ “Biographies of the Filial,” albeit to a lesser extent, contain numerous supernatural events. Indeed, miracles in these accounts are so important that in some cases the primary focus of the narrative is not the subject’s ¤liality, but rather the supernatural rewards or signs that his/ her conduct occasioned. Yu Guo in his youth already had ¤lial behavior. When he was the Governor of Rinan, a pair of geese always roosted on top of his government of¤ce. Every time he went out to inspect a county, they would ¶y in pursuit of his cart. Since he died while in of¤ce, the geese followed his corpse as it was being returned to Yuyao. They stayed in front of his tomb, and only after three years did they leave.3

What is remarkable about this account is that it does not describe Yu’s extraordinary ¤lial conduct; indeed, we learn more about ¤liality from the two geese’s mourning behavior. What it does show, though, is how his outstanding virtue caused a fantastic phenomenon to occur. It is precisely miracles such as these that have occasioned Western scholars to characterize the tales as absurd. For the narratives’ authors, though, these extraordinary occurrences were obviously important, but why? What purposes did they ful¤ll? Were they always a feature of ¤lial piety tales? What tradition spawned these fantastic phenomena? Although modern Westerners assume that Confucianism was based 82

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

on a form of rationalism, Ru teachings during the Han were anything but rationalistic. In fact, Confucianism in the Han laid heavy emphasis on an anthropomorphic heaven, prognostication, portents, and miracles. At the end of the Warring States period, advocates of the Confucian tradition, such as Lu Jia (¶. 200–175) and Dong Zhongshu (ca. 195–ca. 115), began to combine Confucian ethics with yin-yang cosmology, along with the Huang-Lao tenet that heaven and humans mutually in¶uence each other.4 The result was a distinctive strand of Ru thought that is often called “Han Confucianism,” but it might be better called “Correlative Confucianism.”5 According to this system of thought, humans live in a homocentric universe in which they, more than any other creature, embody the attributes of heaven and earth that have produced all things. Consequently, only humans have the ¤ner attributes of heaven and earth, such as the ability to practice benevolence and righteousness.6 Based on the premise that things of the same kind can affect each other, by cultivating their heavenly and earthly endowments, humans can affect changes in nature. In other words, by following the heavenly and earthly patterns inherent with them, they can stimulate (gan) the moral universe. As a result, heaven and earth respond (ying) to this stimulus with a miracle.7 This concept is commonly known as “the resonance between heaven and humans” (tianren ganying). Virtues such as benevolence and righteousness link humans with the moral universe. Since heaven has created humans in its own image and has bestowed upon them all of its goodness, it expects them to act heavenly by practicing those virtues.8 Nevertheless, although people have the potential for goodness within them, they have dif¤culty in developing it. Heaven therefore gives its mandate to rule to a virtuous man whose duty is to teach people how to develop what is heavenly within them.9 If a ruler manages to take care of his people and lead them to goodness, heaven will then reward him by manifesting favorable omens; however, if he fails to do so, it will warn him with oddities and disasters. Dong Zhongshu stated, When a state is about to suffer a defeat because [the ruler] has erred from the Way, Heaven ¤rst sends forth calamities and disasters to reprimand and warn him. If the [ruler] does not know to look into himself, then Heaven again sends forth extraordinary and strange omens to frighten and startle him. If he still does not know to change, only then will he suffer ruin and defeat. From this, one observes that Heaven’s heart is humane and loving toward the ruler of humanity and that Heaven desires to end his recklessness.10

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As this passage makes apparent, heaven is conscious and cares so much about people’s welfare that it will produce anomalies to warn rulers of their aberrant behavior. Hence in Correlative Confucianism miracles and anomalies are the means by which the divine world expresses its pleasure or displeasure over the behavior of its representatives. This new strand of Confucianism became intellectually dominant in the last ¤fty years of the Western Han and reached the height of its in¶uence in AD 9, when the last Western Han emperor “abdicated” and Wang Mang (45 BC–AD 23), who his contemporaries believed was a Confucian sage, accepted the throne and established the Xin (New) dynasty. The failure of his reforms and the downfall of his regime caused many intellectuals to question the validity of Correlative Confucianism and led them to turn to the old-text (guwen) classics for answers. Yet due to the early Eastern Han emperors’ reliance on the Confucian apocryphal texts (chenwei) for legitimacy, Correlative Confucianism became the dynasty’s orthodox ideology. However, in the Eastern Han, its emphasis shifted from of¤cials using inauspicious portents to curtail the excesses of the throne to using auspicious omens and the apocryphal texts to champion the throne’s legitimacy. According to most scholars, the inglorious fall of the Eastern Han government also spelled the doom of an ideology that intellectuals had abandoned long before. In the succeeding Period of Disunity (220–589), Xuanxue (The Study of the Mysteries, aka neo-Taoism) and Buddhism thereupon dominated philosophical discussions and trends.11 But does this Xuanxue and Buddhist triumph mean that Correlative Confucianism completely disappeared? To what extent did it survive? Which of its aspects continued to in¶uence Chinese thought? Doubtless with the end of the Han Correlative Confucianism suffered a marked decline in its intellectual dominance, but this chapter will contend that the ¤lial miracle stories indicate it still held great relevance for the early medieval elite. This is because even though it might not have been intellectually fashionable, Correlative Confucianism contained ideological messages that the patriarchs of great families wanted to convey to their families and communities. By establishing the following points, this chapter will show the strong connection between the miracle tales and Correlative Confucianism. First, miracles started to appear in ¤lial piety stories only during the Eastern Han, which is precisely when Correlative Confucianism, as advocated by the apocryphal texts, reached the height of its in¶uence. Second, the tales illustrate one of this ideology’s primary tenets—by perfecting one’s virtue a person will receive a supernatural response from an anthropomorphic and caring heaven that pays

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

close attention to people’s behavior. Nevertheless, the ¤lial piety stories interpreted this principle in a way that made it even more appealing to patriarchs—they emphasized that ¤lial piety, more than any other virtue, would beckon heavenly rewards. In other words, sonly subordination and recognition of parents’ overwhelmingly superior position within the family were “natural,” that is, sanctioned by heaven. Third, by indicating that ¤lial actions earn supernatural rewards, the ¤lial tales reveal that the moral universe richly rewards the meritorious. This Correlative Confucian idea resonates with the sentiments found in family instructions in which patriarchs admonish their children that the continued welfare of the family resides within a mastery of learning and moral character. Fourth, since auspicious omens largely appear in response to the actions of commoners, rather than the son of heaven, the tales used the Correlative Confucian idea of portents to indicate that virtuous, local men—and by extension their families—shared the emperor’s legitimacy to rule. The Appearance of Miraculous Tales Filial piety anecdotes from before the Han completely lack supernatural elements. Their protagonists neither perform superhuman feats nor does their conduct evoke supernatural responses. For example, in the Warring States and early Western Han version of the Shun legend, events that later would be deemed miraculous are explained in a rationalistic manner. In both Mencius (Mengzi) (3rd cent. BC) and Records of the Historian (early 1st cent. BC) versions, Shun escapes his parents’ lethal traps through his foresight, not through magic or supernatural intervention. In the case of the burning barn, he takes with him two bamboo hats to use as protoparachutes; in the case of the well, by digging an escape tunnel in its side beforehand, he escaped being buried alive in it.12 The earliest ¤lial piety stories in which miracles occur are found in Liu Xiang’s anecdotal works. Nevertheless, the miracles in these tales are not necessarily linked with ¤lial piety. A good example of this can be found in Liu’s version of the Shun legend. He supplies much more fantastic explanations for Shun’s escapes: before Shun went to the barn, Yao’s daughters told him to ¤rst disrobe and then use the technique of birds (niaogong) to ¶y to safety; before entering the well, they told him to ¤rst disrobe and then use the technique of dragons to escape.13 Nevertheless, the miracles found in Liu’s version still differ fundamentally from those found in early medieval accounts. In the latter, miracles are the moral universe’s responses to a child’s ¤lial act. By contrast, in Liu’s version, Shun escapes his parents’ murderous

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plots not through heavenly intervention, but by means of his own, or his wives’, magical techniques. Thus the Tang historian Liu Zhiji thought that the methods Shun used to escape from the well made him no different than a master of the occult sciences (fangnei zhi shi).14 Unlike in later accounts, Liu Xiang fails to connect these miraculous escapes with either Shun’s ¤liality or a heavenly response. The marvelous escapes celebrate Shun’s magical potency, rather than ¤liality’s spiritual might. A sympathetic heaven is more apparent in Liu Xiang’s account of the Filial Wife of Donghai (1st cent. BC), but its intervention is made explicit only in later versions of the story. Liu’s version of the tale proceeds in this manner: even though the ¤lial wife was widowed early on, for more than ten years she carefully nurtured her mother-in-law. Feeling pity for the young woman, the mother-in-law committed suicide to allow her to remarry. Yet a jealous sister-in-law told the authorities that the ¤lial wife had killed her mother. After the ¤lial wife was executed, for three years the prefecture suffered a terrible drought, which ended only when the new prefect offered a sacri¤ce to her grave.15 Even though this tale features a ¤lial daughter, it is only indirectly concerned with ¤lial piety. In Liu’s version, the account’s protagonist is not the ¤lial woman, but a judicial subof¤cial named Yu Dingguo (?–40 BC). Moreover, the tale’s primary focus is not ¤lial piety, but fairness and accuracy in judicial decisions.16 This probably means that rather than being a heavenly response to her ¤liality, the drought was caused by heavenly anger at the miscarriage of justice. In contrast, by introducing yet another miracle, an early medieval version of this tale squarely indicates that the ¤lial wife was a recipient of a divine response: as she was about to be decapitated, she told the crowd that if she were guilty her blood would ¶ow downward, but if she were innocent it would ¶ow up nearby ¶agpoles. As expected, it ascended the ¶agpoles and even went around the ¶ags’ borders.17 Of course, this more dramatic miracle clearly materializes due to the strength of her virtue, that is, ¤liality. In short, although Liu Xiang did connect ¤lial children with miracles, he did not directly connect the miracles with ¤lial piety. Filial miracles—that is, miracles produced by an exemplar’s devotion to his parents or siblings—were yet to appear. Our ¤rst evidence of ¤lial miracle tales surfaces in Wang Chong’s (27– 97) Disquisitions (Lunheng). Although he does not discuss them per se, Wang sometimes mentions such stories. In criticizing his contemporaries’ proclivity to praise only worthy men of old while ignoring the meritorious men of the present, Wang attests to the existence of oral accounts of extraordinary ¤lial sons and righteous brothers.

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

In recent times there have been marvels, but orators do not praise them; now there are extraordinary events, but those who hold the brush do not record them. For example, during a time of famine, upon [hearing that] his elder brother was about to be eaten by starving men, Er Ziming of Langye bound himself and kowtowed before them begging to take the place of his elder brother. The starving men praised his righteousness and released both. After his elder brother died, he raised [his brother’s] orphan. He loved him no differently than his own son. When the crop failed and their grain was exhausted, he could not keep both his own son and his brother’s son alive, so he starved his own son to death and kept his brother’s son alive.18

Signi¤cantly, this account closely resembles many later ¤lial children tales in which an exemplary son offers himself in place of a brother or parent who has been captured by cannibalistic rebels. Worthy of note, too, is that Wang describes these acts as “marvelous” (qi) or “extraordinary” (yi), since these are the same terms he uses to denote the miraculous or supernatural. This is either because Ziming’s acts are so far out of the realm of the expected that they are unbelievable or because the positive results of these actions were thought to be brought about through supernatural intervention. Wang further suggests that many such miraculous accounts of contemporary ¤lial sons and righteous brothers existed, but due to a contemporary bias for exemplars of the distant past, they had been incorporated into neither the written nor the elite oral culture of his time. Nevertheless, Wang does preserve one ¤lial miracle tale that was credited to a written source. He relates that according to a book, upon the arrival of an unexpected guest, Zengzi’s mother miraculously summoned him home by pinching her arm. Wang goes on to refute the logic upon which the story is based by saying, This [his mother’s success in summoning him by pinching her arm] is because by means of his perfect ¤lial piety (zhixiao) he had the same qi as his parents. Hence if they were ill, his spirits would thereupon be stimulated (gan). I say that this is false. It is said that ¤lial piety and brotherliness in its ultimate form can be made known to the intelligent spirits; this is what is called moral transformation reaching Heaven and Earth. Based upon this, vulgar people make up a theory that says that ¤lial piety and brotherliness in its ultimate form can make essence and qi affect each other (jingqi xiangdong).19

This passage is of utmost importance on three counts. First, it is the earliest surviving written testimony of a miracle that is unquestionably brought

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on by ¤lial piety. Second, Wang reveals the way in which his contemporaries understood how the miracle took place: they believed that by purifying one’s qi through ¤lial acts, one could make his qi the same as his parents. Hence if they became ill, since things of the same kind in¶uence each other, it would stimulate his spirits and produce the miraculous response of his feeling their pain. This passage thus indicates that by the ¤rst century AD Chinese already believed that ¤lial piety at its height could bring about miracles through the principle of “resonance.” Third, the passage also testi¤es that at least a few ¤lial miracle tales were already being transmitted through written texts.20 Disquisitions further reveals an important feature of later ¤lial miracle tales—the line at the tale’s end that states the miracle was a response to an exemplar’s virtuous act. It relates that “Shun was buried in Cangwu; elephants plowed the earth [on his tomb] for him. Yu was buried in Guiji; birds cultivated the ground [on his tomb] for him. It was thought that their sagely virtue brought this about (yi shengde suo zhi). Heaven employed birds and elephants to reward and protect them.”21 Even though this passage has nothing to do with ¤lial piety,22 it is immensely signi¤cant because of its last two lines. The penultimate line closely resembles “it was thought that a response to his or her ¤liality brought this about (yi wei xiaogan suo zhi), a formula that ends many ¤lial tales. Replacing “sagely virtue” (shengde) in this formula with “¤lial piety” (xiao) would no doubt be a simple operation. The last line is especially signi¤cant because it explicitly states that heaven caused this miracle to reward Shun and Yu. This, of course, is the logic that underlies the ¤lial miracle tales: heaven causes miracles in order to reward a child’s outstanding ¤liality. The earliest history that contains ¤lial miracle tales is the imperially sponsored Han Records of the Eastern Pavilion. As previously mentioned, many of its biographies were probably written sometime shortly after AD 120. One of these tales concerns a little-known ¤lial son named Gu Chu who, in the face of a raging ¤re, refuses to abandon his father’s cof¤n and instead embraces it. The ¤re thereupon miraculously extinguishes itself. The tale ends with the line, “[People] said that it was a response brought on by his ¤liality (yiwei xiaogan suo zhi yun),”23 which is nearly the same formulaic line found in Disquisition’s retelling of the tale of the elephants cultivating Shun’s grave. Nevertheless, this time Gu’s ¤liality, rather than “sagely virtue,” produces a heavenly response. Many of Han Records of the Eastern Pavilion’s other accounts of ¤lial children also contain miracles.24 Thus by the beginning of the second century we can already see ¤lial miracle tales in their mature form: one in which a child’s exemplary ¤liality

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

leads the spirit world to produce a miracle on his/her behalf and a formulaic line underlining that this was indeed the case. We should note the timing of the ¤lial miracle tales’ appearance. Although these narratives obviously display a Correlative Confucian understanding of the universe, ¤lial miracle tales did not materialize during the Western Han. Instead, they did so during the ¤rst and second centuries AD, which coincides with the appearance and imperial promotion of the Confucian apocryphal texts. Many scholars believe that these texts ¤rst appeared during the civil war at the end of Wang Mang’s reign.25 Having used the texts to legitimate his takeover, Emperor Guangwu, the founder of the Eastern Han, thereupon established them as orthodox texts with which he guided government policies and rituals.26 In AD 56, he decreed that all of¤cials had to be conversant with the apocrypha. His successors, Ming (r. 58–76) and Zhang (r. 76–88), continued to champion and promote the apocrypha. As a result of this imperial patronage, the learned elite were well versed in these texts.27 Many scholars, including the great exegete Zheng Xuan (127–200), accepted them as Confucius’ supplements to the Five Classics and quoted them in their works.28 The apocrypha continued to claim great in¶uence through the Three Kingdoms period (220–280).29 The ¤lial miracle tales, then, ¤rst appeared and ¶ourished exactly when the apocrypha were at the height of their in¶uence. It is not surprising, therefore, that they bear the heavy imprint of the apocrypha. But what messages are these tales conveying and how are they connected with the apocrypha? The Power of Xiao in The Classic of Filial Piety and the Apocrypha The most signi¤cant message that the ¤lial miracle tales convey is ¤lial piety’s overwhelming ef¤cacy. For the narratives’ compilers the ability to produce miracles was one of ¤lial piety’s most important attributes and was directly related to its elevated position within the universe. The tales’ compilers viewed ¤liality as the principle that unites heaven, earth, and humans. In the preface to History of the Jin’s “Biographies of the Filial,” the author makes this explicit. Great is ¤liality as a virtue. When the cloudy oneness is split and becomes embodied, the dao [of ¤liality] connects the Three Numinous Entities [heaven, earth, and humans]. It gathers together the different types of things in order that they may follow their names, and collects the ten thousand images. If it is

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used within the kingdom, it can move heaven and earth, which then send down auspicious omens; when practiced within the home, it moves the spirits, which then manifest great fortune.30

Since ¤liality connects and underlies all things, human practice of it, whether at court or at home, will cause some aspect of the divine world to respond favorably. Extant Accounts of Filial Offspring prefaces also call attention to ¤lial piety’s cosmological signi¤cance and its ability to summon miracles.31 According to these prefaces, since the way of ¤lial piety is on a par with heaven and earth, no other virtue can surpass it; moreover, its superiority is manifested in its ability to bring about miracles. As far as I can tell, in the early medieval period no other Confucian virtue was credited with this power. From where did this emphasis on ¤lial piety’s power and its ability to produce miracles come? During the Warring States period, due to the rise of bureaucratic governments that directly taxed and drafted the peasantry, households (jia) replaced lineages (zong) as the most important social and economic entities. Seeing the necessity of having family heads powerful enough to ensure the household’s ful¤lling the needs of the state, and believing that sons who obeyed their parents would likely also obey the state, both the Qin and the Han governments heavily promoted ¤lial piety.32 Although one does not normally associate ¤liality with the Legalist Qin, not only did the ¤rst emperor, Qin Shihuang (r. 221–210 BC), urge people to be ¤lial in his proclamations, but Qin law also allowed parents to ask the state to exile or execute their un¤lial children and disallowed children from denouncing their parents’ crimes to the state.33 The importance of xiao was such that a chapter was added to the Legalist Master Han (Han Feizi) titled “Loyalty and Filialty” (Zhongxiao), which puts forth a vision of ¤lial piety in which it merely consists of obedience and has no possibility of coming into con¶ict with the value of loyalty.34 The Han dynasty went even further in promoting ¤lial piety by remitting taxes and providing material rewards to those who exempli¤ed ¤liality, by making ¤liality the most important category under which one could be recommended to public of¤ce, and by having subjects read The Classic of Filial Piety. Watanabe Shinichirô contends that this book was a powerful agent of assimilation because only by knowing it could one hope to be recommended to of¤ce as a “¤lial and incorrupt” candidate.35 The overriding importance of this value is most conspicuous in the names of the emperors— with the exception of the Han founder, each emperor’s posthumous name had the word xiao added to it.

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

The primary text that championed and glori¤ed ¤liality was The Classic of Filial Piety. Although scholars may debate whether this book was a late Warring States or Western Han creation, they all agree that it had considerable in¶uence on the Han dynasty.36 By making xiao into a metaphysical principle, this text elevates its importance. “The Three Powers” (Sancai) chapter states, “Filial piety is the principle of heaven, the duty of earth, and the standard conduct of humans. Since it is heaven and earth’s principle, people copy it. By doing so, they imitate heaven’s brilliance and follow the earth’s advantages, thereby harmonizing All-under-Heaven.” By practicing ¤lial piety, then, people reconnect themselves with that which they share with heaven and earth. Upon unifying themselves with heaven and earth, all things become well ordered. As Ikezawa has noted, this passage equates xiao with the Taoist dao.37 Very much in line with Correlative Confucian thought, upon perfecting this ethical virtue, one can affect heaven and earth. A chapter tellingly titled “Resonance” (Ganying) states, “When in the ancestral temple one conveys respect, spirits and deities manifest themselves. When ¤liality and brotherliness reach their height, they communicate with the heavenly spirits (xiaoti zhi zhi tong yu shen ming), shine throughout the Four Seas, and travel everywhere.” 38 This passage implies that since perfect ¤lial piety can affect the spirits, its power is boundless. One of the bene¤ts of xiao’s power is that the ¤lial will be protected from disasters. The “Governing by Filiality” (Xiaozhi) chapter tells us that if the ruler treats everyone with the spirit of ¤lial piety, then neither he nor his kingdom will experience either man-made or natural disasters.39 Similarly, the chapter on “Commoners” (Shuren) states, “Therefore, from the son of heaven to commoners, few are those whose ¤liality is lacking that are not bedeviled by calamity.” Both passages imply that the un¤lial attract calamities because they have angered the spirits, whereas the ¤lial have earned the spirits’ protection. This tendency to emphasize the magical power of ¤liality reached a crescendo in the Confucian apocrypha. The authors of these texts attached overriding importance to ¤lial piety and particularly the text that propagated it—The Classic of Filial Piety. This work had so much weight because contemporary Ru thought that it and The Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu) were the only classics that Confucius himself had authored. The ¤rst-century AD The Classic of Filial Piety’s Decisions on Obtaining the Mandate (Xiao jing goumingjue) tells us, “Confucius said, ‘If you desire to observe my aspirations as seen in my praise and blame of the feudal lords, they are in The Spring and Autumn Annals; [if you desire to observe] the

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conduct of human relations that I revere, it is in The Classic of Filial Piety.”40 As a result, with the exception of The Spring and Autumn Annals, more apocrypha were attached to The Classic of Filial Piety than any other classic.41 We should note that for the apocrypha authors, the Confucius who created these two classics was not merely a human sage, but a superhuman and an uncrowned king.42 In the apocrypha, ¤liality is the epitome of virtue—no human behavior could be more signi¤cant. Hence Decisions on Obtaining the Mandate asserts both, “The way of ¤liality is the linch-pin for ten-thousand generations” and “If you want to correct morning and evening, then you should observe the North Star; if you want to correct your feelings and nature (qingxing), then you should observe a ¤lial child.”43 In other words, just as the polestar is the constant and permanent linchpin that keeps the heavenly bodies together, ¤liality, the most perfect form of conduct, keeps all things together on earth. If people guide their behavior with ¤liality, perfect order will result. Furthermore, since ¤lial piety embodies heaven’s intent more than any virtue, it can invoke heavenly responses where other virtues cannot. In commenting on a passage in The Classic of Filial Piety’s Right Contract (Xiao jing youqi), Song Jun (3rd cent.) noted, “As for having broad learning and pure aspirations, as well as inquiring into all things and studying things close at hand, benevolence (ren) resides within these traits. But heavenly benevolence still is not enough to create brilliance. Only ¤liality can move the heavenly spirits, affect the brilliance of the sun, and penetrate and attach itself to the body.”44 Filiality, then, trumps all other Confucian virtues, even benevolence, which the Analects champions, because it alone can bring about miracles. The following account from one of the earliest known apocrypha, The Classic of Filial Piety’s Contract that Quotes Spirits (Xiao jing yuanshenqi), describes the variety of miracles ¤lial piety can produce. When the primordial qi was still mixed together, ¤lial piety dwelt within. Hence, if the son of heaven is ¤lial, heavenly dragons will descend bearing charts; earthly tortoises will emerge with writings; calamities will be eliminated; and brightly colored clouds will wander across the sky. When commoners are ¤lial, then trees and marshes will ¶ourish; bene¤cial, rare things reveal themselves; wondrous grass shoots forth, and numinous ¤sh come forth from the water.45

Filial piety can work miracles because it was part of the undifferentiated, primordial qi from which heaven, earth, and humans were created. By

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

cultivating ¤lial piety, one reunites oneself with the moral universe, thereby causing it to produce extraordinary phenomena. The ¤liality of emperors eliminates calamities, brings forth auspicious omens, and obtains magical charts, while that of commoners makes the ground fertile, produces precious and rare items, and manifests auspicious animals. Nevertheless, all the other portents that the apocrypha mention, such as the appearance of sweet dew, phoenixes, sweet springs, auspicious stars, and red sparrows bearing writings, are summoned by the emperor’s or king’s ¤liality. These particular extraordinary phenomena are omens that are usually associated with heaven’s response to the sage’s virtuous governance.46 In the apocrypha, acts of ¤lial piety not only bring on auspicious portents, but can also attract direct rewards from heaven. First of all, if a person is attempting a ¤lial act but does not have the means by which to complete it, the spiritual world can miraculously aid him or her by bringing the act to a successful conclusion. Decisions on Obtaining the Mandate states that “if a person has a ¤lial nature, then heaven will issue forth a ¤lial star. Filial intentions affect heaven and earth (gan tiandi), [thus] heaven will give that person ¤lial conduct (Tian yu zhi xiaoxing).”47 Interestingly, even if one merely intends to perform a ¤lial act, the moral universe will lend a helping hand. One way that it might do so is to provide a medicine that a ¤lial child needs to cure his or her sick parents. The Contract that Quotes Spirits says, “When ¤liality and brotherliness reach their height, they communicate with the heavenly intelligences. When a parent is sick, one then expresses grief [to the extent] that he or she becomes skinny and weak and is about to destroy his or her own body. In seeking medicine [this way] his or her parents will be safe.”48 By endeavoring to destroy one’s own health, one saves one’s parents, because one’s ¤lial sacri¤ce moves heaven to miraculously provide the necessary medicine. Note, too, that the ¤rst line of this passage is taken from The Classic of Filial Piety, while the second line is an inference drawn from it. Yet another reward that heaven gives the ¤lial is a longer life. According to The Classic of Filial Piety’s Left Contract (Xiao jing zuoqi), “if a person is ¤lial and obedient, he will obtain two thousand suan [one suan equals three days]. Those [who perform] matters for which the heavenly “Keeper of Records” submits a memorial to the throne will be bestowed with a suan of middle merit; happiness and good fortune will forever come to him.” On the other hand, “if one is neither ¤lial nor respectful, one’s throat will be blocked and his or her life prematurely ended.”49 Both of these fragments indicate that the apocrypha were tapping into the popular desire for longevity and harnessing it for the bene¤t of ¤lial piety.

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These passages are important, too, because they indicate that the apocrypha’s writers believed a celestial bureaucracy existed that meticulously recorded peoples’ meritorious actions. The Rewards of Heaven By continuing and elaborating the apocrypha’s notions of ¤liality’s ef¤cacy, the tales celebrated ¤lial piety’s potency, advocated the existence of a conscious and caring divine world, and promised lavish rewards for those who took its messages to heart. The authors of the ¤lial piety tales used several different categories of miracle tales to convey these messages. The ¤rst category is one in which an exemplar’s sincere ¤lial piety causes the spirit world to aid the exemplar in his or her completion of a ¤lial act. This kind of miracle enables a son or daughter to complete an impossible ¤lial act, or at least one that is dif¤cult to accomplish. A typical example is a tale in which a ¤lial son searches for an out-of-season food that his parent desires. For instance, right at the onset of winter, Meng Zong’s (d. 271) mother desired to eat bamboo shoots, which were nowhere to be found. Not being able to obtain them, Meng sighed and grieved. Before long, bamboo shoots popped out of the ground for him. “Everyone believed that his perfect ¤liality brought on this response (zhixiao zhi suo zhigan).”50 This last line is particularly important because it indicates that this fantastic incident was a supernatural response to Meng’s ¤lial piety. By stating that the action took place at the onset of winter, the author also emphasizes the necessity of supernatural intervention; one could not seek a naturalistic explanation for this phenomenon. In the previous section, we noted that The Contract that Quotes Spirits stated that the ¤liality of commoners could bring about the materialization of rare things. Song Jun’s commentary on this passage directly connects ¤lial exemplar stories with this principle: “For example, Zengzi’s ¤liality could be affected by his mother who was a thousand li away, and his ¤liality enabled him to bring forth rare things in his region.”51 Stories like that of Meng Zong, who is able to obtain something normally unobtainable, are based precisely on this idea that exemplary ¤liality can secure rare things. A similar type of story is one in which a ¤lial child has no means to save his/her ailing parent. For instance, Miao Fei (2nd cent.) was a person from Lanling in Donghai. His father suddenly became ill. Doctors and medicine were lacking. Day and night Fei kowtowed. He would neither sleep nor eat. His own life was almost at an

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

end. Around midnight two gods pulling chains suddenly appeared. They sought pity by saying: “In the past, your honorable father passed by our home and offended us. For that reason he received our angry retribution. Nevertheless, heaven has been moved by your perfect ¤liality. Yesterday, heavenly of¤cials arrested us, recorded our crime, and locked us up in these chains.” Fei awoke with surprise and saw that his father was already cured.52

This tale is immediately striking because it so closely matches the passage from The Contract that Quotes Spirits discussed in the last section. Due to his deep affection for his father, Miao endangers himself through his grief. In response to his sincere piety, heaven provides a miraculous solution. This account underlines both the close relationship between the ¤lial miracle tales and the apocrypha as well as the existence of a responsive, heavenly bureaucracy. The second type of miracle in this category is one in which a son or daughter has already shown exemplary ¤lial piety and a miracle facilitates the completion of a ¤lial act. Wei Tong’s mother was fond of water drawn from the middle of the Ruo River. As a result, Wei would always row a boat out into its treacherous waters to obtain it for her. Heaven thereupon made a horizontal rock extend out into the water so that Wei would no longer have to suffer so much toil and trouble.53 After relating this tale, Commentary on the Classic of Waterways adds, “One can say that perfect sincerity propelled [this rock] into the water and that this auspicious omen came from heaven.”54 Another motif that illustrates this category concerns a ¤lial child who decides to build his parents’ burial tumulus without receiving any help. At some point in the process birds by the thousands carry dirt in their beaks and complete the tumulus for him.55 All these motifs indicate that heaven facilitates acts of ¤liality. By doing so, the moral universe not only signals ¤liality’s signi¤cance, but also ensures its continuation. The second category of miracles is that in which heaven rewards a ¤lial child with something that is life enhancing, such as wealth, a spouse, longevity, or an appointment to public of¤ce. A good example of a ¤lial son who receives this kind of reward is Yang Gong: due to his ¤liality and charity, in one version of the story, heaven provided him with wealth in the form of pebbles that grow into jade, a wife from an eminent family, and ten sons who were all virtuous and reached high of¤cial positions.56 What more could an early medieval man ask for? Rewards for other ¤lial children were not as lavish, but they were still quite bene¤cial. In return for his numerous ¤lial acts, heaven provided Ji Mai with a wife and extended his life span to one hundred years.57 As we have already seen, to reward Dong

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Yong’s efforts on his father’s behalf, heaven not only temporarily granted him a wife, but more important, through her superhuman labor, he received a means by which he could redeem his debt and regain his freedom. For Guo Ju’s willingness to sacri¤ce his infant son on his mother’s behalf, heaven bestowed upon him a pot of gold. To underline that this was a miraculous response to his virtue, the pot had an iron plate on it that read, “This is to be bestowed upon the ¤lial offspring Guo Ju.”58 This gold allowed him to live happily ever after with both his elderly mother and his son. Filial daughters, too, could earn rewards from the spirits. In response to Mr. Tu’s daughter’s (5th cent.) outstanding ¤liality, to enrich her a mountain deity gave her the ability to cure illnesses, which soon gained her many suitors.59 In short, ¤lial piety can reward its practitioners with the greatest earthly desires—wealth, a spouse, longevity, and public of¤ce. The aforementioned story of Yang Gong is an interesting one because the tale says relatively little about his ¤liality.60 What the story describes in detail is how, after his parents’ death, Yang moved to an arid place. For many years, he would draw water from elsewhere, bring it to this spot, and give it freely to travelers. According to some versions of the tale, he even mended their shoes, but never asked for payment. Then the spirits provided him with seeds that turned into jade and coins. Although one might think that this is simply a story about reciprocity and “recompensing a kindness” (baoen), it is much more than that because of the way it is framed. By prefacing the tale with remarks about his being an excellent son, the author makes it so that the entire story is about ¤lial piety: due to Yang’s ¤lial sorrow for his parents he quits normal life—that is, of¤cialdom—and dedicates himself to sel¶essly aiding others. In other words, he extends his ¤liality, his altruistic service to his parents, to all people. Thus heaven not only rewards Yang for his charity, but also for his ¤liality, which makes his charitable giving possible.61 That compilers of Accounts of Filial Offspring included his tale in their works con¤rms that early medieval people viewed Yang’s miraculous compensation as stemming from his ¤liality.62 Miracles that Save a Filial Son from Danger The third category of miracles is one in which the spirit world saves a ¤lial child from such imminent dangers as natural catastrophes, wild animals, bandits, and even murderous parents. Since The Classic of Filial Piety already mentions this kind of miracle, it is perhaps the oldest type. Due to their suddenness and unpredictability, natural catastrophes must have been terrifying for early medieval Chinese. In a world in which

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

buildings were partially made of wood, had thatch roofs, and were lighted by candles and oil-burning lamps, ¤res must have been especially frightening. No wonder tales abounded about an exemplar’s ¤liality beckoning supernatural help in dousing ¤res. During the Northern and Southern Dynasties, one of the most beloved stories was that of Cai Shun, whose refusal to abandon his mother’s cof¤n in the face of a raging ¤re caused the ¶ames to miraculously leap over his house and leave it untouched. Despite the fact that Cai was credited with other extraordinary ¤lial deeds, the artisans of the ¤fth and sixth centuries chose to pictorially depict only this tale.63 The popularity of this theme was so great that Chinese Buddhists borrowed it to propagate their beliefs.64 Filial piety could also save one from the terrifying hazards of traveling on the unpredictable sea. Guan Ning (158–241) avoided land en route to Liaodong. His ship encountered a stiff wind. All the people in the boat were fearful. They thereupon kowtowed and repented their sins. Ning alone had no faults. His thoughts were normal, as though he was merely going to the toilet. The only thing unusual was that he did not wear his hat. He looked up to Heaven and kowtowed. The wind was soon calm.65

Interestingly, Guan’s shipmates believed that the disaster they found themselves in was because their sins had angered the spirit world. Due to Guan’s faultlessness, he merely had to casually pay reverence to heaven and was immediately saved. Even though this tale says nothing about Guan’s ¤liality, Zhou Jingshi’s Accounts of Filial Offspring undoubtedly included it because the reader would have understood that this miracle occurred as a result of his unblemished ¤liality.66 The others on the ship evoked no response from heaven because they obviously had not been ¤lial. Consequently, natural disasters were no match for a ¤lial son. One can see further evidence of ¤lial piety’s tremendous power in that it could also protect one from both savage animals and cannibalistic humans. Wei Jun (¶. 440) and his father once stopped at an inn for the night. At dawn, ferocious tigers had surrounded the building and wanted to eat its inhabitants. Wei came out, kneeled, and said, “If you are hungry you can eat me, but you shouldn’t startle my elderly parent.” The tigers shrank back and ¶ed. Everyone inside the inn was safe.67 Wei’s sel¶essness and sincere concern for his father simply overwhelm the tigers—they have no choice but to retreat in the face of unmitigated goodness. In a structurally similar tale, during a rebellion, hungry rebels capture Zhao Xiao’s younger brother, whom they are about to eat. Zhao thereupon ties himself up and

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says to the rebels, “Li for a long time has been hungry thus he is emaciated. He is not nearly as good [to eat] as the fat and well-fed Xiao.” Like the tigers of the previous tale, Zhao’s virtue disarms the cannibals: they are so surprised and ashamed by Zhao’s action that they let the brothers leave unmolested.68 Filial piety thereby has the awesome power to tame uncivilized beasts, be they man or animal. Again, this type of tale and its message were so appealing that Chinese Buddhists eagerly appropriated it.69 That contemporaries believed such uncanny, miraculous events came about as a result of ¤lial piety’s power can be seen in the comments attached to these stories. After narrating how ¤lial daughter Yang Xiang saved her father from a tiger by tackling it with her bare hands, the transmitter of the story explains, “[B]y means of her sincere ¤liality Xiang brought on a miraculous response from a ¤erce beast.”70 That is to say, the tiger released her father not because Yang injured it, but because of the power of her ¤lial intentions. In trying to explain how the ¤lial Yang Wei (3rd cent.) and his mother escaped from a tiger, the author of Commentary on the Classic of Waterways explains, “[I]f it was not for the penetration of his sincerity and subtleness of his essence who could have reasoned with and affected a spiritual beast?”71 In regard to savage humans, we are told that during a time of unrest, when Jiang Ge (¶. 25–84) was trying to make his escape while carrying his mother on his back, rebel soldiers accosted him several times. When that happened, he cried and asked for pity since he had an elderly mother whom he had to feed. The text then tells us that “his words and qi were respectful and sincere and were suf¤cient to move and stimulate (gandong) people.” As a result of his earnest request, the soldiers not only let him go, but also told him of routes he could take to avoid more soldiers.72 In nearly the same way Zengzi’s qi is able to convey what his mother experiences, Jiang Ge’s qi affects that of the rebels, thereby causing them to act kindly towards him and his mother. Finally, the power of ¤lial piety could also protect a child from evil parents. Even though the early legends of Shun have already shown how a ¤lial son could miraculously escape his parents’ murderous intentions, as previously stated, Shun himself produced these miracles through his use of magic. However, in early medieval tales this kind of miracle came about as a supernatural response to a child’s ¤lial piety. For instance, Jiang Xu (early 1st cent. AD) served his stepmother with profound ¤liality, but she still hated him. As a result, She secretly poisoned a drink that she gave Xu, but he drank it without dying. She then attempted to kill Xu with a knife at night, but he dreamt about it.

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

Thereupon he woke up and said, “Someone wants to kill me.” He then ¶ed the place where he slept. As predicted, his mother took a knife and stabbed the bed, but the bed was empty. His stepmother afterwards regretted [her actions] and realized [Xu’s ¤liality]. She stepped back and reproached herself. She sighed and said, “This child is that which Heaven has created. How could I desire to harm him? This is my sin.” She then wanted to kill herself. Xu said, “One who is ¤lial does not cause [anxiety], and does not give orders [to his parents]. I have caused you to be afraid, thus the sin is still mine.” Mother and son then apologized to each other. They returned home and thereafter had harmonious relations.73

Jiang took no measures to save himself from the poisoned drink, yet he lived; then a prophetic dream saved him from being stabbed to death. Clearly he was saved by something other than himself. Funabashi Xiaozi zhuan explicitly states that heaven saved him: when his stepmother realized that she could not kill him, she remarked, “He must be protected by Heaven. It was a crime to intend to kill him.”74 In fact, to accord with this new understanding of ¤lial miracles, some later versions of the Shun legend even transform the ways by which he was saved from his parents’ murderous intentions. For example, when Shun was cleaning out the well in which his parents planned to crush him, his ¤lial piety caused heaven to make silver coins materialize at the bottom of the well. Since his greedy parents wanted the money, this gave Shun enough time to ¤nd a way to escape. A cartouche on the late ¤fthcentury Guyuan lacquered cof¤n states, “Right when [Gusou] was about to ¤ll in the well with a rock, to allow Shun to escape from the well, [Heaven] ¤lled it with gold and cash to bestow upon [ ].”75 Likewise, in the late Tang/Five dynasties Transformation Text on Master Shun (Shunzi bian), Shun escaped without harm from the burning barn due to the intervention of the earth god, and escaped from the well due to Indra.76 The otherworldly nature of these escapes are particularly vivid in their illustration on the Guyuan lacquered cof¤n. In the scene of the well, a naked Shun is shown pulling himself out of the apparently solid wall of the blocked-off well; in the scene where the barn is ablaze, a naked Shun jumps off the roof of the barn with his arms spread apart (see ¤g. 3). Filial Miracles that Bring on Auspicious Portents The fourth and last type of ¤lial miracle is that which causes the appearance of auspicious portents. Usually these portents take the form of animals that

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Fig. 3: Shun escapes from the burning barn. Painting on a lacquered coffin. Northern Wei dynasy, 5th century. Courtesy of Ningxia renmin chubanshe.

act unnaturally tame or human, propitious beasts, or unexpected natural phenomena. These auspicious omens usually appear when a ¤lial son performs the mourning rites in an exemplary manner. One of the most common rewards for ¤liality is either animals that display profound respect for the ¤lial child or the mere appearance of auspicious animals. The two geese at the beginning of this chapter who followed Yu Guo and mourned him for three years have already provided us with an example of how ¤lial piety could cause animals to act in a human or unnatural way.77 Oftentimes, animals act in these unnatural ways due to the heartrending grief that a child displayed in mourning his or her parent. For instance, every time Wu Xi, who lived in the mourning hut by his father’s grave, wailed, a deer would then squat near the tomb and let out grievous cries.78 Sometimes the animals not only grieve alongside the exemplar, but also help him survive. Commentary on the Classic of Waterways narrates the story of a ¤lial son surnamed Qin who, while mourning his parents, became so ill that he could not eat. A tiger suckled him for over a hundred days.79 Animals who acted in these unnatural but friendly ways were positive omens that signaled good things would soon happen to the recipient.80 The authors of such tales underscore the auspicious nature of these animals by mentioning their white color or by including the appearance of

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

mythological beasts. White animals often materialize in response to a ¤lial child’s paradigmatic ¤lial piety. For example, we are told that after mourning his mother in an exemplary manner, “[Dun Qi’s ¤liality] affected things and penetrated the spirits (gan wu tong ling). [Thus] white turtledoves perched near his mourning-hut. Upon seeing people they would leave; upon seeing Dun Qi they would stay.”81 Like the animals mentioned in previous tales, the turtledoves act unnaturally—they in effect keep Dun company. What is additionally different about them is their white color, which makes them special. The author explicitly states that Dun’s ¤liality is what makes them come forth and act the way they do. Since early medieval Chinese believed that white animals were auspicious, their appearance would still be considered a good omen even if such animals in a ¤lial tale do nothing to either help or comfort a ¤lial child.82 The propitious nature of the animals called forth by ¤lial piety is even more pronounced in tales in which mythological beasts appear. The composite nature of these animals underlines their rarity and the good fortune of those whose virtue beckons them. For example, when Xin Shan (¶. 25–57) mourned his mother in an exemplary fashion, a huge bird appeared sporting the ¤ve colors (bluegreen, red, yellow, white, and black) on its body; it had a chicken’s head, a swallow’s throat, a ¤sh’s tail, and a snake’s neck.83 This bird’s auspiciousness is seen not only in its composite nature, but also in its ¤ve colors, which undoubtedly correspond to the “¤ve phases” (wuxing).84 A narrative concerning Fang Chu’s (Eastern Han) ¤liality combines both mythological beasts and white animals. It reads, “When his mother died, he personally carried the dirt to make her tomb and planted a thousand Qi trees. Luan birds nested upon the trees and white hares sauntered beneath them.”85 Exemplary ¤liality beckoned not only unusual animals, but also unexpected natural phenomenon, which most often consisted of the precipitation of sweet dew or the appearance of sweet springs. Han Records of the Eastern Pavilion gives us an early example of this type of miracle. Emperor Ming was extremely ¤lial and often thought of his deceased father, Emperor Guangwu. A year after his death, Emperor Ming assembled the whole court in front of his father’s tomb. At the New Year, when he was about to go to his father’s tomb, he dreamt that he saw the ¤rst emperor and empress, as they were while alive. On the day he led all of the of¤cials to his father’s tomb, sweet dew fell and accumulated on the tops of trees. Of¤cials of all ranks collected it to offer it to the throne.86 In other cases, sweet springs appear where in the past there were none. Some accounts combine the appearance of an unexpected natural phenomenon with the arrival of auspicious animals.87

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An important aspect of all these omens is that they were all foregrounded in the Confucian apocrypha. These texts tell us that when the king’s ¤liality or virtue reaches its height, then the spirit world will produce many of the same omens that we ¤nd in the ¤lial piety stories. For example, The Contract that Quotes Spirits states, When the king’s ¤liality reaches heaven, sweet dew will fall; when it sinks into and reaches the Earth, a sweet spring will gush forth. . . . [W]hen his virtue reaches the birds and beasts, then luan birds will dance. . . . [W]hen a king’s virtue reaches the birds and beasts, then a white deer will materialize. . . . [W]hen his virtue reaches the birds and beasts, white birds will descend. . . . [W]hen his virtue reaches the birds and beasts, a white tiger will materialize.88

Since this one work can account for almost all of the auspicious omens that ¤lial piety is said to produce, it is not dif¤cult to see where the ¤lial miracle tales gained their inspiration. Nevertheless, one major difference between the good omens in the apocrypha and those in the ¤lial piety stories is the agent who generates the omens. In the apocrypha, the king or emperor does so, but in the ¤lial piety stories, commoners usually do so. The next section will discuss the import of this change. This survey of ¤lial miracles has established the following three points: ¤rst, without a doubt, the miracles found in the ¤lial piety tales stem from the tradition established by The Classic of Filial Piety and the Confucian apocrypha. Every category of ¤lial miracle had antecedents in these prior works. What the early medieval tales did was to take fantastic occurrences found in the apocrypha and document how they appeared in the lives of historical ¤lial exemplars. The implication is that if these historical ¤gures could bene¤t from the spiritual ef¤cacy of ¤lial piety, so could you. Hence the ¤lial piety stories merely develop the ideas about ¤lial piety’s magical powers that the apocrypha had already established. We should not overlook that each type of ¤lial miracle already existed during the Eastern Han, which is precisely when the apocrypha were at the height of their in¶uence. Second, the miracle tales call attention to the power of ¤lial piety, not to that of the human exemplar. Unlike Shun, ¤lial sons do not actively create miracles through magic; instead, they are merely the passive recipients of the moral universe’s miracles. A few ¤lial offspring, such as Guan Ning, did consciously call forth miracles, but they merely stimulated heaven to create the miracles. In other words, the ability to create miracles resided within the spirit world. Filial sons were thus merely the

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

instruments through which the awesome and ubiquitous force of ¤lial piety was made manifest. This would help explain why the same miracle could be attributed to a number of different ¤lial offspring: the identity of the ¤lial exemplar was not nearly as important as the miracle itself. Third, the narratives also reveal that the tales’ authors viewed the universe in anthropomorphic terms. They conceive heaven as having a human form and feelings: heaven is a god who feels pity for ¤lial children who gladly face insurmountable hardships in trying to serve their parents. A tale about Xiahou Xin tells us that “the Emperor of Heaven” (Tiandi) took pity on his perfect ¤lial devotion and hence gave him medicine that would cure his mother.89 Heaven’s compassion for ¤lial children can also lead it to dispatch minor deities or the recently dead to aid or reward the exemplar. After freeing Dong Yong from servitude through her superhuman weaving, his wife tells him, “I am the Weaving Girl of Heaven. Heaven was moved by your perfect ¤lial devotion and sent me to repay your debt.”90 Similarly, after performing many ¤lial acts, Ji Mai dreamt of a woman who told him, “My surname is Wei. Yesterday I suddenly died violently. The Heavenly Deity (Tianshen) pities you for having no wife. He has sent me to reward you.”91 In short, a celestial court exists in which the heavenly deity can dispatch minor deities and spirits to accomplish tasks on earth. Heavenly functionaries can even arrest and punish other deities at the discretion of the heavenly emperor, as the aforementioned tale of Miao Fei has shown.92 Sometimes heaven and earth even take physical forms to interact with the exemplars. Liu Yin (¶. 300–318) was disconsolate that since it was the middle of winter, he could not obtain his grandmother’s desired violets. Thus he beseeched the Emperor of Heaven (Huangtian) and the Lord of the Earth (Houtu) to take pity on him. He then heard a disembodied voice say, “Stop, stop your crying” and found violets sprouting all around him.93 In the case of Yang Gong, the heavenly spirit even transformed himself into a student to recompense Yang with the magical seeds.94 In short, due to heaven and earth’s profound admiration for ¤liality, they often intervene in the lives of ¤lial children and even come into their presence. This trait again demonstrates the narratives’ af¤nity with the apocrypha, which also depict natural and cosmic forces in human form.95 This leads us to ask, though, why early medieval men were so captivated by ¤lial miracle tales. What were the messages of the miracle tales that reverberated with their own values and concerns? I think the early medieval elite appreciated the miracle tales because the tales demonstrated that nature sanctioned a hierarchically ordered family and emphasized that

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anyone could gain wealth and status based on his or her cultivation of virtue, and the because the appearance of auspicious omens indicated that provincial families could now share in the legitimacy to rule, which in the past had been monopolized by the emperors. The Sacredness of Hierarchy Patriarchs of extended families no doubt welcomed the miracle tales because they plainly illustrated that heaven, earth, and the ten thousand things endorsed the model of family relations that they wanted: one in which the parents’ wishes were paramount and sons and daughters’ wishes secondary. In a nutshell, ¤lial miracles signaled that the unequal, hierarchical relationship between parent and child was sacred. Since the spirit world sanctioned hierarchy within the family, it was beyond doubt or argument. From another angle, due to the Ru envisioning the universe in moral terms, the tales indicate that to sacri¤ce one’s own interests to serve those of one’s parents was “natural” in that it was a principle shared by heaven, earth, and the ten thousand things. This is why individuals who could recover their primordial qi by perfecting their ¤liality could elicit responses from things both animate and inanimate. The tales convey the message that by sacri¤cing one’s own wants and striving only to ful¤ll one’s parents’ needs, one aligns oneself with the dao that governs the universe, which is ¤lial piety. Doing so bene¤ts oneself because by following the natural order of things, that is, ¤lial piety, one avoids calamities, prolongs his or her life, obtains wealth and high position, and secures good fortune for future generations. In other words, ¤lial piety is not only what is “natural,” but due to its ef¤cacy, it is also that which is ultimately pro¤table. Conversely, the tales imply that by acting un¤lially, one contravenes the natural order of things and risks the danger of incurring the moral universe’s wrath. Although many tales from later periods emphasize how heaven punishes the un¤lial with thunderbolts, this does not appear in any early medieval tales.96 Nevertheless, there are a few instances where heaven does indeed punish those who contravene normal familial relations. For example, we have already seen how Shun’s parents suffer after they try to kill him: his father goes blind, his mother dumb, and his half brother mute. In other words, Six Dynasties and Tang versions of the Shun legend imply that his parents and half brother’s ailments are heavenly punishments for their dastardly attacks on the ¤lial Shun. Likewise, when Ding Lan’s wife attacks her wooden “mother,” she also suffers supernatural punishments.97

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

Tellingly, in each case the punishment stops only when the af¶icted person looks to heaven and repents from his or her sins. As previously mentioned, bandits are also loathe to kill ¤lial children because they believe it would be inauspicious to do so, which probably implies that they, too, fear heaven’s wrath. Nevertheless, on the whole the early medieval tales stress ¤lial piety’s bene¤ts more than its punishments. Perhaps this is because during that era Confucianism’s hold was not as great as it would be later, so that the authors decided to emphasize the positive aspects of ¤lial piety’s power. In emphasizing the sacredness of hierarchy, the tales are once again reiterating the outlook of Correlative Confucianism. One of the innovations that Dong Zhongshu introduced was to favor yang over yin: according to him, the former was more important than the latter.98 Moreover, according to Luxuriant Gems of the Spring and Autumn (Chunqiu fanlu), which is ascribed to Dong, the three primary relationships—that of lordretainer, father-child, husband-wife—which were known as the “three bonds” (sangang), are based on the metaphysical principles of yin and yang. Thus lords, fathers, and husbands are yang, that is, superior, while retainers, children, and wives are yin, that is, inferior. As a result, parents are the child’s heaven, which he/she should never disobey.99 The apocrypha also adopted the same one-way, hierarchical view of human ethics.100 The ¤lial piety stories were therefore merely giving historical ¶esh to the theoretical bones that Correlative Confucian theorists posited. Emphasis on Meritocracy Another important Correlative Confucian message that patriarchs of powerful families would have welcomed is that wealth and status are available to anyone who is genuinely virtuous. Correlative Confucians believed that public of¤ce should be distributed on the basis of virtue. People with great merit would be placed in high of¤ce, while the person with the greatest virtue would be made the ruler. When government was ¤lled with virtuous men and headed by a sage as emperor, then the Age of Great Unity (Datong) would come about.101 The ¤lial piety tales make this point by emphasizing their protagonists’ destitution and pointing out that their rewards come solely from their ¤liality. The tales we have touched upon in this chapter have already given us many examples of poor ¤lial sons. To bury his father, Dong Yong had to sell himself into slavery. Guo Ju did not have the wherewithal to support both his infant son and elderly mother. When Yang Gong asked

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to marry the daughter of a prestigious family, her father laughed and thought Yang must be mad.102 Xing Qu had to work as a hired laborer to feed his father. Han Lingzhen’s (5th cent.) poverty meant that for three years after his mother’s death he could not afford to bury her, until he planted melons that never diminished in number.103 Why this emphasis on poverty? The authors of the tales underscore the exemplars’ poverty to indicate that their good fortune was solely derived from their perfect ¤lial piety. In other words, exemplars were nobodies until ¤lial piety transformed them into people of substance. These rags-to-riches tales stress that to get ahead, one does not need a high birth, connections, or wealth; one needs only praiseworthy conduct. This emphasis that virtue is what gets one into of¤ce is undoubtedly why early medieval tales predominately focus on the ¤lial acts one performs before becoming an of¤cial or receiving a summons to public of¤ce, rather than ¤lial acts performed throughout his lifetime. At the same time, this storyline serves the purpose of glorifying ¤lial piety’s power. If it were not for its ef¤cacy, these men and women would have been left toiling and dying in obscurity. The message that ¤lial piety is the basis for social enhancement comes across clearly in the way early medieval authors reworked the plotline of the Shun legend. In its early versions, such as in Accounts of Outstanding Women, Shun marries the sage-king Yao’s daughters even before his parents try to kill him. However, in early medieval versions of the tale, this marriage, a crowning social achievement that heralds Shun’s ascension to the throne, does not occur until the end of the tale, after his parents have tried to kill him and he has successfully cared for them from distant Mount Li. In the later versions of this text, Shun’s marriage to Yao’s daughters is explicitly presented as a reward for all of his ¤lial acts. An encyclopedia entry tells us that after Shun miraculously cured his father’s blindness, “Emperor Yao heard about this matter. He then gave his two daughters in marriage to him, the elder was named E-huang and the younger was Nüying. Yao thereupon ceded the throne to Shun.”104 This point is further borne out in the pictorial record. In the Northern Dynasties’ depictions of this story, the ¤rst one or two scenes consist of his escapes from his family’s murderous plots, while the last scene shows him marrying Yao’s two daughters (see ¤g. 4).105 For even the least sophisticated viewer, it must have been evident that the last scene represented Shun’s reward for his outstanding ¤liality. But since we have already seen that most of the compilers of the Accounts of Filial Offspring were from eminent families that could rely on

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

Fig. 4: Shun’s father and stepbrother imprison him in a well. Shun marries Yao’s two daughters. Painting on the lacquered Sima Jinlong screen. Datong, Shanxi Province. Northern Wei dynasty, 5th century.

their wealth, connections, and pedigrees to advance the careers of their junior members, why would they attach value to this message of merit over birth? The reason is that patriarchs of even illustrious families seem to have been worried that unless they continuously distinguished themselves through superior conduct and learning, their descendants would not be able to long maintain their family’s af¶uence and status. We must remember that these men lived in a dangerous world, where dynasties were short-lived, wars were frequent, and court intrigues vicious.106 They almost certainly personally witnessed illustrious families having sudden reversals of fortune, and even members of the most eminent families had dif¤culties maintaining their position in the top echelons of government.107 For this reason, in family instructions (jiaxun) addressed to their descendants, patriarchs preach against obtaining high position or extravagant wealth because either one will earn the enmity or jealousy of other families. In this vein, Yan Zhitui suggested that a family should not have more than twenty slaves, ten qing of land, and ten thousand copper coins, and that its male members obtain only middle-ranking positions within the bureaucracy.108 The patriarchs urge instead that their descendents concentrate on cultivating their virtue, which is done by studying. In sum, the family instructions emphasize learning because it teaches one how to act

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well, thereby avoiding the enmity of others, and because it is a useful skill that is always appreciated, since regimes always need literate men. Yan Zhitui gives us a vivid sense of the usefulness of literacy in a topsy-turvy world. In these disordered times I have seen many captives who, though lowbred for a hundred generations, have become teachers through knowledge and study of the Analects and The Classic of Filial Piety. Others, though they had the heritage of nobility for a thousand years, were nothing but farmers and grooms, because they were unable to read and write. Seeing such conditions, how can you not exert yourselves? Whoever can keep steadily at work on a few hundred volumes will, in the end, never remain a common person.109

In other words, personal cultivation and learning were survival skills that family members had to possess to maintain the family’s status over time—birth, wealth, and privilege were not a solid enough foundation on which to base a family’s fortune over the long term. This perhaps is why the trope of the precocious child was also prevalent in this period.110 In a memorial to the throne, Han Xianzong, an author of an Accounts of Filial Offspring, complains that of¤cial appointments are merely based on pedigree and not on talent. He goes on to say, People from eminent families are merely those [that rely on] the glory of their father and ancestors. How do they bene¤t the imperial family? The only people who bene¤t the times are those who possess virtue and talent. If someone has talent, even if he has the baseness of a butcher, ¤sherman, slave, or a captive, the imperial family should not be embarrassed to make him into an of¤cial. If he does not have talent, even if he is the scion of three empresses, he should fall among the commoners. Thus great talent receives high of¤ce, and small talent receives small of¤ce. Each receives what he deserves, which will bring about happiness and peace.111

This statement well re¶ects the premises of Correlative Confucianism— political of¤ce should be assigned solely on merit, regardless of class. Nevertheless, in the same memorial, Han also complained that in the capital, people of gentle birth and commoners were living side by side, which meant that commoners’ lascivious manners, especially those of entertainers, were contaminating the conduct of scholars.112 In other words, being a member of the upper class himself, he believed in the superiority of genteel families and the inferiority of commoners. At the same time, though,

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

he believed that families must reaf¤rm their social worth through their virtue and talent, or they run the risk of becoming commoners themselves. The message of Accounts of Filial Offspring, then, was no doubt that ¤liality is a means by which one reaf¤rms his or her social value and ruling class membership because it indicates that one has what society and the court need most—talent and virtue. Shift of Legitimacy This chapter mentioned earlier that in the apocrypha auspicious omens materialize due to an emperor’s virtue, but that in the ¤lial piety stories they appear in response to commoners’ ¤liality. What accounts for this shift? The answer is that beginning in the second half of the Eastern Han dynasty, local elite families began to appropriate these miracles and attribute them to their founders or prominent members to legitimate their unprecedented power and status. Since local elite families were now carrying out many of the functions that the central government formerly undertook, this kind of miracle story provided a ready-made means of justifying their newly acquired powers. This contention begins to make sense when we look at how Taoists at the same time employed imperial omens to legitimate their own authority. Seidel has pointed out that many ideas later associated with Taoism can be found in the Confucian apocrypha. With the weakening of government authority in the Eastern Han, magicians or masters of the occult sciences (fangshi) appropriated celestial signs and tokens that conferred authority on the emperor and used them to legitimate their claims of being the empire’s spiritual caretakers. Hence just as it did with emperors, heaven invested Taoist priests with sacred registers (lu), tokens (fu), or charts (tu) that bestowed upon them power over deities and spirits.113 In other words, by grabbing symbols used to legitimate the emperor’s authority, Taoists took advantage of imperial weakness to attempt to wrest away its control of the spirit world. Now, if rulers were going to successfully deal with the other world, they would have to depend on the Taoists as intermediaries. Similarly, many of the ideas that inform the ¤lial piety stories also stem from the apocrypha. Since the apocrypha’s primary purpose was to confer legitimacy on the ruler who was the intended audience of these texts, they were very much political documents. That the ¤lial piety stories owe so much to the apocrypha suggests that they, too, had political purposes. If an apocryphal text tells us that sweet dew gathers in response to a ruler’s benevolence and the same thing happens to a literatus in a ¤lial

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piety story, one wonders whether that literatus does not have the same political legitimacy as the ruler. To put it bluntly, by attributing to local literati the auspicious omens that in the past were attributed only to rulers, the authors of the ¤lial piety tales were insinuating that the moral universe was conferring legitimacy to rule onto the ¤lial exemplars. The tales are thus saying that political legitimacy no longer solely resides with the emperor: it now also resides with outstanding literati who happen to be members of powerful families. To justify their privileged place in society, then, elite families created miracle tales that suggested they possessed the same virtue as rulers. Auspicious omen tales most clearly indicate that the miracle stories concerned political legitimacy. Unlike other miracles, the appearance of auspicious omens in no way directly aids or rewards the ¤lial exemplar. The modern reader might doubt the felicity of white rabbits frolicking around one’s father’s grave. It matters, though, because it is an auspicious omen that materializes when a ruler treats the elderly well, or when he handles affairs promptly.114 It is a sign of benevolent government. Eager to enhance their legitimacy, early medieval emperors avidly searched for such prodigies and had of¤cials announce them to the throne. In fact, these omens were of such great political importance that by the ¤fth century, historians in both northern and southern China began dedicating special chapters to them in the dynastic histories.115 Since these were signs of good governance, when appearing in response to the virtue of a literatus, they must convey the same message of political legitimacy. Hence the illustrations of auspicious omens that appear at the Wu Liang shrine are not, as Wu Hung and Powers would have us believe, criticisms of the present government and prescriptions for a good government,116 but rather are indications of divine signs that had occurred, or had been claimed to occur, in response to the Wu family’s prominence in that area. Lippiello has argued that Li Xi, a late second-century governor in what is now Gansu Province, was credited with auspicious omens because “Li Xi was not simply an of¤cial; in the eyes of the inhabitants of Wudu, he was a benevolent ruler.”117 In other words, local of¤cials or leaders were appropriating the symbols of imperial sovereignty to legitimate their de facto rule over local areas. Indirect con¤rmation that ¤lial piety stories featuring auspicious omens—such as propitiously colored animals or unexpected natural phenomena—were closely tied to the politics of eminent families is their disappearance in later collections of such stories. Upon reading the most famous collection of ¤lial piety stories, Poems on the Twenty-four Filial Exemplars, one will ¤nd that even though the majority of these tales date to the

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

early medieval period, not even one of them features the appearance of an auspicious omen.118 I think the reason for this is that such tales were too explicitly tied to the apocrypha and political legitimacy. Although the apocrypha, despite many bans, continued to be in demand throughout the early medieval period, by the Tang dynasty the texts seem to have gradually fallen out of favor and disappeared.119 I am not sure why this is the case, but perhaps due to the stability of the Tang, its rulers probably thought they could do without the double-edged swords of the apocrypha’s prophecies. In the same vein, states with strong central governments, such as the Tang and Song dynasties, probably would have looked askance at tales that credited literati with the auspicious omens normally associated with emperors. Conclusion This chapter has shown that in many ways the early medieval ¤lial piety stories conveyed the messages of Correlative Confucianism—that man can affect the spirits through his moral behavior, that the moral universe is deeply concerned with the actions of people and will send down miracles to reward the virtuous and disasters to chastise the immoral, that a hierarchy within the family that privileges seniors and subordinated juniors was “natural,” and that government of¤ce should be assigned on the basis of merit. Moreover, the stories betray a close relationship to the Confucian apocrypha: all of the fantastic occurrences one sees in the miracle tales have predecessors in these texts. The early medieval popularity of ¤lial piety tales indicates that contemporaries still deeply appreciated the ideas of Correlative Confucianism. We should not be surprised, then, when Lu Zongli tells us that despite the repeated early medieval proscriptions of the apocrypha, they continued to survive and enjoy esteem straight to the beginning of the Tang dynasty.120 Nor should we be taken aback by the importance of miracles to Ru advocates. Correlative Confucians viewed themselves as living in a vibrant universe in which humans should be in harmony with all other things. What kept things in balance was of course ethical behavior. When people perfected that which connected them with all other things, Correlative Confucians took it for granted that other things in the moral universe would show their approval. Thus it would be odd indeed if a person demonstrated exemplary virtue that did not solicit notice among the ten thousand things. Finally, this chapter has brought home the point that these seemingly innocuous, trite stories conveyed important political messages. Correlative

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Confucianism was above all a political philosophy, and the tales, in conveying that philosophy, make political statements. One of those statements was that political legitimacy was no longer the monopoly of the emperor: prominent families in the provinces could also receive heaven’s blessing to rule. This does not mean, though, that through their manipulation of these symbols that the prominent families were trying to usurp the position of the emperor. I think this is evident in that the authors of the tales do not claim that the ¤lial children’s behavior brings about the appearance of those auspicious omens most closely associated with emperors, such as unicorns, phoenixes, dragons, and so on. In other words, the tales suggest that prominent families shared in the emperor’s legitimacy, but were still subordinate to him. For the emperor, the ¤lial children themselves must have been close to being auspicious omens. Their existence implied that his benevolence had reached and inspired at least some members of his empire. The fact that rebels in the Pan Zong story say that killing a ¤lial child would be unlucky and might prevent them from winning the empire suggests that ¤lial children were indeed harbingers of good luck to be treasured by both the ruling authority and rebels alike.121 Thus the chapter on ¤lial children in the dynastic histories might have served a function similar to the treatises on auspicious omens—by showing the existence of many ¤lial children during that dynasty, it proved that heaven did indeed smile upon it. Perhaps that is why early medieval emperors were willing to share a modicum of their legitimacy with ¤lial children and the powerful families that they represented.

5

Reverent Caring

Ziyou asked about filial piety (xiao). The master said, “Today’s filial piety is called being able to provide sustenance (yang). As for dogs and horses, both are provided sustenance. But, if one does not show respect (jing) wherein lies the difference?” The Analects, 2.7

A

s this passage indicates, Warring States Ru constantly reiterated that ¤lial piety did not merely consist of yang, that is, nurturing parents with food or physical care. Such behavior should be automatic and in no way is considered virtuous. For Ru, what counted were acts that either pleased or honored parents. Yet many early medieval ¤lial piety accounts concern yang. In fact, close to half of these narratives are about offspring who diligently ful¤ll their parents’ material needs and desires. With the exception of mourning, motifs about nurturing far outnumber any other theme in the ¤lial piety stories. But if Warring States Ru were at pains to disassociate xiao from yang, why, then, was caring for parents such an important theme in the early medieval narratives? How could the meaning of xiao seemingly revert to one of its earliest meanings, that is, “presenting food”?1 This chapter will argue that the authors of early medieval tales largely de¤ned xiao as yang because, in a period when governmental authority was weak and individual families assumed unprecedented power and in¶uence, it was precisely this concrete and archaic aspect of ¤lial piety that most bene¤ted the solidarity of extended families, by simultaneously expressing love, creating obligation, and signaling hierarchy. Since food is the premier life-giving substance, no act communicated regard better than its bestowal; no act expressed apathy more than its denial. By stressing yang as xiao, early medieval authors also underlined that service to one’s family took priority over service to the state. At the same time, though, they modi¤ed yang by heralding the relatively new concept 113

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of gongyang (to respectfully nurture), which differs in that such an act of caring discloses a parents’ superiority and a child’s inferiority. Gongyang combines the concepts of feeding (yang) and giving respect (jing),2 thereby enabling one to display esteem for parents through the manner in which one meets their physical needs. This chapter also pays heed to the identity of the gongyang recipients. In recent years, scholars have increasingly examined the Ru conceptualization of the parent-child relationship. Since texts such as The Analects, the Book of Rites, and The Classic of Filial Piety almost exclusively talk about the relationship between father and son (fuzi) and mention mothers only within the compound “father and mother” (fumu), Cole contends that Confucian ¤lial piety concerns only a son’s responsibilities to his father and male ancestors.3 Shimomi, on the other hand, believes that the mother-son relationship was of foremost importance in early Confucianism. Since the Chinese family system entrusted mothers with rearing, educating, and punishing children, sons felt dependent on and fearful of her. Consequently, Chinese sons were all “mama’s boys” who would forever do the bidding of the patrilineal family, which the mother represented.4 In truth, early medieval authors of tales went to neither extreme and valued both mother-son and father-son ties. The Creation of “Reverent Caring” Towards the end of the Warring States period, the term gongyang, which denotes the special feeding of elders, begins to appear in literary sources. The fundamental meaning of gong is “to provide” or “to supply,” but it also has the extended meanings of “to offer respectfully” and “to present sacri¤ces.” In the past, gong was also interchangeable with the character gong, “to respect” or “to be reverent.” Yang’s most basic meaning is “to feed” or “to provide sustenance,” from which comes its extended meanings of “to raise,” “to nurture,” “to care for,” and “to cultivate.” Thus gongyang means something like “reverent caring” or “providing sustenance in a respectful fashion.” That is, one presents food or material support as if one were offering it to a superior.5 Undoubtedly, because the term stressed the deferential manner in which the gift was given, translators adopted it to describe Buddhist offerings that nourished either the mind or body.6 The reader should note that even though I translate gongyang as “reverent caring” to emphasize the broad scope of the actions it includes, given the tales’ emphasis on the giving of food, in many cases the term could just as easily be translated as “reverent feeding.”

Reverent Caring

The implicit, hierarchical aspect of gongyang becomes evident in statements that contrast caring for a child with caring for a parent. Master Han Fei makes this clear in one of the term’s earliest appearances: “if as an infant, his parents care for (yang) him meagerly, he will grow up bearing a grudge against them. When the son fully matures and becomes an adult, his reverent care (gongyang) of his parents will be skimpy. His parents will be angry and scold him.”7 Note that one merely “yang”s a child, but “gongyang”s parents. Although this statement stresses reciprocity in the relationship between parents and children, the tale of Guo Ju makes it evident that gongyang is far superior to yang. When trying to decide whether to support his mother or infant child, Guo said, “If we care for (yang) our son, I will be unable to engage in my occupation, which will hinder my effort to reverently care for (gongyang) our mother. We should kill the child and bury him.”8 Guo’s decision makes it evident that gongyang supercedes yang and is devoted to one’s superiors. One of the most common means of performing gongyang was offering delicacies to parents during the morning and evening audiences. These audiences, which were called dingxing (to arrange [the sleeping-mat] and inquire [after one’s parents’ comfort]), were daily ceremonies in which sons and daughters-in-law would wait upon their parents (like servants) and serve them food, especially tasty morsels.9 The great commentator Zheng Xuan says that by presenting parents with delicacies during the dingxing audiences, sons and daughters-in-law are expressing both their love and respect (aijing).10 Serving delicacies honored parents because such foodstuffs were costly and dif¤cult to obtain. Food, especially delicacies, was a concrete manifestation of a child’s love and concern for his or her parents. Statements by contemporaries attest to the fact that reverent care required wealth; thus an elderly Wang Chong complains that due to his family’s poverty, he does not receive gongyang.11 Reverent care thereby usually consisted of children honoring their parents by providing them with prestigious foodstuffs. Having determined the ordinary requirements of reverent care, let us now look at how tales from before the Eastern Han and early medieval ¤lial piety stories treated the same theme of nurturing. A Scarcity of Reverent Care Before the Eastern Han, the compound gongyang appears infrequently in extant texts, and stories with nurturing motifs are few in number. The earliest text that contains the compound gongyang with the meaning of reverent care is the late third-century BC Master Han Fei. After that, the term

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appears, albeit infrequently, in a limited number of Western Han texts.12 Filial tales with nurturing motifs before the Eastern Han are also rare, and popular early medieval reverent-care motifs seldom appear, if at all, before the Eastern Han. For instance, the ubiquitous early medieval motif of ¤lial offspring who eat inferior food so that their parents can have superior food, as far as I can discern, appears only once in works from before the Eastern Han.13 Even the few exemplary acts of caring that do exist in early narratives are often not the story’s main focus. In the two cases in the Zuo Commentary (Zuo zhuan) (4th cent. BC) where a ¤lial son saves food for his parent, that act in itself is only a minor motif. For instance, when Zhao Dun inquired why a starving man, Ling Zhe, put aside half of the food Zhao gave him, Ling replied that having been away for three years, he wanted to return home and give it to his mother. If the tale stopped here, it would resemble an early medieval ¤lial piety tale; but the Zuo Commentary goes on to say that years later, when Zhao was ambushed, one of his attackers came to his aid and saved him: it was no other than Ling, who was repaying Zhao for his past kindness.14 In short, the tale is not about ¤lial piety per se, but goodness requited. Similarly, in the Zuo Commentary, Ying Kaoshu uses the act of setting aside food for his mother as a reminder to Duke Zhuang of his un¤lial behavior—what is important is not the caring motif in itself but Ying’s subtle remonstrance.15 One might argue that the nurturing motifs are not emphasized because they are embedded in the Zuo Commentary’s larger narratives; however, when Zhao Dun’s story reappears in Garden of Persuasions, it is again a story about kindness requited; indeed, in this version, the starving man’s ¤lial act was so unimportant that he is not even identi¤ed.16 Another characteristic of stories about yang from before the Eastern Han is that the ¤lial exemplar’s actions are not so excessive that others cannot replicate them. To illustrate the ¤lial piety of King Wen and King Wu of the Zhou, the Book of Rites states that the former would check upon his father thrice daily, and if his father was not feeling well, it would affect King Wen’s mood and countenance. Thus his behavior was noteworthy for two reasons. First, he went to check on his father not twice a day as required by the rites, but thrice a day. Second, not only did he diligently perform all of the necessary rites, but he was also genuinely affected when his father was not well. Nevertheless, unlike later reverent care accounts, he does not personally serve meals to his father, and his concern for his father’s welfare far outweighs in importance the presentation of food. As for King Wu, when his father became ill, for twelve days he nursed (yang)

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him continuously and would eat only when he did.17 King Wu obviously suffered terribly on his ill father’s behalf. Yet his self-deprivations are not so extreme that it would be impossible for others to emulate them; that is, his actions are not superhuman.18 In short, both kings are ¤lial exemplars whose actions are exceptional, but not extraordinary. A Western Han theme about yang that does have a number of stories devoted to it is that of a son who, to nourish his elderly parents, either takes a humble of¤ce or declines a high one. The message of the former motif is that even though the Way no longer prevails or the ruler is immoral, a poor ¤lial son takes any of¤ce, no matter how low, to ensure that his parents are amply provisioned.19 This expresses the principle that many Western Han Ru works repeat: “One whose family is poor and parents old is not selective in choosing of¤ce” (jia pin qin lao zhe bu ze guan er shi).20 The message of the latter motif is that a ¤lial son refuses high of¤ce because it interferes with taking care of his parents on two counts: ¤rst, he would have to live far from home, thereby making it impossible for him to personally serve his parents.21 Second, holding such a position might force him to place his lord’s interests before his parents’. Thus after refusing a ministerial position, Zengzi stated, “My parents are old. If one receives a salary from another person, he will be anxious about the affairs of that person. I cannot endure distancing myself from my parents to serve another.”22 Put another way, to ensure one’s parents are well cared for, a gentleman should be willing to sacri¤ce his own ambitions, and even his own personal integrity.23 One last motif related to of¤ce holding and caring for parents takes the form of a moral dilemma: a ¤lial son must decide whether to serve his lord or care for (yang) his parent. The exemplar, in the end, resolves the dilemma by committing suicide to atone for being un¤lial or disloyal. For example, while supporting (yang) his mother, Bian Zhuangzi thrice retreated in battle and suffered insult as a consequence. After mourning his mother, during a battle he brought back three enemy heads to atone for his three previous retreats. He then sacri¤ced himself ¤ghting for his lord.24 Tales like this one show that a gentleman would rather die than be either disloyal or un¤lial.25 Signi¤cantly, none of these tales prioritizes either ¤lial piety or loyalty: both qualities are equally important and more precious than one’s own life.26 In stories from before the Eastern Han, female exemplars are also placed into ¤lial dilemmas, but unlike male exemplars, their problems have little to do with the state and everything to do with the family.27 The overwhelming majority concern women who confront a danger that

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threatens their relatives. A wife typically has to choose between being loyal to either her father or husband, or her brother or husband. She usually commits suicide to avoid disloyalty to either one.28 In other cases, a mother has to choose between saving her own child or a relative’s child. Almost invariably she saves the child that is not her own, whether it is her brother’s or master’s child, or stepchild.29 The female protagonists of these tales explain their actions through the Legalist dichotomy of gong and si. According to Master Han Fei, si means self-absorption, while opposing self-absorption is called gong.30 In other words, si consists of sel¤sh behavior or personal concerns, whereas gong consists of manifesting shared concerns. When the commander of the enemy’s army asked the Righteous Aunt of Lu (Lu Yigu) why she would abandon her own beloved child to save her elder brother’s, she replied that saving her own son is an act of private love (siai), whereas saving her brother’s son is a communal duty (gongyi). If she puts her private love ahead of her communal duty, her countrymen will ostracize her. 31 This story thereby implies that even within a family one could have a con¶ict between si and gong interests. Hence I translate gong as “communal” rather than the more usual translation of “public.” Since a woman relies on her children ¤rst for status within her husband’s family and later for material support, by sacri¤cing her own child she endangers her own welfare. Thus by discarding her own son in favor of her brother’s, the Righteous Aunt of Lu slighted her own self-interests to realize her natal family’s communal interests. This sacri¤ce earns her countrymen’s approval because she exhibits the commonly shared value of subordinating one’s personal interests to those of the group. This illustrates what Kutcher has called the Confucian “parallel conception of society.” Since a person’s obligations to his or her parents and lord (and by extension the larger community) are similar, if the person is loyal to one, he or she will also invariably be loyal to the other.32 The Multiple Layers of Self-Sacrifice In stark contrast to narratives from before the Eastern Han, in which caring is but a minor motif, early medieval accounts show that while one’s parents are alive, no aspect of xiao is more important. Like their predecessors, early medieval stories indicate that gongyang consists of furnishing parents with delicacies; however, underscoring its importance, the authors emphasize the deprivations that ¤lial children in¶ict upon themselves to secure these luxuries. In fact, the authors of these tales depict

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¤lial exemplars as subjecting themselves to four levels of increasingly severe self-deprivation. At the simplest level, ¤lial exemplars temporarily deny themselves food. This might take the form of a ¤lial child either refusing to eat if a parent has not yet taken food or forgoing a delicacy, which he/she then presents to a parent. Such acts are often credited to ¤lial offspring when they are but young children. For example, Zhao Xun (or Zhao Gou) had a ¤lial nature. When he was ¤ve or six, whenever he obtained something that was sweet or delicious, he never dared to eat it by himself. He would always ¤rst take it and feed it to his father. When his father went out, Zhao Xun would wait until he returned and only then ate. If his father did not return in time for a meal, leaning against the gate, he would cry and await him.33

Zhao’s actions differ signi¤cantly from those of the Zuo Commentary’s Ling Zhe and Ying Kaoshu. First, the sole purpose of Zhao’s story is to call attention to his exemplary ¤lial piety; it is not merely a device to explain the unfolding of a larger narrative. Second, unlike the Zuo Commentary’s stories, the account above portrays Zhao’s behavior not as a one-time act, but as habitual. Third, whereas the former narratives involved adults, Zhao Xun is merely a boy of six. This tale’s central message is that if even a boy could perform reverent care in such a manner, how much more should adults do so! Forgoing luxuries, especially delectable foods, that one’s parents could not have was a popular motif in early medieval tales. If parents could not enjoy them, there was no reason why someone of less importance, such as their son or daughter, should. Thus when asked to explain why he would bother to exchange the rice he received as his salary for wheat and millet (less prestigious and cheaper grains), He Ziping (417– 477) said, “My parents live in the east, hence they are not always able to obtain rice. How could I allow myself alone to enjoy polished rice?”34 This urge to furnish parents with superior foodstuffs was so strong that some ¤lial exemplars found miraculous ways of sending delicacies home.35 Other ¤lial sons strenuously avoided luxuries that they were not able to give to their parents while they were still alive. For example, Zeng Shen once ate fresh ¤sh. It was extremely delicious; however, he spat it out. Someone asked him why. He answered: “While my mother was alive, she did not know what fresh ¤sh tasted like. I have now tasted its exquisiteness and spat it out, and for the rest of my life I will not eat it.”36

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In other words, the pleasures one could enjoy later in life should be dictated by the pleasures that one was able to provide for his/her parents. Filial children could not treat themselves better than they treated their parents. At the second level of self-deprivation, a ¤lial child undergoes severe physical hardship to reverently care for his or her parents. Securing delicacies for one’s parents was so important that this motif often emphasizes that the child can do so only through physical torment. One account tells us, “Even though winter was at its height and the cold was at its worst, Wang Yan’s body was not completely covered by clothing, but the food of his parents was always extremely delicious.”37 Similarly, Huang Xiang “in winter had neither a quilt nor pants, but his father had extremely tasty foods.”38 In other words, even though these ¤lial sons could feed their parents ordinary food, to provide them with special treats they sacri¤ced their own most basic needs, such as keeping themselves warm. The most common motif that illustrates this level of deprivation is that of a ¤lial child searching for a food that is dif¤cult, if not impossible, to obtain, usually because it is out of season. In each case, though, the ¤lial offspring acquires the desired object because his/her willingness to endure intense suffering causes heaven to intervene on his/her behalf. The most famous tale of this kind is that of Wang Xiang, who, in the dead of winter, loosens his clothes and endeavors to break with his bare hands the ice covering a pond in order to get the carp that his stepmother so desperately wants.39 Many tales suggest that ¤lial children even risked their lives to obtain their parent’s desired food. Underscoring the danger of this type of quest, Jiang Shi’s son drowned in an attempt to fetch river water for his grandmother.40 In short, these accounts stress that reverent care is so important that any sacri¤ce on its behalf is justi¤able. Surely the Book of Rites’ compilers did not intend that a son endanger his life to supply his parents with delicacies for their morning or evening meal. The reason for going to such extremes is that reverent care required one to obtain whatever one’s parent desired. The tale of Liu Yin (¶. 300–318) makes this evident. [His] great-grandmother, Lady Wang, in the depth of winter desired violets (jin), but she did not say anything. As a result, for ten days she did not eat her ¤ll. Yin thought her mood was strange and asked her why. Lady Wang told him. At that time Yin was nine years old. He thereupon grieved and cried in the marshes [after searching there in vain for violets]. He said, “My sins are extremely grave. While young I have already received the punish-

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ment of my parents’ death. Now Lady Wang is in the hall of my home, but this month she has lacked a week’s nourishment. Yin is a son, but he cannot obtain that which his parent wants. Emperor of Heaven and Lord of the Earth, I hope that you will show me pity.” The sound of his crying voice did not stop for half a day. Thereupon, he suddenly heard something like the voice of a person say, “Stop, stop crying.” Yin desisted and looked at the ground. Violets were growing there. He took more than a bushel of them and returned home. Even after eating the plants, their number did not diminish. Only when violets came into season did they decrease.41

Liu was inconsolable because he felt that he has neglected his primary duty as a son: to ensure that his parent, or in this case great-grandparent, was suf¤ciently provided with the food she desired. Even though he provided her with sustenance each day, since it was not what she wanted, she never ate her ¤ll. Hence Liu, in effect, bewailed that he had failed to reverently care for her. For the creator of this story, then, a son who cannot provide his parent with exactly what he or she desires is not a true son. A similar motif is that of a ¤lial child who undergoes hardships to nurse his/her parent back to health or to secure the medicine that will cure a parent. King Wu was lauded for nursing King Wen for an astonishing twelve days without sleeping. Yet for early medieval authors, a near fortnight was not nearly astonishing enough. Thus they credit exemplary offspring with nursing their parents for years on end without sleeping.42 To further emphasize the extraordinary nature of their acts, heaven often rewards their efforts by providing them with the medicinal food that cures the parent’s illness.43 Obtaining whatever medicine the parent needs is just a variation of obtaining whatever food one’s parent wants. Both motifs end with the presentation of something that is ingested—that is, a form of food. Another important aspect of this motif is that the ¤lial child’s feats cannot be replicated in reality: the tales’ authors vest him/her with superhuman powers of endurance and supply a sympathetic heaven. The third level of self-deprivation concerns exemplary sons who engage in socially demeaning acts to reverently care for their parents. Even though the protagonists of the early medieval tales were primarily members of locally prominent, upper-class families, the tales often portray them, on their parents’ behalf, performing menial or disgusting tasks that were usually done by servants or slaves.44 Filial offspring, thus, do distasteful, even appalling things to restore or ensure their parent’s health, such as sucking pus out of wounds, tasting vomit, or sampling feces.45 A ¤lial child’s willingness to perform these types of acts was admirable precisely

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because he or she enthusiastically performed what normally was considered repulsive, as the following anecdote attests. Emperor Wen was once sick with sores. Deng Tong (2nd cent. BC), on the emperor’s behalf, would always suck the pus from them and spit it out. The emperor was unhappy. He egged Deng on by asking, “Who under Heaven loves me the most?” Tong replied, “No one more than the crown prince.” The crown prince entered to inquire about the emperor’s illness. The emperor instructed him to suck his sores. The crown prince did so, but his countenance exhibited displeasure. After ¤nishing, upon hearing that Tong [happily] sucked the sores, the crown prince was ashamed and hated him in his heart.46

Being an ordinary son, the crown prince followed his father’s order and did the loathsome task, but not without obvious disgust. Even though both the crown prince and Deng performed the same act, Deng’s enthusiasm for it doubtlessly reminded the crown prince that he had failed to act in accordance with the Ru principle that while with one’s parents one should display neither displeasure nor discontent.47 In other stories, despite servants or slaves being available, ¤lial children insist on doing all the menial tasks necessary for their parents’ care. Since only children know how much their parents have sacri¤ced on their behalf, only they can serve them with the sincerity and devotion the parents deserve. A tale about a ¤lial monk named Shi Daoan (d. 600) explicitly makes this point. When Daoan ¤rst came to Zhongxing temple, he brought along his mother. Every morning he would visit her. With his own hands he would boil rice for her and only after doing so would he go to lecture. Even though he had more than enough servants, he would never allow anyone to help. Even when it came to drawing water and chopping wood, he had to use his own hands. He told someone: “My mother was able to give me birth and feed me; if I don’t do this myself how can this be called ‘reverent care.’”48

Since a mother displays love for her child by performing myriad menial tasks on his or her behalf, the child who received that tender nurturing must repay it in kind. Due to this kind of thinking, Jiang Ge would not even let his wife or children prepare his mother’s meals.49 This notion is an extension of Confucius’ belief that if he did not personally perform the sacri¤ce, it was as if it had not been performed at all.50

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Some exemplars did not merely stop at serving the parent food: they even insisted on personally growing it. To provide his mother with reverent care, Yang Zhen (d. 124) borrowed land to grow food. When one of his students tried to help him by planting some seeds on his behalf, Yang pulled out the sprouts and replanted them in a slightly different place. For this, his village praised him as ¤lial.51 Obviously, since Yang had students, he did not have to play the part of farmer, yet he insisted on it so that his mother would dine on food produced by her own son. One tale, doubtless apocryphal, even presents an emperor, Emperor Wen of the Han, tilling the soil for his mother.52 Of course, if the emperor can grow his own parents’ food, how much more so should an ordinary gentleman do the same! In early medieval narratives, the act of farming to support one’s parents had little to do with one’s economic situation, but much to do with contemporary notions of ¤lial piety. One of the most common early medieval motifs is that of ¤lial offspring who reverently care for their parents either by “hiring out their physical labor for a wage” (yongren) or by “selling themselves” (zimai). For example, Guo Ju and his wife hired themselves out to provide his mother with reverent care; Shi Yan hired himself out as a soldier at a courier station and used his monthly salary to reverently care for his mother; Su Cangshu sold himself to provide his starving parents with nine hu (roughly 180 liters) of barley; Jiang Shi and his wife both hired themselves out (yongzuo) to support their mother, and so on.53 Strikingly, despite the existence of wage laborers and bondservants since at least the Warring States period,54 this motif of working as a hired laborer to support one’s parents does not exist in any surviving anecdotes that predate the Eastern Han. Likewise, early medieval authors often portray ¤lial children as performing other lower-class occupations, that is, those that did not require an education.55 One should keep in mind, though, that exemplary sons usually became hired laborers or indentured servants not because they needed to feed their parents, but because they wanted to provide them with delicacies. Cao Zhi’s version of the Dong Yong tale makes this evident: “He had to borrow money to reverently care for his father; he hired out his labor (yongzuo) to provide his father with sweet and fatty meats.”56 In short, ¤lial children did not take on these mean occupations because their parents were starving, but because they wanted to feed them in style. This motif of becoming wage laborers and debt bondsmen to reverently care for parents is signi¤cant on two counts. First, it indicates that on their parents’ behalf, ¤lial children should willingly assume the status of one of the most despised members of society. As in Rome, due to their servitude

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and dependence on others, hired laborers were nearly at the bottom of society.57 Men of somewhat comparable status, such as menials or artisans, were viewed as so lowly that they were prohibited from attending schools, becoming of¤cials, or even marrying commoners.58 If circumstances forced members of the upper class to perform such labor, it was thought to be embarrassing. For instance, when his father died, Wu You (¶. 150) refused to accept funerary presents and instead shepherded pigs in a marsh. One of his father’s former subordinates told him, “Your father was a minister with a salary of 2,000 piculs of rice, yet you engage in such base pursuits. Even though you are shameless, what is your former lord [i.e., his father] supposed to do?”59 Even though Wu’s biography includes this incident to show his incorruptibility, his elder’s comments reveal how this behavior was commonly envisaged. In fact, being a wage laborer was perceived as so base that the word yong was often used as an insult.60 Becoming a wage laborer or bondsman thereby not only signaled poverty, but social abasement as well. To guarantee that their parents were cared for in an honored manner, ¤lial exemplars thus willingly degraded themselves. But why would ¤lial offspring be portrayed as happy to do so? The motif of ¤lial children who act the part of either servants or hired laborers stresses that they elevate the status of their parents by degrading their own. For Confucians, humbling oneself is an essential means by which one honors others; hence the Books of Rites states that one should always humble oneself before others.61 Con¤rming that this lesson was not lost on early medieval men, Liu Shao (¶. 250) points out, Human feelings always desire to be superior. So a man likes humility in others. Humility is the willingness to be below [xia] others. Being below others means yielding and giving to them. Therefore no matter whether a man is wise or foolish, if you meet him with humility, he will have a pleased appearance.62

Although Liu was speaking in general terms, the bene¤ts of humility doubtlessly held true within the family as well. Exemplary sons who acted like servants or wage laborers humbled themselves by acting as if they were socially inferior to their parents. And what could express inferiority better than engaging in the tasks of the lower class?63 Exemplary children also endeavored to humble themselves and exalt their parents through the kind of food they ate and offered to their parents. In China, food has long been used as an indicator of status because particular foods were associated with certain social classes. During the

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early medieval period, meat, wine, and rice were luxury foods (in the south, however, rice was common) usually enjoyed by the rich, while vegetables, millet, wheat, beans, and water were the daily fare of the poor.64 Signi¤cantly, the food a ¤lial son offered to his parents was upperclass fare, whereas the food he, his wife, and children ate was that of poor commoners.65 A tale in which an upper-class man eats at the home of a poor exemplary son reveals how food was used to af¤rm hierarchy. Mao Rong was over forty and tilled the soil. Once, together with other men of his ilk, he avoided a rainstorm by sitting under a tree. The majority of men squatted, but Mao Rong alone sat in a digni¤ed manner. Guo Tai (128–169) observed this and thought it was extraordinary. He began conversing with Mao, who thereupon invited Guo to spend the night at his home. Since the sun had already set, he slaughtered a chicken for food. Guo thought that this was to be his meal. But before long Mao presented it to his mother. He provided himself and his guest with the same meal of vegetables. Guo Tai stood up and bowed to him, saying, “You are more worthy than I am.”66

A similar story about the exemplar Yue Yi (late 5th cent.) of the Southern Qi, which is consciously modeled after that of Mao, makes this point even more bluntly. Upon being served dried ¤sh and salted vegetables, Yue’s guest, a high of¤cial, ¶atly stated, “I cannot eat this.” At that point, Yue’s mother came out with the several kinds of delicacies she was normally served, along with ¤sh broth. Upon seeing this, the guest said, “You surpass Mao Rong and I am not equal to Guo Tai.”67 The guest could not stomach the food Yue served him precisely because he was unaccustomed to commoners’ food. Both of these anecdotes show that in the homes of the truly ¤lial, the status of parents is so high that even high-ranking guests merit lesser treatment. Tales that spoke of the dire supernatural consequences for those who did not reverently care for their parents underscore the importance of familial hierarchy. Children who contravene reverent care risk invoking supernatural punishment. After being sick for many years, Zhu Xu’s (5th cent.) mother suddenly desired to eat rice stew. Zhu tasted it ¤rst, liked it, and then gobbled it up. His mother angrily retorted, “If heaven is conscious may you choke to death.” When Zhu heard this, his heart was heavy and blood immediately began to run out of his body. By the next day he was dead.68 Not only did Zhu fail to give his mother what she desired, but he also denied her that which might have cured her. Hence he not only contravened gongyang, but also yang, that is, doing the minimum necessary to keep one’s parents alive. Although not numerous, such tales make it

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evident that the spirit world detests sons and daughters-in-law who violate the dictates of reverent care. The second important point about the motifs of ¤lial children becoming hired laborers is that it reveals a remarkable shift. In ¤lial piety tales from before the Eastern Han, when a son was in dire ¤nancial circumstances, he would compromise his integrity and take whatever governmental of¤ce he could obtain to reverently care for his parents. Early medieval exemplars, on the other hand, resort to doing manual labor for others or selling themselves. In short, for their parents’ sake, ¤lial sons were not only willing to suffer personal hardship, but also public humiliation in an era that put a premium on the distinctions that separated gentlemen (shi) from commoners (shu).69 The ¤nal and highest level of self-deprivation was sacri¤cing one’s wife and/or children for the sake of one’s parents. Tales that illustrate this theme usually take the form of a moral dilemma in which a ¤lial son must chose between two unpalatable options. Yet the choices involved and the solutions resorted to in early medieval stories are far different than those found in tales featuring male protagonists that circulated before the Eastern Han. Rather than having to choose between one’s father or lord, in early medieval stories a son must choose between saving either his parent or child, or his brother’s child or his own. Strikingly, these dilemmas more closely resemble those of women in tales from before the Eastern Han, insofar as they concern choices about the family rather than choices between the family and the state. The best-known early medieval ¤lial dilemma is that of Guo Ju, who when faced with choosing to provide for his elderly mother or his young son, decides to bury his son alive so that he can continue to reverently care for his mother.70 Note that Guo, like female exemplars, must decide which family member he should save. Since he must be alive to do so, he foregoes suicide and, like the female exemplars of earlier stories, endeavors to kill his son. Even the rationale Guo gives for burying his son alive—“We can have another son, but we will never have another mother”—resembles that which led a concubine in the Zuo Commentary to tell her father of her husband’s plot to kill him.71 In other tales, again like female exemplars, early medieval ¤lial sons end up attempting to kill their own children to save those of their siblings. For example, while ¶eeing rebels, despite his mother’s objections, Liu Ping (¶. 5–61) abandoned his own son to save his dead brother’s daughter. When the child persisted in following them, Liu tied him to a tree.72 In short, early medieval authors were putting male protagonists in storylines that in the past were solely associated with women.

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The ideology that underlies early medieval ¤lial dilemmas is also that of ful¤lling “communal interests” at the expense of “private interests.” By sacri¤cing his own wife and children, an exemplary son forsakes that which is often most dear to him, that is, his own conjugal family. Underlining their emotional importance to the son, classical Ru works often say, “Filial piety decreases with the appearance of wife and children.”73 For early medieval men, their wives and children were extensions of themselves.74 By sacri¤cing them, a ¤lial son thereby surrenders that which he shares with no one for his parents, whom he shares with his brothers. Put simply, he casts aside his private interests for the sake of the agnatic family’s communal interests. Moreover, he sacri¤ces his future well-being to repay his parent’s past kindness. An inscription accompanying an illustration of the Guo Ju story on a ¤fth-century lacquered cof¤n af¤rms that this is indeed what contemporaries perceived him as doing. It reads, “One who cannot cast aside his sel¤sh interests (si) cannot be given this [pot of gold].”75 In other words, the inscription’s creator interpreted Guo’s sacri¤ce as done to realize communal interests. The prominence that this story had in early medieval art underscores how compelling this message was for its audience.76 The Supremacy of Society over State The feminization of early medieval ¤lial dilemmas suggests that the question of which comes ¤rst, the family or the state, was no longer that important. Unlike their male predecessors, early medieval ¤lial sons who are caught in moral dilemmas display no concern for the state at all. Almost none of the early medieval accounts shows a ¤lial son struggling to ful¤ll the requirements of both ¤lial piety and loyalty.77 Instead, like the female exemplars, their concerns are related to the family. This lack of concern for the government is best exempli¤ed in the tale of Zhang Ti (6th cent.), who became a bandit to provide his mother with reverent care.78 Oftentimes, the state is present in the tales only insofar as it rewards the ¤lial child’s conduct—its signi¤cance lies only in its sanctioning of familial virtues. Loyalty’s absence in these accounts seems to con¤rm Tang Changru’s argument that during this period it was far less esteemed than ¤lial piety.79 The early medieval stories lack concern for the state because they re¶ect the interests of the local elite. Lu Yaodong has noted that early medieval historians paid little attention to court politics and instead mostly wrote about affairs that concerned local elite families, of which they were members.80 But what were the interests of such families? As the power and reach

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of the central government declined in the Eastern Han and local elite families took on more governmental functions and social importance than ever before, maintaining order and generating solidarity within these large, extended households became an urgent problem for patriarchs. One way of instilling order in a large family was to impose a rigid hierarchy within it, based on the Ru vision of an ideal household—that is, one in which parents came before children, brothers came before wives, and sons gladly did their seniors’ bidding. Hence early medieval ¤lial dilemmas advocate sublimating one’s self-interests to keep the extended family together. It is precisely this concern for maintaining family unity that led the creators of these stories to put their male protagonists into what used to be female dilemmas. Thus just as women in the past were urged to discard their children—that is, sacri¤ce their personal interests for those of the extended family—men were now being urged to do the same. During this era, the most important trait an of¤cial could have was unsel¤shness. In fact, an of¤cial’s loyalty was merely a function of his sel¶essness, as Ren Yan (d. 69) makes clear: “I’ve heard it said that a loyal retainer has no self-interests (busi) and that a retainer with private interests is not loyal. Enacting the upright and upholding communal interests is the moral code of retainers.”81 The ¤lial dilemma stories promote this same idea: a truly ¤lial son is one who cleaves to his family’s communal interests at the expense of his own private ones. Within the family he is totally sel¶ess and concerned only with his extended family’s welfare. In accord with the parallel concept of society, early medieval authors assumed that if before holding of¤ce a man strove to ful¤ll his extended family’s gong interests, he would surely continue to be sel¶ess when in of¤ce. A ¤lial son’s incorruptibility in of¤ce is thus an extension of his sel¶essness at home. This assumption probably explains both why famous exemplary sons were showered with offers of public of¤ce and the common early medieval saying: “Loyal retainers must be sought in the families of ¤lial offspring (qiu zhongchen bi yu xiaozi zhi men). Since both families and the community at large prized sel¶essness, this type of conduct provided sons with a means of gaining fame.82 Requiting the Care Debt A lingering question is, Why does one have to sacri¤ce so much to reverently care for one’s parents? The answer is that children must repay the immense debt they owe parents for feeding and raising them during childhood. When parents become in¤rm and helpless with age, children must

Reverent Caring

carry out their end of the reciprocal bargain.83 Due to the Chinese Buddhist emphasis on the mother-son relationship, Cole has felicitously called this obligation a “milk-debt.” That is, a son must forever repay with ¤lial piety the toil, blood, and pain that his mother expended in raising him.84 Since Ru writings emphasize that one has to repay both parents for their roles in raising oneself, I will call this obligation the “care-debt.” In early China, besides expressing love or care, the presentation of food, or by extension material support, creates obligation. If one feeds a man, he is obligated to repay your kindness.85 This sense of obligation was so strong that it could be used as a means to control others.86 In the same way, sons and daughters are obligated to repay their parents for the food and care they provided for them when they were helpless children. The following poem from the Book of Poetry emphasizes the debt a child owes both parents. Without a father, on whom can one rely? Without a mother, on whom can one depend? Abroad one harbors grief, at home one has nobody to go to. Oh father, you begat me, oh mother, you nurtured me (ju). [Both of] you comforted and reared (xu) me, you looked after me, constantly attended to me, abroad and at home you carried me in your bosom; I wish to requite your goodness, but Heaven goes to excess!”87

Note that a number of the words used in this passage, such as ju and xu, are synonyms of yang. Thus it explicitly relates that the author wants to repay his parents for the yang he received as a child. The fact that yang is the basis of the parent-child relationship can also be seen in the rationale for mourning one’s parents for three years. One owes them three years of suffering, deprivation, and unremitting attention because for the ¤rst three years of a child’s life his/her parents fed and intensively cared for him/her.88 It is probably not a coincidence that in medieval China a child was usually thought to suckle for three years.89 Requiting the care-debt is precisely the rationale that underlies the early medieval tales’ emphasis on reverent care. This message comes across most clearly in lore about ¤lial crows. Crows are compassionate birds. They are born in the deep woods. From outside of their high nests, holding food in their beaks, the parents place it into their chicks’ mouths. Without waiting for the chicks to cry, the parents on their own accord present them with food. When the parents’ wings fatigue and they can no longer ¶y, their children’s wings are already fully developed. Flying to and fro, the children bring food and regurgitate (fanbu) it for their

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mother. Since birds are like this, how much more should humans! Crows bring food in their beaks to feed their young, and children bring food in their beaks to feed their mother. These birds are all xiao.90

Crows are ¤lial because they present food to their elderly parents, just as their parents fed them when they were young; that is, they “feed in return” (fanbu).91 This association of ¤liality with crows was so well known that a ¤rst-century lexicon simply de¤nes crows as “¤lial birds.”92 In fact, by the Eastern Han, crows and the idea of fanbu became emblems of ¤lial piety.93 The tale that best embodies this reciprocal principle of “feeding in return” is that of Xing Qu, whose behavior literally approximated that of the crow. Xing’s father was old and lacked teeth to chew food. Xing always masticated (bu) the food for him. After he did this for a while, his father became healthy and grew a new set of choppers.94 In other words, Xing regurgitated food for his father, as a crow would for its mother. The key word in this passage is bu, whose basic meaning is “to masticate” or “regurgitate” and whose extended meaning is to “to feed.”95 In premodern China, parents often masticated solid food for children.96 A ¤lial piety story suggests this was a common practice well beyond infancy.97 Hence just as his father supplied him with food and perhaps even chewed it for him when he was a helpless infant, Xing was now doing the same. In other words, now that his father resembled a helpless infant in that he was toothless, Xing was “feeding in return” (fanbu), which means he was reversing roles and parenting his parent. Underscoring this concept’s importance, the image of Xing feeding his father was the most commonly illustrated ¤lial piety story in the Eastern Han. At the Wu Liang shrine there are more depictions of this ¤lial piety tale than of any other. 98 The illustration of this tale invariably depicts a younger man, holding either chopsticks or a spoon, kneeling towards an elderly man (see ¤g. 5). A pictorial stone from Dawenkou shows two seated ¤gures, a young man and an elderly man, leaning towards each other to the point where their mouths are almost touching (see ¤g. 6).99 Its two inscriptions read, “The ¤lial son Zhao Gou” and “This is Gou feeding (or chewing food for) his father” (ci Gou chi fu). Although the ¤lial son represented on the Dawenkou stone is Zhao Gou (Zhao Xun) rather than Xing Qu, Zhao is credited with the same ¤lial act of chewing food for his father. On the same stone, to the far right of these two men, two birds feed each other, which, as Wang Entian has pointed out, is undoubtedly an image of crows feeding in return.100 Obviously, the idea of “feeding in return” embodied in the image of a son parenting his parent touched the hearts of contemporaries, and thereby became a popular motif in funerary art.

Fig. 5: Xing Qu feeds his father. Painting on the Lelang lacquered box. Eastern Han, 1st or 2nd century AD. North Korea.

Fig. 6: Zhao Gou feeds his father. Carving on pictorial stone. Eastern Han, 2nd century. Dawenkou, Shandong. Taian Museum. Courtesy of Shandong meishu chubanshe and Henan meishu chubanshe.

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One of the most popular tales, that of the ¤lial grandson Yuan Gu, suggests what might happen to those who refuse to reverse roles. One day, Yuan’s father and mother concluded that his grandfather was too old to be useful, so they decided to abandon him. Yuan and his father used a litter to carry the grandfather to the mountains. After his father abandoned the old man, Yuan grabbed the litter and brought it home. When his father asked him why, Yuan replied, “Perhaps later you too will become old and will not be able to work again. Merely to do the right thing, I have retrieved it.” Terri¤ed and ashamed, his father realized the error of his ways, retrieved the old man, and served him in a ¤lial manner.101 Whereas the story of the ¤lial bird praised crows because they willingly reverse roles, the tale of Yuan Gu makes the same point, but from the angle of self-interest. Yuan’s virtuous act consists of saving his grandfather by reminding his father of the reciprocity that underlies yang. That is to say, sons and daughters parent elderly, infantile parents not only because of the care-debt owed to them, but also because in doing so they hope that in turn their own children will parent them. This emphasis on role reversal is also re¶ected in the way artisans depicted the grandfather: by characterizing him as a hunched over, wizened old man who seems unable to walk, they emphasized his infantlike helplessness (see ¤gs. 7 and 8). The frequency with which this story appears in early medieval art belies the importance of the role-reversal motif. In the early medieval era, with the exception of Ding Lan, no other ¤lial tale was as commonly portrayed as the Yuan Gu story,102 and its image appears in places as far apart as Sichuan and North Korea. Mothers and Fathers Cole has skillfully shown that indigenous Chinese Buddhist sutras, while hardly ever mentioning the care-giving role of the father, put increasing stress on the unlimited debt a son owes his mother, due to her endless travails in raising him and the vast amount of milk he took from her through breast-feeding.103 From the ¤lial piety stories on role reversal, however, one can see that Ru believed the care-debt was owed to both parents. The role-reversal stories do not single out requiting the debt owed to one’s mother, as the examples of Xing Qu and Yuan Gu have already demonstrated. Moreover, although the care-debt one owed his/her parents was great, it was not unlimited and could be repaid by providing parents with the same care and love they gave one as a child. The importance of fathers also becomes apparent upon looking at the modi¤cation of the Shun legend, which early medieval authors re¤tted

Fig. 7 (right): Yuan Gu’s grandfather crawling on the ground like an infant. Carving on a funerary couch. Northern Qi (550–577). The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, Missouri (Purchase: Nelson Trust) 33-1483 A. Fig. 8 (below): Yuan Gu’s grandfather on a litter. Carving on stone sarcophagus. Northern Wei, early 6th century. The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, Missouri (Purchase: Nelson Trust) 331543 / 1.

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with motifs that stressed xiao as reverent care. As previously mentioned, early medieval authors of this story transformed Mount Li from a testing ground of Shun’s worthiness to rule to a place where he endeavored to materially support his estranged and physically distant parents.104 By doing so, the authors made reverent care the emotional center of the entire story. According to one version of the tale, Shun’s father dreamt that a phoenix carried rice in its mouth to feed him, and he then realized it must be his son. Later, upon ¤nding coins among the rice his wife had brought back from the market, he knew that Shun must have put them there; thereupon he repented from his sins.105 By having a bird bring food to him, this version underscores that Shun is performing “feeding in return.” It is precisely this act that makes his father appreciate how much his son loves him and how reprehensible his own behavior has been. Note, too, that this story squarely focuses on the father-son relationship. The early medieval versions of the tale center on how Shun lost his father’s favor and the means by which he regained it. Moreover, it is only due to his stepmother’s lies that Shun’s father turns against his son, but it is only through reverent care that Shun regains his father’s love. That fathers are heavily invested in this relationship can be seen in the active role Shun’s father plays in the tale: it is Shun’s father who realizes that his son must be his benefactor, who searches for him, and who joyfully embraces him in the market. Shun’s stepmother, on the other hand, cannot connect with her stepson. Despite his love for her, she consistently attempts to kill him. Even after repeated demonstrations of his benevolence, she fails to recognize that Shun is her benefactor. In short, this tale celebrates the father-son relationship, which should normally be an emotionally rewarding one, if it were not for the machinations of evil women. Underscoring the signi¤cance of this modi¤ed version of the Shun tale is the fact of its great visual prominence in the Northern and Southern Dynasties. Of the twelve artifacts from this period adorned with scenes of ¤lial piety tales, it appears on six. Even more impressively, on the Guyuan lacquered cof¤n, which has multiscene depictions of six ¤lial piety stories, the Shun tale merited eight scenes, far more than any other. Thus if the mother-son relationship was truly predominant in early medieval China, someone forgot to tell the artisans who created this cof¤n and other artifacts that feature ¤lial tales about fathers and sons. Yet despite the importance of the Shun story, even a casual glance at tales with reverent-care motifs reveals that many concern the motherchild bond. More likely than not, exemplary children’s actions would be devoted to their mothers. When looked at statistically, out of eighty-two

Reverent Caring

tales with reverent-care motifs, ¤fty-two of the recipients were mothers, or 63 percent. Fathers or fatherly ¤gures, on the other hand, were recipients in twenty-one of the tales, or 25 percent of the total. Tales in which both parents received reverent care account for about 12 percent.106 Obviously, for the compilers of these accounts the mother-child bond was of tremendous importance. Since affection is often expressed in Chinese culture through the presentation of a favorite food, perhaps even more telling is the fact that tales featuring a ¤lial son who desperately seeks after his parent’s favorite food entirely feature mothers as the recipients of reverent care.107 A ¤lial son, then, caters only to his mother’s whims, not his father’s. Nevertheless, fathers are not wholly neglected. By combining anecdotes in which fathers are the recipients of reverent care with those in which both parents are, one discovers that fathers receive reverent care in 37 percent of the tales. The numbers become even more impressive when one looks at images of the stories, particularly from the Eastern Han. Due to the popularity of the stories of Dong Yong and Xing Qu, 50 percent (twenty-three out of forty-six) of the depicted reverent-care stories feature fathers.108 Pictorial representations from the Northern and Southern Dynasties have fathers as the recipients in 33 percent of the images, and mothers in 38 percent. The difference between the written accounts of ¤lial children and the pictorial representations is that the percentage of stories showing reverent care given to both parents is much greater in the latter: 29 percent of the images have both parents as recipients. Taken together, this means that fathers receive reverent care, whether alone or together with their wives, in 62 percent of the images. Obviously, both artisans and their patrons valued providing reverent care for both parents. Why, then, are mothers rather than fathers more often the recipients of reverent care in the written accounts? Their predominance could be due to demographic factors. Mothers might have been the main recipients of reverent care because husbands were much older than their wives and tended to die well before them. Based on her examination of epitaphs from the Six Dynasties period, Lee has noted that although some upper-class women married younger men, on the average their spouses were seven years older. Moreover, such women spent an average of 18.6 years in widowhood.109 Although Lee’s sample is far too small to be conclusive, it does suggest that numerous upper-class males would grow up in households in which the father had died early and were subsequently headed by the mother. Thus mothers loom so large in the ¤lial piety accounts perhaps because they tended to outlive their older husbands.

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Conclusion Filial piety tales with reverent-care motifs are important for four reasons. First, they elevate the humble concept of yang to an exalted form of nurturing, gongyang, which calls attention to a parent’s superior status within the household. Early medieval authors emphasized the importance of reverent care by showing ¤lial sons who gladly endured various types of deprivation to furnish their parents with luxurious food and clothing. Second, the authors thought reverent care merited such attention because it conveyed a message that patriarchs of in¶uential families wanted the junior members of their families to absorb: that adult sons and daughters (in-law) should subordinate their own wishes to those of their parents. Moreover, no matter what their actual social standing was, within the family the children should recognize their own inferior status and strive to further the family’s collective interests rather than their own personal ones. The incentive for sons was that if they were able to do this, not only would harmony prevail within the extended family, but they would also attract the interest of the outside community by showing themselves to be sel¶ess men. Third, reverent-care motifs indicate that the narratives’ compilers were more interested in service to the family than to the state. Exemplary sons in the tales neither worry about ful¤lling the demands of loyalty nor see government service as a means to provide reverent care. Instead, they worry about the solidarity of their families and ¤nd ways within local society to honor their parents. Hence in many ways these tales re¶ect the weakness of government during the early medieval period and the importance of extended families. Finally, the authors of the early medieval stories privileged neither the relationship between mother and son nor that between father and son. Both were important. Obviously the former was viewed as the more intimate one; nevertheless, illustrations of these tales make it evident that their audience also attached much importance to the father-son tie.

6

“Exceeding the Rites” Mourning and Burial Motifs

B

esides reverent care, the most common theme in ¤lial piety tales is the exemplary way in which offspring mourn or bury their parents. In a sample of extant early medieval accounts, mourning and burial motifs occur nearly as frequently as reverent care: 42 percent for the former, compared to 44 percent for the latter. In contrast, comparatively few stories concern other aspects of ¤lial piety, such as revenge, obedience, preserving one’s body, brotherly love, or moral dilemmas.1 In short, if an early medieval ¤lial piety account does not describe how a child nurtured his/her living parents, then it almost certainly describes how he/she served them after their death. In fact, ideally, an account will include separate anecdotes that describe how a ¤lial child both reverently cared for and mourned his/her parents in an exemplary manner. Fujikawa has noted that during early medieval times both acts were envisioned as the de¤ning aspects of ¤lial piety,2 which the preface to the “Filial Miracle” chapter in History of the Wei makes plainly evident. Furthermore, nurturing one’s living parents with a pleasant expression is heavenly; deeply grieving and longing for one’s dead parents is earthly. As for the sincerity (of these exemplars), it reaches the ¤sh in a spring and moves the birds and beasts. Matters like this are not common; occurrences like this are indeed scarce.3

Signi¤cantly, the author assimilates reverent care and mourning to the cosmologically paramount heaven and earth dyad. By this means the author signals that these two activities are the fundamental elements of ¤lial piety. Moreover, by relating reverent care to heaven and mourning to earth, he also implies that the former is slightly more important than the latter, although both are essential. For early medieval advocates of 137

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¤lial piety, then, how one mourned his or her parents was of the utmost signi¤cance. If performance of the burial and mourning rites was of such great import, how did authors of early medieval tales promote it? The predominant theme of such tales is that ¤lial children who mourn their parents will do so in a manner that surpasses the ritual requirements. That is, they “exceed the rites” (guoli). This is surprising, since ¤lial piety anecdotes from the preceding period, the Western Han, advocate mourning “according to the rites” (ruli) and castigate those who exceed them. Why, then, do the early medieval ¤lial piety narratives stress “exceeding the rites”? The conventional answer is that doing so, at least during the Eastern Han, could lead to a lucrative career in government.4 The mortuary rites were the most public expression of ¤lial piety, and this was particularly true for the three-year mourning rites, during which all of a child’s actions were open to the community’s scrutiny for an extended time. While parents were alive, few could see how a son treated them; however, during the mourning rites, since the son lived in an exposed mourning hut that was outside the family compound, the whole community could closely watch his conduct.5 Since performing the mortuary rites was a public act, it was also an opportunity to establish a reputation in the community. And since recommendations to public of¤ce during the Han were often based on a man’s reputation, an exemplary performance of the mourning rites, especially if one exceeded the rites in a spectacular way, could ultimately lead to prestigious appointments in government positions. The most notorious case of a man “exceeding the rites” to gain of¤ce is that of the commoner Zhao Xuan. After burying his parents, instead of closing the tomb, he lived in it and performed the mourning rites for more than twenty years. Unfortunately for him, the governor of his province, Chen Fan (ca. 95–168), discovered that Zhao had ¤ve children born to him during that time. In other words, not only did Zhao violate the mourning prohibitions by engaging in sexual intercourse, but to add insult to injury, he conceived and raised those children in his parents’ tomb.6 Hence one could argue that ¤lial tales of mourning that emphasize “exceeding the rites” were meant to advertise the protagonist’s outstanding behavior in the hopes that it would lead to invitations to public of¤ce.7 Although this might explain why numerous Eastern Han accounts of excessive mourning exist, it does not explain why this motif captured the imagination of early medieval people. Hence it cannot explain why tales with this theme were generated long after public of¤ce was solely distributed according to a man’s pedigree, rather than his reputation, or why

“Exceeding the Rites”

some of these tales featured women who had no hope of gaining of¤ce. Moreover, even if Eastern Han tales of excessive mourning were created as tools for social advancement, since they continued to be transmitted and appreciated long after their protagonists were dead, the conventional reasoning cannot explain the continuing popularity of these tales. Hence this chapter will attempt to decipher the messages of these tales to investigate why this motif struck such a responsive chord with the early medieval public. In her path-breaking studies of the mourning rites, Kamiya has argued that the Ru three-year mourning rites did not become a universal custom in China until the Wei-Jin period, which is when the government legally sanctioned such rites for of¤cials. Before that the law did not dictate how long of¤cials had to mourn their parents. Since there was no ¤xed standard, “exceeding the rites” by mourning for over three years was not wrong; on the contrary, it was seen positively as a means to encourage others to practice the Ru mourning rites.8 Although Kamiya is merely speaking of ¤lial children whose mourning exceeds the ritually prescribed three years and is not talking about the general phenomenon of “exceeding the rites,” she does tell us that the answer will be found in the history of how and when the learned elite began to practice the three-year mourning rites. By contrasting Western Han tales with mourning motifs to early medieval ones and by examining the degree to which the early medieval elite practiced the Confucian mourning rites, this chapter will show that the motif of “exceeding the rites” became popular because it encouraged people to practice the Ru mourning rites with sincerity, thereby combating apathy. This apathy towards the mourning rites came about because by the second half of the Eastern Han, although not yet sanctioned by law, the performance of the three-year rites had become an unavoidable aspect of elite life. Since this type of mourning behavior was no longer voluntary, it became formalized to the degree that the rites developed into mindless conventions that one had to follow rather than ceremonies by which one gave vent to his or her grief. Hence tales with the theme of exceeding the rites reaf¤rm the importance of performing the mourning rites with genuine feeling. Fulfilling the Rites Elsewhere I have argued that one of the innovations of early Confucianism was to champion the mourning rites, especially the three years of mourning for one’s parents, over the sacri¤cial rites that were dedicated to

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one’s less palpable ancestors.9 One of the primary concerns of the Confucian school, then, was the advocacy of the mourning rites. As de Groot has pointed out, the Confucian ritual codes treat no other set of ceremonies in such detail as the mourning rites.10 Likewise, Master Xun’s (Xunzi) famous “Discourse on Rituals” (Lilun) chapter primarily examines the funerary rites while only cursorily mentioning the sacri¤cial rites at the chapter’s end. Even there the author implies that they are an outgrowth of the mourning rites: they occur as a result of a ¤lial son or loyal retainer suddenly longing for his parent or lord.11 Despite the importance that early Ru advocates placed on the mourning rites, there are surprisingly few accounts of how individuals performed them in an outstanding manner. Moreover, unlike the early medieval stories where there is a plethora of mourning motifs, Western Han tales have only three. Signi¤cantly, rather than emphasizing that ¤lial children should exceed the prescribed mourning rites, each of the three motifs stresses that they should rigidly conform to them. The ¤rst consists of a ¤lial son who mourns his parents exactly according to the prescribed rites. In the Book of Rites, this takes the form of lauding an exemplar whose mourning behavior matches almost word for word the instructions on how a child should act after his parent’s death.12 The second is one in which an authoritative ¤gure, usually Confucius, castigates disciples who surpass the prescribed mourning limits.13 The third is one that praises men who mourn the prescribed three years, even though their feelings would have had them done otherwise. In tales with this last motif, after completing the mourning rites, Confucius hands the two protagonists a lute to play. One disciple cannot bear to play it due to his lingering grief, while the other gladly does so because his anguish has already dissipated. Even though the three-year mourning period did not match the extent of either man’s feelings, Confucius lauds both because they did exactly what the rites prescribed.14 In other words, all three motifs implicitly or explicitly condemn exceeding the rites. The reason is that the three-year limit was set as an arbitrary standard that all people, no matter what their moral endowment was, could hope to reach. Exemplars who adhere to this common standard are praiseworthy because they put the interests of mankind in general ahead of venting their own personal emotions.15 Adhering to a common standard is essential because if the morally best people exceed it, no one will be able to match their actions. There was a man of Bian who wept like a child on the death of his mother. Confucius said, “This is grief indeed, but it would be dif¤cult to continue it.

“Exceeding the Rites”

Now the rules of ceremony require to be handed down, and to be perpetuated. Hence, the wailing and leaping are subject to ¤xed regulations.16

Children usually know little about the rites and allow emotions alone to guide their actions. The man of Bian is inadequate because he acted like a child, that is, he expressed his grief based purely on his emotions and in an uncontrolled manner. Consequently, although his sorrow is noteworthy, he expresses it in a manner that others cannot duplicate. If his behavior is deemed admirable and becomes the standard for others, then no one will be able to practice the mourning rites, and they will go into disuse. Hence placing value on exceeding the rites ironically threatens their transmission. This view of adhering to the mourning rites re¶ects the views found in the Master Xun’s “Discourse on Rituals” chapter, where Xun Kuang (313– 238) argues that the three-year mourning rites are a regulated means by which people express their grief and send off the dead in a respectful manner. The three years are also a transitional period in which mourners slowly accustom themselves to the absence of the departed and prepare to resume normal life.17 Going beyond the carefully devised and calibrated rites is wrong because it both prevents mourners from making the transition to everyday life and tempts them to gain notoriety by surpassing the rites. They will thereby value the quality of their performance and feel little if any grief.18 Becoming excessively thin due to exceeding the rites might also endanger the mourner’s life. Since the purpose of the rites was to ease mourners back into daily life while respectfully distancing oneself from the dead, for Xun, exceeding the rites made no sense at all: “To deprive the living to lavishly bury the dead is called delusion. To kill the living to send off the dead is called evil.”19 Hence exceeding the rites, which endangers the lives of mourners and disrupts normal social life by prolonging mourning inde¤nitely, earned nothing but his condemnation. This emphasis on closely adhering to the rites and not exceeding them is also doubtlessly because the mourning rites were dif¤cult to perform. Since they entailed following complex regulations and called for extended periods of self-deprivation, especially when mourning parents, implementing them must have been extremely challenging for anyone. Master Huainan (Huainanzi) underscores the dif¤culty of sustaining one’s grief for such a long period of time: “Now three years’ mourning may force a man beyond what he can reach, and he uses play-acting to sustain his emotions.”20 Indeed, non-Confucians were not the only ones who felt the mourning rites were tough to perform. After relating Gao Chai’s act of not

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showing his teeth for three years, the author of the passage replies, “[Even] a gentleman would ¤nd this dif¤cult to do.” Similarly, when Zilu mocked a man of Lu for singing right before the third year of mourning ended, Confucius scolded him by saying, “Will you never have done with your ¤nding fault with people? The mourning for three years is indeed long!”21 Hence it is no wonder that the writers of these narratives praised those whose conduct was in complete accordance with the three-year rites. It should also be noted that besides not having many motifs, narratives from before the Eastern Han about exemplary mourning are also few in number. Most of those cited come from the Book of Rites’ “Tangong” chapter, which is almost entirely dedicated to questions concerning the mourning and burial rites. It is thereby not surprising that it is a repository of mourning exempla. However, upon turning to Western Han collections of Confucian didactic lore, we ¤nd few entries about the mourning rites, much less tales about men who performed them in an exemplary manner.22 The only Western Han collection of Confucian lore that does talk about the subject is Tales of Master Kong’s House (Kongzi jiayu). Nevertheless, its ¤rst nine chapters differ little from the other didactic literature collections: they have seven passages that concern the mortuary rites, but only two of which feature exemplars who mourn in an outstanding manner.23 The ¤nal chapter, on the other hand, almost entirely concerns the mourning and burial rites; however, its contents are drawn almost wholly from the Book of Rites.24 It would seem, then, that although mourning was a component of Western Han ¤lial piety, for the compilers of these collections and their audiences, it still was not as important as ¤lial piety that was directed towards the living. A Historical Phantom? The Three-Year Mourning Rites in the Western Han Another reason the Western Han Ru didactic works did not encourage surpassing the mourning rites was because, in practice, few people actually performed them. If hardly anyone was practicing them in the ¤rst place, there was no sense in urging people to perform the rites in an outstanding fashion. Elsewhere I have argued that the three-year mourning rites were a Ru invention that was rarely practiced during the Warring States period.25 Probably only Ru masters and their disciples undertook such arduous ritual mourning. This pattern probably continued through the Western Han. One indication of this is that just completing the three-year rites was an event not only worthy of note, but of lavish praise as well. One of

“Exceeding the Rites”

Gongsun Hong’s (200–121 BC) most noteworthy ¤lial acts was his mourning of his stepmother for three years.26 As the renowned Chinese scholar Hu Shi has pointed out, since Gongsun himself was a Ru master, his performance of the rites by no means indicates that it was popular custom; moreover, that his biographer highlighted this act calls attention to its rarity.27 Despite leading a dissolute youth, upon the death of his famous father Yu Dingguo in 40 BC, Yu Yong became famous by mourning him “according to the rites.”28 When Prince Xian of Hejian mourned his mother “according to the rites,” Emperor Ai (r. 7–1 BC) proclaimed that he was a model for the imperial family and increased his ¤ef by ten thousand households.29 Obviously, if the prince was so lavishly rewarded for performing the three-year mourning rites, it must have been extremely rare for an imperial family member to do so. In the same manner, due to the fact that Yuan She (¶. 10 BC–AD 24), a knight-errant, refused to accept funerary gifts and performed the three-year mourning rites, his name became famous in the capital. As if to underline how exceptional these acts were, the same account states, “At that time, there were few people who performed the three-year mourning rites.”30 The relative insigni¤cance of the Ru mourning rites is also re¶ected in the fact that the period’s two primary histories, Records of the Historian and History of the Han, have little to say about them at all. If the Western Han literati valued these rituals, one would expect that these two histories would be laden with reports of exemplary men conducting them. Yet compared to History of the Later Han, neither work has much to say about the mourning rites at all. Compounds that designate the performance of funerary rites appear rarely in either work.31 Furthermore, the motif of “exceeding the rites,” a staple of later ¤lial piety tales, appears in connection with mourning in neither Records of the Historian nor History of the Han. Nor does either work condemn men who fail to complete the three-year rites. For example, when Xue Xuan’s (¶. 32–6 BC) stepmother died, he refused to quit of¤ce to mourn her for three years, telling his younger brother Xue Xiu, who did plan to perform the rites, that “those who can successfully complete these rites are few.”32 Although one of his brother’s friends slandered him for not ful¤lling the three-year rites, Ban Gu still praised him in the following manner: “Every place that Xuan resided was well-governed and he was a model of¤cial for his generation. Upon residing in a high position, he lost his reputation due to petty fault¤nding. He had an extreme amount of talent and sincerity.”33 Thus even the Confucian historian Ban Gu viewed his nonperformance of the rites as a minor affair that was far outweighed by his administrative ability. In sum, despite the fact that both of the earliest

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dynastic histories put forth many different types of moral exemplars, neither work especially championed men who zealously performed the mourning rites. Indeed, the mourning rites were not an overriding concern of either Sima Qian or Ban Gu. Obviously, in their day performing them was still not seen as a priority. A ¤nal indication that Western Han people rarely conducted these rites is that the law did not sanction their practice. Emperor Wen of the Han believed that the Ru mourning rites, if practiced, would have a deleterious effect on the people, hence he explicitly stated that he did not want the three-year mourning rites observed on his behalf.34 Instead, he wanted to be mourned for a mere thirty-six days, which thereby became the standard mourning period for all imperial family members and high of¤cials. Since one’s lord is the equivalent of one’s parents, if one could mourn the emperor for only thirty-six days, how could one mourn one’s parents for a longer period of time? As a result, of¤cials mourned their parents for only this abbreviated period. Consequently, although Di Fangjin (d. 7 BC), a Ru erudite (boshi) and prime minister, wanted to perform the three-year mourning rites for his mother, he mourned her for only thirty-six days because he did not dare transgress the law.35 However, as Kamiya has indicated, no laws existed that regulated how long or in what ways ordinary of¤cials and commoners should mourn their parents.36 One of the few Western Han edicts concerning the duration of the mourning rites, issued by Emperor Ai, states that erudites and their disciples are allowed to return home to mourn their parents for three years.37 Of course, the erudites were scholars who were expert in the Five Classics, that is, they were masters of Ru learning. Obviously the Western Han government in no way encouraged the performance of the three-year rites. In stark contrast to their predecessors, early medieval ¤lial piety tales have a plethora of mourning motifs, nearly all of which accentuate exceeding the rites, not merely ful¤lling them. Indeed, in stories of this period, the compound guoli (to exceed the rites) is commonplace. In the next section, by brie¶y looking at each motif and the messages it conveys, we will attempt to ascertain why the theme of “exceeding the rites” became so important. Emaciating the Body and Dying of Grief A constant refrain in the Ru ritual codes is that in mourning parents, one should neither abstain from food nor grieve to the extent that it seriously injures one’s body. The Book of Rites’ “Quli” chapter articulates this prin-

“Exceeding the Rites”

ciple most clearly: a son in mourning should not emaciate himself to the extent that it harms his body. Moreover, if he becomes sick while in mourning, he should consume meat and alcohol until his health improves. To harm one’s body to the extent that one can no longer carry out the mourning rites is un¤lial.38 In the Book of Rites, Confucius even states that expressing grief is secondary to displaying respect for the dead and that emaciating the body is the least important aspect of mourning.39 These rational guidelines indicate that even though the rites are meant to make one suffer deprivations, they should never be carried out in a manner that does serious physical harm to the mourner. This is because doing so will impede him or her from performing other essential rituals. In other words, since being a ¤lial child is only one of the important social roles a person plays and the mourning rites are merely one aspect of ¤liality, he or she needs to live to ful¤ll his or her other ritual obligations, such as having children to continue the descent line and offering sacri¤ces to the dead. Despite the fact that the ritual codes forbade ¤lial children from depriving themselves of food to the point of sickness, many early medieval stories exalt those who did exactly that. The mildest examples are children who, right after their parent’s death, refuse all food and drink for more than three days, which is the limit established by the rites. Gu Ti (3rd cent.), for example, upon his father’s death ingested neither water nor broth for ¤ve days.40 Other tales vividly describe how little a ¤lial offspring ate. Sang Yu (¶. 317–380) provides the best example of this. When his father died, Yu, who was fourteen, exceeded the rites (guoli) in emaciating himself. Every day he would eat only a hundred kernels of grain. He would take and mix them together with weeds and beans. [His elder sister told him, “If you emaciate yourself in this way, you will kill yourself for sure, and doing so is not ¤lial. You should restrain yourself.” Yu replied, “Weeds, beans, and some rice are just enough for me to bear my grief”].41

As the text in the brackets from Sang Yu’s History of the Jin biography makes clear, Yu knew that he was endangering his body, but he felt that only by punishing himself could he adequately express his grief. Likewise, a number of ¤lial offspring starve themselves to the point that they can stand only with the aid of a cane.42 Other exemplary children emaciated themselves to the extent that it nearly inhibited their performance of the rites; for example, while in mourning for his mother, He Ziping “was so incredibly emaciated and had been for such an exceedingly long time

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that he nearly could not complete the mourning rites. His limbs and body almost seemed as if they were not attached to each other.” 43 After their mourning was completed, some exemplars needed several years of rest and medicine to be able to stand again.44 In a few cases, ¤lial sons in effect starved themselves to death.45 As for why these men emaciated themselves to this extent, the Yômei Xiaozi zhuan tells us, “For seven days after [Zengzi’s] father’s death, neither soup nor water entered Zengzi’s mouth. When ¤lial piety pierces the heart, one thereupon forgets about hunger or thirst.”46 Note that the Book of Rites criticizes Zengzi for his action, but this early medieval work ¤nds it praiseworthy.47 Filial children who did not harm themselves through starvation did so through grief. Many stories tell of mourning offspring who fainted and were revived only after a long period of time. For example, upon learning that his adopted mother had died, Ji Mai stopped breathing and was revived four times in one day.48 Although fainting does not sound particularly serious, for premodern Chinese it was tantamount to dying, which is clear by the meaning of the compounds used to designate it, such as qijue (one’s qi or breath stops) or duanjue (to sever and cut off [one’s qi]). Oftentimes, a ¤lial hero is so grief-stricken that he or she nearly dies.49 In a few cases, the ¤lial exemplar does die of grief. For instance, after he had buried his mother, Wu Tanzhi attempted to perform the nine-meal sacri¤ce. Each time he made one of the sacri¤ces, he would cry out in grief and stop breathing. Upon reaching the seventh sacri¤ce, he died spitting out blood.50 Filial children die of grief because their parents are more important than anything else in this world. Consequently, they show no reluctance to leave the world when their parent expires. After discovering that his father had died, Yu Qimin asked his mother, “‘What were my father’s last words?’ She replied, ‘When your father approached death, he merely regretted that he did not see you.’ Qimin said, ‘What’s dif¤cult about seeing each other?’ Thereupon he cried out in sorrow at the encof¤ning place and died shortly thereafter.”51 Yu here follows the ancient custom called “accompanying the dead in burial” (xunzang); even though he is not buried alive with his father’s corpse, he kills himself to comfort his father in the afterworld. Surely other ¤lial children who died in mourning were thought to be doing the same. Yet how could Yu be touted as a ¤lial exemplar when he willingly abandoned his living mother to accompany his dead father? Moreover, how could ¤lial children be so un¤lial as to die even before they had completed the mourning rites? Also, why do these accounts emphasize dying for one’s parents?

“Exceeding the Rites”

Limitless Mourning Xun Kuang believed that if a limit was not put on the mourning period for parents, superior men would never stop mourning their parents; hence the sages established that the longest mourning rites would last only three years.52 Early medieval stories, however, glorify ¤lial children who mourned their parents inde¤nitely. In some cases, they extend their observance of the mourning rites far beyond the three-year limit; in other cases, even though they end the formal mourning rites, they continue to informally mourn their parents in various ways, thereby refusing to return to secular life. A number of early medieval accounts show exemplary ¤lial children mourning their parents not for three continuous years, as set down by the rites, but six. Although it is not always clearly stated, in some cases this might be because both parents died at nearly the same time: that is, after mourning one parent for three years, the ¤lial child then mourns the other for another three.53 More commonly, though, a ¤lial child mourns for six years because he or she engages in “remedial mourning” (zhuifu). This means that after completing the three-year mourning rites for the second parent, a ¤lial child decides that his/her performance of the rites for the ¤rst parent was in some way defective. To compensate for this shortcoming, the child thereupon performs the three-year mourning rites for the ¤rst parent. After conducting the mourning rites in an exemplary manner for their mother, Prince Liu Zhen (d. 157) and his brother Jian decided that when they had mourned their father earlier, they were immature and had done so in a de¤cient manner; consequently, they decided to repeat the rites for their father.54 The custom of remedial mourning thereby allowed the Liu brothers to justify doubling the length of the mourning period. Nevertheless, since remedial mourning appears in none of the early Ru texts, it was doubtlessly an early medieval innovation. Doubling the length of the longest mourning rites provided ¤lial children with an eyecatching means of demonstrating their deep sorrow. That no one questioned the ritual validity of this practice indicates how natural early medieval men took it to be. Even when early medieval exemplars took off the mourning robes in the third year, they still found means to exceed the funerary rites. A common way of doing so was for a ¤lial child to continue certain mourning taboos or austerities long after the mourning period had ended. According to the rites, while in mourning one avoids good food, clothing, and shelter because one’s grief renders these things useless. As Confucius notes in

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The Analects, “The gentleman in mourning ¤nds no relish in dainties, no pleasure in music, and no comfort in his own home. That is why he abstains from these things.”55 After the three years have passed, though, one discards the mourning robes, ends the deprivations, and returns home; that is, he/she resumes a normal life. Yet in early medieval tales ¤lial children often refuse to carry on their lives in a fully normal fashion. They do this by maintaining certain deprivations they had upheld while mourning. For example, many ¤lial children continue to abstain from foods that were taboo during mourning long after the funerary rites have ended.56 Others refuse to return home; instead, for the rest of their lives they reside in the mourning hut besides their parents’ graves.57 Yet others refuse to marry after their parents die.58 As all of these actions show, although ¤lial children technically adhere to the three-year rites, by giving up the pleasures and comforts of ordinary life, they still manages to display their endless grief. The following passage from an account about Xie Hongwei (d. 433) sums up the rationale for these noncanonical deprivations: “After the mourning period for his brother was ¤nished, Hongwei still ate only vegetables. Someone said to him, ‘The mourning period is already over with, why do you now do this?’ He answered, ‘The regulation for changing one’s cap and gown cannot be exceeded. However, the grief produced in one’s heart cannot truly be eliminated.’”59 In short, although the rites must be followed, for extraordinary ¤lial children they are inadequate to fully express grief, hence they must ¤nd some other means to vent their sorrow. The importance of the aforementioned motifs can be seen in the fact that slightly later stories might combine all of them into one account. We can see this in a tale about an elderly exemplar named Yang Yin. When [Yin] was three he lost his father and was raised by his uncle. When his mother died at the age of ninety-three, Yin was already seventy-¤ve, yet his grief and emaciation exceeded the rites. After mourning his mother for three years, he regretted that he did not know his father. He [then] caught up with his mourning obligations by wearing the most severe form of mourning. He ate porridge and wore rough clothing. He swore he would do so for the rest of his life. After thirteen years, his grief and longing for his parents had not changed.60

This account combines the motifs of remedial and inde¤nite mourning. Yang’s acts are even more spectacular because not only did he mourn his parents for six continuous years, but he did so well beyond the age one should perform the full mourning rites.61 In short, just by performing the complete mourning rites at his advanced age, Yang already exceeded

“Exceeding the Rites”

them. Tales like this show that no matter the age, truly ¤lial children never stop yearning for their parents. All of these acts of renunciation invariably show that the mourner refuses to fully participate in secular life. A part of the mourner’s mind will always be dedicated to the memory of his/her parents. Those engaging in the more drastic renunciations, such as residing by one’s parent’s tomb after the mourning period has ended or refusing to marry, completely cut themselves off from the secular world to serve their dead parents. This point is clearly made by the fact that men who engage in these more severe renunciations repeatedly decline summons to of¤ce. Devoted children who do such things mourn their parents inde¤nitely. After completing the mourning rites for his stepmother, Guo Shidao (¶. 427) “was brokenhearted with grief and yearned for her. For the rest of his life he acted like a mourner. His thoughts of remembering the departed never for a moment left his heart. Consequently, he never undid his clothes or took off his hat [so that he could always be ready to serve her].”62 Obviously, these accounts tell us that there is nothing more important than one’s parents. Once they are gone, secular life has little meaning and can be easily discarded. One should live one’s life completely for their sake. In fact, a son or daughter who inde¤nitely mourns his or her parents refuses to relinquish ful¤lling the role of child. A ¤lial offspring like this, as Wu Hung has aptly put it, is “an ageless child.”63 Although the authors of the Book of Rites castigated men who mourned like children, the authors of the early medieval accounts found it praiseworthy. For instance, “when [He Ziping’s] mother died, even though he was already approaching 60, he still yearned for her like a small boy. Day and night, he shouted and screamed.”64 Although Ziping is already an old man who has successfully completed the adult duties of nurturing and mourning his parents, what the author ¤nds praiseworthy about him is that, he has maintained the same emotions for his parents that he had as a vulnerable and dependent youngster. The epitome of a ¤lial child who never lost his childlike love for his parents is Lao Laizi. Although Lao was already seventy years old, to please his even more elderly parents he acted the part of a child: he would wear brightly colored clothes, play with toy birds, crawl, ride a bamboo horse, and cry like a baby when he slipped and fell. Hence the author of one Accounts of Filial Offspring praised him by saying, “Someone like Lao Laizi can be said to be a person who has not lost the heart of a child.”65 The creators of early medieval images of this tale emphasize Lao’s regression on his parents’ behalf by invariably depicting him not as an old man, but as a young child (see ¤gs. 9 and 10). Rather than being a symbol of someone whose

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Fig. 9: A childlike Lao Laizi plays before his parents. Wu Liang shrine carving. Jiaxiang, Shandong. Eastern Han, AD 151. Note that the cane in his hand, capped with a bird, indicates he is an old man. Courtesy of Foreign Languages Press

Fig. 10: A childlike Lao Laizi plays before his mother. Carving on stone sarcophagus. Northern Wei dynasty, AD 524. Courtesy of the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, The William Hood Dunwoody Fund.

“Exceeding the Rites”

emotions are not constrained by the rites, early medieval authors idolized the child as someone who had pure and undivided love for his/her parents and thereby felt earnest and profound sorrow when they died. Hence for these authors a ¤lial son or daughter should forever remain a child at heart. According to Shimomi this is the central message of the ¤lial piety stories.66 The idea that a son should always look upon his parents with the yearning of a young child comes directly from Mencius. When a person is young he yearns for his parents; when he becomes fond of the ¶esh, he yearns for the young and beautiful; when he has wife and child, he yearns for them; when he serves in of¤ce, he yearns for his lord; when he does not obtain his lord’s recognition, he burns within. Great ¤lial piety consists of yearning for your parents all your life. In Shun [the sage-king], I have seen a person who is ¤fty years old, yet he still yearns for his parents.67

Mencius recognizes that what men desire changes over the course of their lives. Although they start off valuing their parents, they soon attach more importance to women, recognition, and nobility. What was admirable about Shun, though, was that despite his age he resisted these usual priority changes and retained his boyish love for his parents. Even though he could possess the empire, only his parents’ love could satisfy him. That early medieval men connected the behavior of ¤lial offspring with this idea can be seen in Zhao Qi’s commentary to the aforementioned Mencius passage. His commentary reads, “People who have great ¤lial piety yearn for their parents their entire life, like Lao Laizi who was seventy yet still yearned for them. Thus he wore ¤ve-colored robes and acted like a child by crawling in front of his parents.”68 Given that Zhao connected the Lao Laizi story with this passage, it does not seem far-fetched to think that early medieval literati might view other ¤lial piety stories as illustrating this same principle that nothing was more important than pleasing one’s parents and retaining the “childlike” impulse to want to give them pleasure. In short, the early medieval authors of the stories rejected the rationalism of Xun Kuang’s rites and embraced instead Mencius’ emphasis on delighting one’s parents. Serving the Dead like the Living Filial children who quit secular life to forever mourn their parents brings us to the third major theme of the mourning motifs: that of offspring who “serve the dead as if they were alive” (shi si ru shi sheng, or shi wang

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ru shi cun). Early Ru works maintain that the dead must be treated in a manner similar to the living. Although these same works take this rule only ¤guratively, the compilers of early medieval ¤lial piety tales took it quite literally. Early medieval heroes thus serve the dead exactly as they do the living, to the point where they sometimes even sacri¤ce their lives on behalf of the dead. In early Ru texts “serving the dead like the living” primarily means performing the mourning and sacri¤cial rites with sincerity and generosity. In Doctrine of the Mean (Zhongyong), this principle means performing the ancestral sacri¤ces correctly and continuing the rituals of one’s fathers.69 According to Master Xun, to show proper respect to the dead one must mourn or sacri¤ce to them as if they are conscious of what is being done on their behalf; thus one must sincerely grieve for them, provide them with material goods for their welfare, bury them in a tomb that resembles a home, and sacri¤ce to them as if they are present. Nevertheless, even though one generally treats the dead like the living, the grave goods given to the deceased are made useless so that the distinction between the living and the dead is made apparent.70 In the Book of Rites’ “Jiyi” chapter, “serving the dead like the living” applies to how one should behave during death-day anniversaries. Only on those days does one act as though one sees the dead and grieve as though one will die.71 Thus serving the dead like the living is something one does only during the mourning rites and ancestral sacri¤ces, and on death-day anniversaries. Even then, subtle means are used to show that the dead are different from the living. In early medieval stories, on the other hand, ¤lial heroes treat the dead exactly as if they were alive. Nor is this behavior merely limited to the mourning period or death-day anniversaries. The motif that expresses this most vividly is that of ¤lial offspring who rush to their parents’ graves during a storm to console the dead parent who feared thunder while alive.72 The children replicate exactly how they would behave while the parent was still living. Stories in which a child serves an image of his/ her dead parent manifest the principle of serving the dead like the living even more plainly. Ding Lan missed his dead mother (or in Eastern Han versions, his father) so much that he created a wooden image of her and served it as if it were alive. He did so to the extent that if someone wanted to borrow something from the family, he would ask the image for permission to do so. When a neighbor damaged the image, Ding killed him. When his wife burnt the image, depending on the version, he either beats and divorces her or forces her to mourn the image for three years.73 What all of these tales share in common is the message that truly ¤lial children

“Exceeding the Rites”

treat their dead parents in a way no different from living parents, which once again drives home the point that one should forever be a child. This principle of serving the dead like the living is so important that ¤lial children should even endanger themselves to either protect or secure a parent’s corpse. We have already seen how numerous ¤lial offspring are credited with braving searing ¶ames to protect their parents’ corpses.74 Other ¤lial children either endanger their lives to protect a parent’s corpse or retrieve it.75 Although heaven usually intervenes to save ¤lial offspring who perform such heroic acts, this is not always the case.76 In short, the death of one’s parents should not change one’s behavior towards them—if a child is willing to risk his/her life to save living parents, he/she should be just as willing to do the same for dead parents. Personally Serving the Dead The last major motif involves ¤lial children who exceed the spirit rather than the letter of the rites. They do so by insisting that they perform many aspects of their parents’ funerals without any help from others, which doubtless is an extension of the belief seen in the previous chapter that ¤lial children must personally perform the quotidian tasks necessary for nurturing their parents. In short, a proxy cannot perform a ¤lial rite on one’s behalf because that person will not perform the task with the necessary sincerity. Thus for the ceremony to be ef¤cacious, one must perform it oneself. Although Confucius mentioned this principle only in regard to sacri¤ces, children in the early medieval tales apply it to each aspect of their parents’ funerals. In fact, a few exemplary offspring try to personally carry out every aspect of their parents’ funerals. An embodiment of this ideal is the Tu family’s daughter. When her parents died, she personally encof¤ned the bodies, took them to the grave, and shouldered the dirt to make the burial mound.77 Guo Yuanping “believed that since the duties of paying tribute to the dead were to be completed through [one’s] feelings and the rites, to complete the funerary rites and the tomb, he did not want to borrow the labor of others.” Nevertheless, since he did not know how to construct a tomb, he ¤rst apprenticed himself to a master tomb builder to learn how to do so.78 Guo obviously believed that it was not only necessary to ful¤ll the rites, but also to ful¤ll them with the correct emotional attitude, which only he could express. More typically, a ¤lial child insists merely on single-handedly building his parent’s tumulus. Many tales with such a motif emphasize that

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despite the presence of servants, slaves, or neighbors who could help him with the task, the ¤lial hero insists on building the mound himself. This act is so touching that it often spurs the moral universe to miraculously aid the ¤lial hero in his task: “[Zong] Cheng (¶. 200–220) did not employ any slaves or servants in either carrying the dirt or building up the tumulus. During the span of one night, on its own accord, the soil of the tumulus increased in height by ¤ve feet and pine and bamboo trees sprouted there.”79 A striking aspect of this motif is that it demands that an upper-class person perform demanding acts of manual labor, thereby making the mourning rites even more dif¤cult to complete. The following account reveals how dif¤cult it was to combine adherence to the traditional mourning rites with the new physical demands that ¤lial children should personally build their parents’ tumuli: Xu Zi (¶. 290– 300) emaciated himself to the extent that he could stand only with the aid of a cane, yet he still insisted on shouldering the dirt used to create his parents’ tumuli. During the day he would let his neighbors help him, but at night he would undo all of their work.80 Xu exceeds the traditional rites by emaciating himself to the point where he can no longer stand on his own. As if this were not enough, though, even in his profoundly weakened physical state he still insists on engaging in strenuous manual labor. This motif indicates that even when a parent is dead, a ¤lial child must perform both the rites of gentlemen and the labor of commoners to serve the deceased. The popularity of this motif can be seen in that Eastern Han inscriptions often emphasize how descendents carried the dirt for their relatives’ tumuli and built them themselves.81 Simultaneously, this indicates that early medieval authors thought that carrying out the prescribed rites was not nearly suf¤cient enough to express a ¤lial child’s sorrow. Early Ru writers probably never imagined that the funerary rites encompassed such activities as personally building a tomb or a tumulus, which are indeed tasks more than rituals. Nevertheless, as all the motifs we have examined in this section have shown, for early medieval men the prescribed rites did not go nearly far enough to fully exhaust a son or daughter’s grief. Filial offspring exceeded the rites because this was the only way they could express the depth of their sorrow. But why did this period in particular put so much emphasis on how one should fully express grief? To explain why these mourning motifs became so prominent in the early medieval era, we must now look at the history of the implementation of the Confucian mourning rites during the Eastern Han and Wei-Jin periods.

“Exceeding the Rites”

The Triumph of the Three-Year Mourning Rites Although the three-year mourning rites were not commonly practiced in the Western Han, the situation abruptly changed during the Eastern Han. The three-year rites became more common in the ¤rst century AD and then well established in the second. By the third century, these rites became the undisputed ritual practice of China’s learned elite; by the end of the third century the state incorporated them into the law of the land. Ironically, the Ru three-year mourning rites were institutionalized in a period that witnessed the decline of Ru intellectual vitality and its position as the dominant school of thought. During the ¤rst century AD, the practice of the three-year mourning rites became increasingly commonplace. One of their most vigorous imperial proponents was the usurper Wang Mang. In AD 5, while acting as regent, he decreed that middle of¤cials and those above had to perform the three-year rites.82 He himself performed three years’ mourning for his aunt, the Empress Dowager Wenmu.83 A few Eastern Han rulers also completed the three-year rites.84 Ordinary of¤cials, too, were increasingly practicing them. Fujikawa believes that by Emperor Ming’s reign it was normal for of¤cials to quit of¤ce to mourn their parents for three years.85 There are even a few ¤rst-century cases in which the expression “exceeded the rites” is used to describe the way ¤lial sons mourned their parents.86 Nevertheless, no laws existed that required of¤cials to conduct the threeyear rites. Kamiya has pointed out that even though Emperor Ming censured Deng Yan (¶. 58–75) for not quitting of¤ce to mourn his father, he still did not dismiss him.87 In other words, performing the three years of mourning was becoming more prevalent among the cultural elite, but it still was not supported by legal sanction. By the late ¤rst century, though, the three-year rites had become the ritual practice of the learned elite. The preponderance of accounts in which men from the latter half of the Eastern Han either perform these rites or resign from of¤ce to do so most obviously indicates this.88 Moreover, not only did of¤cials resign from of¤ce to mourn their parents, but they also sometimes did so to mourn other relatives, such as a brother, grandmother, grandfather, uncle, cousin, and, in one case, an uncle once removed.89 The situation got so out of hand that in AD 107 Emperor An (r. 107–125) prohibited quitting of¤ce for mourning anyone except one’s parents; in 126, Zuo Xiong (d. 138) complained that this law was routinely violated.90 Perhaps nothing better attests to the ubiquity of the three-year rites than its extension to one’s patron. It was in the second

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century that the act of mourning one’s patron for three years became commonplace.91 The fact that in 143 eighty-seven of the former subordinates of the administrator of Beihai performed the three-years rites on his behalf provides a stunning example of this phenomenon.92 Obviously, if it were not common practice to mourn one’s parents for three years, one would not do so for one’s patron. In the second century, the widespread practice of the three-year rites among the educated elite twice spurred the government to try and catch up with social custom. Two empress dowagers who were imbued with Ru teachings brie¶y mandated that of¤cials practice the three-year mourning rites. In 116, while acting as regent, Empress Dowager Deng (d. 121) ordered that all high of¤cials perform the three-year rites.93 She also commanded that anyone, from high of¤cials on down, who failed to perform this ritual could not be recommended for of¤ce.94 Although the ¤rst decree was rescinded in ¤ve years, the latter one was incorporated into Eastern Han law.95 We should note that Empress Dowager Deng was a Ru paragon and a student of the outstanding female scholar Ban Zhao (49– 120). The empress dowager is one of the earliest women credited with performing the three-year mourning rites in an exemplary manner.96 Once again, in 154, another female regent steeped in Ru teachings, Empress Dowager Liang (106–159), ordered that all high of¤cials perform the three-year rites; in 156 she ordered that middle of¤cials do the same.97 These reforms ended with her death in 159. It is probably not by chance that the two people who tried to give legal sanction to the three-year rites were women from eminent families. It is equally important to notice, though, that their efforts failed. These attempts to force of¤cials to perform the three-year rites and their failure are signi¤cant for a number of reasons. First, the reform indicates that society rather than the state established this custom. The memorialists who proposed this reform argued that if high of¤cials did not perform the full mourning rites, then no one would, since everyone would follow their example.98 Nevertheless, since by the second century members of the learned elite commonly practiced the three-year rites, such was not the case at all. The impetus for this ritual change was coming from the great families rather than the imperial clan. Fujikawa has noted that the two attempts to make all of¤cials carry out the Ru mourning rites were sponsored by the consort families, while those who opposed it were the eunuchs who had the greatest interest in concentrating imperial power.99 We should remember, too, that Wang Mang, who also ordered of¤cials to carry out the full rites, gained control of the govern-

“Exceeding the Rites”

ment as a member of a consort family. That the imperial family’s practice of the Ru rites lagged behind the literati’s is evident in that in the second century imperial princes were still being lavishly rewarded for merely performing them.100 Second, that these two decrees were in effect for merely ¤ve years apiece also indicates that the Eastern Han government was still not fully under Confucianism’s sway. In fact, it was not until the Western Jin (265–317) that the state fully sanctioned the three-year rites. During the Three Kingdoms period, high of¤cials still could not quit of¤ce to mourn their parents for three years.101 All this changed, though, during the Western Jin. In 265, his ¤rst year on the throne, Emperor Wu (r. 265–290) ordered that all of¤cials who had salaries of 2,000 piculs of grain or less had to mourn their parents for three years; in 278, he extended this order to the dynasty’s highest of¤cials. Emperor Wu himself had to be convinced on several occasions not to complete the full mourning rites for his family members. When his father died, even though he did not perform the full rites, he still wore ordinary clothes and ate plain food for three years.102 Furthermore, the Jin government impeached and punished of¤cials who performed the three-year rites in a defective manner.103 Kamiya notes that these laws were so strictly applied that those of¤cials who were impeached committed minor violations at best; moreover, their “violations” were often so questionable that they became the topic of formal court debates.104 Fujikawa stresses that these debates were not theoretical, but technical: they centered on whether the individual in question performed the correct set of mourning rites for that particular situation.105 In other words, by the end of the third century, the dif¤cult and longignored three-year mourning rites now became the law of the land. Even the highest of¤cials had no choice but to quit of¤ce and practice them.106 Thus throughout the Six Dynasties period the question was not whether one should practice these rites, but how one performed them properly. Since the correct performance of the mourning rites was of such import to the early medieval elite, it generated an enormous and unprecedented body of scholarship on the rites. Kishima informs us that most of these works were manuals answering the readers’ questions about how the rites should be conducted and which set of rites should be performed under what circumstances. Rather than explicate the classics, these works answered questions about mourning that the classics did not anticipate, or about which the classics contained contradictory statements.107 In other words, these works were practical guides on how to perform the mourning rites and dealt with the problems that might occur while doing so.

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Hence they offer indisputable testimony that educated people of the late third and fourth centuries were not only performing the mourning rites, but also doing so in a thorough and unprecedented manner. The reason why the Ru mourning rites became so widely practiced in the early medieval period was simply that they were an ef¤cacious ritual means of strengthening both kinship and social ties. Practice of the Ru rites developed into a means by which family members could become aware of their relations with and obligations towards other kinsmen. The wearing of mourning robes for relatives provided family members with a vivid sense of who their close relations were and a concrete means of displaying their loyalty to them. Hence by ensuring that each member knew his/her own place within the larger family, and by having him/her express loyalty by undergoing austerities for prolonged periods of time on their behalf, the practice of the Confucian mourning rites generated solidarity and cemented identity within an extended family. At the same time, since a man also owed his lord/patron mourning obligations, the Ru mourning rites also provided local elite men with a ritual means to enhance their private ties with nonrelated, politically important men. Since during this period one’s public of¤ces and the government were much less important than one’s private ties and the strength of one’s family, the mourning rites strengthened the private networks that were so crucial in the life of an elite man. Combating Apathy The preceding section has shown that China’s learned elite commonly practiced the three-year mourning rites in the second century and that these rites became legally sanctioned for of¤cials in the third. This chronology of events supplies the answer for why the stories emphasize “exceeding the rites.” The purpose of this theme was not to encourage people to perform the three-year rites, but rather to perform them with sincerity. To understand the purpose of this theme of “exceeding the rites,” it is imperative to ascertain its timing. If it appeared before these rites were commonly performed, then it was probably meant to encourage their practice; however, if it appeared afterwards, then it probably had an entirely different aim. Stories about exceeding the rites ¤rst appear in the second century AD, which is precisely when the three-year rites were becoming widely practiced. The earliest extant history to document cases of exceeding the mourning rites is Han Records of the Eastern Pavilion.108 Although written at various times during the Eastern Han, this work’s biographies of virtuous gentlemen and famous statesmen—in which the theme of exceeding the

“Exceeding the Rites”

mourning rites occurs—were probably compiled after AD 107.109 The ¤rst dynastic history that uses the speci¤c term guoli in connection with exemplary mourning is Sima Biao’s (ca. 240–306) The History of the Continuation of the Han (Xu Han shu).110 Positive accounts of people who exceed the mourning rites, then, appear after, not before, the three-year mourning rites had become entrenched among the educated elite. Since the three-year rites were already an upper-class social reality when these tales appeared, they were obviously not meant to encourage the practice of such rites. By the second century, and especially by the third, if one was to have a political career or any standing in local elite society, one had no choice but to perform the three-year rites. Since this was the case, the self-appointed guardians of morality did not need to worry that members of the elite would fail to perform the rites. As Kamiya reminds us, in the Jin dynasty, due to the strict enforcement of laws concerning the mourning rites, egregious violations of the rites were exceedingly rare.111 Besides legal sanction, since the mourning rites were the most public aspect of ¤lial piety, in a society that lionized this virtue, one would expect that most people of status would perform the rites in a punctilious manner. In fact, Eastern Han social critics rarely complained of people who failed to perform the three years’ rites; instead, they complained of people who devoted too little effort to nurturing their living parents and too much effort to burying their dead ones.112 Rather than encouraging the performance of the three-year rites, the main intent of “exceeding the rites” narratives was to combat the apathy that attended their institutionalization. What worried the authors of the tales was that people who had no choice but to perform the rites might do so in a perfunctory or deceitful manner. In other words, literati would perform the mourning rites only because the government or peer pressure mandated it, not because they felt grief for the dead. Completion of the rites thereby ran the risk of becoming little more than a public theatrical performance. In the same vein, Ge Hong (284–363) criticized the northern funerary custom of wailing with a ¤xed rhythm and uttering set expressions precisely because it drained mourning of its emotional content and merely transformed it into an aesthetic experience.113 In the case of mourning, men study the central region’s manner of wailing. It causes people to act without thinking and lack the feelings of recalling or thinking [of the departed]. . . . Confucius said, “The loss of one’s mother or father should be as sad a thing as the case of a baby which has lost its mother.” How is it possible that the cries [of an infant] could have a ¤xed

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sound? “The mourner should prefer that the sorrow be excessive and the rites be insuf¤cient.” Wailing is a means of letting out one’s sorrow. How can clumsiness and excellence enter the matter? To regulate and embellish one’s sounds is not what is called “Great Suffering.”114

Note that Ge’s criticism echoes one of the paramount themes we have seen in the “exceeding the rites” tales: the purpose of the mourning rites is to give vent to one’s deep, emotional longing for one’s departed parents— a longing so intense that it is like what a small child feels for his/her missing parent. Like the mourning of a child, grief should be spontaneous and genuine. It is precisely the detailed rules and importance attached to the quality of the rites’ performance that drains their emotional content. Since political and social mandate, rather than personal grief, demanded performance of the rites, one might be tempted to secretly violate some of the mourning taboos. That one not only had to mourn one’s parents for long periods of time, but also other relatives, such as uncles, brothers, and sisters, must have made this temptation loom even larger in the hearts of many. Ge informs us that many literati used illness as a pretext for violating the mourning rites. I have also heard that noblemen, when they are experiencing the “Great Sorrow,” sometimes because they are ill, will eat several meals while taking “cold food powder.” They drink great amounts of wine as if their life depended upon it. When their illness has reached the crisis point, they cannot endure the wind and cold. In the case of screen curtains, cushions, and mattresses, they make use of whatever makes them comfortable. Thus in all cases where petty men have wealth and power they never again reside in the place of the mourner; instead, they usually live in another room [furnished with] a high bed with many coverlets. They eat rich food and drink much. Sometimes, in the company of intimate friends, they pour cups to the top and empty them. It gets to the point where they become very drunk. They say, “This is the custom in the capital, Luoyang.”115

Although the Book of Rites does sanction the eating of meat and drinking of wine for a sick mourner, some of Ge Hong’s contemporaries obviously used illness as an excuse to discontinue all of the mourning austerities and surround themselves with luxuries once again. Even men known for their uprightness might lapse into violating the rites, particularly those men who were accustomed to comfort. For example, when his beloved younger brother died, for almost ten years Xie An (320–385) did not lis-

“Exceeding the Rites”

ten to music. However, after becoming chief minister, even when mourning close relatives, he never went without music or female entertainers.116 Wang Tanzhi (330–375) bitterly reproached Xie for this, but while in mourning he himself would play “encirclement chess” because he considered it a form of “conversing with the hands.”117 Given that men so often violated the mourning rites, it is no wonder that early medieval narratives emphasize that a true ¤lial child is personally engaged in all aspects of a funeral and avoids meat, alcohol, and ¤ne clothing, even long after the mourning period has ended. By the mid-third century, there were even men who intentionally ¶outed the mourning taboos. These individuals, many of whom are associated with the legendary “Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove,” believed that the ordinary—that is, Ru—standards of behavior did not apply to themselves. Consequently, they were known as “gentlemen outside of the conventions” (fangwai zhi shi). By drinking alcohol, eating meat, playing “encirclement chess,” taking concubines, and attending banquets, they egregiously violated the mourning rites.118 By this means they protested the increasingly vapid nature of the compulsory mourning rites, but they paid a stiff social and political price for doing so.119 Stories about these gentlemen beyond the conventions stress that even though they willfully violated the Ru mourning rites, they displayed grief that equaled, if not exceeded, that of men who completed all of the rites. When Ruan Ji (210–263) “was about to bury his mother, he steamed a fat suckling pig, drank two dipperfuls of wine, and after that attended the last rites. He did nothing but cry, ‘It’s all over’ and gave himself to continuous wailing. As a result, he spit up blood and wasted away for a long time.”120 Despite his obvious violation of the mourning rites, Ruan suffered from his grief the same way many conventional ¤lial sons did: he could not control his sorrow, spat out blood, and fainted. In other words, the author of this account puts him forward as an exemplary ¤lial son. Hence rather than being an attack on ¤lial piety per se, this story and others like it question the validity or usefulness of the Ru mourning rites because they no longer express grief, which should be their main purpose.121 Suf¤ce it to say that in mourning, what is most important is not following the rites, but instead expressing one’s true feelings of longing for one’s parents. Tales that compare the mourning of someone who follows the ritual dictates of the Confucian mourning rites and someone who violates them makes this same point even more explicit. The most famous narrative of this type is one that compares the mourning of He Qiao with that

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of Wang Rong. He Qiao (d. 292) mourns according to the rites; Wang Rong (235–305) ignores the rites, but expresses so much sorrow that he becomes terribly emaciated and cannot leave his bed. This prompts Liu Yi (ca. 210–285) to tell the emperor, He Qiao, even though performing all the rites, has suffered no loss in his spirit or health. Wang Rong, even though not performing the rites, is nonetheless so emaciated with grief that his bones stand out. Your servant is of the opinion that He Qiao’s is the ¤lial piety of life, while Wang Rong’s is the ¤lial piety of death. Your Majesty should not worry about Qiao, but rather about Rong.122

Wang’s unconventional means of mourning is superior to He’s adherence to the Ru mourning rites because it produces so much genuine sorrow that it nearly kills him. In other words, the Ru mourning rites are no longer ef¤cacious in venting grief. He Qiao can follow the Confucian mourning rites without loss to his health, which indicates that he did not feel a suf¤cient amount of grief. Narratives like this, then, convey the message that performing the rites is secondary to expressing the heartfelt distress one feels at the loss of a loved one and that the Ru mourning rites are no longer effectual because they have lost their emotional bearings.123 Although the authors of ¤lial piety stories would have doubtlessly sneered at men like Ruan Ji, who disregarded the rites, they would have agreed that the insincerity with which contemporaries practiced the mourning rites was an overriding problem. Ironically, then, ¤lial piety stories that stress exceeding the rites are striving for the same end as the stories about unconventional mourning: both want to ensure that people truly do express sincere grief while in mourning. Nevertheless, for the authors of the ¤lial piety tales, the way to do this was not by ignoring the Ru rites, but by going beyond their dictates. In short, since completing the rites was no longer indicative of the grief one felt towards the dead, to truly show one’s sorrow one had to go to extremes, that is, “exceed the rites.” Conclusion This chapter has clearly indicated that the messages of early medieval stories with mourning motifs differ markedly from those of their predecessors. The tales from before the Eastern Han emphasized ful¤lling the rites, not exceeding them, which is probably because the three-year mourning rites were rarely practiced at that time. Early medieval narratives, on the

“Exceeding the Rites”

other hand, stress exceeding the mourning rites because they were created at a time when the educated elite commonly practiced such rites. The ubiquity of the practice of these rites forced the tales’ goals to change from advocating adherence to these rites to performing them in a sincere and heartfelt manner. As soon as it became necessary for all men to practice the three-year rites to advance themselves socially and politically, the mourning rites increasingly faced the danger of being merely viewed as a tool; instead of conducting the three-year rites to express one’s anguish, one might now perform them to gain a worldly end. To combat this phenomenon, the authors of the ¤lial piety stories stressed that one should not merely ful¤ll the rites, but exceed their requirements. Doing so would show that one’s grief was so over¶owing that the rites could not give them suf¤cient vent. Men who enthusiastically sacri¤ced their interests for those of the dead or who personally managed the details of burial were now held up as admirable men—men who still maintained the spirit of the rites. By demonstrating that early medieval tales were attempting to combat the apathy that attended the institutionalization of these rites, this chapter has contributed to pinpointing when the educated elite became Confucianized and why. Among elite circles, practice of this discrete set of rituals became common during the second century AD. By the third century, the state caught up with custom and the law sanctioned that of¤cials must practice these rites. In other words, if the implementation of these dif¤cult and costly rituals is any gauge to the extent to which Confucianism penetrated the elite’s ritual program and value system, then we can safely presume that by the second century it had a signi¤cant impact on the educated elite’s worldview and standards of conduct. The impetus for this change came from provincial elite families who found the mourning rites to be a convenient and effective means of generating solidarity among the extended family and agnatic lineage. Ironically, the only upper-class groups that lagged behind in following these rites were imperial family members and high of¤cials who still adhered to an abbreviated mourning period. In other words, this practice emerged from society and was only gradually adopted by the state. This parallels the existence of extended families, where the state legally sanctioned them only in the early third century, with the Wei’s prohibition of parents and children having separate ¤nances, even though they were already an important feature of elite society in the ¤rst and second centuries.

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Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons?

Upon thinking about ¤lial piety in China, due to the importance that Confucianism places on the father-son bond, one intuitively associates it with sons, not daughters. If gender is thrown into the mix, then we think of the strong tie between mother and son—a relationship that Cole’s Mothers and Sons in Chinese Buddhism has so well elucidated. Nevertheless, ¤lial piety was and is by no means merely a male virtue. Now and in the past, Chinese women have also performed it in an exemplary manner. But what type of behavior constituted female ¤lial piety? Coon has shown that late antique and early medieval European hagiographers constructed male and female sanctity differently. Assuming that by nature women were licentious, extravagant, and emotional, medieval hagiographers depicted female saints as subordinating themselves completely to male ecclesiastical authority, living austerely in cloistered surroundings where they performed domestic duties, and having boundless simple faith. In other words, early medieval authors emphasized virtues that counteracted or harnessed what they viewed as unique female frailties.1 This leads one to wonder, To what extent was female ¤lial piety different from its male counterpart in early medieval China? How did it change over time? In comparison to male ¤lial piety, how important was it? By closely reading anecdotes of ¤lial daughters, this chapter will endeavor to prove the following points: ¤rst, depictions of ¤lial daughters became common during the early medieval period. Second, male and female expressions of ¤lial piety were basically the same, except that women had to go to greater extremes to express their ¤lial devotion. In most cases some form of literal or ¤gurative violence marked the extremity of their actions, whether it was physical suicide, social suicide, or infanticide. Third, this remarkable similarity in ¤lial conduct came about because ¤lial piety was perceived as a male virtue that females performed 164

Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons?

in the absence of male relatives. In short, ¤lial females were surrogate sons. Fourth, due to the fact that their ¤liality was derivative, although some tales of ¤lial women did circulate in early imperial China, these stories were still comparatively few and of marginal importance. Early China’s Scarcity of Filial Women Tales To establish that female ¤lial piety narratives ¤rst became prevalent in the early medieval period, let us ¤rst examine stories from before the Eastern Han that touch upon female ¤lial piety, which are conveniently assembled in Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women, the earliest known work that exclusively records the lives of women. As Raphals has pointed out, despite ¤liality’s importance in the Western Han, none of Liu’s six chapters on virtuous conduct focus on it.2 In fact, not a single story is exclusively dedicated to promoting this value. Nevertheless, there are two types of stories that endorse, or at least mention, ¤lial piety while simultaneously espousing other virtues. These two types of stories are moral dilemma tales and ones in which women save their relatives from peril due to their reasoning abilities. Accounts of Outstanding Women has four tales in which women rescue a blood relative who has committed a serious offense. Nevertheless, in the three stories in which daughters save their fathers from execution, Liu Xiang praises the protagonists not for their ¤liality, but for their skillful argumentation.3 For example, Jianzi of Zhao once found a ferryman sleeping on duty. The ferryman’s daughter, Zhao Juan, stopped the king from executing him by pleading on his behalf. She told the king that in trying to secure safe passage for the king, her father became drunk giving libations to the river spirits. Since her father was just trying to ful¤ll his duties, she would redeem his mistake by dying in his place. The king retorted, though, that his crime was not her fault. She then stated that if her father should be executed, he should be awoken ¤rst, so that he would at least be aware of his offense and would not die thinking he has been wronged.4 In early medieval accounts, Juan’s offering to die in her father’s place would be the center of the story, which would celebrate her exemplary ¤liality. However, in this account it is merely one of the means by which she tries to save her father. Moreover, since the king was seemingly unmoved by her altruistic plea, it was not even the most effective means. The narrator concludes the account not by praising her sel¶essness, but her persuasiveness: “The girl, Juan, saw clearly through affairs and was able to explain them.”5 Underlining that the thrust of this type of story is the daughter’s

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ability to reason rather than her offering to die in her father’s place, in a strikingly similar tale, Shanghuai Jing makes no offer to die in her father’s place, but merely saves him through her logical argument.6 Chunyu Ti Ying (2nd cent. BC), on the other hand, is able to save her father based on her offer to become a palace slave in exchange for her father’s life; nevertheless, the most important aspect of her plea is that it causes Emperor Wen of the Han to realize the cruelty of mutilating punishments.7 A number of Accounts of Outstanding Women stories that touch upon ¤lial piety are “moral dilemma” tales. One can divide moral dilemma tales that concern ¤liality into two types: those that concern a daughter or daughter-in-law who must choose which relative to save, and those in which a servile woman must choose between saving her master or herself. Two of the moral dilemma tales from Accounts of Outstanding Women concern ¤lial daughters. One has to do with the Capital’s Steadfast Woman (Jingshi jienü), who had to choose between saving either her father or her husband. Dissatis¤ed with both of these options, she placed herself where she had told the avenger her husband would be sleeping. Upon looking at the head he had just cut off, the avenger found that it was that of the Steadfast Woman: she had sacri¤ced herself to save both her father and her husband.8 The other tale concerns the ¤lial stepdaughter Zhu Chu. As she and her stepmother were escorting her father’s body home, they inadvertently broke the law. Fearing that her stepmother would take the blame, Zhu confessed to the crime; feeling sorry for Zhu, her stepmother claimed that she had committed the wrong. Moved by their devotion to each other, the of¤cial released both of them.9 An important aspect of both stories is that ¤lial piety to one’s parent is so important that dying to realize it is not too high a price. Since stepmothers were as despised in premodern China as they were in premodern Europe, the fact that Zhu was willing to die for her stepmother underscores ¤lial piety’s signi¤cance. Despite the importance of the often tense and fractious relationship between mothers- and daughters-in-law in the Chinese family, only two tales from Accounts of Outstanding Women portray ¤lial daughters-in-law. One concerns a young, childless widow who, after completing the mourning rites for her husband, must choose between whether she should obey her parents’ commands to remarry or keep her promise to her husband to support his mother. She concludes that she cannot follow her parents’ wishes because she had already promised her husband that she would take care of his mother, and to renege would make her untrustworthy (buxin); to betray the dead would be unrighteous (buyi); and not ful¤lling her husband’s duty to care for his parent would cause her to be un¤lial

Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons?

(buxiao). Desiring not to commit any of these immoral acts, she informs her parents that she plans to commit suicide. Her parents thus relent, and she is thereby able to remain unmarried, nurture her mother-in-law for another twenty-eight years, and earn the title of the Widow Chen, Filial Wife (Chen Gua Xiaofu).10 The other ¤lial daughter-in-law is Qiu Huzi’s wife. After being married only ¤ve days, her husband left home to take up his of¤cial duties. Five years later, on his way home, Qiu asked a woman picking mulberry leaves to lie with him in exchange for gold. It turned out that that woman was his wife, whom he did not recognize. Upon discovering it was her husband who had propositioned her, she faced a dilemma. She could not bear to live with an un¤lial man who would rather present gold to a stranger than to his own mother and was so unrighteous that his lust would lead him to solicit favors from an unknown woman. Nevertheless, it was also immoral for a woman to remarry. She resolved the dilemma by drowning herself in a river.11 Both of these daughter-in-law tales are illuminating in many ways. First, neither story is exclusively dedicated to ¤lial piety. In both tales, righteousness or trustworthiness is equally as important as ¤lial piety. Second, both seem to indicate that wives do not view supporting their mothersin-law until their deaths as a moral obligation; they are willing to do so only because other agnatic male kin are not present to take on the responsibility. Widow Chen felt obligated to take care of her mother-in-law only because she had promised her husband that she would do so.12 We should also note that her husband asks her to do so only because he has no brothers who would normally support the mother. Thus the widow is merely helping her husband ful¤ll his ¤lial duty in his absence. Likewise, Qiu Huzi’s wife sees it as her duty to support her absent husband’s mother-inlaw. She refuses her husband’s offer of gold by saying, “Hey, picking mulberry leaves, working assiduously with one’s strength, and spinning and weaving allow me to generate enough clothes and food that I can honor my two parents and raise my husband’s children. I do not want your gold.” Her own labor enables her to ful¤ll her obligations to both her mother-in-law and her husband, thus she has no need for money immorally obtained. But now that her husband has returned, not even giving a second thought to her obligation to care for her mother-in-law and children, she commits suicide. In short, once her husband can support his mother, her obligation comes to an end. Similarly, after Tao Tazi continuously refused to listen to his wife’s admonishments to change his behavior, she asked her mother-in-law to throw her out of the family so that she and her child might escape disaster, which would certainly come to a family

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whose prosperity was based on greed rather than virtue. After robbers killed her husband and all his kin, except his elderly mother, Tao’s ex-wife returned to nurture her former mother-in-law.13 In short, although she was unwilling to share her husband’s misfortune, once he was gone, his ex-wife felt obligated to look after her former mother-in-law, since the old crone had no one else to support her. The other type of moral dilemma story that involves ¤lial piety is that concerning a servant who must choose between saving her master’s child or her own child, or her master or herself. Since servants, such as maids, concubines, and wet nurses, were part of the household, like everyone else within it they were expected to display ¤lial piety to the patriarch and household elders. Thus a number of moral dilemma tales in Accounts of Outstanding Women urge this kind of ¤liality towards one’s master. For example, upon hearing that a usurping uncle was about to kill her charge, the infant Duke of Lu, a wet nurse put her own infant son in the duke’s clothing and bed, then ¶ed with the real duke. In other words, to serve her lord well, she intentionally left behind her own son to die. Due to these actions, she was known as The Righteous and Filial Nurse of Lu (Lu Xiaoyi bao).14 Lee indicates that in reality wet nurses often did save the lives of their endangered charges.15 Another moral dilemma narrative that illustrates ¤liality is one in which a concubine purposely drops a container of poisoned wine that was meant for her master. Even knowing she would suffer a painful beating for breaking the container, she did so because she could neither kill her master nor endanger her mistress by exposing that woman’s murderous intent.16 Even though the concubine is described as loyal (zhong) in the story, her loyalty could be equally construed as ¤liality, which is implied by the terms used to describe her master and mistress: master-father (zhufu) and master-mother (zhumu). In the same vein, the only time Liu Xiang uses the term “reverent care” (gongyang) in his Accounts of Outstanding Women is in connection with a servile relationship. Despite the fact that she gave birth to the crown prince, for eight years a concubine continued to reverently care for the ruler’s childless primary wife. The primary wife ¤nally told her that it was wrong that her son was heir, and yet she (the concubine) continued to act as though she was inferior in status. Consequently, the primary wife offered to move out. The concubine objected by saying, I have heard that when serving their lords, loyal retainers never have times when they feel exhausted; when ¤lial children nurture their parents, they never have a day in which they feel irritated. You, the primary wife, desire to

Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons?

move out and live apart and thereby cause your slave to reside within the household. How could I dare change the rules of being a concubine due to a small amount of good fortune? Reverent care is a concubine’s fundamental task.17

This passage is particularly important because the concubine baldly states that her primary duty to her master consists of reverent care. She also likens her service to both that of a ¤lial child and a loyal retainer, hence her action combines both ¤liality and loyalty. Like the other stories, the ¤lial and loyal concubine is able to have her way only by saying that the primary wife’s decision leaves her no choice but to commit suicide. Naturally, the primary wife relented and the concubine was able to reverently care for her for the rest of her life. From this short survey of Accounts of Outstanding Women, one is struck by how few of the tales concern the pivotal mother-in-law/daughter-inlaw relationship. In fact, stories that concern the ¤liality of servile women are more numerous. Another shared feature of these narratives is that they were probably almost entirely contemporary in origin. In his exhaustive study of Accounts of Outstanding Women, Shimomi has found preexisting sources for only three out of the eight tales that concern ¤lial piety.18 This means that the ¤ve remaining stories, four of which concern either ¤lial daughters or daughters-in-law, were probably either contemporary Han tales or ones that Liu Xiang himself fabricated.19 Since a vast majority of the tales from Accounts of Outstanding Women were taken from other works,20 that Liu had to make up or use contemporary tales indicates he had trouble ¤nding stories about ¤lial daughters and daughters-in-law in the received literature. Clearly, making sure that women were ¤lial to their family was a new concern. Yet since so few of the stories are dedicated to this concern, it obviously was still not yet an important one. The Necessity of Going the Extra Mile In many ways early medieval narratives about ¤lial females are strikingly different from those in Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women. In the former, female ¤lial piety is a much more important subject, which was obviously the beginning of a trend, since by the Five Dynasties period (906–960) ¤lial piety became one of the two virtues usually depicted in works devoted to outstanding women.21 Also different is the fact that early medieval narratives focus squarely on a woman’s actions towards her natal parents and in-laws, which is noticeable in the many tales dedicated

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to ¤lial daughters and daughters-in-law. Tales of ¤lial servants, on the other hand, seem to drop out of sight. Moreover, early medieval authors seem much less enamored of moral dilemma tales; hence the stories are solely dedicated to celebrating a woman’s ¤lial act, rather than showing her trying to ful¤ll the dictates of two equally important yet competing virtues. Instead, early medieval authors presented women as performing the same ¤lial acts as men; unlike men, though, women have to go to much greater extremes to make their ¤lial piety noteworthy. Like early medieval ¤lial men, the female counterparts are often depicted as reverently caring for parents whether they are natal parents or inlaws. Given that only one of Liu Xiang’s tales stresses reverent care, this is a noteworthy change. By the Jin dynasty, the fact that reverently caring for one’s in-laws was a wife’s duty seems to have become common knowledge among the elite. For instance, when plotting to rebel against Huan Wen (312–373), Lady Zhou’s husband, Meng Chang (d. 410), urged his wife to ¶ee with her wealth. She responded by saying, “Your father and mother are still alive; if you desire to erect an extraordinary plan, how could I object? Even if I were a palace slave, I would still have to reverently care for my mother-in-law. According to my obligations, I have no intention of returning home.”22 Unlike the sentiment found in Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women, a daughter-in-law does not merely reverently care for her mother-in-law because her husband or brothers-in-law are not present; as long as her parents-in-law live, she is obligated to support them. Early medieval authors often underlined the importance of reverent care by showing ¤lial sons enduring terrible hardships to materially pamper their parents. Similarly, early medieval tales also show women undergoing deprivations or performing menial labor to reverently care for their parents or parents-in-law. Yue Yangzi’s (Eastern Han) wife would always personally work to provide her mother-in-law with food, and she even provisioned her husband, though he was far away.23 As for Mr. Tu’s daughter (Tushi nü), “[d]uring the day she gathered ¤rewood and at night she wove cloth to reverently care for her parents.”24 Pang Xing (1st cent.), the wife of the famous ¤lial son Jiang Shi, is the poster child of ¤lial daughtersin-law who provide reverent care. Her biography tells us, She was extremely reverent and obedient. Their mother loved to drink water from the Jiang River, which was six or seven li away. She would usually [sail] along the main current and take water from it. Later, however, she encountered a wind and could not come back in time. [As a result,] her mother-inlaw was thirsty. [Jiang] Shi then blamed his wife and sent her away. His ex-

Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons?

wife then went and lived in a neighbor’s house, where she wove day and night so that she could buy delicacies, which she had the neighbor’s mother give to her former mother-in-law. After this happened for a long time, her former mother-in-law thought it strange and asked her neighbor, who told her everything. Both touched and ashamed, her mother-in-law called her back [and reinstated her in the family]. Shi’s wife nurtured her with even greater care.25

If trudging down to the river every day even after she was divorced was not bad enough, Pang still felt compelled to slave away day and night for her former mother-in-law so that she could furnish her with tasty food. Despite these tremendous ¤lial acts, the History of the Later Han account of Pang does not even dignify her with a name, a detail that Treatise on Countries South of Mount Hua fortunately supplies. Nevertheless, even these deprivations are not enough to make a woman a ¤lial hero. Whether physical or social, death usually had to accompany the self-deprivations to make them praiseworthy. The act that made Pang’s ¤liality so memorable was not her furnishing the mother-inlaw with delicacies, even after she had been cast out of the house, but the fact that rather than shocking her mother-in-law with the tragic news that her grandson had drowned while obtaining river water for his grandmother, Pang told her that he had merely gone off to school. Moreover, Pang continued this ruse for many years by annually making summer and winter clothing for him and throwing them into the river.26 In other words, Pang sacri¤ced her son to reverently care for her mother-in-law and never revealed to the old lady at what cost her whimsies were satis¤ed.27 More commonly, though, exemplary women who want to reverently care for their parents or in-laws suffer a form of social death. If single, they do not marry; if widowed, they do not remarry. Without a doubt, this is the most prevalent motif in tales of early medieval ¤lial women. Numerous early medieval accounts concern young women who forego marriage so that they can dedicate their lives to serving their birth parents. For instance, since she had no brothers and her parents were old, Yingerzi, the daughter of the Beigong family (Bei Gong shi nü), discarded her jewelry (to make herself unattractive), swore she would never marry so that she could support her parents, and did not relent even when the Duke of Zhao asked for her hand in marriage.28 Even after the death of their parents, ¤lial daughters would refuse to remarry so that they could continue to take care of them. The three daughters of the Chen family (Chen shi san nü) supported their elderly grandparents through their unstinting and laborious collection of water chestnuts. After their grandparents’ deaths, the

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granddaughters decided to not marry so that they could fully dedicate themselves to serving their grandparents’ spirits.29 Mr. Tu’s daughter nurtured and buried her parents with such dedication and care that a mountain god rewarded her with the ability to cure illnesses. This caused her household to become exceedingly rich and made her into a highly desirable marriage partner. Nevertheless, she swore to never marry so that she could forever guard her parents’ tomb.30 Given the fact that women usually had no choice in their marriage partners, had tyrannical mothers-in-laws, were treated like outsiders, and risked their lives in childbearing, foregoing marriage might not sound like such a bad deal. But by not marrying, a woman had no hope of having children—the key to any woman’s long-term happiness. As she aged, her children became essential since they would become her chief means of support and solace; after death, they would ensure her postmortem welfare through sacri¤ces. Thus by refusing to marry, a woman was renouncing her welfare both in old age and the next world. Perhaps equally tragic, by not marrying, a woman was forever condemning herself to a marginal existence in which she could neither be a complete person nor a full member of society. Hinsch has pointed out that being a complete woman in Han China meant successfully ful¤lling a number of female roles that society viewed positively. Thus a woman gained her identity through being a good daughter, sister, wife, daughter-in-law, and mother.31 Of all these social roles, the most important was that of wife, since it changed the woman’s life more dramatically than any other and was necessary for assuming the roles of daughter-in-law and mother. Hence all women were expected to marry. Accounts of Outstanding Women states, “A woman knows nothing better than being a wife; the man knows nothing better than being a husband.”32 By sacri¤cing marriage, a ¤lial daughter willingly suspended her lifecycle and deprived herself of the responsibilities and rewards that would come from being a wife and a mother. In a way, she was forever condemning herself to be a child. Tales about widowed daughters-in-law who refuse to remarry in order to reverently care for their parents-in-law show them risking physical death to obtain social death. These narratives nearly always feature a young and childless widow who refuses to remarry so that she can reverently care for her parent-in-law. Nevertheless, out of pity, her parents or parents-in-law invariably attempt to have her remarry, which she manages to avoid only through attempting or threatening suicide. The following account provides us with an example of the high cost of female reverent care.

Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons?

When Du Ci was eighteen, she married [Yu] Xian. Xian died. They were without children. [Her father] Ji wanted her to remarry Yang Shang of the same district. Ci said, “I have received my orders from Mr. Yu. That Mr. Yu died early is my misfortune. While she is alive, I should serve my wise mother-inlaw. When she dies, I should nourish her spirit and preserve the dead. I only desire to complete my reverent care, thus if I die, I’ll have no regrets. I hope you won’t change my intentions.” Ji knew he could not persuade her. So he secretly conspired with Yang to force her into doing it. Ci hung herself.33

Clearly for Ci no duty was more important than reverently caring for her mother-in-law—this commitment lasted even after her mother-in-law’s death. Ci underscores the importance of serving her mother-in-law by killing herself when she cannot do so. In other cases, the ¤lial daughter-in-law threatens or unsuccessfully attempts to commit suicide to avoid remarriage.34 In two cases, ¤lial daughters-in-law mutilated themselves so that they could continue to reverently care for their husband’s relatives.35 In a few accounts, even the parents-in-law acknowledge the great sacri¤ce that ¤lial daughters-in-law are making by refusing to remarry. This recognition comes in anecdotes in which a jealous sister-in-law wrongs a ¤lial daughter-in-law.36 In tales of this type, to reverently care for her in-laws a young woman refuses to remarry after her husband has died prematurely. Out of pity, her parents-in-law urge her to remarry, but she will not listen. As a result, the parent or parents-in-law decide to commit suicide to clear her path to remarriage. In the hoary tale of the Filial Wife of Donghai, the mother-in-law explicitly states the motives for her actions: “The ¤lial wife has nurtured me very thoroughly. I grieve that she has no children and has been a widow for so long. I’m old and I’m causing one in the prime of youth to suffer, how can that be?”37 The mother-in-law pities her in the ¤rst place because she has no children, thereby putting her future welfare in jeopardy, and because she has voluntarily undertaken the dif¤cult role of a widow. Being a young widow was perhaps one of the thorniest social roles a woman could play in premodern Chinese society.38 As Wang Fu pointed out, it was even dif¤cult for women who could afford widowhood to do so because their uncles and brothers, who desired their wealth, betrothal gifts, or children, would often force or trick them into remarriage. Consequently, widows often ended up committing suicide and leaving their children as orphans.39 Almost as if to underline the vulnerability of widows, in the tales under discussion, after the parents-in-law die, a jealous or vengeful sister-in-law accuses the ¤lial daughter-in-law of murdering her parent(s). Since the young widow has no one to protect

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her, the authorities do not investigate the charges and wrongly execute her. In short, the authors of these accounts acknowledge and emphasize the great sacri¤ce that the ¤lial daughter-in-law is making to reverently care for her in-laws. That they are then unjustly accused and executed adds insult to injury, since they should be rewarded rather than punished for their virtuous behavior. Heaven redresses the wrong by supplying miracles that verify the widow’s innocence. Note that what makes their ¤lial piety even greater is that they give up their own lives to reverently care for their mothers-in-law, rather than their birth parents. To reverently care for their parents, sons, too, have to make great sacri¤ces—they deprive themselves of food and clothing and even socially humiliate themselves. Nevertheless, when we look at tales of women who refused to marry in order to nurture either their parents or in-laws, the female sacri¤ce is much greater. To complete reverent care, these women abandon any hope of a happy future by refusing to remarry. Unlike ¤lial sons, who suffer only temporary deprivations, ¤lial daughters who forego the opportunity to have descendents deprive themselves of contentment forever—both in this world and the next. Childless ¤lial daughters-in-law who vow never to remarry do the same. Even widows with children have little to look forward to, since their relatives will constantly pester them to remarry. In short, unlike ¤lial sons, it is never enough for a ¤lial daughter to merely exhibit exemplary ¤lial piety by depriving herself of good food or clothing, or by engaging in demeaning acts. This could be one aspect of her ¤liality, but she had to make an even greater sacri¤ce to gain recognition for her virtue. The Dangers of Filial Daughterhood Upon looking at other types of tales about early medieval ¤lial daughters and daughters-in-law, we ¤nd that it is no different—an exemplary ¤lial daughter is one who endangers her life for her parents or in-laws. The best-known example of this type of tale is undoubtedly that of fourteenyear old Yang Xiang. While harvesting grain, a tiger grabbed hold of her father. Even though weaponless, Yang fearlessly grabbed hold of the tiger’s neck. The earnestness of her ¤liality caused the wild beast to retreat, which enabled her father to escape.40 This case of ¤lial chutzpah was so well known that it later became incorporated in the ubiquitous The Twenty-four Filial Exemplars. By asking to take their places, other ¤lial daughters save their parents from either criminal punishment or the violence of outsiders. However,

Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons?

unlike in Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women, ¤lial daughters save their parents not through their reasoning’s eloquence, but through their actions’ audacity. Although the following story concerns saving an elder brother rather than one’s parent, it makes the same point as many of the early medieval stories directed towards parents. Lu Jun was widowed at an early age and childless. Her only remaining brother was accused of a capital crime. She begged to die in his place, then hanged herself at the gate of the yamen. The authorities were moved by her righteousness and released her brother.41 In this account, what sways the authorities is not Lu’s words, but her actual suicide. In Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women, Lu would have persuaded the authorities with her compelling logic, but the early medieval tale will settle for nothing less than her death. To underscore the high cost of female ¤liality, let us compare one of these tales with one that features a male exemplar in similar circumstances. Huangfu Mi’s (215–282) Later Accounts of Outstanding Women (Lienü houzhuan) relates the following story: Gongsun He’s father wronged another family. A member of that family came to exact revenge and found Gongsun’s mother. The avenger wanted to rip her heart out. Gongsun kowtowed and cried, saying, “‘My old mother has always had a severe illness. How is killing someone close to death going to be enough to lessen your anger? I am their daughter who they dearly love. Killing her is not equal to killing me.’ He then killed her and released her mother.”42 Compare this to the tale of Zhao Xiao, who offered himself to cannibalistic rebels to save his younger brother.43 Both tales structurally resemble each other: a close relative is threatened with death by a dangerous outsider, which prompts the ¤lial daughter/righteous brother to argue that the outsiders will derive much more satisfaction from killing him or her. Nevertheless, the endings of the two stories are quite distinct. Whereas the rebels are moved by Zhao’s willingness to sacri¤ce himself for his brother and thereby release both of them, the avenger spares Gongsun’s mother-in-law, but not her. Furthermore, ¤lial daughters did not merely sacri¤ce their lives for living parents, but dead ones as well. Narratives of this sort usually take two forms. The ¤rst is that of a ¤lial daughter who sacri¤ces her own life to secure her dead parent’s corpse. Perhaps the most famous tale of this type is that of Cao E (d. 143). Her father was a shaman who drowned while welcoming the return of the tidal bore, but his body could not be found. Night and day, fourteen-year-old Cao went along the banks of the river wailing and shouting. At the end of the seventeenth day, she threw herself into the river and drowned. As the text states, “[S]he viewed death like she was returning home.” After ¤ve days, her body ¶oated to the top. In her

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embrace was the corpse of her father.44 This type of account indicates that the parent’s lifeless body is worth more than her life. Signi¤cantly, this type of anecdote always concerns one’s biological parent, rather than an in-law. These tales thereby intimate that for a woman, natal kin were still more important to her than in-laws.45 A similar tale featuring a wife, Huang Bo, who drowns herself in search of her husband’s corpse makes the same point that just as a daughter should sacri¤ce herself for her father, a wife should sacri¤ce herself for her husband.46 In these tales, through the timing of its intervention the spirit world con¤rms that the lives of ¤lial women are worth much less than that of ¤lial men. It does so by producing a miracle for the ¤lial daughter only after she is already dead. If the spirit world could cause Cao’s corpse to rise up embracing her father’s, why could it not bring up his body before she committed suicide? That this is not a moot point can be seen in an equivalent tale about a ¤lial son. Lian Fan was accompanying his father’s corpse home. While crossing a river, his ship hit a rock and sank. Lian embraced the cof¤n and sank with it. People used hooks to try and ¤nd him. After a day under water, he was located and revived after receiving medication.47 His survival of course is nothing less than miraculous. Hence the spirit world elected to save Lian Fan, but not Cao E. The reason is most likely due to their gender. For con¤rmation, one just has to remember that heaven showered the Filial Wife of Donghai, and other heroines like her, with miracles only after death, not before it. Apparently, women have to die before the moral universe deems them worthy. One ¤nal motif indicating that exemplary ¤lial daughters should be willing to die on behalf of their parents is that of daughters who expire while mourning their parents. Like ¤lial sons, upon hearing of a parent’s death, ¤lial daughters refuse to eat or drink for several days, emaciate themselves until they are skin and bones, and stop breathing several times due to their overwrought condition. Unlike ¤lial sons, though, in most cases the ¤lial daughter is so sorrowful that she dies of grief.48 For example, when the father of Lu Yuanli’s wife, Lady Li (d. 518), died, she was so grief-stricken that she stopped breathing four times. Only her mother’s words of comfort kept her alive. During the three years she mourned her father, she became emaciated to the point where she could stand only with assistance from others. Later, when she was in Luoyang, upon receiving the news that her mother had died back home, she screamed and fainted due to her extreme grief and was revived only after a full night had passed. For six days she drank neither broth nor water. Fearing that Lady Li would not survive the trip home, her mother-in-law

Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons?

accompanied her. Throughout the eighty days it took to get there, Lady Li’s spirits and strength were dangerously low. Upon arriving home, she immediately grabbed hold of the inner cof¤n, cried grievously, stamped her feet, and then died.49 Lady Li apparently survived her father’s death only because her mother was still alive. With her mother’s death, she had no reason to continue to live. It is important to note that the people for whom the ¤lial daughter dies mourning are her own birth parents, which underlines again that she is much more emotionally attached to her natural parents than her arti¤cial parents—that is, her parents-in-law. Signi¤cantly, the only other person an exemplary woman might die for while in mourning was her husband.50 Holmgren speculates that the History of the Wei’s tales about women dying while mourning were merely substitutes put in to remedy a dearth of accounts in which women commit suicide to preserve their chastity.51 Since there were many ¤lial sons who died while mourning, I think the compilers were merely indulging in the latest fad in ¤lial piety tales. This motif is unique in that there are many tales in which men, too, die from grief while mourning. Nevertheless, whereas many men who engage in exemplary mourning survive the ordeal, most noteworthy women who do so do not. Of course, endangering one’s life on one’s parents’ behalf was not a female monopoly; exemplary ¤lial sons also risked their lives to save their parents from of¤cial punishment, bandits, wild animals, and enemy soldiers. Nevertheless, accounts in which male ¤lial exemplars endanger their lives for their parents are comparably few in numbers. Much more common are tales of ¤lial sons who discomfort themselves for their parents’ bene¤t. Lying naked on ice, protecting a tree in a storm, or allowing mosquitoes to bite one’s bare skin are surely unpleasant and unhealthy activities, but they are not overly dangerous. On the other hand, running into burning structures, confronting bloodthirsty avengers, jumping into rivers without knowing how to swim, and tackling ravenous, wild predators with one’s bare hands are. In other words, by and large, the actions associated with ¤lial women are much more dangerous than those of men. Moreover, when ¤lial females endanger their lives, they are much more likely to die than their male counterparts. Why do exemplary women so often die? Why is the spirit world so slow to save their lives, but so quick to save their male counterparts? Most obviously, since women do not continue the patriline, they are expendable and thus can be used to teach emphatic moral lessons. The emperor’s edict concerning Lady Li’s death seems to say as much.

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Confucius said that you should emaciate yourself, but not to the extent that you destroy your life. This is probably because by doing so you abandon nurturing [your remaining parent] and cut off your descendents. Since Li was not the principal heir and her ¤liality could not overcome her grief, even though she disobeyed the principle of humbling herself, her purpose was forceful and her sense of duty profound. If we don’t give her distinction, then how we will encourage others?52

Since Lady Li needed neither to support her parents in their old age nor continue the patriline through producing male heirs, her death was acceptable because she could serve as a wonderful moral example. In short, since women were not as important socially as men, they were free to perform morally spectacular acts. Indeed, some scholars might argue that since daughters and daughters-in-law were supposed to be obedient, they were expected to automatically perform the normal tasks of ¤lial piety; thus to distinguish themselves they had to perform spectacular feats. Men, on the other hand, were more prone to rebel and thereby had to be praised for lesser ¤lial acts. Although this argument sounds plausible, I do not think that early medieval people thought in this manner. Daughters were expected to be much less ¤lial than sons because they marry outside the family, which is tantamount to abandoning their natal families; at the same time, upon marrying, they enter their husband’s family as outsiders with little at stake in the family’s welfare. Since young women were always held in suspicion because they might either abandon or subvert the family, to prove their ¤liality they had to go to much greater lengths to demonstrate their devotion. Consequently, women so often die in these accounts precisely because their willingness to do so provides incontrovertible proof of their ¤liality. Surrogate Sons The last motif in which a ¤lial daughter endangers her life is one in which she seeks revenge for her parents. This task is potentially fatal not only because the act itself is dangerous, but also because the expected punishment for vengeance killings was death.53 I am considering this motif separately from other motifs of self-endangerment to establish that women often performed ¤lial acts merely because they had no male kinfolk to do so. Stories about revenge nearly always explicitly make this point. For example, a man from Zhao E’s (¶. 150) prefecture killed her father. Since Zhao’s three brothers had died prematurely, the killer delighted in the

Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons?

fact that he was safe from harm.54 The murderer thought no one would take vengeance on him. This same assumption that revenge is a male matter is made in the following tale. When Jing Yang was eight, a man named Sheng murdered her father. She had no paternal relatives, so her maternal grandfather raised her and married her off. Her father’s murderer was her husband’s friend. At one point, Jing gave her husband the following warning. Sheng is an evil murderer. I’ve had the slight fate to be a woman and be without brothers. My evil enemy has not been killed, which is something that I have never forgotten for a day. Although I’m under the restrictions of being a woman, the bond between parent and child is very deep, hence I’m afraid I will suddenly become befuddled and add to your predicament. You should distance yourself from me. 55

Jing states that she is unfortunate precisely because she is a woman and has no brothers. This means that theoretically she has no means to redress the wrong done to her father. Nevertheless, due to the profundity of the parent-child bond, she will take the unusual step of becoming her family’s avenger. This usurpation of the male role is the befuddlement of which she speaks. In yet another account, when Wang Shun (¶. 580) was only seven her father was killed by her paternal cousin. She then raised her two baby sisters. Upon reaching a marriageable age, none of the three sisters was willing to get married. At that point Wang told her sisters, “We don’t have any brothers, which has brought about the situation in which our wronged father is unavenged. Although we are merely women, what use is living? I want us to take revenge. What do you think?”56 Since there are no surviving males in the family, Wang feels she has no choice but to take revenge for her father. To underline their commitment to their parents, the daughters also renounce marriage—that is, they opt for social death. Once these women take over the male role of avenger, their behavior is anything but womanly. In her quest for vengeance, Zhao E waited in a curtained cart near the home of her father’s murderer. However, for ten years he managed to avoid her. Finally, one day she slew him in front of the yamen gate. In other words, for ten years she lay in wait for her prey, like a hunter in a blind.57 After warning her husband that she would kill his friend, Jing Yang cold-bloodedly beat Sheng to death with a long staff the next time he visited.58 Wang Shun and her sisters each held a dagger and jumped over the wall of their father’s cousin’s house and killed both him and his wife.59 When authorities arrested the bandit who had killed

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her husband, Lu Rong personally cut off his head and presented it to her husband’s grave.60 Since men normally assumed all public and martial roles, these are hardly the acts of women. These women act manly precisely because they are assuming a role normally ¤lled by a brother. This last point is made explicit in the attempted revenge of Lady Wang. When she was ¤fteen, a barbarian general took over Yangzhou, killed her father, Wang Guang (¶. 317), who was governor, and forced her to enter his harem. One day she tried to stab the general in a dark room. Having failed in her efforts, she stabbed herself to death instead. Due to her actions, the narrator describes her as having “the integrity of a man” (zhangfu zhi jie).61 The manliness of such actions becomes even more apparent in those few accounts that show ¤lial women actually taking up arms on their fathers’ behalf. Because her brothers were too young to serve in the army in their father’s place, Hua Mulan donned the armor and identity of a man and served with distinction for more than ten years as a soldier on the frontier. A much lesser known but striking tale is that of Xun Guan (¶. 317– 327). When her father’s city was besieged, to obtain relief forces Guan led several tens of crack troops over the city’s wall and through enemy lines. Although pursued by numerous enemy troops, Guan was a ¤ne general who was able to defeat them. To gain the allegiance of another general, she became his sworn brother. With the relief forces she was able to raise the siege and save her father.62 What is remarkable about this account is that not only does Guan successfully take over the male role of a military leader, but other men have no dif¤culty in acknowledging her ability to do so, which is no more evident than in the fact that a general would be willing to take her as a sworn brother. Moreover, unlike Mulan, there is nothing in the account that indicates Guan hid her gender. Clearly when a family was without a brother to ful¤ll a male role, it was fully acceptable for a daughter to undertake male duties. In short, just as in the case where a daughter could take over the male role of heir to the family’s fortune when she had no male siblings, she could also ful¤ll other duties of absent sons. This type of tale is at sharp variance with earlier ones concerning daughters and revenge. Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women has only one ¤lial piety story concerning revenge, in the form of a moral dilemma. After being absolved of any crime due to a general amnesty, Ji-er’s husband, Ren Yanshou, tells her that he had a hand in her brother’s murder. This puts Ji-er into a moral quandary because it would be unrighteous either for her to reside with her brother’s murderer, or for her to kill her husband. Her only way to avoid choosing between her natal family and her husband is to commit suicide.63 Signi¤cantly, in this case the ¤lial

Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons?

daughter is a victim of circumstances who cannot take positive steps to redress the wrong. In fact, she blames herself for her husband’s actions. When her husband urges her to leave him, she replies, “Where can I comfortably go? My elder brother is dead, but he has not been avenged. I share with you the same pillow and mat, but I allowed you to kill my elder brother. At home I’ve failed to create harmony; I also cater to my brother’s enemy.” In short, Ji-er is powerless. The only life she can take is her own. In contrast, early medieval exemplars, armed with their brothers’ responsibilities and weapons, are anything but powerless. So far I have mentioned only revenge stories because they make the point so explicitly, but in fact a number of tales about daughters who endanger themselves for their parents’ sake, as well as a number of tales about reverent care, explicitly mention that the woman was without brothers or other male relatives to perform the required ¤lial deed. This is especially the case in tales in which a daughter volunteers to receive punishment in place of her father. The tale of Tiying in particular is telling in this regard. When Tiying’s father, Duke Chunyu, is arrested for committing a crime, he even complains about daughters by saying, “To have children but not to produce sons provides one with no bene¤ts during emergencies.”64 In other words, parents would normally rely on sons to save them from such predicaments. Tales in which daughters renounce marriage to nurture their birth parents routinely mention that the ¤lial daughter was without brothers. In other words, daughters make this sacri¤ce to ¤ll the place of their missing brothers. In short, in so many of these accounts, one gains the impression that there is no distinct female ¤lial piety and that ¤lial daughters are indeed merely surrogate sons. As Hinsch has said, “When no man could play stereotypical male social roles with the household, it was considered acceptable and even admirable for a woman to take the part.”65 Perhaps this is why, after slicing off her ear to protect her chastity, the wife of Liu Changqing, an exemplary woman, stated, “Men use ¤liality and loyalty to manifest [their fame]; women use chastity and obedience to be praised.”66 That is to say, ¤liality is largely the preserve of males, whereas women must primarily rely on submission to authority. Hence I believe that gendered virtue did exist in early China in the form of ¤lial piety, which contemporaries viewed as a distinctly male virtue. To Obey or Not to Obey? If Liu Changqing’s wife is correct in that obedience was more important than ¤liality for a woman to gain fame, how prominent is the theme of

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obedience in early medieval stories of ¤lial women? Similar to the accounts of ¤lial men, although not great in number, a few accounts do exist in which women display outstanding submission. Like male exemplars, early medieval ¤lial daughters, in most cases, obey their parents or parentsin-law absolutely. This message particularly comes through in stories in which a ¤lial daughter silently endures pain at her elders’ hands. Stories in which a daughter-in-law accepts the torments of her mother-in-law are by far the most common type of tale with this motif. For example, despite the fact that Li Xiu’s mother-in-law treated her cruelly and without any regard for the rites, Li never uttered a word of protest or displeasure. Even when visiting her natal home, she would not say anything bad about her mother-in-law and would blame any punishment she received on her own misconduct. Her admirable behavior transformed her mother-in-law so that she began to love her daughter-in-law. Later, when the mother-inlaw became sick in her old age, she refused her natural daughter’s help, preferring instead to live out her life under the care of her wise daughterin-law.67 Just like tales featuring abused ¤lial males, this story’s message is that no matter what type of abuse she may receive at the hands of her mother-in-law, a daughter-in-law should grin and bear it and hope that her positive attitude will affect her mother-in-law. Daughters likewise should be willing to suffer at the hands of their parents or elders.68 Interestingly, this is the only motif where daughters fare better than sons. In tales where stepmothers mistreat their uncomplaining stepsons, such women are usually literally trying to kill them, and oftentimes succeed. In the female versions of this type of story, mothers-in-law are usually content with merely torturing their daughters-in-law. Such was not the case, though, of Deng Yuanyi’s wife (¶. 90), whose story offers us an interesting variation on this motif. Deng’s wife served her mother-in-law meticulously, yet the latter hated her, locked her in a dark room, and limited the amount of food and water of which she could partake. Yet Deng’s wife never uttered a word of protest. When her fatherin-law asked his grandson why his mother was so skinny, the tot replied, “Mommy isn’t sick, she is merely starving.” Her father-in-law thereupon reprimanded his wife and sent his daughter-in-law back home. After remarrying, the former daughter-in-law tried to contact her now adult son, but he would not respond to her letters and burned the clothes she sent him. After ¤nally succeeding in having him summoned to a friend’s house, upon seeing her he prostrated himself and cried, but quickly rose to leave. His mother chased after him and said, “I nearly died [in your father’s home]. It was your family that abandoned me. What sin have I

Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons?

committed that you treat me like this?” She never contacted him again.69 Her son apparently refused to talk to her because she had allowed herself to remarry. Nevertheless, the transmitter of the account believes that she had already ful¤lled her ¤lial obligations by never complaining about her harsh treatment, hence even though she remarried, he portrays her as virtuous and well justi¤ed in breaking off relations with her unreasonable son.70 Interestingly, the transmitter of this tale saw nothing wrong with Deng’s conduct and certainly did not view remarriage with hostility. While she was in her in-laws’ house, Deng’s wife obeyed every command and never went against the wishes of her mother-in-law. Moreover, she left her in-laws’ house only at the command of her father-in-law and remarried only at the command of her father. Hence she was truly the epitome of both an obedient daughter and daughter-in-law. In fact, though, Deng’s wife was the exception. In most early medieval accounts, when a ¤lial daughter is ordered to remarry, she disobeys. Although we normally think of ¤lial piety as laying heavy stress on obedience, these accounts place a premium on disobedience. As seen in the previous section on reverent care, no matter from whom the command to remarry comes, whether it is her natal parents or in-laws, exemplary daughters vigorously disobey. This refusal to listen to parents on the matter of remarriage could even bring about tragedy—the continuous refusals to remarry by ¤lial daughters-in-law like the Filial Wife of Donghai and Zhou Qing caused their in-laws to commit suicide so that they could ¤nally force the ¤lial widow to do their bidding. Since daughters-in-law were supposed to cultivate obedience as a virtue, how could they so blatantly resist their parents’ instructions and still be called ¤lial? Two answers are possible. Gipoulon indirectly puts forth the ¤rst, arguing that, as envisioned by Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women, women are justi¤ed in disobeying anyone, including their husbands and parents-in-law, as long as they are doing so to adhere to ritual propriety (li).71 This is in line with pronouncements in Master Xun that there are times when it is ¤lial to disobey and un¤lial to obey one’s parents’ orders: “To follow the Dao but not one’s lord, to follow righteousness, but not one’s father, this is the outstanding conduct of a person.”72 Another possible explanation is that in cases where a daughter-in-law resists remarriage, she can disobey both parents and parents-in-law because she is acting like a loyal retainer. Gipoulon has argued forcefully that in Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women, wives are cast in roles so parallel to that of ministers of state that she thinks the work was meant to promote the interests of ministers, rather than be an instructional work for

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women.73 Since in early Confucian thought the ruler-retainer and husband-wife relationships are structurally the same, then a loyal wife should perform the same acts as a loyal retainer. For instance, once a man has committed himself to his lord, he must die in his service, even if doing so prevents him from nurturing his parents. Likewise, once a woman marries, she must devote her life to serving her husband, even if this means going against the wishes of her parents and parents-in-law.74 In other words, once she has married, her loyalty to her husband outweighs the ¤lial piety she owes to her parents, and by extension her parents-in-law. Note that as we have seen in tales in which a married woman sacri¤ces herself to save a corpse, she dies on behalf of her husband, but not on behalf of her in-laws. A married woman’s husband—not her natal parents or in-laws—is her heaven. This might explain why, in early accounts of exemplary women, chaste wives far outnumber ¤lial daughters-in-law. Conclusion One of the important points this chapter makes is that the early medieval period witnessed an increasing interest in ¤lial women. Early tales about exemplary women, as seen in those found in Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women, have relatively little to say about ¤liality and often merely promote it together with other virtues. They are also as likely to promote the ¤liality of servants as they are that of daughters or daughtersin-law. Women in the early tales are also more often than not victims who are put into predicaments that they can resolve only through suicide, which is probably why most of the ¤lial piety stories in Liu’s work are cast in the form of moral dilemmas. In early medieval ¤lial piety stories, though, women ¤gure much more prominently. In these tales, women perform a wide variety of ¤lial acts. Moreover, most of the tales center squarely on ¤lial daughters or daughtersin-law who are active rather than passive agents. In other words, rather than respond to a dilemma that has been thrust upon them, they make decisions and take matters into their own hands. On their own initiative they decide to resist marriage to nurture their parents; to avenge their relative’s murder; to receive punishment on a close relative’s behalf; or throw themselves into danger’s way to save a parent. Nevertheless, with the exception of not marrying in order to reverently care for one’s in-laws, the acts of ¤lial piety that women engage in are not very different from those of their male counterparts. It is thus dif¤cult to say that there were distinct forms of female ¤lial piety. I think

Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons?

this suggests that early medieval Chinese interpreted ¤lial piety as primarily a male virtue. Females could also manifest ¤lial piety, but only in a derivative form. This is underlined by the fact that they ful¤ll ¤lial duties in the absence of brothers. If they had brothers, ¤lial females would not have to nurture their parents, avenge them, or be punished in their stead. Hence women can become ¤lial only in the absence of men—that is, they can be ¤lial only insofar as they are surrogate sons. Since early medieval Chinese society attached so much importance to ¤liality as a measure of ability and moral goodness, this must have certainly had a negative impact on woman’s overall social stature. The one signi¤cant way in which ¤lial women are different from ¤lial men is that the former have to go the extra mile to prove their ¤liality. This proof usually takes the form of death, whether it be ¤gurative or literal: a ¤lial daughter kills herself, commits social suicide by not marrying, or sacri¤ces one of her children. While ¤lial sons also endanger themselves, they are portrayed as doing so less often and are frequently saved by a heaven that obviously favors males. Since they abandoned their natal family and entered their husband’s family as strangers, females ultimately were viewed as more ¤lially suspect than males. As a result, they had to go to greater lengths to establish their ¤liality. Obviously, stories of ¤lial daughters were much more important in the early medieval period than in Liu Xiang’s time. That early medieval authors were more active in stressing the ¤liality of daughters and daughtersin-law probably indicates that they were again trying to bolster the fortunes of extended families. Extended or stem families would be the ones in which a daughter-in-law would live with her parents-in-law. Thus to stress the ¤liality a daughter-in-law owed her in-laws would enhance the authority of the latter and ease the burden of living in such a complicated household. Nevertheless, this should not mislead one into thinking that overall ¤lial female tales were either prominent or numerous. Even in the early medieval period, such stories were scarce. Of the ¤fteen ¤lial children in Tao Yuanming’s Accounts of Filiality, none of the exemplars are female. Of the forty-¤ve ¤lial piety stories in the late Six Dynasties Yomei Xiaozi zhuan that has survived in Japan, only ¤ve concern ¤lial females; in other words, less than 12 percent of its accounts. Turning to iconography, the situation is no better. Since artisans illustrated only a small number of ¤lial piety stories and probably only the most popular ones, the images they created should tell us much about the popularity of female ¤lial exemplars. Signi¤cantly, no ¤lial women are placed with ¤lial men in Eastern Han

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images of dutiful offspring, and only one female (Liang Gaoxing, who is dif¤cult to classify as a ¤lial daughter) is found among depictions of ¤lial children in Northern Dynasties images. In contrast, six of the twenty-four ¤lial exemplars (ershisi xiao) that circulated in China during the Song/ Yuan period, or one-fourth, were female. When exemplary women are depicted collectively, though, many ¤lial daughters and righteous sisters are included.75 Nevertheless, the ¤lial daughters and sisters depicted are all taken from Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women and are included with depictions of women who manifest other virtues. In sum, during the early medieval era, ¤lial daughters do not seem to have loomed large in the popular imagination. Why this is so, I have no de¤nite answer. Based purely on speculation, this phenomenon might be linked to the fact that elite families still tended to be small in terms of members and simple in terms of structure.76 If extended families were the norm and women usually lived in one family for most of their lives, Confucian ideological literature would probably stress the import of ¤lial daughters-in-law. Nevertheless, since remarriage was prevalent and extended families did not last long, patriarchs would have probably viewed a wife maintaining her chastity—that is, staying with her in-laws—as more important than the ¤liality of a daughter-inlaw, since there is no chance of her being ¤lial if she remarries. Perhaps this is why one of the most common motifs in early medieval tales of outstanding women is that of a wife who refuses to remarry. In late imperial China, when extended families were much more common and remarriage less so, I would expect that there would be a strong emphasis on the ¤liality of daughters-in-law.

Conclusion

W

hen historians of intellectual thought examine China’s early medieval period, they accurately note the dearth of great Confucian thinkers—surveys of Chinese thought usually document the rise and fall of Confucianism during the Han, and then only mention its resurgence in the mid-Tang. What captures their attention about the early medieval era is the original contributions that proponents of Mysterious Learning (Xuanxue), Taoism, and Buddhism made to Chinese thought. As a result, historians view this period as the heyday of these new and alternate ways of viewing the world and the nadir of Confucian intellectual thought and its in¶uence. Simply put, they in effect believe that during the early medieval period Confucianism went into a deep slumber to be gradually reawakened only during the second half of the Tang. The weakness of this approach is that it places far too much importance on intellectual creativity and originality. That the early medieval period did not produce any noteworthy theoretical proponents of Ru thought doubtlessly does illustrate a lack of intellectual vigor, but that does not necessarily mean that Confucianism lacked intellectual, political, or social potency. In fact, if we stop searching for profound thinkers and instead “lower” our focus to didactic literature, such as the ¤lial piety tales, we ¤nd that Confucianism had immense appeal for members of the literate elite. This appeal was not based on its intellectual novelty or ingenuity; instead, it was based on the fact that its stress on the primacy of hierarchy, family, and kin solidarity was useful for dealing with the divisive and dangerous circumstances that the learned elite faced. This is why, even though Confucianism might have reached its intellectual nadir, it was precisely during this period that Confucianism became ensconced in the values and ritual practice of China’s elite. A striking parallel is the 187

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Yuan-dynasty establishment of neo-Confucianism as the basis of the imperial civil service examinations after the Zheng-Zhu school of thought had lost much of its intellectual vigor. The Yuan rulers made the ZhengZhu school’s teachings orthodox not because they were the most up-todate, but because its interpretations of the classics best met their political and social needs. This volume has shown that rather than being at the lowest point of its fortunes, Confucianism achieved its ¤rst overwhelming political and social signi¤cance during the early medieval period. That is, it was precisely during this era that the values and ritual behavior of the learned elite became “Confucianized.” This happened because in an increasingly politically fragmented world in which central governments were weak and individual families had hitherto unforeseen importance, provincial elite families found Confucian values and rites to be essential cultural tools for creating powerful, cohesive, and cooperative extended families. This phenomenon of the Confucianization of the educated elite is nowhere more obvious than in its faithful practice of the arduous and demanding threeyear mourning rites. The Ru mourning rites became more important than ever before because they were so effective in providing families with a sense of solidarity and identity. Even though for intellectual stimulation and religious satisfaction early medieval literati turned to Mysterious Learning, Taoism, and Buddhism, to ensure that their families survived the vicissitudes of the age and continued to hang on to and legitimate their privileged positions, they turned to Confucianism. Hence I would argue that the refurbishment of Confucian thought that began to occur in the second half of the Tang was built on the Confucian political and social foundation set down during the early medieval period. At the same time, however, even though the most forward thinkers no longer found Correlative Confucianism to be attractive, the ¤lial piety tales have shown that most people still found its assumptions and worldview to be compelling. This is probably because during the early medieval period Correlative Confucianism’s ideas had become part of people’s common sense. If man was part of the organic whole of nature, how could one part of the organism not react to the actions of other parts? Since most people, common and elite alike, assumed that heaven and earth were good, it made sense that the spirit world would reward those who upheld the most basic and important social virtue of ¤liality and severely punish those who violated this sacrosanct principle. Consequently, the ¤lial piety tales comfortably spoke to people’s most basic expectations and reaf¤rmed their assumptions about the goodness of kinship relations and the natu-

Conclusion

ralness of hierarchy. Thus the ¤lial piety tales probably tell us more about how most people thought in the early medieval period than those sources that speak about the proponents of Mysterious Learning. They also indicate that Correlative Confucianism was far from dead—it was still thriving in the common sense of most people, regardless of their social class. The much-maligned and misunderstood ¤lial piety tales were important tools in laying the early medieval period’s Confucian foundation. In an era that put a premium on honing one’s moral conduct by emulating the behavior of past worthies, the tales provided adults with historical exemplars who indicated that the dif¤cult Confucian rites could be successfully enacted in the present. Hence along with recluses, ¤lial offspring became one of the two most important types of people honored by early medieval society. This pairing of Taoist recluses and Confucian ¤lial offspring is illuminating because both of these disparate groups of exemplars shared much in common. First, both ¤lial sons and recluses placed little stock in government service: the latter studiously avoided it, while the former viewed it as a secondary concern to be considered only after the death of both parents. For both recluses and ¤lial offspring the central government is not the focus of their concern. Both put greater stress on the welfare of their local community. Moreover, both groups of people live in the countryside and are not connected with the court. Second, both groups of men are disinterested in what people normally desire: wealth, power, and fame. Both are presented as being essentially devoid of self-interest—they try to bene¤t, rather than take advantage of, others. Third, their lack of self-interest made both groups of men the frequent target of imperial summons. Since the early medieval privatization of government power made the ful¤llment of self-interest be seen as a terribly corrupting in¶uence, communities and of¤cials believed that the people who could best govern were those who were without self-interest. Due to these commonalities, it is not surprising that a number of ¤lial children were also recluses. Signi¤cantly, the ¤lial piety tales also indicate the price that came with the successful institutionalization of Confucianism. In his incisive study of the eighteenth-century novel Rulin waishi, Shang Wei has insightfully argued that one of the central problems of Confucian ritual is that it is dualistic: it simultaneously tries to realize both cosmological and secular goals. However, in trying to realize the sacred order within the mundane world, worldly interests very possibly will contaminate one’s intentions. Thus the more one shows his sel¶essness by refusing a summons to of¤ce, the more summonses one receives. Consequently, it becomes unclear

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whether one really has no interest in public of¤ce or whether one is merely refusing summonses to lower of¤ces with an eye to gaining an even higher one. In other words, the rituals merely become tools for advancement that are practiced without emotion.1 The ¤lial piety tales well understood this danger, hence they stressed that ¤lial rituals had to be practiced with sincerity; in other words, the practitioner had to invest emotion in his/her performance. The way one did so was by depriving oneself of something in the performance of the rites. This deprivation could range from something relatively minor, such as personal comfort, to something major, such as one’s very life. By his/her willingness to sacri¤ce something dear to serve his/her parents, the ¤lial child demonstrated sincerity. Thus almost every ¤lial piety tale emphasizes the hardships ¤lial children had to endure to serve their parents. The narratives’ emphasis on the need to experience hardship and the need to personally serve one’s parents is in itself good evidence that the Confucian rites were already suffering from institutionalization in the early medieval period. In sum, this sustained excursion into the original context of the ¤lial piety stories has illustrated that they were anything but simpleminded, single-dimension protocomic strips written for children. Instead, they were complex, ideologically laden tools of propaganda that spoke directly to the most immediate concerns of the elite adults. Although they do not offer a sophisticated and nuanced philosophy, they were profoundly meaningful and evocative for their audience. Although they might have been sideshows of the early medieval historical spectacle, they have shown us that even the trite, grotesque, and absurd have important lessons for us.

Appendix Variants of the Ding Lan Tale

T

en versions of the Ding Lan story that date from the early medieval period survive today. Yet no two versions are exactly alike. Versions from texts temporally close to each other usually have the same plot elements but differ in their details; versions from texts temporally distant from each other, in addition to having differing details, often have different plot elements. The goal of this appendix is to show that each version was in fact distinct and that Ding’s story changed over time. All versions of the story agree that after losing a parent while young, Ding made an image of him/her and served it as if it was alive. Our earliest version of the story comes from the Wu Liang shrine. The cartouche above his image reads, “When Ding Lan’s two parents died, he erected a piece of wood and made it into [an image of] his father. When a neighbor wanted to borrow something, [Ding] would only do so after he reported it [to his father].”1 Other Eastern Han pictorial depictions of the Ding Lan story con¤rm that the statue he created was of his father.2 The ¤rst literary version of the story, Cao Zhi’s “Essay on Numinous Fungi,” is somewhat ambivalent about the statue’s gender and adds a hitherto unseen element to the story. This version states that Ding lost his mother while young and was distraught by the fact that he was a “fatherless orphan” (guqiong) at such a tender age. He then carved an image of his “severe parent” (yanqin) out of wood. Each morning and evening he provided it with the three sacri¤cial animals. An evil person insulted the image. Ignoring the legal consequences, Ding killed him. The “elder” (zhangren) wept blood on his behalf; as a result, Ding was exempted from punishment.3 One should note that although Cao starts off by mentioning the loss of Ding’s mother, he uses the word guqiong, which usually means “fatherless orphan,” to describe Ding, and the words “severe parent” and “elder,” both of which usually denote “father,” to describe the statue. Hence it seems that Cao also envisioned the 191

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Appendix

statue to be an image of Ding’s father. The fact that the Wu Liang inscription mentions that Ding lost both his parents but that he made the statue in the image of his father tells us Cao’s interpretation is not far-fetched. Note that in later accounts the image is always of Ding’s mother. The next two narratives are almost contemporaneous. Sun Sheng (ca. 301–373), in his Accounts of Recluses, says that Ding lost his mother and made a wooden statue that resembled his parent—that is, his mother. After telling the reader how Ding served the image, this version informs us who attacked the image and why. The wife of Ding’s neighbor, Zhang Shu, wanted to borrow something from Ding’s household. Ding’s wife knelt before the image and asked for approval. The image was unhappy, so she did not lend the object. While drunk, Zhang came over to curse the image. Using a cane, he hit its head. When Ding returned, he perceived that his mother’s image was displeased. After hearing all the details from his wife, he ran Zhang through with a sword. While being arrested by a clerk, Ding bade farewell to the wooden image, which thereupon shed tears. Local of¤cials praised his perfect ¤liality; his image was painted on the imperial palace’s Cloud Platform.4 This version implies that the statue was a likeness of his mother, gives a name to the statue’s attacker, and explains why he harmed the statue. The version in Gan Bao’s Notes on Searching for Spirits is similar, but has some striking differences. This version states that Ding was ¤fteen when his mother died and that the statue was of her. A neighbor stole and beheaded it. Wherever the knife touched, blood came out. Only after burying the image of his mother did Ding take his revenge. Emperor Xuan of the Han (73–49 BC) praised Ding and made him an of¤cial.5 In this version, the neighbor abducts the image rather than strike it, and Ding kills him only after burying the statue. Although both of these versions are similar, they still have signi¤cant variants. The Accounts of Recluses version adds the wives of Ding Lan and Zhang Shu to the story, who were hitherto unseen in previous written or pictorial depictions of the tale.6 Nevertheless, the Notes on Searching for Spirits version mentions neither of these women nor the name of the neighbor. In Accounts of Recluses, Zhang hits the image with a cane; in the Notes on Searching for Spirits, he stole the image and beheaded it with a knife. In the Accounts of Recluses version, the image survived the attack, communicated its displeasure, and shed tears; in the Notes on Searching for Spirits version, it bled and died, so to speak. In each version the government provides Ding with a different reward. The next three accounts of this story add another element to the story: they show Ding’s wife damaging the image. According to the ¤fth-century

Appendix

Zheng Jizhi’s Accounts of Filial Offspring, after accidentally burning the face of her mother-in-law’s image, Ding’s wife dreamt that her mother-in-law was in pain. Upon hearing that the mother’s statue must be consulted before anything could be lent, a neighbor said, “How can dry wood have consciousness?” He then beheaded the image, and blood came out. Ding conducted a funeral for the image and was spared execution because the image shed blood. Emperor Xuan praised him. According to the sixth- or seventhcentury Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring, during the night Ding’s wife burned the face of her mother-in-law’s image. Sores then appeared on its face. Two days later, of its own accord, the wife’s hair fell out, as if someone had sheared it off. Only then did she ask for forgiveness of her sins. Ding moved his mother’s image to the road and made his wife mourn it for three years. One night, with the speed of wind and rain, his “mother” returned by its own power.7 In Gou Xingdao’s Notes on Searching for Spirits, a text recovered at Dunhuang, the rationale for the wife’s attack on the image is made explicit. One day Ding’s wife said, “How can a wooden mother be conscious? Today I bitterly toil, and must wait upon it night and day.” Seeing that Ding was not around, she used ¤re to burn it. That night, in a dream, Ding’s mother told him about his wife’s attack. He returned and fell before the image, wailing and shouting with grief. Sores then appeared on his wife’s face, as if she had been burnt there. The sores were extremely painful. Only after she begged for forgiveness did the sores begin to heal.8 In these three later accounts, the identity of the image’s assailant shifts from the neighbor to Ding’s wife. In Zheng Jizhi’s Accounts of Filial Offspring version, both Ding’s wife and a neighbor harm the image, but the former does so unintentionally. However, both the (somewhat later) Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring and the Gou Daoxing’s Notes on Searching for Spirits versions do not mention the neighbor at all; instead, both indicate that Ding’s wife intentionally attacked the image. Despite the similarities of these accounts, they, too, have signi¤cant differences. In the version from Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring, Ding’s wife mourns her mother-inlaw’s image for three years, and the image miraculously returns. In this version the sores appear on the image’s face, whereas in Gou Xingdao’s Notes on Searching for Spirits they appear on the wife’s face. In Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring it is Ding, rather than his wife, who has the dream in which his mother appears.9 The last pre-Song accounts of Ding are from the Yômei and Funabashi Xiaozi zhuan. In these two works, Ding was ¤fteen when he made the image of his mother. Being un¤lial, his wife used ¤re to burn the face of the wooden mother. That night, Ding dreamt that his wooden mother

193

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told him what had happened. After beating and caning his wife, he divorced her. One day his neighbor wanted to borrow an axe. After learning of Ding’s wooden mother’s refusal, the neighbor waited until Ding had gone out, then used a knife to slice off one of the image’s arms. The blood that ¶owed out of the image covered the ground completely. Upon seeing what had happened, Ding beheaded the neighbor and offered his head in sacri¤ce to his mother. The of¤cials did not prosecute him; on the contrary, they gave him an of¤cial appointment.10 This version of the story seems to combine the two traditions—Ding’s wife’s intentional attack on his mother’s image, and Zhang Shu’s attack. Hence the Funabashi and Yômei accounts might have been composed later than any of the previously outlined renditions. This version also adds the new details of Ding divorcing his wife and the ¤lial miracle of the image’s blood covering the ground. This brief summary of the ten accounts reveals that none are exactly alike. Larger changes within the versions are often associated with gender. In the earliest versions of the tale, the statue that Ding serves is a likeness of his father, but in the later tales it is his mother. Also, many of the later tales identify the statue’s assailant as Ding’s wife, rather than his male neighbor. Confronted with this shift, the compiler of Yômei Xiaozi zhuan decided to include both accounts. It seems inescapable to conclude that the later transmitters of this tale apparently thought the friction natural to the daughter-in-law/mother-in-law relationship would make itself apparent in a situation where a “mother,” being wooden, could not respond. In other words, the tone of the later accounts locate the danger to the family as coming not from outside, but from within, in the form of rebellious daughters-in-law.

Notes

Introduction 1. To avoid monotony, I will also refer to these accounts as “stories,” “tales,” “narratives,” or “anecdotes.” Since the great majority of premodern Chinese believed that they were historical fact, one should preferably think of them as “accounts” or “narratives.” As late as the 1860s, Justus Dolittle, a missionary, was still struck by the fact that most Chinese believed the events in the stories actually had taken place. See his Social Life of the Chinese, 2 vols. (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1865), 1:453. Still, the use of words like “tales” or “stories” is bene¤cial in that it reminds us that these accounts in all likelihood were not descriptions of actual events, but ¤ctions (see chap. 2). 2. Lu Xun, “Ershisixiao tu,” in his Zhaohua xishi (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1973), 25–26; “The Picture-book of the Twenty-four Acts of Filial Piety,” in Dawn Blossoms Plucked at Dawn, trans. Gladys and Hsien-yi Yang (Peking: Foreign Languages Press, 1976), 34–35. 3. Xu Duanrong, “Ershisixiao yanjiu.” M.A. thesis, Taiwan Wenhua University, 1981, 191. 4. E.g., see Donald Macgillivray, “The Twenty-four Paragons of Filial Piety,” The Chinese Recorder 31.8 (1900): 392–402; and Ivan Chen, The Book of Filial Duty (London: John Murray, 1908), 58. 5. Marcel Granet, Chinese Civilization (New York: Meridian Books, 1958), 421. 6. Donald Holzman, “The Place of Filial Piety in Ancient China,” The Journal of the American Oriental Society 118.2 (1998): 185–200. 7. Frederick W. Mote, “China’s Past in the Study of China Today—Some Comments on the Recent Work of Richard Solomon,” Journal of Asian Studies 32.1 (1972): 115. 8. David K. Jordon makes this observation in his “Folk Filial Piety in Taiwan,” in The Psycho-Cultural Dynamics of the Confucian Family, ed. Walter H. Slote (Seoul: International Cultural Society of Korea, 1986), 63. With the exception of Jordan, 195

196

Notes to Pages 2–4

nearly all of the translators of The Twenty-four Exemplars of Filial Piety are nineteenthand twentieth-century Western missionaries. 9. Holzman, “Place of Filial Piety,” 196. 10. James C. H. Hsu, “Unwanted Children and Parents: Archaeology, Epigraphy and the Myths of Filial Piety,” in Sages and Filial Sons: Mythology and Archaeology in Ancient China, ed. Julia Ching and R. W. L. Guisso (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 1991), 29. 11. For discussions of the Yuan Gu story and its possible origins outside of China, see Tokuda Susumu, Kôshi setsuwashû no kenkyû—nijuyo kô o chûshin ni, 3 vols. (Tokyo: Inoue shobo, 1963), 1:36–40; Takahashi Morikô, “Kirô setsuwa kô,” Kokugo Kokubun 7.9 (1938): 90–98; Wang Xiaoping, Fodian—Zhiguai—Wuyu (Nanchang: Jiangxi renmin, 1990), 56–67. 12. Jacques Le Goff, The Medieval Imagination, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985), 181. 13. See Zheng Acai, Dunhuang Xiaodao wenxue yanjiu (Taipei: Shimen tushu gongsi, 1982), 483, 501; Lei Qiaoyun, Dunhuang ertong wenxue (Taipei: Xuesheng shuju, 1985), 85–92; Kanaoka Shôkô, Tonkô no minshû: Sono seikatsu to shisô (Tokyo: Hyoronsha, 1972), 302–310; Kawaguchi Hisao, “Kôyôdan no hattatsu to hensen,” Shoshigaku 15.5 (1940): 158; and Michihata Ryôshû, Tôdai bukkyôshi no kenkyû (Kyoto: Hozokan, 1957), 293–295, and his Bukkyô to Jukyô rinri (Kyoto: Heirakyuji, 1968), 126–128. 14. This is most evident in primers where, almost invariably, ¤lial piety and obedience to other superiors overshadows all other virtues. See the Thousand Character Classic, particularly lines 37–40, 61–67, and 83–90; the San Tzu Ching, lines 29–56, 89–103, 205–207, and 217–220; and The Rules of the Disciples. All of these texts are conveniently assembled in Best Books for Chinese Children, ed. Shi Chao (Taipei: Confucius Publishing Co., 1987), 3–27. 15. Hsieh Yu-wei, “Filial Piety and Chinese Society,” in The Chinese Mind: Essentials of Chinese Philosophy and Culture, ed. Charles A. Moore (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1967), 174–183; and Kuwabara Jitsuzô, “Shina no kôdô koto ni hôritsu jô yori kantaru Shina no kôdô,” in Kuwabara Jitsuzô zenshû, 6 vols. (Tokyo: Iwami shoten, 1968), 3:9–92. 16. Kaji Nobuyuki, Jukyô nanni ka? (Tokyo: Chuô kôronsha, 1990), 16–39; and his “Confucianism, the Forgotten Religion,” Japan Quarterly 38.1 (1991): 57–62. 17. I use the term “early medieval” to designate the period from the second half of the Eastern Han, when imperial power waned considerably, to the Sui dynasty’s reuni¤cation of China in AD 589. Thus this term includes both part of the Eastern Han and what is often called the Six Dynasties period or the Period of Disunity (220–589). I include much of the Eastern Han within this period because politically, socially, and culturally it resembles the Six Dynasties much

Notes to Pages 4–5

more than the Western Han. When I use the terms “Eastern Han” or “Six Dynasties,” it is because the phenomenon under discussion does not span the entire early medieval period. 18. I have decided to translate the term xiaozi as “¤lial offspring” rather than “¤lial children” because it is more age neutral. Although some ¤lial exemplars were children, many more were adults. This is because one was supposed to be ¤lial to his or her parents, whether they were dead or alive, throughout his or her life. Translating the term as “¤lial children” has led many people to wrongly assume that the tales were merely meant for youngsters. 19. Xie Lingyun, e.g., wrote a prose-poem named “A Prose-poem on Filial Miracles” (Xiaogan fu). See Yiwen leiju, by Ouyang Xun, 2 vols. (Kyoto: Chûbun shuppansha, 1980, reprint), 20.374. Cao Zhi wrote a song, part of which has a section titled “An Essay on Numinous Fungi” (Lingzhi pian), that records in verse a number of ¤lial piety stories. See Cao Zhi ji zhuzi suoyin, ed. D. C. Lau, Chen Fong Ching, and Ho Che Wah (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 2001), 106–107. Xiao Yan (464–549), Emperor Wu of the Liang dynasty, also wrote a prose-poem titled “A Prose-poem on Filial Thoughts” (Xiaosi fu) that exalts a large number of ¤lial piety paragons. See Liang Wudi Xiao Yan ji zhuzi suoyin, ed. Lau, Chen, and Ho (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 2001), 21–23. 20. For information on the compilation of these texts, see chap. 3. 21. Of the seventeen popular “transformation texts” (bianwen) recovered at Dunhuang, three are devoted to famous ¤lial offspring. The ¤rst evidence of a text called The Twenty-four Filial Exemplars comes from a Five Dynasties Dunhuang text titled The Seat-settling Text of Master Yuan Jian’s Twenty-four Filial Exemplars (Gu Yuan Jian dashi ershisixiao yazuowen). See Dunhuang bianwen, ed. Wang Chongmin, 2 vols. (Taipei: Shijie shuju, 1980, reprint), 2:835–841. Since this text names only eight ¤lial children, it must have been referring to a preexisting Twenty-four Exemplars text (Zheng Acai, Dunhuang xiaodao wenxue yanjiu, 493). 22. Kuroda Akira, Kôshiden no kenkyû (Kyoto: Sobunkaku shuppan, 2001), 252–305. 23. Zheng Acai, Dunhuang xiaodao wenxue yanjiu, 398–406, 434–456, 501–522. 24. For testimony on the ubiquity of this text, see H. Y. Lowe, The Adventures of Wu: The Life Cycle of a Peking Man (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1983), 1:102 (Originally 2 vols.); and Lu Xun, “Picture-book,” 30. Of the twentyfour tales in Guo Jujing’s text, only three postdate the early medieval period. 25. For research that discusses the transmission of ¤lial piety tales to Korea and Japan, see Tokuda, Kôshi setsuwashu, 1:279–368; Kawaguchi, “Kôyôdan no hattatsu,” 15.5: 157–161; 16.1 (1941): 39–46; 16.3 (1941): 67–70; and Kawase Kazuma, “Nijuyokô shi kenkyû,” Nihon Shoshigaku no kenkyû (Tokyo: Kodansha, 1944), 1483–1499.

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Notes to Pages 5–7

26. Roger L. Janelli and Dawnhee Yim Janelli, Ancestor Worship and Korean Society (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1982), 51–53. 27. These stories were transmitted in a book called Filial Duty Recommended and Enforced, by a Variety of Instructive and Amusing Narratives (Wesleyan Methodist Convention of America, 1847). See Anne Scott MacLeod, A Moral Tale: Children’s Fiction and American Culture 1820–1860 (Hamden, Conn.: Archon Books, 1975), 73. Although MacLeod does not realize that these stories originated in China, her description of their plots makes it obvious that they were based on The Twenty-four Filial Exemplars. 28. Caroline Walker Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Signi¤cance of Food to Medieval Women (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 298. 29. Richard Kieckhefer, “Imitators of Christ: Sainthood in the Christian Tradition,” in Sainthood and Its Manifestations in World Religions, ed. Richard Kieckhefer and George D. Bond (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988), 20–23. 30. Evelyne Patlagean, “Ancient Byzantine Hagiography and Social History,” in Saints and Their Cults: Studies in Religious Sociology, Folklore, and History, ed. Stephen Wilson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 101–121; Jacques Le Goff, “Mentalities: A History of Ambiguities,” trans. David Denby, in Constructing the Past: Essays in Historical Methodology, ed. Jacques Le Goff and Pierre Nora (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974), 166–180; and Claude Bremond et al., L’“Exemplum” (Brepols, Belgium: Institut d’études médiévales, 1982), 79–112. 31. Peter Brown, “The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity,” in his Society and the Holy in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982), 106–107. 32. A number of scholars have successfully used this method to explore medieval Japanese and European cultural history. For example, Hitomi Tonomura, in “Black Hair and Red Trousers: Gendering the Flesh in Medieval Japan” (The American Historical Review 99.1 [1994]: 129–154), uses themes from tales to delineate medieval Japanese attitudes towards gender in regard to marriage, sexuality, and the body. Bynum uses food motifs in hagiographies to indicate that medieval women viewed the female body and its suffering as a means to approach God. See Bynum, Holy Feast, 294–296. Kieckhefer uses hagiographic topoi that describe the virtues of fourteenth-century saints to reconstruct the theological vision of late medieval piety. See Kieckhefer, Unquiet Souls: Fourteenth-Century Saints and Their Religious Milieu (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984). 33. Ruth B. Bottigheimer, Grimms’ Bad Girls & Bold Boys: The Moral & Social Vision of the Tales (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1987), chaps. 2, 15. 34. This assessment of the characteristics of Christian saints comes from Kieckhefer, “Imitators of Christ,” 11–24. In fact, I think early medieval ¤lial chil-

Notes to Pages 7–10

dren are closer in nature to Christian saints than neo-Confucian sages. For neoConfucian sages as saints, see Rodney L. Taylor, “The Sage as Saint: The Confucian Tradition,” in Sainthood and Its Manifestations, ed. Kieckhefer and Bond, 218–242. 35. Another difference between the two is that ¤lial children were not usually credited with posthumous miracles and popular cults. An exception is a cult that was dedicated to ¤lial daughter Cao E, who drowned herself in an attempt to recover her father’s corpse. Glimpses of this cult can be seen in Hantan Chun’s “Xiaonü Cao E bei,” which appears in Quan shanggu Sandai Qin Han Sanguo Liuchao wen, 4 vols., ed. Yan Kejun (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1958), 2:1196. For another rare postmortem ¤lial miracle, see Taiping guangji (Taipei: Guxin shuju, 1980, reprint), 161, 322. 36. In what is otherwise an excellent article, Charles Holcombe has described early imperial Confucianism as “a resolutely secular ideology.” See his “Ritsuryô Confucianism,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 57.2 (1997): 551. 37. Based on these fragments, traditional Chinese scholars have painstakingly reconstructed some of the Xiaozi zhuan’s contents. These reconstructions are as follows: Huangshi yishu kao (Huaiquan Studio Edition, 1865), Guxiao huizhuan (Guangzhou: Juzhen yinwuju, 1925), and Gu Xiaozi zhuan; reprint (Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1936). 38. For Dunhuang texts that contain ¤lial piety stories, see S 5776, S 389, P 3536, P 3680, and Leningrad D440. Wang Sanqing has convincingly argued that most of these texts were merely sections on ¤liality from encyclopedias. See his “Dunhuang bianwen ji zhong de ‘Xiaozi zhuan’ xintan,” Dunhuangxue 14 (1989): 189–193. Dunhuang has yielded many fragments of sections on ¤lial piety from encyclopedias, some of which are quite lengthy. See P 2621, P 2524, P 2502, P 3871, and P 2537. For convenient access to annotated and indexed transcriptions of these fragments, see Wang Sanqing, Dunhuang leishu, 2 vols. (Gaoxiong: Liwen wenhua shiye, 1993). 39. Since the Xiao zhuan ¤rst appears in a version of Yang Xiuzhi’s (who lived during the Northern Qi period) Tao Qian ji (Tao Yuanming’s Collected Writings), rather than in the earliest and probably most reliable collection of Tao’s works, which Xiao Tong (501–531) compiled, the Qing editors of the Siku quanshu tiyao believe the Xiao zhuan is a spurious text that Yang added to his version. They also believe that since the text’s literary merit is average and shallow, it could not be the work of a poetic genius like Tao. This argument, along with others critical of its validity, is conveniently assembled in Zhang Xincheng, Weishu tongkao, 2 vols. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1973, reprint), 2:1136–1138. Yang Yong, on the other hand, believes that Tao did write the Xiao zhuan because he also authored the didactic, family instructions-type text “Yu zi Yan deng shu,” in which he cites historical exemplars in support of his advice. See Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, ed. Yang Yong (Taibei: Zhengwen

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Notes to Pages 10–13

shuju, 1987, reprint), 314–315. Whether Tao Yuanming or Yang Xiuzhi authored this work, it is indisputably an early medieval collection of ¤lial piety stories. 40. The former is held at the Yômei Library in Kyoto, hence its name. The latter received its name because it was in the Funabashi collection until the Kyoto University library acquired it. For a reproduction, translation, and annotation of this text, see Kôshiden, ed. Yoshikawa Kôjirô (Kyoto: Kyoto Daigaku Fuzoku Toshokan, 1959). For translations and reproductions of both texts, see Kôshiden chûkai, ed. Yôgaku no Kai (Tokyo: Kyuko shoin, 2003). 41. Kuroda, Kôshiden no kenkyû, 151–186; and Tôno Naoshi, “Ritsuryô to Kôshiden—Kanseki no chôkusettsu inyo to kansetsu inyo,” Manyôshû kenkyû 24 shû (2000): 289–308. 42. Nishino Teiji, “Yômeibun kôshiden no seikaku narabini Seikeibun to no kankei ni tsuite,” Jinbun kenkyû 7.6 (1956): 43–45. 43. “Accounts of the Filial and Righteous” (Xiaoyi zhuan) was the title of this chapter in the Song shu, Nan Qi shu, Zhou shu, Sui shu, Nan shi, Song shi, and the Ming shi. In the Jin shu, Jiu Tang shu, Xin Tang shu, and the Yuan shi, this chapter is titled “Accounts of the Filial and the Friendly” (Xiaoyou zhuan). Nevertheless, four of the dynastic histories that cover the early medieval period have chapters exclusively dedicated to ¤lial offspring—e.g., in the Liang shu, Chen shu, and the Bei shi, this chapter is called “Accounts of [those who have] Filial Conduct” (Xiaoxing zhuan), and in the Wei shu it is called “Accounts of [Heavenly] Responses to Filial Piety” (Xiaogan zhuan). 44. Chuxue ji, 3 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962), 1:17.421; and Jiaozhu Mengqiu jiaoben (Kyoto: Chubun shupansha, 1984), 1.110; Burton Watson, trans., Meng Ch’iu: Famous Episodes from Chinese History and Legend (Tokyo: Kodansha, 1979), 100. This story ¤rst appears in Sanguo zhi, Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1983), 57.1328. 1. Extended Families and the Triumph of Confucianism 1. Wolfram Eberhard, Conquerors and Rulers: Social Forces in Medieval China (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1965), 22–47; David Johnson, The Medieval Chinese Oligarchy (Boulder: Westview Press, 1977); and Patricia Buckley Ebrey, The Aristocratic Families of Early Imperial China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978). 2. Dennis Graf¶in, “The Great Family in Medieval South China,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 41.1 (1981): 65–74; Jennifer Holmgren, “Social Mobility in the Northern Dynasties: A Case Study of the Feng of Northern Yen,” Monumental Serica 35 (1981–1983): 19–32; Holmgren, “Lineage Falsi¤cation in the Northern Dynasties: Wei Shou’s Ancestry,” Papers on Far Eastern History 21 (1980): 1–16; Dušanka D. Miševiã, “Oligarchy or Social Mobility: A Study of the Great Clans of Early Medieval China,” The Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 65 (1993): 5–256;

Notes to Pages 13–14

Cynthia L. Chennault, “Lofty Gates or Solitary Impoverishment? Xie Family Members of the Southern Dynasties,” T’oung Pao 85 (1999): 249–327. 3. Dennis Graf¶in, “Reinventing China: Pseudobureaucracy in the Early Southern Dynasties,” in State and Society in Early Medieval China, ed. Albert E. Dien (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1990), 139–170; Albert E. Dien, “Introduction,” in State and Society in Early Medieval China, 1–18. 4. Jennifer Holmgren, “The Making of an Elite: Local Politics and Social Relations in Northeastern China during the Fifth Century A.D.,” Papers on Far Eastern History 30 (1984): 29, 36, 44–45, 53–54, 67. 5. Charles Holcombe, In the Shadow of the Han: Literati Thought and Society at the Beginning of the Southern Dynasties (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1994), 47. See also Tanigawa Michio, “Prominent Family Control in the Six Dynasties,” Acta Asiatica 60 (1991), 82–88. 6. Holmgren, “The Making of an Elite,” 9, 20, 34–35, 44, 56, 67–68, 70, 74; and Holmgren, “Family, Marriage and Political Power in Sixth Century China: A Study of the Kao Family of Northern Qi, C. 520–550,” Journal of Asian History 16.1 (1982): 1–50. 7. Although many sets of terms have been used to describe different types of families, I have adopted those proposed by Arthur Wolf, since they seem to be the most comprehensive and descriptive. Therefore, an elementary family is one composed of parents and their child or children. In other words, it is a nuclear or simple family. A stem family is one in which a son or daughter lives with his/her parents and his/her spouse and children. What is commonly called a “complex,” “extended,” or “joint” family is divided into a grand family and a frèréches family. A grand family is one in which brothers, with their spouses and children, live together with their parents. A frèréches family is one in which married brothers live together. An augmented elementary family is an elementary family plus a related person. See Arthur Wolf, “Chinese Family Size: A Myth Revitalized,” in The Chinese Family: And Its Ritual Behavior, ed. Hsieh Jih-chang and Chuang Ying-chang (Taibei: Institute of Ethnology, Academia Sinica, 1985), 30–49. 8. More than ¤fty years ago, Makino Tatsumi forcefully argued that most families were elementary families. See his Shina kazoku kenkyû (Tokyo: Seikatsu sha, 1946), 147–176, 178–318. Utsunomiya Kiyoyoshi, on the other hand, believed that most families were stem in type. See his Kandai shakai keizaishi kenkyû (Tokyo: Kobunto, 1967), 405–414; and his Chûgoku kodai chûseishi kenkyû (Tokyo: Sobunsha, 1977), 234–265. Moriya Mitsuo proposed a compromise by saying that there were many types of families. See his Chûgoku kodai no kazoku to kokka (Kyoto: Toyoshi kenkyukai, 1968), 297–353. For an excellent overview of Japanese scholarship on the Han family, see Satake Yasuhiko, “Chûgoku kodai no kazoku to kazokuteki shakai chitsujô,” Jinbun gakuhô 141 (1980), 14–21. On the Chinese side,

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Hsu Cho-yun has maintained that elementary families were the norm during the Western Han but that stem families became more common during the Eastern Han—perhaps in response to the propagation of Confucianism. See “Handai jiating de daxiao,” in his Qiugu pian (Taipei: Lianjing, 1982), 515–541. Du Zhengsheng likewise believes that Western Han families had ¤ve or six members and were usually elementary families, but stem families began to become more common in the Eastern Han. See his “Bianhu qimin: Chuantong de jiazu yu jiating,” in Wutu yu wumin, ed. Du Zhengsheng and Liu Dai (Taipei: Lianjing, 1982), 23–27; and his Gudai shehui yu guojia (Taipei: Yunchen wenhua, 1992), 786–800. 9. Evidence that extended families were becoming common among the upper classes includes 1) the Juyan granary records, which show that of¤cer families were much bigger than those of ordinary soldiers—5.7 members compared to 3.44; 2) the sudden appearance of large homes in excavations of Eastern Han villages; 3) Han references to families as consisting of one’s parents, wife, and children; 4) Wang Fu’s (second century AD) assumption that a family would consist of two grandparents, ¤ve sons, and ten grandsons; 5) the fact that according to the of¤cial censuses, during the Eastern Han the average size of the household grew from 0.1 to 2 persons; and 6) Cui Shi’s (d. 170?) assumption that an estate owner will live with his sons, daughters-in-law, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. For discussion of these points, see Satake, “Chûgoku kodai no kazoku,” 18–29; Iio Hideyuki, “Chûgoku kodai no kazoku kenkyû o meguru sho mondai,” Rekishi hyôron 283 (1985): 73–74; and Hsu Cho-yun, “Handai jiating de daxiao,” 531. 10. Hou Han shu, by Fan Ye (398–445). Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Hongye shuju, 1977), 25.886. 11. Ibid., 60a.1980. 12. For evidence that this type of family was uncommon in the Eastern Han, see Ochi Shigeaki, “Ruisei dôkyo no shutsugen o megutte,” Shien 100 (1968): 123; Moriya Mitsuo, “Ruisei dôkyo kigen kô,” Tôa keizai kenkyû, 26.3 (1942): 60–71; and 26.4 (1942): 70–71; Ch’u T’ung-tsu, Han Social Structure, ed. Jack Dull (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1972), 9; Inaba Ichirô, “Kandai no kazoku keitai to keizai hendô,” Tôyôshi kenkyû 43.1 (1984): 110. 13. Advocates of this position include Hsu Cho-yun, “Handai jiating de daxiao,” 531–538; Ming Chiu Lai, “Familial Morphology in Han China: 206 BC– AD 220,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Toronto, 1995, 163–165; Ochi Shigeaki, “Kanjidai no ie o megutte,” Shigaku zashi 86.6 (1977): 18–20; Satake, “Chûgoku kodai no kazoku,” 23–34; and Huang Jinshan, “Lun Handai jiating de ziran goucheng yu dengji goucheng,” Zhongguoshi yanjiu 4 (1987): 84–89. 14. See Inaba, “Kandai no kazoku,” 88–117. 15. Hori Toshikazu, Chûgoku kodai no ie to shûraku (Tokyo: Kyûko shoin, 1996), 98–99.

Notes to Pages 15–16

16. According to Luo Tonghua, since the Eastern Han’s standard of living was much poorer than that of the Western Han and the custom of splitting the patrimony while one’s parents are alive was still prevalent, while Eastern Han stem families might have outnumbered those in the Western Han, elementary families still constituted the overwhelming majority of households. See his “Handai fenjia yuanyin chutan,” Hanxue yanjiu 11.1 (1993): 153–154. 17. Utsunomiya, Chugoku kodai chûseishi kenkyû, 8–9, 250–251. 18. Cheng Shude, Jiuchao lü kao (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1988), 199; Ochi Shigeaki, “Gi-Shin ni okeru ‘Ishi no ka’ ni tsuite,” Tôhôgaku 22 (1961): 5–9; and Zhu Zongbin, “Lüelun Jinlü zhi ‘rujiahua,’” Zhongguoshi yanjiu 2 (1985): 115–116. 19. Moriya, Chûgoku kodai no kazoku to kokka, 144–145; and Watanabe Shinichiro, Chûgoku kodai shakai ron (Tokyo: Aogi shoten, 1986), 143–144. 20. Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, by Yan Zhitui (531–591), ed. D. C. Lau, Chen Fong Ching, and Ho Che Wah (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 2000), 13, 53. 21. See Dong Guodong, “Beichao shiqi de jiating guimo jiegou ji xiangguan wenti lunshu,” Wei-Jin Nanbeichao Sui-Tang shi 8 (1990): 37–38; and Tanigawa Michio, Chûgoku chûsei shakai to kyôdôtai (Tokyo: Kunisho kankokai, 1976), 215– 220. For examples of Northern and Southern Dynasties leishi tongju families, see Jin shu, by Fan Xuanling (576–648), Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1987), 88.2292; Song shu, by Shen Yue (441–513), Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 91.2255; Nan Qi shu, by Xiao Zixian (489–537), Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 55.961; and Wei shu, by Wei Shou (506–572), Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 86.1884–1885. For families such as this that had two hundred members, see Wei shu, 87.1896. 22. Ochi, “Ruisei dôkyo no shutsugen o megutte,” 127–130. 23. For examples, see the biographies of Wu Kui (Jin shu, 88.2293; Song shu, 91.2247), Xia Fang (Jin shu, 88.2277), Yu Gun (Jin shu, 88.2281), Yan Han (Jin shu, 88.2286), Gongsun Sengyuan (Nan Qi shu, 55.956-57), Han Lingmin (Nan Qi shu, 55.958-59), Lady Yao (Nan Qi shu, 55.960), Feng Yanbo (Nan Qi shu, 55.961), and Wu Dazhi (Nan Qi shu, 55.961). 24. E.g., out of the seven families on an AD 416 Western Liang register, three are extended families: one incipient stem family, one grand family, and one incipient grand family. I use the word “incipient” because these families contained adult sons and their wives who had not yet produced heirs. These families cannot become true grand or stem families until a third generation is born into the family. For a photograph of this register, see Ikeda On, Chûgoku kodai sekicho kenkyû (Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press, 1979). 25. See Moriya Mitsuo, Rikuchô monbatsu no ichi kenkyû (Tokyo: Nihon shupan, 1951), 143–146; Du, Gudai shehui yu guojia, 800–815; and Lei Qiaoling,

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Notes to Pages 16–18

“Tangrende juzhu fangshi yu xiaoti zhi tao,” Shaanxi shida xuebao (zhexue shehuike xueban) 22.3 (1993): 98–102. 26. Information about the 747 census record comes from Xiong Tieji, “Yi Dunhuang ziliao zheng chuantong jiating,” Dunhuang yanjiu 3 (1993): 73–74. 27. See Ochi, “‘Ishi no ka’ ni tsuite,” 8–9, and Hsu Cho-yun, “Handai jiating de daxiao,” 538. 28. Dong, “Beichao shiqi de jiating,” 37; Du, Gudai shehui yu guojia, 801–803. 29. Jiu Tang shu, by Liu Xu (887–946), Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1987), 188.4920. 30. Maurice Freedman, Lineage Organization in Southeastern China (London: The Athlone Press, 1958), 21–22; Hugh D. R. Baker, Chinese Family and Kinship (New York: Columbia University Press, 1979), 18–19; and Margery Wolf, The House of Lim (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1968), 28. 31. Margery Wolf, Women and the Family in Rural Taiwan (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1972), 32–37. 32. Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, ed. D. C. Lau (Hong Kong: The Commercial Press, 1992), 10.9, 75; Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, by Han Ying (c. 200–120 BC), ed. D. C. Lau (Hong Kong: The Commercial Press, 1992), 8.22, 61, 11.48, 69. This phrase might have been originally based on Mengzi, V.A.1. 33. Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 3, 5; Yen Chih-t’ui, Family Instructions for the Yen Clan, trans. Teng Ssu-yu (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1968), 10. 34. An average household in the Wei kingdom had 6.7 members, in the Western Jin 6.6, in the Former Yan 4.1, in the Eastern Wei 3.9, and in the Northern Qi 6.1. Dunhuang fragments of tax registers from the Western Liang and the Western Wei show households as having, on average, 3.7 and 5.9 members, respectively. See Dong, “Beichao shiqi de jiating,” 33–37. 35. Yang Jiping, Guo Feng, and Zhang Heping, Wu—shi shiji Dunhuang de jiating yu jiazu guanxi (Changsha: Yuelu shushe, 1997), 57; Luo Tonghua makes a similar argument for the Han dynasty. See his “Handai fenjia,” 150. 36. Luo Tonghua, “Handai fenjia,” 154–156. 37. Tanigawa, Chûgoku chûsei shakai to kyôdôtai, 217. See also Watanabe, Chûgoku kodai shakai ron, 147. 38. Yen, Family Instructions for the Yen Clan, 10; Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 3, 5. 39. Xiong, “Yi Dunhuang ziliao zheng chuantong jiating,” 75–78; and Yang, Guo, and Zhang, Dunhuang de jiating, 59. 40. See Liu Yonghua, “Tang zhonghouqi Dunhuang de jiating bianqian he sheyi,” Dunhuang Yanjiu 3 (1991): 81–87. 41. Yang, Guo, and Zhang, Dunhuang de jiating, 28–56. 42. Li Binghai, “Nanchao yi men shu zao fengsu de lishi wenhua yanyuan,” Minjian wenyi jikan 28.4 (1990): 112–119.

Notes to Pages 19–21

43. Song shu, 82.2096–2097. Zhou Lang’s memorial also provides some insight into why small families were popular in the south. In the memorial Zhou criticizes the current tax system in which monetary and corvée labor taxes are based on the wealth of the household. The system causes people to keep their households small by not clearing new land, by committing infanticide, or by remaining unmarried to avoid having an even heavier tax burden (ibid., 82.2094). For arguments about the effect of southern tax policies on the size and composition of southern families, see Tang Changru, San zhi liu shiji jiangnan datudi suoyouzhi de fazhan (Taibei: Boshu chubanshe, 1957), 7; and Dong, “Beichao shiqi de jiating,” 39–40. Dong also believes that southern families were smaller to make the most of commercial opportunities that were available to them. 44. An excellent example of how relatives living in this situation might abuse each other is furnished by Ren Fang’s (460–508) impeachment of Liu Zheng. See Wen xuan, by Xiao Tong (501–531) (Taipei: Huazheng shuju, 1986, reprint), 20.559–563. For a translation of this text, see Victor Mair, The Columbia Anthology of Traditional Chinese Literature (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), 542–547. 45. Ch’u, Han Social Structure, 208. 46. For the relationship between poverty and losing one’s father at an early age during the Han, see Xing Yitian, Qin-Han shi lungao (Taipei: Dongda tushu, 1987), 157–158. 47. Sanguo zhi, 11.351. 48. Jin shu, 88.2274; and Wen xuan, 37.18a–20a. 49. Ch’u, Han Social Structure, 287–289, 290–291. 50. To avoid monotony, in this volume I will use “Confucian” and “Ru” interchangeably. “Ru” is the Chinese term for the Confucian school. Since the term predated Confucius, it means something more than merely “Confucian.” In fact, I favor the interpretation of it as “scholars of the Kingly Way.” For a discussion of this term’s meaning, see Keith Knapp, “New Approaches to Teaching Confucianism,” Teaching Theology and Religion 2.1 (1999): 45–46. Even though “Ru” is the more accurate term, due to its universal currency I will also use the more familiar “Confucian.” 51. In a seminal article, the late Jack Dull documented how Confucian norms had slight impact on Han marriage and divorce practices. See Dull, “Marriage and Divorce in Han China: A Glimpse at ‘Pre-Confucian’ Society,” in Chinese Family Law and Social Change in Historical and Comparative Perspective, ed. David C. Buxbaum (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1978), 23–74. Sunming Wong believes that elite marriage practices were not in accord with Confucian norms until the late Tang. See Wong, “Confucian Ideal and Reality: Transformation of the Institution of Marriage in T’ang China (A.D. 618–907),” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Washington, 1979. For efforts by Confucian revivalists

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Notes to Pages 21–23

to have women live more according to Confucian virtues, see Josephine ChiuDuke, “The Role of Confucian Revivalists in the Confucianization of T’ang Women,” Asia Major: Third Series 8, part 1 (1995): 51–94. 52. Itano Chôhachi, “Jukyô no seiritsu,” in Sekai rekishi 4: kodai 4 (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1970), 349–352; and his “The t’u-ch’en Prophetic Books and the Establishment of Confucianism,” The Memoirs of the Toyo Bunko 36 (1978): 85– 107; Nishijima Sadao, “Kôtei shihai no seiritsu,” in Sekai rekishi 4: kodai 4, 238– 244; Pan Ku, The History of the Former Han Dynasty, trans. Homer H. Dubs. 3 vols. (Baltimore: Waverly Press, 1938-1955), 2:347–348; and Hirai Tadashi, “Kandai ni okeru jûka kanryô no kôkeiso e no shinjun,” in Rekishi ni okeru minshû to bunka: Sakai Tadao Sensei koki shukuga kinen ronshû (Tokyo: Kokusho Kankokai, 1982), 51–66. 53. Cited in Watanabe Yoshihirô, Gokan kokka no shihai to jukyô (Tokyo: Yuzankaku shuppan, 1991), 28. 54. Chen Ch’i-yün makes this point in “Confucian, Legalist, Taoist Thought in Later Han,” in The Cambridge History of China, vol. 1, The Ch’in and Han Empires 221 B.C.–A.D. 220, ed. Denis Twitchett and Michael Loewe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 770. 55. E.g., the Book of Changes (Yi jing) was susceptible to Taoist interpretations, while the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu) and Book of Documents (Shang shu) were susceptible to Legalist ones. See Ch’en Ch’i-yun, Hsün Yüeh and the Mind of Late Han China (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1980), 17. 56. Cited in Watanabe, Gokan kokka no shihai to jukyô, 28. 57. Pan Ku, History of the Former Han, 2:287–290. 58. Watanabe, Gokan kokka no shihai to jukyô, 126–127. Watanabe uses four criteria to establish whether or not an of¤cial was a Ru: 1) Was the individual a recipient of a family’s teachings (jiaxue) on a certain classic or its commentary? 2) Was the individual known as an “All-penetrating Confucian” (tongru) or a “Revered Confucian” (ruzong)? 3) Was the individual known to teach a classic to students or disciples? 4) Was the individual known to have received teachings on a classic or known to have attended the Imperial University? See ibid., 104. 59. See Nishijima, “Kôtei shihai no seiritsu,” Sekai rekishi 4: kodai 4, 238– 244; and Itano, “Jukyô no seiritsu,” Sekai rekishi 4: kodai 4, 343–349. 60. Watanabe, Gokan kokka no shihai to jukyo, 79–80. 61. Higashi thinks the dramatic increase in number witnessed during the Eastern Han was due to Wang Mang’s decree that sons of all middle- and high-ranking of¤cials could automatically enroll in the Imperial University. See Higashi Shinji, Gokan jidai no seiji to shakai (Nagoya: Nagoya daigaku shuppankai, 1995), 157–159. 62. On the growth of government schools, see ibid., 160–162. For the growth of private education during the Eastern Han, see Patricia Buckley Ebrey, “The Eco-

Notes to Pages 23–30

nomic and Social History of Later Han,” in The Cambridge History of China, ed. Denis Twitchett and Michael Loewe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 644–645. 63. Higashi, Gokan jidai no seiji to shakai, 186–191. 64. John K. Shryock long ago illustrated that an imperial cult to Confucius was not established until the Eastern Han. See Shryock, The Origin and Development of the State Cult of Confucius (New York: Paragon Book Reprint Corp., 1966), 93–106. 65. Léon Vandermeersch, “Aspects Rituels de la Popularisation du Confucianisme sous les Han,” in Thought and Law in Qin and Han China, ed. W. L. Idema and E. Zurcher (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1990), 89–107. 66. Martin J. Powers, Art and Political Expression in Early China (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1991), 161–187. 67. Nishijima makes a similar argument. He notes that the victory of Confucianism was based on the emergence of local powerful families who valued the Ru emphasis on ¤lial piety and maintenance of family order because it would strengthen their kinship units. See Nishijima, “Kôtei shihai no seiritsu,” 240–241. 68. John Duncan, “The Korean Adoption of Neo-Confucianism: The Social Context,” in Confucianism and the Family, ed. Walter H. Slote and George A. DeVos (Albany: SUNY Press, 1998), 75–90. 69. Satake, “Chûgoku kodai no kazoku,” 34. 70. Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 18.10. 71. Hou Han shu, 27.928. 72. Ibid., 32.1119. For a slightly different translation, see Ch’u, Han Social Structure, 286. 73. See Hou Han shu, 15.573, 53.1742–1743; Shishuo xinyu jianshu, by Liu Yiqing (403–444), ed. Yu Jiaxi (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1993), 1.10; and Song shu, 57.1573. 2. The Narratives: Origins and Uses 1. Taiping yulan, by Li Fang et al. 8 vols. Reprint (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1986), 411.6b; Nan shi, by Li Yanshou. Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 73.1806. 2. By looking at the ¤lial piety stories in the remaining extant Accounts of Filial Offspring, one sees that the concluding section was often an integral part of these stories. 3. Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 3.8. 4. J. I. Crump, Intrigues: Studies of the Chan-kuo Ts’e (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1964), 4–7; and Crump, “The Chan-kuo Ts’e and its Fiction,” T’oung Pao 48.4–48.5 (1960): 305–323.

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Notes to Pages 30–32

5. Crump, Intrigues, 47–57. Also see Uno Shigehiko, “Chokukyû setsuwa no seiritsu—tenkai to sono haikei,” Tôhôgaku 60 (1980): 1–2. 6. Zhanguo ce zhuzi suoyin, compiled by Liu Xiang, ed. D. C. Lau and Chen Fong Ching (Taipei: The Commercial Press, 1992), 412, 420. For translations of these texts, see J. I. Crump, Chan-kuo Ts’e, reprint (San Francisco: Chinese Materials Center, Inc., 1979), 509–510 and 529–530. 7. E.g., Zhuangzi uses a ¤lial piety tale about Zengzi to criticize attaching importance to wealth. See Zhuangzi jishi, by Zhuang Zhou (4th cent. BC), ed. Guo Qingfan (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1986), “Yuyan,” 410–411. 8. For this point, see Takahashi Noboru, Chûgoku setsuwa bungaku no tanjô (Tokyo: Toho shoten, 1988), 74–75; and Chen Puqing, Zhongguo gudai yuyanshi (Changsha: Hunan jiaoyu, 1983), 16–17. 9. Xu Fuguan provides a detailed account of the large extent to which the Xinxu and Shuo yuan borrowed from the Hanshi waizhuan and pre-Qin works. See Xu, Lianghan sixiangshi, 3 vols. (Taipei: Xuesheng shuju, 1979), 3:68–90. 10. Nishimura Fumiko has argued that Han Ying wrote the Hanshi waizhuan for a prince while serving as his tutor. See Nishimura, “Kanshi gaiden no ichi kôsatsu,” Chûgoku bungaku hô 19 (1963): 13–14. Similarly, Ban Gu tells us that Liu Xiang wrote the Lienü zhuan to criticize the extravagance and lewdness of some of the imperial consorts and that he composed the Xinxu and Shuo yuan to aid the emperor in his decisions. See Han shu, Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Hongye shuju, 1978), 36.1957–1958. 11. James Robert Hightower, Han shi wai chuan: Han Ying’s Illustrations of the Didactic Application of the Classic of Songs (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1952), 2. 12. Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, by Han Ying (c. 200–120 BC), ed. Lau, 10.24; Hightower, Han shi wai chuan, 10.24. 13. Hans Bielenstein, “The Restoration of the Han Dynasty: With Prolegomena on the Historiography of the Hou Han Shu,” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 26 (1954): 62. 14. Holzman, “Place of Filial Piety in Ancient China,” 198. 15. Confucius, Confucius: The Analects, trans. D. C. Lau; reprint (New York: Dorset Press, 1986), 190. 16. Jens Ostergard Petersen, “What’s in a Name? On the Sources concerning Sun Wu,” Asia Major (Third Series) 5.1 (1992): 2–3, 22. 17. Eric Henry, “Chu-ko Liang in the Eyes of His Contemporaries,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 52.2 (1992): 589–612; and Charles E. Hammond, “T’ang Legends: History and Hearsay,” Tamkang Review 20.4 (1990): 359–365. 18. For the story of Shentu Xun, see Taiping yulan, 413.7a; for Wu Meng, see Taiping yulan, 413.8b, 945.2b; and Yiwen leiju, 97.1683; for Deng Zhan, see Taiping

Notes to Pages 32–35

yulan, 945.2b; for Zhan Qin, see Yiwen leiju, 97.1683. Some scholars think Deng Zhan and Zhan Qin might be the same person. 19. For the story of Wang Xiang, see Chuxue ji, 3.60; Beitang shuchao, by Yu Shinan (558–638) (Tianjin: Tianjin Guji chubanshe, 1988), 158.4a–b; Chuxue ji, 7.152; and Taiping yulan, 26.96 and 68.2b. For the story of Wang Yan, see Soushen ji, by Gan Bao (¶. 317–350), ed. Wang Shaoying; reprint (Taipei: Liren shuju, 1982), 11.279; and Taiping yulan, 411.2b. For the story of Fan Liao, see Soushen ji (but in this work his name is given as Chu Liao), 11.280; and Gou Daoxing Soushen ji, in Dunhuang bianwen, 2:865. 20. Beitang shuchao, 152.8a. 21. Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 19.20; Liu I-ch’ing, Shih-shuo Hsin-yu: A New Account of Tales of the World, trans. Richard B. Mather (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1976), 352. 22. Hightower, Han shih wai chuan, 2–3. 23. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, ed. Lau and Chen (Taipei: The Commercial Press, 1992), 3.19, 36, and 157. For a somewhat different translation, see Li Chi: Book of Rites, trans. James Legge; 2 vols. (New Hyde Park, N.Y.: University Books, 1967), 1:129. 24. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 4.29, 36.157; Li Chi, 1:179. 25. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 1.10; Li Chi, 1:67. 26. For Huang Xiang’s act, see Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, 320; for Luo Wei’s, see Chuxue ji, 17.420; and Taiping yulan, 709.7b. 27. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 1.19; Li Chi, 1:75–76. See Dongguan Han ji, ed. Lau (Hong Kong: Hong Kong Commercial Press, 1994), 21.3714.2; Hou Han shu, 29.1027; and Dunhuang bianwen, 2:906–907. 28. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 1.21; Li Chi, 1:76. 29. Yiwen leiju, 65.1158; and Taiping yulan, 821.10a. 30. Jinlouzi, by Xiao Yi (508–554); Sibu kanyao ed. (Taipei: Shijie shuju, 1975), 2.8b. 31. The Yômei Xiaozi zhuan says that he is a man from the state of Zhao, thereby also implying that he lived during the Warring States. 32. There are also con¶icting reports about his native place. The Soushen ji states, “Guo Ju was a man from Longlu [in Henei]. Another says that he was from Wen in Henei.” See Soushen ji, 11.283. These two counties were on opposite sides of Henei Prefecture. Since at least the Northern Qi (550–577), the funerary shrine at Shandong’s Xiaotangshan has been identi¤ed as the site of Guo’s tomb. See Li Falin, Shandong Han huaxiangshi yanjiu (Jinan: Qilu shushe, 1982), 86–92. 33. See Guxiao huizhuan, 2.9a; and [Qinding] Gujin tushujicheng, by Chen Menglei, 79 vols. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1977), 611.50a. 34. Wolfram Eberhard, Studies in Taiwanese Folktales (Taipei: The Orient Cultural Service, 1970), 27–103.

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Notes to Pages 35–38

35. The tales that I think might be folkloric in origin are those of Dong Yong, Ding Lan, Guo Ju, Xing Qu, and Yuan Gu. 36. Leo Tak-hung Chan, Discourse on Foxes and Ghosts: Ji Yun and EighteenthCentury Literati Storytelling (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1998), 55–76. 37. Lunheng zhuzi suoyin, by Wang Chong (27–97), ed. Lau and Chen (Hong Kong: The Commercial Press, 1996), 362–363; my translation is based on Wang Ch’ung, Lun-heng: Miscellaneous Essays of Wang Ch’ung, trans. Alfred Forke, 2 vols. (New York: Paragon Book Gallery, 1962), 1:85. 38. Donald E. Gjertson, Miraculous Retribution: A Study and Translation of T’ang Lin’s Mingpao ji (Berkeley: Centers for South and Southeast Asia Studies, 1989), 94–98. 39. Robert Ford Campany provides three examples of oral tales told of prominent ancestors by their descendents. See Campany, Strange Writing: Anomaly Accounts in Early Medieval China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1996), 187. 40. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 8.1. 41. Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, 321. 42. Patrick J. Geary, Living with the Dead in the Middle Ages (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1994), 22. 43. An indication of the importance of having a famous ¤lial exemplar associated with one’s locality can be seen in the fact that various areas claimed the more legendary and less concrete exemplars, such as Guo Ju and Dong Yong, as their native sons. 44. See Miyazaki Ichisada, Chûgoku kodai shiron (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1988), 286–294; John Makeham, “Mingchiao in the Eastern Han: Filial Piety, Reputation, and Of¤ce,” Hanxue yanjiu 8.2 (1990): 85–94; and Michael Nylan, “Confucian Piety and Individualism in Han China,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 116.1 (1996): 1–27. 45. See Qianfu lun zhuzi suoyin, by Wang Fu (2nd cent. AD), ed. Lau and Chen (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1995), 14.26; Margaret J. Pearson, Wang Fu and the Comments of a Recluse (Tempe, Ariz.: Center for Asian Studies, 1989), 125. Con¤rmation that this trend was not merely an Eastern Han one comes from a Northern Wei report stating that these documents were written by the person’s sons or retainers and were terribly exaggerated; see Wei shu, 68.1515. For a general discussion of the nature of this period’s accounts of conduct, see Yano Chikara, “Jô no kenkyû,” Shigaku zasshi 76.2 (1967): 30–66. 46. See Lu Yaodong, “Wei-Jin zazhuan yu zhongzheng pinzhuang zhi guanxi,” Zhongguo xueren 1.2 (1970): 74. For evidence that by the Western Jin only one’s family pedigree was important for selection to public of¤ce, see Donald Holzman, “Les débuts du systéme medieval de choix et de classement des fonc-

Notes to Pages 38–40

tionnaires: Les neuf categories et l’impartial et juste,” Mélanges Publiés par L’Institut des Hautes Études Chinoises: Volume 1 (1957): 411–414. 47. See Luo Xinben, “Liang-Jin Nanchao de xiucai, xiaolian chaju,” Lishi yanjiu 3 (1987): 116–123; and Ochi Shigeaki, “Shin Nanchô no shûsai · kôren,” Shien 66 (1979): 85–114. 48. For the identity of these twelve candidates, see Luo Xinben, “Liang-Jin Nanchao de xiucai,” 121. The ¤ve famous ¤lial sons are Xu Zi, Guo Shidao, Guo Yuanping, Wu Kui, and Pan Zong. A sixth candidate, Guo Bolin, was the son of Guo Yuanping and grandson of Guo Shidao. 49. Jin shu, 33.987–988. 50. In note 48 above I have already mentioned that Guo Bolin was nominated as a “¤lial and incorrupt” candidate, probably on the strength of his father and grandfather’s reputations. Another example is that an of¤cial recommended the son of the famous ¤lial exemplar Xu Zi be given of¤ce, largely on the strength of his father’s ¤lial reputation. See Jin shu, 88.2280. 51. Song shu, 91.2256. 52. Cai Zhonglang ji zhuzi suoyin, ed. Lau and Chen (Hong Kong: The Commercial Press, 1998), 6.2; see also 12.12. 53. For an explicit statement to this effect, see Jin shu, 62.1699. 54. For information on the Taoist concept of chengfu, see Barbara Hendrischke, “The Concept of Inherited Evil in the Taiping Jing,” East Asian History 2 (1991): 1-30. 55. Livia Kohn, “Immortal Parents and Universal Kin: Family Values in Medieval Daoism,” in Filial Piety in Chinese Thought and History, ed. Alan K. L. Chan and Sor-hoon Tan (London: Routledgecurzon, 2004), 98–102. 56. Chen Ch’i-yün, Hsün Yüeh (A.D. 148–209): The Life and Re¶ections of an Early Medieval Confucian (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), 54–56, and notes 80, 88, 191–192. 57. Wang Xiang was the ¤rst prominent member of the Langye Linqi Wang family; Yan Han was one of the ¤rst two prominent members of the Langye Jiangdu Yan family. Wei Biao’s biography claims that he was a descendent of the famous Jingzhao Duling family but that he alone moved to Pingling in Fufeng. This looks like a suspicious attempt to claim a more prestigious ancestry than he really had. See Hou Han shu, 26.920. Hence I think it is safer to see him as the progenitor of the Fufeng Pingling Wei family. 58. Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, by Chang Qu (¶. 347), ed. Liu Lin (Chengdu: Bashu shushe chuban, 1984), 3.286. 59. Ibid., 10b.755. 60. Other Eastern Han famous ¤lial sons that belonged to locally powerful

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Notes to Pages 40–43

families include Lian Fan, Li Tan, Zhang Kai, Wei Jun, Huang Xiang, Bao Yong, Fu Gong, Cai Yong, Guan Ning, Yang Zhen, Yue Hui, Lu Ji, Yin Tao, Shi Yan, Bing Yuan, and Dai Liang. For charts that attempt to list all of the powerful families in the Eastern Han and include most of these ¤gures, see Tsuruma Kazuyuki, “Kandai gôzoku no chiiku teki seikaku,” Shigaku zasshi 137.12 (1978): 32–38. 61. Xing, Qin-Han shi lungao, 157–171. 62. Taiping guangji 292, 614. A few other tales that obviously served the same function are that of Ying Shu (Taiping guangji 137, 278) and Yin Zifang (Soushen ji 88, 54). 63. Fang Beizhen, Wei-Jin Nanchao Jiangdong shijia dazu shulun (Taipei: Wenjin, 1991), 15. 64. Lu Yaodong, “Wei-Jin zazhuan yu zhongzheng pinzhuang zhi guanxi,” 78. 65. Wenxin diaolong zhuzi suoyin, ed. Lau, Chen, and Ho (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 2001), 3.2; Liu Hsieh, The Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons, trans. Vincent Yu-chung Shih; reprint (Taipei: Chung Hwa Book Company, 1975), 89–94. 66. In regard to the biased nature of these writings, see Hans Bielenstein, “Later Han Inscriptions and Dynastic Biographies,” in Zhongyang yanjiuyuan guoji hanxue huiyi lunwenji: Lishi kaogu zu, ed. Guoji Hanxue huiyi weiyuanhui (Taipei: Zhongyang yanjiusuo, 1980), 571–586. 67. Lu Yaodong, Wei-Jin shixue de sixiang yu shehui jichu (Taipei: Dongda tushu gongsi, 2000), 107–127. 68. Yano Chikara has noted that the early medieval period was one that witnessed the production of many autobiographies. This era’s literati often recorded events that happened in their own personal pasts. If they did not use these materials to make an autobiography, their brothers or descendents could easily use them to construct a separate biography. See Yano, “Betsuden no kenkyû,” Shakai kagaku ronsô 16 (1967), 42–44. 69. Ibid., 29–40. 70. Shitong tongshi, by Liu Zhiji (661–721), ed. Pu Qilong; reprint (Taipei: Liren shuju, 1980). 71. Yiwen leiju, 16.300–301; and John Marney, Liang Chien-wen ti (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1976), 58. 72. Rafe de Crespigny, The Records of the Three Kingdoms: A Study in the Historiography of San-kuo Chih (Canberra: Centre of Oriental Studies, 1970), 47–89. 73. Lu Yaodong, “Biezhuan zai Wei-Jin shixue zhong de diwei,” Youshi xuezhi 12.1 (1974): 10. 74. Arthur F. Wright, Studies in Chinese Buddhism, ed. Robert M. Somers (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1990), 109.

Notes to Pages 43–48

75. E.g., there are the Wang Xiang biezhuan, Meng Zong biezhuan, Guo Wenju biezhuan, Yan Han biezhuan, Cai Yong biezhuan, Wu Meng biezhuan, Yu Gun biezhuan, Guan Ning biezhuan, and Chen Shi biezhuan. For a listing of separate biographies quoted in Sanguo zhizhu, Shishuo xinyu, and Taiping yulan, see Lu Yaodong, “Biezhuan zai Wei-Jin shixue zhong de diwei,” 16–27. 76. Shuijing zhushu, by Li Daoyuan (472–527), ed. Duan Xizhong and Chen Qiaoyi, 3 vols. (Nanjing: Jiangsu guji, 1989), 2:1234–1235. 77. Shitong tongshi, 10.275. 78. For a more in-depth look at this genre and its purposes, see Andrew Barclay Chittick, “Pride of Place: The Advent of Local History in Early Medieval China,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Michigan, 1997, 89–122. 79. Watabe Takeshi, “‘Sensenden’ ‘Kikyuden’ no ryukô to jinbutsu hyôron to no kankei ni tsuite,” Shikan 82 (1960): 53–56. 80. Shitong tongshi, 10.275. 81. Chittick, “Pride of Place,” chap. 5. 82. For a convenient selection of ¤lial piety tales found in the Shuijing zhu, see Zheng Dekun, Shuijing zhu gushi chao (Taipei: Yiwen yinshuguan, 1974), 178– 182. 3. Accounts of Filial Offspring: Models for Emulation 1. For studies that make one or more of these arguments, see Zheng, Dunhuang Xiaodao wenxue, 483, 501; Lei, Dunhuang ertong wenxue, 85–92, Kanaoka, Tonkô no minshû, 302–310, Kawaguchi, “Kôyôdan no hattatsu to hensen,” 158, and Michihata, Tôdai bukkyôshi no kenkyû, 293–295; and Michihata, Bukkyô to Jukyô rinri, 126–128. 2. The exact name of this book is problematic. Taiping yulan refers to it as Liu Xiang Xiaozi tu (411.8b), whereas Fayuan zhulin, by Daoshi (d. 684), Qisha Dazangjing ed. (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1991) refers to it as Liu Xiang Xiaozi zhuan (49.362). 3. Han shu’s bibliographical chapter, by the way, was compiled by Liu Xiang’s son, Liu Xin (53 BC–AD 23), and was based on Liu Xiang’s own bibliographical compilation, Bielu. 4. Fayuan zhulin, 49.362. 5. Wenyuan yinghua, 5 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1966), 502.2579. Li Lingchen and Xu Nanrong’s list of the exemplary lives’ creators resembles that given by Wei Zheng (580–643) in the postscript to his entry on “miscellaneous biographies” in the bibliographic chapter of his Sui shi. Wei, however, is silent on the creator of the Xiaozi zhuan subgenre. See Wei, Sui shu, Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 33.982. 6. Shitong tongshi, 10.274.

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Notes to Pages 48–50

7. Ibid., 18:516. 8. To explain its curious absence from the dynastic histories’ bibliographical chapters, Wu Hung has suggested that Liu Xiang Xiaozi tu is the same work as Liu Xiang’s Lieshi zhuan (Accounts of Outstanding Gentlemen) and that the latter was sometimes called Xiaozi tu because most of its contents were dedicated to ¤lial offspring (Wu Hung, The Wu Liang Shrine: The Ideology of Early Chinese Pictorial Art [Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1989], 272–273). This explanation is implausible for a number of reasons. First, Liu’s authorship of Lieshi zhuan is only slightly less in doubt than his authorship of Xiaozi tu. Second, from looking at the extant fragments of the text, contrary to what Wu says, the contents of Lieshi zhuan differ greatly from those of a Xiaozi zhuan. Whereas the latter almost exclusively featured men who were either ¤lial or brotherly, the remaining fragments of the former feature protagonists who are honored for virtues other than ¤lial piety, such as loyalty, friendship, integrity, wisdom, and courage. Third, the four most substantial extant narratives from Lieshi zhuan are written in a fantastic late Eastern Han–Six Dynasties style, which is quite different from that found in Liu’s Lienü zhuan, Xinxu, and Shuo yuan. 9. Nan shi, 22.606. 10. Ibid., 43.1088. 11. Nan Qi shu, 46.802. 12. Ibid., 35.630. 13. Enomoto has shown that Li Yanshou often used stories from “Records of the Weird” (Zhiguai) collections to supplement the biographies of Liang princes. See Enomoto, “Nan shi no setsuwa teki yôsu ni tsuite: Ryô shoôten o tegakari toshite,”Tôyô gakuhô 70.3,4 (1989): 1–33. 14. This paragraph is a summary of arguments found in Wang Chongmin, “Dunhuang ben ‘Dong Yong bianwen’ ba,” in Dunhuang bianwen lunwen lu, ed. Zhou Shaoliang and Bai Huawen, 2 vols. (Shanghai: Guji chubanshe, 1986), 2:691; Zheng, Dunhuang Xiaodao wenxue, 467–469; Xu Duanrong, “Ershisixiao yanjiu,” 3– 4; Nishino Teiji, “Tô Ei densetsu ni tsuite,” Jinbun kenkyû 6.6 (1955): 68. 15. The statement that Dong was a man of the Former Han can be found only in Taiping yulan’s Liu Xiang Xiaozi tu fragment (411:9a). Gou Xingdao Soushen ji, which was found at Dunhuang, directly quotes Xiaozi tu, but the quotation says nothing about when Dong lived (Dunhuang bianwen, 2:886–887). Likewise, Fayuan zhulin, which also directly quotes Xiaozi tu, makes no mention of Dong’s era (49.361). 16. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, ed. D. C. Lau (Taipei: The Commercial Press, 1994), 1.1; and Xinxu zhuzi suoyin, ed. Lau and Chen (Taipei: The Commercial Press, 1992), 1.1. 17. Fayuan zhulin, 49.361.

Notes to Pages 50–53

18. For this interpretation, see the Kong Anguo commentary to Shang shu in Shisanjing zhushu, ed. Ruan Yuan (1764–1849), 8 vols. (Taipei: Yiwen yinshuguan, 1993), 1:2.24b. 19. None of these elements is present in any pre–Six Dynasties accounts of Shun’s life. See the accounts of Shun’s life in Shi ji (1.44–50), Mengzi (5A.1–3), and Shang shu (2.24a–b). The version of Shi ji that this volume refers to is Shiji huizhu kaozheng, ed. Takigawa Kametaro; reprint (Taipei: Hongshi chubanshe, 1986). 20. See the story of Shun in P. 2621 (Wang Sanqing, Dunhuang leishu, 1:237); S. 389 (Wang Sanqing, “Dunhuang bianwen ji zhong de ‘Xiaozi zhuan’ xintao,” 197–198); Shunzi bian (Dunhuang bianwen, 129–134); Kôshiden chûkai, 24–26. 21. Shiji huizhu kaozheng, 1.47–49. Ito has argued that the legend of Shun originally began as a series of challenges that he had to master to prove he was a worthy successor to Yao and that the ¤lial piety aspect of the legend is merely a Confucian and Mohist overlay. See Ito Seiji, “Yao Shun chanrang chuanshuo de zhenxiang,” in Shen yu shenhua, ed. Wang Xiaolian (Taipei: Lianjing, 1988), 271– 304. Along these same lines, the Lunheng version of the Shun story even suggests that his survival of the assassination attempts and wild animal attacks are proof that he was worthy enough to be Yao’s successor. See Lunheng zhuzi suoyin, 2: 9.23. 22. Han Feizi zhuzi suoyin, by Han Feizi (ca. 280–233), ed. Lau, Chen, and Ho (Hong Kong: The Commercial Press, 2000) scroll 36, 113–114. Also see Xinxu zhuzi suoyin, 1.1; and Mozi yinde, by Mo Di (ca. 480–390), Harvard-Yenching Index Series ed. (Shanghai: Shanghai gujichubanshe, 1986), 9.11. 23. Yue jue shu zhuzi suoyin, ed. D. C. Lau (Taipei: The Commercial Press, 1994), 4.15. Nevertheless, older versions of the story that did not connect the Mount Li episode with Shun trying to escape from his parents continued to be circulated. E.g., see Diwang shiji jicun, by Huangfu Mi (215–282), ed. Xu Zongyuan (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1964), 41. 24. Before climbing on top of the granary, Shun arms himself with two bamboo hats that he uses as proto-parachutes; before his father ¤lls and encloses the well in which Shun is trapped, he either climbs out or digs a hole in the side of the well. 25. Thus Daoshi titled this tale “Shun receives a Heavenly response for his service to his father” (Fayuan zhulin, 49.361). 26. Nishino, “Yômeibun kôshiden,” 36. 27. Ningxia Guyuan Bowuguan, Guyuan Beiweimu qiguan hua (Yinchuan: Ningxia renmin chubanshe, 1988), 11–12. 28. On the same register, the Wu Liang funerary shrine (AD 151) has depictions of seventeen different ¤lial offspring stories (Wu Hung, The Wu Liang Shrine, 272–305); the multichambered tomb at Helinge’er in Inner Mongolia (ca. 160) has nine (Neimengguzizhi bowuguan gongzuodui, Helingge’er Hanmu bihua

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[Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1978]); a pictorial stone unearthed in Kaifeng, Henan, has ¤ve on two registers (Édouard Chavannes, Mission Archéologique dans la Chine Septentrionale: Tome I, La Scuplture a l’époque des Han [Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1913], pl. 542); the Lelang lacquered box from Korea (1st or 2nd cent.) has ¤ve (Yoshikawa Kôjirô, “Lelang chutu Han qie tuxiang kaozheng,” in Hamada Kôsakuchô, Rakurô Saikyo-tsuka [Tokyo: Chôsen koseki kenkyûkai, 1934], 1–8); a tomb in Leshan Sichuan has ¤ve (Tang Changshou, “Shiziwan Cliff Tomb No. 1”, Orientations 28.8 [1997]: 72–77); an engraved stone relief from Dawenkou in Shandong (ca.150) has three (Cheng Jilin, “Taian Dawenkou Han huaxiangshi mu,” Wenwu 1 [1989] 48–58); and a bronze mirror has two (for information on and photographs of this mirror, see Yamakawa Masaharu, “So Sen to Min Son Murakami Eini shi Kandai Kôshiden jizu gazôkyô nitsuite,” Bukkyô daigaku daigakuin kiyô 31 [2003]: 93–102). I would like to thank Professor Kuroda Akira for bringing this artifact to my attention. 29. This ¤lial offspring is sometimes identi¤ed as Wei Yang. 30. Wang Jianwei, “Hanhua ‘Dong Yong gushi’ yuanliu kao,” Sichuan wenwu 4 (1995): 3–7. For images of the Dong Yong story on Han gates in Sichuan, see Xu Wenshan et al., Sichuan Handai shique (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1992), 130–131, 190. 31. Wu Hung, The Wu Liang Shrine, 76–85, 170–176. 32. Ibid., 275. 33. See Taiping yulan, 411.9a; Fayuan zhulin, 49.361; Dunhuang bianwen, 2:886, 904. 34. Compare the Wu Liang inscription (Wu Hung , The Wu Liang Shrine, 280) with the accounts of the Lao Laizi story found in a Dunhuang encyclopedia fragment (Dunhuang bianwen, 2:903), Shi Jueshou Accounts of Filial Offspring (Taiping yulan, 413.6b–7a), and Yômei Xiaozi zhuan (Kôshiden chûkai, 101–102). After reading these four accounts, it seems obvious that the Wu Liang inscription is a simpli¤cation of a written account that is similar in kind and language to the other three, especially when we note the repeated use of the phrases zhixiao and banlan or banlian. If the Wu Liang inscription were based on an oral source, one would not expect its language to cleave so closely to the written accounts. 35. Lin Shengzhi (Rin Shôchi), “Hokuchô jidai ni okeru sôgu no zuzô to kinô—sekikan shôkakobyô no bonushi shôzô to kôshidenzu o rei toshite,” Bijutsushi 52.2 (2003): 218–220. 36. Kuroda Akira, “Kôshidenzu to Kôshiden—Rin Shôchi shi no setsu o megutte,” Kyoto gobun 10 (2003): 116–132. 37. Xing, Qin-Han shi lungao, 449–469. 38. Hou Han shu, 48.1614. From this statement, Lu Yaodong concludes that one source for the “separate biographies” of the Wei-Jin period was the eulogies

Notes to Pages 57–59

that accompanied pictorial images of exemplary men. See Lu, Wei-Jin shixue de sixiang yu shehui jichu, 109-112. 39. Taiping yulan, 701.4b. 40. Liexian zhuan, by Liu Xiang. Zhuzi baijia congshu ed. (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1990), 2.25. Kaltenmark agrees that the text was created to explain or supplement images of immortals that were current at the time. See Max Kaltenmark, trans., Lie-sien tchouan (Pekin: Universite de Paris, 1953), 7–8. 41. For a helpful chart that chronologically summarizes the contents of Han tombs with murals and pictorial stones, see Xia Chaoxiong, “Hanmu bihua, huaxiangshi ticai neirong shitan,” Beijing daxue xuebao: Zhexue shehui 101.1 (1984): 70–74. 42. Cutter believes that this poem dates from the Huangchu reign period (220– 226), i.e., shortly after his father’s death. See Robert Joe Cutter, “Cao Zhi (192–232) and His Poetry,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Washington, 1983, 114. As for the authenticity of this work, Frankel thinks that Cao Zhi probably did write it. See Hans Frankel, “The Problem of Authenticity in the Works of Ts’ao Chih,” in Essays in Commemoration of the Golden Jubilee of the Fung Ping Shan Library (1932–1982), ed. Chan Ping-leung et al. (Hong Kong: University of Hong Kong Press, 1982), 199. I would like to thank Robert Joe Cutter for making me aware of this article. 43. Cutter, “Cao Zhi and His Poetry,” 117–118; Song shu, 22.627; and Cao Zhi ji zhuzi suoyin, 106–107. I have slightly modi¤ed Cutter’s translation of this poem. 44. Early medieval poems on ¤lial piety often recount the plots of a number of ¤lial piety tales. Xiao Yan’s “Prose-poem on Filial Thoughts” summarizes the plots of eleven stories (Liang Wudi Xiao Yan ji zhuzi suoyin, 21–23). This is another case where the author probably did not randomly select ¤lial piety stories from his memory, but instead took the tales from Xiaozi zhuan. Incidentally, Xin Tangshu credits XiaoYan with compiling a Xiaozi zhuan. See Xin Tang shu, 58.1480. 45. E.g., Liu Xiang’s Lienü zhuan appeared well before Hou Han shu’s “Biographies of Outstanding Women,” and Liang Hong’s (1st cent.) Yimin zhuan appeared well before the Hou Han shu’s “Biographies of Hermits.” 46. The ¤rst stage of the compilation of Dongguan Han ji began with Emperor Ming (r. 58–75) ordering Ban Gu and three other scholars to compile a history of the dynasty. Their work covered up to AD 55. In AD 120 Empress Dowager Deng ordered a second group of scholars to bring the work up to AD 107. In 151, Emperor Huan ordered a third group of scholars to bring the work up to 146. Between 172–178, one last group of scholars again updated the work. For further information on the formation of Dongguan Han ji, see Bielenstein, “The Restoration of the Han Dynasty,” 10–11; Mansvelt B. J. Beck, The Treatises of Later Han (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1990), 19–27; and Zheng Hesheng, “Gejia Hou Han shu zongshu” (appended to Hou Han shu), 8–9.

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Notes to Pages 59–65

47. Wang Shuping, Qin-Han wenxian yanjiu (Beijing: Qilu shushe chuban, 1988), 395. I would like to thank Mei-ling Williams for bringing this book to my attention. 48. E.g., the biography of Shi Fen focuses on his respectful conduct in general, and his most ¤lial act came after he was already in of¤ce. Moreover, in regard to Shi Fen’s ¤lial act of personally cleaning his father’s underwear, Ban Gu criticizes him for being excessive. See Han shu, 45.2194, 2205. Similarly, Gongsun Hong’s (200–154) ¤liality is merely a footnote to his of¤cial career. Ibid., 58.2613–2624. 49. Fukui Shigemasa, “Gokan no senkyo kamoku ‘shikô’ to ‘yûdô,’“ Shikan 111 (1984): 3. 50. Wu Shuping, Qin-Han wenxian, 398. By “dynastic history” I mean a history devoted solely to one dynasty, rather than merely a state-sponsored history. 51. Yuan Hong (328–376) attributes the words found in the preface to Hou Han shu 39 to Hua Qiao; see Hou Han ji, by Yuan Hong (328–376) (Taipei: The Commercial Press, 1975), 11.135–136. Li Xian (651–684) con¤rms this (Hou Han shu, 39.1295). The two biographies are those of Mao Yi and Xue Bao. 52. Shitong tongshi, 10.87. 53. Shen Yue selected the title “Biographies of the Filial and Righteous” because during the early medieval period xiao and yi were viewed as complementary virtues: xiao is how one should act towards his parents, while yi is how one should act towards the larger community. Men who are yi succor the poor, decline public of¤ce and presents, refuse to associate with the powerful, protect the interests of the people, deal with others fairly, put the interests of others before their own, support and aid their nonparental kin, and are loyal to their lord. Ultimately, I think this combination of xiaoyi was inspired by Mencius’ equating xiaoti with renyi. That is to say, ren (benevolence) grows out of ¤liality and yi (righteousness) grows out of ti (brotherliness). E.g., he says, “Ren is realized in serving one’s parents; yi is realized in following one’s elder brother” (Mengzi, 4A.27). To govern a country well, all one has to do is extend one’s ¤lial and brotherly love to other people. In other words, Shen Yue uses the phrase xiaoyi to invoke Mencius’ idea that only ¤liality and brotherliness are needed to govern. 54. Shen Yue arranges the biographies of groups of people in the following order: the ¤lial and righteous, good of¤cials, recluses, and court favorites. 55. Hou Han shu, 39.1312. 56. Jay Sailey, The Master who Embraces Simplicity: A Study of the Philosopher Ko Hung A.D. 283–343 (San Francisco: Chinese Materials Center, 1978), 387–435. 57. Wang Sanqing has reconstructed a late-Tang Xiaozi zhuan based on S 389, P 3536, and P 3680. A number of the ¤lial heroes in this work, such as Wang Wuzi, Shanzi, Liu Mingda, are not seen as earlier examples of this subgenre but do regu-

Notes to Pages 65–67

larly appear in the later and more popular Twenty-four Filial Exemplars genre. Also like these later works, each story in the Tang work is accompanied by a poem in four seven-character lines. Wang further points out that the language of this work’s accounts does not closely match that of earlier versions of the same tales, thereby betraying its popular origins. See Wang Sanqing, “Dunhuang bianwen ji zhong de ‘Xiaozi zhuan’ xintan,” 189–220. 58. None of the works listed above are found in the following Song dynasty bibliographies: Chongwen congmu (1034), Junzhai dushuzhi (1151), or Zhizhai shulu jieti (ca. 1235). 59. Primers for children were usually very short, between one and three juan. See Sui shu, 32.942; and Xu Zi, Mengxue duwu de lishi toushi (Wuhan: Hubei jiaoyu chubanshe, 1996), 23–40. 60. Wang Shaozhi was a Langye Wang, while Liu Qiu was a Nanyang Liu. 61. Xu Guang’s father was a commissioner of waterways (rank four), while his elder brother was the front commandant of the heir apparent’s guard (rank four). See Song shu, 55.1547; and Nan shi, 33.858. Han Xianzong’s grandfather was a governor and his father a cavalry general, and his elder brother reached the rank of governor (See Wei shu, 60.1331–1334). Lang Yuling’s grandfather was famous in the Sui, during which he reached the position of chief minister of the Court of Judicial Review (rank three). Both his father and elder brother were prefects (Jiu Tang shu, 189xia.4961–4962; Xin Tang shu, 199.5660–5661). 62. For a listing of Wang Xinzhi’s relatives and the posts they held, see Keith Knapp, “Accounts of Filial Sons: Ru Ideology in Early Medieval China,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of California, Berkeley, 1996), 102, note 39. 63. Shi Jueshou was a maternal cousin of the recluse Zong Bing, whose grandfather had been a prefect, his father a district magistrate, and his brother a governor. Zong Bing’s biography states that his mother, Lady Shi, was learned and intelligent in argument. She educated both of her sons (Song shu, 93.2278–2279). Tao Qian was the great-grandson of the famous of¤cial Tao Kan, who was a commander-in-chief (rank one), while his grandfather was a governor (Jin shu, 94.2460–2463). 64. For a complete listing of these works, see Knapp, “Accounts of Filial Sons,” 104–106. 65. Chittick, “Pride of Place,” 18–20. 66. Nan shi, 73.1806. 67. Liang shu, by Yao Cha (533–606) and Yao Silian (557–637). Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 47.654. 68. Song shu, 91.2247–2249; and Nan shi, 73.1803–1804. 69. Jiu Tang shu, 189b.4961–4962; and Xin Tang shu, 199.5660. For the biography of Li Hong, see Xin Tang shu, 86.2828–2831.

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70. Jiu Tang shu, 86.2832; and Xin Tang shu, 81.3591. The assumption that texts could have an effect on their recipient’s behavior can be detected in the following anecdote about Li Xian: Liu Nayan, librarian for the crown prince, once wrote A Collection of Comedic Verses and presented it to Xian. When Xian was defeated after rebelling, his premises were searched and this book found. The emperor angrily said, “We use the Six Classics to teach people, yet fear this still will not transform them. However, you present comedic sayings and low-class stories. How is it possible that this will ful¤ll the function of guiding and coaching?” He then exiled Nayan to Zhenzhou. See Xinjiao Zizhi tongjian zhu, 16 vols. (Taipei: Shijie shuju, 1987), 202.6397–6398. 71. The bestowal of Wu Zetian’s Xiaozi zhuan to Xian seems to have occurred after he became crown prince in 676 and before he was deposed in 679. Thus when he received the text he must have been around twenty-four years of age. 72. R. W. L. Guisso, Wu Tse-t’ien and the Politics of Legitimation in T’ang China (Bellingham, Wash.: Program in East Asian Studies, 1978), 28–30. 73. According to Jiu Tang shu, Wu Zhao ordered three of¤cials to compile a number of books, among which were a Xiaozi zhuan and a Lienü zhuan, both of which were supposed to be twenty juan long (Jiu Tang shu, 6.133). According to the Xin Tang shu, these works were called Xiaonü zhuan and Lienü zhuan (Xin Tang shu, 58.1487). Note this is the ¤rst recorded instance of a collection solely devoted to ¤lial women. Unfortunately, no fragments from it have survived. 74. That patrons and their descendents played a large role in the design of their tombs can be seen in four aspects of Han mortuary art. First, representations of ¤lial piety stories do not appear in most graves that have murals or engraved stones. This means that their inclusion was probably at the bequest of the tomb owners or their heirs. Second, when images of ¤lial stories do appear, they are often placed in funerary shrines or at the entrance of a tomb, which meant they were situated for all to see. The tomb owners or their descendents selected these images because they represented to the public the values the deceased and their descendents wanted to be seen as embodying. On this point, see Powers, Art and Political Expression in Early China, 97–98; and his “Pictorial Art and Its Public in Early Imperial China,” Art History 4.2 (1984): 143–149; and Wu Hung, The Wu Liang Shrine, 225–226. Third, some of the Han graves, such as the tomb at Helinge’er, pictorially represent speci¤c moments of the tomb owner’s life. The Helinge’er tomb even has depictions of the administrative headquarters in which the deceased served. Fourth, the pictorial depictions of virtuous men sometimes also correspond to the description of the grave owner’s virtues as set forth in his epitaph. The tomb inscription of Wu Ban, for instance, reads, “[W]hen the lord was young he had the sublime qualities of Yan [Shu] and Min [Ziqian].” Among the images adorning the Wu family shrine are those of Yan Shu and Min Ziqian. See Rong

Notes to Pages 68–69

Geng, Han Wu Liang ci huaxianglu (Beijing: Yanjing daxue kaogu xueshe, 1936), 2.4b–5a; and Liu Xingzhen et al., Han Dynasty Stone Reliefs (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1991), 4–5. 75. For a convenient breakdown of the iconographical content of Han tombs, see Xia, “Hanmu bihua, huaxiangshi ticai neirong shitan,” 70–74. 76. Anneliese Gutkind Bulling, “The Eastern Han Tomb at Ho-lin-ko-erh (Holingol),” Archives of Asian Art 31 (1977–1978): 89–91. 77. A wooden tablet found in his tomb states that the tomb lord’s former subordinate, Tian Hong, who was now the aide to the [governor] of Chaoxian, respectfully sent a clerk to offer in sacri¤ce three bolts of silk. This indicates that the tomb lord must have been a local of¤cial of some import. See Rakurô Saikyô-tsuka, 12, 58. 78. Rong, Han Wu Liang ci huaxianglu, 5a–6b. A brief description of Wu Liang, Wu Rong, Wu Kaiming, and Wu Ban can also be found in Liu Xingzhen et al., Han Dynasty Stone Reliefs, 4–5. 79. See Li Yinde, “Xuzhou Han huaxiangshimu muzhu shenfen kao,” Zhongyuan Wenwu 2 (1993): 36–39. Katô has a convenient table that, among other things, lists the of¤ces held by the tomb owners of thirteen tombs decorated with pictorial stones. See Katô Naoko, “Hirakareta Kanbo: Kôren to ‘kôshi’ tachi no senraku,” Bijutsushi kenkyû 35 (1997): 67–86. 80. See Bulling, “The Eastern Han Tomb,” 87–88; Jean M. James, A Guide to the Tomb and Shrine Art of the Han Dynasty 206 B.C –A.D. 220 (Lewiston: The Edwin Mellen Press, 1996), 132; Lydia duPont Thompson, “The Yi’nan Tomb: Narrative and Ritual in Pictorial Art of the Eastern Han (25–220 C.E.),” Ph.D. dissertation, New York University, 1998, 124. 81. Katô, “Hirakareta Kanbo,” 70. 82. Ibid., 67. 83. Thompson, “The Yi’nan Tomb,” 125–129. 84. Anhuisheng wenwu kaogu yanjiusuo and Ma’anshanshi wenhua ju, “Anhui Ma’anshan Dong Wu Zhu Ran mu fajue jianbao,” Wenwu 3 (1986): 12. For information on the plate with the Bo Yu story, see 4–5. 85. Shanxisheng Datongshi bowuguan and Shanxisheng wenwu gongzuo weiyuanhui, “Shanxi Datong shijiazhai Beiwei Sima Jinlong mu,” Wenwu 3 (1972): 27. Lucy Lim has conveniently translated the biographies of Jinlong and his father in “The Northern Wei Tomb of Ssu-ma Chin-lung and Early Chinese Figure Painting,” Ph.D. dissertation, New York University, 1990, 178–188. 86. 1) The stone sarcophagus now found in the Nelson Atkins Museum is believed to have belonged to either Qin Hong (d. 526) or Wang Yue (d. 524). The former reached the position of governor of Dongyuan while the latter concurrently held the powerful of¤ces of the general who paci¤es the West and regional inspector of the Qin and Luo regions. See Gong Dazhong, “Mang Luo Beiwei

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xiaozi huaxiang shiguan kaoshi,” Zhongyuan wenwu, 26.3 (1983): 52–53. 2) Ning Mao (d. 501), whose funerary shrine can be found in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, was a recorder of the pottery of¤ce and a Huangye general. Although these were not the loftiest of¤ces, he married into a famous Han Chinese eminent clan. See Guo Jianbang, Beiwei Ning Mao shishi xiankehua (Beijing: Renmin meishu, 1987), 37–38. 3) Yuan Mi (d. 523), the reputed owner of the stone cof¤n now housed in the Minneapolis Institute of the Arts, was an imperial prince who reached the positions of the general who paci¤es the North (rank 3a) and regional inspector of Yuzhou (rank 3a). Nevertheless, as Eugene Wang has pointed out, in life Yuan was anything but ¤lial: he was impeached for listening to music and carousing during his mother’s funeral. For his biography, see Wei shu, 21a.543–544. Cited in Eugene Wang, “Cof¤ns and Confucianism—The Northern Wei Sarcophagus in The Minneapolis Institute of Arts,” Orientations 30.6 (1999): 58. 4) Kuang Sengan (d. 524), owner of a stone bed now held in the Kubosô Museum, reached the position of general of the palace (rank 8). See Katô Naoko, “Gi Shin Nanbokuchô ni okeru kôshidento ni tsuite,” in Tôyô bijutsushi ronsô, ed. Yoshimura Rei hakushi kokinen gai (Tokyo: Yuzankaku, 1999), 119. 87. The identity of the tomb owner buried in the lacquered cof¤n remains unknown. Since 1) the characters in the ¤lial piety scenes painted on the cof¤n all wear Särbi clothing; 2) the cof¤n is of Särbi style, i.e., it is wide at the top and narrow at the bottom; and 3) the tomb lord is rendered in Inner Asian garb, Chinese archaeologists tend to believe that the tomb lord was of Särbi descent. For this argument, see in particular Sun Ji, “Guyuan Beiwei qiguanhua yanjiu,” Wenwu 9 (1989): 38–44. Nevertheless, Karetzky and Soper think the tomb’s steep ramp, cof¤n design, and style of bronze grave goods betray strong Chinese in¶uence and believe the tomb belongs to a disgraced Chinese noble named Li Shun (d. 442), who was reburied with honors between 467–470. Li was one of the few non-imperial family members to gain the title of “king” during the Northern Wei. See Patricia Karetzky and Alexander Soper, “A Northern Wei Painted Cof¤n,” Artibus Asiae 51 (1991): 5–7; and Alexander Soper, “Whose Body?” Asiatische Studien/Études Asitiques 44.2 (1990): 205–216. 88. There is no question that the Northern Wei government championed ¤lial piety as a cardinal value, as evidenced by the fact that the Classic of Filial Piety was one of the few Chinese works translated into the Särbi language. For a discussion on the Northern Wei advocacy of ¤lial piety, see Kang Le, Cong xijiao dao nanjiao (Xinzhuang: Daohe chubanshe, 1995), 229–280. 89. For a detailed discussion of this object and its stories, as well as a reproduction of Qibi Ming’s tomb inscription, see Kuroda, Kôshiden no kenkyû, 217– 251. For the archaeological report of his tomb, see Jie Feng and Ma Xiandeng, “Tang Qibi Ming mu fajue ji,” Wenbo 5 (1998): 11–15.

Notes to Pages 70–73

90. For photographs of this artifact, see Kuroda, Kôshiden no kenkyû, dust jacket and plates 1–8. 91. Annette L. Juliano, Teng-Hsien: An Important Six Dynasties Tomb (Ascona, Switzerland: Artibus Asiae publishers, 1980), 9–10, plates 71 and 74. 92. Peter Brown, “The Saint as Exemplar in Late Anitquity,” Representations 1.2 (1983): 1–25. 93. Yen, Family Instructions for the Yen Clan, 46; Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 7, 22. Also see Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 1.36; Liu, Shih-shuo Hsin-yu, 18. For the importance of model emulation as a form of learning and legitimization in classical times, see William Savage, “Archetypes, Model Emulation, and the Confucian Gentleman,” Early China 17 (1992): 1–26. 94. Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 8.34; Liu, Shih-shuo Hsin-yu, 222. 95. For this sentiment, see Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 8, 26. 96. Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 8, 27; Yen, Family Instructions for the Yen Clan, 59. 97. Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 1.31; Liu, Shih-shuo Hsin-yu, 16. 98. E.g., after observing the moral caliber of Guo Yi a number of times, Yang Hu, who began by comparing Guo to himself, ¤nally concluded that Guo was an equal to Yan Hui, Confucius’ greatest disciple. In other words, Yang considered Guo to be so commendable that he had no way to measure his quality except to compare him to a famous paragon. See Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 8.9. 99. Zhang Ba was so ¤lial that his village called him “Zhang Zengzi” (Hou Han shu, 36.1241). Some of Huang Xian’s contemporaries thought he was a reincarnation of Yan Hui (Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 1.2). Teng Tangong was known as Teng Zengzi because of his unsurpassed ¤lial piety (Liang shu, 47.648). 100. Tian Yu asked to be buried next to Ximen Bao to acquire some of his goodness (Sanguo zhi, 26.729), while Liang Hong wanted to be buried next to Yao Li’s tomb so that they could communicate with each other (Hou Han shu, 83.2768). 101. Hou Han shu, 64.2124. 102. Audrey Spiro, Contemplating the Ancients: Aesthetic and Social Issues in Early Chinese Portraiture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 135– 136, 172–177. 103. Jin shu, 49.1374. 104. So serious in fact that before doing so, one had to wear proper clothing and have a respectful attitude. See Sanguo zhi, 21.603. 105. Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 2.72. 106. Jin shu, 80.2103. The Shishuo xinyu relates the same story, but Huizhi is not explicitly condemned for his judgment (Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 9.80; Mather, Tales of the World, 270). 107. Sanguo zhi, 10.312; cited in Yuhazu Kazuyori, “Chô Ki Sanfu ketsuroku ni tsuite,” Kyûko 12 (1988): 40.

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108. Bo Qi and Shu Qi are of course the famous recluses who chose to starve to death rather than eat the food of the usurping Zhou government. 109. Hoping to draw attention to the wastefulness and uselessness of extravagant burials, Yang Wangsun asked his son to bury him naked and without a cof¤n. 110. Sui shu, 33.981–982. 111. Qian Mu, “Lüelun Weijin Nanbeichao xueshu wenhua yu dangshi mendi zhi guanxi,” Xinya xuebao 5.2 (1963): 30–31; and Lu, Wei-Jin shixue de sixiang yu shehui jichu, 84–89. 112. Shitong tongshi, 34.274. 113. Ibid., 10.276. 114. E.g., he states that “those whose studies are not extensive and whose examination of affairs is not even, whenever they write or edit a work, they often make use of extraordinary hearsay. [Hence] that which they create is unreliable and it is therefore dif¤cult to understand what is true (Shitong tongshi, 17.480).” 115. Kôshiden chûkai, 17. 116. Shitong tongshi, 18.516–517. Liu also accuses Ji Kang of doing the same thing in his Shengxian Gaoshi zhuan (Shitong tongshi, 18.522–523). Elsewhere, he states that Ji Kang was fond of collecting the parables of the Seven Countries (Warring States period) from which he would fashion biographies (Shitong tongshi, 5.116). 117. Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, 8.321. 118. Kôshiden chûkai, 18. 119. Liang shu, 29.430. For a similar sentiment, see Zhou shu, by Linghu Defen (583–666), Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 34.599. 120. For kangkai, see Zhongwen da cidian (Taipei: Zhongguo wenhua daxue chubanbu, 1985), no. 11347; for kairan, see no. 11405. 121. Wen xuan, 43.601. Both Xiang Zhang and Tai Tong have biographies in Gaoshi zhuan, by Huangfu Mi. Sibu beiyao ed. (Taipei: Taiwan Zhonghua, 1987), 2.12b & 3.3b, respectively. 122. Lidai minghua ji, by Zhang Yanyuan (¶. AD 847) (Beijing: Jinghua, 2000), 10; translation is from Susan Bush and Hsio-yen Shih, Early Chinese Texts on Painting (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1985), 26. 123. Kôshiden chûkai, 19. 124. Jin shu, 82.2140; this passage also appears in the preface to Biqiuni zhuan. See Shih Pao-ch’ang, Lives of Nuns: Biographies of Chinese Buddhist Nuns from the Fourth to Sixth Centuries, trans. Kathryn Ann Tsai (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1994), 15. Yu Pu himself was the author of a work on worthy men called Jiangbiao zhuan. 125. For the text of Shen’s refusal to write Gaoshi zhuan, see Yiwen leiju, 37.665. Cited in Alan J. Berkowitz, “Patterns of Reclusion in Early and Early Me-

Notes to Pages 78–83

dieval China: A Study of Reclusion in China and Its Portrayal,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Washington, 1989, 336–337. 126. This is ironic, of course, since he had a strained relationship with his father. See Robert Joe Cutter, “The Incident at the Gate: Cao Zhi, the Succession, and Literary Fame,” T’oung Pao 71 (1985): 228–240; and Howard L. Goodman, Ts’ao P’i Transcendent: The Political Culture of Dynasty-Founding in China at the End of the Han (Seattle: Scripta Serica, 1998), 47–50. 127. Nan shi, 73.1806. 128. Interestingly, Shi Jueshou’s biography appears in Nan shi (ca. AD 629), but not in Song shu (AD 488). One could speculate that Shi Jueshou’s fame as a ¤lial son became known only through the circulation of his work, which was not yet well known when Shen Yue compiled Song shu. 129. Liang shu, 47.654. 130. Nan shi, 73.1822. 131. Jin shu, 88.2278; and Sanguo zhi, 11.348. The same story is told in Nan Qi shu (54.929), but this time it features Gu Huan. For similar stories, see chapter 616 of Taiping yulan. Xiao Yi’s Xiaode zhuan featured a similar tale about Zhang Kai (Taiping yulan, 616.7b). 132. Gu Xiaozi zhuan, 36. 133. Jinlouzi, 1.14b. This anecdote concerning Xiao Yan’s inability to read through a Xiaozi zhuan due to his extraordinary grief comes from Xiao Yan’s “Xiaosi fu.” See Liang Wudi Xiao Yan ji zhuzi suoyin, 2.1. 134. Jinlouzi, 2.8b. He probably asked that these works be put in his tomb for the same reason that Huangfu Mi requested a Classic of Filial Piety be put in his own tomb: “to show that I have not forgotten the way of ¤lial piety (Jin shu, 51.1418).” 4. Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism 1. The Analects, 7.21. 2. The 186 tales are derived from Guxiao huizhuan, Gu Xiaozi zhuan, and the forty-¤ve ¤lial piety tales from the Yômei and Funabashi Xiaozi zhuan. 3. Yiwen leiju, 91.1579. 4. See Mark Csikszentmihalyi, “Fivefold Virtue: Reformulating Mencian Moral Psychology in Han Dynasty China,” Religion 28 (1998): 77–89; Sarah A. Queen, From Chronicle to Canon: The Hermeneutics of the Spring and Autumn, According to Tung Chung-shu (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 206– 226; Gary Arbuckle, “Five Divine Lords or One,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 113.2 (1993): 277–281; and Hsiao Kung-chüan, A History of Chinese Political Thought, trans. F. W. Mote (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1978), 469–530.

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5. I prefer to avoid the term “Han Confucianism” since by rights it should include not only the ideas of men who combined Confucian ethics with yin-yang/ wuxing cosmological theories, but also their contemporary critics, such as Wang Chong, who attacked this marriage of ideas. Thus I prefer to coin the term “Correlative Confucianism,” which designates the strand of Confucianism emphasizing that heaven, earth, and people were mutually interlinked and dependent on each other. 6. Fung Yu-lan, A History of Chinese Philosophy, 2 vols. (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1983), 2:30; Chunqiu fanlu zhuzi suoyin, by Dong Zhongshu (ca. 179–104), ed. D. C. Lau (Taipei: Commercial Press, 1994), 13.2. 7. For a general discussion of the concept of resonance, see Charles Le Blanc, Huai-nan zi: Philosophical Synthesis in Early Han Thought (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1985), 191–210; and John B. Henderson, The Development and Decline of Chinese Cosmology (New York: Columbia University Press, 1984), 20–28. 8. Chunqiu fanlu zhuzi suoyin, 11.1; Fung, History of Chinese Philosophy, 2:32. 9. Chunqiu fanlu zhuzi suoyin, 10.1; Wing-tsit Chan, A Source Book in Chinese Philosophy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1963), 273–278. 10. Translation is from Queen, From Chronicle to Canon, 216; Han shu, 56.2498. 11. This summary of the history of Correlative Confucianism is based on Chen Ch’i-yün, Hsün Yüeh and the Mind of Late Han China (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1980) 14–37; and Chen, “Confucian, Legalist, Taoist Thought in Later Han,” 767–807; Paul Demiéville, “Philosophy and Religion from Han to Sui,” Cambridge History of China, 808–872; and Hsiao, History of Chinese Political Thought, 469–530, 602–667. 12. Shi ji, 1.48–49; and Mengzi, 5A.2. 13. Interestingly, the present Lienü zhuan, which Zeng Gong (1019–1083) edited, lacks this element of Shun being taught the magical techniques of birds and dragons to affect his escape. For the pruned passages about these techniques, see Lienü zhuan jiaozhu, ed. Liang Duan. Sibu beiyao ed. (Taipei: Taiwan Commercial Press, 1983), 1.1a–b. The late ¤fth-century Guyuan lacquered cof¤n depicts the use of these techniques. See Guyuan Beiweimu qiguan hua, 11. 14. Shitong tongshi, 20.572. Masters of the occult, or as put more simply by Ngo, “magicians” (fangshi), were men from the northeast who specialized in longevity techniques, spirit communications, medicine, and divination. For more information on these practionners, see Ngo Van Xuyet, Divination Magie et Politique dans la Chine Ancienne (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1976); and Kenneth J. DeWoskin, trans., Doctors, Diviners, and Magicians of Ancient China: Biographies of Fang-shih (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983). 15. Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 5.23.

Notes to Pages 86–89

16. When the ¤lial woman is condemned to death, the account tells us Yu Dingguo knew that someone who was renowned for ¤lially serving her motherin-law for ten years could not commit such a murder, so he vigorously protested the judgment and resigned when the prefect would not listen to him. When the new prefect arrived and wondered why the prefecture was experiencing drought, Yu told him that it was because a ¤lial woman was unjustly executed. The prefect thereupon sacri¤ced to the ¤lial wife. 17. Soushen ji, 11.290; Fayuan zhulin, 49.362. 18. Lunheng zhuzi suoyin, 56, 250; Wang Ch’ung, Lun-heng, 1:476. Er Ziming’s story is retold in the Hou Han shu chapter on the ¤lial and righteous, but that text states that his surname is Menger. See Hou Han shu, 39.1300. 19. Lunheng zhuzi suoyin, 19, 73; Wang Ch’ung, Lun-heng, 2:189–190. 20. Kuroda thinks it is possible that Wang took this account from a Xiaozi zhuan. See Kuroda Akira, “Sosan zeigo—Kôshidenzu to Kôshiden,” in Setsuwa ronshû daijûsanshû: Chûgoku to Nihon no setsuwa I, ed. Setsuwa setsuwabungaku kai (Osaka: Seibundô, 2003), 218. 21. Lunheng zhuzi suoyin, 16, 48. 22. Rather than ¤lial piety, this tale concerns austere burials (bozang). By plowing and seeding the ground over Yao and Shun’s tombs, the animals concealed that they were buried there, thus saving the tombs from being robbed. Nevertheless, over time, the motif of elephants and birds working on Shun’s behalf became tied to his ¤liality. In fact, the standard pictorial representation of Shun in The Twenty-four Filial Exemplars genre features elephants and birds plowing and sowing the ¤elds of a living Shun. However, I have not found this motif in any of the early medieval or Tang renderings of the Shun story. 23. Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 16.42. 24. See the accounts of Jiang Shi (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 17.23), Li Shan (17.25), and Ying Shun (19.12). 25. See Jack L. Dull, “A Historical Introduction to the Apocryphal (Ch’anwei) Texts of the Han Dynasty,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Washington, 1966, 186–217; Lu Zongli, “Heaven’s Mandate and Man’s Destiny in Early Medieval China: The Role of Prophecy in Politics,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Wisconsin, 1995, 20–23; and Itano Chôhachi, “The t’u-ch’en Prophetic Books and the Establishment of Confucianism,” Memoirs of the Research Department of the Toyo Bunko, part 2, 36 (1978): 85–107. 26. See Dull, “Historical Introduction,” 217–230; and Itano, “The t’u-ch’en Prophetic Books,” 91–96. 27. A good indication of this is that many Eastern Han literati studied the apocrypha. See Jiang Qingyi, Weixue yuanliu xingfei kao; reprint (Tokyo: Kenbun, 1979), 3.4b–22b.

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28. Dull, “Historical Introduction,” 264–265. 29. See Carl Leban, “Managing Heaven’s Mandate,” in Ancient China, ed. David T. Roy and Tsuen-hsuin Tsien (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 1978), 315–342; Howard Goodman, Ts’ao P’i Transcendent: The Political Culture of Dynasty-Founding in China at the End of the Han (Seattle: Scripta Serica, 1998); and Keith N. Knapp, “Heaven and Death according to Huangfu Mi, a Third-century Confucian,” Early Medieval China 6 (2000): 1–31. 30. Jin shu, 88.2273. 31. See, e.g., Xiao Yi’s preface to his Xiaode zhuan (Yiwen leiju, 20.375), and the prefaces to the Yômei and Funabashi Xiaozi zhuan (Kôshiden chûkai, 17–19). 32. On this phenomenon, see Sun Xiao, “Handai ‘xiao’ de guannian de bianhua,” Kongzi yanjiu 11.3 (1988): 95–102; Zhao Keyao, “Lun Handai de yi xiao zhi tianxia,” Fudan xuebao (Shehui kexue ban) 3 (1992): 80–86; Ochi Shigeaki, “Shin jidai no kô,” in his Sengoku Shin Kan shi kenkyû 1 (Fukuoka: Chûgoku shoten, 1989), 323–350; Yang Aiguo, “Handai de zhongxiao guannian jiqi dui hanhua yishu de yingxiang,” Zhongyuan wenwu 2 (1993): 61–66; Itano, “Jukyô no seiritsu,” 333–366. 33. Katrina C. D. McLeod and Robin D. S. Yates, “Forms of Ch’in Law,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 41.1 (1981): 148–152. 34. Itano, “Jukyô no seiritsu,” 337–340; and Itano, Jukyô seiritsushi no kenkyû (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1995), 51–66. 35. Watanabe Shinichirô, “Kôkyô no kokkaron: Kôkyô to Kan ôchô,” in Chûgoku kizokusei shakai no kenkyû, ed. Kawakatsu Yoshio and Tonami Mamoru (Kyoto: Kyoto daigaku jinbun kagaku kenkyusho, 1987), 431–437. 36. For the dating of The Classic of Filial Piety, see William G. Boltz, “Hsiao Ching,” in Early Chinese Texts, ed. Michael Loewe (Berkeley: The Society for the Study of Early China, 1993), 142–144; Itano, Jukyô seiritsushi no kenkyû, 1–50; Watanabe Shinichirô, “Kôkyô no seiritsu to sono haikei,” Shirin 69.1 (1986): 53– 86; Chen Tiefan, Xiaojingxue yuanliu (Taipei: Guoli bianyiguan, 1986), 41–60; and Ikezawa Masaru, “The Philosophy of Filiality in Ancient China,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of British Columbia, 1994, 117–146, 198–244. 37. Ikezawa, “Philosophy of Filiality,” 152. 38. In making this translation, I have consulted that of James Legge, trans., The Sacred Books of China: The Texts of Confucianism, Part 1: The Hsiao King (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1899), 485. Signi¤cantly, these two passages that attest to the cosmological signi¤cance of ¤lial piety are quoted in the prefaces to a number of “Biographies of the Filial”: see Sui shu, 72.1661; and Wei shu, 86.1881. 39. Chen Tiefan, Xiaojing Zhengzhu jiaozheng (Taipei: Guoli bianyiguan, 1987), 112–117. 40. Weishu jicheng, ed. Yasui Kôzan and Nakamura Shôhachi; reprint, 3 vols. (Shijiazhuang: Hebei renmin, 1994), 2:1009, 1059. Xiao jing yuanshenqi likewise

Notes to Pages 92–95

tells us, “Kongzi made the Xiao jing and hence made his seventy-two disciples face the North Star and prostrate themselves” (Weishu jicheng, 2:993). 41. Weishu jicheng, 1:51–52. Yasui and Nakamura have recovered the titles of thirty-two apocrypha that were attached to the Xiao jing and thirty-seven titles that were attached to the Chunqiu. 42. See Mark Csikszentmihalyi, “Confucius and the Analects in the Han,” in Confucius and the Analects: New Essays, ed. Bryan W. Van Norden (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 134–162; Wang Bugui, Shenmi wenhua (Beijing: Zhongguo shehuikexue, 1993), 147–148. 43. Weishu jicheng, 2:1007, 1015. For early medieval Chinese, the polestar was important because it was visible during all seasons of the year. Due to its immobility, it was viewed as the “August Emperor of Heaven” (Tianhuang dadi) that governed all the heavenly spirits. See Edward H. Schafer, Pacing the Void: T’ang Approaches to the Stars (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977), 44–46. 44. Weishu jicheng, 2:1001–1002. 45. Ibid., 2:971. Historical sources ¤rst mention this text in AD 25. 46. Ibid., 2:976, 998, 1007, 1008. For the connection between these omens and dynastic legitimation, see Tizianna Lippiello, Auspicious Omens and Miracles in Ancient China: Han, Three Kingdoms and Six Dynasties (Sankt Augustin, Germany: Steyler Verl., 2001), 40–50, 122–149. 47. Weishu jicheng, 2:1017. 48. Ibid., 2:971, 998. 49. Ibid., 2:997–998. 50. Sanguo zhi, 48.1169. 51. Weishu jicheng, 2:971. Although it is not clear what story he is referring to when Song says that Zengzi was able to bring forth rare things in his region, it is clear that he is citing a speci¤c story, just as the line about Zengzi’s being affected by his mother at a thousand li is referring to the tale in which his mother bites her ¤nger to summon him. 52. Taiping yulan, 411.7b, 644.6a. 53. Ibid., 389.5b, 411.6a. Huayang guozhi and Shuijing zhu say that his name is Wei Xiang. See Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 10b.780; and Zheng Dekun, Shuijing zhu gushi chao, 178. 54. Shuijing zhushu, 3:2961. In a story with a similar theme, Jiang Shi’s mother also loved water drawn from the middle of a river. Jiang and his wife made so many sacri¤ces to furnish her with it that a spring, with water tasting the same as that from a river, gushed forth next to their home (Taiping yulan, 411.1ab). Note that the apocrypha mentioned that sweet springs would appear from the sincere practice of ¤lial piety. 55. For this kind of tale, see the accounts of Wen Rang (Taiping yulan,

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Notes to Pages 95–97

411.6a), Zong Cheng (Taiping yulan, 37.6b, 411.7a), Li Tao (Yiwen leiju, 92.1592), and Yan Wu (Yiwen leiju, 92.1592; Kôshiden chûkai, 165–166). 56. Taiping guangji, 292.614. In another version of the tale, Yang’s newfound wealth enables him to get a pedigreed bride. This turn of events surprises the emperor, who then gives him an of¤cial appointment. See Soushen ji no. 285; and Shuijing zhushu, 2:1234–1235. These two texts’ version is particularly interesting because it gives us a sense of how many early medieval men moved into the top echelons of Chinese society: by means of their wealth, they procured a bride from a prominent family, then used this prestigious marriage to come to the emperor’s attention. The ¤gure of Yang Gong was known by a number of names, such as Yang Yong, Yang Weng, and Yang Boyong. In fact, Kuroda has discovered twenty different variants of his name. Nevertheless, as Kuroda points out, the earliest citations of the story at the Wu Liang shrine and in Ge Hong’s (284–363) Baopuzi both call him Yang Gong. Kuroda has suggested that this confusion of names resulted from the con¶ation of Yang Gong with other people named Yang. See Kuroda Akira, “Kôshidenzu to Kôshiden—Yô Kô zeigo,” in Kôshiden chûkai. 57. Taiping yulan, 411.7b–8a. 58. Ibid., 411.8b–9a, 811.8b–9a; Yiwen leiju, 83.1424; Fayuan zhulin, 49.361; and Soushen ji no. 283. 59. Nan Qi shu, 55.960. 60. So little, in fact, that Wu Hung does not even think it is a ¤lial piety story (Wu Hung, The Wu Liang Shrine, 144, 168, 182). A fragment from Soushen ji merely tells us that he was extremely ¤lial. Nevertheless, the versions of the story found in Xiaozi zhuan have much more to say about his ¤lial behavior. Xiao Yi’s Xiaode zhuan reads, “While young, Gong cultivated ¤liality and respectfulness, which reached those both far and near. After his parents died and the rites of burial were completed, for a long time he yearned for them and his thoughts often dwelt on them. He could not control his heart-mind. He thereupon sold his land and home, and moved north to a place that neither had water or broth” (Taiping guangji, 292.614). This text obviously implies that furnishing strangers with water was a therapy by which Yang tried to control the grief he felt for his dead parents. Yômei Xiaozi zhuan has a similar description of his ¤liality (Kôshiden chûkai, 242). 61. For tales with a similar structure and message, see Kuai Shen (Soushen ji no. 451; and Gu Xiaozi zhuan, 30) and Guo Wen (Taiping yulan, 892.1b; and Jin shu, 94.2440). 62. For Xiaozi zhuan that include Yang Gong’s tale, see note 60 above. The compiler of the Jin shu “Biographies of the Filial” also includes Yang Gong’s reward among his list of ¤lial miracles. See Jin shu, 88.2273. 63. Pictorial representations of this tale can be found on the following artifacts: the Nelson-Atkins Northern Wei sarcophagus, the C. T. Loo Northern Wei

Notes to Pages 97–98

sarcophagus, the Nelson-Atkins Northern Qi stone bed, and the Guyuan lacquered cof¤n. See Kuroda, Kôshiden no kenkyû, 200–207. 64. The late fourth-century Guangshiyin yingyanji, the earliest known collection of Buddhist miracle tales, has the story of Zhu Changshu (Jin dynasty), a devout Buddhist who was particularly fond of the Guanyin jing. Once, when a ¤re threatened his home, he and his family members single-mindedly intoned this sutra. At the last minute, the ¤re suddenly changed direction. Everyone believed that this miracle was brought on by a response from the spirits. See Guanshiyin yingyanji (sanzhong), ed. Sun Changwu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1994), 2. Except for the appeal to the Guanyin jing, this part of the story is doubtlessly modeled after either the ¤lial miracle of Gu Chu or Cai Shun: a ¤re miraculously bypasses a man’s house due to his exemplary sincerity. This Buddhist account even has the standard line that usually ends a ¤lial miracle tale: “At that time everyone believed that it [the miracle] was caused by a response from the spirits.” This seems to be a clear case where Chinese Buddhists borrowed a ¤lial miracle story and adapted it to their own needs. 65. Yiwen leiju, 8.151; and Taiping yulan, 60.3b, 186. Although I have not found an earlier version of this miracle, the third-century Fuzi credits Guan Ning with similar ones. See Sanguo zhi, 11.358. 66. Guan’s ¤lial acts include refusing to receive any funerary gifts and using all of his wealth to ¤nance his father’s funeral (Sanguo zhi, 11.354). As for his mother, she died when Guan was small, so he did not even know what she looked like. Yet he would always hold a special feast in her memory and weep all the while (Sanguo zhi, 11.358). 67. Taiping yulan, 411.7a–b. 68. Zhao Xiao (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 17.23; and Hou Han shu, 39.1299). For other tales with this same theme of bandits or rebels being defanged by ¤lial piety, see Chunyu Gong (Hou Han shu, 39.1301), Wang Lin (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 16.43; and Hou Han shu, 39.1300), Zhao Zi (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 21.13; Hou Han shu, 39.1313), Jiang Gong (Taiping yulan, 420.7a–b), and Pan Zong (Taiping yulan, 411.3a; and Song shu, 91.2248). 69. A bound retainer named Dou Fu was captured by his master’s enemy. Dou, along with six or seven of his colleagues, was about to be executed. A monk told Dou that if he sincerely gave his heart to Guanyin, he would receive a miraculous response (ganying). For three days Dou single-mindedly concentrated on the bodhisattva; his chains suddenly fell away from his body. But he would not leave and said that although he was now free, his colleagues were not; hence he could not leave without them. Guanyin’s tremendous power then freed all the rest (Guanshiyin yingyanji, 5–6). This tale bears an uncanny resemblance to that of Wei Tan (¶. 58–76), who was captured by hungry bandits along with several tens of other people. Even

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Notes to Pages 98–100

though a bandit secretly released him because of his digni¤ed and solemn demeanor, Wei refused to go and told the bandits, “There will probably be more than enough of me to go around. The others will be like eating weeds, and will not measure up to eating me.” Wei impressed the bandits so much that they let everyone go (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 17.24; and Hou Han shu, 39.1300). Here again is a case where the Buddhist compiler based his tale on a ¤lial miracle story, but readjusted it to shed glory on Guanyin. What this borrowing suggests is that when Buddhist writers were searching for vehicles to promote Buddhism, they found ¤lial piety stories attractive because such stories were already familiar to their Chinese audience, and they were so effective in highlighting the ef¤cacy of a supernatural entity. 70. Taiping yulan, 415.4a. 71. Shuijing zhushu, 3: 3336–3337. 72. Hou Han shu, 39.1302. 73. Kôshiden chûkai, 185–186. This account ¤rst appears in Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin (21.37), which describes how his stepmother tried to kill him while he was asleep. However, according to this version, right when she was about to stab him, Jiang got up to go to the toilet. Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin ends there; hence in this version it is not clear whether nature’s call or heavenly intervention saved Jiang’s life. For a story with the same motif but which features the more famous Wang Xiang, see Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 1.14. 74. Kôshiden chûkai, 186; Wu Hung translates this version in The Wu Liang Shrine, 292. 75. Ningxia Guyuan bowuguan, Guyuan Beiweimu qiguan hua, 11. Similarly, a poem attached to the end of a Shun account in a late Tang Twenty-four Filial Exemplars explicitly states that it was a heavenly miracle that allowed him to escape the well: “Being ¤lial and obedient to one’s parents stimulates heaven. Shun cleaned the well and found silver cash. His parents threw down a rock to crush Shun. Because of a heavenly response, he was able to tunnel into the well of his eastern neighbor.” See Dunhuang bianwen, 2:901. 76. Dunhuang bianwen, 1:131–132. 77. For other examples, see Xiao Zhi (Yiwen leiju, 90.1571; and Taiping yulan, 917.8a), Xiao Guo (Yiwen leiju, 95.1649), and Ding Mi (Yiwen leiju, 91.1582). 78. Taiping yulan, 906.7b. For other examples, see Zhu Mi (Chuxue ji, 1.21; and Taiping yulan, 13.3b), Pi Yan (Yiwen leiju, 92.1599), Xu Xian (Yiwen leiju, 92.1599), Shentu Fan (Hou Han shu jijie, ed. Wang Xianqian (19th cent.) [Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1984], 53.9b), and Xia Fang (Yiwen leiju, 90.1556). 79. Shuijing zhushu, 3:2381–2382. For similar tales, see Tang Song (Taiping yulan, 906.8a) and Du Ya (Gu Xiaozi zhuan, 8). 80. Although not famous for his ¤liality, the following account of the virtuous Zheng Hong makes this point clearly. When Zheng was governor of Linhuai, he

Notes to Pages 101–103

went out on his spring tour. Two white deer followed his chariot. He thought this was strange and asked his senior recorder whether deer were an inauspicious or auspicious omen. He congratulated Zheng and said, “I have heard that the screens of the Three Dukes’ covered chariots had deer painted on them. You will become prime minister.” As expected, Zheng became the grand protector (Yiwen leiju, 95.1648). 81. Yiwen leiju, 92.1600. For similar examples, see Ding Mao (Yiwen leiju, 95.1648; and Taiping yulan, 906.8a) and Fang Chu (Yiwen leiju, 95.1650). 82. For other examples, see endnotes 89, 90, 91 below. For a list of auspicious white animal omens, see Lippiello, Auspicious Omens, 135–139. Why were white animals considered especially auspicious? One answer would be that they were considered especially long-lived. The Baopuzi states that hares and deer have life spans of a thousand years and that when they reach ¤ve hundred years of age they become white (Yiwen leiju, 95.1648, 1650). Since the Shanhai jing states that many of these white animals live in far-off countries, their auspiciousness could also be related to their rarity. The Baopuzi states that the reason King Cheng of the Zhou considered white pheasants to be auspicious was not because they were auspicious in themselves, but because they came from such a faraway place, indicating the great reach of his virtue (Taiping yulan, 917.8b). 83. Taiping yulan, 411.6a. 84. A court debate identi¤ed the bird as a luan—a particularly auspicious bird. See Yiwen leiju, 90.1560. 85. Ibid., 88.1515, 90.1560, 95.1650. 86. Taiping yulan, 411.1a; and Hou Han shu, 10a.407. 87. See the tale of Wu Shuhe (Yiwen leiju, 92.1592). 88. Weishu jicheng, 2:977–978. 89. Taiping yulan, 411.7a. This text actually reads tian chang, but I follow Mao Panlin and Huang Renheng’s emendation of tiandi, which makes much better sense. See Gu Xiaozi zhuan, 19; and Guxiao huizhuan, 2:18a, b. 90. Taiping yulan, 101; Dunhuang bianwen, 2:886–887; Fayuan zhulin, 49.362. 91. Taiping yulan, 411.7b–8a. 92. See note 52 above. 93. Jin shu, 88.2288. 94. According to one version of the story, after Yang Gong performs numerous ¤lial acts, the heavenly deity (Tianshen) transforms himself into a student who asks Yang why he does not cultivate crops to support himself. He thereupon gives Yang several liters of seeds that become jade. See Taiping guangji, 292.614; and Kôshiden chûkai, 242–243. 95. See Zhong Zhaopeng, Chenwei lunlüe (Shenyang: Liaoning jiaoyu, 1991),

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189–193; and Hou Wailu, et al., Zhongguo sixiang tongshi, 5 vols. (Beijing: Renmin, 1957), 2:232–247. 96. A late Tang or Five Dynasties tale with this theme is that of Xiang Sheng’s wife, who heaven strikes dead with a thunderbolt because she mixed excrement with the food she fed her mother-in-law. The thunderbolt inscribed on her back had the following words: “Xiang Sheng’s wife has committed [one of] the ¤ve deadly sins; heaven thereby has used a thunderbolt to hit and kill her” (Dunhuang bianwen, 2:909). Nevertheless, Wang Chong tells us that in his day (¤rst century AD) there were already oral stories about people who were struck down by heaven with thunderbolts because they fed someone impure food. Moreover, these people would have words seared into their backs (Lunheng zhuzi suoyin, 23.89–90; Wang Ch’ung, Lun-Heng, 1:288–290). This being the case, there obviously could have been stories like that of Xiang Sheng’s wife circulating in early medieval China, which were not incorporated into the literary record, or which the texts they were recorded in did not survive over time. For a discussion of this belief of thunderbolts as instruments of divine punishment, see Charles Hammond, “Waiting for a Thunderbolt,” Asian Folklore Studies 51.1 (1992): 4–11. 97. See the appendix. 98. Queen, From Chronicle to Canon, 210–211. 99. Chunqiu fanlu zhuzi suoyin, 12.6, 15.5; and Fung, History of Chinese Philosophy, 2:42–45. Sun Xiao makes this argument in “Handai ‘xiao’ de guannian de bianhua,” 97–98. 100. This view of the relationship between parent and child ultimately came from “Zhongxiao pian” of the Han Feizi. See Tanaka Masami, Ryôkan shisô no kenkyû (Tokyo: Kenbun shuppan, 1986), 121–137. 101. See Hsiao, History of Chinese Political Thought, 503–514; and Ch’en Ch’iyün, Hsün Yüeh and the Mind of Late Han China, 20–25. With this in mind, a number of Confucian advocates went so far as to advise emperors to abdicate the throne and yield it to the most virtuous commoner—a suggestion that, unsurprisingly, never met with imperial favor. 102. Soushen ji no. 285. 103. Taiping yulan, 411.7a; and Nan Qi shu, 55.958. 104. Dunhuang bianwen, 2:901. 105. For examples of this, see the Nelson Sarcophagus and the Datong lacquered screen. 106. During the Northern and Southern Dynasties period, nearly half of the rulers died violently; from AD 220 to 589, the average reign length was 8.6 years, whereas during the Han it was 15, the Tang 15, and the Song 17. See Dison Hsueh-feng Poe, “348 Chinese Emperors—A Statistic-analytical Study of Imperial Succession,” The Tsing Hua Journal of Chinese Studies 13.1–2 (1981): 69, 118.

Notes to Pages 107–111

107. Chennault has brilliantly shown the hardships that even the famous Xie family experienced in maintaining over time its position at court: out of the ¤ve branches of the family that had high-ranking members in the early Liu-Song dynasty (420–479), only one continued to hold high positions straight through the Liang. Her study also indicates that being a high of¤cial was extremely dangerous during this period. See Cynthia L. Chennault, “Lofty Gates or Solitary Impoverishment? Xie Family Members of the Southern Dynasties,” T’oung Pao 85 (1999): 254. 108. Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 13, 53. Yen Chih-t’ui, Family Instructions for the Yen Clan: Yen-shih chia-hsün, trans. Teng Ssu-yü (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1968), 127. 109. Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 8, 25; Yen, Family Instructions for the Yen Clan, 54. 110. Kinney has indicated that the theme of precocious children became especially popular in Eastern Han literature because it championed this message of merit over birth—despite their weakness and vulnerability, these children gain recognition because of their talent. Such tales also indicate that the divine esteems virtue over re¤nement or wealth. Kinney further suggests that this theme was particularly popular in the Eastern Han due to an increased competition for of¤cial employment. See Anne Behnke Kinney, “The Theme of the Precocious Child in Early Chinese Literature,” T’oung Pao 81 (1995): 1–24. 111. Wei shu, 60.1338. 112. Ibid., 60.1340–1341. 113. Anna Seidel, “Imperial Treasures and Taoist Sacraments—Taoist Roots in the Apocrypha,” in Tantric and Taoist Studies in Honour of R. A. Stein, vol. 2: Mélanges Chinois et Bouddhiques 21, ed. Michel Strickmann (Bruxelles: Institut Belge des Hautes Études Chinoises, 1983), 291–371. 114. Yiwen leiju, 99.1715. 115. Lippiello, Auspicious Omens, 122–153. 116. Wu Hung, The Wu Liang Shrine, 96–107; and Powers, Art and Political Expression in Early China, 224–278. 117. Lippiello, Auspicious Omens, 97. Curiously, though, in the case of the Wu shrine, Lippiello believes that the illustrations of auspicious omens do not have political content; instead, they merely signal the good times that the family enjoyed, or their wishes of continued prosperity in the hereafter (76). Yet Lippiello herself notes that the Wu family was wealthy, eminent, and had connections to the imperial bureaucracy. Thus it would seem to mean that in this case, too, the auspicious omens grant political legitimacy to the Wu family. 118. Similarly, out of the 302 ¤lial piety stories summarized in Lin Tong’s (?–1276) Xiao shi (Poems on Filiality), not one contains the appearance of an auspicious omen. 119. Lu Zongli, “Heaven’s Mandate,” 25–158.

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120. Ibid., 69–78, 251–254. 121. Taiping yulan, 411.3a; and Song shu, 91.2248 5. Reverent Caring 1. For a discussion of xiao’s earliest meanings, see Keith N. Knapp, “The Ru Reinterpretation of Xiao,” Early China 20 (1995): 197–204. 2. Concerning the hierarchical implications of the word jing, see ibid., 206, note 40. 3. Alan Cole, Mothers and Sons in Chinese Buddhism (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1998), 14–31. 4. Shimomi Takao, Kô to bôsei no mekanizumu (Tokyo: Kyûbun shupan, 1997), 95–129, 169–184; and Shimomi, Jukyô shakai to bosei (Tokyo: Kenbun shuppan, 1994), 253–271. 5. The Yu pian thus provides one gloss of yang as “to prepare delicacies to respectfully care for (gongyang) superiors (zunzhe).” See Yuanben Yupian canjuan (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1985), 84, 286. 6. For a de¤nition of gongyang in Buddhist usage, see William Edward Soothill and Lewis Hodous, A Dictionary of Chinese Buddhist Terms (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Turbiner & Co., 1934), 249. Legge has noted that in Fa Xian’s (335–420) account of traveling to India, gongyang is one of the most frequently used compounds. See Fa Hsien, A Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms, trans. James Legge (New York: Paragon Book Reprint Corp., 1965), 20, note 3. 7. Han Feizi zhuzi suoyin 32, 84. 8. See Taiping yulan, 811, 8b. 9. E.g., to earn Nie Zheng’s friendship, Yan Sui set out a feast for his mother and presented her with a hundred pieces of gold. Nie refused the gift by saying, “[Even though] I am a stranger here who works as a dog butcher, each morning and evening I can get sweet and soft things with which to sustain (yang) my parent, thus my parent’s reverent caring (gongyang) is complete. Hence I don’t dare accept your gift” (Zhanguo ce zhuzi suoyin no. 385; Shi ji, 86.14). As Nie makes clear, no matter how humble his occupation is, as long as he can provide his mother with delicacies, he is ful¤lling the requirements of reverent caring. 10. Li ji zhu shu, in Shisanjing zhushu, 27.5b. 11. Lunheng zhuzi suoyin 85, 372. 12. The Han Feizi employs this compound three times. Among Western Han texts, it appears in the Book of Rites once, the Xinxu once, Zhanguo ce once, Huainanzi twice, Shi ji thrice, and the Lienü zhuan once. 13. Even in this case, it is somewhat different than later occurrences because the ¤lial son, Yu, the sage emperor, deprives himself to feed his ancestors, rather than his living parents. The Analects, 8.21.

Notes to Pages 116–117

14. Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhuzi suoyin, ed. Lau and Chen (Hong Kong: The Commercial Press, 1995), B7.2.3 (Xuan Gong 2). 15. After vowing not to see his mother again until reaching the afterworld, Duke Zhuang asked Ying Kaoshu why he did not eat the meat broth the duke had just bestowed upon him. Ying replied that he wanted to take it to his mother, with whom he shared all his food. This statement made Duke Zhuang realize the callous nature of his vow. The story’s narrator thus praises Ying for transforming the duke’s behavior, not for his ¤lial action of saving food for his mother. See Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhuzi suoyin, B1.1.4 (Yin Gong 1). 16. Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 6.18. 17. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 8.1; Li Chi, 1:343–344. 18. One Western Han exception to this would be Yuan Ang’s account of Han Wendi’s ¤liality. There, Yuan asserts that when Wendi’s mother was sick for three years, his eyelids never closed, he never changed clothes, and he would always ¤rst taste his mother’s medicine. Thus his ¤liality surpassed that of even Zengzi. See Shi ji huizhu kaozheng, 101.2738; and Han shu, 49.2269. 19. This of course ran counter to early Ru attitudes towards of¤ce holding, which held that one should not hold of¤ce unless the Way prevailed or one could serve a worthy ruler. See Robert Eno, The Confucian Creation of Heaven (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1990), 43–52. I think this change indicates the overwhelming importance of ¤lial piety in the Han. 20. See Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, 1.1, 1.17, 7.7; Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 3.5; Xinxu zhuzi suoyin, 5.30; Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 2.6; Hou Han shu, 39.1294, 81.2678; and Kongzi jiayu, Sibu kanyao ed. (Taipei: Shijie shuju), 1983, 2.17. 21. An example of this is Zilu, who said he would gladly exchange his present exalted position and its lavish bene¤ts for the times he ate plain food and carried heavy burdens on behalf of his parents. In other words, the rewards of high of¤ce are not comparable to the satisfaction obtained in nurturing one’s living parents. See Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 3.5 and Kongzi jiayu, 2.17. 22. Kongzi jiayu, 9.88. 23. Xu Fuguan, Lianghan sixiangshi, 3:39–42. 24. See Xinxu zhuzi suoyin, 8.14; Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, 10.13. The Han Feizi also refers to this story (Han Feizi zhuzi suoyin 49, 147). For other stories with this motif, see Zhuang Zhishan (Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, 1.21; Xinxu zhuzi suoyin, 8.9) and Shen Ming (Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, 10.24; Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 4.14). 25. As Lindell notes, this type of story illustrates the Ru tenet that a sage would rather choose death than act immorally. See Kristina Lindell, “Stories of Suicide in Ancient China,” Acta Orientalia 35 (1973): 180.

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26. The tale of Shen Sheng is an exception to this pattern of virtuous suicide. Contriving to establish her own son as heir, Lady Liji convinced his father that Shen tried to poison him. When someone told Shen that he should either ¶ee to another kingdom or explain the situation to his father, he refused to do either. His rationale was, “Without Lady Ji, my father cannot rest in comfort, cannot eat his food with satisfaction. If I try to excuse myself, the blame will fall on Lady Li. My father is an old man—I could never be happy with such a course of action.” See Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhuzi suoyin, B5.4.6 (Duke Xi 4); the translation is from Burton Watson, The Tso Chuan (New York: Columbia University Press, 1989), 23–24. In sum, Shen sacri¤ced himself not to save his father’s life, but merely to save him from embarrassment and to ensure his comfort. In a way, by trying to make sure his father was happy and comfortable, he died in an effort to reverently care for his father. This is perhaps why this tale was one of the few Warring States narratives that early medieval authors incorporated into their Xiaozi zhuan. See Kuroda, “Shin Sei zeigo—Kôshidenzu to Kôshiden,” Mikyô tozô 22 (2003): 17–31. 27. For an exception, see Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 5.3. 28. Ibid., 5.7, 5.14, 5.15. 29. Ibid., 5.6, 5.8, 5.12. 30. Han Feizi zhuzi suoyin 49, 147. 31. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 5.6. 32. Norman Kutcher, Mourning in Late Imperial China: Filial Piety and the State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 2–3. 33. Taiping yulan, 414.2a ; Chuxue ji, 17.421. For a similar tale, see that of Yin Yun (Chuxue ji, 17.421; and Taiping yulan, 414.1b). 34. Song shu, 91.2257–2258; Taiping yulan, 413.8a; and Yiwen leiju, 20.371. 35. See Du Xiao (Chuxue ji, 17.422; Taiping yulan, 411.5b; and Yiwen leiju, 96.1673). 36. Taiping yulan, 862.2b. For a similar anecdote, see ibid., 413.7b–8a; and Song shu, 93.2295. 37. Taiping yulan, 412.5b; and Jin shu, 88.2290. 38. Taiping yulan, 412.4a-4b; Chuxue ji, 17.420; and Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, 8.320. 39. Unlike later versions of this story, none of its early versions has Wang Xiang lying or sleeping on the ice. In each case, he is trying to physically break the ice open. See Taiping yulan, 26.9b; and Chuxue ji, 3.60; Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 1.14; Yiwen leiju, 9.179-180; and Jin shu, 33.989. According to another version, while waiting on the shore to spot carp, day after day Wang braved a severe winter wind (Beitang shuchao, 158.4a–b). 40. Taiping yulan, 411.1a–b; Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 17.22; Hou Han shu, 84.2783; Huayang guozhi, 10b.755.

Notes to Pages 121–123

41. Jin shu, 88.2288. 42. See the accounts of Han Wendi (Yiwen leiju, 20.370), Fan Liao (Taiping yulan, 412.4b), Cai Yong (Taiping yulan, 414.2b), Bao Ang (Taiping yulan, 414.2b), and Li Mi (Jin shu, 88.2274). 43. See the accounts of Xiahou Xin (Taiping yulan, 411.7a), Miao Fei (Taiping yulan, 411.7b), Liu Lingzhe (Taiping yulan, 411.3b), and Xiao Ruiming (Taiping yulan). 44. For some of the tasks that early medieval servants and slaves performed, see C. Martin Wilbur, Slavery in China during the Former Han Dynasty (New York: Klaus Reprint Co., 1968), 178–184, 382–392; and Wang Yi-t’ung, “Slaves and Other Comparable Social Groups during the Northern Dynasties (386–618),” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 16 (1953): 331–344. 45. The earliest ¤lial piety story with this motif appears only in the Western Han. According to the Shi ji, despite his own advanced age, Shi Jian, a high of¤cial, returned home every ¤ve days from his post to wash his father’s undergarments and chamber pot. See Shi ji, 103.5–6; and Han shu, 46.2195. For ¤lial children who suck pus from their parent’s sores, see Liu Xia (Taiping yulan, 411.4b), Fan Liao (Chuxue ji, 17.421; and Soushen ji, 11.280), Wei Da (Taiping yulan, 742.5b), and Cai Shun (Chuxue ji, 17.421). For ¤lial children who taste their parent’s vomit, see Cai Shun (Chuxue ji, 17.421) and Gui Hao (Taiping yulan, 743.4b). For a ¤lial son who tastes his mother’s feces, see Yu Qianlou (Liang shu, 47.650-651). 46. Taiping yulan, 742.5a. 47. As The Analects mentions, serving one’s parents what is dif¤cult is to control one’s countenance (The Analects, 2.8); the Book of Rites further states that due to his profound love for his parents, a ¤lial child always has a pleasing countenance (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 25.14). 48. Xu Gaosengzhuan, by Daoxuan, in Gaoseng zhuan heji (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1991), 24.307b. Cited in Cao Shibang, “Sengshi suozai Zhongguo sengtu dui fumu shizun xingxiao de yi xie shilie,” in Wenshi yanjiu lunji, ed. Xu Fuguan xiansheng jinian lunwenji bianji weiyuanhui (Taipei: Taiwan Xuesheng shuju, 1986), 195–196. 49. Hou Han ji, 135. For a similar account, see Ji Shao in Taiping yulan, 412.5a. 50. The Analects, 3.12. 51. Hou Han shu, 54.1760. For a similar story featuring Wang Pou, see Jin shu, 88.2278; and Sanguo zhi, 11.348. 52. Wang Sanqing, Dunhuang leishu, 1:214. The Han shu conversation, upon which this account is based, says nothing about the emperor working the land to provide the empress dowager with food. See Han shu, 49.2268.

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53. Taiping yulan, 411.1a–b, 413.7a–b, and 414.2b. For other examples, see Xing Qu (Taiping yulan, 411.6a; Kôshiden chûkai, 47), Ji Mai (Taiping yulan, 411.7b–8a), Shentu Xun (Taiping yulan, 413.7a), Li Du (Taiping yulan, 414.1a–b), Xuan Yan (Taiping yulan, 414.2b), and Zhan Qin (Yiwen leiju, 97.1683). 54. For the appearance of wage laborers in China, see Watanabe, Chûgoku kodai shakai ron, 22; for the appearance of slaves and bondsmen, see E. G. Pulleyblank, “The Origins and Nature of Chattel Slavery in China,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 1 (1957–1958): 185–220. 55. Zhang Kai sold medicine (Hou Han shu, 36.1243), Cheng Jian polished mirrors (Taiping yulan, 411.1b), Shentu Fan was a lacquer artisan (Hou Han shu, 53.1751), and Guo Yuanping became a carpenter and tomb builder (Song shu, 91.2244). 56. Cao Zhi ji zhuzi suoyin, 11.6.2; and Song shu, 22.627. For similar statements about Jiang Ge, see Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, 8.321; and Hou Han shu, 39.1302. 57. For the low social status of hired laborers in Roman society, see M. I. Finley, The Ancient Economy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), 41–42, 65–67. Since they were not even considered part of society, slaves in China were at the bottom of the social hierarchy. Yet as Finley points out in the case of Rome, the uniform legal status of slaves masked the vast differences in wealth and position among them. Hence due to their belonging to a wealthy household, some slaves were far better off and more respected than their wage-laborer counterparts (64–67). This held true for slaves in China as well. See Ch’u, Han Social Structure, 151–156. 58. See Scott Pearce, “Status, Labor, and Law: Special Service Households under the Northern Dynasties,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 51.1 (1991): 115–116, 123–129, and Wang Yi-t’ung, “Slaves and Other Comparable Social Groups,” 326. 59. Hou Han shu, 64.2099. 60. Yan Zhitui says that in the north, after a man who has remarried dies, “sons slander their [step- mothers by calling them ‘concubines’; younger brothers dismiss their elder [half] brothers as ‘hired laborers’ (yong).” See Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 4, 6. 61. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 1.7, 33.10. 62. Renwu zhi, by Liu Shao (¶. 250). Sibu beiyao ed. (Taipei: Taiwan Zhonghua shuju, 1983), 2.12a; this translation has been modi¤ed from that of J. K. Shryock, trans., The Study of Human Abilities: The Ren wu chih of Liu Shao (New York: Kraus Reprint Corporation, 1966), 137. 63. In Lienü zhuan, Jing Jiang criticizes her son because he allows his friends to wait on him as if he were their father or elder brother. She tells him this is not appropriate behavior for someone who is young and whose position is low. He there-

Notes to Pages 125–126

upon corrects his behavior by associating only with men who are older and more worthy than himself. When with them, he opens his lapels, rolls up his sleeves, and personally serves them food. When his mother sees this, she admiringly says, “You have become an adult” (Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 1.10). Her son shows his maturity by waiting on his elders as an inferior or a servant would. Note that the way he expresses his respect is in part by personally serving them food. Stories that show ¤lial sons becoming slaves or hired laborers are making the same point, but in a more exaggerated way. 64. Qu Xuanying, Zhongguo shehui shiliao congchao, 2 vols. (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1985), 1:127–128, 134–135; Yu Yingshi, “Han China,” in Food in Chinese Culture, ed. K. C. Chang (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1977), 74–76; David R. Knechtges, “Gradually Entering the Realm of Delight: Food and Drink in Early Medieval China,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 117.2 (1997): 230; and K. C. Chang, “Introduction,” in Food in Chinese Culture, 15–17. 65. For instance, while in of¤ce, Kong Fen would give his mother only the choicest of foods, while his wife and children ate only vegetables (Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, 8.320; and Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 15.11). Li Du was a copyist at night so that he could buy his mother meat and millet seed, but his wife and children ate only vegetables (Taiping yulan, 414.1a–b). And Xue Bao used rice to offer sacri¤ces to his dead parents, but he ate only taro (Hou Han shu jijie, 39.2a). 66. Yiwen leiju, 20.370; and Taiping yulan, 414.1b–2a. That one would expect the prestige food to go to the honored guest can be seen in a story about Tao Kan’s mother, Lady Zhan. In the middle of the winter, an important visitor came unexpectedly and stayed at their home. Lady Zhan ripped apart her bedding and gave the hay stuf¤ng to her guest’s horse to eat, and then she secretly cut her hair and sold it to her neighbor so that she could present delicacies to her guest. See Jin shu, 96.2512. Lady Zhan is admirable precisely because of the extreme sacri¤ces she made to do the right thing: lavishly entertain an important guest. 67. Nan Qi shu, 55.964. 68. See Nan shi, 73.1815. This story appears in Xiao Ruiming’s biography. When Xiao heard about Zhu’s un¤liality, he became so emotionally overcome that he could not eat for several days. Afterwards, he inquired as to the whereabouts of Zhu’s grave because he wanted to personally mutilate his corpse. He changed his mind, though, when he thought that it would serve only to pollute his knife. Interestingly, this story does not appear in Xiao Ruiming’s earlier biography, which can be found in the Nan Qi shu, 55.963. 69. With the advent of the “nine rank” system during the Wei dynasty (220– 265) that soon made pedigree the basis of of¤ce holding, great families endeavored to maintain their monopoly on high of¤ce by going to great lengths to separate themselves from less prominent elite families. They did so through the

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practice of endogamy, the compilation of genealogies, and by cultivating a reputation for learning and re¤nement. In fact, gentlemen viewed themselves as separate from commoners by a vast and unbridgeable divide. Jiang Ao, the assistant director of the left, asserted, “In regard to the boundaries between shi and shu, they are truly separated by Heaven itself”—an assertion with which his fellow court discussants wholeheartedly agreed (Song shu, 42.1317-21). 70. Yiwen leiju, 83.1424. A story that resembles this one but lacks the child being saved through divine intervention is that of Guo Shidao (Taiping yulan, 413.8a; and Song shu, 91.2243). A story involving a similar choice is that of Zhao Zi. See Yiwen leiju, 20.370; Hou Han shu, 39.1313). 71. For this phrase, see Dunhuang bianwen, 2:886, 905. As for the Zuo zhuan story, when a concubine found out that her husband planned to assassinate her father, she asked her mother what to do. Her mother replied, “All men are potential husbands, but you have only one father. How could there be any comparison?” See Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhuzi suoyin, B2.15.2 (Huan Gong 15); Watson, The Tso Chuan, 12. 72. Hou Han shu, 39.1295–1296. Interestingly, in this case his brother’s daughter is more important than his own son. 73. Mengzi, 5A1; Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, 8.23; Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 10.9. 74. E.g., when in of¤ce, He Ziping devoted his entire salary to his mother and would spend none of it on his own wife and children. When someone asked him about this, he replied, “It is merely that I hope my salary will principally be put to use in supporting my parent, and not put into use on my own behalf” (Song shu, 91.2258). In other words, if he used his salary to bene¤t his wife and children, he would be using it to bene¤t himself. 75. Han and Luo, “Guyuan beiweimu qiguan de faxian,” 5–6. 76. This story appears more frequently on remaining Northern and Southern Dynasties artifacts than any other. Of the twelve Northern and Southern Dynasties artifacts that are adorned with ¤lial piety narratives, the Guo Ju story appears on eight—two-thirds. Since one would expect that artisans usually decorated tombs with images of the most popular stories, the frequency of its depiction is a good measure of the welcome it received. 77. The only exception to this is in the Hou Han shu biography of Liu Ping, which describes how as an of¤cial he loyally served his governor. Characteristically for the early medieval period, the lord to whom he showed loyalty was not the country’s ruler, but his immediate superior (39.1296). 78. Zhang Ti’s family was poor and had nothing with which to reverently care for his mother. He told his rich neighbor about the situation, but the neighbor lent him nothing. Zhang could not overcome his anger, so he joined with

Notes to Pages 127–129

four of his friends and turned to banditry. Of the clothes and goods he obtained this way, he did not even retain a single coin for himself (Nan shi, 74.1836). 79. Tang Changru, Wei-Jin Nanbeichao shilun sheyi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1983), 238–253. Another piece of evidence that con¤rms Tang’s supposition is the timing of the appearance of the dynastic histories’ chapters dedicated to ¤lial sons and loyal retainers. The ¤rst chapter dedicated to ¤lial children in a dynastic history appears in the third century, whereas a special chapter dedicated to loyal of¤cials called “Zhongyi zhuan” appears only in the Jin shu, which was completed in 644. Tellingly, even though “Biographies of the Filial” usually took pride of place among collective biographies in histories written during the Six Dynasties period, in dynastic histories compiled during the Tang, the former always come after “Biographies of the Loyal.” 80. Lu Yaodong, Wei-Jin shixue de sixiang yu shehui jichu, 122–123. 81. Hou Han shu, 76.2462–2463. 82. On the connection between sel¶essness and fame, see Jin shu, 75.1968– 1969. 83. For a discussion of reciprocity as the basis of Chinese social relationships in general and the parent-child relationship in particular, see L. S. Yang, “The Concept of Pao as a Basis for Social Relations in China,” in Chinese Thought & Institutions, ed. John K. Fairbank (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1957), 302. 84. Cole, Mothers and Sons in Chinese Buddhism, 73, 81–87. 85. For an example of a story that illustrates this, see Guan Zhong in Han Feizi zhuzi suoyin 33, 97. 86. By accepting the food of another man, one’s life is no longer one’s own. Since that man has enabled one to live, one must repay that kindness by providing him with service, even if it means sacri¤cing one’s own life. For comments that make this connection between food and control explicit, see Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 2.14. 87. Mao no. 202. I have slightly modi¤ed Karlgren’s translation. See Bernhard Karlgren, trans., Book of Odes (Stockholm: The Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities, 1974), 152–153. 88. The Analects, 17.21; and Li Ji zhuzi suoyin, 39.8. A Tang story about an elder brother who fed and reared (ruyang) his two infant sisters throws light on this belief. When the brother died, his sisters were grief-stricken and decided to mourn him for three years. They justi¤ed their behavior by saying, “Although the threeyear rites do not exist for brothers, we relied upon him to be fed and raised (juyang), how is it possible to treat him like an ordinary person?” See Taiping yulan, 422.4a–b. 89. Indigenous Chinese Buddhist sutras state that infants drink their mother’s blood for three years. For instance, the Fumu enzhong nanbao jing, which was sup-

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posedly translated by Kumarajiva, states, “For three years you drank your mother’s white blood” (Dunhuang bianwen, 2:675, 677). Lee states that early medieval Chinese believed that breast-feeding should last for at least two years. See Jen-der Lee, “Wet Nurses in Early Imperial China,” Nan nü 2.1 (2000): 17–18. For further information on later Chinese beliefs that a child suckled for three years, see Charlotte Furth, “From Birth to Birth: The Growing Body in Chinese Medicine,” in Chinese Views of Childhood, ed. Anne Behnke Kinney (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1995), 178; and Wu Pei-yi, “Childhood Remembered: Parents and Children in China, 800 to 1700,” Chinese Views of Childhood, 137. 90. Kôshiden chûkai, 269. 91. As Cheng Gongsui (230–273) stated, “Crows have long been taken as an auspicious sign because they ‘feed in return’ (fanbu) and recognize [the principle of] yang” (Yiwen leiju, 92.1593). 92. Shuowen jiezi zhu, by Xu Shen (c. 58–147) (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1981), 4.56a. The Confucian “apocryphal texts” are replete with explanations of why crows are deemed ¤lial. See Taiping yulan, 920.1b; and Yiwen leiju, 92.1591. 93. See Guo Moruo, “‘Wu huanbu mu’ shike de buchong kaoshi,” Wenwu 4 (1965): 2–4; and the song about the sage-king Shun in Cai Yong, Qincao (Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1937), 2.15. 94. Taiping yulan, 411.6a. This story also appears in the two Japanese manuscripts. See Kôshiden chûkai, 47–48. 95. Shuowen jiezi zhu, 2.15b. 96. Furth has noted that Sun Simo (581–682) thought parents should give their infants prechewed food as soon as they were two months old and that the standard term for infant feeding was “to suckle and regurgitate” (rubu), which referred to both liquid and solid nourishment. See Charlotte Furth, “From Birth to Birth,” 188, note 53. For information on when medieval doctors thought that infants should begin eating prechewed solid food and what types of foods they should eat, see Hsiung Ping-chen, “To Nurse the Young: Breastfeeding and Infant Feeding in Late Imperial China,” Journal of Family History 20.3 (1995): 217–239; and Hsiung, Youyou: Chuantong Zhongguo de qiangbao zhi dao (Taipei: Lianjing, 1995), 118–122. 97. When the seven-year-old Cheng Zeng mournfully grieved for his departed mother, “his grandmother pitied him, and masticated (jue) meat for him to eat. When he discovered it was ¶avorful he spat it out.” See Taiping yulan, 413.7a; and Yiwen leiju, 20.371. 98. Kuroda, Kôshiden no kenkyû, 214. 99. This is precisely how Xing Qu and his father are depicted at Wu Liang Ci. 100. Wang Entian, “Taian Dawenkou Han huaxiangshi lishi gushi kao,” Wenwu 12 (1992): 77. 101. Taiping yulan, 519.3a.

Notes to Pages 132–138

102. Kuroda, Kôshiden no kenkyû, 214. 103. Cole, Mothers and Sons in Chinese Buddhism, passim. 104. How he did so depends on the version of the story. According to an encyclopedia fragment from Dunhuang, he did this by refusing payment for the rice he sold to them at the market (Dunhuang bianwen, 2:901; Kôshiden chûkai, 26). In another version, he puts money in with the rice they bought (Kôshiden chûkai, 24). In another, he buys ¤rewood from his stepmother for twenty times its ordinary price (Ningxia Guyuan bowuguan, Guyuan Beiweimu qiguan hua, 11). 105. Fayuan zhulin, 49.361. 106. This tally comes from examining each story from the Gu Xiaozi zhuan, Tao Yuanming’s Xiao zhuan, and the two Japanese manuscripts. In cases where the recipients are grandfathers or male masters, I count them as a father. 107. For examples, see the tales of Wang Xiang, Meng Zong, Jiang Shi, Wei Tong, and Liu Yin. 108. Inscriptions at the Wu Liang shrine and the Dawenkou pictorial stones identify the wooden parent that Ding Lan is reverently caring for as his father rather than his mother. If all the Eastern Han Ding Lan representations were taken to be his father, then images with fathers as recipients would rise to 58 percent. 109. Jen-der Lee, “The Life of Women in the Six Dynasties,” Journal of Women and Gender Studies 4 (1993): 62–65. 6. “Exceeding the Rites”: Mourning and Burial Motifs 1. Out of the 197 ¤lial-sons stories that can be found in the two Japanese Xiaozi zhuan, Tao Yuanming’s Xiao zhuan, and Xiaozi zhuan, reconstructed by Mao Pan-lin and Huang Renheng, 83 have motifs that concern mourning or burial. The only theme that occurred more frequently was reverent care, which occurred in 87 stories (44 percent). In comparison, revenge, the next most popular theme, occurred in only 11 stories, or 5 percent. 2. Fujikawa Masakazu, Gishin jidai ni okeru mofuku rei no kenkyû (Tokyo: Keibunsha, 1961), 17. 3. Wei shu, 86.1881. The preface to the Chen shu’s chapter on exemplars of devotion has a similar statement. See Chen shu, by Yao Silian (557–637). Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 32.423. The ¤rst such division of ¤lial devotion into these two components is found in the Books of Rites, where Zilu is credited with saying, “How painful is poverty! While one’s parents are alive there is nothing with which to nurture them, and when they are dead, there is nothing with which to ful¤ll the (mourning) rites” (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 4.35). 4. See Miyazaki, Chûgoku kodai shiron, 286–294; Makeham, “Mingchiao in the Eastern Han,” 85–94; and Nylan, “Confucian Piety and Individualism in Han Ching,” 1–27.

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5. Marcel Granet, “Le langage de la douleur d’après le ritual funéraire de la Chine classique,” in his Études sociologiques sur la Chine (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1953), 226–228. 6. Hou Han shu, 66.2159–2160. This story is cited in all three of the works cited in note 4. 7. Miyazaki, Chûgoku kodai shiron, 289–290. 8. For this argument, see Noriko Kamiya, “Gokan jidai ni okeru ‘karei’ o megutte,” Tôyôshi ronshû 7 (1979): 27–40; “Kanshin kan ni okeru mofuku rei no kihan teki tenkai,” Tôyô Gakuhô, 63.1–2 (1981): 63–92; and “Rei no kihanteki iso to fûzoku,” Shihô 15 (1982): 1–12. 9. Knapp, “The Ru Reinterpretation of Xiao,” 209–216. 10. J. J. M. de Groot, The Religious System of China, 6 vols.; reprint (Taipei: Southern Materials Center, Inc., 1982), 2:490. 11. Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, by Xun Kuang (313–238), ed. Lau, Chen, and Ho (Hong Kong: The Commercial Press, 1996), 19.97–98; John Knoblock, Xunzi: A Translation and Study of the Complete Works, vol. 3, Books 17–32 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1994), 72–73. 12. For the case of Yan Ding, see chap. 2. Likewise, even though they are mere barbarians, the Book of Rites praises Da Lian and Shao Lian for excelling in the mourning rites (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 21.8). Their behavior literally replicates the instructions set out in the Book of Rites (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 50.7; and Kongzi jiayu zhuzi suoyin, ed. Lau and Chen [Hong Kong: The Commercial Press, 1992], 43.11). Similarly, Gao Chai is put forth as a model ¤lial son because he did not show his teeth during his three years of mourning (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 3.38; and Kongzi jiayu zhuzi suoyin 12, 22). This behavior also corresponds to the rite dictating that when a parent is sick, a son should never smile or laugh so much that his teeth can be seen (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 1.29). 13. Here are three examples of this type of anecdote: 1) Confucius rebukes his son Boyu for mourning his mother for more than the prescribed limit of one year (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 3.27; Kongzi jiayu zhuzi suoyin, 42.29). 2) Zisi criticizes Zengzi for abstaining from drinking liquids for seven days, rather than the prescribed three (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 3.32). 3) Confucius scolded Zilu for mourning his unmarried, eldest sister for more than the prescribed limit of one year (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 3.25). 14. In the Shuo yuan, the stories’ protagonists are Zixia and Min Ziqian (Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 19.25; Kongzi jiayu zhuzi suoyin, 15.5). In the Book of Rites, the protagonists are Zixia and Zizhang (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 3.53). Once again, this phenomenon of the mutability of the protagonists’ identity underlines the ¤ctionality of these stories. 15. For this notion, see Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 19.25. The last statement of this passage echoes a sentiment found in the Xunzi’s “Lilun” chapter, which says that

Notes to Pages 141–143

the three-year mourning period is a compromise between the lifelong grief a true gentleman is capable of feeling and the short-lived grief a foolish and depraved man is capable of feeling. See Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, 19.96; Burton Watson, trans., Hsun Tzu (New York: Columbia University Press, 1963), 106–107. 16. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 3.60 (Li chi, 1:145–146, translation); and Kongzi jiayu zhuzi suoyin, 42.21. 17. This is why the burial rites for a castrated criminal are disgraceful: as soon as the corpse is buried, the mourners resume their normal lives. In other words, it is as if the departed had never lived at all and had no impact on the people around him. 18. Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, 19.94; Knoblock, Xunzi, 3:65–66; and Watson, Hsun tzu, 101. 19. Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, 19.96; Knoblock, Xunzi, 3:68–69; and Watson, Hsun tzu, 105. Ikezawa has pointed out that Xun believed ¤lial piety should never be out of sync with social values (“The Philosophy of Filiality in Ancient China,” 104–109). 20. Huainanzi zhuzi suoyin, by Liu An (179–122) et al., ed. D. C. Lau (Taipei: Taiwan Commercial Press, 1992), 11.175; the translation is from Benjamin E. Wallacker, trans., The Huai-nan-tzu, Book Eleven: Behavior, Culture and the Cosmos (New Haven, Conn.: American Oriental Society, 1962), 36. 21. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 3.16 (Li chi, 1:127, translation). 22. The Hanshi waizhuan, an important source for many of this period’s ¤lial piety anecdotes, has only one passage about mourning (Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, 3.11) and none that feature a son mourning his parents in an exemplary manner. The Xinxu has no passages that concern mourning. Even though the Shuo yuan does show some interest in the issue, it has only the story of Zizhang and Min Ziqian, as well as a few passages that discuss the mortuary rites (Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 19.674, 19.675, 19.676, 19.677, 19.678). 23. For passages that concern mourning and burial, see Kongzi jiayu zhuzi suoyin, 8.17, 12.22, 15.5, 26.2, 37.4, 40.4, and 41.19. The three ¤lial sons who are mentioned for their extraordinary behavior are Gao Chai and Min Ziqian and Zixia. 24. See the table of the Kongzi jiayu’s parallels with other texts in Robert P. Kramers, trans., K’ung Tzu Chia Yu: The School Sayings of Confucius (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1950), 376–379. 25. Knapp, “The Ru Reinterpretation of Xiao,” 209–216. For further evidence that the three-year mourning rites were rarely practiced in ancient China, see Zhang Jingming, Xian-Qin sangfu zhidu kao (Taipei: Taiwan Zhonghua shuju, 1972), 12–30. 26. Shi ji, 112.4; Han shu, 58.2619. 27. Hu Shi, “Sannian sangfu de zhujian tuixing,” in Hu Shi xueshu wenji: Zhongguo zhexueshi, ed. Jiang Yihua, 2 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1991), 2:947. 28. Han shu, 71.3046; Burton Watson, trans., Courtier and Commoner in Ancient China (New York: Columbia University Press, 1974), 170.

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29. Han shu, 53.2412. 30. Han shu, 92.3714; Watson, Courtier and Commoner in Ancient China, 240. 31. The compound xingfu (to perform [the wearing of] the mourning robes) appears in neither work, whereas in Hou Han shu it appears twelve times (16.614, 24.828, 34.1180, 37.1255, 39.1294, 39.1307, 44.1495, 58.1873, 63.2094, 64.2122, 66.2160, 81.2684). The compound xingsang (to perform the mourning rites) does not appear in Shi ji and only four times Han shu (76.3210 and 3211, 83.3395, 92.3714). But in Hou Han shu it appears fourteen times. The compound fusang (to wear the mourning robes) appears as many times in the Han shu as the Hou Han shu (¤ve times); however, three of those instances refer to the mourning of Wang Mang, who was a Ru zealot and probably the ¤rst Chinese emperor to perform the three-year rites. For the single instance that fusang is mentioned in Shi ji, see Shi ji huizhu kaozheng, 112.1215. For the ¤ve times it is mentioned in Han shu, see 53.2412, 58.2619, 99a.4078, 99a.4090, and 99b.4132. Of the ten passages in which the compound jusang (to reside in mourning) appears in Shi ji and Han shu, only two praise the subject for how he/she mourned his/her parents; in contrast, in Hou Han shu, Sanguo zhi, and Jin shu, this compound is often used in passages that describe exemplary mourning. For the two passages in which jusang is used to describe exemplary mourning, see Han shu, 71.3048, 82.3369. All four passages in which jusang appears in the Hou Han shu describe exemplary mourning. See 14.563, 29.1023, 44.1510, and 83.2773. Seven of the eight passages in which this compound appears in the Sanguo zhi do so. See 6.174 and 201, 8.253, 19.577, 21.604, 28.783, and 52.1232. And twenty of the twenty-nine passages in which it appears in the Jin shu do so. See 33.987, 37.1095, 38.1123, 38.1126, 38.1130, 40.1165, 43.1225, 43.1233, 44.1253, 50.1391, 51.1434, 70.1857, 75.1982, 77.2023, 83.2164, 84.2194, 88.2292, 88.2294, and 90.2338. 32. Han shu, 83.3394. Due to this disagreement between Xuan and Xiu, their relations soured. Long after, Xue Xiu had a friend slander Xue Xuan by saying that he neither reverently cared for nor performed the mourning rites for his stepmother. Xuan’s son hired an assassin to attack his slanderer. In dealing with the case, the government punished Xuan’s son for the attack but did not punish Xuan for not performing the three years of mourning. 33. Ibid., 83.3409. 34. He believed that the practice of these rites would hurt people in the following ways: they would expose them to the elements, diminish their proper nourishment, cut off their sacri¤ces to the spirits, and injure the elderly and young. See Shi ji huizhu kaozheng, 10.40; Han shu, 4.132. His views re¶ect Mohist criticisms of the Confucian rites. 35. Han shu, 84.3417. 36. Kamiya, “Rei no kihanteki iso to fûzoku,” 1–9. This point was originally

Notes to Pages 144–146

made by the Qing scholar Zhao Yi, Nienershi zhaji, 2 vols. (Taipei: Shijie shuju, 1970), 1:41–43. 37. Han shu, 11.336. 38. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 1.33, 34; Li Chi, trans. Legge, 1:87–88. A number of other passages and works also make this point. See Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 4.58, 21.24, 21.25; Xiao jing zhuzi suoyin, ed. D. C. Lau (Hong Kong: The Commercial Press, 1995), 18; Kongzi jiayu zhuzi suoyin, 43.9; and Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, 19.94. 39. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 21.8. 40. Yiwen leiju, 20.370. 41. Ibid., 20.371; Beitang shuchao, 144.14a-b; Taiping yulan, 413.8a, 859.8b; and Jin shu, 88.2291. 42. Xu Zi emaciated himself to the extent that he looked like a bag of bones and could stand only with the aid of a cane (Jin shu, 88.2278). For other instances of this, see Jin shu, 33.987, 38.1130, 70.1857, 88.2292, 89.2310; Nan Qi shu, 24.450; Liang shu, 16.270; Wei shu, 72.1611, 86.1885, 86.1886, 105/4.2426; Bei Qi shu, by Li Delin, Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuji, 1980), 13.170; Zhou shu, 32.561, 42.761; Nan shi, 31.817, 38.984, 59.1453; and Bei shi, by Li Yanshou (612–678). Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 51.1844, 67.2357, 70.2436, 84.2830, 84.2831. 43. See Song shu, 91.2258. For similar cases, see Hou Han shu, 80a.2613; Song shu, 91.2245. 44. See the account of Zhang Biao (Taiping yulan, 412.4b) and Wei Biao (Hou Han shu, 26.917. 45. Upon wearing the mourning robes for his father, Zhang Fu drank neither water nor soup for more than ten days. After the burial he would eat neither salt nor vegetables and hence became sick. His uncle admonished him to eat, but each time he did so, Zhang’s sorrow would become greater and he would faint. After recovering, he would continue to eat little. Realizing he was making the situation worse, the uncle no longer came around, and before the ¤rst year of mourning had elapsed, Zhang was already dead. See Song shu, 46.1396. 46. Kôshiden chûkai, 200, 202. 47. See note 13 above. 48. Taiping yulan, 411.8a. Similary, Zhang Fu stopped breathing and spat out blood. It was a long time before he came back to life (Yiwen leiju, 20.371). 49. See the cases of Ruan Ji (Sanguo zhi, 21.604), Liu Yin and his wife (Jin shu, 88.2289), Wang Yan (Jin shu, 88.2290), Zhang Hongce (Liang shu, 11.205; Nan shi, 56.1381), Han Huaiming (Liang shu, 47.653; Nan shi, 74.1842), He Dian (Liang shu, 51.732; Nan shi, 30.787), Liu Xu (Liang shu, 51.746; Nan shi, 49.1227), Liu Xiongliang (Zhou shu, 46.829). 50. Yiwen leiju, 20.371. For other stories with this motif, see Zhu Mi (Chuxue ji,

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1.21), Su Cangshu (Taiping yulan, 413, 7a–b), Gu Ti (Taiping yulan, 413.5a; Yiwen leiju, 20.370), Du Qi (Nan Qi shu, 55.966), the small child from Shanxian (Nan Qi shu, 55.966), Nusheng (Wei shu, 92.1985), Lady Li (Wei shu, 92.1984), the daughter of Zhang Jian (Taiping yulan, 415.3a), and Xia Xiaoxian (Shuijing zhushu, 3:3280). 51. Song shu, 91.2255–2256. 52. See Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, 19.96; Knoblock, Xunzi, 3.70 and Watson, Hsun tzu, 107. 53. For examples in which this might be the case, see Li Xun (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 19.20), Xiao Gu (Fayuan zhulin, 49.362), Xue Bao (Hou Han shu, 39.1294), Zang Tao (Song shu, 55.1543; Nan shi, 18.508), Zhang Ji (Nan shi, 31.817), Men Wenai (Wei shu, 87.1893), and Tang Song (Taiping yulan, 906.8a). 54. Hou Han shu, 41.1426. Cited in Kamiya, “Gokan jidai ni okeru ‘karei’ o megutte,” 29. For other examples of six years of mourning resulting from “remedial mourning,” see Yuan Shao (Sanguo zhi, 6.188) and Li Xianda (Wei shu, 86.1885; Bei shi, 84.2830). 55. The Analects, 17.19; Lau, Confucius: The Analects, 147. I have somewhat modi¤ed Lau’s translation. 56. See, e.g., Wang Lingzhi (Taiping yulan, 411.8a–b; Taiping guangji, 162.324 [under the name Wang Xuzhi]), Shendu Fan (Hou Han shu, 53.1751), Liu Yu (Song shu, 51.2243), Guo Yuanping (Song shu, 51.2245), and Xue Tiansheng (Nan Qi shu, 55.958). 57. See, e.g., Bao Ang (Hou Han shu, 29.1023), Zhou Pan (Hou Han shu, 39.1311), Wang Pou (Sanguo zhi, 11.349; Jin shu, 88.2278), Xu Zi (Jin shu, 88.2279– 2280), Wang Yan (Jin shu, 88.2290), Yingerzi (Taiping yulan, 415.4a), the three daughters of the Chen family (Taiping yulan, 415.1b–2a), Mr. Tu’s daughter (Nan Qi shu, 55.960), Qin Mian (Nan shi, 73.1804–1805), and Xu Xiaosu (Bei shi, 84.2839). 58. See Guo Wen (Jin shu, 94.2440), Xu Zi (Jin shu, 88.2279–2280), Sun Fazhong (Song shu, 91.2252), Liu Xu (Liang shu, 51.747), Yingerzi (Taiping yulan, 415.4a), the three daughters of the Chen family (Taiping yulan, 415.1b–2a), and Mr. Tu’s daughter (Nan Qi shu, 55.960). 59. Kôshiden chûkai, 134. 60. Wei shu, 86.1883; and Chuxue ji, 17.422. 61. The Book of Rites’ “Quli” chapter states that at ¤fty, one only somewhat emaciates himself; at sixty, one does not emaciate himself at all; and at seventy, the mourner merely wears the unhemmed dress of sackcloth and will eat meat and drink alcohol. See Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 1.34. 62. Song shu, 51.2243. 63. Wu Hung, “Private Love and Public Duty: Images of Children in Early Chinese Art,” in Chinese Views of Childhood, ed. Kinney, 99–101.

Notes to Pages 149–153

64. Yiwen leiju, 20.371; Taiping yulan, 26.9b. For a similar account, see that of Xun Yi (Chuxue ji, 17.421). 65. Taiping yulan, 413.7a. For accounts of his ¤liality, see Taiping yulan, 413.7a; Yiwen leiju, 20.369; Kôshiden chûkai, 101–102; Dunhuang bianwen, 2:903. Shimomi has shown that there were two early textual traditions about his ¤liality: one in which he did such childish pranks to please his parents and one in which he did so to prevent them from thinking about how old they actually were. Shimomi makes too much of this difference, though, since even when Lao Laizi is said to act like a child to please his parent, it is implied that he does so to make them forget that both they and he are rapidly aging. For Shimomi’s argument, see Kô to bôsei no mekanizumu, 22–38. 66. Shimomi, Kô to bôsei no mekanizumu, 38–39. 67. Mengzi, V.A.1; my translation is a modi¤cation of D. C. Lau, Mencius (New York: Penguin Books, 1970), 139; and James Legge, trans., The Works of Mencius; reprint (Taipei: Southern Materials Center, 1985), 345. For another passage in which Mengzi says yearning for one’s parents at the age of ¤fty is a sign of perfect ¤liality, see Mengzi, 6B.3. 68. Han-Wei guzhu shisanjing, ed. Zhonghua shuju bianjibu, 2 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1998), 2:80. Cited in Shimomi, Kô to bôsei no mekanizumu, 3. 69. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 32.13; Li Chi, trans. Legge, 2:310–311. 70. Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, 19.95; Knoblock, Xunzi, 3:62–73; and Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 3.69; Li Chi, trans. Legge, 1:148; and Kongzi jiayu zhuzi suoyin, 44.6. 71. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 25.7; Li Chi, trans. Legge, 2:212–213. 72. See chap. 2, page 32. 73. For the different versions of the Ding Lan tale, see the appendix. For other tales about ¤lial sons who serve images of dead parents as if they were alive, see Hua Guang (Taiping yulan, 385.5b, 413.6b) and Xu Xiaosu (Bei shi, 84.2839). 74. See the tales of Gu Chu (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 16.42), Cai Shun (Hou Han shu, 39.1312), Wang Jing (Taiping yulan, 413.7b), He Qi (Jin shu, 88.2292–2293), Liu Yin and his wife (Jin shu, 88.2288), and Jia En and his wife (Taiping yulan, 415.3b; Song shu, 91.2243). 75. See the tales of Wu Xi (Taiping yulan, 411.7b), Yin Tao (Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, 321), Wu Meng (Yiwen leiju, 20.371), Wang Lin (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 16.43), Lian Fan (Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, 321; Hou Han shu, 30.1101). For female exemplars who endanger their lives to save their parent’s corpse, see chap. 7. 76. Jia En, his wife Lady Zhang, and Wang Jing all died in the attempt to save their parent’s corpse from ¤re. For their accounts, see note 74 above. Perhaps a reason for their deaths is that these are factual accounts. Thus the ¤ctional or exaggerated tale of Cai Shun inspired these later people to imitate his behavior, but of course they did not bene¤t from the same ¤ctional miracle. Although it is not

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Notes to Pages 153–155

clear when Wang Jing lived, Jia En lived over a hundred years later than Cai Shun, so he most likely had heard of Cai’s ¤lial exploit. 77. Nan Qi shu, 55.960. 78. Song shu, 91.2244. 79. Taiping yulan, 411.7a. 80. Jin shu, 88.2279. This tale is equivalent to of those of Yang Zhen and Wang Pou, who refused any help in ¤lially feeding their parents. See chap. 5. 81. Kato attributes the importance attached to building the tumulus with one’s own labor to the fact that in the Eastern Han creation of the tomb was the most visible, and therefore most important, aspect of one’s ¤lial piety. Thus one’s reputation in the community would be based on the extent to which one exhausted his/ her labor and resources to bene¤t the dearly departed. See Kato, “Hirakareta Kanbo,” 71–72. 82. Whether this speci¤cally meant that of¤cials were supposed to perform these rites for Emperor Ping, who had just died, or for one’s parents is not clear. Nevertheless, advocating performance of the three-year mourning rites for one’s sovereign probably also meant that he/she would perform them for the parents as well. 83. Han shu, 99a.4078, 99b.4132. Cited in Yang Shuda, Handai hunsang lisu kao; reprint (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi, 1988), 241. Interestingly, though, when his own mother died in AD 8, Wang did not want to be distracted, so he had the empress dowager decree that he should perform only the lightest and shortest type of mourning. Nevertheless, he ordered his eldest grandson to undertake the three-year rites on his mother’s behalf. See Han shu, 99a.4090-91; Pan Ku, History of the Former Han, 3:243–247. 84. Emperors Ming (r. 58–75), He (r. 89–105), Xian (r. 190–220), and Empress Deng (r. 105–120) all performed the three years of mourning. See Yang Shuda, Handai hunsang lisu kao, 244–245. 85. Fujikawa Masakazu, Kandai ni okeru reigaku no kenkyû (Tokyo: Kazama Shobo, 1968), 280–281. 86. See Zhi Yun (Hou Han shu, 29.1023) and Fan Shu (Hou Han shu, 32.1122). 87. Kamiya, “Rei no kihanteki isô to fûzoku,” 6; Hou Han shu, 33.1153. 88. Yang Shuda, Handai hunsang lisu kao, 250–255. 89. Ibid., 259–263. Fujikawa provides a useful table of Eastern Han of¤cials who resigned from of¤ce to mourn relatives other than their parents. Although he does cite a few ¤rst-century examples, the majority come from the second century. See Fujikawa, Kandai ni okeru reigaku no kenkyû, 281–283. Zhu Yizun also offers a list of Eastern Han men who quit of¤ce to mourn relatives other than parents. See Fengsu tongyi jiaozhu, by Ying Shao (ca. 140–206), ed. Wang Liqi; reprint (Taipei: Hanjing wenhua shiye, 1983), 221, note 19.

Notes to Pages 155–157

90. Fujikawa, Kandai ni okeru reigaku no kenkyû, 283–284. 91. With the exception of Li Xun (¶. AD 89), all the examples of this phenomenon cited by Yang Shuda come from the second century. See Yang Shuda, Handai hunsang lisu kao, 266–268. It is worth noting that the biography of Xun Shuang (128–190) states that after he mourned his patron for three years, his contemporaries were moved by his conduct, and such behavior became customary. See Hou Han shu, 62.2057. For a detailed look at this phenomenon and its implications, see Gan Huaizhen, “Zhongguo zhonggu shiqi junchen guanxi chutan,” Taida lishi xuebao 21 (1997): 19–58; and “Wei-Jin shiqi guanrenjian de sangfuli,” Zhongguo lishi xuehui shixue jikan 27 (1995): 161–174. 92. Patricia Ebrey, “Patron-Client Relations in the Later Han,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 103.3 (1983): 537. 93. Hou Han shu, 5.226. 94. Ibid., 39.1307. 95. Ying Shao stated that according to Han law, if one did not perform the three years of mourning for his parents, he could not be recommended for of¤ce. See Han shu, 87a.3569. 96. The biography of Empress Dowager Deng can be found in Hou Han shu, 10a.418–430. For a complete translation of her biography, see Nancy Lee Swann, trans., “The Biography of Empress Teng,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 51 (1931): 138–159. 97. For the decree ordering that high of¤cials must perform the three-year mourning rites, see Hou Han shu, 7.299, 64.2122; for the decree that ordered middle of¤cials to do so, see Hou Han shu, 7.302. Empress Dowager Liang’s biography can be found in Hou Han shu, 10b.438–440. 98. See the biographies of Liu Kai (Hou Han shu, 39.1307), Chen Zhong (Hou Han shu, 46.1561–1562), and Xun Shuang (Hou Han shu, 62.2051–2052). 99. Fujikawa, Kandai ni okeru reigaku no kenkyû, 295–310. 100. Ibid., 278. 101. Song shu, 15.388. Nevertheless, many of¤cials violated these rules. In the state of Wu, even though it was an offense punishable by death, the famous ¤lial son Meng Zong violated this law to mourn his mother. After completing the three years of mourning, he turned himself in to the authorities to await punishment. Sun Quan granted him clemency, thereby making the law unenforceable (Sanguo zhi, 47.1411–1412). 102. See Song shu, 15.388–392; and Zhu Zongbin, “Lüelun Jinlu zhi ‘rujiahua,’” 111. 103. For examples of Jin of¤cials who were impeached or punished for faulty performance of the three-year rites, see Zhu Zongbin, “Lüelun Jinlu zhi ‘rujiahua,’” 111; Fujikawa, Gishin jidai ni okeru mofuku rei no kenkyû, 20–21; and Zhou

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Yiliang, “LiangJin Nanchao de qingyi,” in Wei-Jin Nanbeichao shi lunji xupian (Beijing: Beijing daxue, 1991), 117–124. 104. Kamiya Noriko, “Shin jidai ni okeru irei shingi,” Tôyô gakuhô 67.3–4 (1986): 49–80. 105. Fujikawa, Gishin jidai ni okeru mofuku rei no kenkyû, 5. 106. In an interesting contrast, Kutcher, in his Mourning in Late Imperial China, discusses the reversal of this process, in which the Qing imperial state was trying to minimize the extent to which the mourning rites interfered with of¤ce holding. 107. Kishima Fumio, “Rikuchô zenki no kô to mofuku—reigaku no mokuteki-kino-shohô,” in Chûgoku kodai reisei kenkyû, ed. Konami Ichirô (Kyoto: Kyoto daigaku jinbun kagaku kenkyujo, 1995), 367–400, 451–453. 108. Curiously, the term guoli (exceeding the rites) does not appear in the Dongguan Han ji. Nevertheless, it contains many accounts of people who do surpass the mourning rites. For example, see the biographies of Gu Chu (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 16.42), Lian Fan (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 18.12), Li Xun (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 19.20), Huang Xiang (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 19.22), and Zhang Biao (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 19.30). 109. To update this work, in AD 120 Empress Dowager Deng ordered a number of scholars to compile biographies of eminent statesmen, men of integrity, and Confucian scholars. See Zheng Hesheng, “Gejia Hou Han shu zongshu,” 8; and Beck, Treatises of Later Han, 24–25. As noted earlier, Empress Dowager Deng was herself an advocate and exemplar of Ru values and was one of the two rulers of the Eastern Han who ordered that even high of¤cials must perform the three-year rites. 110. Qijia Hou Han shu, ed. Wang Wentai; reprint (Kyoto: Chubun shupansha, 1979), 401. 111. Kamiya, “Shin jidai ni okeru irei shingi,” 52–62; and “Rei no kihanteki iso to fûzoku,” 9–10. 112. See Hou Han shu, 39.1315; and Qianfu lun zhuzi suoyin, 1.20. 113. For a discussion of this criticism and the differences between northern and southern mourning customs during the Six Dynasties, see Tang Changru, Wei-Jin Nanbeichao shi luncong (Beijing: Shenghuo dushu xinzhi sanlian shudian, 1955), 357–360. 114. Baopuzi, by Ge Hong (284–363), in Zhuzi jicheng, 8 vols. (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1986), 26.151; my translation is based on that of Jay Sailey, The Master Who Embraces Simplicity: A Study of the Philosopher Ko Hung A.D. 283– 343 (San Francisco: Chinese Materials Center, Inc., 1978), 158–159. 115. Baopuzi, 26.151; this translation is based on Sailey, Master who Embraces Simplicity, 159–160. 116. Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 8.128.

Notes to Pages 161–165

117. Ibid., 21.10. Although he did avoid violating the letter of the rites by not speaking with his guests, Wang most certainly violated the spirit of the rites by entertaining them and participating in an amusement while in mourning. 118. See the Shishuo xinyu jianshu accounts of Ruan Ji; Ruan Xian (234–305) took a concubine; Xie Shang (308–357) feasted. See Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 23.1, 23.2, 23.9, 23.11, 23.15, 23.33. 119. Both Ruan Xian and Ruan Jian were exiled from of¤cialdom for many years because of the faulty manner in which they mourned their parents (Zhou, “LiangJin Nanchao de qingyi,” 117). And if He Zeng (199–278), a famous ¤lial son, had had his way, Ruan Ji would have lost his head for the outrageous manner in which he mourned his mother (Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 23.2). 120. Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 23.9; translation is from Liu, Shih-shuo Hsin-yu, 374. 121. For a discussion of mourning stories featuring Ruan Ji and the anti-ritualism implicit in them, see Donald Holzman, Poetry and Politics: The Life and Works of Juan Chi A.D. 210–263 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976), 74–80. 122. Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 1.17; Liu, Shih-shuo Hsin-yu, 10–11; and Jin shu, 43.1233. 123. Another anecdote that compares the mourning of someone who follows the rites with one who does not is that of Dai Liang and his brother. See Hou Han shu, 83.2773. Whether this story dates to the Eastern Han seems problematical. Its only remaining version is from the ¤fth-century Hou Han shu. None of the fragments of earlier histories of the Eastern Han contains it. Moreover, the motif of Dai Liang braying like a donkey to please his mother seems to have been prevalent in the Six Dynasties. Shishuo xinyu, chap. 17, contains two such stories. See Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 17.1, 17.3. Since the sentiment of this passage so closely matches that found in the Wei-Jin stories about unconventional men, and since we have no evidence of it having an earlier provenance, it makes me wonder whether this story itself was not fabricated in the third or fourth century. 7. Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons? 1. Lynda Coon, Sacred Fictions: Holy Women and Hagiography in Late Antiquity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997). 2. Lisa Raphals, “Re¶ections on Filiality, Nature and Nurture,” in Filial Piety in Chinese Thought and History, 219–220. 3. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 6.4, 6.7, 6.15. Cited in Raphals, “Re¶ections on Filiality,” 7. 4. Ibid., 6.7; Albert Richard O’hara, trans., The Position of Women in Early China: According to the Lieh Nu Chuan “The Biographies of Eminent Chinese Women”; reprint (Westport, Conn.: Hyperion Press, 1981), 165–166. 5. O’hara, The Position of Women, 167.

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Notes to Pages 166–169

6. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 6.4; O’hara, The Position of Women, 159–161. 7. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 6.15; O’hara, The Position of Women, 183–185. 8. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 5.15. 9. Ibid, 5.13. 10. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 4.15; O’hara, The Position of Women, 124–126. 11. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 5.9. 12. Holmgren makes this point in “Widow Chastity in the Northern Dynasties: The Lieh-nü Biographies in the Wei-shu,” Papers on Far Eastern History 23 (1981): 170–171. 13. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 2.9. 14. Ibid., 5.1. A similar tale is found in the same chapter. When Qin attacks Wei, the Moral Wet Nurse of Wei spirits a Wei prince away, even though the penalty for hiding a member of the Wei royal family is extermination of one’s family. See 5.11. 15. Lee, “Wet Nurses in Early Imperial China,” 20–23. 16. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 5.10. 17. Ibid., 4.12. 18. The three tales that have textual predecessors are the two stories of wet nurses and the tale of the concubine who drops the container of poison meant for her master. 19. For example, Shimomi thinks that the tale of the concubine who wants to continue to reverently care for her mistress (Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 4.12) is one that Liu Xiang created because the tale’s author gets many of the historical facts wrong. First, Shi ji does not say that the state of Wei ever had someone with the title of king; moreover, it states that once the kingdom of Wei was destroyed, its ruler was reduced to the rank of commoner. The story, on the other hand, says that King Ling was appointed to continue the sacri¤ces of the state of Wei. See Shimomi, Ryû kô “Retsujoden” no kenkyû (Tokyo: Tôkaidô daigaku shupankai, 1989), 504–505. Shimomi also believes that the story of Zhu Chu and the Steadfast Woman of the Capital are both Han dynasty tales. See ibid., 613. 20. Of the 105 tales contained in Lienü zhuan, Shimomi has failed to ¤nd preexisting textual sources for only eighteen of the accounts. Tellingly, chapters 4 and 5, which contain all of the tales concerning ¤lial piety, are also the two chapters with the most stories that have no textual antecedents (twelve in all). For a table that lists the textual antecedents for each story, see Shimomi, Retsujôden, 886–895. 21. For the contents of Five Dynasties and Song works dedicated to biographies of outstanding women, see Andersen Chiu, “Changing Virtues? The Lienü of the Old and the New History of the Tang,” East Asian Forum 4 (1995): 28–62; and Richard L. Davis, “Chaste and Filial Women in Chinese Historical Writings of the Eleventh Century,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 121.2 (2001): 204–218.

Notes to Pages 170–174

22. Jin shu, 96.2518. 23. Hou Han shu, 84.2793. 24. Nan Qi shu, 55.960. 25. Hou Han shu, 84.2783. 26. Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 10B.768 27. Similarly, Guo Ju’s wife accedes to his demand that they kill her infant son to make sure they can continue to provide her mother-in-law with dainties. 28. The daughter of the Beigong family and her unwillingness to remarry is brie¶y mentioned in the Zhanguo ce zhuzi suoyin no. 138. However, it seems that it was only in the Six Dynasties that she was taken from that passage and had a biography built around her. See Taiping yulan, 415.4a. 29. Ibid., 415.1b–2a. 30. Later in life, she ran out of luck, though, since mountain bandits killed her and the governor did not view her ¤lial actions as noteworthy enough to inform the capital. See Nan Qi shu, 55.960. 31. Bret Hinsch, Women in Early Imperial China (Lanham, Md.: Rowman & Little¤eld Publishers, Inc., 2002), 7–9. 32. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 1.10; O’hara, The Position of Women, 36 (translation). 33. Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 10c.826. 34. E.g., see the account of the twenty-year-old wife of Xu Yuan (Song shu, 91.2257) and Lady Liu, the wife of Zhang Hongchu (Wei shu, 92.1982). 35. See the account of the Wife from Shaan (Shaan Furen), who mutilates herself so she can serve her husband’s paternal aunt (Jin shu, 96.2520-2521), and Lady Zhang, who cut off her hair and mutilated her face so that she could serve her mother-in-law and raise the children of her husband’s agnatic kin (Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 10A.734). 36. Accounts of this type are the Filial Wife of Donghai (Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 5.23; Han shu, 71.3041; Soushen ji, 11.290), the Widow of Shangyu (Hou Han shu, 66.2473), Zhou Qing (Taiping yulan, 415.3b), and the Wife from Shaan (Jin shu, 96.2520-2521). 37. See Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 5.23; and Han shu, 71.3041. 38. Hinsch underlines the social and economic marginality of widows, while Ebrey extensively documents how both bullies and relatives took advantage of widows. See Hinsch, Women in Early Imperial China, 41; and Patricia Ebrey, Inner Quarters: Marriage and the Lives of Chinese Women in the Sung Period (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 190–194. 39. Qianfu lun zhuzi suoyin, 19.39. Cited in Dull, “Marriage and Divorce in Han China,” 34. 40. Taiping yulan, 415.4a, 892.1b. For a similar tale, see that of Guan Yao

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Notes to Pages 175–179

(Taiping yulan, 415.3a–b; and Liang shu, 47.648). Perhaps the inspiration for these tales came from the account of Feng Zhaoyi, whose tale is found in the Xu Lienü zhuan. See Lienü zhuan jiaozhu, 8.5b; O’hara, The Position of Women, 228. 41. Yiwen leiju, 21.388; and Taiping yulan, 422.8a–8b. Both works state that this story came from Lienü zhuan, by which the compilers undoubtedly meant Liu Xiang’s text. Nevertheless, since many early medieval texts carried the title Lienü zhuan, it could have just as easily come from one of these later texts. Both the format of the tale and its stress that she did not have strong ties to her husband’s household—since he was already dead and she was childless—strike me as being similar to accounts taken from later Lienü zhuan written in the Six Dynasties. This account, by the way, is not in the extant Liu Xiang Accounts of Outstanding Women. 42. Taiping yulan, 415.5a. 43. See Dongguan Han ji, 17.23; and Hou Han shu, 39.1299. 44. For the story of Cao E, see Hantan Chun, “Xiaonu Cao E bei,” in Quan shanggu Sandai Qin Han Sanguo Liuchao wen, 2:26.4a–4b. See also Hou Han shu, 84.2794; Kôshiden chukai, 116–117; and Taiping yulan, 415.5a. For a discussion of this story, see David Johnson, “The Wu Tzu-hsu Pien Wen and Its Sources: Part II,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 40.2 (December 1980): 474–475. For a similar story, see Shu Xianxiong (Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 3.293; Soushen ji, 11.291; Hou Han shu, 84.2799–2800; Taiping yulan, 415.5a; and Kôshiden chukai, 162–163). 45. Two exceptions to this tendency for a daughter-in-law to not sacri¤ce herself on her dead mother-in-law’s behalf can be seen in the accounts of the wives of Jia En (Song shu, 91.2243) and Liu Yin (Jin shu, 88.2289). In both cases, the daughters-in-law endangered themselves to save the corpses of their mothers-in-law. Perhaps the reason for the exceptions is that both Lady Zhang and Jia En’s wife were acting together with their husbands to complete a ¤lial act. If their husbands were not present, one wonders whether they would be in such a hurry to save the corpses of their mothers-in-law. 46. Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 10.B.788. 47. Hou Han shu, 30.1101; and Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, 321. 48. See the stories of Yao Nusheng (Wei shu, 92.1985) and the Daughter of Zhang Jian (Taiping yulan, 415.3a; and Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 6.19). 49. Wei shu, 92.1984; and Bei shi, 91.3001. 50. E.g., see the accounts of Lady Zhang, wife of Dong Jingqi (92.1982), and Lady Liu, wife of Feng Zhuo (Wei shu, 92.1978). 51. Holmgren, “Widow Chastity in the Northern Dynasties,” 179–180. 52. Wei shu, 92.1984. 53. Jen-Der Lee, “Con¶icts and Compromise between Legal Authority and Ethical Ideas: From the Perspectives [sic] of Revenge in Han Times,” Renwen ji shehui kexue jikan 1.1 (1988): 380–382. 54. Hou Han shu, 84.2796–2797.

Notes to Pages 179–190

55. Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 10C.827. For another example of female ¤lial revenge, see that of Gou Yu (Yiwen leiju, 33.586). 56. Bei shi, 91.3009. 57. She then went to the magistrate and confessed her crime; he was so impressed with her act that he wanted to resign from of¤ce and ¶ee with her, but she refused to avoid her punishment (Hou Han shu, 84.2796–2797). 58. Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 10C.827 59. Bei shi, 91.3009. 60. Hou Han shu, 84.2795. 61. Jin shu, 96.2520. 62. Ibid., 96.2515. 63. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 5.14. 64. Ibid., 6.15. 65. Hinsch, Women in Early Imperial China, 62. 66. Hou Han shu, 84.2797. 67. Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 10C.814. 68. See the tale of Empress Dowager Deng (Taiping yulan, 415.1b). 69. Soushen ji, 11.297; and Hou Han shu, 48.1607. 70. This account was obviously well known. It originally appeared in a local geographical work. Later it found its way into both Hua Qiao’s Han hou shu and Gan Bao’s Soushen ji. 71. Catherine Gipoulon, “L’Image de L’épouse dans le Lienü zhuan,” in En Suivant la Voie Royale Melanges Offerts en Hommage à Léon Vandermeersch, ed. Jacques Gernet, Marc Kalinowski, and Jean-Pierre Diény (Paris: École Française d’Extrême-Orient, 1997), 108. 72. Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, 29.141-142. 73. Gipoulon, “L’Image de L’épouse dans le Lienü zhuan,” 109–111. 74. The Ru story of Zhuang Zhishan provides a rationale for why, even when his parent is alive, a man must give up his life for his lord. See Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, 1.21; and Xinxu zhuzi suoyin, 8.9. 75. Of the eight exemplary women depicted on Wu Liang’s shrine, four are ¤lial daughters or righteous sisters. They are the Righteous Aunt and Sister of Lu, the Virtuous Aunt and Sister of Liang, the Righteous Stepmother of Qi (Qi Yi Jimu), and the Steadfast Woman of the Capital. The murals at Helinge’er contain images of the Righteous Aunt and Sister of Lu and the Faithful Concubine of the Zhou (Zhouzhu zhong qie). 76. See, e.g, Yang, Guo, and Zhang, Wu—shi shiji Dunhuang de jiating, 12–61. Conclusion 1. Shang Wei, Rulin Waishi and Cultural Transformation in Late Imperial China (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2003), 58–71.

259

260

Notes to Pages 191–194

Appendix: Variants of the Ding Lan Tale 1. Wu Hung, The Wu Liang Shrine, 282. 2. Both images of Ding Lan’s statue at Helinge’er and on the lacquered box from Lelang appear to be male. See Neimengguzizhi bowuguan gongzuodui, Helinge’er Hanmu bihua, 139; and Rakuro Saikyo-tsuka, vol. 1. Next to the depiction of the Ding Lan tale in an Eastern Han tomb at Dawenkou are two inscriptions that read, “The father of the ¤lial son Ding Lan” and “This is Ding Lan’s father.” See Wang, “Taian Dawenkou Han huaxiangshi lishi gushi kao,” 77–78. 3. Cao Zhi ji zhuzi suoyin, 11.6.2. 4. Chuxue ji, 17.422; and Taiping yulan, 414.2a–b. 5. This story is not present in the extant edition of the Soushen ji, but the Taiping yulan (482.4a) quotes it as coming from the Soushen ji. 6. The wives of Ding Lan and Zhang Shu do appear on the Northern Wei Ningmao cof¤n. See Guo Jianbang, Beiwei Ningmao shishi xiankehua, 32–33. 7. Both texts are quoted in the Fayuan zhulin, 49.361. 8. Dunhuang bianwen, 2:886. 9. All of these accounts, except for Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring, are conveniently laid out in Yoshikawa, “Lelang chutu Han qie tuxiang kaozheng,” 3– 4. Yoshikawa also thinks that the differences between the texts are their origin in oral versions of the tale (4). 10. Kôshiden chûkai, 80–82.

Glossary

Aijing 愛敬 An, Emperor of the Han 漢安帝 baikou 百口 Ban Gu 斑固 banlan 斑蘭 banlian 斑連 Bao Ang 鮑昂 Baoen 報恩 Baopuzi 抱朴子 Bao Yong 鮑永 Beigong shi nü 北宮氏女 Biqiuni zhuan 比丘尼傳 Bian Zhuangzi 卞莊子 bianwen 變文 Bielu 別錄 biezhuan 別傳 Bing Yuan 邴原 Bo Yi 伯夷 bozang 薄葬 Cai Shun 蔡順 Cai Yong 蔡邕 Cao E 曹娥 Cao Zhi 曹植 Chen Gua Xiaofu 陳寡孝婦 Chenliu shenxian zhuan 陳留神仙 傳 Chen Shi 陳寔

Chen shi san nü 陳氏三女 chenwei 讖緯 chengfu 承負 Cheng Jian 程堅 Chongwen congmu 崇文聰目 Chu Liao 楚寮 Chuxue ji 初學記 Chunqiu 春秋 Chunqiu fanlu 春秋繁露 Chunyu Gong 淳于恭 Chunyu Tiying 淳于緹礯 Cui Shi 崔寔 Datong 大同 daxing 大姓 Dai Liang 戴良 daitianfa 代田法 danjia 單家 danmen 單門 danwei 單微 Daoshi 道世 Deng Tong 鄧通 Deng Yuanyi 鄧元義 Deng Zhan 鄧展 Ding Lan 丁蘭 Ding Mao 丁茂 Ding Mi 丁密 dingxing 定省 Dongguan Han ji 東觀漢記 261

262

Glossary

Donghai Xiaofu 東海孝婦 Dong Jingqi 董景起 Dong Yong 董永 Dong Zhongshu 董仲舒 Dou Fu 竇傅 Du Ci 杜慈 Du Xiao 杜孝 Du Ya 杜牙 Duke Zhuang 莊公 Dun Qi 頓琦 E-huang 娥皇 ershisi xiao 二十四孝 Ershisi xiao shi 二十四孝詩 Er Ziming 兒子明 Fa Xian 法顯 Fayuan zhulin 法苑珠林 Fan Chong 樊重 Fan Hong 樊宏 Fan Liao 樊寮 Fan Yan 範晏 Fan Ye 範曄 fanyong 凡庸 Fang Chu 方儲 fangnei zhi shi 方內之士 fangshi 方士 Feng 奉 Feng Yanbo 封延伯 Feng Zhaoyi 馮昭儀 Feng Zhuo 封卓 fu 符 Fu Gong 伏恭 fumu 父母 Funabashi Xiaozi zhuan 船橋孝子 傳 Fuzi 傅子 fuzi 父子 gan 感

Gan Bao 干寶 gan tiandi 感天地 gantong zhi zhi 感通之至 gan wu tong ling 感物通靈 Gao Chai 高柴 Gaoshi zhuan 高士傳 Gaozong, Emperor of the Tang 唐 高宗 Ge Hong 葛洪 gong 公 gong 供 gong 恭 Gongsun He 公孫何 Gongsun Hong 公孫弘 Gongsun Sengyuan 公孫僧遠 gongyang 供養 gongyi 公義 Gou Daoxing Soushen ji 句道興搜 神記 Gu Chu 古初 Gu Huan 顧歡 gumen 孤門 guqiong 孤煢 Gusou 瞽瞍 guwei 孤微 guwen 古文 Gu Yuan Jian dashi ershisi xiao yazuowen 故圓鑒大師二十 四孝押座文 Guan Ning 管寧 Guan Yao 管瑤 Guanshiyin yingyan ji 觀世音應驗 記 Guanyin jing 觀音經 Guangwu, Emperor of the Han 漢光武帝 Gui Hao 媯皓 Guo Bolin 郭伯林 Guo Ju 郭巨 Guo Jujing 郭居敬

Glossary

Guo Shidao 郭世道 Guo Tai 郭汰 Guo Wen 郭文 Guo Yi 郭奕 Guo Yuanping 郭元平 Han Boyu 韓伯瑜 Han Chong 韓崇 Han Feizi 韓非子 Han hou shu 漢後書 Han Huaiming 韓懷明 Han ji 漢紀 Han Lingmin 韓靈敏 Han Lingzhen 韓靈珍 hanmen 寒門 Hanshi waizhuan 韓詩外傳 Han shu 漢書 Han Xianzong 韓顯宗 Han Ying 韓嬰 Hantan Chun 邯鄲淳 He Ziping 何子平 housheng 後生 Houtu 后土 Hou Yu 緱玉 Hua Qiao 華嶠 Huayang guozhi 華陽國志 Huainanzi 淮南子 Huan, Emperor of the Han 漢桓帝 Huan Wen 桓溫 Huang Bo 黃帛 Huangchu 黃初 Huangfu Mi 皇甫謐 Huanglao 黃老 Huangtian 皇天 Huang Xian 黃憲 Huang Xiang 黃香 Ji’er 季兒 Ji Kang 稽康 Ji Mai 紀邁

Ji Shao 稽紹 Ji Yun 紀昀 Ji Zha 季扎 jia 家 Jia En 賈恩 jia pin qin lao zhe bu ze guan er shi 家貧親老者不擇官而仕 jiaxue 家學 jiaxun 家訓 jiazhuan 家傳 Jiangbiao zhuan 江表傳 Jiang Ge 江革 Jiang Gong 姜肱 Jiang Shi 姜詩 Jiang Xu 蔣詡 jin 堇 Jin Juan 津娟 jing 敬 Jing Dan 井丹 Jing Jiang 敬姜 jingqi xiangdong 精氣相動 Jingshi Jienü 京師節女 Jing Yang 敬楊 Jingzhao qilao zhuan 京兆耆老傳 Jiu Tang shu 舊唐書 Junzhai dushuzhi 郡齋讀書志 kairan 慨然 kangkai 慷慨 Kuai Shen 噲參 Kuang Sengan 匡僧安 Langye Wang 郎邪王 Langyu Ling 朗餘令 Lao Laizi 老萊子 leishi tongju 累世同居 li 禮 Li Du 李篤 Li Hong 李弘 Li ji 禮記

263

264

Glossary

Liji 驪姬 Li, Lady 李氏 Li Lingchen 李令琛 Li Mi 李密 Li Qijun 李栖筠 Li Shan 李善 Li Shun 李順 Li Tan 李曇 Li Tao 李陶 Li Xi 李翕 Li Xiyu 李襲譽 Li Xian 李賢 Li Xiu 禮修 Li Yanshou 李延壽 Lian Fan 廉範 Liang Hong 梁鴻 Liang shu 梁書 Lienü houzhuan 列女後傳 Lienü zhuan 列女傳 Lieshi zhuan 列士傳 Liexian tu 列仙圖 Liexian zhuan 列仙傳 Lin Tong 林同 Ling Zhe 靈輒 “Lingzhi pian” 靈芝篇 Liu Changqing 劉長卿 Liu Jun 劉峻 Liu, Lady 劉氏 Liu Lingzhe 劉靈哲 Liu Mingda 劉明達 Liu Nayan 劉訥言 Liu Qiu 劉 虬 Liu Shao 劉邵 Liu Xia 柳遐 Liu Xiang 劉向 Liu Xiang Xiaozi tu 劉向孝子圖 Liu Xiang Xiaozi zhuan 劉向孝子 傳 Liu Xin 劉歆 Liu Yigong 劉義恭

Liu Yin 劉殷 Liu Zheng 劉整 Liu Zhiji 劉知幾 lu 籙 “Lu-e” 蓼莪 Lu Ji 陸績 Lu Jia 陸賈 Lu Xiaoyi Bao 魯孝義保 Lu Xun 魯迅 Lu Yigu 魯義姑 Lu Yuanli 盧元禮 Lü Jun 呂軍 Lü Rong 呂榮 luan 鸞 Lunheng 論衡 Luo Wei 羅威 Mao Rong 茅容 Mao Yi 毛義 Meng Chang 孟昶 Meng’er 萌兒 Mengqiu 蒙求 Meng Zong 孟宗 Mengzi 孟子 Miao Fei 繆斐 Ming, Emperor of the Han 漢明 帝 Mingbao ji 冥報記 Nankang ji 南康記 Nan shi 南史 Nanyang Liu 南陽劉 niaogong 鳥工 Nie Zheng 聶政 Ning Mao 寧懋 Nüying 女英 Pan Zong 潘綜 Pang Xing 龐行 Pi Yan 皮延

Glossary

qi 奇 qi 氣 Qibi Ming 契苾明 Qi Yi Jimu 齊義繼母 Qian-Han 前漢 Qiansheng 千乘 Qin 秦 Qin Hong 秦弘 Qin Shihuang 秦始皇 qing 頃 qingxing 情性 Qiu Huzi 秋胡子 Qiu Jie 丘傑 “Quli” 曲禮 Reishûkai 令集解 ren 認 ren 仁 Ren Fang 任昉 Ren Yanshou 任延壽 renyi 仁義 Ru 儒 Ru Yu 汝郁 ruzong 儒宗 Ruan Cang 阮倉 Sancai 三才 Sanfu juelu 三輔決錄 Sangang 三綱 Shaan Furen 陝婦人 Shanhai jing 山海經 Shanzi 閃子 Shang Chang 尚長 Shanghuai Jing 傷槐婧 Shang shu 尚書 Shen Ming 申鳴 Shentu Fan 申屠蟠 Shentu Xun 申屠勳 Shen Xiu 申秀 Shen Yue 沈約

Shengxian gaoshi zhuan 聖賢高士 傳 shi 士 Shi Daoan 釋道安 Shi Fen 石奮 Shi Jian 石建 Shi jing 詩經 Shi Jueshou 師覺授 Shi, Lady 師氏 Shishuo Xinyu 世說新語 Shi Yan 施延 shu 庶 “Shuren” 庶人 Shu Qi 叔齊 Shu Xianxiong 叔先雄 Shu Xiang 叔向 Shun 舜 Shun, Emperor of the Han 漢順 帝 Shunzi bian 舜子變 Shuo yuan 說苑 si 私 siai 私愛 Siku quanshu tiyao 四庫全書提要 Sima Qian 司馬遷 Sima Xiangru 司馬相如 Song Gong 宋躬 Song Jun 宋均 Song shu 宋書 Soushen ji 搜神記 Su Cangshu 宿倉舒 “Suguan” 素冠 suan 算 Sui shu 隋書 Sun Quan 孫權 Sun Sheng 孫盛 Sun Shu-ao 孫叔敖 Tai Tong 臺佟 Tang Lin 唐臨

265

266

Glossary

Tang Song 唐頌 Tao Kan 陶侃 Tao Qian ji 陶潛集 Tao Tazi 陶荅子 Tao Yuanming 陶淵明 Teng Tangong 滕曇恭 Tian Yu 田豫 Tian yu zhi xiaoxing 天與之孝行 Tianchang 天常 Tiandi 天帝 Tianhuang dadi 天皇大帝 tianren ganying 天人感應 Tianshen 天神 tongju 同居 tongru 通儒 tu 圖 Tushi nü 屠氏女 Wang Chong 王充 Wang Ci 王慈 Wang Fu 王符 Wang Guang 王廣 Wang Huizhi 王徽之 Wang, Lady 王氏 Wang Lin 王琳 Wang Mang 王莽 Wang Pou 王裒 Wang Shaozhi 王韶之 Wang Shun 王舜 Wang Xiang 王祥 Wang Xinzhi 王歆之 Wang Wuzi 王武子 Wang Yan 王延 Wang Yin 王陰 Wang Yue 王悅 Wei Ba 魏霸 Wei Biao 韋彪 Wei Da 魏達 Wei Jun 韋俊 Wei Tan 魏譚

Wei Tong 隗通 Wei Xiang 隗相 Wei Zheng 魏徵 Wen, Emperor of the Han 漢文帝 Wen, King of the Zhou 周文王 Wen Rang 文讓 Widow of Shangyu 上虞寡婦 Wu, Emperor of the Han 漢武帝 Wu, Emperor of the Liang 梁武 帝 Wu, King of the Zhou 周武王 Wu Ban 武斑 Wu Dazhi 吳達之 Wu Meng 吳猛 Wujing 五經 Wu Kui 吳逵 Wu Liang 武梁 Wu Rong 武榮 Wu Shuhe 吳叔和 Wu Shun 吳順 Wu Xi 伍襲 wuxing 五行 Wu You 吳祐 Wu Zitian 吳則天 xijia 細家 Ximen Bao 西門豹 xia 下 Xia Fang 夏方 Xiahou Xin 夏候訢 Xiang Sheng 向生 xiao 孝 Xiaode zhuan 孝德傳 Xiao Feng 蕭鋒 “Xiaogan fu” 孝感賦 Xiao Guangji 蕭廣濟 Xiao Guo 蕭國 Xiao jing 孝經 Xiao jing goumingjue 孝經鉤命決 Xiao jing youqi 孝經右契

Glossary

Xiao jing yuanshenqi 孝經援神契 Xiao jing zuoqi 孝經左契 xiaolian 孝廉 “Xiaonü Cao E bei” 孝女曹娥碑 Xiaonü zhuan 孝女傳 Xiao Ruiming 蕭叡明 Xiaoshi 孝詩 xiao shuai yu qizi 孝衰於妻子 “Xiaosi fu” 孝思賦 Xiaotangshan 孝堂山 xiaoti 孝悌 xiaoti zhi zhi tong yu shen ming 孝 悌之至通與神明 Xiao Tong 蕭統 Xiaoxing zhi 孝行志 Xiao Yan 蕭衍 Xiao Yi 蕭繹 Xiao Yili 蕭乂理 Xiaoyou zhuan 孝友傳 Xiao Zhi 蕭芝 Xiaozhi 孝治 Xiao zhuan 孝傳 xiaozi 孝子 Xiaozi houzhuan 孝子後傳 Xiao Ziliang 蕭子良 Xiaozi tu 孝子圖 Xiao Zixian 蕭子顯 Xiaozi zhuan 孝子傳 Xiaozi zhuanlüe 孝子傳略 Xiaozi zhuanzan 孝子傳贊 Xie Lingyun 謝靈運 Xin 新 Xin Shan 辛繕 Xin Tang shu 新唐書 Xinxu 新序 xingluren 行路人 Xing Qu 邢渠 xing zhixiao 性至孝 xingzhuang 行狀 Xu Guang 徐廣

Xu Lienü zhuan 續列女傳 Xu Nanrong 許南容 Xu Xian 徐憲 Xu Yuan 徐元 Xu Zi 許孜 Xuanxue 玄學 Xue Bao 薛包 Xun Guan 荀灌 Xun Yue 荀悅 Yan Ding 顏丁 Yan Han 顏含 Yan Hui 顏回 yanqin 嚴親 Yan Sui 嚴遂 Yan Wu 顏烏 Yan Ying 晏嬰 Yan Zhitui 顏之推 yang 陽 yang 養 Yang Boyong 楊伯雍 Yang Gong 羊公 Yang Hu 羊祜 Yang Shang 楊上 Yang Weng 陽翁 Yang Wangsun 楊王孫 Yang Wei 楊威 Yang Xiang 楊 稥 Yang Xiuzhi 陽休之 Yang Yong 陽雍 Yang Zhen 楊震 Yao, Lady 姚氏 Yao Li 要離 Yao Nüsheng 姚女勝 yi 義 yi 異 Yi jing 易經 yi men shu zao 一門數灶 Yimin zhuan 逸民傳 Yiren ji 逸人記

267

268

Glossary

Yiren zhuan 逸人傳 yi shengde suo zhi 以聖德所至 yiwei xiaogan suo zhi 以為孝感所 至 yiwei xiaogan suo zhi yun 以為孝 感所至云 yin 陰 yinde 陰德 Yinde zhuan 陰德傳 Yin Tao 殷陶 Yin Yun 殷惲 Yin Zifang 陰子方 ying 應 Yingerzi 嬰兒子 Ying Kaoshu 穎考叔 Ying Shao 應劭 Ying Shu 應樞 Ying Shun 應順 Yômei bunkô Xiaozi zhuan 陽明文 庫孝子傳 yong 傭 yongren 傭賃 yongzuo 傭作 you 友 you zhi zhi shi 有志之士 Yu 禹 Yu Dingguo 于定國 Yu Gun 庾滾 Yu Guo 虞國 Yu Liang 庾亮 Yu Panyou 虞盤右 Yu Pu 虞溥 Yu Qimin 余齊民 Yu Qianlou 庾黔婁 Yu Shun 虞舜 Yu Xian 虞顯 Yu zi Yan deng shu 與子儼等疏 Yuan, Emperor of the Han 漢元帝 Yuan, Emperor of the Liang 梁元 帝

Yuan Ang 爰盎 Yuan Gu 原谷 Yuan Hong 袁宏 Yuan Mi 元謐 Yuan Shu 袁術 Yue Hui 樂恢 Yue jue shu 越絕書 Yue Yangzi 樂羊子 Yue Yi 樂頤 Za Xiaozi zhuan 雜孝子傳 zazhuan 雜傳 Zeng Gong 曾鞏 Zeng Shen 曾參 Zengzi 曾子 Zhanguo ce 戰國策 Zhan, Lady 湛氏 Zhan Qin 展勤 Zhang, Emperor of the Han 漢章 帝 Zhang Ba 張霸 zhangfu zhi jie 丈夫之節 Zhang Gongyi 張公藝 Zhang Hongchu 張洪初 Zhang Jian 張建 Zhang Kai 張楷 Zhang, Lady 張氏 zhangren 丈人 Zhang Shu 張叔 Zhang Zhan 張湛 Zhao Chong 趙珫 Zhao Dun 趙遁 Zhao E 趙娥 Zhao Gou 趙狗 Zhao Jianzi 趙簡子 Zhao Qi 趙岐 Zhao Xiao 趙孝 Zhao Xun 趙循 Zhao Zi 趙咨 Zheng Hong 鄭弘

Glossary

Zheng Jizhi 鄭緝之 Zheng Xuan 鄭玄 zhiguai 志怪 zhixiao 至孝 zhixiao zhi suo zhigan 至孝之所致 感 Zhizhai shulu jieti 直齋書錄解體 Zhizu zhuan 知足傳 zhong 忠 Zhongchen zhuan 忠臣傳 Zhongxiao 忠孝 Zhongxiao tuzhuan 忠孝圖傳 Zhou Jingshi 周景式 Zhou Lang 周朗 Zhou Pan 周磐 Zhou Qing 周青 Zhouzhu zhong qie 周主忠妾 Zhu Changshu 竺長舒

Zhu Chu 珠初 zhufu 主父 Zhu Mi 竺彌 zhumu 主母 Zhu Ran 朱然 Zhu Xu 朱緒 Zhuang ren ji 狀人紀 Zhuang Zhishan 莊之善 Zhuangzi 莊子 Zichan 子產 Zilu 子路 zimai 自賣 Ziyou 子游 zong 宗 Zong Bing 宗炳 Zong Cheng 宗承 zunzhe 尊者 Zuo zhuan 左傳

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Accounts of Filial Daughters, 67, 220n.73 Accounts of Filiality, 10, 75 Accounts of Filial Offspring: authors of 65–67, change over time, 64–65, as children’s literature, 3; expression of one’s own ¤liality, 77–80; golden age of, 4, 5; origins of, 52– 61; purposes of, 75–80; southern predilection for, 61–64; survival of, 10–11 Accounts of Former Worthies, 43 Accounts of Loyal Retainers, 66, 243n.79 Accounts of Outstanding Immortals, 57, 73 Accounts of Outstanding Women, 30, 46, 49, 50, 51, 56, 57, 59, 67, 74, 75, 78, 106, 165, 166, 168, 169, 172, 175, 180, 183, 184, 186, 217n.45, 258n.41 Analects, 92, 108, 113, 114, 148, 239n.47 animals: as auspicious omens, 99–101, 233n.80; as ¤lial exemplars, 129– 130, 132, 244n.91; react to outstanding ¤liality, 82, 95, 97–98, 100, 174, 227n.22; white animals as auspicious, 233n.82 audience: children as, 65; provincial and metropolitan of¤cials as, 67–70 auspicious omens, 93, 99–102, 109– 111, 112 Ban Gu, 59, 73, 143, 144, 217n.46, 218n.48 Bao Yong, 33, 212n.60

behavioral dossier, 38, 41, 44, 210n.45 Bian Zhuangzi, 117 Bielenstein, Hans, 31 Biezhuan. See separate accounts or biographies Bing Yuan, 20, 212n.60 Book of Poetry, 79, 129 Book of Rites, 32–34, 37, 114, 116, 120, 124, 140, 142, 144, 145, 146, 149, 152, 160, 239n.47, 245n.3, 250n.61 Boyu. See Han Boyu breast-feeding, 100, 132, 243n.89 Brown, Peter, 6, 71 Buddhism, 5, 70, 84, 97, 98, 114, 129, 132, 164, 187, 188, 231nn.64, 69 Bynum, Caroline Walker, 6 Cai Shun, 32, 61, 97, 231n.64, 239n.45, 251n.74 Cai Yong, 14, 39, 212n.60, 239n.42 cannibalism, 31, 87, 97, 98 Cao E, 175, 176, 199n.35 Cao Zhi, 4, 57–59, 77, 78, 79, 123, 191– 192, 217n.42, 225n.126 Capital’s Steadfast Woman, 166, 259n.75 care-debt, 128–132 Chan, Leo Tak-hung, 35 Chen Ch’i-yun, 40 Chen Shi, 40 chenwei. See Confucian apocrypha children: ageless, 149–151, 153; grieving like, 140–141, 149 Chittick, Andrew, 44, 213n.78

293

294

Index

Chunqiu. See Spring and Autumn Annals Chunyu Ti Ying, 166, 181 Classic of Filial Piety, 66, 80, 90, 91, 96, 102, 108, 114, 222n.88, 229nn.40, 41 Cole, Alan, 114, 129, 132, 164 Commentary on the Classic of Waterways, 44, 95, 98, 100 communal-mindedness, 118, 127, 128, 189 Confucian apocrypha, 6, 22, 84, 89, 91– 94, 102, 103, 109, 111, 244n.92 Confucianization, 8, 20–26, 187–188, 205n.51; criteria for Confucian identity, 206n.58; growth during Eastern Han, 22–24; weakness of Confucianism before the Eastern Han, 21–22; witnessed in the spread of the three-year mourning rites, 155–158, 163 Confucius, 23, 24, 82, 91, 92, 122, 140, 142, 145, 147, 153, 178 Coon, Lynda, 164 Correlative Confucianism, 8, 83–85, 89, 111–112; advocacy of meritocracy, 105, 108; de¤nition of, 226n.5; hierarchical emphasis of, 24–25; resilience of, 188, 189 Crump, J. I., 30 dao, 89, 91, 104, 183 daughter of the Beigong family, 171, 257n.28 Dawenkou pictorial stones, 53, 130, 216n.28, 245n.108, 260n.2 Deng, Empress Dowager of the Han, 156, 217n.46, 252n.84, 254n.109 Deng Yuanyi’s wife, 182–183 Dharma Garden and Pearl Forest, 47, 213n.2 Ding Lan, 34–35, 53, 58, 104, 132, 152, 210n.35, 245n.108, 260n.2 Disquisitions, 86, 88 Dongguan Han ji. See Han Records of the Eastern Pavilion Dong Yong, 34, 49, 53, 54, 58, 95, 103, 105, 123, 210nn.35, 43

Dong Zhongshu, 83, 105 Du Ci, 173 dying from grief, 146, 176–177, 249n.45 dynastic histories’ “Biographies of the Filial,” 4, 10–11, 38, 59–61, 66, 82, 89, 228n.38 education: establishment of Confucian curriculum, 21; growth of Confucian education, 23, 206n.62 emaciation, 93, 144–146, 162, 176, 178, 249n.42, 250n.61. See also self-deprivation epitaphs, 28, 41–42, 44 Ershisi xiao. See Twenty-four Filial Exemplars Ershisi xiao shi. See Poems on the Twentyfour Filial Exemplars Er Ziming, 87, 227n.18 “Essay on Numinous Fungi,” 57–59, 78, 79, 191 extended families: advantages of, 20; daughters-in-law as an important component of, 185; fragility of, 17–19, 205n.44; growth of, 8, 14– 17, 201nn.8, 9, 203n.24; maintaining unity of, 128; predilection for Confucianism, 24,188, 207n.67; promoting hierarchy within, 25– 26, 128; types of, 201n.7. See also families; leishi tongju families: consort, 156–157; early medieval great families, 13–14; emergence of local in¶uential families, 24; importance of learning and merit to, 106–109; loyalty toward the family versus the state, 117, 126, 127–128; persistence of elementary families, 17–20, 203n.16; reasons for their smallness in the south, 205n.43; size of, 14–17, 202n.9, 204n.34; stories as legitimizing agents of, 40–43, 44, 109– 111, 112; weakness of small households, 19–20. See also extended families; great families

Index

family biographies, 42–43 family instructions, 6, 107–108 Fangshi. See masters of the occult sciences Fan Liao, 32, 239nn.42, 45 Fan Ye, 31, 40, 60, 61 Fayuan zhulin. See Dharma Garden and Pearl Forest feeding, 113–115, 116, 118, 119–121, 123, 124–126, 129–130, 134, 243n.86. See also “feeding in return”; reverent care “feeding in return” (fanbu), 129–131, 134. See also mastication; reciprocity “¤lial and incorrupt” (xiaolian), 38, 40, 68, 90 ¤lial piety narratives: as exempla and hagiographies, 6–7, 30–31; historicity of, 31–34; inclusion within Tang and Song encyclopedias, 10, 11; origins in oral culture, 34–37; purposes of, 37–41; sources of, 9– 11; structure of, 28–31 Filial Wife of Donghai, 86, 173, 176, 183, 257n.36 Five Classics, 21, 23, 48 Fujikawa Masakazu, 137, 155, 156, 157, 252n.89 Funabashi Xiaozi zhuan, 10, 77, 99, 193, 194 Gan Bao, 75, 79, 192 Gao Chai, 141, 246n.12, 247n.23 Gaoseng zhuan. See Lives of Eminent Monks Garden of Persuasions, 25, 30, 116, 208n.9 Geary, Patrick, 37 Ge Hong, 64, 159–160, 230n.56 gong. See communal-mindedness Gongsun He, 175 Gongsun Hong, 143, 218n.48 gongyang. See reverent care great families, 13–14, 40–43, 44, 65, 109–111, 112, 235n.107, 241n.69 Guangwu, Emperor of the Han, 22, 47, 89, 101

Guan Ning, 97, 102, 212n.60, 231n.66 Guanyin, 231nn.64, 69 Gu Chu, 88, 231n.64, 251n.74, 254n.108 Guo Ju, 1, 34, 70, 96, 105, 115, 123, 126, 210n.35, 210n.43, 257n.27 Guo Jujing, 4, 46 Guo Shidao, 149, 211n.48, 242n.70 Guo Yuanping, 34, 153, 211n.48, 240n.55, 250n.56 Gusou, 50, 51, 52, 99 Han Boyu, 29, 31, 53, 57, 58, 69 Han Feizi. See Master Han Fei Han Records of the Eastern Pavilion, 59– 60, 88, 101, 158, 217n.46, 254n.109 Hanshi waizhuan. See Mr. Han’s Exoteric Commentary Han Xianzong, 62, 64, 219n.61 heaven: anthropomorphic or caring nature of, 83–84, 86, 103, 137; belated response to women’s ¤liality, 174, 176; bureaucratic organization, 95; intervention of, 88, 95, 99, 121, 233n.94; omens as its messages, 83–84; protects ¤lial children, 99; punishment of un¤liality, 104–105, 125–126, 234n.96; rewards from, 93–96 Helinge’er tomb, 53, 56, 68, 215n.28, 220n.74, 259n.75, 260n.2 He Qiao, 161–162 He Ziping, 119, 145, 149, 242n.74 hidden merit, 39–41, 42 hierarchy, 15, 24–25, 90, 104, 105, 113, 114–115, 119–120, 121–126, 128, 187, 240–241n.63, 242n.69 Higashi Shinji, 23 Hightower, James, 32 Hinsch, Bret, 172, 181, 257n.38 hired laborers, 123–124, 126, 240nn.54, 57, 60 History of the Han, 47, 59, 73, 143 History of the Han’s Later [Half], 60 History of the Later Han, 31, 60, 61, 143, 171

295

296

Index

History of the Song, 60 History of the Southern Dynasties, 48, 49, 66 History of the Southern Qi, 48, 49 History of the Three Kingdoms, 42 History of Yue’s Destruction [of Wu], 51 Holcombe, Charles, 13 Holgrem, Jennifer, 14 Holzman, Donald, 31 Hori Toshikazu, 15 Hou Han shu. See History of the Later Han Hua Mulan, 180 Huangfu Mi, 175, 225n.134 Huang Xiang, 33, 120, 212n.60, 254n.108 Hua Qiao, 60 Huayang guozhi. See Records of the States South of Mount Hua Ikezawa Masaru, 91, 247n.19 Imperial University, 21, 23, 206n.61 Inner Eurasians, 5, 69, 70, 222nn.87, 88 Itano Chôhachi, 22 Jiang Ge, 60, 98, 122 Jiang Shi, 40, 120, 123, 170, 227n.24, 229n.54, 245n.107 Jiang Xu, 98–99, 232n.73 Jianwen, Emperor of the Liang, 42 Jiaxun. See family instructions Jiazhuan. See family biographies Ji Kang, 72, 77, 224n.116 Ji Mai, 95, 103, 146, 240n.53 Kamiya Noriko, 139, 144, 155, 157, 159 Kuroda, Akira, 56, 230n.56 Kutcher, Norman, 118, 254n.106 lacquered basket of Lelang, 53, 68, 216n.28, 260n.2 lacquered cof¤n of Guyuan, 52, 69, 99, 127, 134, 222n.87, 226n.13 Lang Yuling, 63, 66, 219n.61 Lao Laizi, 53, 55, 70, 149–151 Lee, Jen-der, 135 leishi tongju (successive generations residing together), 14–16, 25 Lelang lacquered basket, 68

Lian Fan, 176, 212n.60, 251n.75, 254n.108 Li Daoyuan, 44 Lienü zhuan. See Accounts of Outstanding Women Liexian zhuan. See Accounts of Outstanding Immortals life expectancy, 18, 135 Li ji. See Book of Rites Li Lingchen, 47, 48 Li Mi, 20, 239n.42 Lingzhi pian. See “Essay on Numinous Fungi” Lin Shengzhi, 56 Lippiello, 110, 235n.117 Li Shan, 53, 227n.24 Liu Jun, 32, 42, 43 Liu Ping, 60, 126 Liu Qiu, 62, 66, 79, 219n.60 Liu Xiang, 46, 47–49, 52, 57, 62, 73, 80, 85–86, 165, 168, 170, 180, 183, 184, 217n.45, 258n.41 Liu Xiang Tableaus of Filial Offspring, 46, 80; forgery of, 47–52 Liu Yin, 103, 120, 245n.107, 249n.49, 251n.74, 258n.45 Liu Zhiji, 42, 43, 48, 60, 64, 74, 75, 76, 86, 224nn.114, 116 Lives of Eminent Monks, 43 Li Xian, 67, 220nn.70, 71 Li Xiu, 182 Li Yanshou, 48, 49 loyalty, 26, 66, 90, 117, 118, 126–127, 128, 136, 168–169, 184, 242n.77, 243n.79 Lu Jia, 83 Lu Jun, 175 Lunheng. See Disquisitions Luo Wei, 33 Lu Xun, 1–2 Lu Yaodong, 41, 127 Lu Zongli, 111 Mao Rong, 125 Master Han Fei, 90, 115, 118, 234n.100 masters of the occult sciences, 86, 109, 226n.14

Index

Master Xun, 140, 141, 147, 151, 152, 183, 246n.15 mastication, 129–130, 134, 244nn.96, 97. See also “feeding in return” Mencius, 85, 151, 218n.53 Meng Zong, 32, 94, 245n.107, 253n.101 meritocratic ideals, 105–109, 235n.110 Miao Fei, 94, 103, 239n.43 Mingbao ji. See Records of Miraculous Retribution Ming, Emperor of the Han, 89, 101, 155, 217n.46, 252n.84 Min Ziqian, 53, 56, 246n.14, 247nn.22, 23 miracles, 27, 29, 50, 51–52, 90; in the Classic of Filial Piety and the apocrypha, 91–94; connection with Correlative Confucianism, 83–85; ¤rst appearance in the tales, 85–89; as protection against danger, 96–99; as punishment for un¤liality, 93 miscellaneous accounts, 73–74 model emulation, 70–72, 76–77 moral dilemmas, 117–118, 126–127, 137, 165, 166–168, 170, 180, 184, 242n.71, 256n.14 morning and evening audiences, 115 mourning rites: antipathy toward, 139, 158–162; dif¤culty of completing, 141–142, 162; means to obtaining public of¤ce, 138–139; performing rites with sincerity, 139, 152, 153, 154, 158, 161–162, 163; remedial, 147, 148; reaf¤rmation of kinship identity, 158; strict adherence to, 138, 139–143; unlimited mourning, 147–151; violation of, 160–161. See also three-year mourning rites Mr. Han’s Exoteric Commentary, 30, 32, 208nn.9, 10 Mr. Tu’s daughter, 96, 153, 170, 172, 250n.57 Mulan. See Hua Mulan Mysterious Learning, 84, 187, 188, 189 Nan Qi shu. See History of the Southern Qi

Nan shi. See History of the Southern Dynasties neo-Taoism. See Mysterious Learning New Narratives, 30, 49–50, 208n.9 New Tales of Worldly Persuasions, 32, 42 Nishijima Sadao, 22 nurturing, 9, 23, 113, 114–117, 120– 121, 125, 129, 132, 137, 159, 168, 178, 244n.91 obedience, 181–184 one household with several stoves, 18– 19 oral culture: elite storytelling, 35–37; folkloric stories, 34–35 Pang Xing, 170–171 Pan Zong, 66, 112, 211n.48, 231n.68 patriarchs, 12, 15, 19, 24–25, 85, 90, 104, 105, 107, 128, 136, 168 Pei Songzhi, 42, 43 personally performing the rites, 122– 123, 153–154 Petersen, Jens Ostergard, 31 pictorial representations of ¤lial piety stories, 6, 23, 58–59, 65, 67–70; depictions of female exemplars, 259n.75; Ding Lan depicted at the imperial palace, 192; identity of Northern Wei owners of, 221n.86; Later Han depictions of, 52–57; Northern Wei images of the Shun legend, 134; parent depicted as receiving reverent caring, 135; popularity of Guo Ju in, 242n.76; scarcity of female exemplars in, 185–186; tomb owner’s role in the selection of, 67–68, 220n.74 Poems on the Twenty-four Filial Exemplars, 4, 46, 110 poverty, 105, 123–124 Powers, Martin, 23, 110 qi, 87–88, 92, 98, 104 Qibi Ming, 70 Qin Shihuang, 90 Qiu Huzi, 167

297

298

Index

Qiu Jie, 27, 36, 41 Raphals, Lisa, 165 reciprocity, 96, 116, 128–132, 134, 243n.86 reclusion, 38, 74, 81, 189 Records of Miraculous Retribution, 36 Records of the Historian, 59, 73, 85, 143, 239n.45, 256n.19 Records of the States South of Mount Hua, 40, 171 relationships: father-daughter, 242n.71; father-son, 24, 25, 26, 114, 132– 135, 136, 181; husband-wife, 25, 176, 183–184; lord-retainer, 23, 24, 25, 26, 40, 117, 128, 144, 155– 156, 159, 168, 183–184, 242n.77, 253n.91; master-disciple, 23; mother-daughter-in-law, 166–167, 169, 170–174, 175, 182–184, 193–194, 234n.96; mother-son, 114, 129, 132, 134–135, 136, 164 resonance, 83, 87–89, 90, 91, 92–93 revenge, 137, 175, 178–179, 180–181, 191–193, 248n.32 reverent care, 9; de¤nition of, 114–115, 236n.9; hierarchical aspect of, 115, 119–120, 121–126; lack of importance before the Eastern Han, 115– 118; relative importance of, 137; sacri¤ces taken on behalf of, 118– 128; women’s, 168–169, 170–174, 181; violation of, 125–126, 241n.68, 248n.32 rewards: of¤cial positions, 138; from secular authorities, 38–39; from supernatural entities 93–96 righteousness, 60, 218n.53 Righteous and Filial Nurse of Lu, 168 Righteous Aunt of Lu, 118, 259n.75 role-reversal stories, 128–132 Ruan Cang, 47, 57 Ruan Ji, 161, 162, 249n.49, 255nn.118, 119, 121 Ru Yu, 37 Sanguo zhi. See History of the Three Kingdoms Sang Yu, 145

Seidel, 109 self-deprivation, 116–117, 118–126, 141, 145, 148–149, 170–172, 174, 176, 190, 249n.45, 250n.61 sel¤shness, self-interests, 118, 127, 128, 189 self-mutilation, 173, 181, 257n.35 separate accounts or biographies, 42– 43, 44, 74, 212n.68, 213n.75, 216n.38 separate ¤nances, 15, 18–19, 163. See also yimen shuzao servants, slaves, 115, 121–122, 123– 124, 154, 168–169, 170, 240n.57, 239n.44, 240n.63 serving the dead like the living, 151– 153 Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove, 72, 161 Shen Sheng, 53, 238n.26 Shentu Xun, 31, 240n.53 Shen Yue, 60, 78, 218nn.53, 54 Shi Daoan, 122 Shiji. See Records of the Historian Shijing. See Book of Poetry Shi Jueshou, 56, 62, 66, 79, 219n.63, 225n.128 Shimomi, 114, 151, 169, 251n.65, 256nn.19, 20 Shishuo xinyu. See New Tales of Worldly Persuasions Shi Yan, 123, 212n.60 Shuijing zhu. See Commentary on the Classic of Waterways Shun, Emperor of the Han, 23 Shun, the sage king, 34, 49–52, 53, 53n.1, 57, 85, 88, 98, 99, 100 ¤g. 3, 102, 104, 106, 132, 134, 151, 215nn.21, 23, 24, 226n.13, 227n.22, 232n.75, 245n.104 Shuo yuan. See Garden of Persuasions si. See sel¤shness, self-interests sibling love, 87, 97–98, 137, 175, 180– 181, 218n.53, 243n.88 Sima Jinlong, 69, 107 ¤g. 4 Sima Qian, 51, 73, 144 social death, 171–173, 179, 185 social degradation, 121–126 Song Jun, 92, 94

Index

Song shu. See History of the Song Spring and Autumn Annals, 91, 92, 206n.55, 229n.41 stepmothers, 51, 98, 134, 143, 166, 182, 232n.73, 248n.32 suicide, 117, 118, 126, 164, 167, 169, 172, 173, 175, 177, 180, 184, 185, 237n.25, 238n.26 Tang Changru, 127, 243n. 79 Tang Lin, 36 Taoism, 5, 40, 109, 187, 188, 189 Tao Kan, 32, 219n.63, 241n.66 Tao Taizi, 167–168 Tao Yuanming, 10, 62, 75, 199n.39, 219n.63 Thompson, Lydia DuPont, 69 three daughters of the Chen family, 171, 250n.58 three-year mourning rites, 9, 22, 23, 138, 139, 140, 141, 147, 148, 158, 159, 188, 193, 243n.88, 246n.15; agent of familial solidarity and identity, 188; application to patrons, 23, 155–156, 253n.91; extensive practice of, in Eastern Han and Wei-Jin times, 155–158; infrequent practice of, before the Eastern Han, 142–144; precondition to obtaining public of¤ce, 156, 159. See also mourning rites Twenty-four Filial Exemplars, 2, 4–5, 11, 65, 174, 197n.21, 198n.27, 219n.57, 227n.22 uterine family, 17 Utsunomiya Kiyoyoshi, 15 Vandermeersch, Léon, 23 Wang Chong, 35–36, 86–87, 88, 115, 234n.96 Wang Ci, 48, 49 Wang Entian, 130 Wang Fu, 38, 173, 202n.9 Wang Mang, 84, 89, 155, 156, 206n.61, 252n.83 Wang Pou, 32, 79, 80, 239n.51, 250n.57, 252n.80

Wang Rong, 162 Wang Sanqing, 64–65 Wang Shaozhi, 62, 63n.2, 219n.60 Wang Tanzhi, 161, 255n.117 Wang Xiang, 32, 38, 40, 120, 232n.73, 245n.107 Wang Xinzhi, 62, 63n.2, 65 Wang Yan, 32, 120, 249n.49 Watabe Takeshi, 43 Watanabe Shinichirô, 90 Watanabe Yoshihiro, 22 Wei Jun, 97, 212n.60 Wei Tang, 53 Wei Tong, 40 Wei Zheng, 73–74, 213n.5 Wen, Emperor of the Han, 122, 123, 144, 166, 237n.18, 239n.42, 248n.34 Wen, King of the Zhou, 116, 121 Widow Chen, Filial Wife, 167 widows, 173, 174; refusal to remarry, 166, 171–172, 183, 185, 186 Wolf, Margery, 17 women, divisive role within the family, 17; moral dilemmas of, 117, 126– 128 Wu, Emperor of the Han, 15, 21 Wu, Emperor of the Liang, 62, 63n.3, 79–80, 197n.19, 217n.44, 225n.133 Wu, Emperor of the Western Jin, 157 Wu Hung, 54, 110, 214n.8, 230n.60 wujing. See the Five Classics Wu, King of the Zhou, 37, 116–117, 121 Wu Kui, 66, 203n.23, 211n.48 Wu Liang, 68 Wu Liang shrine, 35, 53, 54–56, 57, 110, 130, 191, 192, 215n.28, 216n.34, 230n.56, 235n.117, 245n.108, 259n.75 Wu Meng, 31, 251n.75 Wu Xi, 100 Wu You, 124 Wu Zetian, 4, 63, 67, 70, 78, 220n.73 Xianxian zhuan. See Accounts of Former Worthies Xiao Feng, 48, 49 Xiao Gang. See Jianwen, Emperor of the Liang

299

300

Index

xiaolian. See “¤lial and incorrupt” Xiao Yan. See Wu, Emperor of the Liang Xiao Yi. See Yuan, Emperor of the Liang Xiao zhuan. See Accounts of Filiality Xiao Zixian, 48, 49 Xie An, 160, 161 Xie Hongwei, 148 Xie Lingyun, 4 Xin Shan, 101 Xing Qu, 53, 106, 130, 131 ¤g. 5, 132, 210n.35, 240n.53, 244n.99 Xing Yitian, 40, 56 xingzhuang. See behavioral dossier Xinxu. See New Narratives Xuan, Emperor of the Han, 191, 192 Xuanxue. See Mysterious Learning Xu Guang, 48, 62, 64, 219n.61 Xun Guan,180 Xun Yue, 40 Xunzi. See Master Xun Xu Zi, 154, 211nn.48,.50, 249n.42, 250nn.57, 58 yang. See nurturing Yang Gong, 41, 53, 95, 96, 103, 105, 230nn.56, 60, 233n.94 Yang Wei, 98 Yang Xiang, 98, 174 Yang Yin, 148 Yang Zhen, 123, 212n.60, 252n.80 Yan Han, 40, 203n.23, 211n.57 Yan Hui, 38, 223nn.98, 99 Yan Zhitui, 16, 17, 18, 71, 107, 108, 240n.60 yi. See righteousness yimen shuzao. See one household with several stoves yinde. See hidden virtue Ying Kaoshu, 116, 119, 237n.15 Ying Shao, 57, 253n.95 yin-yang cosmology, 25, 83, 105

Yômei Xiaozi zhuan, 10, 56, 75–76, 77, 146, 185, 193, 194 Yuan, Emperor of the Han, 22 Yuan, Emperor of the Liang, 4, 34, 62, 63n.4, 66, 79, 80 Yuan Gu, 2, 5, 53, 132, 133 ¤gs. 7 & 8, 210n.35 Yuejue shu. See History of Yue’s Destruction [of Wu] Yue Yangzi, 170 Yue Yi, 125 Yu Guo, 82 Yu Liang, 71–72 Yu Panzuo, 62, 66 Yu Qimin, 39, 146 zazhuan. See miscellaneous accounts Zengzi, 30, 53, 56, 61, 87, 94, 98, 117, 119, 146, 208n.7, 223n.99, 237n.18, 246n.13 Zhang Gongyi, 17 Zhang Ti, 127 Zhao Dun, 116 Zhao E, 178, 179 Zhao Gou. See Zhao Xun Zhao Juan, 165 Zhao Qi, 72, 73, 78, 151 Zhao Xiao, 97, 175 Zhao Xuan, 138 Zhao Xun, 119, 130, 131 ¤g. 6 Zheng Jizhi, 55, 62 Zheng Xuan, 89, 115 Zhou Lang, 18–19, 205n.43 Zhou Qing, 183 Zhu Mi, 32, 232n.78, 249n.50 Zhu Ran, 69 Zhu Xu, 125 Zilu, 142, 237n.21, 246n.13 Zong Cheng, 154, 230n.55 Zuo Commentary (Zuo zhuan), 116, 119, 126

About the Author

Keith N. Knapp, who received his doctorate from the University of California, Berkeley, in 1996, is associate professor of history at The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina. Author of numerous articles on Confucianism and early medieval thought, he is presently translating two collections of Chinese ¤lial piety tales that have survived in Kyoto, Japan.

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