Reading Tao Yuanming: Shifting Paradigms of Historical Reception 0674031849, 9780674031845

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Reading Tao Yuanming Shifting Paradigms of Historical Reception (427–1900)

Harvard East Asian Monographs 306

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Reading Tao Yuanming Shifting Paradigms of Historical Reception (427–1900)

Wendy Swartz

Published by the Harvard University Asia Center Distributed by Harvard University Press Cambridge (Massachusetts) and London 2008

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© 2008 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College Printed in the United States of America The Harvard University Asia Center publishes a monograph series and, in coordination with the Fairbank Center for Chinese Studies, the Korea Institute, the Reischauer Institute of Japanese Studies, and other faculties and institutes, administers research projects designed to further scholarly understanding of China, Japan, Vietnam, Korea, and other Asian countries. The Center also sponsors projects addressing multidisciplinary and regional issues in Asia. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Swartz, Wendy, 1972– Reading Tao Yuanming : shifting paradigms of historical reception (427–1900) / Wendy Swartz. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn-13: 978-0-674-03184-5 (alk. paper) 1. Tao, Qian, 372?–427--Criticism and interpretation. I. Title. pl2665.t3z865 2008 895.1'12--dc22 2008010062 Index by the author Printed on acid-free paper Last figure below indicates year of this printing 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 09 08

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In loving memory of my father Alan Swartz And for my mother Apple Ching-fang Tian

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Acknowledgments

I take great pleasure in acknowledging those who have supported this project along the way. I am grateful to my teachers and classmates at the University of California, Los Angeles, who created a stimulating and enriching environment in which I articulated my project in its earliest phase. My deepest gratitude goes to Pauline Yu, who initiated me into the art of scholarship, and Ronald Egan, who spent many hours reading and discussing my work with his characteristic wisdom and energy. David Schaberg graciously offered insights and challenges that helped develop this project in fruitful ways. Bruce Rusk, Chaohua Wang, and Shengqing Wu each read parts of an earlier version and suggested a number of good changes. My colleagues at Columbia University have been a source of steady encouragement. I am indebted especially to Robert Hymes, Shang Wei, and Haruo Shirane, who gave generously of their time in providing thoughtful comments that have helped make this a better book. I am also grateful to scholars at other institutions who have engaged with my project at its various stages and shared with me their admirable erudition: David Knechtges, Stephen Owen, Chang Sun Kang-i, Wang Kuo-ying, and Ko Ching-ming. I thank my friends of the Columbia Medieval Studies Workshop before whom I have presented substantial portions of my work and from whom I received excellent feedback: Robert Ashmore, Alan Berkowitz, Zongqi Cai, Robert Campany, Jack Chen, Yang Lu, Michael Puett, Xiaofei Tian, and Paula Varsano. David Bello’s and Jeanette Barbieri’s good counsel and good cheer were invaluable during the final stages of the project. I appreciate the constant support of C. T. Hsia and

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viii

Acknowledgments

David Der-wei Wang, whose accomplishments in the field of modern Chinese literature have always been a source of inspiration to me. I would like to acknowledge the two anonymous readers of my manuscript, whose helpful suggestions and insightful comments were much appreciated. My research was generously supported by fellowships and grants from the University of California, Los Angeles, the Fulbright Commission, the Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation, and Columbia University. A portion of Chapter 2 was published first as “Rewriting a Recluse: The Early Biographers’ Construction of Tao Yuanming,” CLEAR 26 (2004), and I thank the editors for permission to reprint. Finally, a special word of thanks to R.M. for his inspirational support and my family for their love and faith, without which this book would not have been possible. W.S.

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Contents

Conventions

xi

Abbreviations

xiii

Chronology

xiv

1 Introduction 2 Reclusion

1 23

Tao Yuanming as Recluse in Early Biographies 27 Allusion and Ambivalence in the Tang 48 Quest for Philosophy and Motivations in the Song 73

3 “Personality”

95

Reading Personality in Early Hermeneutical Theory 96 The Moral Recluse Versus the Eccentric Recluse 107 From Aloof Recluse to Moral Hero 116

Interlude: Tao Yuanming’s Autobiographical Project 4 Literary Reception, Part I: Six Dynasties to Song

130 145

A Few Early Voices in the Six Dynasties 146 Poetic Uses of Tao Yuanming in the Tang 160 Redefinition and Canonization in the Song 185

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x

Contents

5 Literary Reception, Part II: Ming and Qing

212

Placing Tao Yuanming in (and Outside) Literary History 213 A Closer Look at Tao Yuanming 229 Evidential Research in Tao Yuanming Studies 246

6 Conclusion

261 Reference Matter

Selected Bibliography

269

Index

287

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Conventions

I have used the pinyin system for romanizing Chinese throughout, silently emending other systems as necessary. In many cases, I have omitted parenthetical or bracketed romanizations in quotations from secondary works. For the translation of official titles, I have followed Charles O. Hucker’s A Dictionary of Official Titles in Imperial China, silently changing, where possible, other renderings in quoted translations. I have tried to cite the most reliable editions of primary sources and have consulted various editions when possible. Hence my citation of Li Bo’s poems, for example, is drawn mainly from Zhan Ying’s excellent modern edition of Li Bo quanji jiaozhu hui shi ji ping, although I cite an older compilation, Quan Tang shi, in certain instances. For cited passages that also appear in the following widely available compilations, I have provided the page numbers parenthetically: Tao Yuanming yanjiu ziliao huibian (ZLHB), compiled by the Chinese departments of Beijing University and Beijing Normal University; Quan Tang shi (QTS), published by Zhonghua shuju; Tao Yuanming shiwen huiping (SWHP), compiled by the Chinese Department of Beijing University; Song shihua quan bian (SSHQB), edited by Wu Wenzhi; and Ming shihua quan bian (MSHQB), edited by Wu Wenzhi. I have used Gong Bin’s edition of Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, since Yuan Xingpei’s more recent edition of Tao Yuanming ji jianzhu, which has in many ways superseded Gong’s edition, had not been published when my research began. For translations of Tao Yuanming’s works and titles, I have in general cited James R. Hightower’s

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xii

Conventions

The Poetry of T’ao Ch’ien. Hightower’s translations, which at times convey more the tenor than the literal language of the original, are generally juste renderings that truly capture the poetic style and spirit of Tao Yuanming. Where I disagree with Hightower’s translation, I provide my own.

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Abbreviations

CSJCCB CSJCXB CLEAR HJAS MSHQB PTC QTS QTW QW SBBY SBCK SKQS SSHQB SWHP TYM TYMJJJ ZLHB ZZJC

Congshu jicheng chubian Congshu jicheng xubian Chinese Literature: Essays, Articles, Reviews Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies Ming shihua quan bian The Poetry of T’ao Ch’ien, by James R. Hightower Quan Tang shi Quan Tang wen Quan Shanggu Sandai Qin Han Sanguo Liuchao wen, edited by Yan Kejun Sibu beiyao Sibu congkan Siku quanshu Song shihua quan bian Tao Yuanming shiwen huiping T’ao Yüan-ming (AD 365–427): His Works and Their Meaning, by A. R. Davis Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, edited by Gong Bin Tao Yuanming yanjiu ziliao huibian Zhuzi jicheng

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Chronology

Warring States Qin Han Six Dynasties Wei Jin Eastern Jin Southern Dynasties Liu Song Southern Qi Liang Chen Sui Tang Five Dynasties Song Northern Song Southern Song Jin Yuan Ming Qing

403–221 bce 221–206 bce 206 bce–220 ce 220–589 220–65 265–420 317–420 420–589 420–79 479–502 502–57 557–89 581–618 618–907 907–60 960–1279 960–1127 1127–1279 1115–1234 1279–1368 1368–1644 1644–1911

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Reading Tao Yuanming Shifting Paradigms of Historical Reception (427–1900)

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one

Introduction I have to believe that this old gentleman never really died. Even today he remains awe-inspiring and alive. — Xin Qiji

(1140–1207)

This book begins with the death of Tao Yuanming (also known as Tao Qian , 365?–427), who has come over time to be considered one of China’s greatest poets.1 Over the centuries, portrayals of his life—some focusing on his eccentricity, aloofness, and winebibbing, others on his exemplary moral virtue—would elevate him to iconic status. Recent studies on canon formation have indicated that it is common for a writer to achieve his reputation as we know it many generations after his death, and that changes in his reception often have less to do with the works themselves than with changes in the motivations and needs of anthologists and critics of different periods.2 The reception of Tao Yuanming is an illuminating epigraph: Xin Qiji, “Shuilong yin” , in idem, Jiaxuan ci biannian jianzhu, 4/521 (ZLHB, 102). Unless otherwise noted, all English translations are mine. 1. There remains some confusion regarding Tao Yuanming’s original name and his byname ( zi ), an alternative name a male assumed at the age of twenty. Each of Tao’s four early biographers gave a slightly different account of his name and byname. The early twentieth-century scholar Zhu Ziqing found ten different accounts of Tao’s name and byname in premodern and early modern sources. According to Zhu, Tao’s name was not transmitted because his clan was in decline and his literary works were not especially valued during his time; see Zhu, “Tao Yuanming nianpu zhong zhi wenti,” in idem, Zhu Ziqing gudian wenxue lunwen ji, 2: 457–58. 2. For discussions of canon formation in China, see Pauline Yu’s “Charting the Landscape of Chinese Poetry” and “Canon Formation in Late Imperial China.”

1

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2

Introduction

case in point. Largely dismissed as a poet in the first few centuries following his death, Tao would seem to have been the object of a miraculous recovery unless we identify turning points and crucial figures in the construction of his historical image. This book is an examination of the processes behind the making of a model poet and cultural icon. Any historical study of reception must take into account changes in reading habits and modes of criticism. Reception ought to be a topic of special centrality in Chinese literary history, in light of the time it spans, the relative stability and continuity of the literary language, and the accessibility of the literary corpus. The steady accumulation and transmission of a certain cultural wealth through the subscription to a set of shared texts and methods as well as goals of study identified the members of the literati elite and ensured their privileges. Yet Chinese literary reception has not been sufficiently conceptualized as a problem for study.3 This lack becomes ever more exigent since the study of reception has long been acknowledged to be capable of revealing transformations in the hermeneutical practices of a literary tradition. The development of reading practices in traditional China can also be a highly valuable window into shifts in literati culture and values. A study of the construction of the posthumous reputation of a central figure in Chinese literary history, the mechanisms at work in the reception of his works, and the canonization both of Tao Yuanming himself and of particular readings of his works can shed light on the transformation of the literary field and cultural sphere in premodern China.

3. A few works, mostly short articles or book chapters, examine or touch on the reception or posthumous reputation of premodern Chinese poets. See, e.g., Varsano, Tracking the Banished Immortal; Fisk, “On the Dialectics of the Strange and Sublime in the Historical Reception of Tu Fu”; Chou, “Literary Reputations in Context”; Lee, “The Critical Reception of the Poetry of Wei Ying-wu”; and Francis, “Standards of Excess.” For discussions of traditional interpretations specifically of Tao Yuanming, see, e.g., Chang, “The Unmasking of Tao Qian”; Li Jianfeng, Yuan qian Tao Yuanming jieshoushi; Zhong Youmin, Taoxue fazhanshi; idem, Taoxue shihua; Dai Jianye, Chengming zhi jing, 292–398; Wu Zhaolu, “Tao Yuanming de wenxue diwei shi ruhe zhubu queli de”; Lin Wenyue, “Kou men zhuo yan ci”; Cao Xu, “Shipin ping Tao shi fa wei”; and Gao Dapeng, Tao shi xinlun, 73–127.

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Introduction

3

Critics have long looked beyond the “author” or the linguistic functioning of the text to understand the production of meaning; one focus of this effort has been the active role played by the reader. Hans Robert Jauss has often been credited with bringing a historical dimension to reception study. At a time when literary history had fallen into disrepute, Jauss, who sought to restore history to the center of literary studies and to extend the area of intertextuality, proposed that the “relationship of work to work” be brought into the “interaction between work and mankind.”4 The “aesthetics of reception” is premised on the view that a “literary work is not an object that stands by itself and that offers the same view to each reader in each period. It is not a monument that monologically reveals its timeless essence. It is much more like an orchestration that strikes ever new resonances among its readers . . . and brings it to a contemporary existence.” 5 At stake in this perspective is the way in which the active engagement of the audience sustains the historical life of a literary work, shifting critical focus from “the traditional aesthetics of production and representation” to an “aesthetics of reception and influence.”6 This shift in critical attention results from the recognition that “the quality and rank of a literary work” do not result solely from the “biographical or historical conditions of its origin [Entstehung]”; rather, they derive “from the criteria of influence, reception, and posthumous fame, criteria that are more difficult to grasp.” 7 Within Jauss’s model, readers’ reception of a work takes place within a “horizon of expectations,” based both on past works in a given tradition and on the readers’ cultural values. As new works and new historical conditions change readers’ expectations, these horizons of literary expectations are altered, and new judgments and interpretations of old works become possible. The notion 4. Jauss, “Literary History as Challenge,” in idem, Toward an Aesthetic of Reception, 15. 5. Ibid., 21. The larger context for Jauss’s statement is his concern to restore links between past artifacts and present concerns. In the same passage, Jauss writes that a literary work is like an orchestration that “frees the text from the material of the words.” Whether the text can ever be freed from the “material of the words” remains highly questionable, however, especially if we consider poetry. 6. Ibid., 20. 7. Ibid., 5.

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4

Introduction

that changes in aesthetic and cultural attitudes largely determine perceptions of “the quality and rank of a literary work” as well as its author’s reputation is crucial if we are to reach a historical understanding of the Tao Yuanming modern readers have inherited. However, the neat divide between the “biographical or historical conditions of [a work’s] origin” on one hand and readers’ reception on the other was never clearly drawn in traditional China. Thus, the extent to which the literary was a distinct category needs to be established and not assumed, and a study of literary reception in the Chinese tradition must examine literary questions in relation to nonliterary categories, such as history, biography, and morality. Although Jauss’s interest in understanding the historical reception of a work is ultimately directed toward the goal of better understanding its meaning,8 a goal that requires him to arbitrate among previous readings and position his own among them, this book is a study not of Tao Yuanming and his works as such but rather, first, of the constructions of Tao and, second, of the mechanisms that underlay them. Nor does it take hermeneutical problems as givens and automatically assess claims against Tao’s own works; instead, it historicizes these problems by inquiring into the social and intellectual conditions that made the claims possible in the first place. It seeks to answer the question of what makes a particular hermeneutical inquiry relevant at a given historical moment and not at an earlier one. This approach thereby differs from one that uses the critical reaction of later periods to probe authorial intention and that ultimately looks for answers about a writer’s later reception in his own works.9 My focus is on readers’ interpretive negotiations with Tao’s works. In particular, I pay close attention to factors that exceed the pa8. In his introduction to Toward an Aesthetic of Reception, Paul de Man (ix–x) distinguishes between hermeneutics and poetics: hermeneutics is a process aimed at the “determination of meaning,” whereas poetics involves the “formal analysis of linguistic entities.” The example de Man uses is well known: Homer’s reference to Achilles as a lion. To conclude that “Achilles is courageous” is to make a hermeneutic decision; to consider “whether Homer is using a simile or a metaphor” is a concern of poetics. De Man classifies Jauss as a hermeneut. 9. This perspective seems to have informed, for example, Paula Varsano’s recent monograph on the major Tang poet Li Bo (701–62) and his critical reception, Tracking the Banished Immortal; see pp. 22, 24, and 199.

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Introduction

5

rameters of his works, such as changes in hermeneutical practices, critical vocabulary, and cultural demands, as well as the intervention of interested and influential readers. I believe that such an approach helps explain to a large extent the very different pictures of Tao Yuanming and the divergent ways of reading his works across time. This was not simply a succession of portrayals but rather a cumulative process, driven by a dialogue spanning fifteen hundred years about three categories that lay at the heart of literati culture: reclusion, personality, and poetry. Tao Yuanming was more (and perhaps less) than simply a near-fabled figure in his afterlife and was a kind of precious mirror reflecting those who read him and about him. We do, in fact, know with reasonable certainty a number of things about the historical Tao Yuanming. He was born during the Eastern Jin (317–420), a dynasty whose society was dominated by great aristocratic clans (shizu ). He came from a minor elite family, which, although it lacked privileged access to high office, still could boast of an impressive tradition of government service. His paternal great-grandfather was the celebrated general Tao Kan (259–334), who was enfeoffed as duke of a commandery for his role in quelling a rebellion in the late 320s and thereby stabilizing the new government of Eastern Jin. His grandfather, Tao Mao , was governor of Wuchang . His maternal grandfather, Meng Jia (fl. mid-fourth century), was a senior aide to Huan Wen (312–73), perhaps the most powerful man in southern China in the mid-fourth century. These accomplished ancestors did little more than serve as ideal models for Tao, however, since by the time he was born his family had lost most of its prestige and wealth. The date of his birth is still disputed, but most scholars accept a date of 365.10 He was a native of Chaisang in Xunyang (modern Jiujiang in Jiangxi ).

10. Most scholars, traditional and modern alike, follow Wang Zhi’s (1127– 89) dating of Tao’s birth to 365, which would mean that he lived to the age of 63 sui (62 by western reckoning). Some scholars have argued for other dates, based on varying sources or differing interpretations of them: for example, Zhang Yin (jinshi 1163) and, more recently, Yuan Xingpei , suggest the date of 352 (76

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6

Introduction

Tao took his first office relatively late in life and retired permanently early in his career. He held and resigned from a succession of low-ranking civil posts until 405. Among those under whom he served were almost certainly Huan Xuan (369–404) and Liu Yu (363–422), both of whom later sought to overthrow the Jin (265–420), Huan Xuan unsuccessfully in 403–4 and Liu Yu successfully in 420. These coups were typical of the political unrest that characterized the last decades of the Jin, which was finally replaced by Liu Yu’s Song dynasty (420–79). After retiring from his last post in 405, Tao spent the rest of his life as a farmer-recluse in the environs of Xunyang. He experienced both the joys of material self-sufficiency and the hardships of agricultural life. Tao’s life in reclusion, however, was not one of total deprivation or isolation. His love of wine was famous, and although he often drank alone, he was also a convivial drinker who frequently socialized with local officials and other members of the elite, as well as with neighboring farmers. During his lifetime, he acquired local fame as a recluse. (This is, in fact, not ironic since certain types of reclusion practiced during the Six Dynasties , 222–589, were quite sociable, as we will see.) It is in this period that he composed most of his surviving works.11 Tao’s extant works include just over 120 poems, three rhapsodies, and ten prose works in various genres. Among the subgenres represented in his corpus, we can find poems written on official duty, social or exchange poems, poems on historical figures, and poems based on various meditations or events during his retirement. The

sui); Gu Zhi posits the date of 376 (52 sui); and Liang Qichao considers Tao’s date of birth to be 372 (56 sui); see Tao Yuanming nianpu, 211–42. 11. Although the general outline of Tao’s life is clear and has been sketched by many traditional and modern scholars, few details of Tao’s life have gone uncontested because of a lack of dates and of precise information. For brief biographies of Tao in English, see TYM, 1: 5–10; and Wing-ming Chang, “T’ao Ch’ien,” in Nienhauser, The Indiana Companion to Traditional Chinese Literature, 766–69. The standard source for his life in Chinese is a collection of traditional and modern chronological biographies of Tao, Tao Yuanming nianpu, ed. Xu Yimin. See also two recent critical biographies, which discuss Tao’s family, social relations, views on contemporary politics, philosophy, literary style, and so forth: Li Jinquan, Tao Qian ping zhuan; and Gong Bin, Tao Yuanming zhuan lun.

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Introduction

7

last category constitutes the majority of his œuvre. In most of his poems and prose works, the theme or reference point is his reclusion. Even the poems written while he was in office express a longing to retire. Tao wrote of the joys of rustic life: drinking wine, playing the zither, enjoying his leisure, and reading and writing poetry for his own pleasure. And he wrote about the toils of farming and trials of poverty, such as cold and hunger, which in one instance are conveyed memorably by these lines hoping for the swift passage of time: “At dusk we would think of the cock crow, / At dawn we hoped the crow would cross quickly” , .12 Occasionally he also alluded to the frustration of his youthful ambitions and his lack of accomplishment. Nonetheless, two gestures that punctuate many of his works are a reaffirmation of his resolve and a declaration of his integrity. Tao Yuanming, above all, wrote about himself. There is no extant precedent in Chinese literature for the candor with which Tao Yuanming spoke about his principles, fears, personal fancies, and wants, or for the scrupulous dating and prefatory notes he attached to his works. The strong autobiographical presence in Tao’s writings raises two immediate questions: how much agency has he been granted in determining his own critical reception, and to what extent did his detailed self-characterizations define and constrain later interpretations of him and his works? Tao Yuanming’s autobiographical project is the subject of an interlude in this book, since it deals with issues peripheral but important to the main story. My discussion encourages a confrontation between notions of production and representation, foregrounded by Tao’s autobiography, and of readers’ reception, asserted by responses to Tao Yuanming that do not always conform to the guidelines he had carefully set. Several interesting aspects of Tao’s autobiographical works also warrant our attention: the coexistence of his self-conscious construction of the literary self with the affirmation by later readers of the naturalness or artlessness of his work; and his numerous wonderful contradictions. On one hand, he tells us that he writes so that “Tao Yuanming” will

12. TYMJJJ, 98. All citations of Tao Yuanming’s poetry are from TYMJJJ unless otherwise noted.

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8

Introduction

be known to posterity; on the other, he goes to great lengths to state that he is unconcerned about his posthumous reputation, which means how he gets read. The core of Tao’s autobiographical project lies somewhere between earnestness and playfulness, the latter implying a recognition of both the boundaries of autobiographical writing and the intention to push them. The prominent autobiographical dimension in Tao’s works surely inspired a special emphasis on his personality in discussions of his works, even in traditional China where the “personality” and life history of a writer were generally integrated into readings of his or her works. The role biography played in the interpretation of a writer’s works differed greatly between the Western and Chinese traditions. The Russian Formalist Boris Tomaševskij has pointed out that in the West prior to the eighteenth century there were eras in which the personality of the writer was of no interest to readers. It was not until the “individualization of creativity—an epoch which cultivated subjectivism in the artistic process—[that] the name and personality of the author came to the forefront.”13 For Chinese readers, in contrast, a poet’s biography traditionally functioned as a crucial hermeneutic element. The time-honored dictum from the Shang shu , or the Classic of Documents, “The poem speaks what is intently on the mind” (shi yan zhi ),14 and Mencius’ famous words, “When singing their [the ancients’] poems and reading their books, is it right not to know what kind of persons they were?” underlay traditional reading practices.15 These generated an important pair of assumptions: (1) a poem as a privileged form of self-expression directly evidences the author’s true state or condition of mind and therefore allows the reader to know the author; (2) a good reader pays attention to the author behind the text. The poetry of Qu Yuan (ca. 343–ca. 277 bce), widely considered the first great Chinese poet, was read in the light of his frustrated ambitions and die-hard loyalty. 13. Tomaševskij, “Literature and Biography,” 48. 14. I have adopted Stephen Owen’s translation of zhi; see his Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 40. 15. Mencius 5B.8. The original reads: “ , , , ?”

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Introduction

9

The historical image of Du Fu (712–70), established in the Song dynasty (960–1279), as a loyal subject who epitomized moral responsibility and social compassion placed his works beyond “the reach of usual methods of literary criticism.”16 In similar fashion, Tao Yuanming’s personality and biography weighed heavily in the assessment and ranking of his poetry by later readers. One of the earliest critics of his poetry, Zhong Rong (ca. 469–518), wrote that “each time I look at his writings, I think of the virtuousness of his character” , .17 Six hundred years later, perhaps the most ardent and astute student of Tao’s poetry, Su Shi (1037–1101), exclaimed: “How could it be his poetry alone that I love? His person, too, has moved me.”18 These are but two prominent critics among many who shifted easily between Tao’s person and his writings. The process is considered in Chapter 3, in which I review the conceptual underpinnings of the hermeneutical practice of reading a poem to know the poet and examine varying assessments of Tao’s personality. Far from a stable construct, his “personality” embodied different virtues and ideals in different periods; Tao early on represented primarily an interesting personality and only later turned into a moral ideal and Confucian sage. If we want to understand this extraordinary transformation, we need to examine crucial readings and appropriations in their historical contexts. Perhaps the most discussed aspect of Tao’s life is his reclusion. In the most general terms, reclusion, which was traditionally defined against officeholding, represented one of the two major paths a member of the educated elite might choose. It could be motivated by a variety of goals: political protest, pursuit of private ideals, religious self-cultivation, or freedom from the worries of official life. This was no facile decision for a literatus schooled in Confucian ethics, since his withdrawal meant the renunciation of aspirations to serve state and society, social respect, and a stable income. But even for those who did not choose this path, reclusion stood as an attractive 16. Chou, Reconsidering Tu Fu, 15. 17. Zhong Rong, Shipin jizhu, 260 (ZLHB, 9). 18. Su Shi made this remark in a letter to his brother, Su Che 1112), who quoted it in “Zizhan he Tao Yuanming shiji yin” in idem, Luancheng ji (houji), 21.5a (ZLHB, 35).

(1039– ,

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10

Introduction

alternative to the obligations and compromises that government service imposed. They could still partake of this other way of life through a variety of cultural practices: building country retreats, socializing with recluses, writing poetry in the persona of a recluse, or artistically expressing a longing to withdraw. Both for those who made the break with officialdom and especially for those who did not, Tao became the model of the literatus recluse. In Chapter 2, I discuss various readings of Tao’s reclusion, and place them in the context of changing attitudes toward this important political and cultural practice. His withdrawal brought to the foreground issues central to traditional literati culture: service versus reclusion, public duty versus self-cultivation, and loyalty to the state versus a transcendence of politics. Readers have long relied at least as much on Tao’s early biographies as his own works for information on his reclusion. The biographies in the Song shu (History of the [Liu] Song), the Nan shi (History of the Southern Dynasties) and the Jin shu (History of the Jin), and that by Xiao Tong (501–31), the first known editor of Tao’s works, have generally been taken for granted as repositories of facts and treated as primary sources. I read them instead as part of Tao’s early reception and as authoritative texts that shaped his later reception. I argue that they are products of their compilers’ choices in the selection and presentation of materials and are thus interpretations of Tao’s life. These influential texts were often drawn upon in later literary uses of Tao’s life and in debates about the nature and purpose of his reclusion. Tang (618–907) dynasty poets were generally attracted to Tao’s representation of the literati ideal of retirement and were fond of drawing poetic material from the Tao Yuanming lore, but because of a pervasive sense of public duty and private responsibility few were willing to countenance his choice of lifestyle. The case of Tao Yuanming inspired lively dialogues between Tang writers on values proper to the literati class. Song dynasty writers began to probe both Tao’s works and his biographies to find his motivations for retirement and the philosophy underlying it, two issues that seldom troubled Tang readers but were consonant with the growing intellectual concern with the principle of things in the Song. It is also in this

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period, when personal cultivation constituted a major intellectual concern and when many Song literati sought to establish values and self-identity independent of official life, that Tao’s life was to a great extent rewritten and his choice of reclusion re-evaluated. The modern critic Gao Dapeng has argued that Tao Yuanming stands as the historical figure who most fully realized the ideal of reclusion for the Chinese elite. This begins to answer what makes Tao a unique figure capable of revealing various aspects of literati culture. Whether in terms of nature, society, culture, or religion, the term yin [reclusion] carries its own historical tradition; so we can say that it had become the “collective unconscious” of the Chinese literati. It had become “internalized” as part of the intellectual’s personality . . . it was the most fundamental, most pervasive, and even highest value. . . . Yin was a moral ideal for the Chinese literati, as well as an aesthetic and an overarching ideal. In the long-term progress of history, it had become the common dream of the literati. Tao Qian bravely did what they wanted but did not dare to do. His appearance lent reality to their dream, which he expressed in the most beautiful and powerful way. Thus he provided a substitutional satisfaction in the “unconscious” of the literati and elicited a sympathetic response from their character, thoughts, or morality. Their dream was entrusted to Tao’s poetry, and thus Tao Qian became a heroic idol. The creation of this hero was tied largely to yin.19

By itself, the fact that Tao Yuanming was a recluse did not suffice to garner such admiration and sympathy from the literati; rather, it was the way in which he practiced and represented his life in reclusion that inspired their responses. Perhaps more than any other literary figure, Tao Yuanming reflected literati cultural values, aspirations, and fears; by engaging with the dead poet, a literatus could learn something about himself and his class. The idyllic side of Tao’s retirement and its many pleasures—wine, music, books, poetry writing, a sense of freedom, and leisure—drew many into dialogue with him. Tao’s other experiences in reclusion and the poems that came out of them contained lessons on dealing with material deprivation and frustrated ambition and maintaining personal integrity in the face of a tainted state and society; these concerns made it easy for many literati to identify with him. As the Southern Song (1127–1279) 19. Gao Dapeng, Tao shi xinlun, 43–44.

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Introduction

literatus Xin Qiji powerfully put it, “I have to believe that this old gentleman never really died. Even today he remains awe-inspiring and alive. The concerns of our class have been the same since ancient times, as permanent as mountains and rivers.”20 In the process of identifying with Tao, readers often infused their concerns into him. He therefore could be made to represent a number of, sometimes conflicting, positions: he could symbolize transcendence of politics, as the Song critic Ye Mengde (1077–1148) believed, or he could stand for loyalty to ruler, as the Song moralist philosopher Zhu Xi (1130–1200) claimed. As Tao Yuanming became established as an icon, he also became part of the literati cultural capital that could be appropriated. Nonliterary standards of judgment such as reclusion and personality were often discussed in parallel with or in relation to Tao Yuanming’s poetry. Each of these discursive categories has its own trajectory, which needs to be traced through time; a general period by period chronological survey of Tao’s reception would fail to treat these issues properly. In the chapters that follow, the categories of reclusion, personality, and poetry are organized into three distinct but related topical strands. The overall arrangement of each chapter is nonetheless linear so that developments in each of the three discursive fields are made clear, although the organization of each section within a chapter is determined by issues rather than straight chronology. We thereby gain not only insight into the structure and components of Tao’s historical reception but also a unique vantage point for understanding changing attitudes toward these three categories, which remained key intellectual or social concerns for the Chinese literati. The second half of the volume deals with more specifically literary issues of Tao’s reception. I pay particular attention to the correspondence between judgments of his literary worth on one hand and cultural and aesthetic values on the other. In Chapter 4, which covers the first part of the narrative from the Six Dynasties to the Song, I track the process by which Tao, generally neglected as a poet during the first few centuries after his death, achieved canonical status.

20. Xin Qiji, Jiaxuan ci biannian jianzhu, 4/521–22 (ZLHB, 102).

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Tao Yuanming became a major poetic model during the High Tang (712–56), whose poets saw Tao and his works as a refreshing alternative to the constraints of court poetics and culture. They avidly drew on his farmstead poetry for style, lines, themes, and structuring strategies. They were equally, if not more, fond of appropriating poetic material from an articulated repertoire of vivid and impressionistic stories provided by Tao’s early biographies. Even as Tang poets were ambivalent about his retirement, as Chapter 2 details, their fascination with it provided a context in which they could esteem his poetry. Although Tao served as a poetic model for a number of Tang writers, it was in the Song that he achieved unparalleled prominence as a poet. Changes in reading practices and the redefinition of critical terminology led to new evaluations of his poetry, which now came to epitomize “evenness and blandness” (pingdan ) and “naturalness” (ziran ), dominant aesthetic ideals of the Song. This late attribution of naturalness to Tao’s writings raises particularly interesting questions. Although the simplicity, directness, and lyrical nature of Tao’s farmstead poetry seem to render this quality self-evident, it was articulated as a defining attribute of his works only about six hundred years into his reception history. Naturalness was hardly unknown as an aesthetic term during Tao’s own time, since, for example, it was applied by a number of Six Dynasties writers to Xie Lingyun’s (385–433) poetry, which has since come to exemplify the high craft and artifice for which the period is known. Modern scholars have noted the characterization of both Xie Lingyun and Tao Yuanming as “natural” by critics of different periods, but they explain it as a progression from error to truth: the Six Dynasties critics’ perception of Xie Lingyun’s poetry was simply inaccurate or, at best, must be understood as a relative assessment (in comparison to the works of other writers of the period, such as Yan Yanzhi’s). 21 According to this line of thought, it is the Song critics who finally got it right: Tao Yuanming rightfully becomes the epitome of poetic naturalness, and Xie Lingyun turns into his antithesis. Even if these modern critics are right and Six Dynasties critics indeed misperceived Xie Lingyun’s poetry, it is still worth

21. See, e.g., Yuan Xingpei, Tao Yuanming yanjiu, 165.

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asking why they did so. A more basic question is whether the term ziran carried the same meaning for Six Dynasties and Song critics. Historicizing the separate attributions of ziran to Tao and Xie not only reveals the changing conceptions of the term but also explains the watershed in Tao’s reception: his elevation in the Song to the embodiment of poetic naturalness made him at once worthy of imitation and inimitable. And despite, or even because of, this paradox, he was raised to the status of an absolute poetic model. The valorization of his poetry would parallel his rise as an exemplary character. The processes behind the many transformations of Tao Yuanming are the major concern of this book. Who were the main players? How did they transform Tao’s image? What were their motivations? The Song dynasty reception of Tao warrants special attention not only because he was canonized during this period, but also because his collected works were first printed in the Song. Xiaofei Tian’s recent book, Tao Yuanming and Manuscript Culture: The Record of a Dusty Table, focuses on this special topic in Tao Yuanming’s reception history: the edition and transmission of his works. She argues that Tao’s writings, like all pre-Song literature, have come down to us through the filter of the literary values and ideological motivations of Song editors, on whose work later editions are based. Furthermore, the reduction in the number of variants coincides with an increasing stabilization of the composite image of Tao Yuanming, whose aspects are defined in broad strokes: for example, a lofty recluse who transcended the vulgar world; a Jin dynasty loyalist who withdrew in defiant protest; and a poet who loved a life of leisure, writing natural poetry that harmonized with his rustic lifestyle. Her work presents the intriguing possibility of a more nuanced and complex Tao Yuanming, whose poetry has been “simplified” by Northern Song editors, who often chose variants they believed to make more sense.22 Tian counters that some of the rejected variants make better 22. Xiaofei Tian, Tao Yuanming and Manuscript Culture, 11–12. It is worthwhile to emphasize that these editorial practices, although they influence the material aspect of the texts, are nonetheless hermeneutical decisions, constituting one kind of act in the construction of Tao Yuanming; interpretations of Tao and his texts even after their “fixing” represent another kind of construction that is also active and more widely participatory. Certain readings of Tao and his texts themselves become

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sense within the context of Six Dynasties literary conventions and references. Although “ ‘sense’ is historically contingent,” as Tian points out, the act of making sense is also historically conditioned.23 This is relevant to an understanding of the processes underlying Tao Yuanming’s reception: the meanings of Tao’s texts and Tao as text shift over the ages and reflect the values, interests, and vocabulary of different readers and periods. After re-examining some textual variants, reorganizing a number of Tao’s poems into new categories, and re-reading some of Tao’s well-loved and often neglected poems, Tian concludes that Tao was “both much more embedded in the literary and philosophical interests of his age and much more innovative, playful, quirky, and wistful than his accepted image.”24 Tian’s project acknowledges the constructed nature of what we know about Tao Yuanming but at the same time reveals a faith in the ultimate knowability of a Tao Yuanming separate from his always historically contingent image. Thus, we are reminded that “the real Tao Yuanming, however, has long been lost.”25 The real trouble is even if by some miracle we had the original manuscript penned by the author, the “genuine” or “true” Tao Yuanming might be no more accessible. The concern of this book is not restoration but tracing a historical process of construction, and its intellectual trajectory therefore moves in a different direction. We have Tao’s texts as redacted and restored by later readers. What we do know are readers’ interpretations of Tao and his works; what we can infer are the motivations behind these readings; what we can learn are the changes in literati values and reading practices; and what we can understand are the mechanisms behind Tao’s reception and construction. Since Tao Yuanming was canonized in the Song dynasty, postSong developments in his reception have not received proper attention in the literature. 26 The only previous book-length study that canonized and fixed, as we will see, and alternative readings (that we know of) are relegated to the sidelines. 23. Ibid., 12. 24. Ibid., 14. 25. Ibid., 109. 26. A noteworthy exception is Zhong Youmin’s Taoxue shihua, which surveys material from the Jin, Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties (pp. 75–177).

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Introduction

conceptualizes Tao’s historical reception makes this most curious statement: “After Su Shi, Tao Yuanming’s historical position was already basically established, hence without expending ink [on postSong developments], the prominence of Tao Yuanming’s reputation is naturally lodged in the history of [Tao’s] literary influences and that of the interpretation and evaluation [of his works].”27 This statement suggests that there is no need to account for Tao’s prominent reputation after Su Shi, only to know it. Indeed, the history of Tao’s reception ends with the Song dynasty in this recent book. My discussion distinguishes between canonization and reception, a process that continues after a writer has achieved iconic stature and his works normative status as an embodiment of a culture’s values. In Chapter 5, I examine several significant hermeneutical approaches that emerged during Tao’s post-canonization period in late Imperial China, for developments in the history of Tao studies did not cease either with Tao’s canonization or with the increasing stabilization of Tao’s texts: whereas a macroscopic approach positioned Tao in a literary-historical process and a microscopic one involved close readings of his texts, a third applied evidential research methods to ascertain facts about Tao’s life and his works. These approaches and their conclusions, to varying extents, constituted important reactions to the work of Song scholars. I argue that Ming and Qing readers challenged their Song predecessors more on methodological than on ideological grounds. In their readings of Tao Yuanming, two salient points remained constant: the same desire to know the true visage of Tao Yuanming and a faith in its knowability.28 Indeed, traditional readers operated with different reading assumptions and perceived different issues at stake than do today’s readers. Moreover, they engaged with the past for different reasons. In particular, they had an extraordinary vested interest in Tao Yuanming. I choose not to conclude simply that their efforts or claims to understand the “real” Tao Yuanming are problematic according to current literary notions and instead focus on the ways in which each of these new approaches to Tao’s poetry correlated 27. Li Jianfeng, Yuan qian Tao Yuanming jieshoushi, 12. 28. I am grateful for Xiaofei Tian’s comments on this point at the Third Annual Medieval Studies Workshop at Columbia University, December 10, 2005.

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with larger intellectual trends of the time and on how identifying these correlations may enrich our understanding of both subjects. Premodern readers produced interpretations of Tao and his poetry that have remained influential through the modern era. Three of the most authoritative late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century critics, Wang Guowei (1877–1927), Liang Qichao (1873–1929), and Lu Xun (1881–1936), made major claims about Tao Yuanming, claims that still resonate with today’s readers. However ingenious or insightful they may appear, these modern readings are rooted in a fifteen-hundred-year-old discussion on Tao Yuanming. Recall Wang Guowei’s famous interpretation of Tao’s best-known couplet: “Plucking chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge, / At a distance I catch sight of the southern mountain” , ; for Wang, this exemplifies “a state/world without the self” (wu wo zhi jing ), in which one “no longer knows which is the self and which is the object” and in which “objects are seen through the perspective of objects” (yi wu guan wu ). This state, more difficult to create in poetry than one in which the self is present (you wo zhi jing ) and in which “objects are seen through the perspective of the self” (yi wo guan wu ), is evidence of superior spirit, as Wang suggests: “When the ancients composed poetry, most described the state/world in which the self is present. This, however, does not mean that they were unable to write about the state/world without the self. Only the outstanding and brave poets could distinguish themselves in this regard.”29 He continues: “The state/world without the self is achieved only in stillness; the state/world in which the self is present, in the passage from action to stillness. Thus the one is beautiful (youmei ), the other sublime (hongzhuang ).”30 It is not difficult to trace the influence of Western philosophy, in particular Kant’s paired notions of the beautiful and the sublime and Schopenhauer’s invocation of the Kantian sublime in new terms, on Wang’s

29. Wang Guowei, Renjian cihua, Renjian ci zhuping, 7. 30. Ibid., 11.

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Introduction

discourse here. 31 The presence of Su Shi’s reading of the couplet, which Wang surely knew, is more subtle. (Tao Yuanming and Su Shi were, for Wang, two of the four greatest poets in Chinese history.) Su Shi’s interpretation involved an effort to settle a debate over variants of one character in the couplet. In certain Song editions of Tao’s works, wang (to gaze from afar) appears as a variant for jian (to catch sight of). Su Shi was the first to argue passionately against wang in favor of jian, positing the latter as key to the piece’s “inspired air” (shenqi ). For Su, the marvelous subtlety of the couplet lay in the happy coincidence of “scene” (jing ) and “idea” (yi ).32 Indeed wang connotes a certain intentionality that runs counter to this coincidence, as critics following Su Shi’s reading 31. Citing from Wang Guowei’s Renjian cihua and Houloumeng pinglun, Huang Lin and Zhou Xingli have extrapolated the following correlation between Schopenhauer’s and Wang’s concepts: the state/world without the self (wu wo zhi jing) is characterized by the beautiful (youmei) in which there is no hostile relationship between the object and one’s will and in which the distinction between object and self has disappeared. The state/world with the self present (you wo zhi jing) is linked to the sublime (zhuangmei ) in which, through the contemplation of the objects harmful to the will, one comprehends their Ideas and rises above one’s will and its interests to find pleasure in what is hostile to the will and ultimately rest in an abandonment of willing itself (see Huang Lin et al., Renjian cihua, 26–30). Here is where Wang’s concepts of the sublime and the beautiful coincide. Wang wrote in his commentary on Houloumeng: “The pleasure [of the sublime (zhuangmei)] lies in making one forget the distinction between object and self; thus, there is in fact no means by which to distinguish it from the beautiful (youmei)” (Yu Xiaohong, Wang Guowei Houloumeng pinglun jian shuo, 32). An important note of caution is warranted here in accepting wholesale Huang and Zhou’s neat match between these pairs of concepts. Huang and Zhou have disregarded the change of terms in Wang’s writings. In Renjian cihua, Wang explicitly linked the concept of wu wo zhi jing with youmei but substituted the term hongzhuang (translated above as the “sublime” but also meaning “grand and powerful”) for zhuangmei, which he used earlier in Houloumeng pinglun. An investigation of the full significations of this switch is beyond the scope of this study; suffice it to say that the neat correspondence becomes unbalanced if one agrees that in Wang’s discourse there seems to be a higher appreciation for the state/world without the self, more difficult to achieve, and the sublime (and its associations with the tragic), which poignantly sets into relief the process of the intellect transcending concerns for profit and harm and forgetting the distinction between self and object, which is the effect of beauty in art itself (see Yu Xiaohong, Wang Guowei Houloumeng pinglun jian shuo, 17–18, 31–37). 32. Su Shi, “Ti Yuanming ‘Yinjiu shi’ hou” , in idem, Su Shi wenji, 67/2092.

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readily noted.33 Wang Guowei took Su Shi’s reading a step further, reducing even more the subjective presence of the poet, so that jian (to catch sight of) functions like its homograph xian (to appear). The new twist in Wang’s reading lies here: whereas for Su Shi, the self remains present in this transcendent state (the poet still “sees” the mountain) in which a mystical union between nature and poet has taken place, in Wang’s formulation the self is altogether taken out of the equation: “a state/world without the self” (wu wo zhi jing ) and “objects are seen through the perspective of objects” (yi wu guan wu ). Liang Qichao’s reading of Tao Yuanming is also fruitfully read in light of traditional accounts of the poet. The boldness of Liang’s depiction of Tao Yuanming as a transcendent for whom hunger and cold were but “very small problems” is quickly tempered by an understanding of the history behind the development of this image. For example, Ye Mengde went beyond the characterization of Tao as a lofty recluse in his biographies to claim that Tao altogether transcended politics. Ye’s argument represents a major contribution to the making of Tao the Transcendent: “Yuanming’s intent was to detach himself from worldly affairs and transcend the material world. How could men who cling to power have been sufficient to burden his mind?”34 Liang Qichao further mystified the poet by shifting the object of his transcendence from political affairs to material aspects of daily life and by asserting that Tao could find solace in Nature “no matter how much suffering his body endured.”35 In a critique of the incomplete, even lopsided, perspective inherent in anthologies of selected works, Lu Xun took issue with a long tradition of mystifying Tao Yuanming. Lu argued that the focus on a few texts, namely “The Return” , “Peach Blossom Spring” , and the well-known couplet on the southern mountain and chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge, has left the poet “detached and transcendent (piaoyi ) for too long.”36 He 33. See, e.g., the comments by Chao Buzhi, Cai Qi, and Zhong Xing in SWHP, 167–69. 34. Ye Mengde, Shilin shihua, 1: 434 (ZLHB, 52). 35. Liang Qichao, Tao Yuanming, 27–28. 36. Lu Xun, Lu Xun quan ji, 6: 421–22.

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reminded readers that Tao also wrote lines that display the “fierce visage of the vajra guardian” (jin’gang nu mu ):37 The twigs that Jingwei carries in her mouth Are meant to fill the Azure Sea. The battle-axe and shield of Xingtian’s dance Show his valiant will is still alive.

38

To prove that Tao had fervor in him and that “he was not constantly detached,” Lu quoted the allusions to Jingwei, a mystical bird who continually carried twigs from the Western Mountain to fill up the Eastern Sea, where, as the daughter of the Fiery Emperor (Yandi ), she drowned; and to Xingtian, “who debated divinity with God (di ), who then cut off his head and buried it on Changyang Mountain. [Xingtian] then used his nipples as eyes and his navel as mouth and danced [for battle] with shield and battle-axe in hand.”39 Lu Xun’s argument is distinctly reminiscent of Zhu Xi’s influential depiction of Tao Yuanming as an impassioned Moral Hero, the nature of whose character must not be confused with his “even and bland” writing style.40 Following Zhu Xi, Zhen Dexiu (1178– 1235) foregrounded Tao’s loyalty by referring to his use of the Jingwei story, signifying fervid determination, which Lu Xun cited to demonstrate the fiery side of Tao.41 These modern readings, far from being isolated inventions, continue a dialogue that spanned over a millennium and a half. This book hopes to offer those interested in Tao Yuanming and his works a historical perspective that may enrich the experience of his poetry. To examine the construction of Tao Yuanming is also to chart the development of hermeneutical practices and literati culture in traditional China. In reconstructing the history of Tao Yuanming’s reception, it is essential to identify the most crucial of 37. For the source of this phrase, see Taiping guangji, 174/1285. 38. TYMJJJ, 347. I have used James R. Hightower’s translation in PTC, 241. 39. Shanhaijing, 3/41, 7/87. 40. See Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, 140/3325, and my discussion of the passage in Chapter 4. 41. See Zhen Dexiu, Xishan xiansheng Zhen Wenzhong gong wenji, 2a–b.

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these interpretive acts and to understand them in their historical context without attempting to assess their validity or mediating among them. Following a single individual and the works circulating under his name through many generations of readers is, I believe, an illuminating way to track changes in the interests and methods of readers. As we shall see, many meanings were assigned to Tao Yuanming and his works, and they were revised more than once over time. This book traces the many contingencies in his passage from early obscurity to sagehood and canonicity, a path that was neither inevitable nor miraculous. My study of reception permits a re-reading of Tao Yuanming that transcends, without rejecting, the Song discourse that has been generally accepted as canonical by considering discourses that preceded and succeeded those of the Song. By examining how Tao Yuanming’s readers constructed him transhistorically and intertextually across genres, which include history and biography, I avoid essentializing key terms introduced into Tao studies during the Song, such as ziran and pingdan, which constituted a hegemonic discourse in a way that appears to legitimate Song literary norms, ostensibly unchanged for nine hundred years. Considering works as evidence for reception, including some previously considered primary sources such as the early Tao Yuanming biographies, makes possible a reconsideration of a range of discourses, especially those of the Six Dynasties, Tang, Ming (1368–1644), and Qing (1644–1911), as contributors to both influential readings of and methods of reading Tao Yuanming. Moreover, these become key elements in raising critical consciousness that our current versions of Tao Yuanming are indeed versions, not the truth bequeathed to us by the Song or any other audience. My selection of premodern sources for each thematic strand— reclusion, personality, and poetry—is guided by their illustration of major developments in each discursive category. This study neither attempts coverage of every single interesting articulation nor is interested in offering a descriptive catalogue of voices that comprise each period. Rather, it follows the shifts and turns in Tao’s historical reception, critically examining influential and/or representative views. By examining various voices through the ages in a dialogue on Tao Yuanming, this volume delineates a cumulative process that

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illuminates central issues animating premodern Chinese culture as a whole. Modern critical sources are used with a similar eye to the historical pedigree of certain scholarly views. My method is to trace and cite either the earliest or most influential formulations that have had a formative effect on current positions in Tao Yuanming studies, rather than to create an exhaustive list of interpretations. Finally, this book hopes to shed light on the construction and maintenance of the scholarly discourse that continues to reconstruct Tao even as it ostensibly preserves his work.

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Reclusion

A study of Tao Yuanming’s reception should begin with an examination of traditional interpretations of his reclusion. To a great extent, Tao Yuanming was dismissed as a poet in the first few centuries following his death. The official dynastic histories classified him as a recluse, and in no small measure this characterization determined subsequent readings of his works. Traditional scholarship rarely insisted on clear divisions among evaluations of his retirement, his personality, and his works. As positive assessments of the first two categories developed and increased, however, so did those of his works. A proper investigation of Tao’s historical reception requires isolating each of the three strands of criticism for analysis. Several general remarks on the concept and practice of reclusion in medieval China must preface an examination of the reception of Tao Yuanming as recluse.1 Reclusion was traditionally conceived in contradistinction to government service. Frederick Mote has provided a good general definition: In Chinese society . . . [terms designating recluses] signified withdrawal from the active public life in the service of society that Confucian ethics prescribed as the most suitable course for all whose abilities, cultivation,

1. For extensive discussions of reclusion in medieval China, see Berkowitz, Patterns of Disengagement; Bauer, “The Hidden Hero”; Wang Yao, “Lun xiqi yinyi zhi feng,” in idem, Zhonggu wenxue shilun, 188–210; and Wang Wenjin, Shiyin yu Zhongguo wenxue. Other modern studies of reclusion in traditional China include Vervoorn, Men of the Cliffs and Caves; Li Chi, “The Changing Concept of the Recluse in Chinese Literature”; Davis, “The Narrow Lane”; and Zhang Zhongmou, Jianji yu dushan.

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and learning qualified them for it. To bar one’s gates and earn one’s own living without reliance on the emolument of office, to display a lack of regard for the social status which could be attained only by entering officialdom, and to devote one’s life to self-cultivation, scholarship or artistic pursuits made one a recluse.2

A literatus’s withdrawal from office or refusal to serve constituted the dominant mode of reclusion. Moreover, as suggested by Mote’s definition, the motivations for reclusion differed from case to case. Both classical and modern discussions of reclusion have drawn distinctions among recluses on the basis of motivations and circumstances. Early classifications include recluses who live in obscurity in search of an ideal; those who retire to preserve their integrity; those who retreat in order to avoid harm; those who withdraw out of protest against an unrighteous government; those who withdraw for “not having met with their time” (bu yu shi , which means that, in the absence of favorable circumstances, a worthy man is unable to realize his political ambitions); and those who follow their innate nature.3 These various motivations are not mutually exclusive. Modern studies on reclusion have refined these categories and sorted out classes inspired by Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism.4 Another system of classification based on the location of the recluse vis-à-vis society was introduced by medieval writers. Rubrics under this system include recluse at court (chao yin ), recluse in the marketplace (shi yin ), and hermit hiding in the mountains or recluse living by the fields and gardens. Reclusion within the court remained a subordinate form of reclusion first made possible by the intellectual climate of the late Han (206 bce–220 ce), Wei (220–65 ce), and Jin dynasties, which prized the “attainment of intent” (deyi ). As the modern scholar Wang Yao succinctly paraphrases this attitude, “So long as one attains the intent of [reclusion], it is permissible to practice reclusion at court or in the city. 2. Mote, “Confucian Eremitism in the Yüan Period,” 203. 3. See the introductions to the “Biographies of Recluses” in the Hou Han shu, 83/2755–57, and the Nan shi, 75/1855–56; and the historian’s comment appended to the “Biographies of Recluses” in the Song shu, 93/2297. 4. See Berkowitz, Patterns of Disengagement, 17–63, 207–9; Mote, “Confucian Eremitism in the Yüan Period,” 203–9; and Zhang Liwei, Guiqulai xi, 1–75.

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One need not hide among the mountains and lakes.”5 This type of reclusion complicates the concept without undermining its dominant mode, which consists in not holding office. The variety of classifications, based either on motivation or on physical location, and the number of categories within each system render plain the pervasiveness and complexity of the practice in medieval China. Reclusion was not merely a category used by historians for classifying the dead; it also named a specific type of social interaction in which a literatus engaged while alive. In Six Dynasties culture, reclusion was a positively valued and in some cases highly sociable practice, which continued to evolve.6 Although Aat Vervoorn has argued that major facets of the Chinese eremitic tradition were established by the end of the Han dynasty,7 according to Alan Berkowitz, “It was during the Six Dynasties that the building blocks of reclusion in China—the individuals whose lives denote the substance of it—came to form the framework that characterized reclusion throughout premodern China.”8 Tao Yuanming was one of these individuals, and his mode of reclusion considerably contributed to the fabric of this tradition. Tao Yuanming not only practiced reclusion as a way of life but also wrote about it profusely. The contribution of his writings to the development of the intellectual, literary, and artistic topoi of reclusion is enormous. As Berkowitz has recently suggested, Tao Yuanming is the “patriarch of ‘retirement as topos’ because of his influence on the image and portrayal of reclusion in traditional Chinese culture.”9 Indeed Tao’s model of reclusion, further colored and exaggerated by his early biographers (as we shall see), shaped how later 5. Wang Yao, Zhonggu wenxue shilun, 201. 6. Certain representatives of what Ishikawa Tadahisa has termed the “Guiji clique,” such as Xie An (320–85), Xu Xun (fl. ca. 358), and Zhi Dun (314–66), practiced reclusion either during parts of their lives or throughout. Members of the Guiji clique gathered together to engage in Pure Conversation (qingtan ), to enjoy artistic pleasures, and to go on mountain outings, of which the most famous was the Orchid Pavilion gathering in 353 (see Berkowitz, Patterns of Disengagement, 143). 7. See Vervoorn, Men of the Cliffs and Caves, 236–37. 8. Berkowitz, Patterns of Disengagement, 14. 9. Ibid., 223.

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literati viewed this lifestyle and its possibilities. Tao Yuanming represented himself as a scholar-turned-farmer who found delight in rustic activities, such as working the fields; engaging with his family, friends, and neighboring farmers; drinking wine; and reading and composing poetry in leisure.10 Far from a picture of an isolated hermit, Tao’s self-representation as a sociable retired scholar, in conjunction with the biographers’ portrayal of Tao as a spiritually transcendent recluse, fascinated later literati. This study of Tao Yuanming’s reception as recluse begins with Six Dynasties sources and ends with Song documents, since the last major developments in the literary analysis of Tao’s reclusion were introduced during the Song dynasty. There are four extant early biographies, with dates ranging from the late fifth to the early seventh century, which discuss Tao’s reclusion in historiographic rather than literary terms: that in the Song shu, compiled by Shen Yue (441–513) in 488; an independent account by Xiao Tong; the version in the Nan shi, a private compilation begun by Li Dashi (570–628) and completed and presented to the throne by his son Li Yanshou in 659; and that in the Jin shu, completed in 648 under the direction of Fang Xuanling (578–648). 11 These biographies have generally been read as conveying historical facts and at times superseded Tao’s own works as sources of information, but they need to be scrutinized closely. A comparison of the four reveals developments in the narration of Tao’s life and betrays the 10. It should be noted that although there is no doubt that Tao Yuanming practiced a form of reclusion, he never called himself a “recluse” (yinzhe or yinshi ). Rather, he styled himself a pinshi , a gentleman of poverty and, implicitly, of integrity. It is plausible that Tao Yuanming sought to distinguish his form of reclusion from a fashionable type of retreat practiced by the Jin elite in the comfort of their mountain villas or the complete seclusion of hermits in the mountains. 11. Tao Yuanming’s biography in Lianshe gaoxian zhuan (Biographies of the high worthies of the Lotus Society, which includes an account of Tao’s life in an appendix devoted to biographies of three “worthies” who did not join the society) is excluded here not on the grounds of its uncertain authorship but on account of the probably late date of its composition. Contrary to the traditional dating of these biographies to the Southern Dynasties, Tang Yongtong (Han Wei Liang Jin Nanbeichao fojiao shi, 256–61) dates them to some time after the mid-Tang, since the story of Huiyuan and the eighteen worthies forming the Lotus Society circulated only after the mid-Tang.

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constructedness of the biographers’ portrayals of Tao Yuanming. His reclusion was sporadically mentioned in Six Dynasties poetry, but it grew to be a popular historical referent in Tang poetry. The range of allusions by Tang poets to events and images from Tao’s reclusion rarely strayed from those found in the four biographies, however. For Tang poets, the biographies were perhaps more important than Tao’s own works as sources for understanding Tao’s reclusion. In the Song dynasty, by contrast, discussions and citations of Tao’s reclusion are based on knowledge of a wider range of Tao Yuanming’s works, in addition to the biographies. Tao’s own characterizations of his reclusion are often quoted verbatim in Song poetry. His reclusion was further discussed in non-poetic writings, most notably in a newly developed genre of poetry criticism, shihua (remarks on poetry). A survey of interpretations of Tao’s reclusion from the earlier periods indicates that Tao’s image as a recluse was far from being a stable construct. The emphasis and appropriation of varying aspects of his reclusion by writers of different periods often reflected changes in immediate interests and needs.

Tao Yuanming as Recluse in Early Biographies As Denis Twitchett has argued, biography in China “remained the exploration of a man’s actions in some special function, rather than the presentation of a fully articulated picture of the individual in the round.”12 The biographies in the official histories do not offer lives documented in any chronological or comprehensive sense. Writers of biographies beginning with Sima Qian (ca. 145–ca. 86 bce) and Ban Gu (32–92) tended to choose one or two characteristics, purposefully omitting others, to define the subject’s personality. As one historian recently observed, in the most common form of portraiture in the Shi ji (Records of the grand historian), Sima Qian “narrates one or two key scenes from the subject’s life, thereby depicting a certain significant trait of the subject’s personality. This resembles half-body portraiture in which the image is incomplete, but his personality [as we know it] is nonetheless vividly

12. Twitchett, “Chinese Biographical Writing,” 110.

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conveyed.”13 The specific traits highlighted are usually tied to the individual’s type, if any. Part of the biography section of dynastic histories is organized by categories of people (for example, scholars, flatterers, abusive officials, recluses), and to a great extent typology governs the shape of the biographies under a given heading.14 In the “Yinyi zhuan” (Biographies of recluses) in the Song shu, Shen Yue followed the established method of character depiction by concentrating on the few traits and actions that define the subjects of the chapter as recluses. Tao Yuanming’s biography in the Song shu represents the story of a model recluse insofar as it displays many characteristics and preferences typical of recluses in the chapter.15 The first part of the biography relates anecdotes of Tao’s recluse-like behavior and quotes the works in which Tao Yuanming most clearly represented himself as a recluse, “Biography of the Master of Five Willows” and “The Return” . In this section we also find what Wolfgang Bauer has called a recluse’s “negative career,” that is, the official positions offered to Tao and the number of times he rejected or resigned from them. 16 Many stories well loved in later tradition, translated below, fill the remainder of the first section. Shen Yue’s collection of anecdotes, which predominantly concern Tao’s drinking, yields a picture of an aloof, eccentric recluse.

13. Chen Lanchun et al., Zhongguo zhuanji wenxue fazhanshi, 77. Li Xiangnian (Han Wei Liuchao zhuanji wenxue shi gao, 84) makes a similar argument, although he credits Ban Gu rather than Sima Qian with originating the practice of selecting one or two characteristics to manifest the “defining” aspects of the subject’s personality. 14. Wang Kuo-ying (“Shizhuan zhong de Tao Yuanming,” 216–20) argues in a recent study of biographers’ depiction of Tao Yuanming that Tao is made to fit a typology. Using the “Biographies of Recluses” in the Song shu as an example, Wang reads Tao’s biography in comparison with other biographies in the same chapter and identifies shared characteristics, such as repeated decline of office, transcendence of the common, disregard for fame and profit, and an independent will. Wang concludes that the historian styled Tao’s portrait in accordance with the overall definition of the recluse in the chapter. 15. To this list of shared features noted by Wang Kuo-ying (see note 14 above), one might add a few more (common to many but not all): love of nature; fondness for an art such as letters, music, or calligraphy; and material self-sufficiency. 16. Bauer, “The Hidden Hero,” 168.

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1. Tao once said to relatives and friends, “I just wish to sing and play the zither to support my three-path existence.17 Is this possible?” Someone in charge heard of this and made him the magistrate of Pengze. [Once in office,] Tao asked his clerks to plant all the government-owned fields with shu [glutinous rice from which wine could be made]. His wife and sons pleaded with him to plant jing [non-glutinous rice]. Consequently, he had 2 qing and 50 mou of land planted with shu and 50 mou planted with jing.18 2. The commandery sent a local inspector [to Tao’s district]. District clerks informed Tao that he should greet the inspector with a bound girdle [proper decorum]. Tao Qian sighed and said, “I cannot bend at the waist to a petty country bumpkin for five bushels of rice.” On the same day, he untied the ribbon on his official seal and resigned. 3. Wang Hong , Regional Inspector of Jiangzhou , wanted to make Tao’s acquaintance but had been unsuccessful. Tao Qian once went to Mount Lu. Wang Hong had requested that Tao Qian’s old friend Pang Tongzhi bring some wine to a halfway point [between Tao’s home and Mount Lu], Lili , and invite Tao [for a drink]. Tao Qian, who had a leg ailment, asked an attendant (mensheng ) and two of his sons to carry him in a sedan chair.19 Once he arrived, he was delighted and drank with [Pang Tongzhi]. Shortly after, Wang Hong arrived and Tao cast no blame on either.20 4. When Yan Yanzhi [384–456] was made [governor of] Shi’an Commandery, he passed through [Xunyang ]. He visited Tao Qian every day, and during each visit they would without fail drink themselves 17. The term “three paths,” which refers to the life of a withdrawn scholar, comes from the story of Jiang Xu , who retired from office after Wang Mang’s usurpation (r. 9–23). Jiang did not leave the vicinity of his hut and associated only with two like-minded friends, Yang Zhong and Qiu Zhong , who would stroll with Jiang along the three paths leading to his hut. On the source of the story, see TYM, 2: 155, 178. 18. One qing equals one hundred mou. In the Six Dynasties, one qing equaled approximately 12.5 acres. 19. I have translated mensheng as “attendant,” following Tang Changru’s (Wei Jin Nanbeichao shi luncong xubian, 102) explanation of the usage of this term in the Southern Dynasties: it referred to a dependent living in one’s household and functioning in the capacity of an attendant. This particular usage should not be confused with the term’s later denotation—a disciple who inherits a scholastic heritage. 20. In other words, Tao was not upset at the deception involved in staging the meeting.

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into a stupor. Before he left [for his new post], Yan left 20,000 cash with Tao Qian. Tao Qian, in turn, gave all the money to a wine shop [as a credit], with which he obtained wine over time. 5. One Double Ninth day, since Tao had no wine [with which to celebrate], he went outside and sat for a long time among the chrysanthemums beside his house. Just then, some wine Wang Hong had sent arrived, and so he drank it on the spot. After getting drunk, he went back inside. 6. Tao Qian had no musical knowledge, but possessed a plain zither with no strings. Each time he became intoxicated with wine, he would strum the zither so as to lodge his feelings (ji qi yi ). 7. When either noble or common men came to visit, Tao Qian would bring out wine if he happened to have some. If Qian became drunk first, he would say to his guests, “I am drunk and wish to sleep now. You may leave.” 8. A military officer from the commandery visited Tao Qian when the latter had just finished warming his wine. Tao untied his head cloth to strain the wine. Once done, he tied the cloth back onto his head.21

Shen Yue concludes the first part of the biography by saying, “Such were his genuineness and candor” .22 These two qualities, whose initial contexts are wine-related events, would become a permanent part of Tao’s image. Although the majority of the anecdotes related by Shen Yue involve drinking episodes or a fondness for wine and present Tao acting in proper recluse decorum, Tao’s image in his Song shu biography cannot be said to be one-dimensional. The argument of a modern scholar of Chinese biographical writings that the subjects of dynastic biographies are usually drawn as one-dimensional figures is a point best understood in general terms.23 Shen Yue concluded Tao Yuanming’s biography with an argument for Tao’s loyalty toward the Jin dynasty and an emphasis on his role as a father; these serve to counterbalance the quirky and aloof behavior of the recluse. On Tao’s loyalist position,24 Shen Yue wrote: 21. Song shu, 93/2286–90. 22. Ibid., 93/2288. 23. See Li Xiangnian, Han Wei Liuchao zhuanji wenxue shi gao, 185. 24. Shen Yue’s interpretation of Tao’s reclusion as a loyalist reaction may in part have been inspired by Yan Yanzhi’s “Dirge for the Summoned Scholar Tao” , which, although written in the Liu Song dynasty, classifies Tao Yuanming

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Because his great-grandfather had been a minister under the Jin, Tao felt that it would be dishonorable to serve the succeeding dynasty. After the beginning of Gaozu’s [Liu Yu (r. 420–22), the founding ruler of the Liu Song dynasty] ascendancy toward the throne, he refused to serve again. He dated all his writings with the month and year. Works written before the Yixi reign period [405–18] are designated with Jin reign titles, but those written from the Yongchu reign period [420–22] on are merely marked by cyclical signs (jiazi ).25

According to Shen Yue, this refusal to acknowledge the new dynasty by using its reign titles is additional proof of Tao’s loyalty to the Jin. Shen Yue’s account of Tao Yuanming’s position-taking harks back to his introduction to the chapter and the historian’s comment appended to the chapter, in which he defined the men he included as worthies (xianren ) who retired in the absence of a sagely ruler and whose stories can “dissuade us from greed for success and transform the ordinary spirit” (jitan lisu ).26 Shen Yue described his recluses as men who have gone their own way, possessing an unbendable nature. Their intent could not be broken, nor their dao subdued. They did not avail themselves of a [recluse’s] reputation in hopes of advancement. If they had encountered a ruler who showed confidence in them, or had had the fortune of meeting their time, then why would they have allowed their hearts to drift in the rivers and seas, choosing to find repose in the hills and bushes? Undoubtedly, it is so since there was no other choice.27

Shen Yue thus concluded that these recluses would have served the state under good times. Withdrawal was traditionally conceived as as a Jin, rather than a Liu Song, summoned scholar. It is suggestive that Yan perhaps believed that Tao’s retirement and refusal to serve after 405, the year that marks Liu Yu’s ascendancy but predates his usurpation by fifteen years, indicated a resistance to the new figure of power. See Yan Yanzhi, “Tao zhengshi lei,” 38/2646b. It is remarkable that even well into the Liu Song dynasty, the starting point of the dynasty was by no means self-evident. In 459, as Xu Yuan was compiling a history of the Liu Song, the beginning year of the Liu Song dynasty was the subject of a debate. Among the various dates proposed were 404 and 405, the years when Liu Yu began to consolidate his power (see Xu Yuan’s biography in the Nan shi, 77/1918). 25. Song shu, 93/2288–89. 26. Ibid., 93/2275–76. 27. Ibid., 93/2297.

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the taking of a political position, hardly meaningful except as defined against government service. Nonetheless, it was not invariably interpreted as a reaction to a specific course of events or figure in power; rather, it was often read as a properly Confucian response to the general political atmosphere. Whether Tao’s withdrawal belongs to the former or the latter type of response is the subject of much later debate in Tao Yuanming studies. One of the key bases for Shen Yue’s affirmation of Tao’s loyalty, his claim concerning Tao’s two methods of dating poems, is, however, inconsistent with Tao’s extant collection of poems and prose. Of the fourteen dated poems and prose pieces, only one, “In Sacrifice for My Sister Madame Cheng” (407), is designated with the appropriate Jin reign title. However, this piece was written during, not before, the Yixi reign period. The other thirteen texts, which are marked by cyclical signs, were written before, during, and after the Yixi reign period (405–18). In other words, Tao began dating his works with cyclical signs well before the collapse of the Jin in 420, and even before Liu Yu’s rise to power in 405. Shen Yue’s assertion that Tao’s use of cyclical signs was a sign of protest against the new dynasty is thus untenable. But more important, this claim of loyalty surreptitiously displayed through dating methods became so well accepted that editors and critics from the Song dynasty on found themselves obliged to correct the discrepancy in Shen Yue’s argument with much argumentation and proof (see below, pp. 82–85).28 In addition to Tao’s position within the ruler-subject relationship, Shen Yue addressed another of Tao’s Confucian roles by quoting in full two texts in which Tao discussed his role as a father, “To My Sons, Yan and the Others” and “On Naming My Son” . In “To My Sons,” written as a type of “instruction” (xunjie ), Tao contemplated his imminent death, reflected on his own “unyielding personality” and lack of savoir-faire (which explain why he was not fit for office and thus withdrew),29 expressed sadness over 28. For a now-standard discussion of this question of jiazi dating, see Zhu Ziqing, “Tao Yuanming nianpu zhong de wenti” , in idem, Zhu Ziqing gudian wenxue lunwen ji, 2: 460–65. 29. Tao Yuanming clearly posited his innate disposition as a reason for withdrawal: “My nature is unyielding, my talent feeble; to many things I am opposed. When

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allowing his sons to experience hunger and cold, and, through several historical lessons, instructed his sons to love one another. Whereas this text dates to the last years of Tao’s life and is set against the background of his own death, “On Naming My Son” is an early set of poems celebrating the birth of his first son. It thus reveals a different perspective on his role and expectations as a father. In the poems, Tao traced his ancestry from the Xia and Shang dynasties through his great-grandfather, Tao Kan, to his father. With these illustrious predecessors as models, Tao lamented his own unworthiness while hoping that his son would become an able man. Whether from the viewpoint of an aging father or a new parent, these texts show the same heartfelt concern for his sons. Their function in Tao Yuanming’s biography is to show the more human side of the recluse. In a recent article, Wang Kuo-ying rightly points out that, judging solely on the basis of the four texts cited by Shen Yue, Tao Yuanming is presented as both recluse and father, with two texts illustrating each role.30 One might add that Shen Yue’s decision to include “On Naming My Son” reflects also the high regard for both clan and genealogy during the Southern Dynasties. The representation of Tao as an exemplary moral character through an emphasis on his roles as a loyal recluse and benevolent father in the Song shu is consistent with the conceptual underpinnings of Chinese historiography. Wang Kuo-ying has argued for the need to read Tao’s biography in light of the historian’s larger purpose of using history as a source of moral lessons.31 Like history in general, biography tended to serve a didactic function, and lives often became morality lessons. The moral point of the Song shu biography, however, is at times overshadowed by the number of impressionistic stories about Tao’s winebibbing. Although in some contexts drinking could be interpreted as a form of escape with political significance, this collection of anecdotes simply yields an idiosyncratic and eccentric character to be savored. I weighed up my position, I knew that I should inevitably incur worldly misfortune. So I made an effort to withdraw from the world” (translation from TYM, 1: 228). 30. Wang Kuo-ying, “Shizhuan zhong de Tao Yuanming,” 204. 31. Ibid., 221–26.

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As the earliest official biography of Tao Yuanming, Shen Yue’s version would serve as the basis for the three later versions, and it thus functions as a type of original which the others borrow from and mutate. Xiao Tong’s biography, though technically not an official biography, was traditionally used in a way no different from the three official ones, perhaps because its author was the crown prince of the Liang dynasty (502–57). Xiao Tong’s composition of a version of Tao’s biography not long after Shen Yue, who had been his junior mentor (shaofu ), suggests that he may have been dissatisfied with Shen Yue’s version. Moreover, Xiao is not known to have written a biography of anyone else, and his decision to write an account of Tao’s life may indicate a concern to transmit a “correct” version. Xiao’s new version of Tao Yuanming emphasizes Tao’s principled adherence to reclusion rather than his eccentricity and candor. In this regard, Xiao Tong appeared to have followed the lead of Yan Yanzhi, who portrayed his friend Tao Yuanming as a resolute recluse in “Dirge for the Summoned Scholar Tao” . In the opening passage of the dirge, Yan had praised the “resolute conduct” and “exalted principles” of past recluses and lamented that few could continue the great lineage of Chao Fu and Bo Yi , since recluses in his own time had become irresolute: “Although the paths are in the same dust, there are many who stop along the way and change their tracks.”32 Implicitly Tao Yuanming is the model recluse who did not change his course. Xiao Tong, who knew the dirge and included it in the Wen xuan (Selections of refined literature), made a similar reading of Tao’s reclusion, and the additional anecdotes that he included in Tao’s biography are, not coincidentally, unrelated to Tao Yuanming’s drinking. 1. The regional inspector of Jiangzhou, Tan Daoji [served 426–?], went to visit Tao, who was lying in bed, appearing emaciated from several days of hunger. Daoji said to him, “The rule of thumb for worthy men taking office is that when the Way (dao ) is absent from the times, one should go into reclusion; but when the Way prevails, one should serve. You are living in an enlightened era, so why impose such hardships upon yourself?” Tao replied, “How could I, Qian, dare to be compared to the worthies? 32. Yan Yanzhi, “Tao zhengshi lei,” 38/2646b. For a translation of the complete dirge by A. R. Davis, see TYM, 1: 243–49. See also my discussion of it in Chapter 3.

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It is simply that my ambition is inadequate.” Daoji offered some grain and meat, but [Tao] refused the gift with a wave of his hand. 2. Not wishing to tire his family, Tao moved alone [to Pengze to assume his new post]. He sent a servant boy to his sons. In a letter to them he wrote: “In light of your daily expenditures, it is difficult to be self-sufficient. Today I am sending home this servant to help you with farm chores. Since he, too, is the son of someone, you should treat him well.” 3. The regional inspector [of Jiangzhou] Tan Shao [served 416–17] with great effort convinced [Zhou] Xuzhi to come out of reclusion to lecture on the Rites and collate texts with the scholars Zu Qi and Xie Jingyi just north of the city [of Xunyang].33 The regional inspector’s residence they stayed in was near the cavalry stables. This is why Yuanming wrote in a poem to the three: Master Zhou transmits Confucius’ teachings Xie and Zu follow like an echo. A stable is no proper study room, 34 But your texts you carefully collate there.

Building on Shen Yue’s presentation of Tao Yuanming as a father, the second story strengthens the image of Tao as a benevolent father figure who wants care extended even to someone else’s son living in his house. The first and third show Tao’s resolution to live in reclusion as well as his principled nature. The message of the third story is not as straightforward as the first and requires the knowledge of the last lines of the poem: There are those this old man loves, He hopes that you might be his neighbors. This lesson he would like to teach you: Come here with me beside the River Ying.

The Ying River is where the legendary Xu You washed his ears after hearing Sage-King Yao’s offer to make him the chief of the Nine Provinces,35 and it exemplifies an uncompromising attitude 33. Zhou Xuzhi (377–423) was known, along with Tao Yuanming and Liu Yimin , as one of the “three recluses of Xunyang”; see his biography in the Song shu, 93/2280–81. There is no biographical information on Zu Qi or Xie Jingyi. 34. Xiao Tong, “Tao Yuanming zhuan,” 20/3068b–69a. Xiao cited the fourth and sixth couplets of the poem; see TYMJJJ, 90; and PTC, 59. 35. See Huangfu Mi, Gaoshi zhuan, 1.3a.

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toward reclusion. With this reference, Tao Yuanming attempts to convince his younger friends to leave office and return to their original ideals. These three new stories differ from Shen Yue’s collection of anecdotes in that they demonstrate the possibility of portraying the recluse apart from his drinking and aloofness. To be sure, the basis of Xiao Tong’s version is Shen Yue’s biography of Tao, which means that the majority of the anecdotes involve wine. But, as if uncomfortable with the intimate association of Tao Yuanming with wine, Xiao Tong wrote in the “Preface” to Tao Yuanming ji (Collected works of Tao Yuanming), which was in all likelihood intended to be read alongside the biography, that “there are those who have doubts about Tao Yuanming’s poetry, since wine is present in each poem. I, however, think that his true intentions do not lie in wine; rather, he made his mark through wine.”36 Although Chinese literati rarely viewed regular wine-drinking pejoratively as a form of alcoholism—indeed, drinking had become a defining part of elite culture during the Wei and Jin dynasties—Xiao Tong’s defense elevates Tao’s drinking to the level of an outlet for suppressed emotions, much like the use of wine associated with Ruan Ji (210–63).37 Moreover, Xiao’s “Preface” argues that Tao Yuanming’s writings are useful for teaching one how “to disavow rank and salary.” After 36. Xiao Tong, “Tao Yuanming ji xu,” 20/3067a. For a recent translation and discussion of Xiao Tong’s preface, see Wang Ping, “Culture and Literature in an Early Medieval Chinese Court,” 157–76. 37. According to Wang Yao (Zhonggu wenxue shilun, 172–80), by the Wei dynasty drinking had become a means for the gentry to escape from cruel political reality. The transition from the Wei to the Jin was marked by great instability, during which expressing an opinion or taking a position was terribly unsafe. Drinking and drunkenness were used most notably by the Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove as a defensive guise, as well as anesthesia for their dismay over the contemporary state of affairs. Yuan Xingpei (Tao Yuanming yanjiu, 113–14) compares Ruan Ji’s wine consumption with Tao’s and argues that Ruan’s carries many traces of unspeakable sorrow whereas Tao’s contains a certain joy. According to Yuan, both the stimulating and the numbing effects of wine gave access to a transcendent, philosophical state that obscured the distinction between the world of things and the subject. For a seminal essay on the relation between wine/drugs and gentry lifestyle / literary composition in the Wei and Jin dynasties, see Lu Xun, “Wei Jin fendu ji wenzhang yu yao ji jiu zhi guanxi” in idem, Lu Xun quanji, 3: 501–29.

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reading his writings, “there is no need to bother with climbing Mounts Tai and Hua and studying Laozi” to learn the art of disavowing office.38 It is in the context of an image of a resolute, not dissolute, recluse that we must interpret the new information found in Xiao Tong’s version of the biography regarding Tao’s wife: “His wife, née Zhai, sharing the same purpose and bent, was likewise able to deal with hardship” , , .39 Although this contradicts Tao Yuanming’s own description of his wife, with which Xiao Tong must have been familiar (“In my house there is no wife of [Lao] Lai” ),40 the existence of a supportive wife sharing the same ideals would set into relief the picture of a recluse with great resolve, along the lines of portraits of such famous recluses as Lao Lai and Qian Lou , both of whom happen to figure in Tao’s writings via their extraordinary wives.41 Xiao Tong’s version of Tao Yuanming is more one-dimensional than Shen Yue’s; it leaves us with a more clearly defined and unified picture of a recluse. Xiao’s selection of Tao’s poems in the Wen xuan offers further enlightenment. The nine works Xiao Tong chose for the Wen xuan generally concern either Tao’s intention to retire or aspects of his actual retirement. 42 The works Xiao Tong excluded 38. Xiao Tong, “Tao Yuanming ji xu,” 20/3067a. 39. Xiao Tong, “Tao Yuanming zhuan,” 20/3069a. 40. The line is from “To My Sons, Yan and the Others” (TYMJJJ, 441); translation from TYM, 1: 228. The wife of Lao Laizi persuaded her husband to decline an offer to serve under the king of Chu and to remain in reclusion (Liu Xiang, Lienü zhuan, 2.9b–10a). 41. In “The Biography of the Master of Five Willows,” Tao Yuanming reworked part of the description of Qian Lou by his wife as recorded in Liu Xiang’s Lienü zhuan (2.7b–8a) and applied it to the Master of Five Willows: “He was not distressed by poverty or low station, nor was he anxious for wealth and rank.” In the fourth of Tao’s “In Praise of Impoverished Gentlemen, Seven poems” , the description of Qian Lou is also based on his wife’s biography in Lienü zhuan. The wives of both Qian Lou and Lao Lai are depicted in Tao’s works as sympathetic partners to their recluse husbands. 42. Xiao Tong included the following works by Tao Yuanming in the Wen xuan: “Lines Written as I Passed Through Qu’e, on First Being Made Adjutant to the General of Defense Command” ; “Written at Tukou at Night During the Seventh Moon of the Year 401, While Returning to Jiangling After Leave” ; “Bearers’ Songs, Three poems” , no. 3; “Twenty Poems on Drinking Wine” , nos. 5 and 7 (the

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from the anthology are equally revealing. Poems and prose pieces that evince an appreciation of loyalty to ruler or an ambition for grand deeds, such as “In Praise of the Three Good Men” and “In Praise of Jing Ke” , were omitted. Clearly, this omission did not result from generic or topical restrictions of the Wen xuan since the category “Poems in Praise of History” (yongshi shi ) includes a notable poem by Zuo Si (ca. 250–ca. 305) about Jing Ke and one about the Three Good Men by Cao Zhi (192– 232). Xiao Tong’s dismissal of Tao Yuanming’s more ambitious side in his selections for the Wen xuan is consistent with his representation of Tao in his “Preface” and “Biography” as a model recluse free of worldly ambition. The most significant omission in Xiao Tong’s version of Tao Yuanming’s biography is what Shen Yue offered as proof of Tao Yuanming’s loyalty to the Jin. Xiao accepted Shen Yue’s opinion that Tao Yuanming refused to serve after Liu Yu’s ascendancy owing to a sense of propriety and loyal obligation, but he did not correlate this with the two methods of dating in Tao’s works. Since one may assume that Xiao Tong had access to the editions Shen Yue used, his implicit rejection of Shen Yue’s observation concerning the two methods of dating makes the validity of the observation suspect. The biography of Tao Yuanming in the Nan shi introduces few additions to Tao Yuanming’s life. It combines anecdotes and the biographer’s comments from Shen Yue’s and Xiao Tong’s earlier versions, repeating almost verbatim their words and narrative sequence. Its omissions are more telling. Unlike the Song shu version, which cites four of Tao’s texts, or Xiao Tong’s version, which does not need to cite Tao’s works since his Collected Works is appended to the biography,43 the Nan shi version cites only three: “The Biography of translation of this title is mine); “In Praise of Impoverished Gentlemen, Seven poems” , no. 1; “On Reading the Mountains and Seas Classic, Thirteen poems” , no. 1; “Imitations, Nine poems” , no. 7; and “The Return” . 43. According to Li Gonghuan’s Song edition of Tao Yuanming ji (Collected works of Tao Yuanming), Xiao Tong cited “The Biography of the Master of Five Willows” in the “Biography of Tao Yuanming,” as did Shen Yue. His reasons for citing only this text and omitting the other three texts cited by Shen Yue are unclear. An argument can be made, as I have, that he felt no need to cite all four

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the Master of Five Willows,” “The Return,” and “To My Sons, Yan and the Others.”44 The Nan shi’s omission of “On Naming My Son” suggests more emphasis on Tao Yuanming as an isolated figure compatible with the image of a recluse. It is possible that these omissions resulted from the biographer’s concern for length, but my proposed reading is substantiated by Tao’s biography in the Jin shu, compiled around the same time. The Nan shi version concludes with two new lines, not seen in either the Song shu or Xiao Tong’s version, to emphasize the virtue of Tao’s wife. To Xiao Tong’s description, “His wife, née Zhai, sharing the same purpose and bent, was likewise able to deal with hardship,” Li Yanshou added, “While the husband [Tao Yuanming] plowed the fields, the wife, one step behind, hoed the land.”45 This is one of its two innovations. The Nan shi’s more significant contribution was to use Tao Yuanming’s name synonymously texts since they are included in the appended Tao Yuanming ji and mentioned only the “Biography of the Master of Five Willows,” since Xiao Tong, like Shen Yue, considered this autobiographical text as telling Tao Yuanming’s own life “truthfully.” This argument is appealing for its likelihood and convenience. However, a counterargument can be made that there were reasons other than avoidance of repetition within the same volume. Rather, “To My Sons, Yan and the Others” could have been excluded since it contains the line, “In my house there is no wife of [Lao] Lai [who dissuaded her husband from taking office],” which contradicts Xiao Tong’s vision of Tao Yuanming’s wife: “His wife, née Zhai, sharing the same purpose and bent, was able to deal with hardship.” Although this counterargument is credible, reasons for the omission of the other two texts are more difficult to fathom. One could assert that “On Naming My Son” was omitted since this indication of Tao Yuanming’s lineage and of the existence of his posterity was inappropriate for his image as a pure recluse: isolated, detached, and somewhat mysterious (which is much in line with Tao’s self-portrayal in “Biography of the Master of Five Willows”). But to suppose that Xiao Tong intended to mold Tao’s image as a pure recluse is problematic because a satisfactory reconciliation cannot be made between this image and the image of Tao as a caring and benevolent father, which Xiao Tong certainly emphasized with the addition of Tao’s short letter to his sons. As for the exclusion of “The Return,” I know of no reasonable counterargument. Xiao Tong’s citation or omission of Tao Yuanming’s four texts is a thorny issue and can only be settled by logical conjecture. I have offered the solution that strikes me as least problematic. I am grateful to Chen Qiren of National Taiwan University for suggesting other interpretations. 44. The opening lines from “To My Sons, Yan and the Others” about the inevitability of death and determinacy of fate have been omitted. 45. Nan shi, 75/1859. Li Yanshou slightly reworded Xiao Tong’s description of the character of Tao’s wife but did not change the meaning substantially.

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with the concept of reclusion in the introduction to the “Biographies of Recluses.” Tao is the only recluse, not counting the legendary ones, named in the introduction: “Of the likes of Tao Qian, some took office but did not seek fame and withdrew without ridiculing the common crowd. Some avoided harm and concealed their tracks while serving the Confucian Way. Some hid their traces on the rivers and lakes. Others remained unknown beneath the crags and rocks. All these men were recluses of their times.”46 Within a span of 170 years, Tao Yuanming had been upgraded from being one recluse among many in the Song shu to the epitome of contemporary recluses in the Nan shi. Of the three later biographies, the greatest departure from Tao Yuanming’s biography in the Song shu is found in the Jin shu, completed in 648.47 A. R. Davis’s term “caricature,” with which he describes all four biographies, is most apt for this version.48 The new material in the Jin shu version may be classified into two types. First, the editors elaborated on stories in Shen Yue’s account. For instance, in the Song shu account, Wang Hong asks a mutual acquaintance, Pang Tongzhi, to arrange a meeting. In the Jin shu account, Wang Hong goes to Tao’s house in person, but Tao pleads illness and refuses to see him. Tao later says to someone else: “My personality does not get on well with the rest of the world, and due to illness I have remained in retirement. It is hardly that I am purifying my intentions to gain a reputation. How could I dare use the fact that Master Wang’s carriage came all the way here to glorify myself?” Unsuccessful in his first attempt to see Tao Yuanming, Wang Hong asks Pang Tongzhi to arrange the gathering at Lili. After the happy meeting between Tao Yuanming and Wang Hong, the Jin shu version goes on to tell 46. Nan shi, 75/1856. 47. The compilation of the now-standard Jin shu is a subject of great interest to historians, who have generally focused on the political motivations involved, the justifications given for this imperially commissioned project, and Tang emperor Taizong’s (r. 626–49) personal interest in it. For studies on this subject, see Li Peidong, Wei Jin Nanbeichao shiyuan, 108–39; and Yue Chunzhi, “Tangchao chunian chongxiu Jin shu shimo kao.” 48. A comparative analysis of the four biographies shows that Davis’s (TYM, 1: 4) observation that, in Tao’s early biographies, “his own ironic poses have become caricatured and distorted” is not equally accurate for all four.

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how Tao and Wang traveled side by side but separately back into town. Tao Yuanming “laughed and talked [with Wang Hong], while enjoying his intoxication. He did not covet in the slightest [Wang Hong’s] luxurious carriage.”49 The novelty in the Jin shu that is perhaps most often cited is a “quotation” that gives voice to the recluse’s eccentricity. As in the Song shu, Tao Yuanming has a stringless zither that he strums to convey his feelings, but now he quips, “As long as I get the flavor of the zither, why bother with sounds made by the strings” , ?50 These two examples and a few others not cited here present a further imaginative step away from the original account. New conclusions to old anecdotes, with fuller narratives and more colorful details, offer more satisfaction to the reader. Second, the Jin shu version offers stories and character descriptions not seen in any of the other three biographies. For example, Tao Yuanming sometimes would be invited by his fellow villager Zhang Ye and companions Yang Songling and Chong Zun to drink with them or to accompany them to someone else’s party. Even if Tao did not know the host, he felt delight and made no objection. He would drink until intoxicated and then return home.51 Another anecdote describes Wang Hong noticing Tao Yuanming’s shoeless state during their first meeting. Wang ordered his servants to measure Tao’s feet and make a pair of shoes. Surrounded by guests, Tao stretched out his feet for measurements to be taken. Such new stories magnify the untrammeledness, lack of inhibitions, and disregard for polite behavior already ascribed to Tao by the earlier biographers. The innovative descriptions of Tao’s character in the Jin shu work along the same lines as the new anecdotes. Tao Yuanming is now said to have eschewed involvement in managing his family’s livelihood, delegating all the farmwork and household chores to his sons and servants. This utterly aloof 49. Jin shu, 94/2462. 50. Ibid., 94/2463. 51. The point about Tao Yuanming drinking until drunk and then returning home appears to have been drawn from his “Biography of the Master of Five Willows,” but there the context is different. In this fictionalized autobiography, the Master of Five Willows drinks to the point of intoxication at the homes of relatives and friends rather than of strangers.

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and carefree recluse is further described as “never having expressed anger or joy.”52 The omissions in the Jin shu version of Tao’s biography are as meaningful as the additions. The editors do not cite “On Naming My Son” and “To My Sons, Yan and the Others.” Nor do they repeat Xiao Tong’s citation of Tao’s letter to his sons, in which Tao asks them to treat the new servant boy well. These two important omissions and the new information about how Tao passed the farm responsibilities to his sons, taken together, de-emphasize the image of Tao, built by the previous biographies, as a benevolent father. The Jin shu biography also leaves out the argument concerning Tao’s refusal to serve two dynasties; Tao’s role as a loyal subject of the Jin is thus no longer visible. The last omission is any mention of Tao Yuanming’s wife. The excision of three of the primary Confucian relationships (ruler-subject, husband-wife, father-son) creates an image of a recluse all the more carefree, individual, and unbound to common roles. Additions to and omissions from earlier versions of Tao’s biography, as well as the selection of material from other sources, reveal the aspect of construction in the biographers’ presentation of Tao’s life. Moreover, that the composite images in the biographies differ is significant because a reader’s image of Tao Yuanming could depend on which of the texts he relied on. One important example is the particular influence of the Jin shu biography in the Tang dynasty. Although High and Mid-Tang writers used anecdotes common to all four biographies, the portrayal of Tao Yuanming in their own poetry in general most resembles the depiction of Tao in the Jin shu. As we will see, Tang writers were fond of representing Tao’s reclusion in idyllic terms. We can speculate about the reasons for their preference for the Jin shu biography. First, Tang writers may well have found that the Jin shu, which developed Tao’s eremitic behavior to an extreme, offered more interesting and colorful poetic material. Second, it is the most “literary” of the four, with more attention to narrative flow, satisfactory conclusions, and imagistic language. Third, the new compilation of the History of Jin was ordered by the second Tang emperor, Taizong (r. 626–49), who was dissatis52. Jin shu, 94/2462.

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fied with the eighteen existing versions written by private historians either in chronicle or composite form. In the edict ordering the new history, Taizong faulted the private historians of the past: “Although these authors have left accounts, they are not good historians. Their works are short on authentic records” , , .53 Taizong himself wrote the appraisals (lun ) appended to the basic annals of the reigns of Sima Yi (d. 251; made emperor posthumously) and Sima Yan (r. 266–90), and the biographies of Lu Ji (261–303) and Wang Xizhi (321– 79), thereby granting the new Jin shu the legitimation of “imperial authorship” (yuzhuan ). The authority derived from the emperor’s personal involvement in its compilation would likely have drawn a certain amount of readership, study, and interest. Hence, although some of the eighteen previous versions of the history of Jin survived into the Song dynasty, “ever since [the completion of the 648 Jin shu] all those who referred to the history of Jin have dispensed with the old versions and instead followed the newly compiled one,” according to the historian-critic Liu Zhiji (661– 721). 54 The version of the History of Jin most read by later Tang writers would have been the 648 edition. The image of Tao Yuanming standing above normal social relations, developed to varying degrees in the four biographies, informs the biographers’ retelling of Tao’s life and selection of materials. For example, there are two versions of the encounter between Tao and Wang Hong. According to Shen Yue, Wang Hong tried to make Tao’s acquaintance but was unsuccessful. He then arranged for Tao’s friend Pang Tongzhi to set up wine and food for Tao Yuanming at a pavilion in Lili. When Tao arrived, he “grew delighted and drank with [Pang Tongzhi]. Shortly after, Wang Hong arrived and Tao cast no blame on either.” A version that appears in earlier histories, to which Shen Yue must have had access, gives a very different account: “Sometime after Tao Qian resigned, he was suffering from a leg ailment and asked one attendant and two sons to carry him in a sedan chair to pay Wang Hong a visit. After he arrived, he grew

53. “Xiu Jin shu zhao” , in QTW, 8.3a. 54. Liu Zhiji, Shi tong tongshi, 12.11.

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delighted and drank with [Wang Hong].” 55 Shen Yue’s retelling, adopted by Xiao Tong and Li Yanshou, depicts Tao Yuanming as a recluse whose transcendence and eccentricity absolve him of any need for proper decorum. In this version, Tao receives a visit from a high official and is able to express pleasure or displeasure at the encounter. In the earlier version, Tao calls on Wang Hong and therefore appears as more conventional, sociable, and human in his interactions. The air of loftiness that characterizes Tao’s personality in the four biographies is absent in this earlier version. The likely source for the Song shu version was Tan Daoluan’s (fl. 459) Xu Jin yangqiu (Continuation of the annals of Jin), in which Tan relates how Wang Hong visited Tao Yuanming and, upon noticing that Tao wore no shoes, ordered his servants to measure Tao’s feet.56 Tan Daoluan’s account of Wang Hong’s visit to Tao circulated at the same time as the account of Tao’s visit to Wang Hong in either Sun Yan’s or Xu Yuan’s respective Song 55. The late tenth-century encyclopedia Taiping yulan (Imperially reviewed encyclopedia of the Taiping era) cites this passage from the Song shu; see Taiping yulan, 774/3432b. Since it does not appear in Shen Yue’s Song shu, it must have been taken from one of the two earlier works of the same title, probably that of Sun Yan or, less likely, that of Xu Yuan, on which Shen Yue’s history is based. Both histories predate Shen Yue’s and survived into the early Song. See Yiwen zhi in Xin Tang shu, 58/1456. An identical passage is cited in the early seventh-century encyclopedia Beitang shuchao (Excerpts from books in the Northern Hall; compiled in 630). But there it is attributed to a Jin shu. Since the now-standard Jin shu (Fang Xuanling’s) was not compiled until more than a decade later (646), and earlier works of the same title either predate Tao Yuanming or were lost by the early Tang, the quotation must be taken from Zang Rongxu’s (415–88) Jin shu, which was compiled before Shen Yue’s Song shu (488). Although Beitang shuchao is earlier than Taiping yulan, the passage in question appears in Chen Yumo’s Ming edition of Beitang shuchao and not in the more reliable Qing edition of Kong Guangtao (see Yu Shinan , Beitang shuchao, ed. Chen Yumo, 140.5a; cf. Yu Shinan, Beitang shuchao, ed. Kong Guangtao, 140.4a). It is possible that Chen Yumo’s and Kong Guangtao’s manuscripts differed, or that Chen, who often replaced passages from lost sources with others from known sources, culled this passage from Taiping yulan. Tang Qiu’s (1804–81) reconstruction of Zang Rongxu’s Jin shu includes this passage, but he may have taken the passage directly from Chen Yumo’s edition without having compared it to other editions; see Tang Qiu, comp., Jiu jia jiu Jin shu ji ben, 151. 56. Tan Daoluan, Xu Jin yangqiu, 32a.

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shu and Zang Rongxu’s (415–488) Jin shu, probable sources for the variant version of the anecdote. That Shen Yue, Xiao Tong, and Li Yanshou chose the version that cast Tao in a loftier light demonstrates the active (and not always innocent) role played by the historians in the early construction of Tao’s image. The Tang editors of the Jin shu elaborated on Shen Yue’s version of the anecdote and prefaced it with another story in which Wang Hong goes to Tao Yuanming’s house to pay a visit only to be rejected at the gate. This further emphasizes Tao’s loftiness and rejection of social conventions. The four biographies of Tao Yuanming should be problematized in several respects. First, some of the information in the biographies contradicts either Tao Yuanming’s own works or the most reliable secondhand account of Tao’s life and personality, the dirge written by his friend Yan Yanzhi. None of the biographers cite the dirge. And if they had, discrepancies would become obvious. The dirge records such valuable information as a conversation between Tao Yuanming and Yan Yanzhi that reveals a friendship based on intimacy and understanding, not drinking sessions. The dirge also mentions that Tao Yuanming played the zither (which presumably had strings) and therefore had musical knowledge, as Tao himself claimed in many of his works.57 Yan praised Tao for virtues (honesty, simplicity, chastity, and purity) that make him seem serious-minded, even stolid: “When he was young, he did not delight in amusements; when he was a grown man, he indeed simplified his feelings” , .58 Such a text could find no place in the four 57. Xiaofei Tian (Tao Yuanming and Manuscript Culture, 87) notes a potentially telling discrepancy between one line from “To My Sons, Yan and the Others” as recorded in the Song shu (93/2289) and the Nan shi (75/1859), on one hand, and in Tao’s Collected Works, on the other. In the histories, the line reads, “I have loved books since my youth (shaonian lai hao shu or shao lai hao shu). In the version in Tao’s Collected Works (TYMJJJ, 441, 443), we find “I have studied [or loved] the zither and books since my youth” (shao xue qin shu or shao hao qin shu). Tian wonders whether the historians, upon noticing the contradiction, had changed Tao’s letter “so as to preserve the wonderful story [of the stringless zither].” 58. Yan Yanzhi, “Tao zhengshi lei,” 38/2646b; translation, with modification, by A. R. Davis (TYM, 1: 244). In the elegy (ci ) proper, Yan describes Tao’s character as follows: “The conduct of concord with relatives / Arises not from overt effort. The faithfulness of his promises / Was weightier than the word of Pu. His honesty

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biographers’ creation of a perfect recluse, who, while principled and resolute, was far more memorable for his idiosyncracies and transcendence of worldly cares and norms. This omission underscores the systematic phenomenon in the four biographies of willfully selecting materials based on authorial interpretation and internal consistency. By selecting and editing particular anecdotes and texts, each of the biographers created a collage representing a distinct image of Tao. Second, the three histories—the Song shu, Nan shi, and Jin shu—have been criticized by later Chinese historians, such as Liu Zhiji and Liu Xu (887–946), for distortion and exaggeration;59 further, the credibility of the biographies of Tao Yuanming has been evaluated in two recent articles.60 The veracity of these anecdotes was deep, his simplicity pure; / His truth was tranquil, his purity gentle. Genial but capable of dignity, / He was learned but not tedious” , . , . , . , (Yan Yanzhi, “Tao zhengshi lei,” 38/2646b; translation, with modification, from TYM, 1: 246). My translation of the first two lines of this passage follows the Wuchen commentator Lü Yanji’s (8th c.) paraphrase: “This is saying that the conduct of respecting relatives arises naturally; it is not done through overt effort” (Xiao Tong, Liuchen zhu Wen xuan, 57.23b). I am grateful to David Knechtges for his insight on these lines. 59. Liu Zhiji in Shi tong (Generalities on history) makes the following criticism of the Song shu: “There have been those who took different approaches and loved to create fabulous stories , . In the Han there was Liu Xiang, in the Jin Ge Hong, and in recent times Shen Yue, who far surpassed his two predecessors” (Liu Zhiji, Shi tong tongshi, 18.12). Criticism of Jin shu was plentiful. Liu Zhiji writes that “sources it drew from were predominantly lesser works of brief scope (duanbu xiaoshu ). It demands little effort and is easy to read, like the Yu lin, Shishuo xinyu, Soushen ji, Youming lu, and such. Works such as Cao [ Jia]’s or Gan [Bao]’s Jin ji and Sun [Sheng]’s Jin yangqiu or Tan [Daoluan]’s Xu Jin yangqiu were not used. Thus in Jin shu there is a great number of omissions in the praisewor, the author of thy events recorded” (Liu Zhiji, Shi tong tongshi, 16.4–5). Liu Xu Jiu Tang shu (Old history of the Tang), lists more shortcomings in the biography of Fang Xuanling: “Most of the historians [who participated in the compilation of Jin shu] were literary men who liked to use fantastic and erroneous trifles to expand on various sorts of hearsay , . In their critical assessments, they vied for resplendence and not truth , ” (Jiu Tang shu, 66/2463). For a discussion of these passages, see Qi Yishou, “Lun shizhuan zhong de Tao Yuanming shiji ji xingxiang,” 152. 60. See Qi Yishou, “Lun shizhuan zhong de Tao Yuanming shiji ji xingxiang”; and Wang Kuo-ying, “Shizhuan zhong de Tao Yuanming.” In Qi Yishou’s article, the anecdotes in Tao Yuanming’s biographies are read against Tao’s own works and other relevant sources to assess the veracity of the anecdotes. Wang Kuo-ying’s arti-

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and “facts” is beyond the scope of this discussion; suffice it to say that many of these well-loved stories have little basis in either Tao’s own works or other known contemporary sources, often contradict one or the other, and are most likely the product of hearsay or fanciful imagination.61 What is most important for the purposes of this discussion is that these four texts have generally been taken for granted by scholars up to the present, who have treated them as sources of information rather than as texts that influenced later readings of Tao Yuanming. As the first group of texts in the history of Tao’s reception, they set the terms for later discussions, gave the contexts and authorial intentions behind certain poems, and molded the imaginations of later readers. Subsequent students of Tao’s poetry unquestioningly used stories from these biographies as referents for Tao’s poems and accepted them as factual accounts. The problem with this hermeneutical process, which relies unreservedly on the reliability of these biographies, is a circularity between historical accounts and textual interpretation. As Stephen Owen has argued, We construct our historical accounts out of other historical accounts; and in the case of interpretation, we construct such accounts to answer the demands of the particular literary text; then we interpret the literary text in the light of the historical account that we have made to serve as its context.62

And, We never see the grounding of a literary text in its history; we see only the formal imitation of such grounding, the framing of the literary text within another text that pretends to be its historical ground, an “account” of history.63

The information provided by these biographies must still be used, for they are the only complete, early secondary accounts of his life (Yan cle aims less at establishing the verity of the biographical anecdotes and more at critically analyzing the formation of Tao Yuanming’s image within the conventions of biographical writing in official histories. 61. For an approach that reads the construction of Tao’s biographies as based on the poet’s “own projection of his image in his poetry and prose,” see Xiaofei Tian, Tao Yuanming and Manuscript Culture, 19, 56–94. 62. Owen, “Poetry and Its Historical Ground,” 108. 63. Ibid., 107–8.

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Yanzhi’s dirge aside), but the constructed nature of these biographies can no longer be ignored. Since these texts have generally been treated as reliable historical documents, little attention has been paid to variations among them and the development in Tao’s biography over time. Although the biographies as a group were one of the pillars on which later reception rested, their differences demonstrate that even over a period of less than two centuries Tao Yuanming’s historical image was far from constant. This seemingly solid pillar was not made from a single block but built up over time of several pieces whose shapes reveal traces of their original production.

Allusion and Ambivalence in the Tang Images from Tao Yuanming’s life in retirement are common in Tang poetry. Recurrent contexts for alluding to Tao Yuanming are a longing for a leisurely life away from the court, consolation of oneself or a friend for not meeting with one’s time, and congratulation or dissuasion of a friend’s thought of retirement or recent retirement.64 These substantive references make a certain statement about Tao. More common are poems that use Tao’s name as an adjective modifying nouns such as cup (bei ), wine (jiu ), chrysanthemum (ju ), willow (liu ), wind (feng ), spring (chun ), and leisure (xian ). Although these references may not deepen our understanding of the poem’s meaning and tell us little about the poet’s specific reading of Tao Yuanming, they remain a significant indicator of the Tang reception of Tao Yuanming as recluse. His rustic lifestyle and the ideals it embodies had become a symbology so ingrained in Tang poetic language that the mere use of his name sufficed to summon the entire aura and setting of Tao’s idyllic existence, as already poeticized by 64. Poems about certain occasions and those that indicate the geography of exile or travel (by either the poet or the friend to whom he was bidding farewell) connected to Tao Yuanming often contain a Tao Yuanming allusion. By the Tang, it had become appropriate to mention Tao when writing on the Double Ninth Day and its associated activities, such as drinking wine and admiring chrysanthemum flowers. It also had become customary to allude to Tao Yuanming when writing about an exile or journey to Tao’s region, Xunyang. The nature of these references is conventional and not necessarily substantive. Only the substantive references are subject to further analysis in this book.

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Tao and his biographers. It was the work of Tang poets that first established Tao Yuanming as a set poetic allusion, a standard abbreviation for the ideal of retirement.65 It is clear from the many hundreds of poems in the Quan Tang shi (Complete Tang poems) with references to Tao Yuanming that Tang poets were most drawn to depictions of Tao’s life as a recluse, which encompasses images of drinking wine, strumming the zither, and generally affecting aloofness from worldly affairs. The amount of attention paid to the imagistic dimension of Tao’s works and his biographies is characteristic of Tang poets who, in their use of Tao Yuanming as a trope, found most appealing vivid and colorful scenes from his life in retirement. Their interpretations reveal the great influence of the biographies, which are largely impressionistic collages of Tao’s life. It would not be too great a generalization to say that, according to Tang poetics, such images and not the philosophical ruminations dispersed through Tao’s works are the basis for poetic meaning (shiyi ), that is, what makes a poem a poem. In the Song dynasty, as we shall see, the discursive aspect of Tao’s poetry came to play a more central role in the interpretation and use of Tao Yuanming. Substantive references to Tao Yuanming are nonetheless plentiful in Tang poetry; again, the overwhelming majority concern his role as a recluse. The frequency of this one type of reference reveals the singular nature of the Tang reading of Tao as well as it limitations. I begin by examining Tang depictions of the recluse’s idle lifestyle, which focus on the dual pleasures of wine drinking and zither playing (reading or composing poetry in leisure are sometimes substituted for the latter) and a detached existence surrounded by little more than willow trees and chrysanthemum flowers. The following poem by Li Bo is a good example for the broad array of Tao Yuanming allusions it incorporates: 65. By the late Six Dynasties, Tao had become an exemplar of reclusion. Yet poems that use the images associated with Tao, such as wine, willows, chrysanthemums, and Peach Blossom Spring, to signify the life or aura of a recluse, are relatively few and limited mostly to the brush of the Liang princes (Xiao Tong, Xiao Gang [503–51], and Xiao Yi [508–55]) and their literary associates. For examples, see Li Jianfeng, Yuan qian Tao Yuanming jieshou shi, 29–32. Li shows that allusions to Tao’s poetry (wine, willows, etc.) were available to Southern Dynasties writers, but their use was not as consistent or widespread as in the Tang.

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Reclusion Playfully Presented to Zheng, Magistrate of Liyang Magistrate Tao was drunk every day, Willow trees in their vernal look went unnoticed. His plain zither never had any strings, And he strained his wine with his head cloth. In the cool breeze by the northern window, He declared himself “a man from Fu Xi’s time.” When may I arrive at Lili, And see the one I have always felt akin to?66

67

To the modern reader this poem could not be more clichéd. But it is interesting for precisely this. All the key images associated with Tao’s life in retirement are listed in orderly fashion: line one speaks of Tao’s drunkenness, line two his five willow trees, line three his stringless zither, line four summons the image of Tao Yuanming straining his wine with his head cloth, line five the image of napping by the northern window, and line six alludes to Tao’s selfcharacterization as a man living even before the epoch of the legendary good ruler Fu Xi. The images in lines five and six refer to Tao’s leisure and utter contentment with his situation.68 Although exceptional for the quantity of Tao Yuanming allusions, the poem’s representation of Tao is quite standard for the Tang. Li Bo’s portrayal harks back to the biographers’ versions of Tao, particularly that of the Jin shu. The stringless zither and the image of straining wine in lines three and four appear only in Tao’s biographies and not his own works. More than likely five and six, too, were drawn from Tao’s biography, even though they also appear in Tao’s œuvre. And 66. The “playfulness” of the poem derives from the locality of Lili, near where Tao Yuanming had lived, which was, during the Tang, the district of Liyang, where Li Bo’s friend Magistrate Zheng now serves. In a playful spirit, Li Bo presented to the current magistrate of the locale a poem describing the idleness of a past magistrate in the general region. Whether any analogy between the two magistrates was intended beyond a coincidence of place is open to conjecture. 67. QTS, 169/1746. 68. These two lines derive from the following in “To My Sons, Yan and the Others”: “Often in the fifth and six months I lay beneath the northern window, and when a cool breeze suddenly came, I would think myself a man of the time before the Emperor [Fu] Xi” (translation, with slight modification, from TYM, 1: 229). The original reads: , , , (TYMJJJ, 441).

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the only version of the four biographies to mention the cool breeze by the northern window and the man before Fu Xi’s time is the Jin shu. Li Bo’s familiarity with the Jin shu account of Tao’s life or, to push this point further, the especial appeal to a Tang poet of the colorful scenes from the Jin shu narrative should not be surprising. The impressionistic and, to a certain extent, exaggerated pictures provided workable poetic material from the point of view of Tang poetics, to which the sequencing of images and imagery as narration are central. Li Bo’s poem is extraordinary for the number of symbolic images it packs into eight lines. More typical are poems that select one or two aspects of Tao’s life in retirement. These examples may focus on his wise management of cares through the help of wine (“the CareDispelling Thing” from Tao’s “On Drinking Wine,” no. 7), as in these concluding couplets in a poem by Li Qunyu (813?–60?): If I may ask Tao Yuanming, What is the thing called ‘forgetting one’s cares’? Without needing a reason he got dead drunk, And napped soundly, putting to rest the myriad cares.

69

Or his relaxed enjoyment of wine and reading, as implied by the opening lines of a poem by Bo Juyi (772–846): I love my weed-thatched hut at the beginning of summer, Tao Qian’s words are indeed not false. Petals flutter down into my flowery wine cup; A book is blown open on my breezy desk.

70

Or his leisure after resigning, as in this example from Li Shangyin (813?–58): Presented to Myself After Magistrate Tao left his post, He lounged and napped in his study.

69. From “Yu ye cheng zhangguan” (QTS, 568/6570–71). 70. From “Ji Huangfu Qi” (QTS, 446/5017).

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Reclusion Who wouldn’t exchange five bushels of rice For the northern window breeze?

71

Taken together, these exemplary substantive references and the numerous lines that simply couple Tao Yuanming’s name to any one of the nouns listed above reveal the Tang fascination with Tao Yuanming’s enactment of the ideal of retirement, which entails, in short, a carefree abandoning of external affairs. References to the practical issue of self-support play a marginal role in this idealized picture of Tao’s retired life. Rarely does one find poems that hint at the task of farming. One of the few examples is this poem by Li Deyu (787–850): Written in the Suburbs on the Spur of the Moment, to Be Sent to Li Jue, Attendant Gentleman-Governor In high office, I am ashamed not to be in reclusion, Taking leisure in the woods gives me delight in this retreat. Old farmers fight for mats to sit on, Little children carry books and hoes. The bamboo-lined paths make riding difficult, Watching for your boat puts me on tiptoes. Don’t you know about Tao Jingjie, Who only loved his weed-thatched hut?

72

To enhance a description of one’s own situation with a historical or literary allusion was a poetic strategy not uncommon in the Chinese literary tradition. An allusion may amplify a poem of limited characters by drawing in extra-textual associations and larger codes of signification. Tao’s weed-thatched hut, symbolizing an idyllic rustic life and a freedom from the cares of office, lends a mood of sheer satisfaction to Li’s depiction of his lifestyle upon his return to his Pingquan villa in 836 while employed as adviser to the heir apparent (binke ) in the eastern capital office. The elements shared 71. QTS, 540/6214. Five pecks of rice seem to signify, for Li Shangyin, not only an official salary but also self-pride. Modern scholars date this poem to around the time of Li’s resignation and refusal to serve under Sun Jian ; see Li Shangyin, Li Shangyin shige jijie, 1: 344. 72. Li Deyu, Li Deyu wenji jiaojian, 596 (QTS, 475/5404).

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by both Li Deyu’s stay in his country home and Tao’s life in withdrawal are old farmers, children, farm tools, and a rural dwelling that is difficult to access. The allusion’s context indicates that Li recognized Tao’s life in retirement came with fellow farmers and farm children. Still, the connection between Tao Yuanming and actual farming remains implicit in Li Deyu’s poem. A clearer link is found in “Three Poems Presented to Cui, the Magistrate of Qiupu” by Li Bo. The second poem reads: Magistrate Cui models himself after Magistrate Tao, By the northern window, he often naps during the day. Strumming the zither at times in moonlight, Getting the flavor even without strings. In hosting guests, he only pours the wine, In office, he cared little for profit. In the east field, there is much millet to be planted,73 I urge you to plow the fields soon.

74

Although the poem is unmistakably jocular in tone, its last couplet reveals what, for Li Bo, makes his friend fall short of a perfect imitation of Tao Yuanming. A faithful copy must include not only napping during the day, toying with a stringless zither, and drinking with guests but also actual farming. Li Bo’s poem indicates the element in the picture of Tao’s rustic lifestyle that is most difficult to integrate into an idealized vision of Tao’s retirement. Substantive references to Tao Yuanming in Tang poetry (and thereafter) sometimes serve as consolation for not meeting with one’s time. The poet might seek solace in Tao’s example when reflecting on his own frustrated ambition. An illustrative example comes from a little-known scholar-official, Li Zhong (fl. early to mid-tenth century): 73. The “east field” (donggao or dongtian ), a recurrent symbol in the topos of retired, rustic life in the Tang, is associated with Tao Yuanming via this line from “The Return”: “climbing the east hill and whistling long” (TYMJJJ, 391; PTC, 270). 74. Li Bo, Li Bo quanji jiaozhu hui shi ji ping, 3: 1584 (QTS, 169/1747–48).

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Writing My Thoughts on a Spring Day, I Send This Poem to District Magistrate Sun of Qushan Since I became a traveler to the border towns, I have passed two springs in leisure. Orioles and flowers, soaked with rain, are deep in the courtyard, Books and sword, layered with dust, cover the bed. Expectations for the Purple Palace ultimately proved futile, The road to the clouds in the blue did not extend itself to me. I only think of Tao Jingjie, Who had poetry and wine as constant friends.

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Li Zhong, who apparently had been exiled to a minor post on the frontier, likens himself to Tao Yuanming in that he did not meet with his time and instead led an idle life. Other examples involve using a Tao Yuanming allusion to comfort a friend who met with an unfavorable time. For instance, in “Farewell to Qiao Lin” , Li Qi (jinshi 725) consoles a recently demoted friend by comparing him to past worthies in similar circumstances, a polite poetic convention. Grass is green around the little level ford, Flowers are in bloom by the shores of the River Yi. Today your ambition is sadly frustrated, So you cannot stay for spring in the capital. You do not speak of gold and silk, Your heart accepts both advances and setbacks. Master Ruan could only drink wine, Magistrate Tao was willing to stoop to poverty.

76

Ruan Ji and Tao Yuanming function in this poem as examples of worthy men who could not realize their ambition. Ruan found solace in wine, and Tao preserved his integrity even in duress. Li Qi hopes that his friend will find consolation in these historical examples of

75. QTS, 748/8519. 76. QTS, 134/1365.

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“not meeting with one’s time.” The placement of Tao Yuanming in this context reveals an interpretation of Tao’s reclusion, first set forth by Shen Yue, that stands at variance with the more common practice in the Tang of associating Tao Yuanming with the lofty features of his retirement, such as wine drinking, zither playing, and carefree abandon, without ostensibly grounding them in Confucian morality. In the context of not meeting with one’s time, Tao Yuanming becomes one manifestation of the Moral Hero, to borrow Alan Berkowitz’s term, which derives from the prescription in the Analects that “when the Way prevails in the world, he will make his appearance; when the Way is absent, he will remain hidden. When the Way prevails in a state, he will feel shame if poor and in low position; when a state is without the Way, he will feel ashamed of wealth and rank.”77 This characterization of Tao as Moral Hero would not gain wide currency until the Song dynasty. Interpreting Tao Yuanming’s retirement as a response to the absence of an enlightened ruler raises such tangential questions as whether Tao retired in reaction to the dark and corrupt political atmosphere that characterized the Six Dynasties or in specific protest against a new dynasty. These questions met with uninteresting answers in the Tang dynasty, whose writers generally focused more on Tao’s life in retirement than on the causes underlying it. One scholar-official, Yan Zhenqing (709–85), expressed a rare understanding of Tao’s retirement in a poem, “In Praise of Tao Yuanming” . Yan depicted Tao as a loyal subject on a par with Zhang Liang , who hired an assassin to kill the First Emperor of Qin (r. 221–210 bce) to avenge the destruction of his native state of Han , and with Gong Sheng , the Former Han Confucian who retired in protest against the ascendancy of the usurper Wang Mang and finally starved himself to death to avoid a summons from the new court. Zhang Liang only thought of avenging the state of Han, Gong Sheng considered it shameful to serve a new ruler.

77. Analects 8.13. The translation is from Berkowitz; Patterns of Disengagement, 21.

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Reclusion One orchestrated a surprise attack, unwilling to succumb, The other gave his life, grieved by the summons to office. Alas for Tao Yuanming! For generations his family served the Jin. He called himself the descendant of the ducal minister, And constantly worried over the troubles of the state. Beginning with gengzi, he marked his poems with cyclical signs, He declared himself a man from Fu Xi’s time. In his hand he held the Mountains and Seas Classic, On his head he wore a wine-straining head cloth. His inspiration reached beyond the solitary clouds, His thoughts drifted away with the homing birds.

78

Yan Zhenqing prefaced his portrayal of Tao’s lofty and detached behavior with an affirmation of his loyalty to the Jin dynasty and compassion for his fellow people. Yan’s use of scenes from Tao’s life in retirement starkly contrasts with that of other Tang poets. Tao’s show of aloof abandon here falls under the umbrella of quiet protest against a new dynasty. Yan’s representation of Tao’s reclusion as a loyalist reaction to a new dynasty did not resonate far during the Tang but would gain influence during the Song. The example of Tao Yuanming provoked an interesting and lively discourse during the Tang about the proper role of a literatus. Recently, scholars such as Dai Jianye and Wu Zhaolu have argued that High Tang literati were generally ambitious individuals concerned with achieving great deeds and thus could not identify with Tao’s choice of lifestyle.79 Wu suggests that this limited the extent of their appreciation for Tao’s poetry. The correlation between the Tang 78. QTS, 152/1583. 79. See Dai Jianye, Chengming zhi jing, 307–8; and Wu Zhaolu, “Tao Yuanming de wenxue diwei shi ruhe zhubu queli de,” 106–7. Wu gives examples of both negative and positive assessments expressed by the same poets, but for him the former outweigh the latter. Dai suggests that a disapproval of Tao’s choice of retirement did not preclude an admiration for Tao’s character and poetry in the High Tang.

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judgment of Tao’s character and actions and Tang evaluations of his poetry is discussed in Chapter 4. Dai’s and Wu’s characterization of the spirit of the time is certainly valid, especially when considering the works of major High Tang poets. My own examination of relevant Tang materials, especially poems about Tao Yuanming in the Quan Tang shi, shows an ambivalence regarding Tao’s model of retirement rather than overwhelming disapproval. An argument based on the Zeitgeist of the High Tang seems tenuous, given that this ambivalence began earlier in the dynasty and continued for generations after the High Tang. Poets could use Tao’s example either to encourage or to dissuade a friend from retirement. A poem by Sikong Shu (d. ca. 790), one of the Ten Talents of the Dali Era (766–79), and one presented to him by Li Duan (d. ca. 787), another of the Ten Talents, nicely illustrate the debate over Tao as a model. Sikong Shu sent the following poem to old friends in the south, possibly those he socialized with while he was seeking refuge in Suzhou during the An Lushan Rebellion. Upon Meeting a Traveler on the Yangzi, I Inquired About Old Friends in the South and Entrusted Him with a Poem to Them When will the southern traveler depart? When we met, I asked about old friends. Gazing at my native soil, tears vainly fall, My love of wine brought my family poverty. My laziness was cause for giving up my meager salary, I take this old body wherever it might drift. Ascending the pavilion to gaze more at the moon, At the river’s edge, we both are saddened by spring. The Master of Five Willows longed for reclusion in the end, A pair of seagulls could be my companions. One must pity the waist-bending official, Adrift amid the wind and dust.

80

Sikong Shu’s poem indicates that he had recently resigned from office and longed to retire like Tao Yuanming, but had not yet returned to

80. QTS, 293/3335.

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his home. 81 The contrast he drew between the two lifestyles— reclusion and service—in the last two couplets reveals a commentary on both: whereas one is anchored in tranquility and nature, the other seems to be without purpose or reward. This pessimistic view of official life resonates with a general sense of disillusionment and uncertainty plaguing the literati class immediately after the An Lushan Rebellion, which ended the celebrated reign of Emperor Xuanzong (r. 712–56) and permanently destabilized the central government.82 However, his friend Li Duan disagreed with Sikong Shu’s emulation of Tao Yuanming and unreservedly told him so in the following poem: Touring the Eastern Field in the Evening, I Send This Poem to Sikong Shu At dusk my thoughts fell on that distant traveler, As I stand alone in the eastern field. A spattering of rain does not obscure the sunlight, The fragment of a rainbow could not conceal the sky. Parting sorrow met with summer fruit, Impulse to return entered with autumn cicadas. Do not fancy the idea of renouncing officialdom, Tao Qian was not necessarily worthy.

83

The dialogue between Sikong Shu and Li Duan demonstrates the binary nature of the Tang reception of Tao as recluse. On one hand, what Tao’s life in retirement represented for the majority of Tang poets—liberal consumption of wine, leisure, detachment from external affairs, and exemption from obsequiousness—proved a serious temptation. On the other, Tao’s eschewal of office was incompatible with the sense of purpose and aspiration ingrained in the scholarofficial class. 81. Sikong Shu’s poem was probably composed during 773–74 during his temporary withdrawal when he returned to Suzhou, although he was a native of Guangping (in modern Hebei ). He would soon come out of reclusion to assume a post and would remain in office until his death around 790. 82. See Jiang Yin, Dali shiren yanjiu, 1: 222. 83. QTS, 285/3247.

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A better-known, albeit less developed, dialogue had occurred between two brothers a century earlier. Wang Ji (585–644), one of the few to praise Tao Yuanming’s life and works during the Early Tang, penned an autobiographical account that pays punning tribute to Tao’s “Biography of the Master of Five Willows.” In “Biography of the Master of Five Bottles” , Wang Ji described the Master as “aloof to the benevolence, rightness, magnanimity, and uncharitableness in the world.” As well, he claimed that “the myriad things are incapable of entangling his heart.”84 To his younger brother’s negation of Confucian ethical categories and use of typical eremitic rhetoric, which was clearly based on a selective reading of Tao Yuanming,85 Wang Tong (584?–618?) replied, “Have you forgotten mankind? To follow one’s whims and confound the order of relationships are not actions I can condone.”86 More unequivocally, Wang Tong elsewhere called Tao an “escapist” (fangren ).87 84. Wang Ji, Wang Wugong wenji, 5/180. It is noteworthy that Wang Ji’s zi is Wugong , “without deeds.” 85. Wang Ji’s interpretation of Tao Yuanming ignores the displays of ambition (youthful or frustrated) in Tao’s poetry, notably these lines from “Untitled Poems, Twelve poems” , no. 5, “I recall when I was in my prime / I could be happy without cause for joy. My ambition ranged beyond the seas, / On widespread wings I thought to soar afar”; these lines from “On Drinking Wine,” no. 16, “When young I had no taste for worldly things— / My whole delight was in the Classic Books. So it went and now I am nearly forty / With nothing done to show for all those years”; these lines from “Imitations,” no. 8, “I was strong and bold when young, / With sword in hand I journeyed alone. Will anyone say the road was short— / West from Zhangyi to Youzhou in the east?”; and these lines from “Lament for Gentlemen Born Out of Their Time” , “I can no longer live under Shennong or the Emperor Kui. In solitude I have devoted myself to selfcultivation— / When have I failed thrice daily to examine myself? I hoped that by improving my virtue I would be ready if a chance should come: The chance came, but I found no favor” (PTC, 191, 147, 182, and 261, respectively). These utterances tend to be ignored by poets and critics whose aim is to represent Tao as a transcendent, natural-born recluse. Other readers use these expressions of Confucian ambition in a portrayal of Tao as a recluse of the Confucian order; his training in the Confucian classics not only helped develop his aspirations to benefit the people and state but also taught him that the proper action in times of bad government is withdrawal. 86. Wang Tong, “Shi jun pian” , in idem, Wenzhongzi zhong shuo, 3.7b. 87. Wang Tong, “Li min pian” , in idem, Wenzhongzi zhong shuo, 9.5a (ZLHB, 11).

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There was no shortage of voices over the course of the Tang that either favored or rejected Tao’s eremitic model. As we have seen with Li Duan’s poem to Sikong Shu, critics of the model often revealed themselves in poems written to dissuade a friend from withdrawal. Han Hong (fl. mid- to late eighth century), another of the Ten Talents of the Dali Era, urged a friend to return to office with an even more forceful tone in the final lines from “Farewell to Magistrate Zheng” : I advise you not to emulate Yuanming, And steer your cart away from the Five Willows.

88

Proponents of the model include Qian Xu (jinshi 880), well known as a prose writer, and Bo Juyi. Shortly after Qian Xu resigned from his post as director of the mausoleum of Emperor Wenzong (r. 826–40), he composed the following poem that comments on Tao’s retirement: Living in the Mountains After Resigning as the Director of the Zhang Tomb, I Passed the Middle Peak Road, Two poems (no. 1)89 ( ) Rather would I resign as mausoleum director, Than alter Yuanming’s tune. Relinquishing my seal, I utter words to none. Seeing the mountains, I begin to smile. When the recluse returns to seclusion, Who says it is difficult to scale the precipice? I move with the clouds, stopping short of fording the river, I leave my gate only to cast my fishing rod. My weed-thatched hut stands in verdant mists, My window opens to trees wherein the black gibbons howl.

88. QTS, 243/2733–34. 89. This pair of poems has traditionally been attributed to Qian Qi (710?– 82?), but the modern scholar Wu Qiming (Tang yin zhiyi lu, 43–44) has argued convincingly that the Zhang Tomb was erected approximately sixty years after Qian Qi’s death and these poems must therefore be the work of his great-grandson, Qian Xu, whose poems have often been misattributed to Qian Qi.

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Reclusion When the cool breeze blows under the crescent moon, One finally knows the joy of shedding the official cap.

61 90

“Yuanming’s tune” in all likelihood refers especially to “The Return,” in which Tao admitted: “My instinct is all for freedom, and will not brook discipline or restraint. Hunger and cold may be sharp, but this going against myself really sickens me,”91 and graciously bids farewell to political life with neither regret nor self-admonition. It appears that Qian Xu was alluding primarily to this spirit of freedom since his life in retirement was not a complete mimicry of Tao’s; the latter, as described in “The Return,” included farming, family, and neighbors in addition to hikes through hills and forests. Also, images of fishing were popular in the Tang topos of reclusion but played no part in Tao Yuanming’s rhetoric of retirement. A more faithful follower of Tao Yuanming’s tune is Bo Juyi, who considered himself a latter-day Tao Yuanming and attempted to match Tao’s life in retirement on numerous points. In terms of indulgence in wine, enjoyment of leisure, means of livelihood, and degree of poverty, Bo Juyi claimed to be Tao’s equal. To the concerns of his family and friends for his impoverished condition, Bo Juyi responded with this poem: After Drinking Some Wine, I Received a Letter from My Kin in the Capital, Who Inquired About My Poverty Knowing That My Salary Was Terminated a While Ago. Availing Myself of My Drunken Mood, I Wrote This Poem in Response

My head of white hair is muddled with wine, As I chant songs of madness from autumn through spring. All my life I have been a traveler who indulged in wine, Five times I resigned from my posts. I am the Tao Yuanliang of another era,

90. QTS, 236/2618. 91. PTC, 268.

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Reclusion I was Liu Bolun in a past life.92 When I recline, the zither becomes my pillow. Wherever I go, the spade accompanies me.93 Three outfits are needed for the year, A small store of grain sustains me annually. Mallows are cooked to be eaten with rice, I use leaves to supplement my firewood. With barely any teeth left, vegetarian meals now gratify me, I shake my hair as I renounce officialdom. As I am able to throw away my official’s salary, I will not trouble my friends and relatives. So long as I have the liquid in the cup, Let the dust on the earthenware grow. You ask about my plan for livelihood, I worry about being sober, not poor.

94

This is a late poem dating to 842, two years after Bo Juyi resigned from what would be his final post, junior mentor to the heir apparent (taizi shaofu ). By strict definition, then, this poem is about Bo’s actual retired life, which he intended to mirror Tao’s, and not about how he passed his days in leisure during a temporary retreat. But it must be made clear that although Bo Juyi developed an admiration for Tao Yuanming and his writings earlier in his life and repeatedly identified himself with Tao, he by no means regarded himself as a true recluse. Earlier in his career he formulated an interesting concept of middle-of-the-road reclusion (zhong yin ), 92. Liu Bolun is the zi of Liu Ling (d. after 265), one of the Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove, whose winebibbing and other acts of flouting conventions are recorded in abundance in Shishuo xinyu (A new account of tales of the world). Liu Ling’s only surviving prose work is “Hymn to the Virtue of Wine” , in which values associated with ziran (wine-drinking, withdrawal, and transcendence) are celebrated and those associated with mingjiao (rites, laws, and conformity) are mocked. See Liu, “Jiu de song,” in Quan Jin wen (Complete Jin prose) in QW, 66/1835a. 93. Liu Ling is said to have “driven a deer cart, carrying a bottle of wine. He ordered someone to shoulder a spade and follow him, saying “if I drop dead, then bury me” (see his biography in the Jin shu, 49/1376). This episode has been interpreted as indicating a certain transcendence of the physical form. 94. Bo Juyi, Bo Juyi ji jian jiao, 4: 2530 (QTS, 459/5231–32).

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which, simply put, means holding a sinecure outside the capital of Chang’an.95 Written in 829, at the age of 58, the poem “Middleof-the-Road Reclusion” can be read as a retrospective response to the experience of banishment (in 815), disappointment in politics, and a longing for a carefree state. Its opening lines read: The Great Recluse lives in the court and marketplace, The Lesser Recluse goes to the hills and valleys. The hills and valleys are too lonely, The court and marketplace are too clamorous. Why not live in middle-of-the-road reclusion? And hide in a post at the other capital? As if in office or in reclusion, Neither too busy nor too idle. No toil on the heart and body, It also saves one from hunger and cold. Year-around, there are no official duties, And there is salary to be had each month.

96

Bo Juyi seems to have designed a perfect but neither here nor there solution to the cares that plague the official (court intrigue, loss of favor) and the hardships that confront the recluse. This would not be Bo’s only, even final, answer as evidenced by the later date of “After Drinking Some Wine . . .” Both poems represent merely two of his many responses to Tao Yuanming’s retirement or, more generally, the topic of reclusion versus service. Bo Juyi’s range of views on Tao’s eremitism deserves special attention. There is perhaps no better way of illustrating the ambivalence 95. Zhang Zhongmou (Jianji yu dushan, 200–202) finds the germination of the notion “middle-of-the-road reclusion” in Xie Tiao (464–99). It is possible to trace the notion’s preliminary phase to an even earlier poet, Tao Yuanming, if we agree with A. R. Davis’s (TYM, 2: 178) interpretation of this passage from Tao’s biography: Tao says, “I wish to sing and play the zither to support my three-path existence. Is this possible?” Davis writes that “Tao seems here to be represented as asking obliquely for a small post as a sinecure which would support him as a ‘withdrawn scholar.’ ” Still, as Zhang rightly points out, the notion was only named, clearly formulated, and made into a model of retirement three hundred years later by Bo Juyi. For a discussion of Bo Juyi’s concept of “middle-of-the-road reclusion” and its relation to the Hongzhou branch of Chan Buddhism, see Jia Jinhua, “ ‘Pingchang xin shi dao’ yu ‘zhongyin.’ ” 96. Bo Juyi, Bo Juyi ji jian jiao, 3: 1493 (QTS, 445/4991).

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in the Tang view of Tao Yuanming’s choice of retirement than to disclose conflicting attitudes held by a single poet. In a letter written during his exile to Jiangzhou to a friend and fellow poet-official, Yuan Zhen (779–831), Bo lamented: “Given Yuanming’s air of antiquity, [it is a shame that] he was inclined to abandon himself to fields and gardens.”97 It is the task of the poet, argued Bo Juyi in what has become a notable document in the history of Chinese literary theory, to participate actively in social reform. Bo asserted a vital connection between poetry and contemporary politics: poetry should reflect political and social reality and express criticism when necessary. His theory that “prose (wenzhang ) is to be written in response to the times, just as poetry is composed in response to events” underlies his program for New Yuefu poetry (xin yuefu shi ), which aimed to restore the originary Six Principles (liu yi ) of poetry,98 particularly comparison and stimulus (bixing ) for their ascribed functions of praise and blame. This context renders comprehensible Bo Juyi’s critique of Tao’s retirement and Tao’s numerous poems devoted to describing it. Elsewhere Bo Juyi developed the model of the responsible recluse as an alternative to Tao’s. The prototype of the responsible recluse is Shang Ping , also known as Xiang Ziping , who married off his children before he severed ties with his family (“Think of me as dead!” he told them) and withdrew from the world to travel to the Five Peaks and other famous mountains with Qin Qing ,a friend who shared his inclinations.99

97. Bo Juyi, “Yu Yuan Jiu shu” (Letter to Yuan Jiu [Zhen], twelfth month of 815), in Guo Shaoyu, Zhongguo lidai wenlun xuan, 2: 97. 98. The Six Principles of poetry originally refers to the three divisions in the Odes , or Classic of Poetry, Airs (of the States), Elegantiae , and Hymns ; and the three modes of presentation, Exposition , Comparison, and Stimulus. The “Great Preface” lists these principles without providing definitions. The form and function of most of these principles seem self-explanatory, except comparison and stimulus. This pair of concepts has caused much ink to be spilled over the last two millennia. See Pauline Yu, The Reading of Imagery in the Chinese Poetic Tradition. 99. Hou Han shu, 83/2758–59. For an English translation of the biography, see Watson, “Hou Han shu: Biographies of Recluses,” 40.

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Foot Ailment With my foot ailment neither worsening nor healing, I live through spring, summer, and once again autumn. Laughing as I drink the wine in the cup, A boat moored in the pond saves me from walking. Fortunately before my eyes are food and clothing, And I have no more worries about descendants who will come after. I should take Tao Pengze as my model, And follow the inclinations of my heart and body.

100

This poem suggests two prerequisites for Bo Juyi in his emulation of Tao’s carefree abandon: besides the fulfillment of his responsibilities as a father, there must be security of livelihood (presumably for himself and his wife, who was still alive at the time).101 He here conditionally favors Tao’s course of action. Within the contexts of either personal history or a larger literary tradition, Bo Juyi’s response to Tao’s retirement varied accordingly. Bo’s case brings to the fore the aspect of circumstantiality in the evaluation of Tao’s reclusion. Other salient examples of plural interpretations are Wang Wei’s (699 or 701–59 or 761) and Li Bo’s. In a letter whose express purpose was to convince a friend, the Recluse Wei, to come out of reclusion, Wang Wei employed Tao as a negative example. In recent times, there was Tao Qian, who returned his seal and left office because he was unwilling to bend at the waist before an imperial censor. Afterward he lived in poverty. The line “Knocked at a door and fumbled for words” from the poem “Begging for Food” shows the shame of having to beg constantly.102 If he had seen the censor, he would have had food and many qing of land. Not having tolerated shame once, he then had to face 100. Bo Juyi, Bo Juyi ji jian jiao, 4: 2422 (QTS, 458/5205–6). 101. This poem dates to 840; at that time Bo Juyi was 69 years old, and his wife was around 51. 102. Tao’s line in the original reads: “ ” (PTC, 62).

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shame for the rest of his life. This is indeed a case, when in conflict with others, of forgetting what is important while guarding what is trivial, without a thought for the problems it would later cause.103

The apparent issue under attack is Tao’s failure to establish sensible priorities, which brought about the unfathomable shame of needing to ask constantly for help. What is at stake is the implicit criticism of Tao’s poorly reasoned withdrawal and the thoughtless ease with which he quit his post. An opposite appraisal of Tao Yuanming’s retirement, however, can be found elsewhere in Wang Wei’s œuvre. Farewell to My Sixth Uncle, Who Is Retiring to Luhun You, my Honorable Uncle, were posted between Rivers Huai and Si, Zhuo Mao and Lu Gong would have sighed in admiration.104 Carefree, you did not vie to get ahead, Now you retire to till the eastern field. Rows of mulberries are lined under the winter moon, Apricot trees are planted prior to the vernal wind. As you pour out sweet wine, you sing “The Return,” Everyone knows that Magistrate Tao was worthy.

105

The poem is not as straightforward as it might appear. On one hand, it clearly affirms that withdrawal à la Tao Yuanming is a worthy act. On the other, it specifies the happy conditions under which his uncle retired: only after having accrued substantial achievements worthy of his Han predecessors, Magistrates Zhuo and Lu, did his uncle withdraw from official ranks. The notion of withdrawing after the job is done, whose locus classicus is the statement “When the deed is accomplished, one retires. Such is Heaven’s Way!” (gong sui shen tui tian zhi dao ) from the ninth chapter of Dao de jing 103. See Wang Wei, “Yu Wei jushi shu” , in idem, Wang Wei ji jiaozhu, 11/1095 (ZLHB, 16). 104. Zhuo Mao (53 bce–28 ce) and Lu Gong (32–112) were magistrates in the region between the Rivers Huai and Si (modern Henan) during the Former and Latter Han, respectively. Their biographies in the Hou Han shu (25/869–82) contain praise for their good governance. 105. Wang Wei, Wang Wei ji jiaozhu, 7/564 (QTS, 125/1242).

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, 106 has historically been avowed by many members of the literati as an ideal model of retirement.107 Although Tao Yuanming himself also fancied the scenario of “His task once done, he came back home,” which he proudly attributed to his ancestor Tao Kan, Tao Yuanming retired without any political accomplishments. Wang Wei’s identification of his uncle with Tao raises more questions than it answers regarding his opinion of Tao’s retirement; his ambivalence on this issue is unmistakable. This ambivalence, however, is not an impasse, since it opens an arena in which appreciation of Tao’s withdrawal interacts with rejection of his eschewal of service. According to the Tang critique, retirement in Tao Yuanming fashion—that is, without a résumé of achievements or concern for the livelihood of dependents, as well as the subordination of public service to personal predilection—was not yet a canonical model of reclusion for the scholar-official class. Li Bo also foregrounded the problem of ambivalence in the reception of Tao as recluse, but he brought to the problem a more complex perspective. Li Bo both censured Tao’s reclusion and fancied Tao as a model for emulation. During the An Lushan Rebellion in 759, Li Bo observed a military exercise in preparation for an imminent attack by the rebel commanders Kang Chuyuan and Zhang Jiayan . On the Ninth Day of the Ninth Month After I Ascended Mount Baling, I Set Out Wine to Watch the Naval Troops at Lake Dongting On this Ninth Day the air is refreshingly clear, As I climb high, there are no autumn clouds. The creator opened up rivers and mountains, Mountains in Chu and the Han River are distinct. The long winds beat against the waves, Wrinkling together to form a dragon pattern. 106. Laozi zhu, 1.5. 107. The archetype of “retiring after the deed is accomplished” is Fan Li , who sailed to the Five Lakes after helping Goujian of Yue conquer the state of Wu during the Spring and Autumn Period. Li Bo’s “Ballad of Sadness” contains the following couplet describing Fan Li: “How could Master Fan ever have cared for the Five Lakes? / Once the deed was done, the reputation followed, and he retired” , (QTS, 24/312–13).

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I recall tales of the imperial progress, The towering boat gallantly crossing the Fen River. Today this campaign against the monstrous whale Sees flags and banners stand in such profusion! A white feather falls into my wine cup, As three troops fall in line around Lake Dongting. The chrysanthemums are not plucked this year, I hear in the distance the battle drums’ roar. Swords continue to dance until dusk, At the moment the sun stopped its descent. Drunken songs, rousing the brave soldiers, May dispel the looming inauspicious air. Crouching by the eastern hedge, Yuanming is not to be emulated.

108

The magnificent imperial progress on the Fen River in the fourth couplet refers to that of Emperor Wu of Han (r. 141–87 bce) but conjures up the splendor of Emperor Xuanzong’s reign. 109 In Tang poetry, Emperor Wu functioned as a conventional analogue for Xuanzong, allowing the poet to comment on the present situation without explicitly doing so. The sentiments that fueled Li Bo’s rebuff of Tao Yuanming’s inaction are clear: a nostalgic reflection of the more glorious days of Xuanzong’s reign and an exigent sense of duty to the state mixed with a feeling of impotence suggested by the contrast between the gallant soldiers and the literatus who watches them from afar. As if trying to reverse this feeling of helplessness, Li Bo boldly claims that he refuses to hide by the eastern hedge and turn a deaf ear, as Tao Yuanming had, to political crisis. Three years earlier at the beginning of the rebellion, Li Bo had expressed the opposite intent. In “When I Fled from the Rebellion and Sought Refuge in Yan, I Presented This Poem to Cui Qin, Magistrate of Xuancheng” (756), after depicting in graphic detail the horrors of war (piles of white bone, cries of wandering ghosts), Li Bo spoke of his wish to distance himself from harm and urged his friend to retreat with him. He concluded: 108. QTS, 180/1838. 109. For the song written by Emperor Wu during his journey on the Fen River, see “Qiu feng ci” , in Xiao Tong, Wen xuan, 45/2025.

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Reclusion In solitude I dispel the eternal cares, In leisure I cast my fishing rod in the stream. The gibbon approaches the heavens as it wails, A man draws near the moon as he rows his boat. Do not be burdened by the black silk ribbon, Come with me to seek the secrets of cinnabar elixirs. Continuing to bend at the waist with your white mane Would only incur the reproach of Master Tao.

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110

Here Li Bo not only followed Tao’s course of action, but highly recommended it to a friend. It is difficult to claim with any certainty which pole in this oscillation between endorsement and rejection of Tao Yuanming’s model definitively represents Li Bo’s apparent intent during the An Lushan Rebellion. In the works considered thus far, Li Bo’s responses to Tao’s reclusion appear typical of the ambivalent Tang reception. Yet two further points enrich Li Bo’s reception of Tao Yuanming. First, the singular quantity of allusions to Tao’s wine consumption and stringless zither, in conjunction with the plethora of poems about winedrinking and zither-playing in Li Bo’s œuvre, suggests that Li Bo saw in Tao Yuanming a kindred spirit. Li Bo drank wine and strummed the zither in the spirit of Tao, “lending expression to exuberant sentiments (haoqing ) and a transcendent state of mind (yizhi ) that constitute precisely the flavor beyond the taste of wine and the tune beyond the strings,” as Wu Zhaolu aptly puts it.111 Li’s references to Tao’s wine and zither should be read as signs of a more profound appreciation of Tao’s spirit. Second, in poems addressed to friends that use Tao Yuanming as an example, Li Bo consistently likened or compared the poem’s addressee, not himself, to Tao Yuanming. This systematic refusal to identify wholly with Tao, as Bo Juyi later would, points to a fundamental issue in Li Bo’s reading of Tao as recluse. Li’s own views on reclusion may cast some light on the 110. Li Bo, Li Bo quanji jiaozhu hui shi ji ping, 4: 1864 (QTS, 171/1764). 111. Wu Zhaolu, “Tao Yuanming de wenxue diwei shi ruhe zhubu queli de,” 106. For a discussion of wine-drinking in Li Bo’s poetry and its relation to Tao Yuanming, see Li Jianfeng, Yuan qian Tao Yuanming jieshoushi, 139–41. Li counts 21 works referencing Tao’s wine-drinking out of at least 78 works that deal with Tao Yuanming in Li Bo’s œuvre of over 1,100 works (ibid., 139).

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issue. In his youth, Li acquired local fame as a recluse and poet, and later became known as one of the Six Recluses of Zhuxi (Zhuxi liu yi ). After many years of reclusion and wandering, likely in search of powerful patrons, Li finally received the backing of Dharma Master Chiying , or Princess Yuzhen , a younger sister of Emperor Xuanzong.112 Li Bo had an audience with the emperor in the early 740s and was subsequently appointed to the Hanlin Academy, in circumvention of normal bureaucratic channels.113 In the Tang dynasty, the phrase “Zhongnan shortcut” (Zhongnan jie jing ) was coined for the practice that took shape during the Six Dynasties and grew in popularity in the Tang of using the status of recluse to gain immediate high office.114 It can hardly be said, however, that Li Bo was a scheming pretender with eyes only on gain. And perhaps the only gauge is something as arbitrary as the bad faith of fake reclusion (jiayin ). Li Bo made no pretense of intending to trade reclusion for office. A recurrent model of reclusion for Li was Xie An’s (320–85), which typically denoted remaining in reclusion until the right opportunity arose. 115 Li Bo wrote in the “Song of the Liang Garden” , 112. The story about the Daoist Wu Yun arranging Li Bo’s call to court has been seriously challenged by Yu Xianhao (“Wu Yun jian Li Bo shuo bianyi”). Yu has convincingly argued that the biographical account in Jiu Tang shu is erroneous on numerous points and the editorial preface to Li Bo’s Collected Works by his friend Wei Hao , which states that Li Bo’s Hanlin appointment resulted from Dharma Master Chiying’s influence, is more credible. 113. See Li Bo’s biography in Jiu Tang shu, 190c/5053; Huang Xigui, Li Taibai nianpu, 4–12; Yu Xianhao, “Wu Yun jian Li Bo shuo bianyi,” 152–63; and Xue Tianwei, Li Bo nianpu, 19–55. 114. The source of this phrase is an anecdote in Da Tang xinyu, which narrates a brief dialogue between the Daoist priest Sima Chengzhen and Lu Zangyong , who had lived in reclusion in Mount Zhongnan but emerged to assume briefly an important post during Emperor Zhongzong’s reign (r. 684). When Emperor Ruizong replaced Zhongzong later that year, Lu Zangyong returned to Mount Zhongnan. Pointing to the mountain, he remarked to Sima Chengzhen, “In this one finds many good points. Why would one need to go far?” Chengzhen tells him, “From my perspective, this is but a shortcut to office.” Lu was embarrassed by this remark. See Liu Su, Da Tang xinyu, 158. 115. Xie An lived in reclusion in the Eastern Mountain until the last decades of his life, having declined numerous summonses to office. He finally emerged from reclusion in 360, unable to decline further stringent court summonses, to assume a

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Reclusion In lofty repose on the Eastern Mountain, he arose when the time came. It is never too late to come to the aid of the common people.

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116

As the modern scholar Zhang Zhongmou has argued, for Li Bo, Xie An did not represent “a recluse who truly forgot about the affairs of the world; rather, he lived in retirement awaiting an opportune time and, ultimately, became a hero who achieved great deeds. And those true recluses who abandoned themselves to mountains and rivers or those who dwelt in shacks and caves along with the beasts clearly did not sing the same tune as Li Bo.”117 Li Bo’s espousal of Xie An’s model of reclusion reflects in a basic way the ever-present sense of duty in the Tang literatus and his dreams of heroic deeds. Tao Yuanming’s model, according to Li Bo and a fair number of other Tang poets, could not accommodate either element. The interpretation of Tao Yuanming’s eremitic model during the Tang is twofold. Tao’s unusual enjoyment of such common pleasures as drinking wine, playing the zither, and observing nature fascinated Tang poets, who attributed Tao’s behavior to not only a life in retirement but also a transcendent state. The late Tang poet-critic Sikong Tu (837–908) wrote a poem describing his experience in rustic living and reflected in the penultimate couplet that Idle life has its flavor, but the heart does not easily comply, The Way cherishes seeking peace of mind: the path easily becomes steady.

118

post as commander under Huan Wen. His greatest moment was his victory over Fu Jian , the emperor of Former Qin , at the Battle of the River Fei (383), which has been traditionally considered a crucial success that saved the Chinese civilization in the south from alien rule. Whether the battle was as critical as traditionally understood is subject to debate; see Bielenstein, “The Six Dynasties,” 88. Xie An’s success, moreover, secured the power of the Xie clan during the second half of the fourth century. He is widely considered by later readers to be the exemplar of the Hidden Dragon—a motif from the Yijing , or Classic of Changes— who patiently bides his time. 116. Li Bo, Li Bo quanji jiaozhu hui shi ji ping, 3: 1061 (QTS, 166/1718). 117. Zhang Zhongmou, Jianji yu dushan, 184. 118. Sikong Tu, “Tui qi” , QTS, 632/7249.

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In this poem, which names Tao Yuanming as its referent in the final couplet, Sikong Tu implicitly contrasted his own unwilling heart to Tao Yuanming’s complacency in retirement. Sikong Tu was not the first Tang poet to be guilty of a lopsided reading of Tao’s works and to ignore a number of Tao’s poems whose overt affirmation of his choice of reclusion and declared use of past recluses as selfconsolation betray a mind that was not perfectly at ease.119 Yet at issue is less an incomplete representation of Tao Yuanming, clearly influenced by Tao’s biographers, than how the Tang poets construed the ideas of carefree abandon and peace of mind. Images from Tao’s rustic lifestyle easily found their way into the Tang topos of reclusion. Still, literary practice and actual imitation remained distinct. How many scholar-officials could do what Tao Yuanming did, as the

119. Most notably, “In Praise of Impoverished Gentlemen, Seven poems” represent Tao’s effort to strengthen his resolve. In no. 5, he wrote: “Wealth and poverty wage constant war, / When the Way wins out, the face shows no concern” (PTC, 210); and in no. 2: “What consolation is there left for me? / All those gentlemen since ancient times” (PTC, 205). Another example of Tao’s attempt to attain a state of complacency in withdrawal is this passage from “A Reply to Recorder Guo, Two poems” , no. 1: “I crush the grain to brew a first-rate wine / And when it is ripe I pour myself a cup. My little son, who is playing by my side, / Has begun to talk, but cannot yet pronounce. Here is truly something to rejoice in / It helps me to forget the badge of rank” (PTC, 79). Tao Yuanming was not consistently at perfect ease with his choice of reclusion, hence the need to frequently affirm his resolve. The extent to which Tao Yuanming ji was accessible to individual Tang poets is impossible to assert with any conviction. It is certain, however, that the Tang literati were familiar with the eight poems and one prose piece included in the Wen xuan, an indispensable book on the reading list of every civil service examination candidate, and, likely, the four prose pieces included in Tao’s biography in the Song shu. The works by Tao included in the Wen xuan generally either speak of his intent to retire or his retirement. In the texts that concern the latter theme, “Twenty Poems on Drinking Wine,” nos. 5 and 7; “In Praise of Impoverished Gentlemen,” no. 1; “On Reading the Mountains and Seas Classic,” no. 1; and “The Return,” Tao Yuanming portrayed himself as being wholly content in his retirement. It is not inconceivable that those who demonstrated a lopsided reading of Tao had access only to the nine works in the Wen xuan and the four in the Song shu, which collectively portray Tao as a recluse content with his choice and unflinching in his resolve. But the continuation of such lopsided readings in later periods, when Tao Yuanming ji became more widely accessible through the advent of printing, suggests the strong appeal of a willfully selective reading of Tao Yuanming.

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Reclusion poet-official Liu Zhangqing served.

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(ca. 710–after 787) astutely ob-

Who among the multitude of men can decline office? The Master of the Five Willows alone understood poverty.

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Tao’s model of retirement, which signified in large part a permanent renunciation of officialdom as well as little care for the hardships of self-sustenance, proved difficult for the Tang literati to accept whole cloth. Many favored Tao’s model conditionally or under appropriate circumstances. A more interesting phenomenon is the introduction of competing models: the middle-of-the-road recluse, the responsible recluse, the official who withdraws once the deed is accomplished, and the recluse who bides his time. The development of alternative models is symptomatic of the insuperable opposition between grand aspirations and sense of public duty, on one hand, and uncompromising detachment from common cares and political affairs on the other.

Quest for Philosophy and Motivations in the Song The Song critique marks a major development in the reception of Tao Yuanming as recluse. Although Song writers, like those of the Tang, were fascinated with the more colorful aspects of Tao’s rustic life, such as drinking to excess, composing poetry, reading in leisure, and playing a stringless zither, they also paid attention to aspects ignored by the majority of Tang poets. Far more than Tang poets, Song writers probed the significations of and causes underlying Tao’s reclusion. They turned to Tao’s works for an understanding of his philosophy of reclusion and, in addition, to the biographies for explanations of his motivations. Scenes from Tao’s life continued to function as the vocabulary for the topos of reclusion or dissatisfaction in office: the “white-robed man” stood for the gift of wine, “bending at the waist” meant holding office, and “Tao Qian’s rice” or “five pecks of 120. Liu Zhangqing, “Zeng Qin Xi zhengjun” qing shi biannian jianzhu, 2: 429 (QTS, 147/1479).

, in idem, Liu Zhang-

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rice” were standard abbreviations for official salary. Although many Song shi poems include snapshots of Tao’s life like those found in most Tang allusions, many also quote Tao’s poetry in ways that reflect as much interest in the philosophical dimensions of his retirement as in his activities in retirement. An illustrative example is Wang Anshi’s (1021–86) “Thinking of the Ancients Late in My Life” , which borrows lines from four of Tao’s texts. In his later years, this gentleman worked his fields and gardens,121 He did not bother discussing the books left by the Old Man of Lu.122 Inquiring about the mulberries and hemp, he is moved that they’ve grown, Inspecting the pines and chrysanthemums, he is happy that they’re still there. The farmers jest with him as they follow the deep gully, His little son happily calls out as he goes to wait at the gate. Thanking from afar those who brought him wine and doubts to be resolved, Wishing to explain this, I have already forgotten the words.

123

Lines 3 through 8 are modified quotations of Tao Yuanming’s lines. The source of line 3 is this couplet from “Returning to the Farm to Dwell” , no. 2: “When we [villagers and Tao] meet we talk of nothing else / Than how the hemp and mulberry are growing” , .124 Lines 4 through 6 derive from lines found in “The Return”: “The three paths are almost obliterated / But pines and chrysanthemums are still here” , ; “Following a deep gully through the still water” ; and “My 121. I have rendered suiwan as “late in life” in both the title and the first line, which is an unusual meaning of the term. The usual translation of the term, “late in the year,” does not make sense in the context of the first line. 122. The Old Man of Lu refers to Confucius. 123. Wang Anshi, Wang Jingwen gong shi, 26/1187. 124. TYMJJJ, 77; PTC, 51.

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little son waits at the door” , respectively.125 Line 7 comes from “On Drinking Wine” , no. 18, which is about Yang Xiong (53 bce–18 ce). Here Wang Anshi applied to Tao Yuanming the description Tao had originally given Yang Xiong, but nonetheless implied his own situation: “He had to wait for sympathetic friends / Who brought him wine and had their doubts resolved” , .126 The last line of Wang’s poem uses verbatim the final line of one of the most philosophical poems by Tao Yuanming, “On Drinking Wine,” no. 5: “I wish to explain but have forgotten the words” . 127 This last citation transforms the poem from a mere arrangement of Tao’s lines descriptive of his rustic life into a reading of Tao’s philosophy of reclusion. A brief examination of the philosophical import of “On Drinking Wine,” no. 5, is useful for an understanding of Wang’s poem. I built my hut in the midst of men, Yet hear no clamor of horse and carriage. You ask how it can be done? With the mind detached, place becomes remote. Plucking chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge, At a distance I catch sight of the southern mountain. The mountain air becomes lovely at sunset, As flying birds return together in flocks. In these things there is true meaning, I wish to explain, but have forgotten the words.

128

As the Qing critic Fang Dongshu (1772–1851) argued, the poet’s detached mind (set into relief by the location of his house amid civilization) renders possible the insight of the last couplet.129 That reclusion is less about physical place than a state of mind is perhaps Tao Yuanming’s most powerful statement on reclusion. Receptivity to daily scenes in nature often taken for granted depends on the recluse’s state of mind. A detached mind is the precondition for the poet’s attention to details and the chance interplay of these 125. TYMJJJ, 391; PTC, 269–70. 126. TYMJJJ, 245; PTC, 151. 127. TYMJJJ, 220. 128. Ibid., 219–20. 129. Fang Dongshu, Zhaomei zhanyan, 4/113 (SWHP, 173).

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details: he plucks chrysanthemums as he happens to catch sight of the southern mountain, and he notices the lovely air at dusk as he happens to see the homing birds. The sudden revelation described in the last couplet seems to have evoked a philosophical state that is not merely impossible but undesirable to capture with words. Indeed, this couplet is effective precisely for what it promises but does not say. The source of the last couplet is three passages from Zhuangzi, either arguing for the incapacity of language for total expression or the primacy of meaning over its vehicle, words.130 This poem, saturated with philosophical import, is one of the most frequently cited in Song poetry. The poet may be reticent, but the reader can nonetheless ponder the famous last couplet and say something about its insights. First, it likely arises from the extraordinary pleasure the poet finds in ordinary rustic activities, such as plucking chrysanthemums and observing the mountain scene at dusk. Second, it may well be a recognition of correlations between the natural and the human realms, whose intersections are often overlooked by men absorbed by mundane life. There are hidden significances in the natural world that either correspond to or are revealed by human actions: the birds’ natural instinct to return home corresponds to the poet’s return, which he presented elsewhere in his writings as his natural course; and as the poet picks chrysanthemums (substance for prolonging life), he sees the southern mountain (symbol of long life). Therein lies a truth that no amount of language can adequately convey. Third, it suggests a transcendent state in which a mystical marriage between nature and poet has taken place and the distinction between object and self has all but been obliterated. Wang Anshi’s reference to Tao’s state of wordlessness and revelation implies a recognition of the profundity in the apparently simple life of the recluse. Wang’s poem is overtly about the simple activities 130. In “Qi wu lun” , Zhuangzi says, “The Great Way applies no labels, the greatest explanation employs no words” (Zhuangzi jijie, 1.2/14; translation from PTC, 132n22). In “Zhi bei you” , Zhuangzi says, “He who knows does not speak. He who speaks does not know. Therefore the sages adopt the teaching of not speaking” (Zhuangzi jijie, in 6.22/137). In “Wai wu” , Zhuangzi says, “The point of words lies in their meaning. Once you have grasped the meaning, you may forget the words” (Zhuangzi jijie, 7.26/181; translation from PTC, 132n22).

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in Tao’s retirement, such as farming, talking to one’s neighbors, looking forward to receiving the greetings of his young son upon his return, and entertaining friends who come to drink and study with him. Yet the final allusion suggests that, for Wang Anshi, not only were there truths inherent in these simple activities, but also the way in which Tao engaged in such activities revealed the philosophy underlying his reclusion. Rather than attempting to explain this philosophy in prosaic terms, Wang Anshi laid out Tao’s activities in succession, guiding the reader to perceive the exquisite delight Tao found in the commonplace activities of rustic living. Among the activities associated with Tao, Song writers particularly explored the significations of playing a stringless zither. The veracity of this tale mattered little since its imports, philosophical and literary, are considerable. (Its ramifications for Chinese literary theory are discussed in Chapter 4.) Ouyang Xiu (1007–72) and Mei Yaochen (1002–60), for instance, found this poignant scene compatible with their understanding of the recluse’s philosophical state of mind. Ouyang Xiu sent the following poem to Mei Yaochen: Stirred by Emotions When Playing the Zither at Night, Two Poems Presented to Shengyu (no. 1) ( ) I am truly fond of Tao Jingjie, Who possessed a zither that always accompanied him. Without any strings, no one could hear it, Who could understand such music as his? A gentleman trusts wholly in himself, The mass of men follow the fashions of their time. If one finds contentment within oneself, Then what do external things matter? With all due respect to Bo Ya, Why must one have a Zhong Ziqi?

131

Ouyang Xiu made two significant points here. First, Tao’s contentment with an internal music marks his transcendence of external sounds and, by extension, the world of affairs. Second, Tao’s 131. Ouyang Xiu, Ouyang Xiu quan ji, 8/129.

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production of a music that is silent to all except himself exemplifies a gentleman’s steadfast self-trust, especially in the absence of an understanding friend. Ouyang Xiu contrasted himself and Tao Yuanming with Bo Ya, who needed the sympathetic ear of Zhong Ziqi, the only one who understood his zither music.132 Mei Yaochen responded with the following: Matching the Rhymes of Yongshu’s “Stirred by Emotions When Playing the Zither at Night,” Two poems (no. 1) ( ) At night you play your jade zither, Harmonious sounds follow the touch of your fingers. You do not decline to play several tunes, I only regret that few can appreciate your music. I know you are fond of Tao Qian, You, who are racked with physical decline. He had a zither but did not install any strings, Using it differently from the common man. In silence he gains the true flavor, Until he reaches the state of having no words.

133

Mei Yaochen, an assiduous student of Tao’s poetry in which one finds a number of references to a zither he often played, nonetheless maintains the biographers’ story of the stringless zither; the philosophical implications that one can draw from this story may here outweigh the value of correcting a detail. The absence of words in the last line seems excessive in a description of silent music and setting, unless one reads the citation of the final line from “On Drinking Wine,” no. 5, as an acknowledgment, similar to Wang Anshi’s citation, of Tao Yuanming’s insight into an inexplicable philosophical state while engaged in commonplace activities in his rustic life. What do Ouyang Xiu’s and Mei Yaochen’s poems, taken together, tell us about their interpretation of Tao’s reclusion? The strumming of a stringless zither is no longer an offhand expression of eccentricity and aloofness, as understood by the biographers and a number of Tang poets, but a profound expression of self-sufficiency (zide ),

132. See Lüshi chunqiu, 14/140. 133. Mei Yaochen, Mei Yaochen ji biannian jiaozhu, 29/1130.

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a prominent feature of Tao’s reclusion traditionally admired by the literati.134 Interest in the philosophy underlying Tao’s reclusion was generally demonstrated in the Song by citation of Tao’s philosophical statements, as well as by discussion of this philosophy. Song writers tended to distinguish the abstract views of transcendence in Tao’s works from the physical practice of transcendence typical among recluses of the Six Dynasties.135 The Southern Song poet Lu You (1125–1210), for instance, contrasts a simple method inspired by Tao’s philosophy with the use of alchemical concoctions: Letting the Brush Write Under the Pines (no. 3) ( ) Jade-growing mushroom-eating arts untransmitted; Trying a hand at alchemy is even more uncertain. I once received Master Tao’s marvelous secret: Just listen to pine winds—spontaneously reach transcendence.136

137

Lu You’s interpretation of Tao’s philosophy of transcendence most immediately calls to mind the clearest expression of Tao’s views on life and death, the set of poems “Substance, Shadow, Spirit” . In light of the imminence of death (“No use discussing immortality” ) and the absence, even futility, of alchemical aids (“I have no techniques for overcoming change” ), 138 the

134. See also Li Jianfeng, Yuan qian Tao Yuanming jieshoushi, 274–75, for a discussion of Ouyang Xiu’s and Mei Yaochen’s understanding of the stringless zither. 135. Famous Six Dynasties practitioners of macrobiotic arts include Ge Hong , Tao Hongjing , and Tao Dan (a distant relative of Tao Yuanming). For discussions of their involvement in esoteric arts and/or translations of their biographical accounts, see Berkowitz, Patterns of Disengagement, 161, 212–15, and 235, respectively. 136. Translation from Duke, Lu You, 57. 137. Lu You, Lu You ji, 26/711. 138. TYMJJJ, 62 and 59, respectively; PTC, 43. The translation of the second cited line is mine. “Change” (hua ) here implies death, as Hightower (PTC, 45) points out.

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philosopher-poet, in the voice of the Spirit, who provides an ultimate resolution, advises: Just surrender to the cycle of things, Give yourself to the waves of the Great Change Neither happy nor yet afraid. And when it is time to go, then simply go Without any unnecessary fuss.

139

A stoical acceptance of the natural cycle of things, more effective than alchemical aids, was Tao Yuanming’s answer to the problem of mortality. Lu You had probably experimented with alchemy by the time he composed this poem at the age of 66 and was dissatisfied with the results, as Michael Duke has suggested.140 Understandably, Lu You saw more promise in Tao Yuanming’s philosophical views of transcendence. Lu You’s poem evidences attention to the philosophical underpinnings of Tao’s reclusion. A comparison with previously cited lines from a poem by Li Bo illuminates a major development in the Song reception of Tao Yuanming as recluse: Do not be burdened by the black silk ribbon, Come with me to seek the secrets of cinnabar elixirs. Continuing to bend at the waist with your white mane Would only incur the reproach of Master Tao.

Li Bo here referred to two interpretations of transcendence: relinquishing office and the quest for physical immortality (qiuxian ). Whereas the former is exemplified by Tao Yuanming, the latter played little part in Tao’s practice of reclusion.141 The juxtaposition 139. TYMJJJ, 65; PTC, 44. 140. See Duke, Lu You, 57. 141. There is no indication in Tao’s works that he practiced current Daoist methods for immortality, such as alchemy, diet, and breathing techniques. There are, however, two references in Tao’s poems to the life-prolonging effect attributed to chrysanthemums: “Picking chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge” in “On Drinking Wine,” no. 5 (PTC, 130), and “Chrysanthemum keeps us from getting old” in “The Double Ninth, in Retirement” (PTC, 47). These references should be read more as revealing an interest in the symbology of chrysanthemums than professing any serious experimentation with chrysanthemum tonics. To be sure, Tao Yuanming approached the problem of mortality with philosophy rather than alchemy.

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of Tao Yuanming’s practice and alchemical experiments, an apparent contradiction by most critical standards in the Song, betrays inattention to the philosophical basis of Tao’s reclusion. It was not until the Song that this philosophy became foregrounded. The Song writers explored the significations of Tao’s practice of reclusion through material ranging from descriptions of his daily activities to philosophical expressions in his works. The second major development in the Song interpretation of Tao Yuanming’s reclusion was an investigation of his motivations. According to one of the most common Song interpretations, Tao’s reclusion was a demonstration of loyalty. Major voices of this opinion include Huang Tingjian (1045–1105), Zhen Dexiu, and Zhu Xi. In the poem, “While Passing the Night at the Former Pengze, I Thought of Magistrate Tao” , Huang Tingjian suggested two motivations for Tao’s retirement. The following lines describe Tao’s loyalty to the Jin ruler during the last years of the dynasty, when Liu Yu dictated court politics: The Sima clan was as lifeless as ashes, Rites and Music were determined by Liu Yu.142 ................................. He [Tao] felt an unwavering loyalty to his dynasty, And could only spend his life looking at the waves of the Yangzi.

As well, Huang portrayed Tao as a gentleman who did not meet with his time in the lines “As the Magistrate of Pengze during such an era, / He lived in obscurity—a great hero of his age” , 143 . Elsewhere Huang referred to Tao’s loyalty by citing Shen Yue’s argument that Tao Yuanming’s shift to cyclical signs in dating poems signified a gesture of protest to the new ruler: “Cyclical signs do not appear before the Yixi reign” .144 Huang Tingjian was one of the earliest Song writers to foreground loyalty as a motivation for Tao’s reclusion.

142. The characters mao, jin, and dao are the components of the character liu, which here refers to Liu Yu. 143. Huang Tingjian, Huang Tingjian shiji zhu, neiji 1/57 (ZLHB, 37). 144. Ibid., waiji 2/796 (ZLHB, 40).

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Other Song writers affirmed Tao’s loyalty without recourse to the argument of cyclical signs, whether because of a recognition of its erroneous historical basis or the opinion that more convincing proof lay elsewhere. Tao’s illustrious lineage, also cited by earlier biographers as a factor in Tao’s refusal to serve a new ruler, was instead used as support for depicting Tao as a loyal subject. As Zhen Dexiu opined: Some readers refer only to how Tao did not use reign titles after the Yixi reign period as proof of his refusal to serve two dynasties. They fail to perceive that Tao’s thoughts were constantly on the Jin ruler. In fact, he carried the devotion of his great-grandfather, the Duke of Changsha. He chose to isolate himself in retirement only because it had been beyond his power to act.145

Zhen Dexiu viewed a family tradition of loyalty as a more compelling indicator of Tao’s personal loyalty than changes in his dating method. Similarly, Zhu Xi, in a eulogy of what clearly were for him two of China’s greatest moral heroes, Zhang Liang and Tao Yuanming, argued for Tao’s loyalty by emphasizing the role played by Tao’s lineage in his choice of reclusion.146 In constructing an argument for Tao’s loyalty, many Song writers relied on evidence other than the content of Tao’s works, such as the two dating methods or paternal lineage. The discovery in the early years of Song that Shen Yue’s claim about the shift in dating methods was untenable led some to read Tao’s works more carefully as sources for understanding the motivations behind his retirement. These critics searched for textual evidence to replace the old historiographic evidence to prove Tao’s loyalty. Siyue (fl. late tenth to early eleventh century), the editor of one of the earliest Song editions of Tao Yuanming ji (now lost), was the first to point out the discrepancy between Shen Yue’s account of the two dating methods in Tao’s works and the corpus of his works. Siyue apparently intended to rectify the historiographical errors of the Five Ministers , or commentators, of the Wen xuan and, implicitly, of Shen Yue rather than to cast doubt on Tao’s loyalty. 145. Zhen Dexiu, Xishan xiansheng Zhen Wenzhong gong wenji, 2a (ZLHB, 104). 146. See Zhu Xi, “Xiang Xianglin wenji hou xu” , in idem, Zhu Xi ji, 76/3980 (ZLHB, 77).

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An annotation by the Five Ministers to one of Tao’s poems in the Wen xuan reads: “The poems Yuanming wrote during the Jin are dated by reign titles, but those written during the [Liu] Song are merely designated by cyclical signs (jiazi ). The intent being to show unwillingness to serve two rulers, Tao thus altered his dating method.” I have examined all the poems designated by cyclical signs. There are nine written within a period of seventeen years, from 400 to 416. All of them were composed during the reign of Emperor An of Jin. Among these is “Written As I Passed Through Qianxi on My Way to the Capital in the Third Month of 405, When I Was Adjutant to the General of the Establishing-Majesty Army.” During the autumn of this year, Tao served as the magistrate of Pengze. After only eightyodd days in office, he returned his seal and composed “The Return.” Sixteen years later in 420, or the second year of the Yuanxi period under Emperor Gong’s reign, the Jin was replaced by [Liu] Song. How could it be that twenty years before [Liu] Song replaced the Jin, he had already decided that it was disgraceful to serve under two dynasties and thus used cyclical signs to date his poems so as to set them apart? The poems designated not by Jin reign titles but rather by cyclical signs do so simply because they were written to record an event of that particular year. Later scholars considered such poems to be of one kind and arranged them chronologically. But Tao had not intended that they be read this way. Today, devoted readers of Tao mostly accept the old explanation. That is why I have here recorded my own view at the beginning of the three volumes of his works, hoping to rectify the error of the Five Ministers and prevent the confusion of later readers.147

Siyue’s comments initiated a historiographic debate that would extend into the Qing. Siyue disproved on evidential grounds the longstanding argument first set forth by Shen Yue and maintained with slight modification by the Five Ministers. Shen Yue had stated that “Tao Yuanming dated all his writings with the month and year. The works written before the Yixi reign period [405–18] are designated with Jin reign titles, but those written from the Yongchu reign period [420–22] on are merely marked by cyclical signs.” The Five Ministers replaced the phrase “before the Yixi reign period” with “during the Jin” and “from the Yongchu reign period on” with “during the [Liu] Song” in their reprise of Shen Yue’s argument. Naming the two dynasties makes even clearer Shen Yue’s basic point: the change in dating methods evidences Tao’s loyalty to the Jin. An 147. Cited in Tao Shu, Jingjie xiansheng ji, 3.1 (ZLHB, 24).

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attentive reading of Tao Yuanming ji would show that Shen Yue gave only one accurate fact: works written after the Yongchu reign period were not designated by the reign titles of the new dynasty. Only one work from this later period, however, is dated by the cyclical sign. Siyue’s examination presents an important “new” fact: Tao dated some poems written before and during the Yixi reign period with cyclical signs. The ramification of this fact would be disturbing to those who believed Tao’s loyalty rested primarily on the hitherto indisputable proof given by Shen Yue: Tao’s use of cyclical signs cannot signify protest to a new dynasty since it began twenty years prior to the change in dynasties. Siyue’s presentation of new facts was not quietly digested by some critics, who seemed to view undermining Shen Yue’s evidence as tantamount to rejecting altogether his argument for Tao’s loyalty. The Southern Song critic Ge Lifang (d. 1164), for instance, wrote: The general view that Yuanming used cyclical signs rather than reign titles from the Yongchu reign period onward is at odds with Siyue’s argument. Let us examine Yuanming’s “Written After Reading History, Nine pieces,” which reveals his profound intent. The clearest examples of this are the poems “Bo Yi and Shu Qi,” “The Viscount of Ji,” and “The Two Confucians of Lu.” In “Bo Yi and Shu Qi,” we find these lines: “When Heaven and men changed the mandate, / They quit the world and lived in poverty. . . . Pure morals far outstrip the ordinary, / So that they may move the spiritless.”148 In “The Viscount of Ji,” we find these lines: “In one’s feeling at leaving home / Still there is reluctance. How much more amid those changes, / When everything encountered was evil!”149 In “The Two Confucians of Lu,” we find these lines: “Changes of dynasty come with time, / But to make wrong changes is foolish. Resolute were those men; / They were outstandingly upright.”150 Judging from these lines, it is clear that Yuan148. Tao’s lines in the original read: , ... , . I have emended Ge’s citation by changing zheng to zhen , since the former is likely a misquote. Translation from TYM, 1: 210. 149. Tao’s lines in the original read: , . , ; translation from TYM, 1: 210. 150. Tao’s lines in the original read: , . , . Lu Qinli (Tao Yuanming ji, 184) and TYMJJJ (433) follow Yiwen leiju in choosing the variant da for dai . I have emended Ge’s citation in changing zheng to zhen , since the former is likely a misquote. Translation from TYM, 1: 216.

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ming not only consigned himself to poverty, but willingly endured such poverty as Qian Lou’s without any regret. If this was not because of his unwillingness to serve two dynasties, then what could be the reason?151

Ge Lifang smartly shifted the argument from a factual to a textual basis. Seeing no point in challenging Siyue on historiographical grounds, he reinforced Shen Yue’s argument for Tao’s loyalty through textual analysis. Ge Lifang’s response to Siyue’s argument reveals what is at stake in discrediting Shen Yue’s argument: an uprooting of the argument of the two dating methods strips the notion of Tao’s loyalty of half of its original support. Ge accordingly supplied new textual support in its place. Many Song critics sought to prove Tao’s loyalty through either his dating methods, his lineage, or his texts in order to posit loyalty as the primary motivation for his retirement. To argue that Tao’s reclusion was grounded in loyalty is a tricky business, and a couple of points regarding this notion in the Six Dynasties need to be clarified. First, the old maxim “A subject does not serve two rulers” did not carry the same import during the Six Dynasties as earlier in the Han and later in the Tang or, especially, the Song and thereafter.152 The Eastern Jin dynasty had a unique political structure characterized by clan relations and factional partisanship, in which the imperial clan, merely the first among the aristocratic clans, shared political power with all the major clans (Wang , Xie , Huan , and Yu ).153 Power was not localized in one figure, the emperor. Hence, the relationship between subject and ruler did not have the full force of its 151. Ge Lifang, Yunyu yangqiu, 5.7b (ZLHB, 63). 152. The prescription that a loyal subject does not serve two dynasties does not originate from the thought of Confucius and Mencius and becomes most explicitly formulated and greatly stressed by the Song Confucians, as Frederick Mote has argued. For a discussion of the development of this concept of loyalty, see Mote, “Confucian Eremitism in the Yüan Period,” 229–30. This, however, does not mean that the model of one subject–one ruler did not exist or have any currency until the Song, for it is certainly valid to view, as most critics traditionally have, the considerable number of scholar-officials who withdrew during Wang Mang’s usurpation and the Tang literati who refused to serve An Lushan’s government as loyalists. 153. For a good study of the Eastern Jin political system, see Tian Yuqing, Dong Jin menfa zhengzhi. See also Tang Changru, Wei Jin Nanbeichao Sui Tang shi san lun, 51–53.

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original significance during this period. Second, the incredibly unstable political scene saw the rise of six dynasties (in southern China) in less than four hundred years. The brevity of each dynasty, averaging a mere sixty-two years in length, rendered the model of one subject–one ruler not always feasible. Many men unabashedly served two or more dynasties without encountering criticism. Shen Yue, for instance, held posts under three successive dynasties. Tao’s friend Yan Yanzhi served both the Jin and the Liu Song dynasties. To be sure, loyalty to the ruler was not a forgotten concept during the Six Dynasties. Shen Yue’s and Xiao Tong’s praise of this supposed virtue in Tao Yuanming attest to this. But it is worthwhile to qualify this point: the concept of loyalty during the period is more nuanced than fealty to one particular ruling house and may involve an allegiance and sense of propriety colored by the values of the gentry class (mendi ) system, as Xiaofei Tian has rightly argued. That is to say, Shen Yue may have believed that Tao chose reclusion because he felt that it would be against propriety to serve a dynasty that replaced the one in which his great-grandfather had figured prominently as a great minister.154 At issue here is that the view of many Song critics that Tao’s reclusion was essentially a demonstration of loyalty may well have been skewed by Northern Song preoccupations with personal character and, especially, by renewed preoccupations with a proper ethical code of conduct in the Southern Song. To a certain extent, the insistence on reading Tao’s reclusion as founded on loyalty is a retrospective enforcement of Confucian ethical values. Loyalism was not the only answer given in the Song to the question of Tao Yuanming’s motivation for retirement. Some critics asserted that Tao had altogether transcended politics. A prominent representative of this view, Ye Mengde, severely criticized the Six Dynasties critic Zhong Rong for tracing the source of Tao’s poetry to Ying Qu’s (190–252), which has traditionally been read as political satire. In the same passage in Shilin shihua (Remarks on poetry from Shilin), Ye Mengde argued that “Yuanming’s intent was to detach himself from worldly affairs and transcend the material world. How could men who cling to power have been sufficient 154. Xiaofei Tian, Tao Yuanming and Manuscript Culture, 90.

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to burden his mind?” 155 Ye Mengde thus assured us that Tao the Transcendent, an iconic figure developed in part by Ye that would remain potent and attractive for scholars until the twentieth century, was in no way involved with the business of political criticism. The Southern Song poet Xin Qiji expressed a similar opinion in the opening lines of a song lyric “presented” posthumously to Tao Yuanming, “To the Tune, Partridge Sky” : Late in life, he plowed the fields without complaining of poverty, With one chicken and a bottle of wine, he invited over his neighbors. Unconcerned with the affairs of the Jin and the Song, He called himself a man living before Fu Xi’s time.

156

For Xin Qiji, as for Ye Mengde, Tao’s reclusion is best understood in terms of his transcendence, and not as a protest against the contemporary situation. A third reason for Tao’s retirement was proposed by Su Shi, one of the most studious readers of Tao’s works and an ardent admirer of his life. Su’s understanding of Tao’s motivations was likely informed by Tao’s explicit account of his resignation. In the “Preface” to “The Return,” Tao explained that his “instinct is all for freedom” and that remaining in office would mean going against his nature.157 Moreover, each of the handful of poems written while Tao served in office expresses a longing for the fields and gardens.158 Tao thus associated his withdrawal with following his natural inclinations. 155. Ye Mengde, Shilin shihua, 1: 434 (ZLHB, 52). 156. Xin Qiji, Jiaxuan ci biannian jianzhu, 4/416 (ZLHB, 102). 157. PTC, 268. 158. See “In the Fifth Month of the Year 400, Held Up at Guilin by Adverse Winds While Coming Back from the Capital, Two poems” ; “Written at Tukou at Night During the Seventh Moon of the Year 401, While Returning to Jiangling After Leave”; “Lines Written as I Passed Through Qu’e, on First Being Made Adjutant to the General”; and “Written as I Passed Through Qianxi on My Way to the Capital in the Third Month of 405, When I Was Adjutant to the General of the Establishing-Majesty Army” .

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According to Su, it was precisely Tao’s quality of genuineness (zhen ) that governed his decision to retire, among other decisions he made. Confucius did not approve of Wei Shenggao, nor did Mencius approve of Zhongzi of Yuling.159 Both sages disliked that these men were not true to their feelings. When Tao Yuanming wanted to serve, he served; and he did not consider his quest for office objectionable. When he wanted to withdraw, he withdrew; and he did not consider himself superior for resigning. When he was hungry, he knocked on a stranger’s door and begged for food. When he had enough to eat, he set out chicken and millet to entertain his guests. The reason that men in both ancient and modern times have considered him to be a worthy is that they prize his genuineness (zhen ).160

Su contrasted Tao, whose service and reclusion matched his current sentiments, with men whose actions did not reflect their natural impulses or feelings. Moreover, according to Su, Tao’s authentic feelings manifested themselves even in actions of lesser consequence: when Tao was starved, he knocked at doors; when he had his fill of food, he invited guests over to share. The concept of genuineness recurs in Su Shi’s writings, appearing in contexts ranging from charac159. Wei Shenggao was known for his uprightness, but when someone once asked him for vinegar, he borrowed some from a neighbor and presented it as his own gift (Analects, 5.24). The sentiment he presented to the man who asked for vinegar was false. Zhongzi of Yuling, also known as Zizhong or Chen Zhongzi, is portrayed in the Mencius 3B/10 as a man of severe principles. He refused to live with his elder brother and mother because he considered his brother’s emoluments unrighteous and his house ill-gotten. He finally retired to Yuling with his likeminded wife. There is another anecdote about Zhongzi from Liu Xiang’s Lienü zhuan (2.10b), which Su Shi seemed also to have in mind. Zhongzi, who had a reputation for virtue, received a summons to office from the king of Chu. Before he gave an answer, he consulted with his wife, who finally dissuaded Zhongzi from accepting office by reminding him of the perils involved. Thereupon Zhongzi declined the offer and went into seclusion with his wife. This portrayal of Zhongzi, who allowed his actions to be guided by his wife’s wishes rather than his natural impulses, contrasts nicely with Su’s depiction of Tao Yuanming, whose genuine feelings determined either taking office or retiring. The same type of contrast can be seen between Wei Shenggao’s acts of borrowing and presenting vinegar to the stranger and Tao’s acts of begging for food and sharing food with guests. 160. Su Shi, “Shu Li Jianfu shiji hou” , in idem, Su Shi wenji, 68/2148 (ZLHB, 33); translation, with slight modification, from Egan, Word, Image, and Deed in the Life of Su Shi, 319.

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ter assessment to artistic production. 161 In Su’s high appraisal of Tao’s character, the genuineness implied by his actions plays a crucial factor. Another passage from Su Shi’s Colophons illuminates his concept of genuineness, as Ronald Egan has pointed out. Su wrote that one of his remarks completely accords in spirit with one of Tao Yuanming’s “On Drinking” poems, in which Tao receives advice from a farmer to come out of reclusion and join the “muddy game” but responds that he cannot allow his actions to betray his nature: “Words originate from the heart (xin ) and are held in the mouth. Spitting out these words might offend others, but holding them back would be to go against oneself. Knowing I would rather go against others, I choose to spit out my words.”162 Put in the simplest terms, for Su Shi the characteristic of genuineness translated to being true to one’s nature. Expression of genuineness is a maxim Su held dear in his decision-making, as well as a crucial factor in his appraisal of personality. The label of genuineness appeared earlier in the reception of Tao as recluse. The biographers, beginning with Shen Yue, were the first to characterize Tao’s behavior as genuine. The earlier usage of the term, however, differs substantially from Su Shi’s. First, a change in context is apparent. Whereas the context for Shen Yue’s characterization is wine-related events, no specific context frames Su Shi’s application of the term to Tao’s actions. Second, the term’s referent in each case is different. In Shen Yue’s account, genuineness refers primarily to Tao’s behavior during intoxication. It is, moreover, limited in scope by the characteristic with which it is paired, “candor” (shuai ). Together zhenshuai names an aloofness from social conventions and a forthrightness in Tao’s idiosyncratic behavior. According to Su Shi, in contrast, zhen stands for the overarching principle guiding Tao in major actions, such as taking office and retiring. 161. For a discussion of tianzhen (natural genuineness) and artistic production, see “Shu Zhang changshi caoshu” , in Su Shi, Su Shi wenji, 69/2178– 79. For Su Shi, expression of an artist’s tianzhen correlates with rapid and spontaneous artistic execution. For a discussion of this point, see Egan, Word, Image, and Deed in the Life of Su Shi, 319. See also Li Jianfeng, Yuan qian Tao Yuanming jieshoushi, 288, for a discussion of Su Shi’s application of zhen to Tao Yuanming. 162. Su Shi, “Lu Tao Yuanming shi” , in idem, Su Shi wenji, 67/2111 (ZLHB, 31).

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Su Shi added new significations to a characteristic long associated with Tao Yuanming by seeking its roots in Tao’s inner life and by finding it pervasive in his actions. For Su Shi, Tao’s retirement was less symbolic of loyalty or transcendence than expressive of his natural impulses. Song writers proposed various motivations for Tao’s reclusion: protest, transcendence, or, simply, genuineness. Each emphasized a particular virtue, but none would have denied that Tao was loyal, high-minded, or genuine. Perhaps because evidence supporting each of these claims could be found in either Tao’s works or accounts of his life, none could be completely rejected. Each aspect of the biographers’ characterization of Tao, such as loyalty, aloofness, and genuine candor, was investigated during the Song. The Song critics modified or refined these features with new facts and readings of Tao’s texts. Indeed, the sophistication of the Song discourse on the causes behind Tao’s retirement is also evident in the little part granted to popular, trite images of his resignation. The general lack of critical effort to undermine the popular tale that Tao resigned from office after refusing to bend at the waist before the local inspector suggests that the Song readers accepted it as, at best, a plausible scene of resignation. The Song critics seemed to recognize that this legend did not adequately explain the reasons underlying his retirement. Moreover, interest in the philosophy underlying Tao’s reclusion inspired many to read the descriptions of Tao’s daily activities and the philosophical contemplations in his writings carefully. The Song examinations of two questions unnoticed by the majority of the Tang poets in their interpretations of Tao’s reclusion, philosophical basis and motivation, mark the final major developments in the traditional reading of Tao’s reclusion. The reception history of Tao Yuanming as recluse has been a process of accumulation, modification, and negation of previous readings. The early biographies first provided the characteristics of Tao the recluse, such as aloofness, loftiness, genuineness, and loyalty, roughly the range of subsequent interpretations of his reclusion. Later readers appropriated and developed aspects of it according to their own motivations and needs. The main literary uses (allusion and quota-

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tion) and major interpretive trajectories (imagery, emulation, philosophy, and motivation) of Tao’s reclusion accrued during the Tang and Song dynasties and further determined the parameters of subsequent readings and literary uses. In particular, the attribute of loyalty first given to Tao by the biographers and later re-emphasized and recontextualized by the Song moralists as exemplary adherence to the Confucian social relationships figured centrally in Jin (1115– 1234) and Yuan (1279–1368) interpretations of Tao’s reclusion.163 Tao Yuanming’s model of retirement, which by the end of the Southern Song signified in large part an expression of loyal indignation and spiritual transcendence, became a popular subject of paintings and, even more than in earlier periods, of encomia.164 For example, Li Gonglin’s (ca. 1041–1106) famous handscroll Yuanming gui yin (Yuanming returning to seclusion) depicts seven scenes from the prose-poem “The Return” and represents an early rendering of what would become one of the two most popular works by Tao for later painters (the other, not surprisingly, is “Peach Blossom Spring,” a text rich in significations). Li’s drawing of Tao on the east hill, loosely wrapped in swaying robe and sash, looking intently with his walking cane in hand, would become iconic as it was recast in a number of later paintings.165 In an article on traditional portraits of Tao Yuanming, Susan Nelson has suggested that the concern for the moral ramifications of his withdrawal developed in the Yuan, when foreign rule rendered exigent the issue of engagement or disengagement: “Whereas earlier readers of ‘Returning Home’ were often preoccupied with its description of Tao’s reclusive life and state of mind, Yuan critics tend to talk about the text as a reflection of Tao’s Confucian principles and posture of moral 163. See ZLHB, 117–31. 164. For a discussion of pictorial representations of Tao Yuanming in the Song and Yuan, see Nelson, “What I Do Today Is Right.” For a broader discussion of Tao Yuanming in traditional painting, see Yuan Xingpei, “Gudai huihua zhong de Tao Yuanming.” See also the catalogue of Tao Yuanming scrolls in the collection of Taiwan’s National Palace Museum, Yuanming yizhi tezhan tu lu. 165. See, e.g., Liang Kai’s (fl. early 13th c.) Dongli gaoshi ; a monoscenic handscroll attributed to Qian Xuan, Guiqulai tu ; and a scroll attributed to Zhao Mengfu, Hua Yuanming Guiqulai ci . For a discussion of these paintings, see Nelson, “What I Do Today Is Right.”

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righteousness in a turbulent age like their own. The image of Tao in the act of returning is a pictorial way of articulating this view.”166 Using pictorial examples mainly from Li Gonglin, Qian Xuan (ca. 1235–before 1307), and Zhao Mengfu (1254–1322), Nelson argues that the Song interest lay primarily in Tao’s pleasures in rustic retirement, whereas Yuan representations focused on the act of returning and its implications of a principled choice and firm resolve, thereby foregrounding the issue of the political and moral advantages and disadvantages of service.167 My examination of a wide range of texts has indicated that the commitment to probing the causes that led to Tao’s withdrawal developed in the Northern Song and persisted on a more extensive scale in the Southern Song. The few extant Song paintings depicting famous scenes from Tao’s life in retirement are valuable evidence of the interests of particular painters, but they should be read against a larger body of textual evidence.168 Moreover, although Tao became a particularly convenient trope for post-Song literati living during the collapse of their dynasties who wished to express frustration or aspired for transcendence, the moral dilemma of service versus reclusion did not become prominent only in the Yuan; nor would it lose its vitality after the end of Mongol rule, although the particular considerations may vary. Tao Yuanming was seen as no less a moral hero in the Song and Ming than during periods of foreign rule or transition. The reading of Tao Yuanming through the lens of Confucian ideals of loyalty, uprightness, and moral fervor has to do less with the new, even urgent, circumstances imposed by foreign rule than with a pervasive ethical reorientation in the literati class that began in the Song through a reordering of the canon, reprogramming of education, and reprioritizing of values.

166. Nelson, “What I Do Today Is Right,” 71. 167. It should be noted that the first of the seven scenes in Li Gonglin’s Yuanming gui yin in fact depicts Tao Yuanming in the act of returning home. 168. The three Song examples discussed in Nelson’s article are: an anonymous scroll titled Liu yin gaoshi , Li Gonglin’s Yuanming gui yin, and Liang Kai’s Dongli gaoshi.

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The story of Tao Yuanming in the role of the recluse would be adapted for drama in the Yuan, Ming, and Qing.169 These plays drew heavily from Tao’s early biographies rather than from his works (with the exceptions of “The Return,” which is included in his biographies, “Peach Blossom Spring,” and “On Drinking Wine,” no. 5, which, not coincidentally, are the most popular texts by Tao to be depicted in paintings), often mixing and compressing together pieces from different scenes of Tao’s life. Such colorful anecdotes as resigning over refusing to bend at the waist for five pecks of rice, drinking wine sent by Wang Hong under clusters of chrysanthemums, and Wang Hong’s clever arrangement to meet Tao at Lili with wine surely made for good entertainment. Some plays fancifully elaborated on his works (for example, Tao becomes an immortal in Peach Blossom Spring); others often conflated details of his biographies (Wang Hong and Zhou Xuzhi join Tao Yuanming for a banquet by the eastern hedge). These instances in particular give credence to the notion that the prime value of these stories lay in entertainment and expediency rather than veracious representation. Most important, the recycling of the same lore in various dramatic adaptations suggests that Tao Yuanming’s story had become integrated into a cultural heritage that was not exclusive to literati readers. Although we know little of how nonliterati audiences understood Tao Yuanming and his works, the fact that plays about Tao continued to be written and performed throughout the Ming and Qing indicates that there was no small market for tales about this recluse-poet. The influence of Tao’s biographies on the imagination and preconceptions of later readers is remarkable, but Song scholarship also had lasting effects on views of Tao as a recluse. On one hand, Song writers drew rigorous attention to Tao Yuanming’s texts. Editors and critics modified the interpretations of Tao’s biographers on the basis of careful study and corrected their errors. On the other hand, certain Song writers pursued with even more vigor than their 169. See, e.g., the plot summaries of Dongli shang ju (anonymous Yuan/Ming zaju); Xu Chao’s Tao chushi (Ming zaju); and Wei Litong’s Guiqulai xi (Qing zaju), in Li Xiusheng, Guben xiqu jumu tiyao, 118, 189, and 723, respectively.

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predecessors the reduction of Tao Yuanming to a one-dimensional figure, a role, such as Tao the Transcendent heedless of material needs and social affairs or Tao the Loyal Recluse as an exemplar of Confucian morality. The insistence on any single reading of Tao Yuanming raises interesting questions for the reception of Tao’s autobiographical project, as we shall see.

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The notion of personality is neither a historiographic category like reclusion nor a clearly defined analytic one like poetics, but it is intertwined with Chinese hermeneutics. The presence of personality in writing is an often unspoken but widely held assumption in traditional reading practices. Any study of Tao Yuanming’s historical reception must examine the evolution of readings of his personality, since it figures as an explicit or implicit reference point in the interpretation of his poetry. Tao’s “personality” was by no means a self-evident or stable point of reference, since critics continually re-presented it and emphasized different facets. Most traditional readers took it for granted that Tao was a virtuous and worthy man. But how the nature of this good personality was defined—that is, wherein his virtue lay—varied from writer to writer and period to period. Shifts in emphasis often reflect the changing needs or motivations of critics, as well as changes in cultural or moral standards. The Chinese literary tradition has long assumed that a poem constitutes a manifestation of the author’s true state or condition of mind; the reader may therefore come to know the author by paying attention to the text. As Stephen Owen puts it, “Reading well, we discover not ‘meaning’ but zhi [ ], ‘what is/was intently on the mind.’ ”1 This assumption yields important corollaries: first, “the

1. Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 26. Zhi has variously been translated as “aim” (Steven Van Zoeren), “intention” (Haun Saussy), and “mind’s intent” (James J. Y. Liu). “The zhi was . . . an organizing and guiding preoccupation, either moral or frankly secular,” as Van Zoeren further explains. On the history of

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relation between reader and writer is a social one.”2 Second, to borrow Steven Van Zoeren’s formulation, “if you knew an individual’s zhi, you knew who that person was.”3 This, in effect, precludes any substantial distinction between the literary self, which is a textual construct, and the writer. Third, by the Han dynasty this assumption was so deep-rooted and common that few challenged the authenticity of the self as represented in the text. The central role played by Tao’s personality in his reception reflects as much the predominance of this reading assumption as the extent to which his writings are autobiographical. In the first part of this chapter, I briefly delineate the major early voices in the tradition of reading a person through his words or writings. The remainder of the chapter traces different readings of Tao’s personality to explore the evolution of the vocabulary and grammar of the discourse on personality.

Reading Personality in Early Hermeneutical Theory The earliest extended treatment of the necessity of linking an individual’s words and personality is found in the Analects, which generally expresses a remarkable faith that words and behavior reveal a person’s true character. In numerous passages, a man’s character is judged on the basis of his words and behavior. As a hermeneutical model, the equation of words and behavior with personality is dominant in the Analects, but the possibility of masks and hypocrisy is admitted.4 In the Analects, two hermeneutical methods coexist: (1) a the term, see Van Zoeren, Poetry and Personality, 56–59; and James J. Y. Liu, Chinese Theories of Literature, 67–70. 2. Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 35. 3. Van Zoeren, Poetry and Personality, 57. 4. Steven Van Zoeren (ibid., 58) has argued that typical of the earliest stratum is the “Confucian interest in determining and specifying character and the confidence . . . that this character would be unproblematically revealed in observable behavior.” In contrast, the later strata admit the problem of hypocrisy. Although Van Zoeren has made a good case based on two sets of comparisons between similar passages found in early and late strata of the Analects, we still find passages in the earliest stratum that raise the problem of hypocrisy (e.g., Analects 5.10) and in the latest stratum, passages that assume words unequivocally indicate one’s character (e.g., 20.3). Van Zoeren’s division of strata (see ibid., 26), based on those of Ana-

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literal and direct reading in which the basic presupposition is that words are authentic; (2) a rhetorical reading in which calculation is the basic method. Confucius is presented as preferring the literal reading: “I used to take on trust a man’s deeds after having listened to his words. Now having listened to his words I go on to observe his deeds. It was on account of Yu [Zai Yu ] that I have changed in this respect.”5 Confucius feels that he can no longer count solely on words in judging a man, but at the same time he suggests that the better interpretive approach is to take both words and visible behavior at face value, and that much is lost if one gives up this faith. The rhetorical reading is demonstrated by this same Zai Yu, Confucius’s most troublesome disciple. Duke Ai asked Zai Wo [Yu] about the altar to the god of earth. Zai Wo replied, ‘The Xia used the pine, the Yin used the cedar, and the men of Zhou used the chestnut, saying that it made the common people tremble.’ The Master, on hearing of this reply, commented, ‘One does not explain away what is already done, one does not argue against what is already accomplished, and one does not condemn what has already gone by.’6

Zai Yu interprets rituals in a rhetorical way by suggesting that the selection of wood was calculated for its specific effect on the viewer. Confucius disapproves of this cynical interpretation. His reproach seems to say that there is no need to decode the actions of past sages, since their actions surely derived from virtuous and sincere intentions. If these intentions and the design of rituals were subject to constant rhetorical scrutiny, the foundations of the Confucian system would be shaken. Early Confucian hermeneutics presuppose a transparency of character as seen through words, behavior, and actions. Within pre-Han texts, the strongest and most consistent claim of an identification between words and personality is perhaps found in the Mencius , which shows the same interest as the Analects in assessing speech: “How can a man conceal his true character if you

lects scholars, such as D. C. Lau, Arthur Waley, and Takeuchi Yoshio, is as follows: the earliest stratum includes chapters 3–7; the next, chapters 1, 2, 8, and 9; the third, chapters 10–15; and the latest, chapters 16–20. 5. Analects 5.10; translation from Lau, The Analects, 77. 6. Analects 3.21; translation from Lau, The Analects, 70.

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listen to his words and observe the pupils of his eyes?”7 Here, Mencius not only expresses complete confidence that words and eyes reveal a man’s character but also implies that a listener can be adept at reading what is manifest before him. Success in judging a man depends as much on the belief that words are true indicators of character as on the perceptiveness of the judge. In the Mencius, the interpretation of a person based on an assumed link between his words and his character is not limited to conversation, as in the Analects, but is extended to the reading of texts. The following passage deals specifically with texts of the ancient sages, and the act of decipherment is ostensibly eliminated. Mencius said to Wan Zhang, “The best gentleman (shi ) of a village may make friends with the best gentlemen of other villages . . . the best gentleman in the empire, with the best gentlemen in the empire. If making friends with the best gentlemen in the empire proves insufficient, then go back in time and engage with the ancients. When singing their poems and reading their books, is it right not to know what kind of persons they were? One thus tries to understand the age in which they lived. This is called ‘looking for friends in the past.’ ”8

Text as representation of author is here only a subset of text as authenticity. This passage takes for granted that the writings of the ancients authentically represent the reality of an individual or an entire age. Mencius advocates an anti-rhetorical way of reading: the possibility of authorial craft or calculation is not even broached; rather, a text is unquestioningly taken as a perfect mirror of its author. This passage also defines reading as an obligation to understand the author. An author is inscribed in his text, and it would be wrong for a reader not to see his character through his writings. Late in the Warring States period (403–221 bce), various thinkers challenged the Confucian hermeneutical model of “writing reflecting the author” (wen ru qi ren ). Notable among these was the Legalist Han Fei (ca. 280–ca. 233 bce), who by drawing attention to the craft of embellishment and the calculations of rhetoric provided an alternative to Confucian interpretation. In his 7. Mencius 4A.15; translation from Lau, Mencius, 124. 8. Mencius 5B.8.

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chapters on the difficulties of oratory, Han Fei suggested a rhetorical hermeneutics. The best-known chapter, “Shui nan” (On the difficulties of persuasion), teaches how to persuade the listener (here, the ruler) while keeping oneself safe. The chapter begins by specifying the difficulties encountered in persuasion, which center on knowing the listener’s mind and employing appropriate rhetorical devices: In every case the difficulty of persuasion is not the difficulty of my knowing the matter at hand and being able to devise a persuasive argument about it; nor is it that of arguing the matter and making clear my ideas; and nor is it that of having courage to speak without reserve and fully expressing my mind. In every case the difficulty of persuasion consists in knowing the mind of the listener and making my words meet it.9

Later in the chapter, Han Fei prescribed for the orator the necessity of understanding the listener’s psychological motivations, that is, what he desires in terms of profit, fame, or basic aims, and wherein his vanity lies. The orator must carefully choose his words, anecdotes, and ornamentation so that his speech corresponds with the ruler’s thoughts and disposition. In Han Fei’s system, what is said in speech is determined primarily by what is most profitable, practical, or suitable. Authenticity and truthfulness play no visible role in Han Fei’s art of persuasion. Han Fei’s writings on oratory tend to break down the traditionally assumed direct and necessary link between one’s words and personality. If an orator’s words are the product of careful craft and calculation designed to bring about a specific effect, then how reliably can they serve as a perfect reflection of his character? With Han Fei, disjunction between one’s words and interior (real thoughts, beliefs) becomes an ever more explicit likelihood. Although Han Fei’s writings on oratory imply an alternative to the interpretation of words as a one-to-one substitute for the author, their influence was limited, and rhetorical interpretation never gained primacy in the Chinese literary tradition. Of all types of expression, textual or oral, verse was considered most revealing of the person. As Mark Lewis has argued, “In imperial China poetry was the form for the expression of the self and the mode of writing most closely identified with an individual, authorial 9. Han Feizi jishi, 4/221.

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voice.”10 The identification of a poem and an individual voice derived in great part from Han readings of the Odes and Chu ci , China’s earliest anthologies of verse, which posited behind the composition of each song an author or specific historical event. The development of the link between poetry and personality reached a high point in the “Great Preface” to the Odes, which would become the locus classicus for statements on poetry.11 Among these is the canonical definition of poetry, especially relevant for this discussion: “The poem is where what is intently on the mind goes. In the mind, it is intent; when expressed in words, it is a poem” , . , . This definition is a reformulation of the earliest pronouncement about poetry from the “Canon of Yao” in the Classic of Documents , “The poem speaks what is intently on the mind” (shi yan zhi ). Stephen Owen is right to caution that no reformulation is ever neutral, and the definition in the “Great Preface” is “very different indeed from the statement on shi [ ] in the Book of Documents: shi is not simply the ‘articulation’ of zhi: it is zhi.”12 There is a model of equivalence in the statement “In the mind, it is intent (zhi); when expressed in words, it is a poem.” The poem is not only the zhi in a new guise but the end point of a spatial movement from the inner to the outer. This statement presupposes a perfect substitution of outer manifestation for inner form. This definition of poetry, in effect, turned the hermeneutical assumption first posited in the Classic of Documents into a basic tenet of Chinese poetics: poetry is good for knowing the poet’s zhi; or conversely, to know someone’s zhi, construed as an integral part of his personality, one reads his poems. The reading of a poet’s zhi through his poems may not always be performed on a literal level. In fact, many early interpretations and uses of the Odes (beginning with the practice of “presenting poems” seen in the Zuo zhuan [Zuo commentary to the Spring and Autumn Annals] and continuing through the Mao Commentary ) 10. Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China, 147. 11. For extensive analyses of the “Great Preface,” see Van Zoeren, Poetry and Personality, 80–115; Saussy, The Problem of a Chinese Aesthetic, 74–105; and Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 37–56. 12. Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 41.

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consisted in assigning meanings not apparent on the surface.13 The reader of the Odes needs an interpretive key, an allegory, in order to arrive at the poet’s true zhi. The components for an allegorical reading are laid out in the “Great Preface,” which betrays an uneasiness about the fact that poems detailing illicit love affairs are included in a collection supposedly compiled by Confucius. The problem was how these “mutated Airs” (bianfeng ) could legitimately serve as moral paradigms. The author of the “Great Preface” thus attempted to solve this dilemma by attributing the authorship of these mutated Airs to the historians of the states (guoshi ), described as virtuous men responding to the degeneracy of their times.14 To be sure, the zhi of these historians did not lie in erotic love, as the poems appear to say. Their portrayal of contemporary practices and behavior were paradigmatically moral responses to social decline.15 Censure is the real meaning behind these poems. The zhi and, by extension, moral character of the putative authors of the mutated Airs can be properly understood only through allegory. Allegorical interpretation by no means invalidates the model of text as an authentic representation of the author; rather, it complicates the model. The allegorical reading of the Odes (along with the Latter Han interpretation of Chu ci) set a canonical precedent for the later critical practice of looking beyond the literal level for the poet’s zhi. During the Han, the model of writing as reflecting the author was enriched by new conceptions of writing and new ideas about what impels writing and what it is good for. Many of these ideas are predi13. Fushi , the “presentation of poems,” was practiced by those who, in diplomatic or social occasions, wished to express intent, move or persuade their listeners, or embellish their arguments through the quotation of Odes. For a discussion of this practice, see Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China, 147–93. 14. Most modern Odes scholars attribute the “Great Preface” to Wei Hong (1st c. ce), whose authorship was more on the order of recording shared beliefs about the Odes than original composition. 15. The interpretation of the zhi articulated in the Odes as moral responses to decadent times was not original to the “Great Preface.” It had already been argued by Xunzi (ca. 335?–ca. 238? bce). As Van Zoeren (Poetry and Personality, 76) points out: “The notion that the zhi inscribed in the Odes were in every case correct and exemplary was central to Xunzi’s view of the Odes and their role in moral education, and it was to become the central claim of the medieval view of the Odes adumbrated by the Mao Preface.”

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cated on a link between writing and personality. For example, Sima Qian’s famous letter to Ren An , “Bao Ren Shaoqing shu” , not only affirms the notion that writings authentically reveal the author’s zhi and character but adds another element to the equation of writings to personality, frustration: In fact, King Wen was imprisoned when he elaborated on the Classic of Changes [or Yijing]. Zhongni [Confucius] suffered hardship before he wrote the Spring and Autumn Annals. Qu Yuan was exiled and thus composed the Li Sao. Zuo Qiu lost his eyesight and wrote the Conversations of the States. Sunzi’s feet were amputated before he compiled his Art of War. [Lü] Buwei was demoted to Shu, and his Synopticon of Lü was then transmitted. Han Fei was imprisoned by the Qin before he wrote “On the Difficulties of Persuasion” and “Solitary Frustration.” The three hundred Odes were, overall, products of sages and worthies expressing their frustrations. All these men had pent-up frustrations that could not be resolved. Unable to set their ways into practice, they narrated past events with a mind to posterity. Zuo Qiu, who was blind, and Sunzi, whose legs were amputated, could never be employed. They withdrew and recorded their judgments in books so as to express their frustrations fully, hoping to manifest themselves in writings that would be transmitted to posterity.16

With their ambitions thwarted, these men (and implicitly Sima Qian himself) could manifest their zhi only through writing. Interestingly, Sima Qian posited frustration and hardship as prerequisites for literary production. The idea that suffering was necessary for the accomplishment of great deeds was not new, having appeared in the Mencius and Xunzi . But Sima Qian was the first to extend this idea to the act of writing.17 By affirming that personal frustration and suffering are the impetus for writing, Sima Qian made a strong case for the authenticity of the zhi expressed. Another element significant for an understanding of the relationship between writing and personality during the Han is literary style. The notion of varying styles is based on a recognition of different personalities, a topic of growing interest to literary men and government administrators. In “Lun wen” (Discourse on litera16. Sima Qian, “Bao Ren Shaoqing shu,” in Xiao Tong, Wen xuan, 41/1864–65. 17. Qian Zhongshu (Guanzhui bian, 3: 936) makes this point in his reading of the “Letter to Ren An.”

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ture), Cao Pi (187–226) argued for an identification between literary style and the author’s personality. His evaluation of three of the Seven Masters of Jian’an , the leading writers during the Jian’an period (196–220), shows an appreciation for individual personality and variation as demonstrated by their works: “Ying Yang [d. 217] is agreeable but lacks vigor. Liu Zhen [d. 217] is vigorous but holds nothing concealed. Kong Rong’s [153–208] form and qi are lofty and subtle” . . .18 Cao Pi used descriptive terms applicable to both literary style and personality. Owen comments that throughout the Chinese literary tradition, as in certain phases of Western literature, readers identified the style or manner of text with the personality of its author. Although current literary opinion considers such an identification misguided, the truth or falsity of the identification is less important than the fact that both readers and writer took it to be true. The powerful intuition of personality in style was a historical fact and a deeply held value.19

For Cao Pi, literary style—not what is said, but how it is said— reveals the author’s personality. The notion that personality is inscribed in writing is the point of departure for Cao Pi’s conception of writing. It is no longer the case, as it was for Sima Qian, that frustration is the sole impetus for writing. For Cao Pi, what impels writing is the desire for historical immortality. Writing is potentially an intellectual solution to the problem of physical mortality. I would say that literary works are the supreme achievement in the business of state, a splendor that does not decay. A time will come when a person’s life ends; glory and pleasure go no further than this body. To carry both to eternity, there is nothing to compare with the unending permanence of the literary work.20

18. Cao Pi, “Lun wen,” 8/1097b; translation, with slight modification, from Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 62. 19. Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 63. 20. Cao Pi, “Lun wen,” 8/1098a; translation from Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 68. For a good discussion of this passage, especially the ways in which Cao Pi undermined the traditional Confucian idea of what types of writing (i.e., Classics, histories) partake in the ordering of the realm, see Li Zehou and Liu Gangji, Zhongguo meixueshi, 1: 50–54.

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Speaking as a future ruler, Cao Pi, who surely learned from his father’s promotion of literary talent, affirmed the use-value of literary compositions in the enterprise (ye ) of managing a state. Ye also implies an accumulation: a person’s achievements in governance are transmitted by his writings, which may outlive the architect of institutions and even the institutions themselves. Although posthumous reputation does figure in Sima Qian’s conception of writing as well, he did not boldly claim it as the reason for writing. For Sima Qian, writing is cloaked with social and moral responsibilities: the documentation of one’s intent and the organization and transmission of knowledge. Writers must, moreover, assume agency for their own posthumous reputation. For Cao Pi, it is a question not simply of achieving literary immortality but of influencing how one is to be read in the future. “So writers of ancient times entrusted their persons to ink and the brush, and let their thoughts be seen in their compositions; depending neither on a good historian nor on momentum from a powerful patron, their reputations were handed down to posterity on their own force.”21 Cao Pi assures us that literary works are the most reliable testament of one’s talent and achievements (both political and literary), and it is through them, rather than the words of others, that one attains historical immortality. Both Cao Pi’s and Sima Qian’s views of writing as, respectively, the means to literary immortality and as selfexpression spurred by frustration are important sources for Tao Yuanming’s vision of writing and later readings of his works. Cao Pi’s careful effort to identify literary styles with personality types was in tune with contemporary interest in characterology, which assumes that interior qualities can be known by external manifestations. The science of character assessment was especially useful for the upper bureaucracy, which was concerned with selecting the right man for the job. Liu Shao’s (ca. 189–ca. 245) Renwu zhi (Treatise on personality; ca. 240–49) represents the best attempt to systematize the evaluation of character. His manual, whose apparent purpose was to help standardize the selec-

21. Cao Pi, “Lun wen,” 8/1098a; translation from Owen; Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 69.

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tion of officials, discusses in detail the various observable manifestations, types of personality, categories of abilities (cai ), and the official posts that best correspond to each ability. Liu Shao’s system presents itself as the logical conclusion to the long-standing issue in the Confucian tradition of how to know men. In his preface, Liu Shao argued that the ability to know men is the most important element in good government and that this has been the case since the time of the sage-kings. Of that which the sages and worthies praise, no ability is more highly praised than penetrating discernment. Of that which penetrating discernment values, nothing is more highly valued than knowing men. To know men is truly a knowledge, whereby all types of men are assigned their proper places and all types of offices may prosper. . . . Thus it was for his ability to discern great virtue that Yao is renowned. The accomplishment of Shun was his elevation and employment of sixteen virtuous officials. Tang is famed for promoting the worth of Youxin [Yi Yin ]. King Wen is revered for employing the Old Man of the Shores of the Wei River [Lü Wang ]. Judging from these examples, in promoting virtue, which of the sages did not rely on a penetrating discernment to employ men or gain tranquility by positioning men in their proper places?22

A more immediate model for Liu Shao is Confucius, who is especially praised for his thorough method of assessing character. Thus Zhongni was not properly employed and had no way to promote [his disciples].23 He still ordered his disciples by four categories and discussed in general the multitude of talents and differentiated three ranks. He also admired the principle of the mean so as to distinguish the virtue of the sages; highly regarded virtue so as to encourage a discussion of perfecting virtue;24 lectured on the six flaws so as to caution against the deficiencies of talents that are not well-rounded; pondered the lack of discipline and overscrupulousness so as to comprehend the qualities of [excessive] restraint and [over]

22. Liu Shao, “Renwu zhi xu,” 1. 23. Bu shi , rendered here as “not properly employed,” appears in Analects, 9.7. 24. In the Xici zhuan of the Classic of Changes, the Master is quoted as saying, “The scion of the Yan family [Yan Hui] is just about (shuji ) [perfect], is he not?” (Zhou Zhenfu, Zhouyi yizhu, 264).

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assertiveness;25 and despised those who are sincere yet untrustworthy so as to make clear that false appearances are difficult to maintain.26 He said: “Examine in what one is at rest, observe from where he comes” in order to know his character in its true state.27 Such is the thoroughness of his examination of men. It is for this reason that I dared to follow the teachings of the sage and write a treatise on the classification of men, in hopes of filling in gaps and lacunae.28

Liu Shao thus established an impressive lineage for his treatise, which claims to make into a science what has been practiced by Confucius and the sage-kings. Although Liu Shao’s treatise does not belong to literary theory, it reflects the intellectual attitudes of the time, which emphasized the importance of assessing individual personalities, celebrated differences among them, and sought specific criteria for judging character. The hermeneutical assumptions developed in early texts up until the Han and Wei dynasties would remain central to later reading practices: (1) personality is inscribed in writing, particularly the privileged medium of self-expression, poetry; (2) reading and interpretation fulfill themselves in an understanding of the writer (including his zhi and personality) behind the text. The extent to which these assumptions are deep-rooted and pervasive is reflected, in Tao Yuanming’s case, in the importance of biography and personality in the reception of his works. Traditional critics probed his interior qualities by examining his behavior, actions, and writings.

25. See Analects 13.21. The “lack of discipline” (kuang ) here refers to the extension of ambition at all costs; “overscrupulousness” ( juan ), by contrast, refers to a retiring state of non-action. 26. See Analects, 8.16. I have followed Cheng Shude’s (Lunyu jishi, 16/545) interpretation of the phrase kongkong . Other commentators have interpreted the phrase to mean “lacking in ability”; see, e.g., Yang Bojun, Lunyu yizhu, 83; and Lau, The Analects, 94. 27. See Analects, 2.10. 28. Liu Shao, “Renwu zhi xu,” 2.

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The Moral Recluse Versus the Eccentric Recluse The earliest secondary and only contemporary account of Tao Yuanming’s personality is Yan Yanzhi’s dirge, a highly valuable document against which to read Tao Yuanming’s own accounts of his life and those by later biographers. Since Yan knew Tao personally,29 he did not need to rely on Tao’s writings to understand the man. In fact, one wonders how many of Tao’s works Yan had read or even cared to evaluate since he mentioned Tao’s writings only in passing, and almost dismissively. What Yan apparently felt worthy of eulogizing and transmitting was Tao’s exemplary virtue. The dirge and its preface are devoted to praise of Tao’s outstanding character and read like an inventory of good qualities. Yan Yanzhi succinctly characterized Tao in the following terms: “His honesty was deep, his simplicity pure; / His chastity was tranquil, his purity gentle.”30 These qualities are particularized by Tao’s conduct in Yan’s account. For example, Yan judged Tao’s withdrawal to be an act based on moral integrity and personal ideals: “His principles did not accord with the situation, and he gave up his office and followed his desires. So he freed himself from the troubles of the age and set his mind on things beyond the world.”31 He did not bend to the situation but, instead, chose a life of poverty. Yan described in detail Tao’s diligence in poverty: he drew water, pounded grain, watered his plot, grew vegetables, wove shoe strings, and plaited straw curtains. 32 Rather than begrudging his lot, Tao contented himself 29. According to the Song shu, Yan Yanzhi twice spent time in the company of Tao Yuanming. The first period was in Xunyang during Yan’s tenure under Liu Liu , the regional inspector of Jiangzhou between 415 and the sixth month of 416. The second occurred when Yan passed through Xunyang on his way to his new post in Shi’an commandery. According to the Song shu (93/2288) and He Fasheng’s Jin zhong xing shu (in Tang Qiu, Jiu jia jiu Jin shu ji ben, 364), Yan frequently visited Tao during this stopover. Gong Bin (Tao Yuanming zhuan lun, 74) dates this second period to 424. 30. Yan Yanzhi, “Tao zhengshi lei,” 38/2646b; translation, with slight modification, from TYM, 1: 246. 31. Yan Yanzhi, “Tao zhengshi lei,” 38/2646b; translation from TYM, 1: 245. 32. See Yan Yanzhi, “Tao zhengshi lei,” 38/2646b.

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with simple pleasures such as reading, drinking, and playing the zither: Whether in morning mist or evening haze, In spring warmth or autumn shade, You set out books and untied the scrolls; You put out wine and strung the zither.

33

Tao Yuanming’s condition of mind, in addition to the principled nature of his withdrawal, is a crucial factor in distinguishing an exemplary case of virtue such as his from a simple case of poverty. Tao not only conducted his daily activities with enviable contentment but bore the toils of poverty and sickness with admirable complacency (“Others would refuse the distress of it; / You acknowledged it to be your destiny,” Yan wrote of Tao).34 The will to cast aside rank and salary and to endure poverty merits praise from Yan in the form of a modified quotation from Zhuangzi: “The nobles of the state discard rank; members of common families forget poverty.” 35 Tao’s disavowal of rank and disregard for poverty are inspiring to noble and common alike. Yan Yanzhi implicitly posited Tao Yuanming as a model useful in moral transformation, which was no mean praise in a culture that subscribed to the power of example in education and self-cultivation. For Yan and subsequent critics, discussion of Tao’s virtuous character, with its striking features of firmness in adversity and self-mastery, 33. Ibid., 38/2647a. 34. Ibid., 38/2647a; translation from TYM, 1: 248. Li Jianfeng (Yuan qian Tao Yuanming jieshoushi, 49) has argued that Yan Yanzhi was the first to recognize that Tao Yuanming “was content in poverty and delighted in the Way” (anpin ledao ). It is noteworthy that this phrase does not appear in Yan’s text; when readers from the Song on avidly apply this concept to Tao, the frame of reference is not merely an appreciation of Tao Yuanming’s endurance of poverty and the integrity it marks but rather a new moral code in which self-cultivation bears in itself the greatest value. 35. Yan Yanzhi, “Tao zhengshi lei,” 38/2646b. As Davis (TYM, 1: 245n116) has pointed out, Yan’s passage combines two from the Zhuangzi. In “Ze yang” , Zhuangzi says, “Therefore the sage in adversity makes commoners forget poverty, and in success makes kings and dukes forget their ranks and emoluments and turn humble” (Zhuangzi jijie, 7.25/167). In “Tian yun” , Zhuangzi says, “That which is most noble is to cast aside the ranks of the state; that which is most rich is to cast aside the riches of the state; that which is most worthy of desire is to cast aside fame and acclaim. Thus one’s way will be unwavering” (Zhuangzi jijie, 4.14/89).

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was predicated on his withdrawal from office. In sum, Yan’s dirge draws attention to themes and contexts that set into relief certain features of Tao’s personality: poverty, a dark age, and disavowal of office highlight Tao’s steadfastness, moral rectitude, and uncommon ideals, respectively. Yan Yanzhi further developed Tao’s image as a moral figure by describing his conduct in social relations. First, Tao is portrayed as a filial son to an aging mother and a dutiful father to his young sons. Taking on farmwork and house chores, “he applied himself to her support and toiled for their wants.”36 Yan particularly emphasized Tao’s filiality with the line “Your piety lay in dutiful support of your parent” and two allusions to famous filial men: Tian Guo , who argued successfully to King Xuan of Qi that one’s parents are more important than one’s ruler,37 and Mao Yi , a well-known dutiful son who, upon receiving an official summons, immediately informed his mother.38 Second, Tao’s interactions with his relatives were characterized by natural generosity and trustworthiness: The conduct of concord with relatives Arises not from overt effort. The faithfulness of his promises Was weightier than Bu’s word.

39

The extent of Tao’s faithfulness is set into relief by a comparison to Ji Bu’s ; in Ji Bu’s native state of Chu, it was proverbially said of him: “Getting a hundred pieces of gold is not as good as receiving a single promise from Ji Bu.”40 Tao Yuanming is described as embodying a set of social virtues associated with Confucianism: filial piety, parental responsibility, and trustworthiness. 36. Yan Yanzhi, “Tao zhengshi lei,” 38/2646b; translation from TYM, 1: 245. 37. Han Ying, Han shi wai zhuan, 7.1a. For an English translation of the anecdote, see TYM, 1: 245n113. 38. For Mao Yi’s biographical notice, see Dong guan Han ji jiaozhu, 15/637. For an English translation of this notice, see TYM, 1: 245n114. 39. Yan Yanzhi, “Tao zhengshi lei,” 38/2646b; translation based on TYM, 1: 246. My translation of the first two lines of this passage follows the Wuchen commentator Lü Yanji’s paraphrase: “This is saying that the conduct of respecting relatives arises naturally; it is not done through overt effort” (Xiao Tong, Liuchen zhu Wen xuan, 57.23b). 40. Shi ji, 100/2731.

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Nearly a century later, Zhong Rong initiated the critical practice of identifying Tao’s personality with his writings. His statement that “each time I look at his writings, I think of the virtuousness of his character” , would later become a standard way of reading Tao’s works: as transparencies of his personality traits.41 Zhong Rong’s assessment of Tao’s personality is both clearly positive and positively unclear. The specific content of Tao’s virtuous character for Zhong Rong is a question requiring as much conjecture as analysis. In the Shipin (Grading of poets), Zhong Rong often used terms from the characterological tradition developed in the Wei and Jin dynasties, such as qi (spirit), feng (air), gu (bone), yun (consonance), and cai (talent), to discuss a poet’s literary style.42 What is especially curious in the entry on Tao is that although Zhong Rong unequivocally identified Tao’s poetry with his personality, there is no such play with the dual referentiality of characterizations. Rather, we find an unambiguous, unmediated equation of the poet and his works. Zhong Rong described Tao’s poetry as follows: “His poetic form is spare and placid, with almost no excess of words. His earnest thought is sincere and classical. His verbalized inspirations are congenial and appropriate. Each time I look at his writings, I think of the virtuousness of his character” , . , . , .43 Zhong Rong’s identification of Tao’s writings with his personality directs us to his evaluations of Tao’s literary style for clues, and thus we work 41. All citations from Tao Yuanming’s entry in Shipin are found in Zhong Rong, Shipin jizhu, 260 (ZLHB, 9). 42. For a discussion of Zhong Rong’s use of characterological vocabulary in Shipin entries, see Wixted, “The Nature of Evaluation in the Shih-p’in,” 232–33. In Tao’s entry, Zhong Rong uses the character feng in his assessment of two lines from Tao’s poetry: “ ‘Happily I pour the spring-brewed wine’ and ‘The sun sets, no clouds are in the sky’ are pure and intricate in the beauty of their air” . But it is clear from the context (the noun it is compounded with and the adjectives modifying them) that feng here refers to the character of these particular lines and not of Tao’s person. I have used Hightower’s (PTC, 229, 180) translations of Tao’s lines with slight modification to the first. My rendering of fenghua as “the beauty of their air” follows the translation in Wixted, “The Nature of Evaluation in the Shihp’in,” 245. 43. My translation of the phrase ci xing as “verbalized inspirations” follows Wixted, “The Nature of Evaluation in the Shih-p’in,” 245.

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backwards from the summary equation of poetry and personality in the fourth sentence to descriptions of his poetic form, content, and diction in the first three. Zhong Rong’s description of Tao’s poetry as “spare and placid” (shengjing ), “sincere and classical” (zhengu ), and “congenial and appropriate” (wanqie ) may well reflect his reading of Tao’s personality traits. A more developed identification of Tao’s character and writings is presented by Xiao Tong’s “Preface” to the Collected Works of Tao Yuanming, which represents the most balanced treatment of both the man and his works in the Six Dynasties. Xiao’s assessment of Tao Yuanming, more structurally obvious than Zhong Rong’s, runs along the twin tracks of writing and personality. Xiao Tong devoted approximately one sixth of his “Preface” to an evaluation of Tao’s literary qualities (discussed in Chapter 4). The emphasis of Xiao’s “Preface,” however, remains Tao’s personality. From a discussion of Tao’s poetry, Xiao Tong made a swift transition to praise of the poet’s sincere intent, contentment in poverty, and adherence to the Dao. His virtuous intent knew no rest. At ease with the Dao, he maintained his integrity (andao kujie ). He neither viewed the labor of farming as a disgrace nor considered poverty a fault. How could anyone be like this who was not of great worth and genuine intent, following the Dao through the vicissitudes of his own life?44

The juxtaposition of Tao’s works and his character paves the way for their integration in the rest of the “Preface”: “I delight in his writings and can hardly put them down. When I think of his virtue, I regret that I was not his contemporary. Hence, I seek out more of his writings, so that I may crudely apply my eyes to them.” Note the ease with which Xiao Tong moved back and forth between Tao’s writings and his character. This gesture recurs frequently in later criticism. Xiao Tong’s identification of Tao’s works with his person implies that Tao’s works were perceived as unquestioned written testimony of his virtuous character and that they are best read for learning about his character, rather than for literary or stylistic value. These two implications are further substantiated by the conclusion of the “Preface”: 44. All citations from the Preface, “Tao Yuanming ji xu,” are from Quan Liang wen in QW, 20/3067a.

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[His writings are] not merely a matter of a path to benevolence and righteousness, but also that to disavowing rank and salary. There is no need to bother with climbing Mounts Tai and Hua and studying Laozi. His writings also contribute to moral transformation (fengjiao ).

Xiao tells us what Tao’s works are good for: documenting how an exemplary recluse lives and rectifying moral behavior, the latter being in accordance with the Han hermeneutical tradition that posits didacticism as a basic function of poetry. He concluded his “Preface” with a statement of the moral, not literary, worth of Tao’s writings, thereby making a claim that their primary function was didactic. (It should be pointed out that Xiao Tong distinguished between the two values in his “Preface” to the Wen xuan, which represents a high point in the development of a self-conscious literariness arguably first outlined in the third century. Accordingly, the “Preface” to the Wen xuan explains the need to separate belletristic writings from the Classics and histories.)45 A recurring point in Six Dynasties discussions of Tao’s exemplary personality is his disavowal of rank and salary, which was understood to imply an overcoming of greed and desire and, finally, self-mastery. Similar to Yan Yanzhi’s earlier argument that Tao might inspire others, Xiao Tong opined that “I have always thought that whoever reads Yuanming’s writings would find his own impulses for worldly striving dispelled and his inclinations toward stinginess dissipated.” As we saw in Chapter 2, Shen Yue also attributed this exemplary didacticism to all worthy recluses, including Tao Yuanming. Yan’s and Xiao’s praise of Tao’s permanent disavowal of office may well reflect a common disdain for a breed of irresolute or unscrupulous recluses whose temporary reclusion was followed by acceptance of office.46 The not uncommon practice in the Six Dynasties of trading reclu45. See Xiao Tong, “Wen xuan xu,” in Quan Liang wen in QW, 20/3067b–68a. For a discussion of Xiao Tong’s exclusion of histories and Classics in the Wen xuan and his attempt to establish a “literary” canon, see Knechtges, Introduction, 1: 18–19. 46. In “Tao zhengshi lei,” Yan Yanzhi (38/2646b) distinguished Tao from the many irresolute recluses of their time: “Although the paths are in the same dust, there are many who stop along the way and change their tracks.” Similarly, Xiao Tong (“Tao Yuanming zhuan,” 20/3069a) stressed the resolute nature of Tao’s reclusion in his biography of Tao by adding a citation from one of Tao’s poems that gives an example of irresolute recluses.

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sion for office was attacked by a number of other critics, who perhaps viewed it as reclusion in bad faith, using the status of recluse as a self-marketing strategy for obtaining a post.47 Permanent renunciation of office is a defining feature of Tao’s moral stature. This marks the point of convergence of two discursive fields in the reception of Tao Yuanming: interpretation of his reclusion is essential to understanding his moral character. Yan Yanzhi’s dirge, Zhong Rong’s evaluation, Xiao Tong’s “Preface,” as well as selected passages from Shen Yue’s biography of Tao Yuanming present the man as a model of virtue, capable of inspiring others to moral self-improvement. This characterization contrasts starkly with the composite drawn in the biographies in the Song shu, Nan shi, Jin shu, and that by Xiao Tong. As discussed in Chapter 2, these early biographies taken together focus less, if at all, on his moral character and more on his eccentricities. Story after story about his obsession with wine and idiosyncratic behavior under the influence foregrounds his aloofness, quirkiness, and general disregard for social norms and propriety. The Tao Yuanming of the biographies is a character to be savored, rather than an exemplar for moral transformation. One ready explanation for the two characterizations is the difference in authorial perspective and aim. According to the conventions of traditional historiography, a biography of a recluse should focus on features that typify its subject as a recluse. Although reclusion and morality often inform one another, they remain distinct categories in Chinese historiography. And it is their nonconvergence that these biographies tend to emphasize. In this light, it becomes less surprising that none of Tao’s four early biographers cited Yan Yanzhi’s dirge, an account that derives its unique authority from the author’s personal interactions with Tao but reads like an exposition of Tao’s moral character. As far as one can tell, Tao’s biographers had at hand a set of materials to select from in their depiction of the recluse: anecdotes, Yan’s dirge, and Tao’s own writings. They chose to use stories about Tao’s early bent toward retirement and behavior characteristic of recluses and to cite works by Tao that 47. On “fake reclusion” and Six Dynasties critics of it, see Zhang Zhongmou, Jianji yu dushan, 174–80. For another discussion of this phenomenon, including other examples, see Kwong, Tao Qian and the Chinese Poetic Tradition, 17.

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pertain to his reclusion in order to demonstrate why he properly belonged in the category of recluses. Generic considerations arguably determined which image of Tao Yuanming was deployed in a given context. The differences between Xiao Tong’s “Preface” to the Collected Works of Tao Yuanming and his biography of Tao Yuanming are a case in point. Modern critics have duly pointed out a discrepancy between the two. Cao Xu, for instance, notes that in the “Preface,” Xiao not only affirmed Tao’s poetic style and characteristics but also portrayed Tao as an outstanding poet who availed himself of wine to make his tracks known. In contrast, Xiao’s biography painted Tao as a wine-indulging recluse. Cao Xu offers two explanations for this. First, “there exist a conflict and a discrepancy between the subjective and the objective, personal fancy and accepted opinion.”48 To set our texts in these terms, the preface represents the former and the biography the latter. Second, “varying contexts result in differences in the assessments given of Tao’s poetry.”49 Cao goes on to explain that Tao’s poetry fared better in personal contexts (the preface), which afforded greater freedom to express individual opinion than did comparatively public ones (the biography). The distinction between the preface and the biography, however, is more precise than that between private and public contexts. I believe different generic demands are a more crucial key to the reconciliation of two portraits by the same writer. In the preface, Xiao Tong introduced Tao’s œuvre by performing a literary reading of his works. His focus on their moral, rather than literary, quality is another matter. The writing of a biography, in contrast, required adapting existing sources to a new context. The set of received “facts” from various earlier historiographical notices on Tao Yuanming dealt mostly with his love of wine and conduct under its influence. With less interpretive freedom, Xiao Tong’s biography transmits received information about Tao’s life. Xiao, however, chose to expand the image of Tao in the biography beyond the received wine-drinking lore, not by omitting it but by adding materials on other aspects of his reclusion.

48. Cao Xu, “Shipin ping Tao shi fa wei,” 62. 49. Ibid.

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Cao Xu’s interpretation claims two oppositions regarding characterizations of Tao in the two texts: poet versus recluse, and sobriety versus intemperance. His reading of the two texts overlooks a focus common to both. By following Xiao’s entire argument in the “Preface,” it becomes clear that Tao is a distinguished poet less for his superior literary merit than for his contribution to moral standards. Although Tao appears as a wine-loving recluse in Xiao’s biography, it is Tao’s principled adherence to reclusion and his resolute, not dissolute, nature that are Xiao’s own additions to the narrative of Tao’s life, as we saw in Chapter 2. Moreover, the “Preface” recontextualizes the wine-drinking episodes from the biography as behavior concealing a deeper significance. Xiao assured the reader that Tao “made his mark through wine,” although he does not specify the meaning of that mark. Both texts to varying degrees draw attention to Tao’s moral character. This significant common focal point mitigates the apparent disparity between the two texts. Six Dynasties accounts introduce two characterizations of Tao Yuanming that would become dominant poles in later readings of his personality: Tao as moral figure and Tao as aloof recluse. Early discussions of Tao’s moral character use a variety of terms to specify that character, but most agree on the centrality of one particular facet: the will to disavow permanently rank and salary and its implications, such as an overcoming of common greed and desire, an adherence to moral rectitude, and a steadfastness in poverty. Early biographies of Tao, for the most part, do not touch on the moral dimension of his reclusion and instead concentrate on the lore of his wine-drinking and its manifestations, such as his eccentricities and inattention to social norms. The varying generic conventions of dirge,50 literary evaluation and preface, and biography of a recluse help explain the occurrence of two distinct characterizations.

50. Yan was certainly aware of Tao’s fondness for wine (“his nature delighted in the virtue of wine”). Song shu (93/2288) and Jin zhong xing shu (in Tang Qiu, Jiu jia jiu Jin shu ji ben, 364) record that Yan often drank with Tao until utterly drunk while he was in Xunyang. However, even if Yan knew the extent of Tao’s winebibbing and eccentricity, they would hardly have been appropriate subjects for a funerary elegy.

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From Aloof Recluse to Moral Hero Of the two characterizations that formed in the Six Dynasties, Tang writers devoted little attention to developing Tao Yuanming’s moral character but much to playing with his image as an interesting personality. The characteristics attributed to Tao by his biographers— primarily loftiness, aloofness, and whimsicality—figure in several hundred poems, as discussed in Chapter 2. Allusions to such impressionistic scenes as playing a stringless zither, straining wine with a head cloth, drinking in excess, his willow trees and chrysanthemum flowers, and his weed-thatched hut, reveal a general appreciation for the recluse’s personality, in detail or at least in tenor. Yet rarely do we find in Tang poems extended evaluations of Tao’s character in the tradition of the Six Dynasties critics. To be sure, assessments of Tao’s moral character are not uncommon, but judgments that he is either “worthy” or “unworthy” are mostly encapsulated in endorsements or criticisms of his decision to retire.51 Discussions of Tao’s moral character that extend beyond the scope of his reclusion are infrequent. An exception, which later became controversial, is the third of Du Fu’s “Dispelling My Cares, Five poems” , which raises in a substantial way the issue of Tao’s moral character. Old Tao Qian shunned the common crowd, But did not necessarily achieve the Way. Look at his corpus of poems, He often begrudged his deprivation. As for true enlightenment—how could this suffice? His silent insight did not come early in his life. As for whether his sons are worthy or foolish, Why should this weigh on his mind?

52

Two textual issues need to be clarified before considering Du Fu’s evaluation of Tao’s moral character. First, at variance with the traditional reading of the fourth line, I take the subject of hen (be51. See, e.g., two poems discussed in Chapter 2: Wang Wei’s “Farewell to My Sixth Uncle, Who Is Retiring to Luhun” and Li Duan’s “Touring the Eastern Field in the Evening, I Send This Poem to Sikong Shu.” 52. Du Fu, Du shi xiang zhu, 7/563.

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grudged) to be Tao and the subject matter to be his complaints of poverty (kugao ).53 Most critics have interpreted the line to be a critique of Tao’s literary style, resulting in a couplet that reads: “When I look at the poems in his collection, I lament their dryness and harshness.” 54 The jarring incongruity of a literary assessment sandwiched between couplets that discuss whether Tao Yuanming has attained the Way should be the first signal that this reading is problematic. Moreover, as the Qing commentator Qiu Zhaoao has noted, the phrase kugao comes from one of Tao’s drinking poems, which uses the term in the sense of material deprivation: “They [Yan Hui and Rong Qiqi] may have left an honored name / But it cost a lifetime of deprivation” , .55 This intertext provides for the present poem a more sensible reading of kugao as “deprivation.” Second, the last couplet of Du Fu’s poem refers to Tao’s display of paternal dissatisfaction in “Finding Fault with My Sons” . Tao’s poem recounts one by one how his five sons lack even the minimal accomplishments expected of their respective ages. For instance, Yong and Duan , though thirteen, cannot add six and seven; Tongzi , almost nine, seeks only pears and chestnuts.56 The tone of Tao’s poem may be jocular, but the sentiment is unmistakably one of disappointment, as James Hightower has argued.57 Du Fu effectively undermined Tao’s position with a series of rhetorical questions. For Du, Tao’s reclusion per se did not equate to achievement of the Dao. The way in which Tao bore his poverty and responded to his sons’ failings were two telling gauges, and he seems to have failed on both accounts. By Du’s measure, Tao’s complaints of poverty and of the hopelessness of his progeny indicate a 53. In developing my argument, I had not the benefit of reading the modern scholar Li Hua’s discussion and was pleased to learn through Kang-i Sun Chang’s recent article that Li’s reading of kugao and my interpretation are in agreement; see Li, Tao Yuanming xin lun, 228; and Chang, “The Unmasking of Tao Qian and the Indeterminacy of Interpretation,” 177. 54. See, e.g., Hu Yinglin, Shisou, wai bian 2/146 (ZLHB, 163); PTC, 163; and Dai Jianye, Chengming zhi jing, 307. 55. The lines are from “On Drinking Wine,” no. 11; TYMJJJ, 232; PTC, 140. 56. See TYMJJJ, 262. 57. PTC, 164.

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lack of transcendence of common cares, which is here a prerequisite for enlightenment. The poem’s title, “Dispelling My Cares,” implies an autobiographical dimension that some later critics foregrounded in an attempt to challenge a literal reading of the poem. The most ardent voice allegedly came from Huang Tingjian, who called those who read the poem as criticism of Tao “ignoramuses.”58 Huang pointed to the title as an indication of the real subject of the poem but neither specified it nor reconciled it with the apparent subject.59 (The significance of Huang’s simultaneous defense of Du Fu and Tao Yuanming is discussed below.) Building on Huang’s hint, one may argue that Du Fu made a playful mockery of Tao’s plight to express a mockery of his own. Self-mockery is indeed a recurrent gesture in Du’s poems. 60 Self-mockery couched in a critique of Tao’s moral character, however, does not invalidate the critique; rather, it adds a nuance of empathy. Song assessments of Tao’s personality easily surpass, quantitatively and qualitatively, those of the Tang; this may reflect the preeminent role in Song literati culture of the issue of self-cultivation.61 More comprehensive and systematic than the Six Dynasties critique, Northern Song readings opened a new discursive arena with many participants. Song writers responded to earlier interpretations by means of negation, development, or recontextualization. To a certain extent, Tao’s personality was rewritten in the Song as part of a more comprehensive effort in Tao Yuanming criticism not only to solidify Tao’s status as a cultural icon but also to present definitive ways of reading his personality, reclusion, and literary style. The reevaluation of Tao Yuanming is, in turn, one example of a larger intellectual enterprise begun by Northern Song literati who sought to organize and understand the past and locate models within it. This enterprise, which Eva Shan Chou has termed the “formation of lit58. See Ge Lifang, Yunyu yangqiu, 10.4a–b. 59. This detail is found only in Wang Lizhi’s record of the anecdote, as cited in Cai Zhengsun, Shilin guangji, qian ji 1/7. 60. See Owen, The Great Age of Chinese Poetry, 195. 61. For a discussion of the Song literati preoccupation with self-cultivation in contrast to the Tang literati emphasis on accomplishments in public service, see Fu Lecheng, Han Tang shi lunji, 379, 360–61. For a concise summary of Fu’s argument, see Chen Wenhua, Du Fu zhuanji Tang Song ziliao kaobian, 265.

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erary reputations,”62 consisted of (re)interpretations of various poets. The aspects of Tao’s personality that received most attention in the Song had to do with his moral worth. Gao Dapeng has argued that Song writers emphasized Tao’s “ethical character” (daode ren’ge ), marking a shift from the Tang focus on his “aesthetic character” (yishu ren’ge ), defined by his “carefree behavior.” 63 This shift in emphasis reflects a difference between Tang poetics, which were, as Gao has pointed out, more concerned with poetic temperament and imagery, and Song literary values, which are more intellectual and philosophical in content.64 Although it is true that, far more than Tang poets, Song writers discussed Tao’s moral character, Gao’s construction of a neat Tang/Song binary ignores influential Song discussions of Tao’s personality that do not raise the question of morality. The Song reception of Tao Yuanming as exemplary personality, in the moral sense or otherwise, represents a synthesis and “correction” of earlier arguments and sets the parameters for subsequent criticism. This section outlines various readings of his character by major Song thinkers. The doubt first cast about Tao’s behavior as a father by Du Fu in “Dispelling My Cares” spurred two responses from Huang Tingjian, both aimed at defending Tao’s paternal image and making it an example of benevolence. In the colophon “Written After Reading Tao Yuanming’s ‘Finding Fault with My Sons’ ” , Huang wrote that “each time I read Yuanming’s poems, I imagine how kind he was and recognize his playfulness. The vulgar believe that because none of Yuanming’s sons could measure up to him, he let his lamentations show in his poem. As the saying goes, one should not tell a dream to a fool.”65 Huang blamed naïve readers for taking Tao’s poem as a serious reprimand of his sons, when, in fact, it is merely paternal chiding. Huang’s failure to discriminate

62. Chou, Reconsidering Tu Fu, 26. 63. See Gao Dapeng, Taoshi xinlun, 95–127. For his definition of Tao’s “aesthetic character,” see p. 96. 64. Ibid., 124. Gao contrasts Tang poetry with Song poetry, which he characterizes as expressing principles and ideas. His characterization of Song poetry can be extended to Song literary values in general. 65. Huang Tingjian, Yuzhang Huang xiansheng wenji, 26.3b (ZLHB, 38–39).

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between the poem’s tone (jocular) and sentiment (disappointment) is remarkable, but the more interesting point here is his ardent attempt to discredit Tao’s critics with his own insights into Tao’s poetry and personality, all without naming the source of the criticism. As mentioned earlier, a reading of Du Fu’s “Dispelling My Cares” attributed to Huang insists that Du could not have meant to criticize Tao. If we lend any credence to this record, then “the vulgar” (suren ) in Huang’s colophon refers not to Du Fu (it would be difficult to imagine Huang referring to Du in that way) but to those who have naïvely adopted in literal fashion Du’s reading of Tao’s poem. Huang Tingjian’s case suggests that the establishment of Tao as moral hero involves not only reinterpretation of his character but the settlement of apparent conflicts with other moral heroes. In a related colophon entitled “Resolving Doubts” , Huang continued his defense of Tao as a model of fatherly kindness: Formerly when Tao Yuanming served as magistrate of Pengze, he sent a servant to help his sons with farmwork. Tao told them, “Since he, too, is the son of someone, you should treat him well.” This is called knowing how to deal with people and having the state of mind proper to a parent. In dealing with people, if one does not have this state of mind, then how could one be called a human being? How could one be called a human being!66

This colophon is similar in structure to the one above: the explicit or implicit argument is Tao’s benevolence, the proof is his treatment (properly interpreted) of his sons and the children of others, and the goal is to resolve doubt or debunk opposing opinions. Rather than a specific virtue, such as benevolence, many Song evaluations of Tao’s moral character center on the question whether Tao understood the Dao. Su Shi, for instance, responded to the argument first set forth by Du Fu that Tao did not understand the Dao with the following apology: “In ‘On Drinking Wine,’ there is the couplet: ‘We may indulge our thousand-precious bodies / But as the change draws near, the treasure melts.’ Treasure does not outlast the body; once the body dies, the treasure is gone. People say that Jingjie did not understand the Dao, but I do not believe 66. Huang Tingjian, Yuzhang Huang xiansheng wenji, 20.19a.

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that.”67 Su’s reading of Tao’s couplet relies on a literal interpretation of bao as “treasure” (material possessions), although the Daoist tone and vocabulary suggest that the meaning Tao intended was “the body.”68 It may be that Su did not want to acknowledge that Tao viewed the body as precious, which is a Daoist notion, or that he wished to emphasize Tao’s transcendence of material possessions and thus brought material wealth back into the equation in the second line by reading bao in the material sense. Su needed to perform such a reading to arrive at his claim of Tao’s enlightenment, which he construed as a clear understanding of the coincidence between the finality of material possession and the mortality of the body. The content of the many individual arguments made by Su Shi and Huang Tingjian, of which these are but a few examples, is as significant as the fact of their systematic defense against all criticism of Tao’s moral character. This was part of a more comprehensive project initiated by Su to defend Tao on all fronts, from criticism of his character to disparagement of his poetic style. Many Song writers, from a variety of philosophical orientations, echoed Su’s affirmation that Tao Yuanming understood the Dao. They either cited specific passages from Tao’s works or referred to his general conduct as proof. Most interpreted Tao Yuanming’s Dao as involving the priority of the mind/spirit (xin or shen ) over the body, a value to which no one single school (Confucian, Daoist, or Buddhist) can lay claim. A later follower of Su Shi, Xu Yi (fl. 1128), for instance, cites from “The Return”: “ ‘It was my own doing that made my mind my body’s slave / Why should I go on in

67. Su Shi, “Shu Yuanming ‘Yinjiu shi’ hou” , in idem, Su Shi wenji, 67/2112. Tao’s couplet in the original reads: , (TYMJJJ, 232; PTC, 140). 68. Hua , rendered above by Hightower as “change,” is a Daoist term referring to death. Bao is glossed as “the body” in Laozi Dao de jing, chap. 69, 16b. Hightower (PTC, 141) suggested that “Tao Qian’s choice of words (qian jin qu [thousand-precious bodies]) was influenced by the language of Yang Wangsun’s biography, since he is unmistakably referred to in the last couplet.” Yang Wangsun, who, according to his biography in the Han shu 67/2907, studied the teachings and techniques of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi, inherited a patrimony of a thousand gold pieces, which he spent generously on himself to prolong his life.

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melancholy and lonely grief?’69 This is where it becomes evident that this old man has grasped the Dao.”70 For Xu Yi, these lines indicate Tao’s recognition that subordination of the mind to the body is not in accord with the Way. A Southern Song critic greatly influenced by Neo-Confucian thought, Luo Dajing (early to mid-thirteenth century), cited the last two couplets of the “Spirit’s Solution” from the trilogy “Substance, Shadow, Spirit” as demonstrating Tao’s enlightenment: “ ‘Give yourself to the waves of the Great Change / Neither happy nor afraid. And when it is time to go, then simply go / Without any unnecessary fuss.’71 This shows that neither mortality nor fortune could sway his heart. Surrendering to fate without agitation is the Way to cultivate the spirit (shen ). Yuanming can be called a gentleman who understood the Dao.”72 For Luo, Tao’s stoical acceptance of both the vicissitudes of life and mortality exemplified inner cultivation. The Southern Song poet Xin Qiji, who was known for his Confucian values but later embraced Daoist views during his forced retirement, voiced his affirmation with a direct, sharp contrast between the mind and the body: “His body resembles a withered tree, his mind water— / If he did not understand the Dao, then who does?” 73 The travails of poverty may have affected Tao’s body, but they could not alter the calmness or purity of his mind. It would not be an overstatement to say that the argument that Tao understood the Dao, however interpreted by voices representing different philosophical traditions, was crucial to the establishment of Tao as moral exemplar. As Gao Dapeng contends, Tao’s high status in Chinese cultural history is supported to a large extent by the belief that he understood the Dao.74 Another significant development in the reception of Tao as exemplary personality occurs with Zhu Xi’s reinterpretation. 69. Tao’s lines in the original read: , (TYMJJJ, 391; PTC, 268). 70. Xu Yi, Yanzhou shihua, 1: 401 (ZLHB, 56). 71. Tao’s lines in the original read: , , , (TYMJJJ, 65; PTC, 44). 72. Luo Dajing, Helin yulu, jia 5/92 (ZLHB, 106). 73. Xin Qiji, “Shu Yuanming shi hou” , Xin Jiaxuan shiwen chaocun, 75 (ZLHB, 102). 74. Gao Dapeng, Taoshi xinlun, 85.

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Tao Yuanliang, who was the great-grandson of a minister of Jin, was ashamed to debase himself by serving the succeeding dynasty. Once Liu Yu gained the throne and established himself, Tao would not serve. Although there are a number of general records of his career and achievements, his lofty sentiments and free thoughts were transmitted through his poetry. All the literati of later generations admit that they cannot match Tao. In fact, the superior men of antiquity were likewise in their deep concern for the Mandate of Heaven and social relations and for the great norms and rules governing the ruler/subject and father/son relationships. It is only after we address these primary values that we may then speak of the secondary factors, the greatness of his integrity and marvelousness of his language.75

For Zhu Xi, Tao’s primary virtue was his loyal refusal to serve a new dynasty. But although this act could be understood by reading about it in secondary accounts, it could be appreciated only by reading Tao’s own sentiments expressed in his works. The content of Tao’s œuvre was more important than that of his résumé. The view that Tao’s moral worth was not determined by his political achievements was not unique to Zhu Xi but reflected a new mentality originating with the Northern Song literati, who sought to establish codes of respectability and systems of value, such as personal cultivation, independent of official careers.76 Shifts in the makeup of the elite and elite social life in the Song surely allowed for this re-evaluation of Tao’s moral worth: important factors include a scholarly class whose growth well exceeded the number of available state posts; the rise of a powerful and wealthy local elite class, which relied little on officeholding and often participated in government without official title; and the proliferation of acceptable vocations for the educated (e.g., teaching, medicine).77 Furthermore, the argument for Tao’s loyalty was not new in Tao Yuanming criticism; as we have seen, it surfaced 75. Zhu Xi, “Xiang Xianglin wenji hou xu” , Zhu Xi ji, 76/3980 (ZLHB, 77). 76. See, e.g., two poems with allusions to Tao Yuanming by Wang Anshi, a prime minister under Emperor Shenzong (r. 1067–85), in which he deemphasized political accomplishments: “Ciyun Zilü yuanji zhi zhuo” , in Wang Anshi, Wang Jingwen gong shi, 35/19b; and “Song Wu Xiandao, wu shou” , no. 5, Quan Song shi, 573/6752–53. 77. See Robert Hymes’s study of an exemplary local community, Statesmen and Gentlemen. I am also grateful to Peter Bol for his insights on this issue.

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occasionally. Zhu’s innovation consists in a reformulation of this virtue as exemplary adherence to the rules governing Confucian social relationships. Tao Yuanming had hitherto been characterized as loyal by critics such as Shen Yue, Yan Zhenqing, and Huang Tingjian. In the hands of Zhu Xi, this loyalty becomes evidence of Tao’s expression of the proper ethical modes of conduct, which, for Zhu, were the foundation of the ideal Confucian society. With Zhu, Tao became truly “Confucianized.” Zhu Xi subordinated Tao’s poetic skills to his ethical conduct, turning Tao into a Confucian hero who happened to write good poetry. Tao had come a long way from his status in the Six Dynasties as a model recluse who wrote poetry of questionable merit, an issue to be discussed in Chapter 4. A second-generation disciple of Zhu Xi, Zhen Dexiu, undertook the task of establishing Tao as a true Confucian using a different critical method. Zhen’s argument consists less in elucidating Tao’s conduct than in establishing a direct link between the latter’s “Confucian-ness” and his poetry. I have heard that a recent literary critic said, “Tao’s writing is excellent, but his thought comes out of Zhuangzi and Laozi. Kangjie’s [Shao Yong’s ] writing is comparatively poor, but his thought originates from the Six Classics.” In my opinion, Yuanming’s learning derives straight from the study of the Classics and takes shape in poetry. This is a fact that cannot be obscured. The sorrow of “Trees in Bloom”—sighs over the flowing of time. The praise in “Impoverished Gentlemen”—the joy of the bowl and ladle. The last poem from the series “On Drinking Wine” has the following lines: “The sages flourished long before my time, / In the world today few preserve their truth. Tirelessly he worked, the old man of Lu, / To fill and patch and make it pure again.”78

Ironically, the unnamed literary critic is none other than Zhu Xi.79 Zhen attempted to correct an ambivalence in Zhu Xi that had posited Tao as both a Confucian exemplar and a Daoist thinker by 78. Zhen Dexiu, Xishan xiansheng Zhen Wenzhong gong wenji, 1b–2a. Tao’s lines in the original read: , , , (TYMJJJ, 248; PTC, 155). 79. See Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, 136/3243. The passage Zhen Dexiu quoted is slightly different from that in Zhuzi yulei. Zhen may have misremembered the passage or may be quoting another source.

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turning to Tao’s poetry for unequivocal proof of his Confucianness. He matched particular poems with passages in the Analects. The sorrow expressed in “Trees in Bloom” over the passage of time is the same as that expressed by Confucius at the edge of the river watching its flow. Tao’s praise of the “Impoverished Gentlemen” shows an identification with Confucius’ favorite disciple, Yan Hui , who happily lived in a poor dwelling on only “a bowl of rice and a ladle of water.”80 This praise of Tao’s contentment in poverty harks back to Xiao Tong’s description of Tao’s “[being at] ease with the Dao and preservation of integrity,” but the comparison with Yan Hui recontextualizes this virtue within a Confucian framework. 81 The notions of Tao’s contentment in poverty and delight in the Dao would figure centrally in later assessments of Tao’s exemplary character. And finally, Zhen cited the opening of arguably the most “Confucian” of Tao’s poems, “On Drinking Wine”, no. 20, which is, as Hightower has pointed out, “the delight of Confucian commentators, for here Tao Qian is celebrating the Confucian Classics, Confucian worthies, Confucian scholarship, and above all the Sage himself.”82 Zhen provided further textual evidence to confirm the argument for Tao’s loyalty. [Tao] was not one who had no interest in the affairs of the world. Some readers only refer to how Tao did not use reign names after the Yixi reign period as proof of his refusal to serve two dynasties. They fail to perceive that Tao’s thoughts were constantly on the Jin ruler. In fact, he continued the devotion of his great-grandfather, the Duke of Changsha. He chose to isolate himself in retirement only because it was beyond his power to act.83 80. Analects 6.11. 81. An earlier critic, Hong Mai (1123–1202), had foregrounded Tao’s poverty in his discussion of why Tao was a “first-rate man” of his time; see SSHQB, 5674–75, no. 12. A comparison of Tao Yuanming to Yan Hui appears in the writings of the Northern Song recluse Lin Bu (967–1028), but there Tao is compared to Yan on the grounds that both made great reputations for themselves even though neither had any accomplishments in public service; see SSHQB, 83, no. 20 (ZLHB, 23). 82. PTC, 155. 83. Zhen Dexiu, Xishan xiansheng Zhen Wenzhong gong wenji, 2a.

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Zhen bypassed the argument for Tao’s loyalty based on his dating methods. Nor did he take as self-evident the meaning of his reclusion, as Zhu Xi had done; instead, Zhen presented his own insights into Tao’s mind. He assured us that Tao’s intent was to serve, like any good Confucian, but he lacked the means to realize this intent. Zhen emphasized that his insight was guided less by the old evidential argument (as if recognizing its dubious basis) than by his textual readings: “His description of those who ate ferns and drank water and his allusion to the bird who carried in her beak twigs to fill the ocean contain the utmost distress. It is only that readers have not given these issues proper attention [that I must now point them out.]”84 According to Zhen, that Tao wrote about Bo Yi and Shu Qi ,85 the pair of brothers who rather starved themselves than eat the grain of the succeeding dynasty, and about the mythical bird Jingwei ,86 which had come to symbolize futile determination in the face of an impossible situation, revealed the source of his pain— loyal intent and recognition of its futility. Zhen Dexiu’s argument for Tao’s Confucian status relies on literary rather than historiographic evidence. Zhen turned Zhu Xi’s Tao Yuanming the Confucian personality into Tao Yuanming the Confucian writer. Various Song writers discussed Tao’s moral character at length and specified the nature of his virtue. The contents of this virtue range from fatherly benevolence to an understanding of the Dao to loyalty to an embodiment of Confucian ethics and learning. A rarer but later rather influential approach that sought to define Tao’s worthiness in terms not of morality but of authenticity was taken by Su Shi. In a passage cited in the preceding chapter, Su Shi suggested that Tao Yuanming would certainly have met with the approval of Confucius and Mencius, both of whom disliked men who were untrue to their feelings, and affirmed Tao to be a “worthy” precisely for his “genuineness” (zhen ).87 In the passage, Su Shi reformulated a 84. Ibid., 2a–b. 85. See “Written After Reading History, Nine pieces” , no. 1, TYMJJJ, 425. 86. See “On Reading the Mountains and Seas Classic, Thirteen poems,” no. 10, TYMJJJ, 347. 87. Su Shi, “Shu Li Jianfu shiji hou” , in idem, Su Shi wenji, 68/2148 (ZLHB, 33).

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characteristic first attributed to Tao by Shen Yue, who used the term zhen to refer to Tao’s forthrightness, especially while under the influence. Su’s notion of zhen refers to an unmediated translation of natural feelings into actions and identifies the overarching principle guiding Tao in matters big or small, such as begging for food or entertaining guests and retiring or accepting office. The expression of genuineness, the act of being authentic to one’s nature, represents an ideal that figures centrally not only in Su’s appraisal of Tao’s personality but in Su’s personal cultivation as well. 88 Su’s colophon would seem to define Tao’s prime virtue as his genuineness. Equally significant, we find at play a kind of ultimate apology for any of Tao’s actions that have been “misinterpreted” or criticized. Tao’s resignation was portrayed by Shen Yue (and seen by many later readers) as idiosyncratic and condemned as thoughtless by Wang Wei, who also criticized Tao’s begging for food as shameful for a literatus.89 Su subsumed these actions under the overarching principle of zhen and gave them a positive value. Song writers presented a variety of readings in moral or extra-moral terms of Tao’s good character. Specification of wherein Tao’s virtue lay varied not only from writer to writer but, more generally, from period to period. The Six Dynasties critics agreed on the virtue implied by Tao’s permanent disavowal of office and also drew attention to his conduct in familial and social relations or his righteousness and benevolence. For many Tang writers, the mere fact of his reclusion determined that he was worthy. This suggests that evaluations of Tao’s personality did not extend far beyond what he represented as a recluse for the Tang poets. Indeed, references to Tao’s personality are for the most part limited to the images of the carefree, detached, and eccentric recluse. In the Song, judgment of Tao’s character involved gauges more complex than the mere fact of his 88. See Su Shi, “Lu Tao Yuanming shi” , in idem, Su Shi wenji, 67/2111. 89. For a fuller discussion of Wang Wei’s critique of Tao, see Chapter 2. For a good discussion of the reception of Tao’s poem “Begging for Food” and the debate among critics regarding its proper interpretation, see Lin Wenyue, “Kou men zhuo yan ci.”

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withdrawal. Northern Song critics created a coherent and highly developed picture of virtue from disparate points introduced in Six Dynasties criticism, such as fatherly kindness, benevolence, and an understanding of the Dao and genuineness, and implicitly framed it within ideals of self-cultivation. Southern Song moralists also drew on attributes mentioned in the Six Dynasties critique but recast them in a Neo-Confucian framework. Loyalty became Tao’s primary virtue for the Confucian reader; his unwillingness to submit to a new ruler despite his intent to serve exemplified proper ethical conduct. Although the origins of many assessments of Tao’s exemplary character can be traced to the Six Dynasties, Song writers developed, redefined, and recontextualized the attributes already associated with Tao Yuanming. Those who performed this rewriting of Tao’s character were among the most influential of Song thinkers, and their critiques thus mark a crucial turning point in the reception of Tao as exemplary personality, defining the discursive vocabulary and patterns for later criticism. First, Su Shi and Huang Tingjian defended Tao’s character against past criticism without reservation and established Tao as a model good character. Later, Zhu Xi and Zhen Dexiu redefined Tao’s character in Neo-Confucian terms and turned Tao into a Confucian exemplar. These two developments paved the way for the elevation of Tao to latter-day sagehood by a number of Ming and Qing critics. Some based their argument for Tao’s sageliness on his demonstration of the moral ideal: contentment in poverty and delight in the Dao. The Ming critic Gui Youguang (1506–71) stated that “examining Tao’s Dao, [I find that] it can be classed in the school of Confucius” and added that “most critics have focused only on the period of dynastic transition after the Yuanxi period and call his conduct loyal. But they have not considered the fact that he was happy in his fate [viz., poverty].”90 The Qing critic Wen Runeng (juren 1788) was more explicit in positing Tao’s conduct in poverty as a qualification for his sagely status: Tao’s “contentment in poverty and delight in the Dao belong in the Confucian tradition, and he can be said to have shared the same sentiments as Yan [Hui], Zeng [San ], and

90. Gui Youguang, Zhenchuan xiansheng ji, 17.3a (ZLHB, 142).

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like worthies.”91 Other critics look for citations of Confucian texts in Tao’s works. The Qing critic Shen Deqian (1673–1769), for example, asserted that “Master Tao cited chiefly from the Analects” (a text that was not considered a major classic until the Song) and concluded that “between the Han and the Song Confucians, Tao was the only one that may be called a disciple of the sage [Confucius].”92 Another type of argument employed by later Qing critics in establishing Tao’s sagehood consisted in hyperbolically negating Tao’s status as a poet. Fang Zongcheng (1818–88) observed that “Master Tao’s real intent lay in [striving for] sagehood and not in being a mere poet.”93 Fang Dongshu dissociated Tao from the category of poets and literati and placed Tao’s poetry in the same tradition as the Six Classics, Analects, and Mencius.94 Having determined that Tao’s conduct, learning, and/or intent was in accord with the Confucian tradition, various Ming and Qing critics contributed to hailing Tao as a latterday Confucian sage. The transformation from the status of an eccentric, wine-loving recluse whose writings and impressionistic lore were a source for colorful poetic material or even of a model recluse who possessed virtue in the Six Dynasties and the Tang to the status of a Confucian sage whose writings are on a par with the Confucian Classics appears less miraculous and more evolutionary once we consider the pivotal points in the Song in the interpretation of Tao’s personality. The Confucianization of Tao Yuanming that began in the Southern Song by no means represents a process by which new characterizations supplanted the old, since references to Tao as moral exemplar and as aloof recluse continued to coexist. Rather, his Confucianization was instrumental in establishing Tao Yuanming’s place in the literary canon. 91. Wen Runeng, preface to idem, Taoshi huiping, 2 (ZLHB, 222). 92. Shen Deqian, Gushi yuan, 9/204. Zhu Ziqing (Zhu Ziqing gudian wenxue lun wenji, 2: 568) has tallied the citations of old texts in Tao’s poetry and shows that Zhuangzi is cited forty-nine times, Analects thirty-seven times, and Liezi twenty-one times. Dai Jianye (Chengming zhi jing, 376) has argued that given Shen’s erudition, it is unlikely that he was blind to the influence of Zhuangzi on Tao’s texts. It seems that Shen either relied on preconceptions or biases in asserting the primacy of the Analects for Tao’s works; or he even twisted the facts to affirm Tao’s Confucian personality. 93. ZLHB, 253. 94. Fang Dongshu, Zhaomei zhanyan, 4/97 (ZLHB, 224).

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interlude

Tao Yuanming’s Autobiographical Project “If I do not set down my thoughts, how is posterity to know?” —Tao Yuanming, “Inspired by Events”

The agency of an author in his own historical reception is a question that bears scrutiny, especially in the case of one as conscientiously autobiographical and mindful of his future readers as Tao Yuanming. The preceding chapter discussed the important role Tao’s personality played in his historical reception and the various shifts that occurred in defining this personality. Tao’s detailed self-descriptions provided a point of departure for those later characterizations, and this chapter examines the interpretive guidelines he set for his works to determine the extent to which they informed later readings. Successful communication between the writer and the reader of shipoetry relied on an important assumption: it was understood to be a privileged medium of self-expression in which authenticity and autobiography were to be found. A number of scholars have written on autobiography in premodern China and compared it to western notions of the genre, and a comprehensive discussion is not needed here.1 In brief, the traditional Chinese understanding of autobiograepigraph: PTC, 165. 1. See Owen, “The Self ’s Perfect Mirror”; Kawai Ko¯ zo¯ , Chu¯ goku no jiden bungaku; and Wang Kuo-ying, “Tao Yuanming shi zhong ‘pian pian you wo.’ ” For important studies on autobiography in the West, see Olney, Metaphors of Self; idem, “Autobiography and the Cultural Moment”; Lejeune, Le Pacte autobiographie; de Man,

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phy was considerably broader and looser than the western conception: in contrast to the West, where a first-person narrative recounting one’s life experiences and meditating on one’s course and development generally defines an autobiography, in China any snapshot of a life story (for example, a glimpse into one’s inner life, a response to a certain situation, or a record of one’s activities) could be read as autobiography. Shi-poems have generally been considered autobiographical documents, but Tao’s works, both poetry and prose, have been regarded as exceptionally autobiographical. As Wang Kuo-ying has recently written, “There is the ‘I’ in each of [Tao’s] works.” It is still possible, however, to locate the core of his autobiographical project in certain key works, which are characterized by his strongest autobiographical gestures.2 This is not an arbitrary division of his writings, since, in these particular texts, Tao manifestly experimented with techniques of self-narration. His methods of self-characterization may be classified into two main types: a documentary mode (in which he wrote accounts of his daily life and explanatory prefaces) and a fictive mode (in which he adopted a persona).3 The first part of this chapter discusses examples of both modes and argues that Tao’s most focused efforts at self-construction yield a rather consistent image of the poet: a self-complacent gentleman who made a principled withdrawal from office, choosing integrity and poverty over rank and riches, and who lived as a sociable recluse-farmer, engaging in all aspects of the mundane. Remarkably, according to his self-characterization, he is neither as grand as the Confucian sage nor as iconic as the transcendent that, as discussed in Chapters 2 and 3, later readers would make

“Autobiography as De-Facement” (1979); Beaujour, Miroirs d’encre; Eakin, Fictions in Autobiography; and, for a good collection of essays, see Folkenflik, The Culture of Autobiography. 2. Wang Kuo-ying, “Tao Yuanming shi zhong ‘pian pian you wo,’ ” 299. 3. I have purposefully omitted the symbolic mode from consideration in this discussion. Although Tao, like many poets before him, used natural figures to symbolize his own self-image or state of mind (e.g., the pine as a symbol of his perseverance in adversity, the lone cloud as a symbol of his sense of alienation), the use of natural symbols is more indicative of poetic convention than constitutive of experimentation with self-narration.

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him. The remaining part of this chapter therefore addresses the relation between Tao’s autobiographical project and his reception. Like no one before him, Tao Yuanming scrupulously recorded details of his daily life. As Xiao Wangqing has argued, Tao was the first poet “to poeticize daily life thoroughly.”4 The poet tells us about his farmwork: I got up at dawn to clear away the weeds And come back now with the moon, hoe on shoulder. —“Returning to the Farm to Dwell,” no. 3 From time to time through the tall grass Like me, village farmers come and go; When we meet we talk of nothing else Than how the hemp and mulberry are growing. —“Returning to the Farm to Dwell,” no. 2

5

,

6

,

He tells us about his leisure: I have broken off relations to enjoy my vocation of leisure: Whether reclining or sitting up, I have zither and books in hand. ................................... I crush rice to make a fine wine Once the wine is ripe I pour myself a cup. —“A Reply to Recorder Guo,” no. 1

7

,

He tells us about his family: My little son, who is playing by my side, Has begun to talk, but cannot yet pronounce. —“A Reply to Recorder Guo,” no. 1

8

,

He tells us about his neighbors:

4. Xiao Wangqing, Tao Yuanming piping, 72. 5. TYMJJJ, 79; PTC, 52. 6. TYMJJJ, 77; PTC, 51. 7. TYMJJJ, 127–28. 8. Ibid.; PTC, 79.

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Tao Yuanming’s Autobiographical Project When there is farmwork to be done, we all go home And when we have leisure time, we think of one another. Thinking of one another, we then throw on our coats, We never tire of talk and laughter. —“On Moving House,” no. 2

133

9

,

He tells us about his joys: I sit complacent on the east veranda Having somehow found my life again. —“On Drinking Wine,” no. 7

10

,

Often during the fifth and six months I reclined beneath the northern window, and when a cool breeze passed through, I would think myself a man from before the time of Emperor [Fu] Xi. , , , .11 —“To My Sons, Yan and the Others”

And he tells us about his misfortunes: In midsummer, while the wind blew long and sharp, Of a sudden grove and house caught fire and burned. —“In the Sixth Month of 408, Fire” Through summer days we often bore our hunger, Winter nights we slept without covers; In the evening we would long for cockcrow, At dawn we prayed the crow would quickly cross. —“A Lament in the Chu Mode”

12

13

Scholars have long remarked on the way in which Tao Yuanming drew poetic material from everyday life, bringing into the poetic repertoire new subjects such as family and neighbors.14 These examples 9. TYMJJJ, 117. 10. Ibid., 224; PTC, 134. 11. TYMJJJ, 441. 12. Ibid., 199; PTC, 117. 13. TYMJJJ, 98; PTC, 65. 14. The Song scholar Xu Yi was among the first to comment on Tao’s use of daily activities as poetic material; see SSHQB, 1398, no. 31. With respect to the

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and a number of others not cited here depict a recluse deeply engaged with the business of life and colored in earthy and solid hues. This picture of engaged reclusion is set into relief by a comparison of Tao’s poems with examples of Wei and Jin eremitic poems, which generally represent recluses as divorced from the mundane world and often include a setting of unfathomable mountains and deep valleys as well as an aura of the ethereal and otherworldly (“the recluse resides in the deep valley” , “Fine grasses provide for the appropriate garb, / Wondrous herbs serve as the morning meal” , ).15 Tao Yuanming created a new look for reclusion that highlights intimate farmstead scenes, the various pleasures to be had in rustic leisure, and close interactions with family, friends, and neighbors. His contributions to the topos of reclusion point to a significant aspect of his self-definition. Nowhere in his writings did Tao define himself by common terms designating a “recluse” (yinshi , yinzhe , yimin , gaoshi , among others), although there is no doubt that he practiced some form of reclusion.16 Rather, he styled himself as an “impoverished gentleman” (pinshi ), perhaps out of a wish to distinguish his reclusion from more popular varieties of the practice during the Six Dynasties, such as a hermit’s seclusion from the world or the retreat to mountain villas by fashionable members of the Jin elite. In his writings, particularly in the series “In Praise of Impoverished Gentlemen, Seven poems” , Tao Yuanming placed himself squarely in the tradition of ancient gentlemen such as Qian Lou and Yuan Xian , who did not or could not serve, choosing instead to maintain integrity and live in poverty.

novelty of Tao’s introduction of the family as subject, it should be noted that the figure of the wife had appeared in earlier poems but only in certain subgenres such as the lament for a deceased wife or the longing poem. 15. These lines are cited from two of Lu Ji’s poems of the same title, “Zhaoyin shi” (Lu Qinli, Xian Qin Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao shi, 1: 689, 691). For a fuller discussion of the differences between Tao’s poems of reclusion and the dominant trend of Wei and Jin eremitic poems, see Hu Dalei, Wen xuan shi yanjiu, 166–67. 16. Tao Yuanming described his choice of lifestyle in “An Elegy for Myself ” in the following way: “I have striven for retirement” (shen mu feidun ; TYMJJJ, 463).

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Tao’s characterization of his practice of leisure also suggests a conscious commentary on how his ethos differed from that of the Jin elite. This is a tangent worth exploring here since the idea of leisure is crucial in Tao’s self-definition as a recluse-farmer. For Tao, leisure is obtained through farmwork: the recluse-farmer must labor in the fields in order to be xian (leisurely, idle). In “On Moving House,” no. 2, after his farmwork is done, Tao talks and jokes with neighboring farmers. The last lines in the first poem of the set relate that the poet and his neighbors read and discuss works from the past during their gatherings. This practice of leisure contrasts interestingly with that associated with the Wei and Jin elite, who gathered in villas to have pure conversation (qingtan ). The Shishuo xinyu (A new account of tales of the world) records numerous stories about the ways in which members of the Wei and Jin gentry engaged in conversation, which often appears to be an intellectual game and a performance with its own rules, criteria, and accoutrements. A conversationalist, sometimes with a sambar-tail chowry (zhuwei ) in hand, may enter an exchange of conversation (yi jiao yan ) on a philosophical topic such as names and principles (mingli ) or natural ability and nature (caixing ) and on a text such as the Laozi or the Yijing. He will likely then encounter an objection (nan ) from another conversationalist and engage in numerous bouts (fan ) until a victory becomes evident. In Tao’s representation of leisure, we find a small farmhouse in place of a grand villa, nameless farmers instead of eminent gentry, and a convivial mood with talk and laughter rather than a competitive situation with set topics and rules. His practice of leisure is defined in relation to farming and represents an earned reward, whereas that of the conversationalists was not necessarily defined against work of any kind and constituted a way by which the literati earned their reputations. Certain aspects of Tao’s self-definition become more meaningful when seen against the backdrop of Jin dynasty cultural practices. Whereas Tao Yuanming’s detailed accounts of his activities, interactions, and thoughts may tell the reader who he is, his extensive use of prefaces suggests an effort to guide the reader in interpreting what he says. Through an early association with the hermeneutical

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tradition of the Odes, the preface as a genre implies a commentarial function. Of the fifty-nine titles in Tao’s poetic works, sixteen are accompanied by prefaces. What is more significant, Tao wrote prefaces for all poetic forms (tetrasyllabic, pentasyllabic, and rhymed prose [cifu ]) and for all occasions at a time when they were mostly written for fu and, as Wang Kuo-ying notes, for tetrasyllabic poems (in imitation of Odes prefaces) and collections of poems written on a group outing (most famously, the Lanting ji , or Orchid Pavilion Collection).17 A preface in Tao’s works generally elaborates on the title, provides a context in which to read the poem, and/ or states in plain terms the key point—whether manifest or latent— of the poem. A particularly good, albeit lengthy, example of these prefaces is the one for “The Return.” In the ci, the poet justifies his choice of withdrawal, illustrates the value of this choice through descriptions of his rustic setting and activities, and celebrates a return to both his innate inclinations and Nature. In the preface, the poet explains in greater detail why he took office and why he resigned from his post: he was poor and had a family to support, but, after a brief stint as magistrate of Pengze, he realized that one’s integrity outweighs material profit:18 My instinct is all for freedom, and will not brook discipline or restraint. Hunger and cold may be sharp, but this going against myself really sickens me. Whenever I have been involved in official life I was mortgaging myself to my mouth and belly, and the realization of this greatly upset me. I was deeply ashamed that I had so compromised my principles.19

The poet tells us his withdrawal was a matter of choosing principle and poverty over compromise and wealth. His self-characterization informs our reading of the extended descriptions of his rustic activities that fill the ci, providing them with a philosophical basis and lending a certain poignancy to the sense of delight they suggest. Tao’s development of the preface reveals a strong interest in directing the reading of his poems. The concern for the proper interpreta-

17. Wang Kuo-ying, “Tao Yuanming shi zhong ‘pian pian you wo,’ ” 308–9. 18. The death of his sister, Madame Cheng, which the poet mentions toward the end of the preface, evidently served as a timely excuse for his abrupt resignation. 19. PTC, 268.

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tion of his works evident in Tao’s prefaces also manifests itself in his novel use of another paratextual device: the title. Whereas his prefaces provide contextualizing information, the titles of a number of poems document the time, place, and occasion: for example, “In the Fifth Month of the Year 400, Held Up at Guilin by Adverse Winds While Coming Back from the Capital” . With these devices, Tao became the first editor, in effect, of his own works.20 Tao Yuanming’s experimentation with methods of self-narration verges on play in the fictive mode. Whereas the documentary mode is ostensibly straightforward in the narration of the poet’s life, the fictive mode involves the mediation of a persona: a third-person narrator or a dead Tao Yuanming. An example of the first role is “Biography of the Master of Five Willows,” a work that has been read as the author’s autobiography since its earliest reception.21 Tao Yuanming adopted the stance of a historian to describe the personality and habits of the so-called Master of Five Willows. The narrator/ historian introduces the subject as a reclusive gentleman thoroughly lacking in ambition in either career or scholarship: “Quiet and of few words, he did not yearn for honor or profit. He was fond of reading but did not pursue explanation to the utmost. Whenever he read something that met with his intentions, he became so delighted that he forgot to eat.” His motivation to study is rooted in a certain delight in comprehension, rather than in the production of laborious exegesis or in the search for exact meaning, which were the common practices of Han scholars. According to the narrator/historian’s portrayal, he is as sociable and easygoing as he is private and introverted:

20. Although Tao clearly performed certain functions of an editor, he attempted to deny any editorial role in his works by crediting “an old friend” with their redaction: in the preface to “On Drinking Wine, Twenty poems,” he wrote: “Once I am drunk I write a few verses for my own amusement. In the course of time the pages have multiplied, but there is no particular sequence in what I have written. I have had a friend make a copy” (PTC, 124). As Tao surely knew, self-editing runs counter to the effect of spontaneity and authenticity that he tried to achieve— hence the need to disclaim any role in editing his own works and to point elsewhere. 21. Shen Yue cited this work as Tao’s autobiography (Song shu, 93/2286).

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By nature he loved wine, but his family was poor so he could not usually get it. His relatives and friends, knowing that this was the case, sometimes would set out wine and invite him. Whenever he went to drink, he would drink his fill—his expectations were to get drunk. Once drunk, he would withdraw, never regretting that he must go.

He engages with relatives and friends but remains free in his comings and goings. The equanimity suggested by the ease with which he forgoes an opportunity to drink is made prominent in the subsequent passage which juxtaposes a description of his extreme poverty and a statement of his extraordinary complacency: His house with narrow surrounding walls (huandu ) was desolate and did not shield him from wind and sun. His short, coarse robe was torn and patched. His bowl and ladle were often empty (danpiao lükong ). Yet he was complacent. He constantly amused himself with writing, in which he rather expressed his own ideals. He forgot about gain or loss, and he thus lived to the end.

The images of want are borrowed from classical portrayals of poor scholars: huandu refers to the cramped quality of the scholar’s habitat in Li ji (Record of rites), and danpiao and lükong call to mind the laudatory descriptions of Yan Hui in the Analects as someone who happily lived on “a bowl of rice and a ladle of water” in “dire poverty.”22 The extended description of Tao’s poverty built up in this passage ends abruptly with “yet he was complacent”; he may be poor, but he finds contentment in the simple life of writing and reading and drinking with relatives and friends. This happy acceptance of poverty gains further significance by being linked to a preservation of principle and integrity in the Appraisal appended to the text, in which Tao casts a judgment on the subject of the biography according to the conventions of the genre in the Shi ji and the Han shu: The Appraisal: Qian Lou’s wife had a saying, “He was not distressed by poverty or low station, nor was he anxious for wealth and rank.”23 Examining these words, may we not say that he is of the same kind? 22. Tao Yuanming combined two descriptions of Yan Hui’s poverty in the Analects; see Analects 6.11 and 11.19. 23. Most recent editions of Tao Yuanming ji have emended this passage by changing “Qian Lou” to “Qian Lou’s wife,” which appears as a variant in the

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The remark of Qian Lou’s wife originally characterized her husband, a recluse of exalted principles and unbending integrity celebrated in the fourth poem of “In Praise of Impoverished Gentlemen.”24 The narrative distance inherent in using a fictional third-person biography to present an autobiography is playfully increased by quoting the words of a third party to describe the Master of the Five Willows, who is supposed to represent the author himself. Despite this play with historiographic conventions and narrative techniques, the reader still gets (and is meant to get) the picture Tao Yuanming has drawn: he is a self-complacent gentleman who chose integrity and freedom over rank and riches, happily engaging himself with reading, writing, and drinking as well as with relatives and friends. Perhaps Tao’s most impressive effort to shape later readers’ conception of him is his fictive adoption of the role of the dead poet. In the series “In Imitation of Bearers’ Songs, Three poems” and “An Elegy for Myself” , Tao Yuanming spoke of his death from the perspective of the deceased, that is, the poet himself. In the “Bearers’ Songs,” the “dead” but conscious poet contemplates mortality, describes his family and friends mourning his death, and comments on his burial site from the grave.25 Although this set of Northern Song Jiguge edition and Zeng Ji’s 1192 edition. This variant is supported by a passage from her biography in Liu Xiang’s Lienü zhuan. 24. The description of Qian Lou by his wife as recorded in Lienü zhuan is slightly different from that cited in Tao’s text; “ ‘anxious’ (jiji ) for wealth and rank” appears here in place of “ ‘happy’ (xinxin ) for wealth and rank”; see Liu Xiang, Lienü zhuan, 2.8a. 25. The three imitations of bearers’ songs have generally been read as the poet’s “last works,” as the nature of the poems would suggest. It is, however, by no means certain that these were written just before Tao’s death, as “An Elegy for Myself ” (427) undoubtedly was. Recently, based on a number of considerations, a few scholars have either suggested or argued that these poems were written much earlier: (1) Line 7 of Poem no. 1 mentions the poet’s “[young] children” (jiaoer ), although, regardless of how one reckons Tao’s age, his youngest son must have been a grown man at the time of his death in 427. (2) Line 2 of Poem no. 1 refers to his “early end” (zaozhong ), but even if one accepts a late date of birth, Tao would still have been in his early fifties when he wrote the poem. And to consider dying in one’s early fifties as an early death would have been peculiar. (3) The tone of these poems differs from that of “An Elegy for Myself.” For these arguments, see TYM, 1: 171–72, and Yuan Xingpei, Tao Yuanming ji jianzhu, 421–22. These poems may well have been a form of literary expression, in which Tao expressed his general outlook

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poems for the most part concerns Tao’s meditations on death and the imaginative drama of his funeral, the elegy includes both a contemplation of his death and an account of his life and character. Unlike the “Bearers’ Songs,” which belong to a tradition of funerary songs written in the person of the deceased, “An Elegy for Myself” (427) appears to be Tao’s own invention.26 The elegy (jiwen ; literally, “sacrificial piece”) was normally written by another for the deceased. In an elegy, the author describes the life, deeds, and/or character of the deceased. By writing an elegy for himself, Tao made a powerful statement on how he would have future readers know him. Although this funerary piece brings his autobiographical project to a fitting close, it also implies a gesture to claim the last word on Tao Yuanming. All the descriptions of his life and character in the elegy point to the same pair of ideas: contentment in poverty and steadfastness in reclusion. Tao’s graphic depiction of his poverty (which includes the use of a near-identical line from the “Biography of the Master of Five Willows” to describe his frequent hunger) here makes his emphatic declaration of complacency particularly remarkable: From the time that I became a man, I have met with poverty of fortune. My bowl and ladle were often empty; Linen clothes were set out for winter. Yet full of joy I drew water from the valley; Walking with a song, I bore firewood on my back. Secluded is my rustic home, Which has occupied my nights and days.27

After this description of contentment in poverty, the particular sources of his joy are listed in orderly fashion: Spring and autumn alternate; There was always work in the garden. toward death, as well as an exercise in writing funerary songs, a trend during the Wei and Jin dynasties. 26. For earlier examples of “Bearers’ Songs” , see Miao Xi’s (186–245) and Lu Ji’s in Xiao Tong, Wen xuan, 28/1332–37. For a discussion of this subgenre, including analyses of examples by Miao Xi, Lu Ji, and Tao Yuanming, see PTC, 248–54; TYM, 1: 165–73; and Hu Dalei, Wen xuan shi yanjiu, 349–51. 27. Translation, with slight modification, from TYM, 1: 241–42.

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Now I weeded, now I hoed; So crops grew, so they flourished. I delighted myself with books; I sang to my seven-string zither. In winter I basked in the sun; In summer I bathed in the spring. My labors were without excessive toil; My mind had constant leisure. I rejoiced in my destiny, accepted my lot, And so lived out my “hundred years.”28

Gardening, reading books, playing the zither, and enjoying leisure are standard elements in Tao’s topos of retirement. Equally significant is the satisfaction in self-sufficiency, both material and spiritual, implicit in this depiction of the joys of rustic living. Following a statement of contentment in poverty in the first section and an illustration of this contentment in the second is a comparison in the third that sets his contentment within a certain perspective. The poet contrasts the ambitions of average men with his own lofty ideals, thereby leading the reader to understand his contentment in reclusion as founded on principle. These “hundred years!” All men cherish them. They dread to be without achievement; They covet the days and grudge the seasons. Alive, they seek to be prized by their age; And, after death, also to be remembered. Ah! I have gone my solitary way; I have always been different from this. Since favor was not a glory to me, How could mud blacken me? Remaining loftily in my poor cottage, I drank to the full and composed poems.

The poet tells his future readers that he lacked the usual ambition for fame and glory. Instead, he chose to maintain his principles and ideals, delighting in the simple pleasures of retirement.

28. “Hundred years” is a conventional term for one’s life span.

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Through a sophisticated array of devices and techniques, Tao Yuanming sought to shape the way in which he would be known to future readers. Although his strongest autobiographical texts promote a certain image of the poet, later interpretations of him and his works invariably exceeded the parameters he set. Many later readings centered around two dominant images of Tao Yuanming: as a Confucian exemplar who epitomized the virtues of loyalty, contentment in poverty, and understanding the Dao, and as a transcendent recluse who was divorced from mundane concerns. Neither image matches the one suggested by Tao’s autobiographical project, which he chose for himself. This disconnect in communication raises a number of issues about traditional reading practices and the mechanisms of reception. First, readers did not rely solely on Tao’s writings for information about him. His texts may have been an important consideration, but the influence of his early biographies, the collective imagination of later periods, and the motivations of individual readers proved to be equally, if not more, compelling factors in the construction of Tao Yuanming. To view later characterizations as limited, skewed, or even wrong would be as grave an oversimplification as to assume that Tao’s self-depiction possesses a stronger claim to truth. To be sure, Tao’s self-image is a literary construct, just as later characterizations are constructions. Tao’s autobiography produced his “life” as much as his life produced his autobiography.29 Some of the same factors shaped both later readings and his own self-characterization: idealization, historical facts and events, and personal needs and interests of the writer. Second, readers did not necessarily limit their study to Tao’s “strongest autobiographical texts” or even pay special attention to the self-image most consistently projected in his works. A comprehensive survey of Tao’s œuvre would support a variety of readings as 29. Paul de Man (“Autobiography as De-Facement,” 69) writes in his influential and provocative essay, “Autobiography as De-Facement”: “We assume that life produces the autobiography as an act produces its consequences, but can we not suggest, with equal justice, that the autobiographical project may itself produce and determine the life and that whatever the writer does is in fact governed by the technical demands of self-portraiture and thus determined, in all its aspects, by the resources of his medium?”

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well as refute some of those same readings. Either of the dominant characterizations may be traced to Tao’s œuvre. One reader might strengthen a case for Tao’s loyalty with a reading of “Written After Reading History, Nine pieces” , in which historical men associated with the cult of loyalty, such as Bo Yi , Shu Qi , and Qu Yuan , are praised.30 Another might substantiate an argument for Tao’s transcendence with the opening lines of “Biography of the Master of Five Willows,” which borrow a rhetorical convention from biographies of immortals to suggest an aura of otherworldliness: “We do not know where the gentleman is from, nor do we know his family name or byname.”31 That Tao’s œuvre validates discrepant readings involves not only questions of internal inconsistencies or differences in interpretation but also a more subtle matter. The judgment of traditional readers often appears to be based on a subset of texts. To draw a conclusion about a poet only after a comprehensive examination of the œuvre, teasing out and addressing incongruities before arriving at a more textured understanding, apparently was not a standard part of traditional reading practices. A traditional reader may well have had no more than a text or two in mind when proposing an interpretation about the poet and his works. One text by Tao Yuanming was taken to be as “authentic” and valid as the next and hence able to serve as absolute evidence of the reader’s interpretation. Tao Yuanming’s autobiography can be considered a perfect project neither in its reception nor in its execution, if measured against his manifest efforts. Although his ever-awareness of his future readership implies a posturing (even in good faith), his persistent efforts at self-expression suggest a genuineness (even in selfconsciousness). He tells us his compositions are not for us (“once I am drunk I write a few verses for my own amusement”), but his 30. TYMJJJ, 424–436. The Song critic Ge Lifang (Yunyu yangqiu, 5.7b; ZLHB, 63) cited “Written After Reading History” to support his argument for Tao’s loyalty. For a discussion of Ge’s argument, see Chapter 2, pp. 84–85. 31. TYMJJJ, 420. “We do not know his name” and “We do not know from whence he comes” are discursive openers commonly found in the biographical notices in Liexian zhuan (Biographies of immortals), traditionally ascribed to Liu Xiang, and Shenxian zhuan (Biographies of divine immortals), ascribed to Ge Hong; see Kawai Ko¯ zo¯ , Chu¯goku no jiden bungaku, 78.

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fastidious documentation of his life is surely meant for us. Moreover, his constant need to explain himself betrays an unease with the decisions he has made and a concern for posterity’s judgment. These complexities render dynamic his autobiographical project and make it truly interesting. For modern readers, the appeal of Tao’s autobiographical project lies in the tensions, complexities, and even contradictions that constantly threaten to erupt.32 What should be clear from this discussion is that even an autobiographer as masterful as Tao Yuanming had limited success in determining exactly how later readers would understand him. He studiously made preparations for his future reception, but he could neither limit nor determine the active engagement of the reader, who did not necessarily adhere to the guidelines he set and whose reading was determined not only by Tao’s works but also by continually shifting collective values and individual needs.

32. See Owen, “The Self ’s Perfect Mirror”; and Wang Kuo-ying, “Tao Yuanming shi zhong ‘pian pian you wo.’ ”

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The preceding chapters traced the evolution of interpretations of Tao Yuanming’s reclusion and personality. Chapters 2 and 3 try to show that these two discursive categories constitute a major part of Tao’s reception. Readings of his retirement and personality at times superseded interest in his works, sometimes informed readings of individual poems and prose pieces, and at still other times appeared alongside or intertwined with an assessment of his works. Although evaluations of Tao’s works and life were often closely tied together, it is nonetheless possible to outline a history of major developments in the treatment of his works in literary terms. The remainder of this study examines his literary reception, focusing on such properly literary issues as descriptions or analyses of his poetry (including style and qualities) and literary borrowings from and imitations of his works, insofar as they can be detached from the nonliterary categories of his reception. Given the massive quantity of relevant materials, this examination is divided into two chronological parts: Six Dynasties to the Song in this chapter, and Ming and Qing in the next chapter. This chapter tracks the trajectory of Tao Yuanming from a recluse or moral character whose poetry was largely ignored to one of the greatest poets in the Chinese literary tradition. To do so, it delineates the most significant voices, shifts in aesthetic preferences, and explicit or implicit dialogues among critics in Tao’s literary reception.

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A Few Early Voices in the Six Dynasties A quantitative survey of relevant Six Dynasties sources reads like a negative reception. Tao Yuanming is not mentioned in Liu Xie’s (ca. 465–ca. 522) Wenxin diaolong (The literary mind and the carving of dragons; late fifth or early sixth century),1 which includes evaluations of individual writers and works up to Liu’s time. Nor is he included in discussions of literary history by writers of dynastic histories, such as Shen Yue’s “Postscript to the Biography of Xie Lingyun” and Xiao Zixian’s (489–537) historian’s comment to the “Biographies of Men of Letters” in Nan Qi shu (History of Southern Qi).2 Tao’s writings receive only passing mention in the dirge written by his friend Yan Yanzhi. Zhong Rong’s list of top poets in the “Preface” to the Shipin, informed by the contemporary literary canon, omits Tao, who receives the rank of middle grade in Zhong’s evaluation.3 Only nine of his works (seven titles, eight poems and one prose piece) were selected for inclusion in Xiao Tong’s Wen xuan, as compared to forty pieces by his contemporary Xie Lingyun. This is a modest beginning for a posthumous career that centuries later would make Tao Yuanming perhaps the most widely read and imitated Six Dynasties poet. A few general explanations can be offered for Tao’s lukewarm early reception before we examine each of the texts that discuss

1. There is a passage of some 400 characters in the “Yinxiu” chapter of Wenxin diaolong, in which Tao Yuanming is mentioned. However, since the eighteenth century this passage has generally been rejected as a Ming forgery. For a recent challenge to this standard view, see Zhan Ying, “Wenxin diaolong de ‘Yinxiu’ lun.” 2. See Song shu, 67/1778–79; and Nan Qi shu, 52/907–9. 3. Zhong Rong (Shipin jizhu, 28) names Cao Zhi as the best poet of the Jian’an period (196–220), with Liu Zhen and Wang Can (177–217) close behind; Lu Ji as the best of the Taikang period (280–89), followed by Pan Yue (247–300) and Zhang Xie (fl. late 3rd c.) close behind; and Xie Lingyun as the best of the Yuanjia period (424–53), with Yan Yanzhi in second place. Of the eight poets listed, seven received the rank of top grade; Yan Yanzhi alone received the rank of middle grade. This shows that Zhong Rong’s ranking system generally but not entirely followed the contemporary literary canon.

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Tao’s poetry and suggest more specific explanations. Modern scholars have pointed out that Tao’s poetry did not conform to the aesthetic tastes and practices of the Southern Dynasties (420–589). 4 The dominant Southern Dynasties style is characterized by ornate, crafted diction, lack of grammatical particles, tight parallelism, compact imagery, and verisimilitude in mimetic representation.5 Even a cursory look at Tao’s works reveals a general failure to meet these basic aesthetic standards. Although opposition to the dominant literary milieu is perhaps the most important overall reason for Tao’s unpopularity during the first centuries after his death, a more fundamental factor must not escape attention. Purely aesthetic considerations would fully explain the early dismissal of Tao’s poetry only if he had been treated primarily as a poet. As attested by the writers of Tao’s biographies and those who discussed his writings (see Chapter 3), Tao Yuanming was perceived mainly as a lofty recluse or a moral figure who happened to write poetry and prose. Tao’s writings were, for the most part, read and presented as documentation of a recluse’s life and ideals and as transcripts of his moral behavior. The discussion of Tao’s poetry in Yan Yanzhi’s “Dirge,” which is mainly an exposition of Tao’s principled and moral character, is brief: “in writing he sought direct expression” .6 This single line summarizing Tao’s writings requires some expansion: it suggests that Yan saw the poetic content in Tao’s writings as being unshaped and unaided by formal craft. Yan’s own works rely much on formal refinement and ornate rhetoric and made him one of the most popular poets of his period. Moreover, the brevity of Yan’s critique implies a dismissal of Tao’s poetry. Yan has been labeled shortsighted by a few critics for his (lack of) evaluation of Tao’s writings, but it seems fairer to say that Yan lacked the historical hindsight of Tao’s reception and the later development of hermeneutical tools and 4. See, e.g., Dai Jianye, Chengming zhi jing, 295–99; Wang Kuo-ying, Gujin yinyi shiren zhi zong, 36–38; and Liu Wenzhong, “Xiao Tong yu Tao Yuanming,” 461.The Southern Dynasties are Liu Song (420–79), Southern Qi (479– 502), Liang (502–57), and Chen (557–89), all of which occupied southern China and used Jiankang (modern Nanjing) as their capital. 5. For a discussion of these characteristics, see Dai Jianye, Chengming zhi jing, 296–97. 6. Yan Yanzhi, “Tao zhengshi lei,” 38/2646b.

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redefinition of critical terms that made possible a positive evaluation of Tao’s poetry.7 Xiao Tong’s assessment of Tao’s writings constitutes the highest praise in the Six Dynasties. Xiao compiled and wrote a preface to the first known edition of Tao Yuanming’s Collected Works, the only literary collection (wenji ) Xiao is known to have edited. Xiao was evidently concerned with the transmission of Tao’s writings. In the preface, Xiao discussed both Tao’s personal character (analyzed in Chapter 3) and his literary style: His writings stand out from the crowd, and his verbal embellishments are refined and outstanding. His writings, filled with boundless energy, are luminous; they uniquely surpass the writings of others. His writings, full of undulations, are lucid; in this none can compare. They flow off on their own, cutting across white-capped waves; they rise straight up, touching the clouds in the blue. In discussing contemporary affairs, he is to the point and clear. In expressing his inmost sentiments, he is high-minded and genuine. , . , ; , . , . , .8

Over half of the passage consists of the repetition of one point, expressed more or less in synonymous terms. “Standing out from the crowd” (bu qun ), “uniquely surpassing the writings of others” (du chao zhong lei ), and “in this none can compare” (mo zhi yu jing ) say in plain terms what the subsequent metaphors about cutting across waves and touching the clouds poeticize: Tao’s writings are uniquely outstanding. This is nothing short of exuberant praise. Xiao Tong clearly appreciated the uniqueness of Tao’s poetic style but seemed to have grappled with its definition. He describes that uniqueness with terms not commonly used in Six Dynasties literary criticism (zhaozhang and shuanglang ), which he pairs with metaphors of movement (diedang and yiyang ) to make unusual compounds whose meanings are imprecise at best. From Xiao’s highly impressionistic description, we can sift out two main characteristics he attributed to Tao’s writings: directness and an absence of restraint. The phrases diedang (literally, “lack of re7. See Dai Jianye’s remark and his citation of a similar one by the Ming critic Xu Xueyi (1563–1633) in Chengming zhi jing, 294. 8. Xiao Tong, “Tao Yuanming ji xu,” 20/3067a.

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straint,” with the connotation of bristling with energy) and yiyang (literally, “rises and falls,” often used of musical pitches) must refer to an elusive, intrinsic component of Tao’s writings, likely the emotive force or flow of sentiments. The term zhaozhang has the dual meaning of “luminous” and “clear”; and shuanglang connotes both clarity and frankness. The phrase yiyang shuanglang echoes Yan Yanzhi’s earlier comment, “in writing, he sought direct expression.” But Xiao Tong gave the stylistic quality of directness a positive value, and, for him, the uniqueness of Tao’s poetic style lies in an energy characterized by continual and multiple transformations (rises and falls) and a brilliant directness. Although Xiao liked Tao’s literary style, he was concerned more with presenting Tao’s writings as a source of moral inspiration than with treating them as poetic models worthy of imitation. Xiao made only one comment about Tao’s poetic craft: “his verbal embellishments are refined and outstanding” (cicai jingba ). Cicai is a technical term used in Six Dynasties literary analysis, and its use in the preface addresses one of the principal aesthetic concerns of the period. Jingba denotes refinement but does not connote the embellished, carefully crafted diction that was the norm for “good” writing. Whether one reads this as a throwaway line, a reflection of Xiao Tong’s unique vision of Tao’s diction, or somewhere in between, that Xiao wanted his contemporaries to read Tao’s writings is unmistakable. The two lines describing the kinds of ideas and sentiments he found in Tao’s poetry serve mainly as a transition to Xiao’s discussion of Tao’s exemplary personality, in which, for Xiao, lay the ultimate value of his works. A brief discussion of Tao’s poetic craft is followed by a discussion of Tao’s stylistic characteristics concerned more with the emotional range of his writings than with formal aspects; this suggests that Xiao Tong’s main interest in Tao’s writings was somewhere beyond his poetic style. Indeed, the rest of the preface presents Tao’s writings as a vehicle for moral transformation, rather than a poetic model, as discussed in Chapter 3. The only specific reading of a work by Tao Yuanming in the preface is thus couched in moral rather than aesthetic terms. “Stilling the Passions” is a rhapsody (fu ) whose theme of sexual desire and graphically erotic descriptions of a beautiful woman were

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judged immoral by Xiao Tong: “The only flaw in the jade disc is found in ‘Stilling the Passions.’ This resembles what Yang Xiong denigrated as encouraging a hundred times more than censuring. Ultimately, it cannot be considered censure. Then why did he bother to wave his brush? How regrettable! It may as well have never been written.” In the preface to this rhapsody, Tao situated his piece within a tradition of rhapsodies on the same subject and described his models as follows: [Zhang Heng’s (78–139) “On Stabilizing the Passions” and Cai Yong’s (133–92) “On Quieting the Passions” ] begin by giving free expression to their fancies but end on a note of quiet, serving admirably to restrain the undisciplined and passionate nature: they truly further the ends of salutary warning.9

The ultimate point in Tao’s rhapsody may be moral, but the means with which it is expressed undermines the moral lesson intended. Xiao’s apology must be read in terms of his overall presentation of Tao’s works as a tool for moral rectification. As well, the severity of his critique may reflect a distaste for the poetry of sensual objects and erotic love (later known as palace-style poetry, gongti shi ) associated with his younger brother Xiao Gang (503–51) and his literary salon.10 After delivering an impassioned critique of “Stilling the Passions,” Xiao proceeded to overlook this “small flaw in a jade disc” and strongly affirmed the use-value of Tao’s writings: 9. TYMJJJ, 377; PTC, 263. 10. As David Knechtges notes in the Introduction (1: 41) to his translation of the Wen xuan, “the Wen xuan has none of the erotic or palace-style poems that are found in the Yutai xinyong [commissioned by Xiao Gang and compiled by Xu Ling]. Nor does it contain any of the sensuous, erotic songs of the Southern Dynasties yuefu, which were probably a formative influence on palace-style verse.” For studies of palace-style poetry, see Miao, “Palace-Style Poetry”; Shi Guanhai, Gongtishi pai yanjiu; and Hu Dalei, Gongtishi yanjiu. See also Anne Birrell’s translation of Yutai xinyong, New Songs from a Jade Terrace, which contains many examples of palacestyle poetry. For general discussions of the three competing schools of thought during the Liang dynasty, which examine Xiao Tong’s position in the “compromise school” (zhezhong pai ) and Xiao Gang’s advocacy of “innovations” (xinbian ), see Zhou Xunchu’s classic study, “Liangdai wenlun sanpai shuyao”; Knechtges, Introduction, 1: 11–21; and Hu Dehuai, Qi Liang wentan yu si Xiao yanjiu, 8–20. For an argument against this division, see Xiaofei Tian’s Beacon Fire and Shooting Star, 125–38.

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they are exceptionally capable of rectifying and uplifting the common man. Given Xiao’s fondness for Tao Yuanming’s writings, the small selection of works by Tao in the Wen xuan has prompted various explanations from modern scholars. In a recent study, Liu Wenzhong argues that Xiao Tong, as chief editor, oversaw the compilation but did not necessarily make every selection decision. Liu thus proposes a shift of responsibility from Xiao Tong to his editorial team (likely including two famous men of letters, He Xun [d. ca. 518] and 11 Liu Xiaochuo [481–539]). This is the most convenient explanation for the seeming discrepancy between Xiao’s love of Tao’s writings and the inclusion of a mere nine works in the Wen xuan. But it is also the least satisfying since, given Xiao’s interest in Tao, it is unlikely that he would have allowed a selection he disagreed with to go unchanged. A more convincing explanation draws a distinction between contemporary opinion and personal fancy. The Wen xuan scholar David Knechtges and the Shipin scholar Cao Xu share this view.12 As Knechtges elaborates, “In spite of Xiao Tong’s laudatory words about Tao’s verbal embellishments [cicai], perhaps it was the hermit poet’s seemingly simple phraseology and lack of ‘verbal ornament’ that did not appeal to the Qi-Liang predilection for the ‘ornate and gaudy’ style.”13 Moreover, Cao Xu has pointed out a correspondence between Tao’s standing in the Wen xuan (based on the relative number of Tao’s works in the anthology compared to those by Lu Ji, Xie Lingyun, and Cao Zhi) and Zhong Rong’s ranking of Tao’s poetry in the Shipin as middle grade.14 Indeed, Tao’s ranking in the Wen xuan, as well as in the Shipin, reflects contemporary taste. But contemporary taste may have been less a restriction than a guide in the selection process for the Wen xuan. Xiao Tong may have felt that the majority of Tao’s works, however much he liked them, simply did not meet the purpose of the Wen xuan, which was to present the most excellent examples of refined literature. This was a very 11. Liu Wenzhong, “Xiao Tong yu Tao Yuanming,” 469–70. 12. See Knechtges, Introduction, 1: 40; and Cao Xu, “Shipin ping Tao shi fa wei,” 62. 13. Knechtges, Introduction, 1: 41. 14. Cao Xu, “Shipin ping Tao shi fa wei,” 62.

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different purpose from that behind Xiao’s compilation of Tao’s Collected Works. The most precise Six Dynasties discussion of Tao’s poetry is found in Zhong Rong’s Shipin (514–17), written around the same time as Xiao Tong’s “Preface.” Zhong Rong situated Tao’s poetry in the literary tradition, specified his poetic style, and gave his poetics a name. The Poetry of the Song Summoned Scholar Tao Qian It originates from Ying Qu and is guided by the affective force of Zuo Si.15 His poetic form is spare and placid, with almost no excess of words. His earnest thought is sincere and classical. His verbalized inspirations are congenial and appropriate. Each time I look at his writings, I think of the virtuousness of his character. The world admires his plain straightforwardness. [The lines] “Happily I pour the spring-brewed wine” and “The sun sets, no clouds are in the sky” are pure and intricate in the beauty of their air. How could they be considered mere farmstead language? He is the patriarch of poets of reclusion past and present.16

In performing the first of the triple tasks of the Shipin (determination of sources, assessment of poetic style, and assignment of rank), Zhong traced Tao’s poetry to that of Ying Qu. Most of Ying’s poems have long been lost, and what we know of his collection “One Hun15. Fengli (literally, “wind-force,” translated above as “affective force”), an intrinsic quality of poetry, refers to a force that “arises from the depths of the heart in order to stir up and support the poetic effect (Yeh and Walls, “Theory, Standards, and Practice of Criticizing Poetry,” 1: 57). Zuo Si, a Western Jin poet, wrote a series of poems on historical themes (yongshi shi ), which Zhong Rong praised in the “Preface” to the Shipin as exemplary pentasyllabic verse. One of these poems is about Jing Ke , who, on the orders of the Prince of Yan , attempted to assassinate the future first emperor of Qin , Shi huangdi . Zuo Si’s historical poems have been regarded as political allegory. Tao Yuanming also wrote some yongshi shi, such as “In Praise of Jing Ke,” “In Praise of Three Good Men,” and “In Praise of Impoverished Gentlemen, Seven poems” the last of which are also praised in the same passage in the “Preface” to the Shipin. If Zhong Rong had in mind a similarity beyond fengli, for instance, on the level of subject matter or political commentary, it is not explicit. 16. Zhong Rong, Shipin jizhu, 260 (ZLHB, 9). I have used Hightower’s translation of Tao’s line from “On Reading the Mountains and Seas Classic, Thirteen poems,” no. 1 (PTC, 229), with slight modification, and from “Imitations, Nine poems” no. 7 (PTC, 180). I have translated the phrases cixing as “verbalized inspirations” and fenghua as “the beauty of their air,” following Wixted, “The Nature of Evaluation in the Shih-p’in,” 245.

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dred and One Poems” comes from one complete poem, fragments of a number of others preserved mainly through encyclopedias, and descriptions of the collection by writers close to Ying’s time.17 His poems have been characterized as contemporary political and social criticism.18 The modern scholar Hu Dalei has surveyed his extant works and distinguishes the points of criticism as ranging from problems with the bureaucracy to shortcomings in the official selection process to decadence among the elites.19 Zhong’s entry on Ying Qu indicates a similar understanding of the “point” of his poems: “The fine intent of his writings is deep and earnest, carrying on the purpose of incisive criticism originating with the poets of the Odes.”20 Yayi shendu (the fine intent of his writings is deep and earnest) resonates with duyi zhengu (his earnest thought is sincere and classical) in Tao’s entry. Although Zhong did not overtly link that quality with political and social critique in Tao’s case, the tracing of Tao’s poetic roots to Ying Qu nevertheless suggests a reading of Tao’s poems as carrying, at some level, political and social commentary. A more explicit commonality between Ying Qu and Tao Yuanming delineated in the Shipin concerns their poetic style and qualities. Zhong Rong described Ying as “excelling in the use of archaic language. His descriptions of events are earnest. . . . [The line] ‘Oh, how abundant there today’ is beautiful and intricate, worthy of recitation and savoring.”21 There is a suggested correspondence between 17. For the most complete collection of Ying Qu’s poems and lines, see Lu Qinli, Xian Qin Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao shi, 1: 468–73. 18. Zhang Fang (3rd–4th c.) in Chuguo xiansheng zhuan described “One Hundred and One Poems” as “incisive criticism of contemporary affairs.” Li Chong (4th c.), in Hanlin lun , wrote that Ying “puts the Way in order on the model of the ‘Airs of the States.’ ” Sun Sheng (4th c.) in Jin yangqiu commented that Ying’s “discussion of contemporary affairs was of some benefit.” All citations are found in Li Shan’s (d. 689) commentary to Ying’s poem in the Wen xuan (Xiao Tong, Wen xuan, 21/1015). 19. See Hu Dalei, Wen xuan shi yanjiu, 123–25. 20. Zhong Rong, Shipin jizhu, 231. 21. Ibid. Since the poem from which Ying Qu’s line was extracted has been lost, my translation is a guess at best. The original reads: . Jiji has various meanings, mostly derived from its uses in Shijing, from “abundance” to “solemnity” to the “orderly, well-groomed appearance of horses.”

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Ying Qu’s “archaic language” (guyu ) and Tao’s “plain straightforwardness” (zhizhi ), which applies as much to Tao’s writings as to his personality. And Zhong Rong made an explicit parallel by using related terms to characterize their excellent lines: Ying Qu’s huami (beautiful and intricate) and Tao’s fenghua qingmi (pure and intricate in the beauty of their air). Some modern scholars have tried to understand Zhong Rong’s identification of Tao’s poetry with Ying Qu’s by focusing more on stylistic similarities (plain language, phraseology) and less on a correspondence at the level of content or intent (political and social commentary).22 However, Zhong Rong’s use of similar phrases (yayi shendu and duyi zhengu) to describe the intent of the two poets clearly indicates that he perceived more than just stylistic parallels in their poetic practice. Zhong Rong assessed Tao’s poetry in terms of its form, content, and diction: “His poetic form is spare and placid, with almost no excess of words. His earnest thought is sincere and classical. His verbalized inspirations are congenial and appropriate.” The vocabulary and tone of Zhong’s evaluation are clearly laudatory, yet one notices an absence of the quality of the effusion of emotions, especially grievance (yuan ), and an overall lack of the literary embellishment that Zhong Rong praised in the works of poets in the top grade.23 Although Zhong specified the characteristics of Tao’s poetic 22. See, e.g., Wang Shumin, Tao Yuanming shijian zhenggao, 529–31. Li Wenchu (“Du ‘Shipin Song zhengshi Tao Qian’ zaji,” 124) also argues for a similarity based primarily on style (language) but suggests a similarity of intent (political commentary). More important, he goes on to state, many readers in the past tended to disassociate the poems of Tao Yuanming, considered to have transcended worldly affairs, from the political allegories of Ying Qu, apparently mired in contemporary affairs. 23. Mei Yunsheng (Zhong Rong he Shipin, 83) observes that many poets in the top and middle grades are said to have expressed some form of grievance. Chia-ying Yeh and Jan W. Walls (“Theory, Standards, and Practice of Criticizing Poetry,” 57– 58) observe that in the entries on seven of the twelve poets in the top grade (“Nineteen Old Poems” counting as one entry), the “feeling of grief ” is mentioned. In the entries on “Nineteen Old Poems,” Li Ling (d. 74 bce), Ban Jieyu (48?–6? bce), Cao Zhi, and Zuo Si, the character yuan is used. In the entries on Wang Can and Ruan Ji, their expressions of grief are praised. Of the twelve entries in the top grade, a praise of literary embellishment (visual or auditory beauty) is found in eight: “Nineteen Old Poems,” Ban Jieyu, Cao Zhi, Wang Can, Lu Ji, Pan Yue, Zhang Xie, and Xie Lingyun; and a lament over the paucity of embellishment is found in Liu Zhen’s entry.

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style, equally significant is his elevation of Tao’s status from mere farmer to that of poet (though not without qualifying the title with “of reclusion”). After citing two lines from Tao’s poems and describing them as “pure and intricate in the beauty of their air,” Zhong asked rhetorically, “How could they be considered mere farmstead language? He is the patriarch of poets of reclusion past and present.” Zhong argued that, contrary to popular opinion, Tao’s poems were not composed in the crude, unrefined language belonging to a mere farmer, and some of his lines have a pure and delicate elegance. The description of Tao’s lines as fenghua qingmi indicates that Tao Yuanming, in certain instances, met the norm for “good” writing of the period. 24 Zhong Rong’s characterization of Tao’s poetry marks another important step in the reception of Tao Yuanming: his definition of it as “recluse poetry” would determine to a great extent how later writers read and used Tao’s writings. Many traditional scholars had criticized Zhong Rong for placing Tao in the middle grade, considering this ranking a snub to Tao. But if so, Zhong was also snubbing a number of the most famous poets of the Six Dynasties. Only twelve poets (including the anonymous authors of “Nineteen Old Poems” ) received his highest grade, but only one, Xie Lingyun, lived after the Western Jin (265– 317). This suggests that Zhong was stricter in evaluating poets closer to his own time. Thirty-nine poets, including such luminaries as Yan Yanzhi, Bao Zhao (ca. 414–66), Jiang Yan (444–505), and Shen Yue, were placed in the middle rank. And the majority, seventy-two poets, were given the lowest grade. Prosopographically, Tao Yuanming was in good company. Zhong Rong’s assignment of Tao to the middle grade needs, moreover, to be read in terms of his own standards of evaluation. His system of ranking is complex and extends beyond a mere reflection of contemporary taste. Modern scholars have closely analyzed Zhong’s theory of poetry and drawn forth major categories and qualities in his evaluation, including: affective force (fengli ), literary embellishment (dancai ), imagistic beauty, lodged sentiments, and the sincere expression of 24. Mi , whose basic significations are “intricacy” and “delicacy,” was often paired with characters meaning “resplendent beauty,” such as hua and li , to describe the kind of literary embellishment celebrated during the Six Dynasties.

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emotions, particularly grievance.25 It is clear from Zhong Rong’s entry on Tao that Tao did not meet most of these major poetic criteria. Tao’s ranking is also dependent on Ying Qu’s, who likewise received a middle grade. No derivative poetry is ranked higher than its originary source in the Shipin.26 Given these strikes against Tao Yuanming and the contemporary view of his poetry as that of a mere farmer, one might well wonder why he was not placed in the lowest grade. Perhaps it was because of certain redeeming qualities Zhong Rong found in Tao’s poetry that were overlooked or disregarded by the majority of his contemporaries: the sincerity of his lodged sentiments, the way his writings are a perfect mirror of his virtuous character, some beautifully elegant lines, and his poem series “In Praise of Impoverished Gentlemen,” which Zhong Rong cited in the “Preface” to the Shipin as exemplary pentasyllabic verse.27 Tao Yuanming’s poetry would in later centuries become one of the most widely imitated bodies of work in Chinese literary history. It should come as no surprise, however, that Tao attracted few imitators during the Six Dynasties. Bao Zhao and Jiang Yan each wrote one poem in imitation of Tao’s poetic form (wenti ). The very fact of these imitations signifies a perceived readability of Tao’s poetic form (one capable of being repeated) and an admiration for it. Bao Zhao’s “Imitating the Poetic Form of Tao Pengze” , written to match a now-lost poem by Wang Hong’s son, Wang Sengda (423–58), juxtaposes elements culled from Tao’s poetry, resulting in a piece “composed of various imitations [of Tao’s poems]” , as the late Qing editor Huang Jie (1874– 1935) argued. 28 The first couplet of Bao’s poem approximates Tao’s philosophical outlook, “Continual worrying is not my life’s intention, / Small wishes I need not many” , 25. See Mei Yunsheng, Zhong Rong he Shipin, 71–72, 79–125; Yeh and Walls, “Theory, Standards, and Practice of Criticizing Poetry”; and Wixted, “The Nature of Evaluation in the Shih-p’in.” 26. Yuan Xingpei makes this point in his Tao Yuanming yanjiu, 137. 27. Zhong Rong, Shipin jizhu, 347. 28. See Huang Jie’s comment in Bao Zhao, Bao Canjun shizhu, 217. The modern editor Qian Zhonglian agrees with Huang’s reading of this poem as a product of various imitations of Tao’s works (see Bao Zhao, Bao Canjun jizhu, 363). See also Su Jui-long’s discussion of this poem in his Bao Zhao shiwen yanjiu, 233–34.

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. 29 The second couplet recalls a rustic scene from Tao’s “On Moving House, Two poems,” no. 2, in which Tao and his neighbors would call on each other and whoever happened to have wine would pour some for everyone: “I only wish for my cup to be full of wine, / And for my friends to stop by often” , . The next four lines form a vignette composed of various images (autumn moon, dew drops, zither) and rhetorical tools found in Tao’s works, although the product has a more delicate effect than is usual in Tao’s poems and a melancholic tone reminiscent more of the first of Ruan Ji’s “On Singing My Cares” . Under the autumn winds of the seventh and eighth month, Clear dew soaks through the resplendent gauze. Carrying the se zither I sit before the window, Sighing, I gaze at the river of stars. I shall remain like this without stirring, How can I be caught again in windy billows?

30

The poet’s approximation of the time of year (seventh or eighth month) truly captures Tao’s casualness,31 as when he stated the number of bays in his home: “The thatched-roof house has eight or nine bays” .32 The poem concludes in a sober and stoic tenor, whose cause has been the subject of debate and speculation. The specific cause hinges on the poem’s date of composition, which cannot be ascertained. Modern scholars Ding Fulin, Cao Daoheng, and Shen Yucheng have suggested the autumn of 452, and Cao and Shen moreover read the poem within the context of the incipient political maelstrom that would become full-blown in the second month of 453, when the heir apparent, Liu Shao, conspired with his brother and Bao Zhao’s former employer, Liu Jun , and murdered their father, Emperor Wen (r. 424–

29. Bao Zhao, Bao Canjun jizhu, 362–63. 30. I am grateful to Su Jui-lung for his insights on how to render the last couplet and contexualize the poem and to David Knechtges for his comments on my interpretation. 31. Su Jui-lung makes this excellent point (pers. comm., Jan. 29, 2007). 32. TYMJJJ, 73.

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53).33 The notion that Bao Zhao would allude to a regicidal plot in an imitation poem written to command at a public setting highlights the speculative nature of Cao and Shen’s reading. The last couplet is better understood as a representation of Tao’s attitude toward his withdrawal from worldly affairs and, by extension, the response of an officeholder such as Bao to politics in general. A more comprehensive imitation is Jiang Yan’s “The Summoned Tao Qian: Dwelling in the Field” , one of his “Thirty Imitations” . Jiang’s imitation is a clear indication that Jiang conceived of Tao’s poetic form in terms of images, language, gestures, and props. The subtitle, “Tianju” (Dwelling in the field), specifies Jiang Yan’s conception of the type of poetry Tao’s works represent. 34 This definition of Tao’s poetry as “farmstead,” along with Zhong Rong’s later characterization of it as “reclusive,” would become dominant frameworks for reading Tao’s poetry. Planting sprouts on the eastern hill, The sprouts grow to fill the pathways. Although there is fatigue from shouldering the hoe, Unstrained wine rather makes one contented. At dusk riding in a curtained brushwood cart, The road is dark, the light already dimmed. The one returning gazes at the lamp fire, His young son waits for him under the eaves. When asked, “What are you going to do?” In a hundred years there will always be office. I only wish the mulberry and hemp will grow, And cloth can be woven from the silkworms by the month’s end.

33. Ding Fulin, Bao Zhao nianpu, 104; Cao Daoheng and Shen Yucheng, Zhonggu wenxue shiliao congkao, 311. 34. Jiang Yan subtitled each of his imitations with a phrase describing the type of poetry he was imitating. These classifications give some idea of what Jiang Yan thought was typical of the poet in question. For example, Ruan Ji is associated with “singing of cares” (yong huai ), Zuo Si with “singing of history” (yong shi ), Kuo Pu (276–324) with “wandering immortals” (you xian ), and Xie Lingyun with “touring the mountains” (you shan ).

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Literary Reception, Part I: Six Dynasties to Song My pure heart is truly like this, I clear paths to await my three friends.35

159 36

Jiang Yan mixed and matched phrases from Tao’s farmstead poems, mainly his series “Returning to the Farm to Dwell” and “The Return.” Jiang created a dense collage with such imagistic phrases as “planting sprouts,” “eastern hill,” “carrying a hoe,” “unstrained wine,” “a young son waiting,” “growth of mulberry and hemp,” and “a pure heart.”37 His imitation was more “successful” than Bao Zhao’s insofar as he concealed visible traces of Southern Dynasties craftsmanship; his poem even fooled some Song editors, who, when compiling Tao’s works, added Jiang’s poem to the “Returning to the Farm to Dwell” series. 38 Jiang’s understanding of Tao’s poetic form informs his representation of it, which involves two categories: thematically, Jiang reproduced Tao’s farmstead life using the same props and activities found in Tao’s poetry; rhetorically, Jiang used simple, direct language and the question-answer formula, both characteristic of Tao’s poetry. To some later readers, Jiang Yan’s imitation may not have approximated the flavor or mood of Tao’s rustic poems, but few would deny that it is a near replica.39 More important, Jiang Yan’s imitation evidences more clearly than Bao Zhao’s poem an interpretation of Tao’s poetry as constituting a 35. The three friends refer to Jiang Xu , Yang Zhong , and Qiu Zhong . Jiang withdrew from office after Wang Mang’s usurpation. In his reclusion, he associated only with two like-minded friends, Yang and Qiu, who would stroll with him along the three paths leading to his hut. 36. Jiang Yan, “Tao zhengjun Qian tianju,” in Lu Qinli, Xian Qin Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao shi, 2: 1577. 37. “Planting sprouts” and “carrying a hoe” come from “Returning to the Farm to Dwell,” no. 3; “eastern hill” and “a young son waiting” from “The Return”; “growth of mulberry and hemp” from “Returning to the Farm to Dwell,” no. 2; “unstrained wine” from “The Ninth of the Ninth Month, 409” ; and “a pure heart” from “On Moving House, Two poems,” no. 1. 38. The Song critic Hong Mai noted that a contemporary edition of Tao Yuanming’s Collected Works had six poems in the series “Returning to the Farm to Dwell,” since Jiang Yan’s imitation had mistakenly been added (see SSHQB, 5594, no. 26). 39. One Song critic, Ye Shi (1150–1223), wrote that “the language is similar but the mood/flavor (yiqu ) is completely off the mark” (SSHQB, 7398, no. 11).

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distinct poetic form in terms of theme and language, that is, a repeatable model. Overall, Tao’s poems were hardly appreciated or even acknowledged during the Six Dynasties.40 The story of his early literary reception is for the most part one of neglect and sometimes of apologetics. As Yang Xiuzhi (509?–82) wrote in a preface to a late Six Dynasties edition of Tao’s Collected Works: “I have read Tao Qian’s writings and concluded that although his verbal embellishments (cicai ) are not excellent, there are still surprises and unusual phrases to be found.”41 As Stephen Owen has remarked, “Yang apologizes for the lack of courtly elegance” since he “knew the aesthetic taste of the readers of his own age.”42 In spite of the lack of interest in Tao’s literary style, determined largely by the dominant aesthetic preference for the ornate and refined, there are nonetheless significant developments in the early reception of Tao as poet. Jiang Yan acknowledged that Tao’s poetry represented a distinct poetic form, outlined its repeatable characteristics, and gave his poetics a name (“farmstead”). Zhong Rong ranked Tao in the middle category of poets and also labeled Tao’s poetry (as “reclusive”). Jiang Yan and Zhong Rong’s respective acts of naming, in effect, validated Tao’s poetry and defined its existence. Xiao Tong ensured the transmission of Tao’s writings by editing his Collected Works and including his pieces in the Wen xuan.

Poetic Uses of Tao Yuanming in the Tang Tao Yuanming’s poetry met with a more favorable reception during the Tang, although, in contrast to the Six Dynasties and the Song and thereafter, there are few explicit analyses of Tao’s poetry. Rather, Tao’s reception in the Tang must be traced primarily through his influence (literary borrowings and imitations) and passing statements of approval or disapproval of his poetry. 40. There are a number of allusions to images associated with Tao’s reclusive ideal in the works of Liang dynasty writers, but they signify an appreciation for Tao’s topos of retirement rather than his literary merit. 41. Cited in Tao Shu, Jingjie xiansheng ji, under the section “Collected Prefaces,” 3. 42. Owen, The Poetry of the Early T’ang, 60.

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Tao Yuanming’s poetry fared poorly during the Early Tang, whose poetic practices were, in many respects, a continuation of the court poetry of the Southern Dynasties. Wang Ji was unique in his appreciation for Tao’s poetry and personality. Stephen Owen writes that Wang “turned away from . . . the effete style of the court . . . to assume the role of the drunken and eccentric poet-farmer, the role of Tao Qian.”43 Indeed Wang Ji articulated his personality and reclusion through the persona of Tao Yuanming and wrote about the pleasures of his retired lifestyle and his detachment from worldly cares through the use of Tao Yuanming allusions. Typical is “Farm Life, Three poems” , no. 2: My house is at the foot of Mount Ji, My gate lies upon the shores of the Ying River. Not knowing that today there is the Han, I can only say that long ago I fled from the Qin. The zither accompanies me under the moon in the front courtyard, I encourage myself to drink during spring in the rear garden. Self-attained, a gentleman of the woods, How should I disgrace the men from before the time of Fu Xi?

44

Adopting the voice of an inhabitant of Tao Yuanming’s “Peach Blossom Spring,” a utopian community isolated from the outside world, Wang Ji claims seclusion from the world of affairs. The phrase shanghuangren refers to Tao’s self-characterization as a man living before the time of the legendary ruler Fu Xi and signifies utter contentment with one’s life. The features and facets of Wang Ji’s idyllic retirement, such as the zither, wine, and contentment, are all drawn from representations of Tao’s reclusion. Wang Ji devoted a number of poems to stating his love of wine, some of which reference Tao’s liberal consumption of it:

43. Ibid. See also Ding Xiang Warner’s recent Wild Deer amid Soaring Phoenixes. 44. Wang Ji, Wang Wugong wenji, 2/66 (QTS, 37/478–79).

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Ruan Ji was rarely sober, Tao Qian was drunk on most days. How else can we pass the years of our life span Except by following our fancies and singing at length?

45

Tasting Spring Wine In my rustic goblet floats Zheng’s brew,46 Mountain wine is strained by Tao’s head cloth. If only it leaves me drunk for a thousand days, Why should I mind missing two or three springs?

47

Wang Ji also described in his poetry, as Tao Yuanming did, a schedule of farming during the day and returning home in the evening. The first couplet of “A Happy Encounter with the Recluse Yao Yi on an Autumn Night” reads: Once I’m done weeding the beans in the north field, I reap the millet on the east hill and return home.48

49

Wang Ji not only borrowed Tao’s poetic themes and representations but was, as Owen puts it, “imitating Tao Qian’s whole life style, of which his poetry formed only a part.” 50 By mimicking Tao’s contentment, drinking, and attempts at farming, Wang assumed the persona of the eccentric recluse. To be sure, Wang Ji’s reception of Tao Yuanming’s poetry is not reducible to a shared fondness for wine, as the twentieth-century critic Qian Zhongshu suggested when he wrote that Wang “liked Tao’s winebibbing, which matches his own. But he did not esteem Tao’s poetry.”51 Owen’s interpretation of Wang Ji’s use of Tao Yuanming seems closer to the mark: Wang was interested in Tao as a model more for his personality than 45. QTS, 37/484. 46. Zheng zhuo (Zheng’s brew) must refer to the fine wines brewed by Mr. Zheng, who appears in Ge Hong’s Baopuzi (neipian 15/66). 47. QTS, 37/485. 48. QTS has Recluse Wang in the title, instead of Recluse Yao Yi. According to Tao Min, Quan Tang shi renming kaozheng (16), Wang is erroneous and should be Yao Yi, following the five-juan edition of Wang Wugong wenji. 49. Wang Ji, Wang Wugong wenji, 2/63 (QTS, 37/485). 50. Owen, The Poetry of the Early T’ang, 410. 51. Qian Zhongshu, Tanyi lu (Hong Kong: Zhonghua shuju, 1986), 89.

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for his writing.52 In Tao’s poetry, Wang Ji found a poetic persona whose voice he could adopt in reaction against court poetry and culture. Although Wang Ji would remain unique in the Tang for the comprehensiveness of his imitation of Tao Yuanming, the use of Tao’s character and poetry as an alternative to court life and poetry would gain wide currency a century later with the Tao Yuanming vogue beginning in the Kaiyuan period (713–42). Tao was viewed as the master of farmstead poetry (tianyuan shi ), which in the High Tang developed in tandem with landscape poetry (shanshui shi ), whose masters were Xie Lingyun and Xie Tiao. One of the earliest pairings of Tao Yuanming and Xie Lingyun is the following couplet by Du Fu: “How could one hope to write with the hands of Tao and Xie, / So that one’s writings may travel with theirs?” , .53 Although these lines show Du Fu’s esteem for the poetic talent of both Tao and Xie, they should be understood in the context of what each represented—farmstead and landscape poetry, respectively—and the close association of the two traditions in the High Tang. Li Bo was more explicit in the type of connection he drew between Tao and Xie. He posited them as the two standards of their respective subgenres in the following lines to a friend: “Master Tao would be ashamed by your skill at farmstead poetry, / Xie the traveler would be embarrassed by the beauty of your landscape poetry” , .54 Most writers of nature poetry in the High Tang produced examples of both varieties. As both Wang Kuo-ying and Ge Xiaoyin have argued, it is in the hands of High Tang poets that the two traditions, whose shared 52. Owen, The Great Age of Chinese Poetry, 48. 53. This couplet is from “Jiang shang zhi shui ru haishi liao duan shu” (Du Fu, Du shi xiangzhu, 10/810–811; QTS, 226/2443). The Qing commentator Qiu Zhaoao identified Xie as Xie Huilian (407–33), Xie Lingyun’s cousin, but this seems less probable given the far greater prominence of Xie Lingyun as a model for landscape poetry after the Six Dynasties. There are at least two earlier pairings by Wang Bo and Song Zhiwen . See QTW, 181/1846b and 241/2437a, respectively. 54. Li Bo, “Zao xia yu Jiang jiangjun shu zhai yu zhu kunji song Fu Ba zhi Jiangnan xu” , in idem, Li Bo quanji jiaozhu hui shi ji ping, 27/4156.

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basic spirit was a return to nature and simplicity, but whose early developments led them along different tracks, finally merged.55 Wang Kuo-ying locates the merger in the integration of the sentiments and mood of Tao’s farmstead poetry with the poetic materials of the two Xies’ landscape pieces.56 Ge Xiaoyin describes the integration in more technical terms with the case of an exemplary writer of nature poems, Wang Wei. Ge notes that Wang combined the vividly imagistic descriptions of Southern Dynasties landscape poetry, with its emphasis on a visual appreciation of landscapes, with the model of a repository of ideas represented by Tao’s farmstead poetry, with its foregrounding of subjective poetic response.57 Interest in Tao’s poetry during the High Tang must thus be considered in terms of a broader context of attraction: to nature (as a reaction to court life), to the retired lifestyle (as opposed to public service), to a state of leisure and detachment (in contradistinction to the cares that plague the official), and to the beauty and sense of freedom perceived in rustic settings and mountain scenes (in opposition to the obsequiousness and constraints of decorum to which courtiers were subjected). The Tao Yuanming vogue in the High Tang represents a significant development in Tao’s reception. Moreover, the writing of farmstead poetry à la Tao Yuanming provides an important window into High Tang literati culture, psychology, and poetics. Modern scholars have identified a number of historical developments behind this boom in eremitic and farmstead poetry. Stephen Owen lists a set of literary and social reasons for a move away from court poetry. In the early Kaiyuan period, many capital poets, dissatisfied with the restricting conventions of Early Tang court poetry, began to experiment with new styles and themes. At about the same time, court poetry was losing its older basis of patronage: the jinshi examination brought to power increasing numbers of men of relatively humble background without the old-fashioned taste for court poetry of the aristocratic great clans. Finally, in 722, an imperial edict closed the literary salons of imperial princes, which had long 55. See Wang Kuo-ying, Zhongguo shanshui shi yanjiu, 255–95; and Ge Xiaoyin, Shanshui tianyuan shipai yanjiu, 70. 56. Wang Kuo-ying, Zhongguo shanshui shi yanjiu, 259. 57. Ge Xiaoyin, Shanshui tianyuan shipai yanjiu, 251.

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been an important source of patronage for court poetry.58 Moreover, the increase in informal occasional poetry that followed the decline of formal court poetry resulted from “the spread of poem exchanges between friends of approximately equal rank.”59 Another significant development in the High Tang was the “ ‘rediscovery’ of the poetic past.” Unlike their Early Tang predecessors, who generally thought of the literary heritage as a “quaint artifact,” High Tang poets viewed it with genuine excitement, drawing “styles and poets out of the past in rapid succession, making them the silent heroes of a whole decade or a single poem.” For instance, “Ruan Ji, Tao Qian, Sima Xiangru [ (179–117 bce)], Yu Xin [ (513–81)], Xie Lingyun, and others rose and fell with the passing decades.”60 All these factors militated for an alternative to court poetry, but not necessarily for farmstead and reclusive poetry in particular. The modern scholar Su Xuelin argues that the imperial patronage of Daoism during the Tang fostered the high regard for eremitism. 61 And Wang Kuo-ying states that the high status bestowed on recluses by the Tang emperors encouraged courtiers’ attraction to mountains and forests and fields and gardens, and to the lifestyle they stood for. No one represented this lifestyle better than Tao Yuanming, the “patriarch of poets of reclusion past and present.”62 In their search for an alternative to court poetics, High Tang poets found in Tao Yuanming not only a style and themes to use but also a model to emulate. As Owen succinctly puts it: “Tao’s simple diction opposed the court poet’s artifice and refinement; Tao’s rebellious freedom opposed the court poet’s obsequiousness; Tao’s emphasis on writing poetry for purely personal pleasure provided an alternative to the social necessity that motivated the court poet. Tao Qian was the perfect model of the free and individual poet.”63 For the High Tang poets, writing in the Tao Yuanming mode meant using his farmstead and reclusive themes and props, consciously 58. See Owen, The Great Age of Chinese Poetry, 4–5. 59. Ibid., 7. 60. Ibid., xv. 61. Su Xuelin, Tang shi gailun, 59. 62. Wang Kuo-ying, Zhongguo shanshui shi yanjiu, 255–56. 63. Owen, The Great Age of Chinese Poetry, 6.

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adopting simple and plain language, and mimicking his role as a disengaged scholar. Writing farmstead poetry in the High Tang also entailed the creation of an idealized realm in which the poet could seek solace and thus signified longing for the leisure and tranquility of rustic living. Such poems mark both a psychological and a literary gesture. By the 720s, the Tao Yuanming vogue was in full swing, and eremitic poems written in his style represented the norm of capital poetry. The popularity of eremitic poems signifies not so much a widespread renunciation of officialdom as a weariness with the constraints of public life and disappointments in public service, since most writers of farmstead poetry either held office or hoped to. The leading figures in the Tao Yuanming vogue were Wang Wei, Chu Guangxi (jinshi 726), and Meng Haoran (689– 740).64 It was probably because of such influential figures as Wang and Chu that interest in Tao’s poetry spread to other members of their literary circle.65 The High Tang poets drew from Tao’s themes, style, language, and structuring devices. Moreover, a fair number of High Tang poets either owned farms or acquired country estates, which provided a “natural” space to which they could retreat and an important setting for their poetry. The High Tang development of farmstead poetry generally focused on the leisure, tranquility, and contentment promised by the rustic lifestyle of the recluse, as seen in many of Tao’s poems and his biographies. One of the “five trends” listed in Shige (Precepts of poetry), attributed to Wang Changling (690?– 756?), is “relaxed detachment” (xianyi ), which Wang defined with an example from Tao Yuanming.66 This is not only an interpre64. Meng Haoran is not considered a capital poet, having spent much of his life in the environs of his native Xiangyang . It was probably during his visit to Chang’an in 727–28 to take the jinshi examination that he befriended some of the major figures of capital literary society, Wang Wei, Wang Changling (690?– 756?), and Zhang Jiuling (678–740). See Kroll, Meng Hao-jan, 17; and Owen, The Great Age of Chinese Poetry, 72. 65. See Owen, The Great Age of Chinese Poetry, 49. 66. Wang Changling (Shige, 3.9a) cited the following couplet from Tao’s “On Reading the Mountains and Seas Classic,” no. 1, as representative of “relaxed detachment”: “The birds rejoice to have a refuge there / And I, too, love my home”

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tation of Tao’s poetry but also an indication that “relaxed detachment” was among the top five poetic trends that High Tang writers recognized. The High Tang interest in rustic pleasures carried through in the numerous allusions to Tao’s enactment of the ideal of retirement, as discussed in Chapter 2. The High Tang poet may write a farmstead poem during his own retreat, a visit to a friend’s country manor, or an overnight stay with a farmer. A number of features recur in poems written on these occasions: an evocation of the relaxed mood and stylistic simplicity of Tao’s poetry, allusions to his rustic activities or props connected with these, and an account of the poet’s own experience with the rustic scene at hand. An illustrative example is one of the best-known farmstead poems from the period, by Meng Haoran: Stopping By the Homestead of an Old Friend An old friend prepared some chicken and millet, And invited me to his rustic home. Green trees merge at the village’s edge; The azure mountain slants beyond the town. We unroll our mats and face the yard and garden, Holding our wine cups, we chat of mulberry and hemp. I’ll wait for the Double Ninth, And return for the chrysanthemum blossoms!

67

The poet depicts an idyllic setting of verdant hills, green trees, a threshing yard, and a vegetable garden and describes the simple pleasures of drinking, observing the farm scene, and talking about crops. The pleasures the poet experienced elicit a promise to return. The activities of drinking with friends and chatting about mulberries , (TYMJJJ, 334; PTC, 229). The other four trends are “grand style,” exemplified by Cao Zhi; “classical elegance,” exemplified by Ying Qu; “hidden profundity,” exemplified by Xie Lingyun; and the “supernatural and immortals,” exemplified by Guo Pu. For discussions of the thorny textual history of Shige, see Bodman, “Poetics and Prosody in Early Mediaeval China,” 50–57; and Fu Xuanzong, “Tan Wang Changling de Shige.” 67. Meng Haoran, Meng Haoran shiji jianzhu, 340 (QTS, 160/1651).

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and hemp, and the reference to the Double Ninth and chrysanthemums are established hallmarks of Tao’s rustic lifestyle. Meng successfully integrated allusions to Tao Yuanming with his own experience in an account of an ideal rustic setting. Farmstead poetry became a subgenre through which the conflict between public service and reclusion, a major intellectual interest of the period, could be addressed on a literary level. The issue of service versus reclusion is the precise topic of the second of Wang Wei’s “Joys of Fields and Gardens, Seven poems” : Meeting again, enfeoffed as the marquis of ten thousand homes, Standing and talking, bestowed with two discs of jade. How can that surpass tilling southern fields side by side? Or compare with sleeping high by the eastern window?

68

Yu Qing

, with his emoluments and gifts from King Xiaocheng of Zhao , loses in a comparison with the self-sufficient farmers from the Analects, Changju and Jieni , and the idle and contented recluse Tao Yuanming, who “slept high” by the northern window. 69 Reclusion usually wins out in Tang farmstead and landscape poetry. But in reality, few scholar-officials permanently renounced office in the manner of Tao Yuanming. Fancies of a life free from the anxieties of an official career could nonetheless be entertained or rehearsed. These fancies are often played out in the context of a return, a recurrent theme in the works of many High Tang poets, which derives from Tao Yuanming’s development of it in works such as “The Return” and “Returning to the Farm to Dwell.” Tao’s definition of the theme as a return to nature, as well as to one’s own basic nature, gave later poets a point of departure. “High Tang poets knew the place they were leaving in their various ‘returns’—the artificial world of capital society with its 68. Wang Wei, Wang Wei ji jiaozhu, 5/453 (QTS, 128/1305); translation, with slight modification, from Pauline Yu, The Poetry of Wang Wei, 198. 69. See Pauline Yu’s note on Yu Qing in The Poetry of Wang Wei, 198. Changju and Jieni appear in Analects 18.6.

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dangers, frustrations, and humiliations, as well as its poetry,” as Stephen Owen has argued, although “the goals of their ‘returns,’ their definitions of ‘the natural,’ were often quite different.” 70 A well-known example using this theme is Wang Wei’s “Returning to Mount Song” , in which the poet surveys the landscape on his return: A clear stream lined by long tracts of brush, There horse and coach go rumbling away. The flowing waters seem to have purpose, And birds of evening join to turn home. Grass-grown walls look down on an ancient ford, As setting sunlight fills the autumn mountains. And far, far beneath the heights of Mount Song, I return and close my gate.

71

The various significations and complexities of Wang Wei’s notion of return have been discussed in two English-language studies; 72 although a review of them is beyond the scope of this discussion, it is worth examining two points that shed particular light on Wang Wei’s appropriation of the theme. Owen has observed that “in Wang Wei’s poetry the object of a return was usually a form of stillness and inaction.”73 The gesture of isolating oneself from the world of men and activities, expressed by the shutting of one’s gate in the final line, is nowhere to be found in Tao Yuanming’s self-portrayal as a sociable and active farmer-recluse. Nor does it seem necessary in Tao’s case, since he described himself as living in the world of men, though deaf to the clamor of horse and coach, in “On Drinking Wine,” no. 5. Despite differences in these portrayals, Wang Wei’s poem shows a similar understanding of the principle behind the return. His second couplet derives from two lines in “On Drinking Wine,” no. 5: “Flying birds return together in flocks” and “In these things there is true meaning” 70. Owen, The Great Age of Chinese Poetry, 41. 71. Wang Wei, Wang Wei ji jiaozhu, 2/108 (QTS, 126/1276–77); translation from Owen, The Great Age of Chinese Poetry, 41. 72. See Owen, The Great Age of Chinese Poetry, 41–44; and Wagner, Wang Wei, 103–7. 73. Owen, The Great Age of Chinese Poetry, 41.

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.74 Wang used the same image from Tao’s poem and sought hidden significance in the natural world, as Tao Yuanming once did. Just as water flows in a seemingly determined way toward its destination, birds know to return home at sunset. Inherent in the return is a natural principle: it is instinctual, what one “naturally” does. The aspects of Tao Yuanming’s representations of rustic reclusion that attracted High Tang poets are most clearly revealed by their reception of Tao Yuanming’s “Peach Blossom Spring” , which consists of a prose narrative and accompanying poem. Many alluded to this utopia, and some wrote poems about it. Perhaps the most significant revision is Wang Wei’s “Song of Peach Blossom Spring” . The basic plot of the earlier work is adopted: a fisherman by chance discovers a community of political refugees who have lived in complete isolation from the outside world for centuries. The fisherman stays in this utopian community for a short while and returns to the outside world, not without making plans to return. But when he does try to return, he cannot find his way back to the enclave. Wang Wei described the idyllic setting, which includes features found in many of his farmstead poems: The residents lived together at Wuling Spring, And yet from beyond this world started fields and gardens. The moon shines beneath the pines on houses and windows at peace, The sun rises within the clouds as cocks and dogs clamor.

He then identifies this rustic setting as an otherworldly place: At first to escape from disaster, they left the midst of men. Then, it’s heard, they became immortal and so did not return. Amid these gorges who knows that human affairs exist? Within the world one gazes afar at empty clouded mountains. 74. TYMJJJ, 220.

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Literary Reception, Part I: Six Dynasties to Song Not suspecting that ethereal realms are hard to hear of and see, His dusty heart has not yet ceased to long for his native home.

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75

Although these lines indicate an identification of tranquil, rustic living with an ethereal realm, this utopia remains difficult to commit to and even more elusive (“How can he know that valleys and peaks when he comes today have changed?” ). In Wang Wei’s revision, we note an absence of several key issues present in Tao’s version. Peach Blossom Spring, according to Tao, is a community founded by like-minded people who withdrew out of principled protest against an unrighteous government. It stands for a political utopia marked by an absence of ruler-subject distinctions. There is, moreover, no burden of taxes: “On the fall harvest no king’s tax was paid” . And there is material self-sufficiency through physical labor: By agreement they set about farming the land When the sun went down, each rested from his toil. Bamboo and mulberry provided shade enough, They planted beans and millet, each in season.

76

As Kang-i Sun Chang has pointed out, Tao’s vision of utopia incidentally shares similarities with descriptions elsewhere of his “real” farm life at its most ideal,77 in which one finds references to both farmwork and leisure. In Wang Wei’s adaptation, there is little development of the reasons for the withdrawal to Wuling Spring. Nor is there explicit mention of farming, which is merely suggested by the presence of fields and gardens. His adaptation evinces little interest in either the political dimension (principles of withdrawal, exemption from taxes) or the practical matters (labors of farming) central to the original. Wang instead borrowed the basic plot and

75. Wang Wei, Wang Wei ji jiaozhu, 1/16 (QTS, 125/1258); translation from Pauline Yu, The Poetry of Wang Wei, 59–60. 76. TYMJJJ, 403; PTC, 255. 77. Chang (Six Dynasties Poetry, 22–23) here refers to Tao’s “Returning to the Farm to Dwell,” no. 1, ll. 11–16; and to ll. 7–10 from the second poem of the same series.

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idyllic setting to present his own utopia: detachment from the world of affairs and tranquility in a rustic setting. Indeed, intimate details of farm life are rare in High Tang farmstead poetry. Ge Xiaoyin has suggested that the semi-retired lifestyle or temporary retreats of High Tang poets such as Wang Wei and Meng Haoran did not afford them easy access to the multiple and more profound levels of agrarian life.78 Nor did they seem interested in probing beneath the idyllic surface, as Ge goes on to suggest: “What they were really drawn to were the tranquility and the simple, elegant, and lofty mood of farmstead living.”79 Consistent with the Tang treatment of Tao’s reclusion, as discussed in Chapter 2, references to the labors of farming and the hardships of self-sufficiency, which appear throughout Tao’s poetry, seldom figure in High Tang farmstead poetry. One of the few exceptions is the works of Chu Guangxi, who showed the most dedication to playing the role of farmer-recluse. Poems such as “Farm Life” and “Various Responses to Farm Life, Eight poems” would suggest that he tried his hand at farming. Qian Zhongshu, who compared Chu Guangxi’s poetry to Wang Wei’s, contrasts Chu, a “hardworking farmer toiling in the fields,” with Wang, “an idle farmer traversing the fields.”80 The actual extent of Chu’s engagement with farmwork is of less interest here than his literary representations of agrarian life and his development of High Tang farmstead poetry. Like Tao Yuanming, Chu Guangxi wrote about farming as a participant rather than an outside observer. Yet Chu’s farmstead poetry shows a degree of meticulous attention to detail that far exceeds Tao’s. In the opening lines of the first of “Written to Wang Wei’s ‘Offhand Compositions,’ Ten poems” , Chu described a farmer’s concern for the weather:

78. It is important to note that Meng Haoran was considered a recluse by many of his contemporaries since he spent most of his life out of office, the only official post he held being a minor one in the prefectural government of the disgraced minister Zhang Jiuling between late 737 and 738. Few modern scholars would squarely treat Meng Haoran as a recluse since he spent much of his adult life in attempts to acquire office through patronage and the civil service examination and in travel. 79. Ge Xiaoyin, Shanshui tianyuan shipai yanjiu, 224–25. 80. Qian Zhongshu, Tanyi lu, 90.

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Literary Reception, Part I: Six Dynasties to Song During midday in midsummer, When the plants and trees seem about to burn up The farmer, concerned about his efforts, Takes a hoe to the eastern field. Gazing back at the scudding dark clouds, He sometimes accidentally harms the sprouts.

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81

The farmer is so anxious about whether the clouds will bring relief from drought that he mistakenly hoes up his seedlings. In the first half of “Farm Life,” the farmer’s awareness of seasonal changes combines with the minutiae of plowing: Leaves of the cattails daily grow longer, Flowers of apricot daily more flourishing: An old farmer has to watch for these— Crucial not to miss Heaven’s seasons. Greeting the dawn, I rise to feed my oxen, Hitch the pair to plow my eastern fields. Earthworms are turned up from the soil, And the field crows fly along after me.

82

Such subtle details of plowing are rather persuasive proof of the depth of his engagement with farming. The crows in the last couplet follow the farmer with the plow in order to feed on the exposed earthworms in the new furrow. Who but a farmer or a meticulous observer would know about these birds?83 The description of hoeing the soil, the appearance of earthworms, and the crows who prey on them is so detailed and vivid that one can almost smell the “springtime fragrance of fresh, newly moistened soil,” to borrow Ge Xiaoyin’s apt phrase.84 For Chu Guangxi and other High Tang writers of farmstead poetry, Tao Yuanming’s works provided an important source of themes, settings, and props, which they adapted to their own concerns. Stephen Owen has rightly identified another significant use of Tao’s

81. QTS, 137/1384. 82. Ibid.; translation, with slight modification, from Owen, The Great Age of Chinese Poetry, 65–66. 83. Stephen Field makes this good point in his “Taking Up the Plow,” 127. 84. Ge, Shanshui tianyuan shipai yanjiu, 259.

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poetry in the High Tang as “integrating Tao’s casual simplicity with the sophistication and craft of the eighth-century capital poet.” 85 Owen illustrates his point through an exemplary reading of Wang Wei’s “Presented to Pei Di” . In the poem, Wang combined textual references (Tao’s famous “hedge” , “the writing of new poems” ) and an archaic simplicity (the use of the informal personal pronoun, wo ) associated with Tao’s poetry with recurrent focuses on some “picturesque, static scene,” whose representation is a significant part of the High Tang poet’s craft.86 The adaptation of Tao’s rustic simplicity to the High Tang sophistication in representing the scene at hand (jing ) can also be seen on a smaller scale by comparing lines that incorporate Tao Yuanming allusions with those that do not. The following well-known couplet from “Mission to the Frontier” illustrates the extent of Wang Wei’s formalism in representing a static scene: On the great desert, a lone straight column of smoke; Above the long river, the setting sun is round.

87

The visual composition of this sublime frontier scene is rigid, and its compositional lines are stark. A picturesque, rustic scene from Wang Wei’s “At My Wang River Retreat, Presented to Candidate Pei Di” shares a number of compositional elements and strategies with this couplet, but its formalism is attenuated: At the ford lingers a setting sun; From the small village rises one wisp of smoke.

88

Wang here echoed a couplet from Tao Yuanming’s “Returning to the Farm to Dwell,” no. 1: Distant villages are lost in haze, Above the houses smoke hangs in the air.

89

85. Owen, The Great Age of Chinese Poetry, 49. 86. See ibid., 49–50. 87. Translation from Pauline Yu, The Poetry of Wang Wei, 72; Wang Wei, Wang Wei ji jiaozhu, 2/133 (QTS, 126/1279). 88. Wang Wei, Wang Wei ji jiaozhu, 5/429 (QTS, 126/1266); translation with slight modification from Pauline Yu, The Poetry of Wang Wei, 196. 89. TYMJJJ, 73; PTC, 50.

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The archaic effect of the reduplicative binomes accords with the plain, descriptive language of Tao’s couplet. Tao gave the “idea” of a small rustic village without defining it in a visually precise way. When Wang Wei adapted the lines for his own couplet, he paid greater attention to the crafting of imagery. The visual dynamics created by the downward and upward movements of the setting sun and the rising smoke against the horizontal planes of the river and the village indicate a concern with the balance of forms that is an unmistakable mark of Wang Wei’s craftsmanship. However, by comparison with Wang’s earlier couplet, the incorporation of the language of Tao Yuanming in a context associated with him softens the visual structure.90 One final adaptation of Tao’s poetry in the High Tang consists in the borrowing of a structural pattern he used in his self-portraiture as a retired scholar-official. Although the High Tang poet may know that his retreat is only temporary, he nonetheless adopts a pattern Tao used to present his permanent renunciation of office. An illustrative example is Chu Guangxi’s “Various Responses to Farm Life, Eight poems,” no. 2: People find shame in poverty, And share a love of wealth. My sentiments are vast and restless, What I delight in are farming and fishing. Through mountains and lakes, at times obscured, I return home to live temporarily in an idle retreat. Filling the garden I sow mallow and beans, Encircling the house I plant mulberry and elm. Birds and sparrows appreciate my idleness, So they flock around my hut. What I desire is carefree leisure, The county office—do not call me back.

90. “Mission to the Frontier” was written in 737. “At My Wang River Retreat, Presented to Candidate Pei Di” was written during a retreat to his country estate at Lantian on the Wang River, the purchase of which most scholars would not date before 737. See Pauline Yu, The Poetry of Wang Wei, 45–46.

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I spend my days with an old man from the southern mountain, Tipsy, I pour out a jug of wine.

91

The poem begins discursively with an explanation of the poet’s natural disposition, which is followed by a description of a rustic setting that illustrates the value of the poet’s choice of lifestyle. It concludes with an affirmation of the freedom and leisure gained by withdrawing (if only temporarily). The content of these three components may vary in the hands of other poets. Wang Wei, for instance, might substitute a natural landscape for a rustic setting and an implicit affirmation for an explicit one.92 The same three structural components are found in Tao’s well-known “Returning to the Farm to Dwell,” no. 1: From early days I have been at odds with the world; My instinctive love is hills and mountains. By mischance I fell into the dusty net And was thirteen years away from home. ................................ The land I own amounts to a couple of acres The thatched-roof house has eight or nine bays. Elms and willows shade the eaves in back, Peach and plum stretch out before the hall. Distant villages are lost in haze. Above the houses smoke hangs in the air. A dog is barking somewhere in a hidden lane, A cock crows from the top of a mulberry tree. My home remains unsoiled by worldly dust Within bare rooms I have my peace of mind. For long I was a prisoner in a cage And now I may return to nature.

93

Tao began by explaining his basic character and innate love for nature. He then described the idyllic, material conditions of his retirement. And finally he celebrated the rewards of his choice. For Tao, this was a statement of an irrevocable break with officeholding. 91. QTS, 137/1386. 92. See, e.g., “Chou Zhang shaofu” and “Zhongnan bieye” 93. TYMJJJ, 73; translation, with slight modification, from PTC, 50.

.

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High Tang poets found its structure apt for explaining their own (temporary) withdrawal. Although High Tang poets used poetic material from Tao Yuanming in a variety of ways, the most extensive borrowings would come later in the Tang with Bo Juyi’s “In Imitation of Tao Qian’s Poetic Style, Sixteen poems” (811–14), the longest series of imitations of Tao’s poems up to that time. Unlike those of the major High Tang writers of farmstead poems, who adapted Tao’s themes, settings, and style for their own representations, Bo’s “Imitations” are an overt tribute to Tao Yuanming that is not limited in scope to representations of “fields and gardens” and the issues associated with them, such as the values of agrarian life or reclusion versus service. Written during a period of withdrawal from office and after Bo recited the poems of Tao, whose “intent matches my [i.e., Bo’s] own,” Bo’s “Imitations” are a striking achievement in playing the role of Tao Yuanming. Bo wrote on the same meditations that appear in Tao’s works: the brevity of human life, frustrated ambition, the dilemma of wealth and poverty, the value of complacency in rustic retirement, and the virtues of wine. 94 And, as if Bo hoped to understand Tao’s contentment with his choice of lifestyle, he mimicked the standard activities associated with Tao in the third “Imitation”: drinking, reading, playing the zither, and composing poetry, all of which help him “pass the days and nights” in his seclusion. He concluded with “I begin to understand the men who went their own ways, / With one’s mind at ease, time will pass” , 95 . Moreover, in the ninth “Imitation,” Bo culled numerous lines from Tao’s poems to describe his own circumstances in retirement. The lines “A hundred-some elms and willows, / Ten-odd bays in my thatched cottage” , describe his material condition. The difference between Bo’s “hundred-some elms and willows” and Tao’s elms and willows, which suffice to shade the eaves in his backyard, and Bo’s ten-odd bays (jian ) and Tao’s eight or nine bays is quantitative, not qualitative. The lines “There is only the sounds of cocks and dogs, / I do not hear the clamor of passing carts and horses” , , which describe 94. See Bo Juyi, Bo Juyi ji jian jiao, 5/303–10 (QTS, 428/4721–25). 95. Bo Juyi, Bo Juyi ji jian jiao, 5/304 (QTS, 428/4721).

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the tranquility of Bo’s rustic setting, come from Tao’s “Returning to the Farm to Dwell,” no. 1, and “On Drinking Wine,” no. 5, respectively. And finally, with the following rewriting of Tao’s lines, Bo emphasized his own contentment and ease in his retirement: My young nephews have just taken their first steps, Holding on to my robe, they play in front of me. In this one could rejoice, I am almost like Yan Hui and Yuan Xian.96

97

These lines derive from two couplets in Tao’s “A Reply to Recorder Guo, Two poems,” no. 1, in which Tao celebrated his choice of lifestyle: My little son, who is playing by my side, Has begun to talk, but cannot yet pronounce. Here is truly something to rejoice in It helps me to forget the badge of rank.

98

The superimposition of Tao’s circumstances on Bo’s causes the figure of Bo Juyi to recede into the background and forces the reader to read Bo Juyi though the voice of Tao Yuanming. Role playing becomes most clearly exposed as such when the performance is not faithful to the original. In the eighth “Imitation,” Bo Juyi depicted the scenario from Tao’s “On Drinking Wine,” no. 9, in which an old farmer pays a visit with a jug of wine. In Bo Juyi’s rewriting of the scene, the old farmer does not advise the poet-recluse to “join the muddy game” and come out of retirement,99 thus denying the poet an opportunity to either affirm his choice of reclusion 96. Yan Hui and Yuan Xian , two of Confucius’ disciples, epitomize the virtue of complacency in poverty. Yan Hui happily lived in a poor dwelling on “a bowl of rice and a ladle of water” (Analects 6.11). Yuan Xian was living in poverty and wearing a tattered robe and broken shoes when he was visited by Zigong , who arrived in a fine carriage wearing light furs. To Zigong’s expression of sympathy toward his ailment, Yuan Xian replied that poverty was not an ailment but not putting Confucian learning into practice was. He went on to berate Zigong for his ostentation and neglect of Confucian virtues. See Han Ying, Han shi wai zhuan, 1.5a–b. Yan and Yuan also figure in Tao’s poetry. 97. Bo Juyi, Bo Juyi ji jian jiao, 5/305–6 (QTS, 428/4723). 98. TYMJJJ, 128; PTC, 79. 99. TYMJJJ, 228; PTC, 137.

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or explain his natural disposition, two of Tao’s favorite gestures. In Bo’s poem, the scenario does not turn into a forum for Bo Juyi to explain Bo Juyi to the reader. Rather, the revised conclusion becomes: the farmer and the poet drink together, the farmer leaves at dusk, and the poet continues to drink and now sings in his drunkenness.100 The image of a contented scholar in retirement is nonetheless conveyed. Taken together, the “Imitations” reveal that Bo Juyi found in Tao’s works poetic material he could adapt, as High Tang poets had done, and a persona he could adopt. The extent to which he drew on and the variety of uses he made of Tao’s poetry in this series render his appreciation of Tao’s writings interesting and more complex. Although poetic uses of Tao’s works in the Tang are plentiful, critical evaluations of his poetry are relatively few. This rarity may be symptomatic of an overall scarcity of poetic criticism in the Tang. One example is Wang Changling’s labeling of Tao’s poetics as “relaxed detachment,” an assessment intertwined with an interpretation of Tao’s practice of reclusion that does not isolate Tao’s poetic style from his themes and settings. A richer source for criticism of Tao’s poetry is the work of the Mid-Tang poet-monk Jiaoran (ca. 720–ca. 800). Jiaoran included Tao Yuanming in his delineation of the poetic canon, placing Tao in the company of, for example, Cao Zhi, Liu Zhen, Ruan Ji, Pan Yue, Lu Ji, and Xie Lingyun, all of whom are found in the top rank in Zhong Rong’s Shipin.101 Moreover, Tao figures prominently in Jiaoran’s Shishi (Models of poetry), a manual on the art of composition. A significant portion of this work is devoted to the classification of verses in five modes (ge ) of descending rank on the basis of representational immediacy (unmediated by allusions), on one level, and of the quality and strength of “sentiment and style” (qingge ), on another. The mode in which the greatest number of Tao’s verses (eight examples) is found is the second, “Zuo yong shi” , which seems to be a combination of zuoyong (artistic effort) and yongshi (use of allusions). One example from Tao’s poems is listed in the highest mode, “Bu yong shi” (no use of allusions). Only to citations in the top 100. Bo Juyi, Bo Juyi ji jian jiao, 5/305 (QTS, 428/4722–23). 101. Jiaoran, Shishi jiaozhu, 162.

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two modes did Jiaoran attach a term that qualified his selection, a gesture suggesting a special concern for the top two modes and only a slight difference in quality between them.102 Of the nine citations of Tao found in the highest two modes, the qualifiers that recur most frequently are gao (literally, “high” or “lofty,” appearing three times), which Jiaoran defined elsewhere in the Shishi as “lucid and fluid affective resonance” ; yi (literally, “meaning” or “idea,” appearing three times), defined as “language that is vast and expansive” ; and da (literally, “unblocked,” appearing twice), or the “mind and actions [being] free and unrestrained” .103 Gao, yi, and da are among the normative qualities Jiaoran attributed to poets in the highest two modes. Although they indicate how Jiaoran classified certain of Tao’s verses in terms of expressive affect, meaningful language, and poetic state of mind, they do not reveal a particular reading of Tao’s poetry. There is no specific critical commentary on Tao’s poetry in the Shishi, but in “On Ancient Writings: Tetrasyllabic Linked Verse” , coauthored with Pan Shu (fl. 770s), Pei Ji (fl. 770s), and Tang Heng (fl. 770s), Jiaoran assessed Tao’s poetry in the following way: “The artistic expression of Magistrate Tao’s farmstead poetry is true and straight. His springtime willows and cold pines are neither withered nor ornamented” , . , .104 The view that Tao’s expression (in the strongest sense of 102. The difference between the first and second mode seems to be as much chronological as technical. As Wang Yunxi and Yang Ming (Sui Tang Wudai wenxue pipingshi, 359) have argued, in the first mode there is little or no display of “artistic effort” and hence the product appears more “natural” and immediate. The majority of examples come from Han and Wei poets. Examples in the second mode show a high level of “artistic effort,” and many are taken from Southern Dynasties works. Wang and Yang also suggest that the gap between the two modes is small since, despite Jiaoran’s enthusiasm for his ancestor Xie Lingyun’s poetry, Xie’s poems figure predominantly in the second mode. 103. Jiaoran, Shishi jiaozhu, 53–54. 104 . Jiaoran, Jiaoran ji, 10.2a. My interpretation of the phrase budiao bushi as “neither too withered nor too ornamented” is informed by Jiaoran’s use of the same grammatical structure in another verse in the series: “Shiheng [Lu Ji] and Anren [Pan Yue] are neither pedantic nor boorish” (bushi buye ; Jiaoran ji, 10.1b). The phrase bushi buye alludes to Analects 6.18, in which Confucius emphasizes a balance between wen (ornamentation or cultural refinement) and zhi (natural, unrefined substance) that is necessary to becoming a gentleman: “When

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the word) is straightforward and genuine has its roots in Six Dynasties criticism. What is novel and interesting in Jiaoran’s assessment is the suggestion that Tao’s poetry achieves the mean: his natural descriptions are neither too dry and withered nor too lush and ornamented. The phrases “not withered” and “not ornamented” pertain to Tao’s poetic style, particularly his descriptions of natural scenes. This passage nonetheless remains more suggestive than indicative, telling us what Tao’s poetic style is not rather than what it is. The most significant statement toward a definition of the formal qualities of Tao’s style comes from Bo Juyi. In “What Came to Mind When Chanting My Poems” , Bo offered a description of his poetic style from which we may infer his understanding of Tao’s, which he saw as akin to his own. Lazy and sickly, with much free time; when free time comes, what is it I do? I can’t put away my inkstone or brush, and sometimes write a poem or two. Poems finished are bland, lacking flavor, and often much mocked by the public. They first complain that my rhymes are off, they then deplore maladroit phrasing. I sometimes read them out to myself; when I finish, I feel a longing: The poets Tao Qian and Wei Yingwu were born in ages other than mine; Except for them, whom do I love?— there is only Yuan Weizhi; He has gone off to Jiangling in exile, for three years to serve as supervisor.

natural substance prevails over ornamentation, you get the boorishness of the rustic. When ornamentation prevails over natural substance, you get the pedantry of the scribe. Only when ornament and substance are duly blended do you get the true gentleman” (Waley, Analects of Confucius, 119). By the Six Dynasties, the use of the pair of terms wen and zhi came to represent a literary ideal consisting of both formal embellishment and meaningful content. Bushi buye in Jiaoran’s usage refers to a style that is neither too pedantic nor too boorish, but shows a balance of wen and zhi.

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Two thousand leagues apart we are— so far off he knows not when a poem is done.

105

Bo Juyi here enumerated his failures to conform to the literary norms of the day. Instead of showing artful craft, his poems offer clumsy diction and poor rhymes carried by a bland style. Only the few members of the temporally and spatially dislocated literary community he constructed could appreciate his poetic style. As Stephen Owen has argued, for Bo “spontaneity, manifested in clumsiness, has clearly become a value.”106 So has blandness,107 with its implications of easy readability, which would become central to the re-evaluation of Tao’s poetic style in the Song. The sensual analogy of “bland” and “lacking in flavor” had been used by Zhong Rong to criticize the abstruse poetry (xuanyan shi ) of the Jin, which resembled the plain dicta of Dao de jing: in these poems, “principles supersede literary diction” and resulted in “blandness and a lack of flavor” .108 Blandness first acquired a positive valence in literary criticism with Mid-Tang writers such as Bo Juyi, 109 who 105. Bo Juyi, Bo Juyi ji jian jiao, 6/331–32 (QTS, 429/4732); translation, with slight modification, from Owen, Anthology of Chinese Literature, 497. 106. Owen, The End of the Chinese ‘Middle Ages,’ 22. 107. Blandness had long been a prized quality in nonliterary contexts. For a series of examples from philosophical (Laozi and Zhuangzi), characterological (Liu Shao’s Renwu zhi [Treatise on personality]), and musicological (Ruan Ji’s Yue lun [Essay on music]) texts, see Chaves, Mei Yao-ch’en, 117–19. 108. Zhong Rong, “Shipin xu,” in idem, Shipin jizhu, 24. 109. Han Yu (768–824), for example, used the term “even and bland” (pingdan ) as praise for Jia Dao’s (779–843) poetry; see his “Song Wuben shi gui Fanyang” , QTS, 340/3810. For a discussion of Han Yu’s use of the term in this poem, see Chaves, Mei Yao-ch’en, 120. François Jullien has suggested that the earliest positive use of dan in literary criticism may well be found in Jiaoran’s Shishi. However, the character dan in the passage in question seems to be the result of a corruption in the text. In the passage that now bears the heading of “bland and common” (dansu ), Jiaoran provides an example from Southern Dynasties yuefu and evaluates this style: “This way [of writing] is like Xia Ji, who served behind the counter at the inn. She appears to be wanton (dang ), but is in fact chaste. The styles of Wu and Chu are adopted. Although this [way of writing] is common (su ), it is nevertheless correct (zheng ).” A modern editor has suggested that as the word dan in the heading bears no relation to the content of the passage and in light of the usage of dang, the heading would make more sense if we take dan to be a textual corruption for its near-homophone dang. Indeed, the implicit pairings between wanton/common

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likely found that simple and plain diction accorded best with one of his dominant uses of poetry: as a means to reflect social conditions and a tool to regulate morals and influence government policies.110 More important for our purposes here, Bo was the first to associate Tao Yuanming in an explicit if mediated way with the quality of blandness. These are significant precursors to the development of the pingdan (“even and bland”) aesthetic in the Song, with Tao as its hero (more on this below). Bo Juyi’s pairing of Tao Yuanming and Wei Yingwu (737?–ca. 789?), one of the Tang poets most closely associated with Tao in later criticism, deserves some comment. The linking of poets (bingcheng or bingju ) constitutes an important act of classifying and ranking in traditional criticism. Du Fu’s earlier linking of Tao Yuanming with Xie Lingyun, one of the most famous and admired Six Dynasties poets in the Tang, in effect brought Tao closer to Xie’s stature. Bo Juyi’s pairing of Tao with Wei Yingwu concerns classification of a shared style. Although Wei wrote farmstead poetry and two “imitations” of Tao’s poetic form 111 and rewrote some of Tao’s lines, it is primarily what Bo and later critics perceived as blandness and limpidity that led them to link the two poets together. As Oscar Lee has argued, “the filiation is not one of ‘influence,’ but rather one of shared principles of composition: Wei Yingwu may have ‘imitated’ Tao Qian, but Wei is mainly regarded as a Tang poet writing works sharing the stylistic pingdan qualities of the earlier Tao Qian, rather than a Tang poetic disciple of Tao Qian’s personal style.” 112 Besides stylistic similarities, Bo saw a geographic affinity

and chaste/correct in the passage would support this theory. See Jullien, In Praise of Blandness, 88; and Jiaoran, Shishi jiaozhu, 53–54. 110. See Bo Juyi, “Yu Yuan Jiu shu,” in Guo Shaoyu, Zhongguo lidai wenlun xuan, 2: 96–102. 111. Mid-Tang writers took farmstead poetry into a different direction. Wei Yingwu’s famous “Guan tianjia” (Watching the fieldhands) brought to the fore the elements of social commentary and personal meditation from the point of view of a concerned official. This is quite removed from Tao’s farmstead poetry, which is about Tao Yuanming the recluse-farmer (the joys of his rustic life, the toils of his farming), and perhaps further removed from High Tang farmstead poetry, which generally concentrates on the idyllic aspects of rustic life. 112. Lee, “The Critical Reception of the Poetry of Wei Ying-wu,” 184.

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between the two earlier poets. In “On Xunyang Tower” (815–18), Bo identified Wei with Tao on the bases of literary excellence and a coincidence of place. The opening lines read: I have always loved Tao Pengze, How lofty and profound were his literary ideas! I have also marveled at Wei Jiangzhou, So pure and relaxed were his poetic sentiments! This morning in climbing this tower, I shall know how they became thus.

113

Wei had served at a post in Jiangzhou, the region in which Tao Yuanming lived. Now that Bo Juyi has been demoted to a minor post in Jiangzhou, he is linked in a physical way to the two earlier poets. It was common to write a poem in a particular place about past figures associated with that place, and the many reflections on Tao’s life and poetry by those who lived or passed through locales associated with him are a result of this practice. An increased interest in Tao’s poetry, in combination with the prominence of an intellectual concern over reclusion versus service, raises the question of the nature of the relationship between evaluations of his poetry and his reclusion. As mentioned in Chapter 2, Wu Zhaolu has suggested that the High Tang literati generally possessed grand aspirations for achievements in public service and thus could neither condone Tao’s choice of lifestyle nor fully appreciate his poetry.114 Wu is right to see a relationship between readings of Tao’s reclusion and poetry, but neither those readings nor the Tang attitude toward Tao are as straightforward as he implies. As we saw in Chapter 2, Tang writers expressed ambivalence toward, rather than overwhelming disapproval of, Tao’s eschewal of office. And although the reception of Tao Yuanming as poet in the Tang was intertwined with Tao’s representation of the ideal of retirement, it was precisely in the context of Tao’s retirement that many Tang poets esteemed his poetry. For High Tang poets, Tao’s works provided an important alternative to court poetry and values. His works became 113. Bo Juyi, Bo Juyi ji jian jiao, 7/360 (QTS, 430/4740). 114. Wu Zhaolu, “Tao Yuanming de wenxue diwei shi ru he zhubu queli de,” 106–7.

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a source of workable themes and settings for their representations of a retreat to an ideal realm—a space away from official life. Moreover, his works were read and used because of the innovative impact of their poetic material and style. What is more interesting, it is the same poets who at times found fault with Tao’s choice of reclusion, such as Wang Wei and Bo Juyi, who made the most extensive and serious use of Tao’s poetry and thus promoted it. This suggests that ambivalence about Tao’s lifestyle was far from precluding an appreciation of his poetry. The elevation of Tao’s stature as poet in the High Tang provided a foundation for the admiration of his poetry later in the dynasty. For example, Xu Hun (b. 791?) wrote: “My rhapsodies are like Sima Xiangru’s and my poems like Tao’s” .115 And Zheng Gu (b. 851?) wrote: “Making the best use of my time, I read the ancient books that cover my staircase, / Tao’s works are the only teacher I recognize” , 116 . Yet although the Tang dynasty saw significant developments in the reception of Tao Yuanming, there are indications that Tao was still not widely accepted as an exceptional poet. A brief summary of literary traditions in a poem by the influential prose writer and poet Han Yu (768–824) does not mention Tao 117 Yuanming. And, as Qian Zhongshu has suggested, the linking of Tao to other poets such as Xie Lingyun and Wei Yingwu may be read as an sign that Tao was not perceived as uniquely outstanding.118

Redefinition and Canonization in the Song Compared to the Tang, the Song provides vastly more materials on the critical evaluation of Tao Yuanming’s poetry. This is in no small part due to the appearance of the shihua (remarks on poetry) genre and the popularity of colophon writing. In these genres and others as well, we find both more descriptions and more precise descriptions of Tao’s stylistic characteristics and poetic qualities. 115. QTS, 536/6120. 116. QTS, 675/7736. 117. See Han Yu, “Jian shi” , in QTS, 337/3780–81. 118. Qian Zhongshu, Tanyi lu, 90.

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From this vast range of materials, I have selected four of the most influential voices in the reception of Tao’s poetry: Mei Yaochen (1002–60), Su Shi (1037–1101), Huang Tingjian (1045–1105), and Zhu Xi (1130–1200). Beyond the particular interventions of these four critics, two general trends, cutting across individual views, redefined in a significant and enduring way Tao Yuanming the poet: critiques of Six Dynasties criticism and imitations of Tao Yuanming. The imitations also brought to the fore the development of a theory of Tao’s inimitability. Mei Yaochen is traditionally credited with defining a new Song poetics, whose key aesthetic concept is pingdan (even and bland). Mei’s advocacy of pingdan represents his mature view of poetry, as suggested by the frequent and consistent use of the term in works from the last two decades of his life. Of all historical poets, Tao Yuanming best embodied this ideal according to Mei, who wrote in a poem to a friend in 1045: Poetry is basically stating one’s nature and sentiments; There’s no need to say them loudly! Once you’ve learned that the principle is even and bland, You’ll devote yourself to Yuanming night and day. When you sleep, he shall be in your dreams When you eat, he shall be in your broth.

119

As is clear from this passage, Tao’s poetry exemplified the aesthetic of pingdan for Mei, but the meaning of pingdan is less self-evident. Like most traditional critics, Mei did not outline aesthetic concepts in a clear, expository manner that would satisfy the modern reader. We must infer a definition of pingdan from its various usages in Mei’s works. In this poem, pingdan seems to refer to the expression of a poet’s nature and genuine feelings in an understated way. Here pingdan involves both poetic tone and diction. Elsewhere pingdan refers more specifically to diction (zaoyu ), a persistent concern of 119. Mei Yaochen, “Da Zhongdao xiaoji jianji” Yaochen ji biannian jiaozhu, 15/293.

, in idem, Mei

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Literary Reception, Part I: Six Dynasties to Song Mei Yaochen’s. In a poem to a fellow poet, Yan Shu 1055), Mei stated: I write poems about whatever suits my sentiments and nature, Rather hoping to achieve the even and bland. My harsh diction is neither rounded nor polished, Prickling the mouth more acutely than water chestnut or prickly water lily.

187 (991–

120

Pingdan is approximated by rough, unpolished diction. In another work, Mei explicitly identified his poetry with Tao’s in this regard: “[My poetry] is just like Tao Yuanming’s, / Harsh diction close to that of a farmer” , .121 The semantic range of pingdan in Mei’s usage is not limited to a poem’s formal aspects. Modern scholars have noted Mei’s association of pingdan in his preface to Lin Bu’s Collected Poems with the term “harmony with things” (shunwu , literally “following along with things”),122 which echoes the original association of dan (simplicity, calmness, blandness) and shunwu in the seventh chapter of Zhuangzi, in which the ability to let one’s mind “wander in simplicity” and “to follow along with things the way they are” characterizes the enlightened man’s mode of existence.123 In yet another instance, Mei 120. Mei Yaochen, “Yiyun he Yan xianggong” , in idem, Mei Yaochen ji biannian jiaozhu, 16/368. 121. Mei Yaochen, “Wan zuo beixuan wang Zhaoting shan” , in idem, Mei Yaochen ji biannian jiaozhu, 20/531. One modern scholar has argued that kuyu (translated above as “harsh diction”) refers to the experiences and sentiments of Mei Yaochen as an impoverished poet of low estate, thus suggesting that kuyu means “bitter words” or “words of lamentation.” This argument might be supported by the association of its synonym, kuci , with the first couplet of Mei’s poem to Yan Shu, partially cited above: “All my life I’ve stayed in poverty, / My words come from my gut” , . However, in the comparison between Mei’s and Tao’s poetry the compound kuyu is qualified by the language of farmers, indicating an unequivocal referent of ku (“rough” or “harsh”) to be diction. See Chen Jie, Bei Song shiwen gexin yanjiu, 419. 122. See Chaves, Mei Yao-ch’en, 117; and Chen Jie, Bei Song shiwen gexin yanjiu, 419. 123 . Zhuangzi jijie, 2.7/49; translation from Watson, The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu, 94.

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pointed to the difficulty of achieving pingdan, which hinges on having the proper state of mind. In composing poetry, whether in the past or present, It is achieving the even and bland that is difficult. It is like having a pair of eyes, Which sees things clearly and distinctly.

124

Mei’s analogical explanation of pingdan translates to a clear and undistorted perception of things. His various usages of the term reveal that pingdan has several applicable categories: emotions (calm), taste (bland), and color (pale). These applications, taken together, suggest that pingdan refers to an overall presentation in a poem (diction, tone) that reflects an overarching mode of existence and, more specifically, a way of thinking and perceiving things. Modern critics have suggested various ways to contextualize Mei’s advocacy of pingdan. Jonathan Chaves, Chen Jie, and Chen Yingluan view it as, in part, a reaction to the obscure, allusive, and excessively artful Xikun style , an extremely popular form of poetry during the first few generations of the Northern Song, which took the Late Tang poet Li Shangyin as its model.125 Li Jianfeng suggests a psychological dimension in Mei’s embrace of the pingdan style, a reaction to the loss of his wife, son, and two good friends in his midforties.126 Yoshikawa Ko¯ jiro¯ sees the interest in pingdan less as a response to Xikun poetry than as a signal of a shift in larger literati concerns and poetic values: in a move away from Tang poetry, which is characterized by an intensity of emotions, a concentration on the “highest point of the experience,” and consequently a narrower field of vision,127 the Song literati “consciously sought to cul124. Mei Yaochen, “Du Shao Buyi xueshi shijuan Du Tingzhi hu lai yin chu shi zhi qie fu gaozhi zhe shu yishi zhi yu yi fengcheng” , in idem, Mei Yaochen ji biannian jiaozhu, 26/845. 125. See Chaves, Mei Yao-ch’en, 126; Chen Jie, Bei Song shiwen gexin yanjiu, 417–18; and Chen Yingluan, Shiwei lun, 68. 126. Li Jianfeng, Yuan qian Tao Yuanming jieshoushi, 252. 127. Yoshikawa Ko ¯ jiro ¯ , An Introduction to Sung Poetry, 32.

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tivate an air of serenity [ heisei, Yoshikawa’s explication of pingdan]. They believed that in such an atmosphere the manifold aspects of human experience could be apprehended and expressed with greatest variety, precision, and detail.” 128 Yoshikawa’s argument harks back to Mei’s comparison of achieving pingdan with perceiving things clearly and distinctly. Mei’s formulation of a new Song poetics reflects aesthetic concerns and values of his period. That Tao Yuanming’s poetry came to embody the Song aesthetic of pingdan raises a number of interesting issues. First, the labeling of Tao Yuanming as pingdan recalls Xiao Tong’s diametrically opposite reading of Tao’s poetry: “His writings are luminous in their boundless energy. . . . They are, moreover, brilliantly lucid in their dynamics.” The gulf between these two readings is vast, reflecting not only a difference between individual opinions but larger shifts in aesthetic sensibility. No less impressive is how successfully a new idea introduced by an influential critic cast into near-oblivion an older one. For the modern reader, a strenuous exercise of the imagination is required to perceive Tao Yuanming’s poems as brimming with energy and as having crescendos and decrescendos. Second, as mentioned above, the use of pingdan as a term of literary criticism did not originate with Mei Yaochen. The term appears as early as Zhong Rong’s Shipin; there it refers not to Tao Yuanming but pejoratively to xuanyan poetry, which Zhong Rong denigrated as philosophical dicta disguised as lyric poetry.129 In Zhong Rong’s lexicon, pingdan means a failure in taste or flavor (wei ), a category that would become central to Chinese aesthetics. Zhong’s theory of poetic flavor argues for a balanced use of fu (exposition), bi (comparison), and xing (stimulus), the three originary modes of presentation deriving from the Odes. Zhong advised the poet to “strengthen their use with his force of inspiration (fengli ) and to make them glisten with literary embellishment (dancai , literally, “cinnabar coloration”) so that those who taste the poem will find [its flavor] endless and those who hear it will be stirred in their hearts. This is 128. Yoshikawa Ko¯ jiro¯ , So¯shi gaisetsu, 50. I have used Burton Watson’s translation, An Introduction to Sung Poetry, 36. 129. See Zhong’s entry on Guo Pu and his “Preface” to Shipin, in Zhong Rong, Shipin jizhu, 247 and 24, respectively.

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the ultimate in poetry.”130 Zhong Rong’s aesthetic theory of flavor demands not only a strong content presented in a balanced manner but also a colorful and sensuous appearance. Mei Yaochen’s theory of flavor involves more subtlety. Ouyang Xiu’s well-known analogy between reading Mei’s poems and eating olives casts further light on Mei’s aesthetic of pingdan. His recent poems are especially ancient and hard, Chew on them—they’re bitter and difficult to swallow. At first, it is just like eating olives, The real flavor appears the longer you suck on them.

131

Ouyang Xiu affirmed that there is true flavor in Mei’s rough and unpolished poems, albeit one slow to surface. By the Song, we find a recasting of the term pingdan in a different system of referents and connotations. The claim that Tao Yuanming’s poetry is pingdan was, therefore, made possible by two shifts in aesthetic standards and values. First, changes in aesthetic criteria: Zhong Rong’s theory of poetic flavor posits that good poetry is bursting with flavor, whereas for Mei Yaochen and Ouyang Xiu, good poetry possesses a subtle flavor that appears only after extended savoring. The simple and direct farmstead language that might be confused with the words of a mere farmer in Zhong Rong’s times could now be viewed wholly positively as possessing a subtlety in flavor. Moreover, blandness, which was thought to imply potentiality and reserve, promises a lasting appeal when seen in contrast to the flavorful, “whose intensity and seduc130. Zhong Rong, “Shipin xu,” in idem, Shipin jizhu, 39. One Ming edition has the character yong (to intone) in place of wei (to taste), and a number of modern editions, including Cao Xu’s, choose this character. It seems preferable to retain wei since the preceding passage describes pentasyllabic verse as the form with the most flavor (ziwei ) and wei (to taste) forms a logical parallel with wen (to hear) in the following line. See Zhong Rong, Shipin jizhu, 41. I have translated fengli as “force of inspiration,” following Yeh and Walls, “Theory, Standards, and Practice of Criticizing Poetry,” 53. 131. Ouyang Xiu, “Shuigu yexing ji Zimei, Shengyu” , in idem, Ouyang Xiu quan ji, 2/28–29.

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tiveness are doomed to wear themselves out,” as François Jullien aptly puts it. 132 Su Shi would credit blandness for the lingering pleasure he experienced after a visit to two monks in the mountains: “The blandness of this trip has pleasure that lingers on” .133 Second, changes in the concept of pingdan: for Zhong Rong, pingdan amounted to a failure in the category of flavor. For Mei Yaochen, pingdan represented the highest achievement in poetry. Mei’s characterization of Tao’s poetry as pingdan not only indicates that it exemplifies the new concept of pingdan but also suggests that it accords with the new set of aesthetic values associated with it.134 Mei’s claim that Tao’s poetry is pingdan rested on his perception of Tao’s diction as unpolished and of Tao’s poetic expression as understated, although the rich semantic range of the term in Mei’s usage would suggest other considerations in addition to formal aspects. Mei Yaochen’s view of pingdan as the sine qua non of poetic achievement and his interpretation of Tao’s poetry as pingdan would be developed and complicated by Su Shi, one of the most influential figures in Tao’s historical reception. In a letter to his nephew offering advice on writing, Su stated: “In writing, when one is young, one strives to make the spirit extraordinary and the coloration resplendent. As one ages and matures, one strives for pingdan. In fact, it is not simply even and bland, but the highest level of resplendence.”135 Su Shi’s teleology of poetic development accords with Mei’s development of the aesthetic of pingdan late in life: in youth, one seeks the extraordinary and resplendent; in maturity, one strives for the even and

132. Jullien, In Praise of Blandness, 51. 133. See Su Shi’s “Lari you Gushan fang Huiqin, Huisi er seng” in idem, Su Shi shiji, 7/318. 134. For a different approach to Mei Yaochen’s attribution of the even and bland aesthetic to Tao’s poetry, see Li Jianfeng, Yuan qian Tao Yuanming jieshoushi, 247–58. Li’s approach appears to be essentializing rather than historicizing: “Mei Yaochen traced the creative source of the even and bland aesthetic from Wang Wei and Wei Yingwu further back to Tao Qian, and more clearly than they [e.g., Sikong Tu] perceived the artistic value of Tao’s poetry” (258). In the same section, Li does survey in brief the various usages of dan over a period of time, which does not equate to historicizing the concept. 135. Su Shi, “Yu Erlangzhi” , Su Shi yiwen huibian, in idem, Su Shi wenji, 4/2523.

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bland. Yet, for Su Shi, the even and bland is not simply even and bland; it is the ultimate form of resplendence, just as, in a popular Song metaphor, the unseasoned broth can often be the purest and richest in flavor.136 Departing from Mei’s theory of pingdan, Su brought to the fore the element of poetic beauty. Su developed his aesthetic of blandness in his reading of Tao’s poetry: “It appears to be plain, but is really resplendent; lean but really rich” , 137 . And he expanded on this distinction between appearance and substance, or between one’s first impression and one’s view after repeated readings, in a colophon discussing Liu Zongyuan’s (773–819) poetry, which he saw as akin to Tao’s: As for what is valued in the qualities of dry and bland (kudan ), it is precisely that the exterior is dry, yet the interior is rich (gao ); seemingly bland but actually delicious (mei , literally “beautiful”). This is the class Yuanming and [Liu] Zihou are in. If both the surface and the interior are dry and bland, then what is there to speak of? The Buddhists say: “It is just like eating honey, both the surface and the interior are sweet.” Everyone can taste the five flavors. Many know what is sweet and what is bitter, but few can discern between the interior and exterior.138

For Su, Tao’s poetry is, in fact, not essentially bland; it only appears so. Only the astute critic recognizes the inner and outer components and discerns the richness and beauty under the bland appearance. The analogy between assessing poetry and making distinctions finer than gross categories (bitter or sweet) harks back to Sikong Tu’s poetic theory, one of whose main concepts is summarized by the catch phrase “the purpose beyond flavor” (wei wai zhi zhi ), 139 which points to a pure beauty that is beyond common categorical distinctions of saltiness and sourness in Sikong Tu’s example. Since Su Shi cited Sikong Tu’s poetic theory in a colophon on the art of 136. See, e.g., Wen Tong’s (1018–79) poem “Du Yuanming ji” , Danyuan ji, 9.7b (ZLHB, 26), in which he compared Tao’s writings to the grand broth (taigeng or dageng ), unseasoned yet “pure and rich in flavor.” 137. Su Shi made this remark in a letter to his brother Su Che, who quoted it in “Zizhan he Tao Yuanming shiji yin” , in Su Che, Luancheng ji (houji), 21.5a (ZLHB, 35). 138. Su Shi, “Ping Han Liu shi” , in idem, Su Shi wenji, 67/2109–10. 139. Sikong Tu, “Yu Li sheng lun shi shu” , QTW, 807/8486a.

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reading, 140 it is more than likely that Su Shi’s approach to Tao’s poetry was influenced to a certain extent by the earlier critic’s theory of reading (good poetry): to develop an aesthetic palate that discerns finer gradations of flavor, looking beyond the apparent, crude categories of flavor and perceiving the beauty and richness that lies beyond. For Su Shi, it was precisely this subtle beauty and richness concealed under apparent blandness that made Tao Yuanming’s poetry worthy of discussion. Su Shi’s studious reading of Tao’s poetry is as significant as his specific readings of it for later critics, who read and often repeated or challenged Su’s literary views. Su placed Tao Yuanming at the top of the poetic canon, opining that Cao Zhi, Liu Zhen, Bao Zhao, Xie Lingyun, Li Bo, and Du Fu could not equal him.141 He used Tao’s poetry as a yardstick for measuring the culmination of a poet’s development. He wrote of Liu Zongyuan’s poetry: “Seeking the strange and toiling over the novel are flaws of poetic composition. Liu Zihou’s late poetry greatly resembles Tao Yuanming’s, undoubtedly since he had come to recognize the flaws of poetic composition.”142 Once Liu Zongyuan’s poetry transcended a certain laboriousness, it approached Tao’s, the model of poetic perfection. Moreover, Su Shi established a personal affinity to Tao Yuanming, claiming to have been Tao in a previous life143 and, less hyperbolically, a sympathetic friend who understood his intent.144 His claim of spiritual affinity is impressively substantiated by an extant collection of 109 poems written to match each of Tao’s pieces. 145 Exchanging “matching 140. See Su Shi, “Shu Huang Zisi shiji hou” , in idem, Su Shi wenji, 67/2124–25. 141. See Su Shi’s statement, quoted by Su Che, “Zizhan he Tao Yuanming shiji yin,” in Su Che, Luancheng ji (houji), 21.5a. 142. Su Shi, “Ti Liu Zihou shi, er shou” , in idem, Su Shi wenji, 67/2109. 143. Su Shi, “Jiangcheng zi” , in idem, Dongpo yuefu, 2/62. 144. See, e.g., Su Shi’s remark in “Shu Yuanming Shushi zhang hou” , in idem, Su Shi wenji, 66/2056. 145. In a letter to Su Che, Su Shi’s remark about having written “a hundred and several tens of pieces to match poems [by Tao]” suggests that his project was comprehensive. See Su’s letter, quoted by Su Che in “Zizhan he Tao Yuanming shiji yin,” in Su Che, Luancheng ji (houji), 21.5a. There are about twenty poems in Tao’s extant collection for which either Su’s matching poems are lost or none were

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poems” was a common practice among friends in the Northern Song. Yet the quantitative and temporal scope of Su’s project was unusual and unprecedented, as he himself recognized.146 Su’s matching poems are discussed further below. Accounts of the experience of reading Tao Yuanming’s poetry often shift from insight to prescription. Huang Tingjian, who shared his mentor Su Shi’s admiration for Tao, was especially thorough in this regard. When I was young and hot-blooded, reading Tao’s poetry was like chewing on a piece of dry wood. After experiencing more of the world, [upon reading his poetry again] I felt that decisions cannot be made using the intellect. Each time I read these works, it is like drinking water when thirsty, drinking tea when reclining, or eating a dumpling when hungry. Today there are some who share the same taste, but I am afraid that they cannot chew through [Tao’s poems].147

This account is built from a series of distinctions and metaphors. The more mature reader can appreciate Tao’s poetry better than the young, hot-blooded reader, who finds chewing on them tedious. This distinction of age and wisdom echoes Su Shi’s notion that the value of pingdan is recognized late in life. Moreover, even those who believe they can appreciate Tao’s poetry may still fall short in their efforts, predicts Huang. He tells us that reading Tao’s works provides instant gratification; the reader does not need to think about them to find satisfaction in them, just as water slakes one’s thirst without the need for reflection. Those who insist on chewing (breaking apart and analyzing) Tao’s poetry will not meet with success. It is better to approach it not as a solid, but as a liquid, according to Huang; hence

written. For an argument that Su purposely omitted certain poems since they were inappropriate to his own circumstances or involved a topic he wished to avoid, see Davis, “Su Shih’s ‘Following the Rhymes of T’ao Yüan-ming’ Poems,” 101–6. 146. See Su Shi’s remarks, quoted by Su Che, “Zizhan he Tao Yuanming shiji yin,” in idem, Luancheng ji (houji), 21.4b. One Tang poet, Tang Yanqian (d. 893?), had written poems to match the rhymes of each of Tao’s “In Praise of Impoverished Gentlemen, Seven poems”; see QTS, 671/7677. It is likely that Su was unaware of this precedent. 147. Huang Tingjian, “Shu Tao Yuanming shi hou ji Wang Jilao” , in idem, Shangu tiba, 7.9a–b.

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the reader may easily absorb it. This prescription for reading Tao’s poetry implies an intuitive understanding of it without the intervening stage of analysis. Huang elsewhere corrected misconceptions of Tao’s poetry with a claim of unique insight into his creative process. In a colophon discussing two different approaches to poetic composition using Yu Xin and Tao Yuanming as examples, Huang revealed what was for him the superior principle. It is preferable to allow prosodic rules to go askew rather than to allow your lines to become weak; it is better to be artless in your use of words than to allow your language to become vulgar. These are the strengths of Yu Kaifu [Xin]. Nevertheless, Yu still had the element of intentionality (yi ) in his composition. As for Yuanming, we have an example of what is called “not bothering about prosodic guidelines, yet naturally consistent with them.” Yet those who are clever at carving believe him to be awkward (zhuo ); and those who are painstaking in the selection of words fault him for being careless (fang ). Confucius said: “Ningwuzi’s wisdom can be attained, but not his folly.”148 How could Yuanming’s awkwardness and carelessness be explained to someone unintelligent!149

Unlike the carpenter who uses an inked string to draw a straight line before he cuts, Tao Yuanming draws his lines freehand. And to the vulgar eye, they appear clumsy, although in fact they are truly straight. Poets who labor over technique in their composition mistake Tao’s natural genius for clumsiness. Although Tao disregards prosodic guidelines, his finished product is nonetheless consistent with them. For Huang Tingjian, the principle underlying Tao’s poetic composition was a lack of intention, manifested as an absence of artifice. Huang in another colophon judged Tao’s poetry superior to Xie Lingyun’s and Yu Xin’s because of his apparent lack of effort and their intensive labor.150 The art of artlessness Huang perceived in Tao’s poetry represented, for Huang, the superior mode of poetic 148. See Analects 5.21, in which the preceding lines of the passage read: “The Master said, ‘Ningwuzi so long as the Way prevailed in his country showed wisdom; but when the Way no longer prevailed, he showed his folly’ ” (Waley, The Analects of Confucius, 112). 149. Huang Tingjian, Yuzhang Huang xiansheng wenji, 26.11b–12a (ZLHB, 39). 150. Huang Tingjian, “Lun shi” , in idem, Shangu tiba, 7.2b–3a.

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composition. Huang’s emphasis on a lack of intention, effort, and artifice evidences a dramatic shift in aesthetic values from earlier periods, especially the Six Dynasties. It is, moreover, noteworthy that Huang applied the same praise verbatim (“not bothering about prosodic guidelines, yet naturally consistent with them”) to the late works of Du Fu and Han Yu.151 In making this assessment, Huang looked beyond the diverse styles of Tao Yuanming, Du Fu, and Han Yu and asserted a basic commonality in their creative process and, as well, revealed his own preoccupation with this notion. Huang developed his reading of Tao’s approach to poetic composition by juxtaposing it with Du Fu’s. Unlike the value judgment implied in the above contrast with Xie Lingyun and Yu Xin, none is made in the following lines from the fourth of “Presented to Gao Zimian, Four poems” : Sheyi’s [Du Fu] every line has a verse eye; Pengze’s [Tao Yuanming] intent is in the stringless zither.

152

The “verse eye” refers to a masterfully employed word (often a verb) that animates the entire line, hence a focal point. In this couplet, Huang acknowledged Du Fu’s genius with words and alluded to the anecdote of the stringless zither in Tao’s biographies. Huang’s enigmatic statement on Tao’s poetry has led to various explications by modern scholars. Dai Jianye interprets the line as referring to how Tao Yuanming “simply expresses the subtleties within his breast and harbors no intention to craft his diction. Hence his expressions are natural and do not bother with carving.”153 Adele Rickett suggests a more compelling reading, focusing not on the art of artlessness but on the notion of “meaning beyond the words.” The line refers to “the ability of Tao Qian to write so that the meaning was conveyed through simple words that led the reader far beyond the words them-

151. See SSHQB, 943, no. 68. The source of the description “not bothering about prosodic guidelines, yet naturally consistent with them” is Han Yu’s tomb inscription for Fan Shaoshu, whom Han Yu praised for this achievement. See Han Yu, “Nanyang Fan Shaoshu muzhiming” , QTW, 563/5705b. 152. Huang Tingjian, Shangu neiji, 16.4a. 153. Dai Jianye, Chengming zhi jing, 329.

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selves.”154 In their respective poetic compositions, Du Fu chose the perfect word, whereas Tao lodged his intent outside the words (or in Huang’s metaphor, the sounds). The stringless zither, which was viewed during the Six Dynasties and into the Tang as no more than a mark of eccentricity and idiosyncrasy, is now represented as bearing a significance for aesthetics: what continues to seduce the reader to a text is precisely the meaning beyond the words (the music beyond the sounds). Suggesting meaning beyond the words, a prized literary quality widely accepted in the Song and thereafter, points to the text’s possibility of perpetual signification.155 Despite his general antipathy to Northern Song poets, the moralist philosopher Zhu Xi agreed in outline with their view that one of the principal qualities of Tao’s poetry is a certain blandness: “Yuanming’s poetry is pingdan, deriving from naturalness.”156 He emphasized in particular “the mood of insouciance and mildness” he perceived in Tao’s poetry, which is deemed an excellent poetic model in the same passage.157 Yet, Zhu Xi did not accept pingdan as a completely adequate reading of Tao’s poetry: “Everyone says that Tao Yuanming’s poetry is even and bland (pingdan). In my view, it actually exemplifies heroic abandon (haofang ). Yet this heroic abandon is barely perceptible. The poem in which his true disposition reveals itself is ‘In Praise of Jing Ke.’ How could some-

154. Rickett, “Method and Intuition,” 107. 155. The literary concept of “meaning beyond the words” appeared earlier in the “Yinxiu” (Latent and striking) chapter of Liu Xie’s Wenxin diaolong (Wenxin diaolong zhushi, 431): “The latent is the layered purpose beyond the text” (wen wai zhi chong zhi ). This concept also appeared as a poetic ideal in Zhong Rong’s Shipin (Shipin jizhu, 39) in a similar formulation: “The meaning lingers on after the words are gone” . Its application there was considerably narrower, referring to only xing (stimulus), one of the three originary modes of presentation deriving from the Odes. In the Tang, critics such as Jiaoran (Shishi jiaozhu, 115) and Sikong Tu (“Yu Li sheng lun shi shu,” QTW, 807/8485b) developed this concept and its application to poetry with formulations such as “sentiments lying beyond the words” (Jiaoran) and “interest beyond the rhymes” (Sikong Tu). In the Song the notion of “inexhaustible meaning beyond the words” becomes one of the most prized literary qualities. See, e.g., Mei Yaochen and Ouyang Xiu’s conversation recorded in Ouyang Xiu’s Liuyi shihua, 1: 267. 156. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, 140/3324 (ZLHB, 74). 157. Zhu Xi’s remarks are cited in Luo Dajing, Helin yulu, jia 6/113 (ZLHB, 75).

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body who is completely ‘even and mild’ (pingdan) say something like that?” 158 It is by no means coincidental that Zhu Xi selected “In Praise of Jing Ke” to prove his point. In this poem, Tao Yuanming lauded the brave and loyal subject of the state of Yan, Jing Ke, who undertook the dangerous (and unsuccessful) mission of assassinating the First Emperor of Qin. A reading of Tao’s poetry in terms of a “heroic abandon,” which implies a vigorous spirit, accords well with Zhu Xi’s representation of Tao Yuanming as a moral hero, as discussed in Chapter 3. Moreover, the shift in Zhu Xi’s focus in the passage from Tao’s poetry to his character is telling. For Zhu Xi, pingdan is principally an aesthetic category. It is acceptable, even praiseworthy, for one’s poetry to be even and bland, but one whose character is even and mild would be no more than an aesthete without moral compass. Zhu Xi retained the judgment of Northern Song critics that Tao’s poetry may be characterized as pingdan, but seems to have limited this to a reading of Tao’s poetic style in the hope of ensuring that this judgment does not slip into a misreading of his character.159 The Song writers introduced various interpretations of Tao’s poetry, from its definitive qualities to his approach to poetic composition. In the Song, we find another significant development in the reception of Tao Yuanming: critics attempted to undermine previous criticism, especially by Six Dynasties critics, of Tao and assert a privileged understanding of the true nature and worth of his poetry 158. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, 140/3325 (ZLHB, 74–75). 159. For a different reading of this passage from Zhuzi yulei, see Li Jianfeng, Yuan qian Tao Yuanming jieshoushi, 352–53. Li Jianfeng explicates Zhu Xi’s characterization of Tao’s poetry as “heroic abandon” (haofang ) by comparing this term to another that Zhu Xi elsewhere applied to poets such as Jia Yi (200–168 bce) and Li Bo, “vigorous” (jian ). Li goes on to argue that Zhu Xi transfixed the moral fervor of Tao’s character onto Tao’s poetic style and that Zhu Xi offered a new reading of Tao’s poetry—“a spirited and vigorous aesthetic” (jingjian haofang zhi mei )—which differs from Su Shi’s interpretation of Tao’s “even and bland aesthetic” (pingdan zhi mei ) (ibid., 353). I would argue that Zhu Xi’s thesis is not simply a counterpoint or new development, as Li Jianfeng has suggested, but implies a meaningful and pointed correction of Su Shi’s view. Zhu Xi was able to retain distinct judgments for Tao’s poetry and his character through a very telling slip in the original passage, which begins by discussing Tao’s poetry and ends with his character. Zhu Xi may have accepted that Tao’s poetic style is pingdan but would certainly not have extended this quality to his character.

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and personality. For example, the Southern Song critic Ye Mengde mounted a spirited attack on Zhong Rong’s tracing of Tao’s poetry to Ying Qu’s, traditionally read as harboring political criticism, and called Zhong “crass” (lou ). Ye assured his readers that Tao certainly transcended politics and thus implicitly argued that Tao’s works should not be interpreted as an expression of dissension and discontent. 160 Zhong Rong became a popular target in more ways than one. Hu Zi (fl. 1147–67) found fault with his characterization of Tao as the “patriarch of poets of reclusion,” claiming that that label was inadequate. 161 Another Song critic, Cai Qi , turned his attention to the Tang reception of Tao Yuanming and asserted that “there was absolutely no one in the Tang who understood the subtle profundity (ao ) of Yuanming’s poetry,” implying that the true value of Tao’s poetry was discovered in the Song by writers such as himself.162 The most ardent defender of Tao is perhaps Su Shi, who, as we have seen in previous chapters, addressed controversial issues regarding Tao’s reclusion and character, such as the incident of begging for food and whether Tao understood the Dao. It is in the context of a larger project of systematic negation of negative assessments of Tao Yuanming that we should understand Su’s critique of Xiao Tong’s treatment of Tao’s works. In a colophon on the irrationality behind the selections for the Wen xuan, Su remarked that whereas works of obviously poor merit and dubious authorship were included, only a few pieces by Tao were selected, even though “if one looks at Yuanming’s Collected Works, there are plenty of delightful pieces.” Su was dissatisfied not only with Tao’s underrepresentation in the anthology but also with Xiao Tong’s criticism of Tao’s “Stilling the Passions,” whose vivid, sensual descriptions of a beautiful woman Xiao considered immoral. Su argued that this rhapsody “truly exemplifies what is said of the ‘Airs of the States’ : sensual without being 160. Ye Mengde, Shilin shihua, 1: 433–34 (ZLHB, 52). 161. Hu Zi, Tiaoxi yuyin conghua (houji), 3/17 (ZLHB, 51). 162. Cai Qi, Cai Kuanfu shihua, in Guo Shaoyu, Song shihua jiyi, 2: 380 (ZLHB, 45). In the same passage, Cai Qi conceded that some Tang writers took Tao Yuanming as a model, such as Wei Yingwu and Bo Juyi, who both wrote poems in imitation of Tao. But, Cai added that the poems by the latter are far off the mark.

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licentious . . . . Yet Xiao Tong criticized it. This is indeed a case of an amateur making a forced explanation.”163 As discussed above, Xiao Tong’s charge against this work is informed by his belief in the moral value of Tao’s œuvre. Su Shi strengthened his case by engaging with Xiao Tong on his own terms. He cleverly reworked Xiao Tong’s criticism of the work while retaining the premise of its sensual content: it may be sensual but it is not licentious, and thus it falls in the tradition of the canonically sanctioned “Airs of the States.” Song writers, like their Tang predecessors, found much to borrow or imitate in Tao Yuanming’s poetry. Su Shi took this practice further than any of his predecessors. His hundred-odd matching poems have generally been grouped together with imitations of Tao by other writers. But there is a significant qualitative as well as quantitative difference in Su’s case. The difference between matching poems (heyun shi ) and imitation poems (most readily identified by markers in the title such as xiao , ni , or xue ) requires some general remarks, and these will, in turn, cast light on the singularity of Su Shi’s project. A matching poem uses the same rhymes as the original. Finer distinctions can be made: using the same rhyme category, the same rhyme words, or the same rhyme words in the same order. Most of Su Shi’s fall into the third category. In contrast, an imitation poem does not take a specific poem as its intertext; rather, it often refers to characteristics of a number of works or even an author’s entire corpus. The propinquity of examples of both genres to the original in terms of theme, content, and style varies greatly. It is thus difficult to generalize about the types of poems produced within these two genres, but the social differences between them is much clearer. During the Northern Song, writing matching poems, usually to the rhymes of a poem by a friend, constituted a social practice and strongly implied a poetics of friendship. An imitation poem, on its most profound level, engages with a dead poet. Su’s decision to write poems matching those of a dead poet, rather than imitations, suggests a desire to invoke the friend-to-friend relationship associated with the genre. His determination to write a

163. Su Shi, “Ti Wen xuan”

, in idem, Su Shi wenji, 67/2092–93.

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poem to match every piece in Tao’s corpus elevates this relationship from the level of friendship to virtual identification. In a letter to his brother, Su Che, Su Shi noted the unprecedented nature of his act and explained the impetus behind his gesture as a personal fondness for Tao’s poetry and for the man himself. 164 For Su Shi, Tao was more than just a good poetic model or a praiseworthy figure from the past: Su saw someone with a personality like his own, wrestling with problems like his own. Particularly poignant was the similarity between the deprivation Tao encountered in reclusion and that Su endured during his exile, when he wrote most of the poems.165 In short, he saw himself in Tao Yuanming. Given the number and complexity of Su’s matching poems, a thorough summary is beyond the scope of this study. A few modern scholars have classified these matching poems into types ranging from poems in which the ideas expressed identify with those in Tao’s to poems whose subject matter is different from the original but whose sentiments are akin to poems that share only rhymes.166 It is in the poems sharing the same subject matter and ideas as the original that the most subtle and interesting aspects of Su’s dialogue with Tao Yuanming can be seen. An illustrative example is Su’s poem matching Tao’s “The Double Ninth, in Retirement.” Tao’s poem reads: Life is short but our desires are many; And all mankind finds joy in living long. 164. See Su’s letter, quoted by Su Che, “Zizhan he Tao Yuanming shiji yin,” in Su Che, Luancheng ji (houji), 21.4b–5a. See also p. 194n146 in this book. 165. Most of the matching poems were written during Su’s exile in Huizhou (1094–97) and Danzhou (Hainan Island, 1097–1100). 166. Bao Bin (Tao shi Su he jiao lun, 22–23) classifies the matching poems into six categories: poems whose ideas identify with those in Tao’s; poems in which the sentiments expressed are stirred by the original; poems whose subject is different but whose sentiments and spirit are akin; poems whose subject is the same or similar, but whose response is different; poems whose subject and ideas are different, but are nonetheless connected to Tao’s; and poems that share only rhyme words. Song Qiulong (Su Dongpo he Tao Yuanming shi, 231–32) identifies four types: imitations of Tao’s original in terms of form and spirit, or poems that accord with the original; poems that reveal Su’s “own color,” including characteristics such as a fondness for argumentation and elements of Buddhist and Daoist thought; poems showing a combination of the first two categories; and poems whose only commonality with the original is the set of rhymes.

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When day and month reach this auspicious time Everyone rejoices in its name. The dew is chill, the summer wind has ceased, The air is clear and all the sky is bright. No trace remains of departed swallows, The honking still echoes from passing geese. Wine serves to exorcise all our concerns, Chrysanthemum keeps us from getting old. But what is the thatched-hut gentleman to do Who helpless views time’s revolutions? The dusty cup shames the empty wine cask, The cold flower blooms uncelebrated. Drawing tight my robe, I sing to myself, In my revery deepest feelings stir. There are many joys in living here, And just to see it through is something gained.

167

Su Shi’s matching poem reads: What is unique about the Ninth? Happily I delight in my life. While all four seasons are excellent, This has been ordained since antiquity as a day for rejoicing. I recall Master Meng on Mount Long,168 And think on Yuanming in Lili. Bright is the beauty of the frosty chrysanthemum, Liuliu goes the wine press. Dwelling in leisure I appreciate this fine holiday, I will live out my remaining years in joy.

167. TYMJJJ, 70; PTC, 47. 168. Master Meng (Meng Jia , fl. mid-fourth century) was Tao Yuanming’s maternal grandfather of whom Tao wrote a biography. Tao recounts an anecdote about a Double Ninth excursion Meng took in the company of Huan Wen, the General-in-chief for Pacifying the West, to whom he was an adjutant, and the rest of Huan Wen’s staff and some guests. A strong gust of wind blew Meng Jia’s hat to the ground. Huan Wen gestured to his staff and guests to keep silent, so that he might observe Meng’s reaction. Apparently absorbed by the scene, Meng Jia did not even notice. After a while, Meng went to relieve himself, still unaware of the hat missing from his head. Later Huan Wen gave orders for the hat to be picked up and returned to Meng. See TYMJJJ, 412; and TYM, 1: 203–4.

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Literary Reception, Part I: Six Dynasties to Song I climb high to gaze at the sea and clouds, In my stupor, the jade mountain seems askew. I sing to the foot-shuffling against Shang,169 I dance to [the music of] the rope-belted Rong.170 My misfortunes have made me understand Heaven’s purpose, My extended stay has allowed me to see the kindness of men. All I want is a belly full of rice, Then every year I may rejoice in the fulfillment of autumn.

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171

The subject matter in both poems is the Double Ninth (the ninth day of the ninth lunar month), an occasion for philosophical meditation after the traditional activities of climbing a hill, drinking wine, and gazing at chrysanthemums. The main idea of Tao’s poem consists in a sober reconciliation with material circumstances (poverty, mortality) and a strong affirmation of the life he has chosen. These points are made more poignant by the overt despondence over a lack of wine (an indication of the extent of Tao’s impoverishment) with which to celebrate the day and to dispel his cares. Su Shi’s poem, like Tao’s, attests to an acceptance of life’s misfortunes and a resolution to live in contentment. Yet, Su took the assertion of complacency in the original a step further. The emphasis of Su’s poem lies in joy. Note the frequency of the word le (“joy”) and its synonyms. The somber and gloomy tone of the original is thus more than compensated for by exuberant joy in Su’s poem, which delights 169. Zheng Chong , vice director of the Imperial Secretariat during the reign of Emperor Ai of Han (r. 7–1 bce), remonstrated with the emperor to block the enfeoffment of Shang , a cousin of Empress Dowager Fu . See Zheng’s biography in Han shu, 77/3255. 170. Rope-belted Rong refers to Rong Qiqi , who, because of poverty, could afford only a rope as a belt. In the “Tian duan” chapter of Liezi (Liezi zhu, 1/6), Confucius, on an excursion to Mount Tai, encounters him “dressed in deerskin, belted by a rope, playing a zither and singing.” When Confucius asked the source of his happiness, Rong replied that he is human, was born male, and has lived to the age of ninety, suggesting that the most important and fundamental things in life have little to do with wealth or station. Rong Qiqi appears several times in Tao Yuanming’s poems. 171. Su Shi, Su Shi shiji, 41/2259–260.

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in the day, the season, and life itself. A difference in degree of poverty (Tao was too poor to buy wine; Su Shi could at least afford wine) does not suffice to account for the difference in Su’s presentation of the same theme and ideas. Rather, Su Shi’s response to Tao’s poem can be better understood in terms of a “commitment to avoiding sorrow and self-pity in exile,” an attitude Ronald Egan notes in the matching poems as well as other works written in exile.172 As the popularity of Tao’s works increased and the body of imitations and literary borrowings grew, Song writers began to assess the products of later poets by comparing them to Tao’s works. From these discussions developed the idea of Tao’s inimitability, an idea whose significance in the elevation of Tao to an absolute poetic model can hardly be overstated. The discursive opener “Tao Yuanming cannot be equaled because . . .” appears in the critical writings of many writers, especially of the Southern Song. Various, if overlapping, theories of why Tao could not be imitated or equaled were set forth. One critic, Huihong (1071– 1128), posits as the reason the art of artlessness in Tao’s poetry: Tao Yuanming “is like a carpenter who wields his tools without leaving chisel marks. Those who do not understand this point dissipate all their energy, and to the end of their days never grasp it.”173 Others focus on the lack of intentionality in Tao’s poetry. Ye Mengde was clearest on this point: Tao “simply poured forth that which was within, what he wanted to write was already at hand. He was completely unaware of using language and words. This is why he cannot be equaled.”174 According to this view, Tao’s poems result directly from a stirring within, without the intervening stage of intention to write a poem, manifested by deliberate work with language. The most common theory of Tao’s inimitability is based on a perception of his “naturalness” (ziran ), often presented as the source of other qualities in his works. For example, Yang Shi (1053–1135) argued that “Tao Yuanming’s poetry cannot be equaled because its mildness and blandness, its profundity and purity, derive from naturalness. If one attempts with great effort to imitate his 172. Egan, Word, Image, and Deed in the Life of Su Shi, 236. 173. Huihong, Lengzhai yehua, 1/13 (ZLHB, 46). 174. Ye Mengde, Yujian zashu, 4b (ZLHB, 52–53).

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poetry, one soon realizes that it could not have been achieved through effort.”175 Zhu Xi shared this opinion in a statement that traces the quality of pingdan to a certain naturalness: “Yuanming’s poetry is pingdan, deriving from naturalness. Later poets have tried to imitate his pingdan, but end up producing poems far removed from his.”176 Zhu Xi further applied this argument about Tao’s naturalness to an assessment of Su Shi’s matching poems, bringing to the fore the difficulty, even futility, of imitating Tao Yuanming. The reason Yuanming is great lies precisely in the facts that he was transcendent and self-sufficient, and that he did not bother with the details of arrangement. [Su] Dongpo was determined that each of his poems and each of his lines should match [Tao’s] rhyme for rhyme. Even with his great talent, which allowed him to compose aptly matching poems that appear to have been written effortlessly, his poems have lost the air of naturalness.177

For Zhu Xi, regardless of the poet’s talent, the act of imitating implies a certain intentionality that runs counter to the natural expression and composition of Tao’s poems. Moreover, Zhu discussed the naturalness in Tao’s poems in terms of direct expression and an absence of artifice, intentionality, or effort. Naturalness is a synthesizing quality that informs all other attributes of Tao’s works. By the latter half of Southern Song, Tao’s “naturalness” had become widely accepted as an unequivocal mark of his excellence. In a passage from Canglang shihua (Canglang’s remarks on poetry) comparing Tao’s poetry to Xie Lingyun’s, Yan Yu (fl. 1180–1235) opined that “Xie cannot match Tao because his poetry is refined and crafted, whereas Yuanming’s is plain and natural” , 178 , . It is, moreover, remarkable that the superiority of the “plain and natural” to refinement and craft is treated as self-evident, indicating a complete inversion of the set of aesthetic values that would have judged Tao’s poetry inferior to Xie’s on precisely the same grounds.

175. Yang Shi, Guishan xiansheng yulu, 1.4a–b (ZLHB, 43). 176. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, 140/3324 (ZLHB, 74). 177. Zhu Xi, “Da Xie Chengzhi” , in idem, Zhu Xi ji, 58/2947 (ZLHB, 76). 178. Yan Yu, Canglang shihua jiaoshi, 151.

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The perception of naturalness in Tao’s works by Song critics is worthy of further consideration, since the antithesis of naturalness in the Song, Xie Lingyun’s ornate and well-crafted poetry, served as an exemplar of this very quality in the Six Dynasties. The following passage from Yan Yanzhi’s biography in the Nan shi describes a contemporary view of Xie’s naturalness. In a conversation with Bao Zhao, Yan Yanzhi asked how his poetry compares with Xie Lingyun’s. Bao Zhao replied, “Xie’s pentasyllabic verse is like a lotus that has just bloomed, natural and adorable; your poetry, Sir, is like brocade and embroidery on display, [with traces of] carving and drawing filling the eyes” , . , .179 Bao Zhao’s standard of naturalness is determined by an opposition to excessive and obvious craft and, by association, with a lotus flower, which suggests freshness and beauty. Because Xie Lingyun, like Yan, excelled in literary refinement and craft, he was widely viewed in the Southern Dynasties as one of the best poets of the Eastern Jin. There is no reason to assume that Bao Zhao felt otherwise. It therefore seems that, in Bao’s estimation, there was no necessary conflict between naturalness and literary embellishment so long as the latter does not turn into excess and degenerate into gaudiness. A similar point is made by Xiao Gang in his “Letter to the Prince of Xiangdong” , an important document of Liang literary theory. In a comment on contemporary trends, Xiao Gang scoffed at the “deluded” efforts of those who attempt to imitate Xie Lingyun. Xie spews forth words as if divinely inspired, arising from naturalness. At times he lacks restraint, and these are his dregs. . . . Thus when one imitates Xie’s poetry, one does not achieve its essential beauty and instead gets its verbosity. . . . Xie is thus artful but unreliable [as a model for imitation].180

Xiao Gang characterized Xie Lingyun’s poetry as both natural and artful. During the Southern Dynasties, qiao , here rendered as “artful,” not only signified craft but, more specifically, referred to the art of capturing the appearance of things, that is, verisimilitude in the 179. Nan shi, 34/881. 180. Xiao Gang, “Yu Xiangdong wang shu,” in Quan Liang wen in QW, 11/3011a.

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depiction of natural objects and scenes (xingsi ). Qiao was frequently used by Southern Dynasties writers either as a synonym for xingsi (verisimilitude) or as a qualifier specifying the skillful manner in which verisimilitude was wrought. Zhong Rong, for example, stated that Zhang Xie’s (d. 307) style, which displays “skillfully wrought verisimilitude” (qiaogou xingsi ), influenced Xie Lingyun’s, which is in turn characterized by “skillful verisimilitude” (qiaosi ).181 The elements of craft and artifice are by no means precluded in Xiao Gang’s conception of ziran, nor in that of Zhong Rong, who also attributed ziran as well as qiao to Xie Lingyun, as we will see. Rather, naturalness and artfulness together make Xie difficult to imitate. The inimitability of Xie’s ziran is tied to its origins in divine inspiration. The inimitability of his artfulness is less selfevident, since qiao implies technique, which in principle can be learned. In practice, however, a skill so masterfully developed is difficult to replicate. Xiao Gang’s warning to his readers not to take Xie as a model, both because his artfulness cannot be learned and because his writing is divinely inspired, suggests that we should not assume that naturalness and human artifice were at opposite ends of a single spectrum. Zhong Rong also associated the quality of naturalness with Xie’s poetry. Zhong’s concept of naturalness is informed by his criticism of the contemporary literary milieu, in which the practice of using allusions was running rampant: “There is not a single plainly worded line and not a single plainly worded phrase; they are all constricted and patched up with allusions. The bane to writing has been great indeed. A writer with the high-minded goal of naturalness (ziran ) is seldom met with.”182 Naturalness is thus defined against the 181. Zhong Rong, Shipin jizhu, 149 and 161, respectively. For other examples of the association between qiao and xingsi, see Shen Yue’s “Postscript [or The Historian’s Comment] to the Biography of Xie Lingyun,” in which he writes that “[Sima] Xiangru was skillful in verisimilar language” (Song shu, 67/1778); and the chapter on “Literary Composition” in Yan Zhitui’s (531–91) Yanshi jiaxun , in which Yan stated that “He Xun’s poetry is in truth pure and artful, containing many verisimilar expressions” , (Yan, Yanshi jiaxun jijie, 9/298). 182. Zhong Rong, “Shipin xu,” in idem, Shipin jizhu, 180–81; translation, with slight modification, from Wixted, “The Nature of Evaluation in the Shih-p’in,” 241.

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use of allusions. In the passage preceding the one above, Zhong Rong suggested in positive terms what is for him natural. He cited four examples of excellent lines that do not use allusions, one of which is Xie’s “The bright moon shines on layered snow” .183 Zhong Rong then asked rhetorically, “Could this have been derived from a canonical or historical text? Examine the best expressions past and present: the majority of them are not patched or borrowed. They all derive from the direct pursuit of the subject.”184 This notion of naturalness is also hinted at in his entry on Xie Lingyun, in which Zhong Rong observed that at Xie’s best, “whatever met his eyes turned into writing” .185 Xie directly pursued the scene at hand and versified it without the mediation of allusions. In the Six Dynasties one literary principle seen as manifesting naturalness was parallelism. This view was informed by a cosmology governed by correlative thinking. In Wenxin diaolong, Liu Xie stated that literary parallelism is natural: since things in nature, whether the limbs of living forms or objective phenomena, exist in paired correspondences, the writer, in organizing his thoughts into words, naturally creates parallelism.186 Writing thus inevitably mirrors the binary structure of nature. Like all the most admired writers of the time, Xie Lingyun met this standard and excelled in paired expressions. The conception of naturalness in the Six Dynasties thus involved an absence of obvious and excessive marks of carving, direct expression without the adulteration of allusions, and literary parallelism. Song critics would concur that naturalness is incongruous with prominent traces of carving and indissociable from direct expression. Yet they would not characterize Xie’s poetry as natural because their conception of naturalness differed in significant ways. Naturalness was no longer wedded to parallelism and now required an absence not only of artifice but also of effort and intentionality.

183. This line is from Xie Lingyun’s “Suimu” , which is no longer extant. 184. Zhong Rong, “Shipin xu,” in idem, Shipin jizhu, 174; translation from Wixted, “The Nature of Evaluation in the Shih-p’in,” 240. 185. Zhong Rong, Shipin jizhu, 160. 186. See chapter 35 (“Lici” [Parallel phrasing]), in Liu Xie, Wenxin diaolong zhushi, 384. For a discussion of this chapter, see Andrew Plaks, “Bones of Parallel Rhetoric in Wenxin diaolong,” 163–73.

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For Song critics, Tao Yuanming’s poetry exemplified these qualities and thus naturalness. Differences in the conception of naturalness in the Six Dynasties and the Song may further be considered in light of changing views of the historical development of wen. For the Six Dynasties critic, it is the natural progression of pattern (wen ) to become increasingly embellished. This view was clearly expressed by Xiao Tong in his “Preface” to the Wen xuan: The crude cart is the prototype of the Grand Carriage, But does the Grand Carriage have the simplicity of the crude cart? Thick ice is formed by accumulated water, But accumulated water lacks the coldness of thick ice. Why is that? Generally it is because: Continuing the process increases ornament, Changing the basic form adds intensity, Since things are like this, Literature is appropriately so.

?

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Increasing levels of ornateness are posited as the natural direction in which the development of literature tends. Drawing a parallel between this development and that of the nature of things, in effect, “naturalizes” embellishment. This understanding of the natural process was part of an intellectual and cultural milieu in which Xie’s poetry could be appreciated as both natural and ornate. The fugu writers of the Mid-Tang to the Song would agree that wen had followed a path of increasing embellishment but thought that this development had reached a point of excess and degeneration. The only remedy was for wen to revert to its simpler origins. A broad cultural and political trend, the fugu, or “return to antiquity” movement, rested on the assumption that the past was superior to the present. Among the numerous manifestations of fugu sentiments in the Song, most relevant to our discussion here is a literary preference for

187. Xiao Tong, Wen xuan, 1; translation from Knechtges, Introduction, 1: 73, 75.

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the artless, simple, and substantial. Not coincidentally, these qualities coincide with the Song conception of naturalness. The Song fugu trend thus offers a valuable vantage point from which to view the changing conceptions of naturalness. By the Song Tao Yuanming was no longer regarded as a model recluse or virtuous figure who happened to write poetry, as had been the prevalent view during the Six Dynasties. Rather, Song writers at times approached his poetry in more strictly literary terms. Their reception of it was no longer necessarily rooted in an understanding of his retirement, as in most cases in the Tang. Song writers made an authoritative claim of unique insight into or correct understanding of Tao Yuanming’s poetry. They told the reader how to read Tao’s poetry (distinguish between the inner and outer layers of his poetry; ingest and absorb his poetry in an intuitive understanding). They delineated his approach to poetic composition (art of artlessness, lack of effort or intentionality). They specified the principal qualities of his poetry (pingdan, “even and bland,” ziran, “natural”). The attribution of these two qualities to Tao’s poetry hinged on a reformulation of old concepts, informed by new aesthetic standards and values with which Tao’s poetry was now seen to conform. And finally, they analyzed the reasons behind the difficulty of imitating Tao’s poetry (a certain naturalness and a lack of artifice, effort, or intentionality) and concluded that his poetry had no equal. The Song dynasty constitutes arguably the most important period in the history of Tao Yuanming studies, since Tao’s reputation as poet reached new heights during this time. During the Six Dynasties, his poetry was read by few and appreciated by even fewer. In the Tang, Tao became the poetic model for a generation of poets and admired by a number of others. But it is in the Song that Tao achieved extraordinary prominence as one of the best poets in the Chinese literary tradition. This is due in no small measure to his promotion by major Song writers whose influence spanned centuries, such as Mei Yaochen, Su Shi, Huang Tingjian, and Zhu Xi. Moreover, their interpretations shaped how later readers (including modern readers) read Tao Yuanming. Not only have specific interpretations of his poetry remained paradigmatic today, but even the consensus on his esteemed place in the literary canon dates from the

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Song. Su Shi and Huang Tingjian, collectively, defended Tao Yuanming against criticism and “rectified” previous (mis)interpretations not only of his works but also of his actions and behavior, as we have seen in Chapters 2 and 3. Through the Song re-evaluation of Tao Yuanming, he became by the end of the dynasty an undisputed cultural icon. Critics may have focused on different aspects of his person (transcendent recluse, virtuous personality epitomizing genuineness, or Confucian moral hero), but all agreed on the excellence of his poetry.

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Literary Reception, Part II Ming and Qing

In the Ming and Qing dynasties, not only was Tao Yuanming’s claim to a place in the literary canon uncontested, but earlier, especially Song, characterizations of Tao’s poetics were often repeated or reiterated. In this sense, these dynasties represent a post-canonization period in Tao’s historical reception. Although it remained standard to read his poetry in terms of pingdan (even and bland) and ziran (natural), qualities sustained by a genuine, direct expression of sentiments, these ideas at times underlay or were integrated with a new set of critical terms that expressed Ming and Qing literary concerns, such as “inherent qualities” (bense , literally “true” or “basic color”) and “personal nature” (xingling ).1 We find in the Ming and Qing not a radically new lexicon for reading Tao’s poetry, as in the Song, but three important general hermeneutical approaches that were applied to Tao Yuanming studies. The first is a literary-historical reading, which differs from the inclusion of his name in a chronological list of canonical writers or a discussion of the characteristics of major poets and general trends of each period. Rather, it assesses the way in which Tao’s poetry fits into a historical 1. For an example of the use of the term bense in relation to the natural and unstudied way of writing attributed to Tao, see Tang Shunzhi (1507–60), “Da Mao Lumen zhixian” , in idem, Jingchuan xiansheng wenji, 7.9a–10a. For the idea of “blandness” (dan ), exemplified by Tao Yuanming, as a correlative of the true xingling of writing (wen ), see Yuan Hongdao (1568–1610), “Xu Guo shi Jia sheng ji” , in idem, Yuan Hongdao ji jianjiao, 35/1103.

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process, including such microscopic focuses as the development of particular poetic forms (e.g., pentasyllabic ancient verse and tetrasyllabic ancient verse). The second approach is textual analysis, which is distinct from appreciating lines from a poem or citing lines to support a certain argument. This type of reading involves a close examination of a text’s phraseology, significations, and structural components, as well as their relationships. The third approach is evidential research (kaozheng ), which a number of Qing scholars employed to verify basic received “facts” about Tao’s works, such as dates of composition and the identification of people and places. As we will see, these new interpretive approaches reflected larger intellectual trends, such as the literati preoccupation with archaism and the examination process, as well as the flourishing of evidential scholarship.

Placing Tao Yuanming in (and Outside) Literary History Ming critics widely assessed Tao Yuanming in terms of a literaryhistorical approach that apparently developed simultaneously with the archaist (fugu ) movement, whose collective discourse on poetry centered on the critical evaluation of past writers, a theoretical approach to imitating the ancients, and, ultimately, a practical program for imitation.2 This special interest in literary history appears to have grown in tandem with a concern for the proper evaluation and selection of past writers for emulation. Ming archaists fretted over proper techniques of poetic composition and examined the development, aesthetic characteristics, and properties of each poetic form and judged the merits and demerits of various poetic styles. They ultimately tied these various pieces together to form a coherent vision of literary history. Tao Yuanming’s place in this literary history could be problematic since the archaists’ preferred set of ancient models was limited mainly to poetry of the Han, Wei, and 2. For a detailed study of the Ming archaist movement, see Liao Kebin, Mingdai wenxue fugu yundong yanjiu. See also Lynn, “The Talent Learning Polarity in Chinese Poetics”; and idem, “Alternate Routes to Self-Realization in Ming Theories of Poetry.”

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High Tang periods, a reflection of the influence of Yan Yu’s statement that poetry of the Han, Wei, Jin, and the High Tang represents enlightenment of the “first order” (diyi yi ). 3 As Dai Jianye has suggested, a relative devalorization of poetry outside the three esteemed periods, such as that of the Six Dynasties, may have been a factor in the negative view of Tao Yuanming held by a few archaists.4 It is, however, the historical method by which these archaists evaluated Tao’s poetry and its place that is of greater interest for the study of Tao’s reception. An early statement of the literary-historical approach to Tao’s writings can be found in remarks by He Jingming (1483– 1521), a leading figure of the Former Seven Masters (qian qi zi ) of the archaist movement. In “A Letter on Poetry to Li Kongtong [Mengyang]” , an important record in the debate between He Jingming and Li Mengyang (1473–1530), a senior figure among the Former Seven Masters, over the proper methodology for imitating the ancients,5 He Jingming reflected on the historical development of poetry and prose: I have said that there are immutable rules in poetry and prose: among the divisions of the text ideas must cohere; connections should be made by categories, and apt comparisons with particular objects. First, examine the

3. Yan Yu, Canglang shihua jiaoshi, 11. As Liao Kebin notes, this scheme of acceptable models for imitation represents merely the narrowest view. A more accommodating scheme allows all periods before the High Tang to be mined for models. Liao’s composite formulation of the more lenient archaist view is succinct: “All poetry must be modeled on those up until the High Tang” (shi bi sheng Tang yi shang ; Mingdai wenxue fugu yundong yanjiu, 118). 4. Dai Jianye, Chengming zhi jing, 338. One of the Latter Seven Masters (hou qi zi ), Wang Shizhen (1526–90) (Yi yuan zhi yan jiao zhu , 1/24), discussed this overly narrow view: “When contemporaries choose literary models, they often speak of the Western Han and the Jian’an period, while slighting Tao and Xie. It seems as if they really know, but in fact they don’t. Without discussing the various men of that time, even the altered tones of the Qi and Liang dynasties and the mutated airs of Li [Bo] and Du [Fu] can be selected from.” Here and elsewhere Wang advised his fellow archaists to broaden their choices for imitation once the proper foundation was consolidated. 5. For discussions of the issues involved in the debate between He Jingming and Li Mengyang, see Liao Kebin, Mingdai wenxue fugu yundong yanjiu, 124–32; and Guo Shaoyu, Zhongguo shi de shenyu gediao ji xingling shuo, 40–42.

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pronouncements of the sages of yore. Next, inquire into the systematic discourses of the Qin and Han. Finally, assemble the songs and poems of the Wei and Jin. [One can see that] there has been no change. Prose degenerated in the Sui; but it was when Han [Yu] rescued it, that the rules (fa ) of ancient prose (guwen ) came to an end. Poetry grew feeble with Tao, but it was when Xie [Lingyun] rescued it that the rules of ancient verse (gushi ) came to an end.6

The issue underlying the passage is the continuity of rules or principles of composition (fa ), a central concept in the archaist program of imitation, and their breakdown. He Jingming located the breakdown of rules in poetry with Tao Yuanming and in prose with the Sui dynasty (581–618). Xie Lingyun and Han Yu, in their respective efforts to rescue poetry and prose, set a new direction for these genres, and the rules passed down by the ancients thus ended with them. The remarks about Xie and Han were later misread as assaults on two great writers. However, according to Liao Kebin, the author of a recent, thorough study of the Ming archaist movement, He Jingming recognized and appreciated Xie’s and Han’s spirit of innovation while working from the guidelines set by the ancients, which accords with the notion of innovation through imitation that runs through He’s discourse.7 He Jingming’s remark regarding Tao Yuanming’s role in the historical process, not surprisingly, likewise provoked an ardent defense of the great poet by later critics, who, misquoting “feeble” (ruo ) as “decline” (ni ), dismissed He’s assessment as “having no basis.” 8 The historical and comparative 6. He Jingming, “Yu Li Kongtong lun shi shu,” in Guo Shaoyu, Zhongguo lidai wenlun xuan, 3: 38 (ZLHB, 136). 7. Liao Kebin, Mingdai wenxue fugu yundong yanjiu, 120. 8. See Mao Xianshu’s (1620–88) “Bian He pian” in Shi bian di , quoted in Guo Shaoyu, Zhongguo lidai wenlun xuan, 3: 42–43; and Qian Qianyi’s (1582–1664) entry on He Jingming in Liechao shiji xiaozhuan , partially quoted in Guo Shaoyu, Zhongguo lidai wenlun xuan, 3: 45. See also Liao Kebin’s discussion of the critique by these writers in Mingdai wenxue fugu yundong yanjiu, 118–20. Another critic of the archaist movement, Hu Fengdan (1823–90), declared that “prose must be like Changli’s [Han Yu] . . . poetry must be like Jingjie’s,” substituting two of the writers “attacked” by He Jingming for the models of prose and poetry in the famous dictum attributed to Li Mengyang in the Ming shi (History of the Ming dynasty), “Prose must follow the Qin and Han; poetry must follow the High Tang” (ZLHB, 260; Ming shi, 286/7348).

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approach behind He’s assessment, however, should be acknowledged, as Liao has done: “Tao’s poetry, with naturalness as its principle, is indeed somewhat ‘weaker’ in its observance of rules and in its spirit and tone by comparison with the classical and solid style of the ancient verse of the Han and Wei.”9 He Jingming indeed placed Tao’s poetry in the context of the historical decline of what he saw as the “rules,” without making a claim for the aesthetic value of Tao’s works. His notion of rules addresses composition (i.e., structural arrangement and pairing of ideas) and focuses neither on classical aesthetic ideals and characteristics nor on expressive or imagistic aspects.10 He’s reading of Tao’s poetry, which concentrates more on its historical significance than its aesthetic characteristics, posits Tao as a pivotal figure in the history of ancient verse, one who marks its weakening. He Jingming’s critique elsewhere of another canonical poet further illustrates his literary-historical concerns. In the preface to “Mingyue pian” (Bright moon), He Jingming assessed Du Fu’s poetry within the literary tradition and opined that the “tonality (diao ) of his poetry might be inferior to that of the Four Talents [of the Early Tang],” whose poems can often be sung.11 Diao was part of a discourse that constituted the heart of the archaists’ literary theory: gediao . Diao arguably refers to certain aspects of literary composition, such as feelings, ornamentation, and sound, and ge to techniques, rules, and content.12 The preface suggests that the tonality of Du Fu’s poetry may be deficient because his poems “extensively refer to worldly affairs” (boshe shigu ), thus showing an affinity to the Elegantiae and Hymns of the Odes, which are strong in the exposition of events, and revealing a move away from the purpose of the authors of the Airs (fengren zhi yi ), who aimed at expressing native sentiments (xingqing ). This critique would appear to be targeted at Du Fu’s tendency to use poetry for the narration of events and for moral discourse, both of which archaist 9. Liao Kebin, Mingdai wenxue fugu yundong yanjiu, 119. 10. See ibid., 129. 11. He Jingming, Preface to “Mingyue pian,” in idem, Dafu ji, 14.14b–15a. 12. For a good discussion of the notion of gediao, see Liao Kebin, Mingdai wenxue fugu yundong yanjiu, 108–17.

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poetic theory generally disapproved.13 Ming archaists ardently fought against the poetics influenced by Song moralists, which focused on human nature (xing ) at the expense of sentiments (qing ) and which championed principle (li ) over sentiments. They therefore advocated a renewed attention to what was understood as the originary condition of poetry: the sentiments. Another Ming critic explicitly made this connection between Du Fu and Song poets. Jiao Hong (1541–1620) recalled reading the following comment by Zheng Shanfu (1485–1523) on Du Fu’s poetry: “When Song writers imitated Du Fu, they often took prose as poetry. Great damage has been done to the correct way of poetry (yadao ), and this was initiated by Old Master Du.”14 Perhaps the sharpest critic among the archaists of Du Fu’s legacy in literary history was Yang Shen (1488–1559), who sought both to explain why Du Fu had failed in the quatrain form (particularly the heptasyllabic) and to challenge his epithet as “poethistorian” (shishi ). According to Yang, the great masters of the quatrain are Wang Changling, Li Bo, Liu Yuxi (772–842), and Du Mu (803–52). Although Shaoling [Du Fu] is called a great master, he could not excel in everything. This is because, first, [his poetry] was hindered by parallelism and, second, [it] was weighed down by allusions. When [poetry is] hindered [by parallelism], the result is an incomplete regulated poem and not a quatrain. When [it is] weighed down [by allusions], the product is the book sack of a Confucian student, lacking native sentiments (xingqing ). . . . In recent times, there are those who in their love for him forget about his blemishes, selecting only his [quatrains and neglecting those by the “truly” great masters] and imitating them. Such confusion (huo )!15

This critique suggests that Du Fu could not manage the quatrain because this form, which is too short to suit narration or discourse and is arguably carried by an unabated expression of personal feelings, did not fit Du Fu’s interests and strengths, which seem to be high 13. Liao Kebin also makes this point in ibid., 97. 14. This remark from Jiao Hong’s Jiao shi bi cheng is cited in Chen Tian, Ming shi ji shi, ding qian, 4/1181. See also Liao Kebin’s discussion of this passage in Mingdai wenxue fugu yundong yanjiu, 98. 15. Yang Shen, Yang Shen shihua jiaojian, 425.

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craft and a moral discursiveness.16 Yang thus reprimanded his contemporaries for indiscriminately adopting Du Fu’s works as models for all forms without considering the aesthetic properties of each form and using a set of objective criteria. Yang Shen was, moreover, critical of the conflation between poetry and history with regard to Du Fu. This he blamed on Song critics who labeled Du a “poet-historian.” For Yang there is a strict division of labor among the Classics. The Odes speak of human nature and sentiments (xingqing ); the Classic of Documents and the Spring and Autumn Annals deal with history, “recording sayings on the one hand and chronicling events on the other.”17 “If poetry could cover history,” he reasoned, “then the Classic of Documents and the Spring and Autumn Annals could be done away with.”18 Although Yang explicitly rebuked Song writers, and not Du Fu, for confusing poetry with history, his objection to the use of this epithet recalls the charge that He Jingming among others leveled at Du Fu’s poetry: the narration of events predominates over the expression of native sentiments, and discursivity over musicality. Liao Kebin cautions readers not to take these remarks as criticisms of Du Fu: “Rather than say that they criticized Du Fu, it is better to say that they were mainly criticizing writers from the Song on, especially adherents of the School of Principle (lixue ), for misunderstanding, distorting, and using Du Fu.”19 Indeed, the criticisms by the Ming archaists did not constitute a negation per se of the poet, for Du Fu continued to be one of their most revered models. It is equally important here to point out that Du Fu’s poetry was not read in isolation, without regard for what came before and after. Rather, it was evaluated from a literary-historical standpoint, which considered both, more generally, the legacy to which he gave rise and, more particularly, his place (or the lack thereof) in the development of a given poetic form. These critiques stem from what was perceived as a tendency in Song poetry toward discursiveness and narration that was traceable to Du Fu. 16. I have benefited from Liao Kebin’s discussion of this passage in his Mingdai wenxue fugu yundong yanjiu, 98–99. 17. Yang Shen, Yang Shen shihua jiaojian, 99. 18. Ibid. 19. Liao Kebin, Mingdai wenxue fugu yundong yanjiu, 102.

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A more thorough and systematic examination of literary history was undertaken by the later figures of the archaist movement.20 Hu Yinglin (1551–1602), one of the Five Latter-Day Masters (mo wu zi ), read Tao Yuanming in terms of a sophisticated system of orthodoxy and historical evolution of poetic forms and styles. Cao Zhi’s ancient verse was outstanding, but in all other forms he followed a tradition. It was Tao’s pentasyllabic poetry that inaugurated the enduring tradition of the even and bland (pingdan ) aesthetic. Du [Fu]’s yuefu poetry swept aside the practices of Six Dynasties [poetics]. Indeed, they erected new traditions and created new lineages. But in the end, neither of these [new styles] replaced what came before. [The reason for this is that] although Tao’s mode of thinking was novel, his source and flow are not far reaching; although Du Fu’s topics were original, his style is not outstanding, just as the succession of the Three Dynasties is not as good as the direct transmission of the doctrine of singleness of purpose and centrality (sanzheng die xing wei ruo yi zhong xiangshou ).21

One of Hu Yinglin’s principal interests in Shisou (Thickets of remarks on poetry) was tracing the origins and developments of each poetic form (ti ); this occupies much of the inner chapters of the book. Like Zhong Rong in Shipin, Hu delineated the origin of the poetry of individual writers. But his system, which examines all poetic forms and covers many more centuries, is far more complex. One of his central theses is that “form changes with periods” (ti yi dai bian ), but “formal style is transmitted through the periods” (ge yi dai jiang ).22 The number of forms may increase (tetrasyllabic verse, Li Sao , pentasyllabic verse, heptasyllabic verse, regulated verse, and the quatrain), yet there is an orthodox formal style that remains constant through the ages. In commenting on the evolution of ancient verse in another passage, Hu Yinglin demonstrated his historical vision of literary developments: “Examples of ancient verse are copious, and writers plentiful. Although styles and forms differ by writers from period to period, divergent courses, their 20. For a detailed discussion of the later archaists’ investigation of literary history, see ibid., 261–85. 21. Hu Yinglin, Shisou, nei pian 2/33 (ZLHB, 162). 22. Hu Yinglin, Shisou, nei pian 1/1.

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sources, and ends, as well as the various lineages, are all still discernible.” 23 Hu then delineated the various branches. In Hu’s vision of literary history, developments manifest as a kind of evolutionary process governed by certain laws. All the branches—their changes and continuities, convergences, and divergences—remain visible.24 Tao Yuanming’s pentasyllabic poetry and Du Fu’s yuefu poetry constitute sources, and as such have no ancestors. Their innovation becomes, in Hu’s view, a departure from an orthodox tradition originating in Han pentasyllabic verse and yuefu. He illustrated their error with an analogy: the succession of Xia , Shang , and Zhou , in which each dynasty learned from its predecessor(s) but maintained its own characteristics and developed its own principles, is less ideal than the direct transmission of the great principle of governance, centrality (zhong ), which was passed down by the ancient sage-kings, from Yao to Shun to Yu .25 Here, Hu did not assess Tao’s pentasyllabic verse as an isolated body of works on its own terms or focus on the aesthetic value of Tao’s poems, which Hu acknowledged to be “even and bland”; rather, he positioned it within a historical scheme. Hu’s historical account divides the origins and development of poetic forms into two camps: orthodox (zheng ) and unorthodox (pian ), and Tao Yuanming, regardless of the consensus about his canonicity, falls into the unorthodox camp. As suggested by the above passage, Hu’s notion of orthodoxy invokes pedigree and influence. Another passage reinforces these two considerations and introduces an emphasis on the correctness of formal style and tonality (gediao ): “Cao [Zhi], Liu [Zhen], Ruan [Ji], and Lu [Ji] wrote ancient verse; their source is remote, their flow extensive, their tonality lofty, and their formal style orthodox. Tao [Yuanming], Meng [Haoran], Wei [Yingwu], and Liu [Zongyuan] wrote ancient verse; their source is shallow, their flow narrow, their tonality weak, and their formal style unorthodox.”26 The ancient verse of Cao Zhi and 23. Hu Yinglin, Shisou, nei pian, 2/22. 24. Liao Kebin makes this point in Mingdai wenxue fugu yundong yanjiu, 280. 25. This refers to the “sixteen-word transmission” (shiliu zi xinchuan ) in the “Da Yu mo” (The counsel of the Great Yu) chapter of the Classic of Documents (Shangshu zhengyi, II, 4/24a/136). 26. Hu Yinglin, Shisou, nei pian 2/26 (ZLHB, 162).

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others in his lineage may be traced to Han poetry, the originary source for pentasyllabic ancient verse. The source for Tao Yuanming and others in his lineage is none other than Tao, hence the label “shallow” (qian ). Hu’s discussion elsewhere of the aesthetic features and limits in application of the formal style originating with Tao Yuanming casts further light on his decision to place Tao in a minor lineage. The tracks of ancient verse are numerous, but there are basically only two formal styles. Poets whose aim is the harmonious and even (heping ), the integral and magnanimous (hunhou ), the sorrowful and grieved (beichuang ), and the tactful and beautiful (wanli ) are the aforementioned [Mei Sheng (d. 140 bce), Li Ling, Cao Zhi, Ruan Ji, Lu Ji, etc.]. Other poets whose aim is lofty leisure (gaoxian ), free-spiritedness (kuangyi ), pure remoteness (qingyuan ), and mysterious subtlety (xuanmiao ) are Tao [Yuanming] for the Six Dynasties and Wang [Wei], Meng [Haoran], Chang [Jian , jinshi 727], Chu [Guangxi], Wei [Yingwu], and Liu [Zongyuan] for the Tang. However, their formal style is fundamentally unorthodox and cannot encompass all forms. It is suitable for short pieces, not long ones; suitable for ancient poems, not songs and ballads; suitable for pentasyllabic regulated verse, not heptasyllabic regulated verse.27

The poets of the orthodox style hold to a set of aesthetic ideals— strong yet elegant, woeful yet harmonious—that can be traced to the earliest poetry. In another passage, Hu Yinglin characterized the Odes as “mild and magnanimous, harmonious and even” (wenhou heping ), the Li Sao as “grieved and woeful” (chuangce ), and 28 Han poetry as “integral and plain” (hunpu ). The terms used by Hu to describe the poetic style of Tao and others in his line contrast starkly with the substantiveness associated with the orthodox style. Moreover, this poetic style is, in contrast to the universality of the orthodox style, deemed suitable only for a few select forms. In his evaluation of Tao Yuanming, Hu Yinglin attempted to rectify previous claims for Tao’s superiority over all other poets by appealing to his own knowledge and systematic analysis of the history of poetry. 27. Ibid., 2/22. 28. Ibid., 1/1.

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Nowadays people often find fault with the regulated verse of Song writers. Yet their regulated verse nonetheless shows that they were still aware of Du Fu. As for [Song] ancient verse, there was only a narrow-minded appreciation for [Tao] Jingjie. Su [Wu (d. 60 bce)], Li [Ling], Cao [Zhi], and Liu [Zhen] were neglected. The “Nineteen Old Poems” and the Odes were tied up and relegated to the top shelf. For example, Su Changgong [Shi] said that [the allusion] “bridge over the river” (heliang ) came from the Six Dynasties, and that Tao’s verse is better than Zijian’s [Cao Zhi]. The rest can be extrapolated.29

Hu Yinglin’s oblique critique of Tao’s poetry may well reflect the archaists’ disdain for Song writers and their poetry, which, in the archaists’ view, was mired in philosophy and rational language and far removed from the concerns of “true” poetry, such as tonality and the use of comparisons (bi ) and evocative images (xing ).30 And perhaps because Tao Yuanming was enthusiastically received in the Song, he occasionally fell victim to this disdain. Hu’s argument, however, is more complicated than invoking guilt by association. Particularly significant is the method by which Hu cast doubt on Su Shi’s claim that Tao’s poetry is superior to Cao Zhi’s; this challenge is based not on a straightforward aesthetic re-evaluation of Tao Yuanming’s poetry by comparison to Cao Zhi’s but on an examination of the two poets’ respective places in literary history. For Hu, Su’s “errors” in attribution and in judgment resulted from a disregard for all poetry before the Six Dynasties. “Holding hands we climb the bridge over the river” is a line from one of the three parting poems traditionally attributed to Li Ling addressing Su Wu in the Former Han and does not date from the Six Dynasties, according to Hu Yinglin’s argument. 31 Hu, moreover, contested Su’s judgment by affirming his own view that Cao Zhi’s poetry is in fact better than Tao’s. For Hu, Su Shi lacked the correct perspective 29. Hu Yinglin, Shisou, nei pian, 2/37 (ZLHB, 163). 30. For a discussion of Li Mengyang’s “Fouyin xu” , in which Li set forth his poetic theory, see Lynn, “The Talent Learning Polarity in Chinese Poetics,” 159–61. 31. The line is the opening of the third poem of “Yu Su Wu, san shou” , attributed to Li Ling (Xiao Tong, Wen xuan, 29/1353). The traditional dating of these poems is not accepted by modern scholars, who have suggested a date no earlier than the last years of Eastern Han.

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afforded by a comprehensive knowledge of and thorough reflection on literary history and lineages. Hu’s own study of the history of poetry enabled him to create a system of distinctions between orthodox and unorthodox traditions, as well as to conclude that Cao Zhi represented a primordial source of all excellent aesthetic qualities, which may have also informed his correction of Su Shi’s view. According to Hu, Cao Zhi’s all-encompassing talent incorporates, for example, the remoteness of Ruan Ji, the placidity of Tao Yuanming, the luxuriance of Lu Ji, and the purity of Xie Lingyun. 32 In this scheme, Tao’s poetry is represented as single-faceted, and thus inferior to Cao Zhi’s broadly based poetry. Hu Yinglin’s system may have represented one of the most sophisticated historical approaches to poetry, but his conclusions do not constitute the only possible outcome of a historically based inquiry. For example, Xu Xueyi, another late Ming critic who investigated the origins and developments of poetic forms in terms of orthodoxy and deviation (zhengbian ), agreed with Hu’s assignment of the label “unorthodox” to Tao Yuanming but did not devalue Tao’s poetry for its lack of pedigree, as seen in the following passage from Shiyuan bianti (Origins of poetry and analysis of its forms): Xie Kangle’s [Lingyun] poetry carried on from the Han, Wei, and the Taikang period [280–89]. Although his pedigree appears orthodox, his literary form is too choppy to be taken as a model. Jingjie’s poetry, straightforward and natural, formed a source of its own. Although his poetry seems to be slightly unorthodox, its literary form is whole and pure and, indeed, can be drawn on.33

Although endowed with the proper pedigree, Xie’s literary form (wenti ), which is, in Xu’s estimation, fragmentary and wanting in internal coherence, does not readily lend itself to imitation. In spite of the unorthodoxy of his poetry, Tao’s literary form, on the other hand, possesses an internal unity that students of poetry may refer to. Xu’s conclusion extends beyond the orthodox/unorthodox distinction; he grounded his argument for Tao’s exemplarity in a literary judgment. 32. See Hu Yinglin, Shisou, wai pian 4/177. 33. Xu Xueyi, Shiyuan bianti, 99 (ZLHB, 153).

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It should not be surprising that other scholars would not judge Tao’s poetry unorthodox. In a discussion entitled “Beginnings of All Forms of Poetry” in his Qixiu leigao (Categorized notes emended seven times), Lang Ying (1487–ca. 1566) placed Tao’s tetrasyllabic verse in the tradition of the Odes. Although Lang argued that the origin of tetrasyllabic verse can be traced to the poetry and songs referred to in the “Canon of Shun” ,34 he began his discussion after the Odes, the primordial model of tetrasyllabic verse. In the Han, there is one piece by Wei Meng [b. 225 bce], which is included in various anthologies. But its language is excessively condemning and resentful and lacks the quality of the endearingly gentle and unhurried (yourou bupo ). As for the Jin dynasty, Yuanming’s “Hovering Clouds” and Maoxian’s [Zhang Hua (232–300)] “Arousing One’s Intent” , for example, should be considered the most archaic (gu ).35

“Hovering Clouds,” ostensibly a poem on thinking of a friend, has traditionally been interpreted as a lament carrying political commentary of some kind, from veiled criticism of a friend who has chosen to serve the new Liu Song dynasty to censure of contemporary officials and the current state of affairs.36 Implicit to Lang Ying’s argument is that Tao’s tetrasyllabic verse, unlike Wei Meng’s, possesses none of the overpowering spirit of condemnation and resentment inconsistent with the moral-aesthetic code of the Odes, traditionally understood as “sorrowfulness without self-injury” (ai er 34. In the “Canon of Shun” , Shun states that “a poem articulates what is intently on the mind; a song makes the words last” (shi yan zhi, ge yong yan , ; Shangshu zhengyi, II, 3/19c/131). This has historically been treated as the primordial and most authoritative definition of shi (poetry). Hence Lang Ying argued that the genesis of tetrasyllabic verse, the earliest meter, can be traced to the “Canon of Shun.” 35. Lang Ying, Qixiu leigao, 29/438 (ZLHB, 139). 36. The Yuan critic Liu Lü (1317–79) believed this poem to have been written after the change of dynasties and intended to reprimand a friend for serving the new dynasty (Yuan’s commentary is cited in SWHP, 1). The critic Wo Yizhong (Ming?), drawing attention to a line repeated twice in the poem, “In the eight directions, the same dusk” , read this poem as lamenting the dark times and censuring the officials responsible for them (PTC, 11). Wo’s remarks were cited by Huang Wenhuan in Taoshi xiyi, 1.3a–b.

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bushang ). Lang likewise traced Tao’s pentasyllabic ancient verse to the beginning of the tradition: Pentasyllabic ancient verse has its source in Su [Wu] and Li [Ling] of the Han and developed in the Wei with Cao [Zhi] and Liu [Zhen], who were the best. It flooded [the literary landscape] in the Jin dynasty, and Jingjie’s were the most lofty and archaic (gaogu ). After the Yuanjia period [424–53], although there were the three Xies [Xie Lingyun, Xie Huilian and Xie Tiao], it became increasingly carved.37

The conscious literary crafting of poetry in the Yuanjia period and thereafter took it further from the Han model, of which Tao’s poetry is a continuation. For Lang Ying, the plainness and artlessness of Tao’s style were evidence of his antique pedigree. In another account of the development of pentasyllabic ancient verse from the Han and Wei to the Six Dynasties, there is little conflict between the uniqueness of Tao’s poetry and his claim to a place in the literary mainstream. According to the early Ming critic Wu Na (1372–1457): Among the ancient pentasyllabic verse recorded in Zhaoming’s Wen xuan, those of the Han and Wei are the apex. The natural talent of Su [Wu] and Li [Ling] and the self-sufficiency of Cao [Zhi] and Liu [Zhen] made them the best of their respective times. Going back to their origin, they all modeled themselves after the “Airs of the States” and the songs of the Chu poets. By the Jin, Lu Shiheng [Ji] and his brother [Lu Yun (262–303)], Pan Anren [Yue (247–300)], Zhang Maoxian [Hua], Zuo Taichong [Si] and Guo Jingchun [Pu] appeared one after the other, yet none departed from the ruts of Cao and Liu. Tao Jingjie was unique in his lofty air and transcendent tone, surpassing the Jian’an [writers]. From the Yuanjia period on, the three Xies, Yan [Yanzhi], and Bao [Zhao] also took their turns as the best. The poetry of the rest is flawed by intricate carving and thus lacks the air of simplicity and substantiveness. From the Yongming period [483–93] on, the decline became even more pronounced.38

Tao’s poetry marks a high point in the early history of pentasyllabic ancient verse, surpassing the Jian’an writers and contrasting with the 37. Lang Ying, Qixiu leigao, 29/438 (ZLHB, 139). 38. Wu Na, Wenzhang bianti xushuo, 31. See also Dai Jianye’s discussion of this passage in Chengming zhi jing, 340.

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gradual decline in the Yuanjia and Yongming periods. Unlike his immediate Jin predecessors, Tao Yuanming distinguished himself from the dominant Jian’an poets, establishing a style of his own. His achievement owed much to a personality that sustained his singular style, as suggested by the description “lofty air and transcendent tone” (gaofeng yiyun ), which may be construed as either personal or literary characteristics. Wu’s assessment of Tao’s place in literary history emphasizes the poet’s uniqueness. The literary-historical approach to Tao Yuanming’s works developed in the Ming constitutes a significant mark in Tao studies. To be sure, this does not mean that earlier readers, especially in the Song, were unaware of the literary tradition. Rather, the point is that the scope and depth of the Ming literary-historical approach, its systematization, and its articulated set of criteria are unprecedented. Whereas Song writers sifted through the tradition and organized past writers into a fairly solid literary canon, mid- to late Ming critics probed into that canon of writers and sought to examine not only the role of each writer within it but also the writer’s contribution to literary history, including the development of particular forms and styles. A historical approach to discussing Tao Yuanming’s poetry continues into the Qing dynasty. Few Qing critics, however, would have asserted that Tao’s poetry is “unorthodox” or agreed with Hu Yinglin’s relegation of Tao to a minor lineage. More agreeable to many Qing critics were the earlier assessments of Lang Ying, who placed Tao’s poetry in dominant lineages, and of Wu Na, who represented Tao’s pentasyllabic ancient verse as a unique high point. In an early Qing version of the development of pentasyllabic ancient verse, mostly drawn verbatim from Wu Na’s account, Pu Qilong (1679–ca. 1762) re-emphasized Tao’s uniqueness.39 A more fundamental revision of the historical approach is the claim that, rather than being a unique figure in literary history, Tao was a figure outside history. In a foreword to his anthology of ancient verse, the Qing critic Wang Shizhen (1634–1711) traced the origin and development of pentasyllabic ancient verse. Wang began with the “Nineteen Old Poems,” whose marvelousness he likened to that

39. ZLHB, 201.

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of the “seamless garment of Heaven” (wufeng tianyi ). In the Wei, Wang continued, Cao Zhi was the patriarch, with Ying Qu and Liu Zhen playing supporting roles, and Ruan Ji exhibited a style of his own. In the Jin, Zhang Hua, Fu Xuan (217–78), Lu Ji, Lu Yun, Zhang Zai (fl. late third century), Zhang Xie, Zhang Kang (fl. early fourth century), and “their ilk generally lacked ‘wind and bones’ (fenggu ),” a phrase often used to describe the vigorous and solid style of the Jian’an period. Zuo Si, Liu Kun (271– 318), and Guo Pu represented the height of the Jin. Then in the Eastern Jin, “Yuanming appeared and is unsurpassed in all time. One should not view him parochially in terms of his particular era,” Wang tells us.40 The framework of Wang’s account is literary history, but the prescribed way to assess Tao Yuanming is ahistorical. Originality alone does not suffice for this kind of prescription, as in the case of Ruan Ji. Wang Shizhen’s argument for an ahistorical treatment of Tao Yuanming does not appear to be based on a view of Tao’s absolute difference from other poets of his period, as one Ming critic, Jiang Yingke (1553–1605), had put it: “Tao Yuanming transcends the dusty world, beginning a tradition of his own. He indeed was not a man of the Six Dynasties; hence his poetry is also not of the Six Dynasties.”41 Rather, Wang seems to argue for more: that Tao is a timeless poet, whose works cannot be properly treated within a literary-historical scheme. Like his Ming predecessors, Wang Shizhen used a historicizing framework to organize past poetry but claimed a special exemption for Tao Yuanming. Stronger opposition to historicizing Tao’s poetry was voiced by He Yisun (1606–ca. 1684), whose case rested on internal evidence from Tao’s writings. He Yisun began his argument by citing a contemporary position on the tradition of “even and remote” (pingyuan ) pentasyllabic ancient verse and the role played by Tao Yuanming and highlighted the general propensity to discuss Tao’s poetry in terms of lineage. Critics say that in the tradition of “even and remote” pentasyllabic ancient verse since Su [Wu], Li [Ling], and the “Nineteen Old Poems,” Tao Pengze 40. Wang Shizhen , “Wuyanshi fanli” 1a–b (ZLHB, 189–90). 41. Jiang Yingke, Jiang Yingke ji, 2: 808 (ZLHB, 165).

, in idem, Gushi xuan,

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should stand as the patriarch who passes on the flame. And Chu Guangxi, Wang Wei, Liu Shenxu (fl. 730s), Meng Haoran, Wei Yingwu, and Liu Zongyuan are the transmitters of the dharma.42

He Yisun then questioned the aptness of positing Han poetry as Tao’s poetic model, although conceding an affinity between Tao’s poetry and the “Nineteen Old Poems” on the basis of abstract qualities that elude studied imitation. Yet I find that Pengze’s poetry possesses marvelous enlightenment (miaowu ) and is not modeled after Su, Li, and the “Nineteen Old Poems.” With his poems that do resemble the “Nineteen Old Poems,” it is precisely because of a shared spirit and resonance (qiyun ).

He Yisun moreover distinguished Tao’s poetry and approach to poetry from those of his Tang imitators: Chu, Wang, and so forth imitated Su, Li, and the “Nineteen Old Poems,” as well as Pengze. They all exhibited the intent to write poetry. The intent to imitate ancient poetry [reveals that] the root of [the desire to become] a celebrity still remains and the meaning of [acting as] a poet has yet to be forgotten.

Tao Yuanming, He Yisun tells us, differs from his Tang descendants in his lack of intentionality in writing or desire for renown. When Pengze happened on some inspiration, a poem was simply born of it. He simply expressed, as suited him, his own thoughts. Did he seek out the best examples of ancient verse and discerningly imitate them? Did he plan for the transmission of this piece of his or that and work diligently on it?

He Yisun argued that Tao neither studied past masters nor cared about posterity. On these two points, He cited Tao Yuanming’s own texts. In the “Biography of the Master of Five Willows,” Tao wrote: “I have always written pieces for my own pleasure” .43 In a set of instructions, “To My Sons, Yan and the Others,” Tao said that “when I unrolled a scroll and apprehended something, I became so delighted that I forgot to eat” , .44 For He 42. All citations from He Yisun are found in Shifa, in Guo Shaoyu, ed., Qing shihua xubian, 1: 159 (ZLHB, 192–93). 43. TYMJJJ, 421. 44. Ibid., 441.

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Yisun, the phrases “for my own pleasure” and “unrolling a scroll and apprehending something” signify an absence in Tao’s practice of writing of concern for either what came before or what might come after. The argument implicit to He’s discussion is that placing Tao Yuanming in a line is antithetical to Tao’s own approach to writing. Anyone who discusses Tao in terms of a certain lineage fails to understand his poetry and the man himself. Historical treatments of Tao Yuanming’s poetry resulted in different conclusions in the Ming and Qing dynasties. Whereas one critic might argue that Tao’s poetry represented the weakening of poetry in a historical process, others portrayed it as a unique high point. For every literary historian who called Tao’s pentasyllabic ancient verse unorthodox, another accepted its “unorthodoxy” and nonetheless posited it as a good poetic model. Still others considered his poetry orthodox. These verdicts are judgments on poetic history rather than aesthetic re-evaluations of Tao’s poetry. The debate over Tao’s orthodox status, while an interesting development in his reception, had little impact on his canonical standing, since he still figured in the writings of major literary critics in the late imperial period and continued to be widely considered one of China’s greatest poets. Discussions of his orthodox status and lineage must also be understood in terms of a larger intellectual interest in studying poetry in a historically informed manner. Some Qing critics, however, questioned the aptness of the historical scheme of lineages for evaluating Tao’s poetry. Without necessarily challenging the project of historicizing poetry that began in the Ming, they argued that literaryhistorical contextualization is of limited value in assessing Tao Yuanming, whose poetry had neither models nor worthy imitations.

A Closer Look at Tao Yuanming An approach to Tao’s poetry that developed in tandem with the literary-historical one concentrated on microscopic features within Tao’s texts. The increase during the Ming and Qing dynasties in textual analyses of individual poems may in large part be explained by an increase in the number of annotated editions of Tao’s Collected Works and of annotated anthologies with a larger selection of his poems, as well as the development of more systematic shihua

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(remarks on poetry) with sections devoted to individual poets and periods. Of these textual analyses, a significant number are close readings that examine individual words and lines and how they signify, as well as the overall structure of a particular poem or poetic series and how it operates. An important example is the work of a pair of late Ming critics best known as founders of the Jingling school , Zhong Xing (1574–1625) and Tan Yuanchun (1586–1637), who closely examined the linguistic craftsmanship of Tao’s poems, thirty-five of which are included in their annotated anthology of ancient poetry, Gushi gui (Return to ancient poetry). Their method of criticism, pingdian (literally, “to comment and to punctuate with reading marks”), paid special attention not only to the aesthetic aspects of significations but also to the way in which texts signify. Pingdian criticism, which can be traced to the Song, grew extremely popular during the latter part of the Ming and was applied to works of all kinds, from editions of poetry and prose to philosophical writings to the Classics, which had hitherto been regarded primarily as sacred texts and repositories of moral truths beyond the scrutiny of the aesthetic eye.45 Pingdian editions of poetry, including the Odes, typically contain markings (e.g., dots and circles) and marginal and/or interlinear comments that highlight aspects of poetic technique, including appreciative remarks as brief as “marvelous!” (miao ) or “fantastic!” (qi ). As the modern scholar Zhong Youmin notes, this type of textual analysis marked a new development in Tao Yuanming criticism, since “previous criticism tended to focus more on ideas and interests rather than on linguistic craft.”46 An example from Zhong Xing and Tan Yuanchun can serve as an introduction to this type of criticism. In their interpretation of Tao’s series of twenty drinking poems, Zhong and Tan zoomed in on the last four lines of Poem no. 20. This poem celebrates Confucius, laments the near-destruction in the Qin (221–206 bce) of his teachings as preserved in the Classics, rejoices in their renewal in the Han, and ultimately questions why in Tao’s own time “The Six 45. For a concise outline of the historical background and development of pingdian criticism, see Rolston, How to Read the Chinese Novel, 3–34. 46. Zhong Youmin, Taoxue shihua, 123.

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Classics have not a single friend” . 47 Zhong Xing observed an abrupt switch in topic from lauding Confucian learning and lamenting its neglect in the penultimate couplet of the poem: If I fail to drink to my heart’s content I will be untrue to the head cloth I wear.

48

Zhong remarked that “here he suddenly changed the subject to wine drinking; the connection is unexplained, and its marvelous subtlety (miao ) lies in this.”49 As cryptic as Zhong Xing’s comment may be, he located for the reader a telling break in the text. The subtlety he noted in the text must refer to this: the informal tone and light topic of the last four lines effect a sharp disjuncture that sets into relief the seriousness, even touchiness, of the preceding topic, which is a critique of the moral dissipation of the times, and even of the dynasty itself, which does not promote Confucian scholarship as the Han did. Tan Yuanchun struck a similar note in his comment on the poem’s last couplet: Still I regret the stupid things I’ve said And hope you will forgive a man in his cups.

50

Tan remarked that “the word ‘sir’ (jun ) has no particular referent. Marvelous!”51 Just as Zhong Xing observed the significance of an unexplained shift in topic, Tan noted the significance of a figure left unspecified. In the preface to the series, Tao stated that he wrote the poems for his own amusement; indeed, nowhere in the preceding nineteen poems is a reader apostrophized. It is only in the last line of the last poem of the series that a reader is invoked, which, Tan suggested, at once points to no one in particular and everyone in power. The intended reader is left unspecified, perhaps because the poems are implicitly about and critical of this reader. And it is thus to him that Tao apologized in the same line. The very fact of making an apology draws attention to the presence of content that might give offense. Summing up Tao’s attitude in making this respectful 47. TYMJJJ, 249; PTC, 155. 48. TYMJJJ, 249; PTC, 155. 49. Zhong Xing and Tan Yuanchun, Gushi gui, 9.18b (SWHP, 197). 50. TYMJJJ, 249; PTC, 155. 51. Zhong Xing and Tan Yuanchun, Gushi gui, 9.18b (SWHP, 197).

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criticism, Zhong Xing wrote of the last two lines of the poem: “These two lines cannot be called overbearing, nor can they be called meek. In their marvelousness (miao ) there is subtlety beyond words.”52 The poet firmly points to what he carefully left implicit. Zhong Xing and Tan Yuanchun carefully identified the textual pointers that direct the reader to the subtlety beyond words. The popularity of the Shi gui (a collective term for the anthology of gushi and of Tang shi), which saw at least seven reprints by various publishers in the first few decades after its initial publication (probably in 1617), seemed to owe as much to innovative printing techniques as to Zhong and Tan’s reputation and pingdian style.53 Most notable is the color edition published by the Min family of Wucheng (modern Wuxing in Zhejiang), whose improvement of methods for color printing (taoban ) helped make feasible the mass production of color wood-block editions.54 The use of color greatly enhanced the visual presentation of pingdian texts such as the Shi gui. Indeed, this appears to have been the original design of Zhong and Tan, who used different colored inks—one red, one blue—in editing drafts of the anthology.55 As Chen Guoqiu recently argued, the monochrome edition of the Shi gui merely used “Zhong says” and “Tan says” to distinguish the two commentarial voices, whereas the Min color edition, which used black ink for the original text and vermilion and indigo for the two commentaries, as well as wider rows and margins, more effectively engaged the readers’ attention.56 The well-designed format likely contributed to the popularity and mass appeal of the Shi gui.57 This anthology would appear to be one important channel by which Tao Yuanming’s poems became accessible to readers well beyond literati circles in the late Ming.

52. Zhong Xing and Tan Yuanchun, Gushi gui, 9.18b (SWHP, 197). 53. My discussion draws from the excellent study of the edition, printing, and literary significance of Tangshi gui by Chen Guoqiu, “Shi lun Tangshi gui de bianji.” 54. The Ling family of Wucheng, which published Zhong Xing’s pingdian edition of Shijing, was another key player in the development of more efficient colorprinting techniques; see Chen Guoqiu, “Shi lun Tangshi gui de bianji,” 26–27. 55. See Tan Yuanchun, Tan Yuanchun ji, 2: 681. 56. Chen Guoqiu, “Shi lun Tangshi gui de bianji,” 31. 57. Chen Guoqiu (ibid., 76) makes this argument for Tangshi gui.

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One Ming editor of Tao’s Collected Works, Huang Wenhuan (jinshi 1625), defended the need for close reading in opposition to the traditional interpretation of Tao’s poetry as pingdan (even and bland). In the Preface to Tao shi xiyi (Interpretation of and elaboration on Tao’s poetry), Huang argued: Reverence for Tao in the past and present all comes down to pingdan. To use pingdan to sum up Tao in effect obscures Tao. If one analyzes his poetry in terms of his carefully crafted lines and stanzas, one sees that every word he uses is marvelous and profound. The structure contains many abrupt changes. And in the alternation of the explicit and implicit are many levels of meaning. Now the hand and eye of Tao can emerge [that is, the true Tao Yuanming].58

Huang insisted on the need to examine the linguistic and structural dimensions of Tao’s poetry and promised fruitful results. In his commentary on “A Lament in the Chu Mode: To Show to Recorder Pang and Assistant Deng” , it is the structural changes in the text that inform Huang’s reading. The poem reads: The Way of Heaven is obscure and distant, The Spirits shrouded in unfathomable darkness. Since adolescence I had set on doing good, Trying the best I could these fifty-four years. At twenty, I encountered troubled times, Then at thirty, I mourned my wife. Several times all was scorched by flaming heat, Insects had their way through my fields. Wind and rain came from all directions, The yield did not suffice to feed one household. In summer days, we frequently bore our hunger, In winter nights, we slept with no covers. At dusk we would think of the cock crow, At dawn we hoped the crow would cross quickly. It was my own doing—how could I blame Heaven? To suffer misfortune, I grieved over all that has happened. Alas! a posthumous name, Is like floating mist to me. 58. Huang Wenhuan, Preface (“Xu”) to idem, Taoshi xiyi, 6a–b (ZLHB, 152).

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With deep emotion, I sing my sad song alone, Zhong Ziqi was truly a worthy man.

59

Huang’s analysis highlights Tao’s meaningful shifts in focus: From “I mourned my wife” [l. 6] to “the crow would cross quickly” [l. 14], he itemizes all his sad experiences. There is nothing for which he does not express grievance. Suddenly he interjects a line saying “It was my own doing— how could I blame Heaven?” There is nothing for which he may express grievance. After this line, he goes on to say “[To suffer] misfortune, I grieved over all that has happened.” Again there is nothing for which he does not express grievance. After this line, he brings up “posthumousness” and makes it clear that his concern is not his reputation, but rather that there is no Zhong [Zi]qi to hear his lament. A thousand grievances are wrapped up, leaving only this one. His person is lofty and noble (gaogui ), his compositional strategy startling and full of transformations (qihuan ).60

Huang drew attention to the structural shifts back and forth between expressing grievance and restraint, even reconciliation, which lead to Tao’s ultimate lament. All the common grievances and worries expressed in the first part of the poem are subsumed under the noble lamentation over the lack of an understanding friend, whose archetype is Zhong Ziqi, in the last couplet. The poem’s particular structure sets into relief the singular weight of the final lament, which, in turn, for Huang, reveals the loftiness and nobility of Tao’s character. The conclusion regarding Tao’s character is drawn from a close examination of the text’s structure. Huang Wenhuan performed a similar structural analysis on a larger scale. He argued that “in all of Tao’s poetic series, there is a profound method to their arrangement. ‘Twenty Poems on Drinking Wine’ is particularly thorough and complex. Its meanings are often counterposed, and ideas resonate back and forth.”61 One detail Huang 59. TYMJJJ, 98–99. 60. Huang Wenhuan, Taoshi xiyi, 2.13b–14a (SWHP, 74). 61. Huang Wenhuan, Taoshi xiyi, 3.22.b (SWHP, 154). A few of the drinking poems are labeled “Miscellaneous Poems” (Za shi ) in the Wen xuan and Yiwen leiju. Although this cautions us not to take for granted that the poems constituting the series or their order were definitely determined by Tao and it is certainly much easier to suspect that they were arranged this way by a later editor, there is no conclusive evidence for this and thus no compelling reason to begin treating these poems as not belonging to the same series. Yiwen leiju may have followed the Wen

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observed is that eleven poems in the series make a clear reference to drinking. 62 In the poems with no reference to drinking, however, “the desire to drink is even greater.” Huang explained why based on the context or narrative flow of each of these poems, drinking would be the logical outcome. For example, Poem no. 2 is about goodness and virtue that go unrewarded; this is highly lamentable and should lead to “sorrowful drinking” (chouyin ). 63 Huang emphasized, moreover, that in the series “resonance between his words and lines flows back and forth and up and down. All the interconnections run through a single strand. The intricacies branch out into myriad threads.”64 Huang identified these interconnections in the form of recurring ideas or gestures. He made a list of them and supplied ample examples. The lines “They [Bo Yi, Shu Qi, and Rong Qiqi ] had to be firm in adversity / [For their names to live a thousand years]” , (no. 2) and “I clung to firmness in adversity” (no. 16) are classified under the gesture of “displaying integrity” (shijie ).65 And the lines “I wish to explain, but have forgotten the words” (no. 5) and “[Since good and evil go without reward,/ ] What’s the point of all the cant they talk” , (no. 2) show Tao’s “reflection on 66 language” (kaoyan ). Huang’s observation of patterns within xuan, and it is not inconceivable that Xiao Tong changed the title from “Yin jiu” (On drinking wine) to “Za shi” to downplay the intimate association of Tao Yuanming and wine, about which he elsewhere exhibited a certain discomfort. Besides, the issue here is that Huang Wenhuan and other readers accepted and treated these poems as a series. I am grateful to Xiaofei Tian for the reminder that some of the drinking poems are labeled “Miscellaneous Poems” (Za shi ) in these other sources. 62. Poems no. 1, 3, 7, 8, 9, 13, 14, 16, 18, 19, and 20. Poem no. 16 contains no mention of wine drinking if one understands the byname name (zi ) “Menggong” as referring to Liu Gong of the Eastern Han, as modern commentators have rightly done (see Hightower’s discussion; PTC, 149). Like a number of traditional commentators, Huang Wenhuan identified Menggong as Chen Zun ,a great lover of wine. Hence, for Huang, the reference to wine in the poem is made through the figure of Chen Zun (for Chen, see Han shu, 92/3710). 63. Huang Wenhuan, Taoshi xiyi, 3.23a–b (SWHP, 155). 64. Huang Wenhuan, Taoshi xiyi, 3.24a (SWHP, 155). 65. TYMJJJ, 215 and 240, respectively; PTC, 126 and 147, respectively. Huang Wenhuan, Taoshi xiyi, 3.24a (SWHP, 155). 66. TYMJJJ, 220 and 214, respectively; my translation and PTC, 126, respectively. Huang Wenhuan, Taoshi xiyi, 3.24b (SWHP, 155).

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the series extends even to references to symbolic plants and animals, such as chrysanthemum, pine, and birds.67 The most significant pattern in the series, according to Huang, is Tao Yuanming’s defining of himself in relation to the Confucian tradition. Huang argued that “the overall structure and main point both come back to Confucius and the Six Classics.”68 He noted that Tao alluded to Shao Ping (no. 1), Bo Yi and Shu Qi (no. 2), Xia Huanggong and Qi Liji (no. 6), Yan Hui (no. 11), Rong Qiqi (nos. 2, 11), Zhang Zhi (no. 12), Yang 69 Lun (no. 12), Chen Zun (no. 16), and Yang Xiong (no. 18) and “culminates with Confucius in the end [no. 20].” In addition to the Sage himself, these men are well known for having distinguished themselves by virtues celebrated in the Confucian tradition. Some, for instance, protested a perceived illegitimate or unrighteous government (Shao Ping, Bo Yi, Shu Qi, Xia Huanggong, and Qi Liji). Others withdrew from office to preserve their ideals (Zhang Zhi and Yang Lun). Others upheld the virtues of integrity and complacency in poverty (Yan Hui and Rong Qiqi). Huang further observed that Tao alluded to the period of the Three Dynasties (Xia, Shang, and Zhou). “Explicitly or implicitly,” Huang continued, “[questions of] action and inaction, selection and rejection, right and wrong, blame and praise, are ultimately decided by the Six Classics.”70 More concretely, these issues refer to, for example, resolutions such as firmness in adversity (nos. 2, 16), refusal to serve an illegitimate reign (no. 6) or to follow an unrighteous man (no. 17).71 67. See Huang Wenhuan, Taoshi xiyi, 3.24b–25a (SWHP, 155). 68. Huang Wenhuan, Taoshi xiyi, 3.25a (SWHP, 155). 69. Huang here misidentifies Menggong as Chen Zun (see note 62 above). 70. Huang Wenhuan, Taoshi xiyi, 3.25a (SWHP, 156). 71. It is worth noting that although raising the latter two issues may suggest a date of composition later than 420, the series could still have been completed before Liu Yu’s usurpation of the throne and establishment of the Liu Song dynasty in 420. Nor need Tao be credited with uncommon foresight, as some traditional critics have done, regarding the course of events after he retired in 405. There is evidence to suggest that Liu Yu was de facto the ruler as early as 404. A passage from the Nan shi (77/1918) biography of Xu Yuan , compiler of a now-lost Song shu, relates a debate in 459 among historians regarding the dating of the start of the Liu Song dynasty. A large contingent supported the date of 405, some even 404, suggesting that

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Huang also examined lines whose resonance within the series reveals Tao Yuanming’s true intent. In the Preface to Tao shi xiyi, Huang described this intent in contradistinction to one traditional reading of Tao Yuanming’s eremitic poetry. In evaluating Tao, Zhong Rong only said that Tao is the patriarch of [poets of] reclusion. To use reclusion to summarize Tao in effect obscures Tao. If one analyzes [his poetry in terms of] concern for the times and over civil disorder, one sees that he longed to prop up the Jin in its decline and resist the [Liu] Song succession, and that he desired to bring order and help others. Such words are buried throughout his poetry. Such emotions burst forth like frothing waves and mount upward like a flying sword. Through this analysis, his viscera may emerge.72

Huang drew a picture of Tao as a Confucian moral hero based on lines such as these from “Twenty Poems on Drinking Wine.” In the final poem, moved by the times, Tao wrote, “In the world today few preserve their [the ancient sages’] truth” . In a previous poem, he said with a sense of responsibility, “In these things is a fundamental truth” . In the final poem, moved by the times, Tao wrote, “The Six Classics have not a single friend” . In a previous poem, he said with a sense of responsibility, “I devoted myself to the Six Classics” .73

The pattern Huang laid out for the reader seems to be a declaration of intent in a previous poem and grievance in the final poem over the current state of affairs, which has prevented the realization of this intent. Huang identified a similar counterposing of an affirmation of the Way and a lament over its decline: “The Way has declined almost a thousand years” (no. 3) and “By sticking to the Way I might get through” (no. 17).74 All these lines, taken together, “make for a serious discourse. There is resonance in the arrangement, so that this topic of wine drinking Liu had assumed the functions of a ruler at least fifteen years before the nominal founding of the dynasty. 72. Huang Wenhuan, “Preface” (“Xu”) to idem, Taoshi xiyi, 6b–7a (ZLHB, 152). 73. TYMJJJ, 248, 220, 249, and 240, respectively; PTC, 155, 130, 155, and my translation, respectively. Huang Wenhuan, Taoshi xiyi, 3.25a (SWHP, 156). 74. TYMJJJ, 216 and 243, respectively; PTC, 127 and 149, respectively. Huang Wenhuan, Taoshi xiyi, 3.25a (SWHP, 156).

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becomes a podium for a scholarly lecture. But it is nonlinear and dispersed.”75 Huang concluded his general remarks on the series with an emphasis on its skillful arrangement and structure: In nothing is the craft of ordering [the composition] more perfect than this. Yet in the Preface [to the series, Tao] says that there is no particular order to his words. But, in fact, he concealed order within the appearance of lack of order. This leaves the reader confused and groping. In all the works of the Han, Wei, and the whole of Tang, there is nothing with such great composition as this.76

Huang’s analysis of the series thus seeks to locate and group together resonating ideas, which in the main revolve around Tao’s reflections and sentiments as a Confucian figure. In Huang’s Preface to his edition, he assured us of the poet’s moral worth: He upheld the Learning of Principle and set sageliness and worthiness as his goal. He did not forget for a moment Shun and Confucius, and he pensively reflected that the Six Classics have not a single friend, which caused him to sigh. Which of the poets of the Han and Wei could measure up to him? In these terms, Jingjie’s rank is such that he should have offerings made to him in Confucian temples.77

Huang here rehearsed the same tune sung by the Song moralists among others regarding Tao Yuanming, but his basic claim is substantiated by close readings of Tao’s texts, such as the series “Twenty Poems on Drinking Wine.” His analysis of the series does not draw on biographical “facts” to support its conclusions, nor do his conclusions seem to be formulated in order to reiterate these facts. His approach gives the impression that Tao’s Confucian orientation is not the point of departure in reading the texts, but a conclusion drawn from close textual analyses of them. This trend in literary textual analysis, which centered initially on the Classics, developed with the consolidation, during the last decades of the fifteenth century, of the eight-legged essay (bagu wen ) as the prescribed form for the civil service examination. The eight-legged essay tested a candidate’s knowledge of the Four 75. Huang Wenhuan, Taoshi xiyi, 3.25a–b (SWHP, 156). 76. Huang Wenhuan, Taoshi xiyi, 3.25b (SWHP, 156). 77. Huang Wenhuan, “Preface” (“Xu”) to idem, Taoshi xiyi, 7a–b (ZLHB, 152).

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Books and Five Classics and his command of the essay’s rigorous formal style.78 A candidate was expected to compose an argument about a quotation selected from a classical text through pairs of balanced propositions and parallel rhetoric. A focus on the style and expression of the Classics, which, by extension, involves the literary appreciation and close analysis of these texts, fulfilled one purpose of the examinations—that the candidate assume the voice of the sages, so to speak. In an account of the growth of pingdian criticism of fiction, David Rolston points to the significance of examination theory and practices at the time: “As the candidate in the examinations, especially after the institution of the so-called ‘eight-legged essays’ [in 1487] as the required form, was supposed to ‘speak on behalf of the sages’ (dai sheng li yan ),79 this development surely favored giving more attention to the precise manner of expression used in the classics.”80 In a recent book on studies of the Odes in the Ming, which traces a dramatic shift from a classical studies–based approach to one based on literary studies, Liu Yuqing analyzes the mutual reinforcement between the examination process and pingdian and related forms of criticism of the Classic and offers insight into the issue of the growing trend of close textual study. During the Ming, when 78. Although the designations of certain of the “legs” (gu ) may differ, most scholars explain the term “eight legs” as four double-units that make up the body of the essay. They are written in parallel construction (i.e., with balanced rhetoric and complementary propositions), thereby yielding eight parallel parts (“legs”). For further discussions of the eight-legged essay, see Andrew Plaks’s entry on the form in Nienhauser, The Indiana Companion to Traditional Chinese Literature, 641–43; and Elman, A Cultural History of Civil Examinations, 371–420. 79. For a discussion of this notion, see Liang Zhangju, Zhiyi conghua, juan 1, particularly 4a, 6a, 8b, and 10b. The classical source of this citation is the Gongyang Commentary to the final entry of the Spring and Autumn Annals (Duke Ai, 14th year). The commentary states that Confucius “compiled the lessons of the Annals to await a later sage” (zhi chunqiu zhi yi yi sihou sheng ; Chunqiu Gongyang zhuan zhushu, II, 28/160b/p. 2354). As Benjamin Elman (A Cultural History of Civil Examinations, 396n82) has noted, “This sentence is also the source for the use of zhiyi to mean ‘writing an eight-legged essay’ to emulate sages like Confucius.” 80. Rolston, How to Read the Chinese Novel, 15. See Zhiyi conghua, 1.9a, for Liang Zhangju’s explanation of the importance of learning the manner with which the ancients spoke.

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examination candidates were required to specialize in one Classic, the Odes was a consistent favorite, being shorter than the Record of Rites and the Spring and Autumn Annals and easier to memorize than the others.81 Numerous commentaries on the Odes keyed to the requirements of the eight-legged essay were published in response to the need for useful guides on how to write an eight-legged essay on a given passage from the Classic. Liu Yuqing identifies two types of Odes criticism most in tune with the examinations: the pingdian school and the jiangyi (explication of meaning) school. What Liu has labeled as jiangyi criticism involves the explication of the main idea(s) of the text by breaking down its structure part by part and then tracing the main points (including key words) that thread the piece together.82 Pingdian criticism, in its appreciation of the literary qualities of the text, highlights the marvelous points on which the significance of the text hinges. Both facilitate the composition of the examination essay by providing a précis of the main ideas of a given text and detailing the way in which they are conveyed. Moreover, these criticisms, in particular those of the jiangyi variety, are often styled in the manner of an eight-legged essay (using complementary propositions and parallel language), which the examination candidate could simply replicate. Liu thus writes of the intertwinement of the examination process and literary textual criticism such as pingdian and jiangyi: “On one hand, analyses of the Odes were undertaken for the eight-legged essay; on the other, analyses of the Odes were performed as if using the rules of the eight-legged essay.”83 The emphasis in the eight-legged essay on structure would seem to reinforce the interest in dissecting the structural composition of texts. Developments such as these in the study of the Classics, buttressed by examination practices, provided an arena within which 81. See Liu Yuqing, Cong jingxue dao wenxue, 360; Elman, A Cultural History of Civil Examinations, 282–83. In 1787, it was decided that the examination candidates had to master each of the Five Classics. This change in policy was instituted over a period of five years from 1788 to 1793 since it was unrealistic to expect students to adjust immediately to the sudden and huge increase in the number of graphs to memorize (Elman, A Cultural History of Civil Examinations, 285). 82. See Liu Yuqing, Cong jingxue dao wenxue, 360–77. 83. Ibid., 257.

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the study of poetry could truly evolve. It is surely no accident that textual studies of Tao’s works that examined their linguistic and structural craft appeared in abundance at the same time and after these changes in the study of the Classics took place. The conceptual underpinnings of a literary-textual approach to the Classics have much to do with being able to see these texts not only as sources of moral knowledge but also as the origin of all later writing. This view, pronounced by a few already in the Song, gained wide currency in the Ming.84 For example, Sun Kuang (1542– 1613), who authored a commentary on the Odes, wrote that “all the techniques of composition are in the Classics” (wenzhang zhi fa jin yu jing ).85 Many like Sun probed the Classics for the ultimate in literary technique. This preoccupation with proper technique clearly resonated with archaist practices. This attitude toward the Classics illustrates the pervasiveness of the tendency toward close literary analysis of texts in general. The practice of close textual reading in Tao studies continued strongly into the Qing. In their studies of the structural composition of a poem or poem series, a number of Qing commentators on Tao Yuanming also identified relational components, meaningful patterns, or a logical order. Qiu Jiasui (ca. 1662–ca. 1714), for example, found a rational development of events in Tao’s famous series “Returning to the Farm to Dwell, Five poems.” He explained that the first poem represents a summary of the entire series, and the next four narrate various events pertaining to the theme. Indeed, the first poem sets the scene for the events in the subsequent poems: in Poem no. 1, Tao explains his decision to return to the farm, describes the material conditions of his farm, and celebrates his decision to leave behind the “worldly dust.” According to Qiu, two couplets from the first poem ascribing his return to a certain naturalness (the poet’s innate disposition and farm life) function as “veins” (mai ) connecting the entirety of the poem: “The migrant bird longs for its native grove. / The fish in the pond recalls the former depths” , and “For long I was a

84. See Rolston’s discussion in How to Read the Chinese Novel, 15. 85. Sun Kuang, “Yu Yu Junfang lun wen shu” , 9.5b.

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prisoner in a cage / And now I may return to nature” , 86 . In addition to a relational structure among the lines in the first poem, Qiu Jiasui delineated a “proper order” in Tao’s narration of events in the series as a whole: Poem no. 1 relates details of his living situation, while the second poem describes chats with farmers away from his home.87 Number 2 speaks of mulberry and hemp, and number 3 of planting beans.88 Number 4 is about his free time away from farming. In this poem, Tao takes his children on a stroll to a deserted town, in which people are either dead or gone. He contemplates the brevity of human life and “laments how things must come to an end.”89 Whereas this poem “expresses sadness over the dead,” number 5 “ponders the living.” As Qiu elaborated, “The dead can never come back, but with the living he could share joy. Hence he did farmwork and returned home, washed his feet and called it a day. 90 Then with a flask of wine and a fowl, he invited guests to drink with him all night.”91 Qiu Jiasui thus outlined the internal coherence of Tao’s portrait of his farm life: from details of his domestic situation to engagement with neighboring farmers in a communal sphere, from crops used to produce cloth to those that produce food, from farmwork to leisure time, and from reflections on death to the joys of farmstead living shared with neighbors. His analysis effects quite a contrast with most previous readings of these farmstead 86. TYMJJJ, 73; PTC, 50. The translation of the last line of “Returning to the Farm to Dwell,” no. 1, is mine. Qiu Jiasui, Dongshan caotang Tao shi jian, 2.3b (SWHP, 52). 87. Qiu Jiasui, Dongshan caotang Tao shi jian, 2.4a (SWHP, 55). 88. Qiu Jiasui, Dongshan caotang Tao shi jian, 2.4a (SWHP, 57). 89. Qiu Jiasui, Dongshan caotang Tao shi jian, 2.4b (SWHP, 58). 90. The couplet “The mountain brook runs clear and shallow— / It will serve to wash my feet” , from Poem no. 5 is probably intended as an allusion to “The Fisherman” (Yu fu ) in Chuci, in which the fisherman’s metaphor of adapting to external circumstances goes: “When the Canglang’s waters are clear, I can wash my hat-strings in them; / When the Canglang’s waters are muddy, I can wash my feet in them” (PTC, 55; translation from Hawkes, Ch’u Tz’u, 91). In Tao’s poem, the actions are reversed; he washes his feet in the clear mountain brook, since he no longer has official hat-strings. The gesture is thus a reaffirmation of his freedom from official life. 91. Qiu Jiasui, Dongshan caotang Tao shi jian, 2.4b–5a (SWHP, 59).

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poems, which have generally focused on Tao’s sentiments and thoughts (the philosophy of “return”), his vivid depiction of farmstead scenes, or a continuity between these poems and Han yuefu poetry or the “Nineteen Old Poems.”92 Recently Dai Jianye has argued that “in order to foreground the orthodox status of Tao Yuanming in literary history,” Qing editors and commentators “defined Tao Yuanming’s thoughts and sentiments as properly Confucian.”93 If Dai views this as a reaction to challenges to the orthodox status of Tao’s poetry in the Ming, an issue he discusses elsewhere, he only suggests it here. 94 Although many Qing critics sought to ascertain and “correct” knowledge received from their predecessors, a survey of post-Song interpretations of Tao Yuanming’s life and works indicates that Yuan, Ming, and Qing readers alike viewed Tao as a Confucian exemplar. Although there may be a certain truth to the conventional wisdom that Ming readers were particularly sensitive to the literary aspects of texts (that is, concerns of technique such as linguistic craft and structural arrangement), most exemplarily the Classics, their readings are often presented within a Confucian moral framework. As we have seen, the criticisms of Zhong Xing, Tan Yuanchun, and Huang Wenhuan are fine examples of this. Many Qing critics indeed highlighted the Confucian in Tao Yuanming, as did Song, Yuan, and Ming readers. A number of them performed close textual analysis to support their arguments, as did their Ming predecessors. In the following example, Fang Dongshu, the author of Zhaomei zhanyan (Chatter bright and dim), built an argument for Tao’s loyalty through an elaborate commentary, carefully teasing out implicit meanings. He explained his approach to the texts of a select group of major poets, including Tao Yuanming, in the opening chapter of his work, a shihua divided for the most part into sections on individual writers: “[Their poetry] is all their expressing their own ideas, for their style is powerful, their wording is marvelous, and everything they say can be traced to its roots. Seeking out 92. See SWHP, 47–59. 93. Dai Jianye, Chengming zhi jing, 361. 94. Dai Jianye (ibid., 361) does state that he believes the Confucianization of Tao Yuanming in the Qing is the result of an increasingly constricted intellectual milieu, in which departure from orthodox Confucian thought became rarer.

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their train of thought, there is always a clear thread that can be traced all the way back, which makes one understand.”95 Fang performed a close reading of what is ostensibly a farewell poem, “To Aide Yang” , piecing together the poet’s thoughts by following textual pointers. He arrived at the conclusion of Tao’s integrity in choosing reclusion, which is contrasted with Yang Songling’s complicity as a new dynasty is about to be established. The poem in question and its preface read: Aide Yang Songling, attached to the staff of the General of the Left, was sent on a mission to Qinchuan, and I wrote these lines to give him , , . Having been born in a time of decadence I think with longing of the ancient kings. To learn of an age a thousand years ago All we have are the books the ancients wrote. The relics that are left of the saints and sages Are one and all to be found in the Middle Region. I never lost my wish to wander there, But the road was blocked by rivers and passes. Now that all Nine Regions are united I had thought of getting boat and carriage ready. I hear that you will have to go ahead While I am sick and cannot go along. If your journey takes you past Mt. Shang Do me a favor: stop there long enough To pay my deep respects to Qi and Lu. Is their spirit still vigorous these days? Does anyone pick the purple mushrooms now? Their hidden valley is long since overgrown. No coach-and-four will buy you free from care, It’s poverty and low estate bring joy. Their pure song is kept fast in my heart’s recesses, But the men are distant, time puts us apart. I press my breast, so many ages after; I’ve said what I can, there is more I cannot express.

96

95. Fang Dongshu, Zhaomei zhanyan, 1/11–12. Fang is here referring to the Han and Wei poets Ruan Ji, Tao Yuanming, Du Fu, and Han Yu. 96. TYMJJJ, 142–43; PTC, 86–87.

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Most commentators, traditional and modern, have identified the General of the Left as Zhu Lingshi and the date of composition as 417, when Liu Yu recaptured Chang’an in a northern campaign against Latter Qin .97 Yang Songling was sent north by the General of the Left to convey his congratulations. Fang began his analysis with remarks on the historical background and Tao’s manipulation of the farewell poem, a genre that does not invite political commentary. This is the juncture at which Liu Yu was about to usurp the throne, which is exactly what Tao feared. But he could not speak frankly about current events. And within the context of the genre and before this person, he could not be too revealing. If Tao could not grandly laud the deeds and merits [of Yang Songling], it would also be absurd simply to write a farewell poem. But with this genre, it is difficult to come up with a proper treatment. Yet he places his ideas between the lines, unusually [for this genre].98

Fang next identified the ways in which Tao “sticks to the topic” (tieti ), a farewell poem to an official on a mission to the Central Region (guanzhong ), while implicitly expressing his thoughts, which are, as Fang deciphered them: (1) Tao thinks with longing of the ancient sage-kings, the Yellow Emperor and Yu Shun , whose traces are in the Central Region; (2) Tao would like to travel with Yang in order to visit the ancient sites and relics associated with the sages, but must remain in the south. Yet it is the possibility that Yang might pass Mt. Shang, the refuge of four dissidents during the oppressive Qin dynasty, that most interests Tao. Fang pointed out that here Tao Yuanming “conjures up the Four Whitepates (sihao ) of Mt. Shang to make a parallel with himself. He says that the pure song of the Four Whitepates has long been kept in the recesses of his heart. But because they are separated by time, he never had the chance to see them.” The admission in the poem’s last line of the poet’s inability to express himself fully is clearly significant,

97. See Gong Bin’s note in TYMJJJ, 144. Cf. Lu Qinli (Tao Yuanming ji, 65) and A. R. Davis’s (TYM, 1: 74) identification of the General of the Left as Tan Shao . 98. Fang Dongshu, Zhaomei zhanyan, 4/109. All subsequent citations from Fang’s commentary on “To Clerk Yang” are found on the same page.

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and Fang saw it as resonating with the first line of the poem [“Having been born in a time of decadence”], effecting a doubly meaningful conclusion. There is much that Tao cannot explicitly express; he says as much himself. Fang Dongshu explained that Tao must therefore “resort to riddles.” A crucial “riddle” for which Fang presented a solution is Tao’s real message to Yang Songling: “You [Yang] are going to help establish a new dynasty, while I will be like the Four Whitepates in avoiding disorder.” Fang remarked that “in using this allusion to express himself, there is virtually no trace of the true meaning. This is how subtle he is.” In addition, Tao’s question “Who will pick the purple mushrooms now?” drawn from the song of the Four Whitepates, 99 means “I am about to see them,” as Fang put it. Through an examination of the use of allusions, the ways by which Tao addressed the topic, and the significations of his words (or lack thereof), in conjunction with a consideration of the poem’s historical setting, Fang concluded that Tao Yuanming foresaw the imminent usurpation by Liu Yu and in a cryptic manner revealed his fears and his intention to preserve his integrity in reclusion and avoid disorder. Fang’s argument concerning the poem’s implicit political commentary and Tao’s subtle depiction of Yang Songling’s stance and his own is presented in terms of a historically aware and textually based analysis.

Evidential Research in Tao Yuanming Studies In addition to drawing out implied meanings in Tao’s texts or meaningfully delineating their structural arrangement and highlighting key words, Qing critics dealt with textual issues of another kind. Many sought to verify earlier identifications of names and dates of events by comparing historical sources, including Tao’s own works, to arrive at empirically based knowledge.100 These increased efforts 99. Lines 17–20 of the poem are drawn from the language of the “pure song” of the Four Whitepates (PTC, 88). 100. See also Zhong Youmin’s survey of Qing evidential research on Tao’s biography in Taoxue shihua, 128–31.

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to substantiate information in Tao Yuanming studies reflect the flourishing of the kaozheng (evidential research) spirit and methodology, which by the eighteenth century had become the “dominant form of Confucian discourse.” Its consolidation came with the work of Qing scholars who “were dissatisfied with the empirically unverifiable ideas that pervaded Song and Ming dynasty interpretations of classical Confucianism,” as Benjamin Elman writes.101 A turn away from the abstract moral speculation of Neo-Confucian discourse, evidential scholarship was seen as “ ‘solid learning,’ whereby historical and philological facts were isolated and compared with a minimum of interpretive integration.”102 To be sure, the attempt to ascertain “facts” about Tao Yuanming’s life and works did not originate with Qing scholars. For example, as noted in Chapter 2, the Song editor Siyue had drawn attention to the errors in Shen Yue’s account of the supposedly decisive switch in Tao’s dating method, which was construed as proof of his loyalty. Ming scholars such as Song Lian (1310–81) and Lang Ying also reviewed Tao’s œuvre to expose the mistake made by Shen Yue and those who followed him.103 However, attention to the verification of “facts” became more pervasive during the Qing. Moreover, the Qing scholars handled these texts with the critical spirit and confident systematicness of an established methodology. The following discussion presents two significant cases to illustrate both the light a rigorous examination of sources brings to a text and the persistence of certain blindspots in Tao studies. The identity of the general in the poem “Written as I Passed Through Qianxi on My Way to the Capital in the Third Month of 405, When I was Adjutant to the General of the EstablishingMajesty Army” has caused much ink to be spilled. The Qing scholar 101. Elman, From Philosophy to Philology, 39, xix. Elman’s From Philosophy to Philology (40–49) places emphasis on Qing, especially eighteenth-century, developments in kaozheng scholarship, but it also addresses much earlier pioneering studies in philology and traces the “roots of kaozheng discourse” to as early as the Tang and Song dynasties. In his more recent Cultural History of Civil Examinations (451–59), Elman examines the “conceptual roots” of Qing evidential research as “a formal category of learning” in Ming policy questions on the civil service examination. 102. Elman, From Philosophy to Philology, 57. 103. See ZLHB, 132–33, 138–39.

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Wu Zhantai (1657–1735) appears to have been the first to challenge the commentary found in the authoritative nianpu (chronological biography) of Tao Yuanming by Wu Renjie (jinshi 1178): In the third month [of 405], Liu Huaisu , the General of the Establishing-Majesty Army , led an expedition to suppress Huan Zhen [the grandson of the uncle of the usurper Huan Xuan], and killed him. The Emperor [An ; r. 396–418] then returned to the capital. That year, Huaisu became the regional inspector of Jiangzhou, concurrently with his position as General of the Establishing-Majesty Army. Master [Tao] in fact took part in the military affairs of the General of the Establishing-Majesty Army and joined him in a punitive expedition against rebel factions in Jiangling . He has a poem, “As I Passed Through Qianxi on My Way to the Capital,” which is surely about going on a mission from Jiangling to Jianye [the capital].104

Wu Zhantai corrected Wu Renjie’s commentary not merely by demonstrating where Wu Renjie erred but also by carefully citing all his sources. An investigation [kao ] of the “Biography of Liu Huaisu” in the Song shu shows that during that year [405] he was Bulwark-General of the State (fuguo jiangjun ), and there is no mention of the Establishing-Majesty Army. However, there is the “Biography of Liu Laozhi” in the Jinshu, which states: “Liu Jingxuan [371–415] and Zhuge Zhangmin [d. 413] defeated Huan Xin [371–415] at Shaopi . Then [Liu Jingxuan] was transferred to the positions of General of the Establishing-Majesty Army and regional inspector of Jiangzhou, garrisoned at Xunyang.” The account in the “Biography of Liu Jingxuan” in the Song shu is the same. In fact, whether in 404 Mister [Tao] was adjutant to Jingxuan, the General of the Establishing-Majesty Army, cannot be known. [Wu Renjie’s] Nianpu is mistaken in its investigation of sources [shi kao ].105

Wu Zhantai’s findings cast serious doubts on Wu Renjie’s identification of the general as Liu Huaisu. Wu strengthened his own case by pointing out that Liu Jingxuan assumed the post of General of the Establishing-Majesty Army in 404 according to two separate ac-

104. Wu Renjie, Tao Jingjie xiansheng nianpu, 16 (ZLHB, 88). 105. Wu Zhantai, Tao shi huizhu, 3.4b.

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counts. Whether Jingxuan was the general in Tao’s 405 poem remains unverifiable. What is important here is that although Wu Zhantai suggested another possibility after undermining the credibility of Wu Renjie’s account, he was ultimately unwilling to identify Liu Jingxuan as the general in question without verifiable proof. Instead he maintained that the matter could not be resolved. For some modern readers, the identity of the general has little consequence for the understanding of the poem.106 But for the traditional reader it could hold great significance. Historical details were rarely treated as insignificant in interpreting a poem and, more to the point, the poet. Wu Renjie’s identification painted a portrait of Tao Yuanming as a loyal official who joined a righteous expedition against rebel forces. If the general was not Liu Huaisu, this poem cannot be used as textual evidence for Tao’s loyal heroism around the time of the Huan Xuan rebellion. Certainly the poem itself, which speaks of an unwillingness to carry out the mission (“And I, what am I doing here, / By main force carrying out this mission” , ) and expresses mainly the poet’s longing to return to his farm, furnishes no such proof.107 Without even asserting a positive identification of the general, Wu Zhantai’s research clears away the discrepancy between what is implied by the title, according to Wu Renjie’s account, and the content of the poem. Wu Zhantai’s account was in turn not accepted by later readers without being subjected to verification. Tao Shu (1779–1839), an editor of Tao’s Collected Works and author of Jingjie xiansheng nianpu kao yi (Examination of variances in Master Jingjie’s chronological biographies), investigated both Wu Zhantai’s and Wu Renjie’s accounts. After reviewing Wu Renjie’s argument for Liu Huaisu as the general in question, Tao Shu located the source on which Wu’s identification must have been based, the entry for the year 405 in the Jin shu.108 Tao examined Wu Zhantai’s correction of Wu Renjie’s account and then pointed out inaccuracies in 106. See, e.g., Hightower’s remarks in PTC, 114. 107. TYMJJJ, 189; PTC, 114, 115. I have used Hightower’s more literal translation of the second line as provided in his notes. 108. Tao Shu, Jingjie xiansheng nianpu kao yi, juan shang 52. For the entry on the year 405, see the “Annals of Emperor An,” Jin shu, 10/258.

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both: Wu Zhantai was wrong to state that there is no mention of Liu Huaisu as General of the Establishing-Majesty Army, 109 but, contrary to Wu Renjie’s claim, Liu Huaisu was not simultaneously the regional inspector of Jiangzhou. Tao Shu confirmed that Liu Jingxuan, who was General of the Establishing-Majesty Army, was serving concurrently as the regional inspector of Jiangzhou by the third month of 404. He then reasoned that it was logical for Tao Yuanming, a native of Chaisang in Jiangzhou, to work for the inspector of his region. According to Tao Shu, another piece of evidence was that Tao Yuanming had once worked for Liu Laozhi (d. 402), Liu Jingxuan’s father. (As we shall see, this “fact” was disputed later.) Before closing his case, Tao Shu called attention to further discrepancies in his predecessors’ accounts: Wu Renjie’s claim that Tao Yuanming joined Liu Huaisu on the expedition to Jiangling contradicts the title, which states that Tao was sent to the capital; Wu Zhantai misdated events of 405 to 404.110 Tao Shu somewhat relentlessly and almost gleefully picked out “errors” in past accounts. In all fairness, it must be pointed out that Wu Renjie may have viewed the “mission” and expedition as two separate events, and the error in Wu Zhantai’s citation of Wu Renjie’s Nianpu, in which the latter’s remarks on the poem (dated 405) are affixed to the 404 entry, is surely a typographical error or a copyist’s careless mistake.111 The important point here is that although Tao Shu accepted Wu Zhantai’s suggestion that the general was Liu Jingxuan, he arrived at his conclusion after scrutinizing the sources of previous accounts and carefully separating out empirical facts and errors in these accounts. Most scholars today, following Tao Shu and Wu 109. There is no error in Wu’s statement since he limited it to Liu Huaisu’s biography, but there are indeed instances in the Jin shu in which Liu Huaisu appears with the title of General of the Establishing-Majesty Army. See the “Annals of Emperor An” and the “Biography of Huan Xuan” in Jin shu, 10/258 and 99/2600, respectively. 110. Tao Shu, Jingjie xiansheng nianpu kao yi, juan shang 52. 111. Wu Zhantai, Tao shi huizhu, 1.14a–b, 1.15a. The events and citations in this entry, such as Tao’s stint as magistrate of Pengze and his withdrawal after eighty-odd days, clearly refer to the year 405. Also, there is no entry for 405 in Wu Zhantai’s edition of Wu Renjie’s Nianpu, which would indicate that the remarks for 405 were somehow mistakenly attached to the entry for 404.

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Zhantai, identify the general as Liu Jingxuan. Moreover, Tao Shu’s hypothesis about the nature of Tao Yuanming’s mission, which was to congratulate the emperor on his return to the capital and to tender Liu Jingxuan’s resignation, is cited by numerous scholars as worth considering. 112 Tao Shu’s research and interpretation, based more on Wu Zhantai’s findings than he cared to admit, have provided a clearer picture of the circumstances (certain, plausible, or impossible) of the poem. The identity of the general in another poem, “Lines Written As I Passed Through Qu’e, on First Being Made Adjutant to the General of Defense Command,” incited an even more vigorous debate since the stakes here are higher.113 As in the previous example, the evidential debate is divorced from a reading of the content of the poem, which, like all of Tao’s poems written in office, expresses weariness with official life and a longing for rustic life. In this case, however, the referent carries potentially serious ramifications for an assessment of Tao Yuanming’s moral character. The argument began with Wu Renjie’s refutation of Li Shan’s commentary to this poem, which cites a passage from Zang Rongxu’s Jin shu and identifies the general as Liu Yu. Wu asserted that the identification is erroneous since he was certain that the poem had been written in 400 and Liu Yu became General of Defense Command in 404. Furthermore, Wu Renjie reasoned, “how could this gentleman [Tao] have answered [Liu] Yu’s summons?” Thus, “[the use of citation in] [Li] Shan’s commentary is wrong.”114 Evidently Wu Renjie could not imagine that Tao, who possessed “great principle” (da jie ), had served under Liu Yu, who wielded supreme power soon after the Huan Xuan rebellion and, finally, usurped the throne in 420.115 Fang Dongshu would argue a similar point in the Qing, but he founded his argument on precise textual evidence. Interestingly, 112. Tao Shu, “Jingjie xiansheng wei zhenjun jianwei canjun bian,” 43.3a. See Gu Zhi, Tao Jingjie shijian, 4b–5a; PTC, 114; TYMJJJ, 191–92; and Yuan Xingpei, Tao Yuanming ji jianzhu, 215. 113. There is no translation for zhenjun jiangjun in Hucker’s Dictionary of Official Titles in Imperial China. There is, however, a translation for zhen as “defense command,” which is the basis for my translation of the official title (ibid., 121). 114. Wu Renjie, Tao Jingjie xiansheng nianpu, 13 (ZLHB, 86). 115. Wu Renjie, Tao Jingjie xiansheng nianpu, 11 (ZLHB, 84).

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Fang, a Song Learning scholar who strove to defend the abstract, moral philosophy of Neo-Confucians, was compelled to adopt the accepted practice of scholarship (that is, using empirical methods for verification), often identified with Han Learning in the Qing. Fang refuted Li Shan’s identification on the basis of two main points and sets of proof. First, Fang dated this poem to 400. He argued that according to evidence in the titles of certain of Tao’s poems, Tao assumed office in 400 and retired in 405.116 Fang clearly interpreted the phrase shi zuo (on first assuming the post of) to mean shi shi (on first entering officialdom). The fact that this poem is placed at the beginning of the third juan of Tao’s Collected Works, which contains most of his dated works (400, 401, 403, 405, and so forth), may have also been a consideration. Second, Fang insisted that Liu Yu could not have been the General of Defense Command mentioned in the title. He examined historical sources on Liu Yu’s career and demonstrated that Liu Yu was not yet a general in 400. Fang concluded that although the general cannot be identified, who the general was not is certainly verifiable. Fang used historical sources critically and organized his argument on empirical grounds. Yet, the ultimate sources for Fang seem to be Tao’s works and his judgment of them. When an inconsistency arises between Tao’s works, as interpreted by Fang, and historical sources, Fang relied on Tao’s works. According to Fang’s reading, the titles in Tao’s œuvre clearly indicate that he was in office from 400 to 405. This contradicts historical sources, such as the earliest extant nianpu of Tao Yuanming, Wang Zhi’s (1127–89) Lili pu (Chronological biography [of Tao Yuanming] of Lili), which dates the start of Tao’s service to 394, and Wu Renjie’s Nianpu, which gives a date of 393.117 Fang’s guiding assumption reveals itself at the end of his dis116. Fang Dongshu, Zhaomei zhanyan, 4/102–3. All the subsequent citations from Fang’s commentary on “Lines Written As I Passed Through Qu’e, on First Being Made Adjutant to the General of Defense Command” are found on these two pages. 117. Wang Zhi, Lili pu, juan shang 2 (ZLHB, 79); Wu Renjie, Tao Jingjie xiansheng nianpu, 12, 17 (ZLHB, 85, 89). Wu Renjie’s reckoning relies on a crucial couplet from Tao’s “Returning to the Farm to Dwell,” no. 1: “By mischance I fell into the dusty net / And was thirteen years away from home” , (TYMJJJ, 73; PTC, 50). Wu’s proposal to emend the text from “thirty” (sanshi ) to “thirteen” (shisan ) has been widely accepted up to today. Some scholars,

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cussion, when he reiterated his critical attitude toward historical sources: “In short, all the events recounted in the biographies by Shen [Yue] and Xiao [Tong], as well as that in the Nan shi, are unclear. Hence, one need not chime in with far-fetched explanations. Then Mister [Tao]’s true visage (mianmu ) can be seen by the ten thousand generations to come.” Fang Dongshu elsewhere placed Tao’s works in the same category as the Six Classics, the Analects, and the Mencius; for him, apparently, Tao Yuanming’s true visage is that of a Confucian sage.118 This image should not be sullied by an association with the usurper Liu Yu. Perhaps for this reason he chose not to read shi zuo (on first being made) as referring specifically (and logically) to the post of adjutant to the General of Defense Command and ignored the fact that Liu Yu was the only person to hold the title of General of Defense Command (in 404) during the years Tao most likely would have served as adjutant.119 Although Fang did not name the General of Defense Command, Tao Shu posited an identification and provided a new date of composition: the general was Liu Laozhi, and the poem was written in 399. Tao Shu advanced his argument with a mountain of evidence. The following discussion simply presents the main points of his argument before critically examining them. To begin, Tao Shu rejected the possibility of Liu Yu because one would need to pass through Qu’e to get to Jingkou (in modern-day Dantu county in Jiangsu ), where the Defense Command was garrisoned, and Liu Yu did not return to his base in Dantu until the tenth month of 405. How could Tao Yuanming have been his adjutant at that time, passing through Qu’e on the way to Dantu, when he was in Pengze busy writing his prose poem, “The Return”?120 Next, Tao Shu argued that the general in question must have been Liu Laozhi, who was General of the Army of the Front (qian jiangjun ) in 399.121 How did Tao Shu get to General of Defense Command from however, prefer to keep “thirty years,” since it indicates the span of time covering Tao’s preparation for and tenure in office, from the age of ten to forty. 118. Fang Dongshu, Zhaomei zhanyan, 4/97 (ZLHB, 224). 119. See Yuan Xingpei, Tao Yuanming yanjiu, 88. 120. Tao Shu, Jingjie xiansheng nianpu kao yi, juan shang 34–36. 121. Ibid., 37–38.

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General of the Army of the Front? He found a passage in the “Treatise on Official Posts” (zhi guan zhi ) in the Jin shu to help make the connections: 122 “The four armies, the Left, Right, Front and Rear, are called defense guards” (zuo you qian hou si jun wei zhen wei jun ). Therefore, Liu Laozhi was General of the Army of the Front (qian jiangjun ), which was called the Army of the Defense Guards (zhen wei jun ), or, for 123 short, Defense Command (zhen jun ). Tao Shu further cited passages from Tao Yuanming’s own works as corroborating evidence for the date of 399. First, the period from 399 to 405 matches the number of years mentioned as the length of Tao Yuanming’s service in “Returning to My Former Residence” : “One time long ago I lived in Shangjing, / Six years, while I was in and out of town” , .124 Second, as Tao Shu argued in a separate essay on the identification of the two generals, the sentiments of homesickness and anticipation at the prospect of reuniting with his family and friends expressed in another poem, written in the fifth month of 400 on his way back from the capital, would make more sense after a lengthy separation, that is, if Tao Yuanming had begun his service in 399, rather than 400, as suggested by others.125 To clinch his argument, Tao Shu quoted the opening lines of “On Drinking Wine,” no. 10, “Once I made a distant trip / Right to the shore of the Eastern Sea” , , as “sufficient proof” that Tao had been adjutant to Liu Laozhi, who led an eastern campaign to Guiji in 399 to suppress Sun En’s (d. 402) rebellion.126

122. Tao Shu cites the work as “Treatise on the Hundred Official Posts” (bai guan zhi ), which is synonymous here with “Treatise on Official Posts” (zhi guan zhi ). 123. Tao Shu, Jingjie xiansheng nianpu kao yi, juan shang 36. My translation of zhen wei jun is based on Hucker’s (Dictionary of Official Titles, 121, 564) translation of zhen and wei, as “defense command” and “guard,” respectively. 124. Tao Shu, Jingjie xiansheng nianpu kao yi, juan shang 38; TYMJJJ, 192; PTC, 116. 125. Tao Shu, “Jingjie xiansheng wei zhenjun jianwei canjun bian,” 43.1b. 126. Tao Shu, Jingjie xiansheng nianpu kao yi, juan shang 38; TYMJJJ, 231; PTC, 139.

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A number of modern scholars, most notably Zhu Ziqing , have refuted Tao Shu’s discussion. Tao Shu’s precise textual arguments have required equally, if not more, precise evidence to debunk. In sum, Tao Shu is shown to have erred in several ways. First, he did not check the “Basic Annals of Emperor Wu” (Wudi benji ) in the Song shu, most likely Tao Shu’s source for the information on Liu Laozhi’s title as General of the Army of the Front in 399, against Liu Laozhi’s biography in the Jin shu, the most obvious source of biographical information. Zhu Ziqing cites Ding Guojun’s (d. 1919) Jin shu jiao wen (Collated edition of the Jin shu) on this issue: Liu Laozhi’s biography indicates that he became General of the Army of the Front after he defeated Sun En at Guiji in 399. Ding concluded that the Song shu is erroneous in this case.127 The “Annals of Emperor An” (Andi diji ) in the Jin shu also confirms that Liu Laozhi became General of the Front and General of Defense Command of the North (zhen bei jiangjun ) in 400, and that he was Bulwark-General of the State (fuguo jiangjun ) in 399.128 Second, as Zhu Ziqing points out, Tao Shu misquoted the “Treatise on Official Posts” in the Jin shu, omitting the crucial characters housheng (later consolidated), thereby changing the line from “Later, the Armies of the Left, Right, Front and Rear were consolidated into the Defense Guards” (hou sheng zuojun youjun qianjun houjun wei zhen wei jun , , , ) to, as Tao Shu wanted, “The four armies, the Left, Right, Front and Rear, are called defense guards” (zuo you qian hou si jun wei zhen wei jun ). Tao’s distortion makes the titles substitutable, which is crucial for his argument. Third, Tao Shu chose to disregard an entry in the “Annals of Emperor Xiaowu” (Xiaowudi diji ) in the Jin shu that clearly demonstrates the use of zhenjun as an abbreviation for zhenjun dajiangjun (General of Defense Command). 129 Yuan Xingpei cites this passage on Chi Yin (313–84), who served as 127. Zhu Ziqing, “Tao Yuanming nianpu zhong zhi wenti,” in idem, Zhu Ziqing gudian wenxue lunwen ji, 2: 474. Zhu cites Ding’s remarks from Wu Shijian and Liu Chenggan, Jin shu jiaozhu, 10.4b. 128. Jin shu, 10/252–53. 129. Ibid., 9/231.

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General of Defense Command in 381, and argues persuasively that if zhenjun is the abbreviation for zhenjun jiangjun (General of Defense Command), the same abbreviation would not be used for zhen wei jun (General of the Defense Guards).130 Tao Shu undoubtedly knew this passage in the Jin shu since he cited it verbatim in his Nianpu kao yi. To these errors we may add another, one that allowed Tao Shu to dismiss Liu Yu as a possible candidate. Tao Shu misdated Liu Yu’s return to Dantu to the tenth month of 405; the correct date is the third month.131 Yuan Xingpei has recently argued, echoing Zhu Ziqing’s reading, that Tao Shu tried strenuously to prove that Tao Yuanming never served Liu Yu as an adjutant because Tao Shu was prejudiced by the belief that Tao Yuanming was loyal to the Jin dynasty and felt it dishonorable to serve two rulers.132 There had been others who shared Tao Shu’s belief, but their modes of discourse were much less formidable. Ye Mengde had grudgingly addressed in an intentionally convoluted discourse the possibility that Liu Yu was the general in question but expressed doubts about the circumstances under which Tao might have served him. Ye insisted that if Tao had indeed served, he was surely forced into it.133 Yun Jing (1757–1817) accepted Liu Yu as the general but argued that Tao Yuanming merely answered the call of a righteous cause (to join Liu Yu in suppressing the usurper Huan Xuan). He was quick to add that once Tao Yuanming “deduced from slight traces” (weikui ) Liu Yu’s disloyal inten130. Yuan Xingpei, Tao Yuanming ji jianzhu, 185. 131. Song shu, 1/13. If this poem was indeed written soon after the third month of 405, as Zhu Ziqing and A. R. Davis have suggested, then the traditional ordering of this poem and “Written as I Passed Through Qianxi on My Way to the Capital in the Third Month of 405, When I Was Adjutant to the General of the Establishing-Majesty Army” must be reconsidered. Davis has argued that this poem follows rather than precedes “Written as I Passed Through Qianxi on My Way to the Capital.” The long-held assumption that Tao served first as adjutant to the General of Defense Command and then to the General of the Establishing-Majesty Army is due to Shen Yue’s listing of these two positions in such an order, which need not have been chronological. 132. Yuan Xingpei, Tao Yuanming ji jianzhu, 186. 133. Ye Mengde’s remarks are cited in Wu Renjie’s Jingjie xiansheng nianpu, 14. Zhu Ziqing also cites Ye’s remarks in his “Tao Yuanming nianpu zhong zhi wenti,” in idem, Zhu Ziqing gudian wenxue lunwen ji, 2: 472.

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tions, he switched posts and soon withdrew from office.134 Zhu Ziqing sums up these various accounts of the issue: Basically, Ye [Mengde], Wu [Renjie], Yun [Jing] and Tao [Shu] all have the words “felt it dishonorable to serve two rulers” (chi shi er xing ) lodged in their chests. Thus they either believed or disbelieved Li Shan’s commentary, but all bent it to serve their argument so as to expound this notion. In fact, without even discussing Yuanming’s point of view, at the time [Liu] Yu’s rebellious tracks were not yet manifest. How, then, could Tao “deduce from slight traces” . . . and know that he [Liu Yu] would certainly usurp the throne and hence felt that it would be dishonorable to serve two rulers sixteen years before [the actual usurpation in 420]?135

The basic concern of these various discussions seems to be to dissociate Tao Yuanming from Liu Yu. What differentiates Song scholars such as Wu Renjie and Ye Mengde from Qing scholars such as Fang Dongshu and Tao Shu is less the argument than the method. A reading simply based on a supposedly shared faith would have seemed inadequate and outmoded by most scholarly standards in the eighteenth century. Hence Fang Dongshu and, especially, Tao Shu sought to make their case through empirical evidence. However, their selective research or representation of its findings makes their conclusions and the motivations accompanying them highly suspect and leaves little reason not to view their conclusions as biased by a preconceived notion of Tao Yuanming. “Confucianizing” Tao’s poetry and personality, a practice begun in the Song dynasty, may well have become by the Qing a natural and unselfconscious way of reading Tao Yuanming. Readers could point to Tao’s righteous political dissent and refusal to serve a new, “illegitimate” dynasty, his virtue of firmness in adversity, and his study of the Classics. More significant and interesting are the methods by which a number of Ming and Qing commentators constructed their claims of Tao’s Confucian orientation. A spate of arguments based on empirical evidence of Tao’s loyalty and principles 134. Yun Jing, Da yun shan fang wen gao, er ji 2/191 (ZLHB, 217–18). Zhu Ziqing also cites Yun’s remarks in his “Tao Yuanming nianpu zhong zhi wenti,” in idem, Zhu Ziqing gudian wenxue lunwen ji, 2: 472–73. 135. Zhu Ziqing, “Tao Yuanming nianpu zhong zhi wenti,” in idem, Zhu Ziqing gudian wenxue lunwen ji, 2: 473.

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appeared in the Qing. In other cases, with less overt reliance on his biography and more explicit emphasis on the texts themselves, Ming and Qing critics tried to persuade the reader that more than a tendentious interpretation based on their own needs and beliefs is involved. This they do through a close examination of individual structural components (phrases, lines, poems), their significations, and interrelations. This important hermeneutical approach, which developed in the Ming and Qing, did more than just point out Confucian virtues in Tao Yuanming’s poetry. There was a more general interest in the structural and linguistic operations within Tao’s poems. The burden of meaning shifted to the text itself, and readers treated the text as revelation. Many such close analyses of the composition of Tao’s poems reveal their craftsmanship and complexities; the modern reader might wonder if the notion that Tao’s poetry contained intricate complexities was compatible with the idea of spontaneous and natural composition. The traditional reader, however, asked different questions. Those in the Ming and Qing who discussed the question of Tao’s poetic craft agreed that the final product is natural but disagreed on how it ended up that way. Some argued that Tao’s writing was polished to the point of appearing natural;136 others insisted that it was a spontaneous, natural expression of the subtleties within his breast.137 Three significant hermeneutical approaches to Tao’s poetry developed within the context of intellectual trends of the Ming and Qing. The macroscopic vision, which contextualized his poetry in a historical process, derived to a great extent from the archaists’ preoccupation with lineages and models. The microscopic focus on structural patterns and linguistic nuances within his texts was informed by changes in examination practices and how the literati read texts, beginning with the Classics. The analyses produced by these approaches enriched his literary reception with new ways of conceptu136. See, e.g., Wang Shizhen’s and Wang Qi’s ( jinshi 1565) remarks, cited in ZLHB, 144, 168. 137. See, e.g., Xu Xueyi’s response to Wang Shizhen and Zhang Qianyi’s (jinshi 1712) remarks, cited in ZLHB, 154, 186.

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alizing his place in the poetic tradition and with close examinations of the generation of meaning in his texts via structural and linguistic operations. Textual issues of fact versus error rose in prominence in Qing commentaries. Although the empirical research of Qing critics has been debunked in some cases, the contribution of these critics should be measured less by the amount of knowledge they did or did not ascertain and more by the rigorous methods they developed to verify knowledge, which modern scholars continue to use.

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Conclusion

Few figures in Chinese history can boast of an afterlife as varied as Tao Yuanming’s. His posthumous career saw a number of extraordinary transformations: from an idiosyncratic and aloof recluse to a transcendent or moral recluse; from a mediocre writer few cared to read to a great poet many sought to imitate; and from a virtuous character to a Confucian sage. The construction of Tao as one of China’s greatest cultural icons was a collective and cumulative process, in which varying interpretations of his life and works were informed by changing aesthetic and moral concerns, the development of new hermeneutical tools and critical lexica, and, not infrequently, by critics’ own special interests. My goal has been to trace the historical process of Tao’s construction over a millennium and a half through the critical discourse surrounding three main categories: reclusion, personality, and poetry. Since these categories lay at the heart of literati culture, the various readings of Tao Yuanming thus also provide a unique vantage point to view shifts in literary and cultural values. The redefinition or belated attribution of certain qualities that came to define Tao Yuanming in an enduring way were conditioned by certain historical shifts. Zhu Xi’s claim that Tao Yuanming was loyal and his subsequent elevation of Tao to Confucian moral hero resonated with the larger intellectual program of reordering the ethical and cultural foundations of society, one that was not in place in the Tang even though it may be traced to mid-Tang fugu developments. Loyalty was no longer disabled by feasibility due to a

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frequent change of regimes or nuanced by a sense of propriety that reflected gentry clan values, as it had been in the Six Dynasties; it was recast in the Song as absolute exemplification of the proper social relationships that define an ideal Confucian state. In similar fashion, Su Shi had adopted a reading of Tao’s personality found in the early biographies and redefined it in a way that corresponded to contemporary intellectual trends. Previously Tao’s “genuineness” had referred primarily to his outward behavior in drinking situations; according to Su Shi, however, it signified a fundamental principle rooted in Tao’s inner life that guided his major actions. This shift of focus from outer to inner reflects a Song preoccupation with the cultivation of inner qualities. And finally, the reading of Tao’s poetry as “natural” six hundred years into his reception history, a reading that remains powerful today, may be insightful, but it surely relied on changing conceptions of the notion. Tao Yuanming did not meet the Six Dynasties criteria of literary naturalness, which required an artful expression of naturalness, but he epitomized the pared-down Song conception of it as an absence of not only artifice but also effort and even intentionality. These major (re)interpretations of Tao and his works were shaped to a large extent by broader intellectual or aesthetic developments. The reception history of another exemplar, Du Fu, offers an illuminating parallel. As Eva Shan Chou has pointed out, Du’s poetic qualities inspired relatively little appreciation from either his contemporaries or from most readers in the generations that immediately followed his. Nor was Du Fu seen in the first few centuries after his death as the exemplary Confucian scholar-official—ever-loyal, earnest, and compassionate—that he would become for Song readers, who overwhelmingly agreed that his poetic merits could not be comprehended without an understanding of his moral achievement.1 Like Tao Yuanming, once Du Fu became championed as a cultural hero, “no reinterpretation based merely on poetic evidence could 1. Eva Shan Chou (Reconsidering Tu Fu, 29–30) notes that nearly all the poems addressed to Du Fu “speak of him in friendly terms, as a pleasant companion, dear friend even, but not as an esteemed poet and never as a man of extraordinary Confucian character.” Also, the main order of praise from Mid-Tang writers such as Yuan Zhen and Han Yu is aesthetic rather than moral (ibid., 33–34).

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meaningfully readjust” his reputation.2 Later readers may find faults in Du’s or, as noted in Chapter 5, in Tao’s writings, but these criticisms did not alter either poet’s standing in the tradition. More important, the point for Ming archaists was not to challenge their stature but either to critique those who had mischaracterized the poets or to write a literary history based on objective criteria. Du’s and Tao’s roles as literati-class heroes rested on a personal identification based on a conviction that they represented the literati in quintessential terms: one embodied the ideal of commitment to service; the other, the principle (and pleasure) underlying reclusion. The security of their standing is attested by acts negating their very status as mere poet: many a reader insisted that Tao and Du must not be measured by aesthetic standards; rather, they had to be revered as worthies and sages. The argument of not seeing a poet as poet also figured in reading Li Bo, usually paired with Du Fu as either complement or foil, but it led to different conclusions. As discussed in Paula Varsano’s recent study, Li Bo was considered an “immortal” (xian ) and thus not one of the common run of poets. Unlike Tao or Du, however, Li never attained such eminence that critiques of his poetry became irrelevant to his overall standing. Although Li’s status as a great poet has been widely acknowledged since his own lifetime, critics continued to debate his poetic merits until the late Ming and early Qing, when, as Varsano argues, “Li’s negative [e.g., “unattainable,” “unlearnable”] and numinous [e.g., “unfounded” (xu ), “immortal”] characteristics became imbued with enough positive color to enhance his independence vis-à-vis Du’s delineating role.” 3 A factor in the dramatic fluctuations in Li’s standing may 2. Ibid., 26. 3. Varsano, Tracking the Banished Immortal, 20. Varsano dates the canonization of Li Bo to some time during the Ming-Qing transition (16th to 17th c.), at the “moment when displaying and possessing ‘proper’ knowledge of Li’s work (and the appended critical tradition) becomes more important than ascertaining Li’s own possession of knowledge” (ibid.). My take on this issue is as follows: I would place Li’s entry into the canon no later than the Song, and perhaps even in the Tang. Even though Li Bo continued to attract as much praise as criticism during the Song, most anti-Li rhetoric must be understood as relative to Du Fu, the explicit or implicit point of reference in most cases. And even if Li Bo was generally ranked below Du Fu in Song criticism, it does not follow that he did not yet belong in the canon. He remained one of the most widely read Tang poets during the Song. It

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well be that Li never represented the literati class in the same way as Tao or Du and hence never became a site of vested interests. Most literati could not identify wholly with Li, for the very reason that they admired him: his otherworldliness. Developments in Du Fu’s historical reception underscore certain characteristics of traditional reading practices discussed in this volume. Changing interpretations of a poet reflect both changes in scholarly practices (for example, the increased accessibility of his complete works, expanding parameters of scholarship) and in readers’ preoccupations and values. In these assessments, personality and poetry are rarely divorced; in the cases of Tao Yuanming and Du Fu, the perceived authenticity of their autobiographical expressions renders exemplary (and rewarding) the exercise in discerning the zhi and, by extension, the man behind the poem. Reading in traditional China was equally a matter of responding to the text and to previous readings of that text, frequently through assertions of the shortcomings of past interpretations and through claims of true understanding. Cultural icons such as Tao and Du often became sites where ideological battles were waged, battles that often shed more light on the rivals than on the lives and poetry of the figures in dispute. seems to me that Wang Anshi’s placement of Li Bo last in his edition of Si jia shiji (Poetic works of four poets), after Du Fu, Han Yu, and Ouyang Xiu, as well as the debate it provoked, does not indicate that Li did not yet occupy a place in the canon. To the contrary, Wang’s edition is an affirmation of it: despite the editor’s own reservations and preferences, Li Bo must still be chosen for inclusion and must still be read. Whether the order of the poets in Wang’s edition reflects his ranking of them had raised some doubt in the past. Wang Gong (fl. late 11th c.) in his Wen jian jin lu (21–22) quoted a conversation between Huang Tingjian and Wang Anshi, in which Wang explained that the order had nothing to with ranking; rather, it resulted from the order in which the materials became available. The modern critic Luo Zongqiang (Li Du lun lue, 11–12), who also does not believe that Wang Anshi intended to devalue Li, has nevertheless cast doubt on the credibility of Wang Gong’s note, arguing that it is without verifiable basis. Although Wang Gong may have possessed knowledge of Huang Tingjian’s conversations with other literary men, since he was friends with Huang, who wrote the preface to his collected prose works, Wang Anshi’s quoted explanation should be regarded as suspect because it is logically unsound. Since Wang Anshi would surely know that readers would interpret the unchronological order as ranking, he could have reordered the materials once they became complete so as to avoid any “misunderstanding.”

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The question of authorial agency in a study of historical reception is foregrounded by the author’s strong autobiographical presence in his works. Tao Yuanming carefully placed guidelines in his works to indicate how a reader should understand him. Through various modes of self-narration, including the outrageous fictive voice of the dead Tao Yuanming in his “Elegy for Myself,” he told us who he “really” was and how he would like to be remembered: a principled man who withdrew from office to preserve his integrity and a sociable recluse-farmer who found joy in commonplace activities. These are rather modest proposals in light of what he would become to later readers: a model writer, a transcendent, and/or Confucian hero. Tao’s fastidiously detailed self-portraits did not determine exactly or constrain how later readers interpreted him and his works. This gap in communication points not only to peculiar features of traditional reading practices, such as conclusions drawn from a particular subset of the texts, but also to the complex nature of the production of meaning that this book has tried to illustrate. As the French historian Roger Chartier has written, “Works have no stable, universal, fixed meaning. They are invested with plural and mobile meanings constructed in the negotiation that takes place between a proposal and a reception.” And “the creators of a work . . . always aspire to fix the work’s meaning and to proclaim a ‘correct’ interpretation that will constrain reading (or viewing). It is just as true, however, that reception always invents, shifts things about, and distorts.” 4 Although “Tao Yuanming” by Tao Yuanming might well have been the first invention or distortion, we have seen how “Tao Yuanming” underwent a further series of changes over the course of Tao Yuanming’s historical reception. One of the main concerns of this volume has been to read the interpretive negotiations in light of issues that extend beyond the works of a single individual, such as shifts in reading practices and cultural values that help explain Tao’s various transformations. Historicizing the hermeneutical and ideological claims made about Tao and his works leads to a better understanding of the mechanisms underlying his reception. It also reveals changing conceptions of certain terms or notions, even one as seemingly

4. Chartier, On the Edge of the Cliff, 21.

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self-evident as “naturalness.” Knowledge of the historicity of these interpretations should help improve the questions we ask both of the texts and of ourselves as we read Tao Yuanming’s works. Sima Qian, China’s first great historian, reflected on the value of the historian’s work in transmitting knowledge of people’s lives, including his own. Even men of such great integrity as Bo Yi, Shu Qi, and Yan Hui had still needed Confucius to make their names known. “How sad it is when men who live in caves on cliffs possess the same sense of timeliness in their actions, yet their good names are effaced and never mentioned. How can those living in village alleys who wish to refine their conduct and establish their names be known to posterity if not through some gentleman who rises up in the world?”5 Although Tao Yuanming did not wish to rely on others and chose to speak for himself, he attracted scores of influential gentlemen through the ages to speak on his behalf. The construction of Tao Yuanming in traditional China occurred through the various negotiations among the author (and a work), the reader, and a changing society.

5. Shi ji, 61/2127.

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Reference Matter

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Selected Bibliography

Editions of Tao Yuanming’s Works Gong Bin , ed. Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1999. Gu Zhi , ed. Tao Jingjie shijian . Taibei: Guangwen shuju, 1964. Huang Wenhuan , ed. Taoshi xiyi . Late Ming woodblock. Reprinted in Siku quanshu cunmu congshu. Li Gonghuan , ed. Jianzhu Tao Yuanming ji . Taibei: Zhongyang tushuguan, 1991. Lu Qinli , ed. Tao Yuanming ji . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1979. Mao Jin , ed. Tao jingjie ji . 1625. Qiu Jiasui , ed. Dongshan caotang Tao shi jian . Kangxi-era woodblock. Reprinted in Siku quanshu cunmu congshu. Tang Han , ed. Tao Jingjie shiji . Baijing lou congshu . Tao Shu , ed. Jingjie xiansheng ji . Taibei: Huazheng shuju, 1993. Wang Shumin , ed. Tao Yuanming shijian zhenggao . Taibei: Yiwen yinshuguan, 1975. Wang Yao , ed. Tao Yuanming ji . Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1983. Wen Runeng , ed. Taoshi huiping . Shanghai, 1925. Reprinted—Taibei: Xin wenfeng, 1980. Yuan Xingpei , ed. Tao Yuanming ji jianzhu . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2003.

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Selected Bibliography Pre-Modern Chinese Sources

Bao Zhao . Bao Canjun jizhu . Ed. Qian Zhonglian . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1980. ———. Bao Canjun shizhu . Ed. Huang Jie . Taibei: Yiwen yinshuguan, 1977. Bo Juyi . Bo Juyi ji jian jiao . Ed. Zhu Jincheng . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1988. Cai Zhengsun . Shilin guangji . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1982. Cao Pi . “Lun wen” . In Quan Sanguo wen . In Quan Shanggu Sandai Qin Han Sanguo Liuchao wen . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1958. Chen Tian , ed. Ming shi ji shi . 6 vols. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1993. Cheng Shude . Lunyu jishi . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1990. Chunqiu Gongyang zhuan zhushu . In Shisan jing zhushu , ed. Ruan Yuan . 2 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1980. Dong guan Han ji jiaozhu . Comp. Liu Zhen et al.; ed. Wu Shuping . Zhengzhou: Zhongzhou guji chubanshe, 1987. Du Fu . Du shi xiang zhu . Ed. Qiu Zhaoao . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1979. Fang Dongshu . Zhaomei zhanyan . Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1984. Ge Hong . Baopuzi . In Zhuzi jicheng . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1954. Ge Lifang . Yunyu yangqiu . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1984. Gu Longzhen , ed. Shixue zhinan . 1759. Reprinted—Taibei: Guangwen shuju, 1970. Gui Youguang . Zhenchuan xiansheng ji . SBBY. Guo Shaoyu , ed. Qing shihua xubian . 2 vols. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1983. ———. Song shihua jiyi . 2 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1980. ———. Zhongguo lidai wenlun xuan . 4 vols. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1979. Han Feizi jishi . Ed. Chen Qiyou . Hong Kong: Zhonghua shuju, 1974. Han shu . Ban Gu . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962.

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Selected Bibliography

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Han Ying . Han shi wai zhuan . SBCK First series. He Jingming . Dafu ji . In Siku quanshu zhenben , Seventh series, 14.14b–15a. He Wenhuan , ed. Lidai shihua . 2 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1981. He Yisun . Shifa . In Qing shihua xubian , ed. Guo Shaoyu . 2 vols. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1983. Hou Han shu . Fan Ye . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1965. Hu Yinglin . Shisou . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1958. Hu Zi . Tiaoxi yuyin conghua . Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1962. Huang Tingjian . Huang Tingjian shiji zhu . Ed. Liu Shangrong . Annot. Ren Yuan and others. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2003. ———. Shangu neiji . In Shangu shiji zhu . SBBY. ———. Shangu tiba . In Jindai mishu . CSJCCB. ———. Shangu waiji . In Shangu shiji zhu . SBBY. ———. Yuzhang Huang xiansheng wenji . SBCK First series. Huangfu Mi . Gaoshi zhuan . SBBY. Huihong . Lengzhai yehua . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1988. Jiang Yingke . Jiang Yingke ji . 2 vols. Changsha: Yuelu shushe, 1997. Jiaoran . Jiaoran ji . SBCK First series. ———. Shishi jiaozhu . Ed. Li Zhuangying . Ji’nan: Qilu shushe, 1986. Jin shu . Fang Xuanling . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1974. Jiu Tang shu . Liu Xu . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1975. Lang Ying . Qixiu leigao . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1959. Laozi Dao de jing . Ed. Heshang Gong . SBCK First series. Laozi zhu . In Zhuzi jicheng . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1954. Li Bo . Li Bo quanji jiaozhu hui shi ji ping . Ed. Zhan Ying . Tianjin: Baihua wenyi chubanshe, 1996. Li Deyu . Li Deyu wenji jiaojian . Ed. Fu Xuanzong and Zhou Jianguo . Shijiazhuang: Hebei jiaoyu chubanshe, 2000. Li Shangyin . Li Shangyin shige jijie . Ed. Liu Xuekai and Xu Shucheng . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1998. Liang Zhangju . Zhiyi conghua . Zhizu zhibuzu zhai , 1859 ed.

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Liezi zhu . In Zhuzi jicheng . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1954. Liu Shao . “Renwu zhi xu” . In Renwu zhi jiaojian . Ed. Li Chongzhi . Chengdu: Bashu shushe, 2001. Liu Su . Da Tang xinyu . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1984. Liu Xiang . Lienü zhuan . SBBY. Liu Xie . Wenxin diaolong zhushi . Ed. Zhou Zhenfu . Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1981. Liu Zhangqing . Liu Zhangqing shi biannian jianzhu . Ed. Chu Zhongjun . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1996. Liu Zhiji . Shi tong tongshi . Ed. Pu Qilong . Taibei: Shijie shuju, 1936. Lu Qinli , ed. Xian Qin Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao shi . 3 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1983. Lu You . Lu You ji . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1976. Luo Dajing . Helin yulu . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1983. Lüshi chunqiu . In Zhuzi jicheng . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1954. Mei Yaochen . Mei Yaochen ji biannian jiaozhu . Ed. Zhu Dongrun . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1980. Meng Haoran . Meng Haoran shiji jianzhu . Ed. Tong Peiji . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2000. Ming shi . Zhang Tingyu . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1974. Ming shihua quan bian . Ed. Wu Wenzhi . Nanjing: Jiangsu guji chubanshe, 1997. Nan Qi shu . Xiao Zixian . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1972. Nan shi . Li Yanshou . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1975. Ouyang Xiu . Liuyi shihua . In Lidai shihua , ed. He Wenhuan . 2 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1981. ———. Ouyang Xiu quan ji . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2001. Quan Song shi . Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 1992. Quan Tang shi . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960. Quan Tang wen . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1983. Shangshu zhengyi . In Shisan jing zhushu . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1980. Shanhaijing . Commentary by Guo Pu . CSJCCB. Shen Deqian . Gushi yuan . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1963. Shi ji . Sima Qian . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1982. Shisan jing zhushu . 2 vols. Ed. Ruan Yuan . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1980.

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Selected Bibliography

273

Song shihua quan bian . Ed. Wu Wenzhi . Nanjing: Jiangsu guji chubanshe, 1998. Song shu . Shen Yue . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1974. Su Che . Luancheng ji . SBBY. Su Shi . Dongpo yuefu . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1979. ———. Su Shi shiji . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1982. ———. Su Shi wenji . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1986. Sun Kuang . “Yu Yu Junfang lun wen shu” . In Yaojiang Sun Yuefeng xiansheng quan ji . Jing yuan xuan ed. 1814. Taiping guangji . Comp. Li Fang . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2003. Taiping yulan . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960. Tan Daoluan . Xu Jin yangqiu . In Huang shi yishu kao . Yangzhou: Yangzhou guji shudian, 1984. Tan Yuanchun . Tan Yuanchun ji . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1998. Tang Qiu , comp. Jiu jia jiu Jin shu ji ben . Zhengzhou: Zhongzhou guji chubanshe, 1991. Tang Shunzhi . Jingchuan xiansheng wenji . SBCK First series. Tao Shu . Jingjie xiansheng nianpu kao yi . In Jingjie xiansheng ji . Reprinted—Taibei: Huazheng shuju, 1993. ———. “Jingjie xiansheng wei zhenjun jianwei canjun bian” . In Tao Wenyi gong quanji . Lianghuai huaibei shimin gong kan , 1828? Tao Yuanming nianpu . Ed. Xu Yimin . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1986. Tao Yuanming shiwen huiping . Comp. Chinese Department of Beijing University. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1961. Tao Yuanming yanjiu ziliao huibian . Comp. Chinese departments of Beijing University and Beijing Normal University. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962. Wang Anshi . Wang Jingwen gong shi Li Bi zhu . Ed. Li Bi . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1993. Wang Changling . Shige . In Shixue zhinan , ed. Gu Longzhen . 1759. Reprinted—Taibei: Guangwen shuju, 1970. Wang Gong . Wen jian jin lu . CSJCCB. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1991.

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274

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Wang Ji . Wang Wugong wenji . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1987. Wang Shizhen . Yi yuan zhi yan jiaozhu . Ed. Luo Zhongding . Ji’nan: Qilu shushe, 1992. Wang Shizhen . Gushi xuan . SBBY. Wang Tong . Wenzhongzi zhong shuo . SBBY. Wang Wei . Wang Wei ji jiaozhu . Ed. Chen Tiemin . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1997. Wang Zhi . Lili pu . In Shao Tao lu . CSJCCB. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1991. Wen Tong . Danyuan ji . SBCK First series. Wu Na . Wenzhang bianti xushuo . Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1962. Wu Renjie . Tao Jingjie xiansheng nianpu . In Tao Yuanming nianpu , ed. Xu Yimin . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1986. Wu Shijian and Liu Chenggan . Jin shu jiaozhu . Beijing?, 1928. Wu Zhantai . Tao shi huizhu . In Yunnan congshu . CSJCXB. Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1994. Xiao Tong . “Tao Yuanming ji xu” . In Quan Liang wen . In Quan Shanggu Sandai Qin Han Sanguo Liuchao wen , 20/3066b–67a. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1958. ———. “Tao Yuanming zhuan” . In Quan Liang wen . In Quan Shanggu Sandai Qin Han Sanguo Liuchao wen , 20/3068b–69a. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1958. Xiao Tong , ed. Liuchen zhu Wen xuan . Annotated by Li Shan and the Five Ministers. SBCK. ———. Wen xuan . Annotated by Li Shan . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1986. Xin Qiji . Jiaxuan ci biannian jianzhu . Ed. Deng Guangming . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1993. ———. Xin Jiaxuan shiwen chaocun . Ed. Deng Guangming . Shanghai: Gudian wenxue chubanshe, 1957. Xin Tang shu . Ouyang Xiu and Song Qi . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1975. Xu Ling , ed. Yutai xinyong jianzhu . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1985. Xu Xueyi . Shiyuan bianti . Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1987.

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275

Xu Yi . Yanzhou shihua . In Lidai shihua , ed. He Wenhuan . 2 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1981. Yan Kejun , ed. Quan Shanggu Sandai Qin Han Sanguo Liuchao wen . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1958. Yan Yanzhi . “Tao zhengshi lei” . In Quan Song wen . In Quan Shanggu Sandai Qin Han Sanguo Liuchao wen . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1958. Yan Yu . Canglang shihua jiaoshi . Ed. Guo Shaoyu . Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1998. Yan Zhitui . Yanshi jiaxun jijie . Ed. Wang Liqi . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1993. Yang Bojun . Lunyu yizhu . Hong Kong: Zhonghua shuju, 1999. Yang Shen . Yang Shen shihua jiaojian . Ed. Yang Wensheng . Chengdu: Sichuan renmin chubanshe, 1990. Yang Shi . Guishan xiansheng yulu . SBCK Second series. Ye Mengde . Shilin shihua . In Lidai shihua , ed. He Wenhuan . 2 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1981. ———. Yujian zashu . In Xiyuan xiansheng quanshu . Yu Shinan , comp. Beitang shuchao . Ed. Chen Yumo . SKQS. ———. Beitang shuchao. Ed. Kong Guangtao . 1888. Yuan Hongdao . Yuan Hongdao ji jianjiao . Ed. Qian Bocheng . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1981. Yuanming yizhi tezhan tu lu . Taibei: Guoli Gugong bowuyuan, 1988. Yun Jing . Da yun shan fang wen gao . Guoxue jiben congshu. Taibei: Shangwu yinshu guan, 1968. Zhen Dexiu . Xishan xiansheng Zhen Wenzhong gong wenji . SBCK First series. Zhong Rong . Shipin jizhu . Ed. Cao Xu . Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1994. Zhong Xing and Tan Yuanchun . Gushi gui . 1617. Zhou Zhenfu , ed. Zhouyi yizhu . Hong Kong: Zhonghua shuju, 2006. Zhu Xi . Huian xiansheng Zhu Wengong wenji . SBBY. ———. Zhu Xi ji . Ed. Guo Qi and Yin Bo . Chengdu: Sichuan jiaoyu chubanshe, 1996. ———. Zhuzi yulei . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1994.

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Chen Guoqiu . “Shi lun Tangshi gui de bianji, banxing ji qi shi xue yiyi” . In Shi bian yu wei xin: wan Ming yu wan Qing de wenxue yishu — , ed. Hu Xiaozhen , 17–77. Taibei: Zhongyang yanjiu yuan, Wenzhe yanjiu suo choubei chu, 2001. Chen Jie . Bei Song shiwen gexin yanjiu . Hohhot: Nei Menggu jiaoyu chubanshe, 2000. Chen Lancun et al., eds. Zhongguo zhuanji wenxue fazhanshi . Beijing: Yuwen chubanshe, 1999. Chen Wenhua . Du Fu zhuanji Tang Song ziliao kaobian . Taibei: Wen shi zhe chubanshe, 1987. Chen Yingluan . Shiwei lun . Chengdu: Bashu shushe, 1996. Chou, Eva Shan. “Literary Reputations in Context.” T’ang Studies 10–11 (1992–93): 41–66. ———. Reconsidering Tu Fu: Literary Greatness and Cultural Context. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Dai Jianye . Chengming zhi jing: Tao Yuanming xinlun — . Wuhan: Huazhong shifan daxue chubanshe, 1998. Davis, A. R. “The Narrow Lane: Some Observations on the Recluse in Traditional Chinese Society.” The Twentieth George Ernest Morrison Lecture in Ethnology. Canberra: Australian National University, 1959. ———. “Su Shih’s ‘Following the Rhymes of T’ao Yüan-ming’ Poems: A Literary or a Psychological Phenomenon?” Journal of the Oriental Society of Australia 10, no. 1/2 (1975): 93–108. ———. T’ao Yüan-ming: His Works and Their Meaning. 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983. De Man, Paul. “Autobiography as De-Facement” (1979). In idem, The Rhetoric of Romanticism, 67–81. New York: Columbia University Press, 1984. ———. Introduction. In Hans Robert Jauss, Toward an Aesthetic of Reception. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1982. Ding Fulin . Bao Zhao nianpu . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2004. Duke, Michael. Lu You. Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1977. Eakin, Paul John. Fictions in Autobiography: Studies in the Art of Self-Invention. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985. Egan, Ronald. Word, Image, and Deed in the Life of Su Shi. Cambridge: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, and the HarvardYenching Institute, 1994. Elman, Benjamin. A Cultural History of Civil Examinations in Late Imperial China. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000.

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———. From Philosophy to Philology: Intellectual and Social Aspects of Change in Late Imperial China. Cambridge: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1984. Field, Stephen. “Taking Up the Plow: Real and Ideal Versions of the Farmer in Chinese Literature.” Ph.D. diss., University of Texas (Austin), 1985. Fisk, Craig. “On the Dialectics of the Strange and Sublime in the Historical Reception of Tu Fu.” In Proceedings of the IVth Congress of the International Comparative Literature Association, 2: 75–82. Innsbruck: AMOE, 1980. Folkenflik, Robert, ed. The Culture of Autobiography: Constructions of SelfRepresentation. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993. Francis, Mark. “Standards of Excess: Literary Histories, Canons, and the Reception of Late Tang Poetry.” Ph.D. diss., Stanford University, 1996. Fu Lecheng . Han Tang shi lunji . Taibei: Lianjing chubanshe, 1977. Fu Xuanzong . “Tan Wang Changling de Shige: yi bu you zhengyi de shu” — . In Tang shi lunxue conggao , 151–80. Beijing: Jinghua chubanshe, 1999. Gao Dapeng . Tao shi xinlun . Taibei: Shibao wenhua chuban, 1981. Ge Xiaoyin . Shanshui tianyuan shipai yanjiu . Shenyang: Liaoning daxue chubanshe, 1993. Gong Bin . Tao Yuanming zhuan lun . Shanghai: Huadong shifan chubanshe, 2001. Guo Shaoyu . Zhongguo shi de shenyu gediao ji xingling shuo . Taibei: Huazheng shuju, 1975. Hawkes, David. Ch’u Tz’u: The Songs of the South. London: Oxford University Press, 1959. Reprinted—Boston: Beacon Press, 1962. Hightower, James R. “Allusion in the Poetry of T’ao Ch’ien.” In Studies in Chinese Poetry, by idem and Florence Chia-ying Yeh, 37–55. Cambridge: Harvard University Asia Center, 1998. ———. The Poetry of T’ao Ch’ien. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1970. ———. “T’ao Ch’ien’s ‘Drinking Wine’ Poems.” In Studies in Chinese Poetry, by idem and Florence Chia-ying Yeh, 3–36. Cambridge: Harvard University Asia Center, 1998. Hu Dalei . Gongtishi yanjiu . Beijing: Shangwu yinshuguan, 2004. ———. Wen xuan shi yanjiu . Guilin: Guangxi shifan daxue chubanshe, 2000.

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Selected Bibliography

279

Hu Dehuai . Qi Liang wentan yu si Xiao yanjiu . Nanjing: Nanjing daxue chubanshe, 1997. Huang Lin et al. Renjian cihua . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2003. Huang Xigui . Li Taibai nianpu . Beijing: Zuojia chubanshe, 1958. Hucker, Charles O. A Dictionary of Official Titles in Imperial China. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1985. Hymes, Robert. Statesmen and Gentlemen: The Elite of Fu-chou, Chiang-hsi, in Northern and Southern Sung. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986. Jauss, Hans Robert. Toward an Aesthetic of Reception. Trans. Timothy Bahti. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1982. Jia Jinhua . “ ‘Pingchang xin shi dao’ yu ‘zhongyin’ ” . Hanxue yanjiu 16, no. 2 (1998): 317–49. Jiang Yin . Dali shiren yanjiu . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1995. Jullien, François. In Praise of Blandness: Proceeding from Chinese Thought and Aesthetics. Trans. Paula Varsano. New York: Zone Books, 2004. Kawai Ko¯ zo¯. Chu¯goku no jiden bungaku. Tokyo: Sobunsha, 1996. Knechtges, David. Introduction. In idem, trans., Wen xuan or Selections of Refined Literature, 1: 1–70. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982. Kroll, Paul. Meng Hao-jan. Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1981. Kwong, Charles Yim-tze. Tao Qian and the Chinese Poetic Tradition: The Quest for Cultural Identity. Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan, 1994. Larson, Wendy. Literary Authority and the Modern Chinese Writer: Ambivalence and Autobiography. Durham: Duke University Press, 1991. Lau, D. C., trans. The Analects. New York: Penguin Books, 1979. ———. Mencius. New York: Penguin Books, 1970. Lee, Oscar. “The Critical Reception of the Poetry of Wei Ying-wu (737– 792): The Creation of a Poetic Reputation.” Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1986. Lejeune, Philippe. Le Pacte autobiographie. Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1975. Lewis, Mark Edward. Writing and Authority in Early China. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999. Li Chi. “The Changing Concept of the Recluse in Chinese Literature.” HJAS 24 (1962–63): 234–47. Li Hua . Tao Yuanming xin lun . Beijing: Beijing shifan xueyuan chubanshe, 1992.

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Selected Bibliography

280 Li Jianfeng

. “Lun Xiao Tong dui Tao Yuanming de jieshou” . Zhongguo gudai, jindai wenxue yanjiu 1998, no. 2: 95–99. ———. Yuan qian Tao Yuanming jieshoushi . Ji’nan: Qilu shushe, 2002. Li Jinquan . Tao Qian ping zhuan . Nanjing: Nanjing daxue chubanshe, 1998. Li Peidong . Wei Jin Nanbeichao shiyuan . Shanghai: Xuelin chubanshe, 1996. Li Wenchu . “Du ‘Shipin Song zhengshi Tao Qian’ zhaji” . Wenyi lilun yanjiu 1980, no. 2: 123–28. Li Xiangnian . Han Wei Liuchao zhuanji wenxue shi gao . Shanghai: Fudan daxue chubanshe, 1995. Li Xiusheng , ed. Guben xiqu jumu tiyao . Beijing: Wenhua yishu chubanshe, 1997. Li Zehou and Liu Gangji . Zhongguo meixueshi: Wei Jin Nanbeichao bian : . 2 vols. Hefei: Anhui wenyi chubanshe, 1999. Liang Qichao . Tao Yuanming . 1923. Reprinted—Taibei: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1996. Liao Kebin . Mingdai wenxue fugu yundong yanjiu . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1994. Lin, Pauline. “A Separate Space, A New Self: Representations of Rural Spaces in Six Dynasties Literature and Art.” Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 1999. Lin Wenyue . “Kou men zhuo yan ci: shixi Tao Yuanming zhi xingxiang” — . In Zhonggu wenxue luncong , 183–222. Taibei: Daan chubanshe, 1989. Liu, James J. Y. Chinese Theories of Literature. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975. Liu Wenzhong . “Xiao Tong yu Tao Yuanming” . In Wen xuan xue xinlun , 460–70. Zhengzhou: Zhongzhou guji chubanshe, 1997. Liu Yuqing . Cong jingxue dao wenxue: Mingdai Shijing xue shi lun — . Beijing: Shangwu yinshuguan, 2001. Lu Xun . Lu Xun quan ji . 16 vols. Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1981. Luo Zongqiang . Li Du lun lue . Hohhot: Nei Menggu renmin chubanshe, 1982.

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Selected Bibliography

281

Lynn, Richard John. “Alternate Routes to Self-Realization in Ming Theories of Poetry.” In Theories of the Arts in China, ed. Susan Bush and Christian Murck, 317–40. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983. ———. “The Talent Learning Polarity in Chinese Poetics: Yan Yu and the Later Tradition.” CLEAR 5 (1983): 157–84. Mei Yunsheng . Zhong Rong he Shipin . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1983. Reprinted—Taibei: Wanjuan lou tushu, 1991. Miao, Ronald. “Palace-Style Poetry: The Courtly Treatment of Glamour and Love.” In Studies in Chinese Poetry and Poetics, ed. Ronald Miao, 1: 1–42. San Francisco: Chinese Materials Center, 1978. Mote, Frederick. “Confucian Eremitism in the Yüan Period.” In The Confucian Persuasion, ed. Arthur Wright, 202–40. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1960. Nelson, Susan. “What I Do Today Is Right: Picturing Tao Yuanming’s Return.” Journal of Sung-Yuan Studies 28 (1998): 61–90. Nienhauser, William H., Jr., ed. The Indiana Companion to Traditional Chinese Literature. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986. Olney, James. “Autobiography and the Cultural Moment.” In Autobiography: Essays Theoretical and Critical, ed. idem, 3–27. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980. ———. Metaphors of Self: The Meaning of Autobiography. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972. Owen, Stephen. The End of the Chinese ‘Middle Ages’: Essays in Mid-Tang Literary Culture. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1996. ———. The Great Age of Chinese Poetry: The High T’ang. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981. ———. “Poetry and Its Historical Ground.” CLEAR 12 (Dec. 1990): 107– 18. ———. The Poetry of the Early T’ang. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1977. ———. Readings in Chinese Literary Thought. Cambridge: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1992. ———. “The Self’s Perfect Mirror: Poetry as Autobiography.” In The Vitality of the Lyric Voice, ed. Shuen-fu Lin and Stephen Owen, 71–102. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986. Owen, Stephen, ed. and trans. An Anthology of Chinese Literature: Beginnings to 1911. New York: Norton, 1996.

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Plaks, Andrew. “The Bones of Parallel Rhetoric in Wenxin diaolong.” In A Chinese Literary Mind: Culture, Creativity, and Rhetoric in Wenxin diaolong, ed. Cai Zong-qi, 163–73. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2001. ———. “Pa-ku wen.” In The Indiana Companion to Traditional Chinese Literature, ed. William Nienhauser, Jr., 641–43. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986. Qi Yishou . “Lun shizhuan zhong de Tao Yuanming shiji ji xingxiang” . In Zheng Yinbai xiansheng bashi shouqing lunwen ji , 109–59. Taibei: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1985. Qian Zhonglian , ed. Bao Canjun jizhu . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1980. Qian Zhongshu . Guanzhui bian . 5 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1986. ———. Tanyi lu . Hong Kong: Zhonghua shuju, 1986. Rickett, Adele. “Method and Intuition: The Poetic Theories of Huang T’ing-chien.” In Chinese Approaches to Literature from Confucius to Liang Ch’i-chao, ed. Adele Rickett, 97–119. Princeton: Princeton Unversity Press, 1978. Rolston, David, ed. How to Read the Chinese Novel. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990. Saussy, Haun. The Problem of a Chinese Aesthetic. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993. Shi Guanhai . Gongtishi pai yanjiu . Wuhan: Wuhan daxue chubanshe, 2003. Song Qiulong . Su Dongpo he Tao Yuanming shi zhi bijiao yanjiu . Taibei: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1982. Su Jui-long . Bao Zhao shiwen yanjiu . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2006. Su Xuelin . Tang shi gailun . Taibei: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1988. Tang Changru . Wei Jin Nanbeichao shi luncong xubian . Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 1959. ———. Wei Jin Nanbeichao Sui Tang shi san lun . Wuhan: Wuhan daxue chubanshe, 1993. Tang Yongtong . Han Wei Liang Jin Nanbeichao fojiao shi . Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 1997. Tao Min . Quan Tang shi renming kaozheng . Xi’an: Shaanxi renmin jiaoyu chubanshe, 1996.

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Selected Bibliography

283

Tian, Xiaofei. Beacon Fire and Shooting Star: The Literary Culture of the Liang (502-557). Cambridge: Harvard University Asia Center, 2007. ———. Tao Yuanming and Manuscript Culture: The Record of a Dusty Table. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005. Tian Yuqing . Dong Jin menfa zhengzhi . Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 1989. Tomaševskij, Boris. “Literature and Biography.” In Readings in Russian Poetics, ed. Ladislav Matejka and Krystyna Pomorska, 47–55. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1978. Twitchett, D. C. “Chinese Biographical Writing.” In Historians of China and Japan, ed. W. G. Beasley and E. G. Pulleyblank, 95–114. London: Oxford University Press, 1961. Van Zoeren, Steven. Poetry and Personality: Reading, Exegesis, and Hermeneutics in Traditional China. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991. Varsano, Paula. Tracking the Banished Immortal: The Poetry of Li Bo and Its Critical Reception. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2003. Vervoorn, Aat. Men of the Cliffs and Caves: The Development of the Chinese Eremitic Tradition to the End of the Han Dynasty. Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 1990. Wagner, Marsha. Wang Wei. Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1981. Waley, Arthur, trans. The Analects of Confucius. New York: Macmillan, 1938. Reprinted—New York: Vintage Books, 1989. Wang Guowei . Renjian cihua, Renjian ci zhuping . Ed. Chen Hongxiang . Nanjing: Jiangsu guji chubanshe, 2002. Wang Kuo-ying . Gujin yinyi shiren zhi zong: Tao Yuanming lunxi : . Taibei: Yunchen wenhua, 1999. ———. “Shizhuan zhong de Tao Yuanming” . Taida Zhongwen xuebao 12 (May 2000): 193–228. ———. “Tao Yuanming shi zhong ‘pian pian you wo’—lun Tao shi de zizhuan yiwei” . In Wang Shumin xiansheng xueshu chengjiu yu xinchuan yantaohui lunwen ji , 299–323. Taibei: Taiwan daxue, Zhongguo wenxue xi, 2001. ———. Zhongguo shanshui shi yanjiu . Taibei: Lianjing, 1986. Wang Ping. “Culture and Literature in an Early Medieval Chinese Court: The Writings and Literary Thought of Xiao Tong (501–531).” Ph.D. diss., University of Washington, 2006.

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284

Selected Bibliography

Wang Wenjin . Shiyin yu Zhongguo wenxue: Liuchao pian — . Taibei: Taiwan shudian, 1999. Wang Yao . Zhonggu wenxue shilun . Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 1998. Wang Yunxi and Yang Ming . Sui Tang Wudai wenxue pipingshi . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1994. Warner, Ding Xiang. A Wild Deer amid Soaring Phoenixes: The Opposition Poetics of Wang Ji. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2003. Watson, Burton, trans. The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu. New York: Columbia University Press, 1968. ———. “Hou Han shu: Biographies of Recluses.” Renditions, no. 33/34 (Spring and Autumn 1990): 35–51. Wixted, John Timothy. “The Nature of Evaluation in the Shih-p’in (Grading of Poets) by Chung Hung (A.D. 469–518).” In Theories of the Arts in China, ed. Susan Bush and Christian Murck, 225–64. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983. Wu Qiming . Tang yin zhiyi lu . Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1985. Wu Zhaolu . “Tao Yuanming de wenxue diwei shi ruhe zhubu queli de” . Zhongguo gudai, jindai wenxue yanjiu 1993, no. 9: 104–11. First published in Weinan shizhuan xuebao (sheke ban) 1993, no. 2: 17–24. Xiao Wangqing . Tao Yuanming piping . Taibei: Taiwan kaiming shudian, 1957. Xue Tianwei . Li Bo nianpu . Ji’nan: Qilu shushe, 1982. Yeh Chia-ying and Jan Walls. “Theory, Standards, and Practice of Criticising Poetry in Chung Hung’s Shih-P’in.” In Studies in Chinese Poetry and Poetics, ed. Ronald Miao, 1: 43–80. San Francisco: Chinese Materials Center, Inc., 1978. Yoshikawa Ko¯jiro¯ . An Introduction to Sung Poetry. Trans. Burton Watson. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1967. ———. So¯shi gaisetsu . Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1962. Yu, Pauline. “Canon Formation in Late Imperial China.” In Culture and State in Chinese History: Conventions, Accommodations, and Critiques, ed. Theodore Huters, R. Bin Wong, and Pauline Yu, 83–104. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997. ———. “Charting the Landscape of Chinese Poetry.” CLEAR 20 (1998): 71–87. ———. The Poetry of Wang Wei: New Translations and Commentary. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1980.

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Selected Bibliography

285

———. The Reading of Imagery in the Chinese Poetic Tradition. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987. Yu Xianhao . “Wu Yun jian Li Bo shuo bianyi” . In Li Bo yanjiu , ed. Zhou Xunchu , 152–63. Wuhan: Hubei jiaoyu chubanshe, 2002. Reprinted from Nanjing shiyuan xuebao 1981, no. 1. Yu Xiaohong . Wang Guowei Houloumeng pinglun jian shuo . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2004. Yuan Xingpei . “Gudai huihua zhong de Tao Yuanming” . Beijing daxue xuebao 43, no. 6 (2006): 5–22. ———. Tao Yuanming yanjiu . Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 1997. Yue Chunzhi . “Tangchao chunian chongxiu Jin shu shimo kao” . Shixueshi yanjiu 2000, no. 2: 38–42. Zhan Ying . “Wenxin diaolong de ‘Yinxiu’ lun” . In idem, Wenxin diaolong de fengge xue , 120–60. Taibei: Zhengzhong shuju, 1994. Zhang Liwei . Guiqulai xi: yinyi de wenhua tou shi : . Beijing: Sanlian shuju, 1995. Zhang Zhongmou . Jianji yu dushan: gudai shidafu chushi xinli pouxi — . Beijing: Dongfang chubanshe, 1998. Zhong Youmin . Taoxue fazhanshi . Changchun: Jilin jiaoyu chubanshe, 2000. ———. Taoxue shihua . Taibei: Yunchen wenhua, 1991. Zhou Xunchu . “Liangdai wenlun sanpai shuyao” . Zhongguo wenshi luncong 5 (1964): 195–221. Reprinted in Wei Jin Nanbeichao wenxue luncong , 230–53. Nanjing: Jiangsu guji chubanshe, 1999. Zhu Ziqing . Zhu Ziqing gudian wenxue lunwen ji . 2 vols. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1981.

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Index

“Airs of the States” , 64n98, 101, 153n18, 199–200, 216, 225 allusion, in criticism of poetry, 179– 80, 207–8 An Lushan Rebellion, 57–58, 67–69 Analects , 55, 96–98, 125, 129, 138, 168, 180n104, 253 archaist movement, in the Ming, 213–23, 241, 258, 263 autobiography, Chinese and Western notions of, 130–31 bagu wen (eight-legged essay), 238–40 Ban Gu , 27, 28n13 Bao Zhao , 155–59, 193, 206 beautiful, philosophical notion of, 17, 18n31 Beitang shuchao , 44n55 bense (inherent qualities), 212 Berkowitz, Alan, 25, 55 bianfeng (mutated “Airs”), 101 biography, features of, 27–28 bingju (linking of poets), 163, 183, 185 bixing (comparison and stimulus), 64, 189, 222

Bo Juyi , 51, 60–65, 69, 177–79, 181–85, 199n162 Bo Ya , 77–78 Bo Yi , 34, 126, 143, 235–36, 266 Cai Qi , 19n33, 199 Cai Yong , 150 Canglang shihua , 205 Cao Daoheng, 157–58 Cao Pi , 103–4 Cao Xu, 114–15, 151 Cao Zhi , 38, 146n3, 151, 154n23, 167n66, 179, 193, 219–23, 227 Chang Jian , 221 Chang, Kang-i Sun, 171 Changju , 168 Chaofu , 34 chao yin (recluse at court), 24 characterology, 104–6, 110–11 Chartier, Roger, 265 Chaves, Jonathan, 188 Chen Guoqiu, 232 Chen Jie, 187n121, 188 Chen Yingluan, 188

287

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Index

288

Chiying (Princess Yuzhen), 70 Chou, Eva Shan, 118–19, 262–63 Chu ci , 100–101 Chu Guangxi , 166, 172–73, 175–76, 228 clans, in the Six Dynasties, 5, 33, 85– 86 Classic of Changes , 71n115, 102, 105n24, 135 Classic of Documents , 8, 100, 218 Confucius, 35, 74n122, 85n152, 88, 97, 101–2, 105–6, 125–26, 128– 29, 180n104, 195, 203n170, 230, 236, 238, 266. See also Analects Dai Jianye, 56–57, 129n92, 196, 214, 243 Dao (the Way), 34, 66; Tao Yuanming’s understanding of, 108n34, 111, 116–17, 119–22, 125–26, 128, 142, 199; of poetry, 217 Da Tang xinyu , 70n114 Davis, A. R., 40, 63n95, 108n35, 256n131 diao (tonality), 216, 220, 222 Ding Fulin, 157 Du Fu , 9, 116–18, 163, 183, 193, 196–97; reception of, 119– 20, 216–20, 222, 262–64 Du Mu , 217 Duke, Michael, 80 Eight-legged essay, see bagu wen Elman, Benjamin, 247 Emperor An of Jin , 248 Emperor Ruizong of Tang , 70n114 Emperor Taizong of Tang , 40n47, 42–43

Emperor Wen of Liu Song , 157–58 Emperor Wenzong of Tang , 60 Emperor Wu of Han , 68 Emperor Wu of Liu Song , see Liu Yu Emperor Xuanzong of Tang , 58, 68, 70 Emperor Zhongzong of Tang , 70n114 even and bland, see pingdan evidential research, see kaozheng Fan Li , 67n107 Fang Dongshu , 75, 129, 243–46, 251–53, 257 Fang Xuanling , 26, 44n55, 46n59. See also Jin shu Fang Zongcheng , 129 fenggu (wind and bones), 227 First Emperor of Qin , 55, 152n15, 198 Five Classics, 124, 129, 236–38, 239, 240–41, 253 Five Ministers , as commentators on the Wen xuan, 82– 83 flavor, see wei Fu Jian , 71n115 Fu Xi , 50–51 Fu Xuan , 227 fugu (return to antiquity), 209–10, 213–16, 261 Gao Dapeng, 11, 119, 122 Ge Hong , 46n59, 79n135, 143n31

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Index Ge Lifang , 84–85, 143n30 Ge Xiaoyin, 163–64, 172–73 gediao (formal style and tonality), 216, 220, 222 genuineness, see zhen gongti shi (palace-style poetry), 150 “Great Preface” , 64n98, 100– 101 Gui Youguang , 128 Guo Pu , 167n66, 225, 227 Gushi gui , 230–32 Han Fei , 98–99, 102 Han Hong , 60 Han Yu , 182n109, 185, 196, 215, 262n1 Han Learning, 252 Han shu , 121n68, 138, 203n169, 235n62 He Jingming , 214–16, 218 He Xun , 151, 207n181 He Yisun , 227–29 Hightower, James, 117, 121n68, 125 Hong Mai , 125n81, 159n38 Hu Dalei, 153 Hu Yinglin , 219–23, 226 Hu Zi , 199 Huan Wen , 5, 71n115, 202n168 Huan Xuan , 6, 248, 249, 251, 256 Huang Jie , 156 Huang Tingjian , 81, 118–21, 124, 128, 186, 194–97, 210–11, 264n3 Huang Wenhuan , 233–38, 243 Huihong , 204 Jauss, Hans Robert, 3–4

289 Ji Bu , 109 Jia Dao , 182n109 Jian’an poets, 103, 146n3, 214n4, 225–27 Jiang Yan , 155–56, 158–60 Jiang Yingke , 227 jiangyi criticism , 240 Jiao Hong , 217 Jiaoran , 179–81, 182n109, 197n155 jiayin (fake reclusion), 70 jiazi dating , as controversy in Tao Yuanming’s works, 31, 82–85 Jieni , 168 Jing Ke , 38, 152n15, 197– 98 Jingjie xiansheng nianpu kao yi , 249, 256 Jingling school , 230–32 Jingwei , 20, 126 Jin shu (648), 10, 26, 39–47, 50–51, 113, 249, 254–56 Kant, Immanuel, 17 kaozheng , 247; in Tao Yuanming studies, 213, 247– 58 King Wen , 102, 105 King Xiaocheng of Zhao , 168 King Xuan of Qi , 109 Knechtges, David, 150n10, 151 Kong Rong , 103 Lang Ying , 224–26, 247 Lanting ji , 136 Lao Lai , 37, 39n43 Laozi (or Dao de jing), 37, 112, 124, 135, 182n107

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290

Index

Lee, Oscar, 183 leisure, see xian Lewis, Mark, 99–100 Li Bo , 49–51, 53, 65, 67–71, 80, 163, 193, 217; reception of, 263– 64 Li Chong , 153n18 Li Dashi , 26 Li Deyu , 52–53 Li Duan , 57–58, 60 Li Gonghuan , 38n43 Li Gonglin , 91–92 Li Jianfeng, 16n27, 108n34, 188, 191n134, 198n159 Li Ling , 222, 225, 228 Li Mengyang , 214, 215n8 Li Qi , 54 Li Qunyu , 51 Li Shan , 251–52, 257 Li Shangyin , 51–52, 188 Li Yanshou , 26, 39, 44–45 Li Zhong , 53–54 Liang Qichao , 6n10, 17, 19 Lianshe gaoxian zhuan , 26n11 Liao Kebin, 215, 218 Liexian zhuan , 143n31 Li ji , 138 Lili pu , 252 Lin Bu , 125n81, 187 Li Sao , 102, 219, 221 Liu Huaisu , 248–50 Liu Jingxuan , 248–51 Liu Kun , 227 Liu Laozhi , 248, 250, 253–55 Liu Ling , 62n92 Liu Liu , 107n29 Liu Lü , 224n36 Liu Shao , 104–6 Liu Shenxu , 228

Liu Xiaochuo , 151 Liu Xie , 146, 197n155, 208 Liu Xu , 46 Liu Yu , 6, 31, 32, 38, 81, 123, 236n71, 245, 246; as disputed employer of Tao Yuanming, 251–57 Liu Yuxi , 217 Liu Zhangqing , 73 Liu Zhen , 103, 146n3, 154n23, 179, 193, 227 Liu Zhiji , 43, 46 Liu Zongyuan , 192–93, 228 liuyi (six principles of poetry), 64 loyalty: as attribute of Tao Yuanming, 12, 20, 30–32, 38, 56, 81–85, 90–92, 123–26, 128, 142–43, 243, 247, 257, 261; in the Six Dynasties, 85–86 lixue (school of principle), 218 Lü Buwei , 102 Lu Ji , 43, 134n15, 146n3, 151, 154n23, 179, 180n104, 221, 223, 227 Lu Xun , 17, 19–20 Lu You , 79–80 Lu Yun , 225, 227 Lu Zangyong , 70n114 “Lun wen” , 102–4 Luo Dajing , 122 Mao Commentary , 100–101 Mei Sheng , 221 Mei Yaochen , 77–78, 186–91, 210 Mencius , 8, 85n152, 88, 97–98, 102, 126, 129, 253

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Index Meng Haoran , 166–68, 172, 228 Meng Jia , 5, 202n168 Miao Xi , 140n26 middle-of-the-road reclusion, see zhongyin mo wu zi (Five Latter-Day Masters), 219 Mote, Frederick, 23–24, 85n152 Nan shi , 10, 26, 38–40, 45n57, 46, 113, 206, 236n71, 253 naturalness, see ziran nature, and farmstead poetry, 163–64; Tao Yuanming’s relation to, 19, 71, 75–77, 136, 168, 176, 241–43; and literary parallelism, 208 Nelson, Susan, 91–92 New Yuefu poetry, 64 “Nineteen Old Poems” , 154n23, 155, 222, 226–28, 243 Odes , 64n98, 100–102, 136, 153, 197n155, 216, 218, 221–22, 224, 230, 239–41 orthodoxy, in poetry, 219–21, 223– 24, 226, 229 Ouyang Xiu , 77–78, 190 Owen, Stephen, 47, 95, 100, 103, 160–62, 164–65, 169, 173–74, 182 palace-style poetry, see gongti shi Pan Shu , 180 Pan Yue , 146n3, 179, 180n104, 225 Pang Tongzhi , 29, 40, 43 Pei Ji , 180 pingdan (even and bland), 13, 21, 182n109, 183, 186–94, 197–98, 205, 210, 212, 219, 233

291 pingdian criticism, 230–32, 239–40 printing, and Tao Yuanming’s works, 232 Pu Qilong , 226 Qian Lou , 37, 85, 134, 138–39 Qian Xu , 60–61 Qian Xuan , 92 Qian Zhongshu , 102n17, 162, 172, 185 qian qi zi (Former Seven Masters), 214 qiao (artful), 206–7 Qin Qing , 64 qingtan (pure conversation), 25n6, 135 Qiu Jiasui , 241–43 Qiu Zhaoao , 117, 163n53 Qixiu leigao , 224–25 Qu Yuan , 8, 102, 143 reception theory, 3–5 reclusion, definition of, 23– 24: in medieval China, 23– 26 Renwu zhi , 104–6, 182n107 responsible recluse, 64–65, 73 return, as theme in Tang poetry, 168–70 Rickett, Adele, 196–97 Ronald Egan, 89, 204 Rong Qiqi , 117, 203n170, 235–36 Ruan Ji , 36, 54, 154n23, 157, 158n34, 162, 165, 179, 221, 223, 227

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292

Index

Schopenhauer, Arthur, 17, 18n31 Shang Ping (Xiang Ziping ), 64 Shang shu, see Classic of Documents Shao Yong , 124 Shen Deqian , 129 Shen Yucheng, 157–58 Shen Yue , 26–38 passim, 40, 43–46, 55, 81–86, 89, 112–13, 124, 127, 146, 155, 207n181, 247, 256n131 Shun , 220, 224, 245 Shige , 166 Shi gui , 232 Shi ji , 27, 138 Shijing, see Odes Shipin , 110–11, 146, 151–56, 179, 189, 197n155, 219 Shishi , 179–80, 182n109, 197n155 Shishuo xinyu , 46n59, 62n92, 135 Shisou , 117n54, 219–23 shiyi (poetic meaning), 49 shi yin (recluse in the city), 24 Shiyuan bianti , 223 Shu Qi , 126, 143, 235–36, 266 sihao (Four Whitepates), 245– 46 Sikong Shu , 57–58, 60 Sikong Tu , 71–72, 191n134, 192, 197n155 Sima Chengzhen , 70n114 Sima Qian , 27, 28n13, 102–4, 266 Sima Xiangru , 165, 185, 207n181 Sima Yan , 43 Sima Yi , 43 Six Classics, 124, 129, 236–38, 253

Siyue , 82–85, 247 Song Learning, 252 Song Lian , 247 Song shu , 10, 26, 28–33, 38–41, 44, 46, 72n119, 113, 248, 255 Spring and Autumn Annals , 100–102, 218, 239n79, 240 Su Che , 201 Su Shi , 9, 16, 18–19, 87–90, 120–21, 126–28, 186, 191–94, 198n159, 199–200, 210–11, 222–23, 262; matching Tao Yuanming’s poems, 193–94, 200–205 Su Wu , 222, 225, 228 Su Xuelin, 165 sublime, philosophical notion of, 17, 18n31 Sun En , 254–55 Sun Kuang , 241 Sun Sheng , 153n18 Sun Yan , 44 Sunzi , 102 Tan Daoji , 34 Tan Daoluan , 44 Tan Yuanchun , 230–32, 243 Tang Heng , 180 Tang Shunzhi , 212n1 Tang Yanqian , 194n146 Tao Dan , 79n135 Tao Hongjing , 79n135 Tao Kan , 5, 33, 67 Tao Mao ,5 Tao shi xiyi , 233–38 Tao Shu , 249–51, 253–57 Tao Yuanming : in drama, 93; in paintings, 91–92; lin-

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Index eage of, 5, 33, 86; his Collected Works (Tao Yuanming ji), 14, 36, 38, 45n57, 111, 114, 148, 152, 160, 199, 229, 233, 249, 252; and farmwork, 41, 109, 120, 132–33, 135, 171–72, 242; writing on daily life, 132–33, 140–41; discourse on leisure, 135; discussion of writing, 130, 143–44 —works, A–K: “Bearers’ Songs, Three poems” (or “In Imitation of Bearers’ Songs”) , 37n42, 139–40; “Begging for Food” , 65, 127n89; “Biography of the Master of Five Willows” , 28, 37n41, 38n43, 39, 41n51, 59, 137–40, 143, 228; “The Double Ninth, in Retirement” , 80n141, 201–4; “An Elegy for Myself” , 139–42; “Finding Fault with My Sons” , 117, 119; “Hovering Clouds” , 224; “Imitations, Nine poems” , 38n42, 152n16; “In Praise of Impoverished Gentlemen, Seven poems” , 37n41, 38n42, 72n119, 134, 139, 152n15, 156, 194n146; “In Praise of Jing Ke” , 38, 152n15, 197–98; “In Praise of the Three Good Men” , 38; “In Sacrifice for My Sister Madame Cheng” , 32; “In the Fifth Month of the Year 400, Held Up at Guilin by Adverse Winds While Coming Back from the Capital, Two poems” , 87n158, 137; “In

293 the Sixth Month of 408, Fire” , 133 —works, L–S: “Lament for Gentlemen Born Out of Their Time” , 59n85; “A Lament in the Chu Mode” , 133, 233–34; “Lines Written as I Passed Through Qu’e, on First Being Made Adjutant to the General” , 37n42, 87n158, 251–57; “The Ninth of the Ninth Month, 409” , 159n37; “On Moving House,” no. 2 , , 133, 135, 157; “On Naming My Son” , 32–33, 39, 42; “On Reading the Mountains and Seas Classic, Thirteen poems” , 38n42, 72n119, 152n16, 166n65; “Peach Blossom Spring” , 19, 49n65, 91, 93, 161, 170–72; “A Reply to Recorder Guo, Two poems” , 72n119, 132, 178; “The Return” , 19, 28, 38n42, 39, 53n73, 61, 72n119, 74, 83, 87, 91, 93, 121, 136, 159, 168, 253; “Returning to My Former Residence” , 254; “Returning to the Farm to Dwell” , 159, 168, 241–43; (no. 1), 174–76, 178, 252n117; (no. 2), 74, 132, 159n37; (no. 3), 132, 159n37 —works, S–Z: “Substance, Shadow, Spirit” , 79–

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Index

294

80, 122; “Stilling the Passions” , 149–50, 199; “To Aide Yang” , 244–46; “To My Sons, Yan and the Others” , 32–33, 37n40, 39, 42, 45n57, 50n68, 133, 228; “Trees in Bloom” , 124–25; “Twenty Poems on Drinking Wine” , 120, 137n20, 234–38; (no. 5) 37n42, 72n119, 75–78, 80n141, 93, 169– 70, 178; (no. 7), 37n42, 51, 72n119, 133; (no. 9), 178; (no. 10), 254; (no. 18), 75; (no. 20), 124–25; “Untitled Poems, Twelve poems” , 59n85; “Written After Reading History, Nine pieces” , 84–85, 143; “Written as I Passed Through Qianxi on My Way to the Capital in the Third Month of 405, When I Was Adjutant to the General of the Establishing-Majesty Army” , 83, 87n158, 247–51, 256n131; “Written at Tukou at Night During the Seventh Moon of the Year 401, While Returning to Jiangling After Leave” , 37n42, 87n158 Ten Talents of the Dali Era, 57, 60 Tian Guo , 109 Tian, Xiaofei, 14–15, 45n57, 47n61, 86 Tomasevskij, Boris, 8 tonality, see diao; gediao Van Zoeren, Steven, 96, 101n15 Varsano, Paula, 263 verisimilitude, see xingsi Vervoorn, Aat, 25

Wang Anshi , 74–78, 123n76, 264n3 Wang Bo , 163n53 Wang Can , 146n3, 154n23 Wang Changling , 166– 67, 179, 217 Wang Gong , 264n3 Wang Guowei , 17–19 Wang Hong , 29–30, 40–41, 43–45, 93, 156 Wang Ji , 59, 161–63 Wang Kuo-ying, 28n14, 33, 131, 136, 163–65 Wang Mang , 29n17, 55, 85n152, 159n35 Wang Qi , 258n136 Wang Sengda , 156 Wang Shizhen (Ming), 214n4 Wang Shizhen (Qing), 226–27 Wang Tong , 59 Wang Wei , 65–67, 127, 164, 166, 168–72, 174–76, 185, 191n134, 228 Wang Xizhi , 43 Wang Yao, 24–25, 36n37 Wang Zhi , 252 wei (flavor), aesthetics of, 181–83, 186–93 Wei Hao , 70n112 Wei Hong , 101n14 Wei Meng , 224 Wei Yingwu , 181, 183– 85, 191n134, 199n162, 228 wen (literary pattern), development of, 209–10 Wen Runeng , 128 Wen xuan , 34, 82–83, 112, 150n10, 209, 225; Tao Yuan-

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Index ming’s works in, 37–38, 72n119, 146, 151–52, 160, 199–200, 234n61 Wenxin diaolong , 146, 197n155, 208 Wu Na , 225–26 Wu Renjie , 248–52, 257 Wu Yun , 70n112 Wu Zhantai , 248–50 Wu Zhaolu, 56–57, 69, 184 xian (leisure), Tao Yuanming’s notion of, 135 Xiao Gang , 49n65, 150, 206–7 Xiao Tong , 10, 26, 34, 36–39, 42, 44–45, 49n65, 86, 111–15, 125, 146, 148–52, 160, 189, 199–200, 209, 235n61 Xiao Wangqing, 132 Xiao Zixian , 146 Xie An , 25n6, 70–71 Xie Huilian , 163n53, 225 Xie Lingyun , 13, 146, 151, 154n23, 155, 158n34, 163, 165, 167n66, 179, 180n102, 183, 185, 193, 195–96, 205, 215, 223, 225; as exemplifying literary naturalness, 206–8 Xie Tiao , 63n95, 163, 225 Xikun style , 188 Xin Qiji , 1, 12, 87, 122 xingsi (verisimilitude), 206–7 Xingtian , 20 Xu Hun , 185 Xu Yi , 121–22, 133n14 Xu You , 35 Xu Yuan , 31n24, 44 xuanyan shi (abstruse poetry), 182 Xunzi , 101n15, 102

295 Yan Hui , 105n24, 117, 125, 138, 178, 236, 266 Yan Shu , 187 Yan Yanzhi , 13, 29, 30n24, 34, 45, 86, 107–9, 112–13, 146–49, 155, 206 Yan Yu , 205, 214 Yan Zhenqing , 55–56, 124 Yang Shen , 217–18 Yang Shi , 204–5 Yang Xiong , 75, 150, 236 Yang Xiuzhi , 160 Yao , 35, 100, 105, 220 Ye Mengde , 12, 19, 86– 87, 199, 204, 256–57 Yellow Emperor , 245 Yijing, see Classic of Changes Ying Qu , 86, 152–54, 156, 167n66, 199, 227 Ying Yang , 103 Yoshikawa Ko ¯ jiro¯, 188–89 Yu , 220 Yu Qing , 168 Yu Xin , 165, 195–96 yuan (grievance), in poetry, 154, 156, 234, 237 Yuan Hongdao , 212n1 Yuan Xian , 134, 178 Yuan Xingpei, 36n37, 255–56 Yuan Zhen , 64, 262n1, 181 Yun Jing , 256–57 Yuefu poetry , 150n10, 182n109, 219–20, 243. See also New Yuefu poetry Zai Yu (Zai Wo), 97 Zang Rongxu , 44n55, 45, 251 Zeng San , 128

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296

Index

Zhang Heng , 150 Zhang Hua , 224, 225, 227 Zhang Kang , 227 Zhang Liang , 55, 82 Zhang Xie , 146n3, 154n23, 207, 227 Zhang Zai , 227 Zhang Zhongmou, 63n95, 71 Zhao Mengfu , 92 Zhaomei zhanyan , 243–46 zhen (genuineness), 30, 88–90, 111, 126–28, 143, 148, 181, 186, 211, 212, 262 Zhen Dexiu , 20, 81–82, 124– 26, 128 Zheng Gu , 185 Zheng Shanfu , 217 zhi (intent), 8, 95–96, 100–102, 106, 224n34, 264 Zhong Rong , 9, 86, 110–11, 113, 146, 151–56, 158, 160, 179, 182, 189–91, 197n155, 199, 207–8, 219, 237

Zhong Xing , 230–32, 243 Zhong Ziqi , 77–78, 234 Zhongnan jie jing (Zhongnan shortcut), 70 zhongyin , 62–63, 73 Zhou Xuzhi , 35, 93 Zhu Xi , 12, 20, 81–82, 122–24, 126, 128, 186, 197– 98, 205, 210, 261 Zhu Ziqing , 1n1, 129n92, 255–57 Zhuangzi , 76, 108, 124, 129n92, 182n107, 187 ziran (naturalness), as attribute of Tao Yuanming’s writings, 7, 13–14, 196–97, 204–5, 212, 216, 223, 258, 262; changing conceptions of, 206–10, 265–66 Zuo Qiu , 102 Zuo Si , 38, 152, 154n23, 158n34, 225, 227 Zuo zhuan , 100

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Harvard East Asian Monographs (*out-of-print)

*1. *2. 3. *4.

Liang Fang-chung, The Single-Whip Method of Taxation in China Harold C. Hinton, The Grain Tribute System of China, 1845–1911 Ellsworth C. Carlson, The Kaiping Mines, 1877–1912 Chao Kuo-chün, Agrarian Policies of Mainland China: A Documentary Study,

1949–1956 *5. Edgar Snow, Random Notes on Red China, 1936–1945 *6. Edwin George Beal, Jr., The Origin of Likin, 1835–1864 7. Chao Kuo-chün, Economic Planning and Organization in Mainland China: A Documentary Study, 1949–1957 *8. John K. Fairbank, Ching Documents: An Introductory Syllabus *9. Helen Yin and Yi-chang Yin, Economic Statistics of Mainland China, 1949–1957 10. Wolfgang Franke, The Reform and Abolition of the Traditional Chinese Examination System 11. Albert Feuerwerker and S. Cheng, Chinese Communist Studies of Modern Chinese History 12. C. John Stanley, Late Ching Finance: Hu Kuang-yung as an Innovator 13. S. M. Meng, The Tsungli Yamen: Its Organization and Functions *14. Ssu-yü Teng, Historiography of the Taiping Rebellion 15. Chun-Jo Liu, Controversies in Modern Chinese Intellectual History: An Analytic Bibliography of Periodical Articles, Mainly of the May Fourth and Post-May Fourth Era *16. Edward J. M. Rhoads, The Chinese Red Army, 1927–1963: An Annotated Bibliography *17. Andrew J. Nathan, A History of the China International Famine Relief Commission *18. Frank H. H. King (ed.) and Prescott Clarke, A Research Guide to China-Coast Newspapers, 1822–1911 *19. Ellis Joffe, Party and Army: Professionalism and Political Control in the Chinese Officer Corps, 1949–1964

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Harvard East Asian Monographs *20. *21. *22. 23. *24. *25. *26. 27. *28. *29.

Toshio G. Tsukahira, Feudal Control in Tokugawa Japan: The Sankin K tai System Kwang-Ching Liu, ed., American Missionaries in China: Papers from Harvard Seminars George Moseley, A Sino-Soviet Cultural Frontier: The Ili Kazakh Autonomous Chou Carl F. Nathan, Plague Prevention and Politics in Manchuria, 1910–1931 Adrian Arthur Bennett, John Fryer: The Introduction of Western Science and Technology into Nineteenth-Century China Donald J. Friedman, The Road from Isolation: The Campaign of the American Committee for Non-Participation in Japanese Aggression, 1938–1941 Edward LeFevour, Western Enterprise in Late Ching China: A Selective Survey of Jardine, Matheson and Company’s Operations, 1842–1895 Charles Neuhauser, Third World Politics: China and the Afro-Asian People’s Solidarity Organization, 1957–1967 Kungtu C. Sun, assisted by Ralph W. Huenemann, The Economic Development of Manchuria in the First Half of the Twentieth Century Shahid Javed Burki, A Study of Chinese Communes, 1965

30. John Carter Vincent, The Extraterritorial System in China: Final Phase 31. Madeleine Chi, China Diplomacy, 1914–1918 *32. Clifton Jackson Phillips, Protestant America and the Pagan World: The First Half Century of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, 1810–1860 *33. James Pusey, Wu Han: Attacking the Present Through the Past *34. Ying-wan Cheng, Postal Communication in China and Its Modernization, 1860–1896 35. Tuvia Blumenthal, Saving in Postwar Japan 36. Peter Frost, The Bakumatsu Currency Crisis 37. Stephen C. Lockwood, Augustine Heard and Company, 1858–1862 38. Robert R. Campbell, James Duncan Campbell: A Memoir by His Son 39. Jerome Alan Cohen, ed., The Dynamics of China’s Foreign Relations 40. V. V. Vishnyakova-Akimova, Two Years in Revolutionary China, 1925–1927, trans. Steven L. Levine 41. Meron Medzini, French Policy in Japan During the Closing Years of the Tokugawa Regime 42. Ezra Vogel, Margie Sargent, Vivienne B. Shue, Thomas Jay Mathews, and Deborah S. Davis, The Cultural Revolution in the Provinces 43. Sidney A. Forsythe, An American Missionary Community in China, 1895–1905 *44. Benjamin I. Schwartz, ed., Reflections on the May Fourth Movement.: A Symposium *45. Ching Young Choe, The Rule of the Taew ngun, 1864–1873: Restoration in Yi Korea 46. W. P. J. Hall, A Bibliographical Guide to Japanese Research on the Chinese Economy,

1958–1970 47. Jack J. Gerson, Horatio Nelson Lay and Sino-British Relations, 1854–1864

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Harvard East Asian Monographs 48. Paul Richard Bohr, Famine and the Missionary: Timothy Richard as Relief Administrator and Advocate of National Reform 49. Endymion Wilkinson, The History of Imperial China: A Research Guide 50. Britten Dean, China and Great Britain: The Diplomacy of Commercial Relations,

1860–1864 51. 52. 53. *54. 55. 56. *57. *58. *59. 60.

61. 62. 63. *64. *65. 66. *67. *68. 69. *70. 71. 72. 73. 74.

Ellsworth C. Carlson, The Foochow Missionaries, 1847–1880 Yeh-chien Wang, An Estimate of the Land-Tax Collection in China, 1753 and 1908 Richard M. Pfeffer, Understanding Business Contracts in China, 1949–1963 Han-sheng Chuan and Richard Kraus, Mid-Ching Rice Markets and Trade: An Essay in Price History Ranbir Vohra, Lao She and the Chinese Revolution Liang-lin Hsiao, China’s Foreign Trade Statistics, 1864–1949 Lee-hsia Hsu Ting, Government Control of the Press in Modern China, 1900–1949 Edward W. Wagner, The Literati Purges: Political Conflict in Early Yi Korea Joungwon A. Kim, Divided Korea: The Politics of Development, 1945–1972 Noriko Kamachi, John K. Fairbank, and Ch z Ichiko, Japanese Studies of Modern China Since 1953: A Bibliographical Guide to Historical and Social-Science Research on the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Supplementary Volume for 1953–1969 Donald A. Gibbs and Yun-chen Li, A Bibliography of Studies and Translations of Modern Chinese Literature, 1918–1942 Robert H. Silin, Leadership and Values: The Organization of Large-Scale Taiwanese Enterprises David Pong, A Critical Guide to the Kwangtung Provincial Archives Deposited at the Public Record Office of London Fred W. Drake, China Charts the World: Hsu Chi-yü and His Geography of 1848 William A. Brown and Urgrunge Onon, translators and annotators, History of the Mongolian People’s Republic Edward L. Farmer, Early Ming Government: The Evolution of Dual Capitals Ralph C. Croizier, Koxinga and Chinese Nationalism: History, Myth, and the Hero William J. Tyler, tr., The Psychological World of Natsume S seki, by Doi Takeo Eric Widmer, The Russian Ecclesiastical Mission in Peking During the Eighteenth Century Charlton M. Lewis, Prologue to the Chinese Revolution: The Transformation of Ideas and Institutions in Hunan Province, 1891–1907 Preston Torbert, The Ching Imperial Household Department: A Study of Its Organization and Principal Functions, 1662–1796 Paul A. Cohen and John E. Schrecker, eds., Reform in Nineteenth-Century China Jon Sigurdson, Rural Industrialism in China Kang Chao, The Development of Cotton Textile Production in China

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Harvard East Asian Monographs 75. *76. 77. 78. *79. 80. *81. *82.

Valentin Rabe, The Home Base of American China Missions, 1880–1920 Sarasin Viraphol, Tribute and Profit: Sino-Siamese Trade, 1652–1853 Ch’i-ch’ing Hsiao, The Military Establishment of the Yuan Dynasty Meishi Tsai, Contemporary Chinese Novels and Short Stories, 1949–1974: An Annotated Bibliography Wellington K. K. Chan, Merchants, Mandarins and Modern Enterprise in Late Ching China Endymion Wilkinson, Landlord and Labor in Late Imperial China: Case Studies from Shandong by Jing Su and Luo Lun Barry Keenan, The Dewey Experiment in China: Educational Reform and Political Power in the Early Republic George A. Hayden, Crime and Punishment in Medieval Chinese Drama: Three Judge Pao Plays

*83. Sang-Chul Suh, Growth and Structural Changes in the Korean Economy, 1910–1940 84. J. W. Dower, Empire and Aftermath: Yoshida Shigeru and the Japanese Experience,

1878–1954 85. Martin Collcutt, Five Mountains: The Rinzai Zen Monastic Institution in Medieval Japan 86. Kwang Suk Kim and Michael Roemer, Growth and Structural Transformation 87. Anne O. Krueger, The Developmental Role of the Foreign Sector and Aid *88. Edwin S. Mills and Byung-Nak Song, Urbanization and Urban Problems 89. Sung Hwan Ban, Pal Yong Moon, and Dwight H. Perkins, Rural Development *90. Noel F. McGinn, Donald R. Snodgrass, Yung Bong Kim, Shin-Bok Kim, and Quee-Young Kim, Education and Development in Korea *91. Leroy P. Jones and II SaKong, Government, Business, and Entrepreneurship in Economic Development: The Korean Case 92. Edward S. Mason, Dwight H. Perkins, Kwang Suk Kim, David C. Cole, Mahn Je Kim et al., The Economic and Social Modernization of the Republic of Korea 93. Robert Repetto, Tai Hwan Kwon, Son-Ung Kim, Dae Young Kim, John E. Sloboda, and Peter J. Donaldson, Economic Development, Population Policy, and Demographic Transition in the Republic of Korea 94. Parks M. Coble, Jr., The Shanghai Capitalists and the Nationalist Government,

1927–1937 95. Noriko Kamachi, Reform in China: Huang Tsun-hsien and the Japanese Model 96. Richard Wich, Sino-Soviet Crisis Politics: A Study of Political Change and Communication 97. Lillian M. Li, China’s Silk Trade: Traditional Industry in the Modern World, 1842–1937 98. R. David Arkush, Fei Xiaotong and Sociology in Revolutionary China *99. Kenneth Alan Grossberg, Japan’s Renaissance: The Politics of the Muromachi Bakufu 100. James Reeve Pusey, China and Charles Darwin

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Harvard East Asian Monographs 101. Hoyt Cleveland Tillman, Utilitarian Confucianism: Chen Liang’s Challenge to Chu Hsi 102. Thomas A. Stanley, sugi Sakae, Anarchist in Taish Japan: The Creativity of the Ego 103. Jonathan K. Ocko, Bureaucratic Reform in Provincial China: Ting Jih-ch’ang in Restoration Kiangsu, 1867–1870 104. James Reed, The Missionary Mind and American East Asia Policy, 1911–1915 105. Neil L. Waters, Japan’s Local Pragmatists: The Transition from Bakumatsu to Meiji in the Kawasaki Region 106. David C. Cole and Yung Chul Park, Financial Development in Korea, 1945–1978 107. Roy Bahl, Chuk Kyo Kim, and Chong Kee Park, Public Finances During the Korean Modernization Process 108. William D. Wray, Mitsubishi and the N.Y.K, 1870–1914: Business Strategy in the Japanese Shipping Industry 109. Ralph William Huenemann, The Dragon and the Iron Horse: The Economics of Railroads in China, 1876–1937 *110. Benjamin A. Elman, From Philosophy to Philology: Intellectual and Social Aspects of Change in Late Imperial China 111. Jane Kate Leonard, Wei Yüan and China’s Rediscovery of the Maritime World 112. Luke S. K. Kwong, A Mosaic of the Hundred Days:. Personalities, Politics, and Ideas of 1898 *113. John E. Wills, Jr., Embassies and Illusions: Dutch and Portuguese Envoys to K’ang-hsi,

1666–1687 114. *115. 116. 117.

Joshua A. Fogel, Politics and Sinology: The Case of Nait Konan (1866–1934) Jeffrey C. Kinkley, ed., After Mao: Chinese Literature and Society, 1978–1981 C. Andrew Gerstle, Circles of Fantasy: Convention in the Plays of Chikamatsu Andrew Gordon, The Evolution of Labor Relations in Japan: Heavy Industry,

1853–1955 *118. Daniel K. Gardner, Chu Hsi and the “Ta Hsueh”: Neo-Confucian Reflection on the Confucian Canon 119. Christine Guth Kanda, Shinz : Hachiman Imagery and Its Development *120. Robert Borgen, Sugawara no Michizane and the Early Heian Court 121. Chang-tai Hung, Going to the People: Chinese Intellectual and Folk Literature,

1918–1937 *122. Michael A. Cusumano, The Japanese Automobile Industry: Technology and Management at Nissan and Toyota 123. Richard von Glahn, The Country of Streams and Grottoes: Expansion, Settlement, and the Civilizing of the Sichuan Frontier in Song Times 124. Steven D. Carter, The Road to Komatsubara: A Classical Reading of the Renga Hyakuin 125. Katherine F. Bruner, John K. Fairbank, and Richard T. Smith, Entering China’s Service: Robert Hart’s Journals, 1854–1863

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Harvard East Asian Monographs 126. Bob Tadashi Wakabayashi, Anti-Foreignism and Western Learning in Early-Modern Japan: The “New Theses” of 1825 127. Atsuko Hirai, Individualism and Socialism: The Life and Thought of Kawai Eijir (1891–1944) 128. Ellen Widmer, The Margins of Utopia: “Shui-hu hou-chuan” and the Literature of Ming Loyalism 129. R. Kent Guy, The Emperor’s Four Treasuries: Scholars and the State in the Late Chien-lung Era 130. Peter C. Perdue, Exhausting the Earth: State and Peasant in Hunan, 1500–1850 131. Susan Chan Egan, A Latterday Confucian: Reminiscences of William Hung (1893–1980) 132. James T. C. Liu, China Turning Inward: Intellectual-Political Changes in the Early Twelfth Century *133. Paul A. Cohen, Between Tradition and Modernity: Wang T’ao and Reform in Late Ching China 134. Kate Wildman Nakai, Shogunal Politics: Arai Hakuseki and the Premises of Tokugawa Rule *135. Parks M. Coble, Facing Japan: Chinese Politics and Japanese Imperialism, 1931–1937 136. Jon L. Saari, Legacies of Childhood: Growing Up Chinese in a Time of Crisis, 1890–1920 137. 138. 139. 140. *141. 142. *143. 144. 145. 146. 147. 148.

Susan Downing Videen, Tales of Heich Heinz Morioka and Miyoko Sasaki, Rakugo: The Popular Narrative Art of Japan Joshua A. Fogel, Nakae Ushikichi in China: The Mourning of Spirit Alexander Barton Woodside, Vietnam and the Chinese Model: A Comparative Study of Vietnamese and Chinese Government in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century George Elison, Deus Destroyed: The Image of Christianity in Early Modern Japan William D. Wray, ed., Managing Industrial Enterprise: Cases from Japan’s Prewar Experience T’ung-tsu Ch’ü, Local Government in China Under the Ching Marie Anchordoguy, Computers, Inc.: Japan’s Challenge to IBM Barbara Molony, Technology and Investment: The Prewar Japanese Chemical Industry Mary Elizabeth Berry, Hideyoshi Laura E. Hein, Fueling Growth: The Energy Revolution and Economic Policy in Postwar Japan Wen-hsin Yeh, The Alienated Academy: Culture and Politics in Republican China,

1919–1937 149. Dru C. Gladney, Muslim Chinese: Ethnic Nationalism in the People’s Republic 150. Merle Goldman and Paul A. Cohen, eds., Ideas Across Cultures: Essays on Chinese Thought in Honor of Benjamin L Schwartz 151. James M. Polachek, The Inner Opium War 152. Gail Lee Bernstein, Japanese Marxist: A Portrait of Kawakami Hajime, 1879–1946

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Harvard East Asian Monographs *153. Lloyd E. Eastman, The Abortive Revolution: China Under Nationalist Rule, 1927–1937 154. Mark Mason, American Multinationals and Japan: The Political Economy of Japanese Capital Controls, 1899–1980 155. Richard J. Smith, John K. Fairbank, and Katherine F. Bruner, Robert Hart and China’s Early Modernization: His Journals, 1863–1866 156. George J. Tanabe, Jr., My e the Dreamkeeper: Fantasy and Knowledge in Kamakura Buddhism 157. William Wayne Farris, Heavenly Warriors: The Evolution of Japan’s Military,

500–1300 158. Yu-ming Shaw, An American Missionary in China: John Leighton Stuart and ChineseAmerican Relations 159. James B. Palais, Politics and Policy in Traditional Korea *160. Douglas Reynolds, China, 1898–1912: The Xinzheng Revolution and Japan 161. Roger R. Thompson, China’s Local Councils in the Age of Constitutional Reform,

1898–1911 162. William Johnston, The Modern Epidemic: History of Tuberculosis in Japan 163. Constantine Nomikos Vaporis, Breaking Barriers: Travel and the State in Early Modern Japan 164. Irmela Hijiya-Kirschnereit, Rituals of Self-Revelation: Shish setsu as Literary Genre and Socio-Cultural Phenomenon 165. James C. Baxter, The Meiji Unification Through the Lens of Ishikawa Prefecture 166. Thomas R. H. Havens, Architects of Affluence: The Tsutsumi Family and the SeibuSaison Enterprises in Twentieth-Century Japan 167. Anthony Hood Chambers, The Secret Window: Ideal Worlds in Tanizaki’s Fiction 168. Steven J. Ericson, The Sound of the Whistle: Railroads and the State in Meiji Japan 169. Andrew Edmund Goble, Kenmu: Go-Daigo’s Revolution 170. Denise Potrzeba Lett, In Pursuit of Status: The Making of South Korea’s “New” Urban Middle Class 171. Mimi Hall Yiengpruksawan, Hiraizumi: Buddhist Art and Regional Politics in TwelfthCentury Japan 172. Charles Shir Inouye, The Similitude of Blossoms: A Critical Biography of Izumi Ky ka (1873–1939), Japanese Novelist and Playwright 173. Aviad E. Raz, Riding the Black Ship: Japan and Tokyo Disneyland 174. Deborah J. Milly, Poverty, Equality, and Growth: The Politics of Economic Need in Postwar Japan 175. See Heng Teow, Japan’s Cultural Policy Toward China, 1918–1931: A Comparative Perspective 176. Michael A. Fuller, An Introduction to Literary Chinese 177. Frederick R. Dickinson, War and National Reinvention: Japan in the Great War,

1914–1919

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Harvard East Asian Monographs 178. John Solt, Shredding the Tapestry of Meaning: The Poetry and Poetics of Kitasono Katue (1902–1978) 179. Edward Pratt, Japan’s Protoindustrial Elite: The Economic Foundations of the G n 180. Atsuko Sakaki, Recontextualizing Texts: Narrative Performance in Modern Japanese Fiction 181. Soon-Won Park, Colonial Industrialization and Labor in Korea: The Onoda Cement Factory 182. JaHyun Kim Haboush and Martina Deuchler, Culture and the State in Late Chos n Korea 183. John W. Chaffee, Branches of Heaven: A History of the Imperial Clan of Sung China 184. Gi-Wook Shin and Michael Robinson, eds., Colonial Modernity in Korea 185. Nam-lin Hur, Prayer and Play in Late Tokugawa Japan: Asakusa Sens ji and Edo Society 186. Kristin Stapleton, Civilizing Chengdu: Chinese Urban Reform, 1895–1937 187. Hyung Il Pai, Constructing “Korean” Origins: A Critical Review of Archaeology, Historiography, and Racial Myth in Korean State-Formation Theories 188. Brian D. Ruppert, Jewel in the Ashes: Buddha Relics and Power in Early Medieval Japan 189. Susan Daruvala, Zhou Zuoren and an Alternative Chinese Response to Modernity *190. James Z. Lee, The Political Economy of a Frontier: Southwest China, 1250–1850 191. Kerry Smith, A Time of Crisis: Japan, the Great Depression, and Rural Revitalization 192. Michael Lewis, Becoming Apart: National Power and Local Politics in Toyama,

1868–1945 193. William C. Kirby, Man-houng Lin, James Chin Shih, and David A. Pietz, eds., State and Economy in Republican China: A Handbook for Scholars 194. Timothy S. George, Minamata: Pollution and the Struggle for Democracy in Postwar Japan 195. Billy K. L. So, Prosperity, Region, and Institutions in Maritime China: The South Fukien Pattern, 946–1368 196. Yoshihisa Tak Matsusaka, The Making of Japanese Manchuria, 1904–1932 197. Maram Epstein, Competing Discourses: Orthodoxy, Authenticity, and Engendered Meanings in Late Imperial Chinese Fiction 198. Curtis J. Milhaupt, J. Mark Ramseyer, and Michael K. Young, eds. and comps., Japanese Law in Context: Readings in Society, the Economy, and Politics 199. Haruo Iguchi, Unfinished Business: Ayukawa Yoshisuke and U.S.-Japan Relations,

1937–1952 200. Scott Pearce, Audrey Spiro, and Patricia Ebrey, Culture and Power in the Reconstitution of the Chinese Realm, 200–600 201. Terry Kawashima, Writing Margins: The Textual Construction of Gender in Heian and Kamakura Japan 202. Martin W. Huang, Desire and Fictional Narrative in Late Imperial China

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Harvard East Asian Monographs 203. Robert S. Ross and Jiang Changbin, eds., Re-examining the Cold War: U.S.-China Diplomacy, 1954–1973 204. Guanhua Wang, In Search of Justice: The 1905–1906 Chinese Anti-American Boycott 205. David Schaberg, A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography 206. Christine Yano, Tears of Longing: Nostalgia and the Nation in Japanese Popular Song 207. Milena Doleželová-Velingerová and Old ich Král, with Graham Sanders, eds., The Appropriation of Cultural Capital: China’s May Fourth Project 208. Robert N. Huey, The Making of ‘Shinkokinsh ’ 209. Lee Butler, Emperor and Aristocracy in Japan, 1467–1680: Resilience and Renewal 210. Suzanne Ogden, Inklings of Democracy in China 211. Kenneth J. Ruoff, The People’s Emperor: Democracy and the Japanese Monarchy,

1945–1995 212. Haun Saussy, Great Walls of Discourse and Other Adventures in Cultural China 213. Aviad E. Raz, Emotions at Work: Normative Control, Organizations, and Culture in Japan and America 214. Rebecca E. Karl and Peter Zarrow, eds., Rethinking the 1898 Reform Period: Political and Cultural Change in Late Qing China 215. Kevin O’Rourke, The Book of Korean Shijo 216. Ezra F. Vogel, ed., The Golden Age of the U.S.-China-Japan Triangle,

1972–1989 217. Thomas A. Wilson, ed., On Sacred Grounds: Culture, Society, Politics, and the Formation of the Cult of Confucius 218. Donald S. Sutton, Steps of Perfection: Exorcistic Performers and Chinese Religion in Twentieth-Century Taiwan 219. Daqing Yang, Technology of Empire: Telecommunications and Japanese Expansionism, 1895–1945 220. Qianshen Bai, Fu Shan’s World: The Transformation of Chinese Calligraphy in the Seventeenth Century 221. Paul Jakov Smith and Richard von Glahn, eds., The Song-Yuan-Ming Transition in Chinese History 222. Rania Huntington, Alien Kind: Foxes and Late Imperial Chinese Narrative 223. Jordan Sand, House and Home in Modern Japan: Architecture, Domestic Space, and Bourgeois Culture, 1880–1930 224. Karl Gerth, China Made: Consumer Culture and the Creation of the Nation 225. Xiaoshan Yang, Metamorphosis of the Private Sphere: Gardens and Objects in Tang-Song Poetry 226. Barbara Mittler, A Newspaper for China? Power, Identity, and Change in Shanghai’s News Media, 1872–1912 227. Joyce A. Madancy, The Troublesome Legacy of Commissioner Lin: The Opium Trade and Opium Suppression in Fujian Province, 1820s to 1920s

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Harvard East Asian Monographs 228. John Makeham, Transmitters and Creators: Chinese Commentators and Commentaries on the Analects 229. Elisabeth Köll, From Cotton Mill to Business Empire: The Emergence of Regional Enterprises in Modern China 230. Emma Teng, Taiwan’s Imagined Geography: Chinese Colonial Travel Writing and Pictures, 1683–1895 231. Wilt Idema and Beata Grant, The Red Brush: Writing Women of Imperial China 232. Eric C. Rath, The Ethos of Noh: Actors and Their Art 233. Elizabeth Remick, Building Local States: China During the Republican and PostMao Eras 234. Lynn Struve, ed., The Qing Formation in World-Historical Time 235. D. Max Moerman, Localizing Paradise: Kumano Pilgrimage and the Religious Landscape of Premodern Japan 236. Antonia Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou: A Chinese City, 1550–1850 237. Brian Platt, Burning and Building: Schooling and State Formation in Japan, 1750–1890 238. Gail Bernstein, Andrew Gordon, and Kate Wildman Nakai, eds., Public Spheres, Private Lives in Modern Japan, 1600–1950: Essays in Honor of Albert Craig 239. Wu Hung and Katherine R. Tsiang, Body and Face in Chinese Visual Culture 240. Stephen Dodd, Writing Home: Representations of the Native Place in Modern Japanese Literature 241. David Anthony Bello, Opium and the Limits of Empire: Drug Prohibition in the Chinese Interior, 1729–1850 242. Hosea Hirata, Discourses of Seduction: History, Evil, Desire, and Modern Japanese Literature 243. Kyung Moon Hwang, Beyond Birth: Social Status in the Emergence of Modern Korea 244. Brian R. Dott, Identity Reflections: Pilgrimages to Mount Tai in Late Imperial China 245. Mark McNally, Proving the Way: Conflict and Practice in the History of Japanese Nativism 246. Yongping Wu, A Political Explanation of Economic Growth: State Survival, Bureaucratic Politics, and Private Enterprises in the Making of Taiwan’s Economy, 1950–1985 247. Kyu Hyun Kim, The Age of Visions and Arguments: Parliamentarianism and the National Public Sphere in Early Meiji Japan 248. Zvi Ben-Dor Benite, The Dao of Muhammad: A Cultural History of Muslims in Late Imperial China 249. David Der-wei Wang and Shang Wei, eds., Dynastic Crisis and Cultural Innovation: From the Late Ming to the Late Qing and Beyond 250. Wilt L. Idema, Wai-yee Li, and Ellen Widmer, eds., Trauma and Transcendence in Early Qing Literature 251. Barbara Molony and Kathleen Uno, eds., Gendering Modern Japanese History

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Harvard East Asian Monographs 252. Hiroshi Aoyagi, Islands of Eight Million Smiles: Idol Performance and Symbolic Production in Contemporary Japan 253. Wai-yee Li, The Readability of the Past in Early Chinese Historiography 254. William C. Kirby, Robert S. Ross, and Gong Li, eds., Normalization of U.S.-China Relations: An International History 255. Ellen Gardner Nakamura, Practical Pursuits: Takano Ch ei, Takahashi Keisaku, and Western Medicine in Nineteenth-Century Japan 256. Jonathan W. Best, A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi 257. Liang Pan, The United Nations in Japan’s Foreign and Security Policymaking, 1945– 1992: National Security, Party Politics, and International Status 258. Richard Belsky, Localities at the Center: Native Place, Space, and Power in Late Imperial Beijing 259. Zwia Lipkin, “Useless to the State”: “Social Problems” and Social Engineering in Nationalist Nanjing, 1927–1937 260. William O. Gardner, Advertising Tower: Japanese Modernism and Modernity in the 1920s 261. Stephen Owen, The Making of Early Chinese Classical Poetry 262. Martin J. Powers, Pattern and Person: Ornament, Society, and Self in Classical China 263. Anna M. Shields, Crafting a Collection: The Cultural Contexts and Poetic Practice of the Huajian ji (Collection from Among the Flowers) 264. Stephen Owen, The Late Tang: Chinese Poetry of the Mid-Ninth Century (827–860) 265. Sara L. Friedman, Intimate Politics: Marriage, the Market, and State Power in Southeastern China 266. Patricia Buckley Ebrey and Maggie Bickford, Emperor Huizong and Late Northern Song China: The Politics of Culture and the Culture of Politics 267. Sophie Volpp, Worldly Stage: Theatricality in Seventeenth-Century China 268. Ellen Widmer, The Beauty and the Book: Women and Fiction in NineteenthCentury China 269. Steven B. Miles, The Sea of Learning: Mobility and Identity in NineteenthCentury Guangzhou 270. Lin Man-houng, China Upside Down: Currency, Society, and Ideologies, 1808–1856 271. Ronald Egan, The Problem of Beauty: Aesthetic Thought and Pursuits in Northern Song Dynasty China 272. Mark Halperin, Out of the Cloister: Literati Perspectives on Buddhism in Sung China,

960–1279 273. Helen Dunstan, State or Merchant? Political Economy and Political Process in 1740s China 274. Sabina Knight, The Heart of Time: Moral Agency in Twentieth-Century Chinese Fiction

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Harvard East Asian Monographs 275. Timothy J. Van Compernolle, The Uses of Memory: The Critique of Modernity in the Fiction of Higuchi Ichiy 276. Paul Rouzer, A New Practical Primer of Literary Chinese 277. Jonathan Zwicker, Practices of the Sentimental Imagination: Melodrama, the Novel, and the Social Imaginary in Nineteenth-Century Japan 278. Franziska Seraphim, War Memory and Social Politics in Japan, 1945–2005 279. Adam L. Kern, Manga from the Floating World: Comicbook Culture and the Kiby shi of Edo Japan 280. Cynthia J. Brokaw, Commerce in Culture: The Sibao Book Trade in the Qing and Republican Periods 281. Eugene Y. Park, Between Dreams and Reality: The Military Examination in Late Chos n Korea, 1600–1894 282. Nam-lin Hur, Death and Social Order in Tokugawa Japan: Buddhism, Anti-Christianity, and the Danka System 283. Patricia M. Thornton, Disciplining the State: Virtue, Violence, and State-Making in Modern China 284. Vincent Goossaert, The Taoists of Peking, 1800–1949: A Social History of Urban Clerics 285. Peter Nickerson, Taoism, Bureaucracy, and Popular Religion in Early Medieval China 286. Charo B. D’Etcheverry, Love After The Tale of Genji: Rewriting the World of the Shining Prince 287. Michael G. Chang, A Court on Horseback: Imperial Touring & the Construction of Qing Rule, 1680–1785 288. Carol Richmond Tsang, War and Faith: Ikk Ikki in Late Muromachi Japan 289. Hilde De Weerdt, Competition over Content: Negotiating Standards for the Civil Service Examinations in Imperial China (1127 –1279) 290. Eve Zimmerman, Out of the Alleyway: Nakagami Kenji and the Poetics of Outcaste Fiction 291. Robert Culp, Articulating Citizenship: Civic Education and Student Politics in Southeastern China, 1912–1940 292. Richard J. Smethurst, From Foot Soldier to Finance Minister: Takahashi Korekiyo, Japan’s Keynes 293. John E. Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist: China’s Colonization of Guizhou, 1200–

1700 294. Tomoko Shiroyama, China During the Great Depression: Market, State, and the World Economy, 1929–1937 295. Kirk W. Larsen, Tradition, Treaties and Trade: Qing Imperialism and Chos n Korea, 1850–1910 296. Gregory Golley, When Our Eyes No Longer See: Realism, Science, and Ecology in Japanese Literary Modernism

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Harvard East Asian Monographs 297. Barbara Ambros, Emplacing a Pilgrimage: The yama Cult and Regional Religion in Early Modern Japan 298. Rebecca Suter, The Japanization of Modernity: Murakami Haruki between Japan and the United States 299. Yuma Totani, The Tokyo War Crimes Trial: The Pursuit of Justice in the Wake of World War II 300. Linda Isako Angst, In a Dark Time: Memory, Community, and Gendered Nationalism in Postwar Okinawa 301. David Robinson, ed., Culture, Courtiers, and Competition: The Ming Court (1368– 1644) 302. Calvin Chen, Some Assembly Required: Work, Community, and Politics in China’s Rural Enterprises 303. Sem Vermeersch, The Power of the Buddhas: The Politics of Buddhism During the Kory Dynasty (918–1392) 304. Tina Lu, Accidental Incest, Filial Cannibalism, and Other Peculiar Encounters in Late Imperial Chinese Literature 305. Chang Woei Ong, Men of Letters Within the Passes: Guanzhong Literati in Chinese History, 907–1911 306. Wendy Swartz, Reading Tao Yuanming: Shifting Paradigms of Historical Reception (427–1900)

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