Spring and Autumn Historiography: Form and Hierarchy in Ancient Chinese Annals 9780231556514

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SPRING AND AUTUMN HISTORIOGRAPHY

TA NG CE NTE R SE R IE S IN EARLY CHI NA

TANG CENTER SERIES IN EARLY CHINA

Editors Li Feng Anthony Barbieri-Low

The dramatic increase of information about China’s early past made possible by recent archaeological discoveries has reenergized the study of Early China. The Tang Center Series in Early China, sponsored by the Tang Center for Early China at Columbia University and published by Columbia University Press, presents new studies that make major contributions to our understanding of early Chinese civilization and break new theoretical or methodological grounds in Early China studies, especially works that analyze newly discovered paleographic and manuscript materials and archaeological data. The disciplinary focus of the series includes history, archaeology, art history, anthropology, literature, philosophy, and the history of sciences and technology. The time period covered spans from the Neolithic to the end of the Han Dynasty (220 CE) or to the end of the Tang Dynasty (907 CE) for titles in archaeology. Modeling Peace: Royal Tombs and Political Ideology in Early China, Jie Shi Kingly Splendor: Court Art and Materiality in Han China, Allison R. Miller Many Worlds Under One Heaven: Material Culture, Identity, and Power in the Northern Frontiers of the Western Zhou, 1045–771 BCE, Yan Sun Mediation of Legitimacy in Early China: A Study of the Yi Zhou shu and the Grand Duke Traditions, Yegor Grebnev Kingly Crafts: The Archaeology of Craft Production in Late Shang China, Yung-ti Li

Spring and Autumn Historiography FORM AND HIERARCHY IN ANCIENT CHINESE ANNALS

Newell Ann Van Auken

Columbia University Press New York

Columbia University Press Publishers Since 1893 New York  Chichester, West Sussex cup.columbia.edu Copyright © 2023 Columbia University Press All rights reserved Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Van Auken, Newell Ann, author. Title: Spring and autumn historiography : form and hierarchy in ancient Chinese annals / Newell Ann Van Auken. Description: New York : Columbia University Press, [2023] | Series: Tang Center series in early China | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2022022213 | ISBN 9780231206501 (hardback) | ISBN 9780231556514 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Confucius. Chun qiu. | China—History—Zhou dynasty, 1122-221 B.C—Historiography. | History—Methodology. Classification: LCC PL2470.Z6 V36 2023 | DDC 299.5/1282—dc23/eng/20220915 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022022213 Columbia University Press books are printed on permanent and durable acid-free paper. Printed in the United States of America Cover image: Professor Xu Tianjin, Beijing University

To my children

CONTENTS

L I ST O F TA B L E S   ix L I S T O F SE T S   xi AC K N OW L E D G M E N T S   xiii S C HO L A R LY C O N V E N T IO N S   xvii C H R O N O L O G Y: LU RU L E R S O F T H E S PR I N G A N D AU T UM N   xxi I N T R O DU C T IO N  

1

Chapter One Orientations: Approaches to Spring and Autumn Historiography  13 Chapter Two Recording the Day  30 Chapter Three Encoding Individual Rank  64

viii CONTENTS

Chapter Four An Idealized Interstate Order  101 Chapter Five Registering Judgments  142 Chapter Six Concealing Submission  178 Conclusions: Spring and Autumn Historiography and the Formally Regular Core  213 A P P E N D I X 1 : D E F I N I N G A “R E C O R D”   2 33 A P P E N D I X 2 : EV E N T T Y P E S I N T H E S PR I N G A N D AU T UM N   2 3 9 A P P E N D I X 3 : D IAC H R O N IC C HA N G E S I N F R E Q U E N C Y A N D F O R M I N T H E S PR I N G A N D AU T UM N  24 7 NOTES 257 B I B L IO G R A P H Y   3 0 7 I N D E X   319

LIST OF TABLES

Table 2.1: Table 2.2: Table 2.3: Table 2.4: Table 3.1: Table 3.2: Table 4.1: Table 4.2: Table 4.3: Table 4.4: Table 4.5: Table 5.1:

Event types that are consistently not dated (“undatable” types) 39 Event types that are consistently dated  42 Event types that are inconsistently dated  45 Details associated with death records of regional rulers, by state 54 Formal indications of rank in Spring and Autumn death and funeral records for men  79 The Spring and Autumn and “Qu li” compared: formal indications of rank  97 Sequence of states in the Spring and Autumn, with titles of rulers and clan names of ruling houses  111 Designations of leaders in records of unilateral military events, by tier and state  127 Designations of leaders in records of unilateral military actions, by tier  131 Designations of leaders in records with multistate lists, by tier 131 System of corresponding ranks as set forth by Zang Xuanshu in Zuo Tradition, Cheng 3  133 Records of killings and regicides: rank of victim and formal features 147

x L I S T O F TA B L E S

Table 6.1: Table 6.2:

Table 6.3: Table A2.1:

Spring and Autumn records of visits to Lu and corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts  187 Spring and Autumn records of travel by Lu rulers and noblemen and identification in corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts 189 Spring and Autumn records of inbound and outbound diplomatic visits, by state  195 Spring and Autumn event types  240

LIST OF SETS

Set 2.1: Set 2.2: Set 2.3: Set 2.4: Set 3.1: Set 3.2: Set 3.3: Set 4.1: Set 4.2: Set 4.3: Set 5.1: Set 5.2: Set 5.3: Set 6.1: Set 6.2: Set 6.3:

Spring and Autumn records for Zhuang 4 (690 BCE)  33 Records of wall construction (consistently undated)  40 Records of solar eclipses (consistently dated)  43 Records of fires (inconsistently dated)  47 Paired death and funeral records of Zhou kings (all)  81 Paired death and funeral records of Lu rulers (all)  82 Paired death and funeral records of regional rulers (selected)  84 Records of attacks with leaders from multiple states  107 Records of covenants  108 Records of interstate meetings  109 Records of killings of noblemen  144 Records of regicides  146 Records of going out fleeing  151 Records of court visits received by Lu  183 Records of visits of friendly inquiry received by Lu  183 Records of Lu rulers and noblemen going to other states  185

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The first time I looked at the Spring and Autumn, I thought it was boring. Only when I started to examine the patterns that recurred across the whole text did it become interesting to me. What enabled me to observe these patterns and analyze them as a system was my training in linguistics. This is not a linguistic study of the Spring and Autumn, but it draws on linguistic patterns and concepts, and I must therefore start my acknowledgments by expressing my debt of gratitude not to any one teacher, scholar, or study, but to the many linguists whose work has taught me to approach language and texts with an eye to noticing formal patterns. I initially began the research presented in this book in the early 2000s during my first visit to the Institute of History and Philology (IHP) at Academia Sinica in Nan-kang, Taiwan. During that and subsequent visits, conversations with my sponsor Chen Chao-jung provided me with new insights and encouragement. I am also grateful to the faculty and staff of IHP for their help, support, and many kindnesses. It is Li Feng of Columbia University to whom I owe the greatest debt. From our first interaction, he has enthusiastically supported and encouraged my work on the Spring and Autumn. In his role as content editor for this book, he read the full manuscript closely and attentively and provided a wealth of incisive notes and suggestions, which enabled me to improve this book far beyond what I could have done on my own. Li Feng’s immense expertise on early China is, of course, widely acclaimed, and I am grateful and lucky to

xiv ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

have benefited from his knowledge. When I received his comments on my manuscript, I also discovered another of Li Feng’s strengths: he displayed an exceptional, at times almost uncanny, ability to identify structural issues in my writing and to suggest effective solutions. As I told a friend, I felt that under his editorial guidance, my writing was “receiving the spa treatment.” Every writer should be so fortunate. Others also read and commented on the manuscript at various stages of completion. I thank the Tang Center’s three anonymous readers for their constructive feedback. Eric Henry and Edward L. Shaughnessy generously read earlier drafts of the full manuscript, offering detailed comments and helpful critiques. Others who read and commented on this project at various stages include John Major, Matthew Z. Noellert, Michael Nylan, Ken-ichi Takashima, and Kai Vogelsang; I thank them for their insights, which in every case helped me improve this book. I thank the Tang Center for Early China at Columbia University and the series coeditors, Li Feng and Anthony Barbieri, for supporting the publication of this book project. I would also like to express my gratitude to Haiying Weng of the Tang Center, who has supported every step of this project with her clear and responsive communications, kindness, and unsurpassed professionalism. I am grateful too to Monique Briones and Marielle Poss of Columbia University Press, as well as the editorial staff, including Ben Kolstad of KGL, who managed the project, and Susan Zorn, who copyedited the manuscript. I also thank Imre Galambos for compiling the index. Finally, I would like to express my gratitude to Professor Xu Tianjin of Peking University for the elegant calligraphy that graces the front cover of this book. Parts of this research were presented at a meeting of the Creel Workshop, sponsored by the University of Chicago Creel Center for Chinese Paleography and hosted by Edward L. Shaughnessy, and also at the Early China Seminar at Columbia University, hosted by Glenda Chao and Guo Jue. I would like to thank my hosts and the participants for their inspiring discussions of my work and the new insights they gave me. I also presented various parts of this project at national meetings of the American Oriental Society and the Western Branch of the American Oriental Society, and I am grateful to colleagues at those meeting for their helpful questions and comments. Sections of chapter 5 are based in part on material previously published in two articles, “Killings and Assassinations in the Spring and Autumn as Records of Judgments,” Asia Major (3rd ser.) 27.1 (2014): 1–31, and “What if Zhào Dùn Had Fled? Border Crossing and Flight into Exile in Early China,”

xv ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Journal of the American Oriental Society 139.3 (2019): 569–590. I am grateful to both journals for allowing me to include that material in this book, and I thank Antje Richter, East Asia section editor of the Journal of the American Oriental Society, and Jen-der Lee, then editor of Asia Major, for their support, and the anonymous reviewers for those journals for their comments. I also express my thanks to the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences and Office of the Vice President for Research at the University of Iowa for a book subvention award in support of indexing. Many friends and colleagues have given me invaluable support and encouragement. I am especially grateful to David Branner, Shuang Chen, Melissa Curley, Jennifer Feeley, Amy Huang, and the late Jack Klein. I also thank my teacher and friend, William G. Boltz, who provided me with the skills and training to undertake this project. I owe my greatest debt of gratitude to my family. My children, Clara and Oliver, have supported me with love and constant encouragement since the inception of this project, and most of all I thank my beloved husband Van, whose unfailing love and unstinting support and faith in me have enabled me to bring this project to completion.

SCHOLARLY CONVENTIONS

The text of the Spring and Autumn (Chunqiu 春秋) used in this study is the version associated with the Zuo Tradition (Zuo zhuan 左傳), unless otherwise noted. The versions associated with the Gongyang Tradition (Gongyang zhuan 公羊傳) and Guliang zhuan (Guliang zhuan 穀梁傳) sometimes differ slightly, and variations are noted when relevant. In the text and notes, references to individual Spring and Autumn records are marked CQ and are keyed to the edition of Yang Bojun 楊伯峻, the Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhu 春秋左傳注, which serves as the base text of this study. Individual records are cited by ruler, year, and entry number according to Yang Bojun’s numbering scheme, and the citations include corresponding page references. Thus “CQ, Zhuang 8.5, 173” refers to the fifth record (by Yang Bojun’s count) of the eighth year of Lord Zhuang, on page 173 of Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhu. References to the Zuo Tradition are marked Zuo, and also refer to Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhu and use similar conventions. When referring to the reproduction of a woodblock print of an ancient text, such as those in the Thirteen Classics, Commentary and Subcommentary (Shisanjing zhushu 十三 經注疏), I give the traditional pagination; if a work also includes volume numbers or running pagination in Arabic numerals, I append these in parentheses after the traditional page numbers. Chinese characters and romanization are provided at the first occurrence of personal and place names and of titles of works in Chinese. After the first occurrence, Chinese works are referred to by translated title in the body text but by romanized title in the notes and bibliography.

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Tone marks are included when Chinese words are treated as foreign terms but are not given for proper nouns such as names of people, places, and states. When two frequently mentioned names have the same romanization, I distinguish them by means of altered spellings, drawing on conventions from the Gwoyeu Romatzyh system. I employ the following spelling distinctions: Ji 姬 Jih 紀 Xu 徐 Xuu 許 Qi 齊 Qii 杞

The state Wei 衛 is often spelled Wey in scholarship covering the Warring States period to distinguish it from the state Wei 魏; I maintain the spelling Wei 衛 since Wei 魏 did not yet exist during the Spring and Autumn period and is mentioned only once in this book. TRANSLATION MATTERS

All translations are my own unless otherwise noted; when available, alternative translations may be cited in the notes. Likewise, if an ancient text has been translated into English, I may provide a reference to the translation after the citation of the original Classical Chinese source; I do this to make this material more accessible to ancient studies scholars whose focus is not China and who may not read Classical Chinese. Titles of the traditional five ranks of regional rulers (zhūhóu 諸侯) are left untranslated. When these terms appear in reference to specific rulers, they are capitalized and romanized, as Gong 公, Bo 伯, Hou 侯, Zi 子, and Nan 男. When they refer to ruling titles generically, they are treated as foreign words and are italicized and marked with tones; thus “the Hou of Jin,” but “Jin was ruled by a hóu.” I have chosen to leave these terms untranslated because the traditional English renderings corresponding to European titles of nobility are clearly unsuitable but to date no consensus on appropriate translations has been reached. The term gōng 公 serves two separate functions in the Spring and Autumn: it may be a title associated with the highest of the five ruling ranks, and it may be an honorific. As an honorific, it is used to refer to the Lu 魯 ruler, and is also often coupled with a posthumous name to refer to a deceased regional ruler. When gōng serves as the title of a regional ruler, I have treated it like

xix S C H O L A R LY C O N V E N T I O N S

other ruling ranks as described previously, but when it serves as an honorific, I translate it “Lord.” The twelve sections of the Spring and Autumn bear the posthumous epithets of twelve rulers of Lu plus the honorific “Lord” (gōng), for example, Lord Yin 隱公, whereas living Lu rulers are simply referred to as “Lord” (gōng). The designation zǐ 子 also serves two separate functions: it may be a ruling rank, and it also may refer to the successor to the throne during the interval between the preceding ruler’s death and his official accession; in this second context, I translate it “Heir.” Some translation conventions are peculiar to the Spring and Autumn and may not be suitable for other early Chinese texts. I have translated dàfū 大夫 with the generic term “nobleman,” since in the Spring and Autumn this term referred to all nobility who were not rulers, including high officials as well as sons and other male kin of the ruler; this translation would not be appropriate for early works in which dàfū refers to a narrower category of individuals or designates an official title; in such cases, a different translation, such as “grandee,” would be preferable. Likewise, I have translated all instances of the word rén 人 in the Spring and Autumn records as gendered and singular, “man,” as in the phrase “the man of Chu” (Chu rén 楚人). This translation is correct for the Spring and Autumn records (as I believe is amply demonstrated in my work here and elsewhere), but it is certainly not appropriate for all other early texts, including the Zuo Tradition. I translate the title Chunqiu 春秋 directly as Spring and Autumn. The genre label “Annals” is often appended to this title (“Spring and Autumn Annals”), but I have chosen not to do this; although I categorize this work as an annals text, I acknowledge that others may not agree and I wish to use a translated title that leaves this matter open to discussion. Nor do I add the word “Classic” (jīng 經) to the translated title, since my study focuses on the Spring and Autumn prior to its canonization as a “Classic” in early imperial times. I render the title Zuo zhuan 左傳 as Zuo Tradition, translating the word zhuàn 傳 as “Tradition” rather than “Commentary,” since a zhuàn is but one of several types of traditional commentary. SETS OF RECORDS

Sets of Spring and Autumn records appear in boxes throughout this book. These boxed record sets illustrate the formally regular patterns that characterize the Spring and Autumn. The first set illustrates a complete year of text,

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and each of the remaining fifteen sets contains a representative sample of records of a particular event type. Most sets contain ten to twelve records, and, where feasible, I have used examples that are distributed fairly evenly across the entire Spring and Autumn. For example, to generate the set for “Walls,” I chose every third record from a total of twenty-nine records of wall construction, yielding ten records. Exceptions are the sets of paired death and funeral records in chapter 3; sets 3.1 and 3.2 contain all death and funeral record pairs for Zhou kings and for Lu rulers, respectively, and set 3.3 contains death and funeral record pairs for regional rulers from a single chronological slice during the reigns of Lords Zhuang and Xi. Individual records in these sets are identified by Lu ruler, year, and record number; after the translation of each record, the citation is followed by the year (in BCE) of the record. For example, in set 3.1, “Yin 3.2 (720)” refers to the second record in the third year of Lord Yin’s reign, in 720 BCE.

CHRONOLOGY: LU RULERS OF THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

Ruler

Reign dates (BCE)

Lord Yin

隱公

722–712

Lord Huan

桓公

711–694

Lord Zhuang

莊公

693–662

Lord Min

閔公

661–660

Lord Xi

僖公

659–627

Lord Wen

文公

626–609

Lord Xuan

宣公

608–591

Lord Cheng

成公

590–573

Lord Xiang

襄公

572–542

Lord Zhao

昭公

541–510

Lord Ding

定公

509–495

Lord Ai

哀公

494–467

These are the twelve Lu rulers whose reigns are covered by the Spring and Autumn, listed by posthumous epithet. Although Lord Ai’s reign lasted 28 years, to 467 BCE, the Zuo Tradition version of the Spring and Autumn ends in 479 BCE, and thus covers only the first 16 years of his reign; the Gongyang and Guliang versions end two years earlier, in 481 BCE, and cover only the first 14 years of Lord Ai’s reign.

SPRING AND AUTUMN HISTORIOGRAPHY

INTRODUCTION

This is not a book about the history of the Spring and Autumn period, that is, the eighth to fifth centuries before the common era in early China. This is a book about how events were recorded in the work from which that period takes its name, the Spring and Autumn, in Chinese, the Chunqiu 春秋. Many other scholars have written about what happened during the Spring and Autumn period and have critiqued the records of the Spring and Autumn with respect to accuracy and truthfulness. They seek to understand what happened, when it happened, and why. Their research is concerned with history. My work is concerned with historiography: how events were recorded in the Spring and Autumn and why they were recorded as they were. Historiography—that is, the writing of history—is fundamentally interpretive. If we accept this statement, then we must ask, what interpretation does the Spring and Autumn impose onto the events it records? What are its priorities and values, and how are they conveyed? What was the purpose of the Spring and Autumn, and who was its intended audience? In this book, I show that the Spring and Autumn is based on a system of regular recording conventions, that the Spring and Autumn records use form to display the relative importance of individuals, states, and events, and that its records are profoundly concerned with rank and prestige and convey a message that situates Lu and its rulers at the pinnacle of the hierarchy. I argue that the formally regular core of the Spring and Autumn was produced by recordkeepers in the state of Lu, not by a later editor, and that its records embody the values and priorities of the state of Lu.

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Annals, perhaps because of their bare-bones format, are often read superficially as efficient records that aim to document “just the facts.” They are read with an assumption of historical reliability and are sometimes used as sources for generating accurate chronologies. The notion that annals are reliable is evident in mid-twentieth-century interpretations of the Spring and Autumn as an objective attempt to make a complete record, and perhaps also in some of the scholarly interest in another early annals text, the Bamboo Annals (Zhushu jinian 竹書紀年), which often intersects with efforts to determine an accurate chronology of early China. This approach does not seek to understand each annals text as an integrated system of recording information. Instead, it involves—to paraphrase Sumerologist Mario Liverani—mining annals for facts.1 In the orthodox Chinese interpretation, the Spring and Autumn is not viewed in this way, that is, as a chronicle whose primary aim is accurate representation of events. Instead, the Spring and Autumn is seen as an example of Confucian “praise and blame” historiography, and its records are assumed to encode judgments on the events it records. I would argue (and I believe most contemporary scholars would agree) that the traditional “praise and blame” interpretation did not reflect the original aim of the Spring and Autumn and instead imposed later Chinese historiographical priorities onto its records. Likewise, modern attempts to read the Spring and Autumn as aimed at an accurate representation of the past also involve the imposition of a different, later, and perhaps quite foreign agenda onto the records.2 More recently, a few scholars have suggested in passing a link between the Spring and Autumn and ritual performance, largely on the basis of the formulaic nature of the records. Although this book likewise focuses on form and regular patterns, I remain skeptical of the purported link to ritual performance. I instead analyze the patterns that constitute the core of the Spring and Autumn in order to understand them as a system, with the ultimate aim of understanding the values and priorities that the Spring and Autumn imposes onto the events it records. MY ARGUMENT AND THE PURPOSE OF THIS BOOK

This book rests on the premise that the primary message of the Spring and Autumn was conveyed not by its content, but by its form. When we read the Spring and Autumn, we may not immediately notice that omissions of detail, such as dates or components of names, occur according to patterns

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and rules, and likewise, we may misconstrue regular discrepancies between how events are recorded and how they are narrated in other sources as disregard for the truth rather than the imposition of recording conventions on events. The selective inclusion or omission of events and details, and the use of formulaic language in the Spring and Autumn encodes a system of values and priorities. The significance of this coded language may have been apparent in Lu during the Spring and Autumn period, but even by early imperial times, it had become obscure. The purpose of this book is to identify the regular patterns underlying the Spring and Autumn records and to decode (as much as possible) their significance, in order to throw light on the norms and priorities that they embody. The code itself is neither difficult nor arcane, and the values it represents are anything but surprising: stated in broadest terms, the formally regular core of the Spring and Autumn is deeply concerned with hierarchy, and its records display an idealized hierarchy that positions the state of Lu and its rulers at its apex. A related issue this book seeks to address is the origin and aim of the Spring and Autumn. If its message was to display an idealized hierarchy, who was sending this message, and for whom was it intended? Was it a retrospective account of events prepared by a single person, whether Confucius or someone else? Or were its records compiled over time by Lu record-keepers? It is impossible to answer these questions with complete certainty, but our assumptions and preliminary conclusions about the composition history of the Spring and Autumn inevitably have major ramifications for how we understand the significance and purpose of its records. History writing is conventionally considered to be writing about the past, whether distant or recent.3 In writing about past events, historians may aim to use the past to explain the present—how we got to where we are now—and may also seek to use the past to legitimize the present, or to assist us in making decisions about the present. If the Spring and Autumn was prepared by a single person or group well after the events it records took place, then it may be considered a conventional work of history: it concerns events that were, from the perspective of the compilers, past events, and as such, it has the aim of presenting and explaining the past to the present. The orthodox view of the Spring and Autumn is that it is a work of history and that the judgments embedded in its records by Confucius were intended not only to explain the past but also to serve as a model to guide future generations. Indeed, from the perspective of later readers and

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commentators, the Spring and Autumn registers events of the distant past, and thus it is only natural that its records came to be viewed as retrospective history. Records of the immediate past may have a different function. Writing about ancient Egypt and records of the immediate past—what we might call “current events” in contemporary terminology—John Baines has used the term “instant history-writing.”4 He argues persuasively that writing about the immediate past is often a form of self-presentation, and those who compose such records may seek to shape how they are perceived and remembered by others, present and future. Alison Cooley has made similar observations about monumenta in ancient Rome, describing them as “images and texts designed to preserve the memory of great deeds,” the purpose of which was not to record deeds long past, but to preserve the present for posterity.5 If the Spring and Autumn was an official record of Lu that registered events shortly after they occurred, then it falls into the same category as Baines’s “instant history-writing,” and we must consider that its purpose may have been quite different from that of a retrospective historical record. As Baines suggests about other instances of “instant history-writing,” the records may have been compiled with the aim of selfpresentation. In this book, I argue that self-presentation was exactly the aim of the Spring and Autumn. METHODOLOGY AND SOURCES

If the language and phrasing of the records are associated with hierarchy and their primary import lies not in content but in form, then we must take a new approach to reading the Spring and Autumn, and instead of focusing on individual records, irregularities, and unusual content we must shift our attention to the regular patterns and standard formal features that constitute the formally regular core of the Spring and Autumn. For this reason, the research in this book not only relies on a conventional linear reading of a traditional printed text, but also employs a digitized version of the Spring and Autumn.6 Linear reading of a traditional printed text allows us to notice sequences of events and potential connections among adjacent records, but comparison of similar records at different points in the text requires careful note-taking and flipping pages back and forth. By contrast, a digitized text is searchable and permits rapid, comprehensive analysis of all instances of recurring patterns throughout the entire text.

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In the process of analyzing the Spring and Autumn, I identified fields in the records, including date, type of event recorded, main verb, how individual participants are designated, and the state or states involved. This permitted me to sort records by common elements and to generate lists of all Spring and Autumn records that share certain formal characteristics or recurring patterns. I was then able to analyze these lists and compare them in a variety of ways, for example, chronologically or by the rank of individuals mentioned in the record. Examples from these topical lists are presented in the sets of records that appear in chapters 2 through 6. Topical sorting and classification of the records allowed me to identify patterns in the Spring and Autumn that are not apparent when the records are read in the conventional linear fashion, in chronological (rather than topical) order. My use of digital tools to analyze the Spring and Autumn may be considered a modern innovation, since using a digitized text has allowed me to assemble and sort data rapidly and to perform comparisons and analyses that would have been extraordinarily time-consuming if not impossible prior to the advent of digitization. Yet lengthy and ample precedent exists for the principles underlying my basic approach, and the methodology of sorting the Spring and Autumn records into groups with similar characteristics is definitely not new: ancient and medieval scholars employed similar methodology, even if they did not have the same tools at their disposal. The earliest surviving analysis of this type is the Spring and Autumn: Explained Precedents (Chunqiu shili 春秋釋例), composed by Jin exegete Du Yu 杜預 (222–284).7 This work categorizes and sorts the Spring and Autumn records into forty-two sets by rule or principle (lì 例), essentially reorganizing the records topically rather than chronologically.8 Although this is the earliest extant work of its type, catalogs list other now-lost ancient works with similar titles. The texts do not survive, but similarities in their titles suggest that they probably employed methodologies similar to Du Yu’s Explained Precedents to analyze the records.9 Indeed, the practice of sorting, analyzing, and explaining the records by category or rule may have already existed in preimperial times; elsewhere, I have speculated that embedded in the Zuo Tradition (Zuo zhuan 左傳) are fragments of an early commentarial work that uses this very approach, explaining the records topically instead of in chronological order.10 Works that sought to analyze the Spring and Autumn by topic or by formally similar components rather than in a linear fashion also flourished in the Song 宋 dynasty (960–1279), and many involved complex systematic analyses that classified records by

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broad categories, such as event type, and then by additional formal features, such as main actor or specificity of date.11 Perhaps the best-known tabular analysis of the Spring and Autumn is the copiously annotated Tables of Major Events in the Spring and Autumn (Chunqiu dashibiao 春秋大事表) compiled by Qing 清 dynasty (1644–1912) scholar Gu Donggao 顧棟高 (1679–1759).12 More recently, in the early twentieth century, Chen Pan 陳槃 employed a similar methodology, comparing records of the same type, although his primary aim was to evaluate the three main commentarial traditions.13 Thus the methodological approach I take in this book is not a new one. What is new is the technology I have been able to employ to assist me in analyzing form and regular patterns. This study resembles other studies of early texts in that it attempts to strip away the later commentarial readings and to get at the text of the Spring and Autumn directly. For many early texts, interpretive ambiguity lies in the meaning of individual words and phrases, and getting back to the original text demands great philological acumen. By contrast, the significance of the Spring and Autumn lies not in its content but in the repeated phrasing and recurring patterns of the records. The Spring and Autumn is clearly a coded work, yet at the same time, its records were not written using secret signs or hidden language with the aim of restricting understanding of its significance to a small circle of initiates.14 Rather, its formulaic language and recording patterns represent the social, political, and religious system and hierarchy of  a particular time and place—that is, the state of Lu during the Spring and Autumn period. In time, the system encoded in these patterns disappeared and faded from memory, and the code itself came to be regarded as arcane and “secret.” But in origin, it was not obscure at all: it aimed to put the hierarchy of Lu on display. The Spring and Autumn records themselves are the primary source for this book. In keeping with the emphasis on regular patterns, this book focuses first and foremost on the most common event types and regular records, which comprise well over 90 percent of all Spring and Autumn records. Examined in detail are records of deaths and funerals, covenants and meetings, military actions (a category that subsumes multiple event types), killings and assassinations, flights into exile, and diplomatic travel. Additionally, records of solar eclipses, fires, disasters, earthquakes, and religious rites and sacrifices are discussed with respect to their date notations. But not all types of events recorded in the Spring and Autumn are analyzed in detail. In

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particular, little attention is given to categories of records that do not exhibit recurring patterns, such as unusual meteorological phenomena and events typically understood as omens. Records related to marriages constitute another category that is not analyzed in detail, since this category subsumes an extremely diverse group of records with many apparent irregularities. In general, categories with relatively few examples pose a methodological problem, namely, that it is often impossible to determine whether a given record is a rare example of a regular pattern or whether it is an irregular record or even a later interpolation. My analysis thus sets aside categories that include very few records or patterns that are rarely seen, and I focus instead on patterns that occur frequently enough to allow for significant conclusions. Nor do I seek to understand records that are obviously exceptional or irregular, a topic that forms the heart of the orthodox Spring and Autumn exegetical tradition. In analyzing the Spring and Autumn, I also draw on other early textual material that illuminates the regular patterns in its records. I examine narrative accounts from the Zuo Tradition that shed light on the interstate hierarchy, as well as sets of narrative accounts associated with a particular type of record—for example, all Zuo Tradition narrative material associated with records of killing or flights into exile, or all accounts that correspond to records of diplomatic travel. I also refer to the commentarial passages in the Zuo Tradition that seek to explain the Spring and Autumn directly, that is, the “direct commentary” passages.15 In addition, I examine textual material from the Rites Record (Liji 禮記) that uses, prescribes, or discusses formulaic language similar to that of the Spring and Autumn, as well as sections of the Ceremonies and Rites (Yili 儀禮), which also prescribes a formal hierarchical system similar to the one embodied in the Spring and Autumn records. Even though the specific details may differ, as systems, the prescriptions in these texts were generated by the same cultural tradition that produced the Spring and Autumn, and considering the principles that underlie them will help us understand the Spring and Autumn. OVERVIEW OF CHAPTERS

This book has six chapters and a conclusion, followed by three appendices. Chapter 1 provides a general introduction to the Spring and Autumn. It starts with a broad overview of annals texts in general, both in China and

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elsewhere in the ancient world. It then examines and critiques two conventional approaches to Spring and Autumn interpretation. The first is the orthodox reading laid out in most premodern commentaries, according to which Confucius wrote or edited the records, encoding therein his moral judgments on the events they record. Even if we reject the moralizing reading of the records, it is still worth considering whether the records were composed or heavily edited by a single person or group, and what the ramifications of such a scenario might be for our understanding of the Spring and Autumn. A second and equally problematic approach is to read the records as intended to be neutral, objective, and complete; in reality, the records exhibit none of these qualities. The second half of the chapter presents a new approach to reading the records, which is based on the observation that the records are governed by formal rules, and which proposes that through its highly idealized and formulaic presentation of events and of the hierarchy of individuals and states, the Spring and Autumn records aim to affirm and reinforce the authority of the Lu ruling house. Chapter 2 examines Spring and Autumn date notations. Years and seasons, which are always recorded, provide the organizational framework of the annals, whereas months and days are attached to individual records. Precise dating is often cited as a regular feature of Spring and Autumn records, but it is incorrect to assume that records without specific sexagenary cycle days are in some sense incomplete; over 80 percent of Spring and Autumn records do not have a day-date, making this the norm. Analysis of date notations shows that whether a record includes a sexagenary cycle date is determined by the type of event recorded, and that records of most types of events are not dated precisely. A second, much smaller, and highly restricted group of event types—perhaps those in which the day had some cosmological significance—are nearly always assigned a sexagenary cycle date. For a third group of event types, dating patterns are more complex, indicating that other criteria in addition to event type may have helped to determine whether or not a given record could be dated. Interestingly, dating patterns pertaining to death and funeral records of regional rulers lend credence to the Zuo Tradition claim that some records were based on communications from other states. Ultimately, analysis of date notations confirms the crucial point that the presence of greater detail in a record did not mean that more information was known about that event. Rather, dates and other details were selectively included or omitted from the Spring

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and Autumn on the basis of recording rules, and added detail—such as a sexagenary cycle date—was used to mark some Spring and Autumn records as having heightened importance. Chapter 3 analyzes how records refer to individuals of various ranks, showing that the same person could be designated by multiple forms or “styles of reference,” depending on that person’s rank and gender, as well as on the type of event recorded. Style of reference was but one of several features used to display relative rank, a point illustrated by analysis of death and funeral records. These features make clear distinctions between rulers and nobility, and between individuals from Lu and those from other states. The chapter then compares the hierarchical system encoded in the Spring and Autumn records with the hierarchical system evident in prescriptions found in the “Qu li” 曲禮 section of the Rites Record. The basis of the “Qu li” prescriptions was a centralized system in which all regional states were treated equally, whereas the hierarchy embedded in the Spring and Autumn was based on a regional multistate system with Lu at the center, positioned above all other states except Zhou. Thus the hierarchy embodied in the Spring and Autumn appears to predate that of the “Qu li,” since its recording conventions reflect a regional interstate system such as that of the Spring and Autumn period, and it did not take a centralized system as an ideal, much less as a reality. The analysis in chapter 4 focuses on records that list leaders from multiple states, including covenants, interstate meetings, and multilateral military actions, analyzing how these records represent the interstate hierarchy. Despite historical fluctuations in the interstate power balance during the period covered by the Spring and Autumn, its records list states in a fixed sequence in which Lu is always first. This sequence does not change over time, a clue that its basis was something other than the contemporary interstate power balance. Comparison with Zuo Tradition accounts of diplomatic disputes over relative rank reveals that competing claims to higher position were usually based on historical precedent, whether kinship or ancestral achievements; from this we may speculate that the unchanging Spring and Autumn sequence of states was also based on inherited convention. Relative hierarchy was also indicated by patterns of identification in multistate records, in which leaders from states of progressively lower rank were identified with more generic designations. These patterns allow us to categorize the states listed in Spring and Autumn records into three ranks or tiers; significantly,

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the Zuo Tradition also alludes to a system of ranked groups or tiers of states. Additionally, several Zuo Tradition accounts indicate that in certain situations, interacting with or serving as the counterpart of a person of lower rank was considered humiliating, a point that may explain why Spring and Autumn records with multistate lists often obscured the identity of lowerranking individuals. Overall, multistate lists display an intense concern with relative rank, but the interstate hierarchy manifested in the records, in which Lu was inevitably situated at the apex, was highly idealized and did not coincide with the real interstate power balance. Both chapter 5 and chapter 6 explore regular discrepancies between the records and “what really happened” according to other early sources. Chapter 5 examines records of killings and flights into exile and compares them to corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts; like chapter 6, this chapter is concerned with the presence of systematic discrepancies between the Spring and Autumn records and accounts of the same events in other early sources. These events are documented in as many as three different versions: Spring and Autumn records, Zuo Tradition narratives, and interstate announcements that are quoted in the Zuo Tradition. Whereas interstate announcements express harsh condemnation of individuals who fled or were killed, Zuo Tradition accounts are often ambivalent, allowing that not all who were killed deserved their fate and not all fugitives had engaged in misconduct. By contrast, the Spring and Autumn records register flights and killings in simple, ostensibly neutral language. The announcements express judgments in the conventional sense, explicitly labeling individuals as wrongdoers and enumerating their misconduct, but the brief records convey judgments that are equally absolute, as their stark simplicity blocks consideration of potentially mitigating circumstances. When viewed in light of the more nuanced Zuo Tradition accounts, some records may be considered to oversimplify, conceal, or even distort the facts. Nonetheless, the primary concern of the Spring and Autumn is hierarchy, and the chapter concludes that the records did not aim to convey moralizing judgments but to register instances of offenders who had been subjugated or humiliated and who had thus lost their position in the hierarchy. Chapter 6 explores records of diplomatic visits sent and received by Lu, analyzing how they employ omission of detail and exclusion of events to encode a particular view of the interstate hierarchy, with Lu at the apex. As in the preceding chapter, comparison of Spring and Autumn records

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with corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts reveals consistent discrepancies and patterns of omission; these patterns indicate that the records were not complete and, in particular, that travel by Lu rulers and nobility tended to be concealed or omitted outright, while instances in which Lu hosted visitors from abroad were highlighted. The chapter then turns to prescriptions concerning diplomatic visits found in the Ceremonies and Rites and also examines Zuo Tradition accounts of verbal interchange between host and guest during visits. These sources illustrate the use of choreographed movement across space and scripted speech during diplomatic visits to display the hierarchical relationship between host and guest; regardless of the real power differential, during these ceremonial occasions, the guest is always subordinate to the host. This evidence provides an explanation for Spring and Autumn patterns of omission. The records display an idealized hierarchy, and they obscure or omit instances in which Lu was subordinate to another state. In so doing, they not only suppress instances of real humiliation, such as detentions or regicides of Lu rulers, but even conceal cases of ceremonial subordination, such as when a Lu ruler or nobleman was a guest in another state. Like the scripted speech recorded in the Zuo Tradition and the detailed choreography of the Ceremonies and Rites, the Spring and Autumn embodies a system that uses form to communicate an idealized hierarchy. The conclusion revisits the question of whether the formulaic core of the Spring and Autumn could have been produced retrospectively by a later editor such as Confucius, or whether it was likelier to have been compiled over time by Lu record-keepers, who recorded events shortly after they transpired. Our answer to this question determines whether we understand the regular patterns of the formally regular core as representing the views and thought of a later editor—one individual—or as embodying Lu priorities, values, and culture, and revealing how Lu perceived and wished to depict the events that occurred during the period covered by the records. A review of the editorial work that would have been required to revise a less regular set of material into the formulaic records of the Spring and Autumn provides strong support for the hypothesis that the formally regular core was the work of Lu record-keepers, who followed regular conventions as they prepared the records over time. Likewise, the idealized message of Lu superiority and the system of features used to encode this message allow us to conclude that the records were a form of self-presentation intended to display the glory of Lu to contemporaries and future generations.

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Following these chapters are three appendices. Appendix 1 briefly explains how a “record” is defined for the purpose of counting and calculation in this book. Appendix 2 lists the forty-two event types used in this study and gives a brief overview of each. Appendix 3 summarizes three types of diachronic changes in the Spring and Autumn and examines what these changes can and cannot tell us about Spring and Autumn composition history.

Chapter One

ORIENTATIONS Approaches to Spring and Autumn Historiography

The Spring and Autumn is a chronologically arranged register of events that took place during the period from 722 to 479 BCE.1 It is written from the perspective of a single ancient Chinese state, Lu 魯 (located in what is now western Shandong Province), and it covers the complete reigns of eleven Lu rulers and approximately half of the twelfth. It is composed of brief one-sentence records of events, which are arranged in strict chronological order. That is, it is not a narrative history but an impersonal register that briefly documents events, in some cases including the month or day or identifying major participants or locations. Descriptive language is absent, and the records give no hint as to motive or intent, nor do they explicitly refer to causal links among events. Confucius is said to have embedded his evaluations of events in these brief records, and the orthodox Chinese view that a major function of history is to express moral judgment came to be inextricably linked to the Spring and Autumn. Although the Spring and Autumn is said to convey the judgments of Confucius, its terse entries give every appearance of being straightforward, factual records that were composed in the ancient Chinese state of Lu. In short, this work does not look anything like the record of moral judgments that it is alleged to be. This is a problem. The Spring and Autumn also defies many conventional expectations of what a history ought to be. Nowhere has this been stated as eloquently or

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pointedly as in James Legge’s “Prolegomena” to his translation of the Spring and Autumn, which is worth quoting at length: But from the historian all that we are entitled to require is a faithful record of facts. If he would win our special approval, he must weave his facts into an interesting narrative, trace their connexion with one another, and by unfolding the motives of the actors teach lessons that may have their fruit in guiding and directing the course of events in future generations. The making of history should be signalized by the vigour and elegance of the composition, and by the correct discrimination, impartiality, and comprehensiveness of the author’s judgments. When, with these ideas of what a history should be, we look into the Ch’un Ts’ëw [i.e., the Spring and Autumn], we experience immediately an intense feeling of disappointment. Instead of a history of events woven artistically together, we find a congeries of the briefest possible intimations of matters in which the court and State of Loo were more or less concerned, extending over 242 years, without the slightest tincture of literary ability in the composition, or the slightest indication of judicial opinion on the part of the writer. The paragraphs are always brief. Each one is designed to commemorate a fact; but whether that fact be a display of virtue calculated to command our admiration, or a deed of atrocity fitted to awaken our disgust, it can hardly be said that there is anything in the language to convey to us the shadow of an idea of the author’s feeling about it. The notices, for we cannot call them narratives, are absolutely unimpassioned. A base murder and a shining act of heroism are chronicled just as the eclipses of the sun are chronicled. So and so took place;—that is all. No details are given; no judgment is expressed.2

Despite the polemical tone, James Legge’s remarks are based on accurate observations about the Spring and Autumn records, which are indeed lacking in description or literary merit, are ostensibly lacking bias, and certainly do not openly express judgments. Without a doubt, the most striking characteristic of the Spring and Autumn is its highly formulaic nature. Rules determine the types of events it records, the language used to record those events, and the level of detail included in records of different types. The Spring and Autumn does not aim to be a comprehensive record, and only a restricted range of event types could be registered therein. Common event types include deaths and funerals; military actions and battles; interstate meetings and covenants; killings,

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assassinations, and flights into exile; diplomatic travel to and from Lu; certain rites and sacrifices; events that affected crops such as floods, unusual weather, and pestilence; and astronomical phenomena such as eclipses. Whether events of some types could be recorded depended on the rank of the individuals involved, and thus funerals are recorded for rulers but not for noblemen. Other types of events are excluded entirely. For example, rulers’ illnesses are not recorded, nor (with one conspicuous exception) are births recorded; it is perhaps noteworthy that both of these event types were frequent topics of divination in the much earlier Shang 商 dynasty (ca. 1600–ca. 1046 BCE).3 Just as the Spring and Autumn is limited to certain types of events, its records are likewise governed by restrictions that determine what details may be given for each type of event and the form in which those details are presented. The language and syntax of the Spring and Autumn are highly formulaic, and records of the same type of event invariably follow a single, set pattern that determines whether the record may be dated, whether and how individual participants are identified, whether location is indicated, and what main verb is used. (Sets of records exemplifying different event types are presented throughout this book; these sets illustrate the formally regular patterns that characterize the Spring and Autumn.) Beyond the basic “who,” “what,” “when,” and “where,” additional details, such as descriptions or indications of causal links, are not included. The extremely limited nature of the lexicon is evident from the small number of verbs used: although the Spring and Autumn contains approximately two thousand records, only thirtyseven main verbs account for over 90 percent of its records. Rules control content at every level, restricting the types of events that could be recorded, the details included in recording a given type of event, and even the specific phrasing and main verb. ANNALS AS A GENRE IN THE ANCIENT WORLD AND IN EARLY CHINA

The Spring and Autumn is not, as James Legge and others have observed, a narrative history. Its records are brief, impersonal, and wanting in detail, and it in no way resembles a contemporary historical work. Yet the Spring and Autumn was not the only work of its type in early China, nor, for that matter, in the ancient world. Chronologically arranged texts similar to the Spring and Autumn were composed elsewhere, including ancient

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Mesopotamia and Egypt.4 (I use the term “annals” in order to avoid confusion with medieval European “chronicles,” but the chronological registers of events of Assyria and Babylonia are typically called chronicles.)5 Ancient annals vary with respect to the types of events they record, the level of detail they include, and the number of events per year; the precision with which events are dated also varies. Some annals extend back into deep time, logging long-ago events such as births of deities or myths about the creation of states, whereas others seem to have registered events only shortly after they took place. Some were put on public display, while others may have been kept in restricted spaces such as inside temples. Still another area of variation is composition history and relation to other texts: the extant version of some annals appears to have been heavily edited or may have been corrupted in the transmission process, whereas other ancient annals are monumental texts inscribed on stone, some of which seem to have been based on earlier, perhaps more elaborate, versions of events.6 Despite these variations, ancient annals share a core of common characteristics. They are composed of brief, discrete records of individual events, which are typically dated and are invariably arranged chronologically. Absent from these works are explicit indicators of causal relationships or contingencies among the events recorded, and thus, following Morton White, we can describe annals as collections of “noncausal singular statements.”7 This description is certainly apt for the Spring and Autumn, in which, as Legge noted, records of events are not woven together to form a cohesive narrative. Writing about the Egyptian annals tradition, John Baines has remarked on the “absence of narrative organization” and lack of continuous discourse, observations that also hold true for other ancient annals, including the Spring and Autumn.8 In short, ancient annals are characterized by overall chronological organization, and they are composed of multiple discrete records that are typically presented without establishing any explicit causal connection to other records. The Spring and Autumn was probably not unique in early China, as other regional states seem to have kept similar chronological records. Only one other such record has survived as an independent text. This is the Bamboo Annals, which, like the Spring and Autumn, is a chronological register of brief notices of events that is written from the perspective of the ancient state of Wei 魏 and that begins in legendary times and continues to 299 BCE. The Bamboo Annals had been lost by early imperial times but was subsequently excavated in the third century of the common era. The versions in circulation today were produced by a complex process of editing and textual

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reconstruction activity over several centuries, and it is difficult to ascertain how closely they resemble the original text.9 Other similar records did not survive at all, but Mencius (Mengzi 孟子) refers to two works—the “Sheng” 乘 of Jin 晉 and the “Taowu” 檮杌 of Chu 楚—as being of the same type as the Spring and Autumn, presumably meaning that they too were state annals, each associated with a particular state.10 It has also been suggested that material from early state annals may have been incorporated into other historical works, and that these lost texts may have been the source of the annals-like notices that appear in the Zuo Tradition and the Records of the Historian (Shiji 史記).11 Finally, the “Biannian ji” 編年紀, a manuscript text dating to the late third century BCE discovered in 1975 at Shuihudi 睡虎地, in Yunmeng 雲夢 County, Hubei Province, resembles the Spring and Autumn in that it is composed of brief chronologically arranged notices, although it differs in other important respects, and it was not an official state annals.12 As I have proposed elsewhere, the annals form seems to have been a standard genre of historiographical writing in early China, albeit one that did not continue into the imperial era, and the Spring and Autumn appears to be the only continuously transmitted exemplar of this genre.13 Yet the Spring and Autumn differs in several respects from excavated annalistic works, and its unique status as the only continuously transmitted work of its type also opens the door to many unanswered (and perhaps unanswerable) questions— most significantly, whether its form is representative of other annals texts composed in early China or whether it is somehow unusual, or perhaps even had been subjected to significant editing. CONFUCIUS AND COMMENTARY: THE ORTHODOX APPROACH TO THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

One of the major controversies regarding the Spring and Autumn concerns its origins and the history of its composition. The Zuo Tradition states that the Spring and Autumn was viewed by a visitor, Han Xuanzi 韓宣子 of Jin, who traveled to Lu in 540 BCE, whereas Mencius asserts that it was “made” (zuò 作) by Confucius (trad. dates 551–479 BCE).14 If we understand zuò to mean “create” or “compose,” then these two accounts cannot both be true. According to the orthodox explanation, which synthesizes both of these narratives and conveniently allows them both to be correct, the state of Lu had a set of official records, the so-called unedited Spring and Autumn (wèi xiū zhī Chunqiu 未脩之春秋), which Confucius then edited and revised,

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thereby yielding the transmitted Spring and Autumn, the canonical version extant today.15 The claim that Confucius composed or edited the Spring and Autumn and the claim that its records contain moral judgments are typically viewed as inextricably connected, and those who reject the view that the Spring and Autumn embodies moral judgments usually also reject the notion that Confucius had anything to do with the Spring and Autumn.16 Yet these two points can and should be evaluated separately. The Spring and Autumn has traditionally been read deeply submerged in commentary, and the conventional approach to understanding this work is through commentary. It ceased to be transmitted as an independent text no later than the Song dynasty, and for at least the past thousand years, it has circulated accompanied by one of its three major commentaries.17 These three works, known as the “Three Traditions” (sān zhuàn 三傳), are the Gongyang Tradition (Gongyang zhuan 公羊傳), the Guliang Tradition (Guliang zhuan 穀梁傳), and the Zuo Tradition. Indeed, it is often alleged that the Spring and Autumn cannot be understood without a commentary.18 Underlying such assertions is the belief that the Spring and Autumn records embody a type of secret knowledge, accessible only to initiates with special training or via commentaries.19 The perception that the Spring and Autumn can be understood only through commentary may be a consequence of the lapidary and apparently cryptic nature of many of its records, which left them open to—and apparently in need of—exegetical elaboration.20 Despite the formulaic character of most Spring and Autumn records, commentaries to the Spring and Autumn focus almost exclusively on exceptional records and departures from the regular form, such as the presence of a date in a type of record that is usually undated or the absence of a location in a type of record for which a location is typically included. Irregularities are conventionally understood to bear special significance, often the commendation or censure of Confucius. Such interpretations are unrelated to the surface meaning of the text; for example, commentaries claim that a location was omitted from a death record to show commiseration with the deceased, or assert that a covenant was not dated to signal the Lu ruler’s trustworthiness.21 Yet nothing in the Spring and Autumn itself supports these interpretations, which are accessible only through commentary and which seem to rely on esoteric or secret knowledge of the records and their intent. Commentarial explanations like these are helpful in identifying unusual records, but they often proceed without so much as acknowledging—much less explaining—the rules and conventions that govern the great majority

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of Spring and Autumn records, even if they seem to be based on implicit knowledge of these regularities.22 Commentaries are problematic in another respect as well. Commentarial explanations often aim to make a primary text accessible to an audience of a different time and place, and in explaining this text to an audience other than the one for which it was originally intended, commentaries inevitably present it through a distorting interpretive lens. Matthias Richter has noted that, in the first century before the common era, much early Chinese textual material was “reconstructed,” “recontextualized,” and “possibly reinterpreted” as it was uprooted from its original context and transplanted to a new and later one.23 Commentaries, which are usually composed separately from and later than the texts they seek to explain, play a major role in recontextualizing and reinterpreting those texts, often significantly transforming them in the process.24 In the case of the Spring and Autumn, commentary does indeed seem to have radically transformed the understanding and perception of the records. The Spring and Autumn was not originally intended as a didactic, moralizing work. Even if it was edited later (a point to which we shall return), it began as a state annals, specifically, an official record of the state of Lu. In early China, the notion that accounts of historical events were intended to convey moral evaluations of those events originated in conjunction with the narrative historiographical tradition; annals texts like the Spring and Autumn belonged to a different genre.25 The moralizing approach to interpreting historical events is evident in many Zuo Tradition passages and in other early texts as well, but significantly, in its earliest manifestations, it is associated with narrative accounts and is not brought to bear on the Spring and Autumn records. This point is affirmed by early commentarial material concerning the Spring and Autumn, and in particular, by two sets of commentarial passages that are embedded in the Zuo Tradition, which appear to be the earliest surviving commentaries to the Spring and Autumn records. These passages interpret the records as bearing ritual or religious significance and as reflecting the hierarchy of ancient Lu. In striking contrast to many later commentaries, they do not interpret the records as embodying moral principles (nor, for that matter, do they link the records to Confucius). Only later did the moralizing approach to interpreting history, originally associated with narrative historical accounts, come to be superimposed onto the brief Spring and Autumn records.26 In the Gongyang and Guliang commentaries, these two originally independent traditions—the nonnarrative

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historiography of the Spring and Autumn and the moralizing narrative tradition exemplified in many Zuo Tradition accounts—were merged, but these commentaries do not represent the earliest way of understanding the Spring and Autumn. In sum, three objections to the orthodox interpretation of the Spring and Autumn may be raised. First, the conventional exegetical approach, which tends to give arcane explanations for irregularities, is esoteric and shows no direct relation to the records themselves; it can neither be verified nor even supported by evidence from the primary text it purports to explain. Second, all other outside evidence indicates that the moralizing interpretation was a later one, originally linked to a different historiographical tradition. Finally, in practical terms, this interpretation is based on attempts to explain individual exceptions and does little to assist us in understanding the system of regular recording patterns and the principles on which they are based, despite the fact that it is these patterns (and not rare irregularities) that form the core of the Spring and Autumn. Even if we set aside the idea that the records embody moral judgments, we might still ask whether Confucius (or any individual or group) played a role in composing or editing the Spring and Autumn. Our answer to this question has profound ramifications for how we understand the records. If the Spring and Autumn was compiled over time as an official annals of Lu and the text we have now is essentially the same as the one prepared by Lu record-keepers, then the records represent Lu’s perspective on events shortly after they took place, and their formulaic regularity shows that the record-keepers followed a set of stable and relatively unchanging rules when recording those events and that they continued to employ those rules for nearly two and a half centuries. If, on the other hand, the records were composed or heavily edited all at once by an individual compiler or group (whether Confucius was involved or not), then we can assume that the regular patterns were imposed on events all at one time by the later compiler(s). If this is the case, then the records represent a retrospective view of events long past, and the rules and conventions that governed the records were the product of a single mind or school of thought. Of course, the matter is not quite that simple. Even if the Spring and Autumn was prepared well after events took place, the compiler or editor must have based the records on earlier material, and given that other states had annals texts, it seems most likely that Lu did as well, and that the Lu annals were the main (if not only) source of the Spring and Autumn. And

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even if the Spring and Autumn was not prepared by Confucius, that the present text was subject to later editing is beyond doubt, and it is equally indisputable that the text now contains interpolations and corruptions. Thus the real issue is not whether someone from later times created the records from scratch—an improbable scenario indeed—but what the scope and degree of editorial intervention were. But the most interesting questions pertain to the origin of the formally regular core of the Spring and Autumn. Is the conspicuous regularity of the records the result of a set of stable and relatively unchanging rules that governed official Lu record-keeping practices, rules that were followed for nearly two and a half centuries as the records were made? Or is this core the product of a single mind (or, perhaps, a school of thought) that imposed a set of priorities on the records retrospectively, well after events took place? Do its regular recording conventions embody the official recording traditions and norms of the Lu ruling house during the Spring and Autumn period? Or do they reflect the private view and priorities of a single compiler of a later time? Our answer to these questions will determine how we view the significance of the Spring and Autumn prior to its subsequent canonization as a classic that conveys Confucius’s judgments of praise and blame. TRUTH, COMPLETENESS, AND ACCURACY: RECENT APPROACHES

An alternative to the orthodox “praise and blame” interpretation is to evaluate the Spring and Autumn using modern standards and to assume that a history is (or should be) a factual record of past events, intended to be accurate and complete.27 James Legge certainly based his evaluation on such expectations, and thus, in the “Prolegomena” to his translation, quoted at length earlier in this chapter, he asserts that a history should be “a faithful record of facts.” Yet according to Legge, the Spring and Autumn falls far short of this goal: “[it] not only ignores facts, and conceals them, but it also often misrepresents them, thus not merely hiding truth or distorting it, but telling us what was not the truth.”28 He continues to elaborate on the “positively bad characteristics” of the Spring and Autumn, culminating in accusing Confucius, its putative compiler, as having “no reverence for truth in history.”29 In making this evaluation, Legge cites examples of murders recorded as natural deaths, omissions of funerals, and even murders ascribed to individuals other than the party treated as responsible in the corresponding Zuo Tradition narrative. Assuming that the Zuo Tradition accounts of these events are

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accurate, Legge’s harsh observation that the records conceal and misrepresent facts is not without basis. Yet the Spring and Autumn did not aim to be a complete record. Much of the selectivity in its records adheres to clear patterns and priorities: it is obvious, for example, that events and details pertaining to noblemen are less likely to be recorded than those pertaining to rulers, and that Lu regicides are not recorded as such. Ironically, Legge seems to have been aware of the patterns inherent to the Spring and Autumn records, and he astutely observed that the records “show more sympathy with power than with weakness,” a remark that reveals a glimmer of insight into the priorities underlying these patterns. Nonetheless, he went no further in exploring what significance these patterns might have carried in their original context, and he ultimately dismissed the records as “trivial.”30 While few contemporary scholars would dare articulate their assessment of an ancient text in the sort of damning language used by James Legge, his expectation that a work of history should be a “faithful record of facts” is nothing if not conventional. Anthropologist Donald Brown has devoted a book to attempting to analyze the characteristics of societies that developed “sound histories” versus those that failed to do so.31 Brown’s project is deeply problematic for numerous reasons, not the least because he fails to define the term “sound history,” the yardstick by which he judges all histories, yet it is this very failure that makes his work so interesting: to Brown—and indeed to many contemporary scholars—the notion of what a history should be appears to be so obvious that it seems to require no definition. Only by sifting through Brown’s descriptions of histories that he evaluates as “sound” are we able glean a sense of what he regards as “sound history.” Such histories are those that show “critical attitude, skepticism, and freedom from bias,” that are based on original documentary sources, and, most important to Brown, that tell us “what actually happened.”32 While it is tempting to dismiss Brown’s work as facile and naïve, his assumptions reflect a widely shared set of views. Scholars with far more sophisticated understanding of historiographical theory have offered similar judgments; for example, while acknowledging that truth “is socially and culturally constructed,” one scholar of history and memory studies has nonetheless asserted that history is “governed . . . by rules of evidence and verification” and has placed similarly heavy emphasis on truth and lack of bias, writing that “the foundation of all serious historical work is the intent for truth and fairness in the representation of the past.”33 Such statements certainly reflect the priorities

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of most modern historians (and perhaps reveal an implicit debt to Leopold von Ranke), but as Egyptologist John Baines has observed, “definitions of history and historiography are societally relative and . . . relatively modern occidental ones . . . should not be seen as normative.”34 While contemporary historians may strive to achieve the aims of truth and fairness in composing our own work, at the same time, it is unhelpful to impose this modern occidental rubric on the historiography of other times and places. Attempts to evaluate the Spring and Autumn by the standards of modern historiography can only produce, to borrow the words of Johan Huizinga, “violent anachronism.”35 The Spring and Autumn—like all ancient annals—must be measured by a different yardstick. ALLEGED LINKS TO RITUAL PERFORMANCE

In recent decades, a number of scholars have asserted that the Spring and Autumn is a “ritual” text. Yet the word “ritual” itself is ill-defined, particularly in the context of early China, and this problem must be addressed briefly before proceeding. In discussions pertaining to early China, the term “ritual” has two distinct uses, which at times overlap. First, “ritual” is a key term used in the fields of anthropology and religious studies, as well as psychology and sociology. As such, it is highly problematic and heavily theorized, and explanations of what constitutes “ritual” vary significantly across fields and even within disciplines. Second, “ritual” is the standard English translation for the Chinese word lǐ 禮, also rendered with terms such as “rite,” “ceremony,” “etiquette,” or “decorum.” The meaning of the word lǐ evolved substantially over the centuries. In very early usage, this word referred to ceremonial activities related to religious practices, but in time lǐ was reconceptualized and came to denote a set of abstract theoretical principles governing moral conduct and proper relationships with others.36 These two meanings of “ritual” are certainly related, but they are not the same. Yet sinological studies have often used the English word “ritual” in both overlapping senses in a sort of rhetorical sleight of hand, without giving sufficient attention to the distinction between its usage in current academic theoretical parlance and its evolving significance in premodern China. Hence the term “ritual” is fraught, particularly in the study of early China, and I use it with caution and some reluctance. At the same time, any study of the Spring and Autumn must address previous claims linking its records to “ritual.” Furthermore, the Spring and Autumn displays formal characteristics that suggest potential

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connections to ceremonial rites and religious—that is, ritual—activity in early China, and at the same time, certain theoretical discussions of formalized, repetitive—that is, ritual—language do indeed offer a useful lens through which to view the Spring and Autumn. Although I will stop short of referring to the Spring and Autumn as a “ritual text,” discussions of religious praxis in early China and theoretical discussions of ritual nonetheless may be useful in helping us understand how the Spring and Autumn records functioned and what they sought to accomplish. Several scholars have sought to link the Spring and Autumn to specific ritual performative contexts. In 1972, Jacques Gernet speculated that the Spring and Autumn comprised records of announcements made in the ancestral temple. He therefore categorized it as a “ritual document” and, as such, as part of the pre-Confucian written tradition, whose earlier representatives were the oracle bone inscriptions of the Shang dynasty.37 Michael Loewe has offered a similar suggestion, proposing of the Spring and Autumn records that “the purpose that they fulfilled was perhaps mainly ritual.”38 Yuri Pines has made the most extravagant claim, asserting of the Spring and Autumn records that “like the oracle bones and bronze inscriptions, they were primarily ritual reports directed to the ruler’s ancestral spirits rather than to posterity.”39 In short, he asserts that the Spring and Autumn was a record of “ritual” performance, and furthermore, that its intended audience was the ancestors, not future generations, and thus it was essentially backward looking. Like Gernet, he cites the use of formulaic language, a feature shared by Shang oracle bone inscriptions and Western Zhou 西周 (ca. 1046–771 BCE) bronze inscriptions, and he also points to “omissions, concealment, or distortion of the ‘unpleasant’ events” as indications that the Spring and Autumn was intended for the ancestors, who were not to be “irritated” by negative reports.40 As textual evidence, he invokes a single Zuo Tradition account that describes the rite conducted in the ancestral temple upon the return of the Lu ruler from abroad. This rite entailed drinking and making a written record of the ruler’s accomplishments on the “strips” (cè 策), which he equates with the Spring and Autumn.41 Yet evidence simply does not support the broad claim that the Spring and Autumn records were produced and written down during religious performances, nor is there support for the proposal that the Spring and Autumn is a written register of words uttered during a religious performance, such as the ritual announcements made in the ancestral temple mentioned by Gernet. The Zuo Tradition passage concerning religious activity upon the ruler’s return to Lu is one of a series of commentarial remarks that seek to

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interpret and explain the Spring and Autumn, and it must be understood in that context; it is inappropriate to read commentary as historical narrative that can reliably tell us what happened.42 Although it is possible that the type of performative document-making described in this commentarial passage did indeed take place when a regional ruler returned to his home state—a ruler’s return from abroad was certainly an occasion for religious activity in the ancestral temple—this lone commentarial note is not sufficient to support sweeping conclusions about the origins and composition history of the Spring and Autumn. Other types of evidence, including patterns of inclusion or exclusion of detail in the records together with Zuo Tradition passages of various types, do suggest a link between interstate diplomatic announcements and some (but not all) types of Spring and Autumn records, a point addressed in chapters 2 and 5; at the same time, this evidence also demonstrates that the Spring and Autumn was not a verbatim transcription of these announcements. Furthermore, even if the records were based on interstate announcements, these announcements were diplomatic communications, and their function surely differed from that of announcements made in the ancestral temple. In short, the purported link between the Spring and Autumn records and religious or ritual performance is not well supported. Nonetheless, further exploration of possible associations between the Spring and Autumn and other aspects of “ritual” is worthwhile and may provide new insight into the nature of the records. FORM AND HIERARCHY: A NEW APPROACH TO SPRING AND AUTUMN HISTORIOGRAPHY

Writing of the material record in early China, art historian Jessica Rawson has shown how, in ritual contexts, form is employed to convey a message. Specifically, she has proposed that “rituals communicate through physical structures and objects,” such as the emblems and ornaments worn by participants, the spaces in which ritual activity is carried out, the choreographed movements across those spaces, and the objects with which participants interact. She has furthermore observed that in early China, ritual “enabled family structure and the political order to be seen.”43 Material artifacts associated with burials and offerings to the ancestors convey similar information, and thus assemblies of bronzes found in tombs can be understood in light of their variation in number, size, and design, which allows us to “read” from them information about the relative position of

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the tomb occupant in the hierarchy. Comparing the tomb of Shang royal consort Fu Hao 婦好 to the tomb of a nobleman of the same time, Rawson notes that Fu Hao’s extremely high rank was marked by the presence in her tomb both of greater quantities of the same types of items and also of more formal diversity, including different kinds of items and different or special forms of items of the same type.44 Whereas tombs and their contents are certainly associated with religious activity, other systems that are not overtly religious also use form in similar ways to communicate information about hierarchical order. An example familiar to contemporary readers is military insignia: the rank of lower-ranking military members is indicated by the number of stripes, whereas high rank is signaled by quantity—greater numbers of stripes—and by diversity— stars as well as stripes. Sumptuary regulations, common in many traditional societies, are another type of system that links form and hierarchy. Sumptuary regulations restrict expenditure and the use or consumption of items such as clothing, conveyance, or even food according to social class, thereby using form to signal rank and to reinforce the existing hierarchy. Whether all systems that use patterned form to communicate status and hierarchical rank should be designated “ritual” is a matter of theoretical definition, but certainly not all such systems are overtly religious in nature. Similar to the material record of early China, and also like military insignia and sumptuary laws, the Spring and Autumn systematically employs form to display hierarchical structure. Yet the records achieve this display neither with material objects nor with physical structure, but by means of linguistic form. Formal features that the records employ to communicate hierarchy include patterned phrasing and special verbs, inclusion and specificity of date notations, different forms—that is, “styles of reference”—to designate individuals, and listing order of rulers and nobility from different states. The use of form to display rank may be illustrated with a simple but familiar example: the records employ three different verbs for “die,” each of which is associated with a different hierarchical level. The special verb bēng  崩 (“succumb”) is used to record deaths of the highest-ranking individuals mentioned in the Spring and Autumn records, Zhou kings; a second special verb, hōng 薨 (“perish”), is employed for individuals in the next-highest level, Lu rulers and their primary wives; and the plain verb zú 卒 (“die”) is used for all other deaths. Thus, like tomb furnishings or other emblems of status, special verbs and other formal features function to signal relative rank. As Rawson observes, in tombs, a greater quantity of items and

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more formal diversity are associated with higher rank; likewise, in the Spring and Autumn records, a greater quantity of mentions and inclusion of more varied types of detail or forms, including special verbs or styles of reference, indicate higher rank. Just as the material artifacts and structured religious activity analyzed by Rawson employ form to render the kinship structure and political order visible, the Spring and Autumn employs linguistic form to display the hierarchy and relative rank of individuals as seen from the perspective of the state of Lu. Although the Spring and Autumn resembles the material record in its use of form to represent hierarchy, it may be more idealized—that is, more divorced from practical realities—than the material record. While sumptuary rules and conventions certainly restricted what items could be buried in a tomb, the ultimate limiting factor was wealth. Regardless of rank, those who did not have access to material resources could not bury their dead in opulently furnished tombs. Yet, to repurpose the common idiom “talk is cheap,” words could be used to produce an idealized hierarchy that transcended access to wealth or other “real” forms of power.45 As I argue in this book, this is exactly what the Spring and Autumn did. POWER THROUGH FORM: RESTRICTED LANGUAGE, TRADITIONAL AUTHORITY, AND CONCEALING THE TRUTH

Rawson’s discussion of ways in which form is used in the material record to display the social and kinship structure helps us understand the analogous use of formal features in the Spring and Autumn to display an idealized hierarchy. The proposals of anthropologist Maurice Bloch offer a different set of insights into the formulaic language of the records and its significance to understanding the Spring and Autumn. Bloch describes the language used in ritual as “restricted code,” writing that formalised language, the language of traditional authority, is impoverished language; a language where many of the options at all levels of language are abandoned so that choice of form, of style, of words and of syntax is less than in ordinary language. . . . The formalisation of speech therefore dramatically restricts what can be said.  .  .  . Although the restrictions are seen usually as restrictions of form rather than of content, they are a far more effective way of restricting content than would be possible if content were attacked directly.46

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Bloch’s description of formalized language applies well to the Spring and Autumn recording conventions, which restrict options on multiple levels. As noted previously, rules limited which types of events and what details about those events were registered in the Spring and Autumn. Furthermore, the requirement that records of each type of event had to follow a specific pattern both prevented variation and also blocked the inclusion of additional content that might affect the interpretation of events. For example, all deaths of Lu rulers are recorded with the verb hōng, regardless of whether a particular ruler died a natural death or was murdered; rules governing form dictated that the Spring and Autumn could not record a Lu ruler’s death with a different verb. As Bloch notes, this and similar restrictions on form effectively restrict content, yet do so implicitly: rather than openly blocking content—for example, prohibiting records from identifying a death as a murder—they simply enforce “impoverished” language, requiring all death records of Lu rulers to use the same verb and thereby concealing regicides and implying that all Lu rulers died natural deaths. Also significant is Bloch’s incisive observation that such formalized restrictions on language are characteristic not only of religious ritual but more broadly of traditional authority. One of the primary issues he seeks to understand is the mechanism through which formalized language exerts coercive power—“power through form,” as he terms it.47 In addressing this question, he describes the effects of formalized language as similar to being in a tunnel: since choice is restricted, “there is no possibility of turning either to right or left, the only thing to do is to follow,” and since the range of available forms is reduced, a consequence of such formalized language is “to hide reality,” that is, “to hide the actual situation and preserve authority.” As Bloch concludes, “It is precisely through the process of making a power situation appear a fact in the nature of the world that traditional authority works.”48 James Legge decried the Spring and Autumn records as showing an extreme lack of regard for the truth, and although he may have been excessively forceful in his criticism, others too have noticed that the Spring and Autumn often conceals certain facts. Such instances of concealment were produced by the restricted language described by Bloch, and so it is not quite accurate to describe the records as deliberately deceptive. The records “hide reality” by recording events using formulaic patterns and restricted language; this has the natural effect of obscuring or concealing particular instances in which the actual situation deviates from the narrow range of options

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permitted by the “restricted code” of the records. This concealment is not the result of conscious, deliberate choice pertaining to individual events, but the consequence of being in Bloch’s “tunnel” of repetitive, formalized language, which permits no choice, no questioning, and no departure from the formulaic recording patterns. As Bloch observes, restricted language does not “attack content directly” but simply lacks the capacity to “communicate messages concerning particular events.”49 If this description applies to the Spring and Autumn, then its records were not generated by a series of individual choices about how particular events were represented (or misrepresented); they are the product of recording practices that followed strict rules. Criticism of the Spring and Autumn for its lack of regard for the truth misses this essential point. The Spring and Autumn records do not attempt to tell us what really happened. As the subsequent chapters will show, they convey an idealized and formulaic version of events and of the hierarchy of individuals that affirms and reinforces the authority of the Lu ruling house.50

Chapter Two

RECORDING THE DAY

Dates in the Spring and Autumn have received significant attention throughout the history of its study. Both its chronological organization and its title, which is composed of the names of two seasons, point to the centrality of dates and the calendar to this work. Date notations are an essential component of the earliest known Chinese texts, oracle bone inscriptions and bronze inscriptions, and the study of calendrics and use of dates to determine the authenticity of transmitted texts is an important subfield in its own right.1 Thus much scholarship has been devoted to determining the accuracy of dates of individual events recorded in the Spring and Autumn, particularly astronomical phenomena such as eclipses, which can be independently verified.2 At the same time, the orthodox interpretations of the Spring and Autumn also placed great emphasis on irregularities of all kinds. Unexpectedly omitted, incorrect, or suspect dates were assumed to have special significance, even if the precise nature of that significance was open to debate. For example, the Gongyang and Guliang traditions assert that the presence or absence of a date in a particular record could have moral implications or could be an indirect way of expressing an evaluation of the event recorded.3 The Zuo Tradition, by contrast, suggests that whether individual records were dated may have been determined by more practical factors such as whether or not Lu had received an official announcement of the event.4 This chapter approaches dates with a different set of aims in mind. I neither seek to explain the calendrical system (or systems) of ancient

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China, nor do I attempt to use dates to authenticate the text. Similarly, I do not aim to evaluate the accuracy of records of individual events, nor do I analyze the irregularities that lie at the heart of traditional Spring and Autumn interpretations. Instead, my focus is on regular date notations, and I aim to describe and analyze regular patterns in order to gain a better understanding of the recording principles and conventions associated with details such as date notations. The driving question of this chapter is why some records were dated precisely, with a day-date, while others were not. The Spring and Autumn is a regular, rules-based text, and rules dictated whether a particular record included or omitted details such as dates. Records of the same type of event followed the same basic pattern or template, using the same main verb and including (or excluding) the same details, including date. As this chapter demonstrates, event type was the primary determining factor in whether a particular record was assigned a day-date, but it was not necessarily the only factor. The analysis leads us to the significant conclusion that those who recorded the Spring and Autumn were not at liberty to record events as they wished, nor did they record all they knew. The chapter is divided into three major sections. The first section describes the chronological organization and structure of the Spring and Autumn and the role of dates in that organization, showing that years and seasons are part of the framework of the text, while months and sexagenary cycle dates are linked to individual records. The second section analyzes the use of daydate notations, showing that by default, the majority of Spring and Autumn records are not assigned sexagenary cycle dates, and furthermore, that for over two thirds of all records, whether a particular record is assigned a daydate is determined by the kind of event it records, that is, its event type. At the same time, for nearly a third of the records, the presence or absence of day-date does not appear to be linked to event type, and other factors seem to have played a role. The third section turns to death and funeral records of regional rulers, exploring evidence suggesting that in these records, dates and other kinds of information were derived from interstate communications received by Lu. The proposal that the level of detail in some types of records was linked to interstate communications is supported by commentarial passages from the Zuo Tradition, which maintain that factors such as whether events were properly announced or whether ritual steps were completed determined whether or not details such as dates were recorded. Although the Zuo Tradition commentarial claims are impossible to prove (or

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to disprove, for that matter), they align with the important observations that the Spring and Autumn records were governed by formal rules that blocked them from including some information, and that they did not aim to register events completely and accurately. CHRONOLOGY AS ORDERING PRINCIPLE: DATES AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

The order of the Spring and Autumn is purely chronological, and its structure is quite simple. The largest division of text is into twelve sections, each having as its title the posthumous epithet (shì 諡) of the Lu ruler or “Lord” (gōng 公) whose reign it covers.5 Each of these twelve sections is divided into years, and each year into four seasons.6 The records label the first year of a ruler’s reign as “the primary year” (yuán nián 元年), and the first month of each year, if recorded, is referred to as “the head month” (zhēng yuè 正月).7 The remaining months are identified by number, second through twelfth, and the Spring and Autumn also contains two records of intercalary or “leap” months (rùn yuè 閏月), which occur after the twelfth month.8 The first month recorded for each year (often but not always the “head month”) is labeled with the word “royal” (wáng 王), presumably to indicate that Lu employed the royal Zhou 周 calendar. If a record is assigned to a specific day, this is indicated with a sexagenary cycle date designated with the “Heavenly Stems” (tiān gān 天干) and “Earthly Branches” (dì zhī 地支), or simply gānzhī 干支, day-date notation. The use of dates in the Spring and Autumn is best explained with reference to specific examples. The sequence of records that comprises the complete text for the fourth year of Lord Zhuang—that is, Zhuang 4, or 690 BCE—will be used to illustrate the following discussion; these records appear in set 2.1. Dates operate at two levels in the Spring and Autumn: years and seasons mark the organizational structure of the entire work, while months and days are attached to individual records. All 244 years covered by the text are recorded, and nearly all years record four seasons; the few instances of missing seasons appear to be linked to textual corruption.9 Each season is typically noted even when no events are recorded for that season, and in such cases the first month of the season is also recorded, perhaps simply to prevent the season from being empty or blank, as in the season “Autumn” in Zhuang 4 (set 2.1). Thus inclusion of years and seasons was obligatory,

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Set 2.1: Spring and Autumn records for Zhuang 4 (690 BCE) 春。

王二月。

夫人姜氏享齊侯于祝丘。

三月。

紀伯姬卒。

夏。

齊侯、陳侯、鄭伯遇于垂。 紀侯大去其國。 六月。

秋。

乙丑。

七月。

冬。 Spring.

齊侯葬紀伯姬。 公及齊人狩于禚。

The royal second month.

The Lady of the Jiang clan gave a feast for the Hou of Qi at Zhuqiu.

The third month.

Eldest Daughter Ji of Jih died.

Summer.

The Hou of Qi, the Hou of Chen, and the Bo of Zheng encountered one another at Chui. The Hou of Jih made a grand departure from his state. The sixth month.

Autumn. Winter.

Yichou.

The Hou of Qi buried Eldest Daughter Ji of Jih.

The seventh month. Our Lord and the man of Qi hunted at Zhuo.

and these elements should be regarded as part of the basic framework of the Spring and Autumn. By contrast, months and days were not required parts of the Spring and Autumn framework, and (with the exception of months accompanying “eventless” seasons) months and sexagenary cycle days were recorded only when accompanying an event. Another way of explaining this would be to analyze each individual Spring and Autumn record as composed of a date notation and an event notation. Months and specific days form the date notations that accompany event notations, and they are recorded only in conjunction with individual records, whereas years and seasons constitute the framework of the text as a whole and are not connected to individual records. Thus, even though years, seasons, months, and days are all units indicating date, in the Spring and Autumn, the function of years and seasons is essentially different from that of months and days.

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Because all years and nearly all seasons are recorded, even if a record has no date notation—that is, if no month or day-date is given—it is still unambiguously associated with a particular year and season. By contrast, months are often omitted—fewer than a quarter of the months that elapsed during the period covered by the Spring and Autumn are recorded—and not all records are assigned a month. Furthermore, once a month (or any other dating unit) has been recorded, it is not repeated, and we are often unable to determine whether a given month notation applies to later events. Because months are not repeated and some months are never recorded at all, it is often impossible to ascertain the month in which an event took place. This ambiguity is illustrated by the three records for the season Summer in Zhuang 4 (set 2.1). Summer began with the fourth month and also included the fifth and sixth months, but in Zhuang 4, neither the fourth or fifth month is mentioned. The record tells us that the burial of Eldest Daughter Ji of Jih took place in the sixth month. We also know that the Jih ruler’s departure from his state took place in Summer, as did the encounter among the rulers of Qi, Chen, and Zheng at Chui, but the record does not tell us the month when these events took place. We only know that they occurred prior to the Eldest Daughter Ji’s funeral in the sixth month, and we may therefore surmise that they occurred before the sixth month, that is, in the fourth or fifth month, but we cannot be certain. Another common sort of sequence, which results in similar ambiguity, is illustrated with this sequence from Cheng 4 (587 BCE): 夏。四月。甲寅。臧孫許卒。 Summer. The fourth month. Jiayin. Zangsun Xu died. (CQ, Cheng 4.4, 817) 公如晉。 Our Lord went to Jin. (CQ, Cheng 4.5, 817)

These two records, apparently unrelated, are followed by yet another undated record, and then the next season, Autumn, begins. When did the Lu ruler travel to Jin? The Spring and Autumn tells us only the season, Summer; we do not (and cannot) know whether the month notation of the preceding record, “fourth month,” also applies to the record of the Lu ruler’s travel. It is possible that he went to Jin in the fourth month, like the preceding event, but the fifth or sixth months are equally possible. We know only the season.

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In other cases, even if no month is recorded for a particular event, context allows us to determine the month when it occurred, as in the following pair of consecutive records from Wen 6 (621 BCE).10 秋。季孫行父如晉。 Autumn. Jisun Hangfu went to Jin. (CQ, Wen 6.3, 543) 八月。乙亥。晉侯驩卒。 The eighth month. Yihai. The Hou of Jin, Huan, died. (CQ, Wen 6.4, 543)

Assuming that date notations apply to subsequent entries but not preceding ones (an assumption that is probable but by no means proven), we may surmise that Jisun Hangfu traveled to Jin before the eighth month, and since autumn began with the seventh month, we may deduce that his trip took place in the seventh month. Even when it is possible to deduce the month in which an event occurred, month notations are also associated with another kind of ambiguity, illustrated by the following sequential pair: 冬。十有二月。紀叔姬卒。 Winter. The twelfth month. Middle Daughter Ji of Jih died. (CQ, Zhuang 29.4, 243) 城諸及防。 We walled Zhu and Fang. (CQ, Zhuang 29.5, 243)

The twelfth month was the last month of the year, so even though only the first record is accompanied by a month notation, we know that both events occurred in the twelfth month. What cannot be determined is whether the month would have been noted for the second record if the first record had not been present. Thus the second record is unambiguous with respect to content—we know the month when it happened—but is ambiguous with respect to form—we do not know whether the second record would have been assigned a month if it had not been preceded by a dated record. Significantly, formal ambiguity is not an issue with sexagenary cycle days, since unlike months, day-dates are understood to apply only to the single event that they mark. But pairs of records exhibiting formal ambiguity with respect to month notations occur frequently, making it nearly impossible to ascertain dating patterns connected to months, specifically, whether or not

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months normally were (or would have been) designated for certain types of records. Precise dating has been identified by many scholars as a regular feature of Spring and Autumn records, but the notion that records that do not include a sexagenary cycle day-date are in some sense incomplete or that the dates are “missing” is simply incorrect.11 For nearly 40 percent of the Spring and Autumn records, neither month nor day is given and no date more specific than season may be ascertained. Since seasons, like years, are part of the structure of the text, it could even be argued that records that are marked only with season should be regarded as having no date notation at all. Similarly, fewer than one in five records is dated to a specific day. The records for Zhuang 4 (in set 2.1), half of which are not even dated with a month, are representative, and it is not at all unusual that a sexagenary cycle day is specified for only one of the six events recorded for that year. Given that over 80 percent of Spring and Autumn records are not assigned to a specific day, it is records without sexagenary cycle dates that are the norm, and records with day-dates should be considered marked and special. DAY-DATE NOTATION AND EVENT TYPE

Event type is the primary determining factor in whether a given record could include a sexagenary cycle date. An event type is a set of records that register the same kind of event; records of the same event type are usually recorded with the same main verb and sentence pattern.12 When sorted by event type, records display three basic patterns with respect to day-date notations: first, those that are consistently undated, second, those that are consistently dated, and third, those that, at first glance, seem to follow no obvious rule. Records of event types that exhibit the first pattern, including military attacks and incursions, diplomatic visits, interstate meetings, and public works, are not dated, regardless of where they occurred or which states or individuals were involved. This is the default pattern, which is exhibited by most event types; see table 2.1 later in this chapter. The second pattern is displayed by the smallest group of event types, including eclipses and earthquakes, deaths and funerals of Lu rulers and their primary wives, deaths of Zhou kings, and battles. Records of these event types are always or nearly always dated; see table 2.2. More complicated is the third group of event types, which includes fires, covenants, military defeats, rites and religious activities, deaths, and funerals. Records of these event types, listed in

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table 2.3, are sometimes dated, but not consistently so, and analysis reveals that whether individual records were dated was not determined by event type alone. The following discussion examines each of these three patterns with the aim of understanding the correlation between event type and the presence or absence of day-date, and for the third pattern, what additional factors may have contributed to whether particular records were dated. Event Types Without Sexagenary Cycle Dates: The Default

Returning to the record in Wen 6 of Jisun Hangfu’s trip to Jin, we may surmise that Lu record-keepers surely would have known at least the month of his departure and likely also knew the very day, yet these details do not appear in the record. A similar case is the undated record in Zhuang 4 of a feast given by the Lu ruler’s primary wife. It is hard to imagine that the Lu record-keepers would not have known the date of such a feast, particularly one important enough to register in the Spring and Autumn. In these and many other cases, it seems clear that months and sexagenary cycle day-dates were known but not recorded. That is, month and day were not only not obligatory, but even when these details were surely known to Lu, they do not necessarily appear in the records. In some instances, months may have been omitted because they had already been noted in a preceding record. But why would known day-dates have been deliberately left out of the record? As demonstrated in this chapter, patterns of recording sexagenary cycle dates are strongly correlated with event type; for example, not a single record of diplomatic travel from Lu is assigned a sexagenary cycle date, even though dates for most, if not all, such events must have been known in Lu. This pattern suggests that event type was the primary determining factor in whether or not a particular record could be dated. Before analyzing the relationship between patterns of dating and event types, it is worth examining a few other pragmatic factors that might also provide logical explanations for the supposedly “missing” dates but that do not, in fact, account for the evidence. In the early twentieth century, George Kennedy speculated that details such as specific dates were omitted because the compiler of the Spring and Autumn did not know them; he assumed that the Spring and Autumn aimed to record all that was known.13 His suggestion, that details were omitted because they were unknown, seems reasonable enough and may indeed have affected how a few individual events were recorded, but it fails to account for the many instances in which the date when an event took

38 R ecording the D ay

place was surely known in Lu but the record was not dated, such as the feast given by the Lu ruler’s primary wife in Zhuang 4. Similarly, Lu recordkeepers certainly knew the dates of military attacks led by Lu, interstate meetings involving Lu, or the Lu ruler’s return from abroad, yet records of these types of events are consistently undated. In such cases, exclusion of date is not tied to individual records but is a pattern that pertains to entire categories of events. We might also wonder if omission of day-dates was a function of the intrinsic nature of the event itself, specifically, whether an event was punctual— that is, taking place at a specific point in time—or whether it continued over many days. For example, harvests are associated with a season or even a year, and disasters such as pestilence, floods, and famine endured over weeks or months. We might surmise that in such cases, the nonpunctual nature of the event itself was the reason that no date was given. Yet in general, records of meteorological events are undated, even though this type includes punctual events such as hail storms or unseasonable frost. Likewise, many other types of events recorded without a date were punctual or could have been treated as such. The ruler’s return to Lu from abroad occurred on a single day, but records of his return are never dated. Diplomatic travel to other states and visits made by foreign emissaries could have been recorded with the date of departure from or arrival in Lu, or the day on which an emissary had a formal audience with the ruler, since each of these occasions entailed significant ceremonial activity on a specific day.14 Flights into exile, captures, and restorations to power were punctual in the same sense as diplomatic travel, but they likewise are not dated (with rare exceptions discussed later). Interestingly, many of these events are assigned to specific dates in the corresponding Zuo Tradition narratives, indicating that they could have been presented as punctual events and that the dates were often known.15 While it stands to reason that nonpunctual events would not be assigned a sexagenary cycle day, the majority of undated records concern events that were punctual or could be treated as punctual, and we may thus conclude that punctuality was not a determining factor in whether records of a given type of event were recorded with a day-date. What might seem to be obvious practical explanations for lack of day-dates in Spring and Autumn records— lack of knowledge of the date, or the impracticality of assigning an event to a single day—fail to account for the great majority of undated records, and in most cases, it was ultimately the type of event that a particular record registered that determined whether or not it was dated.

39 R ecording the D ay

Indeed, in the Spring and Autumn, events of most types are not dated with a sexagenary cycle day. Listed in table 2.1 are event types whose records are consistently not dated, that is, for which 90 percent or more records are not assigned a day-date. Day-dates are not given for any records of harvests, disasters, famine, and pestilence, nor for most records of meteorological TABLE 2.1  Event types that are consistently not dated (“undatable” types)

Group

Event type

Number of records (total)

Records with day No.

1

Marriage-related activities and divorces

38

2

5.3

Wall construction

29

0

0

Rain-seeking ceremonies

22

2

9.1

Public works other than walls

13

0

0

4

0

0

Laws, taxes, and administrative acts 2

Weather

21

2

9.5

Pestilence

18

0

0

Disasters (drought, flood, famine)

15

0

0

4

0

0

Military events (multiple event types): attacks, incursions, laying siege, providing aid, halting forces, relocating states

355

1

0.3

Interstate meetings and encounters

111

0

0

Harvest and crops 3

Seeking or making peace 4

Flights into exile

0

0

5

4.9

Killings (subset): records with shā 殺

64

2

3.1

51

1

2.0

49

2

4.1

Diplomatic travel to Lu

116

0

0

Diplomatic travel originating in Lu

109

0

0

87

0

0

7

0

0

17

1.4

Arrival in Lu from abroad (after travel) Other diplomatic travel and activity TOTAL

7 102

Detentions and taking captives Restorations to power and installations 5

%

1,222

Note: For details on individual event types, see appendix 2. In this table, the category “military events” subsumes multiple event types, as noted. “Killings” are divided into subsets according to main verb; see also table 2.3. Event types are listed according to the broad groups employed in appendix 2: Group 1: Events pertaining primarily to Lu or occurring in Lu; Group 2: Events with no human agent; Group 3: Covenants, meetings, military events (may involve leaders from multiple states); Group 4: Events related to the fate or actions of individuals; Group 5: Diplomatic travel and activity.

40 R ecording the D ay

phenomena. Records pertaining to diplomatic travel, including travel of the Lu ruler and nobility to other states as well as diplomatic visits received by Lu, are never assigned sexagenary cycle days. Likewise, specific daydates are not given in records of wall construction or other public works, nor in records of military activity of most types; notable exceptions are records of battles (zhàn 戰), taking territory (qǔ 取) and annihilating states (miè 滅), which are sometimes dated, as discussed subsequently. In short, a very wide and diverse range of event types are undated. Set 2.2, “Records of Wall Construction,” gives examples of a type of event for which records are not dated. Rarely, sexagenary cycle dates are assigned to individual records of types that are normally undated, but such instances are scarce indeed: of approximately a thousand records of undated event types, just over 1 percent (17 of Set 2.2: Records of wall construction (consistently undated) 夏。 城中丘。

隱 7.3

冬。 城向。

桓 16.4

城諸及防。

莊 29.5

齊師、宋師、曹師城邢。

僖 1.4

遂城郚。

文 7.3

冬。 城鄆。

成 4.8

城費。

襄 7.4

城西郛。

襄 19.13

冬。 城中城。 季孫斯、叔孫州仇帥師城啟陽。

定 6.6 哀 3.4

Summer. We walled Zhongqiu.

Yin 7.3 (716)

Winter. We walled Xiang.

Huan 16.4 (696)

We walled Zhu and Fang.

Zhuang 29.5 (665)

Qi troops, Song troops, and Cao troops walled Xing.

Xi 1.4 (659)

Subsequently, we walled Wu.

Wen 7.3 (620)

Winter. We walled Yun.

Cheng 4.8 (587)

We walled Fei.

Xiang 7.4 (566)

We walled the western outskirts.

Xiang 19.13 (554)

Winter. We walled Zhongcheng.

Ding 6.6 (504)

Jisun Si and Shusun Zhouqiu led troops to wall Qiyang.

Ai 3.4 (492)

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1,2222 records) are dated. Most of these irregularities can be explained with reference to adjacent records. For example, in a few cases, a record from a regularly undated type is immediately followed by a record from a type that is regularly dated, and we may suspect that the sexagenary cycle date from the second entry has been moved up to apply to both records. Examples include the lone dated record of an attack, which is followed by a battle record, and the capture of a regional ruler followed by his killing; while attacks and captures are not dated event types, battles and killings of rulers are.16 Elsewhere, dates are given for pairs of records occurring in sequence, as in two dated weather records, or an unusual pair of entries recording the rain-seeking (yú 雩) ceremony.17 Thus the rare instances in which a day-date is assigned to a record of an undated event type seem to be linked to the recording process itself, such as the necessity of dating pairs or sets of records sequentially or of recording another event occurring on the same date; these cases are apparently unrelated to any intrinsic feature of the events themselves. Records of undated event types account for well over half of the approximately two thousand Spring and Autumn entries. Given that the majority of all records are not dated with a day, we should consider absence of day-date to be the default. This way of looking at Spring and Autumn date notations is a radical departure from the conventional view that takes precision in dating as the norm and that treats events without dates as somehow incomplete, but it is supported by the evidence of the records themselves. It is records that include a sexagenary cycle date that are exceptional, and the presence of a day-date marks a record or category of records as bearing special significance. In subsequent sections, I analyze types of events that are regularly dated or sometimes dated and attempt to explain why certain records or types were marked with dates. Event Types with Sexagenary Cycle Dates

Records of only five types of events are consistently assigned sexagenary cycle dates; together, they amount to just over a hundred records. These types are set forth in table 2.2, and set 2.3, “Records of Solar Eclipses,” gives sample records from an event type whose records are consistently dated. Significantly, undated types encompass over a thousand records, approximately ten times the number of records of dated event types. The relative paucity of event types marked with a sexagenary cycle date demonstrates that these records are somehow unusual or special. The obvious question is whether

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TABLE 2.2  Event types that are consistently dated

Group

Event type

Number of records (total)

No.

%

34

91.9 100.0

2

Solar eclipses Earthquakes

5

5

3

Military events: battles

23

21

91.3

4

Deaths (subset): Lu rulers and fūrén 夫人 (hōng 薨); Zhou kings (bēng 崩)

30

30

100.0

Funerals (subset): Lu rulers and primary wives

20

20

100.0

115

110

95.7

TOTAL

37

Records with day

Note: For details on these event types, see appendix 2. “Deaths” and “funerals” are divided into subsets according to the rank of the deceased; see also table 2.3. Event types are listed according to the broad groups employed in appendix 2: Group 2: Events with no human agent; Group 3: Covenants, meetings, military events (may involve leaders from multiple states); Group 4: Events related to the fate or actions of individuals.

they share a common attribute or quality that led to their being dated, and if so, what that attribute was. At first glance, the five consistently dated types of events seem to subsume a surprisingly disparate range of events, including records of earthquakes and eclipses, a subset of death and funeral records, and battle records. We might observe that a common thread running through at least four of these types is heightened religious significance. Earthquakes were probably regarded as omens, and eclipses certainly were, as several eclipses records are immediately followed by records of drumming and making sacrifice, presumably in response to the eclipse. Death entailed crossing over from the realm of the living into that of the ancestors, and funerals confirmed and formalized this transition. Yet curiously, consistent dating is restricted to death and funeral records of the highest-ranking individuals—Lu rulers and their primary wives and Zhou kings—whereas records pertaining to regional rulers and Lu noblemen are not dated consistently; this pattern suggests that other factors may have been at work as well. Furthermore, it is easy enough to see the religious significance of deaths and funerals and of ominous natural events such as eclipses and earthquakes, but what about battles, records of which were also consistently assigned a sexagenary cycle date? We might note that in early China, as elsewhere

43 R ecording the D ay

Set 2.3: Records of solar eclipses (consistently dated) 春。

王二月。

己巳。 日有食之。

隱 3.1

秋。

七月。

壬辰。 朔，日有食之，既。

桓 3.4

冬。

十有二月。 癸亥。 朔，日有食之。

莊 26.5

夏。

五月。

日有食之。

僖 15.4

夏。

四月。

丙辰。 日有食之。

宣 10.4

十有二月。 丁已。 朔，日有食之。

成 17.11

冬。

十月。

庚辰。 朔，日有食之。

襄 21.6

冬。

十有二月。 乙卯。 朔，日有食之。

襄 27.6

秋。

七月。

壬午。 朔，日有食之。

昭 21.4

春。

王三月。

辛亥。 朔，日有食之。

定 5.1

Spring. The royal second month. Jisi. The sun was eclipsed.

Yin 3.1 (720)

Autumn. The seventh month. Renchen. The first day of the month. The sun was eclipsed, and it was total.

Huan 3.4 (709)

Winter. The twelfth month. Guihai. The first day of the month. The sun was eclipsed.

Zhuang 26.5 (668)

Summer. The fifth month. The sun was eclipsed.

Xi 15.4 (645)

Summer. The fourth month. Bingchen. The sun was eclipsed.

Xuan 10.4 (599)

The twelfth month. Dingsi. The first day of the month. The sun was eclipsed.

Cheng 17.11 (574)

Winter. The tenth month. Gengchen. The first day of the month. The sun was eclipsed.

Xiang 21.6 (552)

Winter. The twelfth month. Yimao. The first day of the month. The sun was eclipsed.

Xiang 27.6 (546)

Autumn. The seventh month. Renwu. The first day of the month. The sun was eclipsed.

Zhao 21.4 (521)

Spring. The royal third month. Xinhai. The first day of the month. The sun was eclipsed.

Ding 5.1 (505)

in the ancient world, warfare and religious activity were closely interconnected. Military campaigns began with ceremonies carried out in the ancestral temple prior to departure, ancestral tablets were carried with the army out into the field, and military engagements were preceded by divination and prayers. Battles were confrontations among two opposing states or alliances, which had a decisive outcome, and the outcome may have been reported in the ancestral temple or announced to other states.18 Yet this explanation

44 R ecording the D ay

is unsatisfactory, since the association between religious activity and warfare was not restricted to battles, but no other types of military records are consistently dated. Examination and analysis of the third set of event types, those that are inconsistently dated, will suggest other possible answers. Event Types That Are Inconsistent with Respect to Sexagenary Cycle Dates

For over two thirds of the approximately two thousand Spring and Autumn records, the presence or absence of a sexagenary cycle date correlates unambiguously with event type, confirming that for these records it was the type of event recorded, and not some other factor, that determined whether a daydate was specified. Yet for the remaining records, no obvious correlation exists between event type and inclusion of day-date. The event types of these records are listed in table 2.3, and the pattern of inconsistent dating is illustrated in set 2.4, “Records of Fires.” Analysis of records within each inconsistently dated event type reveals that whether or not individual records were dated was not random, and factors other than event type seem to have played a role in determining whether a particular record was assigned a sexagenary cycle date. The category “fires” (zāi 災) is a relatively simple example of an event type whose records are inconsistently dated. Fires, like earthquakes and eclipses, were natural disruptions and were probably construed as omens or portents.19 Whereas earthquakes and eclipses are consistently dated event types—all records of earthquakes and nearly all records of eclipses are assigned sexagenary cycle dates—only eight of the twelve records of fires have a day-date. Is it possible to determine why some records of fires are dated and others are not? Examination of individual records indicates that association with Lu may have been a significant determining factor. Six of the eight dated records register fires that took place in Lu, and another registers a fire that resulted in the death of a regional ruler’s wife who was by birth a Lu princess.20 Thus all seven fire records associated with Lu are assigned a day-date, as is one additional record that does not involve Lu.21 In short, a record of the event type “fires” could potentially be dated, but typically, whether a given record actually was dated appears to have been determined by whether the fire was associated with Lu. Comparison of records of a different pair of event types, covenants (méng 盟) and interstate meetings (huì 會), may offer insight into the distinction between types of events that had potential to be dated and those that did

45 R ecording the D ay

TABLE 2.3  Event types that are inconsistently dated

Group

1

Event type

3

4

No.

%

37

15

40.5

Hunts and military reviews

10

2

20.0

8

1

12.5

Fires

12

8

66.7

Remarkable events (portents)

12

4

33.3

Covenants

107

51

47.7

Military events: defeats

32

7

21.9

Military events: annihilating states

32

10

31.3

Military events: entering states

27

10

37.0

Military events: taking territory

20

3

15.0

Military events: other

23

2

8.7

Deaths (subset): regional rulers, Zhou nobility, Lu nobility, Lu women (except fūrén) (zú 卒)

176

124

70.5

Funerals (subset): Zhou kings, regional rulers, Zhou nobility; and repatriation of remains

104

16

15.4

25

13

52.0

5

1

20.0

Killings (subset): regicides (shì 弒) Killings (subset): special verbs 5

Lu ruler offering court respects to the king

6

Miscellaneous other events (residual category)

TOTAL

Records with day

Rites and religious activities (excluding rain-seeking ceremony) Accession of the Lu ruler

2

Number of records (total)

2

1

50.0

19

2

10.5

651

270

41.5

Note: For details on these event types, see appendix 2. “Deaths” and “funerals” are divided into subsets according to the rank of the deceased; see also table 2.2. “Killings” are divided into subsets according to main verb; see also table 2.1. Event types are listed according to the broad groups employed in appendix 2. Group 1: Events pertaining primarily to Lu or occurring in Lu; Group 2: Events with no human agent; Group 3: Covenants, meetings, military events (may involve leaders from multiple states); Group 4: Events related to the fate or actions of individuals; Group 5: Diplomatic travel and activity; Group 6: Residual category (“other”).

not (for examples of covenant and interstate meeting records, see sets 4.2 and 4.3 in chapter 4). About half of covenant records are dated, whereas interstate meetings are never dated; thus records of the type “covenants” may be described as inconsistently dated and those of the type “meetings” are undatable. Both covenants and interstate meetings were major political and diplomatic events involving assemblies of representatives from multiple

46 R ecording the D ay

states. But, unlike interstate meetings, covenants required religious activity that included animal sacrifice, and participants joined together in taking an oath that was consecrated by the blood of the sacrificial victim.22 Although covenants could and often did take place at interstate meetings, a covenant was not a requisite part of an interstate meeting. Of this pair of otherwise quite similar event types, only records of covenants, which had a significant religious component, could be dated. This evidence aligns with the suggestion in the preceding section that dated event types may have had heightened religious significance. Yet not all covenant records are dated. Is it possible to determine why some are dated and others are not? Approximately half (51 of 94) of all covenant records include a sexagenary cycle date, and Lu took part in nearly all (at least 49 of 51) of the dated covenants.23 This much indicates that Lu participation was usually (but perhaps not always) required in order for a covenant record to be dated. But Lu also participated in well over half (26 of 43) of the covenants with undated records, so it was not the case that records of covenants involving Lu were always assigned a day-date. It seems likely that a more complex set of rules pertained, according to which only covenants in which Lu participated could be dated, and those in turn were actually dated only if some additional criterion applied. The only certain point is that records of covenants that did not involve Lu are generally not assigned sexagenary cycle dates. If we turn to the broad group of event types subsumed under the label “military activity,” we find types exhibiting all three dating patterns. Most types of military activity cannot be assigned a day-date; these undatable event types are given in table 2.1. Only one type of event, “battles,” is consistently dated, as shown in table 2.2. A third set of military event types are inconsistently dated; these include “defeats” (bài 敗), “annihilations” (miè 滅) of states, “entering” (rù 入) of cities or states, and “taking [territory]” (qǔ 取), as well as a residual category of miscellaneous other events; these appear in table 2.3. A common feature of all potentially datable types of military activity, whether consistently dated (battles) or inconsistently dated (defeats, annihilations, entering, and taking territory), is that they record military actions with decisive outcomes. In this respect, they differ from undatable types, such as “attacks” (fá 伐) or “sieges” (literally, “surrounding,” wéi 圍). Military events such as battles and annihilations may not appear to fit with types of potentially datable events that had explicitly religious significance, such as

47 R ecording the D ay

Set 2.4: Records of fires (inconsistently dated) 秋。 八月。

御廩災。

桓 14.4

齊大災。

莊 20.2

乙巳。

西宮災。

僖 20.3

甲子。

新宮災，三日哭。

成 3.4

壬申。

夏。 五月。

宋災。

襄 9.1

甲午。

宋災。

襄 30.3

陳災。

昭 9.3

夏。 五月。

壬午。

宋、衛、陳、鄭災。

昭 18.2

夏。 五月。

壬辰。

雉門及兩觀災。

定 2.2

五月。

辛卯。

桓宮、僖宮災。

哀 3.3

六月。

辛丑。

亳社災。

哀 4.8

春。 五月。 夏。 四月。

Autumn. The eighth month. Renshen. There was a fire in the state granary.

Huan 14.4 (698)

Summer. There was a great fire in Qi.

Zhuang 20.2 (674)

The fifth month. Yisi. There was a fire in the Western Palace.

Xi 20.3 (640)

Jiazi. There was a fire in the New Palace; we wailed for three days.

Cheng 3.4 (588)

Spring. There was a fire in Song.

Xiang 9.1 (564)

The fifth month. Jiawu. There was a fire in Song.

Xiang 30.3 (543)

Summer. The fourth month. There was a fire in Chen.

Zhao 9.3 (533)

Summer. The fifth month. Renwu. There were fires in Song, Wei, Chen, and Zheng.

Zhao 18.2 (524)

Summer. The fifth month. Renchen. There was a fire at the Pheasant Gate and the two lookout towers.

Ding 2.2 (508)

The fifth month. Xinmao. There were fires in the temple of Lord Huan and the temple of Lord Xi.

Ai 3.3 (492)

The sixth month. Xinchou. There was a fire at the Bo Altar.

Ai 4.8 (491)

covenants, sacrifices, fires, eclipses, and other portentous events, but, as previously pointed out, military activity did have a religious component. Annihilating a state entailed more than simply dismantling its leadership and taking its territory; the ancestral sacrifices made at its altars were also extinguished.24 Thus the annihilation of a state was not merely a political event but one that surely had profound implications in the spirit realm, as the “altars of earth and grain” were the religious foundation of the state.

48 R ecording the D ay

Likewise, victories or defeats in battle were not simply political events and also had religious ramifications. Whereas battles were consistently dated, records of defeats, annihilations, entering, and taking of territory, like covenants, were inconsistently dated. The next question is why, within a single event type, some records were dated and others were not. For one type, annihilation of a state, the presence of a sexagenary cycle date appears to be linked to Lu involvement. The Spring and Autumn registers 32 annihilations of states, approximately one third of which are dated. Lu is the aggressor in only two cases, one dated and the other undated, and thus actual participation by Lu does not seem to have been a determining factor in whether annihilation records were dated. Yet a review of Spring and Autumn records of covenants, joint military actions, and diplomatic travel indicates that Lu had diplomatic ties to 11 of the annihilated states. Annihilations of states with diplomatic ties to Lu are often dated—8 of 11 such records include day-dates—whereas annihilations of states with which Lu had no recorded interchange generally are not—only 2 of 21 records are dated precisely.25 Thus Lu’s relationship with the annihilated state seems to have played a determining role in whether a record was dated. For other types of military actions that are inconsistently dated, no obvious pattern linking dating to Lu involvement is evident. Records of defeats appear to be somewhat likelier to be dated if Lu was a participant, but defeats in which Lu did not participate may also be dated, and no clear correlation between date and Lu participation may be discerned.26 Similarly, records of “entering” a city or state and “taking [territory]” are occasionally dated, but it is impossible to identify a consistent set of factors that determined whether individual records were dated. For these two types, Lu involvement plays no apparent role. In short, whether Lu was involved affects dating patterns for some event types, but not all. Far more complicated is the event type “rites and religious activities,” which includes records of ritual performances of various kinds. Clearly such events had religious significance, and furthermore, all rites recorded in the Spring and Autumn took place in Lu, but many instances were not dated. Thus other factors must have determined whether dates were recorded. Records of rites fall into two types. The first comprises 22 records of the rain-seeking rite (yú 雩). In contrast to other records of ritual performances, records of the rain-seeking rite are consistently not dated, and it is for this reason that they are categorized as a separate event type and

49 R ecording the D ay

listed in table 2.1 with other consistently undated types. The second event type includes 16  records concerning the jiāo 郊 sacrifice together with 21 records of various other rites or ceremonies, including major seasonal sacrifices (cháng 嘗 and zhēng 烝), for a total of 37 records.27 This second type encompasses some of the most complex sets of records in the Spring and Autumn, since what intuitively seems to be a single “event” may be recorded with a sequence of as many as five sentences concerning irregularities; for this reason, the subsequent discussion refers to events and sequences of records rather than individual records.28 Presumably many if not all of these rites were conducted on a regular schedule, but regular ritual services were not recorded, let alone dated, and the very presence in the Spring and Autumn of a particular instance of a rite or ceremony marks it as irregular. Furthermore, only records of completed rites could be assigned day-dates; records that note irregularities or that state that a rite was not carried out are not dated. This evidence suggests a twostep process of recording. Step one determined whether a particular event could be recorded at all; only irregular instances of rites could be recorded, and all regular rites were filtered out at this point. Step two determined whether the record could be dated; only records registering that a rite had been completed could be dated, while others were left undated. That Spring and Autumn records of ritual performances were restricted to unusual or irregular instances is best illustrated by records pertaining to the jiāo sacrifice, which often explicitly identify an irregularity in the proceedings.29 The Spring and Autumn contains nine sequences of records concerning the jiāo sacrifice. Four sequences record that the sacrifice was not carried out after inauspicious divination results, and four additional sequences refer to a problem with the sacrificial bull; in two cases the problem was resolved and the sacrifice was completed.30 Only one entry records that the sacrifice was conducted and makes no explicit reference to irregularity, yet this instance was irregular in a different respect; namely, it was the only case in which the jiāo sacrifice, typically conducted in Summer, was recorded as being conducted in Autumn.31 This group of records illustrates the twostep process mentioned previously. Step one allowed these sequences to be recorded, since all concern irregular cases. According to step two, sexagenary cycle dates are given only for the three records stating that the jiāo sacrifice was completed; none of the other records is dated. Also belonging to the event type “rites and religious activities” are a miscellany of records pertaining to eighteen ritual events, three of which are

50 R ecording the D ay

recorded in sequences of multiple records. Among these are nine records that are independently dated; three more, responses to eclipses, are preceded by dated eclipse records and presumably share the date with those records; thus, in table 2.3 they are counted as dated. Two of the six undated cases concern anticipated events that did not take place; these are similar to records indicating that the jiāo sacrifice had not been completed.32 The remaining four undated records are unlike any others in the Spring and Autumn, and without similar records for comparison, speculation about reasons for the lack of daydates is pointless.33 Yet overall, records in this second group generally align with the principle that only records of completed rites were dated. Records of the rain-seeking rite did register completed performances, but unlike other records of ritual performances, they were consistently not dated.34 The absence of sexagenary cycle dates in records of the rainseeking rite thus poses an exception to the dating patterns that governed other records of ceremonies and sacrifices. The fact that these records are not dated sets the rain-seeking rite apart from other ritual services, but how or why this rite differed from others is unclear. A final broad group of inconsistently dated records includes deaths and funerals. A subset of these records is consistently dated: deaths and funerals of Lu rulers and their primary wives are always assigned sexagenary cycle dates, as are death records of Zhou kings. But deaths of Lu noblemen and deaths and funerals of regional rulers of other states are inconsistently dated, and the question, of course, is why some of these death and funeral records are assigned sexagenary cycle dates and others are not. Although it seems impossible to ascertain why some deaths of Lu nobility are dated and others are not, as we will see in a subsequent section, interstate communication appears to have been the determining factor in whether records related to deaths of regional rulers were dated.35 Analysis: “Potentially Datable” Event Types

It is possible to identify several sets of event types that encompass events of similar nature and that include both consistently and inconsistently dated event types. For example, one such set consists of three event types pertaining to ominous natural disruptions; among these, earthquakes and eclipses are consistently dated, whereas fires are inconsistently dated. Another set includes five types of military events with decisive outcomes. One of these five types is battles, records of which are consistently dated; the

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four other types, annihilations, defeats, entering (a city or state), and taking (territory), are inconsistently dated. A third set includes deaths and funerals; when these records pertain to the Lu ruler, the primary wife of a Lu ruler, or the Zhou king, they are consistently dated, whereas death and funeral records for regional rulers or noblemen are inconsistently dated. The existence of such sets suggests a new way of looking at patterns of date notation. Instead of understanding these as including similar event types with two different dating patterns, “consistently dated” or “inconsistently dated,” the two dating patterns can instead be collapsed into a single pattern, “potentially datable,” which then stands in contrast to the default pattern “undatable.” This thus allows us to regard event types as belonging in one of two major categories, those whose records could not be dated, and those whose records could be dated—whether consistently or inconsistently—that is, those whose records were potentially datable. This division into two patterns, undatable and potentially datable, allows us to hypothesize that whether or not an individual record was dated involved a filtering process, similar to that posited previously for rites and religious activities. The first filter pertained to event type and determined whether an event could be recorded at all; only events of certain types could be recorded. The second filter, which was based on event type, determined the form of the record, including the basic dating pattern. Records of the majority of event types—those listed in table 2.1—could not be dated; this was the default pattern. Records of the remaining event types were potentially datable; these included types that were consistently dated (table 2.2) and those that were inconsistently dated (table 2.3). The third filter determined whether a particular record was dated. Records of some potentially datable event types were always or nearly always dated; examples include eclipses and earthquakes. But for other event types, such as fires, whether a particular record was assigned a day-date depended on one or more additional factors. For example, in the case of fires, inclusion of a day-date appears to be linked to whether the recorded event was in some way associated with Lu. Thus the event type to which a record belonged determined whether it could be dated—again, the majority of event types simply could not be dated—and for records of potentially datable types, another filter also applied that determined whether or not an individual record would actually be assigned a date. An alternative way of looking at this is to imagine a record as a fill-in-theblank form with blanks or open slots for information such as dates. Records

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of undatable event types, such as diplomatic travel or military incursions, were not assigned day-dates for the simple reason that the regular form for such records had no blank or open slot for date, and thus no date could be included. By contrast, the form for records of potentially datable event types had an open slot for a sexagenary cycle date, but that slot could only be filled in if additional conditions were met. For some types of events, such as deaths of Lu rulers or battles, the secondary conditions were always or nearly always met, and thus records of those types are always or nearly always dated, resulting in a pattern of consistent dating. For other types, such as fires or deaths of regional rulers, the secondary conditions were sometimes unsatisfied and consequently the slot was left unfilled, resulting in an undated record; this yielded a pattern of inconsistent dating. Although some of the secondary factors that allowed a potentially datable record to be dated are readily identified—Lu involvement perhaps being the most obvious—the identification of other factors is more challenging. Nonetheless, understanding records as forms with open slots for information of different types will prove to be helpful in understanding patterns for death and funeral records of regional rulers. INTERSTATE COMMUNICATION, DEATH ANNOUNCEMENTS, AND THE SPRING AND AUTUMN RECORDS

If the contrast between a “dated” record and an “undated” one is whether a record includes a sexagenary cycle date, the distinction between “undatable” event types and those that are “potentially datable” (whether consistently or inconsistently dated) can be described as whether or not records of that type include an open slot for day-date. For event types with an open slot, the next question is what factor or factors allowed that slot to be filled. One such factor seems to be Lu involvement; for several potentially datable types, dates are likelier to be recorded when the event was somehow connected to Lu. Curiously, Lu involvement was not necessarily direct; for example, annihilations of states are likelier to be dated for those states with which Lu had diplomatic ties, even if Lu did not take part in the military action. This point suggests that at least a subset of Spring and Autumn records relied on information that was communicated to Lu by other states, a proposal that is supported by the relationship between individual states and patterns of inclusion of information (including but not limited to day-dates) in death and funeral records.

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Dates and Other Details in Death Records of Regional Rulers

Deaths and funerals of regional rulers of states other than Lu were regularly recorded in the Spring and Autumn, and both types fall into the “potentially datable” category. Is it possible to determine what criteria led to inclusion or exclusion of dates from these records? Comparing records associated with Zhou kings and Lu rulers to those associated with rulers of other states shows that death records of Zhou kings and Lu rulers were consistently assigned day-dates, whereas those of regional rulers were not. We might speculate that this was a function of hierarchy, specifically, that records pertaining to Zhou kings and Lu rulers and their primary wives were simply more important. Yet if we examine death and funeral records by state, we find a somewhat more complicated situation. A complete death record for a regional ruler includes the date of death and the name (míng 名) of the deceased, and it is typically followed by a funeral record. Yet details are not always complete. Records may not be dated precisely with day-dates, names may be missing, and funeral records may also be absent. The following analysis examines each of these details. When death and funeral records of rulers are analyzed by state, a correlation between state and amount of detail emerges. This pattern suggests that whether certain details were included depended on the home state of the deceased. The correlation between state and inclusion of detail is shown in table 2.4. For some states, precise dating of death records is the norm; thus for five states—Qi, Chu, Wei, Zheng, and Su—all rulers’ death records include a sexagenary cycle date, and the same is true for all death records but one for both Jin and Chen. By contrast, precise dating is the exception rather than the rule for death records of Cao, Qin, and Xue rulers, and no death records for rulers of Ju and Wu are dated. Table 2.4 also presents data for inclusion of the deceased ruler’s name (míng), and these data too reveal a correlation between state and inclusion of detail. For the majority of states, all death records include the deceased ruler’s name, but for a few states, names are occasionally omitted.36 Interestingly, the states for which day-dates are omitted are not necessarily the same as those for which rulers’ names are omitted. Thus, while death records of rulers from Qi, Chu, Wei, and Zheng always include both name and date, death records of Ju and Wu rulers are never dated but always include the ruler’s name, death records of Cao rulers consistently include names but often omit dates, and death records from Qin often omit both name and date.

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TABLE 2.4  Details associated with death records of regional rulers, by state Number Number of death Death records of regicide Regicide records records Death records Death records followed by records followed by (total) with day-date with name funerals (total) funerals

State

No.

%

No.

%

No.

%

No.

%

Jin

晉

10

9

90

9

90

6

60

3

0

0

Qi

齊

9

9

100

9

100

8

89

6

1

17

Song

宋

9

7

78

9

100

6

67

3

0

0

Chu

楚

6

6

100

6

100

0

0

2

0

0

Cai

蔡

6

4

67

6

100

4

67

3

3

100

Chen

陳

10

9

90

10

100

7

70

1

1

100

Wei

衛

9

9

100

9

100

7

78

2

1

50

Zheng

鄭

11

11

100

11

100

8

73

1

0

0

Xuu

許

5

3

60

5

100

5

100

1

1

100

Cao

曹

11

2

18

11

100

11

100

0

…

…

Ju

莒

3

0

0

3

100

0

0

2

0

0

Zhu

邾

7

4

57

7

100

2

29

0

…

…

Qin

秦

6

1

17

2

33

3

50

0

…

…

Teng

滕

7

5

71

4

57

4

57

0

…

…

Xue

薛

4

1

25

3

75

3

75

1

0

0

Qii

杞

7

4

57

6

86

6

86

0

…

…

Wu

吳

4

0

0

4

100

0

0

2

0

0

Su

宿

1

1

100

0

0

0

0

0

…

…

125

85

68

114

91

80

64

27

7

26

TOTAL

Note: States are listed according to the sequence of states given in table 4.1. The figures for “Death records followed by funerals” do not include instances of funeral records following deaths recorded as regicides.

Table 2.4 also shows the number of rulers’ death records that are followed by funeral records as well as the number of regicide records followed by funeral records. Again, the Spring and Autumn is likelier to include funeral records for rulers of some states than others.37 Curiously, whether or not deaths that are recorded as regicides are followed by funeral records also seems to be determined by state, although analysis is complicated by the fact that regicides were not always explicitly identified as such in the records; additionally, rulers who were murdered were not necessarily buried with the same mortuary rites as those who died natural deaths. In general, whether

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funerals are recorded depends on the home state of the deceased, but significantly, inclusion of a funeral record does not necessarily correlate with completeness of the corresponding death record. For example, death records from Xuu and Cao are always followed by funeral records, and the death records may omit the date but they always include the name of the deceased, whereas death records for rulers of Qi, Wei, and Zheng are complete with respect to date and name of deceased, but funeral records may be omitted. Thus it is not the case that death and funeral record pairs were simply more complete for some states than others, and we may make the important observation that records associated with different states include or omit different kinds of detail. Returning to the notion of a record as a form with open slots for information, we might envision death and funeral record pairs as a single form with open slots for date, name of the deceased, and funeral record. Again, we would like to know why, in some cases, all open slots are filled in with details, but in others, they are not. We might wonder if perhaps Lu convention required the record-keepers to include more detail about some states than others, or if distance affected the quality of communication and resulted in information for some states being sparser than that for others. Yet neither of these explanations can account for the significant fact that different kinds of detail are more complete for different states. This is best explained by a scenario in which details were communicated to Lu by the home state of the deceased ruler, and in which different states provided different details. Some states filled in all open slots, whereas others tended to include certain kinds of detail in their communications while excluding others.38 Interstate Announcements and Death Records of Regional Rulers

Turning to textual sources outside the Spring and Autumn, we find multiple references to an interstate communication system, and some of these references link this system to various types of Spring and Autumn records, particularly death records of regional rulers. The Zuo Tradition, the Ceremonies and Rites, and the Rites Record all state that “death announcements” (fù 赴 or 訃) constituted a regular component of the mortuary rites.39 Significantly, the Zuo Tradition asserts that deaths, funerals, and other events were reported to Lu via announcements from other states, and that the content of these announcements determined what details were recorded in the Spring and Autumn. These assertions point to the existence of a system of interstate communication in which the content of communications such as death

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announcements was determined by the individual states who sent those announcements; such a system would reasonably account for the correlation between detail and state described in the preceding section. Thus Zuo Tradition claims regarding this system warrant further attention. Several Zuo Tradition passages that comment directly on the Spring and Autumn records are concerned with the accuracy of dates in death records, or with the issue of whether a death was recorded at all. These commentarial passages, which I refer to as the direct commentary remarks, consistently claim that records were required to adhere to the information given in death announcements, even if this information was inaccurate, and they further assert that if no death announcement was received by Lu, no record of the death could be made at all.40 For example, in at least two different passages, the Zuo Tradition direct commentary avers that the date recorded in the Spring and Autumn is incorrect and that the source of this inaccuracy was the announcement upon which the record was based.41 Elsewhere, direct commentary passages address the absence of a death record from its expected place in the Spring and Autumn, claiming that the death was not recorded until it was announced, and even then, it was announced—and thus recorded—with the wrong date.42 Curiously, the Zuo Tradition implies that Lu knew of the death but was prohibited from registering it in the Spring and Autumn until an official announcement had been received, and that once the announcement was received, the record-keepers were required to record the death as announced, that is, with an incorrect date. Another group of Zuo Tradition direct commentary passages concerns the omission of personal names from death records of regional rulers, asserting that the personal name of the deceased could be recorded only if it had been included in the death announcement; in this respect, personal names are treated as similar to dates. These remarks further propose that a deceased ruler’s name was included in a death announcement only if his home state had joined in covenant with Lu.43 It is impossible to assess the accuracy of this claim since we do not have a complete record of covenants with which to compare Spring and Autumn death records, but the principle that the details in death records were based on the content of death announcements, which were in turn based on the nature of Lu’s relationship with the home state of the deceased, is nonetheless significant, and it is consistent with another set of similar assertions linking dates to announcements. A number of Zuo Tradition direct commentary remarks concerning death announcements also mention interstate reports or “announcements”

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(gào 告) of other types of events. The parallel between death announcements and these other announcements is noted explicitly in Wen 14: 凡崩薨，不赴則不書。禍福不告亦不書。 In any case of a king succumbing or a ruler perishing, if no death announcement was made, it was not recorded. If disaster or good fortune was not announced, it likewise was not recorded. (Zuo, Wen 14, 602)44

Other early texts likewise indicate the parallels between death announcements and announcements of other types of events.45 Death announcements (fù) seem to have been a special type of announcement, whereas announcements (gào) were used to convey information about a variety of events other than deaths, including military events such as attacks, defeats and victories, as well as events affecting rulers and noblemen of other states, such as assassinations, installations, and flights into exile.46 According to the Zuo Tradition, the principle that Spring and Autumn records were based on announcements was not restricted to death records but also extended to events of other types. Several direct commentary passages assert that individual events, such as instances of attacks or flights into exile, were not recorded because they were not announced.47 Other passages state that details such as names and dates in the Spring and Autumn reflected the information contained in announcements, even if the announced details were incorrect.48 Still another claims that announcements of events concerning a single state, such as deaths, assassinations, or flights into exile, were made by that state, whereas events such as military conflicts that involved multiple states could be announced by either the victor or the defeated state.49 Yet the Zuo Tradition also tells us that even as major an occurrence as the complete destruction of a state was not recorded without an official announcement: 雖及滅國，滅不告敗，勝不告克，不書于策。 Even if it came to annihilating a state, if in annihilation they did not announce defeat, or if in victory they did not announce conquering, it was not recorded in the slips. (Zuo, Yin 11, 78)50

Underlying all these Zuo Tradition remarks is the implicit assumption that, at least for certain types of events, the Spring and Autumn did not register events completely and accurately as they were known to have happened, but rather, that the records were required to reflect formal announcements received from other states.

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References to interstate announcements, including death announcements, also appear in historical narratives in the Zuo Tradition, a point that confirms that such an interstate communication system did indeed exist.51 What remains uncertain is the precise relationship of this communication system to the Spring and Autumn records. It would be naïve to take at face value the Zuo Tradition passages linking announcements and records, for these remarks are (as I have demonstrated elsewhere) drawn from early commentarial works whose aim was to explain the Spring and Autumn.52 The very fact that these explanations were deemed necessary is a stark reminder that Spring and Autumn recording conventions were no longer fully understood by the time they were written, and for this very reason, the commentarial passages in the Zuo Tradition cannot be uncritically accepted as reliable explanations of those conventions. Nonetheless, the Zuo Tradition claim that some Spring and Autumn records—in particular, those concerning events that did not involve Lu— were based on official communications sent by other states appears to be substantiated by Spring and Autumn evidence. The level of detail in death records varies by state; this is precisely the sort of distribution that we would expect to be produced by a system in which communications from individual states determined the content of the records and in which each state had its own communication conventions. Thus some states consistently announced death dates, and a slightly different group of states regularly announced funerals. Although the claim that the names of deceased rulers were announced only if a state had joined Lu in covenant is not possible to evaluate, the more general principle, that Lu’s relationship with an individual state shaped the details of their communications, is eminently reasonable. The distribution of detail in death and funeral records thus confirms that the principles (if not the precise details) set forth in the direct commentary are generally reliable, and that at least a subset of the records were based on interstate communications sent by individual states. Death Announcements and Domestic Death Records

According to the view of Spring and Autumn recording practices set forth in the Zuo Tradition commentary, the records—or at least a subset thereof— did not record events directly but were instead based on interstate communications and were affected by such factors as whether information had been properly conveyed via official announcements. Other Zuo Tradition

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passages assert a similar association between death records of Lu women and mortuary rites, maintaining that the form of the records reflected the form of the rites, and if the rites themselves were conducted in a way that was in some respect deficient, this deficiency also could result in omission of detail or inclusion of incorrect information. The most detailed discussions of this topic appear in Zuo Tradition commentarial remarks regarding the relationship between Spring and Autumn death records and mortuary rites for three women who were said to have been wives of Lu rulers. These passages concern records of domestic deaths, and thus no interstate communication is involved. Instead, death announcements are treated as one of several steps in the domestic mortuary rites, which are in turn connected to the Spring and Autumn records. Other passages in the Zuo Tradition refer to similar steps in mourning rites for rulers and their wives, and these steps also are attested and, in some cases, described in detail in the Rites Record and the Ceremonies and Rites.53 Although none of these passages concerns dates, they are significant because they shed additional light on Zuo Tradition claims about the association between ritual steps such as death announcements and the Spring and Autumn records, as well as the assumptions underlying those claims. In the Spring and Autumn, the death of the primary wife or mother (that is, the fūrén) of a Lu ruler is normally recorded with the special verb hōng 薨, “perish.”54 In three exceptional cases, death records of women who were said to have been wives of Lu rulers do not use this verb. The Zuo Tradition comments on each of these records, explaining that none of these women was accorded the full mourning and funerary rites normally due a primary wife when she died, and it was for this reason that none of their deaths was recorded with the form normally used for a ruler’s primary wife in the Spring and Autumn. The first of the Zuo Tradition passages seeks to explain the death record for a woman referred to as “someone of the Lord’s household” (jūn shì 君氏). This record is said to refer to Sheng Zi 聲子, wife—but perhaps not primary wife—to Lord Hui and mother of Lord Yin.55 The Zuo Tradition enumerates a sequence of ceremonial steps that appear to have been regular and customary components of the mourning rites for a ruler’s primary wife. 「夏。君氏卒。」聲子也。不赴於諸侯，不反哭于寢，不祔于姑，故 不曰「薨」。不稱夫人，故不言葬，不書姓。 “Summer. [The Lady] of the ruler’s clan died.” This was Sheng Zi. They did not announce her death to the regional lords, they did not turn back

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and wail in the chamber, and they did not place her tablet with that of her husband’s mother; therefore [the Spring and Autumn] did not say “perish” (hōng). She was not designated primary wife (fūrén); therefore [the Spring and Autumn] does not talk of her burial and does not record her clan name. (Zuo, Yin 3, 26)

It is noteworthy that the Zuo Tradition does not take up the question of why the usual steps were not carried out; instead, it simply asserts a direct causal link between the form of the rites and the wording of the record. That is, the form and content of the Spring and Autumn were determined by whether certain steps were completed, and if those steps were omitted, the recordkeepers were prohibited from using certain terminology (such as the verb hōng) or including certain details (such as the clan name of the deceased) in the record, or were even forbidden from recording entire events (the funeral). The commentarial remarks on the two other exceptional women’s death records propose similar connections between the details in the Spring and Autumn and the steps of the mortuary rites.56 Particularly significant is the fact that the commentarial claims do not link the wording of the Spring and Autumn directly to the status of the deceased. For example, the Zuo Tradition tells us that one of these women, Lord Zhao’s wife Meng Zi, shared the same clan name as her husband, and it was because of this that she was not accorded all the steps in the mourning rites normally due to a fūrén. Yet in explaining the Spring and Autumn record, this passage does not attribute the unusual record directly to Meng Zi’s clan name. Instead, it links the record to the form of the mourning rites conducted for her. In other words, the status of the deceased dictated that she or he be accorded a certain kind of mortuary rite, which in turn led to certain information being included or omitted from the record. If this is correct, then the association between the status of the deceased and the wording of the record was indirect, mediated by the form of the mortuary rites. Returning to the issue of date notations, this assertion is analogous to Zuo Tradition claims about the indirect relationship between the actual details of a death and the record itself; the record was said to depend on the death announcement, rather than being a direct record of the event itself. Thus, in situations of both types, records were said to reflect the completion of certain steps—whether interstate announcements or domestic mortuary rites—and were not said to reflect actual events directly.

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RECORDING THE DAY: RULES AND PATTERNS OF INCLUSION

This chapter has sought to address what initially seemed to be a simple question: why are some Spring and Autumn records assigned complete sexagenary cycle dates while others are not? Evidence requires us to dismiss the simplest and most obvious possibility: it was not the case that dates were included when known to Lu and omitted when unknown. Indeed, as subsequent chapters will show, the Spring and Autumn regularly omits much information that must have been known to Lu record-keepers, including not only day-dates but also names of individuals, as well as entire events and even categories of events. This is because the Spring and Autumn was governed by formal rules that restricted what information could be registered in its records, rules that were often linked to event type. The patterned inclusion or exclusion of day-dates is simply one example that illustrates the rules-based nature of the records. Whether or not a particular record includes a sexagenary cycle date correlates with the kind of event that it records, that is, its event type. The majority of event types consist of records that are consistently undated, from which we may infer that recording conventions stipulated that records of these event types did not—and indeed, could not—include a day-date; in the terminology employed in this chapter, no open slot for day-date is present for records of these types. This the default form, and well over half of Spring and Autumn records are of undatable event types. Records of the remaining event types may be described as potentially datable. Potentially datable event types have an open slot for a sexagenary cycle date, and thus these records could be dated, even if many were not. Given that absence of day-date was the default, what was special about potentially datable event types? These types include deaths and funerals; portents and omens such as earthquakes, eclipses, and fires; certain domestic sacrifices and rites; covenants; and military activity with decisive outcomes. A ruler’s death triggered the beginning of a lengthy series of complex mourning rites, and the entombment of a ruler was a major religious service requiring lavish ritual performance and animal sacrifice. Earthquakes, eclipses, and fires were understood as ominous or having supernatural significance, and the Spring and Autumn registers sacrifice and drumming in response to eclipses. Covenants too involved animal sacrifice and blood oaths before the gods. Military outcomes were not simply political events,

62 R ecording the D ay

but also had religious ramifications; for example, annihilations of states were accompanied by the destruction of the ancestral sacrifices of the ruling house. We might speculate that events of potentially datable types bore heightened religious significance. Yet it is certainly not the case that events of undatable types had no religious import. Ceremonies were carried out in ancestral temples when emissaries set out on diplomatic visits, when armies departed on campaign, and when the ruler or a nobleman set out or returned from abroad.57 The start or completion of public works may also have been accompanied by religious services. Likewise, the act of fleeing into exile entailed abandonment of one’s obligations to conduct ancestral sacrifices, and when a ruler was restored to power in his home state, surely this was accompanied by religious activity, since he not only was a political leader but also was responsible for maintaining sacrifices in his state.58 Finally, while instances of rites such as the jiāo sacrifice were dated, the rain-seeking yú ceremony was not, yet both were certainly religious services. Thus lack of a sexagenary cycle date does not indicate that these events lacked religious significance, and we can only offer the preliminary and very unsatisfactory conclusion that potentially datable types carried a different sort of importance from those events that could not be dated. For the moment, then, the question of why sexagenary cycle dates could be recorded for certain types of events but were not permitted for others must remain unresolved. The next question we might ask is, among potentially datable records, why were some assigned sexagenary cycle dates while others were not? One factor seems to have been Lu involvement, specifically, whether the event included a Lu participant, took place in Lu, or (at least in the case of annihilations) involved a state with which Lu had diplomatic ties. Similarly, records of certain events that took place abroad, including deaths and funerals of regional rulers, seem to have been based on information that was communicated to Lu by other states. The most obvious conclusion would be that Lu filled in the open slots for dates and other details when the information was known, but this is not necessarily the correct answer. The commentarial remarks in the Zuo Tradition throw light on this problem. Crucially, the commentarial passages are not concerned with what actually happened, nor with whether Lu knew the details in question. If the Zuo Tradition may be believed, certain details, including day-dates and names, could only be recorded if those details were communicated to Lu appropriately, perhaps via official interstate announcement brought by foreign

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emissaries, or in other situations, if required ceremonies such as domestic mortuary rites had been conducted in full. In other words, the Zuo Tradition assumes that open slots for information such as day-dates and names were filled only when formal steps such as interstate announcements or mortuary rites had been completed. No commentary should be naively accepted at face value, and the Zuo Tradition remarks are certainly commentary. Yet the fundamental principles embodied in these remarks are fully consonant with the Spring and Autumn records in two significant respects. First, the commentarial assertion that information was communicated by individual states neatly accounts for the distribution of details in death and funeral records of regional rulers. Second, the principle that rules determined whether certain kinds of information could be included in the records is implicit in the commentarial remarks and also aligns with observable patterns in the Spring and Autumn, such as the fact that for most records, event type determined whether day-dates were given. In general, inclusion or omission of information, whether details such as dates or names, records of individual events, or even entire categories of events, is highly patterned and follows regular conventions. Thus the Zuo Tradition direct commentary assertions that records were also governed by other formal criteria or rules, such as whether certain information was properly communicated, seem entirely reasonable. In contemporary historiography, chronological accuracy and precision are deeply valued and tend to be taken as signs of credibility and even truthfulness.59 Yet in the Spring and Autumn, precise day-dates did not function in this way. Records of most types of events were considered to be complete without day-dates, even when those dates were known in Lu—that is, records of undatable types were not in any sense wanting—and if the Zuo Tradition direct commentary may be trusted, on occasion the recordkeepers knowingly included incorrect dates. As demonstrated by the conspicuous correlation between event type and presence of sexagenary cycle dates, the level of detail in the records was usually (if not always) governed by formal rules, and even if it is not always possible to determine the reasoning underlying these rules, they certainly led to selective omission of information. Thus, while acknowledging that many details in the records are likely historically correct, we can state conclusively that the purpose of the Spring and Autumn was not to provide comprehensive documentation of Lu knowledge of events, nor was its aim to register events accurately, precisely, and completely.

Chapter Three

ENCODING INDIVIDUAL RANK

Archaeological discoveries and the received textual tradition both confirm the existence of what is often termed a graded hierarchy during the Western Zhou and Spring and Autumn period. Early texts lay out the structure of this hierarchy explicitly by making claims regarding the size of territory or number of subjects governed by a ruler of a given rank, or prescribing the amount of military force under his control, or the rank of his subordinates.1 Yet the early corpus devotes at least as much attention to the symbols employed to signal position in the hierarchy as to actual territorial control and military might. Rank was put on display by means of material objects emblematic of status and by the scale of various ceremonial activities.2 Sumptuary restrictions governed various aspects of religious activity, including the number of altars permitted in an ancestral temple, when and to which spirits or ancestors sacrifice could be made, and which and how many animals and other foodstuffs could be offered in sacrifice. Similar rules governed mortuary rites; for example, rank determined the amount of time between death and encoffining, and from encoffining to entombment.3 Likewise, the degree of lavishness of gifts and banquets was linked to the rank of guests during diplomatic visits.4 Excavated evidence indicates that these rules extended even to the grave; perhaps the best-known emblem of status found in ancient tombs is the ding 鼎 or tripod. Like the number of bronze vessels and sets of sacrificial animals used in an ancestral sacrifice, the number of bronze vessels with

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which an individual was buried was also a function of rank. Cemeteries show clear distinctions not only between wealthy elite and commoners, but also between different strata within the elite, which were marked by different numbers of bronze vessels or other grave goods.5 In short, a variety of material forms were used to communicate an individual’s place in the hierarchy, thereby signaling status and putting rank on conspicuous display. The Spring and Autumn likewise employs form to display rank in a graded hierarchy, but instead of physical objects and ceremonial splendor, its records use words—inclusion or omission of records or details together with special terminology—to situate individuals in this hierarchy. The hierarchical system of the Spring and Autumn encompasses rulers and nobility from Lu, Zhou, and other states that lay within the orbit of Zhou cultural influence, but it does not extend down to commoners, who are not mentioned in its records. The Zhou king and regional rulers (zhūhóu 諸侯) and noblemen (dàfū 大夫) from the Central States—those states whose rulers maintained at least ceremonial allegiance to the Zhou king—occupy the highest levels of this hierarchy.6 At its margins are groups who remained outside the range of direct Zhou political and cultural domination during the Western Zhou period but whose increasing interaction with the Central States during the Spring and Autumn period brought them into the periphery of Zhou influence. The relative ranks of kings, regional rulers, and noblemen in this hierarchical system are displayed clearly by the formal features of the Spring and Autumn, as is the marginal place of groups on the edge of the Zhou culture sphere. The position of women in this system is marginal in a different sense, as women’s status appears to have been secondary to and dependent on that of men. This secondary position is also reflected in the form of Spring and Autumn records concerning women. The first part of this chapter examines the Spring and Autumn use of two types of formal features associated with hierarchical rank. First, analysis of “styles of reference,” that is, the various ways in which individuals of different ranks were identified, shows that the number and type of styles of reference that could be used were determined by an individual’s rank. Second, whether deaths and funerals were recorded was also contingent on rank, as was the form of those records. The chapter then turns to the Rites Record (Liji 禮記), examining ritual prescriptions that governed the relationship between hierarchical position and styles of reference, as well as between hierarchical position and terminology related to deaths and funerals. Both the Spring and Autumn records and the Rites Record prescriptions

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are overwhelmingly concerned with the use of form to display hierarchy. Even though the Spring and Autumn records were clearly governed by prescriptive rules, these rules differ from the Rites Record prescriptions in significant and systematic ways. Specifically, the Spring and Autumn records embody an interstate system with a regional center, namely, Lu, whereas the Rites Record prescriptions point to a centralized hierarchy in which all regional rulers are treated the same; this and other differences suggest that the Spring and Autumn probably reflects an earlier hierarchical system than that evident in the Rites Record. STYLES OF REFERENCE: SPRING AND AUTUMN CONVENTIONS FOR IDENTIFYING INDIVIDUALS

Names in ancient China were composed of several different elements, and a single person could be designated by various combinations of those elements. Elite men shared with their kin a lineage (shì 氏), and each one had his own name (míng 名) and may also have been known by a cognomen (zì 字). These elements were combined with a variety of courtesy or honorific forms, including birth sequence (hángcì 行次) and suffixes (such as zǐ 子, fǔ 父, and sūn 孫).7 Posthumous epithets (shì 諡, also called temple names) were used in references after death.8 Individuals could also be identified by titles, including names of offices (such as “Minister of War” sīmǎ 司馬 or “Steward” 宰 zǎi), or by official designations, such as shìzǐ 世子, referring to a living ruler’s heir and intended successor, or gōngzǐ 公子, employed for the sons of regional rulers. Regional rulers were typically designated by one of five titles (gōng 公, hóu 侯, bó 伯, zǐ 子, and nán 男).9 These components were combined in various ways to yield different forms referring to the same person, that is, different styles of reference. Which style of reference was used in a given context was determined by factors such as whether the individual was living or deceased, or the nature of the relationship between the individual and the speaker. The context of the utterance—for example, whether it was made in a religious or ceremonial context—may also have affected which style was used. In some early texts, most notably the Zuo Tradition, components of names are combined into an often bewildering array of forms, all of which could refer to a single person.10 The confusion is compounded by the fact that the Zuo Tradition, like many other early works, is a composite text whose constituent parts were produced at different times and locations; thus at

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different points in the text, the same individual may be treated as a contemporary living ruler or a deceased lord, depending on when a particular passage was composed. The way rulers are designated also depends on the identity of the writer or speaker, since different forms are used to refer to a writer or speaker’s own ruler in contrast with rulers of other states. Passages with dialogue that employs first-, second-, and third-person references generate an additional layer of confusion. Rules governing the appropriate use of styles of reference evolved over time, and in some cases later editors may have imposed anachronistic modifications that contributed further to the apparent inconsistency. In contrast to the Zuo Tradition, the use of styles of reference in Spring and Autumn records is highly systematic and consistent. Most of the factors that generate such a confusing range of variation in the Zuo Tradition are absent. Events are consistently recorded from the perspective of Lu, a point of view that does not vary. Furthermore, all records are written in third person, with no dialogue; thus neither the self-referential first-person forms nor the direct address second-person forms are employed. Finally, although it is possible to identify a few diachronic changes in the frequency with which certain types of events and associated designations occur in the Spring and Autumn, the range of styles of reference used and the contexts in which they are employed do not change throughout the text.11 Yet it was not the case that all Spring and Autumn records always designated the same person in the same way. A single individual could be referred to by up to three styles of reference, and the number of styles that could be used to refer to a person—one, two, or three—depended on that person’s rank, gender, and home state. Beyond this, which style a given record employed depended on the type of event recorded, that is, the context. Styles of reference to men and women differ significantly enough that they can be described as representing two separate systems; thus they are treated in different sections. Men: Rulers and Noblemen

Analysis of the link between hierarchical position and material emblems of rank shows that higher rank is typically associated not only with more lavish objects, but also with a greater variety of forms, as observed by Jessica Rawson and discussed in chapter 1.12 It is thus unsurprising that the number of styles of reference that could be used to identify an individual

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was determined by rank, and we might naturally assume that the Spring and Autumn would have employed the greatest number of styles for individuals who occupied the highest position in the hierarchy. However, this is not the case. Graded by rank from highest to lowest, men mentioned in Spring and Autumn records include the Zhou king, the Lu ruler, regional rulers of other states, Lu noblemen, noblemen from other states, and those from outside the Zhou political system. It is individuals in the middle grade—regional rulers—who are identified using the widest range of styles of reference, whereas styles referring to those at the top—the Lu ruler and the Zhou king—seem to have been limited by prohibitions against the use of personal names, and the styles used for noblemen are the simplest and most restricted. Thus the following discussion begins with rulers of states other than Lu, who could be referred to by as many as three different styles of reference. Regional rulers, like all men from states other than Lu, are always identified by home state. The most common style of reference for regional rulers is simply state plus ruling title, gōng, hóu, bó, zǐ, or nán.13 This “default style” is employed with the highest frequency and for the widest range of event types, including all interstate activities such as military and diplomatic interactions. The second style is composed of the default style plus the ruler’s personal name (míng). This “personal name style” is employed for a restricted set of event types, the most common of which is death records. The third style designates a ruler by state plus his posthumous name followed by the honorific “Lord” (gōng 公); this “posthumous style” is restricted to records of a single event type, funerals, and it thus appears with the lowest frequency.14 The full inventory of styles for regional rulers is illustrated in the following three records, which refer to the same individual using the default style, the personal name style, and the posthumous style: 晉侯伐衛。 The Hou of Jin attacked Wei. (CQ, Xi 28.1b, 448) 冬。十有二月。己卯。晉侯重耳卒。 Winter. The twelfth month. Jimao. The Hou of Jin, Chong’er, died. (CQ, Xi 32.4, 488) 癸巳。葬晉文公。 Guisi. They buried Lord Wen of Jin. (CQ, Xi 33.4, 492)

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The state is Jin; rulers of Jin bore the ruling title hóu. This ruler’s personal name was Chong’er, and after his death, he was known by his posthumous name, Wen. Thus the Hou of Jin, Chong’er, upon burial became Lord Wen of Jin. Here it should be noted that when gōng is used in posthumous references, it is not a ruling title, but an honorific, “lord.” The honorific gōng was used to refer to all deceased regional rulers, regardless of what title they held in life.15 Just as Jin rulers, whose ruling title was hóu, became gōng “Lord” in the afterlife, likewise “Tu, the Bo of Zheng” (Zheng bó Tu 鄭伯突) became “Lord Li of Zheng” (Zheng Li gōng 鄭厲公) after his death, and “Ping, the Gong of Song” (Song gōng Ping 宋公馮) became “Lord Zhuang of Song” (Song Zhuang gōng 宋莊公).16 From the example of Song rulers we see that the honorific gōng (translated “Lord”) and the ruling title gōng (transliterated “Gong”) appear in different positions in the styles of reference that use these words: the ruling title immediately follows the state and in the default style is shortened to “Gong of Song” (Song gōng 宋公), whereas the posthumous honorific occurs after the temple name, although the order is conventionally reversed in English translation, as “Lord Zhuang” (Zhuang gōng 莊公; perhaps more properly “the Zhuang Lord”). Thus it is not the case, as James Legge suggested, that all rulers on their deaths become “dukes” (i.e., gōng).17 Rather, the word gōng is used in different ways in these two different styles of reference, and thus I represent these two functions with distinct translations. It is a fairly straightforward matter to identify the contexts in which the first, default style and the third, posthumous style are used, but explaining the use of the second style, which includes a ruler’s personal name—in the previous example, Hou of Jin, Chong’er (Jin hóu Chong’er 晉侯重耳)—is somewhat more complex. Most records that employ the “personal name style” are death records.18 This style is also used in all records of assassinations (shì 弑) of regional rulers, in most (seven of eight) records of a ruler being taken captive (yǐ . . . guī 以 . . . 歸) following the defeat or annihilation of his home state, and in half (six of twelve) of the records of rulers fleeing (bēn 奔) their home states. Like deaths and assassinations, captures and flights into exile were types of events that resulted in a ruler losing his position. Records of a ruler being held or detained (zhí 執) pose an interesting contrast, as they typically do not use names.19 Detentions could involve humiliating a ruler at an interstate assembly or forcing him to do the will of a more powerful ruler, but detention of a ruler was not associated with the destruction of a state, nor did it normally result in a ruler losing his position

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or being killed. This contrast leads us to deduce that the Spring and Autumn uses the personal name style in cases in which a ruler loses his position, such as when he dies or is taken captive, but not on occasions when he is merely humiliated. Finally and somewhat surprisingly, the personal name style is also employed in records of what might at first glance appear to be a very different kind of event, namely, instances in which a ruler returns to power. Specifically, rulers’ names are included in most (ten of eleven) records of a ruler taking power or being restored (rù yú 入于; guī yú 歸于) after a period in exile or captivity.20 The common thread running through this set of event types—deaths, assassinations, captures after a defeat, flights into exile, and returns to power—is that all entail changes to a ruler’s status as ruler. Such changes must have had both political and religious significance, and the use of rulers’ names, which are included in most but not all such records, was probably related to this special significance.21 Patterns for recording names may be regarded as similar to patterns for recording sexagenary cycle dates: records of most event types had no open slot for inclusion of a ruler’s name, but such a slot was present in records of a few special types, including event types that were related to changes in a ruler’s status as ruler. Thus, as with day-dates, the primary determining factor in whether a ruler’s name could be included in a particular record was event type, and not whether this information was known. In contrast to regional rulers, who are identified by as many as three styles of reference, the highest-ranking individuals mentioned in the Spring and Autumn—the Zhou king and the Lu ruler—are limited to two styles, neither of which includes personal name. Indeed, the complete prohibition on recording the names of Lu rulers and Zhou kings has the effect of positioning them above regional rulers, whose names are used only in restricted circumstances, and also above nobility, whose names are not prohibited at all; the restriction thereby further reinforces the hierarchy. For both Lu rulers and Zhou kings, the default style is used in records of all types except funerals. This style refers to the Zhou king as “Heaven’s King” (tiān wáng 天王), and the Lu ruler is simply designated “[our] lord” (gōng 公).22 The other is the posthumous style, which is restricted to funeral records. Lu rulers are referred to by posthumous name followed by “Lord” (gōng), and Zhou kings by posthumous name followed by “King” (wáng). These styles are employed in the following groups of records, which illustrate naming conventions for three event types, parallel to the sequence given

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previously for the regional ruler Chong’er, Hou of Jin. The first record in each group employs the default style, and the second and third records are death and funeral records, respectively. These three records show the styles of reference used to designate Zhou kings: 冬。天王使宰周公來聘。 Winter. Heaven’s King dispatched the steward, Zhou Gong, to come on a visit of friendly inquiry. (CQ, Xi 30.6, 478) 秋。八月。戊申。天王崩。 Autumn. The eighth month. Wushen. Heaven’s King succumbed. (CQ, Wen 8.3, 565) 辛丑。葬襄王。 Xinchou. They buried King Xiang. (CQ, Wen 9.3, 569)

The following three records illustrate styles of reference used for Lu rulers: 公如晉。 Our Lord went to Jin. (CQ, Cheng 18.4, 905) 己丑。公薨于路寢。 Jichou. Our Lord perished in the Inner Chamber. (CQ, Cheng 18.11, 905) 丁未。葬我君成公。 Dingwei. We buried our ruler, Lord Cheng. (CQ, Cheng 18.15, 906)

Unlike rulers of other states, neither the Zhou king nor the Lu ruler is ever identified by home state, and although Lu rulers held the rank hóu, the form “Hou of Lu” (Lu hóu 魯侯) does not appear in the Spring and Autumn.23 Instead, the default style of reference for Lu rulers is simply the honorific gōng, “[our] lord.” Significantly, personal names of Zhou kings and Lu rulers are never used in the Spring and Autumn, and records in which a regional ruler would have been named, such death records, employ the default style. Thus the personal name of Lord Wen of Jin, Chong’er, appears in his death record, whereas the personal name of Lord Cheng of Lu may be found only by consulting other sources. Similar prohibitions on the use of personal names may have applied to other rulers within their home states, and

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perhaps such restrictions affected how different states reported their rulers’ deaths to Lu.24 The styles of reference used to designate the Lu ruler are more similar to those employed for the Zhou king than to styles used for other regional rulers. By employing styles parallel to those used for the Zhou king, the Spring and Autumn effectively sets the Lu ruler apart from other regional rulers and places him above them and near the top of the hierarchy, only a notch below the Zhou king. As I show later, death and funeral records employ similar formal distinctions, with a similar effect. Beneath rulers are nobility from Lu and other states, many of whom were sons or grandsons of regional rulers. Noblemen are identified by only a single style of reference, which is composed of lineage followed by name. The only formal distinction between Lu and non-Lu noblemen is that non-Lu noblemen are identified by state, whereas the home state of noblemen from Lu is not explicitly recorded.25 Styles of reference for noblemen are illustrated in these two records, the first, a nobleman from Lu, and the second, a nobleman from another state: 冬。十月。壬午。公子友帥師敗莒師于酈。 Winter. The tenth month. Renwu. Gongzi You led troops to defeat Ju troops at Li. (CQ, Xi 1.9a, 277) 秋。楚公子壬夫帥師侵宋。 Autumn. Gongzi Renfu of Chu led troops to make an incursion into Song. (CQ, Xiang 1.4, 916)

This style of reference is used to designate noblemen in records of all event types, including deaths, killings, flights into exile, and so on. A few rare departures from the regular form, such as three exceptional references to noblemen by office, do occur, but these variations are not associated with event type.26 Funerals of nobility are not recorded, and although other texts show that noblemen did have posthumous names, they are not used in the Spring and Autumn, perhaps simply because the records contain no posthumous references to nobility.27 Noblemen associated with the royal Zhou state are designated by a special style of reference that sets them apart from nobility from Lu and other regional states. This special style does not identify Zhou noblemen by lineage but instead refers to them by hereditary title. Three such titles appear

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in the Spring and Autumn, Shao Bo 召伯, Mao Bo 毛伯, and Zhou Gong 周公 (sometimes “the steward, Zhou Gong” 宰周公). Although these titles are obviously similar to the default style for regional rulers (compare, for example, the Bo of Zheng 鄭伯 or the Gong of Song 宋公), Zhou noblemen are never designated by personal or posthumous names; unlike regional rulers and similar to noblemen from other states, they are restricted to a single style. Also like noblemen from states other than Lu, Zhou noblemen are often recorded as acting on behalf of their ruler, the Zhou king, and their deaths and funerals are usually not recorded.28 These details indicate that the use of the hereditary titles gōng and bó for Zhou nobility was not a way of setting them on par with regional rulers, who were also referred to by these titles, but a formal mechanism that accorded special honor to Zhou noblemen, distinguishing them from noblemen of other states. Yet in all other respects, their treatment in the records demonstrates that they are noblemen, not rulers. Finally, the Spring and Autumn also contains four odd references to individuals who appear to be identified by personal name alone, with no state or lineage.29 The fact that they are not identified by home state and that their deaths are recorded suggests that all four must have been Lu noblemen, a conclusion supported by traditional commentaries. These irregular references occur in the first twenty-two years of the Spring and Autumn, and we might speculate that they represent an earlier set of naming conventions, but examples are too few to permit firm conclusions. Women: Wives and Daughters

All women mentioned in the Spring and Autumn are associated with Lu, whether by birth or by marriage.30 Most either were primary wives or mothers (fūrén 夫人) of Lu rulers, or they were daughters of Lu rulers who themselves married regional rulers (or possibly noblemen) of other states. Lu sometimes hosted royal marriages, since Zhou marriages were hosted by a state whose ruling house was of the Ji 姬 clan, and a few records mention the brides in these marriages, including Zhou princesses as well as women from other clans who married Zhou kings. Women who had no association with Lu are not mentioned in the Spring and Autumn. Thus the Spring and Autumn includes regular references to two categories of women, wives and mothers of Lu rulers, that is, fūrén, and daughters of Lu rulers, that is, Lu princesses, and also contains rare references to a third group, brides in Zhou marriages that were hosted in Lu.

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Styles of reference for women differ from those for men in two basic respects. First and most obviously, they employ a different set of naming components.31 Women are designated by clan name (xìng 姓), but clan name is never used in references to men, who may instead be identified by lineage (shì 氏).32 Second, whereas styles of reference for men allow us to categorize them into at least five ranked groups, styles of reference for women are less complex and only permit us to categorize most women into two general groups, either primary wives and mothers of Lu rulers or daughters of the Lu ruling house. The highest-ranking category of women in the Spring and Autumn comprises women who were primary wives or mothers of Lu rulers, or both, that is, fūrén.33 Like Lu rulers, these women are designated with two styles, a default style, used for all records beginning with a woman’s arrival in Lu as a new bride until and including her death, and a posthumous style, employed only in her funeral record. The two styles are illustrated in the following records: 夫人姜氏至自齊。 Our Lady of the Jiang clan arrived from Qi. (CQ, Huan 3.8, 97) 秋。八月。辛未。夫人姜氏薨。 Autumn. The eighth month. Xinwei. Our Lady of the Jiang clan perished. (CQ, Wen 16.4, 616) 夏。四月。癸亥。葬我小君聲姜。 Summer. The fourth month. Guihai. We buried our lesser ruler, Sheng Jiang. (CQ, Wen 17.2, 623)

The default style comprises the title “Lady” (fūrén) followed by clan name and the word shì 氏. (In other contexts, shì may refer to a kinship group or “lineage,” but here it is used to designate a woman as a member of a given clan.) Most primary wives and mothers of Lu rulers who are mentioned in the Spring and Autumn came from the ruling house of the state of Qi and were members of the Jiang clan, but some came from other states and had different clan names, including Feng 風, Ying 嬴, Si 姒, and Gui 歸. Women are not identified by individual designations such as personal names; thus, in the Spring and Autumn, as many as seven different women are referred to as “Our Lady of the Jiang clan.”34

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The posthumous style used in funeral records is formally similar to that used for Lu rulers. Lu rulers were designated “our ruler” (wǒ jūn 我君) in funeral records, and their primary wives and mothers were designated “our lesser ruler” (wǒ xiǎo jūn 我小君).35 Like rulers, primary wives and mothers are referred to by posthumous names—Sheng 聲 in the previous example— but different from men, the posthumous style for these women also includes clan name—Jiang 姜 in the previous example. Primary wives and mothers of Lu rulers are the only category of women who are normally identified by posthumous names in the Spring and Autumn, and indeed, they are the only women whose burials are regularly recorded; these features indicate their very high position. Brides who were to become primary wives of Lu rulers may also be mentioned in the Spring and Autumn, for example, when a state sent off a daughter to be married to a Lu ruler or when a Lu nobleman went to another state to receive a bride for the Lu ruler. But prior to marriage, these women were nearly always referred to simply as nǚ 女 (“girl” or “daughter”).36 These generic references, which include no additional identifying component such as clan name, suggest that prior to marriage these women had little standing in Lu and thus did not warrant any type of identification at all. Daughters of Lu rulers form the other major category of women mentioned in the Spring and Autumn. These women, like noblemen, are referred to by a single, default style that is used in records of all types. The few funeral records of Lu princesses also employ this default style and do not (with one highly irregular exception) use posthumous names.37 The default style consists of birth sequence, bo 伯, shu 叔, and ji 季, which I translate “Eldest Daughter,” “Middle Daughter,” and “Youngest Daughter,” plus clan name, Ji.38 If a Lu princess is mentioned prior to her marriage, she is not identified by home state, indicating that she is associated with Lu, but after marriage, she is identified by her husband’s state. This is illustrated by the following records: 春。王三月。叔姬歸于紀。 Spring. The royal third month. Middle Daughter Ji went to her [marital] home in Jih. (CQ, Yin 7.1, 52) 冬。十有二月。紀叔姬卒。 Winter. The twelfth month. Middle Daughter Ji of Jih died. (CQ, Zhuang 29.4, 243)

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八月。癸亥。葬紀叔姬。 The eighth month. Guihai. They buried Middle Daughter Ji of Jih. (CQ, Zhuang 30.4, 246)39

Styles of reference for Lu princesses differ from those for Lu noblemen in three respects. First, neither of the components used to refer to women (birth sequence, clan name) occurs in styles for men, and second, unlike men, Lu princesses are not distinguished by individual designations of any sort. Indeed, in the Spring and Autumn as many as six different women are known by the appellation “Middle Daughter Ji” (Shu Ji 叔姬). Third, while a man’s home state remained the same throughout his life, the state with which a woman was associated changed upon her marriage.40 Despite these differences, the fact that Lu princesses are designated using only a single basic style places them in a category parallel to Lu noblemen. Yet, as we shall see, death and funeral records of married Lu princesses suggest similarities to another category of men, regional rulers. In addition to mothers, wives, and daughters of Lu rulers, the Spring and Autumn also mentions four women who were brides in royal marriages hosted by Lu. Two were Zhou princesses who married regional rulers; they are simply referred to as “Royal Ji” (wáng Ji 王姬) with no indication of birth rank. The two women who married Zhou kings are designated “Royal Queen” (wáng hòu 王后).41 The paucity of records concerning this small group of women makes defining regular recording conventions extremely difficult and thwarts efforts to understand variations in form. For example, the four records of a new bride’s arrival in Lu do not consistently use the same terminology; the two later records include the word “wife” (fù 婦), but the earlier two do not.42 Perhaps the two later records (or the earlier two) were intentionally marked by an irregular form, perhaps the difference in form represents a difference in the events, or perhaps it reflects a change in formal recording rules. With so few examples, we can only speculate. DEATH AND FUNERAL RECORDS: FORM AND INCLUSION AS INDICATORS OF RANK

Just as styles of reference function in the Spring and Autumn to situate individuals in the hierarchy, so too do formal features of death and funeral records. Hierarchical rank correlates clearly with three variables: whether a

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death could be recorded, and if so what verb was used in the death record, and whether a funeral could be recorded. For men, these three features are systematically combined to indicate five different hierarchical levels.43 The situation for women seems to be parallel, but analysis is hindered by the relative scarcity of records. Deaths were recorded selectively, and whether a death could be recorded was determined by the rank of the deceased. Not everyone in the Spring and Autumn participated in all types of events; for example, women normally did not participate in military actions, and only men could ascend to power as rulers. Yet death eventually came to everyone mentioned in the Spring and Autumn and, at least in theory, both a death and a funeral could have been recorded for each individual who died during the period it covered. In practice, deaths are recorded for only a subset of this group: Zhou kings, Lu rulers and their primary wives and mothers, rulers of states other than Lu, Lu noblemen, and occasionally Lu princesses. Deaths are not recorded for noblemen from states other than Lu, nor for anyone from outside the Zhou culture sphere; these deaths constitute a class of events that is systematically excluded from the Spring and Autumn. Funerals are recorded for an even narrower range of individuals than deaths; the Spring and Autumn registers approximately half as many funerals (116 records) as deaths (206 records). Funerals are registered for Zhou kings, Lu rulers and their primary wives and mothers, and rulers of other states. Only rarely do funerals of Lu princesses appear in the Spring and Autumn, and funerals of noblemen, even those from Lu, are not recorded.44 Noblemen did have funerals and were buried with care, often including lavish grave goods and significant religious activity, and the fact that a noblemen of Lu had been entombed together with the date of his funeral was surely information that could have been recorded.45 But this did not happen. Funerals of nobility were categorically excluded from the Spring and Autumn not because these events were unknown to the record-keepers but because of the rank of the deceased: funerals of those who ranked below regional rulers did not warrant notice in the records. Spring and Autumn records mentioning women are scarce in comparison to those mentioning men. Of 206 death records, only 21 concern women, and of 116 funerals, only 13 pertain to women. One reason for the imbalance is that the records mention a more limited range of women than men; for example, regional rulers and noblemen regularly appear in the records but primary wives of regional rulers and noblewomen from states other than Lu do not. But this is not the only reason for the imbalance, and ultimately the

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infrequency of records mentioning women must be understood as an indication of their lower status relative to men. The inclusion or omission of death and funeral records reflects hierarchical considerations, not the amount of information available when the records were composed. Both deaths and funerals are recorded for those who ranked highest from the perspective of Lu. For the next level down, deaths are recorded but funerals are excluded. Those groups for which both deaths and funerals are absent occupied a still lower rung on the hierarchy. These principles apply to men and women, but because the Spring and Autumn contains more death and funeral records for men, the relationship between hierarchy and formal features is easier to define clearly for men than for women. Death and Funeral Records: Men

The form of a Spring and Autumn death record—specifically, the choice of verb for “die”—is contingent on the rank of the deceased, and analysis of formal features yields categories similar to those indicated by styles of reference. Deaths are recorded for individuals ranging from the Zhou king down to Lu noblemen, and three different verbs are used. Zhou kings are said to “succumb” (bēng 崩), Lu rulers are said to “perish” (hōng 薨), and both regional rulers and Lu noblemen are simply said to “die” (zú 卒). The verbs bēng and hōng are special forms, and they are probably etymologically related.46 The following records illustrate the use of these three verbs, which were employed for four hierarchical levels: 秋。八月。戊申。天王崩。 Autumn. The eighth month. Wushen. Heaven’s King succumbed. (CQ, Wen 8.3, 565) 冬。十月。壬戌。公薨于路寢。 Winter. The tenth month. Renxu. Our Lord perished in the Inner Chamber. (CQ, Xuan 18.7, 777) 春。王三月。己酉。陳侯午卒。 Spring. The royal third month. Jiyou. The Hou of Chen, Wu, died. (CQ, Xiang 4.1, 93) 冬。十有二月。乙卯。叔孫豹卒。 Winter. The twelfth month. Yimao. Shusun Bao died. (CQ, Zhao 4.6, 1245)

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TABLE 3.1  Formal indications of rank in Spring and Autumn death and funeral records for men

Deaths recorded

Funerals recorded

Posthumous epithet (shì 諡) used in funeral records

Name (míng 名) avoided in death records

Verb for “die” in death records

Zhou kings

Yes

Yes

Yes

Yes

bēng 崩

Lu rulers

Yes

Yes

Yes

Yes

hōng 薨

Regional rulers

Yes

Yes

Yes

No

zú 卒

Lu nobility

Yes

No

n/a

No

zú 卒

Regional nobility

No

No

n/a

n/a

n/a

“Non-Zhou” leaders

No

No

n/a

n/a

n/a

Deaths of noblemen from states other than Lu are not recorded. Just as reserving the verb bēng for the Zhou king alone shows that he outranked all others in the Spring and Autumn, restricting the verb hōng to Lu rulers (and their primary wives and mothers) effectively signals their position above regional rulers and Lu noblemen. The use of zú for deaths of regional rulers and Lu noblemen might at first glance appear to place them into a single category. Yet the two groups are distinguished by another formal feature: funerals of regional rulers are (or potentially could be) recorded, whereas funerals of Lu noblemen are invariably excluded. Inclusion of funeral records functions as a formal marker indicating that regional rulers rank above Lu nobility. Thus the Spring and Autumn combines multiple variables—inclusion or exclusion of death and funeral records and the choice of verb for “die”—to display a system of graded rank that had at its pinnacle the Zhou king, followed by the Lu ruler, regional lords of other states, Lu noblemen, and finally, noblemen of states other than Lu. The correlation between naming conventions, death records, and funeral records and rank for men is set forth in table 3.1. These variables can be analyzed using the notion of an open slot introduced in chapter 2. Records have been described as having or lacking an open slot for details such as sexagenary cycle date or personal name; whether an open slot was present was determined by the type of event recorded or, in some cases, the rank of the individual concerned. The notion of an open slot can be expanded to include not only details within a record but also entire records of events within the Spring and Autumn. Accordingly, instead of describing funerals of Lu nobility as “excluded,” we may observe that for

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individuals of this rank, there was by default no open slot for funerals to be recorded, and similarly, for nobility from other states, who ranked lower still, no open slot existed even for death records. In recording deaths and funerals, the lower a person’s rank, the fewer open slots there were. Significantly, the system of hierarchical levels indicated by the distribution of death records, the choice of verb for “die,” and the inclusion or omission of funeral records is precisely the same as that evidenced by styles of reference. The Spring and Autumn refers to at least five and perhaps six grades of men: the Zhou king, the Lu ruler, regional rulers of other states, Lu noblemen, noblemen of other states, and rarely, those from the margins of the Zhou political and cultural system. Individuals at the highest two levels, Zhou kings and Lu rulers, are marked by avoidance of personal names in styles of reference and by the use of special verbs (bēng and hōng) in death records; their funerals are also recorded. Regional rulers are the next level down. Their personal names are not avoided, their deaths and funerals are recorded, and no special verbs are employed in their death records. Successively lower grades are marked by progressively less information: Lu noblemen are designated by a single style of reference and their deaths are recorded, but their funerals are absent; for non-Lu noblemen, a single style of reference is used, and both their deaths and funerals are excluded; and persons of lower rank still are not mentioned at all.47 These patterns are illustrated by sets 3.1, 3.2, and 3.3, which give examples of pairs of death and funeral records of Zhou kings, Lu lords, and regional rulers. Death and Funeral Records: Women

Formal features of women’s death and funeral records do not lend themselves to a neat hierarchical summary of the type given in table 3.1 for men. Such a table for women would, in theory, include primary wives and mothers of Lu rulers, Lu princesses who became wives of regional rulers, and perhaps also Lu princesses who married noblemen, but assembling such a table is not feasible. Women’s rank seems to be correlated with the same three features— whether or not deaths are recorded, which verb is used for “die,” and whether or not funerals are recorded—but for two reasons, these correlations are not as unambiguous as those for men. First, it is often difficult or impossible to determine a particular woman’s rank. A married woman’s rank was contingent on that of her husband, but the Spring and Autumn does not identify women

Set 3.1: Paired death and funeral records of Zhou kings (all) 三月。

庚戌。 天王崩。

隱 3.2

三月。 五月。

乙未。 天王崩。 葬桓王。

桓 15.2 莊 3.3

冬。 十有二月。 丁未。 天王崩。

僖 8.4

秋。 八月。

戊申。 天王崩。 辛丑。 葬襄王。

文 8.3 文 9.3

冬。 十月。

乙亥。 天王崩。 葬匡王。

宣 2.5 宣 3.2

冬。 十有一月。 己酉。 天王崩。

成 5.6

九月。 春。 王正月。

襄 1.5 襄 2.1

辛酉。 天王崩。 葬簡王。

十有二月。 甲寅。 天王崩。 夏。 四月。

乙丑。 天王崩。 葬景王。

襄 28.8 昭 22.4 昭 22.5

The third month. Gengxu. Heaven’s King succumbed.

Yin 3.2 (720)

The third month. Yiwei. Heaven’s King succumbed. The fifth month. They buried King Huan.

Huan 15.2 (697) Zhuang 3.3 (691)

Winter. The twelfth month. Dingwei. Heaven’s King succumbed.

Xi 8.4 (652)

Autumn. The eighth month. Wushen. Heaven’s King succumbed. Xinchou. They buried King Xiang.

Wen 8.3 (619) Wen 9.3 (618)

Winter. The tenth month. Yihai. Heaven’s King succumbed. They buried King Kuang.

Xuan 2.5 (607) Xuan 3.2 (606)

Winter. The eleventh month. Jiyou. Heaven’s King succumbed.

Cheng 5.6 (586)

The ninth month. Xinyou. Heaven’s King succumbed. Spring. The royal first month. They buried King Jian.

Xiang 1.5 (572) Xiang 2.1 (571)

The twelfth month. Jiayin. Heaven’s King succumbed.

Xiang 28.8 (545)

Summer. The fourth month. Yichou. Heaven’s King succumbed. They buried King Jing.

Zhao 22.4 (520) Zhao 22.5 (520)

Set 3.2: Paired death and funeral records of Lu rulers (all) 冬。 十有一月。 壬辰。

公薨。

隱 11.4

夏。 四月。 丙子。 公薨于齊。 冬。 十有二月。 己丑。 葬我君桓公。

桓 18.2 桓 18.5

八月。 夏。 六月。

癸亥。 公薨于路寢。 辛酉。 葬我君莊公。

莊 32.4 閔 1.3

秋。 八月。

辛丑。

閔 2.3

夏。 四月。

乙巳。 公薨于小寢。 丁巳。 葬我君僖公。

僖 33.11 文 1.4

春。 王二月。 六月。

丁丑。 公薨于臺下。 癸酉。 葬我君文公。

文 18.1 文 18.4

冬。 十月。 二月。

壬戌。 辛酉。

公薨于路寢。 葬我君宣公。

宣 18.7 成 1.2

己丑。 丁未。

公薨于路寢。 葬我君成公。

成 18.11 成 18.15

辛巳。 癸酉。

公薨于楚宮。 葬我君襄公。

襄 31.2 襄 31.6

十有二月。 己未。 公薨于乾侯。 秋。 七月。 癸巳。 葬我君昭公。

昭 32.6 定 1.5

夏。 六月。

壬申。 丁巳。 戊午。

公薨。

公薨于高寢。 葬我君定公，雨，不克葬。 日下昃乃克葬。

定 15.5 定 15.12a 定 15.12b (continued next page)

(continued from previous page) Winter. The eleventh month. Renchen. Our Lord perished.

Yin 11.4 (712)

Summer. The fourth month. Bingzi. Our Lord perished in Qi. Winter. The twelfth month. Jichou. We buried our ruler, Lord Huan.

Huan 18.2 (694) Huan 18.5 (694)

The eighth month. Guihai. Our Lord perished in the Inner Chamber. Summer. The sixth month. Xinyou. We buried our ruler, Lord Zhuang.

Zhuang 32.4 (662)

Autumn. The eighth month. Xinchou. Our Lord perished.

Min 2.3 (660)

Yisi. Our Lord perished in the Small Chamber. Summer. The fourth month. Dingsi. We buried our ruler, Lord Xi.

Xi 33.11 (627) Wen 1.4 (626)

Spring. The royal second month. Dingchou. Our Lord perished beneath the platform. The sixth month. Guiyou. We buried our ruler, Lord Wen.

Wen 18.1 (609)

Winter. The tenth month. Renxu. Our Lord perished in the Inner Chamber. The second month. Xinyou. We buried our ruler, Lord Xuan.

Xuan 18.7 (591)

Jichou. Our Lord perished in the Inner Chamber. Dingwei. We buried our ruler, Lord Cheng.

Cheng 18.11 (573) Cheng 18.15 (573)

Summer. The sixth month. Xinsi. Our Lord perished in the Chu Palace. Guiyou. We buried our ruler, Lord Xiang.

Xiang 31.2 (542)

The twelfth month. Jiwei. Our Lord perished at Ganhou. Autumn. The seventh month. Guisi. We buried our ruler, Lord Zhao.

Zhao 32.6 (510) Ding 1.5 (509)

Renshen. Our Lord perished in the High Chamber. Dingsi. We were to bury our ruler, Lord Ding. It rained, and we were unable to complete the burial. Wuwu. In the afternoon, we then were able to complete the burial.

Ding 15.5 (495) Ding 15.12a (495)

Min 1.3 (661)

Wen 18.4 (609)

Cheng 1.2 (590)

Xiang 31.6 (542)

Ding 15.12b (495)

Set 3.3: Paired death and funeral records of regional rulers (selected) 冬。 十月。 春。 王二月。

乙亥。 陳侯林卒。 葬陳莊公。

莊 1.5 莊 2.1

夏。 四月。

乙酉。 宋公馮卒。 葬宋莊公。

莊 2.5 莊 3.2

邾子克卒。

莊 16.5

夏。 五月。 辛酉。 鄭伯突卒。 冬。 十有二月。 葬鄭厲公。

莊 21.2 莊 21.4

冬。 十有一月。

莊 23.9 莊 24.2

曹伯射姑卒。 葬曹莊公。

夏。 五月。

癸丑。 衛侯朔卒。

莊 25.2

夏。 四月。

丁未。 邾子瑣卒。

莊 28.2

夏。 四月。

薛伯卒。

莊 31.2

夏。

許男新臣卒。 葬許穆公。

僖 4.2 僖 4.7

曹伯班卒。 葬曹昭公。

僖 7.5 僖 7.7

冬。

(continued next page)

by their husbands, and marriage records mention only the bride, not the groom.48 Second, the Spring and Autumn contains very few death records for women—only twenty-one—and it is often impossible to determine whether an unusual record is the sole exemplar of what may have been considered a regular rule, or whether it is irregular in the sense that it represents a departure from normal recording practices. Death and funeral records of primary wives and mothers of Lu rulers clearly exhibit formal parallels to those of Lu rulers. The ten death records in this group employ the verb hōng, and, with one exception, all are followed by funeral records. Funeral records refer to these women as “our lesser ruler” (wǒ xiǎo jūn 我小君), similar to the designation for Lu lords, “our ruler” (wǒ jūn 我君); these features are illustrated by the translation of Sheng Jiang’s

(continued from previous page) Winter. The tenth month. Yihai. The Hou of Chen, Lin, died. Spring. The royal second month. They buried Lord Zhuang of Chen.

Zhuang 1.5 (693) Zhuang 2.1 (692)

Yiyou. The Gong of Song, Ping, died. Summer. The fourth month. They buried Lord Zhuang of Song.

Zhuang 2.5 (692) Zhuang 3.2 (691)

The Zi of Zhu, Ke, died.

Zhuang 16.5 (678)

Summer. The fifth month. Xinyou. The Bo of Zheng, Tu, died. Winter. The twelfth month. They buried Lord Li of Zheng.

Zhuang 21.2 (673) Zhuang 21.4 (673)

Winter. The eleventh month. The Bo of Cao, Yigu, died. They buried Lord Zhuang of Cao.

Zhuang 23.9 (671) Zhuang 24.2 (670)

Summer. The fifth month. Guichou. The Hou of Wei, Shuo, died.

Zhuang 25.2 (669)

Summer. The fourth month. Dingwei. The Zi of Zhu, Suo, died.

Zhuang 28.2 (666)

Summer. The fourth month. The Bo of Xue died.

Zhuang 31.2 (663)

Summer. The Nan of Xuu, Xinchen, died. They buried Lord Mu of Xuu.

Xi 4.2 (656) Xi 4.7 (656)

The Bo of Cao, Ban, died. Winter. They buried Lord Zhao of Cao.

Xi 7.5 (653) Xi 7.7 (653)

Note: Unlike other sets, which are composed of records that are fairly evenly distributed across the Spring and Autumn, this set draws on a single chronological slice during the reigns of Lords Zhuang and Xi; this approach ensures that the set includes records of deaths and funerals of rulers from multiple different states.

death and funeral records earlier in this chapter. Curiously, six pairs of  death and funeral records treat the deceased woman as a Lu fūrén, but no corresponding marriage record appears in the Spring and Autumn. Outside sources claim that four of these women were secondary wives (èr fēi 二妃) or concubines (qiè 妾) whose sons became Lu rulers. Thus, despite not being married as primary wives, upon their deaths and burials, each of these women was treated as a fūrén because she was the mother of a ruler.49 The remaining eleven women’s death records all use the verb zú, but only four are followed by funeral records. It is possible that these eleven women

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belong to a single group, parallel in form to death and funeral records for regional rulers, and that some funerals were simply not recorded. Yet outside sources concerning these women suggest that these records may constitute at least two sets, one parallel to regional rulers, whose deaths and funerals were (or could be) recorded, and another set parallel to Lu noblemen, whose deaths were recorded but for whom funerals were excluded. In the set parallel to regional rulers are five Lu daughters who are said to have married regional rulers, presumably as primary wives. In three cases, both deaths and funerals are recorded, and in two more, only deaths are recorded.50 Examples include the death and funeral records concerning Middle Daughter Ji of Jih, translated earlier in this chapter. Just as the form of death records for primary wives of Lu rulers approximates the form employed for the Lu ruler himself, likewise, the form of death records for Lu princesses who became wives of regional rulers resembles that used for regional rulers: deaths are recorded with the plain verb zú, and funerals are often—but not always—recorded. Another set includes two Lu princesses who are said to have been betrothed but still unmarried and residing in Lu when they died. Their deaths are recorded but are not accompanied by funeral records.51 This treatment appears to put them in a class similar to that of Lu noblemen, for whom funerals were conventionally omitted, but with a sample of only two, we cannot be certain. Two other Lu women are said to have married noblemen from other states, and although their marriages are recorded, their deaths are not mentioned. Assuming that these women did indeed marry foreign nobility—a point that cannot be verified based on the Spring and Autumn alone—then we might observe that they receive treatment similar to non-Lu noblemen, as neither deaths nor funerals are recorded, and we might speculate that these women constitute a third set.52 The remaining four women whose deaths are recorded with the verb zú cannot be accounted for with one consistent rule. Three are traditionally identified as wives of Lu rulers who, for various reasons, did not have status as fūrén (that is, they were neither primary wives nor mothers of Lu rulers).53 The fourth is a Zhou princess whose marriage was hosted by Lu.54 That these women’s deaths are recorded at all indicates that they ranked far above most women, but no more can be said without reference to other sources. In sum, death and funeral records of women who were married into Lu as primary wives or who became mothers of rulers seem to have

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approximated those of Lu rulers themselves, and likewise, records concerning Lu daughters who became wives of regional rulers exhibit formal features similar to those of their husbands. Yet as we move progressively lower in the hierarchy, information becomes scarcer. We may speculate that the deaths of Lu daughters who married foreign noblemen, like their husbands’ deaths, were not recorded in the Spring and Autumn, and that the hierarchy of women had a similar structure to the hierarchy of men. Yet it is crucial to note that the Spring and Autumn does not tell us who these women married. The proposed distinction between daughters married to nobility and those married to regional rulers relies entirely on external evidence, including chance mentions in historical narratives and assertions made by later commentaries, but evidence from the Spring and Autumn itself is insufficient to support the claim that these records adhered to these rules. A great danger of relying on commentaries is that their explanations may be designed to fit apparent patterns and expectations. While the neatness of the solution offered here is quite appealing, it remains speculative, and the proposals in this section must be regarded with caution. MARGINS OF THE ZHOU CULTURE SPHERE

The Spring and Autumn records occasionally mention groups that lay at the periphery of the Zhou political and cultural system, namely, Rong 戎, Di 狄, and Yue 越.55 The great majority of these records concern military interactions. The virtual absence of references to individual members of these groups shows that they were considered to be categorically different from the Zhou states. Their rulers’ deaths and funerals are not recorded, and likewise, individuals from these groups—whether rulers or nobility—are not listed as participants in meetings, covenants, or diplomatic missions, nor as leading military actions. Most conspicuously, members of these groups are usually not identified by names of any sort, including lineage, clan names, personal names, or posthumous names, and only very rarely are they designated by title. The formal distinction between Zhou and non-Zhou groups is evident in the following pair of entries, which record meetings between Lu and another state or group. Most records of meetings refer to individual participants, as in the first record, which mentions the ruler of Qi, but if a participant is

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from Rong, Di, or Yue, by default, no individual leader is designated, as in the second record:56 冬。公會齊侯于防。 Winter. Our Lord met with the Hou of Qi at Fang. (CQ, Yin 9.6, 64) 春。公會戎于潛。 Spring. Our Lord met with the Rong at Qian. (CQ, Yin 2.1, 20)

Only three records in the Spring and Autumn refer to individual Rong or Di rulers by title, and all three register their capture and subjugation, as here:57 晉人執戎蠻子赤，歸于楚。 The man of Jin seized the Zi of the Rong Man, Chi, and sent him to Chu. (CQ, Ai 4.6, 1625)

In short, not only does the Spring and Autumn not employ conventional styles of reference to identify Rong, Di, and Yue leaders, but if mentioned at all, they are recorded as objects of subjugation and not as agents in military or diplomatic activity on par with regional rulers or noblemen. Only in rare circumstances are Rong, Di, or Yue leaders even referred to as individuals using the generic form rén 人 (“man, person, someone”); these records are discussed in detail in the next chapter. The nature of the references to these groups is indicative of their ambiguous position vis-à-vis Lu. On the one hand, they were powerful enough to inflict significant military losses and thus could not be left unmentioned. At  the same time, they were not formally recognized as part of the political and cultural system that encompassed Lu, Zhou, and other Central States, a point that is underscored by the near absence of references to individual members of these groups and the complete exclusion of death and funeral records for their leaders. They were culturally distinct from the Zhou peoples and are often referred to as “barbarians” in Western writings and translations, a choice that almost certainly stems from later expressions of superiority toward these groups rather than any evidence of “barbaric” activity or practices on their part.58 Yet their exclusion from Spring and Autumn records can be understood as reflecting a more concrete set of facts: Rong, Di, and Yue were not bound to Lu by

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acknowledged kinship ties, nor did they take part in the common system of religious and political ritual. CORRELATIONS OF FORM AND RANK IN THE RITES RECORD

The preceding discussion demonstrates that Spring and Autumn records were governed by rules that linked form to rank. Although we are able to deduce many of those rules by analyzing the records, we do not have an explicit account of the rules themselves, nor is there any evidence that they ever even existed in written form. Other early texts, most notably the Rites Record and the Ceremonies and Rites (Yi li 儀禮), set forth rules that link rank to form, but those rules concern etiquette and the proper conduct of ceremonies rather than stipulating recording practices such as those underlying the Spring and Autumn. In short, the Spring and Autumn was produced according to rules that no longer survive, whereas the rites classics enumerate rules governing ceremonies that can no longer be observed, and consequently, now available to us is the product of one set of rules and the rules that governed something else. Yet the core principles are similar. Like the Spring and Autumn records, the prescriptions found in the Rites Record and the Ceremonies and Rites exhibit an overwhelming preoccupation with display of rank in a graded hierarchy, and the two systems—one a set of rules, and the other a product of rules—warrant comparison. Among the prescriptions in the rites classics are rules associating rank with material objects such as clothing and food, choreographed movement, and speech, that is, proper terminology and phrasing. The rules range from the very elaborate, such as complex enumerations of the many ceremonial steps constituting the mortuary rites, to the mundane, as a brief passage in the Rites Record setting forth the etiquette for serving a melon.59 They share with the Spring and Autumn a basic underlying principle: namely, all use variations in form—whether material objects, movement across space, or language—to display rank in a graded hierarchy. The following discussion examines three passages from the “Qu li” 曲禮 section of the Rites Record (prescriptions from the Ceremonies and Rites are the focus of chapter 6). These three passages are primarily concerned with setting forth terminology appropriate to different ranks, including styles of reference that vary by rank and context as well as the association between rank and a set of verbs meaning “to die.” As the following

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comparison will show, despite sharing certain principles that correlate form with rank and context (that is, event type), the Spring and Autumn records embody a different hierarchical system that was likely earlier than that reflected in the Rites Record. Styles of Reference and a Shared Tradition

The “Qu li” section of the Rites Record prescribes various styles of reference for individuals of different ranks; which style is used hinges on both rank and context. The following passage enumerates a lengthy list of designations used for the Zhou king. Included are styles of reference to be used when the king is conducting court duties, when he is leading religious worship, when he is overseeing the regional rulers, upon his death and in various stages of the mortuary rites, and after his establishment as an ancestor and object of worship in the ancestral temple; also included are two self-referential styles. The passage concludes with a different set of styles to be employed in reference to an heir to the throne who is still in mourning for his predecessor.60 君天下曰「天子」。朝諸侯，分職，授政，任功，曰「予一人」。踐 阼，臨祭祀，內事，曰「孝王某」。外事，曰「嗣王某」。臨諸侯， 畛於鬼神，曰「有天王某甫」。崩，曰「天王崩」。復，曰「天子復 矣」。告喪，曰「天王登假」。措之廟，立之主，曰「帝」。天子未 除喪，曰「予小子」，生名之，死亦名之。 When he rules all beneath Heaven, we say, “Son of Heaven.” When he summons the regional rulers to court, apportions official duties, gives out administrative responsibilities, and employs the meritorious, he says, “I, the One Man.” When he treads on the eastern steps [acting as host] and oversees sacrificial rites, for inner services, we say, “The Filial King So-and-so,” and for outer services, we say, “The Inheriting King So-and-so.”61 When he oversees the regional rulers, and makes prayers to ghosts and spirits, we say, “Heaven’s King, Sire So-and-so.”62 When he succumbs, we say, “Heaven’s King succumbed.” When his spirit is summoned back, we say, “May the Son of Heaven return now!” When mourning is announced, we say, “Heaven’s King has ascended into the distance.” When we make his position in the ancestral temple and establish his tablet, we say “God.”

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When the Son of Heaven has not yet concluded mourning [for his predecessor], he says, “I, the Little Child.”63 While he is living his name is used, and in death his name is also used. (Liji zhengyi, “Qu li,” 4.18a–22b [pp. 78–80])64

The styles of reference given in this passage are not merely designations intended for identification. Rather, they are ceremonial titles that are tied to specific contexts, some of which are associated with the king’s role as a religious or political leader, or after his death, as an ancestor and object of worship. The “Qu li” thus affirms that styles of reference had religious and political significance. Following these prescriptions is a similar list of designations for regional rulers. Like designations for the king, these styles are linked to specific contexts, such as when a regional ruler has an audience with the king, when he addresses the people, or when he conducts certain religious rites.65 Also stipulated are styles to be used upon a regional ruler’s death and during mourning, as well as the terminology appropriate for the succeeding heir during the mourning period. Less attention is paid to individuals who rank below regional rulers. A brief list sets forth styles of reference to be used for a nobleman in various contexts, including during visits to the Son of Heaven, when abroad, and in his home state, together with appropriate forms of self-reference in these situations. This is accompanied by a similar list of styles for women.66 Yet the lists for noblemen and for women are much shorter, and they neither give as diverse a set of styles of reference nor do they cover as wide a range of circumstances. Most of the styles set forth in the “Qu li” do not occur in the Spring and Autumn for the very simple reason that the contexts in which they would be employed are absent from its records. For example, the Spring and Autumn refers to all individuals in third person, and thus self-referential styles do not appear in its records. Likewise, although rites and ceremonies are registered, these records have no subject and do not explicitly mention the ruler; thus styles used when a ruler is performing sacrifice do not occur in the Spring and Autumn either. Despite these differences, both sets of designations— those employed in Spring and Autumn records and those prescribed by the “Qu li”—share two basic principles. First, the Zhou king and regional rulers are referred to with prescribed terminology appropriate to their rank,

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including styles of reference that may include personal name, posthumous name, or ruling title, whereas individuals such as noblemen who are lower in rank are designated with a narrower range of styles. That is, in both works, the inventory of styles is contingent on rank, and higher rank is linked to a more diverse inventory. Second, the “Qu li” indicates that which style of reference was employed was determined by the context in which it was used; likewise, in the Spring and Autumn, context—specifically, event type— determines the style to be used. In this connection, a number of more specific similarities may also be noted. Both the “Qu li” and the Spring and Autumn employ form to distinguish between a reigning ruler and an heir who had not yet formally assumed the throne following his predecessor’s death. This distinction applies to kings and regional rulers. For example, although the preceding “Qu li” passage identifies the heir as the “Son of Heaven,” it also states that he was not permitted to refer to himself as “I, the One Man” but instead was to employ the phrase “I, the Little Child,” and notes that avoidance of his personal name was not observed prior to his accession. Styles of reference may thus be understood as part of the ritual paraphernalia employed to distinguish a ruler from a successor who had not yet been formally installed on the throne. The Spring and Autumn makes a similar distinction. In Xi 9, the ruler of Song, usually known by the ruling title Gong, is referred to instead as “Heir” (zǐ 子), and the Zuo Tradition explains that this title was used because mourning rites for his predecessor had not been completed.67 Likewise, when the designated successor to Lord Wen was killed prior to his official installation, his death record simply stated, “The Heir died” (zǐ zú 子卒). That is, he was not referred to by the posthumous title “Lord” (gōng), and the special verb hōng, typically used to record deaths of Lu rulers, was not used.68 This distinction may also have affected the treatment of relatives of a ruler or heir, as in the case of Lord Ai’s mother the second woman known as, Ding Si, who died shortly after the death of her husband, Lord Ding, but before her son had officially assumed power. Although she was treated with greater dignity than other secondary wives, her death and burial were not recorded using the special language customarily reserved for a ruler’s mother, perhaps because her son had not yet become ruler when she died.69 A second similarity is that both the “Qu li” and the Spring and Autumn indicate that rulers’ personal names (míng 名) were used only in restricted contexts. The “Qu li” notes that heirs may be named, implying that, by contrast, rulers may not be named. As we have already seen, Spring and Autumn styles of reference to Zhou kings and Lu rulers do not employ personal

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names. In a subsequent passage, the “Qu li” explicitly links use of personal names to “abominations” (è 惡): 天子不言出，諸侯不生名，君子不親惡。諸侯失地，名。滅同姓， 名。 With respect to the Son of Heaven, one does not say “goes abroad.” With respect to the regional rulers, one does not name them while they are living. A gentleman does not draw close to abominations [such as these]. When regional rulers lose territory, they are named. When they annihilate those of the same clan, they are named. (Liji zhengyi, “Qu li,” 5.13a [p. 95])70

The usage patterns stipulated here are quite similar to the actual Spring and Autumn recording practices described previously. Specifically, deceased regional rulers may be named in their death records, whereas living regional rulers may be named in only a limited set of circumstances involving loss of position or return to power. Yet the Spring and Autumn conventions differ somewhat from those listed in the “Qu li,” for the records do not name rulers who lose territory, nor are names recorded when a ruler wipes out a state whose ruling house is of the same clan.71 Furthermore, while the “Qu li” suggests that referring to a ruler by name is an “abomination,” implying that being named carries a negative connotation, this does not appear to be the case in the Spring and Autumn. Some event types for which names are given—assassination, capture, and exile—do involve humiliation and can certainly be construed as abominations, but rulers’ names are also given in records of returns to power, which entail triumph. Despite these differences, the basic principle implicit in the “Qu li”—that styles using a ruler’s name were employed only in limited and defined contexts—is shared by the Spring and Autumn records. Finally, although the “Qu li” has little to say about the selection or use of posthumous names, it resembles the Spring and Autumn in using styles of reference to distinguish deceased rulers from the living. The “Qu li” stipulates specific phrases that are to be used for a deceased ruler, and as we saw previously, only deceased rulers may be designated by posthumous names in the Spring and Autumn. By contrast, narrative texts such as the Zuo Tradition commonly use posthumous names to refer to individuals who are, at least from the perspective of the narrative, still living.72 It seems quite possible that Zuo Tradition usage is the consequence of anachronistic confusion and that the narrative was composed or edited after the death of individuals mentioned therein; by contrast, the fact that the Spring and Autumn consistently

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uses styles of reference associated with living rulers prior to recording their funerals strongly suggests that it was compiled as events transpired and was not produced retrospectively. In short, the “Qu li” prescriptions stipulate that styles of reference varied by rank and furthermore that events and contexts of different types required the use of different styles. Spring and Autumn records likewise reflect the principle that styles of reference were determined by rank and by event type. The two texts also share more specific principles, including employing styles of reference to distinguish rulers from heirs who had not yet been installed following the preceding ruler’s death, observing restrictions on the use of personal names, and using posthumous names or other features to distinguish deceased rulers from the living. These similarities indicate that even though the “Qu li” rules were prescriptions that governed ceremonial activity, while the Spring and Autumn was the product of formal prescriptions, the fundamental principles underlying the two texts drew on a broader common tradition. Deaths, Funerals, and the Verbs for “Die”

Like styles of reference, the choice of verb for “die” is contingent on rank. Three verbs for “die,” bēng, hōng, and zú, are employed in the Spring and Autumn to record deaths of Zhou kings, of Lu rulers, and of regional rulers and noblemen, respectively, and prescriptions concerning a similar set of verbs appear in the “Qu li.” Yet Spring and Autumn recording practices differ from the “Qu li” prescriptions in three respects: the number of verbs used for “die,” the range of ranks covered, and the relative complexity of the way these features are deployed to mark rank. These discrepancies indicate that despite stemming from a common tradition, the Spring and Autumn and the “Qu li” represent two very different systems. The “Qu li” prescriptions set forth five verbs for “die” in contrast to the three verbs used in the Spring and Autumn. Each of the five verbs listed in the “Qu li” is correlated with a different level in the hierarchy: 天子死，曰「崩 」。諸侯，曰「薨」。大夫，曰「卒」。士，曰「不 祿」。庶人，曰「死」。 When the Son of Heaven dies, we say “succumb” (bēng). For regional rulers, we say “perish” (hōng). For upper noblemen, we say “finish” (zú).73 For lower noblemen, we say “ceased to receive a salary” (bù lù). For common people, we say “die” (sǐ). (Liji zhengyi, “Qu li,” 5.21a [p. 99])74

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The verbs bēng and hōng appear in both texts. These are special ceremonial verbs that do not normally occur in narrative accounts of deaths of rulers or kings; they are typically restricted to ritual speech and prescriptions.75 That bēng and hōng appear in the “Qu li” prescriptions is thus not unexpected, and their regular occurrence in the Spring and Autumn confirms that this work, too, probably had special religious significance. The verb zú also occurs in both texts, but unlike bēng and hōng, it is not restricted to ritual contexts and also appears in narrative accounts. To the three verbs employed in the Spring and Autumn, the “Qu li” prescription adds two more. The first, bù lù 不祿, is a euphemistic phrase that literally means “ceased to receive a salary,” and in the “Qu li” it is assigned to lower-ranking nobility (shì 士).76 The second, sǐ 死, a plain verb meaning “die,” is said to have been used for commoners (shùrén 庶人). Significantly, the first of these two additional verbs, bù lù, does not occur in the Spring and Autumn, and the second, sǐ, is not used in reference to humans.77 Although the Spring and Autumn records and the “Qu li” prescriptions both refer to five hierarchical levels of men, a second discrepancy between the two systems is the range of the hierarchy that is covered. The “Qu li” system is comprehensive, extending from the king down to commoners, and it divides nobility into two levels, “upper noblemen” (dàfū 大夫, often rendered “grandees”) and “lower noblemen” (shì 士, sometimes rendered “scholar-officials”). Although the Spring and Autumn system also represents five ranks, it is limited to the top echelons of the hierarchy, kings, regional rulers and nobility; two of these levels are further divided into those from Lu and those from other states, yielding five ranks, the Zhou king, the Lu ruler, other regional rulers, Lu noblemen, and non-Lu noblemen. Finally, the two texts use formal features to indicate rank in fundamentally different ways. The Spring and Autumn utilizes a complex system of three formal features—inclusion or exclusion of death record, inclusion or exclusion of funeral record, and choice of verb for “die”—to indicate five ranks, as indicated in table 3.2.78 For example, the Spring and Autumn registers funerals both for Lu rulers and for regional rulers, but it distinguishes these two groups by recording their deaths with different verbs for “die.” Likewise, although the verb zú is used in death records of regional rulers and Lu noblemen, funerals are recorded only for regional rulers, thereby showing that they rank a notch above Lu noblemen. By contrast, the “Qu li” employs a direct one-to-one correspondence between verbs for “die” and rank. The “Qu li” system is much simpler, for in this system,

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a single element—the verb for “die”—correlates directly to a single rank, and thus one feature alone is sufficient to distinguish five different levels of hierarchy. Also noteworthy are differences in how the two systems use the verbs hōng and zú, and what this difference reveals about the hierarchy each text represents. According to the “Qu li,” hōng is used for deaths of all regional rulers, irrespective of home state, and zú is restricted to deaths of upper noblemen. The Spring and Autumn reserves hōng for Lu rulers and their primary wives or mothers, while deaths of rulers of other states are recorded with zú, as are deaths of Lu noblemen; deaths of noblemen from outside Lu are excluded from the records. That is, the Spring and Autumn draws a distinction between Lu and non-Lu individuals and uses formal features to situate Lu rulers and Lu noblemen above those of equivalent rank from other states. The “Qu li” makes no similar distinction. Instead, regional rulers of all states are accorded the same treatment, and beneath them, all noblemen of the same rank receive uniform treatment, regardless of home state. While the Spring and Autumn and the “Qu li” both derive from a common tradition that used formal features to display graded rank, the systems reflected in these two texts differ significantly in terms of the range of hierarchical levels covered, whether rank was designated by a single feature or by a combination of features, and whether individuals were distinguished on the basis of home state. The next section explores the ramifications of these differences for understanding the relation between the “Qu li” prescriptions and the Spring and Autumn records and for dating the Spring and Autumn. SPRING AND AUTUMN RECORDS VERSUS THE RITES RECORD “QU LI” PRESCRIPTIONS

The “Qu li” passages discussed previously prescribe how rituals are to be carried out, whereas the Spring and Autumn records are a product of the actual implementation of similar prescriptions. Both employ terminological form to situate individuals in a graded hierarchy, and certain similarities, including prohibitions on personal names, the use of ceremonial verbs for “die,” and the use of special styles of reference to the heir during the mourning period, demonstrate that these two works derive from a broad shared tradition. At the same time, significant differences in the hierarchy

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TABLE 3.2  The Spring and Autumn and “Qu li” compared: formal indications of rank Spring and Autumn Rank

“Qu li”

Deaths Funerals Verb for recorded recorded “die”

Rank

Verb for “die”

Zhou king

+

+

bēng 崩

Zhou king

bēng 崩

Lu ruler

+

+

hōng 薨

Regional rulers

hōng 薨

Other regional rulers

+

+

zú 卒

Upper nobility (dàfū 大夫) zú 卒

Lu nobility

+

–

zú 卒

Lower nobility (shì 士)

Other nobility

–

–

n/a

Commoners (shùrén 庶人) sǐ 死

bù lù 不祿

represented by these two systems and in how they utilize form to signal rank show that neither of these two texts was directly derived from the other, and they furthermore suggest that the Spring and Autumn represents an earlier system than the “Qu li.” Perhaps the most conspicuous discrepancy between the two texts is the range of hierarchical levels treated. In both texts, the Zhou king is situated at the apex of the hierarchy, but the “Qu li” extends all the way down to commoners whereas the Spring and Autumn is restricted to the upper echelons. While each system represents five hierarchical levels, they are not the same levels, as shown in table 3.2. The “Qu li” achieves five levels by dividing nobility into two grades, whereas the Spring and Autumn does so by placing the Lu ruler above other regional rulers, and Lu nobility above noblemen from other states. Thus the “Qu li” depicts a centralized system, with “Heaven’s King” at its pinnacle and all four levels unified beneath him. In this system, individuals of equivalent rank but from different states are not distinguished. The Spring and Autumn, by contrast, embodies an interstate system as viewed from the perspective of a single state, Lu. Although the Lu ruler is not at the apex of the hierarchy, he is at the center, and the only higher-ranking individual is the Zhou king, who is positioned directly above him. The Spring and Autumn hierarchy may be envisioned as a series of concentric levels whose center is not Zhou but Lu. Since the Zhou king is directly superior to the Lu ruler, the Zhou king’s position is also apparently central, but the true focus of the system is Lu.79 Thus the special verb hōng is reserved for deaths of Lu rulers, and only names of Lu rulers and Zhou kings are forbidden; rulers of other states are not accorded this special

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treatment. Likewise, Lu noblemen outranked foreign nobility, as shown by inclusion of their death records, and the only women who receive mention are those associated with Lu. These differences point to certain conclusions about the provenance and relative date of the two works. First and foremost, the prominence given to Lu in the Spring and Autumn, together with regular, explicit self-references (as in phrases such as “our ruler,” wǒ jūn 我君), affirm that its records were indeed produced by Lu. By contrast, the “Qu li” uses the verb hōng for all regional rulers, making no distinction between “us” and “other.” The Spring and Autumn records embody a multistate system viewed from the perspective of a single state, Lu, and we might speculate that if other early states kept similar annals, they too probably employed special verbs and designations when referring to their own rulers and noblemen.80 Yet no such records survive, nor does any example of such a recording system seem to have been known in early imperial times. Indeed, apart from the Spring and Autumn, the extant corpus fails to provide a model for a formal system in which individuals from the “home state” are treated as ranking above those from other states, or in which special terminology is reserved for the ruler of the home state but denied to other rulers of similar rank. The special prominence given to Lu is thus unlikely to have been the result of later editing, as no model seems to have existed for later editors to follow; rather, the Spring and Autumn hierarchy exemplifies an earlier multistate system that did not survive into imperial times. Little scholarship has been devoted to dating the “Qu li” section of the Rites Record; it has been suggested that it was compiled in the Warring States period (fifth to third centuries BCE) or the Western Han 西漢 dynasty (206 BCE–9 CE).81 Whereas the “Qu li” embodies a centralized system, prior to the unification of China under the Qin 秦 dynasty (221–206 BCE), the political system may be described as a regional or multistate one in which regional states were the de facto locus of power. By the late Warring States period, the notion of a unified and centralized hierarchy with Zhou at the center was an ideal advocated by some preimperial thinkers, and thus it is possible that the “Qu li” prescriptions reflect theoretical ideals rather than actual practice.82 While none of the evidence presented here permits us to assign a more precise date, the centralized system set forth in the “Qu li” seems to indicate a composition date of no earlier than Warring States. Regardless of date, differences between the two systems indicate that the “Qu li” prescriptions were not simply a later manifestation of the rules

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on which the Spring and Autumn records were based; that is, they do not represent a set of Warring States or Western Han conventions that had been derived from the earlier practices of the Spring and Autumn period. Instead, the “Qu li” prescriptions appear to be a set of idealized rules that were based on beliefs about what the earlier Zhou ritual system was imagined to have been.83 One point that suggests this is the centralized and unified nature of the hierarchy, with the Zhou king at its center, an ideal that stands in contrast to the interstate system that actually existed up until the Qin unification. Another hint that the “Qu li” represents a later and idealized version of an earlier set of prescriptions is the difference in the mechanisms used by each system to depict rank. The Spring and Autumn indicates rank by means of a complex system of features in which one of three verbs for “die” is combined with two additional variables. By contrast, the “Qu li” articulates a direct one-to-one correlation between rank and a single variable, the verb for “die.”84 Indeed, the phrase bù lù, employed for deaths of lower aristocracy in the “Qu li” but not found in either the Spring and Autumn or the Zuo Tradition and rarely seen in other texts, may be a later innovation used to extend the systematic association of rank and verb for “die” down to the lower reaches of the hierarchy. The “Qu li” system appears to have borrowed the most conspicuous variable—the verb for “die”—from a more complicated system, and it indicates rank by means of that single marker rather than employing a set of multiple features to signal rank. Thus the “Qu li” system seems to be a simplified and idealized distortion of an older and more complex system such as that embedded in the Spring and Autumn. Fundamental differences in the structure of the hierarchies attested in the two texts, together with contrasts in how they use formal features to indicate rank, point to the conclusion that the “Qu li” rules were not directly derived from the regular Spring and Autumn patterns. Surely ritual prescriptions based on the Spring and Autumn would adhere more closely to the rules manifested in its records, for example, by distinguishing home state from other states, or by employing the same set of verbs for “die” that is used in the Spring and Autumn, or even by citing its records as models of correct usage. Yet the “Qu li” contains no discernible evidence of direct influence from the Spring and Autumn. The two works have in common the basic principle that formal features of certain types—including styles of reference and records of deaths—were employed to display rank in a graded hierarchy, but beyond this, they diverge significantly.

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The Spring and Autumn records embody the interstate hierarchy from the perspective of Lu during the Spring and Autumn period and reflect contemporary formal prescriptions. The concept of using terminological form to display rank continued to be evident in prescriptive rules of subsequent centuries, but over time the hierarchy evolved into a centralized system and the associated ritual prescriptions likewise underwent transformation. Later editors did not update the Spring and Autumn records to align with the later idealized system found in the “Qu li” and other ritual texts, nor did they attempt to adjust rules in later ritual handbooks to match those embodied in the much earlier Spring and Autumn records. Instead, an increasing distance arose between the two sets of rules and the textual traditions associated with them. In time, the discrepancy between the two traditions allowed the prevailing understanding of the Spring and Autumn to undergo complete transformation, and the records themselves came to be transferred to a different and later historiographical tradition. This later tradition sought to find implicit moral significance in formal variations, and in time, the original association of the Spring and Autumn with prescriptions linking hierarchical rank and terminological form became attenuated and eventually faded from memory.

Chapter Four

AN IDEALIZED INTERSTATE ORDER

During the Spring and Autumn period, the political landscape underwent dramatic changes as many small states were wiped out and power came to be concentrated in a few large and powerful states. The social structure too experienced major transformations as more and more authority came to be wielded by the upper echelons of the nobility rather than being held by rulers alone.1 Yet in contrast to the dynamic and at times unstable political reality, the Spring and Autumn depicts the interstate order as constant and unchanging. The form of the records remains largely impervious to shifts in the power balance, and political changes are manifested only insofar as they could be accommodated by unvarying rules of recording. For example, the ascension of Lord Huan of Qi (r. 685–643 BCE) to the position of hegemon (bà 霸) and the subsequent transfer of this position to Lord Wen of Jin (r.  636–628  BCE) are documented in the Zuo Tradition but are not apparent—or even detectable—from the form of Spring and Autumn records. The few discernible changes in the records resulted from fluctuations in the frequency with which specific forms were employed, rather than modifications to the formal system itself.2 This chapter, like the preceding one, examines ways in which the Spring and Autumn uses form to display hierarchy, but rather than focusing on individuals and the contrast between rulers and nobility, the present chapter investigates the interstate order, analyzing the use of formal features

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to display the relative rank of various states and their rulers and nobility. The analysis focuses primarily on records that list leaders from multiple states, that is, records of multilateral military actions, interstate meetings, and covenants. Records of multistate events refer to a much wider range of participants than any other class of record; mentioned in these records are rulers and nobility of the Central States and occasionally leaders from Rong, Di, and Yue, which lay at the periphery of the Zhou culture sphere. The interstate hierarchy registered in records of multistate events is complex, and it is displayed using a combination of simple linear listing order together with patterned variations in how individual leaders of different ranks are identified. This chapter begins with an overview of records that registered multistate events, including meetings, covenants, and military actions, and then examines the listing order in multistate records, showing that within each category of leader (for example, rulers or noblemen), individuals are always listed in a fixed sequence according to state, with Lu listed first. This sequence of states does not change over time, indicating that it was not based on the contemporary interstate power balance. Other sources reveal that different ordered lists of states existed, and it seems likely that each state had its own sequence of states. Narrative accounts in the Zuo Tradition and Conversations of the States (Guoyu 國語) show that the sequence of states was open to dispute, and leaders often invoke historical precedent or ancestral achievements to defend their claims; this evidence allows us to speculate that perhaps the Spring and Autumn sequence of states was also based on inherited convention or ideas about the past. The chapter then turns from listing order to examine a second mechanism employed to indicate rank, variations in how leaders are designated. Although records use the default style of reference to identify rulers and noblemen from the highest-ranking states, leaders from middle- or lowertier states are referred to with increasingly more generic designations, with the identity of the lowest-ranking leaders often obscured. Analysis of these patterns of identification allows us to categorize states into three ranked groups or tiers; this system of tiers seems to correspond to similar systems of ranked tiers of states discussed in the Zuo Tradition. Curiously, references in the Zuo Tradition to prohibitions on interactions between leaders from different tiers may throw light on the principles underlying Spring and Autumn patterns of identification; specifically, perhaps the identity of lower-ranking leaders was obscured to conceal disparity in rank.

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The  chapter concludes that the interstate hierarchy evident in the Spring and Autumn does not reflect the actual contemporary political power balance nor does it represent a universal sequence common to all early states. Instead, Spring and Autumn multistate records display an idealized and rigidly prescribed hierarchy, with Lu at the top, upon which shifts in the contemporary political and social structure, no matter how dramatic, exerted little influence. RECORDS OF COVENANTS, MEETINGS, AND MILITARY ACTION: ONE MAN PER STATE

Multistate events, as the term implies, involve participants from multiple states, including rulers and noblemen. Leaders who participated in interstate covenants or meetings were accompanied by retinues of followers, and of course military actions involved armies. Yet significantly, Spring and Autumn records normally refer to only one individual per state, presumably the highest-ranking leader.3 Although narrative works such as the Zuo Tradition show that those who accompanied leaders to meetings and covenants could exert significant influence, they are not mentioned in the Spring and Autumn, and similarly, records of military events identify leaders but typically do not mention the armies that they led. The regular practice of ascribing an action or event to a single leader or, in the case of multistate events, to one representative per state, is an essential characteristic of the  Spring and Autumn records.4 This focus on a single leader is also evident in recording conventions for other event types, including regicides, discussed in chapter 5, and diplomatic travel, discussed in chapter 6. The three basic kinds of multistate events are illustrated in the accompanying sets of records. Set 4.1 presents records of attacks—a type of military event—that list leaders from multiple states, set 4.2 gives records of covenants, which include participants from multiple states, and set 4.3 lists records of interstate meetings. Likewise, the following records register a covenant, an interstate meeting, and two military actions, allowing comparison across records of different types of multistate events. 己未。公會晉侯、衛侯、曹伯、邾子同盟于斷道。 Jiwei. Our Lord met with the Hou of Jin, the Hou of Wei, the Bo of Cao, and the Zi of Zhu to join together in covenant at Duandao. (CQ, Xuan 17.6, 771)

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公會晉侯、齊侯、宋公、衛侯、鄭伯、曹伯、莒子、邾子于商任。 Our Lord met with the Hou of Jin, the Hou of Qi, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Wei, the Bo of Zheng, the Bo of Cao, the Zi of Ju, and the Zi of Zhu at Shangren. (CQ, Xiang 21.8, 1056) 夏。宋公、衛侯、許男、滕子伐鄭。 Summer. The Gong of Song, the Hou of Wei, the Nan of Xuu, and the Zi of Teng attacked Zheng. (CQ, Xi 22.2, 393) 夏。公會齊侯、宋公、陳侯、衛侯、曹伯伐鄭，圍新城。 Summer. Our Lord joined with the Hou of Qi, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Chen, the Hou of Wei, and the Bo of Cao to attack Zheng, and they surrounded Xincheng. (CQ, Xi 6.2, 312)

All participants in the preceding records are rulers. Noblemen too could be recorded as leaders in multistate records, although such records occur less frequently than those with rulers: 季孫意如會晉荀躒于適歷。 Jisun Yiru met with Xun Li of Jin at Shili. (CQ, Zhao 31.2, 1509) 叔孫僑如會晉士燮、齊人、邾人伐剡。 Shusun Qiaoru joined with Shi Xie of Jin, the man of Qi, and the man of Zhu to attack Shan. (CQ, Cheng 8.10, 836) 秋。七月。仲孫蔑會晉荀罃、宋華元、衛孫林父、曹人、邾人于戚。 Autumn. The seventh month. Zhongsun Mie met with Xun Ying of Jin, Hua Yuan of Song, Sun Linfu of Wei, the man of Cao, and the man of Zhu at Qi. (CQ, Xiang 2.6, 919)

The form “state + rén 人,” employed in the two preceding records, is a generic reference to an individual leader, consistent with the convention of designating a single leader per state.5 Throughout the Spring and Autumn, the word rén refers to a single, unidentified man; it does not refer to multiple “people,” a crucial point to which I return later in this chapter. The preceding records all involve multiple states, but records of unilateral military actions are similar in that they too mention only the leader of the action:

105 A n I dealized I nterstate O rder

夏。公圍成。 Summer. Our Lord surrounded Cheng. (CQ, Zhao 26.3, 1469) 夏。楚子伐吳。 Summer. The Zi of Chu attacked Wu. (CQ, Xiang 24.3, 1086)

Needless to say, Lord Zhao of Lu did not single-handedly surround Cheng, nor did the ruler of Chu take it upon himself to attack Wu with no assistance, but Spring and Autumn convention dictates that when a military action is led by a ruler, only the ruler is mentioned. When the leader of a unilateral military action is a nobleman, his name is often followed by the phrase “led an army” (shuài shī 帥師), as here: 晉荀林父帥師伐陳。 Xun Linfu of Jin led an army to attack Chen. (CQ, Xuan 9.8, 700)

Although exceptions may be found, the phrase “led an army” does not usually appear in records listing leaders from multiple states, which instead typically resemble records like Cheng 8.10, previously translated. Rarely, records of military actions do not refer to a leader but ascribe action directly to an “army” (shī 師):6 秋。七月。齊師、曹師伐厲。 Autumn. The seventh month. The Qi army and the Cao army attacked Li. (CQ, Xi 15.5, 349)

Also rare are records ascribing action to a state rather than designating a leader: 冬。徐伐莒。 Winter. Xu attacked Ju. (CQ, Wen 7.9, 555)

This form is employed for only a limited number of states, mostly low in rank. Lists ascribing action to multiple states (parallel to Xi 15.5, with armies) do not occur. Both the attribution of an action to an unidentified “man” (rén) and the generic attribution of actions to states seem to be associated with low position in the hierarchy (attributions to armies do not seem to be linked to

106 A n I dealized I nterstate O rder

rank), and these forms may have been a mechanism for withholding recognition from individual leaders, particularly those from lower-ranking states. This observation bears significantly on the discussion of state ranking by tiers in the second part of this chapter. Curiously, although the great majority of actions are ascribed to individual leaders, it is not individuals but groups—states or armies—who are designated as recipients of invasions, attacks, and defeats. This contrast is most conspicuous if we compare records of battles with records of defeats. Battle records designate two opposing leaders or lists of leaders, separated by the word “and” (jí 及).7 When a battle record is followed by a defeat, the defeated party is normally identified as an “army” without reference to individual leaders.8 This pair, a battle followed by a defeat, is typical: 己巳。及齊侯、宋公、衛侯、燕人戰。 Jisi. We did battle with the Hou of Qi, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Wei, and the man of Yan. (CQ, Huan 13.1b, 135) 齊師、宋師、衛師、燕師敗績。 The Qi army, Song army, Wei army, and Yan army were defeated completely. (CQ, Huan 13.1c, 136)

Here and elsewhere, the record of the battle lists leaders, but the record of their defeat refers to armies. Note too that the participation of Lu is implied but the battle record does not explicitly mention the Lu leader; more generally, the records never use the generic word “man” (rén) for Lu leaders, perhaps because the word rén was associated with low rank. In sum, records of multistate military actions, meetings, and covenants typically ascribe actions to a single leader from each state, and a similar convention applies to unilateral military actions. These records thus attribute all associated achievement and merit to those leaders, while withholding recognition from their followers and also from any leader referred to as an unnamed “man” (rén). By contrast, the targets of military action are identified as states, not individual leaders, and the Spring and Autumn registers defeats of armies, not individual leaders. Thus for these records at least, credit for achievement is given to individual leaders whereas humiliating outcomes are associated with groups.

Set 4.1: Records of attacks with leaders from multiple states 宋人、蔡人、衛人伐戴。

隱 10.4

蔡人、衛人、陳人從王伐鄭。

桓 5.6

及宋人、衛人伐邾。

桓 17.7

秋。

宋人、齊人、邾人伐郳。

莊 15.3

夏。

公會齊侯、宋公、陳侯、衛侯、曹伯伐鄭，圍新城。

僖 6.2

春。 王正月。

叔孫得臣會晉人、宋人、陳人、衛人、鄭人伐沈。

文 3.1

春。 王正月。

公會晉侯、宋公、衛侯、曹伯伐鄭。

成 3.1

夏。

公會尹子、單子、晉侯、齊侯、宋公、衛侯、曹伯、邾 人伐鄭。

成 17.2

公會晉侯、宋公、衛侯、曹伯、齊世子光、莒子、邾 子、滕子、薛伯、杞伯、小邾子伐鄭。

襄 11.4

秋。

冬。

楚子、蔡侯、陳侯伐鄭。

襄 26.9

冬。

楚子、蔡侯、陳侯、許男、頓子、沈子、徐人、越人 伐吳。

昭 5.8

公會吳伐齊。

哀 10.2

The man of Song, the man of Cai, and the man of Wei attacked Dai.

Yin 10.4 (713)

Autumn. The man of Cai, the man of Wei, and the man of Chen followed the King to attack Zheng.

Huan 5.6 (707)

We, together with the man of Song and the man of Wei attacked Zhu.

Huan 17.7 (695)

Autumn. The man of Song, the man of Qi, and the man of Zhu attacked Ni.

Zhuang 15.3 (679)

Summer. Our Lord joined with the Hou of Qi, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Chen, the Hou of Wei, and the Bo of Cao to attack Zheng, and they surrounded Xincheng.

Xi 6.2 (654)

Spring. The royal first month. Shusun Dechen joined with the man of Jin, the man of Song, the man of Chen, the man of Wei, and the man of Zheng to attack Shen.

Wen 3.1 (624)

Spring. The royal first month. Our Lord joined with the Hou of Jin, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Wei, and the Bo of Cao to attack Zheng.

Cheng 3.1 (588)

Summer. Our Lord joined with the Zi of Yin, the Zi of Shan, the Hou of Jin, the Hou of Qi, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Wei, the Bo of Cao, and the man of Zhu to attack Zheng.

Cheng 17.2 (574)

Our Lord joined with the Hou of Jin, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Wei, the Bo of Cao, the Heir Apparent of Qi, Guang, the Zi of Ju, the Zi of Zhu, the Zi of Teng, the Bo of Xue, the Bo of Qii, and the Zi of Lesser Zhu to attack Zheng.

Xiang 11.4 (562)

Winter. The Zi of Chu, the Hou of Cai, and the Hou of Chen attacked Zheng.

Xiang 26.9 (547)

Winter. The Zi of Chu, the Hou of Cai, the Hou of Chen, the Nan of Xuu, the Zi of Dun, the Zi of Shen, the man of Xu, and the man of Yue attacked Wu.

Zhao 5.8 (537)

Our Lord joined with Wu to attack Qi.

Ai 10.2 (485)

Set 4.2: Records of covenants 九月。 秋。 七月。 秋。 九月。 春。 王正月。

辛卯。 公及莒人盟于浮來。

隱 8.7

丁亥。 公會宋公、燕人盟于穀丘。

桓 12.3

齊侯、宋公、江人、黃人盟于貫。 己未。 公會莒子、衛甯速盟于向。

僖 2.4 僖 26.1

夏。 六月。

公孫敖會宋公、陳侯、鄭伯、晉士縠盟于垂隴。

文 2.4

夏。

楚子、陳侯、鄭伯盟于辰陵。

宣 11.2

十有二月。 己丑。 公會晉侯、齊侯、宋公、衛侯、鄭伯、曹伯、 邾子、杞伯同盟于蟲牢。 夏。 六月。

冬。

庚申。 公會晉侯、齊侯、宋公、衛侯、鄭伯、曹伯、 莒子、邾子、滕子、薛伯、杞伯、小邾子盟于 澶淵。

成 5.7 襄 20.2

仲孫貜會邾子盟于祲祥。

昭 11.7

衛侯、鄭伯盟于曲濮。

定 8.14

The ninth month. Xinmao. Our Lord and the man of Ju made covenant at Fulai.

Yin 8.7 (715)

Autumn. The seventh month. Dinghai. Our Lord met with the Gong of Song and the man of Yan to make covenant at Guqiu.

Huan 12.3 (700)

Autumn. The ninth month. The Hou of Qi, the Gong of Song, the man of Jiang, and the man of Huang made covenant at Guan.

Xi 2.4 (658)

Spring. The royal first month. Jiwei. Our Lord met with the Zi of Ju and Ning Su of Wei to make covenant at Xiang.

Xi 26.1 (634)

Summer. The sixth month. Gongsun Ao met with the Gong of Song, the Hou of Chen, the Bo of Zheng, and Shi Hu of Jin to make covenant at Chuilong.

Wen 2.4 (625)

Summer. The Zi of Chu, the Hou of Chen, and the Bo of Zheng made covenant at Chenling.

Xuan 11.2 (598)

The twelfth month. Jichou. Our Lord met with the Hou of Jin, the Hou of Qi, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Wei, the Bo of Zheng, the Bo of Cao, the Zi of Zhu, and the Bo of Qii to join together in covenant at Chonglao.

Cheng 5.7 (586)

Summer. The sixth month. Gengshen. Our Lord met with the Hou of Jin, the Hou of Qi, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Wei, the Bo of Zheng, the Bo of Cao, the Zi of Ju, the Zi of Zhu, the Zi of Teng, the Bo of Xue, the Bo of Qii, and the Zi of Lesser Zhu to make covenant at Chanyuan.

Xiang 20.2 (553)

Zhongsun Jue met with the Zi of Zhu to make covenant at Jinxiang.

Zhao 11.7 (531)

Winter. The Hou of Wei and the Bo of Zheng made covenant at Qupu.

Ding 8.14 (502)

Set 4.3: Records of interstate meetings 春。

王二月。 公會齊侯、鄭伯于中丘。

隱 10.1

公會宋公于夫鍾。

桓 11.6

春。

齊侯、宋公、陳侯、衛侯、鄭伯會于鄄。

莊 15.1

八月。

公會齊侯、宋公、鄭伯、曹伯、邾人于檉。

僖 1.7

秋。

宋公、楚子、陳侯、蔡侯、鄭伯、許男、曹伯 會于盂。

僖 21.4

九月。

晉侯、宋公、衛侯、鄭伯、曹伯會于扈。

宣 9.8

七月。

仲孫蔑會晉荀罃、宋華元、衛孫林父、曹人、 邾人于戚。

襄 2.6

六月。

公會單子、晉侯、宋公、衛侯、鄭伯、莒子、 邾子、齊世子光。

襄 3.5

秋。

春。

夏。

王正月。 季孫宿、叔老會晉士匄、齊人、宋人、衛人、鄭 公孫蠆、曹人、莒人、邾人、滕人、薛人、杞 人、小邾人會吳于向。

襄 14.1

晉人、齊人、宋人、衛人、鄭人、曹人、莒 人、邾人、滕人、薛人、杞人、小邾人會于澶 淵宋，災故。

襄 30.9

公會齊侯于夾谷。

定 10.2

Spring. The royal second month. Our Lord met with the Hou of Qi and the Bo of Zheng at Zhongqiu.

Yin 10.1 (713)

Our Lord met with the Gong of Song at Fuzhong.

Huan 11.6 (701)

Spring. The Hou of Qi, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Chen, the Hou of Wei, and the Bo of Zheng met at Juan.

Zhuang 15.1 (679)

The eighth month. Our Lord met with the Hou of Qi, the Gong of Song, the Bo of Zheng, the Bo of Cao, and the man of Zhu at Cheng.

Xi 1.7 (659)

Autumn. The Gong of Song, the Zi of Chu, the Hou of Chen, the Hou of Cai, the Bo of Zheng, the Nan of Xuu, and the Bo of Cao met at Yu.

Xi 21.4 (639)

The ninth month. The Hou of Jin, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Wei, the Bo of Zheng, and the Bo of Cao met at Hu.

Xuan 9.8 (600)

Autumn. The seventh month. Zhongsun Mie met with Xun Ying of Jin, Hua Yuan of Song, Sun Linfu of Wei, the man of Cao, and the man of Zhu at Qi.

Xiang 2.6 (571)

The sixth month. Our Lord met with the Zi of Shan, the Hou of Jin, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Wei, the Bo of Zheng, the Zi of Ju, the Zi of Zhu, and the Heir Apparent of Qi, Guang.

Xiang 3.5 (570)

Spring. The royal first month. Jisun Su and Shu Lao met with Shi Gai of Jin, the man of Qi, the man of Song, the man of Wei, Gongsun Chai of Zheng, the man of Cao, the man of Ju, the man of Zhu, the man of Teng, the man of Xue, the man of Qii, and the man of Lesser Zhu [and together] met with Wu at Xiang.

Xiang 14.1 (559)

The man of Jin, the man of Qi, the man of Song, the man of Wei, the man of Zheng, the man of Cao, the man of Ju, the man of Zhu, the man of Teng, the man of Xue, the man of Qii, and the man of Lesser Zhu met at Chanyuan; it was on account of the fire in Song.

Xiang 30.9 (543)

Summer. Our Lord met with the Hou of Qi at Jiagu.

Ding 10.2 (500)

110 A n I dealized I nterstate O rder

THE SEQUENCE OF STATES

By identifying only a single leader from each state, records of multistate events show that these leaders were considered more important than all other participants from their home states, but not all leaders are equal within the records. Multistate records employ listing sequence to indicate the relative rank of the leaders identified therein. The order in which individuals are listed is determined by a combination of features, including home state and whether the leader is a ruler or a nobleman. All lists follow a prescribed sequence of states, set forth in table 4.1. This sequence is employed consistently throughout the Spring and Autumn, with exceptions occurring in fewer than 5 percent of records with multistate lists.9 Exceptions typically involve reversing the order of a single pair of states in a longer list, while other states in the record still conform to the regular sequence.10 Crucially, although substantial shifts in the relative power of states occurred during the 244 years covered by the Spring and Autumn, these shifts were not accompanied by corresponding changes to the sequence of states in the records. The sequence thus reflects a static, idealized hierarchy and not the actual power balance. The sequence of states laid out in table 4.1 is illustrated by the records of covenants, meetings, and joint military actions translated in the preceding section, and in the accompanying three sets of records. It is essential to bear in mind that the sequence as presented in table 4.1 does not account for certain historical changes, such as the destruction of a few states and the late appearance of others. Most high-ranking states are mentioned in the first five years of the Spring and Autumn, and more generally, of approximately thirty states occurring in multistate lists, just over half are first mentioned prior to 700 BCE (that is, Huan 12), but the remainder do not appear until 684 BCE (Zhuang 10) or later.11 For example, Jih 紀 ceases to appear in the records after coming under Qi control in 690 BCE (Zhuang 4), and the first multistate list mentioning Jin occurs over three decades later, in 658  BCE (Xi 2).12 Even though some states, like Jih and Jin, never appear (and indeed, could not have appeared) together in the same record, comparison of records containing different lists of states permits us to determine—at least in theory—the sequence in which they would have been listed had they co-occurred; this is the basis for the sequence given in table 4.1. Particularly intriguing are battle records, which involve two opposing sides and often include two lists of states. Which side was recorded first was determined not by the battle outcome but by the sequence of states.

TABLE 4.1  Sequence of states in the Spring and Autumn, with titles of rulers and clan names of ruling houses Sequence

State

Title of ruler

Clan name (xìng 姓)

1

Lu

魯

hóu 侯

Ji 姬

2

Zhou

周

wáng 王

Ji

3

Jin

晉

hóu

Ji

4

Qi

齊

hóu

Jiang 姜

5

Song

宋

gōng 公

Zi 子

楚 (荊)

zǐ 子

Mi 芈

蔡

hóu

Ji

6

Chu

7

Cai

(Jing)a

8

Chen

陳

hóu

Gui 媯

9

Wei

衛

hóu

Ji

10

Jih

紀

hóu

Jiang

11

Zheng

鄭

bó 伯

Ji

12

Xuu

許

nán 男

Jiang

13

Xing

邢

hóu

Ji

14

Cao

曹

bó

Ji

15

Ju

莒

zǐ

Jii 己

16

Zhu

邾

zǐ

Cao 曹

17

Xu

徐

zǐ

Ying 贏

18

Qin

秦

bó

Ying

19

Teng

滕

zǐ

Ji

20

Xue

薛

bó

Ren 任

21

Qii

杞

bó

Si 姒

22

Dun

頓

zǐ

Ji

23

Hu

胡

zǐ

Gui 歸

24

Shen

沈

zǐ

Ji

25

Lesser Zhu 小邾

zǐ

Cao 曹

26

Wu

吳

zǐ

Ji

27

Zeng

鄫

zǐ

Si

28

Yue

越

(no rank)

29

Di

狄

(no rank)

30

Rong

戎

(no rank)

a Chu 楚 is called Jing 荊 in the Spring and Autumn prior to Xi 1 (that is, 659 BCE), after which it is always referred to as Chu. Jing does not appear in multi-state lists but is included here for reference.

112 A n I dealized I nterstate O rder

The representative of the highest-ranking state was mentioned first, followed by leaders from other states on that side listed in the proper sequence, and then representatives on the opposing side were listed, also in the proper sequence. That not even battlefield victory or defeat affected the order of states underscores the disjuncture between the sequence of states as it appears in the Spring and Autumn and the actual interstate power balance. All this leads to the obvious question: what was the basis for the sequence of states in the Spring and Autumn records? Not surprisingly, any Lu representative appears at the head of the list, regardless of whether he is a nobleman or the Lu ruler. If reference is made to a Zhou representative—in all cases a nobleman—he is listed immediately after the Lu representative, always the Lu ruler.13 This much is consistent with observations in the preceding chapter regarding the special treatment given to Lu and Zhou in death and funeral records. While it may seem surprising that Zhou is not first, in records of multistate events, Zhou is always represented by a nobleman rather than the king himself, so it is not the case that Lu rulers or noblemen are depicted as outranking Zhou kings. (Presumably, the Zhou king, if listed, would outrank all others, but the Zhou king is not mentioned in lists. Perhaps the aim of this convention was to show respect for him, or perhaps it was a way of avoiding a list in which Lu was not the highest-ranking leader.) In general, states listed earlier in the sequence tend to be larger and more powerful, but there are exceptions, and the relationship between rank and relative might does not seem to be a direct one. Thus Chen appears before Zheng, and both Wu and Qin, which rose to power only in the latter years of the Spring and Autumn period, appear among the lower-ranking states. Marginal groups such as Rong and Di rarely occur in multistate records, and when they do, they are listed at the end. But beyond these broad generalizations, it is difficult to identify specific variables that may have determined the order of states. Certain factors can easily be ruled out. Geographical proximity to Lu was not a determining factor, as some of Lu’s closest neighbors, including Cao, Ju, Zhu, and Lesser Zhu, rank well below more distant states such as Jin, Chu, Chen, and Wei; nor did proximity to Zhou play a role.14 Likewise, clan name and kinship to the rulers of Lu or Zhou had no obvious bearing on the sequence. The ruling houses of twelve states had the Ji 姬 clan name and were thus kin to the ruling houses of Lu and Zhou, but several of these states are preceded by those whose rulers belonged to other clans, including Qi (Jiang 姜), Song (Zi 子), and Chu (Mi 芈), and five Ji clan states appear in the lower half of the list.15 The sequence of states corresponds loosely to the

113 A n I dealized I nterstate O rder

traditional “five ranks” (wǔ děng jué 五等爵) of rulers, whose order was prescribed to be gōng, hóu, bó, nán, and zǐ, but with a few obvious exceptions, such as Song, whose ruler held the title gōng but ranked below three states ruled by hóu, and Chu, ruled by a zǐ but ranking above several states ruled by hóu.16 While these exceptions may have a historical basis, they nonetheless confirm that the order of states did not strictly adhere to the conventional— but possibly later—understanding of the interstate hierarchy as a graded five-rank system.17 Thus we can confidently state that the sequence of states was not determined by geography, clan name, or ruler’s title, and more generally, that the details present in the Spring and Autumn itself do not indicate a clear answer to the question of what considerations may have underlain the order of states in its records. Nor is it reasonable to assume that the sequence of states represents a snapshot of political reality at some earlier point in history. It is true that states listed earlier in the sequence not only tended to be larger and more powerful but were also states whose historical relationships with Zhou were closer or established earlier in time, and thus in very general terms, it is not incorrect to suggest that the sequence of states had a historical basis.18 But it would be a mistake to assume that the Spring and Autumn sequence of states represents the actual interstate hierarchy at some earlier point in time and to imagine that a more detailed understanding of history would help us pinpoint the date when the sequence of states was fixed or would illuminate the reasons underlying the order in which specific states appear. Although it is tempting to make such assumptions, it is essential to understand that ultimately the sequence of states employed in multistate records represents an idealized hierarchy, not a “real” or objective interstate order or an earlier reality that had been frozen in time. The order may preserve fragments of historical knowledge, perhaps from different times, but it does not tell us about the actual history of Lu or any other state. Yet the sequence of states is nonetheless significant because it may shed light on Lu’s perception and beliefs about history, and it certainly tells us how Lu wished to regard itself and its relationship to other states. Disputes over the Sequence of States in Early Narrative Histories

Although the Spring and Autumn order of states was fixed and unchanging, disagreement over the order of states is a recurring theme in Zuo Tradition narrative accounts, and it also occurs in the Conversations of the States. States argued about who would serve as covenant host and also about the

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order of participation in covenants or distribution of gifts. These narratives show that the sequence of states was a matter of great significance in diplomatic interactions, and being at the top of the hierarchy was a highly coveted position of prestige. Such accounts thus demonstrate that the Spring and Autumn sequence of states was not a simple listing order for organizational consistency. (Compare, for example, a roster in alphabetic order.) At the same time, these narratives also reveal that under some circumstances, the order was open to dispute, and in that respect they differ from the Spring and Autumn records with their fixed and unchanging order. Nonetheless, these accounts warrant attention, since the arguments set forth therein offer hints that may illuminate the principles and priorities upon which the Spring and Autumn sequence was based. Although the specifics of disputes about the sequence of states differ, all of them look to the past and invoke historical precedent as the basis for a particular ranking. This is illustrated by the Zuo Tradition account of an argument regarding the relative order of the rulers of Teng and Xue during a formal court visit (cháo 朝) to Lu in Yin 11.19 At issue was the question of how to determine who was senior—that is, who ranked higher: 十一年。春。滕侯、薛侯來朝。爭長。薛侯曰：「我先封。」滕侯 曰：「我周之卜正也。薛，庶姓也。我不可以後之。」公使羽父請於 薛侯曰：「君與滕君辱在寡人。周諺有之曰：『山有木，工則度之。 賓有禮，主則擇之。』周之宗盟，異姓為後。寡人若朝于薛，不敢與 諸任齒。君若辱貺寡人，則願以滕君為請。」薛侯許之，乃長滕侯。 The eleventh year. Spring. The Hou of Teng and the Hou of Xue came to pay a court visit. They disputed who was senior. The Hou of Xue said, “We were granted our state first.” The Hou of Teng said, “We are descended from the Zhou Chief Diviner. Xue is of a different clan [from Zhou and Lu]. We cannot come after it.” The Lu lord sent Yufu to make a request of the Hou of Xue, saying, “You and the Teng ruler have debased yourselves to visit me. In Zhou, there is a saying,     ‘In the mountains there are trees,           the artisan then measures and chops one.     Among guests there are rites,           the host then opts for one.’20 According to the Zhou rules for visits and covenants, those of different clans come after those of the same clan [as the host]. If I were to pay a court visit to Xue, then I would not dare line up with those of the Ren clan [of the Xue

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ruling house]. If you would debase yourself and do a favor for me, I would like for you to honor the Teng ruler’s request. The Hou of Xue consented to it and accordingly treated the Hou of Teng as senior. (Zuo, Yin 11, 71–72)

The ruler of Xue based his claim to seniority on the fact that his inherited position had a longer history than that of the Teng ruler; tradition had it that the ancestors of the Xue rulers had been officials of the Xia 夏 dynasty and had been granted their state at that time. The ruler of Teng countered this with a claim of kinship to the Zhou ruling house, which meant that he was also of the same clan as the Lu ruling house. Ultimately, the Lu ruler accepted Teng’s assertion of seniority through kinship ties as being in accord with Zhou ritual practices. Yet it is noteworthy that both arguments appealed to past precedent, and neither ruler relied on current political realities or military strength to bolster his claim to seniority. In a similar dispute, the rulers of Jin and Wu, both from the Ji clan, debated over who should be first to participate in the covenant rites: 秋。七月。辛丑。盟。吳、晉爭先。吳人曰：「於周室，我為長。」 晉人曰：「於姬姓，我為伯。」 Autumn, the seventh month, the xinchou day. They made covenant. Wu and Jin disputed who should be first. The man of Wu said, “In the Zhou house, we are elder.” The man of Jin said, “Of the Ji clan, we are senior.”21 (Zuo, Ai 13, 1677)

The arguments that Jin and Wu set forth to distinguish their claims resemble those in the previous passage. Their ruling houses both belonged to the Ji  clan, and each claimed stronger kinship ties with Zhou, and both appealed to the past. The meaning of the Jin leader’s claim is ambiguous: his assertion may refer to the fact that the Jin ruling house was descended from the bó 伯 or senior line of the Ji clan, or, reading bó as bà 霸, he may be referring the Jin ruler’s position as overlord and first in the covenant order for generations. But regardless of how we read this passage, it is clear that both Jin and Wu are looking to the past to support their claims of seniority. In yet another case, when the states gathered together to make covenant at Shaoling 召陵, a dispute ensued regarding the relative order of Wei and Cai. Wei nobleman Zi Yu was sent by his ruler to ask Chang Hong of Zhou

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whether it was true that Cai was to be treated as senior, and he received this reply: 萇弘曰：「信。蔡叔，康叔之兄也。先衛，不亦可乎。」子魚曰： 「以先王觀之則尚德也。」 Chang Hong said, “It is true. Cai Shu was the elder brother of Kang Shu. Is it not appropriate for Cai to precede Wei?” Zi Yu said, “Looking at it from the point of view of the former kings, they elevated virtue.” (Zuo, Ding 4, 1535)

The state of Cai claimed precedence on the basis of kinship seniority, because Cai’s founding ancestor, Cai Shu, was the elder brother of Wei’s founding ancestor, Kang Shu. Wei countered this claim by asserting that since the former kings elevated virtue rather than age, it was Kang Shu who was appointed to a hereditary office; not stated but surely known to all was the fact that Cai Shu joined others in rebelling against the Zhou house and was hence considered to be lacking in virtue.22 Again, both arguments appeal to past precedent, and the reference to “elevating virtue” concerns historical actors and does not imply evaluation of current rulers. Did kinship ties or common descent from a senior ancestor outweigh being in a long line of heirs to a legacy of high office? Ultimately, it is impossible to tease out of these passages a strong preference for one type of claim over the other. The conflict between Teng and Xue was decided on the basis of kinship ties—specifically, clan membership—whereas the decision to rank Cai before Wei was challenged by arguing that precedence should be given to the party whose ancestor had been appointed earlier, or—to borrow the language used by Zi Yu in Ding 4—whose virtue had been elevated. Far more important is the observation that certain arguments are not made explicitly: none of these claims concerns size, military strength, or number of allies giving support, nor did any state propose that precedence should be determined by the virtue or achievements of its current ruler. Rather, all invoke the past, whether kinship or the achievements or virtue of ancestors.23 Despite rhetorical appeals to the past, pragmatic factors certainly played a role in how these disagreements were resolved. One of the aims of the covenant at Shaoling was to affirm Cai’s allegiance against the state of Chu, and an unspoken reason for granting Cai seniority may have been to ensure Cai’s participation in the covenant, yet nowhere in the arguments about the sequence of states are such considerations stated outright. Elsewhere, during a dispute between Jin and Chu over who should be first in a covenant,

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Jin sets forth conventional arguments, basing claims to seniority on its longstanding position as overlord and covenant chief. In a conspicuous departure from the conventional rhetoric, Chu makes explicit reference to relative strength, observing that if Jin is always first, this implies that Chu is weaker than Jin.24 Subsequently, Jin is persuaded to relinquish its insistence on being first, but the rhetoric employed in the persuasion appeals to virtue and established practice. Although Chu’s military strength certainly played a part in obtaining compromise, nowhere is this openly acknowledged.25 More generally, even when decisions concerning relative order were heavily influenced by other, more pragmatic considerations, the rhetoric used to explain those decisions explicitly called upon the past, including prior precedent, kinship ties, and seniority. Not all disputes about seniority involved covenants. The Conversations of the States tells of a case in which Jin partitioned the territory of Cao. 晉文公解曹地以分諸侯。僖公使臧文仲往，宿於重館，重館人告曰： 「晉始伯而欲固諸侯，故解有罪之地以分諸侯。諸侯莫不望分而欲親 晉，皆將爭先。晉不以固班，亦必親先者，吾子不可以不速行。魯之 班長而又先，諸侯其誰望之？若少安，恐無及也。」從之，獲地於諸 侯為多。 Lord Wen of Jin was going to partition Cao’s territory among the regional lords. Lord Xi [of Lu] sent Zang Wenzhong to go there. He stayed over at the residence at Zhong. Someone at the residence at Zhong told him, saying, “Jin has just begun as overlord and wants to consolidate its position with the regional lords. Therefore, it is partitioning to the regional lords the territory of one who has committed an offense. Of the regional lords, none does not hope to draw close to Jin, and all will contend to be first. Jin will not follow the set ranking, but will certainly draw close to the first to arrive. You, sir, must go quickly! Lu’s position in the ranking is senior, and if you are also first, will any of the regional lords regard it as odd [if you are first to receive territory]? Yet if you rest for even a moment, I fear you will not arrive in time.” He followed this advice, and of all the regional lords, he obtained the most territory. (Guoyu, “Luyu shang” 魯語上 4.6b–7a)26

Interestingly, Zang Wenzhong’s unnamed adviser takes into account both the practical considerations of the changing political power balance as well as matters of long-standing precedent. He urges Zang Wenzhong to arrive first in order to please Jin, yet at the same time, he also observes that because

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Lu holds a senior position already, none of the other lords will look askance at Lu for being given first place in the distribution of territory. This implies that while Jin might be willing to deviate from the previous order to reward Lu, other states would be more likely to accept such a departure if it were supported by historical precedent. Even when a powerful state such as Jin had sufficient might to override the conventional sequence of states, appeal to the past carried significant weight. The Zuo Tradition and Conversations of the States narratives confirm that the order of states was not arbitrarily fixed by the strongest state, nor was it a pecking order based on relative power. Rather, it was based on established convention, which by some accounts was connected with kinship and ancestral seniority, and by others with hereditary position and historical recognition of ancestral merit.27 Yet the very fact that disputes about precedence took place at all indicates that higher positions were much coveted and that perhaps in reality, the sequence of states was not fixed and allowed for more variation than is apparent from the Spring and Autumn records.28 Other Ordered Lists of States

While Lu is always ranked first in the Spring and Autumn records, it was certainly not the most powerful state in the Zhou culture sphere, and its strongest claim to seniority may have been the hereditary association with Zhou Gong 周公, brother of Zhou founder, King Wu 武王.29 Indeed, evidence from records of diplomatic visits analyzed in chapter 6 suggests that Lu may have been outranked by several of the states that occur after it in Spring and Autumn lists. This, combined with Zuo Tradition and Conversations of the States accounts demonstrating that the sequence of states was open to dispute, indicates that the listing order employed in the Spring and Autumn was peculiar to Lu, and was not followed by all states. Evidence for alternative sequences of states confirms that there was no universally accepted order and that each state may have had its own sequence of states. That the sequence of states followed in Spring and Autumn records was not a universal one is shown by comparing two different lists of participants in the same covenant. A list that appears in the Zuo Tradition quotes part of the text of a covenant made at Jiantu 踐土, which was said to be stored in the Zhou archives. The portion quoted is the list of participants. If we compare that list with the Spring and Autumn record of that same covenant,

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we immediately notice significant discrepancies. The Zuo Tradition passage quotes the text of the covenant as follows:30 「晉重、魯申、衛武、蔡甲午、鄭捷、齊潘、宋王臣、莒期。」藏在 周府。可覆視也。 “Chong of Jin, Shen of Lu, Wu of Wei, Jiawu of Cai, Jie of Zheng, Pan of Qi, Wangchen of Song, Qi of Ju.” It is stored in the Zhou treasury, and it can be reviewed and seen. (Zuo, Ding 4, 1541–1542)

The Spring and Autumn record of this covenant is somewhat different: 五月。癸丑。公會晉侯、齊侯、宋公、蔡侯、鄭伯、衛子、莒子盟于 踐土。 The fifth month. Guichou. Our Lord met with the Hou of Jin, the Hou of Qi, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Cai, the Bo of Zheng, the Zi of Wei and the Zi of Ju to make covenant at Jiantu. (CQ, Xi 28.8, 449)

Both passages list the same participants, but the lists differ in two significant respects. First, the participants are designated using radically different styles of reference. The text quoted in the Zuo Tradition refers to participants by state and personal name but without title; the Spring and Autumn identifies them by state and ruling title but not by name. That is, the Spring and Autumn record uses the default style of reference that it employs for all covenant records, whereas the covenant text quoted in the Zuo Tradition employs a style that does not appear in the Spring and Autumn. Second, the order in which states are listed is completely different. The Spring and Autumn again follows its regular conventions, adhering to the sequence of states that is standard for all its records and thus listing Lu first, whereas the text quoted by the Zuo Tradition follows a very different order in which rulers are listed by clan, with those from the Ji clan listed first and Jin preceding Lu. Together, these differences show that the Spring and Autumn record was not a verbatim transcription of the covenant text itself but simply a record of the fact that the covenant had been made together with a list of its participants. The full covenant text would have been longer than the simple list of names given in the Zuo Tradition and would also have included oaths or promises.31 Unfortunately, it is impossible to ascertain whether the list quoted in the Zuo Tradition followed the order employed in the original covenant, but even without this information, the very fact that covenant

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participants were recorded using different styles of reference and in two substantially different sequences is telling. Regardless of whether the list quoted in the Zuo Tradition—purportedly the same as the one stored in the Zhou archives—accurately represented the actual covenant order, the Spring and Autumn record certainly did not. The Spring and Autumn record was not intended as a representation of the covenant text itself. Rather, it was a formulaic record intended to document that the covenant had been made and to register certain basic details: who participated in the covenant, when, and where. The form of this record was determined by the same rules that governed all Spring and Autumn records, including how participants were identified, and—most significantly for the present discussion—the sequence in which states were recorded. Additional tantalizing hints that other states may have observed different hierarchical orders appear in a somewhat surprising source, the majestic set of bells discovered in the tomb of Yi, Hou of Zeng 曾侯乙 (d. 433 BCE). Zeng, a satellite state of Chu, is not mentioned in the Spring and Autumn.32 The bells are inscribed with the names of the pitches they sound, presumably using Zeng musical terminology, and many of the inscriptions also record the pitch standards of other states, which they correlate to the pitch names used in Zeng.33 Robert Bagley has suggested that these inscriptions “seem to involve the interstate political order and to connect it somehow with absolute pitch.”34 The bell inscriptions do indeed hint at a different interstate order, although they do not provide enough information to reconstruct a complete ordered list. The pitch of Zeng constitutes the basic standard, and Zeng may be understood to be first, although none of the inscriptions on the bells refers explicitly to Zeng, perhaps just as no Spring and Autumn record explicitly identifies Lu. Chu, of which Zeng was a satellite state, is given precedence above all other states. This much is parallel to the treatment of Lu and Zhou in the Spring and Autumn records. Yet it is impossible to reconstruct the full sequence, since the bell inscriptions that mention other states (not all do) name no more than two. Among the inscriptions are instances in which Chu is named before each of the other four states mentioned, Zhou, Jin, Qi, and Shen. Only one inscription (M-32) refers to other states but does not mention Chu; instead Zhou precedes Jin. It is impossible to determine whether Zhou would have always preceded Jin— we have only one example—nor can the relative order of Jin, Qi, and Shen be ascertained. This evidence reveals a second problem, namely, that the evidence

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in the bell inscriptions does not permit us to determine whether the inscriptions were based on a standard sequence that was followed consistently, as in the Spring and Autumn records, or if the listing order could vary. Nonetheless, the fact that Chu consistently preceded not only Jin and Qi but even Zhou demonstrates that the Zeng bells definitely did not employ the sequence followed in the Spring and Autumn. The parallel in the hierarchical relationships between Zeng and Chu in the bell inscriptions, and between Lu and Zhou in the Spring and Autumn records, suggests not only that the sequence of states may have varied from one state to another, but furthermore, that the sequence employed by a particular state may have been based on standard conventions or rules connected to that state’s relationships with other states. Thus different states observed different sequences, and convention required placing one’s own state first. In the dispute between the rulers of Teng and Xue recorded in Yin 11 of the Zuo Tradition, the Lu ruler acknowledges that were he to go to Xue, he would expect to be ranked after other members of the same clan as Xue rulers; this statement implies that it was considered proper for each state to observe its own order and further suggests that—at least to some extent—the regular order for each state was based on kinship. Yet the Spring and Autumn sequence of states was not based exclusively on clan or kinship ties. The order of states that the Zuo Tradition quotes for the Jiantu covenant cannot provide clarification, since the provenance of this quotation is uncertain, and the details provided by the bell inscriptions are but hints that also fail to offer a full picture. Although we have little specific information about the sequences employed by other states, we may nonetheless speculate that they were governed by principles similar to those evident in the Spring and Autumn sequence of states, which did not reflect contemporary reality but looked to the past and embodied an idealized hierarchy with the state of Lu and its ruler as the focal point. SPRING AND AUTUMN LISTING ORDER: RULERS, HEIRS, NOBILITY, AND UNNAMED “MEN”

The sequence of states described in this chapter and set forth in table 4.1 applies to Spring and Autumn lists of individuals of similar rank, that is, lists of rulers or lists of noblemen. But if a record contains a mixed list— for example, if it lists rulers together with noblemen—the order is affected. Mixed lists may include regional rulers, heirs (zǐ 子), heirs apparent

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(shì zǐ 世子 or tài zǐ 太子/大子), and noblemen, as well as others referred to using generic designations.35 An individual’s home state and his rank functioned together to determine his place in a multistate list (women do not appear in such lists). The hierarchical system registered in the Spring and Autumn was thus more complex than a simple linear sequence, since order was affected by at least two variables, home state and rank. When a record included both rulers and nobility, individual rank took priority over the sequence of states. Rulers were grouped together and listed first and then were followed by heirs and heirs apparent, then noblemen, and last of all, individuals labeled with generic designations such as “man” (rén). Thus, although Qi normally ranked after Jin and before Song, in the following record, the heir apparent of Qi is listed after all the regional rulers: 冬。公會晉侯、宋公、衛侯、曹伯、莒子、邾子、滕子、薛伯、杞 伯、小邾子、齊世子光伐鄭。 Winter. Our Lord joined with the Hou of Jin, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Wei, the Bo of Cao, the Zi of Ju, the Zi of Zhu, the Zi of Teng, the Bo of Xue, the Bo of Qii, the Zi of Lesser Zhu, and the Heir Apparent of Qi, Guang, to attack Zheng. (CQ, Xiang 9.5, 961)

A similar principle is employed in this record: 癸丑。公會晉侯、衛侯、鄭伯、曹伯、宋世子成、齊國佐、邾人同盟 于戚。 Guichou. Our Lord met with the Hou of Jin, the Hou of Wei, the Bo of Zheng, the Bo of Cao, the Heir Apparent of Song, Cheng, Guo Zuo of Qi, and the man of Zhu to join together in covenant at Qi. (CQ, Cheng 15.3, 871)

In the regular sequence of states (see table 4.1), Wei and Cao ranked ninth and fourteenth, respectively, but in this record, the rulers of Wei and Cao precede the heir apparent of Song, which ranked fifth, who is in turn listed before nobleman Guo Zuo of Qi, which ranked fourth.36 As these records show, a full list is structured first by individual rank, and then within each category—rulers, heirs, heirs apparent, and noblemen—individuals are listed according to the regular sequence of states. This pattern is followed consistently throughout the Spring and Autumn. Different rules apply to Lu noblemen, who are always listed before leaders from other states, regardless of whether they are rulers or noblemen.

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For example, in the following record, the Lu nobleman Shu Lao precedes the ruler of Zheng, while noblemen from other states are listed afterward: 叔老會鄭伯、晉荀偃、衛甯殖、宋人伐許。 Shu Lao joined with the Bo of Zheng, Xun Yan of Jin, Ning Zhi of Wei, and the man of Song to attack Xuu. (CQ, Xiang 16.7, 1025)

Likewise, in this covenant record, Lu nobleman Zhongsun Mie is listed prior to regional rulers, while Qi nobleman Cui Zhu is relegated to the end of the list: 十有二月。仲孫蔑會晉侯、宋公、衛侯、邾子、齊崔杼同盟于虛朾。 The twelfth month. Zhongsun Mie met with the Hou of Jin, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Wei, the Zi of Zhu, and Cui Zhu of Qi to join together in covenant at Xuting. (CQ, Cheng 18.14, 906)

Nowhere in the Spring and Autumn is a Lu representative ever preceded by an individual from another state, even Zhou. Curiously, no records mention noblemen from Lu and Zhou together, leaving the issue of their relative rank ambiguous, and it seems possible that such cases were deliberately avoided in order to maintain Lu’s place at the top of all lists. The position of Lu at the apex of the Spring and Autumn interstate hierarchy is thus presented as absolute, eclipsing all other considerations, including individual rank. Leaders in multistate lists are not always identified; the Spring and Autumn employs three types of generic designations that are used in lieu of identifying specific individuals. The most common of these refers to a single unidentified leader using the word rén 人, literally “person, man.” Unlike the two other generic forms, the phrase “state + rén,” which I render “the man of [state],” is used frequently, and many examples are translated throughout this chapter. The Lu record-keepers almost certainly knew the identities of many—if not most—individuals who were designated rén in the Spring and Autumn. Indeed, instances of unidentified rén in the records frequently correspond to named individuals in the Zuo Tradition; thus the four rén of the record in Wen 2.7, translated next, are each identified by name in the Zuo Tradition. Likewise, some Spring and Autumn records refer to the Chu ruler as “the man of Chu” (Chu rén 楚人), while the corresponding Zuo Tradition passage has “the Zi of Chu” 楚子.37 The phrase “state + rén” was not merely a placeholder used when more precise information was lacking; rather,

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it appears to have been used intentionally to exclude the identity of certain individuals from the records. The term rén is associated with lower rank relative to those who are mentioned in the records. When records list a mixture of identified and unidentified leaders, references to unnamed rén typically occur at the end of such lists, as illustrated by this record:38 公會晉侯、宋公、陳侯、衛侯、鄭伯、曹伯、莒子、邾子、滕子、薛 伯、齊世子光、吳人、鄫人于戚。 Our Lord met with the Hou of Jin, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Chen, the Hou of Wei, the Bo of Zheng, the Bo of Cao, the Zi of Ju, the Zi of Zhu, the Zi of Teng, the Bo of Xue, the Heir Apparent of Qi, Guang, the man of Wu, and the man of Zeng at Qi. (CQ, Xiang 5.7, 941)

If leaders of high-ranking states are designated rén, then all individuals listed after them are also designated rén, as here: 冬。晉人、宋人、陳人、鄭人伐秦。 Winter. The man of Jin, the man of Song, the man of Chen, and the man of Zheng attacked Qin. (CQ, Wen 2.7, 519)

Although rén may be used to designate leaders from any state except Lu, it is far more common for leaders from lower-ranking states to be referred to as rén. The regular association between rén and relatively low rank in lists suggests that in some cases, rén was deliberately employed for lower-ranking leaders in lieu of precise identification. Perhaps their identities were kept obscure in order to withhold recognition. References to unidentified rén appear in conjunction with the full range of states, with two exceptions. At the top of the hierarchy, rén is never used to designate Lu leaders.39 When Lu participated in an interstate event but the Lu representative was not identified, the reference to the Lu leader was simply omitted; see, for example, the battle record from Huan 13, translated previously. Avoiding the designation rén may have been yet another way of setting Lu apart from other states and emphasizing its high position.40 This seems to confirm the association of rén with low rank, and indeed, later commentaries of the Spring and Autumn often interpret rén as a pejorative.41 Yet curiously, at the lowest levels of the hierarchy, the phrase “Rong rén” does not occur, a point to which we shall return later.

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While rén is used to refer to individual leaders, the two other generic forms both refer to groups in the aggregate, and neither occurs frequently. The first ascribes actions directly to a state, and the second, to an “army” (shī 師). Examples appear in the first section of this chapter and in the following section. Generic references of the first type usually pertain to groups on the periphery of the Zhou culture sphere—namely, Wu, Yue, Di, and Rong—and only rarely is this form applied to other states.42 The generic ascription of an action to a group is clearly linked to low rank, but whereas “state + rén” denies recognition by not identifying individual leaders, records that ascribe actions to states go a step further by not even acknowledging the existence of individual leaders. In contrast, the other aggregate form, which ascribes actions to an army, is largely restricted to high-ranking states.43 Unlike records using rén, for the great majority of these records, the corresponding Zuo Tradition account— like the Spring and Autumn record itself—does not identify a leader but likewise simply refers to the army. Thus, although references to armies do not acknowledge individual leaders, there is no indication that this form was used in order to withhold recognition, as seems to have been the case with rén. TIERS OF STATES: STATE RANK AND DESIGNATIONS OF LEADERS

Listing order is a way of displaying rank that renders relative position in the hierarchy immediately visible, but the records also use restrictions on how leaders from different states could be designated to encode an additional, less obvious distinction. These restrictions allow us to group states into three categories or tiers, which I refer to as top tier, middle tier, and bottom tier. The tier to which a state belongs is determined by whether its rulers or noblemen may be mentioned in the records and the specificity of designations used to refer to its leaders. The full inventory of leaders who may be mentioned in multistate lists includes rulers, noblemen, and heirs or heirs apparent, as well as unidentified leaders referred to by the generic form “state + rén”; actions may also be ascribed generically to states, without any acknowledgment of individual leaders.44 As the subsequent discussion shows, not all designations could be used for all states. Leaders from progressively lower tiers are identified with less specificity and are likelier to be referred to using generic forms. Identifying states in the top tier is quite simple. Only noblemen from the highest-ranking states may be identified in multistate lists (or, for that matter,

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in records of unilateral military action); noblemen from lower-ranking states are not mentioned in records of military actions, interstate meetings, or covenants.45 Lu noblemen are frequently recorded as leading military actions and participating in meetings and covenants, and in multistate lists, Zhou is always represented by a nobleman rather than the king. References to nobility from Jin, Qi, Song, and Chu, the four highest-ranking states after Lu and Zhou, likewise appear with relatively high frequency. The lower a state’s rank, the less likely are its noblemen to receive mention, and, with two unusual exceptions, no nobleman from any state ranking below Zheng is mentioned in a multistate list.46 The top tier of states is thus easy to define: top-tier states are those whose noblemen may be identified in records of military actions, interstate meetings, or covenants, including multistate lists and unilateral military actions. For complex reasons explained in the next section, multistate lists do not allow us to distinguish easily between middle- and bottom-tier states. To do this, we must turn to records of unilateral military actions, that is, records that register a military action led by only one state. Designations of Leaders in Records of Unilateral Military Actions

Records of unilateral military actions allow us to categorize states into three tiers based on which forms are used to designate their leaders; see table 4.2. The top-tier states are associated with the largest inventory of possible forms. For these states, unilateral military actions may be led by rulers, named noblemen, or unidentified men (rén); in only two unusual records are actions attributed generically to states without reference to an individual leader.47 By contrast, for states in the middle tier, unilateral military actions are never attributed to rulers or named noblemen, and instead they are typically ascribed to unidentified men (that is, rén) and rarely (in only two instances) to a state.48 States in the bottom tier employ a third pattern: unilateral military actions are invariably attributed to the state itself rather than individual leaders, named or unnamed.49 In other words, the full range of designations may be used in records of actions by top-tier states, and forms that identify rulers and noblemen are reserved for those very highranking states. By contrast, middle- and bottom-tier states are restricted to progressively more generic forms that leave individual leaders unnamed or even unacknowledged. This much aligns with our expectations, and the connection between high rank and specific identification agrees with the

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TABLE 4.2  Designations of leaders in records of unilateral military events, by tier and state Sequencea

Tier

Top-tier states

Middle-tier states

Bottom-tier states

aThe

Number of unilateral military event records with each designation

State

Ruler

Nobleman

Unidentified man (rén 人)

State

3

Jin

晉

7

29

4

1

4

Qi

齊

17

7

15

–

5

Song

宋

3

8

9

–

6

Chu

楚

15

17

28

–

9

Wei

衛

3

7

4

–

11

Zheng

鄭

4

10

6

1

15

Ju

莒

–

–

7

–

16

Zhu

邾

–

–

4

–

17

Xu

徐

–

–

1

1

18

Qin

秦

–

–

5

1

26

Wu

吳

–

–

–

10

28

Yue

越

–

–

–

3

29

Di

狄

–

–

–

20

30

Rong

戎

–

–

–

2

…

Jingb

荊

–

–

–

4

numbers in the column “Sequence” correlate with the first column of table 4.1.

bJing is the name for Chu used in the Spring and Autumn prior to Xi 1 (that is, 659 BCE). Jing and Chu are treated differently

in the records, and Jing has been placed at the end of the table since it does not appear in multi-state lists.

basic principle that recognition in the Spring and Autumn is a mark of status and prestige. Yet designations of leaders in records of multilateral military actions are not governed by the same restrictions. Before turning to multistate lists, a few additional notes are in order. First, it must be pointed out that table 4.2 includes only fourteen states (or fifteen, if we count Chu and Jing separately). That is, it omits more than half of the states that are mentioned in the Spring and Autumn; by comparison, table 4.1, which gives the sequence of states, lists thirty states. The evidence that allows us to determine a state’s tier occurs only in records of unilateral military action, and states associated with at least two such records can be assigned to a tier with some degree of confidence. But many states are never registered as engaging in unilateral military action, and for a few others, only one such action is recorded; determining the tier for these states is impossible.

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If a state is omitted from table 4.2, it is because evidence is insufficient to assign that state to a tier. In a few cases, we can make reasonable speculations. For example, although we do not have data for Cai and Chen, both rank above Wei and Zheng in the sequence of states, and since Wei and Zheng are both top-tier states, we can surmise that Cai and Chen probably also belong in the top tier. But many of the states for which we lack evidence occur between Zheng (the lowest-ranking top-tier state for which we have evidence) and Ju (the highest-ranking middle-tier state for which we have  evidence), or between Qin (the lowest-ranking middle-tier state for which we have evidence) and Wu (the highest-ranking bottom-tier state for which we have data), and it is frustratingly impossible to assign them to a tier. It is also worth observing that states in the three tiers seem to correlate very roughly with groups of states that share similar relationships to Lu. The six states in the top tier—Jin, Qi, Song, Chu, Wei, and Zheng (with the possible exception of Chu)—had kinship or marriage ties to Lu and are considered to lie within the Zhou culture sphere. Chu is a more complicated case, as not only the status of this state but even its name changed over the period covered by the Spring and Autumn.50 Within the middle tier, three states in this group, Ju, Zhu, and Xu, were small states located in the east, populated by Yi or Eastern Yi (Dong Yi 東夷) indigenous peoples. Significantly, these three states were assimilated into the Zhou political and cultural system well after the states in the top tier, and although they were geographically near to Lu, their rulers did not have close kinship ties to the Lu ruling house or to Zhou.51 Yet the fourth state in the middle tier, Qin, was located in the west and had a very different historical relationship with Zhou.52 Unfortunately, evidence is insufficient to allow us to expand this tier up or down, which might give us a clearer sense of how to characterize this group. In the third tier are Wu, Yue, Di, and Rong, along with Jing, the name used for Chu in the earlier part of the Spring and Autumn. All lay at the margins of Zhou cultural and political influence, and Di and Rong in particular are often referred to as “groups” or “tribes” rather than “states.” References to individuals from these states are extremely rare in the Spring and Autumn, and, as noted in chapter 3, death and funeral records of Yue, Di, and Rong rulers are excluded completely, while Wu rulers’ deaths (but not funerals) are registered only in the final third of the Spring and Autumn.53 We saw previously that the sequence of states generally correlates with kinship or the “five ranks,” but that the correlation is approximate and

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imprecise. In the same way, the correlation between the three tiers of states and the types of relationship they had with Lu is only approximate, allowing for exceptions and leaving ample room for speculation. The tiers thus cannot give us definite information about the relationships among the states or about their history, but even so, recognizing the existence of the system of tiers is still valuable because these patterns tell us that Lu regarded and treated states in the three tiers differently, and more generally, they give us further insight into how Lu regarded the interstate hierarchy. Designations of Leaders in Multistate Lists

The difference among the three tiers is clear enough in records of unilateral military action, that is, records that mention only one state. But if we compare designations of leaders in records of unilateral military actions with those in multistate lists, the results are surprising. We might expect that the same restrictions would apply in both contexts, but this is not the case. Instead, some references to leaders in multistate lists use more specific designations than are permitted in records of unilateral actions. This is illustrated by comparing designations of leaders from the same state in multistate lists and in records of unilateral actions. When a bottom-tier state engages in unilateral military action, the Spring and Autumn record always ascribes the action to the state rather than mentioning an individual leader, as in the reference to Di in the following record: 冬。狄侵宋。 Winter. Di made an incursion into Song. (CQ, Wen 10.6, 575)

But when a bottom-tier state is mentioned in a multistate list, its leader may be referred to with the generic form “man of Di” (Di rén), as here:54 秋。齊人、狄人盟于邢。 Autumn. The man of Qi and the man of Di made covenant at Xing. (CQ, Xi 20.5, 386)

Key is the observation that leaders of bottom-tier states are referred to as individual rén only when they are listed together with leaders of other states, who are invariably higher in rank. Leaders of bottom-tier states are not

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designated “state + rén” in all multistate lists; that is, this form seems to be permitted but not required, and some lists mentioning bottom-tier states still use the aggregate form (for example, “Di” instead of “man of Di”).55 But crucially, the form “state + rén” is never used in records of unilateral actions, which do not acknowledge individual leaders from bottom-tier states, whether named or not. A similar phenomenon occurs in the case of middle-tier states. Individual leaders from middle-tier states are not identified in records of unilateral military actions; instead they are typically designated by the generic form “the man of [state]” (state + rén), as in the reference to “the man of Ju” in this record: 春。王二月。莒人伐杞，取牟婁。 Spring. The royal second month. The man of Ju attacked Qii and took Moulou. (CQ, Yin 4.1, 33)

Yet in multistate lists, rulers (but not noblemen) of middle-tier states may be identified; thus the following record refers to the Ju leader by his ruling title, as “Zi of Ju.” 公會晉侯、齊侯、宋公、衛侯、曹伯、莒子、邾子、杞伯救鄭。 Our Lord joined with the Hou of Jin, the Hou of Qi, the Gong of Song, the Hou of Wei, the Bo of Cao, the Zi of Ju, the Zi of Zhu, and the Bo of Qii to rescue Zheng. (CQ, Cheng 7.6, 832)

Leaders of middle-tier states may also be designated by the generic form “the man of [state]” (state + rén) in multistate lists—that is, the form associated with lower rank is also permissible—but they may only be identified by title when they are listed with leaders from higher-ranking states. Furthermore, only rulers of middle-tier states may be listed; their noblemen are not identified in any records. In short, the inventory of forms that may be used to designate leaders— that is, rulers, heirs, and noblemen—is determined by the tier of their home state, but which forms may be used in a given record depends on whether it contains a multistate list or registers an action by a single state. The forms associated with each tier are listed in table 4.3 (for records of unilateral military action, involving only a single state) and table 4.4 (for records containing multistate lists). A larger inventory of forms is available for records

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TABLE 4.3  Designations of leaders in records of unilateral military actions, by tier Top-tier state

Middle-tier state

Bottom-tier state

Ruler or nobleman Unidentified man (rén)

Unidentified man (rén)

State (rare)

State (rare)

State

TABLE 4.4  Designations of leaders in records with multistate lists, by tier Top-tier state

Middle-tier state

Ruler or nobleman

Ruler

Unidentified man (rén)

Unidentified man (rén)

Bottom-tier state Unidentified man (rén) State

with multistate lists; thus these records do not help us in determining a given state’s tier, and we must look at records of unilateral actions instead. In general, in the Spring and Autumn, increased specificity is associated with higher rank and greater prestige, and more specific forms may be understood as conveying elevated status. It is not unexpected that the widest array of forms is available to leaders of top-tier states, and all of these forms are used in records of both unilateral and multistate actions. For middle-tier and bottom-tier states, both a more generic designation and a more specific form are available; the more specific form is the more elevated form. The more generic form is always used in records of unilateral action and is also available for use in multistate lists; as such, it may be considered the default. The elevated, more specific form occurs only in lists that include leaders from higher-ranking states. For states in the middle tier, the generic form ascribes action to an unidentified “man” (rén), and for those in the bottom tier, to the state. For states in the middle tier, the more specific form refers to an identified ruler, and for bottom-tier states, the more specific form refers to an unidentified “man” (rén). In short, in the Spring and Autumn, leaders of middle- and bottom-tier states are identified by more specific, higherranking forms only when they are listed with leaders from other states. The question, of course, is why?

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Tiers and Counterparts in Zuo Tradition Narratives and Commentarial Remarks

Turning from the Spring and Autumn records to the Zuo Tradition, we find several passages that outline state ranking systems similar to the system of state tiers evident in the Spring and Autumn. These passages may also shed light on the use of more specific, elevated designations for leaders in records with multistate lists. The most detailed is a narrative account in Cheng 3, which presents an argument between two emissaries, Xun Geng of Jin and Sun Liangfu of Wei, both of whom had traveled to Lu to renew their respective covenants. The order in which the renewals were to take place depended on rank, and so Lord Cheng asked Lu nobleman Zang Xuanshu about the relative rank of the two visitors. Zang Xuanshu’s response outlines a system of three levels or tiers of states, in which a high-ranking nobleman from a small state is equivalent to a low-ranking nobleman from a large state. 冬。十一月。晉侯使荀庚來聘，且尋盟。衛侯使孫良夫來聘，且尋盟。 公問諸臧宣叔曰：「中行伯之於晉也，其位在三。孫子之於衛也， 位為上卿。將誰先？」對曰：「次國之上卿，當大國之中。中當其 下。下當其上大夫。小國之上卿，當大國之下卿。中當其上大夫。下 當其下大夫。上下如是，古之制也。衛在晉，不得為次國。晉為盟 主，其將先之。」 丙午，盟晉。丁未，盟衛。禮也。 Winter, the eleventh month. The Hou of Jin sent Xun Geng to come [to Lu] on a visit of friendly inquiry and also to renew a covenant. The Hou of Wei sent Sun Liangfu to come [to Lu] on a visit of friendly inquiry and also to renew a covenant. The Lord asked Zang Xuanshu about it, saying, “In Jin, the Zhonghang patriarch (i.e., Xun Geng) is third. In Wei, Sunzi (i.e., Sun Liangfu) is a Superior Minister. Who should be first?” He responded, saying, “The superior minister of a secondary state corresponds to the mid-ranking minister of a large state; the mid-ranking minister of a secondary state corresponds to the lower minister of a large state; and the lower minister of a secondary state corresponds to the superior grandee of a large state. The superior minister of a small state corresponds to the lower minister of a large state; a small state’s mid-ranking minister corresponds to the superior grandee of a large state; and the lower minister of a small state corresponds to the lower grandee of a large state. Superior and lower are

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like this; this is the ancient system. Wei, when compared with Jin, cannot be counted as a secondary state [but is a small state]. Jin serves as the host for covenants. You should make Jin first.” On the bingwu day, Lu made covenant with Jin, and on the dingwei day, Lu made covenant with Wei. This was in accord with ritual. (Zuo, Cheng 3, 814)56

In his reply, Zang Xuanshu divides noblemen into five ranks and categorizes states into three tiers.57 The set of correspondences outlined by Zang Xuanshu is laid out in table 4.5. According to this system, noblemen fall into three graded ranks, and a nobleman from a large state corresponds to a nobleman from a secondary state whose rank is one grade higher, or to a nobleman from a small state whose rank is two grades higher. Thus, a lower minister in a large state corresponds to a mid-level minister in a secondary state and to a superior minister of a small state; the superior minister of a large state has no counterpart among the nobility of a secondary or small state, nor does the mid-level minister of a large state have an equal in a small state. If the lower grandee of a small state had a counterpart in a large state, he did not merit mention in this system. A similar system is outlined in Zhao 23 by another Lu nobleman, Shusun Chuo 叔孫婼. The state of Zhu brought a complaint about Lu to Jin, then the covenant chief. When Shusun Chuo traveled to Jin, he was seized, and Jin intended to have him sit together with the Zhu representative for

TABLE 4.5  System of corresponding ranks as set forth by Zang Xuanshu in Zuo Tradition, Cheng 3 Large state (dà guó 大國)

Secondary state (cì guó 次國)

Small state (xiǎo guó 小國)

Superior minister (shàng qīng 上卿) Mid-level minister

Superior minister

(zhōng qīng 中卿) Lower minister

Mid-level minister

Superior minister

Lower minister

Mid-level minister

Superior grandee

Lower minister

(xià qīng 下卿) Superior grandee (shàng dàfū 上大夫) Lower grandee (xià dàfū 下大夫)

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adjudication of the dispute. Shusun Chuo objected on the grounds that they were not of equal rank. In his speech, he describes a set of correspondences that, like the system laid out by Zang Xuanshu, takes into account individual position and state rank, but his correspondences extend to include rulers of small states: 叔孫曰：「列國之卿當小國之君，固周制也。邾又夷也。寡君之命介 子服回在，請使當之。不敢廢周制故也。」乃不果坐。 Shusun said, “Ministers of ranked states are counterparts to rulers of small states; this is the established Zhou system. Moreover, Zhu are Yi. The assistant commissioned by our lord, Zifu Hui, is here; I request that he act as counterpart [to the Zhu representative]. It is because I dare not abandon the Zhou system.” Thereupon he did not sit [for judgment]. (Zuo, Zhao 23, 1442)58

The dispute in this passage, as in the preceding one, concerns hierarchy, but rather than arguing about relative order, at issue here is whether two individuals may be considered counterparts and whether it is appropriate for them to face off in a legal dispute. Shusun Chuo of Lu, a large or “ranked” state (liè guó 列國), refused to be treated as equal to a nobleman from a small state, and so he requested that his assistant sit in his stead. His refusal to act as the counterpart to someone of much lower rank may provide the key to understanding why individuals were sometimes left unnamed in the Spring and Autumn, a point to which we shall return in the next section. The terminology employed in these two passages differs, but the underlying systems have similar structures and characteristics. Zang Xuanshu refers to three categories of states, “great states” (dà guó 大國), “secondary states” (cì guó 次國), and “small states” (xiǎo guó 小國), whereas Shusun Chuo mentions only two, “ranked states” (liè guó 列國) and “small states” (xiǎo guó).59 Zang Xuanshu identifies several grades of nobility, including various levels of “ministers” (qīng 卿), and “grandees” (dàfū 大夫). Although Shusun Chuo explicitly mentions only “rulers” (jūn 君) and “ministers” (qīng), his request to have his assistant act in his place implies that he recognizes other grades of nobility, since presumably his assistant was a nobleman who ranked beneath him. Another difference between the two passages is that Zang Xuanshu’s statement outlines a more comprehensive system, whereas Shusun Chuo’s remarks are restricted to the ranks pertinent to his specific case. Despite these differences, both assert that a ruler or nobleman’s place in the hierarchy is a function of two factors, the level or tier of his home state and his own rank, and both insist that a

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person of higher rank from a lower-tier state is the counterpart of a person of lower rank from a higher-tier state. Errors concerning equivalencies and counterparts and the potential ramifications of such errors are also a matter of concern in Zuo Tradition narratives. When, in Zhao 21, Jin nobleman Shi Yang 士鞅 traveled to Lu, a Lu nobleman attempted to discredit the minister in charge of the Lu government by instructing the master of ceremonies to employ the same level of ceremony for Shi Yang as had been used for a previous guest who was of lower rank and from a smaller state. The effort to offend succeeded, and Shi Yang expressed great indignation at being given the same treatment as a lower-ranking guest.60 Similarly, in Zhao 2, a dispute erupted over the relative rank of two emissaries involved in assisting with a marriage. Convention stipulated that a bride should be sent off by an emissary from her natal state and received by an emissary from the home state of her betrothed; the rank of the emissary who sent off the bride should be equivalent to that of the one who received her. When Jin received a bride from Qi, the Jin ruler was greatly offended to learn that the Qi emissary ranked below his Jin counterpart, and consequently he seized the unfortunate Qi emissary. Only through eloquent persuasion by the bride was the Jin ruler convinced to release him.61 In yet another such narrative, in Cheng 18, when a Jin nobleman traveled to Lu to request troops, the ensuing discussion made no reference to the availability of troops or to the need for a force of a certain size; rather, the number of troops was said to have been determined solely by reference to the number of troops provided to a previous Jin emissary of comparable rank.62 In short, hierarchical gradation played a major role in the rhetoric of interstate diplomacy, and if these Zuo Tradition narratives may be trusted, significant decisions were heavily influenced by an emissary’s rank or by the relative rank of two emissaries. In addition to these narrative accounts, several commentarial remarks in the Zuo Tradition assert that formal interactions among individuals whose ranks differed significantly were discouraged or prohibited.63 These remarks comment on Spring and Autumn records in which noblemen are identified as rén instead of by name, and they claim that it was the rank disparity that led to their names being omitted.64 卿不書，罪之也。在禮，卿不會公侯。會伯子男可也。 That the ministers were not recorded [by name] was assigning blame to them. In ritual contexts, ministers do not meet with [regional lords with the rank of] gōng or hóu; for them to meet with bó, zǐ, or nán is acceptable. (Zuo, Xi 29, 476)

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In the Spring and Autumn record that corresponds to this commentarial passage, all participants save the Lu ruler are referred to as rén, but the Zuo  Tradition identifies each by name as a nobleman.65 The commentary claims that for these noblemen to meet with a hóu, in this case apparently referring to the Lu ruler, was a violation of ritual propriety, and furthermore states that their names were not recorded in order to assign blame to them. This passage also implies a distinction between two broad categories of rulers, higher-ranking gōng and hóu, and lower-ranking bó, zǐ, and nán, and suggests that those in the second category were of sufficiently low rank that their meeting with noblemen—at least those designated “ministers” (qīng)— was not prohibited. Two additional commentarial passages state that Spring and Autumn records refrain from identifying noblemen because a ruler is mentioned or alluded to in the same record. One comments on the record of an attack on Qin led by several noblemen, none of whom is identified by name (see CQ, Wen 2.7, translated previously): 卿不書，為穆公故，尊秦也。謂之崇德。 That the ministers were not recorded [by name] was for the sake of Lord Mu [of Qin]. This was to show respect for Qin. We refer to this as “admiring virtue.” (Zuo, Wen 2, 526)

A similar passage remarks on the record of a meeting that included the ruler of Jin, the ruler of Zheng, and six unnamed rén, all identified by name in the Zuo Tradition as noblemen.66 大夫不書，尊晉侯也。 The [names of the] noblemen were not recorded; this was out of respect for the Hou of Jin. (Zuo, Xiang 8, 956)

In both instances, the commentary avers that the noblemen were left unnamed in the Spring and Autumn record to show respect for a ruler who had been involved in the same action. The reasoning differs from that of the commentarial remark in Xi 29, which refers to “assigning blame” (zuì 罪); presumably, the lower-ranking individuals were seen as having committed an offense by meeting with someone of higher rank, and withholding recognition by leaving them unnamed was construed as a form of punishment or censure.67 Although these commentarial remarks give different reasons for

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not identifying the noblemen—one claims the aim was to honor the ruler, who held higher rank, and the other says it was to censure the lower-ranking individuals—both agree that for noblemen to act as counterparts to rulers was problematic. Tiers and Correspondences: Zuo Tradition Principles and Spring and Autumn Patterns

Narrative accounts and commentarial remarks from the Zuo Tradition articulate principles similar to those found in the patterns present in the Spring and Autumn records. For example, in a Zuo Tradition account in Cheng 3, Lu nobleman Zang Xuanshu outlines a system of state tiers that resembles the one implicit in the Spring and Autumn, and other passages allude to or assume the existence of such a system. Several Zuo Tradition accounts display intense concern with the order in which states and their representatives participate in interstate activities such as covenants; most illuminating are those that narrate disputes over whether two individuals may appropriately act as counterparts or be treated as equals in a given situation. Similar principles are also evident in the commentarial passages, which remark on permissions and prohibitions related to instances of significant disparity in rank.68 The patterns manifested in the Spring and Autumn records follow similar principles. The Spring and Autumn tends to avoid listing individuals of very high and very low rank together in the same record. The great majority of multistate lists are limited to only rulers or only noblemen, with mixed lists of rulers together with named noblemen occurring rarely, in 6 percent of multistate records; thus the records display a tendency to restrict lists to participants of similar rank.69 Furthermore, whereas noblemen from toptier states may be recorded in conjunction with rulers of any rank, noblemen from middle- and bottom-tier states are not identified in multistate lists, a point that suggests a prohibition on identifying them as counterparts of rulers or even of noblemen from top-tier states.70 Despite these commonalities, supporting details and terminology are not consistent across all sources. The Spring and Autumn records and one Zuo Tradition narrative distinguish three tiers, while the other Zuo Tradition narrative mentions only two tiers. One of the narratives categorizes states based on size, whereas the commentarial remarks categorize states according to the ruler’s title. Terminology for nobility also varies. Zuo Tradition passages distinguish between ministers (qīng) and grandees (dàfū), and one narrative

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account further refers to upper, middle, and lower grades of nobility; by contrast, the Spring and Autumn refers to all noblemen with a single term, dàfū. Rules about who may interact with whom are likewise inconsistent. The Zuo Tradition commentarial remarks in Xi 29 state that meetings between ministers and rulers titled bó were permitted, whereas remarks in Wen 2 aver that ministers were not named for the sake of the Qin ruler, a bó, implying that nobility and bó were prohibited from acting as counterparts. Even the categorization of states varies widely: in Cheng 3, Zang Xuanshu implies that Wei is a “small state,” that is, the lowest grade, whereas in the tiering system revealed by the formal patterns of the Spring and Autumn, Wei belongs to the top tier. Yet it is unrealistic to expect absolute consistency across these three sources, which certainly were not composed at the same time or with the same purpose. Just as the sequence of states differed from state to state, surely the terminology and details used to describe the interstate hierarchy and related prohibitions likewise varied across time. Despite these variations, all three sources agree on the broader principles that states fell into multiple grades, or tiers, and that in interstate contexts, the rank of individual leaders was based on a combination of state tier and individual position. Also common to all three is the concept of equivalencies and counterparts, according to which, when a significant rank differential applied, certain interactions were avoided or prohibited. These shared principles, particularly the notion of proper counterparts, can help us understand why some Spring and Autumn records referred to leaders with the generic form “man” (rén) in lieu of more specific identification, and they may also offer insight into why patterns of designation in unilateral military records differed from those in multistate lists. In the Spring and Autumn, the term rén was associated with lower rank; more generally, throughout the records, inclusion or exclusion of detail was a formal mechanism used to highlight the contrast between more important and less important individuals and events. For an individual to be identified with greater specificity or to be listed in conjunction with a wider range of events was a mark of high rank and probably also a sign of prestige. By contrast, obscuring an individual’s identity and simply designating him “man” (rén) served to withhold recognition. Designation with the word rén was not necessarily a sign of criticism or disparagement, as later commentaries construed it to be; it may also have been that the individuals referred to as rén were simply too low in rank to warrant mention within a given record, or that because

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of disparity in rank, explicitly identifying them in the same context—the same list or record—as higher-ranking leaders was deemed improper and was thus prohibited. What of the phenomenon whereby records with multistate lists used more specific designations to refer to leaders from middle-tier or bottomtier states? This practice may also have been grounded in concerns about disparities in rank, but with the goal of obscuring or concealing such disparities. Recalling Shusun Chuo’s refusal to act as counterpart to a nobleman whom he considered to be of lower rank as well as Zang Xuanshu’s discussion of graded categories correlating state and rank, we may speculate that perhaps when leaders from middle- or bottom-tier states joined in multistate action with rulers or noblemen of top-tier states, as a courtesy to the higher-ranking leaders, the records referred to those of lower rank by more specific, elevated forms to minimize the rank discrepancy, and perhaps also in order to depict them as more appropriate counterparts to others mentioned in the list.71 Although the Zuo Tradition is useful for understanding the principles underlying the Spring and Autumn recording patterns, the specific Zuo Tradition commentarial assertion that the designation rén was used to assigned blame for offenses or ritual violations must be challenged. The designation rén should be understood as part of the regular recording conventions of the Spring and Autumn: it is systematically and consistently associated with low rank relative to other leaders in the records, and designating a leader of relatively low rank as rén was not a departure from regular recording practice. Leaving someone of lower rank unrecognized to emphasize the achievement or elevated position of a leader of higher rank is entirely in line with other Spring and Autumn recording patterns, which generally focus more attention on those of higher rank.72 On occasion, rén may have been used to obscure irregularities in the system of ranks and counterparts; indeed, this appears to be exactly the reason that rén was used in certain multistate lists. Although the claim that rén was used to assign blame reflects a misunderstanding of the Spring and Autumn, it is nonetheless important, as it assumes that a major function of the records was to express judgments, and that the records did not merely display hierarchical rank. In this claim we see the seeds of what later developed into the “praise and blame” interpretation of the Spring and Autumn, and the initial stages of its transformation from being regarded as a text concerned with rank to one concerned with moral worth. But in origin, the Spring and Autumn was focused on hierarchy, and

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if rén and other forms of generic reference were used to conceal rank disparity, the aim was both to bolster the prestige of higher-ranking individuals and to withhold recognition from those of lower rank. AN IDEALIZED HIERARCHY: LU AT THE TOP

The Spring and Autumn communicates its primary message not through content but through form, and the message imparted via the formal features analyzed in this chapter pertains to the interstate hierarchy. The Spring and Autumn displays a complex hierarchy of ranked states and their leaders, using sequential listing order along with restrictions on how leaders of different states may be designated, thereby revealing an underlying categorization of states into three ranked tiers. The most emphatic message, conveyed by Lu’s prominent elevation of its own ruler and nobility above all other states, is to affirm Lu’s position at the pinnacle of the hierarchy. Various sources hint that other states may have had their own representations of the interstate hierarchy, each asserting its own place above other states and employing formal features such as listing sequence to communicate its own vision of the interstate order. This chapter began by asking why the sequence of states reflected in the Spring and Autumn records remained constant in the face of major political and social change. Clearly, the hierarchy embodied in the records did not align with the actual contemporary power balance. Although no comprehensive description of this system appears in the early corpus, a number of passages in the Zuo Tradition provide us with piecemeal evidence for various aspects of it. From them we learn that the order of states was hotly disputed, and although the disputes were connected to contemporary political and even military power struggles, the rhetoric employed in each of these instances looks to the past, and appeals to contemporary circumstances— whether the moral worth of the current leader or his military might—are conspicuously absent. Surely the unchanging sequence of states evident in the Spring and Autumn had a similar basis. More complex than the sequence of states are the patterned restrictions on the designations for leaders mentioned in records with multistate lists and of unilateral military actions, which reveal that states were ranked into three levels, or tiers. Spring and Autumn patterns for identifying leaders, or for obscuring their identity by means of generic designations, accord with the overarching principle that more detail and greater specificity signal

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elevated rank. The Zuo Tradition discourse on individual rank and counterparts also offers evidence for the existence of a system of state tiers and displays the intense concern with relative rank that is so apparent in the Spring and Autumn recording patterns. A crucial feature of multistate records, which is also deeply connected to hierarchy and rank, is their practice of listing one and only one leader per state. Records of covenants and meetings do not acknowledge the accompanying retinue of followers, and records of military activity typically ascribe achievements to the leaders rather than the armies they led. The opening chapter of this book invoked Jessica Rawson’s observation that in early China, in ritual contexts such as tombs, material form “enabled family structure and the political order to be seen,” and it also cited Maurice Bloch’s observation that formalized language operates with a restricted—or in Bloch’s words, “impoverished”—range of available forms.73 Bloch proposes that the function of this language is not simply to render the hierarchy visible, but to “to hide the actual situation and preserve authority.” These proposals unquestionably hold true for the records analyzed in this chapter. The use of specific designations for individuals of higher rank brings them to the forefront, enabling them to be seen, whereas generic designations render those of lower rank less prominent or, in some cases, hide them completely. Retinues of followers and armies are unacknowledged, fading into the background and becoming entirely invisible. Thus the Spring and Autumn employs form to draw attention to those at the top of the hierarchy, using listing order and increased detail to bring them into high relief, while allowing those of lower rank to recede from view. At the same time, the hierarchy conveyed by the language and form of the Spring and Autumn is not the actual situation, but an idealized vision that elevates Lu and its rulers above all others.

Chapter Five

REGISTERING JUDGMENTS

A major focus of orthodox Spring and Autumn exegesis has been on “praise and blame,” that is, extracting moral judgments from the records. Although the types of records examined in preceding chapters, including deaths and funerals, interstate meetings, covenants, and military actions, have sometimes been construed as conveying moral judgments, none of these events is inherently associated with unethical conduct or wrongdoing. By contrast, the two types of records discussed in this chapter, killings and flights into exile, are in fact associated with misconduct.1 Regicide was a crime, most killings of nobility in the Spring and Autumn were punitive responses to wrongdoing, and flights into exile were often attempts to escape accusations of misconduct. This chapter demonstrates that not only are these events connected with wrongdoing, but records of them do indeed register judgments, albeit not in the moralizing sense usually associated with the Spring and Autumn. As noted at the outset of this book, the traditional approach to Spring and Autumn interpretation lays heavy emphasis on irregular and exceptional records and attaches meaning to departures from the usual form, assuming that even the most subtle variations convey moral judgment or encode some other esoteric significance. I take a different approach to the records, focusing instead on examining the regular patterns and conventions manifested therein and seeking to extract meaning from the formally regular core of the Spring and Autumn. The first section of this chapter identifies and analyzes

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formal patterns in records of killings and regicides and in records of flights into exile. The second and third sections compare records to several different kinds of corresponding passages in the Zuo Tradition. The second section examines events that are unambiguously associated with wrongdoing, killings of noblemen and instances of individuals going out in flight from their home states, and the third section explores events that are somewhat more complex, regicides and instances of individuals who came fleeing to Lu. A Spring and Autumn record of a killing or a flight is but one version of the event. The Zuo Tradition also contains corresponding narrative accounts of many of the killings, regicides, and flights registered in the Spring and Autumn. These accounts are longer and more detailed and, in some cases, may lead us to question the guilt of purported offenders. The Zuo Tradition also includes remarks that comment directly on the Spring and Autumn records and endeavor to explain their significance. Perhaps most interesting are those Zuo Tradition passages that purport to preserve the text of announcements (gào 告) among states communicating the news of killings and exiles; these announcements employ damning language to condemn noblemen who were killed and fugitives who left their states. Corresponding Spring and Autumn records employ simpler and ostensibly neutral language, but comparison of records with narratives and announcements of the same events suggests that the records were not as neutral as they appear to be. RECORDS OF KILLINGS AND FLIGHTS

Like records of deaths and funerals and in contrast to records of multistate activity, records of killings and exiles focus on the fate of individuals. In records of killings and regicides, that individual is the person who is killed, that is, the victim, and in records of flights into exile, that individual is the person who flees, that is, the fugitive. Victims and fugitives include noblemen and rulers, and, in a noteworthy contrast to records of other event types, very few of these records concern Lu. A sizable subset of each type—killings of noblemen and instances of going out in flight—seem to have been associated with misconduct. Records of Killings and Regicides: A Formal Description

Victims of the killings registered in the Spring and Autumn include rulers, heirs or heirs apparent, and noblemen. Killings of Lu noblemen are

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Set 5.1: Records of killings of noblemen 陳人殺其公子御寇。

莊 22.3

晉殺其大夫里克。

僖 10.5

晉殺其大夫陽處父。

文 6.7

楚殺其大夫宜申。

文 10.3

晉殺其大夫趙同、趙括。

成 8.6

齊殺其大夫國佐。

成 18.3

蔡殺其大夫公子燮。

襄 20.5

衛殺其大夫甯喜。

襄 27.3

鄭人殺良霄。

襄 30.7

楚殺其大夫郤宛。

昭 27.4

The man of Chen killed their Gongzi Yukou.

Zhuang 22.3 (672)

Jin killed their nobleman, Li Ke.

Xi 10.5 (650)

Jin killed their nobleman, Yang Chufu.

Wen 6.7 (621)

Chu killed their nobleman, Yi Shen.

Wen 10.3 (617)

Jin killed their noblemen, Zhao Tong and Zhao Kuo.

Cheng 8.6 (583)

Qi killed their nobleman, Guo Zuo.

Cheng 18.3 (573)

Cai killed their nobleman, Gongzi Xie.

Xiang 20.5 (553)

Wei killed their nobleman, Ning Xi.

Xiang 27.3 (546)

The man of Zheng killed Liang Xiao.

Xiang 30.7 (543)

Chu killed their nobleman, Xi Wan.

Zhao 27.4 (515)

recorded only rarely, and regicides of Lu rulers are not identified as such. Nearly all records of killings follow one of three basic patterns, and which pattern is used is determined by the victim’s rank. These patterns differ with respect to whether the killer could be named, whether the record could be dated, and which verb was used for “kill.” Beyond these differences, the only elements that vary are specific details such as the date and the victim’s identity. The most common pattern is employed in records that register killings of non-Lu noblemen; examples appear in set 5.1. The Spring and Autumn contains fifty-four such records. They use the plain, unmarked verb for “kill,” shā 殺, are undated, and do not name the killer. Killings may be attributed to an

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unnamed “man” (rén 人), as in the first of the following records, or may be ascribed to the state, as in the second. 陳人殺其大夫公子過。 The man of Chen killed their nobleman, Gongzi Guo. (CQ, Zhao 8.7, 1299) 楚殺其大夫得臣。 Chu killed their nobleman, Dechen. (CQ, Xi 28.6, 449)

The victim is typically identified by name, using the default style of reference for noblemen described in chapter 3, and he is referred to as “their nobleman” (qí dàfū 其大夫), a phrase apparently intended to indicate that he came from the same state as his killer(s), a significant point to which we will return.2 The critical information conveyed by these records is the identity of the victim and the fact that he was killed. Consistent with the rest of the Spring and Autumn, records of killings provide no information about cause or motive. Records of killings of regional rulers—that is, of regicides—are less common than those of noblemen; only twenty-five such records appear in the Spring and Autumn. Records of regicides are given in set 5.2. Many but not all of these records are assigned to a specific sexagenary cycle day; that is, as an event type, records of killings of rulers are dated inconsistently, or, in the terminology of chapter 2, they are “potentially datable.”3 The main verb is shì 弒, a marked verb idiomatically rendered “to assassinate,” or more accurately, “to commit regicide.”4 The victim is referred to as “his ruler” (qí jūn 其君), that is, the killer’s ruler. Unlike records of noblemen’s killings, about two thirds of the records (16 of 25) name the killer, as in the first of the following two examples, and the remaining records leave the killer unnamed, as in the second example. 癸巳。陳夏徵舒弒其君平國。 Guisi. Xia Zhengshu of Chen assassinated his ruler, Pingguo. (CQ, Xuan 10.9, 704) 冬。十有一月。宋人弒其君杵臼。 Winter. The eleventh month. The man of Song assassinated his ruler, Chujiu. (CQ, Wen 16.7, 616)

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Set 5.2: Records of regicides 戊申

衛州吁弒其君完。

隱 4.2

冬。

十有一月。 癸未。 齊無知弒其君諸兒。

莊 8.5

冬。

十月。

文 1.10

冬。

十有一月。

夏。 秋。 春。

王二月。

丁未。 楚世子商臣弒其君頵。 宋人弒其君杵臼。

文 16.7

五月。

戊戌。 齊人弒其君商人。

文 18.3

九月。

乙丑。 晉趙盾弒其君夷臯。

宣 2.4

癸巳。 陳夏徵舒弒其君平國。

宣 10.9

辛卯。 衛甯喜弒其君剽。

襄 26.1

莒人弒其君密州。

襄 31.7

十有一月。 夏。

五月。

戊辰。 許世子止弒其君買。 薛弒其君比。

昭 19.2 定 13.8

Wushen. Zhouxu of Wei assassinated his ruler, Wan.

Yin 4.2 (719)

Winter. The eleventh month. Guiwei. Wu Zhi of Qi assassinated his ruler, Zhu’er.

Zhuang 8.5 (686)

Winter. The tenth month. Dingwei. The Heir Apparent of Chu, Shangchen, assassinated his ruler, Jun.

Wen 1.10 (626)

Winter. The eleventh month. The man of Song assassinated his ruler, Chujiu.

Wen 16.7 (611)

Summer. The fifth month. Wuxu. The man of Qi assassinated his ruler, Shangren.

Wen 18.3 (609)

Autumn. The ninth month. Yichou. Zhao Dun of Jin assassinated his ruler, Yigao.

Xuan 2.4 (607)

Guisi. Xia Zhengshu of Chen assassinated his ruler, Pingguo.

Xuan 10.9 (599)

Spring. The royal second month. Xinmao. Ning Xi of Wei assassinated his ruler, Piao.

Xiang 26.1 (547)

The eleventh month. The man of Ju assassinated his ruler, Mizhou.

Xiang 31.7 (542)

Summer. The fifth month. Wuchen. The Heir Apparent of Xuu, Zhi, assassinated his ruler, Mai.

Zhao 19.2 (523)

Xue assassinated their ruler, Bi.

Ding 13.8 (497)

In other words, in records of regicide, identification of the killer is permissible but not required. This is a crucial difference that distinguishes regicides from records of noblemen’s killings, which never name the killer and apparently were prohibited from doing so. A third and much smaller group of records registers the killings of victims who ranked above regular nobility but below regional rulers; there are only seven such records. In six cases, victims were heirs (zǐ 子) or heirs apparent (shìzǐ 世子) in line for the throne, and the seventh registers the killing of two Zhou noblemen.5 The victims were of intermediate status, and not

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TABLE 5.1  Records of killings and regicides: rank of victim and formal features Rank of victim

Verb for “kill”

Killer could be named

Day-date could be recorded

Number of records

Lu ruler

—

—

—

0

Regional ruler

shì 弒

Yes

Yes

25

Regional heir, heir apparent, Zhou nobility

shā 殺

Yes

No

7

Lu nobleman

cì 刺

No

Yes

2

Regional nobleman

shā 殺

No

No

54

unexpectedly, the pattern used to record their killings combines features of the two other forms. Like records of noblemen’s killings, these records are not dated and use the verb shā, and like records of regicides of rulers, the killer is often named. 春。晉侯殺其世子申生。 Spring. The Hou of Jin killed his Heir Apparent Shensheng. (CQ, Xi 5.1, 300) 冬。晉里克殺其君之子奚齊。 Winter. Li Ke of Jin killed the heir of his ruler, Xiqi. (CQ, Xi 9.6, 325)

Thus, Spring and Autumn records of killings employ a combination of features to distinguish victims of different ranks, similar to the use of form to encode the rank of the deceased in death and funeral records described in chapter 3. The system whereby formal features correlate with rank in killings is summarized in table 5.1. These details allow us to make two broad observations. First, records pertaining to higher-ranking victims were permitted to include progressively more detail. In chapter 2, I introduced the concept of an open “slot” for sexagenary cycle dates, which if present results in a category of records that are “potentially datable,” and showed how this notion can be extended to other kinds of detail, such as posthumous names in funeral records. Records of killings of rulers not only had an open slot for sexagenary cycle date but also included a slot for a named killer; these slots were often but not always filled. When the victim was an heir or heir apparent, that is, of intermediate status, the slot for a named killer was present, but there was no slot for a sexagenary

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cycle date. Finally, when the victim was a nobleman, neither of these slots was present. Thus here, as elsewhere in the Spring and Autumn, high rank is linked to greater detail, or at least the potential to include greater detail. Second, killings of Lu victims tend to be suppressed. The Spring and Autumn includes only two killings of Lu noblemen, and both records use a special verb (cì 刺, discussed later) rather than the plain verb shā; other killings of Lu nobility are either recorded as natural deaths or simply omitted. Similarly, although other sources tell us that three Lu rulers, Lords Yin, Huan, and Min, were murdered, their killings are registered in the Spring and Autumn simply as deaths, indicating that openly recording the regicide of a Lu ruler was not permitted. Although most records of killings adhere to one of the regular patterns described in this section, also registered are ten exceptional records. When a regional ruler was killed while abroad and his killer was not his own subject, the record uses the plain verb “kill” (shā) instead of “to commit regicide” (shì); the Spring and Autumn contains four such cases.6 The six remaining exceptional records all use verbs other than shā or shì. One odd entry records the killing of a regional ruler in his home state by a foreign assassin; it employs the verb “slay, murder” (qiāng 戕).7 Two more records register killings in which a foreign state seized a person and “used him [as a sacrificial victim]” (yòng zhī 用之); one of these concerns a ruler and the other, an heir apparent.8 Another unusual record employs the verb “annihilate, wipe out” (miè 滅) for the battlefield killing of two rulers.9 The two remaining irregular records refer to killings of Lu noblemen; both use the verb “stab, murder” (cì 刺).10 Early glosses for the verbs used in these unusual records suggest that killings in which the killer and victim were not compatriots were distinguished from those in which the killer and victim came from the same state. In seven of the exceptional records, the victim is a ruler, and we might therefore expect the verb to be shì, “to commit regicide,” but other verbs are used, apparently because his killer was from another state and was not his own subject. This usage seems to align with the gloss in the early dictionary, Explaining Graphs and Analyzing Characters (Shuowen jiezi 說文解字), which explains shì as the killing of a ruler by a subject.11 The gloss of the verb cì, used in the only two cases recording killings of Lu noblemen, contains a similar prescriptive limitation: this verb is said to refer to the killing of a nobleman by a ruler.12 Yet another gloss states that the verb qiāng was used when a ruler’s killer came from abroad, as does a commentarial remark

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in the Zuo Tradition.13 Finally, a similar principle appears to be at work in Spring and Autumn records of noblemen whose killers are not from the same state as the victim. Although these records still use the plain verb shā “kill,” they employ a slightly different pattern from that used when a nobleman is killed by someone from his own state: 十月。楚人殺陳夏徵舒。 Winter. The tenth month. The man of Chu killed Xia Zhengshu of Chen. (CQ, Xuan 11.5, 710)

No special verb is used, and instead these records are distinguished by means of other formal features. First, since the victim is not from the same state as his killer, both victim and killer are identified by home state. Second, these records do not use the phrase “their nobleman,” apparently to indicate that the victim was not from the same state as the killer.14 Curiously, the Zuo Tradition direct commentary states that the phrase “their nobleman” was also omitted in cases in which a nobleman had fled his home state but later returned and was killed, perhaps implying that flight into exile somehow changed a nobleman’s status vis-à-vis his home state.15 As subsequent discussion shows, this suggestion is consistent with other details in narrative accounts and records pertaining to exile. This small group of unusual records may be insufficient to allow us to define precisely the scope of verbs such as “slay” (qiāng) or “stab” (cì), but it is nonetheless highly suggestive. We might observe, for example, that the verb cì appears only in records of killings of Lu noblemen and is not used for noblemen of other states, a distinction not noted by the glosses. Perhaps the rules that limited cì to records pertaining to Lu noblemen were similar to those that restricted the verb hōng to deaths of Lu rulers. While the restriction on the use of hōng applies to the Spring and Autumn, as shown by the discussion of the “Qu li” in chapter 3, similar rules do not extend to other texts, which did not take Lu as the center; perhaps the case of cì is analogous. More generally, we might wonder if these uncommon verbs represent fragments of a larger but now lost system of terminology for deaths and killings. Of course, it is also quite possible that the commentaries and the glosses from in Explaining Graphs and Analyzing Characters reflect interpretations that developed retrospectively in order to explain some or all of these irregularities, and we cannot assume that they are entirely accurate. Nonetheless, it seems clear that importance was attached to factors such as

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the hierarchical relationship between killer and victim, whether they were compatriots or from different states, and the location of the killing, specifically, whether it took place in the victim’s home state or abroad, and that these factors played a role in determining the form of records of killings. Records of Flights into Exile: A Formal Description

Like killings, records of flights into exile concern the fate of a single individual. The Spring and Autumn contains a total of eighty-four records of flights into exile using the verb bēn 奔, “flee, run away,” which are recorded with one of three basic patterns. Yet in contrast to records of killings and deaths, which pattern was used seems to have been contingent not on the rank of the individual who fled, but on whether his journey began in his home state and, if he sought refuge in Lu, perhaps also on the reception he received there.16 The most common pattern, with fifty-five records, registers cases of rulers or noblemen who left their home states and “went out fleeing” (chū bēn 出奔).17 Records with the phrase “went out fleeing” are given in set 5.3. Many of these records appear to be associated with wrongdoing on the part of the individual who fled. Thus a record registering that the nobleman Wan of Song had committed regicide is immediately followed by a record of “going out in flight”: 秋。八月。甲午。宋萬弒其君捷及其大夫仇牧。 Autumn. The eighth month. Jiawu. Wan of Song assassinated his ruler, Jie, and his nobleman, Qiu Mu. (CQ, Zhuang 12.3, 190) 冬。十月。宋萬出奔陳。 Winter. The tenth month. Wan of Song went out fleeing to Chen. (CQ, Zhuang 12.4, 190)

Fugitives may be rulers or noblemen, and the records contain no special features that distinguish them by rank. Likewise, although records of Lu nobility “going out fleeing” are relatively uncommon, they neither employ a special form nor are they excluded completely. A second pattern, with twenty records, is employed when an individual fled to Lu; these records state that an individual “came fleeing” (lái bēn 來奔): 宋司城來奔。 The Minister of Works of Song came fleeing.18 (CQ, Wen 8.8, 565)

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Set 5.3: Records of going out fleeing 五月。

己未。

冬。

鄭伯突出奔蔡。

桓 15.4

曹羈出奔陳。

莊 24.9

齊高無咎出奔莒。

成 17.5

衛侯出奔齊。

襄 14.4

鄭良霄出奔許。

襄 30.7

陳公子留出奔鄭。

昭 8.5

蔡侯朱出奔楚。

昭 21.6

宋公子地出奔陳。

定 10.9

蔡公孫辰出奔吳。

哀 4.2

陳轅買出奔楚。

哀 14.15

The fifth month. The Bo of Zheng, Tu, went out fleeing to Cai.

Huan 15.4 (697)

Ji of Cao went out fleeing to Chen.

Zhuang 24.9 (670)

Gao Wujiu of Qi went out fleeing to Ju.

Cheng 17.5 (574)

Jiwei. The Hou of Wei went out fleeing to Qi.

Xiang 14.4 (559)

Liang Xiao of Zheng went out fleeing to Xuu.

Xiang 30.7 (543)

Gongzi Liu of Chen went out fleeing to Zheng.

Zhao 8.5 (534)

Winter. The Hou of Cai, Zhu, went out fleeing to Chu.

Zhao 21.6 (521)

Gongzi Di of Song went out fleeing to Chen.

Ding 10.9 (500)

Gongsun Chen of Cai went out fleeing to Wu.

Ai 4.2 (491)

Yuan Mai of Chen went out fleeing to Chu.

Ai 14.15 (481)

For obvious reasons, records of this type are restricted to noblemen or to rulers of states other than Lu. As discussed later in this chapter, the fact that Lu received these fugitives suggests that (at least officially) they were not regarded in a negative light. Finally, the simplest and least common pattern merely records that an individual “fled” (bēn 奔). There are only nine such records. Four refer to regional rulers whose states had been annihilated, as in the following sequence: 冬。十有二月。吳滅徐。 Winter. The twelfth month. Wu annihilated Xu. (CQ, Zhao 30.4a, 1505) 徐子章羽奔楚。 The Zi of Xu, Zhangyu, fled to Chu. (CQ, Zhao 30.4b, 1505)

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Presumably, this pattern was employed for rulers whose states no longer existed for the very practical reason that they had no state from which to “go out” (chū 出). The other five instances of this pattern concern noblemen who did not return home but instead fled; it seems that these men were not said to have “gone out fleeing” because they were already abroad when they set out.19 In addition to these three regular patterns, the Spring and Autumn also records a few flights using special forms. One set of special forms marks individuals of very high rank, Lu rulers and their consorts and the Zhou king. Unlike murders of Lu rulers, which were suppressed entirely, exiles of the Lu ruler and his consort were recorded, albeit with the euphemistic verb “withdraw” (xùn 孫, equivalent to 遜) in lieu of “flee.”20 三月。夫人孫于齊。 The third month. Our Lady withdrew to Qi. (CQ, Zhuang 1.2, 155)

The prolonged exile of Lu ruler Lord Zhao was registered with the verb “to be [located] at” (zài 在):21 春。王正月。公在乾侯。 Spring. The royal first month. Our Lord was at Ganhou. (CQ, Zhao 30.1, 1505)

The three references to the Zhou king’s exile are similar, stating that he “resided” (jū 居) elsewhere:22 冬。天王出居于鄭。 Winter. Heaven’s King went out and resided in Zheng. (CQ, Xi 24.4, 411)

The records do not completely conceal the exile, but instead they obscure it by substituting a less direct word for “flee.” They also reveal concern with the continued absence and residence abroad of the Lu ruler and the Zhou king; significantly, no similar concern is shown for rulers of other states or for any nobleman. In addition to special forms reserved for those of elevated rank, the Spring and Autumn contains five other irregular records related to exile. The first states that the Jih ruler “made a grand departure from his state” (dà qù qí guó 大去其國) rather than recording that he fled.23 There is no obvious explanation for this unusual language, which is traditionally explained as intended to honor him. Two more records use the verb “escape” (táo 逃) instead of “flee” (bēn). One such record concerns a nobleman who escaped from captivity and

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“came” (in his case, presumably to Zhou), and in the other similar record, a ruler sought to avoid joining a covenant and returned home.24 Finally, two unusual records state that a nobleman was “banished” (fàng 放).25As we will see, some events recorded as flights were actually instances in which an individual was forced to flee, and the fact that only these two cases of forced exile were recorded as banishment is particularly perplexing. Comparison of Records of Killings and Flights into Exile

Despite many differences, records of killings and of flights exhibit two broad similarities. First, both rulers who were killed and rulers who fled may be named. As explained in chapter 3, use of the style of reference that includes a regional ruler’s personal name (míng) is highly restricted. Death records are the most common type of record using this style, and it is thus not unexpected that records of regicide may also employ personal names, but it is a bit curious that records of flights into exile also may refer to rulers by name. This fact suggests that a ruler’s flight into exile was in some sense perceived as being similar to a death, and corresponding narrative accounts in the Zuo Tradition, discussed later in this chapter, indicate that this speculative proposal may not be too far off.26 Second, killings of Lu victims and flights into exile originating in Lu tend to be suppressed entirely or to be obscured by indirect, euphemistic language. Many Spring and Autumn records employ special forms to set apart and elevate Lu rulers and nobility, but records of flights and killings instead use form to reduce the visibility of these events. Flights into exile of Lu rulers and their consorts are recorded using euphemistic phrasing, and regicides of Lu rulers are simply registered as deaths. Likewise, killings and flights involving Lu noblemen are rarely recorded, and the two unusual records of killings of Lu noblemen employ the special verb “stab” (cì). This usage probably reflects the more general Spring and Autumn tendency to euphemize or exclude events that cast Lu in a negative light, as surely both killings and flights were considered to be negative and humiliating, the regicide of a Lu ruler being the most serious of all. RECORDS, ANNOUNCEMENTS, AND NARRATIVE ACCOUNTS

That the Spring and Autumn euphemizes or suppresses instances of killings and flights into exile associated with Lu indicates that these records had negative associations, but the records themselves lack information about cause

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and effect, and they give no clear sense of how these events were regarded. Although the Spring and Autumn does not tell us why some individuals were killed or why others fled, certain patterns are suggestive, such as the fact that four records of killings occur shortly after records in which the victim is said to have assassinated his ruler.27 From these pairs we may infer that at least some killings were punitive responses, an inference that is confirmed by the accompanying Zuo Tradition narratives. Likewise, records of individuals going out of their home states in flight often correspond to Zuo Tradition accounts narrating their misconduct. Furthermore, news of both flights and killings was communicated to other states via strongly worded official announcements that condemned victims of killings and fugitives in damning language. Yet at the same time, Zuo Tradition narratives reveal a far more complex situation in which those who were killed or who fled were viewed with some ambivalence. Killings and Crimes: The Case of Kong Da

The Zuo Tradition contains narrative accounts corresponding to most of the killings recorded in the Spring and Autumn, and these narratives generally confirm that killings were responses to misconduct. This much is well known, and thus in his tabulation of Spring and Autumn events, Qing scholar Gu Donggao places “killings” (shā) in the section on “Punishments and Rewards” (xíng shǎng 刑賞).28 By contrast, acts of regicide are conventionally regarded as criminal offenses. Spring and Autumn records that name a nobleman as a killing victim often correspond to Zuo Tradition narratives that detail misconduct on the part of that nobleman prior to his killing. Comparison of records of killings of nobility with corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts reveals that the victims had committed a variety of offenses, including inciting rebellion, committing regicide, and engaging in misconduct that resulted in battlefield defeat.29 The Zuo Tradition narrative may portray a victim as worthy, but even in such cases, the killing itself is still a response to an offense. For example, one account tells of a nobleman who was killed after admonishing his ruler for engaging in lewd activity; although his admonition may have been deemed morally correct, his conduct offended his ruler, and it was because of this offense that he was killed.30 The correlation between Zuo Tradition accounts of misconduct (real or perceived) and records of killings indicates that the killings of noblemen recorded in the Spring and Autumn were not lawless murders but officially sanctioned punitive acts.31 Yet as with

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the nobleman killed for his upright admonition, depictions of the events leading up to these killings were not always as black and white as the Spring and Autumn records might lead us to expect. Analysis of the Spring and Autumn record of the killing of Wei nobleman Kong Da 孔達 in Xuan 14 (595 BCE) alongside the related Zuo Tradition material reveals a set of discrepancies that illustrates this ambivalence. The Spring and Autumn record of Kong Da’s killing is entirely regular: 春。衛殺其大夫孔達。 Spring. Wei killed their nobleman, Kong Da. (CQ, Xuan 14.1, 753)

The Zuo Tradition describes a series of formal proceedings prior to Kong Da’s death and also narrates the events surrounding it, and in so doing it lays out two conspicuously contradictory views of his character and conduct. The Zuo Tradition states that Wei sent an official announcement of the killing to other states, which reads as follows: 遂告于諸侯曰：「寡君有不令之臣達，構我敝邑于大國，既伏其罪 矣。敢告。」 Subsequently [Wei] announced it to the regional rulers, saying, “Our ruler had a bad vassal Da. He set our humble city at odds with the great state. He has now been prostrated because of his crime. We dare announce it.” (Zuo, Xuan 14, 753)

The announcement describes Kong Da as bù lìng 不令, “disobedient” or simply “bad,” and identifies his alleged offense, thereby confirming that his killing was not viewed as a murder but as punishment warranted by misconduct. The announcement refers to the killing itself with the verb fú 伏, which like English “prostrate,” not only denotes a face-down posture of submission, but also means being subdued, overthrown, or defeated.32 Elsewhere the Zuo Tradition employs similar language in reference to rulers who suffered defeat at the hands of enemy states.33 Thus the announcement does not merely convey that Kong Da was “killed” in the sense of having experienced an execution that ended his life, but it implies that he had been subjugated, overcome, or put down. The phrase “was prostrated because of his crime” appears in another announcement concerning a punitive killing, and nearly identical language is used elsewhere in reference to sanctioned killings of noblemen.34 This evidence suggests that news of killings of noblemen, like deaths of regional rulers, was communicated via official interstate announcements, and furthermore, that

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these announcements employed standard, prescribed wording, of which the language used in the announcement concerning Kong Da was an example.35 Equally significant, while announcements presented killings of noblemen as punishments, rather than depicting them as the simple meting out of justice, they used phrasing that could also be applied to the overthrow of an enemy, that is, the language of power, dominance, and subjugation. The Spring and Autumn record and the official announcement of Kong Da’s killing that appears in the Zuo Tradition differ in several respects. First and most obviously, nothing in the record itself explicitly indicates that the killing is a punishment. By contrast, the announcement specifies Kong Da’s crime and explains that he was killed because of it. The verb used in the record, “kill,” is fairly neutral compared to the verb of the announcement, “prostrate,” and the record simply identifies Kong Da as “their nobleman”—that is, a nobleman of Wei—whereas the announcement describes him as a “disobedient vassal.” In short, the announcement explicitly communicates a strong negative judgment and gives a reason for this judgment, whereas the record is stripped down to a simple, impersonal, and apparently neutral statement that Kong Da was killed. The remainder of the Zuo Tradition material exposes additional discrepancies, but this time the contrast is between the official announcement and the Spring and Autumn record on the one hand and the narrative account on the other. Although the official announcement states that Kong Da was a disobedient vassal who was prostrated for his crime and the Spring and Autumn record states that he was killed, the Zuo Tradition narrative leading up to the announcement paints a radically different picture: 清丘之盟，晉以衛之救陳也，討焉。使人弗去。曰：「罪無所歸，將 加而師。」孔達曰：「苟利社稷，請以我說。罪我之由。我則為政， 而亢大國之討將以誰任？我則死之。」十四年。春。孔達縊而死。衛 人以說于晉而免。 In accordance with the covenant at Qingqiu, Jin was going to retaliate against Wei for rescuing Chen. The [Jin] messenger [to Wei] would not leave. He said, “If the crime is not assigned to someone, then we will escalate pressure and use troops.” Kong Da said, “If it will benefit the altars of earth and grain, then I request that you use me to appease Jin: the offense came from me. It is I who hold charge of the government, and if we resist the great state [Jin]’s retaliation, who will bear responsibility? It is I who will die for this.” In the fourteenth year, spring, Kong Da strangled himself and died. The people of Wei thereby appeased Jin and were spared. (Zuo, Xuan 13, 752; and Xuan 14, 753)

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The Zuo Tradition narrative continues by noting that Wei regarded Kong Da as having meritorious achievements and ultimately restored household and position to his kin.36 From this more detailed account, we learn that despite the damning judgment in the announcement sent to regional rulers, in his home state of Wei, Kong Da was not considered a criminal. Rather, he was a loyal and upright vassal who readily assumed blame and its consequences in order to appease Jin on behalf of his home state.37 This passage also reveals what appears to be a major factual discrepancy between the Spring and Autumn record and the Zuo Tradition account of events: the record, like the announcement, tells us that Kong Da was killed, but according to the Zuo Tradition, he ended his own life. This is not an isolated instance. The Spring and Autumn never explicitly identifies deaths as suicides, but comparison with the Zuo Tradition reveals that many of the deaths recorded in the Spring and Autumn as “killings” were actually instances in which the victim committed suicide.38 For example, Chu nobleman Dechen 得臣 suffered a major battlefield defeat, and after being warned that the ruler intended to kill him, he took his own life.39 Likewise, Chu nobleman Gongzi Ce 公子側 led an army to defeat and then committed suicide after being encouraged to follow Dechen’s example.40 Gongsun Hei 公孫黑 of Zheng engaged in a series of actions said to warrant execution and was told to kill himself quickly, or the Minister of Punishments would soon arrive. He committed suicide, and subsequently his corpse was displayed as though he had been executed.41 In all three cases, a nobleman was notified that he would be killed for his misconduct, and the only choice left to him was whether to end his life himself or to die at the hands of another. The Spring and Autumn represents these and similar cases not as suicides but as killings.42 This discussion brings us back to the question of why killings of noblemen were recorded in the Spring and Autumn at all. Natural deaths of noblemen from states other than Lu do not appear in the Spring and Autumn, and thus the record of a killing was not intended simply to mark the end of a life. According to the Zuo Tradition, killings of nobility were announced to other states, and official announcements such as that concerning Kong Da identified the crime and emphasized the nobleman’s disobedience, wrongdoing, and consequent subjugation. Yet the Spring and Autumn does not explicitly label the victim as a criminal, nor is the act of killing identified as an execution. At the same time, neither announcements nor records exhibit any concern with the identity of the killer, and it was likewise deemed unnecessary

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to distinguish cases of suicide from killings by others. Apparently what mattered was the fact that the nobleman had been killed—forced to submit to death—regardless of the agent of death. Despite their simplicity and ostensibly neutral language, we may surmise that the Spring and Autumn records, like the corresponding announcements, intended to register that victims of killings were offenders who had been punished. “Going Out in Flight” and Abandoning the Altars

If killings were associated with wrongdoing, so too were instances of “going out in flight” (chū bēn). Comparison of Spring and Autumn records and corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts shows that individuals who fled their states into exile, like those who were killed, were generally viewed in a negative light. Similar to killings of noblemen, instances of going out in flight were communicated to the regional rulers by interstate announcements, and also similar, the announcements uniformly depicted the individual who fled as bad, whereas narrative accounts of the same events were often ambivalent, allowing conflicting points of view. During the Spring and Autumn period, flight provided a practical mechanism for escaping difficulties in one’s home state. An individual who fled often did so after committing an offense, as in the pair of Spring and Autumn records cited in the first section of this chapter, which registered the regicide of the Song ruler and, immediately after, the flight of the assassin, Wan of Song. This pair is unusual in that the first record explicitly documents the fugitive’s alleged crime; such pairs are less common than those in which a killing is preceded by a record of misconduct. Yet if we turn to the Zuo Tradition, we discover that corresponding to many records of “going out in flight” are narrative accounts revealing that the person who fled had engaged in wrongdoing or was facing punishment in his home state. Some individuals fled to escape retribution following succession struggles, since unsuccessful contenders for the throne and their supporters were often killed, and those who had been slandered also sometimes chose to flee, whether as a protest against being unfairly maligned or simply to avoid being killed.43 Still others had offended their rulers by speaking too freely, and for them, flight may have been a pragmatic mechanism that allowed the fugitive to avoid retaliation from an angry ruler; some such flights were framed as protests against the ruler’s misconduct or an otherwise unjust situation.44 Rulers also fled after losing power and being overthrown.45 In short, like

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killings, flights into exile were often linked to misconduct, but Zuo Tradition accounts may depict the person who fled sympathetically, and as with those who were killed, not all who fled were necessarily regarded in a negative light by their compatriots. Similar to killings, news of “going out in flight” was disseminated by official announcements sent to the courts of regional rulers, and ceremonial announcements were also made in ancestral temples. Like victims of killings, those who fled were typically depicted as criminals, at least in official announcements. The Zuo Tradition tells us that after Lord Xian 獻 of Wei fled into exile, he dispatched an official to return to the capital to announce his exile in the temple, apparently in an effort to control what was communicated to the ancestors. His wife Ding Jiang 定姜 objected: 公使祝宗告亡且告無罪。定姜曰：「無神，何告？若有，不可誣也。 有罪，若何告無？. . . 告亡而已。無告無罪！」 The lord sent the invocator to announce that he was gone, and furthermore to announce that he was without crime. Ding Jiang said, “If there are no spirits, then to whom does he make this announcement? But if there are, then they cannot be deceived. If he is guilty, then how can you announce that he is not? . . . Announce only that he is gone and that is all. Do not announce that he is without crime!” (Zuo, Xiang 14, 1013)

The fact that Lord Xian found it necessary to assert his innocence when he announced his flight, coupled with Ding Jiang’s response, suggests that flight, by default, was associated with misconduct. Just as Kong Da’s killing was reported via interstate announcement, likewise, when an individual went out in flight, his home state sent an announcement to the regional rulers. Here it is crucial to note that interstate announcements sent out to other states were not the same as the announcements made in the ancestral temple of the fugitive’s home state, like the announcement mentioned in the previous account. Both types of announcements were referred to with the same verb, gào 告, but announcements sent to the regional rulers were diplomatic communications, whereas announcements in the ancestral temple were communications from the living to the deceased ancestors. The degree to which these two types of announcements overlapped is uncertain. Although they may have covered similar topics and even used similar language, certainly the recipients and purpose of these two types of announcements differed.

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In contrast to announcements of killings such as that concerning Kong Da, announcements of flights do not explicitly label the fugitive as “bad,” nor is the flight framed as a punishment. Instead, flights are represented as failures to maintain religious duties. Specifically, those who fled were said to have abandoned the state or ancestral altars. Thus, during the exile of Lord Xian of Wei, a Lu visitor to Wei spoke as follows: 聞君不撫社稷而越在他竟。 [Our ruler] has heard that your ruler is not in charge of your altars of earth and grain, and has crossed the border and is in another realm. (Zuo, Xiang 14, 1014)

Elsewhere, similar language is used in reference to a Chu ruler’s exile: he was said to have “failed to maintain the altars of earth and grain, and crossed the border and is in the weeds and wilds.”46 In short, a ruler who fled was considered to have abdicated his religious duties as head of state. Noblemen who fled were likewise said to have abandoned their duties to their ancestors. The Zuo Tradition states that when a nobleman “went out in flight” from his home state, an announcement was sent to the regional rulers, and in a commentarial remark, it gives the wording of such communications as follows: 凡諸侯之大夫違，告於諸侯曰：「某氏之守臣某，失守宗廟。敢告。」 In any case of a nobleman of the regional lords departing, it was announced to the regional lords, saying, “The lineage head, So-and-so of Such-and-such a clan has failed to keep watch over the ancestral temple. We dare announce it.” (Zuo, Xuan 10, 706)

These announcements were framed in religious terms and castigated the individual who fled not for the misconduct of which he was accused, but for the act of abandoning his obligations to the ancestors.47 Although the official view of those who fled, like those who were killed, was negative, narrative accounts show that they were not universally held to be guilty of misconduct. In the case of killings, this is amply illustrated by the contrast between the official announcement of Kong Da’s killing and the corresponding narrative account. With respect to flights into exile, no case with such a clear-cut set of contrasts as Kong Da’s can be found, but ambivalence is nonetheless evident. This is shown in the following record and narrative,

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both of which are associated with the Xuan 10 passage translated previously. The Spring and Autumn record reads as follows: 齊崔氏出奔衛。 Someone of the Cui clan of Qi went out fleeing to Wei. (CQ, Xuan 10.6, 704)

The record is unusual in that the name of the individual who fled is omitted, and the accompanying Zuo Tradition remarks attempt to explain this irregularity. 夏。齊惠公卒。崔杼有寵於惠公。高、國畏其偪也。公卒而逐之。奔 衛。書曰：「崔氏」，非其罪也，且告以族，不以名。 Winter. Lord Hui of Qi died. Cui Zhu was a favorite of Lord Hui. Gao and Guo feared his pressure. When the [Qi] lord died, they drove him out. He fled to Wei. It is recorded, saying “Someone of the Cui clan” because he was not to blame, and furthermore, it was announced using his clan name and not using his personal name. (Zuo, Xuan 10, 706)

The commentary proposes that it was because Cui Zhu was not blameworthy that his name was omitted from the announcement and thus from the record. Also important, this and other Zuo Tradition commentarial remarks assume that announcements formed the basis of many Spring and Autumn records.48 While it is impossible to assess the accuracy of the commentarial claims, whether with respect to this particular instance or to Spring and Autumn records more generally, this passage nonetheless reveals a set of noteworthy ideas about records of exile. Specifically, flight into exile was linked to having committed an offense, and being identified as a fugitive in the Spring and Autumn was seen as an indication of blameworthiness. At the same time, this remark also contains a hint of ambivalence, allowing that not all who were identified as fugitives necessarily deserved the guilt ascribed to them, just as Kong Da apparently did not deserve the label “bad vassal.” Although the Spring and Autumn record and the announcement both state that Cui Zhu “went out fleeing,” the Zuo Tradition tells us that he did not choose to flee, but was driven away, a discrepancy curiously parallel to recording Kong Da’s suicide as a killing.49 Elsewhere, in an instance involving a Lu nobleman whose flight is registered in the Spring and Autumn, the Zuo Tradition states that Lu “expelled Shusun Qiaoru and made a covenant against him.”50 In numerous similar examples, the Zuo Tradition tells us that

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a nobleman was “driven away” (zhú 逐) or “expelled” (chū 出) whereas the Spring and Autumn has it that he “went out in flight” (chū bēn).51 The Zuo Tradition also narrates cases in which a nobleman who fled not only was permitted to do so, but his household members and belongings were later sent after him.52 In other words, although some flights were surreptitious escapes by the fugitive, others were officially enforced exiles, and still others may have been instances in which a fugitive was quietly permitted to flee with the tacit consent of those in power. Yet all were recorded with the same phrase, “going out fleeing,” and the language used in announcements quoted in the Zuo Tradition uniformly depicts fugitives as having abandoned their duties to the ancestral altars. Announcements dispatched to other states may have had a dual aim. By explicitly invoking the fugitive’s failure to uphold his responsibilities to the ancestral temple, an announcement emphasized the religious ramifications of flight and officially labeled the person who fled as a having engaged in misconduct, just as announcements of killings branded victims as criminals. At the same time, announcements may also have had the more pragmatic aim of preventing the fugitive from being welcomed by other states. This suggestion is supported by Zuo Tradition accounts in which individuals who fled were subsequently turned away or captured and sent back to their home states. For example, the Zuo Tradition recounts that Wan of Song, who fled after murdering his ruler, was forcibly returned to Song and killed.53 States were also criticized for accepting fugitives, and taking in a person whom another state regarded as a criminal could cause discord between states.54 When the deposed heir to the Ju throne, Pu 僕, fled to Lu after killing his father and ruler, Lu’s stated reason for turning him away was that they did not wish to leave themselves open to charges of harboring a fugitive.55 On one famous occasion, the heir apparent of Jin, Shensheng 申生, who had been slandered by his stepmother, chose to commit suicide instead of fleeing; he did so after saying that other states would believe the slander and would not take him in.56 Thus interstate announcements of flights into exile may have been intended (at least in part) to ensure that fugitives would be seen as offenders and would not find safe haven abroad. Killings and Flights, Victims and Fugitives: Similarities

Accounts of flights into exile and killings of noblemen share several noteworthy similarities beyond the fact that the official view of both fugitives

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and victims of killings was negative. Above all, comparison of narratives, official announcements, and Spring and Autumn records reveals a series of parallel discrepancies in how killings and flights are portrayed in these three different types of textual material. Narratives of events leading up to a killing or flight often represent the victim or fugitive as having engaged in wrongdoing, but he may also be depicted as upright and good. Yet any trace of ambivalence is concealed by the language of official announcements, which are unequivocal in describing victims and fugitives as offenders, and ambivalence is likewise absent from the Spring and Autumn records, which contain no explicit evaluations at all. A second similarity pertains to agency. According to the Zuo Tradition, many deaths that the Spring and Autumn records as killings were actually suicides, and announcements of those deaths represent them as instances of criminals being put to death, as in the case of the nobleman Kong Da. Announcements of killings thus deny agency to individuals who took their own lives, instead referring to them as having been forced to submit to death, subjugated by an external force. By contrast, announcements of going out in flight emphasize that the flight had been a deliberate act of misconduct that entailed abandonment of ancestral duties and attendant loss of status and position. That is, announcements of flights ascribe agency even to those who were forced out, portraying them as having deliberately engaged in wrongdoing by abandoning their religious obligations. In records of both killings and flights, the way agency is attributed—whether ascribed or denied—casts the alleged criminal in the most negative light possible, whether he is the impotent victim of deserved subjugation and humiliation or the deliberate agent of an act of misconduct. Third, neither records nor announcements fully explain the reason for the killing or flight. Explanations provided in corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts vary widely, ranging from conduct that was unambiguously wrong to actions that might be construed as admirable, such as admonishing an unvirtuous ruler; still other flights and killings resulted from slander against an innocent victim or fugitive. Yet official announcements and Spring and Autumn records both omit ameliorating details and treat all instances in the same fashion. Announcements simply represent the killing victim as having been punished for an offense and the fugitive as having abandoned his ancestral duties; Spring and Autumn records give fewer details still. In many cases, inclusion of details such as those set forth in Zuo Tradition accounts would have introduced gray areas or even mitigating circumstances, allowing a

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fugitive to be regarded not as a wrongdoer who abandoned his responsibilities but as someone who made a wise and justified escape from the danger of unwarranted punishment; inclusion of details might have also permitted a nobleman who had been killed to be viewed as an innocent and unjustly executed victim. By omitting all detail, both announcements and records eliminate the possibility of perceiving these situations as anything but black and white and affirm the official view of victims and fugitives as offenders who deserved to be identified as such. The exclusion of details thus wipes away any nuance and effectively represents the individual’s guilt as absolute and unquestionable. REGICIDES AND “COMING IN FLIGHT”

If records of killings of noblemen imply that the victim had been punished for wrongdoing, what of killings of rulers, that is, acts of regicide? If records of going out in flight suggest that the fugitive had engaged in misconduct, what of cases in which a fugitive came to Lu—that is, was received by Lu— when he fled? Ideally, for answers we would turn to official announcements associated with these records, but although brief references indicate that news of regicides was indeed conveyed by announcement, none of these announcements has survived. Zuo Tradition commentarial remarks offer some guidance, as does comparison of records with narrative accounts, but some ambiguity remains. Regicide: Stigma and Humiliation

Although we do not know how announcements of regicide were worded, it seems probable that, like the corresponding Spring and Autumn records, they identified both perpetrator and victim. What we cannot ascertain is how these two individuals were officially portrayed, and it is thus difficult to determine what view of events was intended by the records. It seems reasonable to assume that the victim of a regicide was named in the record because of his high rank, that is, for the same reason that these records used special verbs and were often dated, and that the killer was named because he was a criminal, that is, for the same reason that executed noblemen were identified. Accordingly, the form of these records reflects the high rank of the victim, and they also identify the criminal and assign responsibility for the crime.

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That those who perpetrated acts of regicide were stigmatized as criminals is beyond question, and this is affirmed by the fact that several assassins are identified as noblemen who were killed—that is, subjugated for their crimes—in subsequent records. Less certain is how murdered rulers were viewed, and whether they too were objects of stigma. Recalling that announcements of killings were framed in hierarchical language of conquest and subjugation, we may wonder if regicide was viewed in a similar way, that is, if a ruler who was murdered was regarded not simply as a victim, but also as one who had suffered the ultimate humiliation. A few hints suggest that this may have been the case. As discussed already, announcements explicitly represent killings of noblemen as sanctioned punishments. As an act of violence applied by a superior onto a subordinate, a punitive killing reinforced the established hierarchy. By contrast, regicides disrupted the regular order: an act of regicide entailed an inversion of the hierarchy in which a murdered ruler was subjugated by his killer, who then became a conqueror of sorts. Identifying a ruler as a victim of regicide put his status as a subjugated victim on display, in some respects perhaps parallel to records of killings of noblemen. Records of regicides thus had potential to be read as conveying dual messages, both identifying the killer as a criminal and at the same time recording the murdered ruler as a humiliated victim. What is uncertain is whether both of these messages were intended. Conventional readings adhere to the simple and absolute understanding of regicide as an inexcusable crime, and orthodox commentators would not have entertained the notion that the Spring and Autumn might have conveyed any message other than the absolute condemnation of a regicide. But the commentarial lines embedded in the Zuo Tradition suggest a more complex and perhaps earlier view. One remark concerning a record of regicide asserts that the “ruler was lawless” (jūn wú dào 君無道), suggesting that he deserved his fate.57 The record it accompanies is one of eight regicide records that (like records of killings of noblemen) name the victim but not the killer. Elsewhere, a remark purporting to set forth general rules that apply to all records uses this language to suggest that some murdered rulers may have deserved their fate: 凡弒君，稱君，君無道也。稱臣，臣之罪也。 In any case of the regicide of a ruler, if the ruler is named, the ruler is lawless, and if the vassal is named, it is the fault of the vassal.” (Zuo, Xuan 4, 678)

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This comment is somewhat ambiguous. Although it could be taken to mean that all regicide records that identify the murdered ruler indicate that he was to blame, such a reading seems highly improbable, since all twenty-five records of regicide name the ruler. Far more likely is that it intends to claim that when a record names the killer (the “vassal”), he is to blame, whereas a record that names only the murdered ruler blames the victim, that is, the ruler himself. This passage, like the remark that refers to a murdered ruler as “lawless,” was probably imported into the Zuo Tradition from a nowlost commentarial work on the Spring and Autumn. Without the original context, a definitive interpretation is impossible, and furthermore, even if we knew for sure what these passages intend, they are commentary and, as such, may reflect a later, perhaps distorted interpretation of the Spring and Autumn. Nonetheless, the very fact that these remarks allow that a murdered ruler may be to blame is extremely important. This fact opens the door to the possibility that at least some regicides may have been viewed as analogous to the subjugation of a “bad vassal,” and that by naming the murdered ruler (and perhaps also omitting the name of the killer) a record of regicide might imply that the murdered ruler had been subjugated, and that perhaps he deserved his fate. Patterns of omission appear to confirm that views of regicide were not simple. As noted in chapter 3, the Spring and Autumn registers all deaths of Lu lords as natural deaths, including the three who were murdered; that is, acts of regicide against Lu rulers are deliberately concealed.58 The Spring and Autumn is clearly loath to record any event that would have cast Lu and its rulers in a negative light or that would have in any way diminished Lu’s prestige and high position. The records thus often exclude instances in which Lu noblemen had been executed—perhaps to avoid calling attention to subordination or humiliation experienced by individuals from Lu—and likewise tend to omit Lu’s battlefield defeats. The practice of recording regicides of Lu rulers simply as deaths seems consistent with these other practices. Particularly if being killed was tantamount to having been conquered and subjugated, then framing regicides as natural deaths aligns with other recording practices that involved concealing events that could be considered humiliating or disgraceful to Lu.59 Although we lack announcements or narrative accounts that convey explicitly and clearly how regicide victims were viewed, the fact that regicides of Lu rulers were suppressed certainly seems to suggest that some degree of stigma was attached to being identified as a murdered ruler.

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Regicide: Assigning Blame to One Man

A conspicuous feature of regicide records is that they name only one killer, even if narrative accounts state that multiple people took part in the attack.60 In this respect, records of regicides resemble records of military actions, which typically name only one leader per state, and records of diplomatic travel, which refer only to the leader of the mission but not to members of his accompanying retinue. Yet there is a significant difference: records of military actions and diplomatic missions identify the individual who was formally charged with the mission, whereas in the case of regicides that involve multiple people, there seems to be no clear rule that determined who would be identified as the killer. Comparison of Spring and Autumn records of regicides with corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts provides little insight into how blame was assigned. According to the Zuo Tradition, some instances of regicide did indeed involve a single assassin, and in such cases, both the Spring and Autumn and Zuo Tradition identify the same killer.61 But many Zuo Tradition accounts of killings implicate multiple parties, and the person who wielded the murder weapon did not always instigate the plot. Records may identify the killer as someone who, according to the Zuo Tradition narrative, had no physical involvement in the act itself. Thus Cui Zhu 崔杼 of Qi was recorded as having assassinated his ruler, Lord Zhuang 莊, even though the Zuo Tradition makes it plain that he was not present when the killing occurred; apparently, he was blamed because he instigated the murder plot.62 Other records name the actual killer rather than the instigator. Proceeding on the command of exiled Lord Xian of Wei, nobleman Ning Xi 甯喜 attacked and killed the acting ruler of Wei, thereby making way for Lord Xian’s restoration.63 The Spring and Autumn identifies Ning Xi as the assassin, ascribing the killing not to the exiled ruler who ordered and benefited from the attack, but to the subordinate who carried it out. This pair of cases demonstrates that the Spring and Autumn does not follow one consistent rule in identifying assassins; the individual recorded as assassin may have been an instigator who was not physically involved, but he may also have been the actual killer. A few Zuo Tradition accounts suggest that other types of involvement could also lead to an individual being designated as an assassin in the Spring and Autumn. The Zuo Tradition account of the regicide of Qi ruler Zhu’er 諸兒 says that the plot was planned and carried out by two noblemen who bore a grudge against him, yet the Spring and Autumn attributes

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his murder to nobleman Wuzhi 無知, who ultimately succeeded the victim as ruler. That Wuzhi benefited from the killing is his only apparent connection to the plot, and this may be the reason that the record named him as assassin.64 In an unusual case, regicide is ascribed to a nobleman who attempted to prevent it. After the death of the Qi ruler, nobleman Chen Qi 陳乞 led a successful plot to overthrow the young heir, Tu 荼, installing an adult in his place.65 Then, turning a deaf ear to Chen Qi’s protests, the new ruler had the child killed. The Spring and Autumn nonetheless ascribes the regicide to Chen Qi. Perhaps assignment of responsibility was based on Chen Qi’s role in initiating a plot that he was ultimately powerless to stop, for he neither benefited from the death nor was he directly implicated in the killing. Blame is even assigned to a killer in an ambiguous case that may have been an accident. The Spring and Autumn tells us that the Xuu ruler was killed by his son, the heir apparent Zhi 止, but the Zuo Tradition states that the ruler was ill, suffering fever and chills, and he died after taking medicine provided by Zhi, who then fled.66 The Zuo Tradition account leaves us uncertain whether the ruler’s death was caused by the medicine or his illness, nor do we know whether Zhi intended to harm his father or whether he administered medicine in good faith. That he fled after his father’s death tells us only that he expected to be held responsible, an expectation fulfilled by the Spring and Autumn record’s designation of him as assassin. Suicides of rulers and heirs apparent, like suicides of noblemen, were sometimes recorded as killings, and like other regicides, many were ascribed to named killers.67 The Spring and Autumn ascribes the death of Heir Apparent Shensheng to his father, the Jin ruler, yet according to the Zuo Tradition, it was his father’s consort whose slander led Shensheng to take his own life.68 The Jin ruler was unaware of his consort’s machinations, and his only culpability seems to have been ignoring earlier advice against making her his primary wife. It is noteworthy too that even though some Zuo Tradition accounts implicate women in regicides, the Spring and Autumn never ascribes killings to women.69 Perhaps the Jin ruler was designated as Shensheng’s killer because of his earlier poor judgment, which created circumstances ripe for his son’s destruction, but it is also possible that convention prohibited women from being assigned responsibility for killings, and the crime instigated by his wife was thus attributed to him. In short, possible principles for assigning blame in regicides and murders of heirs are numerous: responsibility could be assigned to the person who

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wielded the murder weapon, the most senior person involved, the instigator of the plot, the person who succeeded the murdered ruler, the husband of a woman who had been involved, or an individual who benefited from the death in some other way. What is unclear is how blame was actually assigned in individual cases: was there a regular process and a hierarchy of principles, or was each situation resolved in an ad hoc fashion? Did principles and priorities vary over time and across different states, or was there a set of generally accepted practices? We simply do not know. Even without answers to these questions, it is quite clear that assignment of responsibility for regicides was sometimes open to dispute. Perhaps the best-known controversy is that of Zhao Dun 趙盾 of Jin, a case in which the Spring and Autumn record and Zuo Tradition narrative name different killers. According to the Zuo Tradition, the Jin scribe recorded that Zhao Dun assassinated his ruler, Lord Ling 靈, and this statement also appears in the Spring and Autumn.70 Yet the Zuo Tradition also tells us that the actual killer was Zhao Dun’s junior kinsman and that when the Jin scribe displayed the record in court, Zhao Dun strenuously objected to being identified as the assassin. The account concludes with a brief commentary attributed to Confucius, who laments that Zhao Dun had not managed to avoid charges of wickedness yet also praises the Jin scribe’s “recording rules” (shūfǎ 書法) and Zhao Dun’s ultimate willingness to accept the scribe’s record and the negative judgment it entailed. It is hardly unusual for a regicide to have been attributed to someone other than the person who was physically responsible for the deed. What sets Zhao Dun’s case apart from others is that the Zuo Tradition makes explicit reference to the discrepancy, suggesting that determinations of who would be named as killer may have been controversial even when they were initially made.71 This point in turn suggests that despite the simple black-and-white language of the records, the judgments they registered were not indisputable. The process by which the judgments were reached may be unknown, but records of regicides were indeed judgments and not simple and neutral records of fact. This truth is affirmed by the formal requirement that records of regicide could only identify a single killer, even when multiple people were involved. The determination of who would be so identified must have entailed an evaluation of the situation and a decision: in short, a judgment. That responsibility for an offense such as regicide should be assigned to one man seems to have been expected if not required.72 This point calls to mind the killing of Kong Da, in which the state of Jin demanded that responsibility

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for the crime of violating the covenant be assigned, and the death of one man, Kong Da, seems to have fully satisfied their demand. In that case, the “judgment” was made by Kong Da himself, who elected to kill himself in an act of self-sacrifice for his state, but in other cases, such as that of Zhao Dun, judgments were reached in other ways, and the final decision was surely more controversial than is visible to us in the brief and simple Spring and Autumn records. Coming in Flight: Receiving a Fugitive

If records of regicides documented judgments by assigning blame to a single person, records of “coming in flight” (lái bēn) also registered judgments, albeit in an entirely different way. As we have seen, records of “going out in flight” convey more than just movement; they also imply that an individual had engaged in wrongdoing and had been forced to flee. Similarly, records stating that a person had “come in flight” to Lu not only register that an individual had fled his home state to Lu, but they furthermore indicate that Lu had formally received him. Narrative accounts in the Zuo Tradition show that not all those who attempted to flee to Lu were received. The decision about whether to accept an asylum-seeker was an official one, and some fugitives were turned away. The very act of receiving a fugitive itself represented an evaluation and a decision, that is, a judgment. Whereas Spring and Autumn records of “going out in flight” (chū bēn) are associated with formal denouncement and by default convey a negative view of the fugitive, records of “coming in flight” represent Lu’s decision to offer asylum and thus imply a positive evaluation. Although the records themselves are simple, as in the case of other types of records that convey judgments, corresponding Zuo Tradition narratives reveal a complex set of considerations and show that the decision to receive or reject a fugitive was at times preceded by dispute. The Spring and Autumn does not register instances in which someone attempted to flee to Lu only to be turned away, but Zuo Tradition accounts of such cases provide insight into the considerations involved in Lu’s decision to accept or reject a fugitive. One such case concerns the heir apparent in the nearby state of Ju, who fled following an instance of regicide.73 The Zuo Tradition tells us that the ruler, Lord Jih of Ju 莒紀公, deposed his eldest son and heir Pu in favor of his second son Ji Tuo 季佗, and that he had engaged in many ritual violations. Pu, with the assistance of others, killed his father

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Lord Jih, and he then fled to Lu with the state’s treasures, which he presented to the newly established Lord Xuan 宣 of Lu. Upon arriving in Lu, he faced the following contradictory pair of reactions from the Lu ruler and the powerful nobleman Ji Wenzi. 公命與之邑，曰：「今日必授。」 季文子使司寇出諸竟，曰：「今日必達。」 The lord ordered that a settlement be bestowed on him, saying, “It must be granted today!” Ji Wenzi directed that the Minister of Punishments expel him to the border, saying, “He must get there today!” (Zuo, Wen 18, 633)

When Lord Xuan asked about this, Ji Wenzi had the scribe reply; thus Scribe Ke 史克 presented a lengthy and scathing memorial enumerating a series of ethical objections to offering Pu asylum, citing the severity of his crime, that is, killing his ruler and father, and observing that stealing treasures and offering them as bribes was also criminal behavior.74 Scribe Ke’s speech offers detailed and damning support for the position that Pu should be expelled, but the Zuo Tradition gives no similar insight into why Lord Xuan was willing to accept Pu. Was he, as Scribe Ke suggested, enticed by the treasures Pu brought? Was he simply naïve? Or did he believe that Pu had been treated unjustly, and (given that assignment of blame for regicide and other crimes was not always a straightforward matter) did he perhaps not hold him responsible for his father’s murder?75 Also left unanswered is the question of Pu’s subsequent fate. That the Spring and Autumn does not record Pu as having “come in flight” leads us to infer that Ji Wenzi successfully blocked his formal reception in Lu, but beyond this, there are no clues, as he is not mentioned again in either the Spring and Autumn or the Zuo Tradition. Although Pu was rejected by Lu, the heir of the tiny state of Cheng, Zhuru 朱儒, met with better fortune, as recorded in the Spring and Autumn:76 春。王正月。郕伯來奔。 Spring. The royal first month. The Bo of Cheng came fleeing. (CQ, Wen 12.1, 585)

The very existence of this record confirms that he was received by Lu, and it is noteworthy too that the record refers to him by title as “the Bo of Cheng,”

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a detail suggesting that Lu recognized him as the Cheng ruler. The corresponding Zuo Tradition account, which is divided over two years, provides information about the formalities associated with “coming in flight.” 郕大子朱儒自安於夫鍾，國人勿徇。. . . . 十二年。春。郕伯卒，郕人立君。大子以夫鍾與郕邽來奔。公以諸 侯逆之，非禮也。故書曰：「郕伯來奔。」不書地，尊諸侯也。 The Heir Apparent of Cheng Zhuru settled at Fuzhong. The men of the capital refused to follow him. . . . The twelfth year, spring. The Bo of Cheng died, and the men of Cheng established a ruler. The Heir Apparent came fleeing, with [the cities of] Fuzhong and Chenggui.77 Our lord received him with the honors due to a regional ruler. This was not in accord with ritual. For this reason, it was written, saying “The Bo of Cheng came fleeing.” They did not record the territory; this was to respect him as a regional ruler. (Zuo, Wen 11, 584–585; Wen 12, 587)

From these remarks we learn that the asylum-seeker was received by the Lu ruler—presumably this refers to a formal ceremony—and that the degree of honor with which he was received was determined by his rank; his rank is also reflected in the phrasing of the record of his coming in flight, which uses his title.78 Although he brought control of territory, this fact is not recorded, a point that is interpreted as a way of showing respect for him. Together these two narratives indicate that in responding to a fugitive who came seeking asylum, Lu had to make several choices: Would he be received at all? If so, what level of honor would he be accorded? And if he brought control of territory, would this be included in the record? Moreover, the propriety of each of these decisions was open to dispute. Thus the commentary avers that receiving the heir of Cheng with honors appropriate to a regional ruler was “not in accord with ritual,” implying that other responses were possible, whether rejecting him outright or receiving him with honors befitting someone of lower station. A second choice was the decision to exclude from the record any mention of the territory he brought, a choice said to reflect his rank. Elsewhere, the Zuo Tradition asserts that when individuals of low rank fled to Lu bringing control of territory, their flights were recorded because of the importance attached to the territory they brought, despite their low rank.79 Presumably the omission of territory indicated that the arrival of the so-called “Bo of Cheng” was itself significant enough to warrant a record in the Spring and Autumn, without reference to the

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(also significant) territory he brought with him; that is, this omission was a sign of prestige. This account, like the preceding one concerning Pu’s rejection, demonstrates that choices were made, but it does little to illuminate the considerations involved in making those choices. Scribe Ke’s speech pits virtue and upright conduct against bribery and regicide. The commentary on Lu’s reception of the Bo of Cheng focuses on rank instead of virtue and does not explicitly mention bribes. Yet it seems to allow that the territory he brought essentially functioned as a bribe, implying that it was because of the territory that he was not only given asylum but was also received with the honors appropriate to the ruler of Cheng, perhaps higher than the honors to which he otherwise would have been entitled. Bribes, including control of territory, are featured in other Zuo Tradition accounts of flights and seeking asylum. When Qi nobleman Qing Feng 慶封 fled to Lu following an insurrection in Qi, he offered a bribe.80 The Zuo Tradition tells us: 獻車於季武子，美澤可以鑑。展莊叔見之，曰：「車甚澤，人必瘁。 宜其亡也。」 He presented a chariot to Ji Wuzi. It was so beautiful and glossy that it could be used as a mirror. Zhan Zhuangshu saw it and said, “When a chariot is that glossy, someone is bound to come to ruin! It would be appropriate for him to be gone!” (Zuo, Xiang 28, 1149)

The criticism voiced by Zhan Zhuangshu, like commentarial remarks concerning the inclusion or omission of territory from records of “coming in flight,” suggests that bribes, particularly territory, did indeed play a role in the asylum-seeking process and could win a fugitive a more prestigious reception, or perhaps even determine whether he was received at all. Yet bribes were also frowned upon, and when Lu received Shu Qi 庶其 of Zhu 邾, who came bringing control of territory, the decision to accept him was criticized as “rewarding bandits” (shǎng dào 賞盜).81 Still another consideration was the possibility that accepting a fugitive would create a diplomatic incident or even a military confrontation. A Qi emissary subsequently reprimanded Lu for taking Qing Feng in, after which he fled again; he was ultimately killed by Chu.82 When a Ju nobleman sought asylum in Lu, Ju attacked Lu; the attack was framed as a punishment, ostensibly in response to Lu’s harboring of a fugitive. In this case it may have been significant that the fugitive also

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brought control of territory, and one wonders if the territory was the real reason for the military action.83 A Spring and Autumn record that a fugitive had “come in flight” to Lu represented an official decision by Lu to offer the fugitive asylum, and, at least from Lu’s perspective, such a decision entailed a formal stamp of approval and positive judgment. A variety of pragmatic considerations may have contributed to this judgment, including possible territorial gain or potential effects on diplomatic relations with other states. In other words, the decision did not necessarily correlate directly with a moral evaluation of a fugitive’s character or with judgments of guilt or innocence. Indeed, the Zuo Tradition suggests that some fugitives accepted by Lu were not virtuous men by any standards. One such case was the ruler of Ju, Gengyu 庚輿. According to the Zuo Tradition, he was cruel—when he got a new sword, he liked to try it out on a person—and he was preparing to renege on a covenant with another state, and he was thus expelled by Ju. The Spring and Autumn records that he “came fleeing,” indicating that despite his failings, Lu gave him asylum.84 The Zuo Tradition does not give additional details, and we can only wonder what controversies may have been incited by Gengyu’s arrival in Lu. Such contentious decisions involved disagreement and dispute at multiple levels, not all of which were openly articulated. Scribe Ke appealed to virtue and ethical considerations in opposing the reception of Pu of Ju, the Zuo Tradition commentary cited ritual standards in criticizing Lu’s decision to receive the Cheng heir and to treat him as the Cheng ruler, and a Lu nobleman, whose voice we hear in a Zuo Tradition narrative, advocated expulsion of Qing Feng because of the bribe he brought. Yet clearly, bribes of wealth and control of territory, as well as the danger that reception of a fugitive would generate diplomatic or military conflict, were factors in the decision to receive or reject an asylum-seeker, even if direct references to such venal considerations were excluded from the official record. The discrepancy between the official reasoning, such as that voiced by Scribe Ke and possibly by the Zuo Tradition commentary, and pragmatic considerations of wealth, territorial power, and diplomatic relations with other states is reminiscent of disputes concerning hierarchical order discussed in chapter 4, in which arguments ostensibly rested on claims to ancestral or historical seniority and practical matters of interstate power were left unspoken. However, the terse, plain Spring and Autumn records conceal all disagreement, conveying only the outcome, the final judgment.

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THE SPRING AND AUTUMN: SIMPLE RECORDS OF JUDGMENTS

Cases such as that of Kong Da, honored at home but condemned in announcements and registered in the Spring and Autumn records as having been killed; of Cui Zhu of Qi, who was driven away but said to have fled; of complex regicide plots ascribed to a single person; and of fugitives who were granted (or denied) asylum in Lu all reveal that beneath the brief and direct Spring and Autumn records lie multiple layers of conflicting interests and perspectives. We know little about the process and considerations entailed in determining how events were announced and subsequently recorded. Bribes and political power certainly played a substantial (if unofficial and unspoken) role, but we lack information on topics such as why responsibility for an act of regicide involving many people was assigned to one particular person, or why some fugitives to Lu were received and others turned away. The Spring and Autumn does not record the deliberations involved, only the final result, thereby reducing very complex situations to simple, unambiguous outcomes.85 While narrative accounts may expose discrepancies in how situations and actors were regarded, allowing for a range of potential considerations and evaluations, the announcements recorded in the Zuo Tradition voice unequivocal judgments of guilt, pronounced with finality and leaving no room for ambivalence. Their wording is anything but objective, and they seem to have functioned as communications of official verdicts that formally assigned responsibility for offenses. Announcements marked individuals as bad, and they labeled sanctioned killings (including some suicides) as punishments in response to crimes and flights into exile (not always the choice of the fugitive) as abandonment of religious responsibilities. These announcements were disseminated to the regional rulers, including Lu, and the details contained therein apparently served as the basis for some Spring and Autumn records. The records may differ from the narratives in the Zuo Tradition, but they generally align with the official announcements—for example, killers of noblemen are not identified, and suicides are framed as killings—and we may speculate that the underlying message and assumptions were the same. Yet the Spring and Autumn is not a record of announcements. Even if the Spring and Autumn registers details about events that had been received via announcement, the records themselves employ fundamentally different wording from the announcements, and they had an essentially different function. Announcements communicated the official view of the state

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from which the announcement emanated, and their language was heavily freighted with judgment. The language used in the Spring and Autumn records is, on the surface, neutral and impersonal: there are no “bad vassals,” no references to being “prostrated because of a crime,” no accusations of “abandoning the altars,” and indeed, no direct mention of crime or offense. Simply put, the Spring and Autumn records are not transcriptions or redactions of announcements. The records do reflect the official view of events, and we may assume that they intend to present victims of killings and those who went out fleeing in a negative light, but the subjective, judgmental language of official announcements is absent, replaced by simple, ostensibly neutral phrasing. The records are stark, and the very lack of detail directs us to assume that they encapsulate the whole story, or at least its most essential parts. Yet we know from comparison with corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts that much was left out. Characteristic of the Spring and Autumn is the complete exclusion of any causal connection. The records do not give motives or reasons for killings or flights, and they thereby exclude any ameliorating details that might mitigate guilt. Although the records put on display the fact that one nobleman was killed, or that another fled, they include no details that would justify the killing as a punishment, nor do they give any explanation for the flight. Similar is the attribution of regicide to a single assassin, a formal convention that places full weight of responsibility on one individual rather than distributing it across a group. The very silence of the records about cause or motive and their disregard for complexity and lack of nuance shift the emphasis to the bald facts of the outcome, that a particular nobleman had been forced to die for his crimes or that another had chosen to flee; we are not given room to question whether such outcomes were warranted. Also omitted are distinctions of agency. Kong Da took his own life, a decision that preserved his dignity and honor, yet the Spring and Autumn records him—and others who committed suicide rather than submitting to death by the hand of another—as having been killed. The Spring and Autumn thus deprives these men of agency, instead representing their deaths as absolute subjugation. The treatment of those who fled is similar: regardless of whether a fugitive fled of his own volition or was expelled, the Spring and Autumn ascribes agency to him. Thus he is depicted as having chosen to forsake his ancestors and to abandon his religious obligations; in registering that a particular individual “went out fleeing,” the record does not leave open the possibility that he had no choice. The Spring and Autumn thus presents

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killings as forced submissions and going out fleeing as deliberate perfidy, both signals of misconduct and disgrace. Omissions of reference to cause and agency in conjunction with the use of simple, impersonal, and ostensibly objective phrasing imbue the records with a sense of absolute and unqualified finality. Although the detail and language of the records differ from those of announcements, both convey official attitudes toward sanctioned killings and flights into exile, and despite the apparent neutrality of the records, these attitudes are deeply encoded in their form. During the Spring and Autumn period, contemporaries would have known that a nobleman who was recorded as having been killed was considered a disgraced and subjugated criminal, and that one recorded as having fled was marked as having committed an offense, further compounded by his decision to abandon his ancestral duties. The exclusion of detail bars mitigation or qualified understanding, and the very starkness of the language communicates unambiguously decisive judgment. This is the “impoverished language” of which Maurice Bloch spoke at its very strongest. By not identifying the killer, the record brings focus to bear on the victim-cum-offender, and by not giving reasons for flights, the record exposes the fugitive-cum-offender as guilty. There is nothing subtle about these records at all. Yet it is the utter simplicity of the records that allowed for their later reinterpretation. As revealed by the Zuo Tradition accounts, determinations of culpability did not garner universal acceptance among contemporaries, and they certainly did not always correspond to later notions of guilt. If we view the records in light of the recording conventions and patterns inherent to the Spring and Autumn as a whole, and alongside external contemporaneous evidence such as narrative accounts and announcements, we realize that the records registered judgments, which were sometimes even harsher and starker than reality might seem to warrant. Yet the values and norms that these judgments embody are specific to early China (and perhaps even to Lu) during the Spring and Autumn period. Not only are they substantially different from those to which contemporary readers are accustomed, but they may also differ from the values of early imperial China, just a few centuries later. The absence of overtly subjective language—no one is explicitly identified as an offender, and even executions are recorded as “killings”— leaves the records wide open for later interpretive innovation. Although the belief that these were moral judgments and were based on the same ethical system as that of early commentators must be refuted, the view that the Spring and Autumn conveyed judgments is certainly correct.

Chapter Six

CONCEALING SUBMISSION

A basic convention of the Spring and Autumn, evident across the range of records discussed in preceding chapters, is its consistent use of form to situate Lu at the pinnacle of the interstate hierarchy. Related to this is its practice of obscuring or omitting events that might show Lu as occupying an inferior or subordinate position. Obvious examples include recording murders of Lu rulers as natural deaths and omitting most killings of Lu noblemen; both regicides and killings were tangible instances of a Lu ruler or nobleman being forced into physical submission. Although diplomatic visits did not entail forcible subjugation, they still involved a rank disparity, since visitors or guests were at least ceremonially subordinate to their hosts. Significantly, while instances in which Lu hosted a visit were recorded explicitly, the Spring and Autumn obscured the details of visits in which a Lu ruler or nobleman was the guest of another state, or even excluded such visits completely. Comparison with ritual prescriptions and narrative accounts concerning diplomatic visits sheds light on these patterns of obscuring and exclusion, leading to the conclusion that the Spring and Autumn concern with concealing instances of inferiority extended beyond instances of actual subjugation to what we might term “ritual” or ceremonial low rank. Records of interstate interaction in the Spring and Autumn fall into two basic categories. The first category includes meetings, covenants, and military actions; the second comprises diplomatic visits. Events in the first category

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involve rulers and possibly noblemen from two or more states and do not always include Lu; such records were the topic of chapter 4. The present chapter examines records of diplomatic travel.1 These records involve only two states, one of which is Lu. Like other chapters, this chapter also investigates the use of form to represent hierarchy, but it focuses on the Spring and Autumn representation of the hierarchical relationship between Lu and the individual states with which it exchanged diplomatic visits. The two most common types of interstate diplomatic visits recorded in the Spring and Autumn are called pìn 聘 and cháo 朝, which I translate “visit of friendly inquiry” and “court visit.”2 In several early texts, including the Zuo Tradition, the Rites Record, and the Zhou Rites (Zhou li 周禮), the words pìn and cháo appear together as a pair, indicating that they were similar types of diplomatic missions and perhaps served similar or related functions.3 The most conspicuous difference between them is the rank of the visitor: visits of friendly inquiry were made by noblemen, whereas court visits were made by regional rulers themselves. In the Spring and Autumn, all records of visits of friendly inquiry and court visits involve travel from other states to Lu. Given that the Spring and Autumn is, above all, a record of the state of Lu, it is not unexpected that visits that do not involve Lu are excluded. What is surprising indeed is the absence of any records of visits of friendly inquiry or court visits originating in Lu. Although Lu rulers and nobility are recorded as traveling to other states, not one of these visits is designated pìn or cháo. It hardly seems possible that Lu’s participation in diplomatic travel would be so one-sided, and as this chapter shows, in reality, the ostensibly unilateral nature of Lu’s participation was but an artifact of recording practices. Lu did indeed send court visits and visits of friendly inquiry to other states, but they are not recorded as such in the Spring and Autumn. The question, of course, is why? As demonstrated throughout this book, patterned omission of detail and exclusion of entire categories of records are hallmarks of Spring and Autumn recording practices. How did these practices apply to records of diplomatic travel, and what priorities, values, and assumptions do these records reflect? In addressing these questions, this chapter explores three types of textual material: the records themselves, corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts, and ritual prescriptions preserved in the Ceremonies and Rites. The first part of the chapter is devoted to analysis of Spring and Autumn records of diplomatic visits to and from Lu, which I then compare with the corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts. This comparison indicates that the Spring and Autumn

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does not provide a complete record of diplomatic travel, and it allows us to identify regular patterns of omitting visits or obscuring details; in particular, instances in which Lu rulers or noblemen traveled to other states receive less attention than instances in which rulers or noblemen from other states visited Lu. In the second part of the chapter, I examine the ceremonial steps involved in “visits of friendly inquiry,” which were visits by noblemen to the courts of other states. The Ceremonies and Rites contains extensive, detailed instructions on the proper way to carry out each component step of a visit of friendly inquiry, and several Zuo Tradition accounts narrate interchanges between host and guest during individual visits. Together, these two sources elucidate the ways in which prescribed ceremonial interactions during such visits used movement across space and scripted verbal exchange to display idealized hierarchical relationships, which did not always align with the real balance of power between host and guest. Most significantly, guests were ceremonially subordinate to their hosts, even though they were not necessarily less powerful in actuality. The patterns of interaction between host and guest put the ceremonial hierarchy on display. In the same way, Spring and Autumn forms for recording diplomatic visits were designed to display an idealized hierarchy and to conceal the fact that this hierarchy did not correspond to the actual power balance. More generally, I argue that the rules that governed the Spring and Autumn records represent just one part of a larger system of thought and practice, also reflected in the Ceremonies and Rites prescriptions and the Zuo Tradition narratives; all three were produced by a culture that was heavily preoccupied with relative rank, both actual and ceremonial. COURT VISITS AND VISITS OF FRIENDLY INQUIRY

The Spring and Autumn contains 232 records of interstate diplomatic travel, only 7 of which register travel that did not involve Lu.4 The remaining records are divided almost evenly between records of outbound travel by the Lu ruler or noblemen to other states (109 records), and inbound travel, that is, diplomatic visits received by Lu (116 records). The Spring and Autumn does not identify the purpose of outbound travel—a crucial point discussed later in this chapter—but the most common types of visits received by Lu are designated either pìn or cháo. Thus visits of these two types will serve as the focus of analysis.5

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The meaning of cháo is fairly straightforward: it is a verb referring to attending a court audience with a ruler or, by extension, a noun referring to the court itself.6 In the Zuo Tradition and other early texts, the verb cháo is used in a variety of ways. It may refer to a ruler summoning his subjects to his court, to individuals attending the court of their ruler, to the ruler himself attending to court duties, or to one ruler attending the court of another. The language of the Spring and Autumn is more restricted, and the records use cháo only in this last sense, in reference to an interstate visit made by the ruler of another state to the Lu court, presumably a sign of submission. The meaning of pìn is somewhat more complicated because it is used for two different types of activity: first, a type of interstate diplomatic visit made by a nobleman, and second, a betrothal ceremony preceding a marriage. The relationship between these two types of activity is not entirely clear, and— perhaps since betrothal ceremonies for interstate marriages often involved a visit by a nobleman to the bride’s home state—the two meanings are sometimes conflated. The word pìn is used in both ways in the Zuo Tradition, but for the most part, the type of visit that is intended can be determined by context and grammar.7 By contrast, in the Spring and Autumn, the word pìn refers exclusively to interstate diplomatic visits to Lu made by noblemen at the behest of their rulers, visits whose primary purpose is typically (if not always) unrelated to betrothal or marriage ceremonies.8 The word pìn appears to be etymologically related to fǎng 訪, “to inquire,” and indeed, the early dictionary Explaining Graphs and Analyzing Characters glosses pìn as fǎng.9 Another ancient dictionary, Approaching Elegance (Erya 爾雅), explains pìn with the word wèn 問, “to make inquiries, to ask after,” as does the Zhou Rites.10 The “Qu li” section of the Rites Record also associates pìn with asking and states that these visits were made by noblemen: 諸侯使大夫問於諸侯，曰「聘」。 When regional rulers send noblemen to ask after (other) regional rulers, it is called pìn. (Liji zhengyi, “Qu li,” 5.7b [p. 92])11

The Zhou Rites also links visits of friendly inquiry to noblemen, noting that pìn “is a rite of ministers” (臣之禮也).12 The stated purpose of these visits seems to have been to make formal inquiries and thereby affirm good relations between two states, and it is for this reason that I render pìn as “to make visit of friendly inquiry.”

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Inbound Travel: Records of Visits Received by Lu

Of 116 records of diplomatic visits received by Lu, the majority are either court visits (37 records) or visits of friendly inquiry (39 records). Records of court visits regularly adhere to the following format: 春。杞子來朝。 Spring. The Zi of Qii came on a court visit. (CQ, Xi 27.1, 442)

Court visits were typically made by regional rulers, who are designated by the default style, using state and rank but not name.13 By contrast, visits of friendly inquiry were usually made by noblemen who had been dispatched (shǐ 使) by their rulers, as in the following record:14 天王使家父來聘。 Heaven’s King dispatched Jiafu to come on a visit of friendly inquiry. (CQ, Huan 8.2, 120)

Those who sent noblemen on such visits included regional rulers as well as the Zhou king. Additional examples of records of court visits received by Lu appear in set 6.1, and set 6.2 gives examples of visits of friendly inquiry received by Lu. Although court visits were made by rulers themselves, and visits of friendly inquiry were made by noblemen at the behest of their rulers, the two types of records share several formal similarities. None of these records specifies a day-date, and for approximately 90 percent, we know only the season, indicating that neither the precise date nor even the month was deemed significant. All register visits received by Lu, as indicated by the use of the word “come” (lái 來). Despite the obvious difference between the two types of visits—court visits were made by rulers and visits of friendly inquiry by noblemen—the subject of both types of records is the ruler of the state whence the visit originated, who is either the visitor (for court visits) or the person who dispatched the visit (for visits of friendly inquiry). Thus records of both types ascribe agency to the ruler of the visiting state. Also noteworthy, a diplomatic visit involved a delegation of many followers led by a ruler or nobleman, but the associated Spring and Autumn record identifies only one visitor and does not refer to other members of his retinue; in this respect records of these visits resemble those of military actions, in which the record identifies only the leader but does not mention the army he led.

Set 6.1: Records of court visits received by Lu

冬。

滕子來朝。

桓 2.2

紀侯來朝。

桓 6.6

蕭叔朝公。

莊 23.7

夏。

郜子來朝。

僖 20.2

夏。

曹伯來朝。

文 15.3

杞伯來朝。

成 4.3

邾子來朝。

成 18.9

小邾子來朝。

襄 7.3

滕子來朝。

哀 2.3

八月。

The Zi of Teng came on a court visit.

Huan 2.2 (710)

Winter. The Hou of Jih came on a court visit.

Huan 6.6 (706)

Xiao Shu made a court visit to our Lord.

Zhuang 23.7 (671)

Summer. The Zi of Gao came on a court visit.

Xi 20.2 (640)

Summer. The Bo of Cao came on a court visit.

Wen 15.3 (612)

The Bo of Qii came on a court visit.

Cheng 4.3 (587)

The eighth month. The Zi of Zhu came on a court visit.

Cheng 18.9 (573)

The Zi of Lesser Zhu came on a court visit.

Xiang 7.3 (566)

The Zi of Teng came on a court visit.

Ai 2.3 (493)

Set 6.2: Records of visits of friendly inquiry received by Lu 齊侯使其弟年來聘。

隱 7.4

夏。

天王使宰渠伯糾來聘。

桓 4.1

冬。

天王使宰周公來聘。

僖 30.6

秦伯使術來聘。

文 12.6

衛侯使孫良夫來聘。

成 3.13

晉侯使郤犨來聘。

成 11.2

夏。

鄭伯使公子發來聘。

襄 5.2

春。

宋公使同戌來聘。

襄 15.1

吳子使札來聘。

襄 29.8

晉侯使士鞅來聘。

昭 21.2

夏。

The Hou of Qi dispatched his younger brother Nian to come on a visit of friendly inquiry.

Yin 7.4 (716)

Summer. Heaven’s King dispatched the steward Qu Bo Jiu to come on a visit of friendly inquiry.

Huan 4.1 (708)

Winter. Heaven’s King dispatched the steward Zhou Gong to come on a visit of friendly inquiry.

Xi 30.6 (630)

The Bo of Qin dispatched Shu to come on a visit of friendly inquiry.

Wen 12.6 (615)

The Hou of Wei dispatched Sun Liangfu to come on a visit of friendly inquiry.

Cheng 3.13 (588)

The Hou of Jin dispatched Xi Chou to come on a visit of friendly inquiry.

Cheng 11.2 (580)

Summer. The Bo of Zheng dispatched Gongzi Fa to come on a visit of friendly inquiry.

Xiang 5.2 (568)

Spring. The Gong of Song dispatched Tong Xu to come on a visit of friendly inquiry.

Xiang 15.1 (558)

The Zi of Wu dispatched Zha to come on a visit of friendly inquiry.

Xiang 29.8 (544)

Summer. The Hou of Jin dispatched Shi Yang to come on a visit of friendly inquiry.

Zhao 21.2 (521)

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Court visits and visits of friendly inquiry account for approximately two thirds of the records of inbound diplomatic travel; the remaining third is a hodgepodge of visits of various types. Ten records state simply that a visitor “came” (lái 來) to Lu, without identifying the purpose of the visit. Three of these visits are from Lu princesses who had married abroad and are normally understood to be visits home to their parents.15 The seven other visitors who simply “came” seem to have been rulers or noblemen, some from peripheral or unranked states.16 The remaining records register visits to Lu for a variety of purposes, including making requests or seeking military assistance, giving gifts, returning land, attending funerals, and condoling with an exiled ruler.17 These records, too, typically share the basic formal characteristics described earlier, but beyond this their varied nature makes it impossible to generalize about regular patterns. Outbound Travel: Records of Visits Originating in Lu

Records of outbound diplomatic travel from Lu differ fundamentally from records of inbound travel in one salient respect: the reason for the travel is almost never specified, and so no instances of travel originating in Lu are designated as “court visits” or “visits of friendly inquiry.” All 109 records of travel from Lu use the verb “go” (rú 如) plus the destination. These records register travel by Lu nobility (70 records), the Lu ruler (33 records), the ruler’s primary wife (5 records), or the ruler and his wife together (1 record). Like records of inbound diplomatic visits, none specifies a day, and over 80 percent note only the season with no month. The following records are typical: 十有一月。公如楚。 The eleventh month. Our Lord went to Chu. (CQ, Xiang 28.7, 1139) 夏。季孫宿如晉。 Summer. Jisun Su went to Jin. (CQ, Xiang 9.2, 960)

Examples of records of outbound travel by Lu rulers and noblemen are listed in set 6.3. Although the reason for outbound travel is rarely given in the Spring and Autumn—only two exceptional records specify the purpose of travel from Lu—in a few cases, this information may be inferred from adjacent records.18 For example, in two cases, a record stating that a Lu nobleman went to the

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Set 6.3: Records of Lu rulers and noblemen going to other states 冬。

夏。 秋。

冬。

十月。 公如齊。

僖 33.9

公孫敖如齊。

文 1.11

季孫行父如齊。

宣 10.16

季孫行父如晉。

成 11.3

叔孫豹如宋。

襄 2.8

季孫宿如衛。

襄 7.5

公如晉。

襄 12.6

季孫宿如宋。

襄 20.9

叔弓如楚。

昭 6.8

叔孫州仇如齊。

定 10.11

Winter. The tenth month. Our Lord went to Qi.

Xi 33.9 (627)

Gongsun Ao went to Qi.

Wen 1.11 (626)

Jisun Hangfu went to Qi.

Xuan 10.16 (599)

Summer. Jisun Hangfu went to Jin.

Cheng 11.3 (580)

Shusun Bao went to Song.

Xiang 2.8 (571)

Autumn. Jisun Su went to Wei.

Xiang 7.5 (566)

Our Lord went to Jin.

Xiang 12.6 (561)

Jisun Su went to Song.

Xiang 20.9 (553)

Winter. Shu Gong went to Chu.

Zhao 6.8 (536)

Shusun Zhouqiu went to Qi.

Ding 10.11 (500)

Zhou capital is followed by a record of the Zhou king’s funeral, and we may reasonably surmise that these visits were made to attend the royal funeral.19 The Spring and Autumn does register two highly irregular instances of the Lu ruler paying court respects to the Zhou king, using the verb cháo, but both instances occurred while the Lu ruler was abroad and neither involved travel, and so they are not included in the present discussion.20 In short, records of inbound and outbound travel were recorded using entirely different formats. Most significantly, records of travel by the Lu ruler or noblemen appear to have been prohibited from specifying the reason for travel and were simply recorded with the generic verb “go.” Thus neither instances of the Lu ruler embarking on court visits nor records of Lu noblemen making visits of friendly inquiry occur in the Spring and Autumn.

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Yet according to the Zuo Tradition, Lu both received and sent such visits. Why were court visits and visits of friendly inquiry originating in Lu not explicitly recorded as such? The remainder of this chapter seeks to answer this question, proposing that the Spring and Autumn concealed instances in which a Lu ruler or nobleman played the role of guest because of the unequal relationship between guest and host, an inequality that sometimes mirrored actual relative power but at other times was but a ceremonial ideal. CORRESPONDING ZUO TRADITION ACCOUNTS OF DIPLOMATIC TRAVEL

Comparison of Spring and Autumn records alongside corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts of travel to and from Lu confirms our suspicions that the Spring and Autumn records are incomplete.21 In general, Spring and Autumn records and Zuo Tradition accounts of visits received by Lu correspond fairly closely, but records and accounts of travel sent by Lu differ in one conspicuous respect. Whereas the Spring and Autumn records simply register that a Lu ruler or nobleman “went” (rú) to another state, related Zuo Tradition narratives identify many of these instances of travel as “visits of friendly inquiry” (pìn) by Lu nobility or “court visits” (cháo) by the Lu ruler. Inbound Travel: Zuo Tradition Accounts of Diplomatic Visits Received by Lu

The majority of inbound visits registered in the Spring and Autumn also appear in the Zuo Tradition. Of the 37 court visits to Lu recorded in the Spring and Autumn, 26 are identified as court visits in the Zuo Tradition. The Zuo Tradition also indicates that 3 additional visits to Lu were court visits, whereas the corresponding Spring and Autumn records simply state that the visitor “came” (lái).22 Similarly, the Zuo Tradition documents 34 of the 39 visits of friendly inquiry made to Lu that are recorded in the Spring and Autumn.23 These figures are presented in table 6.1. Remaining are a total of 16 records of inbound court visits or visits of friendly inquiry for which no corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts are given. Significantly, all Zuo Tradition accounts of court visits and visits of friendly inquiry received by Lu correspond to Spring and Autumn records, but the inverse is not true; the Zuo zhuan accounts cover only a subset of Spring and Autumn records of court visits and visits of friendly inquiry made to Lu. While it would be a mistake to assume that the Spring and Autumn gives a

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TABLE 6.1  Spring and Autumn records of visits to Lu and corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts Total number of records

Number of records with corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts

Court visit (pìn 聘)

37

26a

Visit of friendly inquiry (cháo 朝)

39

34

Type of visit

aNot included in this figure are 3 Spring and Autumn records stating that a visitor “came” (lái 來) that are identified

as “visits of friendly inquiry” (pìn) in the Zuo Tradition.

complete record of inbound visits (an issue addressed in some detail later), it is nonetheless worth noting that the Zuo Tradition offers no surprises: it corroborates most of the Spring and Autumn records and gives no obvious indication that a significant number of diplomatic visits to Lu were omitted from the Spring and Autumn. Comparing pairs of corresponding passages registering the same inbound visit shows that Zuo Tradition accounts typically agree with the Spring and Autumn records and simply add detail, as in the following two pairs: 秋。曹伯來朝。 Autumn. The Bo of Cao came on a court visit. (CQ, Wen 11.3, 579) 秋。曹文公來朝，即位而來見也。 Autumn. Lord Wen of Cao came on a court visit. He had acceded to his position and came to appear [before the Lu ruler]. (Zuo, Wen 11, 581)

夏。晉侯使士魴來聘。 Summer. The Hou of Jin dispatched Shi Fang to come on a visit of friendly inquiry. (CQ, Xiang 12.3, 995) 夏。晉士魴來聘，且拜師。 Summer. Shi Fang of Jin came on a visit of friendly inquiry and furthermore respectfully acknowledged the troops [provided by Lu in the preceding year]. (Zuo, Xiang 12, 996)

Although some Zuo Tradition passages include longer narratives, as discussed subsequently in this chapter, many, like the immediately preceding

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examples, simply give brief explanations for visits. Corresponding pairs may refer to individuals by different names; thus while in Wen 11 the Spring and Autumn uses the default style to refer to the Cao ruler (Bo of Cao 曹伯), the Zuo Tradition refers to him by his posthumous name (Lord Wen of Cao 曹文公), a clue that the Zuo Tradition passage was probably composed or edited well after the event took place. Another significant difference pertains to the wording used to narrate visits by noblemen. In the Spring and Autumn, a nobleman traveling to Lu is said to have been “dispatched” (shǐ 使) by his ruler, who is the subject of the record, but in the Zuo Tradition, the nobleman himself is typically the subject and his ruler is not mentioned. Outbound Travel: Zuo Tradition Accounts of Diplomatic Visits Sent by Lu

Although Spring and Autumn records and Zuo Tradition accounts of inbound travel are largely in agreement, comparison of records and accounts of outbound travel, that is, visits made by Lu rulers and noblemen to other states, yields an entirely different set of results. While the Spring and Autumn does not explicitly record any court visits or visits of friendly inquiry from Lu to other states, some records of Lu rulers or noblemen “going” (rú) to other states are identified as court visits or visits of friendly inquiry in the corresponding Zuo Tradition passages.24 Of 33 records stating that the Lu ruler had “gone” to another state, the Zuo Tradition tells us that at least 5 were court visits, and 2 more were planned court visits in which the ruler turned back.25 Similarly, the Zuo Tradition identifies 23 of the 70 records of Lu noblemen “going” to others states as visits of friendly inquiry. The Zuo Tradition gives a variety of other reasons for travel originating in Lu, including visits to attend funerals or to request military assistance, and in some cases, the Zuo Tradition mentions the travel recorded in the Spring and Autumn but does not give its purpose. Finally, as with travel to Lu, the Zuo Tradition material corresponds to only a subset of the records, and for 14 Spring and Autumn records of outbound travel, the Zuo Tradition includes no information at all. Thus we cannot, for example, count up the Spring and Autumn records of the Lu ruler “going” to another state and assume that all were court visits, nor can we assume that records not identified as court visits in the Zuo Tradition must have had some other purpose. The relevant figures are presented in table 6.2. The Zuo Tradition thus confirms that Lu not only received but also sent both court visits and visits of friendly inquiry, even though these visits are not explicitly registered as such in the Spring and Autumn. This much is not unexpected. What warrants further attention is the Spring and Autumn

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TABLE 6.2 Spring and Autumn records of travel by Lu rulers and noblemen and identification in corresponding Zuo Tradition accounts Rank of traveler

Total number of records of “going” (rú 如)

Records with a corresponding Zuo Tradition account

Records identified as cháo 朝 or pìn 聘 in Zuo Tradition accounts

Lu ruler

33a

28

7 (cháo 朝)

Lu nobleman

70

61

23 (pìn 聘)

aThis

figure does not include CQ, Huan 18.1, a unique record that registers the travel of the Lu ruler and his primary wife together.

recording convention itself, which apparently required the specific reason for diplomatic travel from Lu to be obscured. The question, of course, is why this information was excluded. Patterns of discrepancies between Zuo Tradition accounts and Spring and Autumn records suggest that, as elsewhere in the Spring and Autumn, rules governing the inclusion or exclusion of detail were linked to hierarchy. Zuo Tradition accounts of outbound travel, like those of inbound visits, differ from Spring and Autumn records in length and amount of detail. Beyond the most obvious difference—the Zuo Tradition often states the purpose of travel—the Zuo Tradition may refer to individuals by names other than those used in the Spring and Autumn, as in the following pair, both of which refer to the same visit: 公子遂如宋。 Gongzi Sui went to Song. (CQ, Wen 11.4, 579) 襄仲聘于宋。 Xiang Zhong [Gongzi Sui] made a visit of friendly inquiry to Song. (Zuo, Wen 11, 581)

Zuo Tradition accounts may supply a brief reason for the travel, as in the preceding example, and may also provide a more detailed explanation, as here: 公如晉。 Our lord went to Jin. (CQ, Xiang 12.6, 996) 公如晉朝，且拜士魴之辱，禮也。 Our lord went to Jin to make a court visit and also to acknowledge respectfully Shi Fang’s disgracing himself [by visiting us]; this was in accord with ritual. (Zuo, Xiang 12, 997)

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This account not only tells us that the Lu ruler traveled to Jin to make a court visit but also explains that the visit was made in response to a visit of friendly inquiry by Jin nobleman Shi Fang; the Spring and Autumn record of that visit, which took place earlier the same year, is translated in the previous section of in this chapter along with the corresponding Zuo Tradition account. This sequence of visits, including the initial visit of friendly inquiry by Shi Fang of Jin and the court visit in response by the Lu ruler, is interesting for what it reveals about diplomatic visits and hierarchy. First, Lu’s response to Shi Fang’s visit was not a reciprocal visit of friendly inquiry by a Lu nobleman, but a court visit to Jin by the Lu ruler himself. Thus, visits of friendly inquiry were not necessarily symmetrical diplomatic exchanges among individuals of equivalent rank. Second, in referring to Shi Fang’s visit to Lu, the Zuo Tradition uses the word rǔ 辱, which literally means “shame, disgrace,” implying that he had debased himself by undertaking the visit. This is standard terminology in Zuo Tradition accounts of diplomatic visits. Another example is found in the following passage, in reference to a prior visit to Jin by the Lu ruler: 晉范宣子來聘，且拜公之辱。 Fan Xuanzi of Jin came to make a visit of friendly inquiry, and also to acknowledge the Lord’s disgrace [in visiting Jin the previous spring]. (Zuo, Xiang 8, 959)

The word “disgrace” is conventional polite language used in reference to a visit received by one’s own state. In the Zuo Tradition, as in other early Chinese texts, polite language often employs the terminology of hierarchy and deference and, like most ceremonial activity during the Spring and Autumn period, calls attention to relative rank and inequality. This word does not refer to what one might consider a “real” disgrace, such as physical subjugation or being humiliated or condemned for unvirtuous conduct, but it nonetheless suggests that the visitor’s position was inferior to that of his host, a point fully supported by Zuo Tradition accounts of interactions during diplomatic visits as well as by the Ceremonies and Rites instructions for conducting a visit of friendly inquiry. As I show in the next section, this formal or ceremonial inequality is key to understanding why the Spring and Autumn did not openly record court visits and visits of friendly inquiry made by Lu. The practice of obscuring court visits by the Lu ruler to other states, which were inevitably higher in rank, is in full alignment with other Spring and Autumn recording conventions. Court visits signaled the subordination

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of one ruler to another and reflected the actual interstate power balance. The Spring and Autumn registers court visits by rulers of smaller states to Lu, and the Zuo Tradition tells us that the Lu ruler made court visits to higherranking states, including not only Zhou but also Jin and Qi. Given the Spring and Autumn emphasis on conveying Lu’s position at the apex of an idealized interstate hierarchy, it is no wonder that court visits made by the Lu ruler were not explicitly recorded as such: recording that the Lu ruler had made a court visit to another state would have been tantamount to recording his subordination to the ruler of that state. By contrast, visits of friendly inquiry entailed a more complicated set of hierarchical relationships between host and guest, and the reason for their exclusion from the Spring and Autumn is less obvious. According to the Zuo Tradition, these visits were made not only from lower-ranking states to higher-ranking ones, but also between states of similar rank and from higherranking to lower-ranking states; thus from the perspective of the states, the actual power differential varied and was not inevitably one of superior and subordinate. At the same time, visits of friendly inquiry were made by noblemen to rulers. Although we might assume that noblemen were invariably lower in rank than rulers, as chapter 4 demonstrated, this was not always the case: a nobleman from a large, powerful state may have been equal to the ruler of a small polity and, in terms of actual power, may even have outranked him. In short, some visiting noblemen certainly ranked beneath their hosts, but others in fact wielded greater power. Yet regardless of the real power situation, noblemen who visited other states were still ceremonially subordinate to their hosts, as the passages analyzed in the next section will demonstrate, and when noblemen made visits of friendly inquiry, the real power balance and the idealized hierarchy did not always align. Thus, much as with court visits, the practice of obscuring or even omitting outbound visits of friendly inquiry appears to have been motivated by hierarchical considerations. But unlike court visits, visits of friendly inquiry were made by guests who were less powerful than their hosts in real terms as well as those who were merely ceremonially subordinate. OCCASIONS FOR DIPLOMATIC TRAVEL AND SYSTEMS OF DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE

The Zuo Tradition tells us that visits of friendly inquiry were customary, if not obligatory, on certain occasions, and the phrasing used to give the

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reasons for visits is highly conventionalized. First, the Zuo Tradition indicates that states were obligated to send diplomatic visits in response to visits received. Standard phrasing referring to travel made in response to a previous visit appears in some of the passages already translated, which mention “acknowledging [the visitor’s] disgrace” (bài . . . rǔ 拜 . . . 辱), and elsewhere the Zuo Tradition employs the phrase “repaying a visit of friendly inquiry” (bào pìn 報聘). At least in principle, receiving a visit entailed an obligation to return the visit, but Spring and Autumn recording patterns do not indicate that such visits in response were made consistently. Another frequently cited occasion for a visit was the accession of a new ruler. When a regional ruler came to power, according to the Zuo Tradition, he would send emissaries to other states on visits of friendly inquiry to “open communication with the succeeding ruler” (tōng sì jūn 通嗣君), and other states would send emissaries to his court “to make a first or initial visit of friendly inquiry” (chū pìn 初聘 or shǐ pìn 始聘) initiating communication with the new ruler, as described here.26 凡諸侯即位，小國朝之，大國聘焉，以繼好結信，謀事補闕。禮之大 者也。 In any case of a regional ruler acceding to his position, small states make court visits to him, and large states make visits of friendly inquiry therein, in order to continue good relations and bind trust, to plan matters and mend deficiencies. Among rites, these are major ones. (Zuo, Xiang 1, 918)

This remark accompanies Spring and Autumn records of visits of friendly inquiry sent by the states of Wei and Jin on Lord Xiang’s accession to power in Lu. If the commentarial claims actually represented regular practice, we would expect the Spring and Autumn to register a noticeable influx of visitors to Lu during the first few years of each new ruler’s reign, but it does not, nor do its records give any indication that Lu regularly sent missions upon the accession of rulers of other states—nor, for that matter, does the Zuo Tradition. Perhaps these rules—both the requirement to repay visits and to send visits upon the accession of a new ruler—were idealized standards that were not actually implemented; it is also possible that the Spring and Autumn records, along with those of the Zuo Tradition, are simply incomplete. Other occasions for making visits of friendly inquiry include renewing a covenant (xún méng 尋盟) or going to join in covenant with the host state (lì méng 涖盟), discussing matters (yán 言) such as intended military activity or

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the return of territory or prisoners, and acknowledging (bài 拜) assistance such as military aid or completion of a wall. A miscellany of reasons appear in the Zuo Tradition only once, including extending condolences for a defeat or congratulations for completion of a wall.27 In addition to specifying reasons for individual visits, the Zuo Tradition contains several passages that lay out schedules for exchanging diplomatic visits; other prescribed schedules of visits appear in the Rites Record and the Zhou Rites.28 The most complete outline of such a schedule appears in a speech recorded in the Zuo Tradition. In protesting obligations to participate in the funeral of a Jin consort, a Zheng nobleman describes what seems to be an idealized system of diplomatic interchange that, according to the speaker, had been implemented in the past: 昔文襄之霸也，其務不煩諸侯。令諸侯三歲而聘，五歲而朝。有事而 會，不協而盟。君薨，大夫弔，卿共葬事。夫人，士弔，大夫送葬。 足以昭禮，命事，謀闕而已。無加命矣。 In the past, when Lord Wen and Lord Xiang [of Jin] were hegemons, the service they required did not trouble the regional rulers. They ordered the regional rulers to send a visit of friendly inquiry every three years and to make a court visit every five years. If there was an incident, then they assembled; if they did not get along, they made covenant. If a ruler perished, then the noblemen (dàfū) mourned, and ministers (qīng) participated in the funeral service. If it was a primary wife, then the lower noblemen (shì) mourned, and noblemen (dàfū) escorted the funeral. This was sufficient to elucidate the rites, issue commands about incidents, and make plans for [mending] deficiencies and that was all; they did not issue commands in addition to these. (Zuo, Zhao 3, 1232)

The diplomatic system laid out in this passage places the hegemon (bà 霸) at its center, whereas in systems outlined elsewhere, the Zhou king (wáng) is the focal point. Despite differences in details such as the specified frequency of visits, all treat diplomatic visits as obligations and assert that visits to the center— whether king or hegemon—were conducted according to a regular schedule. Yet the timing and frequency of the visits recorded in the Spring and Autumn do not correspond to any of these schedules. Furthermore, most diplomatic visits recorded in the Spring and Autumn were made to or from Lu—that is, among regional rulers—whereas the prescribed schedules of visits had a different focal point, whether it was the Zhou king or a hegemon at the center. Perhaps the reason that the Spring and Autumn records do

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not align with any of these systems of diplomatic visits is that the schedules themselves were idealized prescriptions, divorced from actual practice. But the patterns of visits recorded in the Spring and Autumn also provide strong evidence that many diplomatic visits, particularly those that originated in Lu, were not registered in the Spring and Autumn at all. THE INTERSTATE HIERARCHY AND DIPLOMATIC VISITS: AN INCOMPLETE RECORD

One important question is whether the Spring and Autumn records are generally complete but simply conceal the purpose of outbound travel, or whether significant numbers of visits were omitted from the Spring and Autumn; another question is whether omissions are systematic. Even if we dismiss the disparity between the number of visits required by prescriptions such as those laid out in the Zuo Tradition and the number actually registered in the Spring and Autumn as the result of a difference between prescriptive ideals and actual practice, other evidence indicates that neither the Spring and Autumn nor the Zuo Tradition contains a complete accounting of all visits received and sent by Lu. That is, not only was the purpose of some visits obscured, but many visits were also simply excluded from the Spring and Autumn records. We may begin our analysis of diplomatic interchange by identifying those states recorded in the Spring and Autumn as having made visits of friendly inquiry to Lu and those whose rulers came on court visits; they are listed in table 6.3, in the columns for inbound travel. Immediately striking is the fact that these states form two mutually exclusive sets; that is, states recorded as having sent visits of friendly inquiry to Lu are not recorded as having sent court visits, and vice versa. States whose rulers came on court visits tended to be smaller and lower in rank, while those sending noblemen on visits of friendly inquiry were more powerful.29 From this pattern we might quite reasonably conclude that court visits were made by states that were subordinate to Lu, and visits of friendly inquiry were made by states that outranked Lu. Yet if we recall that the prescribed systems of visits all required states that sent court visits to send visits of friendly inquiry as well, we may wonder if this apparent complementary distribution is an artifact of record-keeping practices rather than an accurate reflection of visits received by Lu. If we expand the analysis to include Spring and Autumn records of outbound travel, along with Zuo Tradition identifications of that travel as court

TABLE 6.3 Spring and Autumn records of inbound and outbound diplomatic visits, by state Inbound travel

Outbound travel “Going” (rú 如) by Lu rulers

State (in order by sequence of states)

cháo 朝

pìn 聘

All records

Records identified as cháo in Zuo

“Going” (rú) by Lu noblemen All records

Records identified as pìn in Zuo

2

Zhou

周

—

7

1

1

7

3

3

Jin

晉

—

11

19

6

29

8

4

Qi

齊

—

5

10

1

19

6

5

Song

宋

—

4

—

. . .

7

4

6

Chu

楚

—

3

2

. . .

2

1

8

Chen

陳

—

1

—

. . .

3

1

9

Wei

衛

—

4

—

. . .

1

1

10

Jih

紀

1

—

—

. . .

—

. . .

11

Zheng

鄭

—

1

—

. . .

—

. . .

14

Cao

曹

5

—

—

. . .

—

. . .

16

Zhu

邾

7

—

—

. . .

1

1

18

Qin

秦

—

1

—

. . .

—

. . .

19

Teng

滕

5

—

—

. . .

1

. . .

21

Qii

杞

7

—

—

. . .

—

. . .

25

Lesser Zhu 小邾

4

—

—

. . .

—

. . .

26

Wu

吳

—

1

—

. . .

—

. . .

27

Zeng

鄫

1

—

—

. . .

—

. . .

*

Gu

穀

1

—

—

. . .

—

. . .

*

Deng

鄧

1

—

—

. . .

—

. . .

*

Tan

郯

2

—

—

. . .

—

. . .

*

Nia

郳

1

—

—

. . .

—

. . .

Note: A dash (—) means no records; an ellipsis (. . .) means no data. The table follows the sequence of states set forth in table 4.1 but includes only states recorded in the Spring and Autumn as having sent pìn or cháo visits to Lu and/or states to which the Lu ruler or noblemen went (rú) on visits that, according to the Zuo Tradition, were either pìn or cháo visits. The four states marked with an asterisk (*) are not listed in table 4.1 because they do not appear in multistate lists. aNi

郳 has been identified as Lesser Zhu; see note 31 to this chapter.

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visits or visits of friendly inquiry, a different picture emerges; these figures are listed in table 6.3, in the four columns for outbound travel. The column for all Spring and Autumn records of “going” (rú) by the Lu ruler is followed by a second column giving the number of those records that are designated as court visits (cháo) in the Zuo Tradition; the next pair of columns is similar, but with figures for “going” by Lu nobility together with the number of records identified as visits of friendly inquiry (pìn). It is important to acknowledge that this information is imperfect in several respects. First, the Spring and Autumn does not give the reason for outbound travel, and not all travel from Lu falls into the two categories analyzed here, court visits and visits of friendly inquiry; thus the Spring and Autumn figures for outbound travel certainly include travel made for other reasons. Second, the Zuo Tradition does not specify the reason for all instances of travel from Lu, and for some Spring and Autumn records, it has no corresponding material. Consequently, we do not know the purpose of all outbound travel registered with rú in the Spring and Autumn, and so comparative analysis of inbound and outbound travel is challenging. Nonetheless, the data in table 6.3 reveal an interesting set of patterns. Instead of two sets of states, as previously suggested, we find four. According to Spring and Autumn records, the three highest-ranking states, Zhou, Jin, and Qi, sent visits of friendly inquiry to Lu, and Lu rulers and nobility traveled to these states; likewise, the Zuo Tradition indicates that Lu sent both visits of friendly inquiry and court visits to these three states. Chu may also belong in this group, as the Lu ruler is recorded as having gone there twice, but the Zuo Tradition does not tell us whether these were court visits. Again consulting both the Spring and Autumn and the Zuo Tradition, we observe that the second group of states, comprising Song, Chen, and Wei, exchanged visits of friendly inquiry with Lu but neither sent nor received court visits. States in the third group, Zheng, Qin, and Wu, sent visits of friendly inquiry to Lu but are not recorded as having received reciprocal visits from Lu. The last group comprises states that sent court visits to Lu but, with one or perhaps two exceptions, apparently received no visits of either type from Lu.30 This group includes Jih, Cao, Teng, Qii, Lesser Zhu, and Zeng, along with visits of rulers of four (or perhaps three) states that do not appear in multistate lists and thus are not included in the sequence of states.31 As a rule, states in the fourth group are low in the interstate hierarchy. These groupings are somewhat tenuous, as they may be based on very few visits, and the third and fourth groups in particular tend to be restricted

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to states for which only a single visit is recorded. Nor do these groups correspond precisely to the “sequence of states” of interstate lists, analyzed in chapter 4. In one case—that of Jih, which is ranked before Zheng on the basis of listing order in a single record—the discrepancy may lead us to question the sequence of states laid out in table 4.1; in this case, perhaps Jih, which made a court visit to Lu, ranked below Zheng, which sent a visit of friendly inquiry but no court visits.32 The obvious departure from the sequence of states in the third group, Zheng, Qin, and Wu, is somewhat more puzzling. We might like to see neat groupings in which patterns of diplomatic exchange correspond to the sequence of states or the three tiers identified in chapter 4, but this is not what the data show. Such discrepancies notwithstanding, the immediately obvious conclusion is that these groups represent four different types of diplomatic relationship with Lu, which are apparent only when we take into account the added information from the Zuo Tradition. States in the first group were indeed high in rank; Lu appears to have exchanged visits of friendly inquiry with these powerful states, and the Lu ruler also paid them court visits, which were not, of course, reciprocated. This fact alone is an important hint that despite Lu’s efforts to present itself as situated at the top of an idealized interstate hierarchy, it was in reality outranked by at least a handful of other states. The second group includes states that were similar in rank to Lu; these states, which appear to have been peer states, exchanged visits of friendly inquiry with Lu but neither made nor received court visits. States in the third group were said to have sent visits of friendly inquiry to Lu, and those in the fourth group were said to have paid court visits to Lu, but for the most part, states in these two groups were not recorded as having received visits from Lu.33 These patterns of diplomatic interchange strengthen our suspicions that the Spring and Autumn records were incomplete. Indeed, the patterns of visits made by Lu are not quite what we would expect. Although Zhou, Jin, and Qi sent visits of friendly inquiry to lower-ranking Lu in response to the Lu ruler’s court visits, not even the Zuo Tradition contains similar accounts of Lu sending visits of friendly inquiry to the lower-ranking states whose rulers made court visits to Lu. Furthermore, it is easy to identify reciprocal relationships in which Lu and another state exchanged visits of friendly inquiry, as well as cases in which Lu was the beneficiary of a nonreciprocal relationship, that is, in which another state sent visits of friendly inquiry or court visits to Lu but received no visits in exchange. But in only one unusual case does the Spring and Autumn record Lu as having sent a visit of any sort to

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another state but not received one in return, and the Zuo Tradition explains that this lone instance—a visit by a Lu nobleman to the small state of Ju 莒— was not a visit of friendly inquiry.34 That is, when there is lack of reciprocity, Lu is depicted as the beneficiary and recipient of visits, but the reverse is never true; in no case does Lu ever make more visits than it receives from a given state.35 We would expect that at minimum, Lu would have occasionally sent noblemen to those states whose rulers came to Lu on court visits, yet not a single such visit is recorded. In a system such as this one, only the highestranking member should be in a position to receive visits without reciprocating, but Lu was certainly not at the pinnacle of the actual interstate hierarchy. The Spring and Autumn recording patterns thus indicate that some visits or even entire categories of visits originating in Lu must have been omitted from the Spring and Autumn.36 The question here, as elsewhere throughout this book, is what motivated these patterns of exclusion. It is easy enough to attribute the exclusion of court visits made by the Lu ruler to a reluctance to record anything that would expose Lu as being in an inferior position, as such visits certainly did. The Lu ruler traveled only to the courts of more powerful states, and when the Lu ruler made a court visit, his subordination to his host was both real, in the sense that it reflected the relative power of the two rulers, and also ceremonial, in the sense that guests were subordinate to hosts. Yet visits of friendly inquiry present a more complex situation, since they were made not only to higher-ranking states but also among peers and to states of inferior rank. For example, the Spring and Autumn registers visits of friendly inquiry sent by powerful and highranking states including Zhou, Jin, and Qi to Lu, and we know that in reality, Lu was situated beneath these states in the hierarchy. Thus, unlike a court visit, a visit of friendly inquiry did not signal a specific hierarchical relationship between the state that sent the visit and the state that received it. Why would Lu have chosen to obscure all cases in which Lu noblemen made visits of friendly inquiry to other states, and not just a subset of those records? Even if Lu outranked the host state, the ceremonial subordination of guest to host appears to have been sufficient reason to conceal these visits. CEREMONIES AND RITES PRESCRIPTIONS AND ZUO TRADITION NARRATIVES

As preceding chapters have demonstrated, the hierarchy represented in the Spring and Autumn records is an idealized one, and the records use a variety

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of formal features to depict Lu as being situated higher in the hierarchy than it really was. Spring and Autumn conventions for recording (or excluding) instances of diplomatic travel were certainly motivated by similar considerations. If we turn from the hierarchical ranking of states to the interactions that took place during a diplomatic visit and the relative rank of host and guest, we find abundant evidence that guests were at least ceremonially subordinate to the host, and that this principle applied not only to court visits but also to visits of friendly inquiry, including instances in which the host state was less powerful than the state that dispatched the visitor and regardless of the real rank differential between host and guest. Two sources, the Ceremonies and Rites and Zuo Tradition, offer details about visits of friendly inquiry. The Ceremonies and Rites is a ritual handbook with detailed prescriptions concerning the proper way to conduct various ceremonies, and it gives comprehensive instructions for a visit of friendly inquiry from start to finish. These instructions focus primarily on physical aspects of interactions between guest and host, including the movements of the participants as well as the material objects employed. By contrast, the Zuo Tradition contains accounts describing what happened or was purported to have happened on particular occasions. It narrates portions of various individual visits, laying emphasis on spoken interactions, but it does not give a single comprehensive account of a visit from start to finish. Evidence from these two sources provides insight into how form was used to communicate relative rank during visits of friendly inquiry, which in turn elucidates the conventions that governed how these visits were recorded in the Spring and Autumn. Choreographed Movement and Scripted Dialogue

The full text of the Ceremonies and Rites is no longer extant, but fortunately the section called “Rites for Visits of Friendly Inquiry” (“Pin li” 聘禮) has survived and appears to be complete.37 This section gives step-by-step instructions for conducting a visit of friendly inquiry. Many of the component ceremonies that are included in these instructions also appear in the Zuo Tradition, but they are scattered across narratives of many different visits rather than occurring in a single unified account.38 It is significant that, despite the difference in purpose and genre, the Ceremonies and Rites and the Zuo Tradition are largely in agreement about the constituent steps of a visit of friendly inquiry; this point lends an additional measure of credibility to the prescriptions of the Ceremonies and Rites, whose date and provenance are somewhat uncertain.39

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The Ceremonies and Rites instructions cover three stages, beginning with departure preparations in the emissary’s home state, culminating in ceremonial interactions with the ruler and officials while the visitor is a guest in the host state, and concluding with his arrival back in his home state.40 Even though the visit is carried out by a nobleman, it is initiated by his ruler and concludes with the visitor reporting back to his ruler. That the emissary’s ruler bears ultimate responsibility for the visit is reflected in Spring and Autumn records of visits received by Lu, which refer to the visiting nobleman as having been dispatched by his ruler; recall that records of travel by Lu noblemen do not mention the Lu ruler at all. Each component of the visit is highly structured and carefully choreographed. The culminating point of a visit of friendly inquiry as set forth in the Ceremonies and Rites is the ceremony in which the emissary presents the charge (mìng 命) he was dispatched by his lord to deliver and passes the jade baton, which symbolizes the authority vested in him by his ruler, to his host. The following excerpt from the instructions for this ceremony offers a taste of the prescriptive choreography found in the Ceremonies and Rites.41 賓襲，執圭。擯者入告，出辭玉。納賓。賓入門左。介皆入門左，北 面西上。三揖，至於階，三讓。公升二等，賓升，西楹西，東面。擯 者退中庭。賓致命。公左還，北鄉。擯者進。公當楣再拜。賓三退， 負序。公側襲，受玉於中堂與東楹之間。 The guest dons an outer robe and clasps the jade baton. The usher goes in and announces him, and comes out and declines the jade. He then admits the guest. The guest enters to the left side of the door. The attendants all enter to the left side of the door and face north, ascending [in rank] to the west. [The ruler and the guest] salute each other three times, and when they reach the steps, each yields to the other three times. The lord ascends two steps. The guest ascends and goes to the west of the western pillar and faces east. Then the usher withdraws to the center of the court. The guest presents the charge [mìng]. The lord turns around to the left and faces north. The usher advances. The lord, standing even with the second rafter, bows twice. The guest withdraws three steps, and stands with his back to the wall. The lord, alone, dons an outer robe and accepts the jade, standing between the center of the hall and the eastern pillar.42 (Yili, “Pin li,” 20.12a–13b [pp. 243–244])

This passage describes the relative position of participants and their movement across space in close detail. Sections covering other components of the visit give extremely specific instructions enumerating gifts and their precise physical

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arrangement and presentation and, similar to this passage, the instructions also give great attention to the movement of individuals of varying ranks across space to convey relative position in the hierarchy. These prescriptions specify where participants are to stand relative to others, with those who are higher in rank going first or standing in a physically higher or more honored location, and they likewise enumerate the quantity or size of gifts, with higher-ranking individuals both receiving and presenting greater quantities and more lavish items.43 In short, the Ceremonies and Rites prescriptions reveal a deep concern with the physical realization and spatial and material display of graded hierarchy. While the Ceremonies and Rites is a ritual handbook and thus provides comprehensive instructions for diplomatic visits, the Zuo Tradition narrates interactions that occurred during specific visits and thus tends to focus on individual steps. The following passage narrates a particular instance of the presentation of the charge: 秦伯使西乞術來聘，且言將伐晉。襄仲辭玉。曰：「君不忘先君之好， 照臨魯國，鎮撫其社稷，重之以大器。寡君敢辭玉。」對曰：「不腆敝 器，不足辭也。」主人三辭。賓答曰：「寡君願徼福于周公、魯公以事 君。不腆先君之敝器。使下臣致諸執事，以為瑞節，要結好命。所以藉 寡君之命，結二國之好，是以敢致之。」襄仲曰：「不有君子，其能國 乎。國無陋矣。」厚賄之。 The Bo of Qin [Lord Kang] dispatched Xiqi Shu to come on a visit of friendly inquiry, and furthermore to talk about attacking Jin. Xiang Zhong [Gongzi Sui] declined the jade. He said, “Your ruler does not forget the good relations between our previous rulers. Qin has cast radiance on the state of Lu with your visit, and protected and comforted our Altars of Earth and Grain, and now you add to this with this great object. Our lord dares to decline the jade.” Xiqi Shu responded saying, “Our simple and poor object is not worth declining.” The host declined three times. The guest [Xiqi Shu] said, “Our lord desires to seek blessing from Zhou Gong and the Lu Lord by serving your ruler. As for this simple poor jade of our previous rulers, he dispatched me, his inferior minister, to deliver it to you, who are in charge of affairs, in order to serve as a token of trust, and to bind our good fate. It is the mat used for presenting my lord’s instructions, for binding together the goodwill of our two states, and therefore I dare extend it to you.”44 Xiang Zhong said, “Were it not for noble men, could the state be maintained? Your state is not in any way vulgar!” and he generously rewarded Xiqi Shu. (Zuo, Wen 12, 588)

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Like the Ceremonies and Rites prescriptions, this account describes the host (in this case, a nobleman acting in his ruler’s stead) declining the jade but ultimately accepting it. Here too, the initial refusal of the jade by the host is a prescribed ceremonial act. The Zuo Tradition details the elegant yet extremely formulaic dialogue between host and guest, and we may surmise that conversation too was dictated by strict rules. Neither the Lu nobleman Xiang Zhong (also known as Gongzi Sui) nor the visiting Qin nobleman Xiqi Shu is permitted to speak extemporaneously, nor does either seek to communicate his true thoughts and feelings. Rather, both are speaking from a prescribed script, just as they move across space and exchange gifts according to specific ritual instructions. Although their polite conversation and constrained movements display a hierarchical relationship between a deferential guest and a higher-ranking host, just as their scripted dialogue does not reveal their true feelings, the relative ranking displayed by their interactions does not necessarily represent reality. The Ceremonies and Rites and Zuo Tradition give ample information about visits of friendly inquiry but provide far less detail about court visits. The extant Ceremonies and Rites does not include a section on court visits, but from Zuo Tradition narratives we can deduce that they entailed a series of steps similar to those for visits of friendly inquiry.45 The Zuo Tradition tells us that one of the constituent ceremonies involved the transfer of a jade from guest to host, during which guest and host were expected to assume certain postures and attitudes; this was presumably parallel to the analogous ceremony in a visit of friendly inquiry. Also similar was the exchange of gifts, whose quantity and degree of lavishness appear to have been determined by the rank of the visitor; similar sumptuary restrictions governed the presentation of gifts during visits of friendly inquiry.46 Since none of the Zuo Tradition narratives mentions more than a step or two, some points remain uncertain. Yet one aspect of court visits is absolutely clear: the guest, a regional ruler, was subordinate to his host, another regional ruler, and this unequal relationship was exhibited throughout the formal interactions that occurred during the visit. The guest’s inferior position was not merely a temporary ceremonial role; it reflected the actual power balance of the two states. Thus, in court visits the ceremonial and real hierarchy were in full alignment. By contrast, the actual hierarchical relationship between host and guest in visits of friendly inquiry could be somewhat ambiguous, since visiting noblemen often hailed from more powerful states, and (as demonstrated

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in chapter 4) a nobleman from a high-ranking state might be considered the peer of a low-ranking state’s ruler.47 Even so, ever present in prescriptions and narrative accounts of visits of friendly inquiry are strictly followed hierarchical standards, according to which the visiting emissary displayed deference or even formal submission to his host.48 This point is obvious in the choreographed movement prescribed in the Ceremonies and Rites: while ruler and emissary each yield to the other, ultimately it is the ruler, not the emissary, who ascends first. Similarly, if host and guest must both pass through a doorway, the host enters first. Elsewhere, the difference in rank is manifested in how host and guest acknowledge each other; when the host “bows twice, the emissary draws aside, not bowing in reply,” a response interpreted by commentators as sign of great deference, as if the guest did not dare respond.49 Perhaps the most obvious signal of the emissary’s subordinate position is his lack of direct access to his host. The occasions in which the guest may interact with the host are carefully circumscribed, and in all cases, he is escorted by an official, and at the only point in which the ruler approaches him directly, he is required to decline the honor of the visit.50 These formal restrictions all show that the host was  dominant, outranking the visitor. Yet in contrast to court visits, in some visits of friendly inquiry the visitor’s submissive role was ceremonial and temporary and did not necessarily align with the actual power situation. Deferential Speech Versus Real Power

Zuo Tradition narratives depict the refined and highly scripted language employed during diplomatic visits. Passages that give reasons for visits of friendly inquiry or that narrate events associated with such visits frequently refer to mutual goodwill, using set phrases such as “continuing the goodwill of old” (jì jiù hǎo 繼舊好), “the goodwill between our former rulers” (xiān jūn zhī hǎo 先君之好), “binding good ties” (jié  .  .  . hǎo 結  .  .  . 好) between states or rulers, and “cultivating past goodwill” (xiū qián hǎo 脩 前好).51 This amicable language aligns neatly with the conventional reasons for visits of friendly inquiry, such as repaying a visit, establishing ties with a new ruler, joining together in covenant, or acknowledging a favor. Another type of scripted language appears in dialogues between host and guest, such as that between Qin nobleman Xiqi Shu and Lu nobleman Xiang Zhong (Gongzi Sui), translated in the preceding section. The guest

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employs self-deprecating terms, calling himself an “inferior minister” and referring to his “simple and poor jade,” which he describes as a “mat” upon which he presents his ruler’s charge.52 Like the choreographed ceremonial steps described in the Ceremonies and Rites, such language constitutes a prescribed element of diplomatic visits and functions to display the hierarchical host-guest relationship. Yet a closer look at the Zuo Tradition suggests that beneath the scripted deference and goodwill often lay varying degrees of tension or even hostility. First, visits of friendly inquiry were obligatory on certain occasions and could be sought or even demanded, as illustrated by this account: 九年。春。王使來徵聘。夏。孟獻子聘於周。王以為有禮，厚賄之。 The ninth year, spring. A royal emissary came to request a visit of friendly inquiry. Summer. Meng Xianzi made a visit of friendly inquiry to Zhou. The king regarded this as being in accord with ritual and rewarded him generously. (Zuo, Xuan 9, 701)

Although this passage contains no trace of animosity, it is nonetheless significant that the Zhou king sought and received a visit of friendly inquiry. In other words, the visit was not voluntary but obligatory, even if the visitor was given generous gifts. Despite the amicable relations, this was certainly not a case of interaction between equals. Given that visits of friendly inquiry were expected or even required under certain circumstances, what might be the consequences of failure to fill those expectations? 秋。季武子如衛。報子叔之聘且辭緩報，非貳也。 Autumn. [Lu nobleman] Ji Wuzi went to Wei. It was to repay the visit of friendly inquiry from Zishu, and furthermore to explain his tardiness in repaying the visit: it was not disloyalty. (Zuo Xiang 7, 950)

Zishu, a Wei nobleman, had visited Lu seven years prior, on the accession of Lord Xiang of Lu.53 Lu felt obligated not only to repay Zishu’s visit but furthermore to affirm that Lu remained loyal to Wei; apparently, failing to reciprocate a visit in a timely fashion could be interpreted as disloyalty and thus could jeopardize diplomatic relations. Although both of the preceding accounts indicate that visits of friendly inquiry were obligatory, neither manifests any intimation of overt hostility

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or coercion, and in both cases, Lu responded by sending the mission as expected. What happened when Lu did not fulfill its obligations? Such a situation is narrated here: 晉侯之立也，公不朝焉，又不使大夫聘。晉人止公于會。盟于黃父， 公不與盟。以賂免。 When the Hou of Jin was established, the [Lu] Lord did not make a court visit to him, nor did he send a nobleman to make a visit of friendly inquiry. The man of Jin detained our lord at the meeting. When they made covenant at Huangfu, the [Lu] lord did not participate in the covenant, and he escaped by means of a bribe. (Zuo, Xuan 7, 692)

When the host state was large and powerful, failure on the part of the guest state to make a customary visit—Lu had failed to send a diplomatic mission on the accession of the Jin ruler five years earlier—could result in open hostilities, and underlying the scripted goodwill lay very real threats of coercion. If a significant power imbalance obtained between host and guest, the guest’s yielding, submissive posture toward the host was not merely prescribed ceremonial conduct but may also have been motivated by genuine fear of negative diplomatic repercussions. In such cases, both court visits and visits of friendly inquiry not only affirmed continued goodwill between the two states but also signaled submission by a guest representing a lower-ranking state to a higher-ranking host state. In short, the power balance of host and guest fully aligned with the ceremonial roles they played during visits of friendly inquiry. Yet visits of friendly inquiry were also sent by larger, more powerful states to host states that were smaller and weaker, and noblemen from large states were not necessarily less powerful than the rulers of the small states that hosted them. In such cases, the convention of a submissive guest deferring to a dominant host constituted an inversion of the actual balance of power. Zuo Tradition accounts show that even when a guest’s home state far outranked that of his host, the guest still displayed at least nominal deference to his host, and while guests from more powerful states did at times exercise authority on behalf of the rulers who had sent them, they did so without departing from the regular ceremonial script. On occasion, an emissary from a more powerful state sought service from Lu during a visit of friendly inquiry. For example, in Cheng 8, a visiting

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Jin nobleman requested that Lu contribute troops to a joint military action, but the Lu ruler was reluctant to do so:54 晉士燮來聘，言伐郯也，以其事吳故。公賂之，請緩師。文子不可， 曰：「君命無貳，失信不立。禮無加貨，事無二成。君後諸侯，是寡 君不得事君也。燮將復之。」季孫懼，使宣伯帥師會伐郯。 Shi Xie of Jin came on a friendly diplomatic visit; it was to discuss attacking Tan. This was on account of their serving Wu. The Lu lord gave him gifts, requesting to delay providing troops. Wenzi [Shi Xie] was not amenable to this. He said, “A ruler’s instructions do not permit a second option; if one loses credibility, one’s position cannot be maintained. The ritual standard for gifts cannot be added to; the matter does not permit two outcomes. If you are later than the other regional rulers, in this case my ruler will be unable to serve you. I, Xie, will return home and report this.” [Lu nobleman] Jisun was frightened, and he dispatched Xuan Bo to lead troops to join in attacking Tan. (Zuo, Cheng 8, 840)

In response to Shi Xie, the Lu ruler not only sought to avoid sending troops, but offered him what amounted to a bribe—additional gifts beyond the prescribed ceremonial standard. This response alone reveals the reality of the situation, namely, that the Lu ruler was less powerful than his guest, the visiting nobleman. In his reply, Shi Xie made it clear that Lu could not avoid sending troops, but his language remained respectful, and rather than making explicit threats to force Lu to comply, he simply stated that he would report Lu’s decision to his ruler. Significantly, in attempting to avoid acquiescing to Jin’s demands, Lu followed the regular convention of a host giving gifts to the emissary; the gifts represented a departure from the stipulated form only in that they were excessive. Likewise, Shi Xie too adhered to the ceremonial script, as the emissary’s report back to his ruler was a required component of all visits of friendly inquiry. Although the visiting nobleman maintained the prescribed deferential role throughout the visit, he nonetheless managed to exert power over his host, the Lu ruler. In an incident that occurred during another visit from a Jin nobleman, the emissary was deeply offended—apparently with some justification—that he had not been treated with the proper level of ceremonial display: 夏。晉士鞅來聘。叔孫為政。季孫欲惡諸晉，使有司以齊鮑國歸費之 禮為士鞅。士鞅怒，曰：「鮑國之位下，其國小，而使鞅從其牢禮。 是卑敝邑也。將復諸寡君。」魯人恐。加四牢焉，為十一牢。

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Summer. Shi Yang of Jin came [to Lu] on a visit of friendly inquiry. Shusun was in charge of the government. Jisun wanted to humiliate him to Jin, so he had the master of ceremonies employ the same level of ceremony for Shi Yang as had been employed for Bao Guo of Qi when he returned [the territory of] Bi. Shi Yang was angry and said, “Bao Guo’s rank is lower and his state is smaller, and yet you are requiring me to be received with the same number of sets of sacrificial animals and the same level of ceremony as were employed for him. This demeans our humble state. I will report it to my ruler.” The people of Lu were afraid, and they increased the number by four sets, totaling eleven sets of sacrificial animals. (Zuo, Zhao 21, 1424)

Despite Shi Yang’s indignation, his response was not to threaten Lu directly. Instead, like Shi Xie, he invoked sumptuary regulations, in this case protesting that he had been treated too meanly rather than presented with excessive gifts, and asserting that this treatment was not in accord with his state’s size and his own rank. Also like Shi Xie, he stated that he would report the incident back to his ruler. This statement was sufficient to strike fear in his host and to motivate Lu to increase the level of ceremonial pomp. Although these incidents both involved visitors from Jin, a state far more powerful than Lu, the Jin emissaries made no explicit reference to this disparity. Perhaps the imbalance of power was so extreme as to obviate direct mention of it; it is possible too that each emissary’s outward show of deference arose from the fact that, as a nobleman, he was formally outranked by the Lu lord, a regional ruler. Yet it remains significant that visitors did not use overt threats to coerce their hosts during the course of their visits; indeed, the passages translated here document the most aggressive and threatening behavior found in Zuo Tradition accounts of visits of friendly inquiry. In other types of situations, more powerful states did use threats or coercion in response to weaker states that refused to meet their demands; a case in point is Jin’s detention of the Lu ruler in Xuan 7 (translated earlier in this section). Interstate interactions were not uniformly polite and respectful; rather, such formal restraint was characteristic of visits of friendly inquiry, and presumably of court visits as well. Display of a proper “superior-subordinate” relationship between host and guest was maintained regardless of the de facto power balance. Some guests were genuinely outranked by their hosts, while at other times the guest held the upper hand; but in all cases the guest was expected to make a show of deference to the ruler of the host state. Thus we often can detect a fundamental

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disjuncture between the deferential ceremonial role played by the guest and the actual degree of power he wielded. Nowhere is this disjuncture as apparent as in the following account a Qi nobleman’s visit of friendly inquiry to Wei shortly after the Wei ruler had fled the capital. 齊侯使公孫青聘于衛。既出，聞衛亂。使請所聘。公曰：「猶在竟內 則衛君也。乃將事焉。」遂從諸死鳥，請將事。辭曰：「亡人不佞。 失守社稷。越在草莽。吾子無所辱君命。」賓曰：「寡君命下臣於朝 曰：『阿下執事。』臣不敢貳。」主人曰：「君若惠顧先君之好，昭 臨敝邑。鎮撫其社稷，則有宗祧在。」乃止。衛侯固請見之，不獲 命。以其良馬見，為未致使故也。衛侯以為乘馬。 The Hou of Qi sent Gongsun Qing to make a visit of friendly inquiry to Wei. Just after setting out, he heard about the chaos in Wei. He sent someone to inquire as to whom he should make his visit. The ruler [of Qi] said, “If he is still within the borders, he is the ruler of Wei; then you should serve him.” Consequently, he followed the Wei ruler to Siniao, and he requested to conduct the services [associated with a visit]. He declined, saying “I who have fled am not clever. I have failed to maintain the altars of earth and grain. I have ventured out into the weeds and wild. Sir, there is no place for you to disgrace your ruler’s instructions!” The guest said, “My ruler instructed his inferior vassal in the court, saying, ‘Attach yourself to the one who is in charge.’ I do not dare to betray his instructions.” The host said, “If your ruler looks back with favor on the good relations with our former rulers and condescends to visit our humble town and to protect and comfort our altars of grain and earth, then there is our ancestral shrine [in the capital].” Thereupon Gongsun Qing desisted. The Hou of Wei still persisted in requesting to meet with him, [but] did not accept the charge [brought by the emissary].55 Gongsun Qing presented him his good horses to gain audience; it was because he had not delivered the charge that he was dispatched to deliver. The Hou of Wei used them for chariot horses. (Zuo, Zhao 20, 1411)

That the Qi ruler instructed his emissary to make his visit to the ruler in exile rather than seeking out the person who held de facto power in Wei indicates that the recipient of the visit was identified by formal criteria—in this case, apparently, by virtue of having remained within the borders of his state, the Hou of Wei still at least nominally held the position of ruler.56 During his

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visit, despite the status of his host as a powerless ruler in exile, Gongsun Qing of Qi put on a show of complete deference. It is worth noting too that Qi was much stronger than Wei, and even had the Hou of Wei not been in exile, the balance of power would have been very much in Qi’s favor. Gongsun Qing was prevented from completing the visit because, as the exiled ruler reminded him, the proper location for such ceremonies was the ancestral shrine, to which they did not have access. So attentive to matters of form was Gongsun Qing that even when the Hou of Wei requested to meet with him without first going through the proper ceremonies, he made a show of presenting his host with horses in order to gain audience. This conduct, too, entailed adherence to the conventional ceremonial script, according to which a gift was required for Gongsun Qing, a mere minister, to gain access to his host, even in his weakened position. As Gongsun Qing insisted on completing the visit, albeit with reduced ceremony, he employed language that shifted all authority to his ruler, a tactic employed by other emissaries, even if he had different goals in mind. Gongsun Qing aimed to complete the visit, which had the effect of honoring the exiled Wei ruler and bolstering his prestige, whereas the two Jin emissaries intended to induce the Lu ruler to do their bidding. Despite their diverging goals, all three guests invoked the requirement to report to their rulers rather than attempting to exert their own authority directly. This practice calls to mind the Spring and Autumn records, which register inbound visits of friendly inquiry as being dispatched by rulers. These records, like the scripted language found in the Zuo Tradition accounts, affirm that the source of authority for such visits was the emissary’s ruler and not the emissary himself, and perhaps by extension, the records imply that it was not only the emissary but also the ruler who dispatched him who was displaying deference to Lu, the host. CONCEALING SUBMISSION: “WHAT WAS NOT THE TRUTH”

This chapter has brought to light a number of discrepancies between fact— what actually happened—and form—how reality was presented and displayed. From the Zuo Tradition, we know that Lu received court visits and visits of friendly inquiry from other states, that the Lu ruler made court visits to higher-ranking states, and that Lu also exchanged visits of friendly inquiry with higher- and lower-ranking states and with peers. Yet the Spring and Autumn tells a different story. While court visits and visits of friendly inquiry from other states to Lu are recorded as such, all outbound travel from Lu to

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other states is recorded with the generic verb meaning “go,” obscuring the purpose of the visit. More generally, the Spring and Autumn does not give evidence of reciprocity in diplomatic interchange, and it is apparent that records of travel concealed the details of many instances in which Lu rulers or noblemen paid diplomatic visits to other states and outright omitted still more instances of travel from Lu. The question, of course, is what motivated such patterns of record-keeping. A court visit entailed the ruler of one state subordinating himself to another ruler, and it is quite reasonable to suppose that court visits made by the Lu ruler were not registered explicitly in the Spring and Autumn precisely because such records would have showed Lu in a subordinate position. Likewise, court visits received from other states were clearly recorded as such, even when the home state of the guest was small and insignificant; these records called attention to Lu’s dominant position with respect to the guest. A somewhat similar pattern is visible in records of “providing [military] aid” (jiù 救): several records register that Lu provided aid to other states, but not a single record indicates that Lu had been the recipient. Situations in which Lu was in some respect inferior to another state, whether by displaying submission during a court visit or by exposing weakness through relying on another state for military aid, were concealed. While the very act of making a court visit signified that the visitor’s home state was outranked by the host state, this was not so with visits of friendly inquiry, which were exchanged between higher- and lower-ranking states and among states of similar rank. Yet during the visit, even a guest who hailed from a much higher-ranking state displayed ceremonial deference to his host. Thus visits of friendly inquiry from Lu were obscured or excluded for similar reasons as court visits, namely, that recording a Lu nobleman’s visit of friendly inquiry to another state would have been tantamount to recording his submission to that state’s ruler. In broadest terms, acting as host added to Lu’s prestige, and thus inbound visits were recorded explicitly and in detail, whereas being a guest detracted from Lu’s high standing and thus outbound visits were recorded as generic instances of “going” or simply omitted. Also missing are visits of friendly inquiry to Lu from low-ranking states whose rulers also made court visits; we might speculate that these visits were omitted because they would not have substantially augmented Lu’s prestige and not because they would have diminished Lu’s high standing. Several commentaries observe that a principle of Spring and Autumn recording was to “avoid” (huì 諱) the “abominations” (è 惡) associated with

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Lu. This principle is often invoked to explain the Spring and Autumn convention of obscuring or excluding instances in which Lu or its ruler was forcibly subjugated by another state.57 The commentaries do not address the matter of diplomatic visits, but perhaps instances of ceremonial submission were avoided for similar reasons. Certainly, one might argue that a case in which a Lu nobleman made a polite display of deference to the ruler of an obviously less powerful state during the course of a diplomatic visit was simply a matter of proper etiquette, and that it would hardly qualify as an “abomination.” Indeed, no coercion or forcible subjugation was involved, and for a Lu nobleman to act as a deferential guest to another state would not have been humiliating in the same sense as a battlefield defeat or the detention, capture, or murder of the ruler. Nor was it an instance of unvirtuous conduct, that is, a moral abomination. Yet patterns of recording indicate that avoidance was not limited to subjugation by force—that is, instances of “real” submission—and that it extended to instances of ceremonial submission as well, even when such instances were pro forma and did not reflect the real power situation. The insistence on displaying Lu as situated at the top of the hierarchy in the Spring and Autumn, like the show of submission by noblemen and rulers who made diplomatic visits to other states, arose from a culture deeply concerned with relative rank, both actual and ceremonial, and heavily preoccupied with its proper formal expression. The prescriptive choreography of the Ceremonies and Rites section on visits of friendly inquiry and the rigid adherence to form evidenced in the Zuo Tradition were also products of this culture, as were the set phrasing and scripted language of diplomatic dialogue found in Zuo Tradition accounts. These features link the system of rules that governed the Spring and Autumn to a larger system of thought and practice, of which recording conventions were only a part. Just as proper form in a visit of friendly inquiry dictated that the host be dominant, even if the visiting emissary hailed from a much higher-ranking state, likewise, proper form in record-keeping mandated that Lu be situated at the apex of the hierarchy, regardless of the actual balance of military power or diplomatic pull. Events that would have placed Lu in a lower position relative to others were obscured or excluded. The purpose of the formulaic Spring and Autumn records, similar to the rigidly choreographed diplomatic visits and highly scripted dialogues, was not to convey reality but to use form to display an idealized hierarchy in which no state outranked Lu. In such cases, the Spring and Autumn, as James Legge wrote, “tells us what was not the truth.”58 Lu was not at the top of the interstate hierarchy.

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Nowhere does the Spring and Autumn explicitly claim that Lu was the most powerful state, but it employs form—listing, special verbs, and styles of reference, along with inclusions and omissions—to convey this message clearly. Likewise, if a visiting nobleman from a more powerful state made a show of deference to the Lu ruler, this display also conveyed a situation that was “not the truth.” The deference was ceremonial and temporary; it did not align with the actual power differential, but it was nonetheless registered in the Spring and Autumn. At the same time, when the Lu ruler paid a court visit to a more powerful state and displayed deference to his host, this did correspond to the real power balance, yet the Spring and Autumn obscured or excluded such visits, again telling us “what was not the truth.” Spring and Autumn recording conventions required that all instances of Lu submission be suppressed, regardless of whether the submission reflected reality or was only temporary and pro forma. The consequence of this restriction was, to borrow the words of Maurice Bloch, “to hide reality,” that is, “to hide the actual situation and preserve authority.”59 The hierarchy communicated by the Spring and Autumn was an idealized one, the hierarchy that Lu wished to display, but the records present this idealized version of reality as incontrovertible fact.

CONCLUSIONS Spring and Autumn Historiography and the Formally Regular Core

The Spring and Autumn is unique in the ancient Chinese corpus. If we define an annals text as one that is composed of brief, discrete records arranged in chronological order, other annals did exist in early China, and a few survive today.1 What is unusual about the Spring and Autumn is the extraordinarily regular, formulaic nature of its records. Lu was not the only state in early China that produced official records; if the Spring and Autumn represents a historiographical genre that was conventional during the Spring and Autumn period, why do no other chronologically arranged texts from early China exhibit a similar level of formal regularity? This singularity alone might be taken as credible evidence supporting the lore of composition by Confucius, or at least might seem to indicate heavy retrospective editing by a single individual or group. Alternatively, perhaps the excavated texts represent conventions of later centuries, and maybe the Qin conquest and attendant burning of the books resulted in the loss of all early works similar to the Spring and Autumn, as official state annals were surely deeply connected to the authority of the ruling lineages of the states overthrown by Qin. Solving this puzzle is not a matter of deciding between two entirely different composition scenarios, either that the records we have now are precisely those registered by Lu record-keepers over the course of 244 years, or, at the other extreme, that they were generated after the fact by a single writer. Even if the records were not heavily edited by Confucius or any other

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individual, it is an irrefutable fact that the present version of the Spring and Autumn (like all other texts transmitted from preimperial China) was subject to some degree of later editing, if only to standardize the orthography, and it is equally certain that (again like all texts transmitted from antiquity) it contains interpolations and corruptions. Alternatively, even if the text we now have was produced by heavy editing, its records must have been based on earlier material. The earliest accounts claiming that Confucius was involved in its compilation or editing suggest that he based his work on the official records of Lu, source material that much later came to be referred to as the “unedited Spring and Autumn” (wèi xiū zhī Chūnqiū 未脩之春秋).2 Regardless of the degree of editorial intervention or who—whether Confucius or others—was involved, it seems quite certain that the official annals of Lu constituted the primary source of the Spring and Autumn. Thus it is not appropriate to look at this problem as a binary choice, that the records were either based on Lu annals or that they were the product of later editing; rather, the records were both based on official Lu records and also were later edited, even if we are not sure who that editor was.3 The crucial question I would like to answer is not that of the origins of the Spring and Autumn itself—I believe we can safely assume that it was based on official Lu records—but the degree of later editorial intervention entailed in generating the current text, and specifically, when the conventions that resulted in the formal regularity of its records were imposed. Was the formally regular core of the Spring and Autumn the result of later editing, or did the record-keepers follow conventions that produced these regular patterns when the records were first made? If the regular core was generated by heavy editing after the fact, whether by Confucius or anyone else, then its regular patterns throw light on the views and thought of that later editor. If, on the other hand, the Spring and Autumn was produced year by year as the official annals of Lu and the regular patterns were imposed by Lu record-keepers when the records were first written down, then the records and the patterns inherent in them can tell us about Lu values and culture, and about how Lu perceived and wished to depict the events that occurred during the period covered by the records. These are radically different ways of understanding the Spring and Autumn and the regular records that constitute its core. In the following pages, I will explore this problem from two different angles. First, what labor would have been required to edit existing source

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material into such a regular text? From a logistical perspective, is it likely that the formally regular core was produced by a later editor? Second, do the principles and priorities inherent to the records, in particular, the formally regular core upon which this book has focused, align with our conventional understanding of the approach and values associated with Confucius? If not, do they exhibit any characteristics that might shed light on their origin? Although it is impossible to prove a negative, and (barring the discovery of hitherto unknown textual material) it is unlikely that we will ever be able to resolve this question with complete certainty, I believe that the evidence we now have strongly indicates that the regular patterns of the Spring and Autumn records were not created by Confucius or any other later editor, but that they were produced by Lu record-keepers and reflect the priorities of the Lu ruling house, and furthermore that they are consistent with other contemporaneous systems that use form to communicate hierarchy. THE LOGISTICS OF EDITING AND THE FORMALLY REGULAR CORE

This book has focused on the formally regular core of the Spring and Autumn, but, as noted in the introduction, not all records were entirely regular. Some irregular records were certainly original to the text, but— not surprisingly for a text composed well over two thousand years ago— others appear to be the result of corruption or later editorial intervention. That is, some individual records were altered, removed, or perhaps even added, and these changes must have included both deliberate alterations and unintentional introduction of errors.4 While records that are irregular because they were altered may stand out, any instances of loss or removal would be impossible to detect, as would be insertions of individual records created to match the regular form. It is entirely possible that one or more later editors (perhaps including Confucius) introduced changes to individual records, and indeed, claims that Confucius edited the Spring and Autumn may be understood as referring to alterations of individual records rather than comprehensive editing of the entire work. Yet even if we were able to detect evidence of additions, removals, and modifications to individual records, this would tell us little about the provenance of the formally regular core.

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If, for the sake of argument, we assume that the Spring and Autumn was a later work whose content was based on the official Lu annals, what kind of editorial labor might have been involved in generating a text with the sorts of patterns observed in the Spring and Autumn? Is a scenario in which a later editor revised an earlier, less regular set of records into the current set of formulaic entries feasible or realistic? Indeed, many of the editorial changes necessary to standardize the records would have been fairly simple to implement after the fact. It is easy enough to imagine that a later editor could have changed existing source material to employ the special verb “perish” (hōng) in death records of Lu rulers and their primary wives, and “succumb” (bēng) for Zhou kings. Similarly, reordering lists of states to adhere to the proper sequence, though tedious, would not have been impossible. Yet other features of the regular core are far more challenging to explain as the work of later editors. Editorial Intervention and Exclusion of Detail

An obvious characteristic of the Spring and Autumn is its patterned exclusion of detail. Exclusions occur across a wide range of event types and involve details such as dates or names as well as entire sets or subsets of events. For example, the Spring and Autumn registers deaths and funerals of rulers, but by regular convention, it excludes all funerals of nobility and deaths of non-Lu noblemen. These events are sometimes documented in other early texts such as the Zuo Tradition, so we know that records of these deaths and funerals did exist. If this patterned exclusion was the work of a later editor working with an earlier, unedited version of the Lu annals, then when he came across certain types of records, he would have discarded them selectively, such as by removing all funerals of nobility and deaths of non-Lu nobility but retaining deaths of Lu nobility. The alternative is that the patterned exclusion of these events was already present in the records. Likewise, if the existing records included sexagenary cycle dates for interstate assemblies or for departures or arrivals related to military expeditions or diplomatic travel—such details are preserved in other texts, including the Zuo Tradition, so we know they were recorded in some contexts—the editor would have cut these details too, while carefully retaining full dates for a few select types of events, including deaths, funerals, battles, covenants, and eclipses. In preparing records of events involving multiple states, he would have carefully reordered lists of participants to follow a standardized

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sequence of states, and in some cases, if the unedited source material included lower-ranking participants, he would have deleted identifying details and replaced them with a generic designation such as “man” (rén), or perhaps removed them from the record entirely. When editing records of diplomatic travel, in addition to removing any sexagenary cycle dates, he also would have made sure to delete any reasons for outbound travel from Lu, replacing words such as “made a visit of friendly inquiry” with the generic verb “go” (rú), but at the same time, he would have retained all parallel detail concerning inbound travel. Again, the alternative is that these patterns were imposed on the records when they were first written. In short, if the patterns of exclusion present in the formally regular core of the Spring and Autumn were the result of later editorial labor, a significant amount of that labor would have involved removing information, that is, excising details such as dates or names and deleting entire records. Although it is not impossible, it is extremely difficult to imagine a later editor systematically eliminating detail and transmitting less information, even in such a patterned fashion. In general, much early historiography seems to have been associated with preserving knowledge of the past, not erasing it. The alternative, that the formally regular core of the Spring and Autumn was original to the records and the systematic exclusion of detail was introduced when the records were initially composed, strikes me as a much more realistic scenario. Narrative Perspective and Styles of Reference

An essential aspect of the formally regular core of the Spring and Autumn is the proper use of styles of reference to designate individuals of certain ranks and in certain contexts. Was this patterned usage the result of later editorial intervention? Or were styles of reference employed according to rules when the records were first prepared? As noted in chapter 3, most records employ the “default” style, which for regional rulers is simply home state plus ruling title, and records of deaths and a few other pivotal events also allow for inclusion of their personal names (míng). Significantly, posthumous epithets appear only in funeral records. This much seems quite straightforward, and we might imagine that it would have been an easy matter for a later editor to go back through the records and add personal names of regional rulers to their death records, to make sure that all funeral records employed posthumous names, and to edit other records to use the default style of reference.

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But the use of styles of reference in the Spring and Autumn is quite different from what is found in most early Chinese narrative accounts, which are typically written from the perspective of a narrator who is looking back on events. Such retrospective accounts of past activity often identify regional rulers by posthumous title; this is because, to the narrator recounting past events, the ruler was long dead, even if, from the internal perspective of the narrative, he was still very much alive. At the same time, in dialogue within these retrospective accounts of historical events, speakers typically employ forms of address appropriate for use by living contemporaries and do not, for example, refer to living rulers by their posthumous names. The Spring and Autumn does not employ the retrospective point of view found in early narrative accounts. Instead, its records treat rulers as living actors, with the sole exception being funeral records; the posthumous form is employed only after a ruler’s death. A similar pattern is evident in references to women, who are identified by different styles before and after marriage. If the Spring and Autumn use of styles was the result of later editing, the editor would have had to choose the correct style of reference depending on whether an individual was living or dead from the internal perspective of each record. In records registering the activities of regional rulers, any instances of posthumous names in the source material would have been replaced with the default style, with only funeral records using the deceased ruler’s posthumous epithet. Through this process, the retrospective point of view of a narrator looking back on events—equivalent to “past tense”— would have been replaced with the equivalent to “historical present tense,” in which styles of reference adopt the internal perspective of the record.5 As far as I have been able to ascertain, no other early Chinese text makes the careful and consistent set of distinctions found in the Spring and Autumn records, and it thus seems extremely unlikely that the patterns evident in the Spring and Autumn styles of reference were imposed by a later editor. Again, the alternative, that the records were composed as events transpired and that styles of reference appropriate to the living were employed during life and posthumous forms were used only after death, seems to be a far more plausible explanation. Composition History and Diachronic Changes in Frequency and Form

Another sort of clue that we might hope would throw light on Spring and Autumn composition history is the presence of diachronic changes in the

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records, as detailed in appendix 3. If the formally regular core was produced by an editor in an effort to standardize the form of the records, why are these changes still visible? Diachronic changes fall into three categories: changes over time in the frequency with which individual states and nobility are mentioned, changes over time in the types of events that are recorded, and the gradual decrease over time in minor irregularities, particularly in naming conventions. The first type of change concerns the frequency with which certain states and categories of leaders are mentioned. As discussed in chapter 4, the form of the records, including the sequence of states, remains constant over time, and shifts in the interstate power balance are not evident in the records. However, the frequency with which specific states are mentioned varies as some states rise in power and others are destroyed, and similarly, the frequency with which nobility are mentioned, particularly as leaders in multistate activity, increases over time. These changes in frequency reflect real historical trends, but because they do not entail changes to the regular patterns in the Spring and Autumn, they do not contribute to our understanding of its composition history. To look at this problem another way, if the content of the Spring and Autumn was written over time, then its records would quite naturally reflect actual historical changes such as the rise or destruction of individual states or the increasing power of the nobility. Yet such changes in frequency would be apparent regardless of whether the regular form was original to the records or imposed by a later editor. The presence of these diachronic changes certainly lends strength to the claim that the Spring and Autumn was based on source material that was prepared over time, but this type of change cannot assist us in determining the origin of the regular form. The second type of diachronic change is related to form, namely, changes to the types of events that were recorded. These include the introduction of new types of events and the decrease or complete cessation of others. For example, no outbound travel is recorded until the third decade covered by the Spring and Autumn, and in the final decades of the text, records of inbound travel decrease significantly. Records of visits of friendly inquiry to Lu stop completely in Zhao 21 (that is, in 521 BCE), and after this point, only two inbound court visits are recorded. Even more striking, no Lu marriages are recorded in the final century of the text. Introduction or elimination of event types suggests that rules governing what could be recorded may have changed over time, but this tells us nothing about whether the records were originally formulaic or if their regularity was the work of a later editor.

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More persuasive evidence comes from the third type of diachronic change, which is also related to form. Minor irregularities in the records appear more frequently earlier in the Spring and Autumn, particularly in the first six decades of the text, during the rule of Lord Zhuang (693–662 BCE) or before.6 If the formal regularity of the records was the result of later editorial intervention, why did the editor not clean up the earlier portion of the text and regularize these minor departures from the standard form? This evidence points to the conclusion that the records were prepared over time; irregularities early in the Spring and Autumn are evidence that the conventional form of the records had not yet been fully standardized, and this formative period therefore saw greater tolerance for irregularities. The formally regular core of the Spring and Autumn was not the result of standardization by a later editor. Instead, regular recording conventions were imposed by record-keepers as they registered events, and the records became increasingly formulaic over time. Examining the logistics of imposing the regular rules onto existing, less regular source material leads to the conclusion that the formally regular core was not produced by later editors. It is extremely unlikely that a later editor would have deliberately removed information—details and records of entire events—from the source material. Likewise, Spring and Autumn styles of reference distinguish between living actors and the deceased from the internal perspective of the text, a practice that sets the Spring and Autumn apart from other texts in the early Chinese corpus. Perhaps the most compelling evidence is the presence of minor irregularities in the early decades of the text, which lead us to wonder, if an editor heavily edited existing source material to produce such an extremely regular set of records, why were these few exceptions early in the Spring and Autumn allowed to slip by? Ultimately, even without definitive proof, this circumstantial evidence still provides very strong support for the hypothesis that the formally regular core was the work of Lu record-keepers, who followed regular conventions as they prepared the records over time. THE FEATURES OF THE REGULAR CORE AND COMMUNICATION BY FORM

As I have emphasized throughout this book, the Spring and Autumn communicates through form, not content. Its features have been analyzed in

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detail in the chapters of this book, but it is worth reviewing the message they convey and how they convey it before returning to the question of the origins of the formally regular core. The Spring and Autumn registers each type of event using a regular formula peculiar to that event type. This formula determines the main verb, the style of reference used to identify any participants, and the specificity of the date notation. Chapter 2, which focused on dates in the Spring and Autumn, demonstrated that records of only a few event types are always assigned sexagenary cycle dates, while most types of events are not dated precisely. The use of day-dates seems to prioritize certain types of events as more important than those without dates, or perhaps the presence of specific day-dates indicates that the timing of dated types of events had cosmic importance. In other words, day-dates do not simply communicate when an event happened; their presence also tells us about the relative importance of a given type of event. Formal features—specifically, styles of reference and special verbs—are likewise used to communicate information about the hierarchical position of individual men and women, as shown in chapter 3. Styles of reference explicitly identify an individual’s place in the hierarchy—for example, a regional ruler may be designated by home state and title—and the number and types of styles used to refer to a particular individual also correspond to his or her rank. Like use of day-dates, styles of reference are also linked to event type; for example, inclusion of rulers’ names marks deaths and other types of events associated with changes in a ruler’s status as having exceptional significance. Special verbs are employed in records of deaths and exiles to distinguish individuals of very high rank, including Lu and Zhou rulers, whereas similar events involving individuals of relatively low rank are omitted entirely. Finally, whereas individual death and funeral records may appear to do no more than communicate basic facts, that a particular person died and was buried, formal features of these records function together as a system in which a constellation of three variables—whether a death is recorded, which verb is used in the death record, and whether the death record is followed by a funeral record—is employed to demarcate five levels of rulers and nobility. The hierarchy displayed by the formal features of the Spring and Autumn is an idealized one, in which Lu rulers outrank other rulers and Lu nobility outrank other nobility. It represents the perspective of Lu. In records of events with participants from multiple states, the Spring and Autumn employs a different set of features to depict the interstate hierarchy.

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As shown in chapter 4, records of multistate events, that is, covenants, interstate meetings, and military actions, list leaders according to a consistent sequence of states, and they also group leaders by rank, first listing rulers and then nobility. Beyond simple listing order is another dimension of the interstate hierarchy, namely, that regional states fall into three ranked categories or, in the terminology employed in this book, three “tiers.” The tier to which a state belonged is revealed by the way its leaders are designated in certain types of records: the lower the tier, the less specific, and for the lowest tier, no reference at all could be made to individual leaders. Thus records of military actions, covenants, and meetings do not merely document that these events occurred and tell us who participated, but they also utilize form—listing order and level of specificity in designating participants—to depict an idealized and unchanging interstate hierarchy, with Lu at its apex. Records of killings and flights into exile, discussed in chapter 5, are also concerned with hierarchy, but their fundamental emphasis differs from that of the records analyzed in chapters 3 and 4, which use systems of formal features to communicate relative rank. Instead, records of killings and flights assume certain cultural knowledge, namely, that killings and flights into exile were associated with subjugation and humiliation, and that victims of killings and fugitives were regarded as disgraced offenders. On a superficial level, these records simply register the fate of individuals, but in fact they rely on this cultural knowledge to mark those identified in the records as victims of killings (including some suicides) and as fugitives (including those who had no choice but to flee) as having suffered loss of position and disgrace. Indeed, this is almost certainly the reason that comparatively few records of killings and flights pertained to Lu; recording such events would have detracted from Lu’s very high position, and they therefore tended to be suppressed. Records pertaining to diplomatic travel, addressed in chapter 6, employ form to depict a hierarchical interstate system with Lu at the pinnacle, and thus, like other records with interstate lists, they communicate relative rank via a system of formal features. At the same time, they also resemble records of killings and flights into exile, since understanding the significance of the roles of host and guest in diplomatic interchange requires cultural knowledge; specifically, one must know that in early China, hosts were superior to guests. Inbound visits, in which Lu hosted a deferential visitor from another state, augmented Lu prestige, whereas outbound visits, which required Lu noblemen or rulers to show formal deference to their host, diminished Lu’s standing. The Spring and Autumn registers inbound visits in full, but

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obscures or omits records of Lu travel, thereby concealing the fact that a Lu ruler or nobleman had played the submissive role of guest to another state. Records of travel to Lu and travel from Lu use form to achieve two contrasting ends, both enhancing Lu prestige and suppressing evidence of diminished prestige, which included even ceremonial deference to another state. The formally regular core of the Spring and Autumn employs a system of multiple features, including date notations, styles of reference, special verbs, and listing order, along with selective omission of details and of events, to encode a hierarchy of multiple levels with the Lu ruler at the top, outranked only by the Zhou king, who is rarely mentioned. The records also rely on cultural knowledge pertaining to killings, exile, and diplomatic visits. They do not merely register the fact that a particular event had occurred but do so in a way that systematically conceals blows to Lu dignity and emphasizes Lu dominance. They accomplish this goal using neutral, impersonal language that is neither overtly celebratory nor condemning. The Spring and Autumn records use form to impart a message of Lu superiority. THE REGULAR CORE AND THE POSSIBILITY OF CONFUCIUS AS EDITOR

It stands to reason that Lu record-keepers active during the Spring and Autumn period would want to position Lu before all other states, but why would a later editor have wanted to do so? Specifically, would Confucius have sought to convey a message of Lu superiority, and if so, is it likely that he would have used form to express this message? According to traditional accounts, Confucius was ideologically motivated, meaning that his aim was to promote an agenda of ideas, and he was not exclusively loyal to a particular regional state, ruler, or ruling line, as demonstrated by his travels to different states in an effort to find a ruler who would make use of his teachings. Even his professed loyalty to the royal Zhou state appears to have been motivated primarily by a vision of proper kingship and not by political or personal loyalty to the Zhou kings and their ruling line. Nor is Confucius known for maintaining a neutral, impersonal tone in presenting events; far from it, he—like many of his contemporaries—is said to have employed a strategy of recounting brief anecdotes to illustrate an individual’s strengths or flaws, expressing his evaluation, whether praise or criticism, and then drawing moral lessons from these accounts. This explicitly didactic approach aligns with early interpretive traditions associated with the Spring and Autumn and

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also with some other early historiographical works, but it is utterly different from what we observe in the Spring and Autumn records themselves. If we wish to argue that Confucius expressed his thought and views through the regular patterns of the Spring and Autumn, we would be forced to reconsider our most basic ideas about Confucius and his teaching methods. Admittedly, much of what is believed about Confucius is based on traditional lore and is, at best, highly speculative, and we do not have the necessary knowledge to reject completely the possibility that he had a hand in editing the Spring and Autumn. Yet a scenario in which Confucius produced the formally regular core of the Spring and Autumn is inconsistent with the traditional understanding of Confucius, and the possibility that the formally regular core was created by him—or by any individual—seems quite unlikely. At the same time, we cannot rule out the possibility that his alleged connection with the Spring and Autumn had a basis in fact; for example, perhaps his association—whether as editor or interpreter—pertained to exceptions and irregularities, and not to the regular records. OTHER TRAITS OF THE FORMALLY REGULAR CORE

The two most obvious characteristics of the Spring and Autumn are, first, its message—it depicts an interstate system in which the Lu ruler is situated at the top, outranked only by the rarely mentioned Zhou king, a system in which certain states, rulers, and nobility outrank others, and in which certain types of events are more important than others—and, second, the means by which it convey this message—that is, its regular formal features. Ascribing the message to the state of Lu itself is reasonable enough, but what can we learn from its form? What light do the formal characteristics of the Spring and Autumn shed on its origins, and how do they help us understand the culture that produced it? The Records as New Versions of Events

When we compare individual records with other texts that document the same events, we quickly realize that the Spring and Autumn records are not transcriptions or edited redactions of other texts; they are completely new retellings of events. Scholars have surmised that the texts of oracle bone and bronze inscriptions were derived from now-lost archive versions that were edited to generate the inscription text, and they have speculated on what

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those earlier texts might have looked like.7 The Zuo Tradition direct commentary asserts that the Spring and Autumn records were based on interstate announcements, and it is all too easy to assume that this means that the records are simply edited transcriptions of the announcements, and that they are secondary texts in the same sense that the oracle bone inscriptions and perhaps many bronze inscriptions are said to have been.8 But this is not the case. In chapter 4, comparison of the Spring and Autumn record of the Jiantu covenant to an archived list of participants quoted in the Zuo Tradition reveals that although both sources enumerate the same covenant participants, they are listed in different orders and identified by different names. These differences show that the Spring and Autumn record of the Jiantu covenant was not an edited version of the covenant text itself; it was simply a record documenting that the covenant had been made and listing its participants. Likewise, in chapter 5, comparison of Spring and Autumn records of killings and exiles with corresponding interstate announcements of those events that are preserved in the Zuo Tradition demonstrates that despite recording essentially the same events as the announcements, the records employ completely different language and tone. This evidence establishes that the record of an event communicated by interstate announcement, whether the death of a regional ruler, a flight into exile, or the killing of a nobleman, was not an edited transcription of the announcement. It was a new version of events that used a different format and phrasing to register the information conveyed by announcement and to document that the death or flight or killing had taken place. Some records may have depended on interstate announcements for content such as dates or names; the distribution of details in death and funeral records laid out in chapter 2 suggests that this was probably the case. But the Spring and Autumn records are neither secondary transcriptions nor tertiary redactions of other texts. They are completely new retellings of these events. This point is crucial. In retelling events, the Spring and Autumn uses different words from those used in other texts and also employs a different tone; this is because, ultimately, its records have a different function. The damning announcements of killings and flights that are quoted in the Zuo Tradition seek to condemn the offender and to publicize his offense and his status as a fugitive or executed criminal, but this is not the aim of the Spring and Autumn. At the other extreme, the records have also been compared to the bronze inscriptions, which are often flamboyantly celebratory and employ effusive language that

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praises the ruler, the ancestors, and others.9 Yet this comparison too reveals a fundamental contrast in language and tone; while the records likewise sought to display the high position of the Lu ruler, their language is simple and their tone is neutral and impersonal. The message of Lu superiority is overwhelming, but it is conveyed entirely by form—for example, the reordered list of covenant participants, with Lu at the top—and never by overt words of praise. Likewise, even without the condemnatory language, the very mention of an individual as having fled or been killed appears to have been sufficient to document his status as a disgraced offender. The purpose of interstate announcements may have simply been to spread news of events among regional states, and some events were also announced to the ancestors. The announcements employed subjective, biased language, which ensured that those events were viewed a certain way. The Spring and Autumn records used different language, and its records served a different purpose. That purpose seems to have been to register events from the perspective of Lu, and to do so in a way that was entirely unnuanced, starkly simple, and unquestionably absolute. One Man: Simplified Accounts

It is not only the language of the Spring and Autumn that may be described as simple. An essential trait of Spring and Autumn records is the convention of ascribing actions to a single leader, that is, to one man. Records of covenants, interstate assemblies, and military activity typically identify only one leader per state; records of diplomatic travel identify the primary visitor but do not mention his accompanying retinue; and records of regicides ascribe the murder to a single person, regardless of how many people colluded together. Being named in certain types of records, particularly those associated with meritorious achievement such as military actions or covenants, seems to have been a mark of prestige, and by ascribing responsibility to a single person, the records elevate one leader above all others. At the same time, assigning a crime to just one offender and punishing that person alone seems to have satisfied the need for retribution; this point is illustrated by Jin’s response to Kong Da’s killing, narrated in the Zuo Tradition.10 Significantly, a similar phenomenon of focusing on a single person is apparent in another type of material dating to the late Spring and Autumn period, the fifth century covenant records from the state of Jin; as Susan Weld observed, “the covenants identified each affected lineage by reference to the name of an individual

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instead of using group terms.”11 The phenomenon of assigning ultimate responsibility to one person was not limited to the Spring and Autumn, and I wonder if this tendency to focus on one man may reflect aspects of early Chinese culture or religious practice that are not well understood today.12 In line with other Spring and Autumn recording practices, the ascription of responsibility to a single individual is a simplified representation of events. Other participants, whether secondary leaders in military victories, retinues of followers on diplomatic missions, or co-conspirators in regicides, are not acknowledged in the records; their contributions are erased and all credit or blame is placed on a single man. These records can thus be described as oversimplifications of facts or even as biased misrepresentations of events. But in contrast to more detailed and overtly subjective accounts in other early texts, the purpose of this bias was not to glorify the personal qualities or individual character of the one leader to whom responsibility was ascribed. Indeed, the formulaic Spring and Autumn records do not give us any information about the qualities, characters, and lives of the individuals who are mentioned therein.13 By contrast, early Chinese narrative histories regularly seek to depict personalities of actors and particularities of events in order to illustrate virtuous or reprehensible individuals and conduct. Yet the Spring and Autumn communicates nothing whatsoever about the individual traits of those to whom responsibility is ascribed. They neither are explicitly glorified or condemned for the actions with which they are credited, nor are they praised or censured for their admirable or despicable qualities. Being identified in the austere records of the Spring and Autumn surely contributed to an individual’s prestige or disgrace, but the records do not operate at a personal level; they instead register events and participants in language so plain and simple that they give the appearance of unquestionable, impersonal neutrality and absolute, unqualified truth. Systematic Selectivity and Introduction of Bias

Ascription of achievements or offenses to a single person while excluding all other participants is, of course, a form of selective omission that introduces bias. When we think of biased selective omission in historical accounts, we may tend to think of practices such as ancient Roman memory sanctions— often referred to as damnatio memoriae—which entailed the retrospective obliteration of an individual from public awareness and memory, typically including removal of names from written documents and defacement or

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destruction of physical representations of that person.14 Spring and Autumn recording conventions also entailed deliberate omission of detail, but whereas memory sanctions were ad hoc responses to particular individuals or events, Spring and Autumn recording conventions were applied systematically and entailed regular exclusion of certain types of details or even of entire categories of events. Roman memory sanctions were punitive and personal: they aimed to condemn specific individuals to oblivion, but omission and selectivity in the Spring and Autumn functioned in a different way and served a different purpose. The rules of selectivity governing the Spring and Autumn records applied consistently and comprehensively across all records, systematically restricting what could be recorded and how it was recorded. The formulaic nature of the records appears to permit no individual choice or subjectivity, and it instead imparts a sense of dependability, neutrality, and thus truth. Although selective omission in the Spring and Autumn records certainly introduces bias, this bias is neither ad hoc nor arbitrary, nor does it appear to target individual persons or events. Instead, it systematically permeates the entire work. Omission functions by decreasing the attention paid to what is left out and drawing our focus to the details that are included, bringing them into high relief. For example, the Spring and Autumn regularly leaves participants of lower rank unnamed or excludes them entirely. This omission both withholds recognition from lower-ranking individuals, thereby diminishing their importance, and at the same time it directs our attention to those who are named, thereby augmenting their prestige.15 In a similar way, records of outbound diplomatic travel, which involved a show of deference by Lu to another state, omit detail and are registered in generic language, whereas records of inbound travel, which enhanced Lu prestige, are more detailed and specific; this contrast between exclusion and diminished attention versus inclusion and heightened focus functions to further underscore Lu’s idealized position at the top of the interstate hierarchy. Of course, selectivity linked to bias concerning particular individuals or situations must lie beneath some records, and perhaps record-keepers had some latitude in how certain events were recorded. Zuo Tradition accounts related to Zhao Dun of Jin and Cui Zhu of Qi suggest that it was the recordkeepers in their home states who decided who would be assigned responsibility for an act of regicide.16 At the same time, the narrative linked to Wei nobleman Kong Da’s death indicates that the record of his killing adhered to the details conveyed by the announcement sent by his home state, and

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commentarial passages in the Zuo Tradition claim that Lu record-keepers were restricted by rules that required the records to follow the announcements. In other cases, formal features of certain records are said to have been determined by how associated rites were carried out in Lu; thus a fugitive who was received in Lu as a ruler was designated the “Bo of Cheng” in the Spring and Autumn, and the death record of a Lu ruler’s wife was said to reflect the level of mortuary rites conducted for her.17 In still other instances, such as that of Gongzi Bi of Chu, who was briefly recognized as ruler of Chu but whose killing was not recorded with the special language of a regicide, we do not know why records were recorded as they were: Did Lu decline to acknowledge Gongzi Bi’s status as ruler? Or was the record a reflection of an announcement sent by Chu?18 In short, we do not know how much leeway was permitted in recording individual events, nor do we know to what extent records that named individuals were aimed at ensuring that they were remembered a particular way, whether in disgrace, as with victims of killings or exiled fugitives, or with honor, as with leaders of military achievements; it is the nature of the records to obscure this information.19 If Roman memory sanctions aimed to erase all memory of individual lives, the formulaic Spring and Autumn records erased all sense of individuality, even if names were recorded for perpetuity. Once an individual or an event had been recorded, any underlying subjectivity, any bias on the part of the record-keepers or the states who sent out announcements, came to be concealed by the monotonous, formulaic regularity of the records, a systematic program of selectivity that appeared to operate at the level of the whole text. FORMAL SYSTEMS FOR DISPLAYING HIERARCHY

I began this conclusion by asserting that the Spring and Autumn is unique in the extant ancient Chinese corpus; this assertion warrants further consideration. As a text, the Spring and Autumn is undoubtedly unique, but as a system, it is not. I have observed repeatedly throughout this book that the Spring and Autumn sets forth a particular vision of the hierarchy, with Lu at the top, and that although this vision is communicated with absolute clarity, it is not made explicit in words. Instead, the records depict this hierarchy by means of formal patterns. As Jessica Rawson insightfully observed, material objects connected with ritual “enabled family structure and the political order to be seen.” In the same way, the Spring and Autumn expresses its message through

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textual form, and its records render visible an idealized hierarchical structure of the rulers and nobility of Lu, Zhou, and the regional states.20 Truly, the Spring and Autumn does not resemble any other extant text, and its records of events are not redactions or revised transcriptions of other textual material. It is thus accurate to say that the Spring and Autumn is a unique text, unlike any other we now know. Yet as a formal system, it resembles other systems, and here the notion of using form to enable a hierarchy to be seen takes on great importance. Assemblies of bronzes excavated from ancient tombs use sets of material objects to depict hierarchical gradations, and likewise, the ceremonial interactions prescribed in the Ceremonies and Rites employ location and choreographed movement across space to convey relative position in the hierarchy. The Spring and Autumn was produced by the same culture that generated these other formal systems, and it shares with them an intense preoccupation with hierarchical gradation. Its records use a system of formal recording conventions—inclusions and exclusions, listing order, and patterned words and phrases—to represent that hierarchy.21 In this way, like these other systems, the formally regular core of the Spring and Autumn enables a hierarchy to be seen. The Spring and Autumn as Self-Presentation

Later generations read the Spring and Autumn as a history, since to them (and to contemporary readers as well) it registered events that had come to be part of the distant past. The writing of history has many possible purposes. One common purpose is to enhance the legitimacy of the present ruler, regime, or institutions by invoking the past. Histories may also be didactic, drawing moral examples from the past or seeking to teach us not to repeat the mistakes of our ancestors. Regardless of their particular purpose, works of history typically look back to the past and seek to represent the past to contemporaries or to future generations.22 The Spring and Autumn has traditionally been treated as a history that was written with didactic aims; the orthodox interpretation treats it as a repository of Confucius’s evaluations of the individuals and events recorded therein, a record of the past intended to serve as a model for the future. But this was not its original purpose. The Spring and Autumn records did not look to the past. They do not aim to represent the past or to influence or alter our view of the past. Rather, the Spring and Autumn registers events that were, to the record-keepers, current events carried out by contemporary actors, documenting them for

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an audience of contemporaries and preserving them for the future. In this respect, it differs from the other well-known early Chinese annals text, Bamboo Annals, which contains retrospective records that purport to register events of legendary times. Writing of Egyptian annals, John Baines uses the phrase “instant history-writing,” which he associates with self-presentation.23 The Spring and Autumn, too, is an example of instant history-writing. Its records were made shortly after events transpired, and its aim was not to set forth a retrospective vision of the past, but to depict Lu and its ruling house in all its present glory for the eyes of contemporaries and future generations. As a work of self-presentation, the Spring and Autumn resembles a monument that displays the magnificent achievements of a reigning ruler or a current regime. Its records reproduce the present (if idealized) hierarchy and constitute a textual display that asserts Lu’s lofty position at the pinnacle of that hierarchy. This display was intended to be observed by contemporaries, and, like a monument, it continued to bear lasting witness to future generations.24 Restricted Language and Traditional Authority

In chapter 1, I invoked Maurice Bloch, who refers to “the language of traditional authority” as “impoverished language.” This notion of impoverished language is well illustrated by the Spring and Autumn, which excludes all descriptions, causes, and motivations and which requires events to be recorded using set, conventionalized formulas. When the Lu ruler dies, he must be said to “perish” (hōng); his death cannot be recorded as a murder, even if he died at the hands of another. When a Lu nobleman makes a visit of friendly inquiry to another state, he is said to “go to” (rú) to that state, and the purpose of his visit can no more be recorded than his mood at the time of his departure or the color of his clothes. States invade other states and battles are fought, but only the leaders are recognized; the armies of soldiers—like the retinues of followers in diplomatic visits—go unmentioned. Some noblemen choose to flee their home states, and others are forced into exile, but the Spring and Autumn treats them all the same, registering that they went out fleeing. This is impoverished language. The purpose of such oversimplification, as Bloch notes, is “to hide reality,” that is, “to hide the actual situation and preserve authority.” Thus the Lu ruler is never acknowledged to be a victim of regicide; it is rulers and high-ranking nobility, not the soldiers, who fight and win battles; all who go out fleeing are implicitly guilty of abandoning their home states and religious obligations, regardless of the

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circumstances; and neither the ruler of Lu nor its noblemen are ever represented in the deferential, perhaps disgraceful, position of guest to another state’s ruler. As Bloch concludes, “It is precisely through the process of making a power situation appear a fact in the nature of the world that traditional authority works.”25 Bloch describes the effects of impoverished language as similar to being in a tunnel: impoverished language limits our options and restricts what we can see, what we can know, and how we can respond. Communication through form necessarily limits options; this is a kind of impoverished language. Rules governing the Spring and Autumn records restrict their phrasing and content, requiring simplified usage that emphasizes Lu’s apical position while prohibiting details that might permit ambiguity or open up alternative perspectives. No questions are allowed, no doubts are admitted. James Legge decried the Spring and Autumn as “telling us what was not the truth,” and to some extent, he was correct.26 The records do indeed conceal the “truth” that Lu was not at the pinnacle of the hierarchy, and they accomplish this by means of impoverished, formulaic language. As we read the Spring and Autumn, we are sucked into Bloch’s tunnel. The record-keepers who prepared the records resided in that tunnel, and it was from within that tunnel that they prepared the records. Unable to turn right or left, their only option was to follow the rules and to continue to record events according to the regular, inherited formulas. The conventions that governed the records were not deliberately and consciously planned. The records proceeded from and were produced by traditional authority, the inherited authority of the Lu ruling line, and they were generated by record-keepers writing under the sway of that authority. The formally regular core of the Spring and Autumn was thus both a system of self-presentation and a self-perpetuating system, a display of the glory of Lu.

Appendix 1

DEFINING A “RECORD”

The calculations given in this book, including the total number of records in the Spring and Autumn along with the number of records for each event type, are determined in part by what I treat as a “record,” and it is therefore necessary to explain how I have defined a record. Determining where one Spring and Autumn record ends and the next begins is usually quite simple, since in most cases, one sentence is followed by another sentence concerning an unrelated event, and each of the two sentences is easily identified as a separate record. But occasional exceptions occur. Particularly problematic are instances in which two consecutive clauses concern related activity. Should they be counted as a single record or as multiple records? I would like to emphasize that there is no one “correct” division of the text. In the base text I use for this study, Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhu, the editor, Yang Bojun, has also divided the text of the Spring and Autumn into individual records, but in some cases, he has combined entries that I have treated as separate. My division of the text serves analytic purposes, whereas Yang Bojun’s division of the text is often more intuitive and involves treating closely related sequences of events as a single record. Obviously, neither of these approaches necessarily coincides with how the text was originally intended by Lu record-keepers or perceived by its earliest readers. As explained in the Scholarly Conventions at the beginning of this book, I follow Yang Bojun’s scheme for numbering the records. When Yang Bojun treats a segment of text as a single record but I have split it into separate records, I indicate this by adding letters after his numbering. Thus, in the

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examples that follow, I understand Sequence 1 as comprising two separate records, “Zhuang 27.3a” and “Zhuang 27.3b,” whereas Yang Bojun treats this as a single record, “Zhuang 27.3.” Presumably he does this (here and elsewhere) because the events appear to be closely related. A Spring and Autumn record may be analyzed as comprising two parts, a date notation followed by an event notation. Date notations are discussed in chapter 2. I define an event notation as a single clause with one main verb, whose subject may be explicit or implied. At least one of these two parts, date notation and event notation, must be present for a segment of text to qualify as a record. Of course, a single date notation followed by a single event notation counts as a record, but not all cases are so straightforward. Over a third of the records consist of an event notation only, with no accompanying date notation, and a small number of records have a date notation alone, which serves as a placeholder, without any associated event. More complicated are instances in which a second date notation or a second event notation occurs; I treat such passages as sequences of two records. These conventions are illustrated by the following sequences of records. In these sequences, each new record starts on a new line. MULTIPLE EVENT NOTATIONS, MULTIPLE RECORDS

I treat the cases like those in Sequences 1, 2, and 3 as sets of separate records; Yang Bojun treats each of these three cases as a single record. These sequences have one (or no) date notation, followed by two or three event notations; that is, each sequence includes multiple clauses that have different main verbs and that may have different subjects, explicit or implied. Sequence 1: 2 records 秋。公子友如陳。 Autumn. Gongzi You went to Chen. (CQ, Zhuang 27.3a, 235) 葬原仲。 They buried Yuan Zhong. (CQ, Zhuang 27.3b, 235) Sequence 2: 2 records 秋。楚人圍許。 Autumn. The man of Chu surrounded Xuu. (CQ, Xi 6.3a, 312)

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諸侯遂救許。 The regional lords subsequently rescued Xuu. (CQ, Xi 6.3b, 312) Sequence 3: 3 records 鄭良霄出奔許。 Liang Xiao of Zheng went out fleeing to Xuu. (CQ, Xiang 30.7a, 1169) 自許入于鄭。 From Xuu he entered into Zheng. (CQ, Xiang 30.7b, 1169) 鄭人殺良霄。 The man of Zheng killed Liang Xiao. (CQ, Xiang 30.7c, 1169) MULTIPLE DATE NOTATIONS, MULTIPLE RECORDS

I treat cases like those in Sequences 4 and 5 as pairs of separate records because each contains two date notations; again, Yang Bojun treats each of these two cases as a single record. As I define a record, a new date notation automatically marks the start of a new record. Sequence 4: 2 records 三月。癸酉。大雨，震電。 The third month. Guiyou. It rained heavily, and there was thunder and lightning. (CQ, Yin 9.2a, 63) 庚辰。大雨雪。 Gengchen. There was a heavy precipitation of snow. (CQ, Yin 9.2b, 63) Sequence 5: 2 records 丁巳。葬我君定公，雨，不克葬。 Dingsi. We buried our ruler, Lord Ding. It rained, and we were unable to complete the burial. (CQ, Ding 15.12a, 1600) 戊午。日下昃乃克葬。 Wuwu. In the afternoon, we then were able to complete the burial. (CQ, Ding 15.12b, 1600)

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MULTIPLE DATE NOTATIONS AND MULTIPLE EVENT NOTATIONS, MULTIPLE RECORDS

Similarly, when a sequence of related events is recorded with multiple date notations and multiple event notations, I treat such sequences as instances of multiple records, as in Sequences 6 and 7. Yang Bojun combines them, but according to my analysis, a single record may contain only one date notation and only one event notation. Sequence 6: 2 records 三月。鄭伯使宛來歸祊。 The third month. The Bo of Zheng dispatched Wan to come to return [the territory of] Beng. (CQ, Yin 8.2a, 56) 庚寅。我入祊。 Gengyin. We entered Beng. (CQ, Yin 8.2b, 56) Sequence 7: 2 records 晉侯使郤犨來聘。 The Hou of Jin dispatched Xi Chou to come on a friendly diplomatic visit. (CQ, Cheng 11.2a, 851) 己丑。及郤犨盟。 Jichou. We and Xi Chou made covenant. (CQ, Cheng 11.2b, 851) MULTIPLE VERBS, ONE SUBJECT, ONE RECORD

I treat instances such as Sequences 8 and 9 as single records. Although two different verbs are present, they share the same subject and the second action or event is not independently dated. In my calculations, I treat these records as belonging to the event type of the first verb; thus both of these records are counted in the event type “attack.” Sequence 8: 1 record 公伐莒，取向。 Our Lord attacked Ju and took Xiang. (CQ, Xuan 4.1b, 676)

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Sequence 9: 1 record 春。齊侯伐宋，圍緡。 Spring. The Hou of Qi attacked Song and surrounded Min. (CQ, Xi 23.1, 401)

Nearly all sequences of this last type concern military activity and include the verb wéi 圍, “surround, lay siege to” or the verb qǔ 取, “take [territory].”

Appendix 2

EVENT TYPES IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

This book categorizes the Spring and Autumn records into forty-two event types, as well as two residual categories. As discussed in chapter 1, in his Spring and Autumn: Explained Precedents (Chunqiu shili), Du Yu also divided the records into forty-two categories, but his categories and mine are quite different. That the number of categories is the same is sheer coincidence. In deciding how to define an event type, one problem is whether to define it by form or by content. In most cases, this is not an issue, as the form of the records in an event type—particularly the main verb—coincides with their content. For example, records of the type “attacks” all have the main verb fá 伐 and all register military attacks. But the relationship between main verb and event type is not always one to one. Some event types include records with several different verbs; for example, the category “deaths” subsumes records with any of the three verbs meaning “die.” A few verbs have multiple meanings in the records and occur in more than one type of event. For example, the verb rù 入, “enter” may refer to a military action or to the restoration of a leader to power, and guī 歸, whose basic meaning is “return home,” is used in reference to marriages, to aggressors returning home with a captive, to returning territory, and to restorations of leaders to power. A small set of event types are defined primarily by content. For the most part, these types have fewer records, and their records display a wider range of formal variation than do other event types. Examples include the event types “weather,” “remarkable events (portents),” “marriages and divorces,” and “rites and religious activities.”

240 EVENT TYPES IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

Following is a complete list of Spring and Autumn event types as I have defined them, along with basic information about each type, including the number of records of that type and a note that states whether or not records in that type adhere to regular patterns, identifies the content, and lists common main verbs or phrases. The focus is on regular patterns, and exceptional or irregular records are not discussed. Event types are organized into five broad groups, which are based primarily on the nature of the events recorded and secondarily on who the participants are. That is, event types are not listed in order of frequency, with the most common type first, nor are they organized according to other formal criteria, such as whether records may be dated with a day-date or the style of reference that records of a given type usually employ. The sixth group is a residual set of records that defy categorization as well as records of “eventless seasons,” which have no event notation. Table A2.1 provides a list of event types organized by these five groups, together with the number of records in each group, in order to give an overview of all event types and their relative frequency. TABLE A2.1  Spring and Autumn event types Group 1

Event type Accession of the Lu ruler

Percent of all records

8

0.4

Marriage-related activities and divorces

38

1.9

Rites and religious activities (excluding rain-seeking ceremony)

37

1.8

Rain-seeking ceremony

22

1.1

Hunts and military reviews

10

0.5

Wall construction

29

1.4

Public works other than walls

13

0.6

4

0.2

Solar eclipses

37

1.8

Weather

21

1.0

Disasters (drought, flood, famine)

15

0.7

Pestilence

18

0.9

Fires

12

0.6

Remarkable events (portents)

Laws, taxes, and administrative acts 2

Number of records

12

0.6

Earthquakes

5

0.2

Harvest and crops

4

0.2

241 EVENT TYPES IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

3

Interstate meetings and encounters

111

5.4

Covenants

107

5.2

Seeking or making peace

7

0.3

215

10.5

Incursions

61

3.0

Laying siege

36

1.8

Providing aid

21

1.0

Halting military forces

12

0.6

Relocating states

10

0.5

Taking territory

20

1.0

Annihilating states

32

1.6

Entering states

27

1.3

Battles

23

1.1

Defeats

32

1.6

Other military events

23

1.1

206

10.1

Attacks

4

Deaths Killings (including regicides)

5

94

4.6

Funerals and repatriation of remains

123

6.0

Flights into exile

102

5.0

Restorations to power and installations

49

2.4

Detentions and taking captives

51

2.5

109

5.4

Diplomatic travel originating in Lu Arrival in Lu from abroad (after travel)

87

4.3

116

5.7

Other diplomatic travel and activity

7

0.3

Lu ruler offering court respects to the king

2

0.1

Miscellaneous other events (residual category)

19

0.9

“Eventless” seasons

62

3.0

Diplomatic travel to Lu

6

TOTAL records

2,049

GROUP 1: EVENTS PERTAINING PRIMARILY TO LU OR OCCURRING IN LU Accession of the Lu ruler: 8 records. All use the phrase “acceded to his position” (jí wèi 即位). Marriage-related activities and divorces: 38 records. Records concern various events related to marriage. Common patterns include “present silk” (as a betrothal gift)

242 EVENT TYPES IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

(nà bì 納幣); “receive” (nì 逆) the bride; the bride “arrives” (zhì 至) in Lu or “goes to her [marital] home” (guī yú 歸于); “give accompanying or secondary brides” (yìng 媵); and divorce: “return to her (natal) home” (guī 歸). All concern marriages of wives of Lu rulers or of their daughters, or Zhou marriages hosted by Lu. Rites and religious activities (excluding yú 雩): 37 records. Records vary widely in form; apparently only irregular instances of religious activity were recorded. Rain-seeking ceremony: 22 records. All use the main verb “conduct the rain-seeking ceremony” (yú 雩). Hunts and military reviews: 10 records. Patterns include “conduct the spring hunt” (sōu 蒐); “conduct the winter hunt” (shòu 狩); and “conduct a military review” (zhì bīng 治兵 and dà yuè 大閱). Wall construction: 29 records. All follow the same pattern, using the verb “to wall” (a location) (chéng 城); since a few rare records involve states other than Lu, this event type could also have been placed in Group 3. Public works other than walls: 13 records. Records refer to the construction of platforms and temples, fencing of parks, and repair of structures; the most common verb is “construct” (zhù 築). Laws, taxes, and administrative acts: 4 records. No regular form. GROUP 2: EVENTS WITH NO HUMAN AGENT Solar eclipses: 37 records. All records use the pattern “the sun was eclipsed” (rì yǒu shí zhī 日有食之). Weather: 21 records. Patterns vary. Records concern various types of weather, including “rain” (yǔ 雨) or lack thereof, “snow” (yù xuě 雨雪), “hail” (yù báo 雨雹), “frost” (shuāng 霜), and “thunder and lightning” (zhèn diàn 震電). Disasters: 15 records. Common patterns include records of “flood” (dà shuǐ 大水), “drought” (dà hàn 大旱), and “famine” (jī 饑). Pestilence: 18 records. Patterns vary; over half concern “grasshoppers” or “locusts” (zhōng 螽). Fires: 12 records. Records are highly formulaic, most using the verb “burn” (zāi 災); half concern fires outside of Lu. Remarkable events (portents): 12 records. Patterns vary and include a range of unusual events that were probably construed as portents. Earthquakes: 5 records. Records are highly formulaic, most using the phrase “the ground shook” (dì zhèn 地震). Harvest and crops: 4 records. Patterns vary and include “there was a good [agricultural] year” (yǒu nián 有年) and “there was no barley or millet” (wú mài hé 無麥禾).

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GROUP 3: COVENANTS, MEETINGS, MILITARY EVENTS: EVENTS THAT MAY INVOLVE LEADERS FROM MULTIPLE STATES Interstate meetings and encounters: 111 records. Records are highly formulaic; most (104 records) use the verb “meet, assemble” (huì 會); the remainder (7 records) use the verb “encounter” (yù 遇). Covenants: 107 records. Most (94 records) follow one of two patterns, using either the verb “make covenant” (méng 盟) or the phrase “join in covenant” (tóng méng 同盟); the remaining 13 records are related to covenants. Seeking or making peace: 7 records. Patterns vary, but all use the verb “to make peace” (píng 平). Attacks: 215 records. Records are highly formulaic; all use the verb “attack” (fá 伐). Some records include a second verb; see notes under “laying siege” (wéi 圍) and “taking territory” (qǔ 取). Incursions: 61 records. Records are highly formulaic; all use the verb “make an incursion” (qīn 侵). Laying siege: 36 records. Records are highly formulaic; all use the verb “surround, lay siege to” (wéi 圍). Note: An additional 8 records of sieges occur in conjunction with attacks (fá 伐); these records, which have two verbs, are categorized and counted with “attacks.” Providing aid: 21 records. Records are highly formulaic; all use the verb “rescue, provide aid to” (jiù 救). Note: An additional 2 records of providing aid occur in conjunction with other verbs and are counted in other categories. Halting military forces: 12 records. Records concern the halting or stopping over of military forces; all use the verb “halt, stay over” (cì 次). Relocating a state: 10 records. Records follow one of two basic patterns, both using the verb “move, relocate” (qiān 遷). Taking territory: 20 records. Records are highly formulaic; all use the verb “take” (qǔ 取), and the target is a territory or portion of another state. Note: An additional 8 records of taking territory occur in conjunction with attacks (fá 伐); these records, which have two verbs, are categorized and counted with “attacks.” Annihilating states: 32 records. Records are highly formulaic; all use the verb “snuff out, annihilate” (miè 滅); the target is a state. Entering states: 27 records. Records concern entry into another state with military backing; all use the verb “enter” (rù 入). Note: One additional records of entering occurs in conjunction with an attack (fá 伐); this record, which has two verbs, is categorized and counted with “attacks.” Battles: 23 records. Records are highly formulaic; all use the verb “do battle” (zhàn 戰).

244 EVENT TYPES IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

Defeats: 32 records. All records use the verb bài 敗, “defeat,” often in the phrase bài jī 敗績, “defeated utterly”; many immediately follow records of “doing battle.” Other military events (residual type): 23 records. Form and content vary widely; this type includes records of military events that use verbs and patterns other than those listed previously. GROUP 4: EVENTS RELATED TO THE FATE OR ACTIONS OF INDIVIDUALS Deaths: 206 records. Records are highly formulaic and use one of three verbs depending on the rank of the deceased; the three verbs are “succumb” (bēng 崩), “perish” (hōng 薨), and “die” (zú 卒). Killings (including regicides): 94 records. Records are highly formulaic. The most common verbs are “kill” (shā 殺) (64 records) and “commit regicide, assassinate” (shì 弒) (25 records); other special verbs occur but are rare. Funerals and repatriation of remains: 123 records. Records fall into three subcategories. All records of funerals (116 records) use the verb “bury, entomb” (zàng 葬); records of repatriation of remains (5 records) vary but refer to the “arrival from” [abroad] or “return” (guī 歸) of the “remains” (sāng 喪); the remaining 2 records concern funerals being delayed. Flight into exile: 102 records. Most records follow one of three major patterns, with the phrases “went out fleeing” (chū bēn 出奔) (55 records); “came fleeing” (lái bēn 來奔) (20 records); or simply “fled” (bēn 奔) (9 records); the remaining records use other verbs or euphemistic language. Restorations to power and installations: 49 records. Records follow one of several possible patterns, including “enter into” (rù yú 入于) and “return home to” (guī yú 歸于; guī 歸); “install” (nà 納); and “establish” (lì 立). Detentions and taking captives: 51 records. Records fall into two subcategories. Records of detentions in nonmilitary situations use the verb “to detain” (zhí 執) (32 records); records of taking captives in military conflict vary; common phrases are “returned home with . . .” (yǐ . . . guī 以 . . . 歸) (10 records) and “captured” (huò 獲) (6 records). GROUP 5: DIPLOMATIC TRAVEL AND ACTIVITY Diplomatic travel originating in Lu: 109 records. Records all follow the same pattern, using the verb “go to” (rú 如) followed by the destination; a few records state that the traveler turned back and did not proceed to his destination.

245 EVENT TYPES IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

Arrival in Lu from abroad: 87 records. Records are highly formulaic; all use the phrase “arrived [in Lu] from” (zhì zì 至自) a location outside Lu and register return from travel or military action; nearly all concern the Lu ruler. Diplomatic travel to Lu by rulers or nobility of other states: 116 records. Records fall into four main subcategories: “came on a visit of friendly inquiry” (lái pìn 來聘) (39 records); “came on a court visit” (lái cháo 來朝) (35 records); “came” (lái 來) to Lu (for an unstated purpose) (10 records); and visits for other stated purposes (32 records). Other diplomatic travel and activity: 7 records. Records include various travel that does not involve Lu. Lu ruler offering court respects to the king: 2 records. Both record that the Lu ruler offered court respects to the Zhou king while outside of Lu (cháo yú wáng suǒ 公朝于王所).

GROUP 6: RESIDUAL CATEGORY Miscellaneous other events: 19 records. No regular form; this group is composed of unique records that are unlike others and thus defy categorization; a few of these may be the consequence of textual corruption. “Eventless” seasons: 62 records. All register a season and its first month but have no event notation; these notations probably functioned as placeholders to ensure that all seasons were recorded.

Appendix 3

DIACHRONIC CHANGES IN FREQUENCY AND FORM IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

The purpose of this appendix is to give a general outline of diachronic changes in the Spring and Autumn records, with particular attention to those that may have ramifications for our understanding of Spring and Autumn composition history. For the most part, Spring and Autumn records adhere to formulaic patterns that remain constant throughout the period covered by the text. Although the records do not exhibit many changes over time, these few diachronic changes deserve attention because they may throw light on the composition history of the Spring and Autumn. Diachronic changes include increases or decreases in the frequency with which certain forms are used as well as changes in form, such as the introduction of new event types and elimination of others. Some changes may reflect transformations in recording conventions, that is, differences in how or whether certain types of events were registered in the records, whereas other changes were likely connected to actual historical trends, such as increased military activity during a particular period. This appendix covers three types of diachronic changes: first, changes that cannot be attributed to historical trends and probably represent changes in recording practices; second, changes that may be the result either of shifts in recording practices or of actual historical changes; and third, changes that are almost certainly the result of historical trends. After this is a brief concluding summary.

248 DIACHRONIC CHANGES IN FREQUENCY AND FORM IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

DIACHRONIC CHANGES THAT MAY REFLECT CHANGES IN RECORDING PRACTICES

Diachronic changes listed in this section cannot be attributed to historical change. They appear to indicate changes in recording practices.1 Marriages

No marriages of Lu rulers or princesses are recorded after Cheng 14 (577 BCE), during the final century of the text (the reigns of Lords Xiang, Zhao, Ding, and Ai); a single royal marriage is recorded in Xiang 15 (558 BCE). It is possible that marriage rites changed, causing a change in how or whether marriages were recorded. Nonetheless, the cessation of marriage records does not reflect a historical change; that is, marriages did not cease to occur. Diplomatic Travel Originating in Lu

Records of the Lu ruler engaging in activity abroad, including covenants, meetings, and military actions, appear regularly from the reign of Lord Yin on, but the first record of a Lu lord “arriving [in Lu] from” (zhì zì 至自) abroad does not appear until the reign of Lord Huan. Starting from the end of Lord Huan’s reign (from 671 BCE), records of the Lu ruler’s arrival from abroad become a common type of record. Instances in which the Lu ruler arrived back in Lu from abroad certainly occurred prior to this time, but they were not recorded. Thus this change must indicate a change in recording practices. A change in how outbound travel from Lu was recorded also took place at about the same time. The first record of a Lu ruler or nobleman going abroad, registered with the verb “go” (rú 如), occurs in Huan 18 (694 BCE). As discussed in chapter 6, this verb is used to record travel to other states for various purposes, usually not indicated in the records, including court visits by Lu rulers and visits of friendly inquiry by Lu noblemen, as well as attendance at funerals. It is profoundly unlikely that no such travel occurred prior to Huan 18. Furthermore, all records of travel with the verb “go” (rú) during the reign of Lord Huan are instances of travel by the ruler and his primary wife together, and half the travel records during Lord Zhuang’s reign refer to the movements of the notoriously unfaithful consort Wen Jiang 文姜. Records of travel by Lu noblemen recorded with “go” (rú) first appear in Zhuang 25 (669 BCE). From Xi 10 (650 BCE) on, the Lu ruler’s travel is

249 DIACHRONIC CHANGES IN FREQUENCY AND FORM IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

recorded using a consistent pattern. No records of travel by the Lu ruler occur after Ding 3 (507 BCE), but records of travel by noblemen continue through Ai 5 (490 BCE). This evidence suggests that during the reign of Lord Huan, recording practices changed and two new types of records, those recording the Lu ruler’s arrival from abroad and those recording travel abroad using “go” (rú), were introduced. The variation in records during the early period in which this form was used (i.e., the reigns of Lord Huan and Zhuang) suggests that it took some time for this new recording pattern to take on what later became its regular form. Flights into Exile

Again, the introduction of a new type of record, “going out in flight” (chū bēn 出奔) using a new verb “flee” (bēn 奔), occurs near the end of Lord Huan’s reign, and a second new type of record, “coming fleeing” (lái bēn 來奔), is introduced during the reign of Lord Wen. No records using the verb “flee” (bēn) occur prior to Huan 11 (701 BCE). From this point on, records of “going out in flight” (chū bēn) occur regularly, continuing to the end of the text; there are 55 such records. The 10 records of simply “fleeing” (bēn) occur between Zhuang 10 (684 BCE) and Zhao 30 (512 BCE). The first record of someone “coming fleeing” (lái bēn) to Lu occurs in Wen 8 (619 BCE). Of the 20 such records, 3 appear during Lord Wen’s reign, and the remaining 17 records of “coming fleeing” are concentrated in the final ninety years of the text, starting from Xiang 6 (567 BCE). It seems unlikely that no instances of “going out in flight” or “coming fleeing” occurred earlier; that is, this change does not reflect a historical change in flights into exile. If the Zuo Tradition is correct in its claim that records of “going out in flight” were based on announcements, it is possible that this change reflects a change in interstate communication practices at that time. It may also reflect a change in recording practices. Battles

No records of “doing battle” (zhàn 戰) appear until Huan 10 (702 BCE), and not until Zhuang 28 (666 BCE) do records of battles in which Lu was not a participant appear. According to the Zuo Tradition, several battles took place before Huan 10. Given that battles did occur prior to Huan 10, it seems likely

250 DIACHRONIC CHANGES IN FREQUENCY AND FORM IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

that the introduction of battle records resulted from a change in recording practices, specifically, the introduction of a new type of record A second change occurs in the latter portion of the text. In general, the Spring and Autumn shows a substantial increase in records of military activity during the reigns of Lords Xiang and Zhao (572–510 BCE) (see discussion later in this appendix), and according to the Zuo Tradition, at least half a dozen battles occurred during these six decades. Yet during this period, only one battle is recorded. This decrease probably reflects a change in recording practices rather than a change in the frequency of battles. A third change occurs during the reigns of the last two rulers, Lords Ding and Ai, when records of battles increase again. It is uncertain why some battles were recorded and others were not. Perhaps there were specific criteria that determined which battles were included in the Spring and Autumn; for example, the Zuo Tradition suggests that only battles that were properly announced could be recorded. Visits of Friendly Inquiry and Court Visits

No records of “visits of friendly inquiry” (pìn 聘) appear in the final four decades of the text; the last such record occurs in Zhao 21 (521 BCE). Similarly, only two records of “court visits” (cháo 朝) occur after Zhao 27 (525 BCE). Prior to this point, records of both types appear regularly, starting from the reign of Lord Yin. Inbound diplomatic visits for other purposes continue to be recorded through the final years of the Spring and Autumn. It seems unlikely that pìn visits of foreign noblemen to Lu ceased to occur at this time and that cháo visits of rulers dropped off precipitously. Thus this change also probably reflects a change in recording practices. DIACHRONIC CHANGES THAT MAY REFLECT CHANGES IN RECORDING PRACTICES OR HISTORICAL EVENTS

The following changes may reflect changes in regular recording practices, but they may also be the result of historical events or trends. Accessions of Lu Rulers

No record of accession to power is made for four of the first five rulers, Lords Yin, Zhuang, Min, and Xi. Traditionally, each of these cases is attributed

251 DIACHRONIC CHANGES IN FREQUENCY AND FORM IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

individually to irregular circumstances.2 From Lord Wen on, accessions are recorded for all rulers. Although these four cases are indeed exceptional with respect to the entire Spring and Autumn—the accession of eight of twelve rulers is recorded—all four exceptions occur in the first third of the text. Thus another possible explanation is that prior to Lord Wen, accessions were not regularly recorded, and it is the record of Lord Huan’s accession that is exceptional, not the other four. It is not possible to determine whether there were, in fact, four different unusual situations leading to four irregularities in the record, or if a change in recording practices occurred. Rain-Seeking Ceremony

Of 22 records of the “rain-seeking” (yú 雩) ceremony, only 3 occur in the first thirteen decades of the Spring and Autumn (approximately the first half of the text). The remaining 19 records are distributed throughout the subsequent eleven decades of the text, beginning in Cheng 3 (588 BCE). This pattern may reflect a change in recording practices, but it may also reflect changes in the frequency with which this rite was conducted. Killings

Records of “killings” (shā 殺) appear throughout the Spring and Autumn except during the brief reign of Lord Min, but their frequency increases significantly in the latter half of the text. Only 6 records of killings occur in the first quarter of the text—that is, the first six decades, prior to Xi 1 (659 BCE)—and the remaining 58 such records occur in the remaining three quarters, the final eighteen decades. This increase in frequency may reflect a change in recording practices but may also reflect a historical change in interstate communication, as most of the victims were foreign nobility. Death and Funeral Records of Regional Rulers

The form of death records remains constant throughout the Spring and Autumn. The frequency of death records for Lu noblemen and death and funeral records for regional rulers increases over time, particularly in the final third of the text. This increase was certainly not the result of a historical increase in death rates and may simply reflect a change in recording

252 DIACHRONIC CHANGES IN FREQUENCY AND FORM IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

practices. However, it may also be the consequence of a historical change, namely, better communication involving a wider range of states. Annihilations of States

None of the 32 records of “annihilations” (miè 滅) of states occurs prior to Zhuang 10 (684 BCE) or in the final years of the text, after Ding 15 (495 BCE). This diachronic pattern may result from changes in recording practices, or it may reflect actual changes in military activity, or a combination of both factors. Incursions

There are 61 records of “making an incursion into [another state]” (qīn 侵). The verb qīn is first used in Zhuang 10 (684 BCE). Records of incursions appear with increasing frequency during the reign of Lord Xi (659–627 BCE) and thereafter occur regularly through the remainder of the Spring and Autumn. The introduction of a new event type during Lord Zhuang’s reign may reflect a change in recording practices or a new type of military action, but the increased frequency of records of incursions later in the Spring and Autumn likely reflects an actual increase in military activity. Providing Aid

The verb jiù 救, “to rescue, provide aid to,” is used in 21 records. This type of record first appears in Zhuang 6 (688 BCE). Records of “providing aid” occur sporadically until near the end of Lord Xiang’s reign and then do not occur during an approximately fifty-year period including the reigns of Lord Zhao and Ding. Two records of aid appear during the reign of Lord Ai. The introduction of a new type of record in Zhuang 6 may indicate a change in recording practices, but it is uncertain whether the subsequent distribution of these records reflects actual historical events and trends or changes in recording practices, or a combination of factors. “Miscellaneous” Category

The Spring and Autumn includes 19 unique records that are unlike others and thus defy categorization. Obviously, only limited generalizations can be made about their diachronic distribution, but it is noteworthy that over

253 DIACHRONIC CHANGES IN FREQUENCY AND FORM IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

60 percent of these anomalous records appear in the first quarter of the text, that is, the first six decades (the reigns of Lords Yin, Huan, and Zhuang). This distribution may indicate that there was greater tolerance for formal irregularity in the early period covered by the Spring and Autumn. DIACHRONIC CHANGES RESULTING FROM HISTORICAL CHANGE

Diachronic changes listed in this section reflect actual historical change. Many of the changes to the records discussed in this section involve variations in the frequency with which a particular form occurs rather than changes to the form itself. Military Activity

The frequency of records of military activity rises significantly over time. For example, the frequency of records of “attacks” (fá 伐), the most common type of military action recorded in the Spring and Autumn, increases over time, peaking during the reigns of Lords Xuan, Wen, and Xiang (that is, 608–542 BCE). This and similar changes almost certainly reflect an actual increase in military conflict and are not artifacts of changes in recording practices. Participation of Nobility in Military Action, Meetings, Covenants, and Wall Construction

The frequency with which noblemen are named as leaders in multistate lists increases starting in the reign of Lord Wen (626–609 BCE). Prior to the reign of Lord Wen, Lu noblemen are not recorded as participating in interstate meetings. From Lord Wen’s reign through the end of Lord Zhao (510 BCE), Lu is represented by a nobleman rather than the ruler in more than half the recorded interstate meetings. From the start of Lord Ding’s reign (509 BCE) to the end of the Spring and Autumn in 479 BCE, only once in 8 recorded meetings is Lu represented by a nobleman. Likewise, Lu noblemen are regularly recorded as participating in covenants starting from Wen 1 (626 BCE). Although wall construction was not always an interstate endeavor, it is also noteworthy that most (4 of 5) records of wall construction led by Lu noblemen occur from Wen 12 (615 BCE) on. Zuo Tradition accounts also document an increase in the participation of noblemen in covenants, meetings,

254 DIACHRONIC CHANGES IN FREQUENCY AND FORM IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

and military actions, and more broadly, a rise in the power of aristocratic families during the latter part of the Spring and Autumn period. The increase in frequency of records mentioning noblemen thus represents a historical transformation in the role of nobility. This change may also reflect a concurrent shift in formal recording practices, namely, an increase in the degree of recognition given to nobility. Number of Participants in Meetings and Covenants

The number of participants listed in records of “interstate meetings” (huì 會, yù 遇) rose and then fell. From the start of the records through the end of Lord Zhuang’s reign (662 BCE), nearly 80 percent of records list only two participants. From the start of Lord Xi’s reign to the end of Lord Zhao’s reign (659–510 BCE), 65 percent of meeting records list six or more participants, and at least 15 percent include a dozen or more. During the reigns of Lords Ai and Ding, lists of participants become noticeably shorter; no meetings are recorded as having more than three participants. Similarly, the Spring and Autumn registers 15 covenants with five or more participants, none of which occur before Zhuang 27 (668 BCE) or after the end of Lord Xiang’s rule (542 BCE). Again, these changes seem to reflect a historical transformation in the size of interstate assemblies, though they may also reflect a shift in recording practices, which perhaps permitted increased recognition of participants from lower-ranking states. CONCLUDING NOTES

The data indicate several preliminary conclusions, specific and general. First, a number of changes occurred during the reign of Lord Huan (711–694 BCE), including the introduction of new forms for diplomatic travel and flights into exile along with the first record of a battle. Furthermore, singular records are likelier to occur early in the text. We might speculate that the form of the records had not yet become fully standardized and that during this earlier period there was greater tolerance for departures from the regular form. Second, certain types of records taper off or disappear entirely in the final portion of the text. These types include records of marriages, visits of friendly inquiry, and court visits. Such changes do not represent historical

255 DIACHRONIC CHANGES IN FREQUENCY AND FORM IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN

changes such as a cessation of marriages or diplomatic visits from abroad. Instead, they probably reflect transformations in recording practices. If the records were related to interstate communications or other formal ceremonies or religious practice, perhaps the decline or disappearance resulted from changes in these arenas. More research may yield a clearer understanding. Third, some changes concern types of records that, according to the Zuo Tradition, were based on interstate announcements. Included are records of going out in flight, killings of noblemen, and deaths and funerals of regional rulers. Changes in the frequency with which such records occur may reflect changes in interstate communications. Fourth, although major transformations in the political and social order took place during the Spring and Autumn period, these changes are visible primarily (and perhaps only) as changes in frequency. Such historical transformations are not reflected in the form of the records, that is, the hierarchy encoded in the records does not change, nor do the forms (such as listing order or special verbs) used to encode that hierarchy. What are the ramifications for our understanding of Spring and Autumn composition history? Regardless of whether the Spring and Autumn was a later compilation based on earlier material or whether the records were produced over time by Lu record-keepers, we would still expect to find diachronic changes that reflect actual historical trends. Analysis of diachronic changes of this type should be helpful to scholars interested in the history of the Spring and Autumn period, but evidence of such changes does little to illuminate the composition history or purpose of the Spring and Autumn itself. By contrast, diachronic changes in form, such as the introduction or elimination of event types, indicate that the Spring and Autumn was probably recorded over time, and while it certainly underwent subsequent editing, it was probably not edited heavily. If a text as formulaic as the Spring and Autumn was produced by a single person or group (whether compilers or heavy-handed editors), we would expect them to have imposed the regular patterns evenly across the text. We would not expect to see changes such as the introduction or elimination of event types, nor would we expect to see a higher concentration of irregular records earlier in the text. Instead, we would expect records to be uniform and consistent throughout. The fact that the Spring and Autumn exhibits some diachronic changes in form and that irregularities occur with more frequency earlier in the text and become less frequent in the later years of the text suggests that the records were composed over time.

NOTES

INTRODUCTION 1. Mario Liverani, “Memorandum on the Approach to Historiographic Texts,” Orientalia (n.s.) 42 (1973): 178–194; see also John Baines, “On the Evolution, Purpose, and Forms of Egyptian Annals,” in Zeichen aus dem Sand: Streiflichter aus Ägyptens Geschichte zu Ehren von Günter Dreyer, ed. Eva-Maria Engel, Vera Müller, and Ulrich Hartung (Weisbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2008), 29. 2. Examples include George Kennedy, “Interpretation of the Ch’un-Ch’iu,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 62.1 (1942): 40–48; and A. Taeko Brooks, “The Historical Value of the Chūn/Chyōu,” Warring States Papers 1 (2010): 71–74; see too Henri Maspero, China in Antiquity, trans. Frank A. Kierman (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1978), 280–281. 3. It has been pointed out to me that not everyone would categorize the Chunqiu (or other annals) as “history,” and that according to this view, to qualify as “history,” a work must be narrative; thus the Chunqiu should be treated not as history but as “chronography” (Kai Vogelsang, personal communication). I acknowledge this viewpoint, but I nonetheless register my respectful disagreement; in my view, the records of the Chunqiu are not simply chronologically ordered records of events, and they warrant analysis as historiography precisely because they are fundamentally interpretive and biased, and they entail self-presentation. 4. John Baines, “Ancient Egypt,” in The Oxford History of Historical Writing, vol. 1, Beginnings to AD 600, ed. Andrew Feldherr and Grant Hardy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 62. 5. Alison E. Cooley, “History and Inscriptions, Rome,” in Oxford History of Historical Writing, vol. 1, ed. Feldherr and Hardy, 244. 6. As noted in the Scholarly Conventions at the front of this book, the base text for the digitized version is Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhu 春秋左傳注, ed. and comm. Yang Bojun 楊伯峻 (1981; repr., Taipei: Fuwen, 1991).

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7. Du Yu 杜預 (222–284), Chunqiu shili 春秋釋例, (1802 [Jiaqing 嘉慶 7]); repr., Taipei: Zhonghua, 1970). The work we have today is a reconstructed text. The original edition in 15 juan, which is listed in Sui shu 隋書, comp. Wei Zheng 魏徵 (580–643) (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1975) 32.928, had been lost by the Ming 明 dynasty, but it was reconstructed from thirty chapters (pian 篇) appearing in the Yongle dadian 永樂大典 and fragmentary portions quoted by Kong Yingda 孔穎達 (574–648) and others. The 15 juan of the reconstructed version do not correspond to the original 15 juan; on its textual history, see Cheng Faren 程發軔, Chunqiu yaoling 春秋要領 (Taipei: Sanmin, 1996), 11–12; Ye Zhengxin 葉政欣, Du Yu ji qi Chunqiu Zuoshi xue 杜預及其春秋左氏學 (Taipei: Wenjin, 1989), 42–43; and Benjamin Elman, Classicism, Politics, and Kinship: The Chang-chou School of New Text Confucianism in Late Imperial China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 156–157. 8. Du Yu’s forty-two categories are listed in Cheng Faren, Chunqiu yaoling, 12. 9. Zhu Yizun 朱彝尊 (1629–1709), Jing yi kao 經義考, collects many such titles, presumably earlier than Du Yu’s Chunqiu shili; it contains multiple works entitled Chunqiu tiaoli 春秋條例 plus one other called Chunqiu shili. None is still extant, but these presumably took a similar approach to analyzing the Chunqiu, although the specific principles may have differed; see Zhu Yizun, Dianjiao buzheng Jing yi kao 點校補正經義 考, ed. Jiang Qiuhua 蔣秋華, Lin Qingzhang 林慶彰, Yang Jinlong 楊晉龍, and Zhang Guangqing 張廣慶 (Taipei: Academia Sinica, Institute of Literature and Philosophy, 1997), 5.549–598, esp. 594 (juan 171–172); for another list, see Wu Maxi 伍媽喜, Chunqiu Zuoshi zhuan guzhu jikao 春秋左氏傳古注輯考 (Taipei: Xuehai, 1993), 11–13. 10. Newell Ann Van Auken, The Commentarial Transformation of the Spring and Autumn (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2016), 101–119. 11. Many such topical analyses are included in the Suoyinben Tongzhi tang jingjie 索引 本通志堂經解, comp. Xu Qianxue 徐乾學 (1631–1694) (1680 [Kangxi 康熙 19]; repr., Taipei: Hanjing wenhua, 1971), vols. 20–22. A particularly striking example is that of Cui Zifang 崔子方 (fl. 11th–12th c.), Chunqiu benli 春秋本例, which organizes records by state and primary actor, then by specificity of date, and finally by main verb; see Suoyinben Tongzhi tang jingjie 20:11453–11550. Other works employing similar principles that are collected in Tongzhi tang jingjie include Chen Zetong 陳則通 (Song), Chunqiu tigang 春秋提綱; Li Qi 李琪 (Song), Chunqiu wangba lieguo shijibian 春秋 王霸列國世紀編; and Zhang Chong 章沖 (fl. mid-12th c.), Chunqiu Zuoshi zhuan shilei shimo 春秋左氏傳事類始末; see 22:12957–13019, 13020–13082, and 12795–12955, respectively. For discussion of Song scholarship on the Chunqiu, see Song Dingzong 宋鼎宗, Chunqiu Songxue fawei 春秋宋學發微 (Taipei: Wenshizhe, 1986); Zhao Bo­xiong 趙伯雄, Chunqiu xueshi 春秋學史 (Jinan: Shandong jiaoyu, 2004), 523–562; and Shen Yucheng 沈玉成 and Liu Ning 劉寧, Chunqiu Zuo zhuan xueshi gao 春秋 左傳學史稿 (Nanjing: Jiangsu guji, 1992), 199–241. 12. Gu Donggao 顧棟高 (1679–1759), Chunqiu dashibiao 春秋大事表, 6 vols. (1873 [Tongzhi 同治 12]; repr., Taipei: Guangxue, 1975). 13. Chen Pan 陳槃, Zuoshi Chunqiu yili bian 左氏春秋義例辨, 2 vols. (1947; repr., Taipei: Institute of History and Philology, Academia Sinica, 1993). 14. See the helpful discussion in John Baines, “Restricted Knowledge, Hierarchy, and Decorum: Modern Perceptions and Ancient Institutions,” Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 27 (1990): 1–23. 15. For the term “direct commentary,” see Van Auken, Commentarial Transformation, 8–9. It has been claimed that the Zuo zhuan narrative accounts form a sort of “indirect”

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commentary to the Chunqiu; see Zhang Suqing 張素卿, Xu shi yu jie shi: Zuo zhuan jing jie yanjiu 敘事與解釋 : 左傳經解研究 (Taipei: Shulin, 1998). In fact, I am using them as a commentary, in the broadest sense of the word, that is, as a text that has explanatory power to help us read and understand another text. But I am not convinced that the Zuo zhuan was (as Zhang Suqing has argued) composed with the primary aim of explaining the Chunqiu, and I doubt that I am using these passages as they were originally intended to be used. It seems likelier to me that these accounts were arranged in chronological order with the Chunqiu as an organizing principle, but not necessarily with the goal of explicating the language and significance of the records.

1. ORIENTATIONS: APPROACHES TO SPRING AND AUTUMN HISTORIOGRAPHY 1. Three slightly different versions of the Chunqiu have been transmitted into contemporary times. This study is based on the version transmitted with the Zuo zhuan (Zuo Tradition), which continues to 479 BCE. The two other versions, one associated with the Gongyang zhuan 公羊傳 (Gongyang Tradition) and the other with the Guliang zhuan 穀梁傳 (Guliang Tradition), both end in 481 BCE. 2. James Legge, “Prolegomena,” in The Chinese Classics, vol. 5, The Ch’un Ts’ew with the Tso chuen: With a Translation, Critical and Exegetical Notes, Prolegomena and Copious Indexes, trans. James Legge (1872; repr., Taipei: SMC, 1994), 2–3. 3. Some topics of Shang divination recorded in oracle bone inscriptions, including weather, missions and travel, public works, and military activity, overlap with the Chunqiu, but other topics, in addition to childbirth and sickness, also including the activities of gods and powers, as well as requests for spiritual approval, do not. For a list of the subject matter of Shang divinations, see David N. Keightley, “The Shang: China’s First Historical Dynasty,” in The Cambridge History of Ancient China: From the Origins of Civilization to 221 B.C., ed. Michael Loewe and Edward L. Shaughnessy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 243. 4. For ancient Mesopotamia, see Jean-Jacques Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2004; Leiden: Brill, 2005), and A. K. Grayson, Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles (Locust Valley, NY: J. J. Augustin, 1975), both of which include translations of annals texts as well as analysis and discussion. For classification of Mesopotamian chronicles, see Caroline Waerzeggers, “The Babylonian Chronicles: Classification and Provenance,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 71.2 (2012): 285–298; and Mario Liverani, “Later Mesopotamia,” in The Oxford History of Historical Writing, vol. 1, Beginnings to AD 600, ed. Andrew Feldherr and Grant Hardy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 29–52. On Egypt, see John Baines, “Ancient Egypt,” in The Oxford History of Historical Writing, vol. 1, ed. Feldherr and Hardy, 53–75. 5. For more on the term “chronicle” and the distinction between chronicles and other histories, see Morton White, Foundations of Historical Knowledge (New York: Harper and Row, 1965), 222–224; the term “chronicle” as White uses it subsumes annals. For the development of these two forms in the West, see Reginald Lane Poole, Chronicles and Annals: A Brief Outline of Their Origin and Growth (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1926). 6. For discussion of the textual history and compilation of Egyptian annals, which probably “assembled multiple documents,” see John Baines, “On the Evolution, Purpose, and Forms of Egyptian Annals,” in Zeichen aus dem Sand: Streiflichter aus Ägyptens

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Geschichte zu Ehren von Günter Dreyer, ed. Eva-Maria Engel, Vera Müller, and Ulrich Hartung, 19–40 (Weisbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2008). 7. White uses this phrase to define “chronicles,” but it is equally appropriate for annals; see White, Foundations of Historical Knowledge, 222. 8. Baines, “On the Evolution,” 27. 9. The Zhushu jinian 竹書紀年 (Bamboo Annals) circulates in two versions, the “Current Text” (Jinben 今本) and the “Ancient Text” (Guben 古本). The “Current Text” version purports to have been transmitted from the text’s discovery in 281 CE; it was rejected as a forgery in Qing times, but recent studies have shown that while the “Current Text” version does contain errors, it is probably not a forgery. The “Ancient Text” version was produced by Qing scholars who attempted to reconstruct the text based on fragmentary quotations from the Bamboo Annals that they extracted from various medieval texts and commentaries. For a brief summary of the extremely complex textual history of the Zhushu jinian, see David S. Nivison, “Chu shi chi nien 竹書紀年,” in Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide, ed. Michael Loewe (Berkeley: The Society for the Study of Early China and the Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley, 1993), 43–44; for a thorough analysis, see Edward L. Shaughnessy, Rewriting Early Chinese Texts (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006), esp. chap. 4, “The Editing and Editions of the Bamboo Annals,” 185–256. 10. Mengzi zhushu 孟子注疏, comm. Zhao Qi 趙岐 (d. 201), subcomm. Sun Shi 孫奭 (962–1033), in Shisanjing zhushu 十三經注疏 (hereafter SSJZS), comp. Ruan Yuan 阮元 (1764–1849) (1815; repr., Taipei: Yiwen, 1985), “Lilou xia” 離婁下, 8a.12a (p. 146); see also Mengzi yizhu 孟子譯注, 2 vols., comm. Yang Bojun 楊伯峻 (1960; repr., Beijing: Zhonghua, 2000), 1:192–193. For an English translation, see D. C. Lau, Mencius (New York: Penguin, 1970), 131–132. 11. Barry Blakeley suggested that material from such records, perhaps even the “Taowu” of Chu itself, was incorporated into the Zuo zhuan; see Barry B. Blakeley, “ ‘On the Authenticity and Nature of the Zuo zhuan’ Revisited,” Early China 29 (2004): 238. Henri Maspero made a similar suggestion concerning the records of Qin, which he proposed had been incorporated into the Shiji 史記 (Records of the Historian); see Henri Maspero, China in Antiquity, trans. Frank A. Kierman (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1978), 281; for the basis of this claim, see Shiji, comp. Sima Qian 司馬遷 (ca. 145–ca. 86 BCE) (Bejing: Zhonghua, 1959), 6.293. 12. The “Biannian ji” 編年紀 is reproduced and transcribed with notes in Shuihudi Qinmu zhujian zhengli xiaozu 睡虎地秦墓竹簡整理小組, ed., Shuihudi Qinmu zhujian 睡虎地秦墓竹簡 (Beijing: Wenwu, 1990); it was excavated from a tomb whose occupant died in 217 BCE. For an overview, see Edward L. Shaughnessy, “The Qin Biannian ji (an Annalistic History) and the Beginnings of Historical Writing in China,” in Beyond the First Emperor’s Mausoleum: New Perspectives on Qin Art, ed. Yang Liu (Minneapolis, MN: Minneapolis Institute of Arts, 2015; distributed by University of Washington Press), 115–136, which also introduces other early annals texts; see also Edward L. Shaughnessy, Chinese Annals in the Western Observatory: An Outline of Western Studies of Chinese Unearthed Documents (Boston: de Gruyter, 2019), 318–322, 325. On the “Biannian ji,” see Achim Mittag, “The Qin Bamboo Annals of Shuihudi: A Random Note from the Perspective of Chinese Historiography,” Monumenta Serica 51 (2003): 543–570. On a later text said to be a fragmentary annals discovered in 1977 at Shuanggudui 雙古堆, Fuyang 阜陽, Anhui Province, in a tomb whose occupant died in 165 BCE, see Hu Pingsheng and Deborah Porter, trans., “Some Notes on the

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Organization of the Han Dynasty Bamboo ‘Annals’ Found at Fuyang,” Early China 14 (1989): 1–25; and Hu Pingsheng 胡平生, “Fuyang Han jian Nianbiao zhengli zhaji” 阜陽漢簡《年表》整理劄記, Wenwu yanjiu 7 (1991): 392–402. Although a few later annals texts have been excavated (for a list, see Shaughnessy, “The Qin Biannian ji,” 115–116), the Xinian 繫年 of the Tsinghua University collection, which is chronologically arranged text but composed of longer narrative accounts, does not belong to this genre; for the text, see Li Xueqin 李學勤, ed., Qinghua daxue cang Zhanguo zhujian 清華大學藏戰國竹簡, vol. 2 (Shanghai: Zhongxi, 2011), and for a translation, see Olivia Milburn, “The Xinian: An Ancient Historical Text from the Qinghua University Collection of Bamboo Books,” Early China 39 (2016): 53–109. Apart from Shaughnessy’s helpful but brief summary, there is no comprehensive comparative analysis of early Chinese annals texts; despite its title, Wai-yee Li, “Pre-Qin Annals,” in The Oxford History of Historical Writing, vol. 1, ed. Feldherr and Hardy, 415–439, does not discuss annals-like texts at all but instead reviews Chunqiu reception history. 13. Newell Ann Van Auken, The Commentarial Transformation of the Spring and Autumn (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2016), 6. 14. Zuo, Zhao 2, 1226–1227; Mengzi zhushu, “Teng wen gong xia” 滕文公下, 6b.4b–5a (pp. 117–118); see also Mengzi yizhu, 1:155. For translation, see Lau, Mencius, 114. Robert Gassmann has advocated the view that the Chunqiu was the work of Confucius; personal communication; and see also Cheng ming, Richtigstellung der Bezeichnungen: Zu den Quellen eines Philosophems im antiken China; Ein Beitrag zur KonfuziusForschung (Bern: Peter Lang, 1988). 15. The phrase “unedited Spring and Autumn” is attested by Song times in the work of Xiao Chu 蕭楚 (1064–1150), Chunqiu bianyi 春秋辨疑, cited by Song Dingzong 宋鼎宗, Chunqiu Songxue fawei 春秋宋學發微 (Taipei: Wenshizhe, 1986), 232, but the concept of a Lu annals that existed prior to any editing activity by Confucius certainly predates Xiao Chu’s work. 16. A fairly early proponent of this view was Song scholar Wang Anshi 王安石 (1021–1086), who disputed the canonical “praise and blame” reading of the Chunqiu and also asserted that the records were merely “broken and scrappy court reports” (duàn làn cháo bào 斷爛朝報) rather than ascribing them to Confucius; Song shi 宋史 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1965), 327.10550. For an early-twentieth-century rejection of the idea that the Chunqiu was the work of Confucius and conveyed his judgments, see Qian Xuantong 錢玄同, “Lun Chunqiu xingzhi” 論《春秋》性質書, and the response by Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 (1893–1980), “Da shu” 答書, both in Gushi bian 古史辨, ed. Gu Jiegang (1926; repr., Taipei: Landeng wenhua, 1987), 1:275–276. 17. Currently available editions that present the Chunqiu alone, without one of the three main commentarial traditions, are not the result of continuous independent transmissions of the text but were prepared by extracting the Chunqiu from a version that was attached to one of the three commentaries. The two authoritative editions of the Chunqiu alone both date to late imperial times. The first is Mao Qiling 毛奇齡 (1623–1716), Chunqiu Maoshi zhuan 春秋毛氏傳, in Huangqing jingjie 皇清經解, comp. Ruan Yuan (1829 [Daoguang 道光 9], supplemented in 1861 [Xianfeng 咸豐 11]; repr., Taipei: Fuxing, 1972), 2:1327–1596. The second is Duan Yucai 段玉裁 (1735–1815), Chunqiu Zuoshi gujing 春秋左氏古經, in Duan Yucai yishu 段玉裁遺書 (Taipei: Dahua shuju, 1977; originally published in Jingyun lou congshu 經韻樓叢書, 1821 [Daoguang 道光 1]), 2:745–818. 18. It has even been claimed that the Chunqiu was so obscure and difficult to understand that it was accompanied by commentaries when it first began to circulate, but

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this claim is not supported by any evidence; see Yuri Pines, “Intellectual Change in the Chunqiu Period: The Reliability of the Speeches in the Zuo Zhuan as Sources of Chunqiu Intellectual History,” Early China 22 (1997): 86. As of present writing, there is no extant ancient manuscript of the Chunqiu against which to test this theory. In 2011, 205 bamboo slips that were said to bear a ‘Chunqiu-type’ (Chunqiu lèi 春秋類) text were excavated from the tomb of Liu He 劉賀, Marquis of Haihun 海昏侯 (d. 59 BCE), in Nanchang, Jiangxi, but the material that has been transcribed and published thus far is similar or identical to Gongyang and does not appear to be the Chunqiu itself, and the brief textual fragments that correspond to the Chunqiu may simply be parts of Chunqiu records that are quoted in the Gongyang (or, perhaps, a Gongyanglike) commentary; see Zhu Fenghan 朱鳳瀚, ed., and He Zhonghua 何中華, assoc. ed., “Chapter 8, Haihuan zhushu Chunqiu chudu” 第八章，海昏竹書《春秋》初讀, in Haihun jiandu chulun 海昏簡牍初論 (Beijing: Peking University Press, 2020), 146–53. This material is quite late and in poor condition, and thus it may not be able to shed much light on the early relationship between the Chunqiu and its commentaries. 19. For a discussion of secret knowledge in ancient Egypt, see John Baines, “Restricted Knowledge, Hierarchy, and Decorum: Modern Perceptions and Ancient Institutions,” Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 27 (1990): 1–23. 20. Michael Loewe observes that “the terse nature of the entries and the particular choice of expressions laid it open to later interpretation as a deliberate attempt to impose a moral judgment on some of the personalities concerned or on their decisions and deeds.” Michael Loewe, “The Heritage Left to the Empires,” in Loewe and Shaughnessy, Cambridge History of Ancient China, 971. 21. For these examples, see Chunqiu Gongyang zhuan zhushu 春秋穀梁傳注疏, comm. He Xiu 何休 (129–182), subcomm. Xu Yan 徐彥 (Tang), SSJZS, Yin 11, 3.16b–17b (pp. 41–42); Chunqiu Guliang zhuan zhushu 春秋穀梁傳注疏, comm., Fan Ning 范甯 (339–401), subcomm. Yang Shixun 楊士勛 (Tang), SSJZS, Zhuang 27, 6.10b–11a (pp. 61–62). For an analysis that traces the development of an ostensibly arbitrary commentarial interpretation of a single term across three commentaries, see Newell Ann Van Auken, “Who Is a rén 人? The Use of rén in Spring and Autumn Records and Its Interpretation in the Zuǒ, Gōngyáng, and Gǔliáng Commentaries,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 131.4 (2012): 555–590, esp. 572–586. 22. For analysis of Gongyang as addressing deviations from regular patterns, see Joachim Gentz, “The Ritual Meaning of Textual Form: Evidence from Early Commentaries of the Historiographic and Ritual Traditions,” in Text and Ritual in Early China, ed. Martin Kern (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2006), 129–132; see also Rudolph G. Wagner, The Craft of a Chinese Commentator: Wang Bi on the Laozi (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2000), 4–5. 23. Matthias Richter, “Roots of Ru 儒 Ethics in Shi 士 Status Anxiety,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 137.3 (2017): 449–471. On the matter of social context more generally, see the incisive discussions in Richter, The Embodied Text: Establishing Textual Identity in Early Chinese Manuscripts (Leiden: Brill, 2013). 24. On changes wrought by commentaries in several world canonical traditions, see John B. Henderson, Scripture, Canon and Commentary: A Comparison of Confucian and Western Exegesis (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991). On a similar transformation in the Yi 易 (Changes), see David R. Knechtges, “The Perils and Pleasures of Translation: The Case of the Chinese Classics,” Tsing Hua Journal of Chinese Studies (n.s.) 34.1 (2004): 137. Interestingly, a similar transformative process occurs with material

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objects. Gideon Shelach-Lavi points out that items such as jade cóng 琮 were durable and disappeared and reappeared, and were reinterpreted over time; that is, similar to texts, their significance was not stable, and both intentional and unintentional transformations occurred. See Gideon Shelach-Lavi, The Archaeology of Early China: From Prehistory to the Han Dynasty (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 160. 25. On the existence of two traditions, see Kai Vogelsang, “The Shape of History: On Reading Li Wai-Yee,” Early China 37 (2014): 579–599; see also the discussion in Van Auken, Commentarial Transformation, 121–146. For thoughtful discussion of the notion that early Chinese historiography was fundamentally didactic together with a comprehensive review of pertinent scholarship, see Vincent S. Leung, The Politics of the Past in Ancient China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020), 5–12. More generally, Hayden White proposes a link between narrative form and didactic historiography; see White, “The Value of Narrativity in the Representation of Reality,” Critical Inquiry 7.1 (1980): 5–27. 26. I have taken up these matters in depth in Van Auken, Commentarial Transformation. 27. Another proponent of this view was George Kennedy; he rejected the view that the records deliberately encoded secret meaning and instead assumed that, like the modern histories to which he was accustomed, the Chunqiu was intended to be accurate and complete. The weakness of Kennedy’s study is that it is based on a limited set of records, and he seems to have been unaware that omissions followed regular patterns. See George Kennedy, “Interpretation of the Ch’un-Ch’iu,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 62.1 (1942): 40–48. 28. Legge, “Prolegomena,” 45. 29. Legge, “Prolegomena,” 49. 30. Legge, “Prolegomena,” 51, 39. 31. Donald E. Brown, Hierarchy, History, and Human Nature: The Social Origins of Historical Consciousness (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1988); somewhat ironically, he classifies China as one of those civilizations with a tradition of “sound” history. For thoughtful criticism of Brown’s work, see Jörn Rüsen, “Some Theoretical Approaches to Intercultural Comparative Historiography,” History and Theory, Theme Issue: Chinese Historiography in Comparative Perspective 35.4 (1996): 7. It is interesting and perhaps significant that Brown links “unsound” histories to societies that are hereditarily stratified, 5. Even if Brown’s terms are ill-defined, his work is not without value, and one wonders if this link could be fruitfully developed with more rigorous and careful scholarship. 32. Brown, Hierarchy, History, and Human Nature, 25, 69, 131–132. 33. Alon Confino, “History and Memory,” in The Oxford History of Historical Writing, vol. 5, Historical Writing Since 1945, ed. Axel Schneider and Daniel Woolf (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 43. 34. Baines, “On the Evolution,” 34; see also Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles, 48–49. 35. Johan Huizinga (1872–1945), “A Definition of the Concept of History,” in Philosophy and History: Essays Presented to Ernst Cassirer, ed. Raymond Klibansky and H. J. Paton (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1936), 4. 36. Susan Roosevelt Weld has proposed that only with Confucius did lǐ begin to be understood as rules governing human interactions, and prior to this, lǐ were rules concerning transactions between the human and spirit realm; Susan Roosevelt Weld, “Covenant in Jin’s Walled Cities: The Discoveries at Houma and Wenxian” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1990), 428. See also Yuri Pines, “Disputers of the Li: Breakthroughs in the Concept of Ritual in Preimperial China,” Asia Major (3rd ser.) 13.1 (2000): 1–41.

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37. Jacques Gernet, A History of Chinese Civilization, trans. J. R. Foster (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982; translation of Le Monde chinois, Paris: Armand Colin, 1972), 84. Sarah Queen accepts and elaborates on Gernet’s hypothesis; see Sarah Queen, From Chronicle to Canon: The Hermeneutics of the Spring and Autumn, According to Tung Chung-Shu (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 166–167. For more general comments asserting a connection between writing and the ancestral cult in early China, see Mark Edward Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999), 17. 38. Michael Loewe, “The Heritage Left to the Empires,” in Loewe and Shaughnessy, Cambridge History of Ancient China, 971. 39. Pines, “Intellectual Change,” 83; Pines has repeated this claim in many subsequent publications. 40. In support of this view, Pines relies on the now superseded comments by Lothar von Falkenhausen suggesting that the ancestors were the intended audience of the bronze inscriptions; see Pines, “Intellectual Change,” 85, citing Falkenhausen’s article from thirty years ago: “Issues in Western Zhou Studies: A Review Article,” Early China 18 (1993): 152. It is essential to note that Falkenhausen has since revised his view of the bronze inscriptions; see Lothar von Falkenhausen, “The Royal Audience and Its Reflections in Western Zhou Bronze Inscriptions,” in Writing and Literacy in Early China: Studies from the Columbia Early China Seminar, ed. Li Feng and David Prager Branner (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2011), 241–243, in which he refers to his earlier position as “questionable” and notes that the inscription records a proclamation in which a narration of lineage history is “addressed to the king, not the ancestors.” See also Lothar von Falkenhausen, “The Inscribed Bronzes from Yangjiacun: New Evidence on Social Structure and Historical Consciousness in Late Western Zhou China (c. 800 BC),” Proceedings of the British Academy 139 (2006): 239–293, especially 274–277, in which he discusses the manipulation of the past to further lineage interests and refers to the inscription as an early example of “explicit historical thinking.” Li Feng has also made the incisive observation that bronze inscriptions functioned to increase lineage prestige and social standing; see, for example, his comments in Li Feng, Bureaucracy and the State in Early China: Governing the Western Zhou (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 19–20; surely the Chunqiu records functioned in a similar way, bolstering the prestige of the Lu ruling house. 41. This lone passage is Zuo, Huan 2, 91; see Pines, “Intellectual Change,” 83; for analysis contextualizing this passage in light of other similar commentarial passages, see Van Auken, Commentarial Transformation, 48–50. 42. A complete list of this series of commentarial remarks, the so-called “fifty generalizations” (wǔshí fán 五十凡) is appended to Duan Yucai, Chunqiu Zuoshi gujing; see Fulu 附錄 (appendix), Chunqiu Zuoshi zhuan wushi fan (1 juan) 春秋左氏傳五十 凡，一卷, in Duan Yucai yishu, 2:745–818. For discussion of each of these passages in detail, see Chen Wenju 陳溫菊, Luo Chengjiong “Zuo zhuan wushi fanli” yanjiu 駱 成駫《左傳五十凡例》研究 (Taipei: Jingxue wenhua, 2014); see also the analysis in Yang Xiangkui 楊向奎, “Lue lun ‘wushi fan’ ” 略論〈五十凡〉, originally published in 1935; reprinted in Yishizhai xueshu wenji 繹史齋學術文集, ed. Yang Xiangkui (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin, 1983), 215–227. For an overview of these passages, see Van Auken, Commentarial Transformation, 101–115; for individual summaries of each one, see 237–244.

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43. Jessica Rawson, “Ancient Chinese Ritual as Seen in the Material Record,” in State and Court Ritual in China, ed. Joseph P. McDermott (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 22, 23; this study examines the material record connected with “burials and the offerings to ancestors,” which Rawson describes as “the primary rituals of ancient China.” For a discussion that touches on the use and display of material objects to signify social status and relationships, see David Schaberg, A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), 58–65. 44. Rawson, “Ancient Chinese Ritual,” 43; earlier in the same study she observes that “the ordering of the social structure was reproduced in the relationships of tomb size and tomb position underground,” 28. 45. The idiom “talk is cheap” typically means that it is easier to talk about taking an action than to actually carry out that action. In discussing the use of replicas (míngqì 明器) in tombs, Lothar von Falkenhausen writes of the “decoupling of ritual expense from the expression of ritual rank” as possibly indicating a shift to the Confucian idea that “practice of proper virtue and the proper emotions matter more than ritual paraphernalia.” See Falkenhausen, “Archaeological Perspectives on the Philosophicization of Royal Zhou Ritual,” in Perceptions of Antiquity in Chinese Civilization, ed. Dieter Kuhn and Helga Stahl (Heidelberg: Forum, 2008), 164. The decoupling I observe here is of a different sort, in which ritual goods are costly and words are free. 46. Maurice Bloch, “Symbols, Song, Dance, and Features of Articulation: Is Religion an Extreme Form of Traditional Authority?,” European Journal of Sociology/Archives Européennes de Sociologie 15 (1974): 60, 62. 47. Bloch, “Symbols, Song, Dance,” 58. 48. Bloch, “Symbols, Song, Dance,” 76–79. 49. Bloch, “Symbols, Song, Dance,” 62. 50. I am tempted to borrow the elegant phrase “ritual reality,” employed by Joachim Gentz, yet he uses this phrase to explain the principles underlying the later interpretations of Gongyang, which are quite different from what I am describing here; see Gentz, “The Past as a Messianic Vision: Historical Thought and Strategies of Sacralization in the Early Gongyang Tradition,” in Historical Truth, Historical Criticism, and Ideology: Chinese Historiography and Historical Culture from a New Comparative Perspective, ed. Helwig Schmidt-Glintzer, Achim Mittag, and Jörn Rüsen (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 235. Also in this collection, for a similar discussion applying Bloch’s theories to early Chinese texts, see Martin Kern, “Poetry and Religion: The Representation of ‘Truth’ in Early Chinese Historiography,” in Historical Truth, 61–62. See too the remarks of Paul Goldin, who in his review of this volume astutely observes that the notion of history having a “ritually fictive nature” will “frustrate modern historians”; see Dao: A Journal of Comparative Philosophy 6.2 (2007): 203.

2. RECORDING THE DAY 1. Examples of studies using calendrics to determine dates and authenticity of texts are numerous; important works in English include David S. Nivison, “The Dates of Western Chou,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 43.2 (1983): 481–580; and Edward L. Shaughnessy, “On the Authenticity of the Bamboo Annals,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 46.1 (1986): 149–180, both concerning problems related to the Bamboo Annals.

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See also Shaughnessy, “Appendix 3: The Absolute Chronology of the Western Zhou Dynasty,” in Sources of Western Zhou History: Inscribed Bronze Vessels (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 217–287, which uses a combination of astronomical and textual evidence to establish regnal dates of the Western Zhou kings. 2. On the reconstruction of the Lu calendar, see Chen Meidong, “On the Basic Rules for Reconstruction of the Calendar Used in the State of Lu During the Spring-Autumn Period,” in Historical Perspectives on East Asian Science, Technology, and Medicine, ed. Alan K. L. Chan, Gregory K. Clancey, and Hui-chieh Loy (Singapore: Singapore University Press, 2001), 368–375; Edward L. Shaughnessy, “Calendar and Chronology,” in The Cambridge History of Ancient China: From the Origins of Civilization to 221 B.C., ed. Michael Loewe and Edward L. Shaughnessy, 19–29 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Robert H. Gassmann, Antikchinesisches Kalendarwesen: Die Rekonstruktion der Chunqiu-Zeitlichen Kalendar des Fürstentums Lu und der ZhouKönige (Bern: Peter Lang, 2002); Hirase Takao, “The Emperor and the Calendar in Ancient China,” Memoirs of the Research Department of the Toyo Bunko (the Oriental Library) 51 (1993): 85–95; and Yinpo Tschang, “Chaos in Heaven: On the Calendars of Preclassical China,” Sino-Platonic Papers 141 (2004): 1–30. On eclipses, see F. Richard Stephenson and Kevin K. C. Yau, “Astronomical Records in the Ch’un-Ch’iu Chronicle,” Journal for the History of Astronomy 23 (1992): 31–51. Whereas the Chunqiu consistently employs the same calendar throughout, the Zuo zhuan incorporates material from multiple states and sources, not all of which used the same calendar, resulting in occasional mismatch between Chunqiu and Zuo zhuan dates for corresponding events. For a historical overview of scholarship on this problem, beginning with Du Yu’s Chunqiu chang li 春秋長歷, see Shen Yucheng and Liu Ning, Chunqiu Zuo zhuan xueshi gao (Nanjing: Jiangsu guji, 1992), 274–277. 3. For discussion and analysis of commentarial assertions related to dating of Chunqiu records, see Dai Junren 戴君仁, Chunqiu bianli 春秋辨例 (1964; repr., Taipei: National Institute for Compilation and Translation, Chinese Academic Series Compilation and Review Committee, 1978), 19–82. John Henderson cites cases in which commentators rejected the orthodox view that inclusion or omission of dates expressed praise or blame; John B. Henderson, Scripture, Canon and Commentary: A Comparison of Confucian and Western Exegesis (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991), 211–221. For example, Tang dynasty commentator Kong Yingda stated that the inclusion or exclusion of dates was unrelated to judgments, and Song scholar Lü Dagui 呂大圭 (1227–1275) asserted that missing dates were copyist errors and not indications of praise and blame; both are quoted in Sishu wujing, Song Yuan ren zhu 四書五經宋元人注 (Beijing: Zhongguo shudian, 1985), “Chunqiu san zhuan” 春秋三傳, 3 and 5. 4. Zuo, Yin 3, 25; Wen 14, 606; and Xiang 28, 1152; for discussion see Newell Ann Van Auken, The Commentarial Transformation of the Spring and Autumn (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2016), 43–52. 5. It is generally assumed that temple or posthumous names (shì 諡) were assigned after a ruler’s death, and thus even if the records were made over the lifetime of each ruler, section titles giving posthumous names must have been added to the Chunqiu after the ruler’s death. Whether this occurred as part of a much later editing process after the entire text was completed or whether section titles were added shortly after each ruler’s death cannot be determined.

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6. For a clear overview of the calendar of the Chunqiu, see Stephenson and Yau, “Astronomical Records in the Ch’un-Ch’iu Chronicle,” 33–35; as many scholars have observed, “Spring,” “Summer,” “Autumn,” and “Winter” do not correspond to the four seasons as we conventionally think of them, since “the year (and hence Spring) began around— or possibly rather earlier than—the time of the winter solstice,” 33; see too Gassmann, Antikchinesisches Kalendarwesen, 431. As Yang Bojun remarks, the “Spring” (chūn 春) of the Chunqiu corresponded to what in contemporary times is called winter; for this observation along with a helpful summary of scholarship related to the Chunqiu calendrics, see his notes to CQ, Yin 1.1, 6. 7. The word yuán 元 literally means “head,” and the meanings “principal,” “primary,” and “first” are derivative. In reference to the Chunqiu calendar, the word zhēng < *teŋ 正 is conventionally read first tone, not fourth tone zhèng, and may be etymologically related to words such as dǐng < *têŋʔ 頂 “top of the head.” For reconstructions, see Axel Schuessler, Minimal Old Chinese and Later Han Chinese: A Companion to Grammata Serica Recensa (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘I Press, 2009), 正: entry 9–11 [K833j], p. 138; and 頂 : entry 9–11 [K833e], p. 137. An alternative explanation, suggested to me by Ken-ichi Takashima (private correspondence), reads 正 as zhèng, a verb “rectify,” and understands zhèng yuè as referring to the month that “rectified the mismatch of the solar and lunar month”; see too David N. Keightley, Sources of Shang History: The Oracle-Bone Inscriptions of Bronze Age China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), 114n98. Because the zhēng (or zhèng) yuè was both the head, or first, month of the year and at the same time also the month that would have regulated or rectified the solar and lunar months, it is impossible to resolve this matter without further evidence. 8. CQ, Wen 6.9, 543; Ai 5.6, 1629. 9. The rare omissions of a season are obvious irregularities variously attributed to record-keeping error or textual corruption. In all versions of the Chunqiu, two years, Huan 4 and Huan 7, are each missing two seasons, Autumn and Winter; and two more years, Zhao 10 and Ding 14, lack Winter. In the Gongyang version, Huan 17 lacks Summer, and Cheng 10 lacks Winter. Tang commentator Kong Yingda mentions all but one of these cases of missing seasons, and his commentary indicates that the text was already missing these seasons in the Western Han; Liji zhengyi 禮記正義, comm. Zheng Xuan 鄭玄 (127–200), subcomm. Kong Yingda, SSJZS, “Zhong yong” 中庸, 53.16a (p. 901). 10. CQ, Wen 6.3–4, 543. Similar sequences occur in CQ, Xi 18.2–3, 376–377; Wen 9.1–3, 569; Xuan 9.5–6, 699–700; Xiang 9.2–3, 960; and Ai 10.1–3, 1654. Typically, when a record includes a day-date but no month, the month in which the event occurred has already been recorded in conjunction with a previous record. In one anomalous case, a record concerning the repatriation of a Lu ruler’s remains is dated with a day-date but no month, but the month is not noted in a previous record; according to Yang Bojun’s calculations, the day occurred in the fifth month, but the preceding entry is marked fourth month; see CQ, Huan 18.3, 151. 11. For comments citing alleged “exactness” or “precision” of dates as a feature of the Chunqiu, see Jacques Gernet, A History of Chinese Civilization, trans. J. R. Foster (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 84–85; Yuri Pines, “Intellectual Change in the Chunqiu Period: The Reliability of the Speeches in the Zuo zhuan as Sources of Chunqiu Intellectual History,” Early China 22 (1997): 81; Henri Maspero, China in

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Antiquity, trans. Frank A. Kierman (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1978), 281; George Kennedy, “Interpretation of the Ch’un-Ch’iu,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 62.1 (1942): 41–43; and Herbert G. Giles, A History of Chinese Literature (1901; repr. Rutland, VT: Charles E. Tuttle, 1973), 25. 12. For a complete list of event types together with their common patterns, see appendix 2: “Event Types in the Spring and Autumn.” 13. Kennedy, “Interpretation of the Ch’un-Ch’iu,” 46; he proposes that “the author [of the Chunqiu] . . . was engaged in a serious attempt to record briefly all that he knew about the period” covered by the Chunqiu. 14. See extensive discussion in chapter 6 of this book. 15. One such example is CQ, Wen 7.6, 555, which records the flight into exile of a Jin nobleman and is not dated, whereas the corresponding event in the Zuo zhuan is dated with a sexagenary cycle day; see Zuo, Wen 7, 561. 16. For the lone dated attack, immediately followed by a battle record, see CQ, Zhuang 28.1, 238; for the only dated record of a capture, see CQ, Xi 19.3, 380. 17. For weather, see CQ, Yin 9.2, 63. For the rain-seeking ceremony, see CQ, Zhao 25.4, 1454, and for more details see note 34 of this chapter. In both cases, Yang Bojun treats the pair of events as a single record. 18. See the commentarial remarks in Zuo, Yin 11, 78; see too the narrative in Zuo, Xi 9, 330. For discussion see Mark Edward Lewis, Sanctioned Violence in Early China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1990), 22–26. 19. Most fires (zāi 災) were attributed to Heaven and construed as portents or omens; see Zuo, Xuan 16, 769. Fires are usually recorded with zāi 災, but in the Gongyang and Guliang versions of the Chunqiu, a few records have huǒ 火 instead, and in one instance, the Zuo version has huǒ 火 where the two other versions have zāi 災; for discussion, see Yang Bojun’s notes to CQ, Xuan 16.2, 767. 20. CQ, Xiang 30.6, 1169. 21. For the lone dated fire record that did not involve Lu, see CQ, Zhao 18.2, 1393. 22. Yang Bojun lays out the traditional understanding of ritual steps entailed in making covenant; see his notes, Zuo, Yin 1, 7. The Liji 禮記 (Rites Record) links covenant to sacrifice, reading “Participating in sacrifice is called ‘covenant’ ” 涖牲曰「盟」; Liji zhengyi, “Qu li, xia” 曲禮下, 5.7b (p. 92); cf. Liji jijie 禮記集解, comm. Sun Xidan 孫希旦 (b. 1736) (Taipei: Wenshizhe, 1990), 1:140; for an alternative translation, see James Legge, trans., Li Chi: Book of Rites, an Encyclopedia of Ancient Ceremonial Usages, Religious Creeds, and Social Institutions (1885; repr. New Hyde Park, NY: University Books, 1967), 1:112 (section 4.11). 23. Lu participated in at least 49 covenants, and possibly 50. The Chunqiu explicitly mentions Lu in 47 covenant records. Three additional dated records do not list individual participants, but context indicates that Lu participated; see CQ, Xiang 16.2, 1025 (recording a covenant among noblemen); and CQ, Xiang 25.5, 1094 (recording a covenant among regional rulers); see also CQ, Xi 9.4, 324. Only one dated covenant record lists participants individually but does not mention a Lu representative; see CQ, Yin 8.5, 57. 24. Remarking on a Zuo zhuan passage that comments directly on Chunqiu recording principles, Du Yu states that “overcoming a state” (shèng guó 勝國) means “cutting off their altars of earth and grain, and possessing their territory” 絕其社稷，有其土 地也; Chunqiu jingzhuan jijie 春秋經傳集解, comm. Du Yu, Sibu congkan 四部叢刊 ed., Wen 15, 9.8b. See also the notes of Takezoe Shin’ichirō 竹添進一郎, Saden kaisen 左傳會箋 (hereafter Saden) (1911; repr., Taipei: Tiangong, 1986), Wen 15.27 (p. 653), and the comments of Yang Bojun, Zuo, Wen 15, 613.

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25. Dated annihilations of states (or, perhaps, groups) with whom Lu had no apparent diplomatic or other ties include those of the Lu 潞 clan of the Red Di 赤狄, annihilated by Jin in 594 BCE (CQ, Xuan 15.3, 758) and of Biyang 偪陽, annihilated in 563 BCE by a coalition including Lu (CQ, Xiang 10.2, 973). Undated annihilations of states with which Lu did have ties include those of Huang 黃 and Jiang 江, annihilated by Chu in 648 BCE (CQ, Xi 12.2, 340) and 623 BCE (CQ, Wen 4.4, 532), respectively; Lu had participated in military coalitions with these two small states, and also with Zeng 鄫, wiped out by Ju in 657 BCE (CQ, Xiang 6.5, 945). This last example is somewhat surprising, since Lu had strong ties with Zeng, including covenants, diplomatic visits, and marriages of Lu princesses to Zeng rulers. 26. The Chunqiu registers 32 defeats, half of which immediately follow battle records and note the outcome; these presumably share the date with the preceding battle record. The remaining 16 records are independent of other military records. Lu participated in 8 of these defeats, of which 5 are dated, yet 2 of the 8 defeats in which Lu did not participate are also dated. 27. On instances of the cháng 嘗 sacrifice, regularly conducted in Autumn, and the zhēng 烝 sacrifice, regularly conducted in Winter, see Yang Bojun’s comments, Zuo, Huan 5, 107. The lone instance of the cháng sacrifice in the Chunqiu was indeed conducted in Autumn, but it occurs shortly after the record of a granary fire, and it appears to have been registered to show that the sacrifice was still completed despite the fire; CQ, Huan 14.5, 139. Regarding the zhēng sacrifice, as Yang Bojun notes, both instances in the Chunqiu are irregular in that they were not carried out in the proper season, Winter, and they both appear in the same year, meaning that this sacrifice was conducted twice; see CQ, Huan 8.1, 120; and Huan 8.3, 120. 28. Curiously, records noting that an anticipated rite was not conducted are the only entries in the Chunqiu that may be construed as giving a reason or explanation, and even in these cases, no explicitly causal language is used. 29. There is some dispute over what exactly the jiāo 郊 sacrifice was; see Yang Bojun’s extensive notes to Zuo, Huan 5, 106–107; and the remarks of Mao Qiling, Chunqiu Maoshi zhuan, in Huangqing jingjie 2:1327–1596, on 136.111a (p. 1443). It is often called the “Suburban Sacrifice”; although this translation of jiāo as the location where the sacrifice was conducted is not inaccurate, in contemporary American English, the term “suburb” has sociocultural connotations that are certainly not indicated by Classical Chinese jiāo, and “Outskirts” may be a better rendering. 30. The two dated sequences are CQ, Ding 15.2 and 15.4, 1598–1599; and CQ, Ai 1.3, 1604 (although Yang Bojun treats this as one record, it involves several parts). An example of an undated sequence concerning a jiāo sacrifice that was not carried out is CQ, Xuan 3.1, 667. 31. See CQ, Cheng 17.6, 896; all other cases of the jiāo sacrifice recorded in the Chunqiu took place in the first month of Summer. 32. CQ, Wen 6.9, 543; and Wen 16.2, 615. 33. These records are CQ, Yin 5.4, 40; Zhuang 25.5, 231; Xi 8.3, 321; and Ding 8.15, 1563. 34. The only exception is a highly irregular case in which a second instance of the rainseeking rite was conducted twenty days after the first; both occurred on xin 辛 days; CQ, Zhao 25.4, 1454. The form of the dates is also irregular: only the “Heavenly Stems” (tiān gān) component is given, and the days are referred to by their position in the lunar month, “the first xin day [of the month]” (shàng xīn 上辛) and “the third xin day [of the month]” (jì xīn 季辛). Although we should be cautious about concluding that

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irregularities signal corruption or later interpolation, the fact that this form of date notation is not found elsewhere in the Chunqiu might suggest that these records are interpolations or that at least the dates were added at a later time. 35. In a few cases, Lu noblemen died under unusual circumstances and the date of death can by ascertained from the context, even if the death record itself is not independently dated. Examples include two instances in which Lu noblemen died during the performance of a rite; neither is independently dated, and both presumably share a date with the preceding ritual performance record; see CQ, Xuan 8.3, 693; Zhao 15.2, 1368. 36. Patterns of diachronic change are associated with several states. For records from Teng, Qii, and Xue, later records are likelier to include the name of the deceased ruler; by contrast, names are omitted in the last four of six records for Qin. These patterns suggest that the reporting practices for each state changed over time. 37. Whether or not sexagenary cycle dates are specified in funeral records varies by state, but in general, if death records from a particular state are usually undated, funeral records from that state also tend to be undated. 38. George Kennedy also examined Chunqiu death records and inclusion of dates and names, and he too tabulated the data by state. He concluded that Lu must have had better communication with some states than others, and that distance from Lu was a “very important” factor in whether a death was recorded or certain details included; Kennedy, “Interpretation of the Ch’un-Ch’iu,” 48. Yet records are relatively complete for certain more distant states, such as Chen, Wei, and Zheng, whereas many details or even entire records are missing for neighboring states such as Ju and Zhu. In short, it seems that Kennedy was wrong in claiming that distance was a significant factor in the level of detail in death records. 39. Zuo zhuan passages are discussed subsequently in the text. The Liji contains an outline of form and terminology used for announcing deaths of individuals of different ranks; Liji zhengyi, “Za ji shang” 雜記上, 40.5a–7a (pp. 711–712); cf. Liji jijie, 2:1043–1044; Legge, Li Chi, 2:133–134 (sections 4–5). A related passage appears in the Yili 儀禮 (Ceremonies and Rites); see Yili zhushu 儀禮注疏, comm. Zheng Xuan, subcomm. Jia Gongyan 賈公彥 (fl. 650), SSJZS, “Ji xi li” 既夕禮, 40.5a (p. 473); for a translation, see John Steele, The I-li: Or Book of Etiquette and Ceremonial, Translated from the Chinese with Introduction, Notes and Plans (1917; repr. Taipei: Ch’eng-wen, 1966), 2:95–96 (section 4). For other prescriptions concerning death announcements, see Yili zhushu, “Shi sang li” 士喪禮 35.5a (p. 410); and “Pin li,” 23.11a–15b (pp. 278– 276); for translations, see Steele, I-li, 2:46 (section 6a) and 1:228–230. For a study of the archaeological evidence corresponding to the mortuary rites in the “Shi sang li” and “Ji xi li” sections of the Yili, see Chen Gongrou 陳公柔, “ ‘Shi sang li,’ ‘Ji xi li’ zhong suo jizai de sangzang zhidu” 士喪禮、既夕禮中所記載的喪葬制度, Kaogu xuebao 1956.4: 67–84. 40. For detailed analysis of these passages, see Van Auken, Commentarial Transformation, 43–52. 41. For examples, see Zuo, Yin 3, 25; cf. CQ, Yin 3.2, 24; and Zuo, Huan 5, 104; cf. CQ, Huan 5.1, 102. Zuo, Xiang 28, 1149 asserts that no announcement was made and thus there is no corresponding record. A similar passage concerns the record of an assassination rather than a natural death; see Zuo, Wen 14, 606, and cf. CQ, Wen 14.9, 601. 42. Zuo, Xiang 28, 1152; and cf. CQ, Xiang 28.8, 1139. 43. Zuo, Xi 23, 403; Yin 7, 53–54; Zhao 31, 1512.

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44. See also discussion in Ji Xusheng 季旭升, “Chunqiu ‘fu gao’ yanjiu” 春秋「赴告」研 究, Kong Meng yuekan 21.2 (1982): 7–12. 45. Liji zhengyi, “Wen wang shizi” 文王世子, 20.21b (p. 401) and 20.25b (p. 403); cf. Liji jijie, 1:572 and 575; for translation, see Legge, Li Chi, 1:355 and 1:358. See also Chunqiu Gongyang zhuan zhushu 春秋公羊傳注疏, comm. He Xiu 何休 (129–182), subcomm. Xu Yan 徐彥 (Tang), SSJZS, (hereafter cited as Gongyang), Yin 8, 3.12b–13a (pp. 39–40); Guoyu 國語, comm. Wei Zhao 韋昭 (d. 273), Sibu congkan ed., “Zhouyu (zhong)” 周語中, 2.15b. 46. For attacks (fá 伐), see Zuo, Yin 1, 17; and Zhuang 16, 202; for defeats and victories (bài 敗 and qìng 慶), see Zuo, Yin 11, 78; and Ai 1, 1607; for assassinations (shì 弒), see Zuo, Xi 24, 414; for installations (nà 納), see Zuo, Xi 24, 412; and for flights into exile (bēn 奔), see Zuo, Xuan 10, 706. 47. Zuo, Yin 1, 17; Xiang 10, 984. Other cases include Zuo, Wen 14, 602, translated in this chapter, as well as Zuo, Yin 11, 78; Xi 24, 412; Xi 24, 414; and Ai 1, 1607. 48. Zuo, Wen 14, 606; and see also Zuo, Xiang 28, 1153, which states that a record was dated according to the announcement, rather than giving the actual date of death; this entry records the death of a Zhou king and, interestingly, uses the phrase gào sāng 告喪 “announce mourning” instead of fù “make a death announcement.” 49. Zuo, Ai 1, 1607. 50. This passage raises an interesting issue, namely, whether the word cè 策 refers to a specific type of writing support or physical document, or whether it refers to records of events in a more generic sense. Third-century commentator Du Yu stated that “major events were written on strips (cè), and minor events were merely written on wooden tablets (jiǎn dú),” 大事書之於策，小事簡牘而已, implying that the type of physical writing support (cè and jiǎn dú) was determined by the importance of the content, but he made this claim over five centuries after the end of the Spring and Autumn period, and it is not clear what its basis was; his “Preface” (xu 序) is reprinted in Takezoe, Saden, 1–9. 51. See, for example, Zuo, Ai 16, 1697–1698, which includes an announcement of the restoration of the ruler of Wei, not mentioned in the Chunqiu, and Zuo, Xuan 14, 753, a narrative that includes the announcement of a nobleman’s killing; although this killing is recorded in CQ, Xuan 14.1, 753, the Zuo zhuan does not draw any explicit connection between the announcement and the record. This is the case of Wei nobleman Kong Da 孔達, discussed at length in chapter 5 of this book. 52. Van Auken, Commentarial Transformation, is devoted to supporting this proposal. 53. Zuo zhuan passages that discuss similar mourning rites in reference to rulers include Zuo, Xi 17, 376; and Xi 33, 504–505; in reference to women, see Zuo, Xi Xi 8, 322–323; and Xiang 4, 934. See too Liji zhengyi, “Sang fu xiao ji” 喪服小記, 33.1a–19a (pp. 601– 610); cf. Liji jijie, 2:879–901; and Legge, Li Chi, 2:48–59. See also Yili zhushu, “Ji xi li” 40.3b–6a (pp. 472–473); translated in Steele, I-li, 2:91–93 (sections 13–14). 54. In Chunqiu death and funeral records, the term fūrén subsumes two groups of women, those who were officially married to Lu rulers as primary wives, and those who were mothers of Lu rulers; these categories overlap but are not identical. For detailed discussion, see Newell Ann Van Auken, “Women as a Category and Categories of Women: Gender and Hierarchy in the Spring and Autumn,” NAN NÜ: Men, Women and Gender in China 24.1 (2022): 1–69, esp. 44–51. 55. Zuo, Yin 3, 26. The Gongyang and Guliang versions of the Chunqiu read “Yin shi” 尹氏, and both understand this phrase as a reference to a nobleman associated with

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Zhou rather than a woman associated with the Lu ruler; see Gongyang, Yin 3, 2.8a–b (p. 27). See also Chunqiu Guliang zhuan zhushu 春秋穀梁傳注疏, comm., Fan Ning 范甯 (339–401), subcomm. Yang Shixun 楊士勛 (Tang), SSJZS, (hereafter cited as Guliang), Yin 3, 2.13b (p. 15). Both “Yin shi” and “jun shi” are exceptional, unlike other forms of reference in the Chunqiu, and determining which (if either) variant was original is impossible; for discussion see Chen Xinxiong 陳新雄, Chunqiu yiwen kao 春秋 異文考 (Taipei: Jiaxin shuini gongsi wenhua jijinhui, 1964), 7–12; see too Li Wai-yee, The Readability of the Past in Early Chinese Historiography (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007), 108–109n67. 56. The other two women were Ding Si II 定姒 and Meng Zi 孟子. Ding Si II was the latter of two women known as Ding Si 定姒; she was said to have been mother of Lord Ai and secondary wife to Lord Ding. Meng Zi was the consort of Lord Zhao. For Ding Si II, see Zuo, Ding 15, 1602; Gongyang, Ding 15, 26.19b–20a (p. 336); for Meng Zi, see Zuo, Ai 12, 1670; Gongyang, Ai 12, 28.2 a–b (p. 352); Guliang, Ai 12, 20.13a (p. 204); Liji zhengyi, “Fang ji,” 坊記, 51.25ab (p. 872); cf. Liji jijie, 2:1294; Legge, Li Chi, 2:297 (section 34). 57. For the rites prior to a nobleman’s travel, see Yili zhushu, “Pin li,” 19.5b (p. 228); cf. Steele, I-li, 1:191. Concerning religious rites prior to the ruler’s travel, see Liji zhengyi, “Zeng Zi wen” 曾子問, 18.6a–b (p. 360); 18.20b–21a (pp. 367–368); cf. Liji jijie, 1:510–511; 1:524–525; Legge, Li Chi, 1:314–315 (sections 4, 5) and 1:326 (section 25). For rites following the ruler’s return, see Zuo, Huan 2, 91. 58. For passages suggesting that an exiled ruler had abandoned his religious obligations, see Zuo, Xiang 14, 1010–1013; and Ding 4, 1548. 59. Uwe Walter, “Annales and Analysis,” in The Oxford History of Historical Writing, vol. 1, ed. Feldherr and Hardy, 273, discusses the importance of chronology in the Western tradition; Denis Feeney, Caesar’s Calendar: Ancient Time and the Beginnings of History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 245n61, cites Bernard Williams on the “intimate relation between historical time and the idea of historical truth.”

3. ENCODING INDIVIDUAL RANK 1. For amount of territory or subjects governed, see Zuo, Huan 2, 94, and for the rank of subordinates, see Zuo, Xiang 14, 1016–1017. For the amount of military force, see Mengzi zhushu, comm. Zhao Qi, subcomm. Sun Shi, SSJZS, “Liang Hui wang shang” 梁惠王上, 1.2a–b (p. 9); see too Mengzi yizhu, 2 vols., comm. Yang Bojun (1960; repr., Beijing: Zhonghua, 2000), 1:1; and D. C. Lau, trans., Mencius (New York: Penguin, 1970), 49. For another similar set of restrictions, see Liji zhengyi, comm. Zheng Xuan, subcomm. Kong Yingda, SSJZS, “Wang zhi” 王制, 11.2b–3a (pp. 212–213); see too Liji jijie, comm. Sun Xidan (Taipei: Wenshizhe, 1990), 1:310–312; and James Legge, trans., Li Chi: Book of Rites, an Encyclopedia of Ancient Ceremonial Usages, Religious Creeds, and Social Institutions (1885; repr., New Hyde Park, NY: University Books, 1967), 1:209–212. 2. In a well-known case, the powerful Ji 季 lineage of the Ji 姬 ruling clan of Lu was criticized for usurping a privilege of higher rank by using eight rows of dancers in a ritual performance; only the Zhou king was permitted eight rows, while regional rulers were entitled to only six rows. For the criticism ascribed to Confucius, see Lunyu zhushu 論 語注疏, comm. He Yan 何晏 (190–249), subcomm. Xing Bing 邢昺 (932–1010), SSJZS, “Ba yi” 八佾, 3.1a (p. 25); see too Lunyu yizhu 論語譯注, comm. Yang Bojun 楊伯峻 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1958), 25; for translation, see D. C. Lau, Confucius, the Analects

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(New York: Penguin, 1979), 67. For other discussions of this sumptuary violation, see the corresponding commentarial remarks in Zuo, Yin 5, 46; see too Chunqiu Gongyang zhuan zhushu, comm. He Xiu, subcomm. Xu Yan, SSJZS, (hereafter cited as Gongyang) Yin 5, 3.3a–4b (p. 35); and Chunqiu Guliang zhuan zhushu, comm., Fan Ning, subcomm. Yang Shixun, SSJZS, (hereafter cited as Guliang), Yin 5, 2.3b–4b (p. 21). 3. Liji zhengyi, “Wang zhi,” 12.10b–23a (pp. 239–246); see too Liji jijie, 1:340–354; Legge, Li Chi, 1:222–227. For discussion of other evidence of sumptuary restrictions, see Mark Edward Lewis, Sanctioned Violence in Early China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1990), 31 and 259nn67 and 68. 4. For a narrative indicating that treatment of guests normally depended on rank, see Zuo, Zhao 21, 1424, in which a guest becomes angry that he is given the same treatment as a lower-ranking guest; this account is discussed in chapter 4 and translated in chapter 6 of this book. 5. Lothar von Falkenhausen, Chinese Society in the Age of Confucius (1000–250 BC): The Archaeological Evidence (Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California, 2006), remarks on “the cultural preoccupation with the material expressions of rank gradations” (76) and observes that graded distinctions are present within the same cemetery; see in particular chap. 2, “Distinctions of Rank and Gender Within Territorial Ruling Lineages,” 74–126. See also Yu Weichao 俞偉超 and Gao Ming 高明, “Zhou dai yong ding zhidu yanjiu (Parts 1, 2, 3)” 周代用鼎制度研 究 (上, 中, 下), Beijing daxue xuebao, Zhexue shehui kexue ban 1978.1: 84–98; 1978.2: 84–97; 1979.1: 83–96, of which Part 1 (1978.1) includes an exhaustive list of early textual sources associating number of bronze vessels with rank; and Yin Qun 印群, “Lun Zhou dai lie ding zhidu de shanbian—zhiyi ‘Chunqiu li zhi benghuai shuo’ ” 論周代列 鼎制度的嬗變——質疑〈春秋禮制崩壞說〉, Liaoning daxue xuebao: zhexue shehui kexue ban 1999.4: 45–49. See also Yan Sun, Many Worlds Under One Heaven: Material Culture, Identity, and Power in the Northern Frontiers of the Western Zhou, 1045–771 BCE (New York: Columbia University Press, 2021), 112–113. 6. Here and throughout, I translate dàfū 大夫 as “nobleman.” In the Chunqiu, dàfū is a generic designation for male members of the upper class who were not rulers, including officials as well as sons or other male kin of the ruler. In other early texts, dàfū may refer to a more specific group or may be an official title, and in such cases, a different translation, such as “grandee,” may be preferable. 7. For the honorific suffix fǔ 父 (read in the third tone, in some texts written 甫), see Guliang, Yin 1, 1.2a. See too the annotations of Zheng Xuan 鄭玄 (127–200) in Yili zhushu, comm. Zheng Xuan, subcomm. Jia Gongyan, SSJZS, “Shi guan li” 士冠禮, 3.9b (p. 32); and Edwin G. Pulleyblank, “Ji 姬 and Jiang 姜: The Role of Exogamic Clans in the Organization of the Zhou Polity,” Early China 25 (2000): 10n28. The suffix sūn 孫 has been identified as a special form used only for senior men in the trunk line; see Fang Xuanchen 方炫琛, “Zuo zhuan renwu minghao yanjiu” 左傳人物名號研究 (PhD diss., National Chengchi University, 1983), 11. See too discussion in Lai Guolong, “Genealogical Statements on Ritual Bronzes of the Spring and Autumn Period,” in Imprints of Kinship: Studies of Recently Discovered Bronze Inscriptions from Ancient China, ed. Edward L. Shaughnessy, 235–261 (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 2017), esp. 241–243. 8. On posthumous or temple names, see Lothar von Falkenhausen, “The Concept of Wen in the Ancient Chinese Ancestral Cult,” Chinese Literature: Essays, Articles, and Reviews (CLEAR) 18 (1996): 1–22, esp. 9–13. See too Hans van Ess, “The Origin of

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Posthumous Names in ‘Shih-Chi’ 14,” Chinese Literature: Essays, Articles, and Reviews (CLEAR) 30 (2008): 133–144; and for a brief discussion of the selection and significance of posthumous titles in Western Han times, see Jie Shi, Modeling Peace: Royal Tombs and Political Ideology in Early China (New York: Columbia University Press, 2019), 187–191. 9. These five titles are conventionally referred to as the “five ranks” (wǔ děng jué 五等爵). In earlier English translations, they were rendered with the European titles “Duke,” “Marquis,” “Earl,” “Viscount,” and “Baron,” but these translations are no longer widely accepted. See discussion of the “five ranks” in chapter 4 of this book and the accompanying notes. 10. Also confusing is the fact that in the Zuo zhuan, suffixes and titles might be used or omitted for the same individual, even within a single passage. For discussion see Stephen Durrant, Wai-yee Li, and David Schaberg, “Introduction,” in Zuo Tradition/ Zuozhuan: Commentary on the “Spring and Autumn Annals” (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2016), xxxiii–xxxv. By contrast, use of suffixes such as -sūn and -fǔ is highly consistent throughout the Chunqiu; that is, if an individual is referred to with one of these designations, it is used in all references to him in all records. The only exceptions are instances of heirs apparent who subsequently become rulers. 11. For discussion of diachronic changes, see appendix 3; see also Newell Ann Van Auken, “A Formal Analysis of the Chuenchiou” (PhD diss., University of Washington, 2006), 367–373. 12. See Jessica Rawson, “Ancient Chinese Ritual as Seen in the Material Record,” in State and Court Ritual in China, ed. Joseph P. McDermott, 20–49 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). 13. Although these five titles are conventionally referred to as the “five ranks,” the relative ranks of the rulers who held these titles are not evident in the formal features discussed in the present chapter, that is, styles of reference and death and funeral records, which identify only one ruler. Relative rank is only apparent in records that list multiple leaders; for discussion, see chapter 4 of this book. 14. A highly unusual exception is CQ, Huan 17.6, 148, which refers to the burial of the Cai ruler and uses his posthumous name in conjunction with his ruling title (Cai Huan hóu 蔡桓侯); we would expect Cai Huan gōng. For discussion, see Takezoe’s comments in Saden kaisen, 2 vols., comm. Takezoe Shin’ichirō (1911; repr., Taipei: Tiangong, 1986), Huan 17, 1:187. 15. Of states regularly mentioned in the Chunqiu, only Song rulers held the title “Gong” (gōng 公). For other ancient states whose rulers held this title, see Gu Donggao, Chunqiu dashibiao, 6 vols. (1873; repr., Taipei: Guangxue, 1975), 5.1a–10b (2:771–790). For a discussion of gōng as an honorific rather than a specific rank, see C. N. Tay, “On the Interpretation of Kung (Duke?) in the Tso-Chuan,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 93.4 (1973): 550–555. 16. For these two pairs, see CQ, Zhuang 21.2 and Zhuang 21.4, 216; and CQ, Zhuang 2.5, 159 and Zhuang 3.2, 160. Ideally, a title like Jin Wen gōng 晉文公 should be rendered “The Cultured Lord of Jin,” but in this book, I have followed the conventional order employed in previous English translations, and I have also left all posthumous epithets transliterated rather than translated. 17. James Legge, “Prolegomena,” in The Chinese Classics, vol. 5, The Ch’un Ts’ew with the Tso chuen: With a Translation, Critical and Exegetical Notes, Prolegomena and Copious Indexes, trans. James Legge (1872; repr., Taipei: SMC, 1994), 41.

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18. Of 125 death records of regional rulers, 114 include the ruler’s name. Whether or not names were included for these records varied by state; see table 2.4 in chapter 2 and accompanying discussion. 19. Of thirteen records of rulers being detained, a name is recorded in only one; CQ, Xi 19.1, 379. 20. Examples of records using names include the following: for an assassination record, see CQ, Wen 14.9, 601; for a record of a ruler being taken captive, see CQ, Zhuang 10.5, 182; for flight, see CQ, Ai 16.1, 1697; for return to power, see CQ, Zhao 13.6, 1343. It is uncertain why names occur in some records but not others; in contrast to death records, which exhibit a close correlation between a ruler’s home state and whether names are included, there is no identifiable link between state and inclusion of names, nor is there any obvious diachronic trend such that earlier records are more or less likely than later ones to include or exclude names. 21. An interesting question is why names were included in records of crucial turning points in a ruler’s status or position but by default excluded from other records. Were rulers’ names “restricted knowledge”—that is, unknown to most—or were they known but not spoken, perhaps considered “too portentous to state or write publicly”? For a discussion of similar problems in ancient Egypt, see John Baines, “Restricted Knowledge, Hierarchy, and Decorum: Modern Perceptions and Ancient Institutions,” Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 27 (1990): 1–23. 22. The title tiān zǐ 天子 occurs only twice in the Chunqiu; see CQ, Yin 9.1, 63; and Cheng 8.7, 836. Yang Bojun, citing the Stone Classics and other early editions of the Chunqiu, demonstrates that this is a case of textual corruption and CQ, Yin 9.1 originally read tiān wáng 天王; see his annotations to Zuo, Yin 9, 836. Although there is no direct evidence of corruption in the other case, Cheng 8.7, the fact that it is the only other instance of tiān zǐ in the Chunqiu, in contrast to 26 cases of tiān wáng, renders it highly suspect. In other early texts and in bronze inscriptions, the term tiān zǐ is far more common. Curiously, the designation tiān wáng does not appear in the commentarial portion of the Gongyang or Guliang, and it is rare in the Zuo zhuan, which contains only three occurrences of tiān wáng that are not quotations of the Chunqiu; Zuo, Xi 11, 337; Zhao 1, 1210; and Zhao 21, 1423. Somewhat surprisingly, like the Chunqiu, the “Qu li” 曲禮 section of the Liji, discussed in a later section of this chapter, uses tiān wáng 天王 instead of tiān zǐ 天子. 23. Although the title “Lu hóu” 魯侯 is absent from the Chunqiu, it occurs in other texts, including six times in the Zuo zhuan, and also in the Shijing 詩經 (Odes); see Mao Shi zhengyi 毛詩正義, comm. Mao Heng 毛亨 (2nd c. BCE), comm. Zheng Xuan, subcomm. Kong Yingda, SSJZS, Lu song 魯頌, “Pan shui” 泮水 (MS 299), 21.13a–20a (pp. 767–770); and “Bi gong” 閟宮 (MS 300), 22.13a–14b (p. 782). See too the discussion of references to the Lu ruler as hóu in bronze inscriptions in Li Feng, “Transmitting Antiquity: The Origin and Paradigmization of the ‘Five Ranks,’ ” in Perceptions of Antiquity in Chinese Civilization, ed. Dieter Kuhn and Helga Stahl (Heidelberg: Forum, 2008), 111–112 and 131. 24. See table 2.4 in chapter 2 and accompanying discussion regarding possible links between the Chunqiu and interstate communications. But note that the conventional commentarial explanation for absence of names from regional rulers’ death records is that names were only reported by states who had joined with Lu in covenant; names were prohibited when there had been no covenant. If this explanation is correct, restrictions on use of rulers’ names may have involved a very complex set of rules

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that depended on the status of the ruler and his relationship with the speaker (or the speaker’s home state). 25. In most records, home state immediately precedes the nobleman’s lineage and name, but if the state is named previously in the record, as in cases of a ruler dispatching his nobleman on a mission or in the case of a nobleman being killed by his home state, the state is not repeated; illustrative examples of diplomatic missions include CQ, Xuan 10.18, 705; and Wen 4.6, 532; examples of killings include CQ, Cheng 18.3, 905; and Xiang 5.6, 941. For additional examples see chapter 6 of this book. 26. Curiously, these three records involve the same state, Song, and appear within the same decade. See CQ, Wen 8.8, 565; and Wen 15.2, 607. 27. On posthumous names of nobility, see Zuo, Yin 8, 60, together with Yang Bojun’s comments, and for further discussion see Fang Xuanchen, “Zuo zhuan renwu minghao yanjiu,” 47. 28. In my translations, I maintain the distinction between Zhou nobility and regional rulers using order; thus the Zhou nobleman is “Mao Bo” 毛伯 but the regional ruler is the “Bo of Zheng” 鄭伯. For examples of Zhou noblemen being dispatched (shǐ 使) by the king, see CQ, Wen 1.5, 508; and Cheng 8.7, 836. Regarding deaths and funerals, four references associated with Zhou are difficult to categorize. For what appears to be a pair of death and funeral records of a Zhou nobleman, see CQ, Ding 4.9, 1533; and Ding 4.13, 1534; for death records of royal heirs (wáng zǐ 王子), see CQ, Wen 3.2, 527; and Zhao 22.9, 1432. 29. These four are Wu Hai 無駭, who led troops in CQ, Yin 2.3, 20, and whose death appears in CQ, Yin 8.9, 57; Xie 挾, mentioned in CQ, Yin 9.3, 63; Rou 柔, mentioned in CQ, Huan 11.5, 129; and Hui 翬, mentioned in CQ, Yin 4.5, 35, and Yin 10.2, 67. Hui is also referred to as Gongzi Hui 公子翬; CQ, Huan 3.5, 97. These unusual references, which all occur in the earlier years of the Chunqiu, may indicate that there was greater tolerance for irregularity during this time; see appendix 3 for discussion of other diachronic changes in the records. 30. For a detailed analysis of records pertaining to women in the Chunqiu, see Newell Ann Van Auken, “Women as a Category and Categories of Women: Gender and Hierarchy in the Spring and Autumn,” NAN NÜ: Men, Women and Gender in China 24.1 (2022): 1–69. 31. Naming conventions for women in bronze inscriptions are similar to those in the Chunqiu; on bronze inscription naming conventions, see Li Feng 李峰, “Zailun Zhou dai nüxing de cheng ming yuanze: da Wu Zhenfeng xiansheng zhiyi” 再論周代女性 的稱名原則：答吳鎮烽先生質疑, Center for Bamboo and Silk Manuscript Studies, Wuhan University, 2017, http://www.bsm.org.cn/?guwenzi/7649.html, last accessed 2022-07-08; see also Li Feng, “Marriage and Social Network in Zhou China: Reflections on the Rules Governing Female Names in Bronze Inscriptions,” in Myth and the Making of History: Narrating Early China with Sarah Allan, ed. Constance A. Cook, Christopher J. Foster and Susan Blader (Albany: State University of New York Press, forthcoming). 32. For an extremely helpful analysis of these terms, see M. V. Kryukov, “Hsing and shih: On the Problem of Clan Name and Patronymic in Ancient China,” Archív Orientální 34 (1966): 535–553. In the Spring and Autumn period, the term xìng 姓 does not mean “surname” as in modern Chinese. The distinction between xìng and shì is not always clear, but the components referred to in this study as shì appear only in Chunqiu forms designating noblemen; likewise, the components in women’s names referred to as xìng do not appear in names of men. For a general introduction to these terms, see Li Feng, “The Western Zhou State,” in Routledge Handbook of Early Chinese History, ed. Paul R.

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Goldin (New York: Routledge, 2018), 100. On the distinction between and later conflation of xìng and shì, see Fang Xuanchen, “Zuo zhuan renwu minghao yanjiu,” 1–7. An extended discussion of “Significance of the Xing 姓” appears in David N. Keightley, “At the Beginning: The Status of Women in Neolithic and Shang China,” Nan Nü 1.1 (1999): 46–53. 33. The term fūrén refers to primary wives of Lu rulers and mothers of Lu rulers; these two groups overlap, since it was generally expected that a woman who became the primary wife of a Lu ruler would become the mother of his successor. In several cases, a Lu ruler’s mother had not been married as a primary wife, but when her son became ruler upon his father’s death, she was elevated to the position of fūrén; see note 49 in this chapter. 34. For discussion of this phenomenon, see Van Auken, “Women as a Category,” 13–14 and 29. Rubie Watson describes a similar situation in twentieth-century rural Hong Kong, in which married women are identified and referred to “only in relation to others” and are not designated by their own names; Rubie S. Watson, “The Named and the Nameless: Gender and Person in Chinese Society,” American Ethnologist 13.4 (1986): 619–631, esp. 626. 35. The term “lesser ruler” (xiǎo jūn) was a conventional form of reference to a regional ruler’s wife. See Liji zhengyi, “Qu li xia” 曲禮下, 4.22b (p. 80), and 5.11b–13b (p. 94); “Za ji shang” 雜記上, 40.5b (p. 711); see too Liji jijie, 1:130, 144–145, and 2:1043; Legge, Li Chi, 1:109 (section 1.1), 1:112–113 (section 6.18), and 2:133–134 (section 1.5). See also Yili zhushu, “Pin li” 聘禮, 24.18a (p. 290); “Sang fu” 喪服, 31.5b (p. 366); and “Ji xi li” 既 夕禮 40.8b (p. 474); and Steele, I-li, 1:241 (section 35b), 2:25 (section 3g), and 2:95–96 (section 4). 36. A single exceptional record identifies a bride as “someone of the Jiang clan” 姜氏 prior to her reception by Lu; CQ, Huan 3.6, 97. 37. For a pair of death and funeral records, see CQ, Zhuang 29.4, 243; and Zhuang 30.4, 246. The lone funeral record designating a woman by her husband’s posthumous name is CQ, Xiang 30.6, 1169; cf. Cheng 15.7, 871, her husband’s funeral record. Significantly, this exceptional record registers the death of Eldest Daughter Ji of Song 宋伯姬, who came to be celebrated for her virtue; because of her unusual status and the lore surrounding her death, it seems quite possible that records associated with her were subject to later editing. 38. Birth sequence indicators are also used for men, but in translating Chunqiu references to women, I use gender-specific language, “Eldest Daughter,” “Middle Daughter,” and “Youngest Daughter.” According to the conventional understanding, bó 伯 refers to the firstborn, shū 叔 to the third-born or junior, and jì 季 to the fourth-born or youngest, yet curiously, the term for second-born, zhòng 仲, does not appear in the names of Lu daughters, nor does mèng 孟, another term for firstborn, common in bronze inscriptions and also used in the Zuo zhuan; an example is the reference to Eldest Daughter Ren (Meng Ren 孟任), said to have been Lord Zhuang’s first wife, in Zuo, Zhuang 32, 253. It seems quite improbable that first, third, and fourth daughters were mentioned in the Chunqiu but that no second daughters happened to be mentioned; thus Sarah A. Queen has even wondered if perhaps all second daughters became secondary or “accompanying brides”; see Sarah A. Queen, “Beyond Liu Xiang’s Gaze: Debating Womanly Virtue in Ancient China,” Asia Major (3rd ser.) 29.2 (2016): 10. A more plausible explanation is that the Chunqiu employed a somewhat different system that did not include zhòng 仲 or mèng 孟; thus I have employed a somewhat less

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precise rendering of Shu Ji 叔姬 as “Middle Daughter.” On these terms, see Falkenhausen, “The Concept of Wen,” 7, and on the significance of these terms in men’s names, see Lai, “Genealogical Statements,” 242 and 247. These terms are not absolute; for example, Maria Khayutina points out that, with respect to males, a family with more than four sons could have multiple sons designated zhòng 仲 and shū 叔; Maria Khayutina, “Marital Alliances and Affinal Relatives (sheng 甥 and hungou 婚購) in the Society and Politics of Zhou China in the Light of Bronze Inscriptions,” Early China 37 (2014): 39–99; see 47n27. 39. Traditional commentaries assume that all three of these records refer to the same woman; if this is indeed the case, she was not young, as her death took place over four decades after her marriage. 40. For discussion of related issues pertaining to identification of women in bronze inscriptions, see Chen Chao-jung [Chen Zhaorong] 陳昭容, “ ‘Ze Ji’ yu ‘San Ji’— cong nüxing cheng ming guilu tan Ze guo zu xing ji qi xiangguan wenti”「夨姬」 與「散姬」——從女性稱名規律談夨國族姓及其相關問題, in Guwenzi yu gudai shi 古文字與古代史, vol. 3, ed. Li Zong-kun [Li Zongkun] 李宗焜 (Taipei: Academia Sinica, Institute of History and Philology, 2012), 251–286, esp. 255–258. 41. For marriages with a bride from Zhou, see CQ, Zhuang 1.3, 155; Zhuang 1.4, 156; Zhuang 1.7, 156; and Zhuang 11.4, 185. For marriages of women to Zhou kings, see CQ, Huan 8.6, 120; Huan 9.1, 123; and Xiang 15.2, 1020. See also CQ, Zhuang 2.3, 159. 42. See CQ, Huan 3.8, 97; Zhuang 24.5, 228; Xuan 1.3, 646; and Cheng 14.5, 868. Cf. CQ, Wen 4.2, 532; and also Wen 9.5, 570, which records a primary wife’s arrival from abroad. 43. Although these features yield a system of five levels, these levels include noblemen as well as rulers. They are different from the traditional “five ranks” of rulers, which are discussed in the next chapter of this book. 44. Two funerals are difficult to classify; see CQ, Zhuang 27.3, 235; and Ding 4.13, 1534; these are discussed in the preceding section. 45. Regarding burials of noblemen, see Falkenhausen, Chinese Society in the Age of Confucius, in particular chap. 2, “Distinctions of Rank and Gender Within Territorial Ruling Lineages.” For a dispute about the items with which a nobleman could be buried, see Zuo, Ding 5, 1550–1551. 46. The verbs bēng and hōng were both in the Old Chinese Zhēng 蒸 rime group, and both had labial initials and are reflected in Middle Chinese Division I. Schuessler in his OCM system reconstructs bēng < *bə̂ŋ and hōng < *hmə̂ŋ; see Axel Schuessler, Minimal Old Chinese and Later Han Chinese: A Companion to Grammata Serica Recensa (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2009), entries 6-20 [K886m] and 6-23 [K902g], p. 117. Given that these verbs are close in meaning and sound, they are probably etymologically related. Cf. also Bernhard Karlgren, Grammata Serica Recensa (1957; repr., Taipei: Southern Materials Center, 1996), entry 886k-l, bēng 塴 meaning “to place a coffin in the ground.” Schuessler (entry 6-20) notes Tibetan cognates meaning “tomb, selpucher.” Despite the likely etymological connection, I have employed translations that emphasize distinctions among these three verbs. The word hōng, which I render “perish” (and previously translated “pass into dormition,” emphasizing the association with sleep), is phonologically and graphically similar to “dream” mèng 夢, and perhaps there was an earlier semantic connection linking “dreaming” and “death” with “sleep.” The word bēng 崩 may also mean “collapse,” and traditionally it has been assumed that the words for “die” and “collapse” were one and the same, and that the word meaning

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“collapse” (as of a mountain) was also used in reference to the king’s passing because of his elevated status and the profundity of his death. For a traditional commentary equating bēng “collapse” and “die,” see the remarks of Kong Yingda, Liji zhengyi, “Qu li xia” 曲禮下, 4.20b (p. 79). Of course, two words may be phonologically and graphically identical without sharing the same etymological origin, a basic principle underlying all phonetic loan characters. 47. Another variable in death records is the presence or absence of sexagenary cycle dates. Although death records for Zhou kings and Lu rulers and Lu fūrén always contain sexagenary cycle dates, fewer than two thirds of death records for regional rulers do. This discrepancy is not a function of rank and seems instead to be related to interstate communications. See chapter 2 of this book for discussion. 48. For discussion of marriage records in the Chunqiu, see Van Auken, “Women as a Category,” 15–28. 49. Four women whose death and funeral records treat them as fūrén were said to have been mothers of rulers, but their marriages are not recorded and they are traditionally assumed (with varying levels of evidence) to have been secondary wives. These are Cheng Feng 成風 (CQ, Wen 4.7, 532; Wen 5.2, 538), Jing Ying 敬嬴 (CQ, Xuan 8.4, 694; Xuan 8.8, 695), the earlier of the two women called Ding Si 定姒 (hereafter Ding Si I) (CQ, Xiang 4.3, 931; Xiang 4.5, 931), and Qi Gui 齊歸 (CQ, Zhao 11.5, 1321; Zhao 11.9, 1321). Additionally, the first woman whose death is recorded with the verb hōng was likely the primary wife of Lord Hui, predecessor to Lord Yin; for obvious reasons, her marriage is not recorded in the Chunqiu. For a discussion of marriage and primary and secondary wives, see Melvin P. Thatcher, “Marriages in the Ruling Elite in the Spring and Autumn Period,” in Marriage and Inequality in Chinese Society, ed. Patricia Buckley Ebrey and Rubie S. Watson (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 25–57; Thatcher has claimed that Spring and Autumn period rulers could have more than one “primary wife” at the same time (29), but I have found no evidence that this was the case in Lu (or in any other state, for that matter). Indeed, Keightley notes as remarkable that some Shang kings had two wives who received cult; Keightley, “At the Beginning,” 30. 50. Death and funeral records are present for Eldest Daughter Ji of Jih 紀伯姬 (CQ, Zhuang 4.2, 162; Zhuang 4.5, 165); Middle Daughter Ji of Jih 紀叔姬 (CQ, Zhuang 29.4, 243; Zhuang 30.4, 246); and Eldest Daughter Ji of Song 宋伯姬 (CQ, Xiang 30.3, 1169; Xiang 30.6, 1169). Only death records are given for Youngest Daughter Ji of Zeng 鄫季姬 (CQ, Xi 16.3, 368) and Middle Daughter Ji of Qii 杞叔姬 (CQ, Cheng 8.8, 836); the last example is unusual as she returned to Lu three years prior to her death (CQ, Cheng 5.1, 820), and her husband, the Qii ruler, subsequently came to collect and repatriate her remains (CQ, Cheng 9.1, 841). 51. CQ, Xi 9.3, 324 records the death of Eldest Daughter Ji 伯姬; CQ, Wen 12.3, 585 records the death of a woman with the unusual designation “Zi Middle Daughter” Ji 子叔姬. The meaning of the word Zi 子 in a Lu princess’s name is disputed, although some commentators have attempted to connect it to her marital status; for extensive discussion, see Fang Xuanchen, “Zuo zhuan renwu minghao yanjiu,” 120–122, entry 0096. 52. For their marriages, see CQ, Zhuang 27.5, 1135; and Xuan 5.3, 685. 53. For “Lady of the ruler’s clan” jūn shì 君氏, see CQ, Yin 3.2, 24; for Meng Zi 孟子, see CQ, Ai 12.2, 1669; for Ding Si II, see CQ, Ding 15.9, 1599, and Ding 15.13, 1600, a pair of death and funeral records. All three commentarial traditions state that although Meng Zi was the primary wife of Lord Zhao, she was not treated as such because she shared

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the same clan name as Lu rulers, violating the prohibition on consanguineous marriage; see Zuo, Ai 12, 1670; Gongyang, Ai 12, 28.2 a–b (p. 352); and Guliang, Ai 12, 20.13a (p. 204); see also Liji zhengyi, “Fang ji,” 坊記, 51.25a–b (p. 872); see too Liji jijie, 2:1294; and Legge, Li Chi, 2:297 (section 34). 54. See CQ, Zhuang 2.3, 159. 55. Another non-Zhou group, Yi 夷, is frequently mentioned in early discourse, including all three major commentarial traditions, Zuo, Gongyang, and Guliang. But only two references to Yi occur in the Chunqiu, and both refer to the Huai Yi 淮夷 and appear in the same year; CQ, Zhao 4.2, 1244; and Zhao 4.4, 1244. Similarly, only two records mention Man 蠻, another non-Zhou group, and both refer to Rong Man 戎蠻; see CQ, Zhao 16.2, 1375, and Ai 4.6, 1625. 56. For more discussion of references to these groups, see chapter 4 of this book. 57. The other two records are CQ, Zhao 16.2, 1375; and Xuan 15.3, 758. 58. Concerning the sense of “cultural superiority,” particularly as it pertains to Yue, see Erica F. Brindley, Ancient China and the Yue: Perceptions and Identities on the Southern Frontier, c. 400 BCE–50 CE (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), esp. chap. 5, “The Rhetoric of Cultural Superiority and Conceptualizations of Ethnicity,” 115–140; see too David Schaberg, A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001), 375n25; and Eric Henry, “The Submerged History of Yuè,” Sino-Platonic Papers 176 (2007): 1–36. Who is considered a barbarian may depend on perspective; as Jessica Rawson observes, originally even the Zhou were “barbarian” in contrast to the Shang; Jessica Rawson, “Statesmen or Barbarians? The Western Zhou as Seen Through Their Bronzes,” Proceedings of the British Academy 75 (1989): 79. 59. Liji zhengyi, “Qu li shang” 曲禮上, 2.25a–b (p. 43); see too Liji jijie, 1:62; Legge, Li Chi, 82 (section 22.67). 60. For a similar set of prescriptions, see Gongyang, Wen 9, 13.16a–b (p. 170). 61. Commentators disagree about the meaning of the “inner versus outer” distinction, specifically, whether it refers to physical location within or outside the outskirts, or is related to ancestral worship within the family or to other objects of worship; see the remarks of Sun Xidan, Liji jijie, “Qu li xia,” 1:126–127. 62. The “Qu li” passage is one of the few in the received corpus outside the Chunqiu that uses the title tiān wáng; see note 22 to this chapter for discussion. I have rendered the honorific suffix fǔ 甫 (also written 父) as “Sire”; for discussion see note 7 to this chapter. 63. The phase yǔ xiǎo zǐ 予小子 could also be rendered “I, the young Heir”; in the Chunqiu, the word zǐ is regularly used to mean “Heir.” 64. In addition to Liji zhengyi, “Qu li xia” 4.18a–22b (pp. 78–80), see too Liji jijie, 1:126–130; and Legge, Li Chi, 1:107–108 (section 16.30). 65. Liji zhengyi, “Qu li xia” 5.9a (p. 93); see too Liji jijie, 1:141–143; Legge, Li Chi, 1:112. 66. Liji zhengyi, “Qu li xia” 5.12a (p. 94); see too Liji jijie, 1:144–145; Legge, Li Chi, 1:112–113 (section 6.18). 67. CQ, Xi 9.2, 324; and Zuo, Xi 9, 325; the Zuo zhuan note explains that during mourning, just as heirs of regional rulers were called “Heir,” heirs of kings were called “Little Child” (xiǎo tóng 小童). 68. CQ, Wen 18.6, 629; the associated commentarial tradition is more concerned with the fact that the record is not dated and that his death is recorded like a natural one even though he was murdered; see Zuo, Wen 18, 632, and Gongyang, Wen 18, 14.17b (p. 183). The use of euphemism to record murders is discussed in chapter 5 of this book.

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69. CQ, Ding 15.9, 1599; Ding 15.13, 1600. Gongyang states that she was so treated because her son had not yet assumed the throne; see Gongyang, Ding 15, 26.19b–20a (p. 336). The Zuo zhuan does not explicitly link the son’s position to his mother’s treatment; see Zuo, Ding 15, 1602. 70. In addition to Liji zhengyi, “Qu li xia” 5.13a (p. 95), see Liji jijie, 1:146–147; and Legge, Li Chi, 1:113. 7 1. Various commentators have attempted to demonstrate how these rules are followed or broken in the Chunqiu; these are summarized and elaborated upon by Sun Xidan in his notes, in Liji jijie, “Qu li xia” 1:146–147. 72. A similar contrast is displayed in a pair of passages recording the death of a regional ruler; the Chunqiu record uses the conventional style of reference for death records, which includes the ruler’s name, referring to him as “the Bo of Cao, Zhongsheng” 曹伯終生, whereas the Zuo zhuan uses the posthumous style of reference, designating him “Lord Huan of Cao” 曹桓公; see CQ, Huan 10.1, 127 and Zuo, Huan 10, 127. The contrast suggests that the two passages were based on different sources and the Zuo zhuan (or its source) did not observe the same conventions as the Chunqiu. 73. Throughout this book, in translating the Chunqiu records, I render zú 卒 as “die,” since it is the plain, unmarked verb, but in this “Qu li” passage, it functions as a special verb and I thus translate it as such. The word zú is reconstructed by Schuessler in his OCM system as zú 卒 < *tsut; see Schuessler, Minimal Old Chinese, entry 31-20 [K490a], p. 315; elsewhere he glosses zú as “finish, end, die”; Axel Schuessler, ABC Etymological Dictionary of Old Chinese (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2007), 635. While bēng and hōng are probably related, the word zú appears to have no etymological relation at all to the other words for “die.” 74. In addition to Liji zhengyi, “Qu li xia” 5.21a (p. 99), see Liji jijie, 1:155; and Legge, Li Chi, 1:117. 75. In the Zuo zhuan, deaths of rulers are usually narrated with the most basic verb for die, sǐ 死; virtually all instances of bēng and hōng occur in passages that correspond to or quote Chunqiu records, and exceptions typically concern ritual prescriptions following a ruler’s death; see Zuo, Xiang 14, 1020; and Zhao 3, 1231. The two verbs bēng and hōng are entirely absent from most early narrative texts and are rarely used to narrate deaths; in the Zuo zhuan the two exceptions are Zuo, Yin 1, 4; and Zhuang 4, 164. 76. The euphemistic phrase “ceased to receive a salary” (bù lù) occurs in a total of only four passages in the early concordanced corpus, none of which appears in the Zuo zhuan. A second case uses the same language as the “Qu li” passage translated in the preceding text; see Gongyang, Yin 3, 2.7b (p. 27). The first of the remaining two instances is Liji zhengyi, “Za ji shang” 雜記上, 40.5a–6b (p. 711); see too Liji jijie, 2:1043; Legge, Li Chi, 2:133 (4); the second is Guoyu, “Jin yu er” 晉語二, 8.11b. 77. The Chunqiu uses the verb sǐ 死 twice in reference to deaths of animals, but never employs it for humans; see CQ, Xuan 3.1, 667, and Ding 15.2, 1598, both concerning the death of the bull intended for sacrifice. 78. Lai Guolong describes a similar system in the “Sang fu” 喪服 section of the Yili, in which status in the mourning system is not indicated by a single feature alone but by a system combining multiple features, fabric of mourning garb and length of mourning period; Lai Guolong, “The Diagram of the Mourning System from Mawangdui,” Early China 28 (2003): 52–57. 79. For the notion of concentric, see Schaberg, A Patterned Past, 131; he describes a “series of concentric zones focused around the Zhou king” in his discussion of Zhou versus barbarians.

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80. Mencius stated that other states did keep such records; see Mengzi zhushu, “Louli xia” 離婁下, 8a.12a (p. 146); see too Mengzi yizhu, 1:192–193; Lau, Mencius, 131–132. 81. Qu Wanli 屈萬里, Guji daodu 古籍導讀 (Taipei: Taiwan Kaiming, 2002), 157; and Yoshimoto Michimasa 吉本道雅, “Kyokurei Kō” 曲禮考, in Chūgoku kodai reisei kenkyū 中國古代禮制研究, ed. Kominami Ichirō 小南一郎 (Kyoto: Kyoto University Institute for Research in the Humanities, 1995), 117–163. 82. Yuri Pines, “ ‘The One That Pervades the All’ in Ancient Chinese Political Thought: The Origins of ‘the Great Unity’ Paradigm,” T’oung Pao 86 (2000): 280–324. 83. Li Feng has observed a similar phenomenon pertaining to the “five ranks,” writing that “in the Confucian elaboration of the ‘Five Ranks’ we can actually detect the reflections of social reality, though probably in a distorted way.” See Li Feng, “Transmitting Antiquity,” 125–128, esp. 126. 84. The use of a single feature to indicate rank in the five-rank system is evident elsewhere in the Liji; see Liji zhengyi, “Sang da ji” 喪大記, 44.1a–b (p. 761); see too Liji jijie, 2:1130; Legge, Li Chi, 2:173–74; this passage links rank to appropriate place of death; see also note 59 of this chapter and the related discussion regarding the presentation of a melon.

4. AN IDEALIZED INTERSTATE ORDER 1. For discussion see Hsu Cho-yun, Ancient China in Transition: An Analysis of Social Mobility, 722–222 B.C. (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1965), especially chap. 2, “Changes in Social Stratification.” 2. These changes in frequency are summarized at the end of this book in appendix 3. 3. The rare exceptions are restricted to records involving multiple Lu noblemen; all occur in the second half of the Chunqiu. Examples include CQ, Xiang 14.1, 1004 (which records a meeting); Ai 2.1, 1610 (a covenant); and Cheng 8.2, 785 (military action). Additionally, several records register unilateral military actions led by two or more Lu noblemen; see, for example, CQ, Ding 6.7, 1555. 4. Susan Weld comments on a similar phenomenon in the covenant texts associated with the state of Jin, noting that “the covenants identified each affected lineage by reference to the name of an individual instead of using group terms”; but in contrast to the Chunqiu, enemies too were identified as individuals. See Susan Roosevelt Weld, “Covenant in Jin’s Walled Cities: The Discoveries at Houma and Wenxian” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1990), 421–422. 5. In the Chunqiu, the phrase “state + rén” refers to a single, unnamed leader; see Yang Bojun’s remarks, Zuo, Yin 1, 8 (commenting on CQ, Yin 1.5, 8) and Zuo, Zhuang 13, 193 (commenting on CQ, Zhuang 13.1, 193), and for discussion, see Newell Ann Van Auken, “Who Is a rén 人? The Use of rén in Spring and Autumn Records and Its Interpretation in the Zuǒ, Gōngyáng, and Gǔliáng Commentaries,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 131.4 (2012): 555–590. Of course, the word rén may be plural in other early texts, including the Zuo zhuan. 6. Records ascribing action to an army constitute only about 4 percent of all records of military events, and those mentioning armies in records of multiple states are rarer still. Only four records list armies from two states; CQ, Huan 13.1, 135; Xi 15.5, 349; Cheng 2.8, 786; and Xiang 2.5, 919; and three list armies from three states; CQ, Zhuang 10.4, 181; Xi 1.1, 275; and Xi 28.4, 448.

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7. On jí and huì see Newell Ann Van Auken, “Spring and Autumn Use of Jí 及 and Its Interpretation in the Gōngyáng and Gǔliáng Commentaries,” in Studies in Chinese and Sino-Tibetan Linguistics: Dialect, Phonology, Transcription and Text 漢語與漢藏語研 究：方言、音韻與文獻, ed. Richard VanNess Simmons and Newell Ann Van Auken (Taipei: Institute of Linguistics, Academia Sinica, 2014), 429–456. 8. Of thirty-two records of defeats, only two refer to defeated leaders: CQ, Zhuang 28.1, 238; and Cheng 16.6, 878. 9. Commentators have long remarked upon the rare departures from the regular order, but the regular order itself has not been discussed. For example, Yang Bojun notes irregularities in his comments on CQ, Yin 8.5, 57, but elsewhere, his discussion of the sequence of states in battle records does not indicate clearly whether he is aware that this order applies to all types of records with lists; see Yang Bojun, CQ, Zhuang 28.1, 237–238. Du Yu also notes individual irregularities but not the regular order; see, for example, Chunqiu jingzhuan jijie, comm. Du Yu, Sibu congkan ed., Yin 8, 1.13a; see also Takezoe’s annotations, Saden kaisen, 2 vols., comm. Takezoe Shin’ichirō (1911; repr., Taipei: Tiangong, 1986) (herefter Saden), Yin 8, 1:76. Gongyang seems unaware of the sequence, as shown by an ad hoc attempt to explain an instance of the regular order; see Chunqiu Gongyang zhuan zhushu, comm. He Xiu, subcomm. Xu Yan, SSJZS, Ai 13, 28.4a–5b (p. 353). Grant Hardy remarks on Sima Qian’s concern with hierarchy and the order of states in the tables; see “The Interpretive Function of Shih Chi 14, ‘The Table by Years of the Twelve Feudal Lords,’ ” Journal of the American Oriental Society 113.1 (1993): 13–24, esp. 17. 10. The majority of exceptions involve three states, Chen, Wei, and Cai; apparently the relative order of these states was somehow problematic. For other departures from the regular sequence, see CQ, Zhuang 16.2, 201, in which the order of Song and Qi is reversed. The covenant record in CQ, Cheng 2.10, 786, is highly conspicuous both for the fact that all participants are identified as rén and for its radical departure from the regular order; the direct commentary of the Zuo zhuan notes that several participants were ministers who outranked other noblemen, and we might wonder if this affected the order; Zuo, Cheng 2, 808. It also seems possible that this record was added or edited (or perhaps inadvertently corrupted) later. 11. States appearing prior to 700, together with their place in the Chunqiu sequence of states using the numbers given in table 4.1 (in parentheses) are Qi (4), Song (5), Cai (7), Chen (8), Wei (9), Jih (10), Zheng (11), Xuu (12), Cao (14), Ju (15), Zhu (16), Teng (19), Xue (20), Qii (21), and Rong (30); those not appearing until 684 or after are Jin (3), Chu (6), Xing (13), Xu (17), Qin (18), Dun (22), Hu (23), Shen (24), Lesser Zhu (25), Wu (26), Zeng (27), Yue (28), and Di (29). 12. This list is the second mention of Jin in the records; the first is a death record in CQ, Huan 12.8, in 700 BCE. 13. Records in which the Lu ruler precedes a Zhou nobleman include CQ, Cheng 16.11, 878; Cheng 17.2, 895; and Cheng 17.8, 896. 14. Pace George Kennedy, who cited distance from Lu as a very important factor, albeit not the “controlling” one; Kennedy, “Interpretation of the Ch’un-ch’iu,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 62.1 (1942): 48. 15. For clans of ruling houses of the various states, see Gu Donggao, Chunqiu dashibiao, 6 vols. (1873; repr., Taipei: Guangxue, 1975), 5.1a–10b (2:771–790). 16. The title zǐ is associated with states on the periphery of Zhou political and cultural influence, and this may be why Chu rulers held this hereditary title even after

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Chu  became a powerful state; for discussion, see Li Feng, “Transmitting Antiquity: The Origin and Paradigmization of the ‘Five Ranks,’ ” in Perceptions of Antiquity in Chinese Civilization, ed. Dieter Kuhn and Helga Stahl (Heidelberg: Forum, 2008), 114. 17. Mencius is the earliest extant text to make explicit mention of the five ranks (wǔ děng jué 五等爵); Mengzi zhushu, comm. Zhao Qi, subcomm. Sun Shi, SSJZS, “Wanzhang xia” 萬章下, 10a.4b–5b (p. 177); see also Mengzi yizhu, 2 vols., comm. Yang Bojun (1960; repr., Beijing: Zhonghua, 2000), 1:235; and D. C. Lau, trans., Mencius (New York: Penguin, 1970), 151. Li Feng has convincingly demonstrated that the “five ranks” incorporate titles that during the Western Zhou were associated with different social orders and that originally they did not constitute a single, integrated ranking system, and he has speculated that the five ranks may have been systematized during the Spring and Autumn period; see Li Feng, “Transmitting Antiquity,” 123–124. For other discussions of the “five ranks,” see Fu Sinian 傅斯年, “Lun suowei ‘wu deng jue’ ” 論 所謂「五等爵」, Bulletin of the Institute of History and Philology, Academia Sinica 2.1 (1930): 110–120; and Dong Zuobin 董作賓, “Wu deng jue zai Shang” 五等爵在商, Bulletin of the Institute of History and Philology, Academia Sinica 6.3 (1936): 413–430. 18. On the earlier history of the states, see Li Feng, Landscape and Power in Early China: The Crisis and Fall of the Western Zhou, 1045–771 BC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), esp. 66–82, 300–342. 19. On cháo visits, see chapter 6 of this book. 20. In this couplet, “rites” is syntactically parallel to “trees” and refers to various options that accord with ritual, of which the host must choose one. For 度 duó “to measure, evaluate,” Yang Bojun, following Du Yu, reads 剫 duó “cut down”; see Zuo, Yin 11, 71. The words 擇 zé < *drak and 度 duó < *dâk were both in the Old Chinese Duó 鐸 rime group; my doggerel “chops one, . . . opts for one” is an attempt to capture the fact that the couplet rhymed. For reconstructions, see Axel Schuessler, Minimal Old Chinese and Later Han Chinese: A Companion to Grammata Serica Recensa (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2009), entries 2-25 [K790n], p. 70, and 2-16 [K801a], p. 68. A second issue is whether duó should be understood to mean “measure, evaluate” or “cut down.” Both readings are reasonable, and it is quite likely that both were intended; unfortunately, I have been unable to find a single English word that embraces both senses of duó. 21. Here my translation of bó 伯, “senior,” is deliberately ambiguous. The word bó may refer to the main line of descent, since the founding ancestor of Jin was Tangshu 唐叔, son of King Wen. An alternative reading, followed by Yang Bojun, is to read 伯 as bà 霸, “hegemon” or “overlord”; see Zuo, Ai 13, 1677. The Wu ruling house claimed to be descended from Tai Bo 太伯 (泰伯), elder brother of King Wen’s father and thus a senior ancestor, but given that Wu was a peripheral state with origins outside the Zhou culture sphere, Wu’s claim is suspect; see Cho-yun Hsu, “The Spring and Autumn Period,” in The Cambridge History of Ancient China: From the Origins of Civilization to 221 B.C., ed. Michael Loewe and Edward L. Shaughnessy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 563; Li Feng, Landscape and Power, 324; Newell Ann Van Auken, The Commentarial Transformation of the Spring and Autumn (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2016), 105–106. 22. The interchange translated here is followed by a lengthy speech by a Wei official invoking historical precedent and the conduct of Cai Shu and Kang Shu, both younger brothers of King Wu, in support of Wei’s claims; Zuo, Ding 4, 1535–1542. For another discussion of this account, see David Schaberg, A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), 128.

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23. Falkenhausen remarks on the importance of “continuity of descent from as prestigious as possible an ancestral figure in the distant past” as giving access to power and legitimacy, but he also observes that the “traditional hierarchy” came to be increasingly “divorced from the realities of contemporaneous power politics”; Lothar von Falkenhausen, Chinese Society in the Age of Confucius (1000–250 BC): The Archaeological Evidence (Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California, 2006), 71–73. 24. Zuo, Xiang 27, 1132–1133. 25. According to the compromise, Chu was permitted to be first in the covenant rite, but this was described to Jin by Shu Xiang of Song as a role regularly held by lesser states; Zuo, Xiang 27, 1133. 26. A different account of this incident appears in Zuo, Xi 31, 485–486. 27. Sarah Allan analyzes conflicts between these two principles in succession struggles; Allan, The Heir and the Sage: Dynastic Legend in Early China, rev. ed. (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2016). 28. For a narrative concerning a conflict about the sequence of states that ultimately led to a military conflict, see Zuo, Huan 6, 113; and Huan 10, 128. 29. For a list of states said to have been founded by kin of the Zhou ruling house, see Zuo, Xi 24, 420–423; for analysis, see Li Feng, Landscape and Power, 71–72. This list is different from the Chunqiu sequence of states, and many of the states in this list are not mentioned in the Chunqiu. 30. The coventant is quoted in a Zuo zhuan passage concerning a dispute that took place in Ding 4, that is, in 506 BCE; the Chunqiu records that the covenant was made over a century earlier, in Xi 28, that is, in 632 BCE. 31. See Takezoe’s remarks on Zuo, Ding 4, concerning the set form of covenant texts; he also notes that those states from the same clan as the Zhou ruling house were given priority; Saden, Ding 4, 2:1795. Crispin Williams finds evidence showing that covenant participants were distinguished by rank; see Williams, “Ten Thousand Names: Rank and Lineage Affiliation in the Wenxian Covenant Texts,” Asiatische Studien/Etudes Asiatiques 63.4 (2009): 971–975. On coventants in general, see Weld, “Covenant in Jin’s Walled Cities.” 32. There were two states called Zeng. The satellite state of Chu called Zeng 曾, also mentioned in the bronze inscriptions, has been identified as equivalent to Sui 隨 in the transmitted corpus; see Li Feng, “Transmitting Antiquity,” 116n34; and Olivier Venture, “Zeng: The Rediscovery of a Forgotten Regional State,” in China Across the Centuries: Papers from a Lecture Series in Budapest, ed. Gábor Kósa (Budapest: Department of East Asian Studies, Eötvös Loránd University, 2017), 1–32. The Zeng 鄫 mentioned in the Spring and Autumn was a different state, located close to Lu; see Venture’s discussion, 17. 33. Each bell sounded two tones. For a general introduction to the bells as musical instruments, see Robert Bagley, “Percussion,” in Music in the Age of Confucius, ed. Jenny F. So (Washington, DC: Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, 2000), 35–63. Bagley discusses the implications of the inscriptions for music theory in Robert Bagley, “The Prehistory of Chinese Music Theory,” Proceedings of the British Academy 131 (2004): 41–91. For a comprehensive and highly technical study, see Lothar von Falkenhausen, Suspended Music: Chime-Bells in the Culture of Bronze Age China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993). 34. Bagley, “The Prehistory of Chinese Music Theory,” 88n51; for transcriptions of the bell inscriptions, see Qiu Xigui 裘錫圭 and Li Jiahao 李家浩, “Zeng Hou Yi mu zhong,

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qing mingwen shiwen yu kaoshi (Fulu er)” 曾侯乙墓鐘、磬銘文釋文與考釋 (附 錄二), in Zeng Hou Yi mu 曾侯乙墓, ed. Hubei sheng bowuguan 湖北省博物館 (Beijing: Wenwu, 1989), 532–560. 35. The title “Heir Apparent” (shì zǐ 世子) referred to the individual who was designated to succeed to the throne upon the present ruler’s death. “Heir” (zǐ 子) was a title used for the successor to the throne during the interval between the preceding ruler’s death and his official accession, and when used in this sense, it should be distinguished from the title “Zi” used for regional rulers. See Zuo, Xi 9, 325, and accompanying notes together with Yang Bojun’s notes on Zuo, Huan 13, 135–136. For a discussion of the different uses of zǐ, see Takezoe’s notes, Saden, Xi 23, 1:445. 36. The Heir Apparent of Qi, Guang, who later became Lord Zhuang 莊, Hou of Qi (r. 553–548 BCE), is associated with a series of regular exceptions to this order, although in CQ, Xiang 9.5 (translated in the preceding text), he is ranked in the expected place. 37. See, for example, CQ, Xi 6.3, 312 and Yang Bojun’s note, along with Zuo, Xi 6, 313. 38. A similar example is CQ, Cheng 15.3, 871. The only two exceptions both occur in the same year and involve essentially the same list of participants; see CQ, Xiang 14.1, 1004; and Xiang, 14.3, 1004. For a discussion of exceptions, see Van Auken, “Who Is a rén?,” 564n29. 39. The phrase “man of Zhou” (Zhou rén 周人) also does not occur, although there are two instances of unidentified “the royal man” or “the king’s man” (wáng rén 王人); CQ, Xi 8.1, 320; and Xi 29.3, 475. 40. When the Lu representative is not identified, the subject position remains empty; examples include CQ, Huan 17.7, 148; and Xi 4.5, 287. It is possible that rén was not used in reference to Lu leaders for practical reasons, since overt references to Lu use the first-person pronoun wǒ 我, “us,” not “Lu.” 41. Van Auken, “Who Is a rén?,” 575–582. 42. This form is also used for Jing 荊 in the earlier part of the Chunqiu, but after 659 BCE the name Jing is replaced with Chu in the records, and this form is no longer used; see note 50 of this chapter. Rare exceptions involving other states are CQ, Wen 7.9, 555 (in reference to Xu); Wen 10.2, 575 (Qin); Cheng 3.16, 812 (Zheng); and Zhao 12.10, 1330 (Jin). 43. Examples include CQ, Xi 15.5, 349; Xuan 3.6, 668; and Cheng 2.8, 786. Only 33 records in the Chunqiu use this form, of which 18 are multistate lists. 44. Actions may also be assigned to “armies” (shī 師); as I observe in this chapter, ascription to an army occurs most often in conjunction with high-ranking states, but (unlike other generic forms) it does not appear to be aimed at either recognizing or obscuring the identity of leaders. Military actions ascribed to an army that involve top-tier states include Jin (4 records), Qi (6 records), Song (4 records), Chu (5 records), Wei (2 records), and Zheng (2 records); one exception involves a middle-tier state, Qin (1 record). This type of ascription is not clearly related to the three-tier phenomenon under analysis here, so I have excluded these records from consideration in this section. 45. Curiously, the prohibition against naming noblemen from lower-ranking states does not seem to have applied to records of flight into exile; for discussion of flights into exile, see chapter 5 of this book. 46. For the two exceptions, see CQ, Xi 25.7, 430; and Cheng 2.3, 785. 47. These two unusual records are CQ, Zhao 12.10, 1330; and Cheng 3.16, 812; both are records of “attacks” (fá 伐). 48. These two records are CQ, Wen 7.9, 555; and Wen 10.2, 575; again, both are records of “attacks” (fá 伐).

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49. One unusual entry records a military action led by the Wu ruler; it is exceptional in that it identifies the ruler, but since it also records the Wu ruler’s death and identifies him by name (míng), it seems reasonable to classify it as a death record; see CQ, Xiang 25.10, 1095. 50. For approximately the first half century of the Chunqiu, Chu is referred to as Jing 荊 and is treated as a bottom-tier state. Chu is not mentioned until Xi 1, in 659 BCE, and the first reference to a Chu leader (an unnamed “man”) does not occur until  approximately half a century later, in Xuan 1 (608 BCE). For a convincing note giving evidence that Chu and Jing refer to the same state, see Yang Bojun, CQ, Zhuang 10, 181; for an instance in which Chunqiu records have Jing and the corresponding Zuo zhuan narratives have Chu, see CQ, Zhuang 16.2 and 16.3, 201; and Zuo, Zhuang 16, 202. 51. Details on each of these states are collected in Chen Pan 陳槃, Chunqiu dashibiao lieguo juexing ji cunmie biao zhuan yi 春秋大事表列國爵姓及存減表譔異, 3 vols. (Taipei: Institute of History and Philology, Academia Sinica, 1988); for Xu 徐, see 3.268a–274a (2:535–547); for Zhu 邾, also called Zhulou 邾婁 or Zou 鄒 / 騶, see 2.131b–135b (1:263–270); for Ju 莒, see 2.136a–140b (1:271–280); see too the map, 2.127b (1:254). For discussion of Eastern Yi states and their incorporation into the Zhou political and cultural system, see Li Feng, “Transmitting Antiquity,” 120–125. 52. On the early history of Qin, see Li Feng, Landscape and Power, 262–278. 53. See discussion in chapter 3, along with note 58 to chapter 3. These peoples presumably had political structures and religious practices that differed from those of the Zhou, and apparently they did not leave written records. They are typically not referred to as “states,” but in fact, we know very little about their political systems. 54. The phrase “Di rén” appears in CQ, Xi 18.6, 377; and Xi 20.6, 386; for a list of records in which Di are referred to as rén and in which they are not, see Yang Bojun’s note to CQ, Xi 18.6, 377. “Yue rén” appears in CQ, Zhao 5.8, 1261; and “Wu rén” occurs in CQ, Xiang 5.7, 941. There are no records of Jing participation in multistate actions, but a lone instance of “Jing rén” appears in the single and highly unusual record of a diplomatic visit from Jing to Lu, CQ, Zhuang 23.5, 225; this record stands out as odd because visitors from other states are typically identified, not referred to generically. 55. Even in multistate lists, no reference is made to individual leaders from Rong; see CQ, Yin 2.1, 20; Yin 2.4, 20; and Huan 2.8, 84; or to the White Di 白狄, as in CQ, Cheng 9.12, 842; and Xuan 8.4, 694. In meetings, the lowest-ranking party was sometimes referred to as a state but separated from the list of higher-ranking states with an additional huì 會, as in the case of Wu in CQ, Cheng 15.12, 872; Xiang 10.1, 973; and Xiang 14.1, 1004. For discussion of this pattern, see Van Auken, “Spring and Autumn Use of Jí,” 437–438. For an unusual record in which multistate military action was ascribed to the army of a top-tier state, Jin, and directly to a bottom-tier state, the White Di, see CQ, Xuan 8.5, 694. 56. The corresponding records are CQ, Cheng 3.12–15, 812. 57. A passage that is almost identical to Zang Xuanshu’s description of corresponding ranks appears the Liji; it differs only in that it contains two additional characters, both instances of the word wèi 位, “position.” See Liji zhengyi, comm. Zheng Xuan, subcomm. Kong Yingda, SSJZS, “Wang zhi” 王制, 11.7b (p. 215); cf. Liji jijie, comm. Sun Xidan (Taipei: Wenshizhe, 1990), 1:315; James Legge, trans., Li Chi: Book of Rites, an Encyclopedia of Ancient Ceremonial Usages, Religious Creeds, and Social Institutions (1885; repr., New Hyde Park, NY: University Books, 1967), 1:211.

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58. This account corresponds to CQ, Zhao 23.3, 1439, which records that Jin seized Lu’s emissary. 59. The Guliang commentary, probably of significantly later date, also refers to three tiered categories of states but employs different terminology and categories: “For Central States, the day is noted; for inferior states, the month is noted; and for Yi and Di, the season is noted,” 中國日，卑國月，夷狄時; see Chunqiu Guliang zhuan zhushu, comm. Fan Ning, subcomm. Yang Shixun, SSJZS, (hereafter cited as Guliang), Xiang 6, 15.6a (p. 149). It is interesting that the categories in Guliang seem to pose a contrast between Zhou and non-Zhou, that is, Yi and Di. 60. Zuo, Zhao 21, 1424; this account is translated in chapter 6. 61. Zuo, Zhao 2, 1228. See also Zuo, Huan 3, 99, which corresponds to a series of records, CQ, Huan 3.6–3.9, 97; this commentarial passage (of the type I have elsewhere labeled “direct commentary”) lays out a complex set of correspondences that include the bride’s relationship to the ruler, the size of her prospective husband’s state, and the rank of the nobleman who should send her off. 62. Zuo, Cheng 18, 913–914. 63. Passages citing similar rules appear in Guliang, Xi 26, 9.8a (p. 92), which states, “The lord did not meet with noblemen” 公不會大夫, and Guliang, Wen 2, 10.4a (p. 99), which states, “Domestic noblemen could meet with foreign regional rulers” 內大夫 可以會外諸侯. 64. I have treated these in greater depth in Van Auken, The Commentarial Transformation, 70–72. 65. This passage comments on CQ, Xi 29.3, 475. 66. The corresponding record is CQ, Xiang 8.4, 955. 67. For another case of a lower-ranking party being punished for acting as counterpart to a higher-ranking one, see the preceding discussion of the Qi emissary who was  detained because his rank was lower than that of his Jin counterpart; Zuo, Zhao 2, 1228. 68. Curiously, Mencius also seems to imply the existence of a similar system of equivalencies; see Mengzi zhushu, “Wanzhang xia,” 10a.4b–5b (p. 177); see also Mengzi yizhu, 1:235; and Lau, Mencius, 151–152. 69. Of nearly three hundred records of meetings, covenants, and multistate military actions, only 19 records (6 percent) mention both rulers and named noblemen. This figure includes 6 records each of covenants and military actions, and 7 records of meetings. Excluded are records of battles in which noblemen and rulers are on opposing sides, such as CQ, Xuan 12.3, 717; and Cheng 2.3, 785. 70. Examples of records involving rulers with the rank gōng or hóu being listed with nonLu nobility include CQ, Huan 11.5, 129; Wen 2.4, 518; and Cheng 15.3, 871; for meetings, see CQ, Wen 14.4, 600; and Ai 12.4, 1669; for military actions, see CQ, Cheng 16.11, 878; and Ding 4.2, 1533. 7 1. There is some precedent for upgrading individual rank in other circumstances; Zuo zhuan contains two references to “adding a grade” (jiā yī děng 加一等) to the mortuary rites as a form of reward; see Zuo, Yin 5, 47; and Xi 4, 294. 72. Interestingly, Guliang equates rén with “lowly” (bēi 卑); Guliang Yin 1, 1.6b–7a (pp. 11–12). 73. Jessica Rawson, “Ancient Chinese Ritual as Seen in the Material Record,” in State and Court Ritual in China, ed. Joseph P. McDermott (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 23; Maurice Bloch, “Symbols, Song, Dance, and Features of Articulation: Is Religion an Extreme Form of Traditional Authority?,” European Journal of Sociology/Archives Européennes de Sociologie 15 (1974): 76–79.

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5. REGISTERING JUDGMENTS 1. Sections of this chapter are based in part on my articles, “Killings and Assassinations in the Spring and Autumn as Records of Judgments,” Asia Major, 3rd ser., 27.1 (2014): 1–31, and “What If Zhào Dùn Had Fled? Border Crossing and Flight into Exile in Early China,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 139.3 (2019): 569–590. 2. In three exceptional records, the noblemen who were killed are unnamed; CQ, Wen 7.5, 554; Zhuang 26.3, 233; and Xi 25.4, 429. 3. See discussion of “inconsistently dated” event types in chapter 2 of this book. 4. Carine Defoort renders the verb shì 弒 with the phrase “to commit regicide on” in “Can Words Produce Order?,” Cultural Dynamics 12.1 (2000): 91–93; see too Defoort, “The Rhetorical Power of Naming: The Case of Regicide,” Asian Philosophy 8.2 (1998): 111–118. Strictly speaking this is more accurate than “assassinate,” which subsumes all politically motivated killings of leaders, but I have opted to use the more idiomatic verb “assassinate.” 5. Of these seven records, four record killings of an heir apparent or heir; CQ, Xi 5.1, 300; Xi 9.6, 335; Xiang 26.6, 1110; and Zhao 8.1, 1299. Two more victims were contenders for the throne in their home states; CQ, Xiang 30.2, 1169; and Zhao 13.3, 1342. The seventh registers the killing of two Zhou noblemen; CQ, Xuan 15.5, 758. 6. See CQ, Zhao 11.3, 1321; Zhao 16.2, 1375; Ding 4.3, 1533; and Ai 4.1, 1624. The last of these records omits the location, but the Zuo zhuan narrative indicates he was abroad; see Zuo, Ai 14, 1625. 7. CQ, Xuan 18.4, 776. 8. CQ, Xi 19.3, 380; and Zhao 11.10, 1322. 9. CQ, Zhao 23.7, 1440. Du Yu states that miè is used when the ruler is killed, even if the state survives; Chunqiu jingzhuan jijie, comm. Du Yu, Sibu congkan ed., Zhao 23, 25.1a; and see also Takezoe’s notes in Saden kaisen, 2 vols., comm. Takezoe Shin’ichirō (1911; repr., Taipei: Tiangong, 1986) (herefter Saden), Zhao 23, 2:1655. Cf. the similar explanation in Gongyang; see Chunqiu Gongyang zhuan zhushu, comm. He Xiu, subcomm. Xu Yan, SSJZS, (hereafter cited as Gongyang), Zhao 23, 24.2b–3a (pp. 299–300). 10. The two instances of cì are CQ, Cheng 16.16, 879; and Xi 28.2, 448. 11. The Shuowen jiezi defines shì as “a vassal killing a ruler” 臣殺君也; Xu Shen 許慎 (ca. 55–ca. 149), comp., and Duan Yucai 段玉裁 (1735–1815), comm., Shuowen jiezi zhu 說文解字注 (1815; repr., Taipei: Liming wenhua, 1991), 3b.28b (p. 121). 12. In defining cì the Shuowen jiezi says, “When a ruler kills a nobleman, it is called cì,” 君殺大夫曰刺; Shuowen jiezi zhu, 4b.50b (p. 184). Gongyang, Xi 28, 12.10a (p. 152) observes accurately that cì is used instead of shā for killings of Lu noblemen, and cf. Gongyang, Zhuang 32, 9.7a (p. 111), concerning a record that unexpectedly does not use cì and instead simply records the killing as a death; the record is CQ, Zhuang 32.3, 250. 13. Zuo, Xuan 18, 777, states that qiāng is used when the killer comes from abroad; cf. the similar explanation in Shuowen jiezi zhu, 12b:39b (p. 637), “When a vassal from another state comes and assassinates the ruler, it is called qiāng,” 他國臣來弑君曰戕. 14. In addition to CQ, Xuan 11.5, 710 (translated previously in this chapter), other examples in which a nobleman is killed by another state include CQ, Huan 6.4, 109; Xuan 11.5, 710; Zhao 4.4, 1245; Zhao 8.4, 1299; and Zhao 8.9, 1300. 15. In reference to noblemen who were killed by their own state after fleeing, see, for example, the commentarial remarks in Zuo, Xiang 23, 1084, in reference to the killing in CQ, Xiang 23.12, 1072, together with the record of the victim’s earlier flight, CQ, Xiang 21.4, 1055; and cf. Gongyang, Xiang 23, 20.16a (p. 258). See too Zuo, Xiang 30, 1177, commenting on CQ, Xiang 30.7, 1169. Perhaps related, the Chunqiu records that

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Lu nobleman Gongsun Ao 公孫敖 fled to Ju: CQ, Wen 8.6, 565; subsequently it registers his death in Qi and the repatriation of his remains: CQ, Wen 14.8, 601; and Wen 15.4, 608. This case violates what appears to be the regular practice of not recording deaths of Lu noblemen who had fled, leading to speculation that Lu agreed to take him back; see Yang Bojun’s note on this record, CQ, Wen 14.8, 601. 16. Records using these three patterns are tabulated in Gu Donggao, Chunqiu dashibiao, 6 vols. (1873; repr., Taipei: Guangxue, 1975), 13.15a–23b (4:1795–1812). For a comprehensive discussion of Spring and Autumn period instances of “going out in flight” as recorded in the Zuo zhuan and Guoyu, see Zhang Yanxiu 張顏修, “Chunqiu chu ben kao shu” 春秋出奔考述, Shixue yuekan 1996.6: 21–25; Zhang’s analysis is primarily concerned with flight as a societal phenomenon involving movement of human capital. For an expansion on Zhang’s work, see Qin Guoli 秦國利, “Chunqiu shiqi guizu chuben kaolun” 春秋時期貴族出奔考論, Shixue yuekan 2009.6: 46–52. 17. Curiously, all records of rulers “going out in flight” concern rulers of Wei; perhaps only Wei announced cases in which the ruler fled. See CQ, Huan 16.5, 145; Xi 28.7, 449; Xiang 14.4, 1004. 18. The Zuo zhuan account states that the Song minister had been treated unfairly before his flight but was received by Lu and treated with the honor appropriate to his office; Zuo, Wen 8, 567–568. For a similar case, also concerning a Song official, see CQ, Wen 14.10, 601; and Zuo, Wen 14, 606. See too CQ, Wen 12.1, 585; and Zuo, Wen 12, 586–587, concerning the reception in Lu of the deposed heir apparent of Cheng 郕, discussed subsequently in this chapter. 19. CQ, Wen 7.6, 555; Wen 8.6, 565; Xuan 18.8, 777; Xiang 30.5, 1169; and Zhao 26.7, 1469. 20. The flight of Lord Zhao of Lu is recorded in CQ, Zhao 25.5, 1454; for a similar record concerning a consort’s flight, see CQ, Min 2.4, 261. 21. Lord Zhao’s continued exile is recorded in CQ, Zhao 31.1, 1509; and Zhao 32.1, 1515; these records are identical in form to CQ, Zhao 30.1, 1505 (translated and discussed in the chapter). Two records registering that Lord Zhao “stopped at” (cì 次) Ganhou occur in the first two years of his exile; see CQ, Zhao 28.2, 1490; and Zhao 29.2, 1498. 22. For similar records that do not include the word “go out” (chū), see CQ, Zhao 22.7, 1432; and Zhao 23.8, 1440. See too the commentarial remark in Zuo, Xi 24, 428, which asserts that the Zhou king “does not go out” (wú chū 無出). 23. CQ, Zhuang 4.4, 163. 24. CQ, Zhuang 17.3, 204; and Xiang 7.10, 950. 25. CQ, Xuan 1.5, 646; and Zhao 8.9, 1300. 26. For discussion of the similarities between execution and banishment in early China, see Susan Roosevelt Weld, “Covenant in Jin’s Walled Cities: The Discoveries at Houma and Wenxian” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1990), 437–438. 27. These four pairs of CQ records, together with the corresponding Zuo zhuan accounts, are CQ, Yin 4.2, 34; Yin 4.6, 35; and Zuo, Yin 4, 37–38; CQ, Zhuang 8.5, 173; Zhuang 9.1, 177; and Zuo, Zhuang 8, 176; CQ, Xi 10.3; Xi 10.5, 332; and see Zuo, Xi 10, 332; and CQ, Zhao 13.2; Zhao 13.3, 1342; and Zuo, Zhao 13, 1345–1348. 28. Gu Donggao, Chunqiu dashibiao, “Xing shang” 刑賞, 13.1a–10a (4:1767–1785); significantly, this table does not include regicides, suggesting that killings were considered “punishments” but regicides belonged to a different category. 29. Instances of killings linked to rebellious actions include the following pairs of records and corresponding Zuo zhuan material: CQ, Wen 9.4; Wen 9.6, 570; and Zuo, Wen 9, 568, 572; CQ, Cheng 18.3, 905; and Zuo, Cheng 18, 907; CQ, Xiang 23.12, 1072; and

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Zuo, Xiang 23, 1084; CQ, Xiang 30.7, 1169; and Zuo, Xiang 30, 1175–1177; and CQ, Ai 4.5, 1625; and Zuo, Ai 4, 1626. Instances of killings for misconduct associated with battlefield defeat include CQ, Xi 28.6, 449; and Zuo, Xi 28, 466; CQ, Xuan 13.4, 751; and Zuo, Xuan 13, 752; and CQ, Xiang 19.11, 1044; and Zuo, Xiang 19, 1050. Killings were also linked to various other kinds of misconduct; see CQ, Wen 10.3, 575; and Zuo, Wen 10, 576–577; CQ, Xiang 2.10, 919; and Zuo, Xiang 2, 923; CQ, Xiang 5.6, 941; and Zuo, Xiang 5, 943; CQ, Xiang 19.10, 1044; and Zuo, Xiang 19, 1049; and CQ, Xiang 20.5, 1052; and Zuo, Xiang 20, 1053. These are representative examples and not an exhaustive list. 30. CQ, Xuan 9.14, 700; and Zuo, Xuan 9, 702; this refers to the killing of Chen nobleman Xie Ye 洩冶. 31. There are rare exceptions in which a nobleman’s killing is not presented as a response to misconduct; for the killings of Song noblemen who died fighting off an attempted rebellion, see CQ, Wen 7.5, 554; and Zuo, Wen 7, 558; concerning a Song nobleman who died protecting the ruling house, see CQ, Wen 8.8, 565; and Zuo, Wen 8, 567. Both irregular records leave the victims unnamed, and traditional commentaries suggest that their names were omitted because they were not at fault. Curiously, both pertain to Song. 32. The term “prostrate” is a particularly apt translation for fú 伏. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, “prostrate” is derived from Latin prōstrātus, meaning “lying flat, laid low, defeated” and means not only to lie face down, but to be or cause to be “cut down; levelled to the ground, overthrown”; see “prostrate, adj. and n.1,” OED Online (Oxford University Press, 2021). Classical Chinese fú likewise refers to lying in a prone position and to being overcome or defeated, and by extension, to being killed. 33. Zuo, Yin 11, 74; and Xi 28, 459; both use fú 伏 in reference to defeated rulers. 34. For the phrase fú qí zuì 伏其罪 in a similar announcement, see Zuo, Ding 14, 1595; for a slight variation on this phrase in reference to a punitive killing, see Zuo, Zhuang 14, 197. 35. For discussion of patterns of dating in death records for regional rulers, which suggest that news of deaths was transmitted via interstate announcements, see chapter 2 of this book. 36. Dividing a household after a punitive killing (or a suicide that was treated as a killing) seems to have been standard practice, but its later restoration was unusual. For another case of a household being divided up subsequent to a punitive killing, see Zuo, Xiang 19, 1050. An interesting contrast to China in the ancient world is posed by Rome, where certain posthumous penalties that affected heirs might be eliminated if a condemned man committed suicide; see Harriet I. Flower, Ancestor Masks and Aristocratic Power in Roman Culture (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), 25–26. The fact that Kong Da’s household had to be restored suggests that practices in ancient China were different. 37. For an incident that may be similar, in which Lu killed one of their own noblemen to appease Chu, see CQ, Xi 28.2, 448; and the corresponding account, Zuo, Xi 28, 452. 38. Kristina Lindell discusses several cases in which an accused offender committed suicide to avoid execution; she terms this “self-execution.” See her “Stories of Suicide in Ancient China,” Acta Orientalia 35 (1973): 167–239, esp. 192–194. She suggests that in ancient China, as in ancient Rome, a person who was sentenced to be executed was able to protect the “rights and possessions of his kin” by committing suicide, but her speculation is not borne out by Zuo zhuan narratives; for example, Kong Da’s kin did initially have their property confiscated. For another discussion of suicide in the Zuo zhuan followed by translations into Spanish of twenty-five Zuo zhuan accounts of suicide, see John Page and María Isabel García Hidalgo, “Los suicidios en el Zuozhuan,” Estudios de Asia y Africa 38.3 (2003): 657–675.

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39. CQ, Xi 28.6, 449; and Zuo, Xi 28, 466. 4 0. CQ, Cheng 16.7, 878; and Zuo, Cheng 16, 890. 41. CQ, Zhao 2.3, 1226; and Zuo, Zhao 2, 1229–1230. 42. Elsewhere, the Zuo zhuan narrates that a nobleman committed suicide because of slander that would have led to his execution, yet the Chunqiu records this as a killing; CQ, Zhao 27.4, 1481; and Zuo, Zhao 27, 1485. In an unusual case, a nobleman failed to stop the ruler’s plot to kill his father, and the Zuo zhuan account indicates that he committed suicide not because of imminent execution but because of torn loyalties, and his death too is recorded as a killing; CQ, Xiang 22.6, 1064; and Zuo, Xiang 22, 1069. This may be a rare exception to the standard convention that noblemen who were killed were viewed as offenders, but it is also quite possible that the sympathetic perspective conveyed in the Zuo zhuan account was not universally held and, specifically, that it was not shared by those who made the Chunqiu record. 43. Records of flight that according to the Zuo zhuan occurred after succession struggles include CQ, Huan 11.4, 129; and Zuo, Huan 11, 132; CQ, Huan 15.4, 141; and Zuo, Huan 15, 143; and CQ, Zhao 1.11, 1199; and Zuo, Zhao 1, 1223–1225. Cases of flight after slander include CQ, Xi 28.11, 450; and Zuo, Xi 28, 469–470; CQ, Cheng 17.5, 896; and Zuo, Cheng 17, 898; CQ, Xiang 23.11, 1072; and Zuo, Xiang 23, 1078–1082; CQ, Zhao 6.5, 1273; and Zuo, Zhao 6, 1277–1278; and CQ, Zhao 15.3, 1366; and Zuo, Zhao 15, 1369–1370. These lists are not comprehensive. 44. Zuo, Xiang 27, 1127–1129; this corresponds to CQ, Xiang 27.4, 1126; see also Zuo, Cheng 15, 874, corresponding to CQ, Cheng 15.8–9, 872. For discussion of these two “flight as protest” accounts, see Van Auken, “What If Zhào Dùn Had Fled?”, 574–575. 45. For rulers who fled after falling from power, see CQ, Huan 16.5, 145; and Zuo, Huan 16, 146–147; see also CQ, Zhao 21.6, 1423; and Zuo, Zhao 21, 1430–1431. 46. Zuo, Ding 4, 1548; the original text reads 失守社稷，越在草莽. 47. In a similar case, the Song ruler tried to stop a nobleman from fleeing, saying that he did not want the ancestral sacrifices for which he was responsible to be extinguished; see Zuo, Ai 14, 1686. 48. For discussion of the commentarial remarks on the relationship between records and reports or announcements, see Newell Ann Van Auken, The Commentarial Transformation of the Spring and Autumn (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2016), 43–52. In his commentary, Du Yu frequently claims that records “followed the reports” (cóng gào 從告) in order to explain irregularities, but it is essential to understand that not all commentarial assertions that records reflected reports or announcements can be supported, and individual claims should be examined critically. While some of Du Yu’s remarks are reasonable, others seem excessive. For example, in one instance, the order of two events recorded in the Chunqiu is the reverse of the Zuo zhuan accounts, an irregularity that Du Yu attributes to “following the reports” 從告; see Chunqiu jingzhuan jijie, Xi 19, 6.3b; cf. CQ, Xi 19.5, 380. While the content of the records may have corresponded to the content of the reports, there is simply no evidence that the order of records corresponded to the order in which reports were received. 49. Zuo, Xuan 10, 706. 50. Zuo, Cheng 16, 894; the original text reads 出叔孫僑如而盟之; this narrative account corresponds to CQ, Cheng 16.13, 878. 51. Other representative examples include Zuo, Cheng 17, 898, corresponding to CQ, Cheng 17.5, 896; Zuo, Xiang 6, 946, corresponding to CQ, Xiang 6.2, 945; Zuo, Xiang 17, 1032, corresponding to CQ, Xiang 17.6, 1030; Zuo, Zhao 22, 1433, corresponding to CQ, Zhao 22.2, 1431; and Zuo, Ai 11, 1661, corresponding to CQ, Ai 11.2, 1657.

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52. Zuo, Wen 6, 552–553, corresponding to CQ, Wen 6.8, 543; and Zuo, Wen 7, 561, corresponding to CQ, Wen 7.6, 554–555. A different passage says that the households of fugitives were taken, divided up, and presented to the ruler; see Zuo, Zhao 10, 1317, corresponding to CQ, Zhao 10.2, 1313. 53. Zuo, Zhuang 12, 189; Zhuang 13, 191–193. 54. For discussion of extradition and asylum in the ancient Near East, see Raymond Westbrook, “Personal Exile in the Ancient Near East,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 128.2 (2008): 319–320; Westbrook discusses the connection between giving asylum or granting extradition and political sovereignty. This factor was not explicitly mentioned in Chinese extradition cases, which were typically framed in terms of wrongdoing and morality, but surely the relative power of states and the need to maintain some level of autonomy and authority were also considerations. 55. On Lu’s response to Pu, see more detailed discussion later in this chapter. 56. See Zuo, Xi 4, 299; his death is registered as a killing and recorded in CQ, Xi 5.1, 300 (translated earlier in this chapter); according to the Zuo zhuan, Jin announced his death as a killing, rather than a suicide; Zuo, Xi 5, 303. 57. Zuo, Wen 16, 622. 58. Lords Yin, Huan, and Min are said to have been murdered, but their deaths are not recorded as regicides; CQ, Yin 11.4, 71; Min 2.3, 261; Huan 18.2 and 18.5, 151. 59. That regicide was regarded as an act of conquest and the assassin as being in some sense superior to his victim may be implied by a Zuo zhuan account concerning a ruler who fled and had to pass a man known for his strength and violence. The ruler was afraid to pass him, but others encouraged him, saying that the man was already known for his strength, and thus “what need has he to commit regicide to make his name?” 何必以弒君成名. For this account, see Zuo, Zhao 23, 1445, and for the ruler’s flight, see CQ, Zhao 23.6, 1440. 60. For example, one killer is named in CQ, Xuan 4.3, 677; but the corresponding narrative names two; see Zuo, Xuan 4, 678. A similar case concerning the killing of an heir apparent occurs in CQ, Zhao 8.1, 1299, corresponding to Zuo, Zhao 8, 1300–1302. 61. Regicides ascribed to a single person in both the Chunqiu and Zuo zhuan include CQ, Yin 4.2, 34; and Zuo, Yin 4, 35–36; CQ, Huan 2.1, 83; and Zuo, Huan 2, 85; CQ, Xi 10.3, 332; and Zuo, Xi 9, 328–330; and CQ, Xiang 30.2, 1169; and Zuo, Xiang 30, 1173. For killings of heirs or heirs apparent, see CQ, Xi 9.6, 335; and Zuo, Xi 9, 328–330; and CQ, Zhao 11.3, 1321; and Zuo, Zhao 11, 1322–1323. 62. CQ, Xiang 25.2, 1094; and Zuo, Xiang 25, 1095–1099. Other cases in which a regicide was ascribed to a high-ranking instigator instead of the actual killer(s) include CQ, Zhuang 8.5, 173; and Zuo, Zhuang 8, 175; CQ, Xuan 2.4, 650; and Zuo, Xuan 2, 661–663; CQ, Xiang 25.2, 1094; and Zuo, Xiang 25, 1095–1099; and CQ, Ai 6.8, 1632; and Zuo, Ai 6, 1633–1639. A similar instance involving the killing of an heir apparent is CQ, Xiang 30.2, 1169; and Zuo, Xiang 30, 1174. 63. CQ, Xiang 26.1, 1110; and Zuo, Xiang 26, 1112. 64. CQ, Zhuang 8.5, 173; and Zuo, Zhuang 8, 175; a similar pair is CQ, Xiang 30.2, 1169; and Zuo, Xiang 30, 1174. Takezoe suggests that the named killer was behind the plot; see Saden, Xiang 30, 2:1301, but this is sheer speculation on his part and is neither supported nor refuted by the Zuo zhuan account. 65. CQ, Ai 6.8, 1632; and Zuo, Ai 6, 1633–1639. Indeed, such an obvious discrepancy may even lead us to wonder if the Chunqiu records were based on the same understanding of events as that reflected in the Zuo zhuan. 66. CQ, Zhao 19.2, 1400; and Zuo, Zhao 19, 1403.

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67. See CQ, Wen 1.10, 509; and Zuo, Wen 1, 513; and also CQ, Zhao 13.2, 1342; and Zuo, Zhao 13, 1348. 68. CQ, Xi 5.1, 300; and Zuo, Xi 4, 295–300 and Xi 5, 303. For a similar case, see CQ, Xiang 26.6, 1110; and Zuo, Xiang 26, 1117. 69. For another killing of a ruler instigated by a woman but not so attributed, see CQ, Wen 16.7, 616; and Zuo, Wen 16, 620–622. 70. CQ, Xuan 2.4, 650; and Zuo, Xuan 2, 663. 71. Presumably announcements sent to other states reflected the judgments made in the states that sent the announcements, that is, the state in which the killing occurred. The Zuo zhuan commentary asserts that the Chunqiu was required to adhere to the details that were reported in the announcements, and it is uncertain how much latitude recordkeepers in the states that received the announcements had to deviate from those details. 72. After the murder of Lord Huan of Lu by Qi nobleman Pengsheng, Lu used similar language in requesting that Qi kill Pengsheng, saying, “If there is no one to whom the blame is assigned, we will be humiliated among the regional lords. We request that you use Pengsheng to erase it” 無所歸咎，惡於諸侯，請以彭生除之; Zuo, Huan 18, 152–153. This statement seems to imply that it was necessary for the crime to be assigned and that ascribing it to one man and killing him was sufficient to eradicate the problem. In an unusual incident that bears some similarities to the case of Kong Da, Lu is said to have killed one of their own noblemen to appease Jin; see CQ, Xi 28.2, 448, and the corresponding account, Zuo, Xi 28, 452. 73. The regicide is recorded in CQ, Wen 18.9, 629. Curiously, no killer is named, and the record simply attributes the regicide to the state, “Ju.” 74. Zuo, Wen 18, 633–643. 75. Recent events in Lu may have colored responses to the regicide of Lord Jih of Ju and Pu’s arrival in Lu, which took place soon after the death of the previous Lu ruler, Lord Wen, the murder of Lord Wen’s heir, and the subsequent murder of the next in line for the throne; only after this did Lord Xuan accede to power. The contradictory responses to Pu—Lord Xuan welcomed him enthusiastically, whereas the ministers advocated immediate expulsion—could be construed as indirect commentary on Lu’s own recent succession struggle. One wonders too if the recent succession struggle may also have affected how the Ju regicide was registered in the official Lu records; specifically, the Chunqiu did not identify Pu as his father’s killer. 76. Cheng 郕, written 盛 in Gongyang, was a small state, probably bordering Lu; see Yang Bojun’s notes, Zuo, Yin 5, 39–40; cf. Gongyang, Yin 5, 3.1b (p. 24). This is the only mention of any person from Cheng in the Chunqiu, though elsewhere it is the object of military action; see CQ, Yin 5.3, 39. 77. There is debate about the meaning of Chenggui 郕邽. Here I follow Du Yu in understanding it as a reference to territory, parallel to Fuzhong, and on analogy with other Chunqiu records in which an asylum-seeker is said to bring territory; see Du Yu’s comments, Chunqiu jingzhuan jijie, Wen 12, 9.2a; and for formally similar records concerning fugitives who brought territory, see CQ, Xiang 21.2, 1055; Zhao 5.4, 1260; Zhao 31.6, 1510; and Ai 14.2, 1680. Alternatively, Chenggui can be understood to refer to a precious state treasure, “the jade scepter of Cheng,” as translated by Durrant, Li, and Schaberg; see Stephen Durrant, Wai-yee Li, and David Schaberg, Zuo Tradition/Zuozhuan: Commentary on the “Spring and Autumn Annals,” 3 vols. (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2016), 1:525; cf. Yang Bojun’s notes on this issue, Zuo, Wen 12, 587.

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78. That asylum-seekers were received with honors appropriate to their official rank is confirmed elsewhere; Zuo, Wen 8, 567–568, corresponding to CQ, Wen 8.8, 565. Similarly, the form of records of killings may identify or fail to identify an individual as a ruler or heir, thereby indicating the official Lu view of their status; see, for example, the case of Gongzi Bi of Chu 楚公子比, CQ, Zhao 13.3, 1342; and the associated account, Zuo, Zhao 13, 1344–1348; according to the Zuo zhuan account, he became king and ultimately killed himself, but the Chunqiu records that he was killed (shā 殺), thereby using form to withhold acknowledgment of his status as king or even as heir. 79. Zuo, Xiang 21, 1058; Zhao 5, 1270; and Zhao 31, 1512. For discussion see Van Auken, The Commentarial Transformation, 68. 80. For Qing Feng’s flight to Lu, see CQ, Xiang 28.6, 1139; the associated narrative appears in Zuo, Xiang 28, 1145–1149. 81. Zuo, Xiang 21, 1057; see too CQ, Xiang 21.2, 1055. 82. Qing Feng’s execution by Chu is recorded in CQ, Zhao 4.4, 1245; and Zuo, Zhao 4, 1253. 83. CQ, Zhao 5.4, 1260; Zuo, Zhao 5, 1270. 84. CQ, Zhao 23.6, 1440; Zuo, Zhao 23, 1444. 85. Previously, I suggested that records of killings could “be understood as abbreviated judgments” because they remained silent about the offense that led to the killing; see Van Auken, “Killings and Assassinations,” 15. I have reconsidered the notion of judgment and now believe that a judgment need not be accompanied by more information; identifying (whether directly or indirectly) an individual as a criminal is sufficient for a statement or record to qualify as a judgment.

6. CONCEALING SUBMISSION 1. Interstate travel related to betrothal and marriage is a different category of travel and is not treated in this chapter. For a detailed discussion, see Newell Ann Van Auken, “Women as a Category and Categories of Women: Gender and Hierarchy in the Spring and Autumn,” NAN NÜ: Men, Women and Gender in China 24.1 (2022): 1–69, esp. 16–23. 2. Although “visit of friendly inquiry” is admittedly a somewhat awkward translation, it is semantically sound; see the discussion of the etymology of pìn 聘 later in this chapter. Other translations for pìn include “official visit” (Durrant, Li, and Schaberg) “a mission” (Steele), and “a friendly mission” or “complimentary mission” (Legge), but all of these are too generic and miss the basic sense of “asking” or “making inquiries.” Legge is inconsistent, and elsewhere he translates pìn as “friendly inquiries” and “mission of friendly inquiries,” renderings that do reflect the idea of asking or inquiring. For these translations, see Stephen Durrant, Wai-yee Li, and David Schaberg, Zuo Tradition/Zuozhuan: Commentary on the “Spring and Autumn Annals,” 3 vols. (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2016), 1:44 and throughout; John Steele, The I-li: Or Book of Etiquette and Ceremonial, Translated from the Chinese with Introduction, Notes and Plans, 2 vols. (1917; repr., Taipei: Ch’eng-wen, 1966), 1:189 and throughout; and James Legge, The Chinese Classics, vol. 5, The Ch’un Ts’ew with the Tso chuen: With a Translation, Critical and Exegetical Notes, Prolegomena and Copious Indexes (1872; repr., Taipei: SMC, 1994), 917, 538, 22, and 215. 3. See Zuo, Xiang 8, 955; Zhao 5, 1266; and Ai 13, 1677. See also Liji zhengyi, comm. Zheng Xuan, subcomm. Kong Yingda, SSJZS, “Li yun” 禮運, 21.6b (p. 414) and 22.19a (p. 439); “Zhong yong” 中庸, 52.21b (p. 889); and “Hun yi” 昏義, 61.6b–7a (pp. 1000–1001); see

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too Liji jijie, comm. Sun Xidan (Taipei: Wenshizhe, 1990), 1:585, 1:616, 2:1418. For translation, see James Legge, trans., Li Chi: Book of Rites, an Encyclopedia of Ancient Ceremonial Usages, Religious Creeds, and Social Institutions, 2 vols. (1885; repr., New Hyde Park, NY: University Books, 1967), 1:367, 1:388, 2:316, 2:430. See also Zhouli zhushu 周 禮注疏, comm. Zheng Xuan, subcomm. Jia Gongyan 賈公彥 (fl. 650), SSJZS, “Qiu guan sikou, Xiao xingren” 秋官司寇, 小行人, 37.23b–24b (p. 567); see too Zhouli zhengyi 周禮正義, comm. Sun Yirang 孫詒讓 (1848–1908) (Beijing: Zhonghua, 2000), 12:72.2998. 4. Two of these anomalous records, both in the same year, concern rulers of one state going (rú 如) to a state other than Lu. One seems to use “going” (rú) as euphemistic language to record a ruler’s flight into exile; CQ, Huan 5.9, 103; see also Zuo, Huan 5, 108. The other registers the travel of two rulers to a third state; the Zuo zhuan tells us this was a ruse and their true intent was to make a surprise attack; see CQ, Huan 5.2, 102; and Zuo, Huan 5, 104. Still another records the travel of a Zhou nobleman to another state, where he was subsequently detained; CQ, Wen 14.11, 602. The three remaining records of interstate travel that did not involve Lu all state the purpose of the travel, and none involves diplomatic visits; see CQ, Xi 28.9, 449 (going to a meeting); CQ, Cheng 2.4, 785 (going to join troops); and CQ, Xiang 7.9, 949 (going to a meeting). 5. For a systematic summary of diplomatic visits, see Gu Donggao, Chunqiu dashibiao, 6 vols. (1873; repr., Taipei: Guangxue, 1975), “Chunqiu bin li biao” 春秋賓禮表, 17a.1a– 17b.5b (6:1985–2033). 6. As a verb, cháo 朝 < *drau seems to have been derived from zhāo < *trau, meaning “morning,” given as 𣎍 in the Shuowen jiezi, and it may have originally referred to conducting morning ceremonies; see Shuowen jiezi zhu, comp. Xu Shen, comm. Duan Yucai (1815; repr., Taipei: Liming wenhua, 1991), 7a.14b (p. 311); and Axel Schuessler, ABC Etymological Dictionary of Old Chinese (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2007), 607. For reconstructions, see Axel Schuessler, Minimal Old Chinese and Later Han Chinese: A Companion to Grammata Serica Recensa (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2009), entry 16-17 [K1143], p. 199. 7. When pìn means “to make a visit of friendly inquiry,” it is typically intransitive, whereas the verb pìn referring to a betrothal ceremony is transitive, with the groom as subject and bride as its object; for examples of the transitive structure pìn zhī 聘之, “he made betrothal gifts to her,” see Zuo, Zhao 1, 1211; and Zhao 26, 1474. Numerous examples of the intransitive pattern, referring to diplomatic visits, are translated in this chapter, including the records in set 6.2. 8. In the Chunqiu, visits designated pìn do not regularly occur prior to records of marriages, a point that suggests that they are not related to marriages. Instead, betrothal visits are usually recorded with the phrase nà bì 納幣, “present silk” (as a betrothal gift); see CQ, Zhuang 22.6, 219; Wen 2.8, 519; and Cheng 8.5, 836. The two senses of pìn become conflated in later interpretations, perhaps because some interstate visits also involved discussion of marriage; see Zuo, Cheng 11, 853, which states that a nobleman came to Lu on a visit of friendly inquiry and also sought a wife; cf. CQ, Cheng 11.2, 851. In a similar case, in conjunction with a Chunqiu record of a Lu nobleman’s visit to Chen, the Zuo zhuan states that he also married a woman from Chen; CQ, Wen 6.2, 542; and Zuo, Wen 6, 546. But the principal reason for pìn visits appears to have been diplomatic; that is, they were not primarily betrothal visits. The Chunqiu contains only one record of a pìn visit that the Zuo zhuan explains as a betrothal visit, but several clues (most obviously, the use of the bride’s posthumous name in the Zuo zhuan)

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indicate that the explanatory passage has a somewhat later date, and its reliability is thus open to question; see CQ, Cheng 8.4, 836; and Zuo, Cheng 8, 838. Sarah Queen suggests that this record (which does not mention a woman) is one of a long series of records related to the marriage of Eldest Daughter Ji of Song 宋伯姬, later celebrated for her virtue; see Sarah Queen, “Beyond Liu Xiang’s Gaze: Debating Womanly Virtue in Ancient China,” Asia Major (3rd ser.) 29.2 (2016): 14. If Queen is correct, we must still observe that the very presence of a series of records linked to an individual woman is unusual, perhaps a hint that these records constitute later additions to the text that were inserted to emphasize the importance of Eldest Daughter Ji of Song and praise her. 9. These words are reconstructed by Axel Schuessler in his OCM system as pìn 聘 < *pheŋh and fǎng 訪 < *phaŋh; see Minimal Old Chinese, entry 9-27 [K839d], p. 142, and entry 3-57 [K740t], p. 88; elsewhere he identifies pìn (romanized as pìng) with fǎng 訪, “to inquire”; see Schuessler, ABC Etymological Dictionary, 232. In Old Chinese, pìn 聘 rhymed in the OC Gēng 庚 rime group, and thus like fǎng < *phaŋh apparently ended with *-ŋ rather than *-n. The Shuowen gloss reads, “pìn means ‘to visit.’ It is derived from ‘ear’ and píng is the phonophoric” 聘訪也，从耳甹聲; Shuowen jiezi zhu, 12.17b (p. 598). 10. See Erya zhushu 爾雅注疏, comm. Guo Pu 郭璞 (276–324), subcomm. Xing Bing 邢 昺 (932–1010), SSJZS, “Shi yan” 釋言, 37.14b (p. 43). Despite the tendency of the Erya to give paronomastic glosses, there appears to be no phonological relationship between pìn 聘 < *pheŋh and wèn 問 < *məns, nor, for that matter, between pìn and wén 聞 < *mən. In the Shuowen jiezi, the graph for wén “to hear” 聞 and its archaic form 䎽 [耳+ 昏] directly precede the entry for pìn 聘 [耳+甹]; see Shuowen jiezi zhu, 12.17b (p. 598). Given the Erya gloss as well as the association between pìn and marriage, hūn yīn 婚姻 < *hmə̂n *ʔin, one cannot help but wonder if there might be a less obvious relationship among pìn 聘 < *pheŋh, wén 聞 ~ 䎽 < *mən, and hūn 婚 < *hmə̂n. (The word hūn yīn 婚姻, which regularly appears as a pair in the Shijing, may be a dimidiated form.) For reconstructions, see Schuessler, Minimal Old Chinese, 聘 entry 9-27 [K839d], p. 142; 聞, 問 entry 33–35 [K441f] and [K441g], p. 332; 婚 entry 32-40 [K457m], p. 324; and 姻 entry 32-9 [K370f], p. 318. See too Zhouli zhushu, SSJZS, 37.23b–24b (p. 567); cf. Zhouli zhengyi, “Qiu guan sikou, Xiao xingren,” 12:72.2998. 11. In addition to Liji zhengyi, “Qu li,” 5.7b (p. 92), see Liji jijie, 1:140; for an alternative translation, see Legge, Li Chi, 1:112. 12. Zhouli zhushu, “Qiu guan sikou, Xiao xingren,” 37.23b–24b (p. 567); see too Zhouli zhengyi, 12:72.2998; this passage also links cháo 朝 to “rulers” jūn 君 and gives the names of several other ceremonies that are said to be “rites of ministers” or “rulers.” See also Zhouli zhushu, “Qiu guan sikou, Da xingren” 大行人, 37.11b (p. 561) and 37.22b (p. 566); see too Zhouli zhengyi, 12:71.2948; 71.2989. In their translation, Durrant, Li, and Schaberg state that a pìn visit “takes place when a superior visits an inferior or peers visit each other,” Zuo Tradition, 1:44n11; in fact, the primary characteristic of pìn visits is that they were made by noblemen, not rulers. 13. Five exceptional records fail to clearly identify the visitor as a ruler. One refers to the visitor as a “man” (rén), CQ, Huan 15.8, 142; another does not identify the visitor as a ruler, CQ, Zhuang 23.7, 225. Two records state that the visitor—in both cases identified as an heir or heir apparent—was dispatched to make the court visit; CQ, Huan 9.4, 124; Xi 14.2b, 346. One controversial entry records the court visit of a married Lu princess; CQ, Xi 5.2, 300; see too Yang Bojun’s discussion. In addition to these, in the record of

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two unusual court visits, the visiting rulers are identified by name; CQ, Huan 7.2, 118 (Yang Bojun treats these two visits as a single record). 14. The only two irregular records of visits of friendly inquiry omit reference to the ruler dispatching the visitor and give the visitor as subject. These two records, along with one exceptional record of a court visit, are clustered together in the same year; see CQ, Zhuang 23.2; 23.5; and 23.7, 225. 15. These three records are CQ, Zhuang 27.4, 235; Xi 28.13, 450; and Xuan 5.5, 685. 16. CQ, Yin 1.5, 8; Huan 6.1, 108; Huan 8.6, 120; Min 1.6, 256; Xi 28.1, 475; Xi 28.5, 476; and Xiang 18.1, 1034. 17. Examples of visits to make requests (qiú 求) include CQ, Huan 15.1, 141; and Cheng 16.5, 878; for returning (guī 歸) territory, see CQ, Xuan 10.3, 704; for records of visits to present gifts, including war booty, see CQ, Yin 1.4, 8; and Zhuang 31.4, 249; for visits to participate in a funeral, see CQ, Wen 1.3, 508; Xiang 31.5, 1183; Ding 15.8, 1599; and Ding 15.11, 1600; and finally, for an unusual trio of records of visits to condole (yàn 唁) with the exiled Lord Zhao, see CQ, Zhao 25.5, 1454; Zhao 29.1, 1498; and Zhao 31.4, 1510. For a complete list and detailed discussion of these exceptional records, see Newell Ann Van Auken, “A Formal Analysis of the Chuenchiou” (PhD diss., University of Washington, 2006), 263–267. 18. The two records that give the reason for travel are CQ, Zhuang 23.3, 225; and Xi 26.5, 437. The first of these states that the Lu ruler went to Qi “to observe the altar of the earth,” a very unusual reason for travel, and the second records that a Lu nobleman went to Chu to request troops. 19. CQ, Wen 9.3, 569; and Zhao 22.5, 1431. 20. Oddly, both records occur in the same year and use precisely the same wording, “Our Lord paid court respects at the King’s location,” 公朝于王所; these two points mark them as suspect and may lead us to wonder if perhaps one might be a duplicate interpolation. See CQ, Xi 28.10, 449; and Xi 28.17, 450. 21. For practical reasons, this analysis focuses on Chunqiu records of travel to and from Lu that are identified in the Zuo zhuan as “visits of friendly inquiry” (pìn) or “court visits” (cháo). The Zuo zhuan also recounts diplomatic travel that does not involve Lu and is not recorded in the Chunqiu, but since the focus of this study is the Chunqiu, these passages are not discussed here. 22. For the three instances in which “coming” (to Lu) (lái) in the Chunqiu records is explained as a court visit (cháo) in the Zuo zhuan, see CQ, Huan 6.1, 108, and Zuo, Huan 6, 109; CQ, Xi 28.1, 475, and Zuo, Xi 29, 476; and later that year, a second visit by the same individual, CQ, Xi 28.5, 476, and Zuo, Xi 29, 477. 23. Two additional inbound visits of friendly inquiry occur in the Zuo zhuan after the end of the Chunqiu, but these are not included in the calculations here; see Zuo, Ai 23, 1722; and Ai 27, 1732. 24. Interestingly, in explaining travel recorded in the Chunqiu as rú, neither Gongyang nor Guliang identifies the purpose of any such travel as pìn or cháo visits. This fact suggests that the authors of those texts—or, more accurately, the transmitters of those traditions—did not have access to the material in the Zuo zhuan, and indeed, as I have proposed elsewhere, there seems to have been little contact between the Zuo zhuan and either the Gongyang or Guliang tradition; Newell Ann Van Auken, The Commentarial Transformation of the Spring and Autumn (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2016), 147–173. 25. See CQ, Zhao 12.4, 1330; Zhao 13.10, 1343.

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26. Curiously, none of the common phrases used in the Zuo zhuan to explain diplomatic visits appear in Gongyang or Guliang, nor are they found in preimperial texts other than the Zuo zhuan; these phrases are “repay a visit of friendly inquiry” (bào pìn 報聘), “open communication with the succeeding ruler” (tōng sì jūn 通嗣君), “make a first visit of friendly inquiry” (chū pìn 初聘), and “make an initial visit of friendly inquiry” (shǐ pìn 始聘). For discussion of chū pìn and shǐ pìn, see Yang Bojun’s annotations to Zuo, Xi 31, 483. 27. Representative examples include the following: for renewing a covenant (xún méng 尋 盟), see CQ, Cheng 3.12–3.13, 812, and Zuo, Cheng 3, 814; for joining in covenant with the host state (lì méng 涖盟), see CQ, Cheng 11.2, 851, and Zuo, Cheng 11, 853; for visits to discuss matters (yán 言), see CQ, Wen 12.6, 586, and Zuo, Wen 12, 588; for acknowledging (bài 拜) a favor (in this instance, troops), see CQ, Xiang 12.3, 995, and Zuo, Xiang 12, 996; for repaying a visit of friendly inquiry (bào pìn 報聘), see CQ, Xuan 10.18, 705, and Zuo, Xuan 10, 708. A discussion of interstate visits that focuses on the obligations of the host rather than the status of the guest appears in David Schaberg, A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), 143–148. 28. For other systems and schedules, see Zuo, Wen 15, 609; and Zhao 13, 1355, along with Yang Bojun’s remarks, Zhao 3, 1232; interestingly, Zuo, Xiang 8, 956, suggests that the frequency of visits from regional states was mandated by the hegemon. Regarding the timing of visits, see Liji zhengyi, “Wang zhi,” 11.27a (p. 225); Liji jijie, 1:326; and Legge, Li Chi, 1:216; see too Liji zhengyi, “Zhong yong”中庸 , 52.21b (p. 889), which simply states that “court visits and visits of friendly inquiry were made in season” 朝聘以時; for an alternative translation, see Legge, Li Chi, 2:316, which renders this as “having fixed times for receiving the princes themselves and their envoys.” A Zhouli passage categorizes various types of ceremonial audiences by the season in which they are said to take place; cháo visits are associated with spring and pìn visits (which do not involve rulers) are not mentioned; see Zhouli zhushu, “Chun guan zongbo, Da zongbo” 春官宗伯, 大宗伯, 18.12a–b (p. 275); see too Zhouli zhengyi, 5:34.1348. Further discussion appears in Xu Jieling 徐杰令, Chunqiu bangjiao yanjiu 春秋邦交研究 (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue, 2004), 71; see too Li Wuwei 李无未, Zhou dai chao pin zhidu yanjiu 周代朝聘制度研究 (Changchun: Jilin renmin, 2005). 29. Although Qin and Wu ranked low in the sequence of states, by the end of the Chunqiu period they had become large and powerful; yet despite their ostensible low rank, their pìn visits to Lu are recorded. This appears to be a rare instance in which the records reflect the real power balance rather than an idealized hierarchy. 30. The state of Zhu is exceptional, as it sent seven court visits to Lu, and the one record of a Lu nobleman “going” (rú) to Zhu is identified in the Zuo zhuan as a visit of friendly inquiry; see CQ, Xiang 6.6, 945; and Zuo, Xiang 6, 947. The lone recorded visit by a Lu nobleman to Teng was probably not a visit of friendly inquiry, as it occurs between the Teng ruler’s death and funeral and was almost certainly to attend the funeral; see CQ, Zhao 3.2, 1231. 31. These rulers are Bo of Gu 穀伯 and the Hou of Deng 鄧侯, whose visits are recorded together in CQ, Huan 7.2, 118; the Zi of Tan 郯子, whose two visits appear in CQ, Xiang 7.1, 949, and Zhao 17.3, 1383; and Lilai of Ni 郳犁來, whose lone visit is in CQ, Zhuang 5.3, 166, and whom Yang Bojun, following Du Yu, identifies as the ruler of Lesser Zhu in his notes to CQ, Xi 7.2, 315.

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32. Jih (10 in the sequence of states) is ranked before Zheng (11) on the basis of CQ, Huan 13.1, 135. 33. An examination of all Chunqiu records of Lu noblemen “going” (rú) to other states (including those not discussed in the Zuo zhuan) shows very little recorded travel to lower-ranking states. 34. A single instance of travel by a Lu nobleman to Ju 莒 is recorded in CQ, Cheng 8.3, 836; the corresponding Zuo zhuan passage indicates that this visit was not a visit of friendly inquiry but to greet a bride; see Zuo, Cheng 8, 838. Ju is not included in table 6.3 since it did not send pìn or cháo visits to Lu, and the lone instance of a Lu nobleman “going” to Ju is not identified as a pìn visit in the Zuo Tradition. 35. Elsewhere, it has been argued that the reason Lu received the most visits of friendly inquiry was that it maintained the Zhou rites; see Xu Jieling, Chunqiu bangjiao yanjiu, 78. This claim assumes that the records were accurate and complete, an assumption that I believe is flawed. 36. Since the Zuo zhuan generally does not include accounts of diplomatic travel originating in Lu unless they are recorded in the Chunqiu, the Zuo zhuan does not provide evidence about these “missing” visits. It is somewhat surprising that the observations made here also apply to the Zuo zhuan. Discussion of this point lies well beyond the scope of the present work; for the moment it is sufficient to note that it could have major ramifications for our understanding of Zuo zhuan composition history. 37. Yili zhushu, comm. Zheng Xuan, subcomm. Jia Gongyan, SSJZS, “Pin li” 聘禮, 19.1a–24.14a (pp. 226–298); this is translated in full by Steele as “The Ceremonial of a Mission,” chaps. 15–19; see I-li, 1:189–242. 38. Several Zuo zhuan passages refer to these steps using the same or similar phrasing as the Yili, “Pin li,” section. For example, Zuo, Zhao 4, 1159, refers to the emissary receiving instructions from his ruler (shòu mìng 受命); Zuo, Wen 9, 574, refers to the emissary carrying gifts for the host; Zuo, Xi 33, 496, refers to the jiāo láo 郊勞 ceremony in which the emissary (guest) and his delegation are greeted at the outskirts of the host state and the toil of their travels is acknowledged, and also to gifts bestowed on the guests; Zuo, Zhao 2, 229, mentions the jiāo láo ceremony and the emissary being escorted to his lodging (zhì guǎn 致館); Zuo, Wen 12, 588, describes the host ceremonially declining the jade offered by the emissary (cí yù 辭玉) and the host bestowing gifts on the guests (zèng 贈, zèng huì 贈賄); and Zuo, Xuan 18, 779, and Xiang 20, 1054, give instances of the emissary’s return and obligatory report back to his ruler (fù mìng 復[覆] 命). This list of examples is not exhaustive; for another discussion of ceremonial steps of visits of friendly inquiry appearing in Zuo zhuan and Guoyu narratives, see Xu Jieling, Chunqiu bangjiao yanjiu, 74–78. The level of emphasis placed on component steps varies; thus in the Zuo zhuan, the banquet and entertainment (xiǎng 享 / 饗) constitute the most frequently described part of a visit, but the Yili gives little detail about this step; Yili zhushu, “Pin li” 22.13ab (p. 267); Steele, I-li, 1:221. Yang Bojun suggests that we can infer much about this step from another portion of the Yili, “Gong shi dafu” 公食大夫, “The lord gives a dinner for the nobility”; see his annotations to Zuo, Zhao 16, 1376. Curiously, the Yili, “Pin li” section concludes with instructions for dealing with unusual situations such as a death among the visiting delegation, and coincidentally, the Zuo zhuan contains a narrative in which this very situation occurs, and in which an attending official of the visiting delegation gives a speech convincing the host state to receive the delegation after the death of the emissary; his claims about ceremonially proper

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behavior align closely with the Yili instructions. See Yili zhushu, “Pin li,” 23.11a–14b (pp. 276–277), and Zuo, Ai 15, 1692. 39. For a brief discussion of the date and provenance of the Yili, see William G. Boltz, “I Li 儀禮,” in Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide, ed. Michael Loewe (Berkeley: The Society for the Study of Early China and the Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley, 1993), 237. 40. For a summary enumerating the steps in a visit of friendly inquiry as outlined in the “Pin li,” see Xu Jieling, Chunqiu bangjiao yanjiu, 71–74. 41. For a different translation, see Steele, I-li, 1:200–201. 42. I have followed Zheng Xuan in reading cè 側 as “only, alone”; Yili zhushu, “Pin li,” 20.13b (p. 244). Steele translates this as “draws forward one side of his coat”; I-li, 1:284n8. 43. For comparison, see the discussion of the choreography of gift-giving ceremonies as set forth in bronze inscriptions in Constance A. Cook, “Wealth and the Western Zhou,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 60.2 (1997): 279–281. Writing about banquets in early China, Roel Sterckx makes the general observation that “seating arrangements were the spatial expression of the hierarchical relationships between a host and his guests.” Sterckx, “Food and Philosophy in Early China,” in Of Tripod and Palate: Food, Politics, and Religion in Traditional China, ed. Roel Sterckx (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 58. 44. This choice of words, jiè 藉, “mat,” is heavily laden with allusion to the etiquette associated with presenting gifts. A precious gift (such as a jade) was typically presented on a mat, and thus Xiqi is saying that the jade is merely the mat on which he presents his lord’s instructions (mìng); see Yang Bojun’s notes to Zuo, Wen 12, 589. 45. The ceremonies set forth in the “Jin li” 覲禮 section of the Yili, which concerns the visit of a regional ruler to the Zhou king, may resemble those involved in a court visit of one regional ruler to another, but unfortunately this section appears to be incomplete; see Yili zhushu, “Jin li,” 26.9a–27.7b (pp. 318–336); translated by Steele as “The Audience” in I-li, 2:1–8. For a summary of such a visit based on the Yili, see Lothar von Falkenhausen, “The Royal Audience and Its Reflections in Western Zhou Bronze Inscriptions,” in Writing and Literacy in Early China: Studies from the Columbia Early China Seminar, ed. Li Feng and David Prager Branner (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2011), 255–257. 46. For Zuo zhuan passages concerning different components of court visits, see the following: for greeting the guest, see Zuo, Zhao 3, 1242; for the banquet and entertainment, see Zuo, Xi 25, 432; Wen 4, 535; Zhao 17, 1384 and 1386; for the transfer of the jade, see Zuo, Ding 15, 1600; and Cheng 3, 815. For gifts presented to the host, see Zuo, Yin 7, 54; and for those presented by the host to the guests, perhaps with sumptuary restrictions, see Zuo, Cheng 13, 860; and Zhuang 18, 206. 47. See Zuo, Zhao 23, 1442, which is translated and discussed in chapter 4. 48. Regarding the hierarchical relationship between host and guest, Gilles Boileau describes the delicate negotiation as a host, ceremonially superior to his guests, avoids overt acknowledgment of his guest’s inferiority. The topic of his study is gift giving and consumption of meat, but much of what he writes is helpful in understanding the asymmetrical relationship between host and guest; Gilles Boileau, “Conferring Meat in Archaic China: Between Reward and Humiliation,” Asiatische Studien/Études asiatiques 60.4 (2006): 867–902. 49. The Yili passage reads, “The lord made a double-bow. The guest avoided him and did not respond in acknowledgment,” 公再拜，賓闢，不答拜. The commentaries

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of Zheng Xuan and Jia Gongyan both understand the fact that the guest dared not respond as a sign of great deference and respect; see Yili zhushu, “Pin li,” 20.9ab (p. 242). A similar interaction also occurs when the guest is seen off by the ruler; Yili zhushu, “Pin li,” 21.11b–12a (p. 254). 50. See Yili zhushu, “Pin li,” 23.3a (p. 272), which reads, “When the lord visits the guest’s lodging, the guest avoids him,” 公館賓，賓辟 . 51. For jì jiù hǎo 繼舊好, see Zuo, Wen 4, 535; and Zhao 2, 1229; for xiān jūn zhī hǎo 先君 之好, see Zuo, Wen 12, 588; Cheng 12, 857; and Zhao 20, 1411; for jié . . . hǎo 結 . . . 好, see Zuo, Wen 12, 588; for xiū qián hǎo 脩前好, see Zuo, Cheng 11, 854. 52. Zuo, Wen 12, 588. 53. See CQ, Xiang 1.7, 916. 54. In a similar account, a Jin emissary came on a visit of friendly inquiry and summoned the Lu ruler to attend an interstate meeting; Zuo, Xiang 26, 1114. 55. My translation of this sentence is based on the fact that in the Yili, the word mìng 命 in the context of a visit refers to the charge given to the visitor by his ruler to deliver to his host. Durrant, Li, and Schaberg understand the subject as Gongsun Qing, and they render the phrase bù huò mìng 不獲命 as “not having received the commands he had hoped to receive,” meaning that Gongsun Qing had hoped the exiled Wei ruler would permit (that is, command) an official visit; since he did not, Gongsun Qing was unable to present his host with any formal gifts he had brought, and he therefore gave him horses instead. See Durrant, Li, and Schaberg, Zuo Tradition, 3:1577. 56. For discussion of the relationship between fleeing across the border of a state and loss of official position, see Newell Ann Van Auken, “What If Zhào Dùn Had Fled? Border Crossing and Flight into Exile in Early China,” Journal of the American Oriental Society, 139.3 (2019): 569–590. 57. For Zuo zhuan references to “avoiding the abominations of the state” (huì guó è 諱國 惡), see Zuo, Xi 1, 277; and Wen 15, 613–614. See too discussion in Van Auken, Commentarial Transformation, 61. The term “abomination” was also construed to mean misconduct on the part of Lu, but this was certainly a later interpretation of the Chunqiu; see, for example, Chunqiu Gongyang zhuan zhushu, comm. He Xiu, subcomm. Xu Yan, SSZJS, Zhao 4, 22.8b (p. 276). 58. Legge, “Prolegomena,” in The Ch’un Ts’ew, with the Tso chuen, 45. 59. Maurice Bloch, “Symbols, Song, Dance, and Features of Articulation: Is Religion an Extreme Form of Traditional Authority?,” European Journal of Sociology/Archives Européennes de Sociologie 15 (1974): 76–79.

CONCLUSIONS: SPRING AND AUTUMN HISTORIOGRAPHY AND THE FORMALLY REGULAR CORE 1. For other annals texts from early China, see discussion in chapter 1. 2. This passage, which refers to Confucius’s editing of the Chunqiu, groups the records with other annals texts from other states; Mengzi zhushu, comm. Zhao Qi, subcomm. Sun Shi, SSJZS, “Lilou xia” 離婁下, 8a.12a (p. 146); see too Mengzi yizhu, 2 vols., comm. Yang Bojun (1960; repr., Beijing: Zhonghua, 2000), 1:192–193; and D. C. Lau, trans., Mencius (New York: Penguin, 1970), 131–132. Similar assertions that his work involved editing the Lu records appear in Shiji, comp. Sima Qian (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1959), 14.509–510. For discussion of the phrase “unedited Spring and Autumn,” see Song Dingzong, Chunqiu Songxue fawei (Taipei: Wenshizhe, 1986), 232.

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3. As Li Feng writes, “To take an extremist’s view, one may even say that the date of texts is irrelevant because . . . even a contemporaneous text could be edited by later hands and a later text could contain genuine information passed down from the earlier time”; see Li Feng, Landscape and Power in Early China: The Crisis and Fall of the Western Zhou, 1045–771 BC (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 16. 4. Possible instances of unintentional corruption include two erroneous eclipse records, both of which involve what seem to be duplicate records: CQ, Xiang 21.6, 1056; and Xiang 24.7, 1086. For discussion see F. Richard Stephenson and Kevin K. C. Yau, “Astronomical Records in the Ch’un-Ch’iu Chronicle,” Journal for the History of Astronomy 23 (1992): 42; Guan Liyan 關立言, “Chunqiu rishi sanshiqi shi kao” 春秋日食三十七事 考, Shixue yuekan 2 (1998): 95–103; and Zhu Wenxin 朱文鑫, Lidai rishi kao 歷代日 食考 (Shanghai: Commercial Press, 1934), 21. Most Chunqiu eclipse records are accurate, and the fact that the two faulty records lie in such close proximity to each other may indicate corruption in that portion of the text. Other records that are suspect as possible later additions include those concerning Eldest Daughter Ji of Song 宋伯姬, a renowned paragon of feminine virtue, and those concerning the wicked consort of Lord Zhuang, posthumously known as Lady Ai 哀, who colluded in the murder of the young Lord Min; both are associated with far more records than most women, and some of these records contain irregular features. These two women came to be considered models of extreme goodness (Eldest Daughter Ji of Song) or depravity (Lady Ai), and they would have been attractive candidates for later additions or editorial “improvements” upon the original text; such changes would have contributed to the transformation of the Spring and Autumn into a moralizing work of praise and blame. On Eldest Daughter Ji of Song, see CQ, Cheng 8.5, 836; Cheng 8.11, 836; Cheng 9.4, 841; Cheng 9.5, 841; Cheng 9.6, 841; Cheng 10.4, 847; Xiang 30.3, 1169; and Xiang 30.6, 1169. On Lady Ai, see CQ, Zhuang 22.6, 219; Zhuang 24.3, 228; Zhuang 24.5, 228; Zhuang 24.6, 228; Xi 1.5, 276; Xi 1.10, 277; and Xi 2.2, 280. Sarah Queen has correctly observed that the records pertaining to Eldest Daughter Ji of Song are “exceptional”; Sarah A. Queen, “Beyond Liu Xiang’s Gaze: Debating Womanly Virtue in Ancient China,” Asia Major (3rd ser.) 29.2 (2016): 10. Also suspect are two identical records stating that the Lu ruler “paid court respects at the King’s location” 朝于王所; CQ, Xi 28.19, 449; Xi 28.17, 450. These records are formally odd, since they are the only occurrences of the word “place” (suǒ 所), and they are the only instances in which anyone from Lu— the Lu ruler, no less—is overtly subordinate to anyone else; elsewhere, competition between Lu and Zhou is carefully avoided. Furthermore, both records appear in the same year, leaving us wondering if this is an instance of accidental duplication. 5. If we consider use of styles of reference as analogous to tense, the use of posthumous epithets in historical narratives can be understood to correspond to the use of past tense to narrate past events in a language that marks verbs for tense (Classical Chinese does not mark verbs for tense). By contrast, the Chunqiu use of styles could perhaps be described as analogous to the verb tense known as the “historical present” or “narrative present”—that is, the use of the present tense to narrate past occurrences. For example, instead of the past tense, “The man saw a ghost. Startled, he began to scream,” the narrative present would have “The man sees a ghost. Startled, he begins to scream.” 6. See note 29 of chapter 3 and accompanying discussion. 7. Examples include David N. Keightley, “The Diviners’ Notebooks: Shang Oracle-Bone Inscriptions as Secondary Sources,” in Actes du colloque international commémorant le centenaire de la découverte des inscriptions sur os et carapaces; Proceedings of the

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International Symposium in Commemoration of the Oracle-Bone Inscriptions Discovery, ed. Yau Shun-chiu and Chrystelle Maréchal (Paris: Langages Croisés, 2001), 11–25; and Lothar von Falkenhausen, “The Royal Audience and Its Reflections in Western Zhou Bronze Inscriptions,” in Writing and Literacy in Early China: Studies from the Columbia Early China Seminar, ed. Li Feng and David Prager Branner (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2011), 268–270. For a good summary, see Edward L. Shaughnessy, “History and Inscriptions, China,” in The Oxford History of Historical Writing, vol. 1, ed. Feldherr and Hardy, 378, 388–390. 8. Newell Ann Van Auken, The Commentarial Transformation of the Spring and Autumn (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2016), 43–52. 9. Shaughnessy, “History and Inscriptions, China,” 374, alludes to the positive bias of the bronze inscriptions. Yuri Pines, “Intellectual Change in the Chunqiu Period: The Reliability of the Speeches in the Zuo zhuan as Sources of Chunqiu Intellectual History,” Early China 22 (1997): 84, suggests that the records were directed at the spirits, comparing them to bronze inscriptions. 10. Zuo, Xuan 13, 752. 11. Susan Roosevelt Weld, “Covenant in Jin’s Walled Cities: The Discoveries at Houma and Wenxian” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1990), 421–422. 12. Indeed, it is quite tempting to speculate on a possible connection with self-referential forms used by rulers in preimperial China such as “I the one man” (yú yī rén 予 一人, sometimes written 余一人) and “[I] the solitary man” (guǎ rén 寡人). 13. By contrast, Egyptian annals both “attest to keen awareness that individual people and events are unique” but also involve “recurring, typical events” and are recorded “using the same basic scenario with the same assigned roles”; see Erik Hornung, Idea into Image: Essays on Ancient Egyptian Thought, trans. Elizabeth Bredeck (New York: Timken, 1992; originally published as Geist Der Pharaonenzeit, Zürich: Artemis Verlag, 1989), 152, in a chapter aptly titled “History as Celebration.” Hornung’s focus differs from mine, as he discusses ritualized repetition of narrative content and roles rather than regular patterning of brief records, but his emphasis on early Egyptian history as using this repetition to convey a glorifying message is certainly consonant with my reading of the formal regularity in the Chunqiu. Yet see also Harriet I. Flower, Ancestor Masks and Aristocratic Power in Roman Culture (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), 10–11; ancestor masks, according to Flower, not only marked rank but also commemorated the lives and qualities of individual ancestors. 14. Harriet I. Flower, The Art of Forgetting: Disgrace and Oblivion in Roman Political Culture (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006), 2, 12. 15. For an insightful discussion of selectivity and the shaping of narrative historical accounts in early China, see Rens Krijgsman, “Elision and Narration: Remembering and Forgetting in Some Recently Unearthed Historiographical Manuscripts,” in The Craft of Oblivion: Aspects of Forgetting and Memory in Ancient China, ed. Albert Galvany (Albany: State University of New York Press, forthcoming). With respect to recognition and rank, James Legge also noticed that the Chunqiu privileges high rank. Writing under the assumption that Confucius was responsible for the Chunqiu, Legge observed quite astutely that “he [i.e., Confucius] had more sympathy with power than with weakness, and would overlook wickedness and oppression in authority rather than resentment and revenge in men who were suffering from them. He could conceive of nothing so worthy of condemnation as to be insubordinate.” James Legge, trans., “Prolegomena,” in The Chinese Classics, vol. 5, The Ch’un Ts’ew with the Tso

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chuen: With a Translation, Critical and Exegetical Notes, Prolegomena and Copious Indexes (1872; repr., Taipei: SMC, 1994), 50–51. When we recognize that the Chunqiu was not the work of Confucius, but of the Lu ruling house, Legge’s observations take on new meaning. 16. On Zhao Dun, see Zuo, Xuan 2, 663. On Cui Zhu, see Zuo, Xuan 10, 706. See also the speech made by Scribe Ke 史克 at the behest of a nobleman, explaining why a particular fugitive could not be received in Lu; Zuo, Wen 18, 633–643; this is discussed in chapter 5 of this book. 17. For the Bo of Cheng, see CQ, Wen 12.1, 585, and related discussion in chapter 5; for the rulers’ wives, Sheng Zi, Ding Si II, and Meng Zi, who were not treated as a fūrén, see Zuo, Yin 3, 26; Ding 15, 1602; and Ai 12, 1670, and discussion in chapter 2 of this book. 18. See CQ, Zhao 13.3, 1342; and Zuo, Zhao 13, 1344–1348; according to the Zuo zhuan account, Gongzi Bi was briefly recognized as ruler of Chu and ultimately committed suicide. His position was disputed, and the Chunqiu records that he was killed (殺 shā), with no special forms to indicate that he had been king or even heir; thus the record seems to use form to pass judgment on his legitimacy (or lack thereof). 19. Although the Chunqiu does not appear to function at a personal level, surely it sometimes did; see, for example, the discussion of Lu’s reception of the ruler of Cheng and of the designation of Gongzi Bi of Chu, who was killed but not treated as an heir or a ruler, both in chapter 5 of this book. 20. Jessica Rawson, “Ancient Chinese Ritual as Seen in the Material Record,” in State and Court Ritual in China, ed. Joseph P. McDermott (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 23. Yet this hierarchy is idealized; see too the comments of Yan Sun and Hongyu Yang; in discussing mortuary ritual and archaeological evidence, they incisively observe that “ritual can display, distort, disguise, and even deny the social reality”; Yan Sun and Hongyu Yang, “Gender Ideology and Mortuary Practice in Northwestern China,” in Gender and Chinese Archaeology, ed. Katheryn M. Linduff and Yan Sun (Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira, 2004), 29–46, esp. 32. 21. Lothar von Falkenhausen has made a related observation about the “ritual classics,” noting that “these transmitted records are less valuable for any concrete information they may furnish than for documenting an overall cultural preoccupation with the material expression of rank gradations within the social hierarchy”; Falkenhausen, Chinese Society in the Age of Confucius (1000–250 BC): The Archaeological Evidence (Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California, 2006), 76. 22. See Allan Megill, “History, Memory, Identity,” History of the Human Sciences 11.3 (1998): 37–62, esp. 44, on the “project of constructing memory with a view to constructing identity itself.” 23. John Baines, “Ancient Egypt,” in The Oxford History of Historical Writing, vol. 1, ed. Feldherr and Hardy, 62. 24. Indulging in a flight of fancy, one might wonder what the original material presentation of the Chunqiu was like. In a discussion of bronze inscriptions as texts for display, Ondřej Škrabal approaches the important matter of form and textual presentation from an aesthetic perspective, noting that the inscriptions were designed to have a visual impact; see Škrabal, “Writing Before Inscribing: On the Use of Manuscripts in the Production of Western Zhou Bronze Inscriptions,” Early China 42 (2019): 273–332, esp. 327–329; see too the work of David Keightley, who also writes of “display inscriptions”; David N. Keightley, Sources of Shang History: The Oracle-Bone Inscriptions of Bronze Age China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), 46n90. Surely

306 CONCLUSIONS

inscribed texts were not the only ones designed with visual impact in mind; we can only wonder what splendor Jin nobleman Han Xuanzi 韓宣子 might have seen when he visited Lu and viewed the Chunqiu; Zuo, Zhao 2, 1226–1227. 25. Maurice Bloch, “Symbols, Song, Dance, and Features of Articulation: Is Religion an Extreme Form of Traditional Authority?,” European Journal of Sociology/Archives Européennes de Sociologie 15 (1974): 76–79. 26. Legge, “Prolegomena,” 45.

APPENDIX 3. DIACHRONIC CHANGES IN FREQUENCY AND FORM IN THE SPRING AND AUTUMN 1. See also the brief discussion of unusual references to individual noblemen in chapter 3, together with note 29, which may indicate a lower level of standardization in the early years of the Chunqiu. 2. Tradition has it that Lord Yin’s accession was not recorded because he was a regent, Lord Zhuang’s accession was not recorded because his mother was in exile, Lord Min’s accession was not recorded because of chaos, and Lord Xi’s accession was not recorded because he was abroad.

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INDEX

abominations (è 惡), 93, 210–211, 302n57 accessions, 92, 205, 286n35; of Lu rulers, (jí wèi 即位), 45, 192, 204, 240–241, 250–251, 306n2 agency, 163, 176–177, 182 altars of earth and grain, 47, 268n24, 298n18; abandoning, 158, 160, 162, 176, 208; benefitting, 156, 201, 208 ancestor masks, 304n13 ancestral tablets, 43, 59–60, 90 ancestral temple, 43, 62, 64, 90; announcements made in, 24–25, 159–160; and flight into exile, 160, 162 annals, 2, 23, 213, 257n3, 261n12; in the ancient world, 2, 15–16, 231, 259n4, 259n6, 304n13; as a genre, 2, 7–8, 15–17, 19, 259n5, 260n7; of Lu, 19–20, 214, 216, 261n15; of other states, 17, 20, 98, 231, 260n12, 261n12, 302n1–2 annihilating states (miè 滅), 62, 69, 151, 241, 243, 252; announcements of, 57; dating of, 40, 45–48, 51–52, 269n25 announcements (gào 告): in ancestral temple, 24–25, 159; as basis for Spring and Autumn records, 30–31, 225–226, 228–229, 270n41, 271n51, 292n48; of battles, 43; of flight, 158–162, 290n17;

interstate, 10, 25, 52–58, 62–63, 160–164, 175–177, 294n71; of killings, 155, 250; language of, 143–144, 155–158; of mourning, 90. See also death announcements (fù 赴 or 訃) Approaching Elegance (Erya 爾雅), 181, 297n10 arrival (in Lu) from (zhì zì 至自) abroad, 24–25, 38–39, 241, 245, 248–249 assigning blame, 135–136, 139, 167–171, 294 Assyria, 16 astronomical phenomena, 15, 30 assassinations. See regicides asylum, 170–175, 293, 294, 295 attacks (fá 伐), 68, 103–107, 122–124, 130, 271n46, 286n47–48; event type, 57, 236–237, 239, 241, 243, 253; dating of, 36, 38–41, 46, 268n16; talks about, 201, 206 avoidance (huì 諱) 210, 302n57; of names (míng 名) 79–80, 92 Babylonia, 16 Bagley, Robert, 120, 285 Baines, John, 4, 16, 23, 231 Bamboo Annals (Zhushu jinian 竹書紀年), 2, 16, 231, 260n9, 265n1

320 I ndex

banishment, 153, 290 banquet, 64, 300n38, 301n43, 301n46 battles (zhàn 戰), 41–42, 48, 243–244, 250, 269n26; lists of participants, 106, 110, 283n9. See also defeats Bao Guo of Qi 齊鮑國, 207 “barbarians”, 88, 280n58, 281n79 bells, 120–121, 285n33–34 bēn 奔. See coming in flight; fleeing, going out in flight bēng 崩. See “succumb” betrothals, 86, 181, 241, 295n1, 296n7–8 “Biannian ji” 編年紀, 17, 260n12 bias, 14, 22, 227–229, 304n9 birth sequence (hángcì 行次), 66, 75, 76, 277n38 births, 15, 44; of deities, 16 Biyang 偪陽, 269n25 Blakeley, Barry, 260n11 Bloch, Maurice, 27–29, 141, 177, 212, 231–232, 265n50 Bo of Cheng 郕伯, 171–173, 229, 305n17. See also Cheng 郕, state of Boileau, Gilles, 301n48 bribes, 171, 173–175, 205–206 brides, 84, 181, 278n40, 288n61, 296n7–8; of Lu rulers, 75; marriages hosted in Lu, 73–74, 76; secondary or accompanying (yìng 媵), 242, 277n38; sending off and receiving, 135, 242, 277n36, 300n34 bronze inscriptions, 224–225, 275n22–23, 285n32, 301n43, 305n24; audience of, 24, 264n40, 304n9; date notation, 30; naming conventions, 276n31, 277n38, 278n40; positive bias, 304n9 bronze vessels, 25, 64–65, 230, 273n5 Brown, Donald, 22, 263n31 burials (zàng 葬), 69, 82–83, 235, 274n14, 278n45; artifacts, 25, 265; of women, 34, 59–60, 75, 85, 92 Cai Shu 蔡叔, 116, 284n22 Cai 蔡, state of, 54, 144, 151, 274n14; ranking, 111, 115–116, 128, 283n10–11 calendar, 30–32, 265n1, 266n2, 267n6–7 Cao 曹, state of, 40, 53–55, 105, 188, 195–196; ranking, 111–112, 117, 122, 283n11

captives, taking (yǐ . . . guī 以 . . . 歸; huò 獲), 39, 162, 211, 244, 275n20; dating of, 38, 41, 268n16; of Rong or Di rulers, 88; and use of rulers’ names, 69–70, 93 Central States, 65, 88, 102, 288n59 Ceremonies and Rites (Yili 儀禮), 55, 59, 179, 230, 270n39; on diplomatic visits, 11, 180, 190, 198–204, 211; on hierarchical system, 7, 89 Chang Hong 萇弘, 115–116 charge (mìng 命), presentation of, 200–201, 204, 208, 302n55 chariot, 173, 208 Chen Pan 陳槃, 6 Chen Qi 陳乞, 168 Chen 陳, state of, 34, 47, 105, 150–151, 156; death records of rulers, 53–54, 270n38; diplomatic visits, 195–196, 234, 296n8; ranking, 111–112, 128, 283n10–11 chéng 城. See wall construction Cheng 郕, state of, 171–174, 290n18, 294n76–77, 305n19. See also Bo of Cheng 郕伯 Chenggui 郕邽, 172, 294n77 Chong’er, Hou of Jin 晉侯重耳 (i.e. Lord Wen of Jin 晉文公), 69, 119 chronicles, 2, 16, 259n5, 260n7 Chu 楚, state of, 88, 144–145, 160, 285n32, 291n37, 295n82; attack on Wu, 105; death records of rulers, 53–54, 229; diplomatic visits, 184–185, 195–196, 298n18; execution of Qing Feng, 173, 295n82; fleeing to, 151; military actions by, 269n25, 286n44; ranking, 111–121 passim, 126–128, 283n11, 285n25, 287n50; suicide, 157, 295n78, 305n18–19; “Taowu” 檮杌 annals, 17, 260n11; title of rulers, 123, 283n16, 284n16. See also Jing 荊, state of Chunqiu dashibiao 春秋大事表. See Tables of Major Events in the Spring and Autumn Chunqiu shili 春秋釋例. See Spring and Autumn: Explained Precedents clan name (xìng 姓), 87, 93; and marriage, 279n53; and sequence of states, 111–113, 114–116, 119; in women’s names, 59–60, 74–76, 279n53. See also name; lineage

321 I ndex

coming in flight (lái bēn 來奔), 164, 170–174 commentary: limitations of, 63, 87, 139, 149, 161, 166, 192; and transmission of Spring and Autumn, 18, 262n18. See also direct commentary commoners (shùrén 庶人), 65, 95, 97 composition history, 16, 98, 300n36; of the Spring and Autumn, 3, 12, 17, 25; ramifications of diachronic changes for, 218–219–219, 247, 255 Confucius, 169, 263n36, 272n2; as editor or author of Spring and Autumn, 3–21 passim, 213–215, 223–224, 230, 261n16, 302n2; James Legge on, 21, 304n15, 305n15 Conversations of the States (Guoyu 國語), 102, 113, 117, 118, 290n16, 300n38 Cooley, Alison, 4 covenants (méng 盟), 153, 156, 161, 178, 193, 203; dating 36, 39, 44–48, 56, 58, 61; order and rank of participants, 103, 106, 108, 113–123, 126, 132–133; renewing, 192; violating, 171, 174. See also Jiantu covenant; Qingqiu covenant; Shaoling covenant crime, 154–159, 168, 170, 175–176, 226. See also regicide Cui Zhu of Qi 齊崔杼, 123, 161, 167, 175, 228, 305n16 dàfū 大夫. See noblemen date notation, 6, 8, 30–36, 60, 223, 234–236; patterns of, 31, 36, 41, 51, 270n34; specificity of, 26, 221 daughters of Lu rulers, 74–76, 86–87, 242, 277n38, 278n38, 303n4; death of, 33–35, 75–76, 279n50–51; marriage of, 73–75, 86–87, 297n8. See also princesses, Lu death announcements (fù 赴 or 訃), 52, 55–60, 270n39, 271n48. See also announcements (gào 告) Dechen 得臣 of Chu 楚, 145, 157 defeats (bài 敗), 112, 211, 241, 244, 269n26, 271n46; announcements of, 57; of armies, 106; dating of, 36, 45–46, 48, 51; extending condolences, 193; language of records, 69, 72; of leaders, 283n8, 291n33; omission of, 166;

punishment by killing for, 154–155, 157, 290n29; significance of, 70 Defoort, Carine, 289n289 detentions (zhí 執), 39, 69–70, 211, 241, 244, 275n20; of Lu rulers, 11, 205, 207 Di 狄, 87–88, 102, 287n54, 288n59; ranking, 111–112, 125, 127–130, 283n11; Red Di 赤狄, 269n25; White Di 白狄, 287n55 “die” (zú 卒), 26, 45,78–79, 85–86, 94–98, 281n73. See also “perish” (hōng 薨), “succumb” (bēng 崩), special language: verbs for “die” Ding Jiang 定姜, 159 Ding Si I 定姒, 279n49 Ding Si II 定姒, 92, 272n56, 279n53, 305n17 direct commentary, 7, 56–58, 63, 149, 225, 258n15 disasters, 6, 38–39, 57, 240, 242 disputes over seniority; nobility, 133–135, 137; states, 9, 102, 113–118, 121, 140, 174 divination, 15, 43, 49, 259n3 divorces. See marriages drought, 39, 240, 242 drumming, 42, 61 Du Yu 杜預, 258n9, 268n24, 284n20, 289n9, 294n77, 299n31; on dates, 266n2; forty-two categories, 5, 239, 258n8; on irregularities, 292n48; on sequence of states, 283n9; on writing support, 271n50 Duan Yucai 段玉裁, 261n17 Durrant, Stephen, 294n77, 297n12, 302n55 earthquakes, 6, 240, 242; date notations of, 36, 42, 44, 50–51, 61 Eastern Yi (Dong Yi 東夷). See Yi 夷 eclipses. See solar eclipses editorial intervention, 21, 214–217, 220, 303n4 Egypt, 4, 23, 259n4, 262n19, 275n21 Egyptian annals, 15–16, 231, 259n6, 304n13 Eldest Daughter Ji of Jih 紀伯姬, 33–34, 279n50 Eldest Daughter Ji of Song 宋伯姬, 277n37, 279n50, 297n8, 303n4 Eldest Daughter Ren (Meng Ren 孟任), 277n38

322 I ndex

emissaries, 38, 62–63, 173, 204–209, 300n38, 302n54; dispatched by new ruler, 192; prescriptions, 200, 203; ranking of, 132, 135, 207, 211, 288n58, 288n67 encoffining, 64 entering states (rù 入), 235–236, 239, 241, 243–244; dating of, 45–46, 48, 51 entombment, 64, 77, 244 Erya 爾雅. See Approaching Elegance event notation, 33, 234, 236 “eventless” seasons, 33, 240, 241, 245 Explaining Graphs and Analyzing Characters (Shuowen jiezi 說文解字), 148, 149, 181, 289n11, 296n6, 297n9–10 extradition, 293n54 Falkenhausen, Lothar von, 264n40, 265n45, 285n23, 305n21 famine, 38, 39, 240, 242 Feng 風 clan, 74 fifty generalizations (wǔshí fán 五十凡), 264n42 fires (zāi 災), 36, 44–45, 47, 240, 242, 268n19, 269n27; dating of, 6, 36, 44, 50–52, 61 “five ranks” (wǔ děng jué 五等爵), 133, 135–136, 274n9, 274n13, 282n83, 284n17; correspondence to sequence of states, 112–113, 128; in Spring and Autumn, 95, 278n43 fleeing (bēn 奔), 69, 150–153, 244, 249, 271n46, 290n16. See also coming in flight, going out in flight floods, 15, 38, 39, 240, 242 Flower, Harriet, 304n13 frost (shuāng 霜), 38, 242 fǔ 父 (suffix), 66, 273n7, 274n10, 280n62 fù 赴. See death announcements Fu Hao 婦好, Shang royal consort, 26 fugitives, 10, 143, 150, 158–160, 293n52, 294n77; condemning, 143, 143, 161–164, 176–177, 222, 225; receiving, 151, 162, 170–175, 229, 305n16 fūrén 夫人. See primary wife Fuzhong 夫鍾, 109, 172, 294n77

Ganhou 乾侯, 82–83, 152, 290n21 gào 告. See announcements Gassmann, Robert, 261n14 gender, xix, 9, 67, 277n38 Gengyu 庚輿, Ju ruler, 174 Gentz, Joachim, 265n50 Gernet, Jacques, 24, 264n37 gifts, 64, 114, 301n43–44; betrothal, 241, 296n7–8; during visits, 184, 200–209 passim, 298n17, 300n38, 301n46, 301n47; horses as, 208, 302n55 glosses, 148–149, 181, 297n9–10 going out in flight (chū bēn 出奔), 143, 150, 158–164, 170, 249, 290n16; announcements of, 255, 290n17 Goldin, Paul, 265n50 Gong 公 (title), xviii–xix, 66,68–69, 73, 274n15. See also “five ranks”; “Lord” gōng 公 (honorific). See “Lord.” Gongsun Ao 公孫敖 (of Lu), 108, 185, 290n15 Gongsun Hei 公孫黑 (of Zheng), 157 Gongsun Qing 公孫青, 208–209, 302n55 Gongyang Tradition (Gongyang zhuan 公羊傳), 19, 267n9, 271n55, 281n69, 283n9, 294n76; on dating, 30; on deviations from regular patterns, 262n22; on diplomatic visits, 298n24, 299n26; on fires, 268n19; later interpretations of, 265n50; omission of seasons, 267n9; one of the “Three Traditions”, 18, 259n1, 280n55, 298n24; on presence/absence of a date, 30; recording fires, 268n19; similarity with excavated text, 262n18; on tiān wáng, 275n22; on travel, 298n24, 299n26; on “Yin shi” 尹氏, 271n55; on tiān wáng 天王, 275n22 Gongzi Bi of Chu 楚公子比, 229, 295n278, 305n18–19 Gongzi Ce 公子側 (of Chu), 157 Gongzi Hui 公子翬 (of Lu). See Hui 翬 Gongzi Sui 公子遂 (of Lu) (i.e. Xiang Zhong 襄仲), 189, 201–203 Gu Donggao 顧棟高, 6, 154 Guang 光, Qi heir apparent, 107, 109, 122, 124, 286n36 Gui 媯 clan, 111

323 I ndex

Gui 歸 clan, 74, 111 guī 歸 (verb). See marriages; captives, taking of; restorations to power Guliang Tradition (Guliang zhuan 穀 梁傳), 18–19, 259n1, 271n55, 280n55, 288n59, 288n72; on dating events, 30; on diplomatic visits, 298n24, 299n26; on fires, 268n19; on tiān wáng 天王, 275n22 Guo Zuo of Qi 齊國佐, 122, 144 Guoyu 國語. See Conversations of the States hail (yù báo 雨雹), 38, 242 halting military forces (cì 次), 39, 241, 243 Han Xuanzi 韓宣子(of Jin), 17, 306n24 Hardy, Grant, 283n9 harvest and crops, 39, 240, 242 Henderson, John, 266n3 historiography, 63, 100, 213, 217, 224, 257n3; annals as a genre of, 17; didactic, 20, 263n25; interpretive nature of, 1–2, 22–23; narrative, 19–20 hōng 薨. See “perish” Hong Kong, 277n34 Hornung, Erik, 304n13 Huang 黃, state of, 108, 269n25 huì 諱. See avoidance huì 會. See meetings Huizinga, Johan, 23 humiliation, 10–11, 69–70, 93, 163–166, 211, 222, hunts and military reviews 45, 240, 242 “impoverished language”, 27–28, 41, 177, 231–232 incursions (qīn 侵), 72, 129, 241, 243, 252; dating of, 36, 39, 52 “instant history-writing”, 4, 231 interpolations, 7, 21, 214, 270n34, 298n20 jade, transfer during diplomatic visits, 200–202, 204, 300n38, 301n44, 301n46 Ji 姬 clan, 73, 75, 111–112, 115, 119; Ji 季 lineage of, 272n272 Ji Tuo 季佗 (of Ju), 170 Ji Wuzi 季武子, 173, 204 Jiang 姜 clan, 74–75, 111–112

Jiang 江, state of, 108, 269 Jiantu 踐土 covenant, 118–119, 121, 225 jiāo láo 郊勞 ceremony, 300n38 Jih 紀, state of, 34, 75, 110, 152, 195–197; ranking, 111, 283n11, 300n32 Jin 晉, state of, 144, 169, 268n15, 269n25; appeasement of, 156–157, 170–171, 294n72; covenant texts, 226, 282n4; death records of rulers, 53–54; diplomatic visits, 135–136, 193, 195, 205, 209; diplomatic visits from Lu, 34–37 passim, 71, 184–185, 189–190, 205, 288n58; diplomatic visits to Lu, 192, 196–198, 201, 206–207, 302n54, 306n24; founding ancestor, 284n21; heir apparent’s suicide, 162, 168, 293n56; ranking, 110–133 passim, 283n11–12, 285n25, 286n42, 286n44, 287n55; “Sheng” 乘 annals, 17; title of rulers, 69, 111 Jing 荊, state of, 111, 127–128,, 286n42, 287n50, 287n54. See also Chu 楚, state of Jisun Hangfu 季孫行父 (of Lu), 35, 37, 185 Jisun Su 季孫宿 (of Lu), 109, 184, 185 Ju 莒, state of, 130, 173–174, 269n25, 287n51, 294n73, 294n75; attack on, 72, 105, 236; death records of rulers, 53–54, 270n38; diplomatic visits, 198, 300n34; fleeing to, 151, 290n15; heir apparent, 162, 170, 174; ranking, 111–112, 127–128, 283n11 Kang Shu 康叔, 116, 284n22 Kennedy, George, 37, 263n27, 270n38, 283n14 Khayutina, Maria, 278n38 King Wen, 文王, 284n21 King Wu 武王, 118, 284n22 Kong Da 孔達, 154–163 passim, 175–176, 228, 271n51, 294n72; household of, 291n36, 291n38; Jin’s response, 156, 169–170, 226 Kong Yingda 孔穎達, 258n7, 266n3, 267n9 Lady Ai 哀, 303n4 Lai Guolong, 281n78

324 I ndex

laws, taxes, and administrative acts, 39, 240, 242 laying siege (wéi 圍), 39, 46, 237, 241, 243 Legge, James, 15–16, 69, 295n2, 304n15– 305n15; criticism of Spring and Autumn, 21–22, 28, 211, 232 Lesser Zhu 小邾, state of, 111–112, 195–196, 283n11, 299n31 Lewis, Mark Edward, 264n37, 273n3 Li Feng, 264n40, 282n83, 284n17, 303n3 Li Ke of Jin 晉里克, 144, 147 Li Wai-yee, 294n77, 297n12, 302n55 lì 例, rule or principle, 5 lǐ 禮, 23, 263 Liang Xiao of Zheng 鄭良霄, 144, 151, 235 lightning. See thunder and lightning Liji 禮記. See Rites Record Lindell, Kristina, 291n38 lineage (shì 氏), 66, 72–74, 87, 264n40, 276n25; head, 160, 226–227, 282n42. See also clan name, name Liu He, Marquis of Haihun 海昏侯劉賀, 262n18 Liverani, Mario, 2 Loewe, Michael, 24, 262n20 “Lord” gōng 公 (honorific), xviii–xix, 32, 68–71, 91, 274n14. See also Gong 公 (title) Lord Xian of Wei 衛獻公, 159, 167 Lü Dagui 呂大圭, 266n3 “man of ” (rén 人),88, 104–106, 122–125, 129–131, 138–140, 217 Mao Bo 毛伯 (title, Zhou nobleman), 73 Mao Qiling毛奇齡, 261n17 marriage, 7, 219, 248, 254–255, 278n41, 278n42, 278n53; change of woman’s status, 75–76, 80, 84–87, 218; and divorce, 39, 239–242, 255; hosting of, 73, 86, 242; interstate ties, 73, 76, 86, 128, 269n25, 296n8, 297n10; interstate travel, 75, 181, 184; rank of emissaries, 135 Maspero, Henri, 260n11 meetings (huì 會), 109, 178, 205, 243; dating, 36, 39, 44–46; order and rank of participants 87–88, 136–138, 222; one man per state, 102–106 passim, 141

Mencius (Mengzi 孟子), 17, 282n80, 284n17, 288n68 méng 盟. See covenants Meng Xianzi 孟獻子, 204 Meng Zi 孟子 (wife of Lord Zhao), 60, 272n56, 279n53, 305n17 Mesopotamia, 16–17, 259n4 Mi 芈 clan, 111, 112 Middle Daughter Ji of Jih 紀叔姬, 35, 75–76, 86, 279n50 Middle Daughter Ji of Qii 杞叔姬, 279n50 miè 滅. See annihilating states ministers (qīng 卿), 133–134, 136–137, 193 moralizing interpretation, 8, 10, 19–20, 142, 303n4 mortuary rites, 54–55, 60, 63, 288n71, 305n20; prescriptions, 64, 89–90, 270n39; for women, 59–60, 229. See also mourning mothers of Lu rulers, 73–77, 271n54, 277n33, 279n49, 306n2; deaths, 75, 77, 79–80, 84–86, 281n69; use of verb hōng in death records, 59–60, 96; Ding Si II, 92, 272n56. See also fūrén 夫人. mourning, 90–91, 96, 193, 271n48, 280n67, 281n78; rites, 59–61, 92, 271n53. See also mortuary rites name (míng 名), 53, 66, 68, 79, 92, 153, 217. See also clan name; lineage naming conventions, 70, 73–74, 79, 219, 276n31 Ning Xi of Wei 衛甯喜, 144, 146, 167 noblemen (dàfū 大夫), 65, 95, 97, 137–138, 145, 193; as “grandee”, 133–134; translation of, xix, 273n6 oaths, 46, 61, 119 Odes (Shijing 詩經), 275n23, 297n10 offerings to ancestors, 25, 64, 265n43 omens, 7, 42, 44, 61, 268n19. See also portents omission, 10, 24, 59, 65, 177, 212; of dates, 2, 38, 63, 266n3, 267n9; of death and funeral records, 21, 78, 80; of names, 2, 56, 63; patterns of, 2–3, 11, 166, 179, 194, 263n27; selective, 3, 63, 223, 227–228; of territory, 172–173

325 I ndex

oracle bone inscriptions, 24, 30, 224, 225, 259n3 Pengsheng 彭生, 294 peace, seeking or making (píng 平), 39, 241, 243 “perish” (hōng 薨), 26, 28, 59–60, 94–98, 231, 281n75; etymology of, 278n46, 281n73. See also special language: verbs for “die” pestilence, 15, 38, 39, 240, 242 phonetic loan characters, 279n46 Pines, Yuri, 24, 264n39–40 Ping, Gong of Song 宋公馮 (i.e. Lord Zhuang of Song 宋莊公), 69, 84–85 Pingguo 平國, Chen ruler, 145–146 portents, 44–45, 61, 239, 240, 242, 268n19. See also omens posthumous epithets (shì 諡), 32, 66, 68–75 passim, 79, 87, 92–94; irregular usage, 274n14; of nobility, 276n27; selection of, 274n8; and textual composition history, 188, 217–218, 281n72, 266n5, 303n5; translation of, 274n17; and women, 277n37, 296n8 “praise and blame” historiography, 2, 21, 139, 142, 261n16, 266n3 prayers, 43, 90 primary wife (fūrén 夫人), 168, 193, 271n54; of Lu ruler, 37–38, 73–74, 277n33, 278n38; death records of, 42, 51, 59–60, 229, 279n42; travel of,184, 189, 248 princesses: Lu, 73, 248, 269n25, 279n51; death records of, 44, 75–77, 80, 86; visits by, 184, 297n13; Zhou, 73, 76, 86. See also daughters of Lu rulers prisoners, return of, 193 providing aid (jiù 救), 39, 210, 241, 243, 252 Pu 僕, Ju heir apparent, 162, 170–171, 174, 293n55, 294n75 public works, 36, 39–40, 62, 240, 242, 259n3 punishment, 136, 155–156, 158, 160, 173, 176; unwarranted, 164 Qii 杞, state of, 54, 270, 130, 195–196, 270n36, 279n50; ranking, 111, 283n11

qīn 侵. See incursions Qin 秦 dynasty, 98–99, 213 Qin 秦, state of, 124, 136, 138, 260, 286n42, 287n52; death records of rulers, 53–54, 270n36; diplomatic visits, 195–197, 201; ranking, 111–112, 127–128, 283n11, 286n44, 299n29 Qing 清 dynasty scholarship, 6, 154, 260 Qing Feng 慶封, 173–174 Qingqiu 清丘 covenant, 156 Queen, Sarah, 264n37, 277n38, 297n8, 303n4 rain-seeking (yú 雩) ceremonies, 240, 242, 251, 268n17; dating of, 39, 41, 45, 48, 50, 62 Ranke, Leopold von, 23 Rawson, Jessica, 25–27, 67, 229, 265n43, 280n58 rebellion, 116, 154, 290n29, 291n31 regicide (shì 弒), 45, 142–150, 153, 171, 244, 289n4, 294n72; ascribed to one killer, 103, 167–170, 175–176, 226–227, 293n61–61; concealed 22, 28, 178, 231, 293n58; followed by fleeing, 158, 170–171; and funeral records, 54; and stigma, 164–166; as subjugation of victim, 166, 293n58 relocating states (qiān 遷), 39, 241, 243 remarkable events. See portents rén 人. See “man of ” Ren 任 clan, 111, 114–115 repatriation of remains, 45, 244, 267n10, 279n50, 289n15 replicas (míngqì 明器), 265n45 restorations to power and installations (rù 入), 38–39, 239, 241, 244, 271n51, 291n36. See also Lord Xian of Wei 衛獻公 Richter, Matthias, 19 rites and religious activity (event type), 36, 45, 48–49, 51, 239–240, 242 Rites Record (Liji 禮記), 7, 65–66, 89–90, 268n22, 287n57; on diplomatic visits, 179, 181, 193; on mortuary rites, 55, 59, 65, 270n39; “Qu li” 曲禮 section, 9, 96, 98, 181, 275n22, 280n62 Roman memory sanctions, 227–229

326 I ndex

Rome, 4, 291n36, 291n38 Rong 戎, 87–88, 102; ranking, 88, 111–112, 124–125, 127–128, 283n11, 287n55 Rong Man 戎蠻, 88, 280n55 sacrifices, 42, 46, 61, 64, 91, 281n77; cháng 嘗, 49, 269n27; jiāo 郊 sacrifice, 49–50, 62, 269n29–31; link with covenants, 61, 268n22; zhēng 烝, 49, 269n27 sacrificial bull, 49, 281n77 Schaberg, David, 294n77, 297n12, 302n55 Scribe Ke 史克, 171, 173–174, 305n16 scripted language, 11, 180, 199, 202–204, 209, 211 secondary wives, 85, 92, 272, 279n49 secret knowledge, 18, 262n19, 263n27 seniority, 115–118, 174 Shang 商 dynasty, 15, 24, 26, 259n3, 279n49, 280n58 Shao Bo 召伯 (title, Zhou nobleman), 73 Shaoling 召陵 covenant, 115–116 Shaughnessy, Edward, 260n12 Shelach-Lavi, Gideon, 263n24 Shen 沈, state of, 107, 111, 120, 283 Sheng Jiang 聲姜, 74, 85 “Sheng” 乘 of Jin 晉, 17 Sheng Zi 聲子, 59, 305n17 Shensheng 申生, Jin heir apparent, 147, 162, 168 shì 弒. See regicides Shi Fang of Jin 晉士魴, 187, 189–190 Shi Xie of Jin 晉士燮 (i.e. Wenzi 文子), 104, 206, 207 Shi Yang of Jin 晉士鞅, 135, 183, 207 Shijing 詩經. See Odes Shu Lao 叔老 (of Lu), 109, 123 Shu Qi 庶其 of Zhu 邾, 173 Shuanggudui 雙古堆, 260 Shuihudi 睡虎地, 17 Shuowen jiezi 說文解字. See Explaining Graphs and Analyzing Characters Shusun Chuo 叔孫婼 (of Lu), 133–134, 139 Shusun Qiaoru 叔孫僑如 (of Lu), 104, 161 Si 姒 clan, 74, 111 Škrabal, Ondřej, 305n24

slander, 158, 162, 163, 168, 292n42–43 snow (yù xuě 雨雪), 235, 242 solar eclipses, 6, 14–15, 240, 242,266n2, 303n4; dating of, 36, 41–44, 47, 50–51, 61, 216; as independently verifiable phenomena, 30; as omens, 42, 44, 47, 61 Son of Heaven (tiān zǐ 天子), 90–94, 275 Song 宋 dynasty scholarship, 5, 18, 258n11, 261n15–16, 266n3 special language, 65, 92, 98, 152, 212, 221; styles of reference: for heirs in mourning, 96–97; for Zhou nobility 72–73; verbs for “die”, 26–27, 59, 45, 78–80 , 95, 216; verbs for “kill”, 148–150, 153, 244; special verbs for “exile”, 152. See also “perish” (hōng 薨), “succumb” (bēng 崩), “withdraw, retreat” (xùn 孫) spirits, 24, 90, 159, 259n3, 263n36, 304n9; sacrifice to, 64 Spring and Autumn period, 158, 177, 226, 276n32, 279n49, 290n16; aristocratic families, 254; “five ranks”, 284n17; history of, 1, 255; interstate system, 9, 65, 101, 112, 255; interstate hierarchy, 64, 190; recording practices, 99, 213, 223; state of Lu, 3, 6, 21, 100, 223 Spring and Autumn: Explained Precedents (Chunqiu shili 春秋釋例), 5, 239, 258 Steele, John, 300n37, 301n42, 301n45 Sterckx, Roel, 301n43 stigma, 164–166 Stone Classics, 275n22 “succumb” (bēng 崩), 26, 42, 78–80, 94, 94–98, 216. See also special language: verbs for “die” Su 宿, state of, 53–54 Sui 隨, state of. See Zeng 曾, state of suicides: announced as “killing,” 293n56; and flight into exile, 161–163; and Gongzi Bi, 305n18; and Kong Da, 156–157; recorded as “killing”, 157–158, 168, 175–176, 222, 292n42; in Rome, 291n36; as “self-execution,” 291n38. sumptuary restrictions, 26–27, 64, 202, 207, 273n2–3, 301n46

327 I ndex

sūn 孫 (suffix) 66, 273n7, 274n10. See also “withdraw, retreat” (xùn 孫) Sun Liangfu 孫良夫, 132, 183 Sun Xidan 孫希旦, 281n71 Sun, Yan, 305n20 Tables of Major Events in the Spring and Autumn (Chunqiu dashibiao 春秋 大事表), 6, 274n15, 283n15, 290n16, 290n28, 296n5 Takashima, Ken-ichi, 267n7 Takezoe Shin’ichirō, 274n14, 283n9, 285n31, 286n35, 289n9, 293n64 Tan 郯, state of, 195, 206, 299n31 Tangshu 唐叔, son of King Wen, 284n21 “Taowu” 檮杌 of Chu 楚, 17, 260n11 temple names. See posthumous epithets (shì 諡) Teng 滕, state of, 54, 270n36; diplomatic visits, 195–196, 299n30; ranking, 111, 114–116, 121, 283n11 territory, 64, 93, 117–118, 268, 272n272; fleeing with control of, 172–174, 294n77; returning, 193, 207, 236, 239, 298n17; taking (qǔ 取), 40, 45–48, 51, 237, 241, 243 textual corruption, 21, 214, 275n22, 303n4; irregular records, 215, 245, 270n34; missing seasons, 32, 267n9 textual transmission, 16, 30, 260n9, 298n24, 305n21; of Spring and Autumn, 17–18, 214, 259n1, 261n17 Thatcher, Melvin, 279n49 thunder and lightning (zhèn diàn 震電), 235, 242 tiān wáng 天王, 70, 275n22, 280n62 tiān zǐ 天子. See Son of Heaven tombs, 25–27, 64, 120, 141, 230, 265n44–45; texts from, 260n12, 262n18 translation, xviii–xix Tu 荼, Qi heir, 168 Tu, the Bo of Zheng 鄭伯突 (i.e. Lord Li of Zheng 鄭厲公), 69, 84–85, 151 “unedited Spring and Autumn” (wèi xiū zhī Chūnqiū 未脩之春秋), 17–18, 214, 261n15, 302n2 unification of China, 98–99

Venture, Olivier, 285n32 victories, 48, 57, 112, 227, 271n46 Vogelsang, Kai, 257n3 wall construction (chéng 城), 35, 39–40, 193, 240, 242, 253 Wan of Song 宋萬, 150, 158, 162 Wang Anshi 王安石, 261n16 Warring States period, 98–99 Watson, Rubie, 277n34 weather, 41, 259n3, 268n17; event type, 15, 39, 239–240, 242 Wei 魏, state of, xviii, 16 wèi xiū zhī Chūnqiū 未脩之春秋. See “unedited Spring and Autumn” Weld, Susan Roosevelt, 226, 263n36, 282n4 Wen Jiang 文姜, 248 Westbrook, Raymond, 293n54 Western Han 西漢 dynasty, 98, 99, 267n9, 274n8 Western Zhou 西周; inscriptions, 24; kings, 266; period, 64, 65, 284n17 White, Hayden, 263n25 White, Morton, 16, 259n5, 260n7 wife. See primary wife; secondary wives Williams, Bernard, 272n59 “withdraw, retreat” (xùn 孫), 152. See also sūn 孫 (suffix) Wu 吳, state of, 107, 151, 206, 284n21, 287n55; attack on, 105, 107; death records of rulers, 53–54, 128, 287n49; diplomatic visits, 195–197; ranking, 111–112, 115, 125, 127–128, 283n11, 299n29 wǔshí fán 五十凡. See fifty generalizations Wuzhi 無知 (of Qi), 168 Xia 夏 dynasty, 115 Xiang Zhong 襄仲. See Gongzi Sui 公子遂 Xiao Chu 蕭楚, 261n15 Xing 邢, state of, 40, 111, 129, 283n11 Xinian 繫年, 261n12 Xiqi Shu 西乞術 (of Qin), 201–203, 301n44 Xu 徐, state of, 105, 151, 286n42, 287n51; ranking, 111, 127–128, 283n11 Xuan Bo 宣伯 (of Lu), 206

328 I ndex

Xue 薛, state of, 146; death records of rulers, 53–54, 270n36; ranking, 111, 114–116, 121, 283n11 xùn 孫. See “withdraw, retreat” Xun Geng 荀庚, 132 Xuu 許, state of, 54–55, 123, 151, 168, 234–235; ranking, 111, 283n11 Yang Bojun, 233–236, 267–269, 275–276, 282–290 passim, 294, 297–301 Yang, Hongyu, 305n20 Yi 夷, 128, 134, 280n55, 287n51, 288n59 Yi, Hou of Zeng 曾侯乙, 120. See also bells; Zeng 曾 Yili 儀禮. See Ceremonies and Rites Ying 嬴 clan, 74, 111 Yongle dadian 永樂大典, 258n7 Youngest Daughter Ji of Zeng 鄫季姬, 279n50 Yue 越, 87–88, 102, 280n58; ranking, 111, 125, 127–128, 283n11 Yufu 羽父 (of Lu), 114 Zang Wenzhong 臧文仲 (of Lu), 117 Zang Xuanshu 臧宣叔 (of Lu), 132–134, 137–139, 287n57 Zeng 曾, state of, 120–121, 285n32 Zeng 鄫, state of, 111, 124, 195–196, 269n25, 283n11, 285n32 zhàn 戰. See battles Zhan Zhuangshu 展莊叔, 173 Zhang Suqing 張素卿, 259n15 Zhang Yanxiu 張顏修, 290n16

Zhao Dun of Jin 晉趙盾, 146, 169–170, 228, 305n16 Zheng Xuan 鄭玄, 273n7, 301n42, 302n49 Zheng 鄭, state of, 34, 130, 151–152, 235, 286n42, 286n44; attack on, 104, 107, 122; death records of rulers, 53–55, 270n38; diplomatic visits, 193, 195–197; fires in, 47; ranking, 111–112, 123, 126– 128, 28n113, 300n32 Zhi 止, Xuu heir apparent, 146, 168 Zhou Gong 周公 (founding ancestor of Lu ruling house), 118, 201 Zhou Gong 周公 (title, Zhou nobleman), 73 Zhou nobility, 72–73, 176–177, 276n28, 283n13, 289n5, 296n4 Zhou Rites (Zhou li 周禮), 179, 181, 193, 299n28 Zhu 邾, state of, 107, 133–134, 287n51; death records of rulers, 54, 270n38; diplomatic visits, 195, 299n30; ranking, 111–112, 127–128, 283n11 Zhu’er 諸兒, Qi ruler, 146, 167 Zhuru 朱儒, Cheng 郕 heir apparent. See Bo of Cheng 郕伯 Zhushu jinian 竹書紀年. See Bamboo Annals zǐ 子 (“heir”), xix, 92, 121–122, 146, 280n63, 286n35 zǐ 子 title, xviii–xix, 66, 68, 111, 113, 135– 136, 283n16. See also “five ranks” Zi Yu 子魚 (of Wei), 115–116 Zi 子 clan, 111–112 Zifu Hui 子服回, 134