The Huainanzi and Textual Production in Early China [1 ed.] 9789004265325, 9789004265035

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The Huainanzi and Textual Production in Early China

Studies in the History of Chinese Texts Edited by Martin Kern, Princeton University Robert E. Hegel, Washington University, St. Louis Ding Xiang Warner, Cornell University

VOLUME 5

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

The Huainanzi and Textual Production in Early China Edited by

Sarah A. Queen and Michael Puett

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustration: Woodblock edition of the Shen Xian zhuan (Biographies of the Immortals) that includes an early Daoist hagiography of Liu An. Liu An is ascending to the heavens as a transcendent being. Courtesy of Harvard Yenching Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The Huainanzi and textual production in early China / edited by Sarah A. Queen, Michael Puett.   pages cm. — (Studies in the history of Chinese texts, ISSN 1877-9425; volume 5)  Includes bibliographical references and index.  ISBN 978-90-04-26503-5 (hardback : acid-free paper) — ISBN 978-90-04-26532-5 (e-book) 1. Huainanzi— Criticism, interpretation, etc. 2. Huainanzi—Criticism, Textual. 3. Huainanzi—Influence. 4. China— Intellectual life—221 b.c.–960 a.d. 5. Learing and scholarship—China—History—To 1500. 6. Chinese literature—221 b.c.–960 a.d.—History and criticism. 7. Chinese literature—Authorship. 8. Philosophy, Chinese—History–To 1500. I. Queen, Sarah A. (Sarah Ann) II. Puett, Michael J., 1964– III. Title: Huainanzi and textual production in early China.  BL1900.H825H83 2014  181’.114—dc23

2013044938

This publication has been typeset in the multilingual ‘Brill’ typeface. With over 5,100 characters covering Latin, ipa, Greek, and Cyrillic, this typeface is especially suitable for use in the humanities. For more information, please see brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 1877-9425 isbn 978 90 04 26503 5 (hardback) isbn 978 90 04 26532 5 (e-book) Copyright 2014 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill nv incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Global Oriental and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill nv provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, ma 01923, usa. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper.

We dedicate this volume to John S. Major Scholar, Mentor, and Friend

Contents Acknowledgments  ix Foreword  x Paul R. Goldin About the Contributors  xv Introduction  1 Sarah A. Queen and Michael Puett

PART 1 Authorship and Textual Formation  21 1 Root-Branches Structuralism in the Huainanzi  23 Andrew Meyer 2 Daoist Inner Cultivation Thought and the Textual Structure of the Huainanzi  40 Harold D. Roth 3 Representations of Confucius in the Huainanzi  83 Sarah A. Queen 4 Creating a Book and Performing It: The “Yao lüe” Chapter of the Huainanzi as a Western Han Fu  124 Martin Kern

Part 2 Knowledge and Rhetoric  151 5 Tool Metaphors in the Huainanzi and Other Early Texts  153 John S. Major 6 The Huainanzi’s “Heavenly Patterns” and the Shiji’s “Treatise on the Celestial Offices”: What’s the Difference?  199 David W. Pankenier 7 A Note on Logical Connectives in the Huainanzi 225 Michael Nylan

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Part 3 Audience and Reception  267 8 Sages, Creation, and the End of History in the Huainanzi  269 Michael Puett 9 The Liu Clan’s ‘Flesh and Bone’: The Foundation of Liu An’s Vision of Empire  291 Judson B. Murray 10 The Discourse about Lords (Zhuhou) in the Huainanzi  326 Griet Vankeerberghen 11 Breaking through Heaven’s Glass Ceiling: The Significance of the Commoner Woman of Qi in the “Lan ming” Chapter of the Huainanzi 351 Anne Behnke Kinney References  377 Index of Terms  392

Acknowledgments We would like to thank Harvard University and Connecticut College for providing grants at critical moments in the process that yielded this volume. The volume began with a grant from the Harvard University Asia Center to organize a conference in spring 2008 focusing on the first complete English translation of the Huainanzi. A grant from the Research Matters Fund at Connecticut College facilitated the preparation of the volume in the final stages of publication. We are also extremely indebted to Nancy Lewandowski, who graciously agreed to prepare the manuscript for circulation and publication. Our deep gratitude goes to the participants of the conference and to those who contributed to the volume. Each of them has done a wonderful job of exploring and elucidating the complexities of the Huainanzi. Vincent Leung played an invaluable role in assisting us with the organization and running of the conference. It is an honor to have this volume included in the Studies in the History of Chinese Texts series at Brill. Martin Kern, Robert E. Hegel, and Ding Xiang Warner—the editors of the series—have provided outstanding advice and timely guidance throughout. The two anonymous readers at Brill provided excellent comments and suggestions for revisions. They have immeasurably improved this volume. Finally, we would especially like to thank John S. Major, our unwavering beacon of inspiration and endless source of erudition.

Foreword Paul R. Goldin This book celebrates the work of John S. Major, who has been the leading American scholar of early Chinese religion for the past several decades. Major has long championed the study of the Huainanzi; he published an important study of the cosmology of the text in 1993 and achieved a lifelong goal when he and his collaborators published a complete translation of the text in 2010 (The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China). Thus, it is especially fitting that a book devoted to the Huainanzi should also serve as a Festschrift for him. When Major began his academic career in the 1970s (he earned his doctorate from Harvard University in 1974), there scarcely was a field of early Chinese religion. Pervasive misunderstandings held sway: the Chinese were atheists and therefore had no proper religion; religion would, in any case, not be necessary to understanding contemporary China, as the government of the People’s Republic had already eliminated the last traces of it, along with other allegedly superstitious practices, from Chinese culture; and the Chinese religious traditions that bore the greatest similarities to the Abrahamic religions of the West, notably those of Buddhism, were not only moribund but represented an imposition of alien and not totally useful belief systems. Major did not single-handedly slay these chimeras, but he contributed greatly to the change in scholarly attitudes that brought about their downfall. Above all, he emphasized studying Chinese traditions on their own terms and testing any theories, old or new, against the huge fund of available primary sources, the rocks against which most facile clichés are smashed. One of his first publications dealt with the term wuxing 五 行, which refers to the five cyclical phases (to use the translation that Major advocated)1 of qi 氣. Before this, there had been nothing but confusion concerning wuxing. Joseph Needham, the foremost historian of Chinese science, only reflected the mainstream understanding when he mistranslated wuxing as ‘Five Elements,’ as though they were

1 Credit for the term “phases” goes to both Nathan Sivin, who first translated wuxing as “Five Phases” in English, and Manfred Porkert, who translated it as “Fünf Wandlungsphasen” in German. See, e.g., Nathan Sivin, Traditional Medicine in Contemporary China (Science, Medicine, and Technology in East Asia) (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan, 1987), 70–80; and Manfred Porkert, The Theoretical Foundations of Chinese Medicine: Systems of Correspondence, MIT East Asian Science Series 3 (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1974), 42–54.

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but the peculiar Chinese analogue of the Four Elements of Greek lore.2 The xing are not elements and were never construed as such; Major has done as much as anyone to clear up this misconception (and I shall not attempt to explain how the wuxing should be understood, if not as elements, because Major himself has already done this so eloquently).3 Major’s work on the Five Phases is but one of many examples of his characteristic rigor. He has also been one of the most prominent students of the culture and religion associated with the ancient region of Chu 楚, in the central and later the lower Yangzi River valley. More than three decades later, his article “Research Priorities in the Study of Ch’u Religion” (1978) remains as pertinent as ever; despite all the scholarship that has appeared since then—and the number of books and articles in Chinese is probably uncountable—this is still one of the first publications that one should consult for its crisp survey of the core issues, solved and unsolved. In the years since, Major has been a tireless supporter of younger colleagues, holding private reading sessions, reading graduate students’ work, and even serving on dissertation committees in his retirement. I was very glad when Major agreed to teach a seminar on Chinese religion at the University of Pennsylvania in 2008. Our students still speak of the experience and of the help and constructive criticism they have received from him as they develop into independent scholars in their own right. Many leading figures in the field, including contributors to this volume, cherish him as a mentor. Anyone with the good fortune to talk to Major personally or attend an academic workshop with him notices immediately that he has vast and worldly knowledge— and not just about China. He is obviously a voluminous reader; he has sympathy for, and commands detailed knowledge about, beliefs and practices from cultures around the world; and, though not a research scientist himself, he has a deep understanding of how science is conducted in laboratories and in the field. This must be related to his time as an editor at the Book-of-the-Month Club, for which he worked on multiple collections of literature for book lovers like himself. He also wrote several texts on world history and anthropology for grade-school readers. Doubtless this is all related to his conviction that human beings have a responsibility to educate themselves about the 2 E.g., Joseph Needham, Science and Civilisation in China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1954–), 2:232–46, including a “Comparison with Element Theories of Other Peoples.” 3 E.g., John S. Major, “Substance, Process, Phase: Wuxing 五行 in the Huainanzi,” in Chinese Texts and Philosophical Contexts: Essays Dedicated to Angus C. Graham, ed. Henry Rosemont Jr., Critics and Their Critics 1 (La Salle, IL: Open Court Press, 1991), 67–78; also, more recently, John S. Major, Sarah A. Queen, Andrew Seth Meyer, and Harold D. Roth, trans., The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China, Translations from the Asian Classics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010), 899–900.

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world, through both reading and observation, and that conducive habits should be fostered even in childhood. A close look at the publications associated with Major in any library catalog will reveal another abiding interest: the history of his native Bergen County, New Jersey, and his own family’s place in it. He and his brothers wrote a biography of their father, William P. Major, who was postmaster of Bergenfield. Moreover, Major is descended on his mother’s side from David Demarest (ca. 1620–93), an early European settler of the area along the Hackensack River and ancestor of numerous influential figures in New Jersey society. (Anyone from New York or northern New Jersey has heard of Demarest, a borough named after one of David Demarest’s descendants.) Major wrote an important study of David Demarest’s life and times with his brother David C. Major. All these interests, as well as his lifelong devotion to careful yet original scholarship, are reflected in the appended chronological list of Major’s publications.



Bibliography of Publications by John S. Major (not including book reviews)

Major, John S. “The Efficacy of Uselessness: A Chuang-tzu Motif.” Philosophy East and West 25.3 (1975): 265–79. Major, John S. “A Note on the Translation of Two Technical Terms in Chinese Science: Wuxing and Xiu.” Early China 2 (1976): 1–3. Major, John S. “Reply to Richard Kunst’s Comments on Xiu and Wuxing.” Early China 3 (1977): 69–70. Major, John S. “Myth, Cosmology, and the Origins of Chinese Science.” Journal of Chinese Philosophy 5 (1978): 1–20. Major, John S. “Research Priorities in the Study of Ch’u Religion.” History of Religions 17.3–4 (1978): 226–43. Major, John S. “Notes on the Nomenclature of Winds and Directions in the Early Han.” T’oung Pao 65 (1979): 66–80. Major, John S. “Astrology in the Huai-nan-tzu and Some Related Texts.” Bulletin of the Society for the Study of Chinese Religion 8 (1980): 20–31. Major, John S. “The Five Phases, Magic Squares, and Schematic Cosmography.” In Explorations in Early Chinese Cosmology, ed. Henry Rosemont Jr., 133–66. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 50.2. Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1984. Major, John S. “New Light on the Dark Warrior.” Journal of Chinese Religions 13–14 (1985–86): 65–86. Major, John S. “The Meaning of Hsing-te.” In Chinese Ideas about Nature and Society: Studies in Honour of Derk Bodde, ed. Charles Le Blanc and Susan Blader, 281–91. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1987.

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Major, John S. The Land and People of China. Portraits of the Nations. New York: Lippincott, 1989. [For grades 6 and up.] Major, John S. The Land and People of Mongolia. Portraits of the Nations. New York: Lippincott, 1990. [For grades 6 and up.] Major, John S. “Numerology in the Huai-nan-tzu.” In Sagehood and Systematizing Thought in Warring States and Han China, ed. Kidder Smith Jr., 3–10. Brunswick, ME: Bowdoin College, Asian Studies Program, 1990. Major, John S. The Land and People of Malaysia and Brunei. New York: HarperCollins, 1991. [For grades 7–12.] Major, John S. “Substance, Process, Phase: Wuxing 五行 in the Huainanzi.” In Chinese Texts and Philosophical Contexts: Essays Dedicated to Angus C. Graham, ed. Henry Rosemont Jr., 67–78. Critics and Their Critics 1. La Salle, IL: Open Court, 1991. Major, John S. Heaven and Earth in Early Han Thought: Chapters Three, Four, and Five of the Huainanzi. SUNY Series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993. Major, John S. “Celestial Cycles and Mathematical Harmonics in the Huainanzi.” Extrême-Orient, Extrême-Occident 16 (1994): 121–34. Major, John S. The Silk Route: 7,000 Miles of History. [New York]: HarperCollins, 1995. [For grades 4–8.] Fadiman, Clifton, and John S. Major. The New Lifetime Reading Plan. 4th ed. New York: HarperCollins, 1997. Major, John S., ed. America and the World at the End of the Century: A Tribute to David A. Morse. New York: Society for International Affairs, 1998. Washburn, Katharine, and John S. Major, eds. World Poetry: An Anthology of Verse from Antiquity to Our Time. New York: W. W. Norton, 1998. Cook, Constance A., and John S. Major, eds. Defining Chu: Image and Reality in Ancient China. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1999. Major, John S. “Characteristics of Late Chu Religion.” Edited by Constance A. Cook and John S. Major, 121–43. Defining Chu. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1999. Major, William D., Major, David C., and Major, John S. William P. Major: A Bergenfield Life. Bergenfield, NJ: Bergenfield Museum Society, 1999. Steele, Valerie, and John S. Major. China Chic: East Meets West. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1999. Major, John S., and Jenny F. So. “Music in Late Bronze Age China.” In Music in the Age of Confucius. Edited by Jenny F. So, 13–33. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution, 2000. Major, David C., and John S. Major. 100 One-Night Reads: A Book Lover’s Guide. New York: Ballantine, 2001. Major, John S., and Betty J. Belanus. Caravan to America: Living Arts of the Silk Road. Chicago: Cricket, 2002.

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Major, David C., and John S. Major, eds. Future of Africa: Essays in Honor of David A. Morse. New York: Society for International Affairs, 2003. Des Forges, Roger, and John S. Major. The Asian World, 600–1500. Medieval and Early Modern World. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. Dorjee, Yeshi. The Three Boys and Other Buddhist Folktales from Tibet. Edited by John S. Major. Latitude 20. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2007. Major, David C., and John S. Major. A Huguenot on the Hackensack: David Demarest and His Legacy. Madison, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 2007. Major, John S. “Animals and Animal Metaphors in Huainanzi.” Asia Major, 3rd ser., 21.1 (2008): 133–51. Major, John S., Queen, Sarah A., Meyer, Andrew Seth, and Roth, Harold D., trans. The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China. Translations from the Asian Classics. New York: Columbia University Press, 2010. Major, John S., Queen, Sarah A., Meyer, Andrew Seth, and Roth, Harold D., eds. and trans. The Essential Huainanzi. New York: Columbia University Press, 2012.

About the Contributors Paul R. Goldin is Professor of East Asian Languages and Civilizations at the University of Pennsylvania. He is the editor of Dao Companion to the Philosophy of Han Fei (2013) and the author of Confucianism (2011), After Confucius: Studies in Early Chinese Philosophy (2005), The Culture of Sex in Ancient China (2002), and Rituals of the Way: The Philosophy of Xunzi (1999). Martin Kern is the Greg (’84) and Joanna (P13) Zeluck Professor in Asian Studies and the Chair of the Department of East Asian Studies at Princeton University. He co-edited, with Benjamin A. Elman, Statecraft and Classical Learning: The Rituals of Zhou in East Asian History (2009). He also edited Text and Ritual in Early China (2005). He is the author of The Stele Inscriptions of Ch’in Shihhuang: Text and Ritual in Early Chinese Imperial Representations (2000) and Die Hymnen der chinesischen Staatsopfer: Literatur und Ritual in der politischen Repräsentation von der Han-Zeit bis zu den Sechs Dynastien (1997). Anne Behnke Kinney is Professor of Chinese and Chairman of the Department of East Asian Languages, Literatures and Cultures at the University of Virginia. She is also the director of Traditions of Exemplary Women, a digital resource for the study of women in early China. Her translation of Liu Xiang’s Lienü zhuan (Categorized Biographies of Women) will be published by Columbia University Press in 2013. Her earlier publications include Representations of Childhood and Youth in Early China (2004) and Chinese Views of Childhood (1995). John S. Major is an independent scholar. He is the author of numerous books and articles. Most recently he co-authored and co-edited, with Sarah A. Queen The Luxuriant Gems of the Spring and Autumn (forthcoming 2014). He also co-authored and co-translated with Sarah A. Queen, Andrew Meyer, and Harold Roth, The Essential Huainanzi (2012) and The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China (2010).

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Andrew Meyer is Associate Professor of History at Brooklyn College. He is author of The Dao of the Military: Liu An’s Art of War (2012). He also co-translated and co-authored with John Major, Sarah A. Queen, and Harold Roth, The Essential Huainanzi (2012) and The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China (2010). Judson B. Murray is Assistant Professor in the Department of Religion at Wright State University. He is author of “A Study of Yaolüe, ‘A Summary of the Essentials’: Understanding the Huainanzi Through the Point of View of the Author of the Postface.” Early China 29 (2004), and “Educating Human Nature: ‘Nature’ and ‘Nurture’ in Early Confucian Moral Education.” The Journal of Moral Education 41.4 (December 2012): 509–27. Michael Nylan is Professor in the History Department at University of California, Berkeley. She is the author, co-author, or editor of numerous books and articles. She is co-editor with Michael Loewe of China’s Early Empires: A Re-appraisal (2010). Her most recent books include Exemplary Figures (2013), Yang Xiong and the Pleasures of Reading and Classical Learning (2011), Lives of Confucius, with Thomas Wilson (2010), The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics (2001). She is co-editor with Griet Vankeerberghen of the forthcoming Chang’an 26 BCE: An Augustan Age in China (in press). David W. Pankenier is Professor in the Department of Modern Languages and Literatures at Lehigh University. He is author of Astrology and Cosmology in Early China: Conforming Earth to Heaven (2013) and co-author of East Asian Archaeoastronomy: Historical Records of Comet and Meteor Shower Observations of China, Japan, and Korea (2008) and East Asian Archaeoastronomy: Historical Records of Astronomical Observations of China, Japan, and Korea (2000). Michael Puett is the Walter C. Klein Professor of Chinese History in the Department of East Asian Languages and Civilizations at Harvard University. He is the author of Ritual and its Consequences: An Essay on the Limits of Sincerity, with Robert Weller, Adam Seligman, and Bennet Simon (2008), To Become a God: Cosmology, Sacrifice, and Self-Divinization in Early China (2002), and The

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Ambivalence of Creation: Debates Concerning Innovation and Artifice in Early China (2001). Sarah A. Queen is Professor and Chair of the Department of History at Connecticut College. She is the co-author and co-translator of The Luxuriant Gems of the Spring and Autumn, with John Major (forthcoming 2014). She also co-edited and co-translated with John Major, Andrew Meyer, and Harold Roth, The Essential Huainanzi (2012) and The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China (2010). She is the author of From Chronicle to Canon: The Hermeneutics of the Spring and Autumn, according to Tung Chung-shu (2005). Harold D. Roth is Professor of Religious Studies and Director of the Contemplative Studies Institute at Brown University. He co-edited and co-translated with John Major, Sarah Queen, and Andrew Meyer, The Essential Huainanzi (2012) and The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China (2010). He is the author of A Companion to Angus C. Graham’s Chuang Tzu: the Inner Chapters (2003), Original Tao: ‘Inward Training’ and the Foundations of Taoist Mysticism (1999), and The Textual History of the Huainan Tzu (1992). He also co-edited with Livia Kohn Daoist Identity: Cosmology. Lineage, and Ritual (2002). Griet Vankeerberghen is Associate Professor in the Department of History and Classical Studies at McGill University. She is author of The Huiananzi and Liu An’s Claim to Moral Authority (2001). She is co-editor with Michael Nylan of the forthcoming Chang’an 26 BCE: An Augustan Age in China (in press).

Introduction Sarah A. Queen and Michael Puett The Han dynasty (202 BCE–220 CE) was a formative period in Chinese intellectual, political, and cultural history. It witnessed, among other things, the consolidation of imperial institutions, the promulgation of competing imperial ideologies, and the institutionalization of the Five Classics as an authoritative canon. The Huainanzi, a compendium of knowledge covering numerous subjects, from self-cultivation, astronomy, and calendrics to the arts of government and the importance of education, is both a product and a reflection of the intellectual ferment of the early Han period. The range of topics discussed in the Huainanzi can be seen clearly in a list of the chapter titles: Chapter 1: “Originating in the Way” (“Yuan dao” 原道) Chapter 2: “Activating the Genuine” (“Chu zheng” 俶真) Chapter 3: “Heavenly Patterns” (“Tian wen” 天文) Chapter 4: “Terrestrial Forms” (“Di xing” 地形) Chapter 5: “Seasonal Rules” (“Shi ze” 時則) Chapter 6: “Surveying Obscurities” (“Lan ming” 覽冥) Chapter 7: “The Quintessential Spirit” (“Jing shen” 精神) Chapter 8: “The Basic Warp” (“Ben jing” 本經) Chapter 9: “The Ruler’s Techniques” (“Zhu shu” 主術) Chapter 10: “Profound Precepts” (“Mou cheng” 繆稱) Chapter 11: “Integrating Customs” (“Qi su” 齊俗) Chapter 12: “Responses of the Way” (“Dao ying” 道應) Chapter 13: “Discourses on the Boundless” (“Fan lun” 氾論) Chapter 14: “Explaining Sayings” (“Quan yan” 詮言) Chapter 15: “An Overview of the Military” (“Bing lüe” 兵略) Chapter 16: “A Mountain of Persuasions” (“Shui shan” 說山) Chapter 17: “A Forest of Persuasions” (“Shui lin” 說林) Chapter 18: “Among Others” (“Ren jian” 人間) Chapter 19: “Cultivating Effort” (“Xiu wu” 脩務) Chapter 20: “The Exalted Lineage” (“Tai zu” 泰族) Chapter 21: “An Overview of the Essentials” (“Yao lüe” 要略)

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The text was presented to Emperor Wu (r. 141–87 BCE) by Liu An, the king of Huainan, as a gift to celebrate his young nephew’s1 accession to the imperial throne, ostensibly providing the emperor with all the intellectual tools needed to rule the empire successfully and enjoy a long and brilliant reign. As such, the Huainanzi’s twenty-one chapters compose not only a work that is seminal in its ability to illuminate significant aspects of Han thinking but one that also provides a window into the complex processes of negotiation that ultimately produced an intellectual foundation for the imperial enterprise itself. Given its importance in Han intellectual history, it is heartening that there has recently been a tremendous growth of scholarship in Western languages on the Huainanzi. The first complete French translation (which was also the first complete translation into any Western language and was produced by several scholars working under the direction of Charles Le Blanc and Rémi Mathieu) was published in 2002. A few years later, a team of scholars (John Major, Sarah Queen, Andrew Meyer, and Harold Roth, with contributions by Judson Murray and Michael Puett) produced the first complete English translation of the Huainanzi, published in 2010. Moreover, several noteworthy studies and translations of selected chapters of the text have been published in recent years as well. For example, both Roger Ames and Paul Goldin have considered the ideals of rulership described in chapter 9; Wang Aihe has explored the political implications of Huainanzi’s correlative cosmology; John Major has decoded the complex cosmology of chapters 3–5; Michael Puett has drawn our attention to themes of self-divinization and theomorphic rulership in chapters 1, 6, and 7; Charles Le Blanc has elucidated a hallmark of Han correlative thought, the concept of resonance (ganying), in chapter 6; Harold Roth has illuminated the book’s ‘inner cultivation’ practices; Griet Vankeerberghen has explored aspects of the work’s moral philosophy; and Sarah Queen and Judson Murray have examined the text’s final, summary chapter to challenge longstanding assumptions concerning the text’s general goals and school affiliations. As a consequence of this outpouring of scholarship and with a complete English translation now available, the Huainanzi is finally gaining the attention in Western scholarship that it so fully deserves, and the richness of this key monument of Han thought is finally being conveyed to a larger audience.2 In May 2008, two members of the Huainanzi translation team, Sarah Queen and Michael Puett, convened and cochaired a workshop on the Huainanzi held 1 In genealogical terms they were cousins once removed, but in generational terms Liu An was a sort of honorary uncle of Emperor Wu. 2 For an up-to-date account of Chinese and Japanese scholarship on the Huainanzi, see appendix C in Major et al., Huainanzi, 935–62.

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at Harvard University, entitled “Liu An’s Vision of Empire: New Perspectives.” Its goals were twofold: the first was to present drafts of the full English translation, then nearing final form, to an expert audience so as to receive feedback and criticism prior to a final round of editorial revision. The second goal was to allow participants in the workshop—translation team members and invited guests alike—to present papers that would focus on particular aspects of the text or on its individual chapters, thus continuing and advancing the upsurge in Huainanzi scholarship described above. We are honored to present in this volume a selection of those workshop papers. Because we are witnessing the flourishing of such a new and exciting field of study, we believe this to be an ideal time to present a volume in which scholars involved in the study of the Huainanzi can offer their diverse and novel approaches to the text, expand on their new insights, and express their ideas on future directions for the field. The editors of this volume, and the scholars whose work appears herein, hope very much that these studies will stimulate still more scholarly explorations of the text, especially by younger scholars. We are confident that the studies collected in this volume will serve to focus attention on the richness and complexity of the text itself and the many fruitful and fascinating avenues by which it might be approached. We believe this to be a timely volume for a second reason as well. In the field of early China studies there is growing interest in questions of textual formation, production, and reception.3 This volume is a result of, and will hopefully contribute to, these developing concerns. We hope the volume will thus help to bring the Huainanzi into these larger discussions. This collection of eleven essays raises new questions and proposes various answers concerning the textual production and reception of the Huainanzi. We have organized the volume around three related themes: ‘Authorship and Textual Formation,’ ‘Knowledge and Rhetoric,’ and ‘Audience and Reception.’ Let us take up each of these themes in turn.

Part I: Authorship and Textual Formation

The four essays in part I discuss issues of authorship and textual formation, asking who wrote the Huainanzi’s twenty-one chapters and how the work of composition was accomplished. Ancient Chinese texts were rarely the product 3 See, e.g., Benjamin A. Elman and Martin Kern, eds., Statecraft and Classical Learning: The “Rituals of Zhou” in East Asian History (Leiden: Brill, 2009); and, more recently, Dirk Meyer, Philosophy on Bamboo: Text and the Production of Meaning in Early China (Leiden: Brill, 2011).

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of a single hand. When we contemplate how ancient Chinese texts typically came into existence, it is perhaps most fruitful to consider distinct models. Perhaps the most common model of textual production for most of our received texts was one in which various earlier materials were compiled into a larger corpus. This model, which we call the ‘Compilation Model of Textual Production,’ involved compiling diverse, discrete materials together based on the claim that they represent the thought of an earlier master (as with the Guanzi) or that they represent elaborations on a particular theme (as with the Liji). A variation of this model, which we identify as the ‘Accretional Model of Textual Production,’ points to a mode of authorship and textual production in which the compiled text is claimed to preserve the ideas of an original master, and sometimes even to preserve writings of that master in its earliest strata (‘inner chapters’ or core writings). This is supplemented with later materials compiled or written by disciples and followers who purportedly drew inspiration from the named master, developing his initial insights in various directions and in different ways. These purportedly later contributors are often numerous and anonymous, and their work is seen as spanning several generations before the text took its final and stable form. An example of such a text is the Zhuangzi.4 In the third model of textual composition, which we call the “Corporate Model of Textual Production,” a work is known to have been the product of multiple writers and/or compilers who were brought together by and worked under the auspices and direction of an official patron. The best-known examples of this kind of textual formation are the Lüshi chunqiu and the work that is the subject of this volume, the Huainanzi.5 Indeed, as we will see below, the Lüshi chunqiu is the closest earlier example of a text produced in a manner similar to that of the Huainanzi. The Lüshi chunqiu is clearly an important antecedent and model for the Huainanzi. At the same time, the Huainanzi exhibits some intriguing differences from the Lüshi chunqiu, which may tell us much about further variations within this model of textual production. Stylistically, for example, the Lüshi chunqiu is in many ways a much more homogeneous 4 See, e.g., E. Bruce Brooks and A. Taeko Brooks, The Original “Analects”: Sayings of Confucius and His Successors (New York: Columbia University Press, 1998); A. C. Graham, Chuangtzu: The Inner Chapters and Other Writings from the Book of Chuang-tzu (London: Unwin Paperbacks, 1986); and Liu Xiaogan, Classifying the Zhuangzi Chapters (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1995). 5 Issues of authorship, textual production, and audience are addressed in a preliminary manner in Major et al., Huainanzi, 7–27.

Introduction

5

text than the Huainanzi. The chapters within each of the three sections of the Lüshi chunqiu are stylistically very similar and are roughly the same length. This would imply a more active editor than that of the Huainanzi—­presumably one who laid out clear stylistic guidelines to be followed by the authors of each of the essays. Though these models of textual production are helpful in identifying general patterns of textual formation in early China, many important questions remain concerning the specific characteristics of the Huainanzi. As the official patron of the Huainanzi, what was Liu An’s precise role in the creation of this text? When was the work composed, how was it composed, and for whom? Perhaps contributors composed the work following a general outline proposed by Liu An. Perhaps groups of scholars were responsible for composing different sections of the text that were later brought together and organized in a specific manner. Perhaps Liu An proposed a set of unifying themes that were to be addressed throughout the text and that bear witness to his organizational imprint. Or perhaps the text is devoid of any overarching scheme and is purposefully polysemic, self-consciously exploiting the multivalent nuances of key philosophical terms shared by scholars of many different persuasions (viz., Dao and De). Given such unresolved issues, it is not surprising that the relationship between Liu An and the Huainanzi has long been the subject of discussion and scholarly debate. Several scholars have commented on the precise nature of Liu Anz’s role in the composition of this lengthy text. Opinions have ranged from those who argue that Liu An personally composed the entire work; to those who see his role as more akin to that of a modern editor, overseeing others who had a more direct hand in the composition of the text; to those who argue that Liu An likely performed both roles, that he directed others to compile and compose the Huainanzi but he also composed portions of the text as well. In this last scenario, several possibilities present themselves once again. Perhaps, as Benjamin Wallacker has argued, Liu An posed topics or prepared outlines on the basis of which scholars studied, debated, and composed essays.6 Perhaps he supervised others to compose the first twenty chapters of the text, while reserving his efforts for the last chapter, “An Overview of the Essentials”. Perhaps he directed others to compile the bulk of the materials that constitute each chapter and then he added his own editorial comments. These various positions in the debate no doubt derive in part from the ambiguous and conflicting accounts of Liu An’s role in the production of the Huainanzi that were 6 Benjamin Wallacker, “Liu An, Second King of Huianan,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 92 ([1972?]1973): 36–49.

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articulated in the early period by Wang Chong 王充, Ban Gu, and Gao You 高誘 , who unanimously attributed the work to Liu An. In his magnum opus entitled Discourses Balanced (Lun heng), Wang Chong (27–97 CE) notes that “the king of Huainan composed (zuo 作) a book on the Way.”7 What Wang Chong meant when he employed the character 作 to ascribe authorship is ambiguous at best.8 Ban Gu (32–92 CE) provides more detail in his Hanshu “Biography of Liu An.” Yet, in contrast to Wang Chong, who attributes the text to the single historical figure Liu An, Ban Gu emphasizes that the work was the product of many hands. He explains that Liu An summoned no fewer than ‘several thousand guests and visitors’ to his court, including a group of men identified as ‘masters of esoteric techniques,’ who presumably contributed to the work. Ban Gu explicitly states: 招致賓客方術之士數千人，作為內書二十一篇，外書甚眾，又有 中篇八卷，言神仙黃白之術， 言神仙黃白之術，亦二十餘萬言. [The king of Huainanz, Liu An,] summoned and convened several thousand guests and visitors and masters of esoteric techniques to create (zuo wei 作為) an ‘inner book’ consisting of twenty-one chapters; an ‘outer book’ that was longer; and a ‘middle book’ consisting of eight sections, which discussed the yellow and white techniques of the spirit immortals and amounted to an additional 200,000 words.9 The fragments of the ‘middle book,’ which have been compiled into reconstituted redactions by a number of Qing scholars, confirm Ban Gu’s description. The ‘middle book’ is concerned with alchemical techniques to achieve ­immortality and is filled with the lore and recipes of the esoteric masters pertaining to this quest. The ‘outer book’ has been lost to posterity. The ‘inner book,’ with its twenty-one chapters, in all likelihood corresponds to the Huainanzi we know today.

7 See D. C. Lau, ed., Lun heng zhuzi suoyin, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Chinese University of Hong Kong, 1992), 82/357/4. 8 For Han visions of authorship, with reference to the Huainanzi and Wang Chong, see Michael Puett, “The Temptations of Sagehood, or: The Rise and Decline of Sagely Writing in Early China,” in Books in Numbers, edited by Wilt Idema (Cambridge, MA: Harvard-Yenching Library, Harvard University; distributed by Chinese University Press, Hong Kong, 2007), 23–47. 9 Hanshu 44/2145.

Introduction

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Our third Han witness, Gao You, who composed a preface to the Huainanzi around 212 CE, provides still further details concerning the composition of the text. As with Ban Gu, his description also points to multiple authors at work on the Huainanzi: 供講論道德總統仁義而著此書. Many of the empire’s masters of esoteric techniques journeyed [to Huainan] and made their home [at Liu An’s court]. Subsequently [Liu An], with the following eight men, Su Fei, Li Shang, Zuo Wu, Tian You, Lei Bei, Mao Bei, Wu Bei, and Jin Chang, and various Ru who were disciples of the Greater and Lesser Mountain, together discoursed on and discussed the Way and its Potency and synthesized and unified Humaneness and Rightness to compose this work.10 Gao You’s description suggests that Liu An had a clear role in the composition of this work, although he was one among a number of contributors to the volume. Significantly, Gao You does not ascribe a special status to Liu An in relation to the other contributors—both named and unnamed—to the volume. He does, however, suggest that the production of the Huainanzi was clearly a corporate effort with many hands responsible for composing the work and that the final form of the text was the result of discussions and debates (講論) that presumably involved the eight men mentioned above and a number of Ru scholars identified with the Greater and Lesser Mountains, a rubric whose meaning has long been lost to posterity. Whatever the particular affiliation of the Ru scholars who contributed to the text, Gao You suggests that the text is a collaborative work that included Liu An in some manner and a number of men who had differing areas of expertise and diverse specialties. Even though they drew on a wide range of sources and represented disparate points of view, the authors were chiefly concerned with forging a synthesis between the paired concepts of the Way and Potency, on the one hand, and Humaneness and Rightness, on the other. The question of the degree to which the Huainanzi does or does not reveal such a synthesis is one of the key questions that the contributors to this volume explore. In his seminal study Huai-nan tzu: Philosophical Synthesis in Early Han Thought; The Idea of Resonance (Kan-ying), with a Translation and Analysis of Chapter Six, Charles Le Blanc compared the language of Gao You’s Huainanzi preface to his preface to the Lüshi chunqiu, a work that has long been c­ ompared 10

Zhang Shuangdi, Huainanzi jiaoshi (Beijing: Beijing University Press, 1997), 1:1–2.

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and likened to the Huainanzi. Le Blanc argues that Gao You employs decidedly different language to describe the creation of the Lüshi chunqiu, maintaining that the use of the causative shi 使, meaning ‘to order,’ indicates clearly that Gao You did not ascribe authorship of the Lüshi chunqiu to Lü Buwei. Rather, the text was written at Lü Buwei’s request by the retainers he had gathered at his court. Thus, Le Blanc concludes that Lü’s involvement in the production of the Lüshi chunqiu did not include personally composing all or any part of the text: The difference in language in the two prefaces leaves no doubt in anybody’s mind that Kao thought Huai-nan tzu and Lü shih ch’un-ch’iu to have been basically different in the way they were composed; in the case of the former, composition was attributed directly to Liu An, whilst in the latter, to the scholar-retainers of Lü Pu-wei. One could rightfully be called ‘author,’ the other, a mere ‘patron,’ or at most a ‘supervisor.’11 We agree that the difference in the language employed in Gao You’s respective prefaces to the Huainanzi and the Lüshi chunqiu indicate different roles for Liu An and Lü Buwei; the semantic differences between the active verb zhu 著, meaning ‘to compose’ and the causative verb shi 使, meaning ‘to direct’ or ‘to order,’ may suggest that Liu An played a more direct role in the composition of the Huainanzi than Lü Buwei did in the composition of the Lüshi chunqiu. But precisely what Liu An’s role was in the production of the Huainanzi remains open to debate. Gao You’s preface certainly does not provide unequivocal evidence that Liu An ‘wrote’ the entirety of the Huainanzi. The literary form and content of the Huainanzi suggest that many hands were involved in the creation of the text, and the process that produced the text’s final form was likely a long and complex one. Most importantly, that process is one characterized not by ‘creatio ex nihilo’ on the part of a single ‘author’ but one that is best understood as a corporate endeavor involving several different modes of composition. It appears that we have only just begun to uncover the complicated process of authorship that produced the Huainanzi. In our view, the clearest evidence of precisely who wrote the Huainanzi and precisely how the Huainanzi was formed is found not in comments by later Han figures but within the very pages of the Huainanzi itself. As recently argued in The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China, many internal features of the 11

Charles Le Blanc, Huai-nan tzu: Philosophical Synthesis in Early Han Thought; The Idea of Resonance (Kan-ying 感應), with a Translation and Analysis of Chapter Six (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1985), 27.

Introduction

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text such as the chapter titles, literary form, literary genre, rhetorical styles, organization, and content are vital to understanding questions of authorship, formation, and reception. With this view in mind, let us turn to the four essays in part I of this volume, “Authorship and Textual Formation.” In chapter 1, “Root-Branches Structuralism in the Huainanzi,” Andrew Meyer notes that the metaphor of ‘root and branches’ is familiar to any student of early Chinese letters. It is a mechanism deployed in numerous early texts to establish normative priorities. Distinguishing between ‘root’ and ‘branch’ concerns differentiates those values and phenomena that are original, fundamental, essential, and determinative from those that are derivative, secondary, degenerate, and of lesser significance. Griet Vankeerberghen and Charles Le Blanc have noted the particular prominence of ‘root-branches’ imagery in the Huainanzi. However, Meyer argues that its nature and significance are not reducible to its use in any antecedent text. The authors of the Huainanzi appropriated this trope from earlier literature and vastly expanded its operative range. In the Huainanzi, ‘root and branches’ became a conceptual template overdetermining the text’s total doctrinal perspective, and indeed structuring the composition of the Huainanzi itself. The Huainanzi proposes that all dimensions of reality—cosmic, physiological, psychological, social, political, historical, epistemological, and so on—are determined by an organic rootbranches structural dynamic. Though the various root-branches structures and processes that may be mapped out in divergent dimensions are analytically separable, the text asserts that they are all expressions of an underlying, unitary organic imperative. Thus, the root-branches concept articulated in the Huainanzi is no longer a ‘metaphor,’ as was the case in many of the earlier texts upon which the Huainanzi draws, but an expression of what the text deems the most fundamental dynamic principle conditioning the phenomenal realm. According to Meyer, the root-branches metaphor is built into the very formation of the text, determining its organizing principles and the priority it gives to the Laozi and Zhuangzi as sources of insight. In chapter 2, “Daoist Inner Cultivation Thought and the Textual Structure of the Huainanzi,” Harold D. Roth builds upon the arguments set forth by Meyer and discusses the root-branches structure of the entire text as well as of individual chapters, making a strong case for the text’s overall coherence. In doing so, Roth demonstrates that the Huainanzi makes repeated references to self-cultivation practices in several chapters, which Roth associates with Daoism. Moreover, the text frequently utilizes metaphors in which terms associated with self-cultivation practices are presented as the roots, while terms associated with other practices are defined as the branches. Roth argues that the prominence of these references and metaphors should lead us to see the importance of Daoist elements in the text and how they are deployed to

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c­ onstitute the overarching organization of the text. In this respect, Roth’s arguments are fully compatible with those of Meyer: both suggest that the text was produced in accordance with an a priori root-branches organizational scheme. In chapter 3, “Representations of Confucius in the Huainanzi,” Sarah A. Queen maps the different representations of Confucius across the Huainanzi as one strategy to assess the role of Confucius’s teachings in the text. Queen argues that the images of Confucius, his teachings, and his followers are not uniform. They vary from chapter to chapter across the text: the early, ‘root’ chapters of the Huainanzi depict Confucius and his teachings in a negative light, while the later, ‘branch’ chapters describe Confucius in positive terms. Studying the manner in which references to Confucius and related concepts appear in the Huainanzi may promote a better understanding of the Ru contributions to the Huainanzi, the broader ecumenical aims of the text, and the character of its syncretism. But, as Queen relates, the appearance of Confucius and key philosophical concepts attributed to him also enables us to better understand the structure and organization of the Huainanzi. In concert with Meyer and Roth, Queen identifies the root-branches metaphor as the essential organizing principle of the Huainanzi but also suggests places where the text’s different perspectives strain to the breaking point under the weight of this organizational structure. Thus, she concludes that there is no one monolithic representation of Confucius in the Huainanzi. Rather, representations of Confucius vary across the text, with groups of chapters deploying different visions of Confucius with different aims in mind. Queen concludes that these differences hold keys to the manner in which the text was produced, suggesting that individual chapters or groups of chapters were likely authored by different scholars with different intellectual and political agendas. Such differences were ultimately harmonized by recourse to the root-branches metaphor that defines the broad contours of the text. In the final essay of part I, “Creating a Book and Performing It: The ‘Yao lüe’ Chapter of the Huainanzi as a Western Han Fu,” Martin Kern also considers issues of textual formation. However, he does so by turning our attention to the performative and rhetorical aspects of the text and the court of Huainan as one of the great centers of early Western Han literary culture. He reminds us that among the large and wide-ranging body of prose and poetic writings produced at Liu An’s court, no fewer than eighty-two ‘poetic expositions’ are credited to Liu An. Kern maintains that in the Huainanzi, this poetic idiom is not external embellishment to the expression of philosophical thought but, rather, integral to southern philosophical thinking in Liu An’s time. Despite its importance, the poetic language of the Huainanzi has only occasionally been noted. In contrast, Kern argues that the final chapter of the Huainanzi, “An

Introduction

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Overview of the Essentials (“Yao lüe”) is properly understood as a Western Han fu, a composition that was skillfully written for recitation at the imperial court of Emperor Wu when the Huainanzi was presented in 139 BCE. Indeed, Kern argues that the purpose of the initial presentation of the Huainanzi drives the formal structure of chapter 21 and even accounts for the very compilation of the text as a whole. In this reading, the “Yao lüe,” rather than the root-branches metaphor, is the driving organizational force behind the Huainanzi. Taken together, these four chapters open up many of the key issues and questions concerning the forms of textual production that underlie the composition of the Huainanzi. They enable us to begin to appreciate the complex process of production that Liu An directed as the text’s official patron. This process no doubt incorporated the efforts of many anonymous contributors whose particular intellectual affiliations and allegiances, literary strengths, and rhetorical styles have left an indelible imprint upon the Huainanzi that has not faded with the long centuries of its transmission. As we develop more fully the kinds of heuristic devices and analytical methods explored in this volume, we hope that they will become even clearer in the future.

Part II: Knowledge and Rhetoric

Whatever the precise role that Liu An played and the contours and characteristics of the process that guided the formation of this text, the internal features of the Huainanzi clearly suggest that many contributors participated in its production and that they created individual chapters by means of different and distinct processes of composition. These included, but were not limited to, extensive compilation and arrangement, the setting down in written form of preexisting oral sources, and the recording of debates and discussions that may have occurred at Liu An’s court at his behest.12 Moreover, the text appears to have been produced by a process that self-consciously and conscientiously combined different kinds of source materials to form a coherent whole. The Huainanzi combines older transmitted materials and more novel productions created at the court of Liu An, oral and written sources, canonical and noncanonical sources, different literary forms such as poetry and prose, as well as varied rhetorical forms. For example, several chapters in the second half of the work are structured around distinctive rhetorical forms, such as the ‘precept’ (cheng; chapter 10); the ‘response’ (ying; chapter 12); the ‘discussion’ (lun; 12

For the different compositional processes at work that gave rise to individual chapters, see the respective introductions to individual chapters in Major et al., Huainanzi.

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c­ hapter 13); the ‘saying’ (yan; chapter 14); the ‘persuasion’ (shui; chapters 16 and 17); and the ‘dissent’ and the ‘clarification’ (nan and ming; chapter 19).13 In these and other chapters, the literary structure itself gives the reader object lessons in a variety of forms of argumentation while simultaneously conveying substantive information embedded in the arguments themselves. The highly self-conscious production and arrangement of the Huainanzi and the manner in which it appropriates various realms of knowledge and deploys a range of rhetorical strategies are also evident in chapter 21, “An Overview of the Essentials, a postface that functions as an introduction to the entire magnum opus, explaining the general aims of the text and the purpose of each and every chapter. Much of the argument of the postface revolves around a claim of appropriating and synthesizing earlier forms of knowledge and deploying various rhetorical strategies to produce a work of unsurpassed comprehensiveness.14 In looking more closely at individual chapters we find that they draw in various ways on older texts and traditions and also employ different rhetorical styles to transmit such knowledge. Moreover, when drawing upon various received traditions, some chapters do so explicitly while others do so implicitly. For example, chapter 1, “Originating in the Way,” which preserves many parallels to the extant Laozi, and chapter 2, “Activating the Genuine,” which preserves many parallels to the extant Zhuangzi, lack explicit references to these texts. In contrast, chapter 12, “Responses of the Way,” makes explicit reference to the Laozi each time it cites this text. Similarly, the Huainanzi treats the Book of Odes and the Book of Changes as canonical, making clear to the reader each time it draws from these texts. What might account for these differences? Once again, the answers appear to rest with the complex process of production that gave rise to the Huainanzi. Despite the overall organizational scheme that was meant to provide an overarching coherence to the work and to harmonize the differences among the various chapters, the authors of individual chapters may nonetheless have possessed different orientations toward various kinds of textual wisdom. With these interpretive issues in mind, the essays in part II, “Knowledge and Rhetoric,” explore how the Huainanzi draws on knowledge contained in earlier texts (some of which are now lost) and utilizes various rhetorical strategies to communicate this received wisdom. More specifically, the three chapters in part 2 examine respectively how the Huainanzi makes use of a fund of earlier tool metaphors, a pool of ­astronomical/astrological 13 14

For a detailed discussion of these different rhetorical forms, see the chapter introductions to these respective chapters in ibid. See the extensive discussion of this chapter in ibid., 13–22.

Introduction

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knowledge, and various traditions of rhetoric to set forth its philosophical arguments. In chapter 5, “Tool Metaphors in the Huainanzi and Other Early Texts,” John S. Major argues that one conspicuous rhetorical feature of the Huainanzi is its extensive use of metaphors based on music, horsemanship, craftsmanship, textile technology, and other aspects of Han daily life to make cosmological, moral, or political arguments. Among the metaphorical devices employed in the text, tools—particularly craftsman’s tools such as the square, the compass, and the level—play a particularly prominent role. Major examines the role of tools as a topos in the Huainanzi by first arguing that the tool metaphors used in the text exhibit such a wide range of meanings and applications that the text itself can fairly be summarized by means of the tool metaphors therein. Major then looks comparatively at tools as topoi in other Warring States and early Han texts to show that they are a more conspicuous feature of the Huainanzi than of other comparable works. He discusses the possible significance of the prominence of tool metaphors in the Huainanzi for understanding the historical formation of a particular rhetorical phenomenon. David W. Pankenier compares astrological knowledge in the Huainanzi and the Shiji in chapter 6, “The Huainanzi’s “Heavenly Patterns” and the Shiji’s “Treatise on the Celestial Offices: What’s the Difference?” Perusing the two texts, “Heavenly Patterns” (“Tian wen” 天文) in the Huainanzi and “Treatise on the Celestial Offices” (“Tianguan shu” 天官書) in the Shiji, Pankenier is struck by the significant differences between them in substance as well as outlook. He examines these differences in detail and considers their broader political implications. Pankenier concludes that the Huainanzi provides a retrospective account of the astral-terrestrial correspondences of the pre-imperial age with its multiplicity of warring aristocratic kingdoms. In the Shiji’s “Tianguan shu,” in contrast, we observe an unmistakable transition in outlook from the ancient conceptions to a new interpretive paradigm—that is, to imperial macroastrology. This new astrological heuristic is indicative of an important shift in political ideals from the old hierarchical feudal vision to an imperial outlook. As they stand, therefore, the two texts are representative of their respective intellectual and cultural milieux and are embodiments of particular perspectives on what the informed ruler needed to know. In terms of a ‘vision of empire’ and from the perspective of ‘heavenly pattern reading,’ the two texts give the impression of being addressed to quite different constituencies. The “Tian wen” is literary, philosophical, generalizing, and eclectic and is aimed at a wide audience, while the “Tianguan shu” is practical, bureaucratic, focused, and specialized and is more responsive to the requirements of an imperial court. If it was the immature Emperor Wu whom Liu An had sought to impress, but

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if, in the event, it was the court erudites who passed judgment on the merits of his work, perhaps it is hardly surprising that his opus failed in its objective of distinguishing Liu An as eminently well prepared for high office. Though the court erudites may have found its content factually deficient, it was nonetheless rhetorically efficacious in communicating the interests of the regional princely court, in contrast to the corresponding chapter in the Shiji. This even raises the possibility that perhaps the audience for which the chapter was originally composed might have been Liu An’s court—but historical circumstances necessitated its presentation to the court of Emperor Wu if Liu An was to secure a safe haven under his reign. In chapter 7, “A Note on Logical Connectives in the Huainanzi,” Michael Nylan relates the rhetorical features of the “Jing shen” chapter of the Huainanzi to Han ‘habits of reading, listening, and compiling texts.’ She offers a discussion of the purposes of rhetoric in textual composition and compilation and of the employment of tradition during these processes. Nylan notes in particular that, by failing to understand the meanings of the particles utilized in early Chinese writings, and by consistently and mistakenly reading the particles as logical connectives, we often fail to notice the rhetorical complexity of the ways in which arguments were developed. Nylan examines how the authors of the “Jing shen” chapter of the Huainanzi pulled together earlier materials and ideas, organized their claims, and attempted to make the arguments rhetorically compelling. Nylan goes on to argue that this close reading of the “Jing shen” reveals a chapter that was predominantly intended to be performed rather than read. This is precisely the sort of microstudy that we need to do with all the chapters of the Huainanzi.

Part III: Audience and Reception

As noted previously, Liu An paid his respects at the court of Emperor Wu in 139 BCE, in the second year after the latter’s enthronement. On that occasion, he presented a book to the emperor, described in the History of the [Western] Han Dynasty as a work in twenty-one chapters (pian) entitled the Nei shu (Inner Book), which was duly added to the imperial library. Although some scholars have raised questions about exactly what Liu An presented to the emperor during his visit, most accept that it was something substantially identical to, or at least closely resembling, the work we now know as the Huainanzi.15 The Hanshu describes Emperor Wu’s reception of Liu An’s ‘gift’ in particularly favorable terms: “At the outset, when An entered the imperial court, he ­presented as a gift 15

For a more detailed discussion of this issue, see ibid., 11–12.

Introduction

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the Inner Book that he had created. [As the text] had recently come to light, the emperor cherished [the work] and hid it away in his private collection.”16 This brief vignette has led many scholars to conclude that because the Huainanzi (or some version thereof) was presented to Emperor Wu, it must have been written for him. But in accordance with arguments laid out in The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China, the editors believe this to be improbable. As argued in this earlier work, this position is based on several historical factors. First, before the year 141 BCE, there was no reason for anyone to think that Liu Che would succeed to the throne. His accession was a result of a complicated and bloody struggle at court waged on his behalf by his mother and Empress Dowager Dou, and no one could have seen it coming a long way off. Second, it also seems improbable that a work as long, complicated, and sophisticated as the Huainanzi could have been written and edited by Liu An and his court scholars between the time the news of Liu Che’s enthronement reached Huainan in 141 and the time Liu An left to make his respectful visit to the imperial court at Chang’an in 139. (It is possible that some of the work’s chapters were written earlier by the Huainan scholars as independent texts; if many chapters were already to hand, it might have been possible to compile what we know as the Huainanzi on a tight schedule between 141 and 139. But even if that were so, it would not contradict our view that most of the content of the Huainanzi predates 141. It also seems to us unlikely that a work as organizationally coherent as the Huainanzi could have been assembled quickly from preexisting components.)17 We believe it is much more likely that the Huainanzi was written during the reign of Emperor Jing 景 帝, when Liu An was a talented and ambitious young man with a case to make for his own importance as a member of the imperial family and the ruler of a territorial kingdom. The strong indebtedness to the Laozi that characterizes parts of the work, including very conspicuously chapter 1, “Originating in the Way,” supports this interpretation, as the Laozi enjoyed substantial imperial patronage at the time. This being the case, who then was the intended audience? Perhaps Emperor Jing, Liu An’s cousin, in whose hands Liu An’s future as a potential heir to the throne principally rested. Perhaps the intellectual world of the Han imperial court, broadly conceived. Perhaps Liu An himself, who could have used the work as a manual for his own ambitions. Perhaps Liu An’s sons, who could inherit their father’s imperial ambitions if circumstances proved propitious. Whatever the case, it seems most unlikely that the work was written ­specifically 16 17

初，安入朝，獻所作內篇，新出，上愛祕之 (Ban Gu, Hanshu 漢書 [History of the Han] 12 vols. [Beijing: Zhonghua shuju 1962] 44/1245). But see Martin Kern’s essay in this volume (chapter 4) for a different view.

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for Emperor Wu. Rather, in presenting his work to the imperial throne, Liu An was likely responding to changed circumstances and making the best of things. The young Liu Che had become emperor; Liu An had not. It t­ herefore was in Liu An’s interest to try to cultivate political and family influence over his young nephew and to persuade him, if possible, of the importance of governing an empire composed in large part of feudal kingdoms such as Huainan rather than of bureaucratic commanderies like those established by the Qin imperial court. The presentation of the Huainanzi to Emperor Wu was an important event, and it is easy to surmise why Han historians and bibliographers would make a special effort to record, retrospectively, the circumstances of that event. That is all the more true given the pivotal role of this emperor and his reign not only in the changing relationship between the emperor and his royal relatives in the remaining local kingdoms but also in the related debates about centralized, decentralized, and mixed models of empire and competing theories of rulership. The four essays in part III explore these issues, addressing various lingering questions concerning the assumed audience and implicit aims of the text. For whom was the Huainanzi produced? Who was its assumed audience? Who was to receive the Huainanzi and for what purposes? Was it composed for the emperor’s consumption or for Liu An’s? Was it meant to influence the central court at Chang’an or was it designed for the court of Huainan? Did it promote the agenda of the court at Chang’an or at Huainan? Or was it a bit of both? Closely related to the question of audience is that of intention: what were the ontological aims and historical purposes of the Huainanzi? What did the authors of the Huainanzi hope to achieve? For what purposes—­intellectual, rhetorical, political—did they compose the work? Did they intend to promote the quasi-feudal arrangement that supported the continued existence of Huainan, or did they promote the centralized agenda of the central court? In this regard was the text essentially conservative or radical in import? Did it attempt to support the center or challenge it? Or did it intend to do both? Was it concerned to promote the agendas of other groups in Chinese society aside from the ruling elite? In chapter 8, “Sages, Creation, and the End of History in the Huainanzi,” Michael Puett begins by noting that one finds throughout the text both progressive and degenerative visions of history. In both cases, history is p ­ resented as being driven by the creations of sages, but those creations can be presented either as leading to a progressive accumulation of knowledge and t­ echnologies or as leading to a loss of an earlier unity. Although these different visions of ­history throughout the text could be used as evidence to argue that the Huainanzi is a conglomeration of very different materials with very different views, Puett notes that both of these visions of history appear within the same

Introduction

17

chapters and, more importantly, that there is a recurrent interplay of these progressive and degenerative narratives in several chapters. Puett argues that a consistent theme within these chapters is that both of these visions of history are correct, and that they are indeed flip sides of the same coin. The authors of the Huainanzi are then claiming to have brought this progressive/degenerative history to an end—a claim that Puett argues may be very telling of the larger vision underlying the composition of the text. The Huainanzi should thus be seen as an imperial text, claiming as it does to encompass the totality of knowledge and to represent a culmination of the historical process of successive sagely creations. Chapter 9, “The Liu Clan’s ‘Flesh and Bone’: The Foundation of Liu An’s Vision of Empire,” by Judson B. Murray, and chapter 10, “The Discourse about Lords (Zhuhou) in the Huainanzi,” by Griet Vankeerberghen, address the text’s historical purposes but come to distinctly different conclusions. Murray describes how the Huainanzi is situated in the rhetoric of ‘flesh and bone,’ arguing that this rhetoric was employed to further the specific political goals of Liu An, who hoped to see his kingdom survive in an age of escalating centralization. Thus, the rhetoric of ‘flesh and bone’ was deployed as a persuasive measure to preserve the quasi-feudal arrangement that assured continued kingship for Liu An. To support such claims concerning the historical purposes of the Huainanzi, Murray outlines the particular model of empire envisioned by Liu An and his retainers through an analysis of one compelling image that they employ in an attempt to sway the imperial throne to their sociopolitical vision. The metaphor of ‘bone and flesh’ (gurou 骨肉; cf. the similarly metaphorical English phrase ‘blood relatives’) vividly evokes the kinship relations between the Han emperors and their royal kinsmen enfeoffed in kingdoms throughout the empire. Murray argues that the Huainanzi is fundamentally concerned with the imperial family and its family relations. On the one hand, because of the momentum of measures seeking to diminish the independence, authority, and territory of the neofeudal royal domains, Liu An clearly viewed the Liu clan both as a dysfunctional family and as a house divided in need of internal reconciliation that could resolve external, disruptive influences. On the other hand, the Liu clan’s ‘bone and flesh’ was, for Liu An, potentially the foundation of a stable and well-ordered, peaceful and productive, and enduring and powerful empire. Thus, Murray concludes, convincing the imperial throne that members of the imperial clan can make a vital contribution to the cause of empire was integral to Liu An’s foremost objective of preserving the independence of his kingdom and his authority as its lord. In chapter 10, Vankeerberghen explores the manner in which the ‘lords,’ or zhuhou 諸侯, are represented in the text. She notes that the Huainanzi was written in a period of intense debate concerning the relationship between

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enfeoffed lords and the ruler and that it is often assumed, given Liu An’s position, that the Huainanzi would support decentralization and oppose too much power being held by the ruler. In opposition to such readings as articulated by Judson Murray and others, however, Vankeerberghen maintains that the text very consistently and counterintuitively emphasizes the importance of the ruler’s power while arguing that the lords should act only as supports of the ruler’s power. This is a highly original and very exciting revision to our understanding of the political aims of the Huainanzi and will contribute greatly to our reconstruction of the debates in the early Han concerning the relationship between lords and rulers. The last chapter of the volume, “Breaking through Heaven’s Glass Ceiling: The Significance of the Commoner Woman of Qi in the ‘Lan ming’ Chapter of the Huainanzi,” by Anne Behnke Kinney, considers the historical goals of chapter 6 of the Huainanzi (“Lan ming”) with respect to women, traversing uncharted intellectual territory as she maps the gender implications of the startling image of the Commoner Woman of Qi. In contrast to Murray, who sees the texts as primarily privileging the power of the feudal lords, and in contrast to Vankeerberghen, who argues that the text aims to support the emperor as the locus of centralized authority, Kinney suggests that this chapter of the Huainanzi aims to empower the lowest echelons of society and most powerless class of subjects, women and commoners. Kinney points out that the Commoner Woman of Qi, a figure who plays a central role in the dramatic opening passage of chapter 6, manages, despite her lowly rank and lack of authority, to move Heaven to send down disasters to avenge the injustices she has suffered. Kinney identifies a set of narratives that correspond to what we know about the Commoner Woman of Qi in an effort to understand the meaning of this recurring trope, not only as it relates to the Huainanzi chapter as a whole and to the larger cultural context of the Huainanzi but also as a strikingly new historical vision of women’s roles in early China. She concludes that although the disquieting tone of chapter 6 is somewhat mitigated by the section that purports to describe the sage rule of the present time,18 fully one-quarter of the chapter discuss governments in decline and the disastrous policies of bad rulers.19 In fact, what the chapter condemns in some cases actually describes the policies 18

19

See D. C. Lau et al., eds., Huainanzi zhuzi suoyin, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1992) 6/54/4–14. References to the Huainanzi are cited in the format “chapter/page in D. C. Lau et al./ line(s).” Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/49/27–31, 6/51/10–11, 6/52/24–25, 6/53/10–54/2, 6/54/14–21.

19

Introduction

of Wudi’s recently deceased father and those Wudi 武帝 would himself continue to follow: specifically, to pursue expansionist or militaristic policies,20 to rely entirely on knowledge to rule,21 to allow private interests to dictate state policy,22 to destroy kinship relations,23 to engage in interstate warfare, and to fail to unite the states as one family.24 Chapter 21 summarizes chapter 6 as “[t]hat wherein is explained that the most subtle essences merge with the Nine Heavens.”25 While this description is apt, it also veils the vivid descriptions of disaster that will befall a ruler who fails to heed its lessons, made all the more unsettling, perhaps, by the notion that an ordinary woman using a technique accessible to all, and who is moreover morally and legally unassailable, might be the author of that doom. * * * The essays collected in this volume engage many of the crucial issues for understanding the textual production of the Huainanzi. As the present volume will demonstrate, the complex process that brought the Huainanzi into existence has generated a wide range of compelling and as-yet-unresolved questions. We hope that the volume will help to stimulate further studies concerning the textual formation and reception of the Huainanzi. Much more work needs to be done on the textual production of individual chapters, as well as the degree to which the individual chapters do or do not reflect the views expressed in the postface. Moreover, given the disagreements already seen among the contributors, more work will need to be done on determining whether there was a coherent argument behind the compilation of the Huainanzi as a whole and, if so, what that argument was and who the intended audiences were. The reception history of the Huainanzi also deserves a great deal more study. For all these issues, we believe that the included essays provide, at the very least, important starting points and provocative hypotheses. We further hope that the essays included herein will help to inspire similar such analyses of other texts from early China. 20 21 22 23 24

25

Ibid., 6/50/24. Ibid., 6/51/9. Ibid., 6/53/12. Ibid., 6.53/13–14. Ibid., 6/54/2; See also the discussion in Michael Puett, To Become a God: Cosmology, Sacrifice, and Self-Divinization in Early China (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002), 268–70. Le Blanc, Huai-nan Tzu, 112; also see Huainanzi 21/224/21–25.

part ONE Authorship and Textual Formation

∵

chapter 1

Root-Branches Structuralism in the Huainanzi* Andrew Meyer In both China and the world at large, the size, scope, and complexity of the Huainanzi have hampered its scholarly treatment as an integral text. Its rich and varied content leaves no doubt as to its importance as a source, but understanding and interpreting the text as a coherent whole have proved daunting. The discrete component parts of the Huainanzi have been of interest and use to scholars for many centuries and in many disciplines, but few have developed a working hypothesis of why the text contains the parts it does or how they relate to one another. Until very recently the most influential global assessment of the Huainanzi was rendered by the Hanshu ‘Yiwen zhi,’ which classified it as a ‘za,’ or ‘mixed,’ text for the purpose of bibliographical organization.1 Even twentieth-century scholars inclined to grant the Huainanzi some overall coherence, such as Xu Fuguan and Dai Junren, have used the za category as their point of departure.2 More recently, several works in English-language scholarship have developed somewhat more integrated hermeneutical models for application to the Huainanzi. Charles Le Blanc perceives an overall unity and a bimodal structural division in the text, marking the first eight chapters as outlining ‘basic principles’ and the last twelve as elaborating ‘applications and illustrations’ of its central doctrine.3 Mark Edward Lewis observes that the Huainanzi was * This essay contains material also found in the “General Introduction” of John S. Major, Sarah A. Queen, Andrew Seth Meyer, and Harold D. Roth, trans., The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China, Translations from the Asian Classics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010). I would like to thank the Harvard conference organizers and participants for the venue and for the helpful comments that contributed to this work. I would also especially like to thank my cotranslators for the privilege and pleasure of working with them on this text. 1 Ban Gu, Hanshu 漢書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962), 1741. 2 Xu Fuguan 徐復觀, Liang Han sixiang shi 两漢思想史 (Taipei: Taiwan xuesheng shuju, 1993), 2:175–294; Dai Junren 戴君仁, “Za jia yu Huainanzi” 雜家與淮南子, in Zhongguo zhexue sixian lunji 中國哲學思想論集, ed. Xiang Weixin 項維新 and Liu Fuzeng 劉福增 (Taipei: Shuiniu chubanshe, 1988), 3:3–34. 3 Charles Le Blanc, Huai-nan tzu: Philosophical Synthesis in Early Han Thought; The Idea of Resonance (Kan-ying 感應), with a Translation and Analysis of Chapter Six (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1985), 2–4. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���4 | doi ��.��63/9789004265325_003

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c­ reated in an era that saw an ‘encyclopedic’ turn in textual production, marked by the efforts of authors and compilers to synthesize an intellectual unity of the world of knowledge to match the perceived ideal political unity of the emergent empire. Lewis thus asserts that “the Huainanzi adopts its pattern from the proto-Daoist cosmogonies sketched in the Dao de jing 道德經 and the Mawangdui manuscripts. . . . [It ascends] from the primal unity, through first divisions, the structure of space and time, and the origins of man.” He concludes, however, that in its later chapters the Huainanzi “loses a clear sense of structure.”4 Both of these approaches underscore a central conundrum of the Huainanzi as a whole, what Le Blanc calls its “unity and diversity.”5 On the one hand, the Huainanzi seems to possess an overarching scheme and unifying perspective; on the other, its content is stylistically and thematically so variable as to make it appear incoherent. Both Lewis and Le Blanc demonstrate that attention to the overall structure of the Huainanzi diminishes this apparent incoherence and aids in interpreting and understanding its doctrinal and thematic content. Further exploration of this dimension of the Huainanzi is required, however. Lewis is correct that the Huainanzi’s use of literary structure in support of its claims of ‘imperial’ comprehensiveness was a hallmark of this new ‘encyclopedic’ age, one for which the authors of the Huainanzi drew clear inspiration from the prior Lüshi chunqiu.6 In order to fully appreciate the Huainanzi’s rhetorical and philosophical implications, however, one must inquire more deeply into the claims the text makes regarding its own organization. Doing so, one finds that the central role given by the Huainanzi to the concept of ‘root and branches’ is key to understanding both its structure and its content. The metaphor of ‘root and branches’ is familiar to any student of early Chinese letters. It is a mechanism deployed in numerous early texts to establish normative priorities.7 Distinguishing between ‘root’ and ‘branch’ d­ elineates those values and phenomena that are original, fundamental, essential, and 4 Mark Edward Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999), 306–7. 5 Le Blanc, Huai-nan tzu, 190. 6 Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China, 302–6. 7 E.g., Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋; D. C. Lau 劉段爵 and Chen Fong Ching 陳方正, eds., Lüshi chunqiu zhuzi suoyin 呂氏春秋逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Chinese University of Hong Kong, 1994), 14.1/69/13, 3.3/14/6–7 (unless otherwise noted, all references to primary texts in this essay will be to Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series editions; citations will be in the form chapter/page/line[s]); Guanzi 管子 3.1/17/23, 5.1/37/32; Mozi 墨子 1.2/2/22; to name only a few.

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determinative from those that are derivative, secondary, degenerate, and of lesser significance. Griet Vankeerberghen and Charles Le Blanc have noted the particular prominence of ‘root-branches’ imagery in the Huainanzi.8 Its nature and significance, however, is not reducible to its use in any antecedent text. The authors of the Huainanzi appropriated this trope from earlier literature and vastly expanded its operative range. In the Huainanzi, ‘root and branches’ became a conceptual template overdetermining the text’s total doctrinal perspective and, indeed, structuring the composition of the Huainanzi itself. The Huainanzi proposes that all dimensions of reality—cosmic, physiological, psychological, social, political, historical, epistemological, and so on—are determined by an organic root-branches structural dynamic. Though the various root-branches structures and processes that may be mapped out in divergent dimensions are analytically separable, the text asserts that they are all expressions of an underlying, unitary organic imperative. Thus, the root-branches concept articulated in the Huainanzi is no longer a conventionally figurative ‘metaphor,’ as was the case in many of the earlier texts upon which the Huainanzi draws, nor does it fall wholly within the typical range of what contemporary linguistic philosophical theory would deem a ‘conceptual metaphor.’ ‘Root and branches’ within the Huainanzi is neither an ‘optional linguistic device’ nor even a “primary [tool] for reasoning about ourselves and the world”;9 rather, it is the definitive formulation of the most fundamental dynamic principle conditioning the entire phenomenal realm.10 8

9

10

Griet Vankeerberghen, The Huainanzi and Liu An’s Claim to Moral Authority, SUNY Series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2001), 95–97; Le Blanc, Huai-nan tzu, 185–88, 196. These distinctions between “traditional” and contemporary philosophical understandings of metaphor are drawn from Edward Slingerland, Effortless Action: Wu-wei as Conceptual Metaphor and Spiritual Ideal in Early China (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 22. How particularly to categorize the Huainanzi’s use of “root-branches” imagery is largely a matter of semantics. Edward Slingerland might yet identify it as a “conceptual metaphor,” while perhaps conceding that his own examples of “root-branches” deployed as “conceptual metaphor” are vastly narrower in scope than its use in the Huainanzi (Slingerland, Effortless Action, 71–72, 102–3). The Huainanzi’s root-branches formulation perhaps most closely fits Stephen Pepper’s category of a “root metaphor”: “an area of empirical observation which is the point of origin for a world hypothesis.” See Stephen C. Pepper, Concept and Quality: A World Hypothesis (LaSalle, IL: Open Court, 1967), 3. This observation must be made, however, while acknowledging that all such delineations between “traditional metaphor,” “conceptual metaphor,” “root metaphor,” etc., although useful in helping

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The most basic level on which this root-branches dynamic is operative is cosmology: the universe began as a unitary, undifferentiated, and infinitely potent ‘root’ and evolved through successive stages of ramification into ­ever-more-variegated cosmic branches: 今夫萬物之疏躍枝舉，百事之莖葉條蘖，皆本於一根，而條循 千萬也。若此則有所受之矣，而非所授者。所授者無受也，而 無不授也。 When the myriad things differentiate and branch off, when the hundred affairs proliferate and diverge, all have their foundation in a single root, despite their ten million branchings. Those that receive are not what gives [i.e., the Way]. What gives does not receive, and yet there is nothing it does not give.11 The Grand One 太一 diverged into Yin 陰 and Yang 陽, which generated Heaven and Earth 天地, which generated the Five Phases 五行, and so forth.12 Key to the text’s assertions is that the Grand One was not ultimately dissipated or consumed by this process of differentiation. Even as it manifested more and more discernible component parts, the Grand One remained the Grand One: the myriad things persist within the totality and under the controlling impulse of the Root from which they emerged. This cosmogonic-cosmological structural dynamism is replicated and embodied in all other dimensions of the phenomenal realm. The human body, for example, develops from protean embryo to an intricate structure of organs, limbs, and extremities: 一生二， 二生三， 三生萬物。

11

12

us understand the developmental trajectory of this imagery from text to text, embody our own present-day intellectual concerns and do not in any way organically reflect the agenda or outlook of the Huainanzi authors themselves. Lau et al., Huainanzi 2/13/12–13. Major et al., Huainanzi, 94. I have emended the Chinese text in accordance with D. C. Lau’s and Chen Fong Ching’s recommendation; D. C. Lau et al., eds., Huainanzi zhuzi suoyin 淮南 子逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1992), 13n8. This root-branches cosmogony is replicated repeatedly throughout the text. See, e.g., D. C. Lau et al., Huainanzi 1/6/25–27, 2/10/14–27, 7/54/25–55/2, 14/132/10–13.

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萬物背陰而抱陽，沖氣以為和。 故曰： 一月而膏， 二月而胅， 三月而胎， 四月而肌， 五月而筋， 六月而骨， 七月而成， 八月而動， 九月而躁， 十月而生。 形體以成， 五臟乃形。 “The one generates the two, The two generate the three, The three generate the myriad things. The myriad things carry the yin and embrace the yang, and through the blending of vital energies become harmonious.”13 Therefore it is said: “In the first month fertilization occurs, In the second month a corporeal mass develops, In the third month an embryo forms, In the fourth month the flesh is produced, In the fifth month the muscles form, In the sixth month the bones develop, In the seventh month the fetus forms, In the eighth month the fetus starts to move, In the ninth month its movements become more pronounced, In the tenth month the birth occurs.” In this way the physical body is completed And the five orbs are formed.14 This passage presents an excellent example of the kind of homologies that the Huainanzi systematically articulates across macro- and microcosmic realms. The human embryo effectively experiences the same process of differentiation 13 14

This is a quotation from Laozi 42. Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/55/7–10; Major et al., Huainanzi, 241–42.

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that transpired at the cosmic origin; thus, each gestation is a replication of the root-branches cosmogony that gave rise to the entire phenomenal world. These isomorphisms are not confined to the material world, moreover, but cross over into the domain of the ‘ideal.’15 The mind, like the nascent body, progresses from unified tranquillity and vacuity to ever-more-complex states of perception, emotion, and cognition: 人大怒破陰，大喜墜陽， 大憂內崩， 大怖生狂。 除穢去累，莫若未始出其宗，乃為大通。 清目而不以視， 靜耳而不以聽， 鉗口而不以言， 委心而不以慮。 棄聰明而反太素， 休精神而棄知故。 覺而若眯， 生而若死， 終則反本未生之時，而與化為一體。 When a person is extremely angry, it shatters his yin energies, and when someone is extremely happy, it collapses his yang energies. Great sorrow destroys his interior, and great fear drives him mad. Yet if you eschew the dust [of daily living] and relinquish attachments, you will be as calm as if you had never left your Ancestor and thereupon will become grandly pervasive. Purify your eyes and do not look with them; still your ears and do not hear with them; close your mouth and do not speak with it; relax your mind and do not think with it. Cast aside clever brilliance and return to Vast Simplicity; Rest your Quintessential Spirit and cast aside wisdom and precedent. 15

‘Ideal’ must be put in quotes because, as was true in virtually all early Chinese texts (and as many modern interpreters have noted), the Huainanzi does not posit a clear distinction between mind and matter: all thoughts, feelings, and perceptions occur within a matrix of qi that, though highly ethereal and dynamic, is not different in kind than that which constitutes the rest of the material universe.

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Then, you will be awakened but seem to be obscured, will be [truly] alive but seem to be dead. In the end, you will return to the foundation of the time before your birth and form one body with transformations.16 Here, in an oft-repeated rhetorical device found throughout the Huainanzi, the root-branches structure of consciousness is presented as a regression: as one dispels perception, cognition, and emotion, one approaches closer to the original state of the mind. This theme of ‘reversion’ 反 is evoked persistently. In consciousness, as in other realms, the root (in this case, the empty and unmoved mind) is a positive wellspring of redemptive and creative power; the branches are devolutionary states that, though naturally and spontaneously emergent, are inherently unstable and potentially self-subverting. This dynamic of consciousness from moment to moment is echoed in the overall developmental process of human maturation. The person as a whole grows from unself-conscious infant through increasingly sophisticated stages of self-awareness and maturity: 羌、氐、翟，嬰兒生皆同聲，及其長也，雖重象狄騠，不能通其 言，教俗殊也。今三月嬰兒，生而徙國，則不能知其故俗。由此 觀之，衣服禮俗者，非人之性也，所受於外也。。。。人之性無 邪，久湛于俗則易，易而忘本，合於若性。 The children of the Qiang, Dii, Bo, and Dee ‘barbarians’ all produce the same sounds at birth. Once they have grown, even with both the xiang and diti interpreters, they cannot understand one another’s speech; this is because their education and customs are different. Now a three-monthold child that moves to a [new] state after it is born will not recognize its old customs. Viewed on this basis, clothing and ritual customs are not [rooted in] people’s nature; they are received from without. . . . The nature of human beings has no depravity; having been long immersed in customs, it changes. If it changes and one forgets the root, it is as if [the customs one has acquired] have merged with [one’s] nature.17 As was the case in momentary awareness, in the life process the movement from root to branches entails peril. This point is later reiterated as a r­ egression 16 17

Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/59/20–23; Major et al., Huainanzi, 255–56. Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/59/20–23; Major et al., Huainanzi, 255–56.

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in chapter 12, which appropriates the famous ‘sitting and forgetting’ dialogue between Confucius and Yan Hui 顏回 from the Zhuangzi as a gloss for the Laozi’s injunction to ‘be like a child.’ As Yan Hui ‘forgets’ the manners and values he had acquired in the course of adulthood, he draws closer to the positively transformative state of the uncorrupted child.18 What is so for the person is so for society as a whole: 昔者黃帝治天下，而力牧、太山稽輔之 以治日月之行律， 治陰陽之氣， 節四時之度， 正律曆之數。。。。 然猶未及虙戲氏之道也。。。。 當此之時， 臥倨倨，興眄眄. 一自以為馬;一自以為牛.其行蹎蹎; 其視瞑瞑. 侗然皆得其和， 莫知所由生. 浮游不知所求; 魍魎不知所往。 In ancient times, the Yellow Emperor ruled the world. Li Mu and Taishan Ji assisted him in regulating the movements of the sun and the moon, setting in order the qi of yin and yang, delimiting the measure of the four seasons, correcting the calculations of the pitch pipes and the calendar. . . . And yet this [age of the Yellow Emperor] did not come up to the Way of Lord Fuxi. . . . At that time, [people] rested in tranquillity, woke up with alacrity. One considered himself a horse; another considered himself an ox. Their motions were calm and unhurried; 18

Lau et al., Huainanzi 12/115/12–17. The original dialogue is drawn from Zhuangzi 6/19/17– 22. Huainanzi 12 uses it to explicate Laozi 10: “In nourishing your po [spirit] and embracing the One, can you not let go? In concentrating your qi and attaining softness, can you be like a child?”

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their gaze was tranquil and uncurious. In their ignorance, they all [attained harmony], but they did not know where it came from. Aimlessly drifting, they did not know what they were looking for; zombielike, they did not know where they were going.19 Human history moves from the earliest eras of unalloyed simplicity through eras of successively more sophisticated and complex forms of economic, political, and social organization. Here again we see the rhetorical device of presenting the root-branches structure of the past in the form of a regression, with normative priority being assigned to the earlier, less complex social forms that prevailed in ‘root’ times. This historical regression is echoed elsewhere in the Huainanzi’s prioritized model of the normatively correct political structure for the current day: 仁義禮樂者，可以救敗，而非通治之至也。 夫仁者所以救爭也， 義者所以救失也， 禮者所以救淫也， 樂者所以救憂也。 神明定於天下而心反其初。。。。 是故 知神明然後知道德之不足為也， 知道德然後知仁義之不足行也， 知仁義然後知禮樂之不足脩也。 今 背其本而求其末， 釋其要而索之於詳， 未可與言至也。

19

Lau et al., Huainanzi 6/52/16–53/4; Major et al., Huainanzi, 223–25. This devolutionary model of human history is mirrored several times in the text. See, e.g., 8/61/6–27, 8/62/6– 12. Virtually the whole of chapter 13, “Discourses on the Boundless,” is devoted to outlining this root-branches vision of history. Roger Ames perceives multiple philosophies of history in different parts of the Huainanzi (The Art of Rulership: A Study in Ancient Chinese Political Thought [Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1983], 1–27), but I would contend that the Huainanzi’s articulation of cosmic and human history consistently follows the same basic root-branches model, with small variations in style or rhetorical emphasis.

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[H]umaneness, Rightness, Ritual, and Music, though able to save [the world] from ruin, are still not the perfection of comprehensive governance. Humaneness is able to save people from strife; Rightness is able to save people from errors; Ritual is able to save people from lewdness; Music is able to save people from melancholy. When spirit illumination is established in the world, then minds revert to their original state. . . . Thus, if one understands spirit illumination, then one can understand the inadequacy of the Way and Moral Potency for effecting things; if one understands the Way and Moral Potency, then one can understand the inadequacy of Humaneness and Rightness in putting things into practice; if one understands Humaneness and Rightness, then one can understand the inadequacy of Ritual and Music in regulating conduct. Now, people who turn their backs on the fundamental but seek it in the peripheral, or who wish to explain the essential but inquire into details, are not yet able to take part in discourses that reach the utmost.20 Just as human society began in primitive ambiguity, governance begins with the simple apophatic self-cultivation of the ruler but extends through increasingly more differentiated moral and cultural realms until it arrives at the minute contingencies of standards, measures, methods, and procedures. Implements of rule that are of more recent provenance are more differentiated and contingent—and therefore less fundamentally efficacious even in the current day. Elsewhere, the Huainanzi admits that one may not do without ‘branch’ institutions in a latter age, but it insists that such implements will be effective only if deployed within a program of rule that assigns them their correct relative priority. If diagrammed out, each of these realms would produce the same fractal pattern. This structural correspondence is not coincidental. Rather, it expresses a basic universal imperative that guides the evolution of the Way and all things 20

Lau et al., Huainanzi 8/62/11–20; Major et al., Huainanzi, 272–73.

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emergent from it. Moreover, the same principle operative in the larger cosmos informs all the particular structures it encompasses: the ‘root’ is never absent or ultimately dethroned at any level of reality. Thus, for example, when the mind has generated ‘branch’ manifestations such as thoughts and feelings, the undifferentiated ‘spirit’ still remains at the baseline of consciousness and continues to unself-consciously impel all cognitive states.21 Likewise, in latter ages when laws and punishments become key instruments of rule, the apophatic self-cultivation of the sage continues to (or ideally should) be the controlling force that impels the smooth operation of the imperial polity.22 In the universe articulated by the Huainanzi, therefore, virtually every aspect of existence is guided by this common root-branches dynamic. Moreover, at each level for which this root-branches structure is articulated, the Huainanzi simultaneously signifies its diachronic valence as an aspect of cosmic and human history and its synchronic valence for the current normative functioning of the individual, society, or the state. An excellent example of this is found in chapter 8: 帝者，體太一； 王者，法陰陽； 霸者，則四時； 君者，用六律。 The emperor embodies the Grand One; the king emulates yin and yang; the hegemon follows the four seasons; the prince uses the six pitch pipes.23 The succession from emperors to kings, hegemons, and princes is, on one level, a historical one: earlier rulers such as the Yellow Emperor were traditionally accorded the title di, ‘emperor’ or ‘thearch,’ while later rulers like the Zhou (1045–256 BCE) dynasts went by the title wang, ‘king.’ The Spring and Autumn period (770–481 BCE) was the era of ‘hegemons’; during the Warring States period (481–221 BCE) some rulers reigned as princes essentially independently of the Zhou monarchy. Thus, in historical terms each of these types of rulers modeled themselves on the cosmic principle most suited to the epoch in which they lived. Because the di lived in a simpler time, they embodied the 21 22 23

Lau et al., Huainanzi 14/142/16–17. Lau et al., Huainanzi 20/216/5–10. Lau et al., Huainanzi 8/64/5; Major et al., Huainanzi, 277.

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cosmogonically prior and monistic Grand One; because the kings lived in a later and more complex era, they modeled themselves on the cosmogonically ‘younger’ and structurally dualistic yin and yang; and so on. This regression may also be read synchronically. Western Han (202 BCE– 9 CE) elites lived in an era that simultaneously possessed both emperors (e.g., Emperor Wu 漢武帝 [r. 141–87 BCE], the ruler to whom the Huainanzi was presented) and kings (e.g., Liu An 劉安 [d. 122 BCE], the patron of the text itself). The cosmogonic root-branches model provides not only a structural map of earlier eras in human history, therefore, but also a normative guide to the prioritized stations of the ‘present-day’ political matrix. Emperors must continue to embody the superior Grand One (which persists and pervades the ramified reality of latter days), and kings must continue to model themselves on the subordinate phenomena of yin and yang. ‘Hegemon’ and ‘prince’ would obviously have been anachronisms in the Han but would have had analogues in the officials and magistrates of the Han state structure. These simultaneous synchronic and diachronic valences are operative throughout the text of the Huainanzi and are key to understanding its overall structure. The text of the Huainanzi itself is laid out in accordance with this rootbranches principle; thus, it partakes of the same organic logic that it portrays as pervading all ontological and existential realms. The text’s table of contents diagrams a paradigmatic root-branches structure. The Huainanzi moves from the single and universal root, the Way 道 (chapter 1, “Originating in the Way” 原道), through successively posterior and contingent realms: Potency 德 (chapter 2, “Activating the Genuine” 俶真), Heaven 天 (chapter 3, “Heavenly Patterns” 天文), Earth 地 (chapter 4, “Terrestrial Forms” 墜形), and so on, landing ultimately in the present-day terrain of the Han Empire (chapter 20, “The Exalted Lineage” 泰族).24 This movement must again be read as both diachronic and synchronic. In moving from chapter 1 to chapter 20 the text transits from the beginning of the cosmos toward the present day, but it simultaneously moves from the most fundamental concern of rulership (the Way and the apophatic cultivation that enables the ruler to embody it) toward concerns of ever-descending normative priority. Thus, for example, chapter 15, which deals with military affairs, comes after chapter 11, which deals with ritual. This ordering is in part dictated by the cosmopolitical history outlined by the Huainanzi. As the text explains, there was once a time when sages could rule using ritual alone, without recourse to arms.25 In the present day (and for precisely this reason), although arms are 24 25

A chart diagramming the root-branches correspondences of the Huainanzi’s chapters may be found in Major et al., Huainanzi, 18–19. Lau et al., Huainanzi 8/61/5–27.

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necessary, they are less fundamental to the conduct of successful rule than ritual. Thus, a ruler who today relies on arms more than ritual is placing his confidence in a ‘branch,’ rather than a ‘root,’ instrument and dooming himself to failure, a lesson that is embodied in the overall structure of the Huainanzi itself. The root-branches structural principle is echoed pervasively throughout the Huainanzi with remarkable consistency. There are virtually no instances in the text in which the root-branch relationship of two phenomena is reversed (where, for example, arms are treated as more fundamental than ritual, or humaneness and rightness as more fundamental than the Way). Even on a subdivisional level root-branches structuralism informs the organization of the text. The opening sections of chapter 10 (“Profound Precepts” 繆程), for example, which treats various concerns in epigrammatic prose passages, move through a series of dicta first on the Way, then Potency, and then Humaneness 仁 and Rightness 義;26 following the normative and temporal order in which these concerns are ranked by the text as a whole. A similar rough adherence to root-branches structure can be perceived in the layout of chapter 14 (“Explaining Sayings” 詮言), which is also composed of short units of prose. What are some of the implications of root-branches structuralism in the Huainanzi? First, I would assert that this reigning conceit of the text should be kept in mind when interpreting its component parts. If one does so, much of the text’s perceived inconsistency might be understood in a different light. For example, the fact that the text denigrates Humaneness and Rightness in chapter 2 but exalts them in chapter 20 might be viewed as a complete paradox.27 Such a reading is belied, however, when one acknowledges that in the transition from chapter 2 to chapter 20 one has moved from root to branch: from the more primordial times of the cosmic founding to the mature era of imperial rule, and from the most essential truths at the basis of universal power to the more contingent truths conditioning practical life in latter days. Attention to the overall root-branches plan of the text yields more nuanced interpretive access to its potential meaning. For example, chapter 18, “Among Others” 人間, consists of a sequence of paired anecdotes, each adduced as evidence in support of a persuasive proposition. In most of these pairs, the proposition illustrated by the first anecdote is the direct converse of that illustrated by the second. 26

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Lau et al., Huainanzi 10/82/15–30. This covers the segments designated as 10.1 through 10.6 by Sarah Queen in John S. Major, Sarah A. Queen, Andrew Seth Meyer, and Harold D. Roth, eds. and trans., The Essential Huainanzi (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012). Lau et al., Huainanzi 2/11/21, 2/14/10–11, 20/212/23, 20/213/2.

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A typical pair involves two stories about construction projects. In the first, Gaoyang Tui 高陽魋28 presents a pristinely logical argument contradicting the advice of his master carpenter—resulting in the collapse of his new house soon after it is built. In the second story, an unnamed guest offers a completely nonsensical argument that nonetheless succeeds in dissuading the Lord of Jingguo 靖郭君 (also known as Tian Ying 田嬰, fl. ca. 311 BCE) from foolishly building a wall around the capital of his fief.29 As David Schaberg noted, on its own this pair of anecdotes leaves us with little clear understanding about the place of oral argumentation and dialectical logic in the prescriptive regimen of the Huainanzi.30 Is logical argumentation a good thing or not? Is the message we are meant to take away that “the less sense we make, the better off we will be?” This picture is clarified to some extent when we note that in chapter 18 we are deep into the ‘branch’ segment of the text as a whole. Its labyrinth of paradoxical messages serves to illustrate a point that the text makes more explicitly in earlier chapters: the further one moves away from the root and into the branches, the more contingent each of the phenomena one encounters becomes. In each such move one enters a more differentiated and pluralistic realm. By chapter 18 we have entered the world of contending interests and competing signifiers that is the hallmark of civilized society. This realm is not without its own rules and implements, and those implements are not wholly lacking in efficacy on their own terms. None of the outcomes or agents in this web can be normatively assessed, however, from the perspective of the jostling contingencies out of which it is constituted. As the opening of chapter 18 states: 夫禍之來也，人自生之； 福之來也，人自成之。 禍與福同門， 利與害為鄰， 非神聖人，莫之能分。

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According to Xu Shen 許慎 (ca. 55–ca. 149 CE), Gaoyang Tui was a grandee of Song during the Warring States. See Zhang Shuangdi 張雙棣, Huainanzi jiaoshi 淮南子校釋 (Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 1997), 2:1863n3. Lau et al., Huainanzi 18/190/8–19. Major et al., Huainanzi, 729–30. David Schaberg, “Oratorical Training in the Huainanzi,” paper presented at the conference “Liu An’s Vision of Empire: New Perspectives on the Huainanzi,” Harvard University, Cambridge, MA, May 31, 2008.

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The arrival of calamity is generated by human beings; the arrival of good fortune is effected by human beings. Calamity and good fortune share a gateway; benefit and harm are neighbors. No one who is not a spirit or sage can distinguish them.31 By the rules of logic, Gaoyang Tui’s argument far surpassed that of the Lord of Jingguo’s guest. From a purely material perspective, the outcome of both persuasions was the same: a structure not standing. A different normative assessment of both persuasions can be reached only if one moves back along the root-branches continuum, into realms of value (such as those of the spirit or the sage) that are more primordial and less contingent than those that give rise to dialectical logic as a phenomenon. Another example of how attention to the root-branches structure of the Huainanzi may help resolve interpretive difficulties is embodied in a case raised by Charles Le Blanc: the apparent disjunction between chapter 19 (“Cultivating Effort” 脩務) and the rest of the text.32 The chapter opens with a refutation that seems to contradict the doctrinal position of the Huainanzi as a whole: 或曰：「無為者， 寂然無聲， 漠然不動， 引之不來， 推之不往。 如此者，乃得道之像。」 吾以為不然。 Some people say: “Those who are nonactive are solitary, soundless, and indifferently unmoving. Pull them, and they do not come; push them, and they do not go. Only those who are like this give the appearance of having attained the Way.” I believe this is not so.33 31 32

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Lau et al., Huainanzi 18/186/6–7; Major et al., Huainanzi, 721. Le Blanc, Huai-nan tzu, 35–37. Le Blanc specifically underscores contrasts between chapters 19 and 9, but chapter 19’s unique gloss on the term wuwei (effortless action, nonaction) makes it an outlier in the text more generally. Lau et al., Huainanzi 19/202/12–14; Major et al., Huainanzi, 766.

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This rejected characterization of what it meant to be ‘wuwei’ 無為 generally conforms to the usage of that concept throughout the rest of the Huainanzi. As Sarah Queen and John Major note,34 almost identical language is used to describe the idealized reign of ‘Great Purity’ at the opening of chapter 8.35 This would seem to pose an irresoluble paradox: the text deploys one usage of wuwei in chapter 8 and refutes that same usage in chapter 19. This paradox collapses, however, when one interprets each chapter in relation to its position in the root-branches structure of the text as a whole. As the universe and human society become more complex, the phenomenal manifestation of wuwei changes. Though in all eras wuwei is essentially effortless, in latter days those who have ‘attained the Way’ will have to respond to the more variegated and dynamic circumstances of the world in a more apparently ‘active’ mode. Chapter 8 describes the phenomenal state of wuwei in an earlier, more primordial era; chapter 19 describes wuwei as it becomes manifest in the more complicated conditions of latter days. Finally, recognition of the role of root-branches structuralism within the text must compel one to abandon its assessment—made conventional by Ban Gu’s 班固 (32–92 CE) classification—as an ‘eclectic’ work. The Huainanzi’s explicit agenda is not one of open-ended inclusiveness or pluralism. The text proposes, not that all writings or forms of knowledge are unconditionally valid, but that they may become valid through proper incorporation into the developmental root-branches structure it outlines. The Huainanzi is obviously a highly synthetic and multifaceted text, but it is not an arbitrarily ‘mixed bag’ of various perspectives. Rather, it is a very deliberate and carefully structured treatise that maintains a highly unified and consistent perspective throughout. It is, in the words of John Major, “a seminal compendium: an attempt, largely successful in its own time, to define the dominant currents of thought in the early Han.”36 In historical terms, I would argue that root-branches structuralism is key to understanding the Huainanzi’s polemical and rhetorical impact at the time of its production. The Huainanzi was composed and presented to the court when the Han was still in the process of negotiating its political identity. The elegance with which the Huainanzi was able, through the versatile mechanism of root-branches structuralism, to posit how all the multifarious aspects of an intricate cosmos and all the multivalent organs of a complex political empire could work as an organic unity would have had real persuasive power in the 34 35 36

Major et al., Huainanzi, 766n1. Lau et al., Huainanzi 8/61/6; Major et al., Huainanzi, 267. John S. Major, Heaven and Earth in Early Han Thought: Chapters Three, Four, and Five of the Huainanzi (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993), 3.

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social and cultural climate of the late second century BCE. All the texts that were being debated as repositories of key wisdom could be charted along the root-branches developmental scheme embodied by the Huainanzi; thus, the Huainanzi could demonstrate not only how these texts (and the techniques they advocated) could be made commensurate with one another but also how they might be prioritized in order of their relevance to the task of government (and, implicitly, what authority their proponents should have over policy). Through this root-branches mechanism, the Huainanzi thus presents the Han intellectual world with a model of how all knowledge may be integrated and applied in the service of the Han state, an accomplishment that (even if many vehemently disagreed with the perspective of the Huainanzi, and many did) would have resonated very powerfully with a perceived need throughout the world of Han cultural and political elites. This fact helps explain why the Huainanzi contributed to the suspicion under which Liu An eventually fell and thus hastened his political demise. Those who objected to the ideological stance of the Huainanzi would feel threatened by the rhetorical elegance with which it forwarded its case, and even those who had no strong ideological objections to its perspective might well see in its polemical achievements a gross act of lèse-majesté.

chapter 2

Daoist Inner Cultivation Thought and the Textual Structure of the Huainanzi Harold D. Roth* The issue of the intellectual filiation of the Huainanzi has vexed scholars for generations. Is it an ‘eclectic’ work (zajia 雜 家), as it was categorized in the Bibliographical Monograph of the History of the Western Han? Is it a ‘Daoist’ work, as others have categorized it? Is it a work that self-consciously eschews any and all intellectual affiliation, claiming for itself a uniqueness that makes it the essential philosophical blueprint for ruling the Han Empire? Our Huainanzi translation team has gone over all these arguments time and again and agreed to disagree.1 In the following essay I shall present an argument for the Huainanzi being a work of the ‘inner cultivation’ tradition that received the label ‘Daoist’ from Sima Tan in his famous and influential discourse “On Six Lineages of Thought” in chapter 130 of the Historical Records. When one analyzes the carefully organized series of nesting ‘root-branches’ structures in the text, it becomes clear that while the authors did incorporate a great variety of ideas from earlier intellectual traditions into the unique synthesis they created in the Huainanzi, the ideas and practices of the Daoist inner cultivation tradition constitute the normative foundation into which all these other ideas are integrated. I shall begin by presenting an overview of previous research on this tradition of practice and philosophy, then proceed to discuss how the carefully crafted root-branches structures in the book demonstrate how the ideas from this tradition provide the normative foundation of the entire book. I shall conclude with how this textual analysis impacts theories of the intellectual affiliation of the Huainanzi.

* I would like to dedicate this essay to the memory of Arun Stewart, Brown class of 2011: “Alas! Heaven has bereft me” (Lunyu 11). 1 For a thorough summary of these debates about affiliation, see John S. Major, Sarah A. Queen, Andrew S. Meyer, and Harold D. Roth, trans., The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China, Translations from the Asian Classics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010), 27–32.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���4 | doi ��.��63/9789004265325_004

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The Inner Cultivation Tradition

Those of us who have studied the surviving textual sources from the late Warring States and early Han are confronted with an array of separate texts. Given the limited production and circulation of written works in this period, it simply is not logical to conclude that they were all produced independently of one another.2 Indeed, some of them cite or borrow material from others, such as the Mencius citing the Analects, the ‘Outer Chapters’ of the Zhuangzi and the Huainanzi citing the Laozi, and so on; so we know that at least some later authors were aware of earlier written works. But even if the Mencius never cited the Analects by title or Confucius by name, we would understand that the two works were intellectually related because they share a common set of philosophical concerns, the most important of which are benevolence (ren 仁), propriety (li 禮), knowledge (zhi 知), rightness ( yi 義), and filiality (xiao 孝). These philosophical concerns, furthermore, are positively valued in these two works and in a third major work of this early intellectual tradition, the Xunzi. These concepts form a unique field of discourse and techniques that can be used to differentiate distinctive intellectual lineages in pre-Han China. The very existence and survival of works like the Analects, the Mencius, and the Xunzi imply that there must have been some sort of social organization to create, copy, and transmit them.3 Relying on the evidence of a teacher-student social relationship that we find in many sources, starting with the Analects, we can postulate that this is the basis for the social organization that created, preserved, and transmitted the texts of the distinctive philosophical lineages in pre-Han China. Indeed, Mark Lewis posits the existence of such groups, which were outside the ‘ambit of the state’ and were formed by master-disciple traditions that relied on writing both to transmit doctrine or information and to establish group loyalties. . . .  Internal evidence of shifting usage and doctrinal contradictions shows that several of these works evolved over long periods of time. The masters were invented and certified as wise men in this progressive rewriting by 2 For details of text creation and writing during this period, see the classic work Tsuen-Hsuin Tsien, Written on Bamboo and Silk: The Beginnings of Chinese Books and Inscriptions (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1962). 3 The surviving evidence for the social organization of the early Confucian tradition has been thoroughly analyzed in E. Bruce Brooks and A. Taeko Brooks, The Original “Analects” (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001).

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disciples, while disciples in turn received authority from the prestige they generated for their master.4 In addition, Fukui Fumimasa has insightfully observed that these intellectual lineages not only were organized around texts and ideas but were grounded in distinctive practices or techniques.5 We read in the historical record that the thinkers who considered themselves the inheritors of the tradition of Confucius and that of Mozi 墨子 had a distinctive set of core practices that centered on ritual performance for the former and logical argumentation and defensive warfare for the latter. These core practices and concomitant ideas, as well as a body of teachers and narrative stories—a kind of lore—formed the basis for an emerging sense of a distinctive lineal identity. It is these distinctive practices that formed the basis for Sima Tan’s famous identification of the distinctive jia 家—often translated, I think misleadingly, as ‘schools’ but better rendered as intellectual ‘lineages’ or ‘traditions’—of the pre-Han period. In writing his “On the Six Intellectual Traditions,” he focused on the particular techniques that each one practiced: ritual for the Confucians, economy in state expenditures for the Mohists, rectification of state hierarchies for the Legalists, and intellectual syncretism and apophatic self-­cultivation for the Daoists.6 While the precise nature of Sima’s project is the subject of a lively recent debate, and even if we concede that Sima retrospectively labeled philosophical traditions according to his own intellectual interests, it is beyond doubt that he drew his comments about the ‘Daoist tradition’ from the unique constellation of ideas that I have identified as ‘inner cultivation.’7

4 Mark Edward Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999), 5. 5 Fukui Fumimasa, “The History of Taoist Studies in Japan and Some Related Issues,” Acta Asiatica 68 (1995): 12–13. 6 Sima Qian, Shiji 史記, 10 vol. (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1959) 130.3288–3292. For a translation and analysis of Sima Tan’s “On the Six Intellectual Traditions,” see Sarah A. Queen and Harold D. Roth, “Syncretist Visions of State, Society, and Cosmos,” in Sources of Chinese Tradition, comp. William Theodore De Bary and Irene Bloom, 2nd ed, vol. 1. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), 278–82. 7 The three major recent articles on this topic are Sarah A. Queen, “Inventories of the Past: Rethinking the ‘School’ Affiliation of the Huainanzi,” Asia Major, 3rd ser., 14.1 (2001): 51–72; Mark Csíkszentmihályi and Michael Nylan, “Constructing Lineages and Inventing Traditions through Exemplary Figures in Early China,” T’oung Pao 89 (2003): 1–41; Kidder Smith, “Sima Tan and the Invention of Daoism, ‘Legalism,’ et cetera,” Journal of Asian Studies 62.1 (2003): 129–56. For an analysis of how Sima Tan’s ideas about the “Daoist tradition” are derived from

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The extant texts of this tradition include works often regarded as f­oundational to ‘Daoism,’ such as the Laozi and Zhuangzi, as well as a set of others that have often been overlooked, such as the four so-called “Techniques of the Mind” (“Xinshu”) works within the Guanzi, the Lüshi chunqiu, some excavated works such as the “Silk Manuscripts of Huang-Lao” (“Huang-Lao boshu”), and others.8 A conceptual analysis of these works shows that the ideas they advocate can be organized into three general categories: cosmology, self-cultivation, and political thought.9 These ideas in many ways begin and end with a common understanding of the Way (dao 道) as the ultimate source of the cosmos, Potency (de 德) as its manifestation in terms of concrete phenomena and experience, Nonaction (wuwei 無為) as its definitive movement, and Formlessness (wuxing 無形) as its characteristic mode. There is also a common self-cultivation vocabulary that includes ‘stillness and silence’ ( jimo 寂 漠), ‘tranquillity’ ( jing 靜), ‘emptiness’ (xu 虛), and a variety of apophatic, self-negating techniques and qualities of mind that lead to a direct apprehension of the Way. Let us explore these in more detail.

Inner Cultivation Practices

Simply put, the basic practice of ‘inner cultivation’ is to unify or focus attention on one thing, often the inhalation and exhalation of the breath for a sustained period of time. Through this, one comes to gradually empty out the thoughts, perceptions, and emotions that normally occupy the mind and to develop an awareness of the presence of the Way that resides at the ground of human consciousness. We can classify these apophatic, or ‘self-negating,’ practices into a number of basic categories.

the pre-Han sources of “inner cultivation,” see my article “Psychology and Self-Cultivation in Early Taoistic Thought,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 51.2 (1991): esp. 604–6. 8 For a synthetic overview of this research, see my Original Tao: Inward Training and the Foundations of Taoist Mysticism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), 173–203. “Techniques of the Mind” is the title of two short texts in the seventy-six-text Guanzi compendium. Together with “Inward Training” and “The Purified Mind,” they constitute a group that in modern scholarship is referred to as the four “Techniques of the Mind” works. The relevant chapters of the Lüshi chunqiu are 3, 5, 17, and 25. 9 These categories were initially presented in Harold D. Roth, “Who Compiled the Chuang Tzu?” in Chinese Texts and Philosophical Contexts: Essays Dedicated to Angus C. Graham, ed. Henry Rosemont Jr. (LaSalle, IL: Open Court Press, 1991), 78–128.

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Posture and Breathing: ‘Sitting and Forgetting’ To begin with, inner cultivation involves proper posture: an aligned sitting position for body and limbs is frequently recommended. For example, we see frequent references to this in “Inward Training” (“Neiye”), and we also find the famous narrative in Zhuangzi about ‘sitting and forgetting’ (zuowang 坐忘).10 Often, advice on posture accompanies recommendations for breath cultivation. Cultivating the breath or vital energy (qi) is a foundational practice in all the major sources on inner cultivation. It is often spoken of as concentrating or refining the breath (zhuan qi 專氣, as in the locus classicus from Laozi 10). Focusing on one’s breathing is in essence a concentration of the attention. In addition to proper posture and concentration of breath and attention, these inner cultivation texts also present a wide variety of techniques that have the effect of emptying out the normal contents of consciousness and hence approaching the Dao by apophatic means. Principal among these is the very frequent admonition in “Inward Training” to restrict or eliminate desires ( jing yü 靜 欲, jieyü 節欲) (e.g., verses XXV and XXVI),11 which occurs in similar form in the Laozi as ‘to minimize or be without desires’ (guayü 寡 欲, wuyü 無 欲) (chapters 1, 19, 37, 57). The Zhuangzi, the Guanzi (“Techniques of the Mind” 1), and the Lüshi chunqiu also contain similar and identical phrases.12 Other related apophatic techniques include restricting or eliminating emotions, a staple of “Inward Training” (see verses III, VII, XX, XXI), as in verse XXV: “When you are anxious or sad, pleased or angry, the Way has no place to settle within you.” Restricting or eliminating thought and knowledge is also commended in other inner cultivation texts; so, too, is restricting or in some cases completely eliminating sense perception. Taken together these passages recommend an apophatic regimen that develops concentration by focusing on the breathing and stripping away the common cognitive activities of daily life, something that, of practical necessity, can be accomplished only when not engaged in these activities, hence 10

11 12

Zhuangzi 6/19/20–21. All Zhuangzi references are to D. C. Lau, ed., Zhuangzi zhuzi suoyin 莊子逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 2000). Unless otherwise noted, all references to primary texts in this essay will be to Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series editions; citations will be in the form chapter/page/line[s]. In these ICS critical texts, emendations are given in the format (a) [x]: “character a is emended to character x.” The translation is modified from A. C. Graham, Chuang-tzu, the “Inner Chapters” (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1981), 92. References to verses of “Inward Training” (“Neiye”) are from Roth, Original Tao, which contains both a critical Chinese edition and facing translation. Here, 94–97. See, e.g., Zhuangzi 9/23/29, 12/29/16, 20/53/24–25, 23/65/6, 25/76/17.

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while sitting unmoved in one position. There are many metaphorical descriptions of these apophatic regimens. These include the idea in Laozi 48 that following the Way involves ‘daily relinquishing’ (risun 日損) and Zhuangzi’s famous phrases ‘fasting of the mind’ (xinzhai 心齋) in chapter 4 and ‘sitting and forgetting’ (zuowang 坐忘) in chapter 6. Both Zhuangzi 23 and Lüshi chunqiu 25.3 talk of ‘casting off the fetters of the mind’ ( jie xin miou 解 心 繆 or 謬). Another common phrase with many close variations is ‘to discard/reject/relinquish wisdom/knowledge/cleverness and precedent/scheming’ (qu/qu/qi/shi 除/去/棄/釋 zhi/zhi/qiao 智/知/巧 gu/gu/mou 故/固/謀).13 Finally, who can forget the beautifully evocative parallel metaphors for these apophatic mental processes: ‘diligently cleaning out the abode of the vital essence’ ( jingqu jing she 敬 除 精 舍) and ‘sweeping clean the abode of the spirit’ (saoqu shenshe 掃除柛舍) in “Techniques of the Mind” 1 and ‘washing clean the Profound Mirror’ (diqu xuanjian 滌 去玄鑑) in Laozi 10, a metaphor echoed in Zhuangzi 5: 人莫鑑於流水而鑑於止水. . . . 鑑明則塵垢不止，止則不明也. None of us finds our mirror in flowing water, we find it in still water. . . . If your mirror is clear, dust will not settle. If dust settles, then your mirror is not clear.14 Resultant States: Temporary Experiences of a Transformative Nature The direct results of following these apophatic psychological practices are remarkably similar across many early texts of the inner cultivation tradition, thus indicating a consistency of actual methods and some sharing of ideas and texts. It is useful to borrow an important contrast from cognitive psychologists and talk about these results in terms of ‘states,’ which pertain to the inner experience of individual practitioners and tend to be transient, and in terms

13

14

Such phrases are widespread in early inner cultivation texts. See, e.g., Lüshi chunqiu 3.4/15/1, 25.3/162/20–21; Zhuangzi 15/41/27; and my analysis in Harold D. Roth, “Evidence for Stages of Meditation in Early Taoism,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 60.2 (1997): 295–314. Lüshi chunqiu references are to D. C. Lau and Chen Fong Ching, eds., Lüshi chunqiu zhuzi suoyin 呂氏春秋逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1994). Guanzi 13.1/95/29l; Zhuangzi 5/13/18, 27. Guanzi references are to D. C. Lau and Chen Fong Ching, eds., Guanzi zhuzi suoyin 管子逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 2001).

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of ‘traits,’ which pertain to more stable character qualities developed in inter­ actions in the phenomenal world.15 Probably the two most common resultant states of inner cultivation practices are ‘tranquillity’ ( jing 靜), the mental and physical experience of complete calm and stillness, and ‘emptiness’ (xu 虛), the mental condition of having no thoughts, feelings, and perceptions yet still being intensely aware. States of tranquillity and emptiness are both closely associated with a direct experience of the Way, perhaps the penultimate result of apophatic inner cultivation practices. There are a number of striking metaphors for this experience of unification of individual consciousness with the Way; three use the concept of merging to express it. Laozi 56 contains advice on apophatic practice (e.g., ‘block the openings and shut the doors [of the senses]’) and identifies the ultimate result as ‘Profound Merging’ (xuantong 玄同). Zhuangzi 6 parallels Laozi 56; therein Yan Hui teaches Confucius about the apophatic practice of ‘sitting and forgetting,’ the penultimate result of which is “merging with the Great Pervader” (tongyu datong 同 於 大 通 ).16 Zhuangzi 2 also engages this metaphor for the Way, stating that the Way ‘pervades and unifies’ (dao tong wei yi 道 通 為 一) phenomena as different from one another as a stalk from a pillar or a leper from the beauty Xishi 西施 .17 It is important to also note that these profound states of experience of the Way are quite often linked with preserving the spirit internally or becoming spirit-like (shen/rushen 神/如 神) in “Inward Training” (see, e.g., verses IX, XII, XIII), “Techniques of the Mind,” Lüshi chunqiu 3.4, and “Huang-Lao boshu” ( Jing fa 6). They are further associated with a highly refined and concentrated form of vital energy called the Vital Essence ( jing 精) in “Inward Training,” verses V and XIX, and in these latter three sources.18

Resultant Traits: Ongoing Cognitive Alterations

As the direct result of the experience of these various dimensions of union with the Way—which, if we understand them correctly, are internal experiences attained in isolation from all interactions with the phenomenal world— 15 16 17 18

See, e.g. B. Rael Cahn and John Polich, “Meditation States and Traits: EEG, ERP, and Neuroimaging Studies,” Psychological Bulletin 132.2 (2006): 180–211. Zhuangzi 6/19/21. Zhuangzi 2/5/1. See Roth, “Psychology and Self-Cultivation in Early Taoistic Thought.”

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adepts develop a series of what are best thought of as traits, more or less continuing alterations in cognitive and performative abilities that were highly prized by rulers and literati subjects alike. Perhaps the most famous of these traits is not performing a deliberate and willful action from the standpoint of one’s separate and individual self, and yet leaving nothing undone (wuwei er wubuwei 無 為 而 無 不 為). This is possible because adepts have so completely embodied the Way that their actions are perfectly harmonious expressions of the Way itself in any given situation. “Wuwei er wubuwei” is one of the most famous phrases in the Laozi, and we find it in many of the other early sources of inner cultivation, including the Outer and Miscellaneous Chapters of the Zhuangzi and three inner cultivation essays in the Lüshi chunqiu.19 These traits of immediate and uncontrived responsiveness characterize well one of the ideas for which the Laozi is famous: spontaneity (ziran自然). A quality of both the Way and the cultivated sage in chapters 17, 23, 25, and 51, it refers to their natural, instantaneous, and nonreflective responses to the phenomenal world. In a fundamental fashion, this almost magical ability to spontaneously accomplish all without seeming to exert any deliberate action is frequently associated with having a great deal of Potency (de 德 ), an idea often associated with charisma. Potency is a kind of aura of spontaneous efficacy that develops in a person and is visible for all to see because of that person’s repeated experiences of tranquillity, emptiness, and merging with the Way. We find Potency mentioned in all the early sources of inner cultivation theory, often in conjunction with apophatic techniques. Additional cognitive improvements found in inner cultivation sources include perceptual acuity and cognitive accuracy (e.g., the phrase ‘mirror things with great purity’ 鑑於大清 utilizes the metaphor of the mirror found in Laozi 10 and Zhuangzi 4); mental stability; impartiality; and the ability to ‘roll with the punches’ that is so valued in the Zhuangzi notion of yinshi 因是. Graham translates yinshi in a very literal fashion: “the that’s it which goes by circumstance.” The concept is really that of flowing cognition, totally changing and transforming according to the situation, and it is exemplified in many of the narratives of the Zhuangzi: the ‘free and easy wandering’ of chapter 1; the monkey keeper handing out nuts in chapter 2; Cook Ding in chapter 3; Cripple Shu in chapter 4; Wang Tai in chapter 5; Master Lai in chapter 6; and Huzi 壺子 in chapter 7. There are many other examples in the rest of the text. All these individuals respond without egotism, without selfishness, without insisting on 19

Zhuangzi 18/48/7, 22/60/14, 25/76/6; Lüshi chunqiu 25.3/162/23.

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any one fixed point of view: that is how they survive and flourish. This kind of indifference to fortune or misfortune and creative spontaneous responsiveness to all situations are characteristic of people “in whom Potency is at its utmost.”20 The basic contours of inner cultivation can be described as follows. Apophatic practices of sitting still and concentrating on one’s breathing lead to gradual reductions in desires, emotions, thoughts, and perceptions. States of experience result from these reductions that make one feel tranquil, calm, still, and serene, states in which one’s consciousness is empty of its usual contents and in which one feels unified with the Way. These states lead to a series of beneficial cognitive changes and the development of new traits such as acute perception, accurate cognition, selflessness and impartiality, the ability to spontaneously be in harmony with one’s surroundings no matter what the situation, and the ability to be flexible and adjust to whatever changes may come one’s way. Table 2.1 summarizes these practices and results. Among the specific terms assembled and discussed here, there is a remarkable consistency in their basic interrelationships and relatively focused range of meanings.21 This, I would argue, indicates the presence of a distinctive intellectual tradition that transmitted both ideas and apophatic practices. Moreover, the tradition was dynamic and able to change along with historical circumstances, and thus, several later inner cultivation works focused on the political application of these apophatic techniques. One of the primary areas of change in the inner cultivation tradition is the application of its practices to the fundamental concern of late Warring States Chinese thinkers: rulership. The Laozi (e.g., chapters 37, 46) begins to address how some of the traits derived from inner cultivation practice are beneficial for rulership. For example, a distinct lack of attachment to themselves and their own desires will enable sage-rulers to make better decisions in governing (e.g., chapters 22, 49). Later texts such as “Techniques of the Mind” 2 and Zhuangzi 13 and 33 demonstrate thinking aimed at applying the techniques, states, and traits of inner cultivation to governing. They developed catchphrases for these applications: for example, ‘the Way of tranquillity and adaptation’ ( jingyin zhi Dao 靜 因 之 道) in the former and ‘tranquil and sagely, active and kingly’

20 21

Paraphrased from Zhuangzi 9/23/27. In an earlier work, I presented evidence for a remarkable consistency in terms used for stages of meditation across texts as early as the “Huang-Lao boshu” (ca. 300 BCE) and as late as the Huainanzi (139 BCE). See Roth, “Evidence for Stages of Meditation in Early Taoism.”

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daoist inner cultivation thought Table 2.1

Summary of Inner Cultivation Ideas

Cultivation Practices

Posture: Aligning the body 正形, 正四體 Keeping still 形安而不移 Breathing: Concentrate 專氣 Order 氣理 Guide 氣導

Apophatic Techniques: Restricting desires 寡欲, 節欲, 無欲 Restricting thoughts 出聰明, 屈知, 棄知, 去知

Restricting perceptions 塞其兌閉其門; 遺其耳目; 墮支體離形, 出聰明,

Attention: Focus on the One 守一 Focus on center 守中

Apophatic Metaphors: Mind fasting 心齋 Sitting and forgetting 坐忘 Casting off mental fetters 解心繆 Sweeping clean numinous lodge 掃除 柛舍 Cleaning off the Profound Mirror 滌 去 玄鑑

Resultant States

Tranquillity 靜 Emptiness 虛 Calmness 安 Equanimity 齊 Repose 寧 Stillness 寂 Silence 漠 Serenity 恬

Detachment 淡 Being Refined/concentrated 精 Being Spirit-like 神 Holding fast to the One 執一 Attaining the Empty Way 得虛道 Halting the Way 止道 Guarding/Returning to the Ancestor 守宗/反宗

Resultant Traits

Nonaction 無為 All done 無不為 Potency 德 Resonance 感應 Spontaneity 自然 Perceptual acuity 鑑於大清 Instant and accurate knowledge 見知不惑

Suppleness 弱 Pliancy 柔 Mental stability/order 定心 , 治心 Selflessness 無私 Impartiality 公 Simplicity 素 Wholeness 僕 Flowing cognition 因是 Following the Way of stillness and adaptation 靜因之道

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( jing er sheng, dong er wang 靜 而 聖, 動而王) and ‘internally a sage, externally a king’ (nei sheng wai wang 內聖外王) in the latter.22 This trend continued into the Huainanzi, which embellished this unlikely mix of apophatic inner cultivation practices and results and political thought into a sophisticated new synthesis. So with this understanding of inner cultivation practices, results, and insights, I shall argue that these are the basis for the Huainanzi’s syncretic approach to living in and governing the world.

Inner Cultivation in the Huainanzi

The Huainanzi is filled with the technical vocabulary of inner cultivation. One need merely tabulate the preponderance of the cosmological idea of the Way (329 out of a total of 606 occurrences of 道 in the text) in comparison with, for example, the Confucian idea of benevolence (仁 ren) (145 occurrences; but many are critical, such as “When benevolence and rightness were established, the Way and Potency were cast aside”).23 Table 2.2 lists the equally impressive totals for many of the other terms of the inner cultivation tradition in the Huainanzi. There are many interesting patterns to note in this table, especially how Daoist technical terms (dao, de, wuwei, etc.) tend to cluster in the chapters that are most clearly devoted to the concerns that I have identified as belonging to the inner cultivation tradition, such as chapters 1, 2, 7, 11, 12, and 14. If we look further, we can see surprising clusters of Daoist ideas in unexpected chapters, such as 6, 8, 9, 13, and 15. While this is interesting, it is important to realize that it is not the mere presence of these ideas but their absolutely pivotal role in the entire text that argues that they are foundational to the brilliant syncretism of the Huainanzi.

22 23

Guanzi 13.1/96/14; Zhuangzi 13/34/22, 33/98/1. Totals and all subsequent references to the Huainanzi are from D. C. Lau et al., eds., Huainanzi zhuzi suoyin 淮南 子逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1992). Totals for the character dao are from pp. 345–50; for the character ren, pp. 764–65. The sentence quoted is from Huainanzi 11/93/20.

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daoist inner cultivation thought Table 2.2 Distribution and Frequency of Key Inner Cultivation Terms in the Huainanzi Chapter Number

Dao 道 Way

Dao 道 Cosmic Way

De1 德 Potency

Daode 道德 Way and Potency

Wuwei 無為 Nonaction

Jing 精 Essence

 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

33 36  9  2  4 23 14 22 50 28 30 53 53 61 33 12 13 31 17 48 34

29 29  7  1  1 12 11 16 19  6 19 33 24 39 25  4  3  7  3 22 19

20 23 20  1 13 10  8 20 16 21 15 12 16 16 17  8  4 14  5 15 17

0 2 0 0 0 3 1 4 0 3 5 0 5 3 0 2 2 0 0 2 6

 6  2  0  0  0  0  2  1  7  0  0 10  0 12  1  4  0  2  4  0  0

 6  8  7  0  0  6 23  8  9  7  0  6  2  0  4  2  3  0  5  9 10

N =

606

329

271

38

51

115(5)

Notes on Table 2.2 1. The listings for de do not include seven astronomical uses in the pairing xing-de, ‘rescission and accretion.’

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Table 2.3 Distribution and Frequency of Key Inner Cultivation Terms in the Huainanzi, continued Chapter Number

Shen 神 Spirit

Qing1 清 Clear

Wuxing 無形 Formless

Jing2 靜 Tranquil

Xu3 虛 Emptiness

Tian 恬 Serenity

 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

31 33 11  8  5  8 33 12 14  2  7  9 16  8 11  8  4  4  8 19  7

 5 11  9(9)  9(9)  0  2  9  3  6  3(2)  7(3)  4  3(2)  0  3(2)  4(4)  3(1)  1  2(1)  9(4)  5

12  1  0  0  0  2  5  1  0  1  2  0  0  4  9  3  3  1  0  2  1

 7  8  1  0  5(1)  0  7  5 10(3)  0  0  4(3)  0  4(2) 13(5)  0  2  2(1)  1  3(2)  8(3)

 8(2) 11 10(10)  2(2)  1  2(1)  7(1)  2 (1)  7(1)  4(4) 11(3)  1  4(2)  7(2) 17(11)  3(3)  1(1)  0  1(1)  3(3)  3

6 4 1 0 0 0 2 0 1 0 0 0 0 4 0 2 1 1 0 1 1

N =

260

98(37)

47

80(20)

105(49)

24

Notes on Table 2.3 1. Qing: technical uses in the sense of cosmic or cognitive clarity; nontechnical uses in parentheses, mostly qingzhuo, ‘clear and muddy’; read N = 98 − 37 = 61. 2. Jing: nontechnical uses in parentheses; i.e., the phrase dong/jing, ‘movement and stillness’; read N = 80 − 20 = 60. 3. Xu: nontechnical uses in parentheses; i.e., xuyan, ‘falsehoods’; read N = 105 − 49 = 56.

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The Root-Branches Structure of the Text

In our recently published translation we have asserted that the Huainanzi relies on the metaphor of roots and branches to structure the first twenty chapters of the book.24 The twenty-first and final chapter, An Overview of the Essentials (“Yao lüe” 要略), is a summary of the rest of the book. As Sarah Queen has pointed out, this summary, likely to have been composed at the very end of the writing project by its sponsor, Liu An, second king of Huainan, can give us helpful insights into the structure and composition of the text. Reflecting back on the text as a whole, the author states: 夫作為書論者，所以紀綱道德，經緯人事，上考之天，下揆之 地，中通諸理。雖未能抽引玄妙之中（才）〔哉〕，繁然足以 觀終始矣。揔要舉凡，而語不剖判純樸，靡散大宗，則為人之 惽惽然弗能知也；故多為之辭，博為之說，又恐人之離本就末 也。故言道而不言事，則無以與世浮沉；言事而不言道，則無 以與化游息. 故著二十篇 . . .  We have created and composed these writings and discourses as a means to knot the net of the Way and its Potency, and weave the web of humankind and its affairs. Above investigating them in Heaven, below examining them on Earth, and in the middle comprehending them through Patterns (li 理). Although these writings are not yet able to fully draw out the core of the Profound Mystery, they are abundantly sufficient to observe its ends and beginnings. If we [only] summarized the essentials or provided an overview and our words did not discriminate the Pure, Uncarved Block and differentiate the Great Ancestor, then it would cause people in their confusion to fail to understand them. Thus, numerous are the words we have composed, and extensive are the illustrations we have provided, yet we still fear that people will depart from the root and follow the branches. 24

For this theory, see Major et al., Huainanzi, 14–20. The twenty-first and final chapter, “An Overview of the Essentials” (“Yao lüe” 要略), is a summary of the rest of the book. My reflections about the structure of the Huainanzi chapters do not include this final summary, which has its own purpose and structure.

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Thus, if we speak of the Way but do not speak of affairs, there would be no means to shift with the times. If we speak of affairs but do not speak of the Way, there would be no means to move with (the processes of) transformation. Therefore we composed the following twenty essays . . .25 Thus, we can see that the authors of the Huainanzi regarded the Way as the root and normative foundation of the cosmos and that they regarded human affairs as the branches. They took it as their most important task to ‘discriminate the Pure, Uncarved Block and differentiate the Great Ancestor’—namely, to attempt to describe the origins of the entire cosmos and to identify how its foundational Way is manifested within the phenomenal world, particularly within the daily experience of human beings. They also set out to comprehend the Way and its Potency by means of the Patterns (li 理) through which they operate in the phenomenal world. This very understanding operates within the root-branches metaphorical structure. The author of this final essay further states that while sages can know the branches simply by attaining the root, most people—including scholars and, implicitly, Emperor Wu, to whom this book was presented by its compiler and his uncle, Liu An, in 139 BCE— must rely on the detailed explanations of the book in order to understand how the root of the Way is manifested throughout the world. Given these concerns, it became apparent to us that although the Huainanzi does not contain any traditional internal divisions (cf., e.g., the ‘inner-outermixed’ structure of the Zhuangzi), it does contain a basic division of its chapters into those that contain the philosophical foundations for the others and those that are derivative of them, in other words, a ‘root’ section and a ‘branches’ section. Indeed, we are not the first to propose such a division: Charles Le Blanc, for example, has suggested that the first eight chapters constitute the ‘Basic Principles’ of the entire work and that the second half of the work is concerned with ‘Applications and Illustrations’ (chapters 9–20).26 In chapter 4 of the present volume, Martin Kern supports these conclusions by demonstrating that the titles of the first twenty chapters of the text rhyme and that the first rhyme 25 26

Lau et al., Huainanzi 21/223/21–24. The translations are from Major et al., Huainanzi, with modifications. For this passage, see 848–49. Italics added. Charles Le Blanc, “Huai nan tzu,” in Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide, ed. Michael Loewe (Berkeley: Society for the Study of Early China and Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, 1993), 189–95.

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sequence ends with the title of chapter 8. The title of chapter 9 begins a new rhyme sequence. In our analysis, the first eight chapters provide the basic philosophy of the whole text and the remaining chapters contain a variety of detailed illustrations of how these basic philosophical principles work in the phenomenal world. In the ‘root section’ we find all the basic cosmology, cosmogony, epistemology, self-cultivation theory, and theories on history, sagehood, and politics that the authors regard as foundational; in the ‘branches section’ we find illustrations of these foundations presented in a variety of literary styles, such as overviews (lüe 略), discourses (lun 論), sayings ( yan 言), and persuasions (shui 說). This is completely consistent with the grand plan of the work presented in chapter 21, which involves attaining a comprehensive balance between the cosmology of the Way and its Potency and the variety of its manifestations in the human world. Within the root section of the Huainanzi, the first two chapters provide the cosmological, cosmogonic, and self-cultivation foundations for all the chapters of the root section and, by extension, for the entire book; in effect, they are the ‘root’ chapters of the whole work. As Andrew Meyer has argued, “every level of the compositional structure of the Huainanzi stands in a ‘root’ relationship to what comes after it. The further one gets toward the beginning of the text, the more fundamental the realm one encounters.”27 It is no accident that these chapters, “Originating in the Way” (“Yuan dao” 原道) and “Activating the Genuine” (“Chu zhen” 俶真), borrow heavily from the Laozi and the Zhuangzi, respectively. To understand the pivotal role played by inner cultivation theory and practice within the philosophical synthesis of the Huainanzi, one must comprehend the philosophy in these two chapters first and foremost.

Cosmology and Inner Cultivation in the Root Chapters

In chapters 1 and 2 and, indeed, throughout the entire work, the Way is the power and force that ‘covers Heaven and upholds Earth.’ It embraces the entire cosmos; flowing through the cosmos, it sustains and nurtures all its p ­ henomena 27

In chapter one of this book, Meyer argues that Huainanzi 1 is therefore more foundational than Huainanzi 2, and I do not fundamentally disagree with this. However, I think that Huainanzi 2 is also an important part of the foundation for the rest of the text and must be considered together with Huainanzi 1 when detailing the basic ideas that provide the foundational philosophy that appears in most of the root passages of the entire text. Especially important from Huainanzi 2 is the idea of historical devolution.

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and enables each of them to fulfill its nature. Chapter 1 begins with a beautiful poetic rhapsody on the Way, the longest paean on this topic in all of early Chinese philosophical literature. It reads, in part: 夫道者，覆天載地，廓四方，柝八極，高不可際，深不可測，包 裹天地，稟授無形。源流泉（滂）〔浡〕，沖而徐盈；混混汩 汩，濁而徐清。. . . 山以之高，淵以之深，獸以之走，鳥以之 飛，日月以之明，星歷以之行，麟以之游，鳳以之翔。 As for the Way: It covers Heaven and upholds Earth. It extends the four directions and divides the eight end points. So high, it cannot be reached. So deep, it cannot be fathomed. It embraces and enfolds Heaven and Earth. It endows and bestows the Formless. Flowing along like a wellspring, bubbling up like a font, it is empty but gradually becomes full. Roiling and boiling, it is murky but gradually becomes clear. . . . Mountains are high because of it. Abysses are deep because of it. Beasts can run because of it. Birds can fly because of it. The sun and moon are bright because of it. The stars and timekeepers move because of it. Unicorns wander freely because of it. Phoenixes soar because of it.28 This understanding of the role of the Way in the cosmos expands upon—but is entirely in keeping with—all the earlier sources of inner cultivation theory. According to these two root chapters in the Huainanzi, the universe is structured by the various innate natures (xing 性) of things; these innate natures determine the course of development and actions of things and the great patterns (li 理) that govern the characteristic ways that things act and interact with one another. These natures and patterns are thoroughly infused with the 28

Lau et al., Huainanzi 1/1/3–8; Major et al., Huainanzi, 48–49.

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empty Way, which mysteriously guides their spontaneous processes of development and of daily activity. This entire complex world functions completely spontaneously and harmoniously and needs nothing additional from human beings. It is because of this normative order that sages can accomplish everything without exerting their individual will to control things. In other words, they practice ‘nonaction’ (wuwei 無爲), which is effective because of the existence of this normative natural order. Sages cultivate themselves through the “Techniques of the Mind” (xin shu 心 術) in order to fully realize the basis of this order within.29 By realizing the Way at the basis of their own intrinsic nature, sages can simultaneously realize the intrinsic natures of all phenomena. Thus, Huainanzi 1 reads: 是故聖人內修其本，而不外飾其末，保其精神，偃其智故，漠 然無為而無不為也，澹然無治（也）而無不治也。所謂無為 者，不先物為也；所謂〔無〕不為者，因物之所為〔也〕。所 謂無治者，不易自然也；所謂無不治者，因物之相然也. Sages internally cultivate the root [of the Way within them] and do not externally adorn themselves with its branches. They protect their Quintessence and Spirit ( jingshen 精神) and dispense with wisdom and precedent (zhiyugu 智與故). In stillness they take No Action (wuwei 無 為) yet nothing is left undone (moran wuwei er wubuwei 漠 然 無 為 而 無 不 為). In tranquillity they do not govern, but nothing is left ungoverned. What we call ‘taking No Action’ is to not anticipate the activity of things. What we call ‘nothing left undone’ means to adapt to what things have [already] done. What we call ‘to not govern’ means to not change how things are naturally so. What we call ‘nothing left ungoverned’ means to adapt to how things are mutually so ( yin wuzhi xiangran 因 物 之 相 然).30

29

30

See n. 8. By the time of the Huainanzi, this phrase was probably used as a general term for what I have called ‘inner cultivation’ practice. For further information, see Roth, Original Tao, 15–30. Lau et al., Huainanzi 1/4/22–25; Major et al., Huainanzi, 59.

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While the Huainanzi authors are clearly grounding these ideas upon earlier inner cultivation cosmology, they expand upon it by asserting that everything within Heaven and Earth is both natural and supernatural, secular and sacred (“The world is a spirit-like vessel”; shen qi 故天下神器).31 Therefore, the natures and patterns that underlie and guide all these phenomena that are ultimately direct expressions of the Way and that enable it to be manifest in the phenomenal world attain a normative prominence that is mostly unfamiliar to the Abrahamic traditions of the West. That is, these patterns, sequences, propensities, and natures are themselves holy or divine.32 They are the basis by means of which all the multitudinous phenomena in the world adhere and function in harmony and as such serve as the models and standards for the communities of human beings, who are an integral part of this order. While we found the beginnings of a similar understanding of the li in the “Techniques of the Mind” and Zhuangzi chapters, the Huainanzi authors build upon these ideas to present a more fully articulated version of this position and emphasize the holy nature of these underlying Patterns. Either human beings can ignore this normative natural order and fail in their endeavors, or they can follow it and succeed. According to Huainanzi 2, human beings, despite having attained a harmonious society in keeping with these principles in the ancient past, tend to fall away from this normative natural order and to cease spontaneously functioning in accord with it. This is a major theme of the ‘Primitivist’ chapters (8–11) of the Zhuangzi.33 Humans must learn to get back in touch with this natural and spontaneous part of themselves; it is that part of us that is directly connected to the normative patterns through which the Way subtly guides the spontaneous self-generation of all things. Inner cultivation practices are the primary ways in which human beings can realize the deepest aspects of their intrinsic nature, that part of their being that is directly in touch with the Way and, through it, with the inherent patterns and structures of the universe. 31 32

33

Lau et al., Huainanzi 1/8/14; Major et al., Huainanzi, 71. For a detailed argument on this point, see Harold D. Roth, “Nature and Self-Cultivation in Huainanzi’s ‘Original Way,’ ” in Polishing the Chinese Mirror: Essays in Honor of Henry Rosemont Jr., ed. Marthe Chandler and Ronnie Littlejohn (New York: Global Scholarly Publications, 2007), 270–92. See Harold D. Roth, “An Appraisal of Angus Graham’s Textual Scholarship on the Chuang Tzu,” in A Companion to Angus C. Graham’s Chuang-tzu: The Inner Chapters, ed. Harold D. Roth, Society for Asian and Comparative Philosophy Monograph no. 20 (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2003), 198–207; and A. C. Graham, “How Much of Chuang-tzu Did Chuang-tzu Write?,” in Roth, Companion, 58–103.

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As for the political realm, in order to govern effectively, rulers must follow the apophatic inner cultivation techniques that put them directly in touch with the Way. As the text clearly states: 天下之要，不（任）〔在〕於彼而在於我，不在於人而在 於（我）身，身得則萬物備矣。徹於心術之論，則嗜欲好憎 外（失）〔矣〕。 The essentials of the world: Do not lie in the Other but instead lie within the Self. Do not lie within other people but instead lie within your own person. When you fully realize it [the Way] in your own person then the myriad things will all be arrayed before you. When you thoroughly penetrate the teachings of the Techniques of the Mind then you will be able to put lusts and desires, likes and dislikes outside yourself.34 Through these inner cultivation practices, these “Techniques of the Mind,” sage-rulers are able to develop the valuable cognitive trait of being able to discern these natures, propensities, and patterns of all phenomena and then not interfere with how the myriad things follow them. This seems to be an expansion of the ‘Huang-Lao boshu’ idea that, for the Cultivated, “seeing and knowing are never deluded” ( jianzhi buhuo見 知 不 惑).35 These inner cultivation practices are conceived of in almost the same terms as they are in the earlier sources of this tradition. As we have seen, this entails the systematic elimination of desires, emotions, thoughts, and sense perceptions that usually flood the conscious mind. Through this practice, one may break through to the set of profound experiences of contact with the Way that the Huainanzi authors describe in passages such as this: 故心不憂樂，德之至也；通而不變，靜之至也；嗜欲不載，虛 之至也；無所好憎，平之至也；不與物（散）〔殽〕，粹之至 也。能此五者，則通於神明。通於神明者，得其內者也. 是故以 中制外，百事不廢。

34 35

Lau et al., Huainanzi 1/8/15–17; Major et al., Huainanzi, 71. Ma-wang-tui Han-mu po-shu (Peking: Wen-wu Press, 1980), p. 53, lines 12–13.

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Thus, when the mind is not worried or happy, it achieves the perfection of Potency. When the mind is inalterably expansive, it achieves the perfection of tranquillity. When lusts and desires do not burden the mind, it achieves the perfection of emptiness. When the mind is without likes and dislikes, it achieves the perfection of equanimity. When the mind is not tangled up in things, it achieves the perfection of purity. If the mind is able to achieve these five qualities, then it will break through to spirit-like illumination (shenming 神 明). To break through to spirit-like illumination is to realize what is intrinsic. Therefore, if you use the internal to govern the external, then your various endeavors will not fail.36 The Huainanzi authors innovate upon earlier inner cultivation foundations by proffering a theory of human nature that avers that several important ‘states’ that result from apophatic practice are actually inherent in the basic natures of all human beings. They are there to be discovered through practice. Perhaps the most important of these is tranquillity. In Huainanzi 2, “Activating the Genuine”, we read: 水之性真清而土汩之，人性安靜而嗜欲亂之。夫人之所受於 天者，耳目之於聲色也，口鼻之於（芳）臭〔味〕也，肌膚之 於寒燠，其情一也，或通於神明，或不免於癡狂者，何也？其 所為制者異也。是故神者智之淵也，（淵）〔神〕清則智 明矣；智者、心之府也，智公則心平矣。人莫鑑於（流 沫）〔流潦〕，而鑒於止水者，以其靜也；莫窺形於生鐵，而 窺〔形〕於明鏡者，以（覩）其易也。夫唯易且靜，〔故 能〕形物之性〔情〕也. 由此觀之，用也〔者〕必假之於弗用〔者〕也，是故虛室生 白，吉祥止也。夫鑑明者塵垢弗能薶，神清者嗜欲弗能亂。 The nature of water is clear, yet soil sullies it. The nature of human beings is to be tranquil, yet desires disorder it. What human beings receive from Heaven are [the tendencies] for ears and eyes [to perceive] colors and sounds, 36

Lau et al., Huainanzi 1/7/9–10; Major et al., Huainanzi, 67.

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for mouth and nose [to perceive] fragrances and tastes, for flesh and skin [to perceive] cold and heat. The basic tendencies are the same in everyone, but some penetrate to spirit-like illumination, and some cannot avoid derangement and madness. Why is this? That by which they [these tendencies] are controlled is different. Thus, the spirit is the source of consciousness; if the spirit is clear, then consciousness is illumined. Consciousness is the storehouse of the mind; if consciousness is impartial, the mind will be balanced. No one can mirror himself in flowing water, but [he can observe] his reflection in standing water because it is still. No one can view his form in raw iron, but [he can] view his form in a clear mirror because it is smooth. Only what is even and still can thus give form to the nature and basic tendencies of things. Viewed from this perspective, usefulness depends on what is not used. Thus, when the empty room is pristine and clear, good fortune will abide there.37 If the mirror is bright, dust and dirt cannot obscure it. If the spirit is clear, lusts and desires cannot disorder it.38 Thus, apophatic inner cultivation restores the mind to its natural state of tranquillity. Through this experience one can develop the various traits we have described in the earlier tradition, such as impartiality, perceptual acuity, and cognitive accuracy (mirroring). In Huainanzi 2, human cultural history is conceived of in terms derived from the inner cultivation tradition. For these authors, human cultural history is an inevitable devolution from an idyllic utopian condition, in which all people can spontaneously manifest their deepest natures and live in harmony, to an age of disorder and chaos, in which only the most motivated and gifted of human beings can return to their foundation. This devolution is both natural and inexorable. It occurs on parallel levels in both the social macrocosm throughout history and the individual human microcosm as we develop from infancy to adulthood. It is inevitable that individual human beings, as they mature into individuated persons endowed with subject-object consciousness, will fall away from 37 38

This line occurs in the famous ‘fasting of the mind’ passage in Zhuangzi 4/10/7. Lau et al., Huainanzi 2/14/6–11; Major et al., Huainanzi, 101.

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the grounding in the Way that they experience as infants. It is also inevitable that human society will become increasingly more complex and technologically sophisticated over time. The assertion of the Huainanzi is that, paradoxically, although both of these processes are inevitable, they entail perils and vulnerabilities that will prove self-destructive if ignored. Given the intrinsic defects of the human condition, the key to human flourishing is a ‘return to the Way’ through the apophatic inner cultivation practices described above. People who can do this ‘activate the Genuine’ and are sometimes called by that name, ‘the Genuine’ (zhenren 真人), as well as the Perfected (zhiren 至人) or sages (shengren 聖人). They are also said to have a great deal of Potency (de 德). This cultural and individual human devolution is paralleled by the devolution of the cosmos detailed in the cosmogonic passages at the beginning of chapter 2 (and echoed in the briefer versions that begin chapters 3, 7, and 14)—from a primordial nameless unity to the multifaceted phenomenal world in which human beings are embedded. This three-level devolution is itself an expression of the root-branches processes that structure the text as a whole. Just as the cosmos has differentiated into the complex world of things and affairs, human beings devolve from the unself-conscious purity of the infant to the multidimensional complexity of adulthood, and human society devolves from primitive idyllic utopia to sophisticated civilization. At these latter stages of complexity there is a natural tendency to fall away from the inherent harmony of the social world and individual consciousness, and human beings must counteract this by taking measures to preserve the supremacy of the originating root—the Way—in both individual and society. In sum then, these are the foundational ideas of the Huainanzi; they are thoroughly grounded in the earlier inner cultivation tradition. It is my contention that despite the variety of ideas from earlier intellectual traditions that abound in the text, the philosophy of these first two chapters provides the basis, the foundation, the ‘root’ for all twenty chapters of the Huainanzi.

Inner Cultivation in the Root Passages of Each Chapter

The influence of inner cultivation ideas throughout the Huainanzi can be seen in a further analysis of the root-branches structure within each chapter. Table 2.4 demonstrates that most of the Huainanzi chapters begin with a foundational, or ‘root,’ passage that

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is completely consistent with the normative Daoist inner cultivation philosophy of the first two, or root, chapters of the text, and provides the foundation for the central arguments in the remainder of the chapter.

Table 2.4 Inner Cultivation Ideas in the Root Passages of the Huainanzi Chapter Number and Main Theme

Root Passage

 1. Cosmology of the Way; inner cultivation  2. Potency, inner cultivation; perfection; historical devolution  3. Astrology/astronomy  4. Geography  5. Seasonal ordinances  6. Five-Phases resonance  7. Psychological/spiritual cultivation  8. History as devolution

 1. Rhapsody on the Way

 9. Rulership techniques 10. Moral psychology of human exemplars 11. Ritual and customs 12. How Dao manifests in the world 13. The fluidity of sage rulership 14. Sayings and comments on sage rulership 15. Military techniques

 2. Cosmogony from Zhuangzi 2  3. Cosmogony of Taishi and yin-yang  4. About geography  5. About seasonal ordinances  6. Narrative of resonance  7. Cosmogony of spirit-mind-body  8. Historical utopia of Taiqing and the Way  9. Ruler’s techniques: wuwei, wuyan, jing 10. The Way and the feelings of sages who embody it 11. Following nature = following the Way 12. Knowing the Way 13. A utopia of Potency when sages ruled 14. Cosmogony of Taiyi

15. Military in antiquity to pacify and protect 16. Collections of sayings for disputation 16. Dialogue between hun and po souls on the Way 17. Collections of sayings for disputation 17. According with Heaven and Earth 18. Inner cultivation needed to live 18. The wise follow nature and accord with among others the Way 19. Diligent work needed for cultivation 19. Wuwei is not really not working hard 20. The qualities of sage rulership 20. Sages achieve spirit illumination

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As table 2.4 shows, when we carefully examine the root passages at the beginning of each Huainanzi chapter, we find that they contain ideas from the two root chapters of the entire text, chapters 1 and 2. The only possible exceptions are the technical chapters 4, “Terrestrial Forms” (“Di xing” 地形), and 5, “Seasonal Rules” (“Shi ze” 時則), which form a set with chapter 3, “Heavenly Patterns” (“Tian wen” 天文), although one could argue that because they are a set, the cosmogonic root passage for chapter 3 plays this role for chapters 4 and 5. Let us examine these data more closely. To begin with, all the cosmogonic root passages (in chapters 2, 3, 7, and 14) are consistent with the cosmology of the Way enunciated in chapters 1 and 2. For example, the root passage of chapter 7 draws the following inner cultivation conclusion: 是故聖人法天順情，不拘於俗，不誘於人，以天為父，以地 為母，陰陽為綱，四時為紀。天靜以清，地定以寧，萬物失 之者死，法之者生。夫靜漠者，神明之宅也；虛無者，道之 所居也。是故或求之於外者，失之於內；有守之於內 者，（失）〔得〕之於外。譬猶本與末也，從本引之，千枝萬 葉莫得不隨也。 For this reason, the sages model themselves on Heaven, accord with what is genuine. Are not confined by custom, nor seduced by other men. They take Heaven as father, Earth as mother, yin and yang as warp, the four seasons as weft. Through the tranquillity of Heaven they become pure, through the stability of Earth they become calmed. Among the myriad things those who lose this perish, those who follow this live. Tranquillity and stillness are the dwellings of spirit-like illumination, and emptiness and nothingness are where the Way resides. For this reason, those who seek for it externally lose it internally, and those who preserve it internally attain it externally as well.

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It is like the roots and branches of trees: none of the thousands of limbs and tens of thousands of leaves does not derive from the roots.39 Chapter 14’s root passage is also consistent with inner cultivation theory: 稽古太初，人生於无，形於有，有形而制於物。能反其所 生，若未有形，謂之真人。真人者，未始分於太一者也。 In antiquity, at the Grand Beginning (tai chu 太初) human beings came to life in ‘Nonbeing’ and acquired a physical form in ‘Being.’ Having a physical form, [human beings] came under the control of things. But those who can return to that from which they were born, as if they had not yet acquired a physical form, are called ‘the Genuine.’ The Genuine are those who have not yet begun to differentiate from the Grand One.40 Note here the concept of ‘the Genuine’ (zhenren 真人), which is developed most extensively in chapter 2 but also appears in chapters 6, 7, and 8. While not obviously indebted to inner cultivation theory on first reading, the root passage that begins chapter 6 concludes with a statement that is totally consistent with the theory’s ideas: 夫全性保真，不虧其身，遭急迫難，精通于天。若乃未始出其 宗者，何為而不成? Now if you keep intact your nature and guard your authenticity, and do not do damage to your person, [when you] meet with emergencies or are oppressed by difficulties, your Essence will penetrate [upward] to Heaven. You will be like one who has not yet begun to emerge from his Ancestor— how can you not succeed?41 Despite the extensive discussion of the moral psychology of sagehood in chapter 10, the authors take care to argue that ethical values often associated with 39 40 41

Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/54/24–55/5; Major et al., Huainanzi, 241. Lau et al., Huainanzi 14/132/15–16; Major et al., Huainanzi, 537. See also extensive references to “the Genuine” (zhenren 真人) in Zhuangzi, esp. in chaps. 6 and 24. Lau et al., Huainanzi 6/50/4–5; Major et al., Huainanzi, 215. The Ancestor (zong 宗) is a metaphor for the Dao.

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the Confucian tradition are subordinated to the more fundamental concepts of the Daoist inner cultivation philosophy as set out in the two root chapters. We see this in its root passage: 道至高無上，至深無下，平乎準，直乎繩，員乎規，方乎 矩，（句）〔包〕裹宇宙而無表裏，洞同覆載而無所礙。是 故體道者，不哀不樂，（不怒不喜）〔不喜不怒〕，其坐無 慮，其寢無夢，物來而名，事來而應。 The Way at its highest has nothing above it; at its lowest it has nothing below it. It is more even than a carpenter’s level, straighter than a marking cord, rounder than a compass, and more square than a carpenter’s square. It embraces the cosmos and is without outside or inside. Cavernous and undifferentiated, it covers and supports with nothing to hinder it. Therefore those who embody the Way are not sorrowful or joyful. They are not happy or angry. They sit without disturbing thoughts and they sleep without dreams.42 Things come and they name them. Affairs arise, and they respond to them.43 The more one examines them, the more one discovers that most of the root passages in the Huainanzi contain cosmological and inner cultivation ideas drawn from—or closely related to—the foundational concepts in chapters 1 and 2. As we have already seen, the root passages in chapters 3, 7, 10, and 14 unmistakably present various aspects of the cosmic Way. In addition, the root passages in chapters 8, 13, and 15 (this last one discusses the ideal military in 42

43

This claim is paralleled in Huainanzi 2, where it argues similarly: “Sages, in the use of their mind, lean on their natures and rely on their spirits. They [nature and spirit] sustain one another and [so sages] attain their ends and beginnings. Thus, when they sleep they do not dream and when they awaken they are not sad” (Lau et al., Huainanzi 2/11/16; Major et al., Huainanzi, 87–88). Lau et al., Huainanzi 10/82/15–17; Major et al., Huainanzi, 349. Chapter 14 states similarly: “When affairs arise the sage regulates them. When things appear the sage responds to them” (Lau et al., Huainanzi 14/138/17–18; Major et al., Huainanzi, 559).

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antiquity) present antiquarian utopian societies in keeping with the vision of them and their tendency to devolution outlined in chapter 2. Look, for example, at the beginning of the root passage of chapter 8, which depends for its meaning on the technical vocabulary of inner cultivation: 太清之治也，和順以寂（漢）〔漠〕，質真而素樸，閑靜而不 躁，推移而无故，在內而合乎道，出外而調于義，發動而成于 文，行快而便于物，其言略而循理，其行侻而順情，其心愉而 不偽，其事素而不飾。 The reign of Grand Purity (tai qing 太清) was harmonious and compliant (hexun 和 順 ) and thus silent and indifferent ( jimo 寂 漠); substantial and true (zhizhen 質 真) and thus plain and simple (supu 素 僕). Contained and tranquil ( jing 靜), it was not intemperate; exerting and shifting, it [followed] no precedents. Inwardly it accorded with the Way; outwardly it conformed to Rightness. When stirred into motion, it formed [normative] patterns (xunli 循 理); when moving at full speed, it was well matched to things. Its words were concise and in step with reason; its actions were simple (su 素) and in compliance with circumstances. Its heart was harmonious and not feigned; its [conduct of] affairs was simple and not ostentatious.44 Less obviously linked to chapters 1 and 2 but nonetheless still connected are the root passages in the following chapters: Chapter 11, “Integrating Customs” (“Qi su” 齊 俗), discusses the fluidity and efficacy of customs and rites. Simply put, in this root passage, following one’s nature is said to be following the Way: 率性而行謂 之道; 得其天性謂之德。

Following one’s nature and putting it into practice is called the Way; attaining one’s Heaven[-born] nature is called Potency.45

44 45

Lau et al., Huainanzi 8/61/6–7; Major et al., Huainanzi, 267. Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/93/20; Major et al., Huainanzi, 397.

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Chapter 12, “Responses of the Way” (“Dao ying” 道應), comprises narratives that illustrate various sayings from the Laozi. The root passage is a dialogue between two characters, called Grand Purity (taiqing 太清) and Nonaction (wuwei 無為), on the theme of ‘knowing the Way’ (zhidao 知道).46 In chapter 15, “An Overview of the Military” (“Bing lüe” 兵略), the root passage discusses the use of the military in an antiquity when the military was used only to “pacify the chaos of the world and eliminate harm to the myriad people” 古之用兵 . . . 平天下之亂，而除萬民之害也.47 We read later in this chapter that the military is an outgrowth of the natural response of great sages such as the Yellow Thearch and Yao and Shun to greedy and cruel rulers who have lost the Way and that it may be used only against a state or ruler who is ‘without the Way.’ The military and its commander succeed only to the extent that they accord fully with the Way: 兵失道而弱，得道而強；將失道而拙，得道而工；國得道而 存，失道而亡。 The military is weak if it loses the Way; strong if it obtains it. The commander is inept if he loses the Way; skillful if he obtains the Way. The state that obtains the Way survives; that loses the Way perishes.48 Chapter 16, “A Mountain of Persuasions” (“Shuo shan” 說山), contains a collection of short narratives to be used in disputation. Its root passage is a humorous dialogue between the hun 魂 and po 魄 souls on the nature of the Way, nonaction, and formlessness.49 Its style and tone are similar to many dialogues in the Zhuangzi.

46 47 48 49

Lau et al., Huainanzi 12/105/3–7; Major et al., Huainanzi, 439–40. Lau et al., Huainanzi 15/142/21–22; Major et al., Huainanzi, 580. Lau et al., Huainanzi 15/144/1; Major et al., Huainanzi, 584. Lau et al., Huainanzi 16/154/3–8; Major et al., Huainanzi, 625.

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Chapter 17, “A Forest of Persuasions” (“Shuo lin” 說林), begins with a narrative about the importance of roaming by adapting to the greater patterns of Heaven and Earth (yin tiandiyou因天地以游).50 Chapter 18, “Among Others” (“Ren jian” 人間), opens with a root passage that states that the wise follow their inherently tranquil and serene innate natures and accord with the Way. “They hold to the One in order to respond to the many” (執一應萬). This passage elaborates: 居智所為，行智所之，事智所秉，動智所由，謂之道 What the wise are at rest, where the wise go in motion, what the wise wield in affairs, that from which the wise act: this is known as ‘the Way.’51 Chapter 19, “Cultivating Effort” (“Xiu wu” 修 務 ), has a root passage that debates how to understand wuwei: whether to take a quietist or an activist interpretation of it. While it seems at first to be critical of an important Daoist virtue, what the authors are really criticizing is the interpretation that wuwei literally means ‘doing nothing’: 若吾所謂「無為」者，私志不得入公道，（耆）〔嗜〕欲不得 枉正術，循理而舉事，因資而立〔功〕，（權）〔推〕自然之 勢，而曲故不得容者. What I call nonaction [means] not allowing private ambitions to interfere with the public Way, not allowing lustful desires to distort upright techniques. [It means] complying with the inherent patterns of things when initiating undertakings, according with the natural endowments of things when establishing accomplishments, and advancing the natural propensities [i.e., spontaneous tendencies] of things so that misguided precedents are not able to dominate.52

50

51 52

Lau et al., Huainanzi 17/168/9–12; Major et al., Huainanzi, 665. To roam ( you) in accord with the greater patterns of the cosmos perfectly expresses the early Daoist ideal from Zhuangzi 1 and the later Daoist idea of adaptation to these patterns ( yin tiandi zhi li). See Roth, “Who Compiled the Chuang-tzu?” esp. the table on 96–98. Lau et al., Huainanzi 18/185/23–24; Major et al., Huainanzi, 720. Lau et al., Huainanzi 19/203/13–15; Major et al., Huainanzi, 770.

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This understanding of wuwei fits perfectly with the advice in root chapters 1 and 2 to follow apophatic inner cultivation techniques so that rulers relinquish personal self-aggrandizement and become impartial and thereby accord with the greater patterns of the cosmos, thus enabling the human polity to flourish. Chapter 20, “The Exalted Lineage (“Tai zu” 泰 族), begins with a root passage containing a cosmology in which Heaven is given many of the characteristics of the Way found elsewhere in the text, including ‘spirit illumination’ (shenming 神明 ), and argues that sages must take Heaven as their model. The authors elaborate: 遠之則邇，（延）〔近〕之則踈；稽之弗得，察之不虛；日計 无筭，歲計有餘。 Move away from it; it nears. Approach it; it recedes. Search for it; it will not be obtained. Examine into it, it is not insubstantial. Reckon it by days; it is incalculable. Reckon it by years; there is a surplus.53 These examples show that, with the possible exceptions of chapters 4 and 5, the root passages of each chapter of the Huainanzi contain ideas derived from the two root chapters.54 Given the intentional root-branches organization of the entire text, the location of these passages at the beginning of each chapter shows that inner cultivation ideas are given pride of place throughout the Huainanzi. Furthermore, in many of the Huainanzi chapters, the root passage also provides the foundational ideas for the remainder of the essay. Exceptions to this rule are some of the later chapters that are written in specific literary forms and that contain no obvious line of reasoning that links their various sections together, such as chapters 16, 17, and 19. A complete analysis of each and every example of how the root passages present the theme of each chapter is well beyond the scope of the present discussion, but I would like to present two examples. 53 54

Lau et al., Huainanzi 20/210/5–6; Major et al., Huainanzi, 796–97. As noted above, chapters 4 and 5, because they are similar to chapter 3 in their quasitechnical vocabulary and literary style, may be thought of as forming a subunit with chapter 3; thus, the cosmogonic root passage that begins chapter 3 may be intended to cover chapters 4 and 5 as well. Chapter 9 will be discussed below.

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The root passage in chapter 9, “The Ruler’s Techniques” (“Zhu shu” 主術), outlines the essentials of governing through nonaction and discusses the need for the ruler to attain states that can only be achieved through inner cultivation practices. The whole passage is too long to quote here; this is the first half: 人主之術，處无為之事，而行不言之教，清靜而不動，一度 而不搖，因循而任下，責成而不勞。是故心知規而師傅 諭（導）〔道〕，口能言而行人稱辭，足能行而相者先導，耳 能聽而執正進諫。是故慮无失策，（謀）〔舉〕无過事，言為 文章，〔而〕行為儀表於天下，進退應時，動靜循理. The ruler’s techniques [consist of] establishing nonactive management and the carrying out of wordless instructions. Quiet and tranquil, he does not move; by [even] one degree he does not waver. Adaptive and compliant, he relies on his underlings; dutiful and accomplished, he does not labor. Therefore, though his mind knows the norms, his savants transmit the discourses of the Way; though his mouth can speak, his entourage proclaims his words; though his feet can move forward, his master of ceremonies leads; though his ears can hear, his officials offer their admonitions.55 Therefore, his considerations are without mistaken schemes, his undertakings are without erroneous content. His words [are taken as] scripture and verse; his conduct is [taken as] a model and gnomon for the world. His advancing and withdrawing respond to the seasons; his movement and rest comply with [proper] patterns (xunli 循 理).56 The remainder of chapter 9 lays out in considerable detail the philosophy of government by the enlightened Daoist ruler and is the longest chapter in the book, an indication of its significance. Its theory of rulership is completely 55 56

This sentence breaks the parallelism of the whole passage; we suspect that the text might have originally read: “his officials receive the admonitions [of others].” Lau et al., Huainanzi 9/67/3–6; Major et al., Huainanzi, 295–96.

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r­eliant on the personal development of the ruler, which is the direct result of the apophatic inner cultivation practices outlined in chapters 1 and 2 and in the earlier sources of this tradition. According to this work, the ruler must cultivate himself through apophatic inner cultivation techniques. These include reduction of thoughts, desires, and emotions and the gradual development of emptiness and tranquillity. The ruler able to accomplish this is able to develop his Potency and perfect his Vital Essence (zhi jing 至精) and, by means of this, to penetrate through to and directly apprehend the essences of Heaven and Grand Unity (taiyi 太 一), another metaphor for the Way. This connects the ruler directly to the invisible cosmic web of the correlative cosmology of qi and its various types (yin and yang) and phases (wuxing 五行) and refinements ( jing 精) that form the very fabric of the normative natural order that the Huainanzi authors see in the universe. With this connection the enlightened ruler can invisibly influence the course of events in the world and affairs among his subjects through the types of resonance (gan­ ying) detailed in chapter 6; this ability is also discussed in the later works of inner cultivation such as ‘Techniques of the Mind’ 2. Experiencing the most profound states of inner cultivation also enables the ruler to develop many of the traits envisioned in earlier sources, such as reducing desires to a minimum, impartially designating responsibilities within the government hierarchy, having a cognition devoid of emotions, and being able to spontaneously adapt to whatever situations arise, without hesitation. Many narrative examples are given of past rulers who attained this level of cultivation. Chapter 2 argues that as human society and culture devolved, sagerulers adapted to the times by utilizing various ideas on governing taken from earlier Confucian and Mohist traditions and other sources. For the authors of chapter 9, a cosmology of the Way and a discipline of apophatic inner cultivation are now—and have always been—the root of good rule. However, they agree that it is also important to utilize the ideas and methods of these earlier intellectual traditions. Such ideas, including benevolence, rightness, ritual, music, standards, measures, rewards, punishments, and so on, are all the product of the spontaneous devolution from high antiquity described in chapter 2. But each set of ideas and techniques became indispensable to human order in the age in which it spontaneously arose, just as cosmic phenomena like Heaven and Earth became intrinsic to cosmic order at the point in the cosmogonic process at which they emerged. Given this, in order to function as a harmonious and organic whole, each of these ideas must be correctly prioritized, in the order of their historical development and thus in the order of their normative distance from the undifferentiated ‘root’ of good order, the Way. Thus, a ruler in the current age cannot rule without the techniques of lesser thinkers like

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Confucius, Mozi, Han Fei, and so on, because human society has spontaneously devolved into a complex form that necessitates their employment. Chapter 11, “Integrating Customs”, while superficially about the importance of maintaining a fluid approach to enforcing customs and rituals throughout the empire, is really a treatise that proffers the clearest statement of a Daoist theory of human nature written to this point. Its root passage signals this important move right from the beginning: 率性而行謂之道，得其天性謂之德。性失然後貴仁，道失然後 貴義。是故仁義立而道德遷矣，禮樂飾則純樸散矣，是非形則 百姓（昡）〔眩〕矣，珠玉尊則天下爭矣。凡此四者，衰世之 造也，末世之用也。 Following nature and putting it into practice is called ‘the Way,’57 attaining one’s Heaven[-born] nature is called ‘Potency.’ Only after nature was lost was Humaneness honored, only after the Way was lost was Rightness honored. For this reason, when Humaneness and Rightness were established, the Way and Potency receded; when Ritual and Music were embellished, purity and simplicity dissipated.58 Right and wrong took form and the common people were dazzled; pearls and jade were revered and the world set to fighting [over them]. These four were the creations of a declining age and are the implements of a latter age.59 This passage asserts that the self-cultivation that is essential to governing the state and governing oneself is grounded in developing an awareness of one’s innermost nature. Practicing Confucian norms of Humaneness and Rightness and so on are inferior methods that arose as civilization declined but they are by stages removed from this necessary awareness of one’s nature. This idea is elaborated later in the chapter:

57 58 59

This line echoes the famous opening lines of the Zhongyong (Doctrine of the Mean). Like 8/3 above, which this passage closely resembles, these lines paraphrase Laozi 38. Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/93/20–22; Major et al., Huainanzi, 397.

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世之明事者，多離道德之本，曰禮義足以治天下，此未可與言 術也。所謂禮義者，五帝三王之法籍風俗，一世之迹也。譬若 芻狗土龍之始成。. . . 五帝三王，輕天下，細萬物，齊死生，同變化，抱大聖之 心，以（鎮）〔鏡〕萬物之情，上與神明為友，下與造化為 人。今欲學其道，不得其清明玄聖，而守其法籍憲令，不能為 治亦明矣。 Many of those who oversee affairs in the world depart from the source of the Way and its Potency, saying that Ritual and Rightness suffice to order the empire. One cannot discuss techniques with such as these. What is called ‘Ritual and Rightness’ is the methods, statutes, ways, and customs of the Five Thearchs and the Three Kings. They are the remnants of a [former] age. Compare them to straw dogs and earthen dragons when they are first fashioned . . . .60 The Five Thearchs and the Three Kings viewed the world as a light [affair], minimized the myriad things, put death and life on a par, matched change and transformation. They embraced the great heart of a sage by mirroring the dispositions of the myriad things. Above they took spirit illumination as their friend, below they took creation and transformation as their companions. Now if one wants to study their Way, and does not attain their pure clarity and mysterious sagacity, yet maintains their methods, statutes, rules, and ordinances, it is clear that one cannot achieve order.61 That we need to follow a practice of self-cultivation to get in touch with our innermost natures is a natural result of the historical devolution that this chapter presumes and that is first enunciated in chapter 2. Because of this devolution many different customs have developed throughout all the many and varied cultures within the empire. Nonetheless, this does not imply that the people who practice these varied customs and rituals have different innate natures:

60 61

Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/98/25–56, 11/99/15–17; Major et al., Huainanzi, 412, 414. Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/98/25–56, 11/99/15–17; Major et al., Huainanzi, 412, 414.

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原人之性，蕪濊而不得清明者，物或堁之也。羌、氐、僰、   翟，嬰兒生皆同聲，及其長也，雖重象狄騠，不能通其言，教 俗殊也。今令三月嬰兒，生而徙國，則不能知其故俗。由此觀 之，衣服禮俗者，非人之性也，所受於外也。夫竹之性浮，殘 以為牒，束而投之水，則沉，失其體也。金之性沉，託之於 舟上則浮，勢有所（枝）〔支〕也。夫素之質白，染之以涅 則黑；縑之性黃，染之以丹則赤。人之性無邪，久湛於俗則 易。易而忘其本，合於若性。故日月欲明，浮雲蓋之；河水欲 清，沙石濊之；人性欲平，嗜欲害之。唯聖人能遺物而反己 If the original nature of human beings is obstructed and sullied, one cannot get at its purity and clarity—it is because things have befouled it. The children of the Qiang, Dii, Bo, and Dee [barbarians] all produce the same sounds at birth. Once they have grown, even with both the xiang and diti interpreters62 they cannot understand one another’s speech; this is because their education and customs are different. Now a three-monthold child that moves to a [new] state after it is born will not recognize its old customs. Viewed on this basis, clothing and ritual customs are not [rooted in] people’s nature; they are received from without. It is the nature of bamboo to float, [but] break it into strips and tie them in a bundle and they will sink when thrown into the water—it [i.e., the bamboo] has lost its [basic] structure. It is the nature of metal to sink, [but] place it on a boat and it will float— its positioning lends it support. The substance of raw silk is white, [but] dye it in potash and it turns black. The nature of fine silk is yellow, [but] dye it in cinnabar and it turns red. The nature of human beings has no depravity; having been long immersed in customs, it changes. If it changes and one forgets the root, it is as if [the customs one has acquired] have merged with [one’s] nature. Thus,

62 The xiang 象 and diti 狄 騠 were interpreters employed to facilitate interactions between the Chinese Central States and their “barbarian” neighbors. See the similar phrasing that appears in the Lüshi chunqiu: “[All states] that do not use the xiang and di interpreters” (17.6/105/16). Their exact functions are unknown. See Chen Qiyou 陳奇猷, Lüshi chunqiu jiaoshi 呂氏春秋校釋, 2 vols. (Shanghai: Xuelin chubanshe, 1984), 2:1108, 1112n7; Zhang Shuangdi 張雙棣, Huainanzi jiaoshi 淮南子校釋 (Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 1997), 2:1134n8; and Huainanzi 20/211/26, Major et al. 801.

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the sun and the moon are inclined to brilliance, but floating clouds cover them; the water of the river is inclined to purity, but sand and rocks sully it. The nature of human beings is inclined to equilibrium, but wants and desires harm it. Only the sage can leave things aside and return to himself.63 The author of “Integrating Customs” thus provides a series of metaphors for the pure, unsullied, and calm innate nature of human beings. These metaphors are characteristic of what some have called the ‘Discovery Model’ of human nature, in which a perfectly complete nature is ‘discovered’ and then serves as a guide for all one’s activities in the world, especially ethical ones. This model contrasts with the ‘Development Model,’ which is well known through metaphors of the natural growth of plants, as in the famous passage in Mencius 2A.2.64 Huainanzi 11 also exhibits another of the characteristics of the Discovery Model: innate nature, when accessed, can serve as the ultimate source of direction in human affairs. The text continues: 夫乘舟而惑者，不知東西，見斗極則寤矣。夫性、亦人之斗 極也。（以有）〔有以〕自見也，則不失物之情；無以自 見〔也〕，則動而惑營。譬若隴西之遊，愈躁愈沉。 Someone who boards a boat and becomes confused, not knowing west from east, will see the Dipper and the Pole Star and become oriented. [Innate] Nature is likewise a Dipper and a Pole Star for human beings. If one possesses that by which one can see oneself, then one will not miss the genuine disposition of things. If one lacks that by which one can see oneself, then one will be agitated and ensnared. It is like swimming in the Longxi; the more you thrash, the deeper you will sink.65

63 64 65

Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/95/24–96/1; Major et al., Huainanzi, 403–4. Lee Yearley, “Idea of Human Excellence,” in The Blackwell Companion to Religious Ethics, ed. William Schweiker (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2005), 45–52. Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/96/1–3; Major et al., Huainanzi, 404.

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If one follows the contemplative inner cultivation practice of calming the mind to get in touch with one’s innate nature, it can serve as the basis (the ‘Pole Star’) for making all the key decisions in one’s life: 是故凡將舉事，必先平意清神66。意平神清，物乃可正。. . . 

夫耳目之可以斷也，反情性也；聽失於誹譽，而目淫於采色， 而欲得事正，則難矣。夫載哀者聞歌聲而泣，載樂者見哭者 而笑。哀可樂（者）、笑可哀者，載使然也，是故貴虛。故 水（擊）〔激〕則波興，氣亂則智昏。（智昏）〔昏智〕不 可以為政，波水不可以為平。故聖王執一而勿失，萬物之 情（既）〔測〕矣，四夷九州服矣。夫一者至貴，無適於天 下。聖人（記）〔託〕於無適，故民命繫矣。 For this reason, whenever one is about to take up an affair, one must first stabilize one’s intentions and purify one’s spirit (ping yi qingshen 平 一 清 神 ). When the spirit is pure and intentions are stable only then can things be aligned . . . . That the ears and eyes can judge [impartially] is because one returns to one’s true nature (qingxing 情 性). If one’s hearing is lost in slander and flattery and one’s eyes are corrupted by pattern and color, if one then wants to rectify affairs, it will be difficult. One who is suffused with grief will cry upon hearing a song; one suffused with joy will see someone weeping and laugh. That grief can bring joy and laughter can bring grief— being suffused makes it so. For this reason, value emptiness. When water is agitated waves rise, when the qi is disordered the intellect is confused. A confused intellect cannot attend to government; agitated water cannot be used to establish a level. Thus, the sage-king holds to the One without losing it and the true conditions of the myriad things are discovered, the four barbarians and the nine regions all submit. The One is the supremely noble; it has no match in the world. The sage relies on the matchless; thus the mandate of the people attaches itself [to him].67 66 67

Here I follow the semantic emendation of Qing textual critic Yuyue as listed on p. 96n5 in Lau et al., Huainanzi. Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/96/7–16; Major et al., Huainanzi, 405.

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The authors of “Integrating Customs” are here advocating the apophatic inner cultivation practices of chapters 1 and 2 and the earlier inner cultivation tradition as the means to attain the mental stability needed to resist strong emotions, which will bias one’s awareness and thus cloud judgment. This mental stability allows the adept to empty consciousness and apprehend true nature, which is ultimately based in the Way. Thus, the root passage of chapter 11 serves as the foundation for the entire chapter. Conclusions The root-branches structure of the Huainanzi operates on a number of distinct yet interrelated levels not only to organize the way the arguments within its individual chapters are constructed but also to shape its individual chapters into a coherent whole. As we have seen, the root section of the work consists of the first eight chapters. The root chapters of this root section and hence of the entire work are chapters 1 and 2, which are thoroughly infused by a philosophy that is taken from the major works of the pre-Han inner cultivation tradition. Within most of the twenty chapters of the text, there is a root passage that contains core ideas for the entire chapter. Despite the great variety of philosophical positions that are represented within the Huainanzi, the root passages in most of the chapters contain ideas that are found within, or are closely derived from, the root chapters of the text, chapters 1 and 2. It is in this way that the multilayered compositional structure of the text is used to assert and reinforce the normative inner cultivation foundations of this admittedly and deliberately syncretic work. Metaphorically speaking, we can think of these inner cultivation ideas as providing the veins within the leaves of the text that occur on multiple levels throughout it. (see table 2.5). Table 2.5 Nesting Root-Branches Textual Structures in the Huainanzi

The root section The root chapters The root passages

Roots

Branches

Chapters 1–8 Chapters 1–2 First passage in most chapters

Chapters 9–20 Chapters 3–8 The rest of the chapter

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This analysis of the significance of the multilayered ‘root-branches’ textual structure challenges arguments that the Huainanzi cleaves to no particular intellectual tradition.68 The common technical terminology and basic understanding of apophatic inner cultivation practice and its pivotal role in cultivating individual potential and in governing society that we have discovered in the Huainanzi argue that it is this tradition that dominates the philosophical orientation of this text. While it would take us too far afield in this essay to fully examine the arguments surrounding the hypothesis that the Huainanzi is not affiliated with ‘Daoism’ or with any one intellectual tradition, in essence they boil down to three arguments:

• The text never explicitly states that it is Daoist. • The text contains ideas from many different pre-Han intellectual traditions. • The idea that the Huainanzi adheres to no one intellectual tradition is principally supported by the following statement in the final, summary chapter: 非循一跡之路，守一隅之指，拘繫牽連於物，而不與世推移也 We have not followed a path made by a solitary footprint, nor adhered to instructions from a single perspective, nor allowed ourselves to be entrapped or fettered by things so that we would not advance or shift according to the age.69 Understanding the root-branches compositional structure of the text and the significance of its root chapters and the root passages within each chapter makes possible the contextualization of the Huainanzi’s use of ideas taken from the Confucians, Mohists, and other early intellectual traditions. The Way is the supreme root from which are derived all these branch ideas that are valuable but of lesser importance in the overall cosmic scheme. This makes possible a Dao-based syncretism that links the Huainanzi to a number of other texts that advocate similar intellectual positions: “Techniques of the Mind” 1 and 2 from the Guanzi; the “Huang-Lao boshu”; the ‘syncretic’ chapters of the

68

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For these arguments, see Griet Vankeerberghen, The Huainanzi and Liu An’s Claim to Moral Authority, SUNY Series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2001), 2–5; Queen, “Inventories of the Past”; and Judson Murray, “A Study of ‘Yaolüe’ 要略, ‘A Summary of the Essentials’: Understanding the Huainanzi through the Point of View of the Author of the Postface,” Early China 29 (2004): 45–108. Lau et al., Huainanzi 21/228/30–31; Major et al., Huainanzi, 867.

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Zhuangzi (12–15, 33); certain chapters in the Lüshi chunqiu (3, 5, 17, and 25).70 Could adhering to this Dao-based syncretism possibly be the underlying meaning of the phrase ‘We have not followed a path made by a solitary footprint’? The brilliant syncretism of the Huainanzi, which seamlessly makes use of the best ideas on rulership from many earlier philosophical traditions yet remains thoroughly grounded in a Daoist inner cultivation cosmology, philosophy, and practice, is brilliantly epitomized as a ‘path with many footprints.’ When an awareness of this Dao-based syncretism of the Huainanzi is combined with the profusion of ideas and techniques from the inner cultivation tradition that pervade the text and that link it to other early textual sources of this tradition, it also suggests that there may have been something more to early ‘Daoism’ than just a bibliographical category or an arbitrary invention by a Han historian. This is not to suggest that the inner cultivation tradition that so dominates the philosophical outlook of the Huainanzi called itself ‘Daoist’; this was a later term first affixed to it by Sima Tan. Of course, the reason the Huainanzi and, in actuality, all the pre-Han inner cultivation texts do not refer to themselves as ‘Daoist’ is that the precise term and category had not yet been ‘invented’! There are some who would challenge this assertion, insisting instead that the philosophy of the ‘Inner Chapters’ of the Zhuangzi is distinctly different from that of the Laozi and that both differ in kind from the ungrounded ‘eclecticism’ of the Huainanzi.71 To this I would counter that there is every bit as much consistency amid difference in these textual sources as we find between the Analects and the writings of Xunzi 荀子. Few would challenge that these latter works belong to one intellectual tradition, and what holds them together is both a consistent set of technical terms (ren, li, zhi, yi) and an equally consistent set of practices, mostly involving rituals and education. If we looked back on the Confucian tradition from the perspective of Xunzi, we would see that despite obvious differences, he was clearly working within the same field of discourse and techniques as were Confucius and Mencius. 70 71

Roth, “Psychology and Self-Cultivation in Early Taoistic Thought.” See, e.g., Russell Kirkland, Taoism: The Enduring Tradition (New York: Routledge, 2004), 31–65. Kirkland emphasizes the differences between these early Daoist sources, implying that they therefore could not be part of a distinct “Daoist tradition,” but who cannot help but use that exact phrase in quotation marks when talking about this distinctive intellectual viewpoint in the pre-Han period. For a discussion of the Huainanzi as an “eclectic work,” see Vankeerberghen, The Huainanzi and Liu An’s Claim to Moral Authority, 4–5. By “eclectic” she avers that the Huainanzi embraces many intellectual traditions but prefers none. My argument is that it is “syncretic” precisely because it synthesizes ideas from many traditions within a Daoist inner cultivation framework.

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My analysis of the textual structures of the Huainanzi not only provides important testimony to the importance of inner cultivation thought in the text but also places it squarely within the same field of discourse and technique as the earlier inner cultivation textual sources that I have mentioned. Taken together, these textual sources are too closely related in terms of philosophy and practices to have arisen independently or from random contact between their authors. These close textual relationships can only mean that these sources are the product of a distinctive social organization that we are remiss to not recognize as a ‘tradition.’ This becomes apparent when we stop looking for evidence of early intellectual traditions as exclusively made up of ideas and not practices. In his famous work After Virtue, philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre has this relevant comment on the nature of traditions: “a tradition is constituted by a set of practices and is a mode of understanding their importance and worth; it is the medium by which such practices are shaped and transmitted across generations.”72 The inner cultivation practices that I have discussed may have initially been associated with some contrasting ideas of governing (e.g., the ‘individualism’ and avoidance of politics in Guanzi’s “Inward Training” and the sophisticated political syncretism of the Huainanzi), but like the Rites for the Confucians, they are the backbone of a distinctive tradition of teachers and students that stretches over two centuries from its apocryphal origins to the time of Han Wudi. In his insightful analysis of a distinctive tradition of Chinese medicine that extends over three centuries to the present, Volker Scheid brings this point home when he comments that a practice relies on the transmission of skills and expertise between masters and novices. As novices develop into masters themselves, they change who they are but also earn a say in defining the goods that the practice embodies and seeks to realize. To accomplish these tasks human beings need narratives: stories about who they are, what they do, and why they do it. Traditions provide these narratives. They allow people to discover problems and methods for their solution, frame questions and possible answers, and develop institutions that facilitate cooperative action. But because people occupy changing positions vis-à-vis these narratives, traditions are also always open to change.73 72 73

Alasdair C. MacIntyre, After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory 2nd ed. (Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press, 1984), 221. Volker Scheid, Currents of Tradition in Chinese Medicine, 1626–2006 (Seattle, WA: Eastland Press, 2007), 9.

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In the last analysis, this understanding of tradition as a changing phenomenon grounded in practice may proffer the best explanation of the coherence of the early lineages of masters and disciples that likely formed the basis for Sima Tan’s definition of Daoism. My analysis of the root-branches textual structures of the Huainanzi only buttresses this conclusion.

chapter 3

Representations of Confucius in the Huainanzi Sarah A. Queen The Huainanzi is undoubtedly one of the most philosophically nuanced and aesthetically sophisticated texts of the Han period. The process that created it was long and complex, a collaborative endeavor involving not only diverse scholars but, in addition, many different modes of composition and compilation, as the literary form and content of the Huainanzi suggest. The third century CE commentator Gao You, the earliest extant witness describing the text’s authorship and aims, also supports that view. In his famous preface, Gao explained clearly that the collaborative work included Liu An, eight men mentioned by name, and a number of unnamed Confucians (ru 儒). Looking back from the perspective of the third century CE at a text created some three centuries earlier, Gao asserted that the authors of the Huainanzi were chiefly concerned with forging a synthesis between two paired concepts: ‘the Way and Potency’ (daode 道德) and ‘Humaneness and Rightness’ (renyi 仁義). What did these terms denote to Gao You? Perhaps they functioned as shorthand referents to concepts that had become associated with Laozi and Confucius. By Gao You’s time, the cults of Laozi and Confucius were firmly established, with particular practices and ideas tied irrevocably to these two great figureheads. However, at the time the Huainanzi was coalescing as a text, the cultic stature of Confucius and Laozi was yet to be achieved. Likewise, the ‘Daoist’ and ‘Confucian’ traditions associated with them were still quite fluid and open to debate, as the inventories of Sima Tan and Liu Xiang demonstrate.1 What precisely were the respective contributions of the diverse array of scholarpractitioners, steeped in various texts, who came to the court of Liu An to create the Huainanzi? Much has been said in both past publications and in the present volume concerning the ‘Daoist’ contributions to the Huainanzi. Indeed, the Laozi and the Zhuangzi have long been recognized as seminal influences in the Huainanzi. 1 See Sarah A. Queen, “Inventories of the Past: Rethinking the ‘School’ Affiliation of the Huainanzi,” Asia Major, 3rd ser., 14.1 (2001): 51–72; Mark Csíkszentmihályi and Michael Nylan, “Constructing Lineages and Inventing Traditions through Exemplary Figures in Early China,” T’oung Pao 89 (2003): 1–41; and Kidder Smith, “Sima Tan and the Invention of Daoism, ‘Legalism,’ et cetera,” Journal of Asian Studies 62.1 (2003): 129–56.

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The Laozi figures most prominently in chapter 1, “Originating in the Way,” and chapter 12, “Responses of the Way”. The Zhuangzi is the primary inspiration in chapter 2, “Activating the Genuine”, chapter 7, “The Quintessential Spirit”, chapter 11, “Integrating Customs”, and chapter 18, “Among Others”. In contrast, the role of Confucius in the Huainanzi has yet to be explored. Thus, this essay seeks to hone our present understanding of the authorship and the formation of the Huainanzi by examining the representations of Confucius and his teachings across the text. What images of Confucius, his teachings, and his followers does the Huainanzi promote? Are they generally negative or positive? In what contexts do they appear? Do they predominate in certain chapters and not in others? If so, in which chapters? Do they appear in isolation from concepts associated with the Laozi and Zhuangzi or are they integrated with them? Examining such questions will deepen our current understanding of the text’s syncretism (its aim to harmonize daode and renyi, in Gao You’s terminology). It will also contribute to ongoing efforts to map the rising prominence of Confucius in the Han. The multiple personalities ascribed to Confucius, along with his newfound prestige, are evident in the proliferation of Han collections that preserve narratives, dialogues, and sayings associated with him.2 The images of Confucius collected in the Huainanzi afford an additional view of ongoing Han efforts to define and control Confucius and his legacy. Do such portrayals collectively yield a cohesive or a disjointed vision of Confucius? In short, where do we locate the singular or multivalent image of Confucius in the Huainanzi along the trajectory of images ranging from the sagely teacher of the Analects, the prophetic uncrowned king of the Spring and Autumn Annals, the supernatural godlike figure of the apocrypha, or the iconic Confucius of the Eastern Han cults?3 Confucius and Confucians are mentioned no fewer than fifty times in twelve chapters of the text, and Confucius is quoted sixteen times in six chap2 See, e.g., Liu Xiang’s (79–8 BCE) New Preface (Xinshu) and Garden of Persuasions (Shuoyuan); Yang Xiong’s (53 BCE–18 CE) Model Sayings (Fayan) and Wang Su’s (195–256 CE) Family Sayings of Confucius (Kongzi jiayu). 3 For these various images of Confucius, see, e.g., Mark Csíkszentmihályi, “Confucius and the Analects in the Han,” in Confucius and the Analects, ed. Bryan W. Van Norden (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 134–62; Mark Csíkszentmihályi, “Confucius,” in The Rivers of Paradise, ed. David Noel Freedman and Michael J. McClymond (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001), 233–308; Sarah A. Queen, From Chronicle to Canon: The Hermeneutics of the Spring and Autumn Annals, according to Dong Zhongshu (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). For a recent treatment that endeavors to identify the “historical” Confucius, see Annping Chin, The Authentic Confucius (New York: Scribner, 2007). For fascinating work documenting the visual imagery associated with Confucius, see Julia K. Murray, “Idols in the Temple: Icons and the Cult of Confucius,” Journal of Asian Studies 68.2 (May 2009): 371–411.

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ters of the text.4 Confucius does not appear in the first eight, or ‘root,’ chapters of the Huainanzi, although his latter-day followers are mentioned several times in chapters 2 (“Activating the Genuine”) and 7 (“Quintessential Spirit”) In contrast, Confucius appears frequently in the second half (or ‘branch’ chapters) of the Huainanzi. Brief literary images of Confucius5—as opposed to longer narratives—appear in chapter 9 (“The Ruler’s Techniques”), chapter 10 (“Profound Precepts”), chapter 13 (“Boundless Discourses”), chapter 16 (“A Mountain of Persuasions”), chapter 19 (“Cultivating Effort”), chapter 20 (“The Exalted Lineage”), and the postface that constitutes chapter 21 (“An Overview of the Essentials”). In our recently published translation and study, The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China, we argue that the text has a clear and purposeful bipartite structure that corresponds roughly to the first and second halves of the text. This structure is expressed in the Huainanzi in terms of a root-branches metaphor. The first eight, or ‘root,’ chapters discuss the basic principles of the Way and are fundamental; the latter twelve, or ‘branch,’ chapters focus on applications and illustrations and are ancillary to the foundational chapters but related organically to them—as branches grow out of and are dependent upon the roots of a tree for their nourishment. We have proposed that this root-branches structure is operative at many additional levels. At the cosmic level, it is evident in the process of cosmogenesis: the universe began as a unitary, undifferentiated mass of qi that then coalesced by stages into yin and yang, the Five Phases, and the 4 Confucius (Kongzi, Zhong Ni, or Kong Qiu) and Confucians (Ru) are mentioned fifty times in chapters 2 (1×), 7 (1×), 9 (6×), 10 (1×), 11 (5×), 12 (10×), 13 (3×), 16 (5×), 18 (5×), 19 (5×), 20 (6×), and 21 (2×); Confucius is quoted sixteen times in chapters 9 (1×), 11 (4×), 12 (7×), 13 (1×), 18 (2×), and 20 (1×). He is most commonly referred to as Kongzi, with one instance of Kong Qiu. For references to Confucius, see D. C. Lau and Chen Fong Ching, eds., Huainanzi zhuzi suoyin, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1992) (references to the Huainanzi are cited in the format “chapter/ page in D. C. Lau et al./line[s]”), 2/16/23, 7/60/15, 9/69/4, 9/69/7, 9/70/2, 9/77/22, 9/80/22, 9/81/1, 10/91/15, 11/94/16, 11/96/3, 11/96/4, 11/97/8, 11/103/26, 12/105/20, 12/105/20, 12/107/12, 12/107/23, 12/107/23, 12/108/1, 12/108/21, 12/116/24, 12/119/14, 12/119/15, 13/123/20, 13/128/16, 13/129/9, 16.20/156/4, 16.95/162/27, 16.100/163/12, 16.102/163/17, 16.151/168/4, 18/187/7, 18/189/16, 18/196/25, 18/196/28, 18/198/8, 19/203/6, 19/208/11, 19/208/11, 19/209/2, 19/209/3, 20/212/1, 20/217/6, 20/217/6, 20/218/6, 20/218/14, 20/223/5, 21/228/1, and 21/228/4. For utterances attributed to Confucius, see Huainanzi 9/75/29, 11/94/15, 11/94/16, 11/96/3, 11/100/25, 12/105/22, 12/105/23, 12/107/9, 12/108/18, 12/118/7, 12/116/25, 12/119/14, 13/125/27, 18/196/27, 18/198/10, and 20/215/9. 5 By ‘images’ I mean brief references to Confucius that evoke certain qualities of the sage and that are derived from longer anecdotes or historical events associated with Confucius but the details of which are not included in the reference.

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i­ncreasingly complex and differentiated world of the ten thousand things. At the human level, it is manifest in the development of the human body from the ‘corporeal mass’ of the prenascent embryo to the progressive development of flesh, muscle, and bone. At the historical level, it is apparent in the evolution of human society from the unity, simplicity, and spontaneity of hoary antiquity— identified variously as the Era of the Grand One, the Age of the Perfected, and the Era of Grand Inception—through the increasingly diversified and sophisticated forms of social and political organization in subsequent eras.6 Thus, that the Laozi and the Zhuangzi are alluded to in the first and second chapters of the book, the most fundamental of the root chapters, while Confucius makes his initial appearance only in chapter 9 (the first of the branch chapters), may indicate an implicit prioritizing and hierarchical approach to the traditions associated with these sages in the Huainanzi. That would imply that, for the Huainan masters, the teachings of Confucius stand in a subordinate position to those of Laozi 老子 and Zhuangzi 莊子. To find out if this is the case, we turn to these root and branch chapters to assess the depictions of Confucius and his followers.

Negative Images of Confucians in the Root Chapters 2 and 7

As mentioned earlier, Confucius does not appear in the root chapters of the Huainanzi. Yet his followers are depicted in two of the root chapters of the text, chapter 2, “Activating the Genuine”, and chapter 7, “Quintessential Spirit”, which stand out as particularly disparaging. In the first example, from 2.10,7 the appearance of Confucians and Mohists in the latter days of the Zhou is explicitly situated within a devolutionary historical narrative—which begins with the ‘Age of Perfect Potency,’ followed by the successive reigns of Fuxi, the Divine Farmer and Yellow Emperor, Kun Wu 昆吾 and the descendants of the Xia, down to the house of Zhou—where the teachings of Confucians and Mohists, and the Odes and Documents associated with them, are described in mocking and derisive tones:

6 For a more detailed discussion of the root-branches metaphor, see John S. Major, Sarah A. Queen, Andrew Seth Meyer, and Harold D. Roth, The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China, Translations from the Asian Classics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010), 14–20; and chapter 1 in the present volume. 7 2.10 refers to the chapter and section within the English translation in Major et al. This convention will be used throughout the article.

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周室衰而王道廢，儒墨乃始列道而議，分徒而訟，於是博學以 疑聖，華誣以脅眾，弦歌鼓舞，緣飾《詩》、《書》，以買名 譽於天下。繁登降之禮，飾紱冕之服，聚眾不足以極其變，積 財不足以贍其費。於是萬民乃始慲觟離跂，各欲行其知偽，以 求鑿枘於世而錯擇名利。是故百姓曼衍于淫荒之陂，而失其大 宗之本。夫世之所以喪性命，有衰漸以然，所由來者久矣。 When the Zhou house declined, the kingly Way was abandoned. The Confucians and Mohists thus began enumerating their Ways and debating, dividing up disciples, and reciting. From then on, broad learning cast doubt on the sages; elaborate deceit tyrannized the masses. They played and sang and drummed and danced, embroidering the Odes and Documents to purchase fame and praise in the world. They proliferated rituals of ascending and descending, adorned costumes of aprons and caps. The assembled masses were insufficient for the extremes of their alterations; the collected wealth [of the world] was insufficient to meet their expenses. At this, the myriad people first forgot the trail and abandoned the path; all wanted to practice their own knowledge and artifice, seeking to force conditions on the age and crookedly acquire fame and profit. For this reason, the common people were unleashed to profligacy and lost the root of the Great Ancestor. The [current] age being bereft of nature and destiny is the product of gradual decline; its origins are distant.8 Moreover, the ills of the present Han dynasty are attributed to their ‘vulgar learning,’ which is described as follows: 是故聖人之學也，欲以返性于初，而游心於虛也。達人之學 也，欲以通性於遼廓，而覺於寂漠也。若夫俗世之學也則不 然，內愁五藏，外勞耳目，乃始招蟯振繾物之毫芒，搖消掉捎 仁義禮樂。 For this reason, the learning of the sage: seeks to return nature to its origin and to set the mind to roaming in emptiness. The learning of the knowledgeable: seeks to connect nature to the great expanse [of the world] and to awaken to stillness and quiescence. The vulgar learning of the age is not like this. It tugs at Potency and drags at nature. Internally it vexes the five orbs; externally it belabors the ears and eyes. Then one begins to pick 8 Lau et al., Huainanzi 2/15/15–20; Major et al., Huainanzi, 99–100.

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at the wriggling and curling minutiae of things; moving and swaying with Humaneness, Rightness, Ritual, and Music.9 In a similar vein, chapter 2.12 ridicules the Han disciples of Confucius and Mozi for failing to practice what they preach because the priorities of their teachings are wholly misdirected, focused as they are on the branches of learning when they have lost sight of the roots that nourish them: 孔、墨之弟子，皆以仁義之術教導於世，然而不免於儡，身猶 不能行也。又況所教乎？是何則？其道外也。夫以末求返于 本，許由不能行也，又況齊民乎！誠達於性命之情，而仁義固 附矣。趨舍何足以滑心。 The disciples of Confucius and Mozi all teach the techniques of Humaneness and Rightness to the age, yet they do not avoid destruction. If they personally cannot practice [their teachings], how much less may those they teach? Why is this? Because their Way is external. To ask the branches to return to the roots: if even Xu You could not do it, how much less the common people? If you genuinely break through to the basic tendencies of nature and destiny, so that Humaneness and Rightness will invariably adhere [to your actions], how then can choosing and discarding suffice to confuse your mind?10 Chapter 7.11 articulates additional negative images of the contemporary followers of Confucius, comparing those who study the Odes and Documents to impoverished peasants who bang on pots and drum on jars thinking they are making music: 今夫窮鄙之社也，叩盆拊瓴，相和而歌，自以為樂矣。   嘗試為之擊建鼓，撞巨鍾，乃性仍仍然，知其盆瓴之足羞也.  藏《詩》,《書》，修文學，而不知至論之旨，則拊盆叩瓴之徒 也。夫[無]以天下為者，學之建鼓矣。 Nowadays in impoverished rural villages, people bang on pots, drum on jars, and sing together, and they take this to be their music. But when they first hear the rhythmic striking of great ceremonial drums and the ringing of the great ceremonial bells, they suddenly feel disappointed and think 9 10

Lau et al., Huainanzi 2/15/22–24; Major et al., Huainanzi, 100. Lau et al., Huainanzi 2/16/23–25; Major et al., Huainanzi, 102.

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their pots and jars are shameful. To collect the Odes and the Documents, to cultivate literary studies and yet not know the meaning of the Utmost Discourse [like the Confucians], is like those who bang on pots and drum on jars. To not strive to obtain the empire is the great drum of study.11 In the concluding example of negative imagery, from 7.15, contemporaneous Confucians are criticized for failing to get to the root of things and consequently transmitting a body of superficial teachings that “do not get to the foundations of why people have desires, but instead prohibit what they desire; do not get to the source of why they delight in things, but instead restrict what they enjoy” 不本其所以欲，而禁其所欲；不原其所以樂，而閉其 所樂.12 Such an approach to learning is likened to the futility of “breaking open the source of rivers and streams and then damming them up with your hands” 是猶決江河之源，而障之以手也.13 Confucius’s most accomplished students are derided in the following manner: 夫顏回、季路、子夏、冉伯牛，孔子之通學也，然顏淵夭死，   季路菹于衛，子夏失明，冉伯牛為厲。此皆迫性拂情，而不得 其和也. 14 Now Yan Hui, Ji Lu, Zixia, and Ran Boniu were Confucius’s most brilliant students. Still, Yan Yuan [Hui] died young; Ji Lu was pickled in Wey; Zixia lost his eyesight; and Ran Boniu became a leper. These disciples all constrained their natures and stifled their genuine responses and did not attain harmony in their lives. The passage ends by returning to the issue of the desires and the emotions, a realm of human experience where Confucians seem to completely miss the boat: 故儒者非能使人弗欲，而能止之；非能使人勿樂，而能禁之。 夫使天下畏刑而不敢盜，豈若能使無有盜心哉。 Thus, because the Confucians are unable to prevent people from desiring, they can only try to stop them from being fulfilled; because they are 11 12 13 14

Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/59/10–15; Major et al., Huainanzi, 254–55. Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/59/13; Major et al., Huainanzi, 259. Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/59/13–14; Major et al., Huainanzi, 259. Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/60/15–18; Major et al., Huainanzi, 258.

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unable to prevent people from delighting in things, they can only try to forbid those delights. They cause the world to fear punishments and not dare to steal, but how can they cause people not to have the intention to steal?15 In short, these images of Confucius’s followers from chapters 2 and 7 portray the Way of the Perfected as clearly superior to that of the Confucian. They suggest that little room existed for the two teachings to coexist symbiotically in a complementary fashion. Rather, latter-day Confucians are ridiculed as followers of a hopelessly misguided tradition.

Positive Images of Confucius in the Branch Chapters 9, 10, 13, 16, 19, and 20

In contrast to the disparaging images of Confucius’s followers that appear in root chapters 2 and 7, the branch chapters contain many positive images of the sage and his disciples. They preserve a variety of images and narratives about Confucius and sayings attributed to him. As we shall see, some are closely connected to the ‘historical’ Confucius while others appear to be wholly mythical. These depictions speak to several outstanding qualities that made Confucius a sage. Confucius’s Perspicacity The first noteworthy quality with which Confucius is associated is perspicacity. Though Confucius is sometimes described as possessing outstanding physical qualities such as strength and agility, and he is said to be wise and brave,16 it is his mental acuity that typically set him apart from other men. In contrast to ordinary men, whose perspectives are limited and partial, Confucius’s perception is ‘penetrating’ (tong), bridging temporal and spatial distinctions that normally limit human understanding. Thus, “upon seeing subtleties, he could know the obvious”;17 “upon seeing the beginning, he could predict its

15 16

17

Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/60/22–23; Major et al., Huainanzi, 258. Lau et al., Huainanzi 9/80/22–23; Major et al., Huainanzi, 335 “Confucius’s penetrating qualities [were such that] in wisdom he surpassed Chang Hong; in bravery he was superior to Meng Ben. His feet were quicker than an agile rabbit; his strength could lift a city gate. His abilities certainly were many. Nevertheless his bravery and strength were not heard about; his skills and mastery were not known.” Lau et al., Huainanzi 9/69/7; Major et al., Huainanzi, 302.

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outcome”;18 using what was near, he could assess what was distant;19 and as the image of Confucius observing a man catching cicadas implies, upon seeing a part of something, he could understand its entirety.20 Finally, upon seeing the present, Confucius could know the future: as the text puts it so eloquently, Confucius, like other sages, “seeing frost, would anticipate ice”.21

Confucius’s Incorruptible Character and Exemplary Conduct

Confucius is also noted for his incorruptible character and exemplary conduct. He simply could not be bribed, bought, or bamboozled by the powers of his day. So, for example, when Duke Jing of Qi offered him a fief during an audience, seeking to reward Confucius even though he had not yet put his advice into practice, Confucius is said to have “refused [to accept] the fief of Granary Hill”.22 In another passage, Confucius’s refusal to “to drink from Robbers’ Well” is taken as a sign of his unwavering commitment to preserve his moral integrity, thereby “nourishing his will.”23 Confucius’s incorruptible character, in turn, was evident in his conduct that was exemplary in every way. He is said to have ‘conducted himself nobly in obscurity.’ “The Zhou house declined; Ritual and Rightness were abandoned. Confucius instructed and guided the age with the Way of the Three Eras.”24 Though Confucius was personally incorruptible, this did not mean that he was unwilling to get his hands dirty in the politics of his day and rub shoulders with some unsavory political characters. As chapter 20.25 explains, sometimes the situation demanded that Confucius act expediently to promote goodness: 夫聖人之屈者，以求伸也；枉者，以求直也；故雖出邪辟之 道，行幽昧之途，將欲以直大道，成大功。

18 19 20 21 22

23 24

Lau et al., Huainanzi 10/91/15; Major et al., Huainanzi, 384. Lau et al., Huainanzi 13/129/10; Major et al., Huainanzi, 519. Lau et al., Huainanzi 16/156/4–5; Major et al., Huainanzi, 631. Lau et al., Huainanzi 16/163/17; Major et al., 651. For these references, see Lau et al., Huainanzi 9/69/4–9, 10/91/15–16, 13/129/10, 16/156/4–7, 16/163/17. Lau et al., Huainanzi 13/128/16–17; Major et al., Huainanzi, 517. Duke Jing of Qi reigned from 547 to 490 BCE. Confucius is mentioned in conjunction with him in Analects 12.11 and 18.3. Annping Chin places Confucius in Qi in 505. For a discussion of his stay there, see Chin, The Authentic Confucius, 87. Lau et al., Huainanzi 16/163/14–15; Major et al., Huainanzi, 651. Lau et al., Huainanzi 18/189/16; Major et al., Huainanzi, 727. See also Huainanzi 20/117/ 4–11; Major et al., Huainanzi, 818, where Confucius’s conduct is also praised.

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When a sage coils, it is because he seeks to extend. When he bends, it is because he seeks to straighten. Thus, though he travels along a crooked road and journeys along a dark path, it is because he wishes to elevate the Great Way and achieve great merit.25 Thus, in describing an occasion when Confucius called upon Nanzi, the disreputable wife of Duke Ling,26 the text interprets this visit in a positive light: 孔子欲行王道，東西南北七十說而無所偶，故因衛夫人、彌子 瑕而欲通其道。此皆欲平險除穢，由冥冥至炤炤，動于權而統 於善者也。 Confucius hoped to implement the Way of the True Kings. East and west, south and north, despite [making] seventy persuasions, there was no place where he could find [a ruler] to match [his teachings]. Thus, he went along with the lady of Wey and Mi Zixia in the hopes that [by their intervention] he could carry through the Way. These all are cases of [sages] desiring to bring peace and eradicate decadence. [They tried] from deep darkness to proceed to brilliant light, to act through expediency to bring about goodness.27

Confucius as Minister of Justice Who Obstructed Evil in the State of Lu

Confucius’s uncompromising moral integrity and exemplary conduct were also evident in his ability to fight crime and obstruct evil in his home state of Lu when he served as minister of justice.28 Chapter 20.9 paints the following idyllic picture: 25 26

27 28

Lau et al., Huainanzi 20/218/1-8; Major et al., Huainanzi, 821. Analects 6.28 explains that when Zilu expressed his unhappiness about the visit, Confucius responded, “If I have done anything wrong, may Heaven forsake me, may Heaven forsake me!” For an interesting analysis of Sima Qian’s treatment of this same event, see Chin, The Authentic Confucius, 89–91. Lau et al., Huainanzi 20/218/6–8; Major et al., Huainanzi, 822. Confucius held this midlevel post under Duke Ding (the ruler of Lu) and his chief counselor, Jihuanzi, after working his way up a long ladder of official appointments. In 497 BC, at the age of fifty-four, Confucius suddenly resigned this post, for reasons that are far from clear. The decision essentially ended his career as a public official and began his life as a mendicant teacher. For the historical details concerning Confucius’s career as minister of justice, see Chin, The Authentic Confucius, 23–44.

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孔子為魯司寇，道不拾遺，市買不豫賈，田漁皆讓長，而斑白 不戴負，非法之所能致也29 When Confucius was minister of justice in Lu, no one threw litter on the roads, nor were prices raised in the marketplace. In tilling the fields and in fishing, people ceded to the elderly, and those with grizzled hair did not carry things. These are not things that laws could achieve. The passage argues emphatically that laws alone cannot create such social harmony. Laws are implemented successfully only when rulers who possess sincerity of heart wield them: 夫矢之所以射遠貫牢者，弩力也；其所以中的剖微者，正心 也；賞善罰暴者，政令也；其所以能行者，精誠也。故弩雖 強，不能獨中；令雖明，不能獨行；必自精氣所以與之施道。   故攄道以被民，而民弗從者，誠心弗施也。 Now the reason why an arrow can be shot for a long distance and penetrate a hard substance is because the bow is strong, but the reason it can hit the tiny center of a target is due to the human heart. Rewarding goodness and punishing wickedness are for government decrees, but the reason they can be carried out depends on Quintessential Sincerity. Thus, though a bow may be strong, it cannot hit the target on its own. Though a decree may be enlightened, it cannot be carried out on its own. They must be grounded in Quintessential Sincerity in order to be effective. Thus, if the ruler applies the Way to the people and they do not follow him, he has not exercised a sincere heart.30 Chapter 13.18 also explores the theme of reward and punishment, arguing that 聖人因民之所喜而勸善，因民之所惡而禁奸。故賞一人而天下 譽之，罰一人而天下畏之。故至賞不費，至刑不濫。 sages accord with what the people like and thereby encourage them to do good; accord with what the people hate and therefore put a stop to wantonness. When they reward a single person, the whole world praises them; when they punish a single person, the whole world fears them.

29 30

Lau et al., Huainanzi 20/212/1–2; Major et al., Huainanzi, 802. Lau et al., Huainanzi 20/212/1–2; Major et al., Huainanzi, 802.

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Thus, the best rewards are not wasteful; the best punishments are not excessive.31 In this context the passage extols Confucius’s execution of Shao Zheng­ying 少 正卯, a popular but evil grandee of the state of Lu, whom Sima Qian described as possessing all five types of wicked character singled out by the ancient sagekings as worthy of the death penalty.32

Confucius and Mozi: The Sagely Duo

In chapter 9 (“The Ruler’s Techniques”), chapter 12 (“Responses of the Way”), chapter 19 (“Cultivating Effort”), and chapter 20 (“The Exalted Lineage”), Confucius is paired with Mozi, who is depicted in equally favorable terms as a fellow sage promoting the Way in a manner consistent with that of Confucius. Given the general tendency in the pre-Han Confucian tradition to emphasize the doctrinal differences between Confucius and Mozi, this pairing and equivalence are striking.33 What qualities, then, are shared by this sagely duo? Chapter 12.9 records a persuasion in which Hui Ang urges King Kang of Song34 to emulate the outstanding worthiness of Kong Qiu 孔丘 and Mozi 墨子 (Mo Di 墨翟): 孔、墨是已。孔丘、墨翟，無地而為君，無官而為長。天下丈 夫、女子，莫不延頸舉踵，而願安利之者。今大王，萬乘之主 也。誠有其志，則四境之內皆得其利矣。此賢于孔、墨也遠矣。 Kong Qiu and Mo Di possessed no territory yet were treated as rulers; they had no officials [in their service] yet were treated as chief ministers. Without fail, every grown man and woman in the world craned their necks and stood on tiptoe, wanting to secure their safety and benefit. Now Your Majesty is a ruler of [a state possessing] ten thousand chariots. 31 32 33

34

Lau et al., Huainanzi 13/129/8–9/11; Major et al., Huainanzi, 517–19. Sima Qian, Shiji 47.1917. For another reference to Confucius as minister of justice, see Lau et al., Huainanzi, 9/80/26; Major et al., Huainanzi 335–36. The shift from an antagonistic reading of the teachings of Confucius and Mozi toward a more sympathetic view may reflect the prominence and influence that Mozi’s disciples enjoyed in the early years of the Western Han. An exploration of this intriguing subject, however, is beyond the scope of this essay. Hui Ang 惠盎 was a native of Song and a knight in the service of King Kang, the last ruler of the state of Song 宋康王 (r. 328–286 BCE), who was comparable to the tyrant Jie because of his avarice and profligacy.

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If you were to sincerely manifest the will [of such men], then everyone within the borders of your state would enjoy the benefits. In that case, [Your Majesty’s] worthiness would far exceed that of Kong or Mo.35 Chapter 19.1 evokes the images of Confucius’s unblackened stove and Mozi’s cold mat as signs of their untiring efforts to improve the lot of the common people even if this meant serving rulers who treated them poorly: 孔子無黔𥥍，墨子無暖席。是以聖人不高山，不廣河，蒙恥辱 以幹世主，非以貪祿慕位，欲事起天下利，而除萬民之害。 Confucius’s stove was not black, and Mozi’s mat was not warm. Thus it is that sages do not consider mountains high, do not consider rivers wide. They withstand insult and humiliation in order to seek to serve a ruler of their age. They do not crave high salary or covet official posts but instead want to work to advance the world’s benefits and eradicate the common people’s hardships.36 Finally, and perhaps most important, Confucius and Mozi are praised for their exemplary roles as teachers. Chapter 20.22 details their transformative influence on their disciples in the following manner: 孔子弟子七十，養徒三千人，皆入孝出悌，言為文章，行為儀 錶，教之所成也。墨子服役者百八十人，皆可使赴火蹈刃，死 不還踵，化之所致也。 Confucius’s disciples numbered seventy, and they supported three thousand followers. All were filial when inside their households and brotherly when outside their households. Their speech was refined and elegant, and their conduct was ceremonious and exemplary. This was accomplished through education. Those who served Mozi numbered one hundred and eighty. He could send them all to walk through fire and tread on blades, face death, and not turn their heels [to flee]. This was brought about by [the process of] transformation.37

35 36 37

Lau et al., Huainanzi 12/107/16–108/3; Major et al., Huainanzi, 446–47. Lau et al., Huainanzi 19/203/6–8; Major et al., Huainanzi, 770. Lau et al., Huainanzi 20/217/6–8; Major et al., Huainanzi, 818.

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As the next example demonstrates, the images of Confucius and Mozi as teachers are closely tied to the Six Arts. In contrast to the last passage, which depicts the sages enjoying significant followings, chapter 9.26 bemoans the fact that their followers were few in number and they lacked the ‘positional advantage’ of high stations in the world: 孔丘、墨翟，修先聖之術，通六藝之論，口道其言，身行其 志，慕義從風，而為之服役者不過數十人。使居天子之位，則 天下遍為儒、墨矣 Confucius and Mo Di cultivated the techniques of the former sages and had a penetrating understanding of the theories of the Six Arts. Their utterances adhered to their doctrines, and their personal actions embodied their will. [Yet] those who, admiring their Rightness and following their influence, submitted to them and served them did not amount to more than a few tens of individuals. But if they had occupied the position of Son of Heaven, everyone in the world would have become Confucians or Mohists.38 Coming down to the present era of the Han, chapter 13.9 extols Emperor Gao 高帝 for being a ruler who, among other things, ‘unified the Confucian and Mohists of Zou and Lu’ as part of a larger project to restore the Way of Humaneness and Rightness, a theme to be addressed below.

Confucius and the Six Arts

The Huainanzi portrays the Six Arts as an integrated group of six texts, presented sometimes as paired texts such as the Odes and Documents or the Odes and Spring and Autumn Annals, and sometimes individually. For example, chapter 20.13 describes how each of the Six Classics contributes to the overall unity of the Six Arts as a group: 五行異氣而皆適調，六藝異科而皆同道。溫惠柔良者，《詩》   之風也；淳龐敦厚者，《書》之教也；清明條達者，《易》之 義也；恭儉尊讓者，禮之為也；寬裕簡易者，樂之化也；刺幾 辯義者，《春秋》之靡也。故《易》之失，鬼；樂之失，淫；   《詩》之失，愚；《書》之失，拘；禮之失，忮；《春秋》之   失，訾。六者，聖人兼用而財制之。失本則亂，得本則治。其 美在和，其失在權。 38

Lau et al., Huainanzi 9/77/22–23; Major et al., Huainanzi, 326.

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The Five Phases are of different qi, but all are harmonious. The Six Arts are of different categories, but all are connected. Warmth and kindness, gentleness and goodness, are the influences of the Odes; purity and grandeur, nobility and generosity, are the teachings of the Documents; clarity and brilliance, perception and penetration, are the norms of the Changes; deference and self-control, respect and humility, are the behaviors of the Rites; broad-mindedness and magnanimity, simplicity and easiness, are the transforming [qualities] of the Music; reprimands and critiques, blame and appraisal, are the polishing cloths of the Spring and Autumn Annals. Thus [if relied on exclusively], the shortcoming of the Changes is superstition; the shortcoming of the Music is lewdness; the shortcoming of the Odes is foolishness; the shortcoming of the Documents is rigidity; the shortcoming of the Rites is stubbornness; and the shortcoming of the Spring and Autumn Annals is censoriousness. The sage uses [all] six in conjunction and both prizes and institutes them. If [the sage] loses their root, there will be disorder; if he acquires their root, there will be order. The beauty of [these classics] lies in harmony; their shortcomings lie in expediency.39 Passages that associate Confucius with the Six Arts articulate additional topics. Chapter 9.29 evokes the theme of Confucius’s stalwart commitment to the Six Arts in the face of personal adversity. In this instance, Confucius’s life is threatened as he is surrounded by an angry mob when he passes through the town of Kuang in the state of Zheng.40 Here, the image of Confucius as ‘uncrowned king’ in relation to the Spring and Autumn Annals comes to the fore: 《春秋》二百四十二年，亡國五十二，弑君三十六，采善鉏醜，     以成王道，論亦博矣。然而圍于匡，顏色不變，弦歌不輟，臨 死亡之地，犯患難之危，據義行理而志不懾，分亦明矣。然為 魯司寇，聽獄必為斷，作為《春秋》 ，不道鬼神，不敢專己。 In the 242 years of the Spring and Autumn period, fifty-two states perished and thirty-six rulers were assassinated. Confucius upheld g­ oodness and condemned wickedness, [thereby] perfecting the Way of [the True] 39 40

Lau et al., Huainanzi 20/214/3–8; Major et al., Huainanzi, 808. The incident in Kuang has historical roots. Most early writers agree that the incident was a case of mistaken identity. The people of Kuang mistook Confucius for Yang Hu, a retainer of the Jisun family and de facto power of Lu who had offended the people of Kuang. He is said to have had his counselors take a number of their inhabitants captive and present them to the ruler of Jin to curry favor with him. For an analysis of these related references, see Chin, The Authentic Confucius, 102–10.

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King. His discussions certainly were broad. Nevertheless, when he was besieged in Kuang, his expression and complexion did not alter. He plucked [his qin] and sang without pausing. When it came to the point that his life was in danger, when he encountered calamities and dangerous difficulties, he clung to Rightness and practiced his principles, and his will was fearless. His sense of discrimination [between life and death] certainly was clear. Thus, [in serving] as minister of justice in Lu, when he heard cases, he invariably came to a decision. In compiling the Spring and Autumn Annals, he did not give accounts of ghosts and spirits, nor did he dare to [inject] his personal opinions.41 The second solo image of Confucius and the Six Arts concerns the sage’s unwavering commitment to teaching and transmitting this body of knowledge despite the dangers he faced. Chapter 16.151 explains: “Although Confucius encountered difficulties in [the borderlands of] Chen and Cai,42 [for that reason] to abandon the Six Arts would be foolhardy. Although doctors sometimes are unable to cure their own illnesses, [for that reason] not to use medicine when one falls ill would be rash 為孔子之窮于陳、蔡而廢六藝，則 惑；為醫之不能自治其病，病而不就藥，則勃矣.”43 Finally, chapter 21.4 deploys an even more impressive image of Confucius as the very originator of the Confucian (ru) tradition: 成王既壯，能從政事，周公受封于魯，以此移風易俗。孔子修 成、康之道，述周公之訓，以教七十子，使服其衣冠，修其篇 籍，故儒者之學生焉。 When King Cheng came of age and could attend to the affairs of governance, the Duke of Zhou was enfeoffed in [the state of] Lu, where he modified the prevailing habits and changed the local customs. Confucius cultivated the Way of [Kings] Cheng and Kang, and transmitted the teachings of the Duke of Zhou, thereby instructing his seventy disciples and inspiring them 41 42

43

Lau et al., Huainanzi 9/80/24–26; Major et al., Huainanzi, 335–36. Confucius’s “difficulties in [the borderlands of] Chen and Cai” refers to a historical event. In 489 Confucius left the state of Chen, where he had been residing, for the state of Chu in the hopes of leaving the threat of war behind in Chen and securing a job in Chu. While he and his disciples were traveling, they found themselves trapped somewhere in the wilds of Chen or Cai with no provisions left, and for a brief period of time it appeared that they might starve to death. The crisis is mentioned and appraised in a number of early texts, such as the Analects, the Xunzi, the Zhuangzi, and the Shiji. For a detailed discussion of these references, see Chin, The Authentic Confucius, 105–10. Lau et al., Huainanzi 16/168/4–5; Major et al., Huainanzi, 664.

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to don the robes and caps [of officialdom] and administer the documents and records. Thus, the learning of the Confucians was born.44 Citations from the Six Arts



We have seen that the later, or branch, chapters of the Huainanzi identify Confucius with the texts that embody the Six Arts: the Odes, the Documents, the Changes, the Spring and Autumn Annals, the Rites, and the Music. Quotations from these texts also appear predominantly in the second half of the Huainanzi—there are two citations in the root chapters but thirty-eight in the branch chapters. Their distribution is summarized in table 3.1. Table 3.1

Quotations from the Six Classics in the Huainanzi

Chapter Number

Odes

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 Total

44

Changes

Documents

Spring and Autumn

Rites

Music

Total

0

0 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 2 12 1 0 2 4 0 1 1 2 3 10 40

1

1 1 5

1 3

6 1

1 1

1 1

1 1 3 6 23

1

1 2 12

1 3

1 2

0

Lau et al., Huainanzi 21/227/25–228/2; Major et al., Huainanzi, 863–64.

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As table 3.1 demonstrates, the Odes and the Changes are cited most frequently, followed by the Documents and the Spring and Autumn Annals. These texts are accorded a special status, as they are almost always cited by name, a confirmation of their special power and authority. The Huainanzi does not cite the Rites and the Music at all. By far, most of the quotations from the Six Classics appear in chapter 10 (“Profound Precepts”) and chapter 20 (“The Exalted Lineage”), where the Changes and the Odes are cited most frequently. Chapter 10 is a collection of short maxims followed by editorial comments that describe the ethical values of the Superior Man and Sage and is heavily indebted to the ideas of the Lunyu, Mengzi, Xunzi, and particularly the Zisizi. Chapter 20.17 holds up the great sage-rulers of antiquity as models of emulation: the Five Thearchs and Three Kings, who transformed the people through their “Heavenly Heart” and moved them by their “Quintessential Sincerity.”45 In these two chapters, the Changes and Odes are deployed in similar fashion. Citations generally come at the end of a discursive unit or at the close of an aphorism, adding a literary flourish that provides an illustration of the practical uses of the Changes and the Odes in the style of the earlier Xunzi and later Hanshi waizhuan (Master Han’s Exoteric Commentary to the Odes).

Sayings of Confucius in the Branch Chapters 9, 10, 13, 16, and 20

These positive images of Confucius are complemented by quotations attributed to him that generally appear in the same branch chapters of the text. Brief sayings46 attributed to Confucius appear in chapters 9 (“The Ruler’s Techniques”), 10 (“Profound Precepts”), 13 (“Boundless Discourses”), 16 (“A Mountain of Persuasions”), and 20 (“The Exalted Lineage”). These citations exhibit strong resonances with the Analects: either they are paralleled in the Analects (though they are not attributed to this text in the Huainanzi), or they expound principles consonant with themes typically associated with the Analects. For example, in chapter 9.23 Confucius speaks to the importance of the ruler’s uprightness:

45 46

For the complete passage see Lau et al., Huainanzi 20/215/25–216/3; Major et al., Huainanzi, 814–15. These are brief citations attributed to Confucius that are embedded in longer philosophical prose, as opposed to dialogues between Confucius and other figures that appear in the anecdotal narratives to be discussed below.

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是故人主之立法，先自為檢式儀錶，故令行於天下。孔子曰：   “其身正，不令而行；其身不正，雖令不從。    ”故禁勝於身，則 令行於民矣。 Thus, when the ruler first establishes laws, he begins by making himself an example and a standard; thus, the laws are implemented in the world. Confucius said, “If the ruler himself is upright, even though he does not issue orders, they are carried out; if he is not upright, though he issues orders, they are not followed.”47 Thus, when the prohibitions apply to [even the ruler] himself, then his orders will be carried out among the people.48 Chapter 10.32 links a brief lamentation attributed to Confucius to the challenges of self-rectification, reinforced with a flourish from the Odes: 聞善易，以正身難。夫子見禾之三變也，滔滔然曰： “狐向丘而 死，我其首禾乎！  ”故君子見善則痛其身焉。身苟正，懷遠易矣。   故《詩》曰： “弗躬弗親，庶民弗信.” To hear of goodness is easy. To use it to correct oneself is difficult. Now when the Master saw the three alterations of grain [i.e., seed, sprout, and ripened form], he sighed deeply and said, “The fox turns its head toward its burrow and dies. But my head [droops like] grain.” Thus, when the Superior Man sees goodness, he takes pains with respect to himself. If your own self is rectified, then transforming the far-off [by example] will be easy. Thus, the Odes says, “You do not [act] personally; you do not [show] affection; and the common people do not trust you.”49 In 13.11, Confucius’s comments are woven into a longer argument on the proper applications of the principle of expediency: 孝子之事親，和顏卑體，奉帶運履，至其溺也，則捽其發而 拯；非敢驕侮，以救其死也。故溺則捽父，祝則名君，勢不得 不然也。此權之所設也。故孔子曰： “可以共學矣，而未可以適 道也；可與適道，未可以立也；可以立，未可與權。 ”權者，聖 人之所獨見也。故忤而後合者，謂之知權；合而後舛者，謂之 不知權。 47 48 49

Analects 13.6. Lau et al., Huainanzi 9/75/28; Major et al., Huainanzi, 321. Odes 191, stanza 4. Lau et al., Huainanzi 10/85/12–14; Major et al., Huainanzi, 361.

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When the filial son serves his father, with pleasing expression and submissive posture he offers him his sash and lays out his shoes. But if the father is drowning, he grabs him by the hair and pulls him [out of the water]; this is not because he is presuming to be arrogant or haughty but because he means to rescue his father from death. Thus, when a father is drowning, to grab him by the hair and, when a ruler is celebrating, to call him by name—these things derive from the power of circumstance and so cannot be otherwise. This is what establishes the basis for expediency. Thus, Confucius said: “A person might be suitable as someone with whom to study and yet not suitable as someone with whom to pursue the Way; a person might be suitable as someone with whom to pursue the Way and yet not suitable as someone with whom to take a stand; a man might be suitable as someone with whom to take a stand and yet not suitable as someone with whom to exercise expediency.”50 Expediency is something the sages alone perceive. Thus, those who [first] disobey [ritual norms] but ultimately accord with them are said to understand expediency. Those who first accord [with ritual norms] but later oppose them are said to lack an understanding of expediency.51 Finally, in 20.15 Confucius speaks to the deleterious effects of pettiness: 治大者道不可以小，地廣者制不可以狹，位高者事不可以煩，   民眾者教不可以苛。夫事碎難治也，法煩難行也，求多難澹 也。寸而度之，至丈必差；銖而稱之，至石必過。石稱丈量，   徑而寡失；簡絲數米，煩而不察。故大較易為智，曲辯難為 慧。故無益於治，而有益於煩者，聖人不為；無益于用，而有 益於費者，智者弗行也。故功不厭約，事不厭省，求不厭寡。   功約，易成也；事省，易治也；求寡，易澹也。眾易之，于以 任人，易矣。孔子曰：“小辯破言，小利破義，小藝破道，小 見不達，必簡。 ”河以逶蛇，故能遠；山以陵遲，故能高；陰陽 無為，故能和；道以優遊，故能化。 The Way of a person who governs a great state cannot be small; the regulations of a person whose realm is broad cannot be narrow. The concerns of a person in a high position cannot be troublesome; the teachings of a person whose people are numerous cannot be vexatious. Now, when matters are trifling, it is difficult to control them; when laws are complex, it is difficult to implement them; when demands are numerous, it is 50 51

Analects 9.30. Lau et al., Huainanzi 13/125/25–126/1; Major et al., Huainanzi, 507.

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difficult to satisfy them. If you measure something by inches, by the time you reach a fathom there is bound to be a discrepancy. If you weigh things by the zhu, by the time you reach a dan there is sure to be an error. If you weigh by the dan and measure by the fathom, it is fast and there will be fewer mistakes. If you inspect by the strand and count by the grains, it is troublesome and there will be no accuracy. Thus, if you stay on the main track, it is easy to seem wise; if you get tangled up in tortuous debates, it is hard to seem intelligent. Thus, what contributes nothing to government but merely contributes to troublesome detail, the sage will not do. What contributes nothing to usefulness but merely contributes to expense, the wise refrains from implementing. Thus, tasks can never be too specific; affairs can never be too frugal; demands can never be too few. When tasks are specific, they are easy to accomplish; when affairs are frugal, they are easy to control; when demands are few, they are easy to satisfy. If everyone considers them easy, then using them to employ others is easy indeed! Confucius said, “Petty disputes destroy discourse; petty advantage destroys Rightness; petty Rightness destroys the Way. If the Way [itself] is petty, then it cannot prevail. If it prevails, it is necessarily simple.”52 These many images of Confucius and his teachings, the Six Arts associated with him, and the sayings attributed to him culled from the branch chapters of the Huainanzi suggest that in the second half of the text, Confucius was generally admired by the authors of the Huainanzi, and the teachings and texts associated with him were recognized as having something to contribute to the broader discussion of the ideal ruler and polity envisioned in the text as a whole.

Anecdotal Narratives of Confucius in the Branch Chapters 11, 12, and 18

In addition to the brief images of Confucius and Confucians reviewed in the previous sections, Confucius appears in the second half of the Huainanzi as the key figure in anecdotal narratives53 in chapters 11 (“Integrating Customs”),

52 53

Lau et al., Huainanzi 20/215/4–10; Major et al., Huainanzi, 811–12. By ‘anecdotal narrative’ I mean stories and parables that describe Confucius to inform us of his teachings, in contrast to philosophical narratives that incorporate brief references to Confucius. As we will see, these anecdotal narratives could be incorporated into longer philosophical prose as in chapters 11 and 18 or they could stand alone as in chapter 12.

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12 (“Responses of the Way”), and 18 (“Among Others”).54 The majority of these anecdotes describe Confucius and his disciples. Confucius’s most famous disciples, Zigong, Zilu, and Yan Hui, appear most frequently, followed by the lesser-known Mizi 弥子 and Wuma Qi 巫馬期. A handful of anecdotes depict Confucius and various political figures of his day. In these anecdotal narratives, Confucius takes on more colorful qualities and varied teachings than those otherwise known to us, for example, from the more familiar collection of Confucius’s teachings, the Analects. From this small sampling we can begin to imagine how the compilers of the Analects may have drawn from a wider and more varied pool of narratives to craft the narrower and more uniform image of Confucius preserved in the Analects. As we shall see, these anecdotes are deployed for varying didactic purposes depending upon the context in which they are located. And, as I shall argue below, these narratives, which occur in the chapters that are most strongly identified with the Zhuangzi and Laozi, are most fascinating for what they reveal about the syncretic nature of the Huainanzi.

Anecdotal Narratives in Chapter 11

Chapter 11, which carries the title “Integrating Customs” (“Qi su” 齊俗), is an allusion to the second chapter of the Zhuangzi, “Qi wu lun” 齊物論, variously translated as ‘The Discussion of Making All Things Equal’ or ‘The Sorting That Evens Things Out.’55 Chapter 11 explores the origins of ritual in cosmic and human history and discusses how the sage-ruler should establish rituals appropriate to his age. As Andrew Meyer has argued so eloquently in his introduction to this chapter: Whereas ‘ritual’ was a matter of supreme importance for Confucians (ru), “Integrating Customs” immediately makes clear that ritual is the ‘creation of a declining age’56 and does not rank among the forces to which the Huainanzi grants primacy and maximum potency. . . . No set of ‘rituals,’ no matter how sophisticated or wisely conceived, can be ultimately 54

55 56

Confucius figures five times in chapter 11 (11.2, 11.5, 11.7, 11.15, and 11.19); seven times in chapter 12 (12.2, 12.8, 12.12, 12.19, 12.39, 12.43, 12.49); and six times in chapter 18 (18.2, 18.6, 18.19, 18.22, 18.23, and 18.26). All are anecdotes except for 11.5, 11.7, 11.19, 18.2, 18.22, and 18.26; these passages refer briefly to Confucius or quote him in the context of longer philosophical narratives. See Meyer’s discussion of the title in Major et al., Huainanzi, 391–92. Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/93/22.

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­ ormative. The validity of any ‘ritual’ is contingent on its appropriateness n to the time and place in which it is practiced, and the distinction between the tribal customs of the ‘barbarians’ living outside the Han domain and the rituals of the Han court is ultimately arbitrary.57 Thus, the treatise relativizes ritual but nonetheless maintains that it is indispensable to rulership in the current age. Accordingly, the anecdotes describing Confucius further the relativistic arguments that characterize this chapter. The following three examples will illustrate this point. In the story of Confucius preserved in 11.2, the sage judges his two disciples’ abilities on this very issue: how they respond to the local and popular practices of the Lu populace. Zilu is offered an ox as a gift of thanks when he saves someone from drowning; Zigong is offered gold when he ransoms someone from captivity. Zilu follows customary practice and accepts the gift of thanks, while Zigong, wishing to preserve his integrity, refuses to break with his personal practices and declines the gift. Confucius approves of Zilu’s actions and disapproves of Zigong’s. The text explains: “By accepting, Zilu encouraged virtue; by refusing, Zigong obstructed goodness. Confucius’s clarity was such that he used the small to know the great, [and] he used the near to know the distant. He was one who penetrated reasoning” 孔子之明，以小知大，以近 知遠，通於論者也.58 Viewed on this basis, although incorruptibility has its place, it cannot be universally practiced. Thus, in stark contrast to the earlier images of the incorruptible Confucius who clung to his normative beliefs no matter the cost or situation, here the text uses a story about Confucius to make the opposite point: that true sages do not impose their personal code of ethics upon others, because they understand that ethical values cannot be universally applied. In 11.15, the story about Confucius and Duke Ping of Jin 晉平公 is situated in a long philosophical narrative that is reminiscent of the Zhuangzi and that argues that ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ have no immutable basis.59 After a long preamble on this theme, the narrative turns to three examples that demonstrate how people often hold opposing views of the same things. The first involves divergent interpretations of the Laozi citation that states: “Ruling a great state is like cooking a small fish” 老子曰：治大國若烹小鮮.60 The passage explains: “Those who favor leniency say [it means] ‘Do not disturb it too much’; those who favor strictness say, ‘Give it salt and vinegar, that’s it’” 為寬裕者曰勿數 57 58 59 60

Major et al., Huainanzi, 392. Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/94/16–17; Major et al., Huainanzi, 399–400. See Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/100/15–21; Major et al., Huainanzi, 417. Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/100/23.

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撓，為刻削者曰致其鹹酸而已矣 . The second contrasts Confucius’s and Han Feizi’s conflicting appraisals of Duke Ping of Jin: 晉平公出言而不當，師曠舉琴而撞之，跌衽宮壁，左右欲塗 之，平公曰： “舍之，以此為寡人失。 ”孔子聞之曰： “平公非不 痛其體也，欲來諫者也。 ”韓子聞之曰： “臣失禮而弗誅，是縱過 也。有以也，夫平公之不霸也。 ” Duke Ping of Jin let slip words that were not correct. Music Master Kuang raised his qin and bumped into him, so that he tripped on his robe and [struck] the wall. The courtiers wanted to plaster [the damaged spot]. Duke Ping said, “Leave it. This will [remind] me of my fault.” Confucius heard this and said, “It is not that Duke Ping did not cherish his body but that he wanted to attract those who would admonish him.” Han [Fei]zi heard this and said, “The assembled officials abandoned Ritual and were not punished. This is to condone transgression. This is why Duke Ping did not become hegemon!”61 In the third example, Mizi and his guest evaluate a visitor, once again in starkly contrasting terms: 故賓有見人于宓子者，賓出，宓子曰：“子之賓獨有三過。望 我而笑，是攓也；談語而不稱師，是返也；交淺而言深，是亂 也。 ”賓曰：“望君而笑，是公也；談語而不稱師，是通也；交 淺而言深，是忠也。 ”故賓之容，一體也，或以為君子，或以為 小人，所自視之異也。 There was a guest who presented someone to Mizi. When the visitor left, Mizi said, “Your visitor has only three faults. He looked at me and laughed, this is arrogance. In conversation he did not mention his teacher, this is effrontery. His manner was light and his words were deep, this is rebelliousness.” The guest said, “He looked at you and laughed, this is impartiality. In conversation he did not mention his teacher, this is comprehensiveness. His manner was light and his words were deep, this is loyalty.” Thus, the demeanor [of the visitor] was the same, but one thought him a gentleman, [and] the other thought him a petty man. This is the difference of one’s own perspective.62 61 62

Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/100/22–23; Major et al., Huainanzi, 418. Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/100/23–101/4; Major et al., Huainanzi, 418.

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The narrative continues to marshal an array of dizzying examples that further illustrate how one’s point of view affects one’s reading of the world. Only a particular type of gnosis enables one to transcend the biased and limited perspectives that cloud one’s perceptions of the world. Building on a theme found in the Laozi, the passage concludes: 故通於道者如車軸，不運於己，而與轂致千里，轉無窮之原也。   不通於道者若迷惑，告以東西南北，所居聆聆，一曲而辟，然忽 不得，複迷惑也。故終身隸於人，辟若伣之見風也，無須臾之間 定矣。故聖人體道反性，不化以待化，則幾於免矣。 Thus, one who comprehends the Way is like the axle of a cart. He himself does not move, yet with the wheel he reaches one thousand li. He turns at the limitless origin. One who does not comprehend the Way is as if lost and confused. If you tell him east, west, south, north, his position is clear. As soon as there is a turn, he strays and suddenly does not grasp it; again he is lost and confused. Thus, to the end of his days, he is a servant to others, like a weather vane in the wind. He is not stable for an instant. Thus, the sage embodies the Way and returns to nature; he does not transform in facing transformation, thus, he comes close to withdrawal.63 If the first narrative served to relativize Confucius’s views on ritual practice, this passage relativizes Confucius’s views altogether. In contrast to the Confucius who is admired for his superhuman perspicacity in chapters 9, 10, 13, and 16, here Confucius’s insights are shorn of their special qualities. Indeed, his opinions hold no special prestige at all, being one among the many partial and limited views that populate the world of average men, in contrast to the true sage, “who comprehends the Way like the axle of a cart,” from an unmoving and empty center. The last section in which Confucius makes an appearance, 11.19, enumerates the salient characteristics of an ordered state in contrast to a chaotic age. The text explains that a chaotic age is marked by the following characteristics: 亂世則不然，為行者相揭以高，為禮者相矜以偽，車輿極於雕 琢，器用逐於刻鏤。求貨者爭難得以為寶，詆文者處煩撓以為 慧，爭為佹辯，久稽而不訣，無益於治。工為奇器，曆歲而後 成，不周於用。

63

Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/101/11; Major et al., Huainanzi, 419.

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Those who partake in conduct vie to outdo one another in loftiness; those who partake in Ritual take pride in [surpassing] one another in artifice. Chariots are excessively carved; implements are exhaustively engraved. Those who seek goods vie for those that are hard to obtain as treasures. Those who value writing fix complexity and distortions as [signs of] intelligence. They compete to create false disputations. Accumulating for a long while without cease, these are of no aid to order. Craftsmen make exotic implements. Complete only after a year has passed, these do not increase utility. An orderly age, the narrative concludes, draws heavily upon the laws of the Divine Farmer: 丈夫丁壯而不耕，天下有受其饑者；婦人當年而不織，天下有 受其寒者。 故身自耕，妻親織，以為天下先。其導民也，不貴 難得之貨，不器無用之物。是故其耕不強者，無以養生；其織 不強者，無以掩形。有餘不足，各歸其身。衣食饒溢，奸邪不 生，安樂無事，而天下均平。故孔丘,曾參無所施其善；孟賁,  成荊無所行其威。 If a man is able-bodied and does not farm, someone in the world will be hungry as a result. If a woman does not weave over the course of a year, someone in the world will be cold as a result. And so each man farming for himself and each wife personally spinning was made the priority of the world. In guiding the people, he did not value goods that were hard to obtain; he did not take useless objects as implements. For this reason, those who did not exert strength in farming did not have the means to nourish life; those who did not exert effort in weaving did not have the means to cover their bodies. Surplus or dearth came back to each person individually. Clothing and food were plentiful; wickedness and deviance did not appear. [People were] secure, happy, without incident, and the world was at peace. Thus, Confucius and Zeng Can had nowhere to practice their goodness; Meng Ben and Cheng Jing had nowhere to effect their might.64 This last narrative relegates Confucius to a position of even lesser importance than the previous examples, as it writes him out of the pages of history altogether: in the ideal age when the laws of the Divine Farmer reigned supreme, there was no need for Confucius at all! 64

Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/103/19–26; Major et al., Huainanzi, 425–26.

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Anecdotal Narratives in Chapter 12

Chapter 12, “Responses of the Way” (“Dao ying” 道應), is a collection of fifty-six anecdotes, each capped with a citation from the Laozi that supports the anecdote’s didactic claims. Chapter 12 contains fifty-three of the fifty-eight citations in the Huainanzi that explicitly refer to the Laozi.65 Rhetorically, these anecdotes and their Laozi passages demonstrate the versatility of the Laozi as an authoritative source of sagely rule. Read as ‘the relics of past affairs,’ the Laozi passages were the ideal literary medium to illustrate the relationship between the Way 道 and human affairs 事 as unfolding in the context of change. In addition, the citations from the Laozi demonstrate that text’s wide scope and its ability to address nearly every occasion that might arise. The combination of illustrative anecdote and apposite citation created a mix of didactic principles (in chapter 21 called ‘the techniques of Lao-Zhuang’) that the compilers of chapter 12 saw as instrumental to a ruler’s success. Moreover, the Laozi here is given canonical authority, as it is cited by name at the closing of each anecdotal narrative and is deployed to enhance the principles of rulership derived from the Laozi doctrines espoused in the first eight chapters of the Huainanzi.66 Chapter 12.12 consists of a longer and somewhat different account of Zigong’s response to the rural folk, who offer him a reward after he ransomed a native of Lu than the example discussed earlier:67 魯國之法，魯人為人妾于諸侯，有能贖之者，取金於府。子贛 贖魯人于諸侯。來，而辭不受金。孔子曰：“賜失之矣。夫聖 人之舉事也，可以移風易俗，而受教順可施後世，非獨以適身 之行也。今國之富者寡而貧者眾，贖而受金，則為不廉；不受 金，則不復贖人。自今以來，魯人不復贖人于諸侯矣。 ”孔子亦 可謂知禮矣。故老子曰：“見小曰明。 ” According to the laws of the state of Lu, if a native of Lu is captured by another Lord of the Land [to be detained] as a servant or a concubine, and if there is someone who is able to ransom [the captive], that person will be reimbursed from the state treasury. Zigong ransomed a native 65 66

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The remaining five citations attributed to the Laozi are found in chapters 11 (2×), 14 (1×), and 18 (2×). For a detailed study of this chapter, see Sarah A. Queen, “The Creation and Domestication of the Techniques of Lao-Zhuang: Anecdotal Narrative and Philosophical Argumentation in Huainanzi Chapter 12, ‘Reponses of the Way’ (Dao ying 道應),” Asia Major 21.1 (2008): 201–247. Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/94/15–30.

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of Lu from a Lord of the Land but when [the ransomed party] returned to Lu, [Zigong] declined and did not accept reimbursement. Confucius heard of the matter and said: “Si has committed an error! When sages initiate undertakings, they are able to shift with prevailing habits to change local customs. Their teachings and instructions can be applied by future generations. It is not the case that they suit their personal conduct alone. Now the wealthy of Lu are few, but the poor are numerous. Ransoming others and receiving recompense is not the most honorable practice, but if no reimbursement is received, no one will ever again ransom others, and henceforth the people of Lu might never again redeem others from the Lords of the Land.” It may indeed be said that Confucius understood how to transform others. Therefore, the Laozi says: “To notice the details is called discernment.”68 In the same spirit as chapter 11.2 the story is read as an illustration of how the sagely ruler morally transforms his subjects. Confucius argues that the Superior Man does not arbitrarily follow his own standards of morality but takes into account the broader effects of his actions on the customary practices of the populace at hand. Confucius does not approve of the practice of ransoming, but this customary practice can be reformed only by first utilizing it as the local populace does, not by simply disregarding it. He expressly states that sages “are able to shift with prevailing habits to change local customs.”69 It is precisely their sensitivity to the particular circumstances on the ground, or local nuances of customary practice, that enables sages to effectively transform the common people through virtuous conduct. As the Laozi citation suggests in this context, what enables sagely rulers to translate the principles of the Way into an effective response in the moment is the great attention and care they devote to the particularities of the local circumstances they confront. Chapter 12.43, the story of Confucius’s disciple Mizi who governs with sincerity, also explores the theme of moral transformation, but this time from the perspective of the ruler’s personal character: 季子治亶父三年，而巫馬期絻衣短褐，易容貌，往觀化焉。見 得魚釋之。巫馬期問焉，曰:“凡子所為魚者，欲得也。今得 而釋之，何也？ ”漁者對曰:“季子不欲人取小魚也。所得者小 魚，是以釋之。 ”巫馬期歸，以報孔子曰:“季子之德至矣使人 暗行，若有嚴刑在其側者。季子何以至於此？ ”孔子曰:“丘嘗 68 Laozi 52. Lau et al., Huainanzi 12/108/17–21; Major et al., Huainanzi, 448–49. 69 Ibid.

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問之以治，言曰:‘誡于此者刑於彼。 ’季子必行此術也。 ”故老 子曰:“去彼取此。 ” Mizi had governed Shanfu for three years, when Wuma Qi changed his appearance by wearing tattered clothes and a short hemp jacket, so that he could [secretly] observe what transformations had taken place there. He saw a night fisherman catch a fish and let it go. Wuma Qi asked him: “You sir, being a fisherman, want to catch fish. Why then do you catch them and let them go?” The fisherman replied: “Mizi does not want us to catch small fish. Since all the fish I caught were small ones, I let them go.” Wuma Qi returned home and reported his findings to Confucius: “Mizi is the most Morally Potent of all! He is able to inspire people to conduct themselves in the dark of the night as if they were facing a strict punishment for their actions. How is Master Mi able to achieve such things?” Confucius replied: “I, Qiu, once asked him about governing. He replied, ‘Sincerity in this takes shape in that.’ Mizi must be practicing this technique.” Therefore the Laozi says: “He discards that and takes this.”70 In contrast to these two stories, which stretch the Laozi to incorporate Confucian ground by confirming the legitimacy of moral transformation, others do just the opposite: they depict Confucius as a Daoist sage. Chapter 12.39 portrays Confucius instructing Yan Hui on the apophatic practice of ‘sitting and forgetting,’ which is given prominence in the Laozi: 顏回謂仲尼曰： “回益矣。 ”仲尼曰： “何謂也？ ”曰： “回忘禮樂 矣。 ”仲尼曰： “可矣。猶未也。 ”異日複見，曰： “回益矣。 ”仲尼 曰： “何謂也？ ”曰： “回忘仁義也。 ”仲尼曰： “可矣。猶未也。 ”   異日複見。曰： “回坐忘矣。 ”仲尼遽然曰： “何謂坐忘？”顏回 曰： “墮支體，黜聰明，離形去知，洞於化通。是謂坐忘。 ”仲尼 曰： “洞則無善也，化則無常矣。而夫子薦賢。丘請從之後。 ”   故老子曰：“載營魄抱一，能無離乎！專氣至柔，能如嬰兒 乎！ ” “I am making progress,” said Yan Hui. “What do you mean?” asked Zhong Ni. “I have forgotten Rites and Music.” “Not bad, but you still haven’t got it.” Yan Hui saw [Zhong Ni] again on another day and said, “I am making progress.” “What do you mean?” “I have forgotten Humaneness and Rightness.” “Not bad, but you still haven’t got it.” Yan Hui saw [Zhong 70

Laozi 72. Lau et al., Huainanzi 12/116/21–28; Major et al., Huainanzi, 472.

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Ni] again on another day and said, “I sit and forget.” “What do you mean ‘sit and forget’?” Zhong Ni asked with surprise. “I slough off my limbs and trunk,” said Yan Hui, “dim my intelligence, depart from my form, leave knowledge behind, and immerse myself in the conduits of transformation. This is what I mean by ‘sit and forget.’ ” “If you are immersed,” said Zhong Ni, “then you have no preferences. If you are transformed, then you have no more constants. It is you who is really the worthy one! Please permit me to follow after you.” Therefore, the Laozi says: “When nourishing your ethereal soul and embracing the One—can you not let them go? In concentrating your qi and attaining softness, can you be like an infant?”71

Anecdotal Narratives in Chapter 18

Chapter 18, “Among Others”, is the second of the later chapters of the Huainanzi that evinces strong links to the Zhuangzi. It shares its title—“Ren jian” 人間— with chapter 4 of the Zhuangzi, and the two chapters are thematically quite close. As Andrew Meyer has argued: “Among Others” explores the vagaries of human affairs and the paradoxical impulses that constantly change the patterns of human society. This chapter is essentially an extended exercise in persuasive prose, using symmetrically arranged anecdotes to demonstrate that radically divergent principles and forces direct events from situation to situation and from moment to moment. The overarching theme of the chapter is that only a sage can hope to navigate the turbid waters of human politics and social intercourse.72 Tellingly the sage does so by responding to situations as they emerge, rather than implementing a set of universal, ethical values in an a priori fashion. Accordingly, the handful of narratives in this chapter assign these very attributes to the sage. In 18.19, Confucius appears with three of his most famous disciples: Yan Hui, Zigong, and Zilu. When a guest asks Confucius to describe them, Confucius is quick to acknowledge the humaneness of Yan Hui, the eloquence of Zigong,73 71 72 73

Laozi 10. Lau et al., Huainanzi 12/115/12–17; Major et al., Huainanzi, 468–69. Major et al., Huainanzi, 713. Chapter 18.26 also recognizes Zigong as gifted in the art of persuasion.

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and the bravery of Zilu, and to admit that he does not equal his three disciples with respect to these three virtues. Confused by this response, the guest asks Confucius, “These three people are all more worthy than you, yet you lead them. Why?” 三人皆賢夫子，而為夫子役。何也？ Confucius’s response challenges his disciples’ commitment to the values of humaneness, eloquence, and bravery as universally applicable. He states: “I, Qiu, can be humane or stern, eloquent or inarticulate, brave or timorous. If I could trade my three students’ abilities for my one Way, I would not do it” 丘能仁且忍，辯且訥， 勇且怯。以三子之能，易丘一道，丘弗為也. The passage concludes: “Confucius knew how to apply [these qualities]” 孔子知所施之也.74 Confucius’s sagely ability to promote the eloquent or the inarticulate depending on the needs of the situation is played out in 18.22. In this example, Confucius is traveling in the eastern countryside, when his horse escapes and proceeds to eat some farmers’ crops. Roused to anger, the country folk take Confucius’s horse, tie it up, and refuse to release it. Confucius then sends his disciple Zigong to persuade them to give up his horse. Zigong returns and explains to Confucius that although he used polite and polished phrases, the people failed to understand him. Confucius then responds: “If [what] you use to persuade them [is] what people are unable to listen to, it is like using the great lao sacrificial feast to feed a wild animal or the ‘Nine Harmonies’ to serenade the flying birds. This is my mistake; it is not your oversight” 夫以人 之所不能聽說人，譬以大牢享野獸，以《九韶》樂飛鳥也。予之罪 也，非彼人之過也. He realizes that he has chosen the wrong intermediary, alters his course of action, and next sends his groom to persuade the country folk to release his horse. The narrative details the groom’s success as follows: 至，見野人曰： “予耕於東海，至於西海，吾馬之失，安得不食 子之苗？”野人大喜，解而與之. When he got there, [the groom] said to the country people, ‘You till from the East Sea all the way to the West Sea. When my horse becomes lost; where could it [go] that it would not be eating your crops?’ The country people were greatly pleased; they let the horse go and gave it to him. The moral to be gleaned from the story is the following: 說若此其無方也，而反行。事有所至，而巧不若拙。故聖人量 鑿而正枘。夫歌《采菱》 ，發《陽阿》 ，鄙人聽之，不若此《延 74

Lau et al., Huainanzi 18/197/1–8; Major et al., Huainanzi, 743–44.

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路》、《陽局》。非歌者拙也，聽者異也。故交畫不暢，連環不 解，物之不通者，聖人不爭也。 A persuasion like this had no technique, yet paradoxically it worked. Affairs reach a point at which skill is not as good as ineptness; thus, the sage ‘measures the mortise and corrects the tenon.’ If you sing “Gathering Water Chestnuts” and play “Northern Bank”75 to rustics, they will not find them as harmonious as “Late Dew.”76 It is not that the singer is inept; it is that the listeners are different. Thus, crossed strokes do not extend; a continuous circle is never broken. When things do not communicate [with one another], the sage does not fight [them].77

The Ethical Values of Humaneness and Rightness

The reader will recall that at the outset of this essay, I noted that the earliest extant witness to the Huainanzi, Gao You, asserted that the Huainanzi authors were chiefly concerned with forging a synthesis between the two paired concepts of ‘the Way and Potency’ (daode 道德) and ‘Humaneness and Rightness’ (renyi 仁義). It is therefore fitting in this concluding section to explore the relationship between these paired concepts. Humaneness and Rightness appear multiple times in thirteen of the twenty-one chapters that constitute the Huainanzi: chapters 2, 6, 8–13, 15, 16, 18, 20, and 21.78 Thus, though they predominate in the branch chapters, they also occur in the root chapters of the text. Moreover, in the branch chapters, Humaneness and Rightness are explicitly associated with Confucius. Ren (Humaneness) is generally coupled with Yi (Rightness), and these twin concepts are often linked with Dao (the Way) and De (Potency). This, I would argue, is no accident. Since these twin pairs function as a synecdoche for Confucius and Laozi in the Huainanzi, the relationship between Humaneness and Rightness to the Way and Potency is important for understanding the place of Confucian teachings in the Huainanzi and the particular kind of syncretism operative in the text.

75 76 77 78

Both are songs of ancient Chu. According to Xu Shen, a popular rustic song. See Zhang Shuangdi 張雙棣, Huainanzi jiaoshi 淮南子校釋 (Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 1997), 2:1914n5. Lau et al., Huainanzi 18/198/8–15; Major et al., Huainanzi, 747. See chapters 2.3, 2.4, 2.8, 2.9, 2.12, 6.9, 8.3, 8.4, 9.31, 10.5, 10.6, 11.1, 12.9, 12.30, 12.39, 12.49, 13.9, 13.10, 13.12, 15.6, 16.56, 16.109, 18.23, 20.10, 20.11, 20.23, 20.26, 20.27, 20.33, 21.2.

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Daode Renyi as Concepts Born of Successive Historical Eras In the Huainanzi, the pair Humaneness and Rightness is often coupled with the Way and Potency (Daode), but importantly the Way and Potency always comes first. In the vast majority of cases, when the pair Way and Potency is coupled with Humaneness and Rightness, the Way and Potency prefigures Humaneness and Rightness, and their relationship reflects both the root-branches structuralism of the text as a whole and the specific rootbranches reading of history that the text promotes. Thus, the twin pairs generally occur within the context of a devolutionary scheme of history, wherein as time marches on, human society experiences increasing alienation from a utopian age when the Way in all its primordial unity and utter nondifferentiation reigned supreme. These devolutionary schemes differ in their details, but all give normative priority to concepts associated with the variously named ‘root age,’ suggesting a hierarchy that is determined by the location of any particular concept along this temporal scheme. Thus, the priority of the Way and Potency over Humaneness and Rightness appears in two guises. Structurally, the first chapter of the text is devoted to the Way and the second to Potency). Temporally, the twin concepts the Way and Potency make their appearance first and are generally associated with a primordial ‘root’ period of flourishing, while the twin concepts Humaneness and Rightness appear in later ‘branch’ ages and are associated with a period of decline. These devolutionary schemes79 appear in chapters 2.8, 8.3, 8.4, 10.5, and 11.1.80 According to chapter 11.1:

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It should also be noted that 13.4 incorporates the Odes and the Spring and Autumn Annals into a similar devolutionary scheme: “When the way of the kings grew deficient, the Odes was created. When the house of Zhou fell into ruin and their ritual standards were destroyed, the Spring and Autumn Annals was created. Those who study the Odes and the Spring and Autumn Annals view them as beautiful; both are products of ages of decline. The Confucians follow them in order to teach and guide the generations. But how can they compare to the flourishing of the Three Dynasties? Taking the Odes and the Spring and Autumn Annals as the way of the ancients, they honor them. But there is also the time before the Odes and Spring and Autumn Annals were created. Now, the deficiency of the Way is not as good as the entirety of the Way; reciting the poems and texts of the former kings is not as good as hearing and attaining their words; hearing and attaining their words is not as good as attaining that about which they spoke. As for attaining that about which they spoke, speaking cannot speak it. Therefore: ‘The Way that can be spoken is not the enduring Way’ ” (Lau et al., Huainanzi 13/121/8–13; Major et al., Huainanzi, 494). See Lau et al., Huainanzi 2/14/7–11; Major et al., Huainanzi, 95–96; Lau et al., Huainanzi 8/62/6–19; Major et al., Huainanzi, 271–73; Lau et al., Huainanzi 8/62/22–27; Major et al., Huainanzi, 273–74; Lau et al., Huainanzi 10/82/24–26; Major et al., Huainanzi, 351.

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率性而行謂之道，得其天性謂之德。性失然後貴仁，道失然後 貴義。是故仁義立而道德遷矣，禮樂飾則純樸散矣，是非形則 百姓眩矣，珠玉尊則天下爭矣。凡此四者，衰世之造也，末世 之用也。 Following nature and putting it into practice is called ‘the Way’; attaining one’s Heaven[-born] nature is called ‘Potency.’ Only after nature was lost was Humaneness honored; only after the Way was lost was Rightness honored. For this reason, when Humaneness and Rightness were established, the Way and Potency receded; when Ritual and Music were embellished, purity and simplicity dissipated. Right and wrong took form, and the common people were dazzled; pearls and jade were revered, and the world set to fighting [over them]. These four were the creations of a declining age and are the implements of a latter age.81 Daode Renyi as Complementary Concepts of an Integral Whole In a second scenario, the paired values the Way and Potency and Humaneness and Rightness are seen as coexisting symbiotically as parts of a larger whole or single age. Chapter 2.4, for example, employs the imagery of the fishing pole to evoke the symbiotic relationship between the Way and Potency and Humaneness and Rightness. Here the Perfected of the latter days are said to employ them in the following way: 以道為竿，以德為綸，禮樂為鉤，仁義為餌，投之于江，浮之 於海，萬物紛紛孰非其有? They take the Way as their pole; Potency as their line; Rites and Music as their hook; Humaneness and Rightness as their bait; they throw them into the rivers, they float them into the seas. Though the myriad things are boundless in numbers, which of them will they not possess?”82 Chapter 6.9 praises the Son of Heaven of Liu An’s time for balancing his rule with the two pairs: 81 82

Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/93/20–22; Major et al., Huainanzi, 397. Lau et al., Huainanzi 2/11/28–2/12/3–4; Major et al., Huainanzi, 89.

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逮至當今之時，天子在上位，持以道德，輔以仁義，近者獻其 智，遠者懷其德，拱揖指麾而四海賓服，春秋冬夏皆獻其貢 職，天下混而為一，子孫相代，此五帝之所以迎天德也。 Coming down to the present time, the Son of Heaven occupies his position on high, sustaining [his rule] with the Way and its Potency, supporting [his rule] with Humaneness and Rightness. Those nearby augment his knowledge; those far away embrace his Moral Potency. He folds his hands and bows, gestures with his finger, and [all within] the Four Seas respectfully submit to him. Spring and autumn, winter and summer, all offer up their goods in tribute to him. The whole world blends together and becomes one; sons and grandsons succeed one another. This was the way the Five Thearchs welcomed the Potency of Heaven.83 Chapter 13.10 warns that the ruler of a chaotic state is one who fails to cultivate these values. Chapter 16.56 uses the various units of weight and measurement to analogize the relationship between them as follows: 升之不能大於石也，升在石之中；夜不能修其歲也，夜在歲之 中；仁義之不能大於道德也，仁義在道德之包. 84 A sheng cannot be bigger than a dan, because a sheng is contained within a dan. A night cannot be longer than a year, because a night is contained within a year. Humaneness and Rightness cannot be greater than the Way and its Potency, because Humaneness and Rightness are contained within the Way and its Potency.  Renyi as Emblematic of the Five Thearchs and Three Kings of Antiquity In a third scenario, which appears in chapter 20, no attempt is made to pair Humaneness and Rightness with the Way and Potency. Here Humaneness and Rightness are associated with the sage-rulers of antiquity and seen as fundamental qualities of their exemplary reigns. Chapter 20 discusses Humaneness and Rightness no fewer than six times: 20.10, 20.11, 20.23, 20.26, 20.27, and 20.33. Chapter 20.10 associates Humaneness and Rightness with the attributes of

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Lau et al., Huainanzi 6/54/4–6; Major et al., Huainanzi, 229. Lau et al., Huainanzi 16/159/17–18; Major et al., Huainanzi, 640–41.

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human nature, and argues that the sagely ruler follows this nature in instituting laws and standards to teach and guide the people to practice goodness: 人之性有仁義之資，非聖人為之法度而教導之，則不可使向 方。故先王之教也，因其所喜以勸善，因其所惡以禁奸。故刑 罰不用，而威行如流；政令約省，而化耀如神。故因其性則天 下聽從，拂其性則法縣而不用。 Human nature is endowed with Humaneness and Rightness, but unless you have a sage to institute laws and standards to teach and guide them, people will not be able to find the correct path. Thus, the teaching of the former kings was to follow what people delight in, so as to encourage goodness, and to follow what people hate, so as to prohibit wickedness. Thus, punishments and penalties were not used, but awe-inspiring conduct seemed to flow forth [everywhere]. Policies and ordinances were limited, but their transforming brilliance [pervaded] as if they were spirit-like. Thus, if you follow human nature, the whole world will come along with you. If you go against human nature, even if you were to publish the laws, it would be of no use.85 Chapter 20.11 lauds the policies of the Five Thearchs and Three Kings, and identifies them with, among other things, the ‘Way of Humaneness and Rightness,’ which enabled them “to govern human relations and eradicate the calamities of violence and disorder 治人倫而除暴亂之禍.”86 Chapter 20.23 also associates Humaneness and Rightness with the golden age of the sage-rulers and concludes: 四海之內，一心同歸，背貪鄙而向義理，其於化民也，若風之 搖草木，無之而不靡。 Within the Four Seas, all submitted with a single mind, turning their backs on greed and avarice and turning toward Humaneness and Rightness. In transforming the people, they resembled the wind stirring the grasses and trees, leaving nothing unaffected.87 Chapter 20.26 explains that the basis of praiseworthy conduct is Humaneness and Rightness. Chapter 20.27 maintains that a ruler who possesses wisdom and 85 86 87

Lau et al., Huainanzi 20/212/23–25; Major et al., Huainanzi, 804. Lau et al., Huainanzi 20/213/2; Major et al., Huainanzi, 804. Lau et al., Huainanzi 20/217/21–22; Major et al., Huainanzi, 820.

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ability will not be successful unless he takes Humaneness and Rightness as his basis. It concludes: 雖有知能，必以仁義為之本，然後可立也，知能蹐馳，百事並 行。聖人一以仁義為之準繩. 88 Though you possess wisdom and ability, you must take Humaneness and Rightness as their basis; only then is it possible to establish [your rule]. Wise and capable, hasty or slow, when a hundred situations arise simultaneously, the sage uniformly uses Humaneness and Rightness as his level and his marking cord. And finally, chapter 20.33 explores the relationship between Humaneness and Rightness and the law, arguing, as elsewhere in this chapter, that these cardinal virtues are the root of political order: 故食其口而百節肥，灌其本而枝葉美，天地之性也。天地之生 物也有本末，其養物也有先後，人之於治也，豈得無終始哉。   故仁義者，治之本也。今不知事修其本，而務沼其末，是釋其 根而灌其枝也。且法之生也，以輔仁義，今重法而棄義，是貴 其冠履而忘其頭足也。故仁義者，為厚基者也。不益其厚而張 其廣者毀，不廣其基而增其高者覆。 Thus, feed the mouth and the one hundred joints will be plump; water the roots and the branches and leaves will be beautiful. It is the nature of Heaven and Earth that things have roots and branches. In nurturing things, there are priorities. When it comes to ordering humankind, how can there not be a beginning and an end? Thus, Humaneness and Rightness are the root of order. Now if you do not know to try to cultivate the root and strive to order the branches, this amounts to neglecting the root yet watering the branches. Moreover, the genesis of law was as something to support Humaneness and Rightness. Now if you emphasize law and abandon Humaneness and Rightness, this is prizing the hat and shoes yet forgetting the head and feet. Thus, Humaneness and Rightness are meant to reinforce the foundation. If you extend its length without increasing its thickness, it will collapse; if you increase its height without expanding its foundation, it will topple.89

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Lau et al., Huainanzi 20/218/24–25; Major et al., Huainanzi, 824. Lau et al., Huainanzi 20/221/10–15; Major et al., Huainanzi, 832.

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Renyi and King Yan of Xu A handful of passages describe King Yan of Xu 徐偃王 as the quintessential exemplar of Humaneness and Rightness, offering different appraisals of this assessment. Thus, 13.12 states: 徐偃王被服慈惠，身行仁義，陸地之朝者三十二國，然而身死 國亡，子孫無類. 90 King Yan of Xu, with compassion and kindness as his bedding and clothes, personally practiced Humaneness and Rightness, and [those who resided in] no fewer than thirty-two states [traveled] overland to hold an audience with him. Yet he perished and his state was destroyed, with his sons and grandsons devoid of offspring In contrast, 16.109 argues: 徐偃王以仁義亡國，國亡者非必仁義；比干以忠靡其體，被誅 者非必忠也. 故寒顫，懼者亦顫，此同名而異實. 91 On account of Humaneness and Rightness, King Yan of Xu lost his state. [But] losing a state is not necessarily due to Humaneness and Rightness. On account of loyalty, Bi Gan lost his life. [But] being executed is not necessarily due to loyalty. Thus, one who is cold shivers; one who is afraid also shivers. They are the same in name but differ in substance. These examples demonstrate that the ethical values of Humaneness and Rightness appear throughout the Huainanzi, in both root and branch chapters, but they are treated in three rather distinct but complementary ways. Paired with the Way and Potency, Humaneness and Rightness are most often embedded within a devolutionary historical scheme, that envisions the successive emergence of these respective values, as in 2.8, 8.3, 8.4, 10.5, and 11.1. This temporal root-branches scheme complements the root-branches structure of the text, giving normative priority to the Way and Potency over Humaneness and Rightness. Humaneness and Rightness are also depicted as coexisting symbiotically with the Way and Potency in a single age, as in 2.4, 6.9, and 13.10. In the analogy likening the Way, Potency, Humaneness, and Rightness to the 90 91

Lau et al., Huainanzi 13/126/14-15; Major et al., Huainanzi, 509. Lau et al., Huainanzi 16/164/8-9; Major et al., Huainanzi, 654. For an additional reference to the Humaneness and Rightness of King Yan of Xu, see Major et al., Huainanzi, 18.23.

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pole, line, hook, and bait, each is an integral part of the fishing equipment, as the loss of any one element would render the angler incapable of catching a fish. Another passage likens the relationship of Humaneness/Rightness and the Way/Potency to that of the sheng weight and the heavier dan and to that of a night and a year. Just as the sheng is contained within the dan and the night within the year, so too are Humaneness and Rightness contained within the Way and Potency. Finally, Humaneness and Rightness are discussed without reference to the Way and Potency in the anecdotes in 12.9, 12.30, 12.39, and 12.49; in a handful of references to King Yan of Xu in 13.12, 16.19, and 18.23; and in many sections of chapter 20, where Humaneness and Rightness are interpreted as emblematic of the age of the Five Thearchs and Three Kings and the ‘root’ of their political order. What do we make of these different schemes? How is it possible for the text to argue in 2.3 that in the Age of the Perfected there was no need for Humaneness and Rightness and in the very next section to argue that the Perfected employs all four as an angler wields his fishing pole? How is it possible more generally for the early chapters to denigrate Humaneness and Rightness and decry its appearance on the historical stage, while the later ones, particularly chapter 20, extol these very values? Recalling the root-branches devolutionary scheme mentioned above, we find our answer: the relative assessment of these concepts is determined by their temporal location in this devolutionary scheme. Thus, the early chapters lay out the root stages of the root-branches cosmogony, which represents a digression from the undifferentiated unity of the pristine Dao. The later chapters occupy the branch stages of the cosmogony, moving from the appearance of the ten thousand things to the increasingly complex world of the Han Empire. The coexistence of the twin pairs as complementary and symbiotic concepts in a single age is explained by their temporal location. Whether the text is discussing King Yan of Xu or the Five Thearchs and Three Kings, all are presented as rulers who lived long after the devolutionary fall from the utopian age of the Grand One, when the Perfected reigned supreme.

Conclusions

This discussion of the representations of Confucius in the Huainanzi has demonstrated the following general points: (1) Images of Confucius do not appear in the first eight, or root, chapters of the Huainanzi, although disparaging images of his followers are conspicuous in chapters 2 and 7, where various passages make clear that the qualities valued by the Ru played no role in the

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­ rimordial and utopian Age of the Perfected; (2) Despite such disparaging statep ments directed at Confucius’s followers in the root chapters, positive images of Confucius and his teachings abound in the second half, or branch, chapters of the Huainanzi: chapters 9, 10, 13, 16, 19, and 20; (3) Sayings attributed to Confucius, which exhibit strong resonances with the Analects, generally occur in these same branch chapters of the text: chapters 9, 10, 13, 16, and 20; (4) The texts that embody the Six Arts associated with Confucius also generally appear in these same branch chapters of the Huainanzi, with thirty-six citations in the branch chapters and only two in the root chapters; (5) Anecdotes descriptive of Confucius appear in the second half of the text, in chapters 11 (three examples), 12 (six examples), and 18 (three examples). These anecdotes appear in the branch chapters that are most strongly identified with the Zhuangzi and the Laozi; and (6) The ethical values of Humaneness and Rightness appear multiple times in thirteen of the twenty-one chapters that constitute the Huainanzi: chapters 2, 6, 8–13, 15, 16, 18, 20, and 21. They appear in both the root and the branch chapters of the text, although explicit links to Confucius are limited to the branch chapters. Moreover, they are discussed in three distinct manners, which are not generally found together within the same chapters of the text: chapters 2.8, 8.3, 8.4, 10.5, and 11.1 discuss Humaneness and Rightness in conjunction with the Way and Potency as products of successive historical eras; chapters 2.4, 6.9, and 13.10 describe Humaneness and Rightness with the Way and Potency as coexisting integral parts of a larger whole; and finally, the sole pair Humaneness and Rightness occurs in the anecdotes that constitute 12.9, 12.30, 12.39, and 12.49; in a handful of images depicting King Yan of Xu in chapters 13.12, 16.19, and 18.23; and in many sections of chapter 20, where this pair of concepts is interpreted as emblematic of the age of the Five Thearchs and Three Kings and the root of their political order. What do such findings tell us about the portrayal of Confucius in the Huainanzi and the nature of the syncretism that characterizes the text? Confucius figures far more prominently in the second half of the text than in the first. The various portrayals of Confucius and the corresponding literary forms employed to depict him seem to cluster in certain chapters of the text. Thus, for example, while images of the sage and sayings attributed to him appear in chapters 9, 10, 13, 16, 19, and 20, where the voice of such texts as the Analects, Mencius, Xunzi, and Zisizi are most prominent, anecdotal narratives of Confucius cluster in chapters 12, 16, and 18, where the Laozi and Zhuangzi are heard most strongly. Accordingly, Confucius takes on multiple personalities and exhibits varying qualities, serving the particular pedagogical goals of these chapters and the broader pedagogical aims of the text to demonstrate how a present-day emperor might successfully incorporate the best of the

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v­ arious wisdom traditions that he has inherited as the ruler of the contemporary Han world. However, the text does not promote a simple ‘eclecticism’ or ‘pluralism’ where all traditions necessarily contribute equally to the syncretism recommended to the would-be ruler of Liu An’s day. Rather, they are prioritized temporally in descending levels of importance as one moves through the root-branches cosmogony reflected in the structure of the text. Furthermore, they are prioritized spatially in descending levels of root-branches importance, depending on the demands of the specific situation and context being described in any particular section of the text. To conclude, these portrayals of Confucius suggest that by the Han dynasty, Confucius was simply too prestigious and prominent to be ignored by any one group of scholar-practitioners; he had become the common intellectual property of all who hoped to influence the course of Han history. Yet the diverse contributors to the Huainanzi sought to shape and control Confucius’s authority and prestige in ways commensurate with their respective agendas: thus the different portrayals in different parts of the text. We see these divergent agendas ultimately harmonized as part of an overarching hierarchal scheme, based on the root-branches structure of the text. Taken as a whole, the policy prescriptions of the Huainanzi make room for Confucius and his teachings alongside those of Laozi and Zhuangzi, as a subordinate though indispensable member of this sagely triumvirate whose teachings, Liu An proposes, should guide the government of the Han.

chapter 4

Creating a Book and Performing It: The “Yao lüe” Chapter of the Huainanzi as a Western Han Fu Martin Kern*

The Cultural Context of the Huainanzi

In 139 BCE, Liu An 劉安, king of Huainan 淮南 (r. 179?–122 BCE), visited the imperial court at Chang’an for a statutory audience with Emperor Wu 武 (r. 141–87 BCE).1 Liu An was a grandson of the Han dynasty founding emperor Liu Bang 劉邦 (r. 202–195 BCE) and the uncle of Emperor Wu, who at the time was eighteen years old and had been appointed emperor just two years before. During his visit, Liu An presented the emperor with a lengthy text that in Ban Gu’s 班固 (32–92 CE) Hanshu 漢書 biography is called “inner writings” (neishu 內書)2 and that the catalog of the late Western Han imperial library, as preserved in the Hanshu “Monograph on Arts and Writings” (“Yiwen zhi” * I wish to thank Professor Paul W. Kroll for a series of helpful suggestions and corrections on an earlier version of the present essay; additional thanks go to Professors William H. Nienhauser Jr., David Pankenier, Paul Rakita Goldin, Willard J. Peterson, David Schaberg, William H. Baxter, and Wolfgang Behr. Following the Harvard conference in May 2008, where a first draft of the essay was presented, subsequent versions in English and Chinese were presented at institutions in Germany (University of Erlangen), the United States (University of California at Berkeley; University of California at Santa Barbara; Columbia University), China (Peking University), and Taiwan (National Taiwan University). On each occasion, I received excellent comments that have contributed much toward the argument as it now stands. A Chinese version of the present essay has been published as “Huainanzi de chengshu yu zoushu: Lun ‘Yao lüe’ pian zhi wei fu”《淮南子》的成書與奏書：論《要略》篇之為 賦, Beijing daxue Zhongguo guwenxian yanjiu zhongxin jikan 北京大學中國古文獻研究中 心集刊 9 (2010): 436–51. 1 On Liu An’s scheduled visits, see Griet Vankeerberghen, The Huainanzi and Liu An’s Claim to Moral Authority, SUNY Series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2001), 49–51. 2 As opposed to “numerous outer writings” (waishu shen zhong 外書甚眾) and eight scrolls of “middle writings” (zhongshu 中書); see Ban Gu, Hanshu 漢書 (History of the Han). 12 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1987), 44.2145.

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藝文志), lists as “Inner [Writings] of Huainan” (“Huainan nei” 淮南內).3 From Han times onward, this text has generally been accepted as the Huainanzi 淮 南子, the Western Han book transmitted in twenty-one chapters. Both Hanshu passages attribute the authorship of the text directly to Liu An, although most modern scholars regard Liu An as the patron of the text, the individual chapters of which were probably composed by some of the ‘several thousand’ scholarly retainers in residence at his court in Shouchun 壽春, the last capital of the ancient state of Chu in modern Anhui.4 In recent years, the Huainanzi, a central work of early Chinese intellectual history, has finally begun to receive the attention it deserves in Western scholarship. After decades of occasional scholarly articles and scattered translations of individual chapters,5 Charles Le Blanc and Rémi Mathieu published their French translation of the entire text in 2003,6 capping a substantial tradition in francophone scholarship.7 Now, a complete English translation, by John S. Major and collaborators, has been published (2010).8 In conjunction with this effort, a panel, “Rhetorical Strategies in the Huainanzi,” was organized at the 218th meeting of the American Oriental Society in March 2008;9 here, Major argued that the text is not only a summa of contemporaneous philosophical 3 Ban Gu, Hanshu 30.1741. The text goes on to list “Outer [Writings] of Huainan” (“Huainan wai” 淮南外) in thirty-three bundles. 4 See Xu Fuguan 徐復觀, Liang Han sixiang shi 兩漢思想史 (Taipei: Taiwan xuesheng shuju, 1976), 2:175–293; also the summary by Judson Murray, “A Study of ‘Yaolüe’ 要略, ‘A Summary of the Essentials’: Understanding the Huainanzi Through the Point of View of the Author of the Postface,” Early China 29 (2004): 45–108. 5 See Charles Le Blanc, “Huai nan tzu,” in Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide, ed. Michael Loewe (Berkeley: Society for the Study of Early China and Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, 1993), 193–95; more recent studies are also noted in Vankeerberghen, The Huainanzi and Liu An’s Claim to Moral Authority; Murray, “A Study of ‘Yaolüe’ 要略,” 45–108; Sarah A. Queen, “Inventories of the Past: Rethinking the ‘School’ Affiliation of the Huainanzi,” Asia Major, 3rd ser., 14.1 (2001): 51–72. 6 Charles Le Blanc and Rémi Mathieu, Philosophes Taoïstes II: Huainan zi (Paris: Gallimard, 2003). 7 See, e.g., Claude Larre, Le traité VII du Houai nan tseu (Taipei: Institut Ricci, 1982); Charles Le Blanc and Rémi Mathieu, Mythe et philosophie à l’aube de la Chine impériale: Études sur le Huainan zi (Montreal: Presses de l’Université de Montréal; Paris: De Boccard, 1992); Claude Larre, Isabelle Robinet, and Elisabeth Rochat de la Vallée, Les grands traités du Huainan zi (Paris: Éditions du CERF, 1993). 8 John S. Major, Sarah A. Queen, Andrew Seth Meyer, and Harold D. Roth, trans., The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China, Translations from the Asian Classics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010). 9 Chicago, March 14–17, 2008.

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thought but also a repertoire of Western Han literary forms used in political and philosophical persuasion. The text, Major noted, is unusual in its attempt to be not just philosophical—in the way many early Chinese texts are—but persuasive; it has an occasion, a message, and a purpose.10 Despite Major’s stylistic observations, the Huainanzi remains primarily discussed in terms of intellectual history while only limited attention is given to its language and rhetorical force. My own thoughts about Liu An and the work compiled under his patronage wander in a different direction. As a student of classical literature, I am thinking of the court at Shouchun as one of the centers of early Western Han literary culture. To begin with, Liu An’s court produced a large and wide-ranging body of prose and poetic writings encompassing diverse fields of knowledge and philosophical thought.11 More specifically, the Hanshu “Monograph on Arts and Writings” credits Liu An with no fewer than eighty-two “poetic expositions” ( fu 賦) and his retainers with another forty-four; by comparison, the retrospectively most celebrated fu author of Liu An’s time, Sima Xiangru 司馬相如 (179–117 BCE), has twenty-nine pieces listed under his name. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Eastern Han criticism of the Western Han fu that began with Yang

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John S. Major, “Refutation and Argumentation in Huainanzi 19, ‘Cultivating Effort,’” paper presented at the 218th meeting of the American Oriental Society, Chicago, March 14–17, 2008. At the same meeting, Judson B. Murray spoke about the final chapter of the Huainanzi, “Yao lüe” 要略, or “An Overview of the Essentials.” The conference presentations by Major and Murray sparked my interest in the “Overview” and led me to embark on the present study, the first version of which was presented at the Harvard conference on the Huainanzi held in May 2008. In turn, it is gratifying to see that my principal thesis—that is, that “An Overview of the Essentials” was composed as a fu 賦 and used to present the Huainanzi to the imperial court—was adopted immediately by Major and his collaborators for their 2010 translation volume. Charles Le Blanc, Huai-nan tzu: Philosophical Synthesis in Early Han Thought; The Idea of Resonance (Kan-ying), with a Translation and Analysis of Chapter Six (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1985), 41–52, provides an annotated list of the known writings by Liu An and his retainers. In addition, Harold Roth has argued that the Zhuangzi was likely compiled at Liu An’s court; see Roth, “Who Compiled the Chuang Tzu?” in Chinese Texts and Philosophical Contexts: Essays Dedicated to Angus C. Graham, ed. Henry Rosemont Jr. (LaSalle, IL: Open Court Press, 1991), 79–128. Liu Xiaogan, by contrast, dates the Zhuangzi to the Warring States; see his Classifying the Zhuangzi Chapters, trans. William E. Savage (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan, 1994). Liu’s argument has been severely challenged by Esther Klein, “Were There ‘Inner Chapters’ in the Warring States? A New Investigation of Evidence about the Zhuangzi,” T’oung Pao 96 (2010): 299–369.

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Xiong 揚雄 (53 BCE–18 CE) and was fully accepted by Ban Gu12 is then also leveled at Liu An elsewhere in the Hanshu, where he is used as a counterpoint to Liu De 劉德, King Xian of Hejian 河間獻王, who is celebrated for his love of classical learning as opposed to the “superficial disputation” ( fubian 浮辯) practiced at the court of Huainan.13 In addition to the fu, the “Monograph on Arts and Writings” mentions four pian­—probably four individual pieces—of short songs from Huainan (Huainan geshi 淮南歌詩).14 The Chuci 楚辭 anthology of southern songs notes one of Liu An’s courtiers, referred to as Xiaoshan 小山, as the author of “Calling Back the Recluse” (“Zhao yinshi” 招隱士), and Liu An himself is known for having produced an exposition on “Encountering Sorrow” (“Li sao” 離騷) on imperial command—a work he purportedly completed within a few hours.15 He also is credited with the first version of an anthology of Chu songs that over time developed into the Chuci 楚辭 anthology assembled by Wang Yi 王逸 (d. 158 CE) in the late Eastern Han.16 Furthermore, Liu An pronounced himself on the nature of the “Airs of the States” (“Guofeng” 國風) in a way that resonates closely with how “Guanju” 關雎 and other songs are discussed in recently excavated manuscripts such as the Mawangdui 馬王堆 and Guodian 郭店 “Five Modes of Conduct” (“Wuxing” 五行) or “Confucius’s Discussion of Poetry” (“Kongzi shilun” 孔子詩論) in the Shanghai Museum corpus, all of which come from the old region of Chu.17 Together with the courts of Liang 梁 (with Liu Wu 劉武 as king) and Wu 吳 (with Liu Pi 劉濞 as king), Liu An’s 12

13 14 15 16

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Martin Kern, “Western Han Aesthetics and the Genesis of the Fu,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 63 (2003): 383–437; and Martin Kern, “The ‘Biography of Sima Xiangru’ and the Question of the Fu in Sima Qian’s Shiji,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 123 (2003): 303–16. Ban Gu, Hanshu 53.2410. Ban Gu, Hanshu 30.1747. Ban Gu, Hanshu 44.2145. David Hawkes, The Songs of the South: An Ancient Chinese Anthology of Poems by Qu Yuan and Other Poets (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1985), 33–34. Le Blanc, Huai-nan tzu, 7–8, notes that both the poetic style of the Huainanzi and the theme of self-transformation (which Le Blanc understands as Daoist but which, as self-cultivation, cuts across the boundaries between Daoist and Confucian thinking) find close counterparts and relations in the Chuci and the “shamanistic traditions of Chu.” He also traces the “close affinity on many essential points between Huai-nan Tzu and Chuang Tzu” back to “their common indebtedness to the transcendental spirit of the poets of Ch’u.” Kern, “Western Han Aesthetics and the Genesis of the Fu”; and Martin Kern, “Excavated Manuscripts and Their Socratic Pleasures: Newly Discovered Challenges in Reading the ‘Airs of the States,’ ” Études Asiatiques/Asiatische Studien 61.3 (2007): 775–93; Ke Mading 柯馬丁 (Martin Kern), “Cong chutu wenxian tan ‘Guofeng’ de quanshi wenti: Yi ‘Guanju’

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court at Shouchun was one of the three great southern literary centers of his time where the fu—and with it the rhetoric of both political persuasion and moral self-cultivation—flourished before it was introduced to the imperial court of Emperor Wu. In short, and far beyond the poetic context sketched here, it is clear that the Huainanzi, while being the largest Western Han text of its time (before Sima Qian’s 司馬遷 [ca. 145–ca. 86 BCE] Shiji 史記, that is), was only one of many intellectual enterprises that occupied the court at Shouchun, and we would be ill-advised to isolate the text from this environment—especially considering how the Huainanzi itself encompasses many diverse areas of learning. Both linguistically and philosophically—think not only of the numerous rhymed passages but also of the themes of political persuasion and moral selfcultivation just mentioned—good parts of the text are in fact closely aligned with some of the issues that occupied the composers of the southern fu. Other sections reflect contemporary explorations in fields of knowledge such as astrology, astronomy, or geography alongside deliberations on military matters, rhetorical techniques of persuasion, or affairs of ritual and customs. While the individual chapters must reflect the work of different groups of scholars learned in different traditions of knowledge, it is the Huainanzi that presents their sum total as an integrated whole. Moreover, the very multiplicity and versatility not only of learning but also of verbal expression ranked high among the prized accomplishments of court culture at Shouchun. While the different parts of the Huainanzi employ a wide range of styles, including purely technical writing and factual accounts in, for example, the chapters on astrology (“Tian wen” 天文), geography (“Di xing” 墬形), and the calendar (“Shi ze” 時則), countless passages are composed in the southern poetic idiom of the time that can be observed not only in the Western Han fu but also in Emperor Wu’s “Songs for the Suburban Sacrifices” (“Jiaosi ge” 郊祀 歌).18 In the Huainanzi, this idiom is not external embellishment to the expression of philosophical thought; judging from the fu and some of the recently excavated manuscripts, it is integral to southern philosophical thinking in Liu An’s time. Yet despite the fact that the Huainanzi’s poetic language has

18

wei li” 從出土文獻談《國風》的詮釋問題：以《關雎》為例, Zhonghua wenshi luncong 中華文史論叢 2008.1: 253–71. The numerous correspondences between these poems and the Huainanzi are noted in Martin Kern, Die Hymnen der chinesischen Staatsopfer: Literatur und Ritual in der politischen Repräsentation von der Han-Zeit bis zu den Six Dynastien (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1997), 174–303.

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occasionally been noted19 and that, already five decades ago, Luo Changpei 羅常培 (1899–1958) and Zhou Zumo 周祖謨 (1914–95) listed—albeit somewhat incompletely—the rhymes of the Huainanzi,20 practically no research has been conducted to relate the text’s philosophical outlook to its poetic idiom. Without this idiom, however, the Huainanzi would be an utterly different text—or would not have been composed altogether. It is important to keep in mind that the Western Han fu is not just eulogy or entertainment. Next to passages in rhythmic and semantically patterned prose,21 it embodies all poetic forms available to Han writers—from Shijing 詩經–inspired tetrasyllabic lines (but now more tightly composed by Han authors, beginning with Jia Yi’s 賈誼 [ca. 200–168 BCE] “Fu on the Owl” [“Fu niao fu” 鵩鳥賦])22 to the diction of the short southern song23 and the more complex meter of the “Li sao” and other pieces in the Chuci anthology. Moreover, the Western Han fu is closely related to the political rhetoric of the so-called wandering persuaders ( youshui 遊說),24 and several of the fu’s most magnificent surviving examples—Mei Sheng’s 枚乘 (d. 141 BCE) “Seven 19 20 21

22

23 24

See, e.g., Le Blanc, Huai-nan tzu, 7–8; Xu Fuguan, Liang Han sixiang shi, 187–88. In addition, translations of individual chapters sometimes note many of the rhymes. Luo Changpei 羅常培 and Zhou Zumo 周祖謨, Han Wei Jin nanbeichao yunbu yanbian yanjiu 漢魏晉南北朝韻部演變研究 (Beijing: Kexue chubanshe, 1958), 246–305. ‘Prose’ may be too strong a word here in denoting the mere absence of rhyme and meter. William H. Baxter, “Situating the Language of the Lao-tzu: The Probable Date of the Taote-ching,” in Lao-tzu and the Tao-te-ching, ed. Livia Kohn and Michael LaFargue (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1998), 237, notes that “both rhyme and semantic patterning are used as poetic devices” in the Laozi. As Zeb Raft, “The Beginning of Literati Poetry: Four Poems from First-Century BCE China,” T’oung Pao 96 (2010): 74–124, has shown, Western Han tetrasyllabic verse can be regarded not as direct imitation but as ‘actualization’ and ‘translation’ of earlier Shijing verse. One characteristic of tetrasyllabic Han verse is its overall tighter, more substantial, and more narrative diction. The same can be said of the Western Han sacrificial hymns from both Han Gaozu’s 漢高祖 (r. 202–195 BCE) time and, later, Emperor Wu’s; see Kern, Die Hymnen der chinesischen Staatsopfer. For the “Fu on the Owl” that Jia Yi composed as an exile in Changsha in 173 BCE, see Sima Qian, Shiji (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1982), 84.2497–2500; and Ban Gu, Hanshu 48.2227–29; Gong Kechang, Studies on the Han Fu (New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society, 1997), 93–113. As discussed in Martin Kern, “The Poetry of Han Historiography,” Early Medieval China 10–11.1 (2004): 23–65. See David R. Knechtges and Jerry Swanson, “Seven Stimuli for the Prince: The Ch’i-Fa of Mei Ch’eng,” Monumenta Serica 29 (1970–71): 99–116; Nakajima Shiaki 中島千秋, Fu no seiritsu to tenkai 賦の成立と展開 (Matsuyama 松山: Sekiyō Shiten 関洋紙店, 1963), 95–279, 291–307; David R. Knechtges, “Yang Shyong, the Fuh, and Hann Rhetoric” (PhD diss., University of Washington, 1968), 164–87, 239–51.

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Stimuli” (“Qi fa” 七發), Sima Xiangru’s “Excursion Hunt of the Son of Heaven” (“Tianzi youlie fu” 天子遊獵賦), and the “Great Summons” (“Dazhao” 大 招) in the Chuci anthology25—extol the process of self-cultivation that has been identified in the Huainanzi as well as in recently excavated manuscripts from the south, most prominently in the “Five Modes of Conduct” texts from Guodian and Mawangdui.26 In short, while the Huainanzi is the only large text that has survived from the court of Liu An, its seeming singularity and isolation are but an illusion.

“An Overview of the Essentials”

The final chapter of the Huainanzi, “An Overview of the Essentials” (“Yao lüe” 要略), reviews and puts into perspective the contents of the previous twenty chapters, and my guiding questions are: what is the point of this chapter, and what is its literary form? As indicated by the title of the present essay, I conclude that the chapter should be properly understood as a Western Han fu, that is, a composition that was skillfully recited (song 誦) at the imperial court of Emperor Wu when the Huainanzi was submitted in 139 BCE.27 It is therefore composed with all the features of euphony and mnemonic devices that make the text both performable and memorable. Taking the “Overview” as a fu is an argument, not about oral composition or transmission, but about the fact that the text was composed in a way that lent itself to oral performance. I have no doubt that the text was from the start composed in writing, yet I also believe that the large bundle (or rather bundles) of bamboo slips on which the first twenty chapters were written was not just handed over to the imperial librarian. Instead, I assume that the text was formally presented to the young and presumably impressionable Emperor Wu as the most comprehensive and profound guide to perfect rulership, and that this presentation was not a silent act but a splendid verbal performance that matched the significance of both the text and the occasion. No other text of this kind is known from the period, and certainly no other text that advances 25 26

27

See my discussion in Kern, “Western Han Aesthetics.” See Mark Csíkszentmihályi, Material Virtue: Ethics and the Body in Early China (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2004); Scott Cook, “Consummate Artistry and Moral Virtuosity: The ‘Wu xing’ 五 行 Essay and Its Aesthetic,” Chinese Literature: Essays, Articles, Reviews 22 (2000): 113–46. Another account of an oral presentation (zou 奏) of a fu at Emperor Wu’s court right around 139 BCE is that of Sima Xiangru’s “Daren fu” 大人賦; see Sima Qian, Shiji 117.3056; Ban Gu, Hanshu 57B.2592; for an analysis, see Kern, “The ‘Biography of Sima Xiangru.’”

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similar claims about its own importance as the ultimate compilation of philosophical wisdom. The Huainanzi, mentioned in the “Overview” as “the book of the Liu clan” (Liu shi zhi shu 劉氏之書)—that is, the imperial family—was speaking not only to the young emperor but also for him, and indeed for the entire royal house. The “Overview” encompasses and presents the whole of the Huainanzi, and it does so not in a single literary form but by using, embodying, and unifying the varied totality of all such forms—poetic and prose—that were available to an early Western Han author. It shows an intense use of rhyme, fast-paced metric versatility, complex syntactic patterns that are employed in highly regularized fashion—often extended just long enough to become explicit before the text moves on to the next pattern—and, finally, the frequent use of introductory and concluding particles typically employed in the Han fu to mark off the individual sections. While many early philosophical texts contain passages of rhyme and meter28—the Laozi 老子,29 the Zhuangzi 莊子,30 the Xunzi 28

29

30

For the best modern survey of rhyme in early Chinese expository prose, see Long Yuchun 龍宇純, “Xian-Qin sanwen zhong de yunwen” 先秦散文中的韻文, Chongji xuebao 崇 基學報 2.2 and 3.1 (1962–63), reprinted in Long Yuchun, Sizhu xuan xiaoxue lunji 絲竹軒 小學論集 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2009), 182–283. A useful brief account and discussion is Tan Jiajian 譚家健, “Xian-Qin yunwen chutan” 先秦韻文初探, Wenxue yichan 文 學遺產 1995.1: 12–19. The basis for all such work is Jiang Yougao 江有誥 (d. 1851?), Yinxue shishu 音學十書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1993). See S. A. Starostin, Rekonstrukcija drevnekitajskoj fonologičeskoj sistemy (Moscow: Nauka, 1989), translated into Chinese as Si. A. Sitaluosijin 斯。阿。斯塔羅斯金, Gudai hanyu yuyinxi de gouni 古代漢語語音系的構擬 (Shanghai: Shanghai jiaoyu chubanshe, 2010); Yu Suisheng 喻遂生, “Laozi yongyun yanjiu” 《老子》用韻研究, Xinan shifan daxue xuebao (zhexue shehuikexue ban) 西南師範大學學報(哲學社會科學版) 1995.1: 108–14; Sun Yongchang 孫雍長, “Laozi yundou yanjiu” 《老子》韻讀研究, Guangzhou daxue xuebao (shehui kexue ban) 廣州大學學報 (社會科學版) 2002.1: 48–59; Bernhard Karlgren, “The Poetical Parts in Lao-Tsï,” Göteborgs högskolas årsskrift 38.3 (1932): 1–45; Rudolf G. Wagner, The Craft of a Chinese Commentator: Wang Bi on the Laozi (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2000), 53–113; Liu Xiaogan, Classifying the Zhuangzi Chapters, trans. William E. Savage (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan, 1994), 172–86; Michael LaFargue, Tao and Method: A Reasoned Approach to the Tao Te Ching (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994); Baxter, “Situating the Language of the Lao-tzu,” 231–53. For a discussion of the Laozi as poetry, see Xu Jie 許結, “Laozi yu Zhongguo gudai zhelishi” 老子與中國古代哲理 詩, Xueshu yuekan 學術月刊 1990.2: 58–64; and Madison Morrison, “The Poetic Element in Lao Tzu,” Tamkang Review 11 (1981): 391–420. The only attempt so far at a systematic account of rhyme in the Zhuangzi is David McCraw, Stratifying Zhuangzi: Rhyme and Other Quantitative Evidence (Taipei: Institute

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荀子,31 the “Neiye” 內業 chapter (and some others) in the Guanzi 管子,32 some chapters in the Liji 禮記, and so on—none of them shows the kind of dense and at the same time variegated patterning one finds in the “Overview.”33 In calling the “Overview” a fu, I have in mind the text’s formal complexity that lends itself to a ravishing oral performance. This is not to say that the “Overview” belongs to a clearly defined literary genre; as David R. Knechtges has put it, the fu is somewhat illusory in that it existed in many different forms, and was constantly changing throughout the Former Han period. For this reason, it is virtually impossible to provide a succinct definition of the genre that would apply to all specimens of fu.34 In fact, “the notion of fu was extremely broad in Han times, and almost any long rhymed composition could be called fu.”35 The only definition of the fu in Han times is focused on its performative nature: bu ge er song 不歌而 誦 (‘to recite without singing’).36 Covering a wide range of different types of of Linguistics, Academia Sinica, 2010). For a survey, see Long Yuchun, “Xian-Qin sanwen zhong de yunwen,” 227–34. 31 See Long Yuchun, “Xian-Qin sanwen zhong de yunwen,” 251–57; and my “Poetry and Style in the Xunzi,” forthcoming in Dao Companion to Xunzi, ed. Eric Hutton (Dordrecht: Springer). Separate from its poetic diction throughout, the Xunzi also includes two chapters comprising poems, “Cheng xiang” 成相 (chap. 25) and “Fu” 賦 (chap. 26); on these, see David R. Knechtges, “Riddles as Poetry: The ‘Fu Chapter’ of the Hsün-tzu,” in Wenlin: Studies in the Chinese Humanities, vol. 2, ed. Chow Tse-tsung (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1989), 1–31; Wiebke Denecke, The Dynamics of Masters Literature: Early Chinese Thought from Confucius to Han Feizi (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2010), 188–95; Göran Malmquist, “Cherng Shianq,” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 45 (1973): 63–91; Li Binghai 李炳海, “Xunzi ‘Chengxiang’ de pianti, jiegou jiqi linian kaobian” 《荀子。成相》的篇題、結構及其理念考辨, Jianghan luntan 江漢論壇 2010.9: 89–93; Zhu Shizhe 朱師轍, “Xunzi chengxiangpian yundou bushi” 荀子成相篇韻讀補釋, Zhongshan daxue xuebao 中山大學學報 1957.3: 42–47. 32 Harold D. Roth, Original Tao: Inward Training and the Foundations of Taoist Mysticism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999). 33 While large parts of both the Laozi and the “Neiye” (and some other Guanzi chapters) contain tight poetic patterns, these are far more unified than the rich texture of patterning in the Huainanzi “Overview.” 34 David R. Knechtges, The Han Rhapsody: A Study of the Fu of Yang Hsiung (53 B.C.–A.D. 18) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976), 14. 35 Knechtges, The Han Rhapsody, 28. 36 Ban Gu, Hanshu 30.1755.

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compositions—many of them written, but some are also purely oral—basic features of the fu in Western Han times included the irregular alternation of rhymed and unrhymed passages, meter, a certain length, and an overall emphasis on euphony (e.g., by use of alliterative, rhyming, and reduplicative binomes) for the purpose of verbal ‘presentation’ (zou 奏).37 However, this does not mean that every poetically refined passage in early Chinese literature should be considered a fu. To qualify (as far as one can tell from the early sources), a text would require a topic, it had to be a self-contained, stand-alone treatment of this topic, and it would aim to present its topic in extenso. This desire for comprehensiveness would then sometimes—though not invariably—lead to a certain self-referential grandeur of expression and the extensive use of catalogs; striking examples are the compositions by Mei Sheng and Sima Xiangru. These features are, if in less extreme form, on display in the “Overview.” In addition, the “Overview” is characterized by what I consider one of the essential traits of the Western Han fu, namely, the mimetic representation of its own subject on the level of linguistic performance.38 If the Huainanzi, as is claimed in the “Overview,” contains the philosophical totality of the universe, observing the images of Heaven and Earth (觀天地之象) and penetrating all matters from antiquity to present (通古今之事), then the “Overview” itself contains the linguistic totality that gives expression to the philosophical one. In other words, the spectacle and totality of language are performed to embody the spectacle and totality of philosophical thought that in turn embody the spectacle and totality of the cosmos and political sphere. Strictly speaking, one could call the “Overview” Liu An’s “Fu on Presenting the Huainanzi”; it celebrates not only the contents of the twenty chapters but also its own accomplished literary form and, with it, the cultural accomplishments of Liu An and his court. This form is not trivial embellishment but shows its patron as a master of textual learning and expression at precisely the time when the young emperor summoned the great fu composers—including Mei Sheng and Sima Xiangru—from the three southern centers of literary and cultural splendor 37

38

See Kern, “Western Han Aesthetics,” 394, 401. See also Kamatani Takeshi 釜谷武志, “Fu ni nankai na ji ga ōi no wa naze ka: Zen-Kan ni okeru fu no yomarekata” 賦に難解な字が 多いのはなぜか: 前漢における賦の讀まれかた, Nihon Chūgoku gakkai hō 日本中 國學會報 48 (1996): 16–30; Guo Weisen 國維森 and Xu Jie 許結, Zhongguo cifu fazhan shi 中國辭賦發展史 (Nanjing: Jiangsu jiaoyu, 1996), 123; Ou Tianfa 歐天發, “Fu zhi mingshi kaolun: Fu zhi feng bi xing yi shuo” 賦之名實考論－賦之風比興義說, in Cifu wenxue lunji 辭賦文學論集, ed. Zhou Xunchu 周勛初 et al. (Nanjing: Jiangsu jiaoyu, 1999), 14–18. For the complete argument on the fu as mimetic representation, see Kern, “Western Han Aesthetics.”

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(Wu, Liang, Huainan) to the imperial court. One cannot decide whether or not Liu An himself was the actual and single author of the “Overview”; in the following, I will simply speak of ‘the authors.’ The question, however, may be beside the point. What counts is not actual authorship but the textual voice— in this case, Liu An’s voice, which speaks to the young emperor with both scholarly authority and generational seniority. It is in this sense that the “Overview,” and indeed the entire Huainanzi, are Liu An’s work. Considering that the “Overview” does not offer new ideas that were not already part of the twenty chapters, its principal function must have been twofold: to establish the entire text as a single work (as opposed to twenty mutually independent essays) and to introduce it as such to a new audience. Its complex literary form—oscillating between prose and poetry and largely patterned by rhythm, meter, rhyme, syntactic parallelism, and the use of euphonic binomes—embodies the versatile diction of the twenty chapters, and anyone at Emperor Wu’s court versed in the poetic idiom of the fu must have recognized the text as an example of superior verbal artistry. Beyond this artistry, however, the purpose of the “Overview” to establish a complete text with a defined order of chapters cannot be overstated. While the later tradition is accustomed to think of early Chinese texts in terms of ‘books’ containing numerous ‘chapters,’ all historical evidence suggests that this was not how texts circulated in the early Western Han. Instead, as recent manuscript finds are informing us, writings of expository prose were independent, self-contained essays that only later were compiled into books of multiple chapters—most likely when Liu Xiang 劉向 (79–8 BCE), following Emperor Cheng’s 成 (r. 33–7 BCE) edict in 26 BCE, ordered and arranged all available writings for the imperial library.39 Thus, an independent essay like “Black Robes” (“Ziyi” 緇衣), which has been found among the Guodian and Shanghai Museum bamboo-slip collections dating from ca. 300 BCE, only later became part of the Records of Ritual (Liji 禮記). Moreover, few late Warring States and early Han manuscripts bear titles, and none bears the name of an author—a phenomenon that Yu Jiaxi 余 嘉錫 (1884–1955) has noted also for most early works in the received tradition.40 39

40

On Liu Xiang’s duties, methods, and achievements as imperial bibliographer, see Ban Gu, Hanshu 30.1701; Yu Jiaxi 余嘉錫, Gushu tongli 古書通例 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1985), 98–109 passim; and Piet van der Loon, “On the Transmission of Kuan-tzu,” T’oung Pao 41 (1952): 358–66; see also John Knoblock, Xunzi: A Translation and Study of the Complete Works (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1988–94), 1:105–10. On the individual circulation of texts that later became book chapters, see also Yu Jiaxi, Gushu tongli, 93–98 passim. Yu Jiaxi, Gushu tongli, 15–26.

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It is against this background that we must appreciate the principal intent expressed in the “Overview,”­namely, to create a unified work of mutually independent essays that otherwise may have circulated separately but as such would not have amounted to what the “Overview” claims the Huainanzi to be: a single comprehensive blueprint for good rulership encompassing the totality of knowledge from a wide range of disciplines. It was the “Overview” that established the integrity and explicitly defined inner order of the Huainanzi. In this, the Huainanzi came to resemble, to some extent, the diverse collection of essays in the Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋 from exactly one hundred years earlier, which likewise, as a unified whole, was designed to present “a philosophy for the unification of the world, a philosophy for empire.”41 Indeed, the Lüshi chunqiu was characterized by Sima Qian as “encompassing from antiquity to the present the affairs of the myriad kinds of things between Heaven and Earth” 備天地萬物古今之事, a phrase that echoes nearly verbatim how the “Overview” describes the Huainanzi.42 Both texts are granted identical claims as to their nature and purpose, and they are listed next to each other as ‘syncretist’ (zajia 雜家) writings in the Hanshu “Monograph on Arts and Writings.”43 What radically distinguishes the Huainanzi from the Lüshi chunqiu, however, is its language: while the earlier text continues the classical idiom of Zhou expository prose, the later one emphatically embraces the modern, and distinctly southern, idiom of its own time, giving programmatic expression to the cultural ideology and confidence of Liu An and his court. Furthermore, it is the use of this poetic idiom that connects the “Overview” to the Western Han culture of court rituals within which the Huainanzi was then formally presented.44 The overall structure of the “Overview” is as follows. A brief introduction is followed by the plain listing of the chapter titles; thereafter, each chapter is discussed, some briefly, others more extensively. The two longest discussions are on the first and the last chapter (with 193 characters for the last chapter, “The Exalted Lineage” [“Tai zu” 泰族]). Chapters 16 and 17—“A Mountain of Persuasions” (“Shui shan” 說山) and “A Forest of Persuasions” (“Shui lin” 41 42 43 44

John Knoblock and Jeffrey Riegel, trans., The Annals of Lü Buwei (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2000), 16. Sima Qian, Shiji 85.2511; see also the discussion in Knoblock and Riegel, Annals of Lü Buwei, 12–55. Ban Gu, Hanshu 30.1741. As another difference between the two books one might note that although the Lüshi chunqiu has a postface as well, it does not advance any such claims as one finds in the Huainanzi “Overview.”

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說林)—are discussed together in a mere 58 characters. Following these discussions is a self-referential section where the authors state that, in order to master the matter of any one chapter, one first needs to comprehend the precepts of the previous one; and that for this reason they had arranged the Huainanzi in its particular order, providing the ruler with the means to understand each matter not in isolation but, most importantly, as proceeding from the previous one. In this way, insisting that the ruler must not only follow the many different political precepts of the text but pursue them in the order purposefully arranged by the authors, the “Overview” presents each chapter as an indispensable part of the overall philosophical endeavor of the Huainanzi and the totality of the text as more than the sum of its parts. (Note that the sequence of the chapters, as shown below, is further enforced by the rhyming of their titles.) Following the discussion of the individual chapters is a section of general deliberations on what a man of learning needed to accomplish, culminating in a poetic eulogy on the beauty of the twenty chapters (as the fulfillment of scholarship). This in turn is followed by a historical outline of the great strategists and thinkers of preimperial learning, including Taigong 太公, Kongzi 孔子and his disciples, Mozi 墨子 and his followers, Guanzi 管子, Yanzi 晏子, the different groups of rhetoricians, and Shang Yang 商鞅. Finally, a brief section comes back to the Huainanzi itself: the “writings of the Liu clan” that encompass everything between Heaven and Earth, antiquity and the present, and thus all previous philosophy. Altogether, the “Overview” displays a tight and systematic architecture that gives an account of the twenty chapters and provides a survey of early Chinese thought, which, it claims, is now best captured in the Huainanzi. This overall structure itself—its explicit and formally marked divisions, its catalog-like lists (e.g., of the thinkers just mentioned), its systematic arrangement, its claim for exhaustiveness and comprehensiveness, and the final moral triumph of the superior speaker (in this case: the superior text)—corresponds precisely to the typical features of the contemporaneous grand Western Han fu as we know it from, for example, Sima Xiangru. In the following, I will briefly discuss some of the aesthetic choices employed in the literary patterning of the “Overview.”

Structure and Meaning in “An Overview of the Essentials”

My first example is the listing of chapter titles that follows the first several lines—which are already rhymed and show several distinct rhetorical patterns—at the beginning of the text. This catalog of titles, introduced by the formula “Thus, we have composed [the following] twenty chapters”

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(故著二十篇), is more than a simple list; it is a rhymed litany, with each chapter title being preceded by the word “there is” ( you 有). In the following representation, I note not only the rhymes on the even-numbered lines (as well as the rhymes of lines 19–20) as identified by Luo Changpei and Zhou Zumo but also—marked by indentation45—what I consider additional rhymes on some of the odd-numbered lines:46 故著二十篇:

45 46

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

有原道， 有俶真， 有天文， 有墬形， 有時則， 有覽冥， 有精神， 有本經，

9. 10. 11. 12.

有主術， 有繆稱， 有齊俗， 有道應，

13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

有氾論， 有詮言， 有兵略， 有說山， 有說林， 有人間，

19. 20.

有脩務， 有泰族也。

真部 真部 耕部

(Rhyme 1) (Rhyme 1) (Rhyme 1)

耕部 真部 耕部

(Rhyme 1) (Rhyme 1) (Rhyme 1)

蒸部

(Rhyme 2)

蒸部

(Rhyme 2)

元部

(Rhyme 3)

元部

(Rhyme 3)

元部

(Rhyme 3)

侯部 屋部

(Rhyme 4) (Rhyme 4)

I will also use the same format of indentation for additional rhymes in all passages below. In the present essay, I limit my phonological analysis to the fairly straightforward matter of rhyme, using the traditional rhyme categories employed by Luo Changpei and Zhou Zumo. In this, especially where irregular rhyming patterns are involved, I may be overemphasizing some “combined rhymes”; on the other hand, the traditional focus on end rhyme as the single noteworthy euphonic feature of early texts—in distinction to, for example, the tonal patterns in later poetry—may seriously underestimate the full range

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Altogether, the passage has four rhyme sequences: (1) the zhen 真–geng 耕 sequence; (2) the zheng 蒸 sequence; (3) the yuan 元 sequence; and (4) the hou 侯–wu 屋 sequence. Both the zhen-geng and the hou-wu rhyme categories are frequent “combined rhymes” (合韻) in Western Han times.47 In addition, it is important to leave behind any preconceived notion of which lines may be part of the rhyme scheme. While Luo Changpei and Zhou Zumo operated from the assumption that only the even-numbered lines should be included in the rhyme pattern, Western Han texts provide ample evidence of additional rhymes on the odd-numbered lines.48 Western Han authors—and perhaps especially those from the south—did not write according to the kinds of prescriptions and constraints known from later regulated verse; instead, they used rhyme considerably more freely, as can be seen in lines 3, 7, and 19 of the chapter list. The examples of rhymed passages below will reveal the same phenomenon even more clearly. Without doubt, the overall regularity of the rhyme pattern was consciously composed, with the chapter titles deliberately chosen and arranged—or to go even a step further, which I think we must: the chapter titles themselves were created in order to rhyme in this particular sequence. Even more, it appears that the chapters were divided the way they are in order to form an evennumbered group. This is strongly suggested by the fact that the topic of rhetorical “persuasion” (shui 說) is split into two chapters whose fundamental identity is suggested in the “Overview,” where they are treated as one. But what exactly is accomplished by the rhymed chapter list? First, in its orderly sequence, the list encompasses the complete Huainanzi in a nutshell,

47 48

of their auditory properties. (One could, for example, think of patterns of vowels and consonants within individual lines as well as between them.) I strongly suspect that a complete phonological analysis of the language of the Huainanzi, involving a phonetic transcription of the entire text, would be revealing; unfortunately, this has never been done and is well beyond my own expertise. As for the rhyme pattern, I am not at all sure where a mere “assonance” ends and a “combined rhyme” begins; actually, for a period as early as the Western Han I doubt the validity of such distinctions to begin with. However, in identifying possible “combined rhymes” I am surely not overstating the euphonic nature of the text under discussion. To the contrary, for every additional rhyme proposed here, there will be other auditory features neglected by the sole focus on rhyme. My limited analysis presented here suffices, however, to show that the “Overview” is a highly patterned euphonic artifact. See the tables in Luo Changpei and Zhou Zumo, Han Wei Jin nanbeichao yunbu yanbian yanjiu. See the numerous examples noted in Kern, Die Hymnen der chinesischen Staatsopfer.

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defining the text as an indivisible whole. Second, it determines the specific order of the chapters; the coherence of rhyme determines and secures the distinct places of the individual chapters within the overall sequence. Third, the rhyme scheme supports Le Blanc’s contention (also accepted by Major and his collaborators) that chapters 1 through 8 are concerned with “Basic Principles” while chapters 9 through 20 deal with “Applications and Illustrations”49—the first rhyme sequence ends precisely with the title for chapter 8. The discussions of individual chapters show a variety of poetic forms. Consider, for example, the passage on the chapter “Heavenly Patterns” (“Tian wen” 天文): 天文者，所以 和陰陽之氣， 脂部 理日月之光， 陽部 節開塞之時， 之部 列星辰之行， 陽部 知逆順之變， 避忌諱之殃， 陽部 順時運之應， 蒸部 法五神之常， 陽部 使人 有以仰天承順， 而不亂其常者也。 陽部 “Heavenly Patterns” provides the means by which to harmonize the qi of yin and yang, give regular pattern to the radiances of the sun and moon, delimit the seasons of opening [spring–summer] and closing [fall–winter], sequence the movements of the stars and planets, know the changes of [their] retrograde and prograde motion, avoid the misfortunes [resulting from violations] of prohibitions and taboos, comply with the correspondences to the seasonal cycles, and take your model from the constancy of the spirits of the five directions. 49

Le Blanc, Huai-nan tzu, 3–4; and more recently Le Blanc, “Huai nan tzu,” in Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide, 189.

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[All this] will enable you to possess the means to gaze upward to Heaven and carry out your compliance, and not to bring disorder to the constancies [of Heaven].50 The passage reveals a completely regular syntactic pattern: following the title, the main text is introduced by the formula suoyi 所以 (“the means by which”), followed by eight lines of extreme regularity. The pattern is ‘Verb–Compound Noun–之–Noun,’ with the first three characters following the typical fast-paced trisyllabic line (‘dum-dumdum’) as seen in contemporaneous southern song, notably the “Nine Songs” (“Jiu ge” 九歌) from the Chuci anthology. The section concludes with the statement that this chapter “will enable you to possess the means to gaze upward to Heaven and carry out your compliance, and not to bring disorder to the constancies [of Heaven].” This form of closing statement, specifying the benefits to be gained from the chapter and urging the reader to accept the guidance given in it, concludes each of the chapter descriptions. Luo Changpei and Zhou Zumo rightly identify the regular yang 陽 rhymes on the even lines, including the final line of the closing formula; yet, in addition, the zheng 蒸 rhyme in line 7 can be combined with the yang rhymes, while the zhi 脂 and zhi 之 rhymes in lines 1 and 3 can form a “combined rhyme” of their own, adding further to the overall euphonic qualities of the passage. The summary of the chapter “Seasonal Rules” (“Shi ze” 時則) is composed in a rather different poetic form, namely, the classic tetrasyllabic meter associated with the Shijing but now actualized in Han language.51 While the summary is longer than the one for “Heavenly Patterns”, its introductory and closing formulae serve similarly as framing devices. Unlike the summary for “Heavenly Patterns,” the one for “Seasonal Rules” does not show syntactic parallelism, but its use of rhyme is even more intense: 時則者，所以 上因天時， 下盡地力，   職部 據度行當， 合諸人則，   職部 形十二節， 以為法式，   職部 50 51

之部

質部

Here and in the following, compare the translations by Sarah A. Queen and Judson Murray in Major et al., Huainanzi; I have often accepted their formulations. As discussed by Raft, “Beginning of Literati Poetry.”

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終而復始， 轉於無極， 職部 因循倣依， 以知禍福， 職部 操舍開塞， 各有龍忌， 之部 發號施令， 以時教期， 之部 使君人者 知所以從事。 之部

之部 脂部 職部

“Seasonal Rules” provides the means by which to, above, follow the seasons of Heaven, below, fully explore the strengths of Earth, determine standards and enact correspondences, merge them with the rules of Man, give form to the twelve divisions and take them as models and guides. As they end and begin anew, revolving without limit, you should follow, comply, imitate, and adhere to them so that you comprehend disaster and good fortune. In taking and giving, opening and closing, each has its prohibited days for issuing commands and administering orders, instructing and warning in accordance with seasonal timeliness. [All this] will enable the ruler of humankind to know the means by which to manage affairs. Considering only the rhymes on the even lines, it appears that a first sequence of zhi 職 rhymes (lines 2–4–6–8–10) is followed by a second sequence of zhi 之 rhymes (lines 12–14–16). However, the two categories are closely related, with zhi 職 (-ək) being merely the rusheng 入聲 counterpart to zhi 之 (-ə)—two categories that frequently rhyme together in Western Han texts. However, the entire zhi 職 sequence is interspersed with rhymes of the zhi 之, zhi 質, and zhi 脂 categories, all of which are documented to rhyme with one another. As a result, nearly all the lines of the passage are part of a single euphonic sequence of rhymes or at least assonances that strongly contributes to the orderly structure of the “Seasonal Rules” summary. Comparing this structure to that for “Heavenly Patterns,” one finds both of them carefully crafted yet at

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the same time, when taken together, an expression of stylistic versatility. This principle of variation within order can be observed throughout the twenty chapter summaries. One of the most intensely patterned passages in the “Overview” is the section where the authors move from chapter to chapter of the Huainanzi to argue that they had purposefully developed their thematic sequence in order to let the ruler comprehend how the various precepts are interconnected in an unbroken linear chain. Composed in complex parallel style and alluding to the central concepts of each chapter, this key section of the “Overview” argues forcefully for the unity of the entire text. Moreover, the passage relates the logic and effects of the Huainanzi’s composition in terms of agency (‘we’) and audience (‘you’), both only implied but clearly discernible. Addressing the emperor in direct speech, the passage invokes the complete series of chapters in their sequential order, albeit in most cases not by their titles but by alternative phrases, very likely in order to maintain the rhyme pattern: 故   則    則    則    則    則    則    則    則    則    則    則 

言道而不明終始， 不知所倣依。 脂部 言終始而不明天地四時， 不知所避諱。 脂部 言天地四時而不引譬援類， 不知精微。 脂部 言至精而不原人之神氣， 不知養生之機。 脂部 原人情而不言大聖之德， 不知五行之差。 歌部 言帝道而不言君事， 不知小大之衰。 脂部 言君事而不為稱喻， 不知動靜之宜。 歌部 言稱喻而不言俗變， 不知合同大指。 脂部 已言俗變而不言往事， 不知道德之應。 蒸部 知道德而不知世曲， 無以耦萬方。 陽部 知氾論而不知詮言， 無以從容。 東部

之部 (Rhyme 1) 之部 (Rhyme 1) 脂部 (Rhyme 1) 脂部 (Rhyme 1) 職部 (Rhyme 1) 之部 (Rhyme 1) 魚部 (Rhyme 1) (Rhyme 1) 之部 (Rhyme 2) (Rhyme 2) (Rhyme 2)

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  通書文而不知兵指， 職部 則  無以應卒。 質部 (Rhyme 3)   已知大略而不知譬喻， 魚部 則  無以推明事。 之部 (Rhyme 3)   知公道而不知人間， 則  無以應禍福。 職部 (Rhyme 3)   知人間而不知脩務， 魚部 則  無以使學者勸力。 職部 (Rhyme 3) Therefore,  Had we discussed the Way without illuminating ends and  beginnings, then you would not know what to imitate and adhere to.  Had we discussed ends and beginnings without illuminating  Heaven, Earth, and the Four Seasons, then you would not know the taboos to avoid.  Had we discussed Heaven, Earth, and the Four Seasons without  invoking examples and drawing on categories, then you would not know the subtleties of the essential [qi vital  force].  Had we discussed the utmost essence without tracing to its  source the spirit-like vital force of human beings, then you would not know the mechanism by which to nourish your  vitality.  Had we traced to their source the genuine dispositions of  human beings without discussing the virtuous power of the  great sages, then you would not know the [human] shortcomings in the five  modes of conduct/Five Phases.  Had we discussed the Way of the [ancient Five] Thearchs  without discussing the affairs of the ruler, then you would not know how to distinguish the small from the great.  Had we discussed the affairs of the ruler without providing  pronouncements and illustrations, then you would not know the appropriate times for action or  quietude.  Had we discussed pronouncements and illustrations without  discussing changes in customs, then you would not know how to coordinate and unify their great  tenets.

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 Now—had we discussed changes in customs without  discussing past events, then you would not know how to act in correspondence with the  Way and its Potency.  If you knew the Way and its Potency without knowing the  perversions of the age, then you would lack the means to match yourself with the myriad  aspects of the world.  If you knew the “Discourses on the Boundless” without knowing  “Sayings Explained,”52 then you would lack the means to take your ease.  If you fully comprehended the documents and writings without  knowing the tenets of military affairs, then you would lack the means to respond to [enemy] troops.  Now—if you knew grand overviews without knowing  analogies and illustrations, then you would lack the means to draw upon in order to clarify  affairs.  If you knew the Public Way without knowing interpersonal  relations, then you would lack the means to respond to disaster and good  fortune.  If you knew interpersonal relations without knowing  “Cultivating Effort,”53 then you would lack the means to inspire scholars to exert their  utmost strength. An analysis of the rhymes of this passage shows far greater complexity than suggested by Luo Changpei and Zhou Zumo, who once again recognize only the rhymes on the even lines. The first rhyme sequence runs through the first sixteen lines, with either a zhi 脂 or a ge 歌 rhyme on the even-numbered lines (zhi and ge can be combined in Western Han texts). The second rhyme sequence, starting with the ninth rhyme, is a combined zheng 蒸–yang 陽– dong 東 sequence; after this, the rhyme returns to another combined zhi 質– zhi 之–zhi 職 sequence that can be connected to the initial zhi 脂–ge 歌 one. 52 53

“Discourses on the Boundless” (“Fan lun” 氾論) and “Sayings Explained” (“Quan yan” 詮 言) are the titles of chapters 13 and 14 of the Huainanzi, as translated by Major et al. “Cultivating Effort” (“Xiu wu” 脩務) is the title of chapter 19 of the Huainanzi, as translated by Major et al.

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If we also include the rhymes on the odd-numbered lines, it appears that in the first and third rhyme sequences, nearly all lines are part of the rhyme system, including several yu 魚 rhymes. However, the rhymes are only one aspect of the overall patterning of this sequence. Equally important, the passage is composed as a mantra-like litany of repeated words and parallel phrases that lend themselves to easy memorization and recitation. If we consider both the interlocking repetitions and the density of rhyme, what dominates this entire section is not what it says; it is the overall order of how to speak. In this modular order, each word is assigned its proper place exactly as each phenomenon of the natural and social spheres has its place both in the universe and in the text of the Huainanzi, which is the verbal replica of that universe. Altogether, the core message of this section— namely, that the entire Huainanzi is tightly unified and cannot be broken apart into isolated essays—is mimetically represented in a pattern of linguistic artistry that likewise precludes any gaps or discontinuities. For a final example of the performative diction of the “Overview,” one could look at the poetic eulogy that follows shortly after the discussion just mentioned. Here, the text takes on the genuine form of the short southern song (ge 歌) that in Western Han times was closely associated with the lyrics from Chu in general and with the poetry of members of the imperial house in particular:54 誠通乎二十篇之論， 睹凡得要， 以 通九野， 徑十門， 外天地， 捭山川， 其於 逍遙一世之間， 宰匠萬物之形， 亦優游矣。 若然者， 54

真部 (Rhyme 1)

真部 (Rhyme 1) 元部 (Rhyme 1) 元部 (Rhyme 1)

For the Western Han poems included in Shiji and Hanshu, most of them attributed to members of the imperial family, see Kern, “The Poetry of Han Historiography,” 23–65; see also Ke Mading 柯馬丁, “Han shi zhi shi: Shiji, Hanshu xushi zhong de shige hanyi” 漢史 之詩： 《史記》、 《漢書》敘事中的詩歌含義, Zhongguo dianji yu wenhua 中國典籍 與文化 2007.3: 4–12.

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挾日月而不烑， 潤萬物而不秏。 曼兮洮兮， 足以覽矣！ 藐兮浩兮， 曠曠兮， 可以游矣！

宵部 (Rhyme 2) 宵部 (Rhyme 2) 宵部 (Rhyme 2) 幽部 (Rhyme 2) 幽部 (Rhyme 2)

If you fully comprehend the discussions of the twenty chapters, observe the general traits and obtain the essentials, so that you traverse the nine regions of the wilderness, pass through the ten gates, move beyond Heaven and Earth, extend beyond mountains and streams— and thereupon roam freely within the space of the whole world, administer and regulate the forms of the myriad kinds of things— this will be a sublime excursion indeed! And once it is like this, you will clasp sun and moon without being burned, give luster to the myriad kinds of things without being diminished. How graceful! How pure!— This is sufficient to read! How far-reaching! How grand! How vast, vast!— allowing you to roam about! The passage can be understood either as a poem in two halves or as two separate poems. In each unit, two distinct rhymes are used that, however, are so closely related that they could also be considered combined rhymes (zhen 真–yuan 元 in the first, xiao 宵–you 幽 in the second). Each unit begins with an introductory phrase and contains one long, perfectly symmetrical couplet (at the end of unit 1 and the beginning of unit 2). While the first half of the text includes four standard trisyllabic lines of the kind found in Emperor Wu’s sacrificial hymns and elsewhere, the second half ends with one long exclamation, punctuated by the breathing syllable xi 兮—another form familiar from southern poems of the time. As a whole, this poetic eulogy combines intensely

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poetic diction with the rhetoric of a grandiose imperial vision known from contemporaneous fu such as Sima Xiangru’s “Excursion Hunt of the Son of Heaven” or “Far Roaming” (“Yuan you” 遠遊) in the Chuci anthology. As such, the poem resonated with Emperor Wu’s political and cultural ambitions alike, celebrating imperial might as well as the cultural splendor of the Liu imperial house. The Performance of the “Overview” and the Composition of the Huainanzi



All received editions of the Huainanzi treat the “Overview” as its final chapter (chapter 21). Yet while our earliest source, the Hanshu—in the biography of Liu An and in the “Monograph on Arts and Writings”—speaks of a text in twenty-one chapters, the “Overview” itself consistently, no less than thrice, refers to the “twenty chapters” of the work. First, the list of chapters cited above begins with the words 故著二十篇 (“Thus, [we] composed the twenty chapters of . . .”). Second, around the middle of the “Overview,” it is remarked: 故 著書二十篇， 則 天地之理究矣， 人間之事接矣， 帝王之道備矣。 Therefore, we composed a collection of writings in twenty chapters so that the inner structures of Heaven and Earth are penetrated, human affairs are revealed in their connections, and the Way of the Thearchs and Kings [of old] is completely laid out. Third, as also cited above, the summary encourages the reader to “fully comprehend the discussions of the twenty chapters.” From this evidence, but also from the fact that the “Overview” displays the quintessential characteristics of the Westen Han fu, I conclude that the “Overview” was initially external to the text of the Huainanzi proper, and that its literary form suggests that it was

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performed before Emperor Wu when “the book of the Liu clan” was presented to him in 139 BCE. While the twenty chapters provide comprehensive instructions on how to maintain the cosmic and political order, the presentation of the “Overview” was an act of political and moral persuasion intended to urge its hearer to follow the precepts compiled at the court of Huainan. Moreover, in addition to being composed for a specific, indeed single, oral performance of persuasive speech, it is likely that its written version was simultaneously intended to accompany the twenty chapters of the Huainanzi proper in order to be perpetually available as a guide for future readers. It is in this form that it has been preserved from earliest times onward, for two millennia aiding rulers, ministers, and scholars alike. It is also in this form that it has guarded the stability and internal order of the Huainanzi as a book. Looking at the “Overview” from this perspective also suggests a specific date for it. In the introduction to their translation of the Huainanzi, John Major and his collaborators present a well-reasoned argument that the Huainanzi—being the very large text that it is—was not initially written for Emperor Wu but was instead a work gradually created during the preceding reign of Emperor Jing 景 (r. 157–141 BCE), and possibly even for that ruler. From my analysis presented here, I conclude that at least the “Overview” cannot have been meant for Emperor Jing. As Shiji and Hanshu inform us, Emperor Jing profoundly disliked the elaborate poetic expositions (cifu 辭賦, an alternative term for fu) that were en vogue at the southern courts of Wu, Liang, and Huainan.55 As the “Overview” directly addresses its reader or hearer, and as this recipient can only be the emperor, it must have been composed for Emperor Wu, who was known for his fondness for the fu; directed at Emperor Jing, it would most likely have been counterproductive. It is possible to argue, as Major et al. do in the introduction to their translation,56 that the “Overview” was composed significantly later than the twenty chapters proper. The problem with this hypothesis is that the “Overview” appears to be, rather, not merely an afterthought to the twenty chapters but—considering especially the rhymed list of chapter titles—the very prism through which these chapters were organized and unified to begin with. Moreover, the “Overview” is explicit about the nature of the Huainanzi: it is a book of advice for a universal ruler. If not addressed directly to the emperor but created merely to represent Liu An’s own design for universal rulership, the work would have been considered presumptuous at best, and revealing the

55 56

Sima Qian, Shiji 117.2999; Ban Gu, Hanshu 57A.2529. Major et al., Huainanzi, 22–24.

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king’s dangerous ambitions at worst. In the form we know the text, it needed an emperor as its audience. For several reasons, this emperor was unlikely to have been Emperor Jing. First, not only the “Overview” but the Huainanzi as a whole frequently employs the artful language of the southern fu. This would suggest that during the reign of Emperor Jing, the twenty chapters would not have been greeted enthusiastically at the imperial court. Second, whereas Emperor Wu came to the throne at age sixteen and was given the text just two years later, early in both his life and his reign, Emperor Jing, born in 188 BCE, had ruled the Han Empire since 157 BCE. Because Liu An’s previous statutory visit to the imperial court took place in 146 BCE,57 the Huainanzi must have been composed after that date; yet nearly twenty years into his reign, Emperor Jing hardly needed a new blueprint for how to govern the empire, much less one written by his cousin, a southern king of his own generation. For these reasons, I would submit that the Huainanzi as a whole, and not merely its “Overview,” was compiled right after 141 BCE when the new emperor, Wu, ascended to the throne—a young man of the next generation with an obvious need for senior advice who, unlike his father, was receptive to the southern literary fashion of his time. Quite likely, after Liu An’s own ambitions to become emperor had been thwarted,58 he might have conceived of the Huainanzi as the tool to enable him to lay claim to a new stature as the imperial court’s spiritus rector— perhaps even not far from the role of regent in the vein of the Duke of Zhou. This is not to argue that the entire Huainanzi was hastily written from scratch. As the twenty chapters represent widely diverging fields of knowledge as well as distinct stylistic choices, they were most likely composed by different groups of men learned in different scholarly traditions. The chapters’ diverse writings did not come into being overnight, nor were they composed for a single purpose; much of their knowledge must have been in existence— and written down in one form or another—by 141 BCE, before being compiled into the twenty chapters of the Huainanzi. It is only this unifying compilation, and not the original authorship of disparate texts representing different traditions of learning, that created the comprehensive message of the Huainanzi as a whole, and it is only the “Overview” that, in a final rhetorical gesture, unified the chapters (complete with their rhyming titles) as a single work of defined scope and fixed internal order.

57 58

Michael Loewe, A Biographical Dictionary of the Qin, Former Han and Xin Periods (221 BCE–AD 24) (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2000), 242. See Vankeerberghen, The Huainanzi and Liu An’s Claim to Moral Authority.

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Thus, I suggest, it was the occasion of 139 BCE that generated the text as we know it, and it was the literary fashion of the time, enthusiastically received by a young ruler, that shaped its representation—the “Overview”—in both its written form and as a court performance. The resulting Huainanzi was the first ‘big book’ of Han times, and its overall composition for, and presentation at, the imperial court of Emperor Wu must be seen as a forceful intervention into the politics and culture at the imperial court. Its textual unification of wideranging, diverse, and in fact mutually unrelated essays was the most magnificent summa of sagely advice for a young and ambitious emperor who found himself ruling over an only recently unified, and still highly precarious, empire. Thus, without the occasion of Liu An’s court visit in 139 BCE, the Huainanzi as a single, unified, and monumental book may never have come into existence, and as individual essays, none of its chapters may have survived.

part two Knowledge and Rhetoric

∵

chapter 5

Tool Metaphors in the Huainanzi and Other Early Texts John S. Major One conspicuous rhetorical feature of the Huainanzi is its extensive use of metaphors based on music, horsemanship, craftsmanship, weaponry, medicine, textile technology, and other aspects of Han daily life to make cosmological, moral, or political arguments. In turn, among the metaphorical devices employed in the text, tools—particularly craftsman’s tools such as the square, the compass, and the level—play a particularly prominent role. In this essay I shall examine the role of such tools as a topos in the Huainanzi.1 The essay is in three parts The first and longest looks at a number of tool metaphors in the text and shows that they exhibit such a wide range of meanings and applications that the text itself can fairly be summarized by means of the tool metaphors therein. The second part looks comparatively at tool metaphors in other Warring States and early Han texts and shows that those texts vary greatly in the degree to which they employ such metaphors. The tool metaphors also shed some new light on the sources and formation of Liu An’s text, revealing affinities with certain works that also employ them (though in all cases tool metaphors are a more conspicuous feature of the Huainanzi than of comparable works). The final part of the essay draws some conclusions and discusses the possible significance of the prominence of tool metaphors in the Huainanzi.

Tools and Tool Metaphors

The metaphorical use of tools is found, as we shall see, not only in the Huainanzi but also in certain other Warring States and early Han texts. Readers 1 Other metaphorical topoi in the Huainanzi invite study. See, for example, my article “Animals and Animal Metaphors in Huainanzi,” Asia Major, 3rd ser., 21.1 (2008): 133–51. I hope in the near future to prepare essays on charioteering and horsemanship metaphors and musical metaphors in the Huainanzi. I hope that other scholars will wish to follow this example by writing articles on weaponry metaphors, medical metaphors, and analogous topics.

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of this essay might think immediately of the Mozi, which contains many tool metaphors, such as 子墨子言曰：我有天志，譬若輪人之有規，匠人 之有矩 “Our teacher Mozi said, I adhere to the Will of Heaven as a wheelwright adheres to his compass and a carpenter to his square” (chapter 26); or the Xunzi, the famous opening lines of which refer explicitly to the world of craft: 君子曰：學不可以已。青、取之於藍，而青於藍. . . . 木直中 繩，輮以為輪，其曲中規，雖有槁暴，不復挺者. The Superior Man says: “Learning never stops. Blue dye is obtained from the indigo plant, but the things it dyes are bluer than indigo dye. . . . By means of steaming and bending you can take wood that is as straight as a marking cord and make it into a wheel. Once its curve matches the compass, even if you expose it to desiccating sunlight it will not become straight again.” Nevertheless, if tool metaphors in the Huainanzi are not unprecedented, they still are a distinctive feature of that work, used extensively throughout and (as we shall explore further below) to a more extensive degree than is to be found in comparable texts. A distinctive feature of the text’s use of metaphors (not only tool metaphors but metaphors from the worlds of music, charioteering, and the like) is flexibility; the metaphors are applied to a broad range of situations to make a wide variety of rhetorical points. Tool metaphors are to some extent reminiscent of the so-called knack stories (in which a skilled person’s performance of some work of craft is taken as a political metaphor) that are such a conspicuous element of the Zhuangzi; indeed, the Huainanzi contains a number of knack stories as well. Similarly, the text also sometimes mentions and makes rhetorical use of what might be called ‘devices,’ such as the swape, or well sweep ( jiegao 桔槔); the crossbow trigger ( ji 機), which appears several times in the metaphorical expression tianji 天機, the ‘mechanism of Heaven’; and the shi 式 cosmograph, a model of the heavens used in astrology and hemerology. But tool metaphors are significantly different both from knack stories and from references to devices and form a distinct subgenre of their own. In the tool metaphors themselves, a small number of tools appear over and over again. Most of the tools used in these metaphors are ones customarily employed to measure and lay out work—builders’ tools, in other words: compass, square, level, balance beam, weight, angle rule, and so on. Except for the

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chisel, tools used to shape and manipulate materials, such as hammers, saws, wedges, planes, and trowels, are rare or absent from the rhetoric of tools, as are agricultural tools (shovels, hoes, plows, etc.). In the concluding section of this essay, I shall discuss the possible significance of the kinds of tools that are used metaphorically. The tools that are commonly used metaphorically in the Huainanzi include the following: Gui 規, ‘compass,’ that is, a device for inscribing circles. Unlike the draftsman’s dividers familiar in Western usage, the Han era gui compass is often depicted as a device in the shape of a lowercase h, having a long vertical member to mark the center-point, an adjustable horizontal radial member, and a shorter vertical member supporting a scribing device to mark the circle itself. Ju 矩, ‘square,’ that is, a T square or carpenter’s square. It is usually depicted as the familiar L-shaped right-angle device, sometimes braced diagonally. Sheng 繩, ‘marking-cord’ or ‘line-marker.’ This device consists of a hollow box containing ink-soaked fibrous material, a string arranged to run through the ink box and be inked by it, and a reel or other device to control the string. It functions in the same way as a Western carpenter’s chalk line, to mark a straight line (to indicate where to cut a plank or stone, for example). It can also be hung from a high position to function as a plumb line. Sheng is sometimes mistranslated as ‘measuring line’ or ‘tape measure’; this is an error, because the principal function of the device is to mark straight lines, not to measure linear distance. Heng 衡, ‘balance beam,’ the horizontal member in a weighing device such as a hand-scale or a steelyard. The heng works in conjunction with a quan. Quan 權, ‘weight.’ In using a hand-scale, the weight is placed in one of two pans hung equidistantly from the balance point of the balance beam, with the material to be weighed placed in the other pan; when the balance beam achieves a stable horizontal position, the weight of the material to be weighed equals that of the weight in the other pan. In the steelyard, the material to be weighed is placed in a pan or on a hook hung from one end of one limb of the balance beam, while the weight is moved along the other limb of the balance beam until the latter achieves a stable horizontal position. The weight of the object being weighed then can be read on a scale inscribed onto the s­ urface

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of the beam.2 (It may seem strange that the beam and weight are treated as separate tools in Chinese, but one can find similar examples in English, e.g., ‘mortar and pestle’ or ‘brace and bit.’) In some contexts quan seems to refer to the plumb bob of a plumb line rather than to a weight for weighing things. The word also has a number of extended meanings beyond its basic meaning of a ‘weight’ as a physical object; for example, in many contexts in the Huainanzi, quan means ‘expediency.’ Zhun 準, ‘level.’ The Chinese level (unlike the much later spirit level familiar in the West, which features an air bubble in a closed, liquid-filled tube) relies on the self-leveling property of water; it consists of a board into which a water reservoir and a narrow straight channel have been carved. When the board is held exactly level, water from the reservoir will fill the channel to an even depth. The zhun sometimes consisted of the board alone (for use on flat surfaces); sometimes the board was fitted with a handle so that the level could be held up to a wall or other raised surface. Gou 鈎, a somewhat enigmatic device (the basic meaning of the term is ‘hook’ or ‘angle’) that, after much research, discussion, and deliberation, I have decided to translate as ‘angle rule.’ (Rickett, in his translation of the Guanzi, calls it a ‘bevel-compass’ without explaining what such a device might be.) Other possible translations include ‘angle template’ or ‘bevel.’ The gou seems to have been a device, similar to a modern bevel square, used to mark and duplicate variable angles. It also appears in the Guanzi as something used to size chariot axles to fit into wheel hubs of various diameters; a variable-angle device could of course easily be put to such a use.3 If this interpretation is correct, the gou probably resembled a ju, ‘square,’ except that the arms of the device would have been free to assume any desired angle, and it would have included some means of fixing the arms in place at that angle for as long as necessary.

2 Griet Vankeerberghen has raised doubts about whether the steelyard was in use in China before the Eastern Han period. See her article “Choosing Balance: Weighing (Quan) as a Metaphor for Action in Early Chinese Texts,” Early China 30 (2005): 47–89. 3 W. Allyn Rickett, Guanzi: Political, Economic, and Philosophical Essays from Early China, 2 vols. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985–98), 1:202, 205. Anthony Barbieri-Low, Artisans in Early Imperial China (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2007), 149–50, notes that hexagonal axle bushings were sometimes fitted “to reinforce the hubs of carriages and carts and to provide a smooth turning surface for the axle tree.”

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A difficulty with this word is that it has multiple meanings; depending on context, gou can mean ‘hook’ or ‘angle’ (as in si gou, the ‘four hooks’ of the heavens, or of the liubo board or TLV mirror) or ‘hook’ as in ‘fishhook.’ Gou also appears in Huainanzi 14 as the name of a curved, sickle-like weapon (‘battle-hook’), examples of which have been recovered archaeologically. Thus, in encountering the term it is not always clear what one is dealing with. Biao 表, ‘gnomon,’ a straight stick or rod designed to cast a solar shadow. Gnomons used in sundials are aimed at the celestial north pole (i.e., their angle to the horizontal is identical to the latitude of the place where the sundial is intended to be used, so that the sun’s rays always strike the gnomon at an angle of 90 degrees; this is necessary for the sundial to keep constant time throughout the year). Gnomons used for direction finding (e.g., finding a true north–south line by bisecting the angle of shadows cast at sunrise and sunset) or for tracking the seasons (by measuring the length of the noon shadow) are generally exactly vertical. Guan 管, ‘sighting tube’ or ‘alidade’; a tube used to aim an astronomical or surveying instrument. (Another kind of otherwise-unidentified sighting or surveying instrument is the ‘metal eyes’ [ jin mu 金目] mentioned in Huainanzi 20; the guan is mentioned in the same passage, so the ‘sighting tube’ and the ‘metal eyes’ are clearly not the same thing although their purposes appear to be somewhat similar.) The character guan has a range of meanings, including ‘flute,’ and is also used to write the name of the fabled statesman Guan Zhong (the putative author of the Guanzi), so the presence of the word in a text does not automatically indicate a reference to a sighting tube. Zuo, ‘chisel,’ is also often used metaphorically or as part of knack stories as the paradigmatic tool of a skilled workman. The word zuo is often used as a verb (‘to bore a hole in something, to carve, to engrave, to excavate’) or as an adjective (‘carved, engraved’) and does not therefore always refer to a chisel as a physical object. When used as metaphors, these tools are often paired, as follows: Compass–T square :: round–square Marking cord–level :: verticality–horizontality Marking cord–angle rule :: straightness–crookedness Balance beam–weight :: impartiality–decisiveness Marking cord–gnomon :: comprehensiveness (straight lines can run in any direction)

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As mentioned earlier, one of the most striking things about the rhetorical use of tools in the Huainanzi is the variety of arguments in which tool metaphors are enlisted. These include yin-yang and Five Phases paradigms, metaphors of the qualities and workings of the Way (dao 道), metaphors for the qualities associated with a sage-ruler, metaphors for the importance of laws and standards, and others. Collectively, these tool metaphors are so central to the rhetoric of the text that they can be arranged to recapitulate the cosmological and political arguments of the work as a whole. The basic fact of cosmography, for the Huainanzi, is that Heaven is round and Earth is square: 天道曰員，地道曰方。方者主幽，員者主明。 The Way of Heaven is called the Round; the Way of Earth is called the Square. The square governs the obscure; the circular governs the bright.4 是故天不發其陰，則萬物不生；地不發其陽，則萬物不成。天 員地方，道在中央。 Thus, if Heaven does not give forth yin, the myriad things cannot be born; if Earth does not give forth yang, the myriad things cannot grow to maturity. Heaven is round, Earth is square; the Way is exactly in the middle.5 Expanding on this cosmographical idea, chapter 11 adds this passage:

4 Lau et al., eds., Huainanzi, 3/18/28; All citations of the text are from D. C. Lau et al., eds., Huainanzi zhuzi suoyin 淮南子逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1992), in the form chapter/page/ line(s). All Huainanzi translations in this essay draw on John S. Major, Sarah A. Queen, Andrew Seth Meyer, and Harold D. Roth, trans., The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China, Translations from the Asian Classics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010). 5 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 3/24/10–11.

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檏至大者無形狀，道至眇者無度量。故天之員不中規，地之方 不中矩。往古來今謂之宇，四方上下謂之宙，道在其間而莫知 其所。 The ultimate greatness of the Uncarved Block is its being without form or shape; the ultimate subtlety of the Way is its being without model or measure. The roundness of Heaven cannot be tested by the compass; the squareness of Earth cannot be tested by the [carpenter’s] square. From furthest antiquity to the present day is called ‘extension-in-time’; the four directions [plus] up and down are called ‘extension-in-space.’ The Way is within their midst, and none can know its location.6 The cosmology of the Huainanzi gives primacy to yang and yin (Heaven, round, etc. vs. Earth, square, etc.) but links that fundamental dualism with the workings of the Five Phases. In another passage from chapter 3, tools are used rhetorically as paradigms of the Five Phases, associated with the five planetary gods: 何為五星？ 東方，木也。其帝太皥，其佐句芒。執規而治春。其神為嵗 星，其獸為蒼龍，其音角，其日甲乙。 南方，火也。其帝炎帝，其佐朱明。執衡而治夏。其神為營 惑，其獸朱鳥，其音徵，其日丙丁。 中央，土也。其帝黃帝，其佐后土。執繩而治四方。其神為鎮 星，其獸黃龍，其音宮，其日午己。 西方，金也。其帝少昊，其佐蓐收。執矩而治秋。其神為太 白，其獸白虎，其音商，其日庚辛。 北方，水也。其帝顓頊，其佐玄冥。執權而治冬。其神為辰 星，其獸玄武，其音羽，其日壬癸。 What are the Five Planets? The East is Wood. Its god is Tai Hao. His assistant is Gou Mang. He grasps the compass and governs spring. His spirit is the Year-Star [Jupiter]. His animal is the bluegreen dragon. His musical note is jue; his days are jia and yi. The South is Fire. Its god is Yan Di. His assistant is Zhu Ming. He grasps the balance beam and governs summer. His spirit is Sparkling Deluder 6 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 11/99/20–21.

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[Mars]. His animal is the vermilion bird. His musical note is zhi; his days are bing and ding. The Center is Earth. Its god is the Yellow Emperor. His assistant is Hou Tu. He grasps the marking cord and governs the four quarters. His spirit is Quelling Star [Saturn]. His animal is the yellow dragon. His musical note is gong; his days are wu and ji. The West is Metal. Its god is Shao Hao. His assistant is Ru Shou. He grasps the square and governs autumn. His spirit is Great White [Venus]. His animal is the white tiger. His musical note is shang; his days are geng and xin. The North is Water. Its god is Zhuan Xu. His assistant is Xuan Ming. He grasps the weight and governs winter. His spirit is Chronograph Star [Mercury]. His animal is the Dark Warrior. His musical note is yu; his days are ren and gui.7 The cyclical nature of Five Phase transformations is also given in terms of tool metaphors: 故曰：規生矩殺，衡長權藏，繩居中央，為四時根。 Thus, it is said that when the compass is born, the square dies; when the balance beam is [being] set up, the weight is hidden away; when the marking cord occupies the center, it [marks out] the foundation of the four seasons.8 In other words, when spring begins, autumn is completely done away with, summer is gestating, and winter is receding into the past; the center is associated with and forms the root of all directions and seasons. The link between the emblematic tools and the passage of seasonal time is expanded upon in a long passage from chapter 5, “Seasonal Rules”, following the texts for each of the twelve months. (The chapter consists mainly of Huainanzi’s version of the ‘Yueling’ ritual calendar, also found in the Lüshi chunqiu and the Liji; the appended section on the “Six Standards” is otherwise unknown.) 六度： 陰陽大制有六度：天為繩，墬為凖，春為規，夏為衡，秋為 矩，冬為權。繩者，所以繩萬物也。凖者，所以凖萬物也。規 7 Lau et al., Huanainzi, 3/20/1–6. 8 Lau et al., Huanainzi, 3/25/14–15.

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者，所以員萬物也。衡者，所以平萬物也。矩者，所以方萬物 也。權者，所以權萬物也。 The Six Standards: For the great regulation of yin and yang, there are Six Standards. Heaven is the marking cord. Earth is the level. Spring is the compass. Summer is the balance beam. Autumn is the square. Winter is the weight. The marking cord is that by which the myriad things are marked out. The level is that by which the myriad things are leveled. The compass is that by which the myriad things are made round. The balance beam is that by which the myriad things are equalized. The square is that by which the myriad things are made square. The weight is that by which the myriad things are weighed.9 The passage concludes: 明堂之制，靜而法凖；動而法繩；春治以規；秋治以矩；冬治 以權；夏治以衡；是故燥溼寒暑以節至；甘雨膏露以時降。 In the regulation of the Mingtang, be tranquil, taking the level as a pattern; be active, taking the marking cord as a pattern. For the government of spring, adopt the compass; for the government of autumn, adopt the square; for the government of winter, adopt the weight; for the government of summer, adopt the balance beam. Thus, dryness and dampness, cold and heat, will arrive in their proper seasonal nodes; sweet rain and fertile dew will descend in their proper times.10

9

10

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 5/48/24–28. The entire passage, too long to quote in full here, may be found in Major et al., Huainanzi, 204–6; see also the discussion in John S. Major, Heaven and Earth in Early Han Thought: Chapters Three, Four, and Five of the Huainanzi (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993), 264–68. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 5/49/22–23.

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It is notable that here the tools that are used as metaphors for cosmic standards are associated with the Supreme Thearch (shangdi 上帝) and with the ritual building called the Mingtang 明堂, or ‘Hall of Light’—that is, with the highest orders of sagely government. Because tools are emblematic of the fundamental order of the cosmos, they also are metaphors for the qualities of sage-rulers, who govern in accordance with the Way. A number of passages in the Huainanzi make this explicit: 道至高無上，至深無下，平乎凖，直乎繩，員乎規，方乎矩，   包裏宇宙而無表裏，洞同覆戴而無所矮。是故體道者，不哀不 樂，不喜不怒，其坐無慮，其寢無夢，物來而名，事來而應。 The Way at its highest has nothing above it; at its lowest it has nothing below it. It is more even than a carpenter’s level, straighter than a marking cord, rounder than a compass, more square than a carpenter’s square. It embraces the cosmos and is without outside or inside. Cavernous and undifferentiated, it covers and supports with nothing to hinder it. Therefore, those who embody the Way are not sorrowful or joyful; are not happy or angry. They sit without disturbing thoughts and sleep without dreams. Things come and they name them. Affairs arise, and they respond to them.11 The sage-ruler’s control of affairs is effortless, characterized by nonaction (wuwei 無為), a quality much admired by the Huainanzi’s authors: 是故繩正於上，木直於下。非有事焉，所縁以修者然也。 Thus, if the [line of the] marking cord is straight above, the board will be straight below.

11

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 10/82/15–17.

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There is no great affair involved. It is just a matter of following what has been laid out, and it will be so.12 This is because the tools themselves set standards that are invariable and thus easy to follow: 今夫權衡規矩，一定而不易，不為秦楚變節，不為胡越改 容，常一而不邪，方行而不流，一日荊之，萬世傳之，而以無 為為之。 Now the weight and the balance beam, the compass and the square, once fixed are not changed. Their calibrations are not altered for the sake of [the states of] Qin or Chu, their form does not change for the Hu or the Yue [tribes]. Constant and unswerving, going straight and not meandering, taking form in a single day and passed down for ten thousand generations, they act through nonaction.13 One way in which sages are able to act without deliberate purpose and yet accomplish their ends (wu wei er wei 無為而為) is by internalizing standards: 夫至巧不用鈎繩。 One who mastered carpentry does not use an angle rule or a marking cord.14 非規矩不能定方員；非凖繩不能正曲真；用規矩凖繩者，亦有 規矩凖繩焉。 What is not a compass or a square cannot fix squares and circles. What is not a level or a marking cord cannot establish the crooked and the straight. Thus, those who use compasses, squares, levels, and marking cords also have compasses, squares, levels, and marking cord within them.15

12 13 14 15

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 9/72/17–18. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 9/69/24–26. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 16/156/21–22. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 17/183/17.

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是故聖人一度循軌，不變其宜，不易其常，放凖循繩，曲因 其當。 Therefore, sages make use of the one measure to comply with the tracks of things. They do not alter its suitability. They do not change its constancy. Applying it as their level and relying on it as their marking-cord, through the meanderings [of life], they follow it as their benchmark.16 For this reason, tools also metaphorically describe the proper relationship between rulers and their ministers: 主道員者，運轉而無端，化育如神，虛無因循，常後而不先 者也。 臣道方者，論是而處當，為事先倡，守職分明，以立成功 者也。 是故郡臣異道則治，同道則亂。各得其宜，處得其黨，則上下 有以相使也。 The Way of the ruler is round, revolving and turning endlessly; transforming and sustaining, like a spirit; vacant, gliding without apparent purpose; always at the rear and never taking the lead. The Way of the minister is square, discussing practicalities and being in the right place. In accomplishing tasks he is the first to take the lead. Guarding his store of knowledge and parceling out his insight, he thereby establishes his success. Therefore, when the ruler and his officials follow different Ways, there is order. [When they follow] identical Ways, there is disorder. When each obtains what is appropriate to him and situates himself in his proper place, then above and below can work with each other.17 The ruler is advised to adhere to standards, which are constant and reliable, rather than trusting to the temporary availability of human talent:

16 17

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 1/6/29–1/7/2. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 9/71/17–20.

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故高不可及者，不可以為人量；行不可逮者，不可以為國 俗。夫挈輕重不失銖兩，聖人弗用，而縣之乎銓衡；視高下不 差尺寸，明主弗任，而求之乎浣凖。何則？人才不可專用，而 度量可世傳也。 Thus, what is so lofty as to be unreachable cannot be the measure of humans; conduct that cannot be matched cannot be made the custom of the kingdom. [One who] can judge heavy and light by holding [things] without being off by a zhu or a liang18 the sage does not use; [instead] he hangs things from the scales [to weigh them]. [One who] can judge high and low [deviations from the horizontal] by sight without being off by a foot or an inch the enlightened ruler does not employ; he seeks [the true level] with the water-level. Why is this? Human talent cannot be employed reliably, but standards and measures can be passed down from generation [to generation].19 On the other hand, the ruler does of course have ministers, and he needs to be able to judge their capabilities and employ them accordingly: 是故賢主用人也，猶巧工之制木也，大者以爲舟航柱梁，小 者以爲椄槢，脩者以為櫚榱，短者以為朱儒枅櫨。無大小脩 短，皆得其所宜。規矩方員，各有所施。殊形異材，莫不可得 而用也。 Thus, the worthy ruler’s employment of others is like a skillful artisan’s management of wood. Large pieces are used for boats and barges or pillars and rafters; small ones are used for tholes and pegs. Long pieces are used for eaves and rafters, short pieces for red[-lacquered] brackets and capitals. Whether small or large, long or short, each has something for which it is appropriate. The compass and the square [shape them] square or round; each has something for which it is suitable. They have different shapes and varying qualities, but there is nothing that does not find its [proper] use.20 18 A liang was an ancient unit of weight equivalent to about 1.1 ounces, or 31.25 grams. One liang was equal to twenty-four zhu. 19 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 11/102/3–6. 20 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 9/74/16–18.

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And again: 故聖人財制物也，猶工匠之斵削鑿枘，宰庖之切割分別也，曲 得其宜而不折傷。 Thus, the sage shapes and fashions things the way the carpenter chops, pares, carves, and fastens, the way the cook slices, cuts, divides, and separates. Each detail gets what is appropriate to it, and nothing is broken or harmed.21 Moreover: 使人主執正持平，如從繩凖高下。則群臣以邪來者，猶以卵投 石，以火投水也。 If the ruler holds to rectitude and exercises fairness, it will be [as easy as] using the marking cord and the level [to mark a line] from high to low. [Even] if there are some among the officials who bring in wicked practices, they will [have as little effect as] eggs thrown against stones or fire tossed into water.22 And again: 夫繩之為度也，可卷而懷也，引而伸之，可真而睎。故聖人以 身體之。夫脩而不橫，短而不窮，真而不剛，久而不忘者，其 為繩乎。 Considering the marking cord as a standard, it can be rolled up and tucked away; it can be drawn out and stretched; it can be straightened and followed [with the eye]. Therefore, sages incarnate it within their bodies. Now, when lengthened, it is not crooked; when shortened, it is not deficient; when straightened, it is not rigid; 21 22

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 11/98/17–18. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 9/72/22.

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Long-lasting and not ephemeral: this is a marking cord!23 The would-be sage-ruler therefore needs to cultivate his own nature to match the standards that exist a priori in the cosmos itself: 詹何曰：未嘗聞身治而國亂者也。未嘗聞身亂而國治者也。矩 不正，不可以為方；規不正，不可以為員；身者，事之規矩 也。未聞枉己而能正人者也。原天命，治心術，理好憎，適情 性，則治道通矣。 Zhan He said: “I have never heard of a ruler who was ordered in his person yet found his state disordered. Nor have I heard of a ruler whose was disordered in his person yet found his state to be well ordered.” If the [carpenter’s] square is not true, it cannot create a square. If the compass is not true, it cannot create a circle. Your person is the [carpenter’s] square and compass of all your undertakings. I have not heard that it was possible to correct others by perverting yourself. Trace to the source Heaven’s Decree, cultivate the techniques of the mind, regulate likes and dislikes, follow your disposition and nature, and the Way of governing [oneself] will come through.24 Chapter 9 contains an interesting example of implements—devices outside the usual set of builders’ tools—used metaphorically to argue that self-control is a necessary trait of the ruler: 故中欲不出謂之扃，外邪不入謂之閉。中扃外閉，何事之不 節？外閉中扃，何事之不成？ Thus, not letting inner desires emerge is called ‘barring the door’; not letting external depravity enter is called ‘blocking the gate.’ If what is inside is locked in and what is outside is blocked out, 23 24

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/123/4–6. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 14/133/5–8.

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what matter would not be properly regulated? If what is outside is blocked out and what is inside is locked in, what matter would not be successful?25 One result of this kind of royal self-cultivation is a serene impartiality—for example, in the application of the laws: 及無好者，誅而無怨，施而不德，放凖循繩，身無與事，若天 若地，何不覆載。 Only the ruler who has no preferences punishes without causing resentment, exhibits kindness without eliciting gratitude, accords with the level and complies with the marking cord, and does not personally intervene. Like Heaven and Earth, There is nothing that he does not cover or support.26 And again: 法者，天下之度量， 而人主之準繩也。縣法者，法不法也；設 賞者，賞當賞也。法定之後，中程者賞，缺繩者誅，尊貴者不 輕其罰，而卑賤者不重其刑。犯法者雖賢必誅，中度者雖不肖 必無罪；是故公道通而私道塞矣。 Law is the standard of measurement for the world, the level and marking cord of the ruler. [He who] proclaims the laws does so to [impose] law on the lawless; [he who] sets up rewards does so to reward those who deserve rewards. After the laws are set, those who obey the laws are rewarded and those who fall short of the marking cord’s [line] are punished. For the honorable and noble the punishments are not decreased, and for the lowly and base the punishments are not increased. If someone disobeys the law, even if he is [otherwise] worthy he must be punished. If someone meets the standard, even if he is [otherwise] unworthy he must be found

25 26

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 9/77/11–12. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 14/139/5–6.

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innocent. Thus, the Way of the public good will be opened up, and that of private interest will be blocked.27 Here we must pause to consider the word fa 法, which covers a wide range of meanings. Its most basic sense is ‘model,’ ‘pattern,’ or ‘template’ (a usage not far from the world of craftsman’s tools) or, more abstractly, ‘standard.’ From that comes the meaning ‘law’ in the strict sense of a code of conduct enforceable by rewards and (especially) punishments. A further extended meaning is ‘method’ in the sense of a proper or efficacious way of doing something. It is often difficult to decide what meaning is intended in any particular passage, and a single use of the word can have broad connotations. Here the meaning of fa is pretty clearly ‘laws,’ because the context is a discussion of rewards and punishments. But the broader sense of ‘standards’ hovers conspicuously in the background. (The word translated as ‘standard’ in this passage is du 度, not fa, and the argument of the whole passage hinges on the interplay of the words fa and du.) ‘Standards’ and ‘laws’ are by no means synonymous in this passage, nor in the Huainanzi generally; the work’s stance is to require standards and accept the necessity of laws. A mechanistic government by law alone is not admired by the Huainanzi’s writers. Closely related to the word fa is the term liu lü 六律, ‘Six Pitch Pipes.’ In the most literal sense the liu lü are a set of musical pipes, half of a full set of twelve that define the tonic scale. Because the lengths of the individual pipes (and thus the various notes of the scale) could be expressed as a series of ratios of the length of the fundamental pipe,28 and since the length of the fundamental pipe (usually nine inches) was or potentially could be established by the ruler, the term liu lü took on the extended meanings of ‘standard’ and ‘statute.’ The term is often paired with fa in the compound falü, conventionally translated as ‘laws and statutes.’ In chapter 8, government according to the Six Pitch Pipes (as distinguished from the Six Standards, liu du 六度, of chapter 5) is characterized by a harsh, punishment-oriented regime and is taken to be appropriate only for the lowest sort of ruler, the ‘prince’ ( jun 君, as opposed to the ‘thearch’ di 帝, the ‘king’ wang 王, or the ‘hegemon’ ba 霸). In this scheme of things, rule by the Six Pitch Pipes is only appropriate to a minor ruler in a

27 28

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 9/75/16–18. For the procedure by which this was done, see Lau et al., Huainanzi, 3/26/1–11; Major et al., Huainanzi, 134–35. The “Six Pitch Pipes,” half of a full set of twelve, play the five notes of the pentatonic scale plus the octave.

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decadent age. (This very long passage is abbreviated here, each elision marked by four dots.) 帝者體太一；王者法陰陽；霸者則四時；君者用六律。。。。 The thearch embodies Primordial Unity, the king models himself on yin and yang, the hegemon follows the four seasons, the prince makes use of the Six Pitch Pipes . . . .29 六律者，生之與殺也，賞之與罰也，予之與奪也，非次無道 也，故謹於權衡凖繩，審乎輕重，足以治其境内也。。。。 As for the Six Pitch Pipes, [they are] life and death, reward and punishment, granting and taking away. Anything that is otherwise lacks the Way. Therefore, pay heed to the balance beam and the weight, the level and the marking-cord; investigate the light and the heavy. This is sufficient to govern within the boundaries [of a small state]. . . .30 用六律者，伐亂禁暴，進賢而廢不肖。伕撥以爲正，壞險以爲 平，矯枉以爲真。明於禁舍開閉之道，剩時因勢以服伇人 心也。 One who uses the Six Pitch Pipes quells disorder and prohibits violence; advances the meritorious and demotes the unworthy. He supports the reliable so as to create order; he drives away the treacherous in order to create peace; he straightens out the bent in order to create uprightness. He discerns the Way of prohibitions and pardons, openings and closings.

29 30

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/64/5. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/64/10–11.

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He relies on timeliness and utilizes the power of circumstance in order to win over the hearts of the people.31 On the other hand, more exalted rulers draw more expansive lessons from tool metaphors: 法陰陽者，德與天地參，明與日月並，精與鬼神緫，戴員覆 方，包表懷繩。内能治身，外能得人心。發號施令，天下莫不 從風。 One who models himself on yin and yang has Potency comparable to Heaven and Earth, and brilliance like that of the sun and moon; his essence is as comprehensive as that of ghosts and spirits. He wears roundness [as a hat] and puts on squareness [as shoes];32 he embraces the gnomon and holds fast to the marking-cord. Within, he is able to govern his person; without, he is able to win people’s minds. When he promulgates edicts and issues commands, there is no one in the world who does not comply with them.33 At the end of this long passage in chapter 8, rulers are cautioned to rule in a way appropriate to their station and not to adopt the looser standards of those lower in rank: 帝者體陰陽則侵。王者法四時則削。霸者節六律則辱。君者失 凖繩則廢。故小而行大，則滔窕而不親；大而行小，則陝隘而 不容。貴賤不失其體，而天下治矣。 If a thearch [merely] embodies yin and yang, [his throne] will be usurped. If a king [merely] models himself on the four seasons, [his territory] will be seized. 31 32 33

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/64/17–19. That is, his head resembles the roundness of Heaven, and the outline of his two feet side by side resembles the squareness of Earth. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/64/14–16.

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If a hegemon [merely] regulates himself by the Six Pitch Pipes, he will be disgraced. If a prince neglects the level and the marking-cord, he will be eradicated. If [a person of] small [standing] carries out great [affairs], the results will be turbulent, insubstantial, and uncongenial. If a great [person] carries out petty [matters], the results will be narrow, cramped, and unpleasing. If honorable and mean do not lose their [proper] embodiments, then the world will be [properly] governed.34 Just as laws suffice only to rule a small state, mere technique does not make one a sage-ruler: 員之中規，方之中矩，行成獸，止成文，可以將少，而不可以 將眾。 When your circles coincide with the compass when your squares coincide with the [carpenter’s] square, when your going constitutes ferocity, when your stopping constitutes civility, you will be able to lead a small number of people, but you will not be able to lead the multitudes.35 The point here is that only sagelike stillness and nonaction will allow one to become a ruler in the true sense of the word. In other words, the sage must embody the standards, but standards alone will neither suffice to make one a sage nor provide invariable guidance for one who is not a sage. This is all the more true in instances where judgment and an assessment of circumstances are called for: 簡公以懦殺，子陽以猛劫；皆不得其道者也。故歌而不比於律 者，其清濁一也；繩之外與繩之内，皆失者也。 Duke Jian [of Qi] was murdered because of his weakness; Ziyang was put to death because of his fearlessness. Both were unable to attain their Way. 34 35

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/64/519–21. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 14/140/16.

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Thus, if you sing without being in tune with the notes, the high and low notes will be all the same. Outside the marking cord [line] or inside the marking cord [line], in either case it is not straight.36 The last sentence appears to have been a popular proverb; similar expressions appear in a number of early works, including Han Feizi 11. Amid uncertainty, tools stand as metaphors for the unchanging essence of things: 夫性命者，與形俱出其宗，形備而性命成，性命成而好憎生 矣。故士有一定之論，女有不易之行，規矩不能方圓，鈎繩 [should be 繩鈎] 不能曲直。天地之永，登丘不可為脩，居卑不 可為短。 Now our nature and destiny emerge from the Ancestor together with our bodily shapes. Once these shapes are completed, our nature and destiny develop; once our nature and destiny develop, likes and dislikes arise. Thus, scholars have the established format of essays; women have unchanging standards of conduct. The compass cannot become square and the [carpenter’s] square cannot become round, nor can the marking cord become crooked and the angle rule become straight. The constancies of Heaven and Earth are such that climbing a hill does not make you taller, and sitting on the ground does not make you shorter.37 On the other hand, even the standards themselves have their limitations: 水雖平，必有波；衡雖正，必有差；尺寸雖齊，必有詭。 Though the water is level, it will certainly have waves. Though the scale is correct, it will certainly have errors. Though the markings on a measuring rule are consistent, there are sure to be discrepancies.38 36 37 38

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 10/91/12–13. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 1/9/7–9. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 17/183/15.

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Therefore, the sage-ruler must be able to transcend them: 此相為論，譬猶冰炭鈎繩也，何時而合？若以聖人爲之中，則 兼覆而并有之，末有可是非者也。 These standards set against one another are like ice and charcoal, angle rule and marking cord: when will they ever accord? If you take the sage as a standard, then he comprehensively covers and completely contains them, so that there never can be a ‘right’ and a ‘wrong.’39 The skillful use of tools is a means to obtain knowledge; but knowledge thus obtained has its limits: 天地之大，可以矩表識也；星月之行，可以歴推得也；雷霆之 聲，可以鼓鐘寫也；風雨之變，可以音律知也。是故大可覩 者，可得而量也；明可見者，可得而蔽也；聲可聞者，可得而 調也；色可察者，可得而別也。夫至大，天地弗能含也，至 微，神明弗能領也。 The size of Heaven and Earth may be known by means of the [carpenter’s] square and the gnomon; the motions of the stars and the moon can be obtained from the calendar and from investigations; the sound of thunder can be approximated by means of drums and bells; the changes of rain and wind can be known by means of the notes and the pitch pipes. Thus, if the size of a thing can be seen, it is possible to gauge its weight; if the brightness of a thing can be observed, it is possible to know its obscurities; if the sound of a thing can be heard, it is possible to know its melodies; if the colors of a thing can be examined, it is possible to distinguish among them. But as for the limit of vastness, Heaven and Earth cannot contain it; as for the limit of minuteness, spirit illumination cannot comprehend its fineness.40 Nevertheless, the use of proper techniques can overcome difficulties:

39 40

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 11/103/14–15. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/62/22–25.

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輸子陽謂其子曰，良工漸乎矩鑿之中。矩鑿之中，固無物而不 周，聖王以治民，造父以治馬，醫駱以治病，同材自取焉。 Shu Ziyang said to his son, “A good workman immerses himself in his square and his chisel.” Between the square and the chisel, there is nothing that cannot be brought to completion. What sage-kings used to control the people, what Zaofu used to control horses, and what Physician Luo used to control illnesses—they all took what they needed from the same basic materials.41 And appropriate tools trump mere talent: 度水而無游數 （= 術） ，雖強必沉；有游數，雖羸比遂。又況詑 舟航之上乎! When crossing a river, if you lack the technique of swimming, you will assuredly drown despite your strength. If you have the technique of swimming, you will assuredly cross to the other side despite your weakness. Then again, how much better to rely on taking a boat!42 Learning the use of appropriate tools is portrayed as a path to happiness: 人欲知高下而不能，教之用管凖則說；欲知輕重而無以，予之 以權衡則喜；欲知遠近而不能，教之以金目則快；又況知應無 方而不窮載! If someone wants to know the height of something but is unable [to do so], if you instruct him in the use of the sighting tube [or alidade; guan 管] and the level he will be pleased. If someone wishes to know the weight of something but is unable [to do so], if you teach him to employ the weight and balance beam he will be happy. If someone wants to know the distance of something but is unable [to do so], if you teach him to use ‘metal eyes’ ( jin mu 金目)43 he will be delighted. How much more [would 41 42 43

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 10/87/11–13. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 14/133/17. I have not been able to identify the device known as jinmu, but it seems to refer to a surveying instrument of some sort, possibly a rudimentary theodolite used to find distances by triangulation.

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a person be pleased] to understand how to respond to all things limitlessly!44 Here the use of tools as metaphors for political action is at its clearest. If a person wishes to do something and cannot, then if you teach him the use of the proper tool he will be happy. The extended (metaphorical) meaning is that if the ruler wishes to accomplish something but cannot, then if you (viz., the minister) teach him the proper technique he will be happy. The general stance of the Huainanzi is one of acceptance of tools as ordinary and useful things in society; there is usually no sense that tools are ‘artificial contrivances’ that contradict principles of ‘naturalness’ (ziran 自然) or ‘nonaction’ (wuwei 無爲). Tools are seen as stepping-stones on the road to civilization: 古者剡耜而耕，摩蜃而耨，木鈎 (read 鉤木) 而樵，抱甀而 汲。民勞而利薄。後世為之耒耜耰鋤斧柯而樵，桔皐而汲。民 逸而利多焉。 In ancient times, the people sharpened sticks to plow, polished clam shells to weed, chopped wood to get fuel, and hauled jars to draw water. The people labored, but their gains were few. Later generations [of sages] made them plows, plowshares, and hoes, axes for cutting firewood, and well sweeps for drawing water. The people were at ease; their gains multiplied.45 And tools and implements are ordinary conveniences that make possible a pleasant lifestyle: 水火金木土穀，異物而皆任；規矩權衡凖繩，以形而皆施；丹 青膠漆，不同而皆用。各有所適，物各有宜。輪員輿方；轅從 衡橫，勢施更也。 Water, fire, metal, wood, earth, grain differ as things, but all are used. The compass, the square, the weight, the balance beam, the level, and the marking cord differ in shape, but all are applied. 44 45

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 20/220/22–23. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/120/10–11.

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Cinnabar, verdigris, glue, and lac [ingredients used in making lacquer] are not identical, but all are used. Everything has something for which it is appropriate; each thing is suitable for something. Wheels are round, carriage boxes are square, their shafts are parallel, their axles are crosswise— their propensities function to make them convenient.46 Even the well sweep, which the author of the ‘Primitivist’ chapters of the Zhuangzi regards as a pernicious device that an enlightened person would not use,47 is portrayed in the Huainanzi as an ordinary mechanism that improves the lives of the people. In chapter 9 the well sweep becomes a metaphor for the unmoving ruler and his active ministers; its parts (upright post, swiveling beam) must be properly formed in order for it to work: 今夫橋植直立而不動，俛仰取制焉。人主靜漠而不躁，百官得 循焉。 The axletree of a well sweep is planted upright and does not move; [but] in tipping up and down the balance arm is constrained by it. The ruler is tranquil and calm and does not become agitated, [but] the hundred officials obtain their compliance from him.48 On the other hand, chapter 7 (which is about self-cultivation and is more suspicious of ‘contrivance’ than most other Huainanzi chapters) takes a more Zhuangzi-like stance on this: 所謂真人者，性合于道也。。。。浩浩蕩蕩乎，機械知巧弗戴 於心。 Those whom we call the Perfected are people whose inborn nature is merged with the Way. . . . Unfettered and unhindered, they harbor no clever devices or cunning knowledge in their minds.49

46 47 48 49

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 20/214/8–9. D. C. Lau, ed., Zhuangzi zhuzi suoyin 莊子逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 2000), 12/32/1–6. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 9/71/1–2. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/57/10, 12.

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It is worth noting, at this point, that it would be unrealistic to expect the Huainanzi to be absolutely consistent in its use of tool metaphors or other rhetorical devices. Different chapters of the work were undoubtedly written by different authors who had different agendas. Nevertheless, the sheer number of references to tools, and their fairly even distribution throughout the text, identify the use of tool metaphors as a trait that must have been widely and consciously shared among the Huainanzi authors. It is significant that the tools used metaphorically are mostly tools associated with design and measurement (compass, square, level, etc.)—tools that an educated person might use, or at least observe being used, and that can easily take on the philosophical connotation of an orderly, regulated, measurable universe. Heavy work with the tools of laborers is seen on the whole as something uncomfortable and undesirable, a metaphor for struggle and hardship: 今夫繇者，揭钁臿，負籠土，監汗交流，喘息薄喉。 Now take the example of corvée laborers: they work with shovels and hoes and carry dirt in baskets on their backs until the sweat pours off them and their breathing becomes halting and their throats dry.50 Shovels, hoes, and the like do not appear as metaphors for cosmic order or sagely government. There is a lot of imagery in the Huainanzi concerning technique. For example, it is asserted in chapter 151 that despite superior equipment, the charioteering of today cannot match the spirit-like charioteering of antiquity (which relied on the intuitive accord of horses and driver and therefore had no need of bits and whips). On the other hand, fishing with a pole, no matter how good the equipment and how fine the ability of the angler, cannot match the results of fishing with a net; shooting birds with a bow, no matter how good the equipment and how fine the ability of the archer, cannot match the results of catching birds with a gauze net. One extended passage concerning technique features the same tools that we have seen used metaphorically in various ways: 若夫規矩鈎繩者，此巧之具也，而非所以為巧也。故瑟無 絃，雖師文(read 樂師) 不能以成曲。徒絃則不能悲。故絃，悲之 具也，而非所以為悲也。若夫工匠之為連鐖，運開，陰閉，眩 錯，入於冥冥之眇，神和之極，游于心手之閒，而莫於物為際 50 51

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/59/25. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 1/2/21–23.

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者，父部能以教子。。。。今夫為平者凖也，為真者繩也。若 夫不在於繩凖之中，而可以平真者，此不共之術也。 As for the compass, the square, the angle rule, and the marking cord, they are the tools of the skillful but do not make one skilled. Thus, if the se52 has no strings, even a music master could not make a tune. [Yet] strings alone cannot produce sorrow. Thus, strings are the tools of sorrow; they do not cause one to be sorrowful. The master artisan’s construction of the repeating crossbow, the revolving aperture, the hidden lock, and trompe l’oeil inlays53 enters into the darkest of subtleties, the ultimate of spiritlike harmony. What wanders in the spaces between the heart and the hand and is not in the realm of things, is something [even] fathers cannot teach their sons. . . . Now one who makes [something] true uses the level; one who makes [something] straight uses the marking cord. Making true or straight without being in the line or on the level is an art that cannot be shared.54 Music and musical instruments are also extensively employed as metaphors in the Huainanzi, in ways that recall the metaphorical use of tools. Here is one example: 鼓不臧於聲，故能有聲；鏡不設於形，故能有形。金石有聲，   弗叩弗鳴；管簫有音，弗吹弗聲。聖人内藏，不為物倡；事來 而制，物至而應。 A drum does not absorb sounds; consequently, it can produce [various] sounds. A mirror does not retain forms; consequently, it can reflect [various] forms. 52 53

54

A zither-like stringed instrument with (usually) twenty-five strings, tuned with movable bridges. The term lianji 連 機 is reasonably securely identifiable as “repeating crossbow.” Translations of the other terms in this sentence are tentative. The sliding-shutter mechanism of the famous Han gilded lamp in the shape of a servant from the tomb of Dou Wan (see Peking Foreign Language Press, Historical Relics Unearthed in New China Xin Zhongguo chutu wenwu [Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1972], pl. 99) may be an example of a 運開 yun kai, “revolving aperture.” For xuanzuo, which seems to mean “foolthe-eye inlay,” compare the cunningly contrived and deceptive objects named as “extravagances of wood” in Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/65/1–3. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 11/100/6–9, 10–11.

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Metal [bells] and stone [chimes] possess the ability to make sounds, but if you do not strike them, they will not sound. The flute and the panpipes possess the ability to emit tones, but if you do not blow them, they will not sound. The sage internalizes what should be concealed and is not drawn out by things. When affairs arise, the sage regulates them. When things appear, the sage responds to them.55 Arguments of this sort form a bridge between the tool metaphors we have been considering here and the familiar knack stories found very widely in Warring States and Han literature, the Huainanzi itself included. The characteristic knack story features a workman skilled in the use of some device who can do things that are impossible for the unskilled. Many of the Huainanzi’s knack stories have to do with charioteering. One of them is unusual in that it also includes tool metaphors: 聖主之治也，其猶造父之馭也。齊輯之于轡銜之際，而急緩之 于脣吻之和，正度于胸臆之中，而執節于掌握之閒。内得於 中心，外和於馬志。是故能進退覆繩，而施曲中規，取道 致遠，而氣力有餘，誠得其術也。是故權勢者，人主之車輿 也；大臣者，人主之駟馬也。體離車輿之安，而手失駟馬之 心，而能不危者，古今未有也。是故輿馬不調，王良不能以取 道；君臣不和，唐虞不能以爲治。執術而馭之，則管，宴之智 盡矣；明分以示之，則蹠，蕎之姦止矣。 The sage-rulers conduct of government is like Zaofu’s charioteering. He smoothes the ride by controlling the reins and bit and regulates the speed by harmonizing with [the horse’s] lips and breathing. Having the correct standard within his own breast, he exercises control with the whip in his hands. Inwardly he draws upon what is within his heart; externally he accords with the horse’s will. Thus, he is able to advance and retreat in a line as straight as if laid out with a marking cord and to turn circles as exact as if drawn with a compass. He selects a route that will take him far away and still has energy (qi) and strength left over. [He can do this] because he has sincerely mastered the [necessary] technique. Thus, [the exercise of] authority and positional advantage is the ruler’s chariot chassis, and the high-ranking ministers are the ruler’s team of horses. For the body to leave the safety of the carriage and the hands to lose their 55

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 14/138/16–18.

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r­ esponsiveness to the team of horses’ intentions, and yet still be able to avoid danger, is something that has never been accomplished from ancient times to the present. Thus, if the chariot and the horses are not coordinated, even [the master charioteer] Wang Liang would not be able to choose a route. If the ruler and his ministers are not in harmony, even Tang 唐 and Yu 虞 [i.e., Yao and Shun] would not be able to govern. If [the ruler] uses the [proper] technique to drive them, even the cleverness of Guan [Zhong] and Yan [Ying] would be employed to the fullest. If [the ruler] illuminates distinctions to control them, even the wickedness of [men like] [Robber] Zhi and [Zhuang] Qiao would be stopped.56 This theme of Zaofu’s charioteering is also found in chapter 5 of the Liezi, where the phrase “Thus, he is able to advance and retreat in a line as straight as if laid out with a marking cord and to turn circles as exact as if drawn with a compass” is repeated verbatim.57 This is, however, one of only two tool references in the Liezi; the other is an enigmatic reference to ‘compass and square,’ also in chapter 5.58

Tool Metaphors in Other Early Texts

It will now be appropriate to look into the question of how widely tool metaphors are found in Warring States and Han literature—how special, in other words, is this special feature of the Huainanzi? Table 5.1 and Table 5.2 present data concerning the use of several tool names in a group of texts belonging to the intellectual universe of which the Huainanzi was a part. The numbers refer to the total number of characters in the text (N); the absolute number of appearances of each word in each text (n); and the relative frequency of occurrence (x, expressed as the number of occurrences per thousand characters). The five characters analyzed in this table are the gui (compass), ju (square), sheng (marking cord), zhun (level), and zuo (chisel). The first three of these are very commonly used in tool metaphors; the level is somewhat less common. The chisel is included in this table because it does frequently figure in metaphors, but it is less probative than the other four because it has many other 56 57

58

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 9/76/1–6. See D. C. Lau, et al., eds., Liezi zhuzi suoyin 列子逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient ChineseText Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1996), 5/322/15 and A. C. Graham, trans., The Book of Lieh-tzu, 2nd ed. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1990), 144. Lau et al., Liezi, 5/31/18.

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usages with no metaphorical implications. The heng (balance beam), the quan (weight),59 and the gou (angle rule or hook) have been excluded here because of the diversity of meanings that each of those terms can have. It also must be stated explicitly here that, with the exception of the easy case of the Laozi, these data have been sampled, but not exhaustively tested, for relevance; that is, not all the words counted will refer to actual tools in every instance, and not all such references will be metaphorical. Nevertheless, even this rough comparison makes clear that references to tools, and tool metaphors, are common in certain texts and rare in others. Table 5.1

Words for Tools in Selected Warring States and Han Texts

Title

N

規 gui n

規 gui x

矩 ju n

矩 ju x

繩 sheng n

繩 sheng x

Analects Mencius Xunzi Chunqiu fanlu Kongzi jiayu Mozi Laozi Zhuangzi Liezi Wenzi Chuci Shangjunshu Han Feizi Lüshi chunqiu Guanzi Huainanzi

12,000 35,400 75,800 61,800 57,400 79,650 5,000 65,400 30,900 39,700 15,200 20,000 107,150 101,400 128,250 133,800

 0  6 11  7  6 16  0 25  3 13  3  0 26  7 19 39

0 0.17 0.14 0.11 0.10 0.20 0 0.38 0.10 0.32 0.20 0 0.24 0.06 0.15 0.29

 1  6  6  5  3  9  0 11  2  6  3  2 13  5 18 30

0.08 0.17 0.07 0.08 0.05 0.11 0 0.17 0.07 0.15 0.20 0.10 0.12 0.04 0.14 0.22

 0  2 19  4  4 13 (4)a 15  1 19  4  5 16 12 21 57

0 0.06 0.25 0.06 0.06 0.16 0 0.23 0.03 0.48 0.26 0.25 0.15 0.11 0.16 0.43

Note: N = total number of characters in specified text (rounded); n = number of occurrences of specified term in text; x = number of occurrences of specified term per 1,000 characters in text. a  See discussion in text.

59

Sarah Queen (pers. comm., December 12, 2005) notes that some of “the same tools are put to different metaphoric ends in the Chunqiu fanlü with ‘quan’ [weight] being the most popular. But in that text the notion of the ‘weight’ is used to carve out greater spheres of autonomy and initiative for Han officials.”

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Tool Metaphors in the Huainanzi Table 5.2 Words for Tools in Selected Warring States and Han Texts Title

N

凖 zhun n

凖 zhun x

鑿 zuo n

鑿 zuo x

Analects Mencius Xunzi Chunqiu fanlu Kongzi jiayu Mozi Laozi Zhuangzi Liezi Wenzi Chuci Shangjunshu Han Feizi Lüshi chunqiu Guanzi Huainanzi

12,000 35,400 75,800 61,800 57,400 79,650 5,000 65,400 30,900 39,700 15,200 20,000 107,150 101,400 128,250 133,800

 0  1  2  1  0  0  0  0  1  2  0  0  3  3 19 29

0 0.03 0.03 0.016 0 0 0 0 0.03 0.05 0 0 0.03 0.03 0.15 0.22

 0  0  1  1  0 33 (1) 12  1  7  3  0  5  3  7 39

0 0 0.01 0.016 0 0.41 0 0.18 0.03 0.18 0.20 0 0.05 0.03 0.05 0.29

Note: N = total number of characters in specified text (rounded); n = number of occurrences of specified term in text; x = number of occurrences of specified term per 1,000 characters in text.

Before making some observations on the basis of this table, let us take a passing look at three texts that are not included in it, as being essentially null cases. The Zhanguo ce (Intrigues of the Warring States), a long (122,500-character) text that recounts many historical and pseudohistorical narratives and anecdotes, contains seven instances of ‘compass,’ but four of those are as a component of a personal name. ‘Square’ appears once, ‘marking cord’ twice, ‘level’ not at all; there are two instances of zuo, both of which mean ‘carved’ (adjective) rather than ‘chisel’ (noun). The Zhanguo ce, in other words, evinces almost no interest in the use of tool metaphors. This is interesting and surprising. It is easy to imagine how speakers in some of the Zhanguo ce’s historical anecdotes might have made good use of tool metaphors, but they are not there. This seems to indicate that the use or absence of tool metaphors is a marker of genuine differences among texts; some texts cluster together in using such metaphors with enthusiasm, while others cluster together as using them little or not at all (and perhaps being unaware of them as a rhetorical device).

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In the Shanhaijing 山海經 (Classic of Mountains and Seas), ‘compass,’ ‘square,’ and ‘level’ do not appear at all, sheng appears twice as the name of a river, and zuo appears four times, always in the name of the mythical monster Chisel-Tooth. The Shanhaijing is in effect devoid of tool names and absolutely devoid of tool metaphors. In general it makes little use of metaphor as a rhetorical device. The Sunzi bingfa 孫子兵法 (Sunzi’s Arts of War), a short text of only 6,700 characters, contains no instances of any of our five key terms. The Sunzi bingfa does make limited metaphorical use of weapons (another of the Huainanzi’s metaphorical topoi). For example, both the Sunzi bingfa and the Huainanzi use the crossbow trigger ji 機 as a metaphor for ‘a crucial moment’ or ‘a tipping point.’ But the Sunzi bingfa evinces no interest in the metaphorical use of the craftsman’s tools that are the focus of this essay and that are so conspicuously found as metaphors in such texts as the Han Feizi, the Guanzi, and the Huainanzi. Let us look now at the table itself. Even granted that the data could be further refined to take account of variations in meaning and usage of the words under study, the table suggests some rather striking conclusions. The frequency with which various texts employ these names of tools shows a very wide range. Aggregating the five terms, we see that the Analects uses a tool name ( ju) once in 12,000 characters; the Shangjunshu (Book of Lord Shang) uses a tool name ( ju or sheng) on average once in every 2,857 characters; in the Xunzi one or another of all five words appears on average once in every 2,222 characters; and in the Huainanzi, on average once in every 690 characters. If one looks for patterns within this range of variation, two stand out: texts vary in the degree to which they employ tool names by the date of their composition and by the intellectual and literary tradition to which they belong. Looking first at chronology, it appears that tool names are rare or absent in texts that are generally thought to date from before the end of the fourth century BCE or into the very beginning of the third century BCE. This includes the Analects,60 the Laozi, the Shangjunshu, and the Sunzi bingfa (which is not 60

For simplicity’s sake I list the Analects as an early text, but I recognize that it is an accretional text compiled over a long period of time. The only tool reference in the Analects is the famous statement in chapter 2 that “at seventy, I could follow my heart’s desire without overstepping [the boundaries set by] the carpenter’s square.” E. Bruce Brooks and A. Taeko Brooks, in The Original Analects (New York: Columbia University Press, 1998), 109–10, date Analects 2 to 317 BCE, more than a century and a half after the death of Confucius. The lone tool metaphor in the Analects thus dates to the middle of the Warring States period, comparable to the earliest levels of the Zhuangzi.

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in the table, being a null case). The most conspicuous exception to the rule that tool words are uncommon in early texts is the Mozi. It appears that the use of tools as metaphors begins within the Mohist tradition, for the Mozi does indeed use tool names metaphorically. For example, a famous passage in book 1, chapter 4 (“Fa yi” 法儀, “Standards and Rules”) says, 雖至百工從事者，亦皆有法。百工為方以矩，為圓以規，為直 以繩，為衡以水，正以縣。無巧工、不巧工，皆以此五者為 法。。。。今大者治天下，其次治大國，而無法所度，此不若 百工辯也。 Even the hundred artisans, in pursuing their work, make use of standards. The hundred artisans make things square by using a square, make things round by using a compass, make things straight by using a marking cord, make things horizontal by using a water[-level], and make things true by using a plumb line. . . . Whether more or less skilled, the hundred artisans all take these five as their standards. . . . Now the greatest [rulers] govern the world, and the next greatest govern a state. But if they have no standards to serve as their models, they cannot compare to the hundred artisans—that is indisputable. The raw data in the table are somewhat misleading in the case of the Mozi, for almost all the instances of sheng and zuo come in late chapters having to do with fortifications, where they mean ‘rope’ (not ‘marking cord’) and ‘to bore’ or ‘to carve out’ (not ‘chisel’); the words are not employed as tool names and have no metaphorical content. On the other hand, the Mozi makes metaphorical use of the words gui and ju (compass and square) at a rate comparable to that of some metaphor-rich later texts, and moreover, the Mozi passages in which those words are found carry a heavy rhetorical load. They are absolutely fundamental to Mozi’s central argument that Heaven sets standards by which humans should live. It appears that the tradition of using tools as metaphors does indeed begin with the Mozi. The Mencius also appears to be exceptional among early texts in using tool metaphors with moderate frequency, but that seeming exception might be open to question, as we shall see below. Texts dating from the middle of the third century BCE (Xunzi, Lüshi chunqiu) show a moderate degree of use of tool names and tool metaphors. Evidence from the frequency of tool names supports the widely held view of the Zhuangzi as an accretional text. There are few instances of tool metaphors in chapters that are likely to date to the late fourth or early third century BCE but many in chapters that are likely to

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date from the mid-third to early second century BCE (I shall examine the case of the Zhuangzi in more detail below). Other texts from the Qin and early Han periods, from the late third century BCE into the mid-second century BCE (Han Feizi, Guanzi, Huainanzi), show by far the greatest use of tool names and metaphors. But this chronological pattern needs to be modified to take account of different intellectual traditions. The Analects, as we have seen, is almost devoid of tool names, and the sole example (“At seventy, I could follow my heart’s desire without overstepping [the boundaries set by] the carpenter’s square”) comes from a relatively late accretional layer of the text. Later works in the tradition of Confucius show some variation: the Mencius and the Xunzi both use tool words with moderate frequency (again, the case of the Mencius will be examined more closely below), the Han Chunqiu fanlu (Luxuriant Gems of the Spring and Autumn) much less often, and the Kongzi jiayu (Family Sayings of Confucius, also generally taken to be a Han compilation) hardly at all. Turning to the Daoist tradition, the Laozi at first glance appears to contain several instances of tool words, but in fact it has none. The word sheng appears four times in the text, but all four of these instances refer to ‘tying’ or ‘knotting’; none names the marking cord as a tool. Similarly, there is one instance of zuo, but it is used as a verb (‘to open up’) and does not refer to the chisel. (For this reason, these numbers have been placed in parentheses in the table, and x = 0 in both cases.) Interestingly, although the Huainanzi is replete with tool names and tool metaphors, its twelfth chapter, “Dao ying” 道應 (“Responses of the Way”), the chapter most dependent on the Laozi for its content, has very few, and of those, all but one occur in a quotation from the Guanzi. (The one exception is a use of sheng to refer to tying a knot, not to the marking-cord tool; as we have just seen, ‘knotting’ is the only sense in which the word sheng appears in the Laozi.) Of other works in the Daoist tradition, the Liezi contains very few tool words, and although the Zhuangzi contains many more, its use of tool words reflects the layering of the text, as already noted. Works in the ‘Realist’ tradition61 range from the presumably early Shangjunshu, with very few tool words; to the Lüshi chunqiu, with, surprisingly, even fewer than the Shangjunshu (once every 3,333 words, on average); to the Han Feizi, which employs tool words and tool metaphors twice as often as the Lüshi chunqiu (once every 1,695 words, on average). The Han Feizi makes 61

Also misleadingly called ‘Legalist,’ though reliance on laws, and the attendant use of rewards and punishments, form only part of their overall philosophical stance and political program.

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f­requent use of ‘compass’ and ‘square’ but contains far fewer references to the marking cord, level, and chisel. A well-known passage from Han Feizi 6.5 (“You du” 有度, “Having Standards”) is strikingly reminiscent of the Mozi passage quoted above: 巧匠目意中繩，然必先以規矩為度；上智捷舉中事，必以先王 之法為比。故繩直而枉木斲，準夷而高科削，權衡縣而重 益輕。 A skilled carpenter’s eye is a match for the marking cord, but still he always uses a compass and square to make measurements first. The proposals of the wisest [advisers] are always apt, but still they use the laws [or ‘standards,’ fa] of the former kings to check [their proposals] first. Thus, when the marking cord is pulled straight, bent wood can be sawed true; when the level is applied, what is [too] high can be shaved down; when the weight and the balance beam are set up, the heavy can be distinguished from the light. The Xunzi uses tool words and tool metaphors rather frequently (one or another of our five key terms in every 2,222 characters, on average); this may reflect Xun Kuang’s own intellectual ties to the Realist camp (on some issues, but by no means all), as well as a growing tendency of Confucians to accept the use of tool metaphors, perhaps as a way of arguing against Mohists and Realists by using their own verbal weaponry. As for the Militarist tradition, as we saw above, the Sunzi bingfa contains no instances at all of our five key tool names. Later Militarist works also show relatively little enthusiasm for tool names and tool metaphors, while using weapon metaphors with moderate frequency. The military chapter of the Huainanzi (chapter 15, “Bing lüe” 兵略, “An Overview of the Military”), which draws on the whole range of pre-Han and early Han military treatises, contains relatively few tool-related terms. The lack of tool words in the Shanhaijing probably reflects most of all the purely narrative and descriptive quality of the work itself; it is a kind of prose that does not lend itself to metaphors of any kind. But, as noted above, although one might expect the narratives and anecdotes of the Zhanguo ce to be enlivened with the use of tool metaphors, they are not. This would seem to be a strong indication that the Zhanguo ce is part of a literary tradition largely separate from that of the Han Feizi, the Guanzi, and the Huainanzi. Notably, the Huainanzi, the later chapters of which draw heavily on the same fund of

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historical anecdotes, does not hesitate to comment on some of the same or similar narratives with the use of tool metaphors, as in this example, which I already quoted above: 簡公以懦殺，子陽以猛劫；皆不得其道者也。故歌而不比於律 者，其清濁一也s；繩之外與繩之内，皆失者也。 Duke Jian [of Qi] was murdered because of his weakness. Ziyang was put to death because of his fearlessness. Both were unable to attain their Way. Thus, if you sing without being in tune with the notes, the high and low notes will be all the same. Outside the marking-cord [line] or inside the marking-cord [line], in either case it is not straight.62 The absence of tool metaphors in the Zhanguo ce might therefore support a relatively early date for the anecdotes that it collects; that is, the specific wording of the anecdotes might date from a time before tool metaphors were widely in use. Perhaps it preserves oral narratives in a relatively bald and unadorned state. The Chuci (Elegies of Chu) is an interesting case; its use of tool metaphors is distinctive but by no means incompatible with that of the Huainanzi. Almost all the tool words in the poems are found in several variants of what is essentially the same statement: 固時俗之工巧兮，偭規矩而改錯。背繩墨以追曲兮，競周容以 爲度。 The carpenters nowadays certainly are clever: they eschew the compass and square and apply their tools in their own fashion. They disregard the marking cord’s ink line and follow the curves of the grain [of the wood]; they compete to follow current vulgar usages and employ them for ­standards.63 62 63

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 10/91/12–13. “Li sao”; D. C. Lau, ed., Chuci zhuzi suoyin 楚辭逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 2000), 1/1/25– 26. I am grateful to Gopal Sukhu for an illuminating discussion of these passages from the Chuci.

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何時俗之工巧兮，背繩墨而改錯? What about the ways of the clever workmen today, who turn their backs on the marking cord’s ink line and apply their tools in their own fashion?64 何時俗之工巧兮，滅規矩而改鑿? What about the ways of the clever workmen today, who eradicate the compass and square and chisel away as they please?65 The narrator-persona of “Li sao” also speaks of wandering to and fro, seeking someone who would “match his [carpenter’s] square and foot rule”.66 The Chuci (perhaps not incidentally an important source for the cosmological chapters of the Huainanzi) thus exhibits a limited but interesting use of tool names in a metaphorical sense. As we have already observed, the group of texts in which tools and tool metaphors appear most frequently and with the greatest rhetorical force are those that were (or plausibly might have been) associated with Liu An’s court at Huainan: the Huainanzi itself, of course, but also the Zhuangzi (or at least some chapters of that text), the Guanzi, and the Wenzi. The Wenzi67 is no surprise, because its content has many parallels with the Huainanzi. Nevertheless, the degree to which it parallels the Huainanzi’s heavy use of tool metaphors is striking; on average, one or another of our five key words occurs once every 847 words in the Wenzi (recall that the comparable figure for the Huainanzi is once every 690 words). The Wenzi shows an especial fondness for the metaphorical resonance of the marking cord; the word sheng occurs 19 times in the 39,700-character text. The relationship between the Guanzi and the Huainanzi has long been recognized; Rickett writes at length about it in the introduction to his Guanzi translation.68 True to form, with the exception of the Wenzi, the Guanzi comes closer than any other text examined here to the Huainanzi in its use of tool metaphors, not just in the prominence of such metaphors in the text but also in their tone and effect. The Guanzi contains many such metaphors, 64 65 66 67

“Jiu bian” 5; Lau et al., Chuci 8/20/20. “Jiu bian” 5; Lau et al., Chuci 8/21/4. “Li sao,” Lau et al., Chuci 1/3/19. For the Wenzi, see Charles Le Blanc, Le Wen zi à la lumiére de l’histoire et de la archaeologie (Montreal: Presses universitaires de Montréal, 2001). 68 Rickett, Guanzi (1985), 1:22–23.

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s­ cattered fairly evenly throughout the text, though still not nearly as many as the Huainanzi itself (the average frequency in the Guanzi is about 45 percent of that in the Huainanzi). The Guanzi is a complex work, apparently assembled from a variety of texts of different dates and provenance as well as new writing composed for the Guanzi itself. In that way, too, it resembles the Huainanzi as a syncretic work. The extensive use of tool metaphors in both texts reinforces the impression that the Guanzi has much in common with the Huainanzi and may have been edited into something like its received form at the court of Huainan. Just a few examples from the Guanzi will suffice to show how close the relationship is between the tool metaphors in that text and those of the Huainanzi: 奚仲之為車器也，方圜曲直，皆中規矩鉤繩，故機旋相得，用 之牢利，成器堅固。明主猶奚仲也，言辭動作，皆中術數，故 眾理相當，上下相親。巧者，奚仲之所以為器也，主之所以為 治也，斲削者，斤刀也，故曰：“奚仲之巧，非斲削也。” When Xi Zhong made chariot parts, what was square, round, curved, or straight always matched the compass, square, angle rule, or marking cord. Therefore, when the mechanism moved, each part fitted into the other. When put to use, it was tight and secure, and the finished chariot was solid and strong. . . . Thus it is said: “Xi Zhong’s skill did not lie in merely hewing and trimming.”69 規矩者，方圜之正也，雖有巧目利手，不如拙規矩之正方圜 也；故巧者能生規矩，不能廢規矩而正方圜。 The compass and square are [instruments for achieving] correctness in making squares and circles. Even though one may have a clever eye and a skillful hand, these are no match for [the] correctness of the simple compass and square. Therefore, a clever person is able to produce a compass and a square but is unable to make correct squares and circles without them.70

69

70

D. C. Lau and Chen Fong Ching, eds., Guanzi zhuzi suoyin 管子逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 2001), 20.64; Rickett, Guanzi (1985), 1:70–71, translation modified. Guanzi 6.16; Rickett, Guanzi (1985), 1:261, translation modified.

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Huainanzi 12, as mentioned earlier, directly quotes a “Statement” from Guanzi 4.11 regarding the level and the marking cord: 物固有近之而遠，遠之而近者。故大人之行，不掩以繩，至所 極而已矣。此管子所謂“鳥飛而凖繩也。” There definitely are some things that are near but are put far away, and some things that are far away but are brought near.71 Thus, the movements of a great man cannot be marked out with [the straightness of] a marking cord; he arrives at his objective, that is all. This is what the Guanzi means when it says: “The flight of birds is like the level and marking cord.”72 The “Explanation” in Guanzi 4.11 regarding this passage reads as follows: “The flight of birds is like the level and marking line.” This refers to the righteousness of the great man. Now, in their flight, birds must fly around mountains and settle in valleys. If they do not fly around mountains, they will encounter difficulty. If they do not settle in valleys, they will die. The location of mountains and valleys may not be in a straight line so that in flying around mountains and assembling in valleys, they take one turn after another, yet [the “Statement”] calls [their flight] a marking line. This is because a bird arising in the north, with the intention of flying south, arrives in the south; arising in the south with the intention of flying north, arrives in the north. If the one major purpose [of an effort] is attained, it should not be considered ruined because of a minor defect. Therefore the sage praises [this metaphor of birds in flight] and [further] elucidates, saying, “A road a thousand li long cannot be straightened with a marking line. An administrative region (du 都) of 10,000 households cannot be made flat with a level.” This means that the actions of a great man need not follow the constant standards of the former emperors. When righteous conduct has been established, it is called worthiness. 71

72

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 12.51; See also parallels with D. C. Lau and Chen Fong Ching, eds., Lüshi chunqiu zhuzi suoyin 呂氏春秋逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1994), 14/3.3; John Knoblock and Jeffrey Riegel, trans., The Annals of Lü Buwei: A Complete Translation and Study (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2000), 313. Lau et al., Huananzi, ibid.; The translation of this passage follows Rickett, Guanzi (1985), 1:203.

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Therefore when the sovereign examines his subordinate officials, he must not ignore this technique [of government].73 This “Explanation” from the Guanzi seems to convey much the same idea as a slightly enigmatic passage from Huainanzi 10 concerning the qualities of sagely understanding, specifically the concepts of intuition and natural behavior. The Huainanzi passage also presents the idea that a sage transcends ordinary categories: 故行險者不得覆繩，出林者不得直道；夜行瞙目而前其手。事 有所至，而明有不容。人能貫冥冥入於昭昭，可與言至矣。 Thus, If you traverse a pass, you cannot tread [as straight as] a marking cord. If you come out of a forest, you cannot follow a straight path. When traveling at night, your vision becomes obscured and you lead with your hands. Sometimes situations arise in which clarity [of vision] is not of much use. If a person can connect to Dark Obscurity to enter into Brilliant Brightness, that is someone with whom you can discuss the ultimate.74 Turning from the Guanzi to the Zhuangzi, we find that the distribution of tool names and metaphors in that work is of considerable interest. They are found to greatest effect in what A. C. Graham calls the ‘Primitivist’ chapters (chapter 8 through the first half of chapter 11) and the ‘Syncretist’ chapters (chapters 12–16 and 33), but much less often—a total of three passages referring to the compass, square, or marking cord—in the ‘Inner Chapters’ (neipian 内篇, i.e., most of chapters 1–7), which are perhaps at least in part from the brush of Zhuang Zhou 莊周 himself. Other tool metaphors are unevenly distributed in the ‘School of Zhuangzi’ chapters (parts of chapters 14–32), but less conspicuously than in the ‘Primitivist’ and ‘Syncretist’ chapters. Famously, the Zhuangzi contains many knack stories; but those, as I noted earlier, while somewhat similar to tool metaphors, are nevertheless distinct from them. The overall 73

74

Ibid., 210. Guanzi 4.11 consists of short ‘Statements’ and longer ‘Explanations.’ Rickett (Guanzi, 1985, 1:202) thinks it very likely that the ‘Explanations’ are the work of some writer at the court of Liu An. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 10/91/1–3.

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distribution pattern of tool references in the Zhuangzi is c­ onsistent with the ­observation that tool words and tool metaphors are generally rare in earlier texts of all traditions and in earlier portions of accretional texts (the Mozi excepted) and are not usually found in early works in the Daoist tradition. The distribution of tool words in the Zhuangzi supports the generally accepted accretional scenario for the formation of that text, with the first seven (Inner) chapters relatively early (perhaps pre-300 BCE, around the time of the historical Zhuang Zhou), the Primitivist chapters dating perhaps to the mid-third century BCE, and the School of Zhuangzi chapters dating perhaps to the Qin or early Han. In contrast to the generally positive tone of tool metaphors in all the texts we have been examining, the author of the Primitivist chapters of the Zhuangzi takes a dim view of tools and contrivances as being contrary to the Dao. Perhaps the Primitivist was reacting negatively to what seems to have been a growing fashion for using tool metaphors to convey positive messages in texts of the mid- to late third century BCE: 且夫待鈎繩規矩而正者，是削其性也。待繩索膠漆而固者，是 侵其德也。 Now if one must apply angle rule and marking cord, compass and square in order to make something even, this is to eradicate its essential nature. If we must apply knots and lashings and use glue and lacquer in order to make something hold together, this is to violate its inner power.75 陶人曰，我善治埴，員者中規，方者中矩。匠人曰，我善治 木，曲者中鈎，真者應繩。夫埴木之性，豈欲中規矩鈎繩哉? A potter said, “I am good at managing clay. I make it round to match the compass, and square to match the T square.” A carpenter said, “I am good at managing wood. I make it curved to match the angle rule, and straight according to the marking cord.” But [from the point of view of] the nature of clay and wood, why would they want to be matched to compass and square, angle rule and marking cord?76

75 76

Lau et al., Zhuangzi 8/22/21–22. Lau et al., Zhuangzi 9/23/21–23.

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毀絕鉤繩而棄規矩，攦工倕之指，而天下始人有其巧矣。 Smash and dismantle the angle rule and the marking cord, discard the compass and the square, bind the fingers of Master Artisan Chui, and throughout the world people will begin to savor true skill.77 The School of Zhuangzi chapters, on the other hand, do contain a few tool metaphors78 of the kind familiar from the Huainanzi: 工倕旋而蓋規矩，指與物化，而不以心稽，故其靈臺一而 不桎。 Master Artisan Chui, drawing freehand, could match the compass and square because his fingers followed the transformations of things and [details] did not pile up in his mind.79 吾相馬，直者中繩，曲者中鉤，方者中矩，圓者中規，是國 馬也。 When I judge a horse, if in going straight it matches the marking cord, in turning it matches the angle rule, in cornering it matches the [carpenter’s] square, and in circling it matches the compass, then I call it ‘a horse [worthy] of a kingdom.’80 In other passages in these chapters, a Confucian’s movements while ritually advancing and retiring at court are said to have had “the precision of a compass or a square”;81 “applying the marking cord’s ink line to the correction of one’s own conduct” is said to be an element of Mohist doctrine;82 and

77 78

79 80 81 82

Lau et al., Zhuangzi 10/25/16. Some instances of what at first appear to be tool words in the later chapters of the Zhuangzi turn out to have other meanings; for example, the phrase gui gui ran zi shi ye 規規然自失也 that appears at 17/46/23 means that the individual described (a frog in a well) “utterly lost all sense of himself.” Of the twenty-nine instances of gui in the Zhuangzi, six appear in the expression gui gui ran, “utterly” or “comprehensively.” Lau et al., Zhuangzi 19/52/14. Lau et al., Zhuangzi 24/68/2–3. Lau et al., Zhuangzi 21/57/2. Lau et al., Zhuangzi 33/98/5.

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“a [­carpenter’s] square is not square, a compass cannot make circles” is quoted as one of the paradoxes of which the followers of Hui Shi 惠施 were so fond.83 That the Zhuangzi and the Huainanzi are closely related is well known and beyond question; the Huainanzi contains hundreds of passages that quote, paraphrase, or allude to the Zhuangzi. Huainanzi 2 and 7, especially, are heavily indebted to the Zhuangzi. But the scarcity of tool metaphors in the Zhuangzi relative to the Huainanzi and the negative tone of the tool metaphors in its Primitivist chapters suggest that the borrowing was overwhelmingly unidirectional. It may well be, as Harold Roth has suggested,84 that the Zhuangzi was edited into its received form by scholars at the court of Huainan; but if so, the work was definitely editorial rather than compositional. The Zhuangzi contains few passages that can be said to show the influence of the Huainanzi’s characteristic use of tool metaphors. .



Discussion and Conclusions

One finding of this study is that the presence or lack of tool names and tool metaphors can be used to help date texts and investigate their relationships. For example, one might use this criterion to raise questions about the date and provenance of certain passages in the Mencius. One of the best-known passages in the Mencius involves a tool metaphor: 孟子曰：“離婁之明，公輸子之巧，不以規矩，不能成方員：師 曠之聰，不以六律，不能正五音；堯舜之道，不以仁政，不能 平治天下。” Mencius said, “The acute vision of Li Lou and the dexterity of Gong Shuzi, unaided by the compass and the square, would not suffice for making squares and circles. The acute hearing of Music Master Kuang, unaided by the Six Pitch Pipes, would not suffice to tune correctly the five [pentatonic] notes. The Way of Yao and Shun, unaided by humane administration, would not suffice to equitably govern the world.”85

83 84

85

Lau et al., Zhuangzi 33/100/22. Harold D. Roth, “Who Compiled the Chuang Tzu?,” in Chinese Texts and Philosophical Contexts: Essays Dedicated to Angus C. Graham, ed. Henry Rosemont Jr. (LaSalle, IL: Open Court Press, 1991), 79–128. Mencius 4A.1.1.

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But while tool references appear several times in the Mencius (which is usually dated to the mid-fourth century BCE), they are by no means evenly distributed within the text. Rather, they are concentrated in just four passages: 4A.1, 4A.2, 6A.20, and 7B.5. And the tone and import of those passages, as readers of this essay will easily recognize, could come straight out of the Huainanzi. Are these passages consistent with the rest of the Mencius? This concentration of tool metaphors in a handful of passages of a text otherwise devoid of them might well prompt further investigation: Do these four passages represent a Mencian appropriation of Mohist language? Are they Mohist intrusions into the Mencius, or later insertions into a generally early text? The identification of tool metaphors in the Mencius cannot give definite answers to the question of how they got there; but it can provide a new framework within which to ask these questions about the date and unity of the text. Tool names and tool metaphors also provide a framework for thinking about the date and formation of the Liezi. T. H. Bartlett, summarizing the extensive research on the Liezi by A. C. Graham, expresses the consensus view that the Liezi is mainly of post-Han date but includes some early material.86 Can the paucity of tool words and metaphors in the Liezi shed any light on this problem? Perhaps so; one hypothesis worth exploring would be that the text does indeed contain both early material (ca. 300 BCE), contemporary with the Laozi and the earliest chapters of the Zhuangzi, when tool metaphors were rare in Daoist works, and late (post-Han) material, after the Han vogue for tool metaphors had waned; but little or no material of early Han date. Moreover, the presence or absence, or relative frequency, of tool metaphors can provide a useful framework for asking questions about newly discovered texts that were not transmitted as part of the received corpus of Chinese literature. For example, tool metaphors are prominently present in the so-called “Huang-Lao” works recovered from tomb 3 at Mawangdui in the early 1970s. One of the best known of those texts, Jing fa 經法 (The Warp-Threads of the Law),87 begins with a tool metaphor: “The Way gives birth to law. Law stretches 86

87

T. H. Bartlett, “Lieh tzu,” in Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide, ed. Michael Loewe (Berkeley, CA: Society for the Study of Early China, 1993), 298–308, citing A. C. Graham, “The Date and Composition of the Liehtzyy,” Asia Major, n.s., 8 (1960–61): 139–98. The title of this work has caused some puzzlement. If it were Fa jing, it would mean straightforwardly The Classic of Law, but Jing fa is somewhat enigmatic. In my view, jing here is best taken literally as ‘warp,’ that is, the long threads strung onto a loom into which weft threads are woven to make a fabric. The grammar of the title is probably verb + object, ‘stringing the warp-threads of the law.’ The sense of the title then becomes clear: law is the warp on which the fabric of society is woven.

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out the marking cord [line between] gain and loss and illuminates the crooked and the straight.” A few lines further on we find another: “The Way of responding to transformations is to level the balance beam and then stop. If light and heavy are not weighed, this is called ‘losing the Way.’ ”88 Many other tool metaphors are to be found in the Mawangdui corpus. One hesitates to raise once again the question of ‘what is Huang-Lao?,’ which was hotly debated in the 1990s before subsiding in inconclusiveness;89 but if enough new textual evidence ever did emerge to give a clear answer to that question, it perhaps would not come as a surprise if a fondness for tool metaphors were to turn out to be a characteristic of Huang-Lao texts. This essay has presented the results of an exploration of tool metaphors in the Huainanzi and certain other Warring States and early Han texts. From that exploration, some suggestive observations seem to emerge. The tool metaphors in the Huainanzi are distinctive and easily recognized. Similar tool metaphors appear (but always with less frequency) in certain other Warring States and Han texts, but they are unevenly distributed in the literature of the time. They are absent in the Laozi, the Sunzi bingfa, and the Shanhaijing and are nearly absent in the Analects; they are highly localized in the Mencius and uncommon in the Lüshi chunqiu; they are more prominent in the Mozi, the Shangjunshu, the Xunzi, and especially in the Han Feizi. The relative frequency of tool metaphors in texts can be one criterion for dating them. It is also a means for exploring affinities among them; for example, the Han Feizi, the Guanzi, the Huainanzi, and the Wenzi are all rich in tool metaphors. That these texts are related has long been known, but this particular type of commonality perhaps has not been pointed out before; it seems to indicate a strong literary tradition linking these texts and associating them with Liu An’s court at Huainan. It is part of the conventional wisdom about early China that the Mohist movement was largely defunct by the early Han period. But as Sarah Queen has pointed out, the Huainanzi consistently pairs ‘Kong and Mo’ (i.e., Confucius and Mozi 墨子), treating them with equal respect as the two great teacher-­ philosophers of the preimperial period.90 The use of tool metaphors as a 88

89 90

See Robin D. S. Yates, Five Lost Classics: Tao, Huang-Lao, and Yin-Yang in Han China (New York: Ballantine Books, 1997), 50–53. My translations of these lines differ somewhat from those of Yates. See Major et al., Huainanzi, 29–30. Sarah A. Queen, “Representations of Confucius in the Huainanzi,” paper presented at a panel on the Huainanzi at the annual meeting of the American Academy of Religion, Montreal, November 7, 2009.

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f­eature of philosophical discourse appears to have originated with Mozi, and it may be that the prominence of tool metaphors in works associated with the court at Huainan reflects the survival there of at least some aspects of Mohist doctrine and Mohist writings. The authors of the Huainanzi seem to have taken for granted that their readers would be familiar with the form and use of at least some kinds of tools and would understand and respond positively to metaphors in which those tools were used rhetorically. The readers, in other words, were not remote from the world of physical work (or at least some kinds of work). The tools used metaphorically were primarily architects’ or builders’ tools, not tools used by common laborers; members of the elite would have been familiar with such builders’ or artisans’ tools in their roles as clients, inspectors, supervisors, paymasters, and the like. It is interesting that the texts in which tool metaphors play a prominent role date largely to the Qin and early Han eras, just when Qin Shihuangdi and Han Gaozu were building or rebuilding magnificent capital cities, well supplied with palaces, tombs, and other monumental structures, planned and erected under the supervision of a large professional bureaucracy. This to some extent contradicts a widespread image of the literate class in early China as being composed of people who were erudite but not well versed in the practicalities of ordinary life. The use of tool metaphors across a range of texts became more widespread in the late third century BCE, a time when the cosmological ideas of yin-yang and Five Phase thinkers, whose teachings reinforced the view that ‘Heaven is round, Earth is square,’ were achieving a prominent place in the spectrum of early Chinese philosophy. This surely is no coincidence. The very extensive use of tool metaphors in a number of Qin and early Han texts (and their epitome in the Huainanzi) and the particular suite of tools chosen for metaphorical use (the compass, square, level, marking cord, angle rule, and other tools used in measurement and design) show a particular attitude toward the world: the universe of the Huainanzi is regular, orderly, measurable, reasonable, and comprehensible—both as the cosmos entire and in the reflective form of a human realm modeled upon the universe and its processes. The tool metaphors of the Huainanzi, like the text of which they form so conspicuous a feature, attract our attention because they portray a universe that is rational, reasonable, and susceptible to good government under the direction of a self-cultivated sage, according to inherent standards that are easy to grasp and understand. This rhetorical feature of the text reinforces the image of the Huainanzi as a handbook composed for a monarch whose ambition is to become a sage-king.

chapter 6

The Huainanzi’s “Heavenly Patterns” and the Shiji’s “Treatise on the Celestial Offices”: What’s the Difference? David W. Pankenier Because Liu An supposedly aspired to the throne, the compilation of his summa and its presentation to his nephew Emperor Wu (r. 141–87 BCE) have been construed by many as overtly political acts. It is thought that after Liu An’s bid to succeed Emperor Jing had failed, his audience at court and presentation of his masterwork in 139 BCE may have signaled his aspiration to high office, perhaps as chancellor and mentor to his nephew, with whom he enjoyed close relations. This gambit failing in its objective, Liu An may have harbored a smoldering resentment toward his detractors at court, such as Dong Zhongshu 董仲舒 (ca. 179–104 BCE), so that his indictment in 122 BCE was not wholly trumped up, even though Emperor Wu never missed a chance to extinguish a kingdom and annex its territory.1 Others have assessed the pretensions of the Huainanzi 淮南子as a ‘comprehensive mirror to aid in government.’ Perhaps one might think of the work as a topical handbook (zhinan 指南) intended to serve as a heuristic overview of the totality of the knowledge base of the time. As Merlin Donald has observed, “the history of pedagogy might reflect the process of metalinguistic evolution.” One indication of this in the Han is the institution of elite formal education and the high social value placed on mastery of what Donald denotes the ‘external symbolic system (ESS),’ containing the totality of the knowledge deemed valuable by the society. As Donald says, “a Chinese bureaucrat of the Han dynasty spent a lifetime training for and immersed in the ESS,” and “one requirement for [its] successful use is a map of its contents.”2 Perhaps this is an 1 In the estimation of Aihe Wang, “the theoretical opposition between Dong Zhongshu and the king of Huainan epitomized the symbolic and political struggles between the centralized empire represented by the scholar-officials and the pluralism represented by noble kings”; Aihe Wang, Cosmology and Political Culture in Early China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 185. 2 Merlin Donald, Origins of the Modern Mind: Three Stages in the Evolution of Culture and Cognition (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991), 321.

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alternative way to think about the context, motivation behind, and compass of the Huainanzi that goes beyond literary or political aims. It is this motive that appears to inform Liu An’s characterization of his ‘system’ at the very end of the final chapter, “An Overview of the Essentials”(“Yao lüe” 要略), which suggests that the work was intended for a considerably broader readership than just the emperor: “This book of the Liu clan [Huainanzi] observes the images of Heaven and Earth, penetrates the affairs of past and present, evaluates them so as to establish a system, takes the measure of forms, and applies [the system] as befits [the circumstances].”3 Because of the symbolic resonances and ‘national security’ implications of astronomy/astrology in the early empire, my focus here will be on chapter 3, “Heavenly Patterns,” of the Huainanzi. Donald Harper has described this chapter as a synopsis of astro-calendrical knowledge derived from the more technical literature now restored to us; the Huainanzi seems to assume the Han reader’s knowledge of the technical literature, without which it would have been difficult to follow the astrological essay.4 One cannot help noticing major differences in both substance and outlook between the two nearly contemporary texts “Heavenly Patterns” (“Tian wen” 天文) in the Huainanzi and “Treatise on the Celestial Offices” (“Tianguan shu” 天官書) in the Shiji.5 Since the topical coverage is ostensibly the same, it will 3 The parallel with the “Appended Commentary” to the Changes would, of course, have been unmistakable, as would Liu An’s immodest claim to sageliness: “anciently, in ruling all-underHeaven, Paoxi looked up to observe the images in Heaven and looked down to observe the patterns of Earth. . . . Heaven suspends images, to manifest the propitious and the inauspicious, and the sage makes of himself their semblance. Out of the River there emerged a Diagram, and from the Luo [River] there emerged a Writing; the sage models himself on them.”  4 Donald Harper, “Warring States Natural Philosophy and Occult Thought,” in The Cambridge History of Ancient China, from the Origins of Civilization to 221 B.C., ed. Michael Loewe and Edward L. Shaughnessy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 847. This does imply that, rather than being composed specifically for Emperor Wu, the Huainanzi’s presentation to the throne in 139 BCE did indeed represent a “repurposing” of a work compiled for different ends. 5 For a translation of “Heavenly Patterns” in the Huainanzi, see John S. Major, Sarah A. Queen, Andrew S. Meyer, and Harold D. Roth, trans., The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China, Translations from the Asian Classics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010), 109–53. For a complete annotated translation of

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be illuminating to compare the two texts’ respective treatment of the celestial patterns. The précis of Huainanzi’s “Heavenly Patterns chapter explains how it achieves the lofty ambition expressed in “An Overview of the Essentials”: The “Heavenly Patterns” provide the means by which to harmonize the materia vitalis (qi) of yin and yang, give regular pattern to the radiances of the Sun and Moon, regulate the seasons of opening [spring–summer] and closing [fall– winter], sequence the movements of the stars and planets, know the changes of retrograde and direct motion, avoid the misfortunes [resulting from violations] of prohibitions and taboos, comply with the correspondences to the seasonal cycles, and take as one’s model the constancy of the spirits of the five directions, enabling one to possess the means to gaze upward to Heaven and carry out compliance and not to bring disorder to the constancies [of Heaven].6 Compare this with the aims of the Simas’ “Treatise on the Celestial Offices”: The writings concerning the astral bodies and materia vitalis [contain] many and varied inauspicious and propitious omens and are unorthodox. [I have] inferred their patterns, investigated the responses [to them], apart from the outliers, collating them all [to permit] discussion [in reference to the corresponding] deeds and events, verifying them in terms of paths and measures, and ordering them sequentially in compiling the “Treatise on the Celestial Offices.” . . . [Our purpose in compiling the Records is] to investigate the boundary between the celestial and the human and thereby comprehend change, past and present, in order to formulate a thesis of [our] own.7 [Exploring events] from beginning to end, from ancient times to the present, [we have] looked deeply into changing times, examining the minute the “Treatise on the Celestial Offices,” see David W. Pankenier, Astrology and Cosmology in Early China: Conforming Earth to Heaven (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), appendix 1. 6 Translation modified from Martin Kern, chapter 4 in the present volume. 7 Sima Qian, writing in his famous letter to his friend Ren An. cf. Burton Watson trans. Ssu Ma Ch’ien Grand Historian of China (New York: Columbia University Press, 1958), 66.

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and the large scale, [so that now exposition of] the “Celestial Offices” is complete.8 Thus, it is clear from the outset that we are dealing with different levels of ambition, and it will be important to keep the distinction in mind. Nevertheless, a comparison between “Celestial Heavenly Patterns” and the “Treatise” may be especially instructive because the latter was conceived by an imperial official, Sima Tan 司馬談 (ca. 165–110 BCE), who served for thirty years (140–110 BCE) as Emperor Wu’s Prefect Grand Scribe–Astrologer (taishi gong 太史公). Sima Tan was a contemporary of Liu An, kept track of his career, and witnessed the rebellion of the kingdoms of Huainan and Hengshan. He would certainly have been familiar with the court of Huainan at Shouchun 壽春 and with the book Liu An presented to the imperial court in 139 BCE, not least because Emperor Wu was particularly pleased with it. Sima Tan was responsible for the conception and main content of the “Treatise,” even if the actual composition of the work sometime after 104 BCE was left to his son, Sima Qian 司馬遷 (d. 86 BCE). Therefore, just as the bureaucratic title implies, the “Treatise” is a product of the court and ought to reflect the imperial outlook of the early empire. Both treatises are eloquent in their own way for what they say and, equally in some cases, for what they leave unsaid.

Tianshu 天數 (‘Heavenly Reckoning’) in the Western Han

Before taking a closer look at the contents of the “Heavenly Patterns” and the “Treatise” we need to gain some clarity about what preoccupation with things celestial entailed at the time. For this we have the testimony of both Warring States and Han sources, including the “Treatise” itself. For example, the preQin military text Liu tao 六韜 (Six Quivers [military strategies]) provides an idealized scheme of the eighteen specialist advisers who made up the entourage of the army leadership. ‘Heavenly Pattern Men’ (tianwen ren) come third in order of importance, after the ‘confidential advisers’ and the ‘strategists.’ The duties of these Heavenly Pattern Men are described as follows:

8 Sima Qian, Shiji (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1959), 27.1350. ‘Times’ 時 should be understood here in the context of Sima Qian’s gloss: “What I mean by ‘time’ is not seasons and days; men certainly have propitious and unpropitious times” 吾所謂時者，非時日也，人固有利不利 時; Sima Qian, Shiji, “Hereditary House of Han” (“Han shi jia” 韓世家) 45.1879.

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The three Heavenly Pattern Men have charge of observing the movements of the heavenly bodies, watching the winds and atmospheric phenomena, projecting [the auspiciousness of] seasons and days, studying the signs and verifying predictions, examining [the implications of] natural disasters and anomalies, to understand the mechanisms [i.e., ‘triggers’] that move people’s minds.9 Even if this is a retrospective idealization of the membership of the army’s ‘general staff’ in early Zhou times, it is still instructive with regard to priorities in the late Warring States, when it was composed. Two things are immediately clear from this passage: the definition of Heavenly Pattern Men is extremely broad, and its practitioners enjoyed high status, at least in military affairs. By the Eastern Han, Ban Gu’s 班固 (32–92 CE) characterization of military yin-yang specialists placed even greater emphasis on their mantic skills, most of which seem far removed from general astrology: “The yin-yang [military] specialists comply with the seasons in setting out. They calculate Xing-De [rescission and accretion], follow the striking of the Dipper, conform to the Five Conquests, and call on ghosts and spirits for help.”10 As we shall see, the Simas’ interpretation of ‘heavenly patterns’ differed substantially. It is important to clearly distinguish between observationally based astral prognostication, which concerns itself with divining the consequences of significant celestial moments (e.g., comets, eclipses, planetary conjunctions, meteor showers, meteorological phenomena) for the court or affairs of state, and prognostication practices that are not based on actual astronomical observation. Marc Kalinowski has explored the latter and their associated schema using excavated manuscripts from late Warring States and Han times. These techniques and prohibitions involving yin-yang, the Five Phases, the ‘calendrical’ spirits of Xing and De, Taiyin (太陰 ‘time spirit’), and others offer no evidence at all of actual observation of significant celestial events. The preoccupation is exclusively with hemerology, which concerns itself with whether each day of the month is favorable or unfavorable, with the spirit influences active each day of the month, with which activities may be undertaken or should be avoided, with prognostications for one who falls ill or is born on that day, and so on. Such preoccupations suffuse the ‘day books’ (rishu 日書), 9

10

Translation modified from Marc Kalinowski, “The Xing-De 刑德 Texts from Mawangdui,” Early China 23–24 (1998–99): 134, quoting “Longtao” 龍韜, Liu tao 六韜, ed. Bingjia baodian (Shijiazhuang: Hebei renwu, 1991), 740–41. Ban Gu, Hanshu 漢書 (History of the Han). 12 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1987), 30.1768–69; Kalinowski, “Xing-De Texts,” 134.

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the Mawangdui “Xing-De” 刑德 texts, and other recently excavated bamboo manuscripts. They also permeate the Huainanzi.11 The prevailing practice among Liu An’s specialists was clearly to rely virtually exclusively on schemata and devices like the mantic-astrolabe (shi 式) to make astromantic and hemerological predictions, rather than on direct visual observation.12 This is in keeping with the Huainanzi’s focus on tools, to which John S. Major has drawn attention in chapter 5 of the present work. Cosmological and astromantic knowledge is valuable, not in the abstract, but instrumentally, its practical application allowing one to conform with the Dao. A reliance on such techniques was not without influential detractors even in preimperial times. Han Fei 韓非子 (ca. 280–233 BCE) famously disparaged reliance on astromantic spirits, divinations, and their practitioners: Initially, for several years Wei turned eastward to attack and finish off Wèy and Tao. Later, for several years [Wei] turned westward [to attack Qin] and lost territory. This does not show that the Five Thunder Spirits, Supreme One, the six Sheti spirits, and Five Chariots, the Sky River, Spear of Yin, and Jupiter [all auspicious] were in the west for several years. Nor does it indicate that Heavenly Gap, Hu’ni, Punishing Star, Mars, and Stride Terrace [all inauspicious] were in the east during subsequent years. Therefore, I say that turtle and milfoil, ghosts and spirits are not able to 11

“In the Huainanzi it [Taiyin] appears as a calendrical spirit whose mantic virtues and power to control, initiated at the beginning of time, arise from the application of the sexagenary norm to the numbering of the years,” while Xing and De are “among a multitude of calendrical spirits (shensha 神煞) . . . whose functions are always to confer auspicious or inauspicious qualities on some division or another of space and time” (Kalinowski, “Xing-De Texts,” 157). See also John S. Major, Heaven and Earth in Early Han Thought: Chapters Three, Four, and Five of the Huainanzi (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993), 87. 12 Major, Heaven and Earth in Early Han Thought, 218. As Major points out (122), the mantic-astrolabe “was an abstraction and idealization of the observable universe, and thus suitable more for astrological than for astronomical purposes.” See also Major et al., Huainanzi, 110, 179. Here I would only note that I think the term “astromantic” is preferable to “astrological” for practices that do not involve plotting the positions of celestial bodies based on actual observation. See also Harper, “Warring States Natural Philosophy and Occult Thought,” 849. In the early Han such mechanical practices were also specifically excoriated by Lu Jia 陸賈 (fl. ca. 206–180 BCE); see Wang, Cosmology and Political Culture, 178. In fact, while Lu denounced xing-de type prognostications, he did endorse observation of materia vitalis, the same predilection found in the “Treatise”; see Paul R. Goldin, “Xunzi and Early Han Philosophy,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 67.1 (2007): 148.

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ensure victory, and that [positioning oneself] to the left, to the right, in front, or behind [them] does not suffice to determine [the outcome of] a battle. There is no greater stupidity than to put one’s faith in this.13 The vehemence of Han Fei’s criticism is a reflection of how widespread and influential such ideas must have been in late Warring States and Han times. This is more than apparent from chapter 15 of the Huainanzi, “An Overview of the Military” (“Bing lüe” 兵略), which says, “Clearly understanding the motions of the planets, stars, Sun, and Moon; the rules of rescission and accretion (xing and de), and the occult arts; the advantageousness of facing to the front or rear, or going left or right—these are helpful in battle.”14 Marc Kalinowski notes the tactical-positioning parallel in the “Xing-De” B manuscript: “when Xing and De are on the right, the battle will be won, when they are on the left, it will be half lost.”15 Robin Yates’s study of the military aspects of “Xing-De” and other Mawangdui manuscripts shows how important such prognostication methods were to the conduct of war. For example, “The Features of Warfare” (“Bing rong” 兵容), says, “If warfare does not take its form from Heaven, warfare cannot be initiated. If it does not take Earth as its model, warfare cannot be managed.”16 As an example of such “harmonization with the rhythms and patterns of the cosmos,” Yates says that on the advice of omen specialists, “they organized their camps and formations according to the patterns of the stars and constellations in the sky. They emblazoned their flags and pennons with the signs of the constellations, the images of astral deities, and the Eight Trigrams.”17 That such calculation was also denigrated in the Han seems to be borne out by Sima Qian’s remark in the “Profiles of the Hemerologists” (“Rizhe liezhuan” 日者列傳): “as to diviners by shell and milfoil, they are disdained in public opinion now.”18 Not surprisingly, therefore, when we turn to the “Treatise,” the contrast with Huainanzi could hardly be greater, despite Sima Tan’s Huang-Lao sympathies. Consider, for example, the testimony of the “Treatise” regarding 13

14 15 16 17 18

Since Han Fei lumps together planets, stars, and spirits seemingly indiscriminately, the astrological principle behind this pronouncement and also the identities of several of the asterisms/spirits are obscure. Translation modified from Major et al., Huainanzi, 588; Liu An 劉安, Huainanzi. Xinbian Zhuzi jicheng 新编诸子集成 (Taipei: Shijie shuju, rpt. 1974), 7:255. Kalinowski, “Xing-De Texts,” 180. Robin Yates, “The History of Military Divination,” East Asian Science, Technology, and Medicine 24 (2005), 16. Ibid., 33, see also 22. Sima Qian, Shiji 127.3216.

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the scope of the “numerical attributes of Heaven” (tianshu 天数):19 “Now, since the Han dynasty has maintained the numbers of Heaven, for celestial bodies there is Tang Du 唐都,20 for qi there is Wang Shuo 王朔,21 for prognosticating by Jupiter there is Wei Xian 魏鮮.”22 No mention of ghosts or astral spirits here, but only observationally based practices. Similarly, when it comes to Sima Tan’s intellectual pedigree with regard to ‘heavenly pattern reading,’ Sima Qian informs us: The Prefect Grand Scribe–Astrologer studied the Celestial Offices under Tang Du, received [the tradition of] the Changes from Yang He 楊何,23 and practiced the teachings of the Dao under Huangzi 黃子. The Prefect Grand Scribe–Astrologer served from the first year of the ‘Established Origin’ reign period to the ‘Inaugural Feng Sacrifice’ (Yuanfeng 元封) reign period (140–110 BCE).24 19

For a more thorough discussion of what tianshu entailed, see Mark Csíkszentmihályi, “Chia I’s ‘Techniques of the Tao’ and the Han Confucian Appropriation of Technical Discourse,” Asia Major, 3rd ser., 10.1–2 (1997): 49–67. Csíkszentmihályi renders tianshu as ‘Heaven’s Algorithm.’ 20 Tang Du was a “master of occult arts” ( fangshi 方士) from a venerable family of the preimperial kingdom of Chu; Michael Loewe, A Biographical Dictionary of the Qin, Former Han and Xin Periods (221 BC–AD 24) (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 502. Tang Du’s positional observations of the stars later played a central role in the “Grand Inception” (Taichu 太初) calendar reform of 104 BCE; Sima Qian, Shiji, “Treatise on Calendrics,” 26.1260. 21 Loewe, Biographical Dictionary, 553. Wang Shuo was a specialist in watching for the materia vitalis, “vapors.” Following two inauspicious appearances of a comet in 110 BCE, a mitigating observation of Saturn by Wang Shuo (recorded in Ban Gu, Hanshu 25A.1236) was interpreted as signifying celestial approval of Emperor Wu’s reinstitution of the feng and shan sacrifices. 22 Sima Qian, Shiji 27.1349. Wei Xian made his reputation prognosticating the annual harvest and weather-related phenomena at important seasonal junctures, based on the directions of the eight winds; see Wei Cide 魏慈德, Zhongguo gudai fengshen chongbai 中 國古代風神崇拜 (Taipei: Taiwan Shufang chuban youxian gongsi, 2002), 41ff.; see also Sima Qian, Shiji 27.1340. Wang Shuo’s prognostics, including his focus on solar halos applicable to the emperor, are summarized in Sima Qian, Shiji 27.1338. Wang Shuo and Wei Xian were contemporaries. For an annotated translation and study of the entire “Treatise on the Celestial Offices,” see Pankenier, Astrology and Cosmology in Early China. 23 Yang He 楊何 studied the Changes under Tian He 田何, who was responsible for reviving the tradition in the early Han dynasty. During Emperor Wu’s reign, Yang He attained the high office of Associate Grand Master 中大夫. He was the author of Yi zhuan Yang shi 易 傳楊氏, in two fascicles, now lost. 24 Sima Qian, Shiji 130.3288.

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Once again, the qualifications deemed worthy of mention include no reference to astral spirits or the hemerological techniques of xing-de and the like. So, in first-person testimony there is only mention of ‘reading the materia vitalis (qi)’ and Jupiter prognostics, which, like Five Phases and yin-yang theory, to the extent they enjoyed state sanction, would have fallen under the rubric of ‘official portentology’ such as propounded by Dong Zhongshu. Moreover, the terms xing-de occur just once in the “Treatise” and even then not as calendar spirits but in connection with Venus’s movements and astrological influence, a telling commentary on the status of popular astromantic beliefs and practices in the minds of Sima Tan and Sima Qian.25 Table 6.1

Topical Comparison of “Heavenly Patterns” and “Treatise on the Celestial Offices” Note: Topics in the “Heavenly Patterns” column in italics do not appear in the “Treatise.”

Huainanzi, “Heavenly Patterns”

Shiji “Treatise on the Celestial Offices”

Cosmology and cosmogony • Origin of the cosmos

Divisions of Heaven • Five Palaces, 90 asterisms, 412 stars, 28 xiu • Cosmogonic yin and yang • Positions, nomenclature, star lore Five Planets • Reciprocity between Heaven and man • color, season, heavenly stems (tiangan), periods, movements, astrology, prognostics Jupiter • synodic period, names, monthly • Cosmology and Cosmography appearances and disappearances, Overview conjunctions with other planets Mars • Divisions of Heaven • synodic period, names, monthly appearances and disappearances, conjunctions with other planets

(Continued)

25

Sima Qian, Shiji, “Tianguan shu,” 27.1327. Emperor Wu, of course, later became notoriously preoccupied with the occult and the pursuit of immortality, which seems to have caused considerable disquiet at court. There is a derisive flavor to Sima Qian’s account of this in the “Treatise on the Feng and Shan Sacrifices” (“Feng shan shu” 封禪書).

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Table 6.1 ( Continued) Huainanzi, “Heavenly Patterns”

• Nine Fields

• Five Planets

• Eight Wind Seasons

• Five offices and six departments Solar Cycles • Purple Palace • Callippic cycle and Grand Conclusion cycle • Solar cycles and their omens • Seven Habitations • Solar Nodes Numerology and Harmonics • Twelve chronograms and the Jovian year • Numerology and harmonics • Metonic cycle • Year of five 72-day periods • Astromantic relations of the five seasons • Qi correlations of the months and seasons • Path of the sun Yin-yang and the Seasons

Shiji “Treatise on the Celestial Offices”

Saturn • synodic period, names, monthly appearances and disappearances, conjunctions with other planets Venus • synodic period, names, monthly appearances and disappearances, conjunctions with other planets Mercury • synodic period, names, monthly appearances and disappearances, conjunctions with other planets General planetary theory Field Allocation Scheme • Twelve provinces (zhou 州) + 1 Sun • Eclipses, halos > prognostics Moon • Movements, appearance > prognostics • Occultations of planets > prognostics • Terrestrial and tian-gan 天干 correlations Meteors, Comets, Meteorological Omens • Appearance, location > prognostics • Essence of stars and Milky Way (= fire and water) • Terrestrial correlations of various materia vitalis (qi) > prognostics • Meteorological phenomena (thunder, lightning, rainbows) • Miscellaneous anomalies and natural phenomena (Continued)

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Table 6.1 (Continued) Huainanzi, “Heavenly Patterns”

Shiji “Treatise on the Celestial Offices”

Mantic-Astrolabe (shi) • Indications of the Handle of the Dipper

New Year’s Prognostications • Harvest • Eight winds • Jupiter > predictions for the year Theory and History • Origin, history, duties of Grand Scribe–Astrologer • Successive generations of Grand Scribe–Astrologer • Grand cycles of Heaven • Historical precedents and verifications (Chunqiu) • Astral field allocations (12 provinces, 28 lodges) • Imperial macroastrology (Qin to Han; empirical) • Zhongguo = SE = yang (Sun, Jupiter, Mars, Saturn as rulers) • Venus as ruler • Waiguo = NW = yin, bellicose; Mercury as ruler • Role of Mars special

Numerology and Harmonics

• Harmonics of the Twelve Pitch Pipes • Musical tones and their seasons • Numerology of weights and measures Jovian Cycle • Twelve-year Jovian cycle • Names of the twelve years of the Jovian cycle Portent Calculations • Prognostics of the sixty-year Jovian cycle • Lunar lodges • Seasonal indications of Taiyin • Stem-branch correlations • Relations of the Five Phases

Overview of Astral Prognostication • Warring States astrologers Shi Shen and Gan De • Gods of the Northern Dipper • Sun and Moon movements fundamental • Omens of the stems and branches • Five Palaces / Five Planets = warp / weft • Prognostications according to the Taiyin • Mastery of the ‘Three and the Five’ cycle Appended treatise on gnomonics

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Setting aside the substantial sections of the Huainanzi’s “Heavenly Patterns” whose contents correspond to those of Shiji’s “Treatise on Calendrics” (“Lishu” 曆書) (in italics in the lefthand column of table 6.1), even the cursory comparison between the “Heavenly Patterns” and the “Treatise” in table 6.1 bears out the above characterization. The very fact that in a chapter entitled “Heavenly Patterns” the Huainanzi devotes so much space to calendrics in lieu of astral prognostication might in itself be taken as a commentary on the compilers’ perspective on harmonization with the cosmos. However, the preoccupation with occult arts in the Huainanzi as a whole belies such a ‘rational’ predisposition. The Huainanzi is preoccupied with how cosmology and cosmography (the theoretical ‘roots’) come to be expressed in phenomenological correlations, astromancy, numerology, and the schema of the mantic-astrolabe (the diverse applications, or ‘branches’), mastery of which allows one to align oneself with the operations of the Dao. Discussion of Sun, Moon, and planetary portents is minimal in comparison to the Shiji’s “Treatise.” In stark contrast, the “Treatise” is overwhelmingly concerned with astral nomenclature, positional astronomy, the theory and practice of astral prognostication, the history of the office of Grand Scribe–Astrologer, and state-level portentology. In Huainanzi’s “Heavenly Patterns” there is a theoretical nod in the direction of Daoist cosmology, but in practical terms the focus on schemata and use of the manticastrolabe (shi 式) means that the Huainanzi not only gives short shrift to astral prognostication but also contains “no hint of Daoist spontaneity.”26 Even when the discussion of a topic in the “Heavenly Patterns” appears to match a topic in the Shiji’s “Treatise,” the resemblance is largely superficial. The comparison below between their respective passages concerning the planet Jupiter makes the salient differences apparent. First, consider the following passage from the “Treatise” (parallels between the two texts are in bold italics): Study the movements of Sun and Moon to discern the planet Jupiter’s direct and retrograde motion. [ Jupiter] is the East, Wood, and governs Spring; its stem days are jia and yi. When righteousness is deficient, punishment emanates from the planet Jupiter. When Jupiter gains or regresses, the state’s fate is determined by the lodge [the planet occupies].27 The state wherein Jupiter is located may not be attacked but 26 27

Major, Heaven and Earth in Early Han Thought, 11. The “Treatise” often uses she 舍, ‘guesthouse, lodging,’ as a synonym for the more technical term xiu 宿. Originally, xiu, ‘lodge,’ specifically denoted the moon’s nightly lodging, since 365d ÷ 28 yields a near approximation of the Moon’s average daily motion. (The

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may punish others. If Jupiter advances prematurely into a lodge and gets ahead of itself, it is called ‘gaining.’ Premature withdrawal from a lodge is called ‘regressing.’28 If Jupiter gains, that state’s troops will not return. If [Jupiter] regresses, the state [from which it withdrew] will be beleaguered, its general(s) lost, and the state overthrown and defeated. If the Five Planets all follow [Jupiter] and gather in the one lodge [wherein Jupiter is located], that state below will be able to attract the entire sublestial realm through Righteousness. In a Shetige year Jupiter’s yindouble moves leftward and is in chronogram yin, while Jupiter moves to the right and occupies chronogram chou. In the first (zheng) month it appears at dawn in the east with [lodges Southern] Dipper (#8) and Ox[-Leader] (#9) and is called ‘Overseer of Virtue.’ Its color is pale green and gleaming; should it miss its [proper] station, a response will appear in Willow (#24) [on the opposite horizon]. If the Year[-Star] is early, there will be floods; if late, there will be drought. [After] Jupiter appears in the east, it travels 12d in one hundred days and then stops. It retrogrades 8d in one hundred days and then resumes eastward motion. In one year Jupiter moves 30 7/16d, traveling about 1/12d per day. In twelve years it completes a circuit of the sky.29 As a rule it appears at dawn in the east and sets at dusk in the west.30 Following this, comparable details are provided for each year of the Jovian cycle, focusing on Jupiter and not its fictive ‘yin-double’ Taiyin.31 The “Treatise” goes on to devote another 220 characters to detailed prognostications based on

28 29 30 31

superscript d stands for the Chinese angular measure du 度, which is 1/365.25 of a circle, or fractionally less than one degree.) By the Han, however, the ‘lunar’ implication was attenuated since the lodges were conventionally used to identify the positions of other celestial bodies as well. Following Wang Shumin’s 王叔岷 emendation of 超 to 趨; Wang Shumin, Shiji jiaozheng 史記斠正 (Taipei: Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo, 1982), 1112. For the superscript d (for du), see n. 27. Sima Qian, Shiji 27.1312. With regard to Taiyin, Marc Kalinowski has argued that “far from being a function derived from the Jovian year count (a ‘counter-Jupiter’ cycle, as it is often called), it is rather the Taiyin motion that requires that the Jupiter rotations be fitted to the framework of the sexagenary norm of the calendar. . . . This does not exclude the possibility, supported by a number of ancient texts, that the Taiyin cycle was originally conceived on the model of the revolutions of Jupiter to give the sexagenary year count astronomical legitimacy” (Kalinowski, “Xing-De Texts,” 154, n. 69).

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the specifics of the planet’s movements, timing of appearances and disappearances, aspect, and so on. Now, consider the passages from Huainanzi’s “Heavenly Patterns” that are specifically related to Jupiter and assembled from various places in that chapter (text in bold italics also appears in the “Treatise”): [§6: The Five Planets] What are the Five Planets? The East is Wood. Its god is Taihao. His assistant is Goumang. He grasps the compass and governs spring. His spirit is the Year-Star [Jupiter]. His animal is the blue-green dragon. His musical note is jue; his days are jia and yi. . . . [§7: The Motions of Jupiter] When Taiyin is in any of the four midpoints, Jupiter passes through three lodges. When Taiyin is in any of the four hooks, Jupiter passes through two lodges. Two times eight is sixteen; three times four is twelve. Therefore, in twelve years [Jupiter] traverses [all] twenty-eight lodges. The daily motion [of Jupiter] is one-twelfth of a du. In one year, [ Jupiter travels] 30 7/16 du. In twelve years, [ Jupiter] completes a circuit of the heavens. [§23: The Names of the Twelve Years of the Jovian Cycle] When Taiyin is in yin, the year is called shetige. The mate of Taiyin is Jupiter. It occupies [lodges Southern] Dipper and Ox-Leader. In the eleventh month, it appears with them in the east at dawn. [Lodges] Eastern Well and Spirit-Bearer are opposite [i.e., setting in the west at dawn (by mantic-astrolabe]. [§35: The Lodges] When Jupiter occupies [a lodge, in that state] the five grains will be bountiful. [The situation of the state corresponding to the lodge] opposite will be the reverse: the harvest will suffer calamity. If Jupiter should occupy a lodge and does not, or if it skips and enters another [lodge], the ruler of that state will die and his state will be extinguished. A few things are worthy of note here. First, with regard to Jupiter, although the Huainanzi records the specifics of the planet’s locations year by year, the discussion attaches primary significance to Taiyin (by this time already well established as a ‘time spirit’) and details its positions as given by the manticastrolabe. The same Taiyin barely merits passing mention in the “Treatise.” Second, the claims of the Huainanzi’s “Overview of the Essentials” (“know the changes of retrograde and direct motion”) notwithstanding, in the “Heavenly Patterns” basic observational facts like direct and retrograde motion of the planets are never mentioned. Third, in §23 Jupiter is said to appear at dawn

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in the east with lodges 8 and 9 in the eleventh month. This definition pertains to idealized astral relations embodied in the mantic-astrolabe. Fourth, the Huainanzi’s discussion of the remaining four planets and their prognostics is cursory at best, whereas the “Treatise” devotes even more space to the movements and prognostics of each of Mars, Venus, and Mercury than to Jupiter. Despite minor editing, the Huainanzi’s heavy reliance on direct quotation from the Spring and Autumn Annals of Master Lü (Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋) is nowhere more evident than in the “Heavenly Patterns”32 One could argue that the Huainanzi strives for encyclopedic inclusiveness rather than up-to-date coverage, as I noted at the outset, but at a time when the obsolescence of the calendar was becoming increasingly problematical, one has to wonder about the benefit of comprehensiveness if the work’s misdirection and omissions illserved the needs of the state. Even more striking is a comparison between the two texts’ discussions of field-allocation astral prognostication, the dominant mode of astrological prognostication since at least the Warring States period (and probably well before). The Huainanzi contents itself merely with reproducing the traditional astral-terrestrial correlations. In the “Treatise,” however, we encounter something quite different, for in addition to providing an account of the theory and practice of the field-allocation scheme, the Simas present a lengthy disquisition on what one might call ‘imperial macroastrology.’ This new scheme signals an unmistakable transition from ancient conceptions to a new interpretive paradigm.

The New Astrological Paradigm

A noteworthy attribute of the earlier field-allocation system of the Warring States period (481–221 BCE) is that it was unabashedly sinocentric in conception (see figs. 6.1 and 6.2). The Chinese world was all that mattered, so that the identity between the Milky Way (the Sky River) and the Yellow River provided the basic paradigm for the entire scheme of correlations between the skyscape and the topography of the terrestrial provinces below. No accommodation was made in the heavens for non-Chinese peoples. By the Western Han dynasty, however, some concession had to be made to the new political reality. Leaving no room for prognostication concerning non-Chinese peoples was an anachronistic bias that astrology could no longer afford if it was to have a claim to 32 Major, Heaven and Earth in Early Han Thought, 5.

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Figure 6.1 The Nine Provinces in Relation to the Yellow River.33 The standard directions correlated with the provinces (e.g., Qing ~ north and Yong ~ south) are those that follow from the normative positions of their astral fields in relation to the Milky Way (see figure 6.2).

3

3

relevance in the imperial period.34 Therefore, in view of the increasingly ominous threat to the unified Han Empire posed by aggressive non-Chinese peoples on the periphery, like the Xiongnu, the Simas assert in the “Treatise” that in macroastrological terms the warlike nomadic peoples are yin with respect to the yang of the Chinese world. As such, they correspond to the northern and western quadrants of the heavens, while the Chinese world corresponds to the south and east. By way of theoretical support, the “Treatise” adduces the historically powerful Chinese border states of Jin and Qin as cases in point of ‘hybrid’ Chinese polities whose martial proclivities clearly reflected the 33

34

David W. Pankenier, “Characteristics of Field Allocation (fenye 分野) Astrology in Early China,” in Current Studies in Archaeoastronomy: Conversations across Time and Space. J. W. Fountain & R. M. Sinclair, ed. (Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press, 2005), figure 2, p. 510. See also the discussion in Nicola Di Cosmo, Ancient China and Its Enemies: The Rise of Nomadic Power in East Asian History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 305–11.

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influence of non-Chinese peoples with whom they had been in intimate contact for generations. When it came to Qin’s 秦 swallowing up and annexing the Three Jin 晉 [i.e., Wei 魏, Zhao 趙, Hán 韓], Yan 燕, and Dai 岱 [Shandong], from the [Yellow] River and Mount [Hua 華] southward is China. [With respect to] the area within the Four Seas, China therefore occupies the south and east as yang: yang is the Sun, Jupiter, Mars, and Saturn.35 Prognostications [about China are based on astral locations] situated south of [the asterism Tian-]jie 天街 [κ Tau], and Bi 畢 [lodge 18, ε Tau] governs them. To the north and west are the Hu 胡, Mo 貉, Yuezhi 月氏, and other peoples who wear felt and furs and draw the bow as yin: yin is the Moon, Venus, and Mercury. Prognostications [about them are based on astral locations] situated north of [Tian-]jie, while Mao 昴 [Pleiades, lodge 19, 17 Tauri] governs them. . . . Essentially, China’s mountain ranges and watercourses run north and east, their head[waters] in [Mounts] Long 隴 and Shu 蜀 [Gansu and Sichuan] and tails at the Bo[-hai 渤海 Gulf] and [Mount] Jie 碣 [Shanhaiguan]. For this reason, Qin and Jin are fond of using weapons; furthermore, their prognostications [depend on] Venus, governor of China, while the Hu and Mo, who have repeatedly invaded and despoiled, are uniquely prognosticated [based on] Mercury. Mercury’s appearances and disappearances are swift and sudden, so as a rule it governs the Yi-Di 夷狄 barbarians. These are the guiding principles. They are modified according to who acts as the guest and who the host. Mars means order,36 externally [north and west], the army should be mobilized, but internally [south and east], the government should be put in order. Therefore it is 35

36

In the Mawangdui manuscript “Prognostications of the Five Planets,” which dates to half a century earlier than the “Treatise,” ‘yin’ and ‘yang’ are commonly used as directional terms in the sense of “north and west” and “south and east,” respectively, but only with respect to relative locations of the polities of the Warring States. For example, in discussing prognostications based on Venus’s position in particular astral fields, the “Prognostications of the Five Planets” says: “Yue, Qi, Han, Zhao, and Wei are yang with respect to Jing 荆 [Chu] and Qin. Qi is yang with respect to Yan, Zhao, and Wei. Wei is yang with respect to Han 漢 and Zhao. Han is yang with respect to Qin and Zhao. Qin is yang with respect to the Di barbarians (翟~狄). They are prognosticated on the basis of [Venus’s lying] north or south, advancing or retreating”; see Liu Lexian 劉樂賢, “Mawangdui tianwen shu kaoshi” 馬王堆天文書考, History of Chinese Philosophy 3 (2004): 86. The Simas’ use of yin and yang here with respect to the topography of the whole empire and the skyscape is an innovation. Following Wang, Shiji jiaozheng, 1157, in reading 理 for 孛.

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said, “Though there may be a perspicacious Son of Heaven, one must still look to where Mars is located.”37 Astrological prognostication on this new binary macrolevel clearly departs in important respects from the earlier astral omen watching. The new astrology reflects the animosity between the Chinese and frontier peoples that became a major preoccupation of the imperial court from the Qin dynasty on and that intensified greatly during Emperor Wu’s reign. This antagonism also surfaces in the interpretation of important planetary phenomena, with its suggestive ‘modern’ terminology, for as we read in the “Treatise,” “When the Five Planets divide the sky in the middle and gather in the east, China (zhongguo 中國) benefits; if they gather in the west, foreign kingdoms (waiguo 外 國) using weapons gain.”38 Remarkably, given astrology’s resistance to change, and despite a pious nod in the direction of their esteemed predecessors, the Simas’ account bears witness to a major reformulation of astrological theory and practice in which the former preoccupation with a multivalent sinocentric world is adapted to the circumstances of the Han Empire with its ‘us versus them’ view of contemporary power relations. Thus, the contrast between the two texts’ presentations of heavenly pattern reading suitable for the empire could hardly be more striking. Moreover, the Huainanzi’s retrospective outlook is not unique to the “Heavenly Patterns” chapter. As John S. Major observed of the ethos of the Huainanzi as a whole: “the political program propounded in that work is profoundly conservative, even reactionary. It proposed solutions to the problems of a world that no longer existed at the time it was written.”39

Discussion

The Huainanzi’s “Heavenly Patterns” chapter is conservative, syncretic, formalistic, not observationally based, and neither current at the time nor forward looking. How do we explain such features? A few possibilities come to mind. One is that the heavenly pattern specialists assembled at Li An’s court were themselves behind the times and without access to the best sources. This is not as wildly improbable a suggestion as it might seem. A century later when 37 38

Sima Qian, Shiji, “Tianguan shu,” 27.1347. Ibid., 1328. Precisely because of the macroastrological context, I do not think it is anachronistic to translate zhongguo as “China” in the “Treatise.” 39 Major, Heaven and Earth in Early Han Thought, 51. Cf. Griet Vankeerberghen, chapter 10 in the present volume.

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Figure 6.2 The Nine Astral Fields/Provinces in Relation to the Sky River.40 Shown here are the relative positions of the astral fields / provinces and the yin-yang binary division of the sky in the new macroastrology (hold overhead and imagine facing south for proper orientation).

4 0 the king of Dongping 東平 (present-day Dongpingxian in Shandong), Liu Yu 劉宇, wrote (ca. 29 BCE) to Emperor Cheng 成帝 (33–7 BCE) requesting copies of the writings of the various ‘masters’ and of the Prefect Grand Scribe– Astrologer, the senior general in power at court, Wang Feng 王鳳, advised:

40

Song Dynasty planisphere showing the correspondences between the astral fields and the Nine Provinces in relation to the Milky Way. Redrawn from Zhongguo shehui kexueyuan kaogu yanjiusuo 中國社會科學院考古研究所, Zhongguo gudai tianwen wenwu tuji 中 國古代天文文物圖集 (Beijing, Wenwu, 1980), p. 101, fig. 97.

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The Book of the Prefect Grand Scribe–Astrologer contains the schemes and trickery of the Warring States vertical and horizontal alliances, the ingenious plans of the strategists at the beginning of the rise of Han, celestial anomalies and disasters, and details of topography and strategic passes, none of which are appropriate to lodge with the vassal kings—it may not be given to them. In refusing, it would be appropriate to say: “the Five Classics are the creations of the sages, and of the myriad affairs none is not contained therein. . . . Now, those insignificant disputations and worthless notions [of the various schools], their trivial teachings, are incoherent, leading astray and miring down; none is worth paying attention to. All those works extraneous to the Classics and their arts will be of no use to you, King.”41 Moreover, at the very beginning of the Shiji biography of Liu An he is dismissed as something of a populist aesthete, and there is a hint that his popular appeal was a little suspect: As a man, the king of Huainan [Liu] An liked to read books and strum the zither; [he] did not enjoy bow hunting or racing dogs and horses. Rather, he desired to bring comfort to the commoners by performing unostentatious good deeds, to make a reputation for himself in the empire.42 So, it is conceivable that certain sensitive information was closely held at the imperial court, then as later. But the kingdom of Dongping was in Shandong, far from both the capital and the former territory of Chu. Liu An’s kingdom of Huainan, on the other hand, epitomized the Chu cultural orbit, where we now know expert astrological texts like the Mawangdui “Prognostications of the Five Planets” (“Wuxing zhan” 五星占) and “Diverse Prognostications on the Heavenly Forms of Materia Vitalis” (“Tianwen qixiang zazhan” 天文氣象雜 占) were in circulation. It seems incredible that, having spared no expense, Liu An would have been able to gather only second-rate talent at his court. Indeed, this is belied by the historical record and by the astronomical details in the

41 42

Ban Gu, Hanshu, “Xuanyuan liu wang zhuan” 宣元六王傳, 80.3324. Sima Qian, Shiji, “Huainan Hengshan liezhuan” 淮南衡山列傳, 118.3082. Aihe Wang points out that in the Hanshu “Monograph on the Five Elemental Phases” (“Wuxing zhi” 五行志), there are twenty-five cases of bad omens during the period that were interpreted as presages of rebellions by the kings (Wang, Cosmology and Political Culture, 206).

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“Heavenly Patterns” chapter, which precisely match data in the “Treatise” and their likely common source, “Prognostications of the Five Planets.”43 Because of the prevailing Daoist ethos and his own philosophical predilections, Liu An may not have been that concerned with astral prognostication during Emperor Jing’s reign. He seems to have been much more in touch with astromantic beliefs and practices, which recent discoveries show were very influential among the regional nobility and officialdom.44 A demonstration of mastery of such knowledge and practices would have been appealing to this constituency precisely because it brought comprehensive order to a plethora of venerable traditions and esoteric knowledge. Subsequently, however, in spite of his Daoist proclivities, Liu An’s thinking may have taken a more activist turn. Accounts survive of the powerful impact on the political scene of the spectacular comet that appeared in 135 BCE.45 This was the ‘long star’ (changxing 43

44

45

Indeed, as John S. Major observes, “the Huainanzi draws on the Wuxingzhan to give an ‘executive summary’ of the astrology of the five planets, but omits entirely the technical details that would have been of interest only to astrological specialists in the monarch’s employ” (Major et al., Huainanzi, 112). In contrast, as noted above, the “Treatise” draws extensively on the “Wuxing zhan” in detailing the prognostications of the five planets, so that a reluctance to try the ruler’s patience may not have been the Huainanzi editors’ only consideration. Poo Mu-chou, “Popular Religion in Pre-imperial China: Observations on the Almanacs of Shui-hu-ti,” T’oung Pao 79 (1993): 236. Poo elaborates on this point in writing about the religious mentality of a century earlier. There is every reason to assume that very much the same circumstances prevailed in the early Han. There are two records of the event in the Hanshu, between July 3–August 1 and August 31– September 29, 135 BCE. Unfortunately, neither mentions the path of the comet: (a) “6th year of the Jianyuan 建元 reign period of Emperor Wu of the Han Dynasty, 8th month; a star became fuzzy in the east and stretched across the sky” (Ban Gu, Hanshu, “Wu di ji” 武 帝紀, 6.160). (b) “6th year of the Jianyuan reign period of Emperor Wu of the Han Dynasty, 8th month; a long star appeared in the east, so long that it stretched across the sky; after thirty days it departed. The prognostication said, ‘This is Chi You’s 蚩尤 Banner; when seen, the ruler will attack the four quarters.’ After this the troops punished the Four Yi 夷 [barbarians] for several decades in succession” (Ban Gu, Hanshu, “Monograph on the Five Elemental Phases, Pt. 3b” 五行志下之下, 27.1517). See David W. Pankenier, Zhentao Xu, and Yaotiao Jiang, Archaeoastronomy in East Asia: Historical Observational Records of Comets and Meteor Showers from China, Japan, and Korea (Youngstown, NY: Cambria Press, 2008), 19. For a fascinating comparison of the Chinese and Roman accounts of the comet of 135 BCE, see John T. Ramsey, “Mithradates, the Banner of Ch’ih-Yu, and the Comet Coin,” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 99 (1999): 197–253; also Gary Kronk, “A Large Comet Seen in 135 B.C.?,” International Comet Quarterly 19 (1997): 3–7.

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長星) that stretched across the sky throughout September and that prompted Emperor Wu just a few weeks later to inaugurate a new reign period that autumn, in the first month of the civil calendar that had been in use since the Qin. The new reign period was aptly dubbed ‘Primal Brilliance’ (Yuanguang 元 光) to commemorate the celestial sign.46 The ominous comet with a curved tail known as Chi You’s banner, a harbinger of imminent warfare, actually appeared twice during Emperor Wu’s reign. According to the “Treatise”: Chi You’s Banner is like a broom star, but its tail is curved at the end, like a banner. When it appears, the ruler will go forth and attack the four quarters.47 During the Primal Brilliance (Yuanguang) [134–129 BCE] and Primal Hunt (Yuanshou) [122–117 BCE] reign periods, Chi You’s Banner appeared twice, at its longest as long as half the sky. After those [appearances in late 135 and 119 BCE], the armies of the capital marched out four times, punishing the Yi-Di [barbarians] for several decades in succession, with attacks on the Hu [Xiongnu] being especially severe.48 Having first appeared ‘in the north’ in the sixth month of 135 BCE, after rounding the Sun the comet reappeared with a long tail ‘in the east’ in the eighth 46

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Curiously, a passage in the “Treatise on the Feng and Shan Sacrifices” (Sima Qian, Shiji 28.1389) implies that naming the reign period “after auspicious celestial signs” may not have occurred until 114 BCE, though this seems highly unlikely. Be that as it may, whether designated “Primal Brilliance” or not, a new reign period was inaugurated immediately after the cometary apparition. Sima Qian, Shiji 27.1335. For the oldest account of Chi You’s battle with the Yellow Emperor in a Mawangdui silk manuscript, see Mark E. Lewis, Sanctioned Violence in Early China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1990), 148. For a description of the Mawangdui cometary atlas with comet 28 identified as Chi You’s Banner (captioned “Chi You’s Banner: troops afield return”), see Xi Zezong 席澤宗, “Mawangdui Han mu boshu de huixing tu” 馬王堆漢墓帛書彗星圖, in Zhongguo gudai tianwen wenwu lunji 中國古 代天文文物論文集 (Beijing: Wenwu, 1989), 31. A photographic enlargement of the atlas is in Zhongguo shehui kexueyuan kaogu yanjiusuo, ed., Zhongguo gudai tianwen wenwu tuji 中國古代天文文物論文集 (Beijing: Wenwu, 1980), 23, pl. 21. Sima Qian, Shiji 27.1349. The second appearance was in 119 BCE. According to Ma Xu 馬 續 (70–141 CE ), author of the astrological monograph in the Hanshu, Liu Xiang 劉向 (77–6 BCE) was of the same opinion regarding the effect of the comet on Liu An (Ban Gu, Hanshu 27.1517). The comet was spotted twice in 135 BCE, first as a xing bo 星孛, “star became fuzzy,” in the sixth month, according to Hanshu, and then again in the eighth month after growing its long tail. Dong Zhongshu held that “a bo is produced by foul materia vitalis. Calling it bo implies fuzziness wherein something is obscured [from view]; being dim and indistinct in appearance, not bright and clear” (Ban Gu, Hanshu 27.1511).

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month. The spectacular appearance of this comet also had a powerful impact at Liu An’s court: In the sixth year of the Established Origin (Jianyuan) reign period [135 BCE] a broom star was seen. In the mind of the king of Huainan it was an anomaly [i.e., an omen]. Someone said to the king: “Earlier, when the army of Wu 吳 rose up [154 BCE], a broom star several chi 尺 long appeared, whereupon for a long time blood flowed for over 1,000 li 里. At present there is a broom star so long it spans the sky, so the armies of the empire ought all to rise in force.” In his [the king’s] mind, considering there was no imperial heir above and [seeing that] anomalies were occurring in the empire and the various lords were contentious, the king increasingly desired to fabricate weapons, [siege] engines, and instruments of offensive warfare. He accumulated money with which to bribe the lords of commanderies and kingdoms, wandering braves, and those with unique talents. The various sophists who devised schemes and strategies indiscriminately fabricated rumors and flattered the king. The king was delighted, handed out even more money, and his plotting to rebel grew in earnest.49 It is especially interesting that Sima Qian here expresses his conviction, no doubt on the strength of Sima Tan’s eyewitness testimony, that the great comet was instrumental in galvanizing Liu An to act. This indicates that Liu An was 49

Sima Qian, Shiji, “Huainan Hengshan liezhuan,” 118.3082. The allusion to the Wu rising is a reference to the ill-fated Seven Kingdoms Rebellion in Emperor Jing’s 景 third year, 154 BCE (Sima Qian, Shiji 27.1348). There is indeed a record of a comet with a long tail appearing in February 154 BCE, whose appearance evidently played a role in Wu’s strategy. Griet Vankeerberghen argues that the portrayal of Liu An in the Shiji is consistently derogatory and biased; see Griet Vankeerberghen, The Huainanzi and Liu An’s Claim to Moral Authority, SUNY Series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2001). To avoid complimentary judgments of the man would naturally have been politic; however, I know of no evidence to suggest that the Simas acted as compliant propagandists for Emperor Wu, especially in view of the mistreatment both suffered at his hands. There is ample evidence for Sima Qian’s independence of mind, and Emperor Wu is portrayed in a distinctly unflattering light in the “Treatise on the Feng and Shan Sacrifices.” Given the impact of the comet of 135 BCE at the imperial court itself, the twenty-five omens of rebellion preserved in the “Monograph on the Five Elemental Phases” in the Hanshu, the historical precedent of the Zhou dynasty’s dissolution due to internecine warfare, and especially the fact of two rebellions of the lord-kings within thirty years, absent strong evidence to the contrary I see little reason to question the veracity of the Simas’ account.

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acutely aware of the implications of Chi You’s Banner as a portent of war. At the same time, as Emperor Wu’s Prefect Grand Scribe–Astrologer, Sima Tan was certainly personally involved in turning the omen to the state’s advantage by framing it as an auspicious portent of the looming confrontations with the Xiongnu. This may have been more than merely an apotropaic tactic. Given the precarious political situation and the promptness with which the new commemorative reign period was inaugurated, barely weeks after the comet’s long tail appeared ‘stretching across the sky’ in 135 BCE, it is possible that the ‘spin’ placed on the event also had the purpose of preempting speculation based on the 154 BCE precedent barely a generation earlier. Noteworthy, too, is that this is the earliest attestation of the Simas’ new ‘macroastrological’ theory, for according to that ‘us versus them’ scheme the prognostication should have been favorable to the Han Empire. In any case, although Liu An may have previously been more interested in hemerology and somewhat indifferent to astral prognostication, the portentous events of 135 BCE could have prompted a significant change in his thinking. Conclusion What are we to make of Liu An’s motives in composing the “Heavenly Patterns”? The chapter is but one small part of an encyclopedic work and it would be simplistic to treat it as a proxy for the entire text, parts of which may not have survived. The Huainanzi was composed prior to Sima Tan’s appointment as Prefect Grand Scribe–Astrologer in 140 BCE, so perhaps one should not press the comparison between the “Heavenly Patterns” and the “Treatise on the Celestial Offices” too far. The latter assumed final form more than three decades later when incursions of the Xiongnu and reform of both astral prognostication and the astrocalendrical system had become matters of some urgency. Then, too, as John S. Major points out, “the astronomical and astrological correlations and calculations . . . are presented only in overview (enabling the ruler to understand what his astrologers were telling him, but not necessarily giving him enough technical information to perform the operations himself).”50 Nonetheless, the contrast with the “Treatise” is telling. The “Treatise” completely excludes unorthodox astromancy and concerns itself only with providing an overview of astral prognostication suitable for a universal empire,

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Major et al., Huainanzi, 111. But see Donald Harper’s observation above (at n. 4) about the technical sophistication required to understand the chapter.

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perhaps implicitly asserting sole authority to interpret such knowledge.51 In the “Treatise” we observe an unmistakable transition in outlook from outdated conceptions to a new interpretive paradigm, an assertive imperial macroastrology in tune with the policies of the scholar-officials. This new heuristic is indicative of the crucial shift in political ideology from the old multivalent perspective to a unified imperial outlook. The stark difference in power and outlook shown by the exchange between the king of Dongping and the imperial court may be just a pale reflection of the ideological gulf separating the noble courts and the imperial center a century earlier, in Liu An’s time. In the first century of the Han dynasty, the threat posed by the vestigial ‘feudal’ system was a perennial preoccupation at the highest levels of the official bureaucracy since it was ‘vestigial’ only in the institutional sense—in early Han the kingdoms controlled as much as two-thirds of the territory of the empire. The Huainanzi provides, as if still relevant, a retrospective account of the astral-terrestrial correspondences of the preimperial age with its multiplicity of aristocratic kingdoms. No doubt, this corresponded better to Liu An’s pluralistic, laissez-faire vision for the subcelestial realm; Liu An, of course, was a strong proponent of the primacy of imperial family ties.52 It may be, as Griet Vankeerberghen suggests, that there were topics that the Huainanzi’s editors suppressed as too politically sensitive. But this does not appear to be the case with astral prognostication, since in the ‘new world order’ of the early empire astrological precedents from the Warring States or Spring and Autumn periods might easily have been cited for illustrative purposes, as they are in the “Treatise.” In view of this omission of astral prognostication in the Huainanzi, its lengthy treatment of astrocalendrics in the “Heavenly Patterns” chapter is all the more noteworthy, for as Joseph Needham observed 51

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In view of Sima Qian’s admiration for Dong Zhongshu, the complete absence from the “Treatise” of any reference to Heaven’s benevolent intent in displaying admonishment in the heavens is a little surprising. Perhaps this is a legacy of Sima Tan’s influence. The closest Sima Qian comes to revealing humanistic concern is a brief passage in his final summation (Sima Qian, Shiji, “Tianguan shu,” 27.1350): “If there is a solar anomaly, practice virtue; if there is a lunar anomaly, reduce punishments; if there is a planetary anomaly, join in harmony. In all cases of celestial anomalies, if the [regular] measures are overstepped, then prognosticate. . . . The ultimate superior cultivates virtue, the next level practices [good] government, the next level carries out relief efforts, the next level conducts sacrificial rituals, below that nothing [is prognosticated].” As Griet Vankeerberghen shows (chapter 10, this volume), however, the Huainanzi should not be read as advocating political decentralization. Rather, “the Huainanzi’s editors are sending a self-interested message to the ruler in Chang’an, urging him to adopt a policy of openness and inclusiveness toward the lord-kings rather than to continue to adhere to policies inherited from Qin.”

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owing to the close association between the calendar and State power, any imperial bureaucracy was likely to view with alarm the activities of independent investigators of the stars, or writers about them, since they might be secretly engaged upon calendrical calculations which could be of use to rebels interested in setting up a new dynasty.53 As they stand, the two works are representative of their respective intellectual and philosophical contexts. In terms of a vision of empire, and from the perspective of heavenly pattern reading, the two give the impression of being addressed to quite different constituencies. The Huainanzi is literary, philosophical, comprehensive, and eclectic, aimed at a wide literate audience, among whom clan relatives and peers no doubt figured importantly.54 Moreover, as we have seen, the Huainanzi’s treatment of the arts of divination and prognostication hews much more closely to texts like “Xing-De” than does the “Treatise,” again suggesting popular appeal to the intellectual and social milieu of the former rather than to the upper echelons of officialdom. The “Treatise,” in contrast, is bureaucratic, focused, specialized, and specifically responsive to the ideological and political concerns of the imperial court. Among those concerns, the military preoccupations of the day surely figured prominently, as shown by the high percentage of prognostics pertaining to armed conflict. If it was the young Emperor Wu whom Liu An had sought to impress (although, ultimately, it was the court erudites who passed judgment on the utility of his “Heavenly Patterns”), perhaps it is hardly surprising that, although his opus found favor as a sophisticated literary and philosophical compendium, it nevertheless failed to distinguish him as qualified for imperial office.

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Joseph Needham and Wang Ling, Science and Civilisation in China, vol. 3, Mathematics and the Sciences of the Heavens and the Earth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959), 193. One need only recall the service Liu Xin 劉歆 (d. 23 BCE) rendered to Wang Mang 王莽 (45 BCE–23 CE) in this connection. As John S. Major observed, “Liu An’s state . . . followed a different civil calendar from that of the Han imperial state . . . the use of the Xia sequence might have been an overt political act on Liu An’s part” (Major, Heaven and Earth in Early Han Thought, 21). As Judson B. Murray points out (chapter 9, this volume), “an important historical and rhetorical purpose of composing the Huainanzi and presenting it in this manner was to convince the Han emperorship of the contribution that imperial relatives can and do make to the cause of empire. Its favorable reception in the intellectual and political environs of the first century of Han imperial rule would have aided Liu An in preserving the relative independence of his kingdom and his authority as its lord.”

chapter 7

A Note on Logical Connectives in the Huainanzi Michael Nylan

The Problem: Of Particles and Meaning

Over the course of the last century, scholars of early China have conducted a series of lively debates over whether ‘logic’ existed at all in early China, and, if so, what form logic typically assumed there.1 Agreeing with Roger Ames that “the main problem when reading longer . . . Chinese arguments is that one . . . does not know where an arguments starts and where it ends,”2 I took my first task in reading chapter 7, “Jing shen” 精神, of the Huainanzi to be to figure out the best way to divide the chapter into manageable units that might approximate modern English sections and paragraphs. An inability to parse the text would surely signal an inability to understand the internal logic and rhetorical moves of the text. Particle usage seemed as obvious a place to start as vocabulary when thinking about semantic divisions at the level of sentences, paragraphs, and sections, and, as luck would have it, particle usages in this particular chapter proved to be excellent guideposts for the internal organization of the text. A modicum of attention paid to particle usage quickly allowed the chapter to divide itself into seven discrete semantic units, as each section displayed at least one distinctive pattern—and usually more—with respect to particle usage, grammatical patterns, and vocabulary. Even more notably, not only does each section in the “Jing shen” chapter rely upon separate features to convey its main points, but also the repetition of the distinctive features within a section lends an air of logic to the occasionally puzzling rhetorical moves of the “Jing shen” chapter’s argument. Whether that air was created through conscious manipulation or unconscious association, we cannot hope to know at this remove in time, and that means that the intentions 1 Two of the more famous contributions on this issue are Hu Shi 胡適 (1891–1962), The Development of the Logical Method in Ancient China (Shanghai: Oriental Book Company, 1922); and Chad Hansen, Language and Logic in Ancient China (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1983). I dedicate this essay to Sarah Queen, who has been a particularly fine and patient editor. 2 Roger Ames, The Art of Rulership: A Study of Ancient Chinese Political Thought (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994), 168.

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of the “Jing shen” compilers equally elude us. Nonetheless, the traces of early compositional practices to be found in the received text cannot fail to interest us. My goal in this essay is to explore the issue of textual composition in the “Jing shen” at the microlevel to open a discussion about larger questions: How did the Western Han compilers of the Huainanzi chapters construct compelling arguments on the basis of earlier traditions, including the Wenzi and parts of the Zhuangzi, apparently.3 And how did people of the time listen to and expect to receive texts (oral or transcribed)? Also can one easily understand the principal subject of the chapter, the therapeutic value of ‘nourishing the [regulating] xin 心,’ by reference to the terms familiar from TCM (the modern version of traditional Chinese medicine), which defines jing 精 or jingshen 精 神 as ‘refined and distilled qi 氣’? Modern readers are invited to take away five points from this essay, the first deconstructive and the last four constructive. First, the standard translations of some particles that function as logical connectives often do not work well when translating texts from classical Chinese into English. Second, we can learn quite a bit about reading and writing practices in early China if we pay closer attention to the construction of an argument, as well as its exact wording and word order. Third, citation practices in the text, including the absence of citation markers such as yue 曰 or yun 云, should interest students of the preprinting era. Fourth, logical connections are often established in early performance texts, such as the Huainanzi, through a variety of methods other than logical deduction, for example, the repetition of word clusters, adherence to a common theme, the frequent citation of well-known stories from the past whose import is widely accepted, and the dramatic resort to rhetorical questions. Fifth, much of the difficulty in interpreting the “Jing shen” chapter stems from the general assumption that its text must ‘fit’ cosmological and medical

3 The borrowings are taken principally, apparently, from the “Jiu shou” 九守 chapter of the Wenzi, the Lüshi chunqiu, and seven chapters of the Zhuangzi, as noted in Yang Shuda 楊 樹達, Huainanzi zhengwen 證聞 (Beijing: Zhongguo kexueyuan, 1953), juan 3, pp. 43–50. That the Huainanzi borrows from the Zhuangzi (rather than the reverse) seems clear, as the Huainanzi consistently provides abbreviated versions of the Zhuangzi passages. It is possible, of course, that both the Huainanzi and either the Wenzi or the Zhuangzi borrow from a third early source (no longer extant), but that possibility seems less strong now that we have an excavated text of the Wenzi that dates to the pre-Qin period. For further information, see Paul van Els, “The Wenzi: Creation and Manipulation of a Chinese Philosophical Text” (PhD diss., Leiden University, 2006). The original excavation report is Wenwu 1995.12, 27–40.

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notions attested for the late Western Han,4 but some part of that difficulty, at least, disappears once readers focus on the relation between three expressions: xing 形 (‘bodily forms,’ including the skeleton, the Five Organ Systems,5 and the bodily cavities through which the breath circulates), qi 氣 (‘breath,’ which carries energy), and jing or jingshen (animating spirit). Readers who refuse to read anachronistically will locate an unusual, but not necessarily illogical, style of rhetoric in chapter 7 of the Huainanzi.6 Therefore, at the risk of boring readers familiar with the “Jing shen” chapter, I offer my own synopsis and analysis of the chapter, since it departs from the recent Columbia University Press translation in a few key respects, as readers will discover.

Synopsis of the Chapter Contents

Section 17 poses the central problem examined in the chapter: the world being as it is, ‘How are we, despite this, then to survive’ (wo shang he cun 我尚何存)? To fully pose the problem, the section opens with a picture of primeval time 4 See Michael Nylan, “Yin-yang, Five Phases, and qi,” in China’s Early Empires: A Reappraisal, supplement to The Cambridge History of China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 398–414. 5 Note that these organ systems (called ‘orbs’ in Harold D. Roth’s translation in John S. Major, Sarah A. Queen, Andrew Seth Meyer, and Harold D. Roth, trans., The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China, Translations from the Asian Classics [New York: Columbia University Press, 2010]), and especially the xin, are envisioned as ‘storage places,’ or cang 藏, for the jing that regulates the qi, if all functions are working. 6 I am indebted to two short essays (neither completely worked out) for alerting me to the importance of this vocabulary issue: Lu Geng 陸耿, “Qiantan Huainanzi de yangsheng guan” 浅談淮南子的養生觀, Huainan shifan xueyuan xuebao 淮南師範學院學報 50.10 (April 2008): 29–31; and Wang Yundu 王云度, “Huainanzi lun yangsheng” 淮南子論養生, Nandu xuetan (zhexue shehui kexue ban) 南都學壇:哲學社會科學版 15 (April 1995): 7–10, 54. Meanwhile Mori Mikisaburō 森三樹三郎, Jōko yori Kandai ni itaru seimeikan no tenkai: Jinseiron to unmeikan no rekishi (Tokyo: Sōbunsha, 1971), 138–45, notes that xing 性 in the Huainanzi seldom refers to ‘nature’ and usually means ‘life’ (xingming 性命; shengming 生 命 in modern Chinese). I believe it is equally misleading to translate xin as ‘mind,’ since no absolute mind-body split existed anywhere, East or West, prior to Descartes. Throughout, I translate xin as ‘heart.’ 7 From the beginning of the chapter to 7/55/16. All references are to the edition of the Huainanzi in D. C. Lau and Chen Fong Ching, eds., Huainanzi zhuzi suoyin 淮南 子逐字 索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1992), cited in the format ‘chapter/page’ in CHANT/line(s).

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long before the existence of human beings, or even the phenomenal world as we know it (‘heaven-and-earth’), when only undifferentiated unity existed in a murky darkness. From that state “without images and without forms” (wei xiang wuxing 惟像無形),8 there evolved, by the classic cosmogonic sequence found in late Zhanguo and Han texts, first the two shen 神 (which I identify as heaven and earth, not yin and yang qi, contra Gao You’s commentary)9 and then the early world of forms, which then subdivides itself repeatedly until the myriad things of phenomenal existence emerge. The chapter further divides that world of forms into two main classes of beings with visible form: the things with ‘encumbered’ ( fan 煩) energies, into which class falls the earth, skeletal creatures, and their body parts, versus the things composed of concentrated ( jing 精) animating energies, into which class falls heaven and the human xin 心 (the affective organ that somehow regulates and correlates perceptual data and then produces thoughts, feelings, and inclinations). Initially, this twofold classification seems to rest on the chapter’s conflation of the binome jingqi 精氣 (‘refined or concentrated qi’) with the binome jingshen 精神 (‘concentrated animating spirit’). But that appearance is misleading, for the entire chapter never discusses jingqi, only jing plus qi, as two parts of humans, the animating spirit and the breath that fills the cavities; jing and jingshen seem synonymous, by contrast, insofar as they refer to the same part of human beings, with that part sometimes envisioned as an indwelling god who must be induced to reside within the person as its departure means certain death. The opening section’s characterization of the divide between encumbered and unencumbered energies (qi) then looks internally consistent, for jing and qi represent two diverging yet complementary paths, having two separate origins in heaven and earth. As they partake of both heaven-andearth (heaven’s tranquility and earth’s stability), humans have both animated

8 Wuxing is often abbreviated as wu 無; wu never means ‘nonbeing’ before the advent of Buddhism. Here mindful of the cosmogonic sequence stipulated in many Zhanguo and Han texts, I part company with the translations that read “there were only images” instead of the variant “there were no images.” Also, I follow Yang Shuda, Huainanzi zhengwen, 43, in reading the phrase wei xiang as ‘without image,’ contra Roth’s translation, in large part because Yang’s reading more closely comports with the standard Han cosmogonic sequence, as found in many texts, including the Han apocrypha. 9 Gao You’s gloss is simply wrong, as reference to the text itself proves, for the emergence of er shen 二神 (indicating some form of deified Heaven and Earth) predates the emergence of yin and yang qi by some time, as indicated by the use of the particle nai 乃 in the Huainanzi cosmogonic sequence.

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or animating spirits and bodily forms, also refined and encumbered energies.10 Man, as one—perhaps the only one?—of the myriad things to partake of both heaven and earth, must model himself on both if he is to live out his allotted days. (I say ‘man’ here because the compilers of the essay doubtless had in mind male members of the governing elite, almost certainly the ruler himself.)11 If man recognizes this fundamental truth, he has a chance to flourish. If he does not, he has no chance. The sages are sages because they recognized that, like all of the “thousands of limbs and tens of thousands of leaves,” they must follow the predispositions that were determined at their origins.12 To underscore the foregoing lesson, the second half of section 1 depicts man as the microcosm of heaven-and-earth, demonstrating this via both the formal process of fetal development over ten months and in the configuration of the principal body parts.13 Many examples are adduced as proofs, including the statement that “the roundness of the human head takes the image of heaven and the squareness of feet takes the image of earth.” Such examples lead the compilers to assert, “In this way human beings form a triad with heaven-andearth [i.e., the cosmos], in which the heart (xin) acts as ruler and regulator for it [the microcosm].”14 Even the emotions supposedly take their model from the operations of heaven—wind, rain, cold, and heat—presumably because the xin, just like heaven, is especially sensitive, being composed of finer stuff (not to be equated with breath or qi, though the emotions act upon breath). Thus, section 1 of the “Jing shen” chapter defines man’s potential in terms of divergent, if potentially complementary, impulses that mirror, respond to, and form part of the vast cosmic operations themselves. The chapter, perhaps, has not adequately prepared the listener/reader for these two conclusions; it can assert these conclusions because they represent the common wisdom of the time.15 Section 1 needs to accomplish three aims: (a) to provide a bridge between preceding chapters in the book and the contents of this chapter, (b) to establish the bona fides of the compilers, as men of erudition and practical wisdom, 10

11 12 13 14

15

A second hierarchy is quickly introduced besides the vertical one of heaven versus earth: that of external and internal (which vary in their characteristic modes of operation, as the chapter shows). I suspect that the chapter’s appeal to the ruler is one reason why it makes such heavy and continual use of the instrumental yi 以. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/55/7–10. The second half of section 1 begins 故曰一生二. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/55/14. For the sake of convenience, I will speak of compilers, but the precise circumstances of the compilation, including whether there was one compiler or many, are unknown. See Ames, The Art of Rulership.

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and (c) to introduce the key vocabulary of the chapter, defining it in ways that will lead naturally to the later discussion. Accordingly, section 1 therefore takes as its subject the ‘basis’ (ben 本) or ‘root’ (gen 根) of the phenomenal world that is the subject of earlier chapters in the Huainanzi, positing the origin of all things in the ultimately unknowable realm ‘without form,’ the better to explain the invisible yet powerful character of the jingshen 精神 (concentrated animating spirit) in the body. Section 216 outlines the central corollary of the problem sketched in section 1: even heaven in its vastness must restrict its brilliance, so that the sun and moon do not light up the sky at the same time. Naturally enough, man—and here again the compilers were probably speaking not of ordinary men but of the ‘one man,’ the ruler with pretensions to unparalleled greatness—must likewise husband his resources carefully, avoiding the profligate employment of his senses. (Lesser men run still greater risks insofar as they have fewer resources than the ruler and are less like heaven to begin with, being less exalted and perhaps of lesser stuff.) Each sensory contact—seeing, tasting, hearing, smelling, and touching—represents a movement, or ‘going out,’ of some quantity of qi 氣 from the physical body, for this contact or exchange between the qi at the source of a sensory percept and the qi issuing from the bodily part perceiving it is what makes for the sensation and consequent awareness of that sensation in the first place. However, each movement of qi out of the body risks leakage from that finite fund believed to circulate within the body. Thus, the desires, drives, or appetites to make contact with the outside world must be reduced to a minimum, lest frequent ‘goings out’ so deplete the store of blood and qi within the organ systems that the systems cannot supply further energy and strength.17 So long as wise men see to it that the blood and qi do not often leak, the senses will remain acute (though it is not clear what they will be seeing or hearing, aside from the interior processes of the physical person, perhaps). The welter of details delivered throughout the section, combined with the frequent resort to negatives, prepares the listener/reader for the idea that simply refraining from activity is not enough to sustain health. For how well the body operates and how well it retains qi depend chiefly upon how well the xin operates, and the xin must be full, if it is to exert appropriate control over the Five Organ Systems, which ideally serve and promote the xin’s activities as ‘its subordinates.’ The organ systems, in turn, then regulate the perceptual contacts that lead to the arousal of desires. If for any reason the organ systems defy the xin, refusing to do its bidding, the animating spirit, which prefers to 16 17

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/55/18–56/8. Blood is also conceived of as a type of qi.

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make its abode in a tranquil xin, will flee the body, its rightful place, on an analogy with the ruler of a rebellious state forced to abandon his realm. Once the xin experiences such internal loss, it relinquishes all control over its many subordinates. In response, the five senses become overactive, and the appetites, drives, and desires run amuck, especially at the bodily apertures (五藏 能屬於心而無乖，則疖志勝而行不僻矣. 則精神盛而氣不散矣. . . . 五 藏搖動而不定，則血氣滔蕩而不休矣。血氣滔蕩而不休，則精神馳 騁於外而不守矣). Accordingly, the qi floods out, even though ‘the chest and belly must be full’ of blood and qi if there is to be any hope of putting or keeping sensory equipment in optimal condition by eliminating or reducing some appetites and desires,18 as appropriate. Once cares and troubles enter in, the xin is forced to work overtime, which means that the qi will eventually disperse. Then the downward spiral begins: the person, being hollowed out at the core, will find it harder to marshal the requisite attention to the conservation of his energies; the fullness that permits the exercise of godlike regulatory powers will have given way to a vacuum or depleted state, especially noticeable at the apertures, given that these apertures are as structurally weak as doors and gates in a building.19 A gradual buildup leading to restoration of the full powers is therefore advisable to remedy this dire situation. In this way, proper functioning of the body (called ‘harmony,’ or he 和) becomes both the impetus for and the result of the person’s conservation of energies. By definition, proper functioning requires that the bodily processes be stable (ding 定). Therefore, section 2 presents a stark choice: either a person continues to interact with the world through the senses, leaving the physical body liable to all sorts of mental and physical disabilities, exacerbated by the agitation caused by likes and dislikes or the prospect of good or ill fortune, or the person sustains health and promotes longevity by a decision to disengage from the world. Hence the paradoxes “The more you seek, the less you get; / the more you see, the less you understand”20 and “The farther you go, the less you know.”21 The last line of the section gives a summation of the section’s arguments: “Lusts and desires cause the qi of humankind to dissipate; / likes and 18 19

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/55/8. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/55/27. The text implies this but does not clearly state it. Significantly, the apertures include the ears, eyes, and nose, which are the key avenues through which the sensory percepts come. As section 2 says, “Worries and cares cannot enter and aberrant vital energy cannot seep in” if the powers are kept in optimal condition. See Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/55/24. 20 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/55/26. 21 Ibid.

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dislikes cause the human xin to tire. If you do not quickly rid yourself of them [the impulses that give rise to problems], your attention and vital energy will be wasted, day after day.”22 The farsighted person will see to it that he does not allow himself—and, specifically, his qi—to be driven or worn out (hao 耗) by his desires and appetites or judged by his evaluative faculties lest he deplete his limited store of qi. Section 323 opens with a simple rhetorical question: Why, if all of this is known, do people not seek to live out their days? Why do they let themselves be cut down at such a young age, arranging, in effect, their own executions?24 It answers the commonsensical question with a paradox: “People die early because they set too much store upon living; only those who act aimlessly in life will live long.”25 The section never really tries to prove this assertion, presumably because such a statement is not liable to rational proof. Instead, the section adopts different tactics. It first explains that since Oneness (with a capital ‘O,’ meaning the Dao) and singularity (i.e., each aspect of phenomenal existence) share an identity (in both senses of the word), the latter being but emanations issuing from the Dao at certain times and places, it should hardly matter to humans whether they live or die, since nothing can be added or subtracted from that sublime infinity constituted by the cosmic Dao. Section 3 then suggests—more convincingly—that we as humans cannot know whether “life is just servitude; and death, a respite from life’s toils.”26 If such is indeed the case, death may actually be preferable to life. The section goes on to say, again quite plausibly, that the unfathomable One (conceived as cosmic regulator and dubbed ‘the Fashioner’) does not particularly care about any singular aspect of itself. The potter’s utter indifference to the slab of clay he works to produce different sorts of forms shows that the cosmic Fashioner has no special affection for humans in general or, by implication, the ruler in particular.27 A fourth contention seeks to show life and death as equivalents. 22 23 24

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/56/8. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/56/10–57/6. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/56/10. One can understand the phrasing yu xing chuo 於刑戳 only as a metaphor, something like ‘going to the chopping block.’ The people are leaving themselves open to violence because of their own actions. 25 Ibid. 26 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/56/16. 27 A noteworthy fact is that although heaven’s various moods (wind, rain, cold, heat) are described earlier as the origin and ultimate model for the human emotions (see above, citing Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/55/12–14), heaven is expressly said here itself to be devoid of all emotions; “it couldn’t care less” (wu yi yi 無所以異) about whatever happens to humans (Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/56/23, 7/56/25 [2×]).

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As with certain passages in the Zhuangzi devoted to death, the argument here seems tactical, the goal being to urge an idea usefully entertained by the listener/reader too inclined to nerves. For if life and death are truly equal, as the fourth proposition insists, there is no conceivable reason why a person should ever seek to prevent the leakage of vital blood and qi.28 Clearly, the “Jing shen” chapter advocates the adoption of a strategy: by reducing the importance of death, we may well reduce our anxieties, in which event we will prolong our lives, according to this account of things.29 The end of the section returns finally to two earlier refrains: first, that the emotions, appetites, and drives are harmful, both because they skew the basic character of things and because they encumber the affects and percepts needlessly; and second, that the heart is ‘ruler’ of the form, and the animating spirit that enlivens the heart is a treasure worth preserving.30 Hence, the sage devotes special care to both his heart and the spirit; since the xin represents the dwelling place for the spirit, if it is damaged the animating spirit will be forced to flee the body. Section 431 builds nicely upon section 3. Whereas section 3 briefly praised the sage (aka the Perfected Man) as a paragon of virtue for “securing his position . . . [and] taking pleasure in his tasks” (an qi wei . . . le qi ye 安其位 . . . 樂 其業), section 4 provides a lengthy description of how the sage, or Perfected Man, operates in the world. Because perfection is hard to capture in words, the detailed description of the Perfected Man (the ruler’s model in all things) takes the form of a via negativa, outlining what the ideal model does not do. The section then offers a statement denouncing as inadequate the physical exercises designed to increase longevity. Supposedly, these physical exercises do little to make the xin more receptive to the true tasks involved in the more important process of ‘nourishing life,’ which is to permit the xin to be enviably ‘smooth’ and ‘flexible’ (hua 滑).32 Nor do ascetic practices induce better functioning 28

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Finally in this section we learn why heaven-and-earth, i.e., the cosmos, is sometimes the model (as with the model for balance), and sometimes only heaven (since life is active and death not, humans should live their lives in accordance with heaven, and in death they will resemble earth). This argument is built from such lines as “Desire life but do not strive for it. / Detest death but do not refuse it” (Huainanzi 7/56/17). Cf. Huainanzi 7/56/10–11. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/57/3, 7/57/5. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/57/6–58/10, not long after Roth’s section 7.6 (Major et al., Huainanzi). Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/56/25. That hua xin 滑心 must connote the proper functioning of the heart is shown in section 2 (Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/56/4). My reading contradicts some others, since I read ruo 若 as “as for X,” indicating a major contrast between two groups, the classicists and the Perfected Men. (Later, near the end of the chapter, in s­ ection 6,

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of the xin by way of making it more attuned to heaven. We may not ever fully understand the processes that the spirit undergoes, but it should be evident from the fact that the body dies while the spirit does not itself ‘taste death’ (chang hua 嘗化) that one cannot use something from one realm, that of death and transformation (phenomenal existence), to address matters belonging to quite another realm that is both prior to phenomenal existence and infusing it with animation.33 It is far better, then, to not risk too much detachment of the body from the spirit and instead undertake the safe course called ‘the fasting of the xin,’ whose goal is to quiet the heart. The section ends with a final reassurance: what animates form is not identical with the form. So the bodily person may die, but what animates him will live on. For that reason, the living need not be fearful or deluded. “The masses take these as empty words, but I cite [historical] examples in order to give these views some substance.”34 The foregoing argument seems eminently well suited to addresses made to the ruler, who is hardly likely to want to attempt any strict regimen when he can instead more profitably ‘fast with the xin’ to attain a physical form of some longevity and a spirit that is everlasting and immutable. Still, this section slips into the conjecture that the shen 神 may be eternal, even if the body is not. For reasons explained below, this sort of indefensible assertion tends to

33

34

the phrase ruo fu zhi ren 若夫至人 is used in precisely the same way, to alert the reader to the contrasting features in two groups.) My reading, contrary to some other readings, stresses the distinction between the crude yangxing 養形 people and the true yangsheng 養生/性 adherents, with the former attending only to the externals (e.g., the body) and the latter attending to the xin. For support of my reading, I look to the lines “The pace of walking does not change for the person afflicted with wind-induced disorders (lai 癩) that appear on the body; the bodily form of the madman is not diminished.” These lines suggest that damage to the corporeal form does not affect energy, nor does damage to the xin necessarily reveal itself in the form. The two function somewhat independently for certain purposes. Presumably, the crazy man is seen to have left behind some of his person somewhere, as his spirit has gone traveling outside the body too often or too violently. For the identification of lai 癞, see Angela Ki Che Leung, Leprosy in China, a History (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009), esp. 20–24. Below I translate lai as ‘leper,’ but the term refers to a much wider range of diseases. I read some very difficult lines in this section differently from Harold Roth. For support, I take the lines “Now the death of a tree is a function of its greenness having left it. Now what makes a tree live is surely not the tree itself!” Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/58/10. Of course, few critical modern readers will regard these examples as fully ‘historical,’ but I suspect that early Chinese readers, like the early Greeks whom Paul Veyne describes, believed and did not believe these figures once lived on earth. See Veyne’s Did the Greeks Believe in Their Myths? An Essay on the Constitutive Imagination, trans. Paul Wissing (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988), esp. chaps. 1–3.

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be i­ ntroduced by the repeated use of fu, as if saying, ‘Now, as we all know,’ will persuade the listener/reader that the truth of this assertion not only can be known but is already known by others. The good rhetoricians have set out the bait—and the resort to new particles can only aid this stratagem. The section then ends with an emphatic claim for the authority of the compilers of the chapter: 眾人以為虛言，吾將舉類而實之 The multitudes consider this to be empty talk, but we are going to raise analogies to lend [this theory] substance and weight. [literal trans.]35 Notably, the rhetoricians’ flesh out the chapter’s arguments by alluding to a host of legendary and semilegendary figures—figures so well known that their stories and their significance need not be explained at length. If section 4 has persuaded those in power that little benefit is to be had from ‘huffing and puffing’ or denying themselves bodily pleasures, Section 536 seeks to disabuse rulers of their commonplace ideas about the exercise of power. As the text says, “The reason people think they would find it a pleasure to rule others is because they believe they could then fulfill every sensual desire and have everything that promotes their body’s ease.”37 In other words, ill-informed and unthinking people want to be rulers because they equate holding that position with having endless opportunities to indulge themselves in every conceivable luxury. But the contrary is true, according to the text. A ruler can do himself a big favor if he forgoes such expensive luxuries as high towers, rare foods, embroideries, and furs. This section, more than any other, makes it clear that the principal addressee of the essay must be a ruler or, at the very least, an extremely powerful person within the governing elite. To replace these mistaken ideas that equate power with the continual satisfaction of one’s whims and appetites, the section launches quickly into a series of anecdotes about the legendary sage-kings Yao and Yu, who purportedly ‘knew when to stop,’ before citing similar legends about figures who are less well known today: Huzi 壺子, teacher of Laozi 老子; Ziqiu 子求, a character in the Zhuangzi; Yanzi, the influential minister of Qi; Xu You 許由, who refused to accept the empire; Yanling Jizi 延陵季子, who refused to accept the state of Wu; and others. Each of these exemplary figures knew how to correctly evaluate things; each 35 36 37

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/58/10. Section 5 runs from Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/58/12 to 7/59/10. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/58/12.

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saw that more possessions did not necessarily profit—and might absolutely harm—the integrity of the body.38 Some of them went so far as to conclude that ‘life itself is not worth coveting.’ The implication of these pseudo- or semihistorical examples is clear: some powerful men have realized this in the past, so rulers and ministers today clearly have the capacity to attain an understanding sufficient to disregard the things of this world that inevitably shorten life and entangle the xin. Section 5 ends by listing for the sake of the listener/reader the four perceived goods whose pursuit is thought to motivate members of the governing elite: (a) supreme honor or fame, (b) great wealth, (c) possession of an empire, and (d) preservation of the physical body. The desire to achieve one or more of these aims impedes the sort of clear thinking about the ‘supreme meaning’ or the Greater Words (i.e., those that teach a person how to conserve the qi that is vital to every human project) that is needed if the person in power is to live out his allotted days ‘unencumbered’ and so in true control of his person. “Not to be drawn to material things” is the first step, and “to act without purpose” (wuwei 無為) is that much better.39 Section 640 castigates the benighted practices of ‘nowadays’ ( jin 今) or those ‘right at this time’ (dang ci zhi shi 當此之時), sending strong signals that the essay is about to leave the realm of the theoretical and enter the realm of practical prescriptions. As is common with early Chinese rhetorical pieces (not to mention the classical Greek and Latin ones), the rhetoricians can assume that examples dredged up from a legendary past do have relevance to the present day. However, the essay charges the professional classicists, the Ru 儒, with being no better than the crudest village pot-bangers, they being no less ignorant of the basic facts outlined in the essay. Unlike the sages, who identified ‘what was enough’ to sustain themselves, the classicists always want more. Yet they end up with less, as is only right and proper in the cosmic scheme of things. Furthermore, in reciting their Odes and Documents, the classicists introduce rituals and luxuries to the common people that tend to make them discontented with their lot in life. As with earlier sections, this section insists that the preservation of life’s energies is more precious than possession of the empire, not to mention lesser considerations. “Honor, position, riches, and profit are what people covet,” admittedly, but even an arrant fool should know

38 39 40

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/58/11–23. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/59/3. Section 6 runs from Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/59/10 (今夫) to 7/60/26 (to 不能讓也).

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enough not to kill himself to obtain one of these perceived goods. Clearly, life is more valuable than anything else.41 Section 6 elaborates the preceding argument in several ways. It briefly reiterates the proposition that the sage, by definition, is he who knows what is enough, before going on to describe the classicist as someone who knows enough to forbid excess but does not understand the nature of desire, see the necessity to quit overtaxing his xin, or identify the source of true and abiding pleasure.42 And, if additional proof were needed of the inferiority of the Ru Way, historical examples can supply it, the “Jing shen” compilers insist. Yan Hui 顏回 died young, Ji Lu 季路was pickled, Zixia 子夏 lost his eyesight, Ran Boniu 冉伯牛 was a leper, and Zengzi 曾子 continually was at war with himself. Thus, even the members of the closest inner circle of Kongzi himself did not know better than to force themselves to live awful, constrained lives. How much less likely is it, then, that their latter-day followers have understood how to strengthen their bodies and live out their days? By contrast, the Perfected People find that everything suits them so they never need deny themselves. Equally to the point, they find that they can satisfy their needs with very little because their persons are in such good functioning order. For example, “the repose supplied by a long night’s sleep is incomparably better than a momentary pleasure.”43 To contrast—explicitly and implicitly—the pointless or harmful practices typical of the classicists and the practices of wiser men who understand more about the ways of the world in general and the body’s functioning in particular, section 6 also insists that what the classicists identify as ‘old practices’ are not really of antique origin. The benighted practices of ‘today’ (jin 今) and ‘our era’ (dang ci zhi shi 黨此之時)44 only draw attention to the better men of past eras who are mentioned in the earlier sections 4 and 5. As section 6 has raised the issue of timing, section 745 can convey the most urgent message that there is no time to be lost for the ruler. The dire warning perforce is issued to the ruler of men, for the more the ruler has in his possession, the more he stands to lose by unwise behavior. Not surprisingly, the five historical examples supplied in this section all tell of rulers who lost everything 41 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/60/18. 42 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/60/13. 43 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/59/27. 44 For jin, see Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/59/10, 7/59/18, 7/59/25, 7/60/13. For dang ci zhi shi, see 7/59/25, 7/59/27. There is but one other occurrence of jin in the chapter and no other occurrences of dang ci zhi shi. 45 Section 7 begins with 7/60/26 and continues to the end of the chapter.

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due to their own misjudgments, which “in every single instance acted purposively to gain things [best] not desired” (未嘗非為非欲).46 In their greed for short-term advantage or minor possessions, they ended up forfeiting both their kingdoms and their own lives. Then, as if to add insult to injury, they failed to see that they themselves were to blame for their own misfortunes. Since the emotions and drives fire people up, the rulers to all intents and purposes ‘added boiling water to a raging boil’ (故以湯止沸，沸乃不止), multiplying their problems by foolishly ‘taking themselves’—not the cosmos—as ‘the measure’ of all things, rather than guarding against the attractions of nonessential things and experiences.47 Predictably enough, these obtuse rulers had no idea how to improve their situations. Instead, they made things much, much worse. Again, the ruler or extremely powerful person must be the intended audience or reader of this essay. Near the end of the section, this is made even clearer by the conventional analogy constructed between the archer and charioteer, on the one hand, and rulers, on the other: In archery, it is not the arrow’s fault when it fails to hit the target. . . . In charioteering, it is not the reins’ fault when the chariot does not go.48 Proverbs illustrating disaster alternate with archetypically disastrous rulers. Clearly, the ruler is meant to see that he is equally in charge of the health of the body politic and the care of his own precious body. The compilers’ decision to offer therapeutic advice requires the “Jing shen” chapter to keep the allied topics both in continual play, and so the chapter ends with an implicit answer to the larger question posed at the chapter’s beginning, “How then are we, despite this [propensity due to the fundamentally mixed nature of human beings], to survive?” (wo shang he cun), but directing the question to the ruler alone. The chapter concludes with snippets of proverbial wisdom that reveal who is in charge and what will or will not ‘be of use’ to the person49 and that also remind the listener/reader of the paradoxical nature of the body’s operations. In essence, the “Jing shen” chapter poses in every section one or more rhetorical questions, before answering them in the last two sections, which detail, 46

47 48 49

Yang Shuda, Huainanzi zhengwen, 50, believes the second fei to be an interpolation; I have therefore deleted it. Roth reads a parallel instead: “they have never not acted selfishly and not desired [for themselves],” which seems less likely to me. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/60/29. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/60/30. Charioteering is the single metaphor used both for the human drives and for governing a subject population. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/60/25.

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respectively, a failed method for resolving the problem and the correct solution. The chapter represents a significant contribution to the literature devoted to explaining how the ruler can learn ‘to give [lasting] pleasure to himself’ (zile 自樂), even as he endeavors to prolong his life and strengthen his state. In my reading, the “Jing shen” chapter neatly distinguishes yangxing 養形 (‘nourishing the body’) from yangxing 養性 (‘nourishing life’) or yangxin 養心 (‘nourishing the heart’s [indwelling god], by quietude’), dubbing the first useless at best and destructive at worst. It further argues that ‘to know what is enough’ is sufficient to free oneself from the conventional encumbrances that damage health and well-being, as well as the ruling line and state.50 If he successfully emulates the Fashioner of things (zaohuazhe 造化者), meaning the Dao, the wise ruler may learn how to promote the hua 化 that is properly transformative while minimizing the hua that means death. In general, the foregoing synopsis does not hugely contradict Harold Roth’s introduction to his translation of the “Jing shen” chapter, which divides the chapter into four, rather than seven, sections: (1) a ‘brief reprise’ of the cosmological schema that has figured largely in the preceding chapters of the Huainanzi; (2) an introduction of the notion of jingshen as the single animating force in the body; (3) a discussion of several categories of human perfection, including True Men (zhenren 真人), sages, and Perfected Persons (zhiren 至人), that dismisses the standard longevity techniques (e.g., the ‘huffing and puffing’) and excoriates the Ru; and (4) a final section devoted to rulers who came to a bad end by not curbing their desires. Still, my analysis of particle and formulae usage, as well as my suggestions for the sectioning and paragraphing of the chapter, requires divergences from Roth’s vision of the chapter and also from that conveyed by the ICS Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series edition edited by D. C. Lau. Detailing such divergences, however, may obscure an even more important point: that the synopsis I prepared gives little idea of how often the “Jing shen” chapter fails to sustain a rational (i.e., logically deductive) form of argumentation. This is true throughout the chapter, but the illogicalities seem to hit with fullest force in section 1, perhaps because the reader gradually becomes inured to them as the argument unfolds. Section 1, in tracing the cosmic evolution from undifferentiated unity through several interim stages to the time when the myriad things take form, seeks to provide the information needed for understanding the basic properties of the moral cosmos in which the social world is located. That being the case, after an initial sentence about the 50

Similar arguments appear in other early texts, including the Yanzi chunqiu, the Zhuangzi, and the Lüshi chunqiu.

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c­ osmogonic phase of primeval chaos preceding the final stage, when qi 氣 separates into visible forms,51 section 1 opens with a few curt assertions that initially seem clear enough. The first is that condensed or refined qi (jingqi 精氣) is always better than encumbered qi, with the result that in the following paired entities, the first partner in the pair is consistently finer, more potent, and ultimately more desirable than the second: heaven earth humans (other?) creatures having forms xin (lesser) body parts, including the organ systems But just as soon as this principle is set down, this initial dictum about hierarchies seems to be jettisoned, for the very next sentence in the “Jing shen” chapter reads: 是故 the jingshen 精神 is of heaven, while skeletal creatures 骨骸者 [belonging to the class of things with visible forms] are of earth. Jingshen ‘enters the gate’ [of heaven? of eternal life?] but skeletal creatures ‘return to the root’ [i.e., die]. How then are we, despite this, to survive (wo shang he cun)?52 Note that while this passage elegantly formulates the key problem addressed in the chapter (‘How to survive?’) in a single four-character phrase, this short series of assertions—a mere thirty-one characters in length—raises no fewer than three logical problems. First, humans supposedly are at once skeletal— a condition lower in the hierarchy—yet possessors of the refined jing that equates with superiority in the same hierarchy, with the result that they must be viewed, contra the previous formulation, as creatures entirely mixed in substance rather than as beings composed purely or even mainly of finer qi. An impertinent questioner might ask, “Do they both live on or die, in consequence?” Obviously enough, they die, but what then of the earlier pronouncement saying that perhaps they can live on? One could, of course, gloss over such logical contradictions, saying that the former hierarchy of invisible and visible 51

52

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/54/25: “In antiquity, before there was heaven-and-earth [the cosmos or phenomenal existence], there were only the [primeval] images [of yin and yang?], which were without form.” Roth prefers, “There were only images and no forms” (Major et al., Huainanzi, 240). My translation alludes to the standard cosmogonic sequence given in many Han texts, including the apocrypha. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7.54/28.

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creatures was but a broad brush stroke devised to rank humans above lesser creatures, but the modern reader is immediately put on her guard. Second, the abrupt switch from jingqi to jingshen leaves the precise relationship between the terms, not obviously synonymous, unexplained. Third, the statement that jingshen is of heaven (i.e., originates in heaven) is hard to understand in light of a second statement that it ‘enters the gate’ (i.e., returns to heaven). It comes and goes how, when, and why? With those problems still unresolved, the modern reader soon faces a new set of problems, for the “Jing shen” chapter, having put the value of heaven far above that of earth, then proceeds, quite illogically, to suggest that heaven and earth are on a par with one another, with each of the two supplying one of the two qualities that human beings need if they are to achieve lasting life through the preservation or retention of both qualities: 是故 the sages model themselves on heaven and qualities associated with it. They take heaven as father and earth as mother, becoming pure because they are tranquil as heaven and stable as earth [italics mine].53 In forging an association between earth and stability, the text contradicts its earlier contention that earth is associated with the disposition to die. Instead, it emphasizes here the strong associations between tranquility and stability and shenming 神明, a difficult term that often refers to the ‘gods of heaven and earth’ (as is more likely here) but can describe the spirit or divine illumination that permits in exalted beings a thorough understanding of the way things are. The next passage in section 1 of the text then leaves behind both the upper-lower hierarchy and the construction of parity between heaven and earth, choosing instead to advance a paradox that relies upon an inner-outer dichotomy: 是故 to seek it outside is to lose it within. But to have it within is to have it outside also.54 Here what is inner is manifestly superior to what is outer. But inner and outer are simultaneously related in some way. A follow-up statement reiterates the gist of one statement in the text’s opening passage: “Now, as we know 夫, jingshen is conferred by heaven, just as body and form are conferred by earth.” Unfortunately, the second iteration does little to clarify the mixed messages in 53 54

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/54/27–55/2. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/55/4.

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the chapter’s opening lines, for a serious question remains: under what conditions may a person lose an endowment that has already been imparted to him by heaven? Without acknowledging, let alone resolving, that question, the text proceeds to several citations. These compound the confusion, since the citations introduce yet another complication: that man not only is born of heaven and earth but is also in several crucial ways a microcosm of the larger cosmos with respect to numbers (Five Viscera, seats of the organ systems, and 360 joints), with respect to shape, and with respect to the correlation of the heaven’s four moods with the four emotions of man.55 Before ending, section 1 manages to impart what seems like one gem of wisdom: Accordingly (以), man forms a triadic power coequal with heaven and earth, and the heart is the ruler for him. However emotionally gratifying this construction may have been, especially to the One Man, or ruler, credited with divine or quasi-divine powers, the preceding passages have provided no logical support for any such strong conclusion. The possible parity of humans, heaven, and earth is proverbial rather than proven, and the singling out of the xin 心 organ system is logically puzzling, if entirely conventional. Without further ado, the first section ends by converting correlations by fours into correlations by fives (e.g., the Five Planets), throwing in for good measure talk of the sun and the moon, the four seasons and timing, and the interdependence of blood and qi (with blood making its first unannounced appearance). That the Five Planets occasionally veer from their regular courses in retrograde motions presages human follies in general, and the loss of empire in particular, we are told. Modern students of Chinese thought might point to section 1 as proof of the inability of early thinkers in the classical era to think in rigorously logical fashion. They would be wrong—and not only because ideas of cause and effect were well known in the classical era, as were the rules for logic.56 A striking contrast to the portmanteau quality of section 1 is offered by section 5, whose 55

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See Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/55/13–15. Several historians of medicine, including Paul Unschuld, have noted that the four-humors theory (presumably imported from northern India?) was grafted inexpertly onto talk of the Five Phases. The 365 joints correlate with the 365 days, according to the Inner Canon (Huangdi neijing). The best translation of the relevant passage is found in Nathan Sivin, “Body, State, and Cosmos in the Last Three Centuries BC,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 55.1 (1995): 5–37, esp. 18. We need only look at portions of the Mozi, Xunzi, Zhuangzi, or Han Feizi to demonstrate that.

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tight and sustained logic lays out the heart of the chapter’s argument,57 while identifying those pleasures that will not harm the ruler’s person or destroy the health of the body politic. Moreover, that section 5 builds and improves upon the argument put forward in chapter 1 of the Huainanzi suggests that, pace Mark Edward Lewis, the text is not increasingly incoherent as it proceeds.58 Chapter 1, as readers may recall, says, Now the one who relies on his eyes and ears to see and hear, who tires out his form and will [in the pursuit of harmful pleasures], will still not be enlightened. . . . Therefore, the sage follows the course of the one norm. He does not change what is suitable to it or alter what is constant. . . . Now delight and anger are a deviation from the Dao. Worry and sorrow are a falling off from charismatic power. Likes and dislikes are excesses of the heart. Cravings and desires are a burden on life.59 Put another way, the person in power who wishes to retain control has first to learn to exercise self-control over his bodily functions and reactions. Once selfcontrol has been exerted, he can then expect to be able to impose control over the external world. Meanwhile, attaining such a high degree of virtue makes for pleasure, for to grasp the Dao gives pleasure. An interim (and decidedly lesser) strategic goal is to have “nothing one takes delight in, nothing that gets one riled up, nothing one finds enjoyment in, nothing one regards as a hardship,” so that “in a bedazzling transformation, life is like death,” and one may “find it in oneself” (“it” meaning “the way to preserve one’s person whole and intact”).60 But the Huainanzi does far more than sustain its larger themes through successive chapters. With respect to many finer points, not the least of them its wielding of logical connectives, the “Jing shen” chapter is consistent and 57

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Note, however, that section 1 includes the lines contrasting external gain and internal gain (Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/55/5), which, in problematizing conventional notions of gain and loss, prepares the reader/listener for the more substantive lessons of section 5. Mark E. Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999), 307. I am reminded of the famous Han Feizi story that suggests that it is easier to convey a semblance of reality with respect to things unseen than to everyday realities. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 1/6/30, modified from Van Ess’s translation in Hans Van Ess, “Argument and Persuasion in the First Chapter of Huainanzi and Its Use of Particles,” Oriens Extremus 45 (2005–6): 265; cf. Huainanzi 7/58/12ff., following Yang Shuda, Huainanzi zhengwen; and Mori Mikisaburō, Jōko yori Kandai ni itaru seimeikan no tenkai. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 1/8/17–18.

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thoroughly artful. The very first section of the “Jing shen” chapter sets up the single problem that all the succeeding sections comment upon or describe aspects of. Furthermore, the chapter’s use of analogies (marked by pi 譬 and you 猶) is extremely judicious, insofar as analogies are typically deployed only where other forms of supporting evidence do not exist. No arguments about the meaning and value of life are liable to logical proof, as should be obvious. Similarly, the nature of human and cosmic relations can only be established through analogies, in part because much of the cosmos is imperceptible or mysterious, in part because ironclad logic quickly collapses when the effects of too many factors must be correlated.61 Compare Mencius’s resort to the ‘baby in the well’ and Ox Mountain—truly brilliant rhetorical moves—when positing the inherent goodness of human nature at birth. Meanwhile, exemplary figures, famously wise and unwise, drawn ‘from history’ (though we would dub it legend), easily make the case that certain outcomes will likely accrue from certain types of human behavior. After all, tradition says this is so, and tradition’s claims have been tested by time62—whence the chapter’s announcement that it would rely upon ‘events’ recorded in history (many pseudohistorical) to ‘flesh out’ or ‘substantiate’ (shi 實) its core assertions. To highlight the style of powerful rhetoric practiced by antique statesmen, which differs so substantially from the logic bandied about in the halls of modern academia, it may be useful to turn to the distinctive features of each of the seven sections of the “Jing shen” chapter.

Analysis of Distinctive Particle and Grammatical Usages

Section 1 contains the only use of the two-character phrase yushi 於是 (‘and so it was . . .’), the only use of the phrase wei you 未有 (‘before there was . . .’), and three of the four four-character phrases meaning ‘no one knows the place where’ (mo zhi 莫知其所). It contains two of the four uses of the definitional formula yi 以 X wei 為 Y, these first two examples offering the only appropriate 61

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I note in passing that the two key conclusions prefaced by the phrase you ci guan zhi 由此觀之 describe the relations between things rather than the absolute qualities that inhere in things, inadvertently offering evidence to support recent studies contrasting the “cultural manifolds” of China and Greece during the classical era. On differences between the Greeks and the Chinese in the classical era, see, e.g., Ames, Art of Rulership; and Sivin, “Body, State, and Cosmos in the Last Three Centuries BC.” Though they disagree at many points, they are in general agreement that persuaders in Zhanguo and Han times expressed greater interest in the relations between things than in absolute qualities believed to inhere in things. See Veyne, 8, 106–7.

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evaluations of the goods of this world, in contrast to the two other examples epitomizing ludicrous evaluations instead.63 Definitions marked by the final ye 也 also abound in section 1, as in sections 2–4, after which their number declines sharply,64 and there is a notably heavy reliance on you 有 to suggest what is true of existence.65 In powerful rhetoric, the initial reduplicatives bespeaking indeterminacy soon give way to sharply contrastive vocabulary pairs—for example, summer versus winter, death versus life, held back versus led on, flowing versus at rest—with these pairs bringing to life the sharp disjunctions confronting human existence in the phenomenal world. That section 1 differs from the sections that follow is made plain by several devices, among them the fact that the section does not start with the particle fu 夫, meaning ‘Now, as we all know’ (see below). And only section 1 uses special set phrases indicating the time before form and time began. The rhetorical aim of section 2 is to suggest that, despite our lack of understanding of many features of the unseen operations of jingshen, enough can still be known about the proper employment of the sensory perceptions. Most importantly, the senses must not be overused or misused, without grave harm being done to the project of ‘nourishing life’ ( yangxing 養性). The compilers skillfully employ specific grammatical features in the section to drive these lessons home. In section 2, as in sections 4 and 7, ye 也 is either reserved exclusively for key definitions, following the formula X zhe 者 Y ye 也, or for crucial propositions that are in some sense definitional as well, since assent to them is required if the argument is to proceed. But still more striking is this section’s linked use of ‘if . . . then’ and ‘A then B’ passages employing the formula A er 而 B ze 則 five times in succession in unusually compressed ‘if . . . then’ phrases composed of only three or four characters, which pack roughly the same rhetorical punch as ‘bam-bam-bam-bam-bam.’66 Aside from the sentences devoted to definitions, which tend to cluster at the start of each subsection, every sentence but one before the final description of n ­ onfunctioning 63

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The two other instances occur in section 5: “[foolishly] considering jades to be riches” ( yi yu wei fu 以玉為富) and “considering the empire to be of great value” ( yi tianxia wei gui 以天下為貴). There are twelve instances of ye in section 1, and as many as fourteen in section 3, but sections 6 and 7 only have five cases each. You is used eleven times in section 1. It is also used eleven times in section 5, but there it overwhelmingly refers to possessions deemed encumbrances. Altogether I count thirteen uses of the ‘if . . . then’ phrases. Notably, those phrases either end with the particle yi 亦 (“that’s for sure!”) or appear in these unusually compressed sentences of three to four characters. Notably, these ‘if . . . then’ phrases never appear alone until the final ‘if . . . then’ clause follows a rhetorical question. As many as eight straight sentences employ ze.

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senses utilizes this form of rhetorical linkage. And that exceptional sentence uniquely employs the phrase “even though it’s like X, it’s certainly Y (sui ru 雖如 X, Y yi 矣). No less noteworthy are this section’s heavy use of rhetorical questions67 and its use of no fewer than four causatives (shi 使) in lines explaining how behavior affects the functioning of each of the four senses of seeing, hearing, taste, and touch. Meanwhile, multiple negatives in this section aptly convey the two contrary conditions of mankind: the extraordinary frailty of the human body, which is ‘unsettled,’ ‘uneasy,’ ‘unpreserved,’ ‘unperceived,’ and often ‘un-acute’ (i.e., not functioning well), versus the body’s potential for extraordinary strength in an ideal state of liberty and health brought about by self-control (‘uninvaded,’ ‘unconquered,’ ‘undissipated,’ ‘unerring,’ etc.).68 Section 3 opens with a first sentence whose complicated phrasing draws great attention to itself: Fu X zhi suoyi bu neng Y . . . zhe he ye 夫X之所以不 能 . . . 者, 何? (“Now if X is unable to do Y, why is that?”).69 A still more complex variation of that phrasing appears in the next sentence: Fu wei . . . wuyi ze suoyi . . . wei zhe . . . ye 夫惟無以 . . . 則所以 為者也 (“Now, if it is precisely the case that this is no way to make X happen, then it [the insight] can be used to do Z”).70 So intensive is the use of fu 夫 in section 3 that I felt I had to make sure of that particle’s meaning and connotations. And given the existence of both initial fu and final fu (the latter a contraction of bu/fou hu 不/否呼, meaning ‘is it not so?’ or ‘ne c’est pas?’),71 I had to be sure that some of the occurrences of initial fu in the sections had not simply migrated from the ends of preceding sentences. It took remarkably little time to discard that idea. I was then left with the problem of the initial fu, there being no final fu in the entire “Jing shen” chapter. These initial fu, not surprisingly, assumed one of the two standard meanings:72 either they pointed to ‘that’ thing, situation, or topic, as in the

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The chapter poses these questions as he neng . . . hu 曷能 . . . 乎 (“how can it be possible that . . .?”); he neng . . . hu 何能 . . . 乎 (same translation); and qi . . . zai 豈 . . . 哉 (“Surely it cannot be true that . . .”). See Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/55/18–19, 7/56/5, 7/56/15 (2×). Note also the use of ran 然 (‘that being the case, [then]’) to mark a major conclusion of the section. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/55/19. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/56/10. Edwin G. Pulleyblank showed long ago that the final particle fu 夫 is probably a fusion of bu/fou hu 不/否乎. See his Outline of Chinese Grammar (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1995). Notably, initial fu are often placed at the beginning of a section, as is true with sections 2, 3, 4, 6, and 7, but not sections 1 and 5, which are devoted to primeval time and description of the sage-rulers and ministers of old.

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phrase fu jingshen 夫精神,73 in which case they served as demonstratives, or they functioned to mark content that the rhetorician believed or hoped would be accepted as unproblematic common wisdom (‘Now, as we all know . . .’).74 The problem, however, is this: it is highly doubtful that all the content so marked invariably reflected the accepted wisdom of the time. Let me cite a representative passage where two fu introduce two paradoxes that the compilers could hardly expect to be known by all, let alone accepted by all—­ paradoxes that the Huainanzi compilers could not possibly defend by any rational method: 夫 (Now, as we all know): the reason humans cannot live out their allotted lifespan is that they place too much value on living. 夫 (Now, as we all know): only those humans who are able to not act for the sake of living then can thereby cultivate life.75 Still, I can well imagine that accomplished rhetoricians hoped to identify certain propositions with the common wisdom so as to avoid taking the trouble 73

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Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/57/5. Wagner, in both a published source and an unpublished conference paper, says that the first recorded observation that fu functions as a demonstrative pronoun appears in Xing Bing’s 邢昺 (932–1010) commentary to Guo Pu’s 郭璞 work on the Erya; cf. Ma Jianzhong 馬建忠, Ma shi wentong jiaozhu 馬氏文通校注, commentary by Zhang Xichen 張錫琛 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1988), 355. Xing argues in his Xiaojing 孝經 commentary that an initial fu occurs at the beginning of a speech section, while pointing to what has already been said. See Rudolf G. Wagner, “A Building Block of Chinese Philosophical Rhetoric: Initial fú 夫 as a Phrase Status Marker,” an unpublished conference paper prepared for the conference “Literary Forms of Argument in Premodern China,” held at Oxford, September 16–18, 2009 [hereafter Oxford ms.], pp. 7–9, which shows that many Chinese grammarians, along with A. C. Graham, have debated whether the fu refers only to a single noun (“that X,” which, in that case, should have been discussed earlier) or whether the fu refers to a topic previously raised in the piece. (Wagner’s conference paper repeatedly refers to his own translations in A Chinese Reading of the Daodejing. Wang Bi’s Commentary on the Laozi with Critical Text and Translation [Albany: SUNY Press, 2003]). Wagner has done an excellent job of summarizing these debates. I suspect, however, that the rhetoricians in early China did not feel the need to distinguish these two uses, especially when pieces were as likely to be committed to memory as to be read. Van Ess, “Argument and Persuasion in the First Chapter of Huainanzi,” 255, 261, claims that fu tend to introduce images or similes taken from nature or the human world, some of which may be proverbial. The problem is, what would not fall under those rubrics in the classical era, when people believed everything to be composed of qi? Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/56/10–11.

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to elucidate or defend them. Evidently, the initial fu could mask or soften the paradoxes, ellipses, and illogicalities that might otherwise demand lengthy excurses. (In a few cases, it seems, the initial fu may simply have drawn attention to particularly plummy ‘bon mots.’) Like all good rhetoricians, the compilers of the “Jing shen” chapter preferred to let listeners/readers focus on the heart of its argument rather than get bogged down in its premises, corollaries, or constituent parts. As good rhetoricians, they had meanwhile to advance the minimal rhetorical claim that their theories were admirably suited to the exigencies of the time, lest the members of the court feel no great urgency to change their ways immediately.76 But how precisely did the initial, nondemonstrative fu serve the purposes of the compilers of the “Jing shen” chapter? Difficulty in understanding why or how the use of the fu helped anyone accept various wild-eyed propositions led me to investigate what eminent sinologists have already written about fu. At the turn of the twentieth century Bruno Schindler argued that all fu, whether used as an initial or a final particle, were originally derived from a single word,77 a speculation that provides little help in this context. More recently, Rudolf Wagner (backed by Christoph Harbsmeier) has supplied his own analysis of fu, which, given the stature of these two senior scholars, is likely to be influential. Therefore, I beg the busy reader’s indulgence while citing several of Wagner’s statements about fu: The fú phrase is thus stating in a highly abstract, general, and philosophical way what is easily contextualized as a widely shared opinion based on a wide array of relevant writings and examples. The non-accidental character of the fú phrases is further enhanced by the fact that they are often followed by a gù 故 ‘that is why . . .’78 This assertion may ruffle few feathers, as it tallies with the standard translation that many of our teachers in Introduction to Classical Chinese classes urged upon us for the nondemonstrative use of fu, ‘Now, as we all know . . .’ As 76

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Also, this observation tallies well enough with that offered by Van Ess, “Argument and Persuasion in the First Chapter of Huainanzi,” 269, for he argues that the main conclusion of that chapter comes in the penultimate paragraph. See Bruno Schindler, “Grammatical Notes II: 夫,” Asia Major, n.s., 3.2 (1953): 162–68. Wagner supplies in his Oxford paper (op. cit.) a good summary of earlier views on the meaning of fu as initial particle. Wagner, Oxford ms., p. 13. The italics are his. As it happens, gu never follows fu in the Huainanzi, though Wagner may be right regarding other works.

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noted above, examples of fu that seem to function in this way abound in the “Jing shen” chapter, as in the statements “Fu 夫 tranquility and stillness are the dwellings of spirit-like illumination. / Emptiness and formlessness are where the Way resides” and “Fu the condensed animating spirit ( jingshen) is received from heaven.”79 But Wagner goes on to posit a much more controversial idea: [T]he fú phrase claims to spell out the general philosophical principles underlying the canonical texts, proving their philosophical viability on the one hand, and affirming the appropriateness of their high status on the other. . . . We hypothesize . . . that [the] initial fú is followed by nonnarrative statements of argument. . . . We hypothesize, finally, . . . that non-demonstrative initial fú is not followed by particular entities, but by topics marked by abstract vocabulary [italics mine].80 While this assertion may be true of some texts where all or nearly all the sentences can be construed as ‘philosophical’ and ‘canonical’ (e.g., the “Xici zhuan” 繫辭傳 or the key Mystery Learning 玄學 texts), this hardly proves true of all the nondemonstrative initial fu in the “Jing shen” chapter, pace Wagner, for the “Jing shen” chapter makes the initial fu do more than tag abstract philosophical propositions. The initial fu also tags pseudohistorical descriptions of the activities and attitudes of culture heroes, such as ‘the rulers of Xia’ ( you Xia shi 有 夏氏) at the beginning of section 4 and the Qiu You 仇由 in section 7, culture heroes and antiheroes who can by no stretch of the imagination be deemed generalized or abstract propositions.81 Nor can Hans Van Ess’s statements about the operation of this initial fu in another chapter of the Huainanzi be made to work for the “Jing shen” chapter, which suggests that the compilers of the Huainanzi did not find it all that rhetorically useful to impose a uniform set

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For these statements, see Huainanzi 7/55/4, 7/55/7. In the first statement cited, wu 無, as in all pre-Buddhist texts, means “without form” rather than “nothingness.” Wagner, Oxford ms., pp. 13–14. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/57/5. The Qiu You are identified as a group. ‘You Xia shi’ is usually taken to indicate a clan, but the term could conceivably refer to the scion of the ruling line that ‘possessed the Xia [lands].’ One may also locate examples outside the “Jing shen” chapter that do not match Wagner’s description in the Oxford ms. For example, Mozi 12.8D says that the Founding Kings averred that it was precisely because they could use others’ eyes and ears to enhance their own sight and hearing that they knew what action was best to take in a given situation and how to see that it was executed (夫唯能使人之 耳目助己視聽, 使人之吻助己言談, 使人之心助己思慮, 使人之股肱助 己動作).

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of grammatical rules upon the various chapters included in the text.82 While fu sometimes starts new sections in the “Jing shen” chapter, when used within sections fu seldom introduces any important conclusions. Instead, it seems to demarcate new points or anecdotes used to build the main argument, perhaps to alert the listener/reader to ‘pay attention’ to the new part of the argument. But enough of the initial fu! Other grammatical features also compel our attention in section 3. For example, soon after its first uses of fu, section 3, in another display of rhetorical pyrotechnics, quite exceptionally uses in one sentence he yi 何以, immediately followed by the two instances of the reversed phrase yi he 以何. Several of the rhetorical questions in section 3 are posed in entirely new ways (‘Who knows?’ ‘How are we to know?’).83 There is also the first use of the repeated formula wu yi yi 無以異 (‘no way to distinguish,’ meaning ‘couldn’t care less’), three times in quick succession, to describe the indifference of the Dao to the creatures that emanate from it, specifically humans and the ruler. Moreover, section 3, one of the shorter sections in the “Jing shen” chapter, contains 75 percent of the analogies to be found within the entire text (explicitly labeled either by the binome piyou 譬猶 or by you 猶 alone). Turning to Section 4, we find the short analogies further elaborated as descriptions. Intent upon defining the best sort of being and activity that are available to the supreme exemplars of humanity, known by various names (e.g., ‘the sages,’ ‘Perfected Men’), section 4 is the first and only section to use bi 必 to indicate what must be always so of such extraordinary figures. Section 4 seems to run on a rough alternation of gu (‘so’) and ruo 若84 throughout its text. At the same time, section 4 is the only section to employ the formula 82

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Hans Van Ess argues cogently that fu neither starts what would in English translation be a new paragraph nor introduces a conclusion. See Van Ess, “Argument and Persuasion in the First Chapter of Huainanzi,” 256. Many, if not most, translators of Chinese have assumed that the nondemonstrative initial fu marks new points in an argument. For example, Yuan Renlin 袁仁林 (fl. 1732) treats fu as the first particle in his book on particles, Xuzi shuo 虛字說, in Congshu jicheng chubian 叢書集成初編, vol. 1260 (reprint, Shanghai: Commercial Press, 1939). See Shisan jing zhu shu 255/6a. Lau, cited in Van Ess, “Argument and Persuasion in the First Chapter of Huainanzi,” 257n12, stresses the idea that fu particles not only mark new points in the argument but also broaden previous statements. The fu does not broaden anything, so far as I can see, though it may give listeners/readers the sense that the argument is proceeding. The first rhetorical question is an zhi 安知; and the second, shu zhi 孰知. Section 3 contains three an zhi 安知 (‘How are we to know?’), and these are the only instances of an zhi in the text. See Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/56/15 (2×), 7/56/20. For shuzhi, see Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/56/16. In one case, you 猶 (‘it seems’) substitutes for ruo.

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ran . . . er 若 . . . 而, as well as the logical connective ruo ran 若然 (‘if that is so,’ [then] . . . ) to introduce a lengthy passage of Chinese otherwise nearly lacking in particles85 (more on the potential significance of this lack below). Overall, the section employs quite a few distancing particles: ‘it seems’ ( you 猶 or ruo 若), in addition to the aforementioned ruo ran zhe 若然者.86 The meaning of the section also hinges upon a difficult passage that first defines ‘nourishing life’ techniques ( yangxing . . . shi . . . ye) and then tells us, first, that these techniques are useless, and, second, what techniques are of real use. Just before the concluding statement for a subsection, a string of six clauses in a row employ the formula ze . . . yi 則 . . . 矣 (‘Then . . . that’s for sure!’) in the chapter’s first substantive treatment of the role of hua 化 (‘transformation,’ ‘dying’) in human experience, while engaging in some verbal play with the terms for ‘physical form’ and ‘life.’87 The ties between Sections 4 and 5 are forged, in large part, by the fact that each section uses the emphatic particle kuang 況 twice near the end. In the case of the last three occurrences, kuang is made, if anything, even more emphatic by the addition of you 又.88 Section 5 is the first section to employ direct speech by legendary figures to attest its arguments, marked at the first occurrence by the phrase cheng yue 稱曰 (where cheng is emphatic also). It is the only section to employ the formula ci zhi wei . . . ye 此之謂 . . . 也, meaning ‘This is what I mean by the phrase . . .’ It is the first of two back-to-back sections that use the deductive phrase you ci guan zhi 由此觀之 (‘From this we may see/conclude . . .’). Recalling the end of section 4, the end of section 5’s theological excursus is marked by a volley of emphatic ending particles (矣) that together punch up the argument while lending it the appearance— if not the reality—of airtight logic based on deduction. Quite surprisingly, the emphatic particles appear after not only assertions of general principles but also anecdotes featuring semihistorical figures (e.g., Zihan 子罕 and Wu

85 For ruoran zhe, see Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/57/14. Section 4 employs the formula X + ran + er twice (‘X is in a Y-state, yet . . .’), and it is the only section to do so; it immediately follows this formula with two other uses of ruo. See Lau et al., Huainanzi 7/57/15 (2×), 7/59/22. 86 For you in section 4, see Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/57/19, 7/57/20 (2×). Ruo are particularly many in section 4; see Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/57/10 (2×), 7/57/15 (2×), 7/58/1 (2×), 7/58/3, 7/58/15, etc. 87 For ze yi, see Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/58/8, 7/58/9 (3×), 7/58/10 (2×). For the discussion on hua, see Huainanzi 7/58/6–10; for xing, 7/58/4–8; and for sheng, 7/58/7, 7/58/8 (3×), 7/58/10. 88 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/58/28, 7/59/3, 7/60/2 (2×).

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Guang 務光).89 In addition, section 5 employs nearly half of the nai 乃 particles used in the entire chapter (seven out of fifteen),90 which serves to associate a sense of the inevitability, good timing, and proper sequence of events (‘then and only then’), not only with the perfected beings who are the subject of section 5, but also with the primeval cosmogonic order laid out in section 1, in which nai appeared three times.91 Section 5 makes exceptionally heavy use of the formula negative + zu 足—‘insufficient’—in the course of trying to persuade the ruler what possessions are not worth the worry.92 Long passages in Section 6 employ a minimum of particles (sometimes none at all), almost certainly because they represent a pastiche of stock examples of good and bad conduct that do not require the additional elucidation, direction, or mood that particles can provide. Section 6 is the only section to use the formula fei neng shi 非能使 (‘they cannot cause X to happen’) and the emphatic phrase wu you 無有 (‘to be absolutely without’) in disparaging the classicists’ misguided judgments and efforts. The instrumental suoyi 所以 appears first in section 6, although it is later repeated once in section 7. Section 7, as readers will recall, is much shorter than all the previous sections. As it means to drive home the message, it wastes no time in listing famously unsuccessful rulers of the past via shorthand descriptions. To emphasize how unbelievably stupid these rulers were (and, by implication, how unbelievably stupid the current ruler may be, if he follows them in failing to attend to his xin and its resident god), the question ‘How was it ever possible?’ 豈有此 . . . 哉 is asked of these examples. Proverbially bad rulers interspersed with proverbs portending disaster—that is the note upon which the “Jing shen” chapter ends.

On the Use of Shigu 是故 and Gu 故

A cursory first perusal of the “Jing shen” chapter alerts even the casual reader to one obvious pattern: the pace and flow of its various parts. The chapter opens with three relatively short sections that each represents slightly less than a page of Chinese text (sections 1–3), followed by three slightly longer sections 89 90 91 92

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/59/6–9. Section 1 employs three; section 3 employs two; section 6 employs two; and section 7 employs one. By contrast, in no other section does nai appear more than twice. Section 5 uses the formula nine times altogether in quick succession. Section 6 uses zu four times, to establish what is sufficient unto one’s use, but only one other section, section 2, uses it even once.

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of just over a page each (sections 4–6), and finally concludes with a section that is shorter than all the previous sections (section 7). The central problem of the chapter—‘How are we to survive?’—is examined from several different perspectives before the chapter offers prescriptions detailing conduct to be emulated (section 4), conduct to be avoided at all costs (section 6), and the dire consequences ensuing from either inaction or inappropriate action (section 7). Sections 5 and 6 bear the heaviest rhetorical burden, as they must persuade the ruler of proper values and devalue the classicists, who have often managed in the past to press their claims to unparalleled authority. The close connections between sections 5 and 6 are cemented by their singular use of the phrase zu yi 足以 (‘sufficient to use’) and their heavy reliance on zu 足 constructions in general. (Elsewhere in the chapter, zu 足 appears but once, in section 2.) As we have seen, still closer readings that pay particular heed to distinctive vocabulary, distinctive grammatical formulae, and distinctive particle usage all contribute to the sense that this parsing of the “Jing shen” chapter is correct. However, an examination of particles—shigu 是故 and gu 故—that appear in every section may serve to push these insights a bit further. (Shiyi 是以, another phrase found often in the Huainanzi, does not appear in this chapter at all.) Typically, translations of shigu and gu render them as ‘therefore’ or ‘for this reason.’93 Admittedly, this translation works in a great number of cases in classical Chinese, but the translation does not facilitate interpretation in the case of the “Jing shen” chapter. One example drawn from section 1 should persuade us of the need to rethink these standard translations for these two particles. The text asks: 我尚何存？是故聖人法天順情. 不拘於俗. 不誘於人. How are men such as we, despite this, to survive? 是故 the sages model themselves on heaven and make their dispositions fit. They are not bound by custom, nor are they seduced by others.94 Let me give two other examples, simply to underscore the magnitude of the problem when reading the “Jing shen” chapter:

93 94

See, e.g., W. A. C. H. Dobson, A Dictionary of the Chinese Particles (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1974; Taipei: Xinwen Reprints, 1976), 298. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/54/28.

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煩氣為蟲. 精氣為人. 是故精神(者), 天之有也. 而骨骸者, 地之 有也. The vexed qi formed the various creatures, while the most concentrated animating [form of qi] formed humans. 是故 the concentrating animating spirit ( jingshen) was of heaven, while the skeletal system was of earth.95 夫靜漠者, 神明之宅也. 虛無者, 道之所居也. 是故或求之於外者, 失之於內. 有守之於內者, [失]得之於外. Tranquility and stillness are the dwellings of divine illumination [or, possibly, ‘the gods of heaven and earth’], and emptiness and formlessness, the abode of the Way. 是故 those who seek it from the outside lose it in the inside. Those who preserve it inside attain it outside. It does not take a rocket scientist to understand that it is hard to derive a conclusion from a question, to see that the supposed ‘conclusion’ in the second example does not follow at all from the previous sentence (or several sentences, for that matter), or to wonder how the clearly desirable qualities of tranquility, stillness, emptiness, and formlessness are tied to location (inside vs. outside). And there is worse, as in the following from section 3: 是故其在江也，無以異其浸園也；其在洿也，亦無以異其在江 也。是故聖人因時以安其位，當世而樂其業. 是故 there is no difference between the water in the river and the water irrigating gardens, and there is also no difference between the water in the ponds and the water in the river. 是故 sages adapt to the times and are at peace with their station in life; they conform to their age and so find happiness in their calling.96 To my way of thinking, such initially perplexing uses of shigu and gu in the “Jing shen” chapter far outnumber the cases where the translator can safely convert the classical Chinese into the standard English ‘therefore’ without discarding the principle of charity, not to mention any semblance of logic. Strikingly, in all 95 96

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/54/27–28. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/56/22–26. Or “take pleasure in their tasks.”

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seventeen cases of shigu in the chapter, the initial shigu precedes passages of proverbial wisdom typically presented in parallel and/or rhymed form, which can be as short as two lines but as long as eleven lines.97 Moreover, shigu often follows rhetorical questions, as in sections 1 and 2, or double negatives, as in section 2. It appears to be significant that the binomial shigu does not appear in sections 5–7 even once, as these sections bear the main force of the “Jing shen” argument, with the earlier sections citing many other texts in the preliminaries and relying most on historical exempla. (Sections 1–3 are the only sections to play around with ‘perhaps’ 或.) For all the foregoing reasons, I suggest tentatively that shigu is a device less to signal to the listener/reader that a logical deduction or inference will be immediately forthcoming (as ‘therefore’ would indicate) than to advertise a rhetorically impressive passage about to be enunciated (‘So, then . . .’). This would tally with Wenxin diaolong, chapter 7, which says, 至於夫惟蓋故者，發端之首唱: “As for fu, wei, gai, and gu, these are the phrases recited at the beginning of a passage.” Gu appears in the chapter in three ways: in the phrase shigu, in the phrase guyue (‘so they say’), and by itself alone.98 When gu appears alone, it often indicates what motivates a legendary figure. And gu in many cases follows closely after shigu and guyue, apparently as a phrase loosely equivalent to ‘and so . . . ’; in such cases, the additive function seems to dominate, with gu marking the addition of yet one more ‘fact,’ exemplum, or phrase to an ever-growing pile. One is tempted to regard the phrase as little more than the colloquial ‘Listen up!’99 In any case, it is intriguing to see that sections 1–4 are consistent in their use of shigu and guyue and gu: in each section, the shigu examples outnumber the guyue or gu examples (usually by a factor of more than 2); and in each case shigu is used before gu. However, in sections 5–7, shigu and guyue drop out entirely from the text, and only gu appears repeatedly (9×, 7×, and 2× respectively).

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In counting the lines that follow shigu, I equate these with the number of parallel lines. The exception to the rule is 是故真人之(所)游(也), which I take to be a real conclusion to the preceding remarks. The phrase 故曰 (‘Hence the saying . . .’) functions just as it should, since in every case it identifies citations from other texts, written or oral, whose authority bolsters its own arguments. Van Ess (“Argument and Persuasion in the First Chapter of Huainanzi,” 261) argued, in relation to another chapter of the Huainanzi, that shigu signals a “strong conclusion” and gu “a [presumably weaker?] conclusion.”

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Rudolf Wagner suggests that in the case of gu 故 and shiyi 是以, “the new element or argument does not follow but precedes the gu and the shiyi.”100 This insight may prove helpful when parsing other texts, but I cannot see in “Jing shen” that the information preceding the gu was likely regarded as particularly ‘new,’ either by the compilers of the “Jing shen” chapter or by the target listener/reader.

On Composition Practices in Mid–Western Han

If the foregoing conclusions seem like remarkably little payoff for the tedium involved in checking and rechecking particle usage with the help of indices, the process yields substantially greater rewards if the analysis of particles can tell us anything at all about the habits of reading, listening, and compiling texts in Western Han. For it is striking that in the long passages in verse that echo materials in other received texts, particle use is reduced to the absolute minimum required for intelligibility. Whole blocks of the text go without the ye 也 that commonly signals the end of a lengthy phrase or sentence. For example, in sections 2 and 4, ye is reserved exclusively for key definitions, following the formula X zhe 者 Y ye 也, or for crucial propositions, assent to which is essential for the argument, which are thus in some sense definitional as well. This highly restricted use of ye is found again in section 7 as well, where ye is reserved for the construction fei 非 . . . ye 也, which asserts claims about what is not the case. And then there are many long passages like the following: Desire life but do not strive for it. Detest death but do not refuse it. Hold it cheap but do not detest it. Hold it dear but do not rejoice in it. Accept your endowment from heaven. Stabilize it by not exhausting it.101 It is significant that nearly all these passages with few particles have known parallels in other texts at our disposal, including the Laozi, Zhuangzi, and the 100 Wagner, Oxford ms., constructs much the same argument that he has made before in passing; the citation comes from ms. p. 35. 101 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/56/17. My translation differs from Roth’s, especially in the last line. The only particle used here is the adversative er 而 and one instance of the connective er.

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medical texts, received and excavated. My working hypothesis, then, is that these passages are so well known as to not need much assistance from particles to facilitate comprehension. Over the course of the past ten years or so, scholars of classical Chinese, taking their lead from scholars of other classical-era civilizations, have devoted ever more attention to the allied problems of (a) how reading and writing typically operate in a manuscript culture that has moved beyond ‘scribal literacy’ but where high cultural literacy is still relatively rare within the population at large;102 (b) how authority was established for authors; (c) estimating the rates and levels of literacy within the early empires, center and periphery; and (d) describing the processes of textual formation that conceivably tie together excavated and received recensions of the same text or related texts. To review that research would be far beyond the scope of the present essay. Still, a close reading of the “Jing shen” chapter can liberate us from certain anachronisms by directing our attention to the Han dynasty criteria for evaluating memorable writing. Good writing, over and over again in the sources, is described by one of two synonymous binomial phrases: 102 For ‘scribal literacy,’ see William V. Harris, Ancient Literacy (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989), p. 11, which defines it as a culture in which “literacy was restricted to a specialized social group which used it for such purposes as maintaining palace records.” Harris assumes that the next advance in culture corresponds to ‘craftsman’s literacy,’ the “condition in which the majority, or a near-majority, of skilled craftsmen are literate, while women, unskilled labourers, and peasants are mainly not.]” It remains to be seen whether elite women during Zhanguo, Qin, and Han times were substantially less educated than elite men. The assumption that most were illiterate has been imported from late imperial China and, like many such assumptions, may be anachronistic. Rosalind Thomas, Literacy and Orality in Ancient Greece (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 1–3, points out that in ancient Greece, ‘illiterate’ did not mean ‘uncivilized,’ and politicians were ‘orators’ (rhetors); thus, even where a written text existed, it was read aloud. Those who have weighed in recently on such problems include Wolfgang Behr, Enno Giele, Martin Kern, Michael Nylan, and Robin Yates. Readers are urged to read Robin Yates, “Soldiers, Scribes, and Women: Literacy among the Lower Orders in Early China,” in Writing and Literacy in Early China, eds. Li Feng and David Prager Branner (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2012), chapter 10, which argues a few curious assumptions; Enno Giele, “Excavated Manuscripts: Context and Methodology,” in China’s Early Empires: A Reappraisal, ed. Michael Nylan and Michael Loewe (New York: Cambridge University Press), 114–34; and Wolfgang Behr and Bernhard Führer, “Einführende Notizen zum Lesen in China mit besonderer Berücksichtigung der Frühzeit,” in Aspekte des Lesens in China in Vergangenheit and Gegenwart, ed. Bernhard Führer (Bochum: Projekt Verlag, 2005), 1–42.

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zhuwen 屬文: putting together related passages zhuiwen 綴文: compiling a text from preexisting units Far from indicating that ‘scissors-and-paste’ style of composition that is the object of derision in so many Western assessments of Chinese philosophical and historical traditions—a style that itself necessarily implies ready access to the major libraries that existed only in late imperial China103—the term zhuwen (like the later term zhuiwen) implies a strong reliance upon mnemonic devices and word clusters. Compositions on a given theme are strung together from other passages (not necessarily devoted to the same topic) that contain the same vocabulary items or, more rarely, the same grammatical patterns.104 Readers of classical Chinese are familiar with cases where a text may be cited in the middle or conclusion of an argument simply because of the pleasing coincidence of the same characters or allied ideas. One example from the Hanshi waizhuan tells us of Bao Shuya’s 鮑叔牙 generous recommendation of his friend, Guan Zhong 管仲, to his ruler. The anecdote ends with a citation of the Odes line “Splendid were those many knights / who gave comfort to Wen the King” ( jiji duoshi, Wenwang yi ning 濟濟多士, 文王以寧).105 Now Bao and Guan lived hundreds of years after King Wen, and they served under a different system of political rule. What prompts this citation is simply that Bao Shuya intends by his recommendation to “increase the number of [worthy] men in service” (reading duoshi as verb-object rather than as adjectivenoun).106 What do these sorts of citations, which are legion in early writings in classical Chinese, including the Huainanzi, tell us about expectations for and modes of argumentation? Evidently, we modern readers of classical Chinese, like too many lovers, are looking for logical connections ‘in all the wrong places.’ The typical early 103 On this, the classic source is Jean-Pierre Drège, Les bibliothèques en Chines au temps des manuscrits ( jusqu’au Xe siècle) (Paris: École française d’Extrême-Orient, 1991). 104 The repetition of particles conveyed to the reader/listener similarities in story lines, conclusions, and so forth. Three examples of such artful repetition, each found in section 5, were too obvious to miss even upon first reading of the chapter: the repetition of the pattern yi . . . yi 亦 . . . 矣 to tie together three stories; the repetition of the single formula nai . . . ye 乃 . . . 也 somewhat later to emphasize the similar conclusions to be drawn between four stories; and the repetition of the pattern kuang . . . hu/yi 況 . . . 呼/矣, which successfully establishes the parallels between two longish narratives. 105 Ode 235/3; translation from Arthur Waley, The Book of Songs (London: Allen and Unwin, 1937), 250. 106 See Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin 韓氏外傳逐子索引 (ICS Concordance Series) 10/72/5–8.

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composition was not originally designed to chop logic. It was rather meant to establish the bona fides of the compiler(s) by the repetition of well-worn tropes of high cultural literacy, memorized sayings, and some snippets of authoritative texts or proverbial wisdom, after which the compiler(s) felt free to try to formulate their most persuasive arguments.107 To the members of the governing elite in early China—aka the ‘worthies’ (xian 賢) of whom we hear so much—history was born of tradition, not built up from source materials, and references to a common store of myth and history were made to reify and confirm the appropriateness of the preexisting relationships tying listener/reader to the compiler(s).108 As with the visual culture of the classical era, the addition in a piece of literature (oral or transcribed) of what we would castigate as ‘extraneous’ ornament or even contradictory filler helped the piece to have a most profound impact, in that a liberal dose of formulaic copia lent an air of decorum, leisure, and erudition to the compilation, its compilers, and its performance.109 Historians of premodern Europe have long argued that those with access to power never dreamed it possible for those outside their highstatus circle to offer reliable testimony about any aspects of the world, visible or invisible.110 The naive assumption that a piece of elegant writing was crafted in early China to launch appeals mainly on rational grounds to groups beyond the court gains little support from most classical-era persuasion pieces. As I have spoken of the uses of repetition, let me not forgo mention of rhyme as a crucial feature of compositions relying upon mnemonic devices. I have not tried to track down all the potential rhymes in the “Jing shen” chapter, being somewhat wary of the modern attempts to reconstruct early Chinese, which have ended in so many competing reconstructions. Still, it seems obvious enough that connectives, if not logical connectives, are also established by the use of rhyme, and I can point to instances where this rhetorical device is clearly at work in the “Jing shen” chapter, the first being a description of 107 Martin Kern, drawing on Jan Assmann’s work, has emphasized in some of his recent work the value ascribed to repeating well-worn formulae. See, e.g., Martin Kern, “Shi jing Songs as Performance Texts: a case study of ‘Chu Ci’ (Thorny Caltrop),” Early China 25 (2000): 49–111. 108 These insights draw upon Veyne, Did the Greeks Believe?, esp. 7, 10. 109 It is clear from reading Han citations that “wide-ranging and comprehensive” (boda 博 達 or botong 博通) erudition was believed to be a precondition for skill in composition (neng zhuwen). Twenty-five citations of the binome zhuwen appear in the electronic database for the CHANT/ICS Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series; and a mere six appear for zhuiwen. 110 See, e.g., Steven Shapin and Simon Schaffer, Leviathan and the Air-Pump: Hobbes, Boyle, and the Experimental Life (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985).

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the primordial chaos preceding phenomenal existence that is supplied in the opening passage of the text. That world is described as yaoyao mingming 窈 窈冥冥, mangwen momin 芒芠漠閔, and xiangmeng hongdong 项濛鴻洞, where the -n and -ng final sounds all once rhymed and in combination apparently indicated a particularly murky state of shadowy, undifferentiated exist­ ence.111 Of course, repeated particle and pronoun patterns inevitably rhyme as well, sometimes both internally and finally, as in the passage cited above: Desire life but do not strive for it. Detest death but do not refuse it. Hold it cheap but do not detest it. Hold it dear but do not rejoice in it.112 Before leaving the topic of composition modes during the classical era in China, I would like to draw attention to one notable feature of the “Jing shen” chapter to which scholars seem to have been cheerfully oblivious: that long— occasionally very long—swaths of text are inserted into the chapter with a bare minimum of particles. Close counterparts to all these passages can be located in other extant texts, such as the Laozi 老子 and Guanzi 管子, and also such recently excavated texts as the Writings on Mai (Maishu 脈書) from Zhangjiashan 張家山 tomb 247 (closed 186 BCE). This suggests to me a working hypothesis: that tracking the absence of particles, no less than their presence, can be of great utility when it comes to interpreting and translating an early composition. Evidently, the compilers of the “Jing shen” chapter believed their intended listener/reader would be conversant with the key texts circulating in their own era, so citations from the most important texts did not need to be marked as direct quotations by the particle yue 曰 or, even more pointedly, by the phrase gu yue 故曰, ‘And that is the reason why they say . . . ’ If the listener/reader of the “Jing shen” chapter could be expected to already know most or all of the cited passages by heart, the compilers would risk insulting his intelligence, his diligence, and his erudition were they to instruct him as they would a schoolboy approaching the text for the first time; once a person had committed a great many texts to memory, he apparently no longer needed related texts to employ the usual number of particles to jog his memory and evoke earlier authorities’ understanding of the chapter’s content. To me, the 111 A later example (Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/57/12) has in a single description xiaoyao 消遙 and hao hao 浩浩, but a systematic study of the rhymes in the Huainanzi would require a book-length treatment. 112 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 7/56/17.

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decision by the Huainanzi compilers to let earlier authors speak through them presents a vivid contrast with some later and more heavily edited compilations where a single authoritative voice presents a single consistent view of the universe. (The Chunqiu fanlu comes to mind, nearly all of which is certainly later than the Huainanzi.) As we know, to commit passages to memory was to come to embody them, which usually entailed their acceptance as coherent semantic blocks—hence, the omission from the epideictic reading of the Huainanzi of the full range and number of particles found in the counterpart passages from well-known texts. Before reading the “Jing shen” chapter, I would never have thought that an absence of certain typical particle patterns might be an artifact of (a) the enormous role of memory in the composition and comprehension process; (b) the mutual expectations that compilers and recipients commanding high cultural literacy brought to a composition; and (c) the density of intertextual references in the preprinting, prepaper era. My recent readings of the “Jing shen” chapter convince me that this is a hypothesis that merits further testing.

Concluding Reflections on the Deep Structure of Connectives

Sarah Queen, in discussing related passages in the Huainanzi, Shiji, and Hanshu,113 has noted Mark Edward Lewis’s characterization of the Huainanzi text as ‘increasingly incoherent’ (see above). Lewis’s dismissive remark calls to mind another comment, this time by Hans Van Ess: “Classical Chinese is not a language which favours long philosophical considerations, especially when they are monologic.”114 This essay asks us to consider how very little of its persuasive power the “Jing shen” chapter loses by its contradictions and logical slippages, and how much it gains by these and other devices. Indeed, since its sole purpose was to persuade the ruler to change his conduct, the compilers could count themselves successful if the chapter skillfully evaded a great many thorny problems. Then, too, logical contradictions or slippages may not always have been experienced as such by grandees within the performative setting, and since we know for a fact that the Huainanzi chapters were performed when first presented to the Han court, we should consider the different levels, types, and sources of appreciation to be gained from an oral performance versus a 113 Sarah A. Queen, “The Creation and Domestication of the Techniques of Lao-Zhuang: Anecdotal Narrative and Philosophical Argumentation in Huainanzi Chapter 12, ‘Reponses of the Way’ (Dao ying 道應),” Asia Major 21.1 (Spring 2008): 209–29. 114 Van Ess, “Argument and Persuasion in the First Chapter of Huainanzi,” 255.

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solitary reading of a text, since only the latter situation allows for moving back and forth within the lines of the text to check one assertion against another. When read aloud, the first section of the “Jing shen” chapter might well have served a function comparable to the opening exchanges in a Shakespeare play: helpful in terms of trotting out some figures for the delectation of those in attendance but eminently missable, if the intended recipient found himself not quite yet ready to focus on the substance of the argument. No less plausible is the view that the opening section of the “Jing shen” chapter existed merely to supply the basic terms and quotations that would be needed for later sections, in a kind of rhetorical warm-up before the serious exercise of disputation began on a weighty subject. Apparently, the steady repetition of a few vocabulary items, such as the jing in jingshen and jingqi, ‘heaven-and-earth,’ and qi in section 1, when supported by repeated patterns of particle usage, could set up a presumption of logical coherence, even when strict logic did not bind the disparate parts of the argument together.115 Close readings of the “Jing shen” chapter ultimately suggest another tentative conclusion: that either the text’s compilers were not medical experts themselves or they thought it best to present a much watered-down version of contemporary scientific findings for the easy edification of the ruler. I say this because the “Jing shen” chapter’s arguments seem to be pitched at a somewhat lower level than the weekly Science Times in the New York Times, with little of the specific detail that we find in works ascribed to Western Han medical experts.116 The scientific contributions of the piece are nugatory,117 and its 115 For example, logic-choppers will immediately note in the chapter’s first section (a) the inconsistencies in the chapter’s employment of such key terms as jing and shen and (b) the decision to raise and then discard several hierarchies, including that of heaven and earth, in rapid succession. See above. 116 As this conclusion tallies with that offered in David Pankenier’s close examination of astronomical data in chapter 6 in the present volume, it is worth our consideration. That would mean that the “Jing shen” chapter is not a tightly argued essay in ‘philosophy’ or ‘science’ but rather a polemic making a case for the ruler’s proper use of material objects. 117 I think, for example, of its analysis of the gestation period in the womb; its correlations between four of the five senses and four of the five organ systems (the failure to correlate five with five being symptomatic of texts prior to late Western Han, as I have argued elsewhere); its analogies between the number of joints in the body and days in the calendar year, etc.; all of which appear in section 1. A few decades before the compilation of the Huainanzi, the twenty-five case histories of Chunyu Yi 淳于意 (fl. 176–153 BCE), to take but one example, give us a much better idea about prevailing medical ideas of jing 精. These cases have been intensively studied by Elizabeth Hsu, Lisa Raphals, Nathan Sivin, Sarah Queen, Vivienne Luo, and Michael Loewe, among others.

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political program is fairly unoriginal. One might argue that the chapter, as one of the received masterworks, was heavily edited and for some reason dumbed down,118 were it not for the distinctive particle usage employed in different sections, which makes this scenario appear less plausible. Since David Pankenier’s essay in this volume (chapter 6) shows that the astronomical data presented in the Huainanzi are hardly cutting edge either, I will here hazard a speculation: the “Jing shen” compilers may have decided to stick with a few widely accepted scientific claims so as to reassure the One Man that certain old truths still pertained to his situation and he need not rethink much to undertake a program of reform.119 Whether this is correct or not, there were undeniably many ways to construct meaning in early China, and quite a few of them did not require the application of strict logic, no more than a stirring political speech designed to move people to act does today. Beautiful forms, their frequent repetition, and variations on those forms was enough to make memorable rhetoric at the time, especially in oral presentations. It is inconceivable to me that those allowed to perform at court did not hone their skills before displaying their wit and erudition. Believing the medium to be the message, I urge modern translators to pay greater attention to the specifics of logical connection, lest even the best translations leave modern readers unfamiliar with classical Chinese with the distinct (mis)impression that the early thinkers were grossly illogical rather than superbly persuasive. Han rhetoric is intelligent rhetoric, but high intelligence draws upon many sources, of which logical deduction was only one.120 When we pull back from the rhetoric of the “Jing shen” chapter to ask what all the foregoing means, then the chapter reminds us that while many scholars have made important contributions to our understanding of composition 118 Liu Xiang’s 劉向 Bie lu 別錄 says nothing about possible revisions made to the Huainanzi, but we would expect all the Classics and masterworks to have undergone repeated editorial emendations in the long centuries before standard printed editions were produced, and certainly Liu Wendian’s 劉文典 Huainan honglie jijie 淮南鴻烈集解 (Shanghai: Commercial Press, 1923) bears witness to some of those changes. For the activist editorial practices of the pre-Song and Song eras, see Susan Cherniack, “Book Culture and Textual Transmission in Sung China,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 54.2 (1994): 5–126; and Michael Nylan, Yang Xiong and the Pleasures of Reading and Classical Learning in Han China (New Haven: American Oriental Society, 2011). 119 I would note here what is too seldom noted: that many early texts are not specifically addressed to the ruler, the Zhuangzi and Yang Xiong’s Fayan, for example. 120 See Antonio Damasio, Looking for Spinoza: Joy, Sorrow, and the Feeling Brain (Orlando, FL: Harcourt, 2003); Aaron Ben-Ze’ev, The Subtlety of Emotions (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2000).

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practices,121 surprisingly few scholars have taken the extra step to accept the manifold implications of the preferred compositional method during the Han known as zhuwen 屬文, literally “making passages [from disparate units of texts] belong together.”122 Those implications include the following: (a) Not all passages in a given text should be accorded equal weight, because some have been inserted mainly to demonstrate erudition and authority through textual mastery (oral or written) rather than to advance a rigorously logical argument. Logical arguments, after all, often require a would-be persuader to furnish details that might preclude acceptance of key parts of the argument being promoted.123 (b) Compilers of texts and listeners alike delighted in copia—repetition and elaborations of a theme—to highlight essential points, while constructing arguments in such a way as to allow for plausible deniability, should the powerful reject their views. (c) Modern notions of ‘authorship’ (not to mention ‘philosophy’ or ‘editing’) shed little light on the processes and social practices involved in the creation or reception of early texts designed for highly performative manuscript cultures, given the continual ad hoc decisions made during patron-client exchanges in the absence of professional standards and institutions.124 (d) Since elegant composition precluded extensive citation

121 William G. Boltz, Joachim Gentz, Matthias Richter, and Dirk Meyer have made recent contributions to our understanding. See William G. Boltz, “The Composite Nature of Early Chinese Texts,” in Text and Ritual in Early China, ed. Martin Kern (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005), 50–78; Joachim Gentz, Das Gongyang zhua: Auslegung und Kanonisierung der Frühlings- und Herbstannalen (Chunqiu) (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2001); Matthias Richter, “Towards a Profile of Graphic Variation: On the Distribution of Graphic Variants within the Mawangdui Laozi Manuscripts,” Asiatische Studien 59.1 (2005): 169–207; and Dirk Meyer, “Writing Meaning: Strategies of Meaning-Construction in Early Chinese Philosophical Discourse,” Monumenta Serica 56 (2008): 55–95. 122 Often wrongly characterized as a ‘scissors-and-paste’ method, zhuwen practices required the virtuoso’s deftness in deploying vast stores of erudition for maximum effect. 123 Long ago Andrew Plaks brought to my attention the phenomenon whereby passages are brought together in close conjunction in an argument simply on the basis of a coincidence of graphic form or sound. At the same time, it should not be necessary to insist that Chinese compilers be rigorously logical when they choose to employ logic for a particular end. The line of logical thinkers in early China includes Xunzi, Zhuangzi, Hui Shi, Han Feizi, the later Mohists, Yang Xiong, Huan Tan, Wang Chong, and Zhang Heng. But none of these thinkers chose to employ the rules of logic throughout his corpus, since all the thinkers aimed to elicit patronage with the members of the governing elite. 124 On the late arrival of authorship to early China, see Taniguchi Hiroshi 谷口洋, “Fu ni jijo o tsukeru koto: RyōKan no majiwari ni okeru sakusha no mezame” 賦に自序をつける こと: 兩漢の交における作者 のめざめ, Tōhōgaku 東方學 119 (January 2010): 22–39;

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from a single source while encouraging synthetic impulses,125 undue stress should not be placed on the Han thinkers’ frequent resort to ‘mixed’ messages when weighing in on a variety of issues; instead, we moderns should anticipate shifting frames of reference even for the same vocabulary items. (e) While would-be social engineers and their advisers had to devise a rough idea of the general human condition, a finely worked out theory of inborn ‘human nature’ and its components was neither necessary nor desirable.126 Many scholars who spend their entire lives reading early Chinese texts prove tone-deaf when it comes to the reconstruction of meaning. On the one hand, they ignore the steady accrual of evidence for the circumstances of compilation in Western Han; on the other, they fail to look for the specific deep structures within a given text that render its arguments both comprehensible and persuasive, even as they insist anachronistically that the early Chinese persuaders be made to adhere to modern notions of logic never found in classical Greek rhetoric but routinely imputed to it. To recapture even a part of early listening practices, however, is to see why masterworks such as the Huainanzi were stupendously successful in communicating their visions, despite the frequent variations and fuzzy logic that were virtual requirements in dramatic court persuasions.

and Nylan, Yang Xiong and the Pleasures of Reading and Classical Learning in Han China, chap. 2. 125 Even those who intended to devise a single coherent standard made no bones about borrowing from other great thinkers. See, e.g., Yang Xiong’s Fayan, 4/26, cited in Wang Rongbao 汪榮寶, Fayan yishu 法言義疏 (1933; Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1987), 6/134. 126 Marshall D. Sahlins, The Western Illusion of Human Nature: With Reflections on the Long History of Hierarchy, Equality and the Sublimation of Anarchy in the West, and Comparative Notes on Other Conceptions of the Human Condition (Chicago: Prickly Paradigm, 2008).

part three Audience and Reception

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chapter 8

Sages, Creation, and the End of History in the Huainanzi Michael Puett There is nothing frightful in us and on earth and perhaps in heaven above except what has not yet been said. We shall never be at peace until everything has been said, once and for all time; then there will be silence and one will no longer be afraid of being silent. It will be all right then. (Celine, Journey to the End of the Night)1 “An Overview of the Essentials”, chapter 21 of the Huainanzi, makes grand claims for itself. As Sarah Queen, Griet Vankeerberghen, and Judson Murray have argued, the “Overview” claims that the Huainanzi is, in essence, a summation of all possible knowledge and a guide to all possible situations.2 As it states rather grandiosely: 若劉氏之書，觀天地之象，通古今之論，權事而立制，度形而 施宜. . . . 非循一跡之路，守一隅之指. . . . 故置之尋常而不塞，布 之天下而不窕。 The book of Mister Liu observes the images of Heaven and Earth, penetrates the affairs of ancient times and the present, weighs affairs and establishes regulations, measures forms and puts forth what is fitting. . . . It does not follow a path from one trace, nor hold fast to instructions from one corner. . . . Therefore, one can establish it regularly and 1 Louis-Ferdinand Celine, Journey to the End of the Night, trans. John H. P. Marks (New York: New Directions, 1934), 325. 2 Sarah A. Queen, “Inventories of the Past: Rethinking the ‘School’ Affiliation of the Huainanzi,” Asia Major, 3rd ser., 14.1 (2001): 51–72; Griet Vankeerberghen, The Huainanzi and Liu An’s Claim to Moral Authority, SUNY Series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2001); Judson Murray, “A Study of ‘Yaolüe’ 要略, ‘A Summary of the Essentials’: Understanding the Huainanzi through the Point of View of the Author of the Postface,” Early China 29 (2004): 45–108; Michael Puett, The Ambivalence of Creation: Debates concerning Innovation and Artifice in Early China (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2001), 159–60.

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constantly and never be blocked; one can promulgate it throughout allunder-Heaven and never make a mistake.3 As the text makes explicit, all other texts were written in response to particular moments, while the Huainanzi was written to last forever. It builds upon the insights of previous sages and pulls together all knowledge into a single coherent system. But such grand claims at first glance appear to contradict many of the historical narratives that appear throughout the rest of the text. Take, for example, the following narrative from chapter 8: 昔者蒼頡作書而天雨粟，鬼夜哭；伯益作井，而龍登玄雲，神 棲崑崙；〔智〕能愈多而德愈薄矣。 In ancient times, when Cang Jie created (zuo) writing, Heaven rained grain and the ghosts cried all night. When Bo Yi created (zuo) wells, the dragon ascended to the dark clouds and the spirits perched on Kun Lun. As wisdom and intelligence progressively grew, virtue became scarcer.4 The narrative is one of clear degeneracy. The history of the world—and more particularly the inventions of the sages that drove such a history—resulted in the loss of an original unity. As we shall see, comparable narratives abound in the work. But we seem to have a fundamental contradiction here. Knowledge would appear to be at least implicitly progressive, in the sense that in various fields, such as, for example, astronomy and warfare, sages have developed ways of understanding that the “Overview” of the Huainanzi claims are being synthesized and unified into a full and even final summation. But how does such a claim cohere with a vision of history as degenerative, in which human attempts to understand and gain control of the world result in the loss of an assumed original unity? One possible answer to this question is that we are dealing here not (despite the claims of the “Overview”) with a unified text but rather with a conglomera3 D. C. Lau et al., eds., A Concordance to the Huainanzi 淮南子逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1992), 21/228/28–31. All references to the Huainanzi in this essay will be to this edition; citations will be in the form chapter/page/line(s). 4 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/62/27–28.

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tion of very different chapters written with very different views. Under such a reading, the argument that the history of sagely inventions is one of degeneracy would simply be the argument of chapter 8 (as well as other chapters), while the claim that historical knowledge is progressive, culminating in the Huainanzi itself, would be the argument of the “Overview.” The Huainanzi, in other words, should be read (according to this view) as a compilation of discrete and unrelated chapters. But the problem with such a reading is that the juxtaposition of these seemingly conflicting narratives in fact reflects a larger pattern within the entire text. Indeed, chapter 13 contains both progressive and degenerative visions of history, and it provides both, one after the other, within the opening section of the chapter. So, at least on this issue, there would appear to be a very consistent play on these seemingly inconsistent visions of history.5 To explicate what might be going on, I shall turn first to chapter 13—one of the places where this juxtaposition between progressive and degenerative visions of history is very explicit. I shall then go on to explore how this juxtaposition is in fact a more common pattern in the text as a whole and discuss what might be the larger argument in the text concerning the progressive and degenerative aspects of sagely knowledge. This in turn will allow for a fuller discussion of the larger aims of the text as a whole—why it was put together and what roles it was intended to serve.

Degeneracy and Progression in Human History

“Discourses on the Boundless”, chapter 13 of the Huainanzi, opens with the sort of statement found commonly throughout the text.6 In distant antiquity, there were rulers, but they ruled through virtue rather than violence. The cosmos was harmonious, the seasons came at the right time, and humans lived properly within this larger harmony:

5 For an excellent attempt to argue that several themes cut across the Huainanzi as a whole, see Judson Murray, “The Consummate Dao: The ‘Way’ (Dao) and ‘Human Affairs’ (Shi) in the Huainanzi” (PhD diss., Brown University, 2007). 6 Michael Puett, “The Belatedness of the Present: Debates over Antiquity during the Han Dynasty,” in Perceptions of Antiquity in Chinese Civilization, ed. Dieter Kuhn and Helga Stahl, Würzburger sinologische Schriften (Heidelberg: Edition Forum, 2008), 177–90; Puett, Ambivalence of Creation, 159–66.

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古者有鍪而綣領以王天下者矣，其德生而不（辱）〔殺〕，予 而不奪，天下不非其服，同懷其德。當此之時，陰陽和平，風 雨時節，萬物蕃息，烏鵲之巢可俯而探也，禽獸可羈而從也. In ancient times, kings wore caps and rolled-up collars to rule all-underHeaven. Their virtue (de 德) was of life, not death, of giving, not usurping. None under Heaven rejected their service; all embraced their virtue. In those times, yin 陰 and yang 陽 were harmonized; the winds and rains, timely and moderate. The myriad things prospered and flourished; nests of birds could be looked into; wild animals could be ensnared and kept compliant.7 The myriad things flourished in this harmony, and even the wild animals were submissive to humans. But the narrative then shifts immediately. Yes, humans lived in harmony, but they also had to reside in caves and endure the freezing temperatures of winter and the horrible heat of summer: 古者民澤處復穴，冬日則不勝霜雪霧露，夏日則不勝暑熱 蟁䖟。 In ancient times, the people lived in humid lands, hollowing out caves again and again. In the winters, they could not bear the frosts, the snows, the fogs, and the dew; in the summers, they could not bear the oppressive heat, the sultry days, the mosquitoes, and the flies.8 Seeing this, the sages in the past thus taught humans how to create shelters by cutting down trees and building houses: 古者民澤處復穴，冬日則不勝霜雪霧露，夏日則不勝暑熱蟁 䖟。聖人乃作為之築土構木，以為（宮室）〔室屋〕，上棟下 宇，以蔽風雨，以避寒暑，而百姓安之。 The sages therefore created for them the pounding of mud and the cutting of trees to make houses; above they placed rafters, and below they

7 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/120/3–5. 8 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/120/6.

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made shelters to protect against the winds and rain and to keep out the cold and heat. The hundred families were put at ease.9 And, of course, humans had no clothing to withstand the temperatures when they left their shelters, so the sages helped here as well: 伯余之初作衣也，緂（㝝）〔麻〕索縷，手經指挂，其成猶網 羅。後世為之機杼勝複以便其用，而民得以掩形御寒。 Bo Yu was the first to make clothing. He spun the hemp, working the warp with his hand, suspending it through his fingers, forming it like netting. Later generations [of sages] made them looms for doubled weaves to increase their usefulness. The people were thus able to protect their bodies and drive off the cold.10 Humans also had to rely on found objects or simple constructions to undertake daily activities, and they thus had to labor constantly with few substantive results. The creation of implements for cutting, plowing, and drawing water alleviated these difficulties: 古者剡耜而耕，摩蜃而耨，木鉤而樵，抱甀而汲，民勞而 利薄。後世為之耒耜耰鋤，斧柯而樵，桔皋而汲，民逸而利 多焉。 In ancient times, the people sharpened sticks to plow, polished clam shells to weed, cut firewood with wood, and hauled water in jars. The people labored, but their gains were few. Later generations [of sages] made them plows, plowshares, hoes, axes for cutting firewood, and drawing systems for hauling water. The people were at ease, and their gains multiplied.11 Impassable rivers prevented humans from connecting with each other across distances. The sages thus taught humans how to make rafts and boats, which enabled humans from different regions to transport and exchange their goods:

9 10 11

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/120/7–8. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/120/9–10. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/120/10–11.

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古者大川名谷，衝絕道路，不通往來也，乃為窬木方板，以為 舟航，故（也）〔地〕勢有无，得相委輸。 In ancient times the great rivers and famed waterways cut across the roads and impeded the comings and goings of the people. They thus hollowed logs and quartered timber to make rafts and boats. Therefore, when a region had something special, it could be exchanged and transported.12 But when there was no river, humans still had to walk long distances while carrying loads on their backs. The sages thus created wheels and carts and taught people how to yoke horses and oxen to carts to carry their materials great distances: 為（靻）〔靼〕蹻而超千里，肩負儋之勤也，而作為之楺輪建 輿，駕馬服牛，民以致遠而不勞。 They [the people] made shoes from hides and traversed a thousand li 里; they labored to carry loads on their backs. They [the sages] thus created for them the bending of wood into wheels, the constructing of carts, and the yoking of horses and oxen. The people could thus go great distances without becoming tired.13 But in our first hint that these innovations were having degenerative implications in terms of relations between humans and the rest of the myriad things, the wild animals, who before could be kept compliant, were now injuring people. The sages thus created bronze and iron weapons to kill animals: 為 鷙 禽 猛 獸 之 害 傷 人 而 无 以 禁 御 也 ， 而 作 為 之 鑄 金 （ 鍜 ）  〔鍛〕鐵，以為兵刃，猛獸不能為害。   Since ferocious beasts would injure people and there was nothing with which to stop them, they created for them the casting of metal and the forging of iron to make weapons and arms. The animals could harm them no more.14

12 13 14

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/120/11–13. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/120/13–14. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/120/14–15.

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In constructing this narrative, the authors are careful to point out that each of these inventions occurred in response to a clear problem facing humanity. The sages’ innovations are thus presented as a proper response to an accurately perceived problem: 故（居）〔民〕迫其難則求其便，困其患則造其備，人各以 其（所）知，去其所害，就其所利。 Thus, pressed by difficulties, the people searched for what was advantageous; bound by adversity, they created what was necessary. In each case, the people used what they knew to eliminate that which harmed them and to seek that which benefited them.15 The implication is clear: sages cannot and should not be bound by tradition. Rather, they must innovate according to the needs of the moment: 常故不可循，器械不可因也，則先王之法度有移易者矣。 If the unchanging past should not be followed, if the implements [of the past] should not be continued, then the standards of the former kings must be changeable.16 As the authors state bluntly a little later in the chapter: 夫聖人作法而萬物 制焉 “Sages create standards, and the myriad things are formed within them.”17 When they innovated, the sages were acting properly in response to the times, and the narrative clearly presents the resulting creations as correct and traces a progressive growth for humanity. But then how are we to understand the opening passage, in which we are told that, prior to these innovations, humans lived in a state of harmony with the rest of the cosmos, such that even the wild animals could be ensnared and were submissive? The end of the narrative makes it clear that these inventions of the sages have allowed humans to gain control of the natural landscape but have also led to, among other things, animals attacking humans, such that the sages had to create weapons to kill them. The progressive inventions of the sages seem also to have broken the harmony that existed in distant antiquity. Although sages must innovate with

15 16 17

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/120/15–16. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/120/16–17. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/122/15.

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the changing times and create a progressive array of inventions, these innovations seem to lead to degeneration as well. The chapter then makes the point explicit. The weapons had to be created to kill the wild animals, but, of course, once they were created they were inevitably used against other humans as well. The overall arc of the narrative is one in which the inventions of the sages—all properly done in response to problems at the time—also led to an increase in the amount of violence and subjugation. The virtue that reigned in distant antiquity was gradually destroyed: 古者民醇工厖，商（撲）〔樸〕女（重）〔童〕，是以政教易 化，風俗易移也。今世德益衰，民俗益薄，欲以（撲）〔樸〕   （重）〔童〕之法，治既弊之民，是猶无鏑銜（橛）策錣而御馯   馬也。 In antiquity the people were pure, the artisans skillful, the merchants honest, the women virtuous. This is why governance and education were easy to transform and the customs easy to alter. Now, virtue (de) is declining more and more, and the customs of the people are becoming more and more stingy. Wanting to use honest and virtuous laws to put in order a people already corrupted is like wanting to control a horse without a bit and a whip.18 If kings in distant antiquity could rule by virtue alone and without the need for violence, subsequent rulers must rule by force: 昔者，神農无制（今）〔令〕而民從，唐、虞有制令而无刑 罰，夏后氏不負言，殷人誓，周人盟。逮至當今之世，忍訽而 輕辱，貪得而寡羞，欲以神農之道治之，則其亂必矣。伯成子 高辭為諸侯而耕，天下高（而）〔之〕。今時之人，辭官而隱 處，為鄉邑之下，豈可同哉? In ancient times, Shennong used no regulations or commands, yet the people followed. Tang and Shun had regulations and commands but no punishments. The Xia used no false words; the Shang made oaths; the Zhou made covenants. When one comes down to the present time, people accept shame and think lightly of being disgraced; they value taking and belittle giving. Wanting to use the way of Shennong to put things in order would only make chaos inevitable. When Bocheng Zigao resigned 18

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/122/1–3.

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from being a feudal lord and simply tilled the fields, all-under-Heaven exalted him. Now, those who resign from office and become hermits are placed at the bottom [of the hierarchy] of their locales. How can this be considered the same?19 Violence and war thus become all the more endemic in human society—and progressively more so with each subsequent innovation: 古之兵，弓劍而已矣，槽柔无擊，脩戟无（別）〔刺〕。晚世 之兵，隆衝以攻，渠幨以守，連弩以射，銷車以鬭。 The armies of antiquity had bows and swords; their lances had no sharp points, their halberds no tips. The armies of the later ages have siege weapons and battering rams with which to attack, spiked balls with which to defend, joined crossbows with which to shoot, and iron chariots with which to fight.20 But this degeneracy, this loss of virtue, and this introduction of increasing levels of violence into human society are simply the result of the sages’ proper innovations. Those innovations led to human domination and control over the world, but they also resulted in the destruction of the unity, harmony, and virtue that reigned before.

The Harmony of the Cosmos

At this stage, chapter 13 of the Huainanzi might appear to be making a claim about the inherently tragic nature of invention: any innovation, even if properly created, will always produce negative and dangerous results.21 But in fact the chapter will ultimately go in a very different direction. To begin with, the chapter fully celebrates sagely invention. To quote in full the passage excerpted above:

19 20 21

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/122/3–6. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/122/6–7. I have argued that such a tragic vision of innovation is present in Sima Qian’s Shiji, a work written not long after the Huainanzi was composed. See Puett, Ambivalence of Creation, 177–212.

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夫聖人作法而萬物制焉，賢者立禮而不肖者拘焉。制法之民，不 可與（達辱）〔遠舉〕；拘禮之人，不可使應變。耳不知清濁 之分者，不可（今）〔令〕調（意）〔音〕；〔心〕不知治亂 之源者，不可令制法〔度〕。必有獨聞之（耳）〔聽〕，獨見 之明，然後能擅道而行（矣）〔也〕。 Now, sages create standards, and the myriad things are formed within them; the worthy establish rituals and the unworthy are held within. The people regulated by the standards cannot plan far ahead; the men held by the rituals cannot respond to changes. An ear that does not pick up the distinction between clear and distorted cannot order pitches and notes; a heart that does not understand the distance between order and disorder cannot impose regulations and standards. It is necessary to hear clearly and see clearly, for only then is one capable of acting in accord with the Way.22 Indeed, the chapter is primarily opposed to any attempt to restrict such sagely innovation to past precedent: 夫殷變夏，周變殷，春秋變周，三代之禮不同，何古之從? Now, the Yin replaced the Xia; the Zhou replaced the Yin; the Spring and Autumn period replaced the Zhou. The rites of the Three Dynasties were not the same. Why should antiquity be followed?23 Sages innovate as necessary. It is only the scholars who believe in adhering to the past: 大人作而弟子循。知法治所由生，則應時而變；不知法治之 源，雖循古，終亂。今世之法（藉）〔籍〕與時變，禮義與俗 易，為學者循先襲業，據籍守舊（教），以為非此不治，是猶 持方柄而周員鑿也，欲得宜適致固焉，則難矣。 Great men create and disciples transmit. If you understand from whence standards and order arise, then you can respond to the times and change. If you do not understand the origin of standards and order, you end up in disorder even if you accord with antiquity. The standards and edicts of 22 23

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/122/15–18. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/122/20.

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the current age should change with the times; the rites and propriety should be altered with customs. Scholars accord with those who came before, inherit their practices, rely on their records, and hold fast to their teachings—thinking that there can be no order if it is not thus. This is like placing a square peg into a round hole: they hope to obtain a proper fit and a fixed point, but it is very difficult.24 But this only heightens our earlier concern: what then is the text arguing when it emphasizes the harmony of yin and yang that existed in the distant past— a harmony that was broken by the progressive sagely creations? If the sages should be free from following the past, then why would it matter how things operated in the past, and why emphasize that, at least in the sense of a lost harmony, things were better before the sagely creations began? Intriguingly, the text then turns, immediately after emphasizing the necessity of sages innovating as necessary, to a discussion of this harmony: 天地之氣，莫大於和，和者，陰陽調，日夜分，而生物。春分 而生，秋分而成，生之與成，必得和之精。故聖人之道，寬而 栗，嚴而溫，柔而直，猛而仁。太剛則折，太柔則卷，聖人 正在剛柔之閒，乃得道之本。積陰則沉，積陽則飛，陰陽相 接，乃能成和。 As for the qi of Heaven and Earth, none is as grand as harmony. Harmony is the interchange of yin and yang, the distinction of day and night, and the generating of things. In the period of spring things are born, and in that of autumn they are completed; they need to obtain the essence of harmony. Therefore, the way of the sages is lenient yet firm, strict yet kind, pliant yet upright, forceful yet humane. Too much hardness leads to inflexibility; too much softness leads to laxity. The sage properly resides between hardness and softness and thereby obtains the root of the Way. If one accumulates yin, one will sink; if one accumulates yang, one will rise. When yin and yang join, they are thereby able to complete harmony.25 The cosmic harmony alluded to in the opening portion of the chapter is here invoked again—the interchange of yin and yang energies results in the birth and completion of the myriad things, and their flourishing requires the 24 25

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/122/20–23. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/122/29–123/2.

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essence of harmony. We have already been told that the myriad things are formed within the standards created by sages, and we now see one of the keys for this: a sage must play this same role for the worlds he creates. If the interchange of yin and yang allows the flourishing of the myriad things, then the sage must equally join yin and yang such that the myriad things flourish within the worlds the sage has created. The implications of this argument become clear soon thereafter, as the chapter turns to the more recent period of the Qin unification and its aftermath. The Qin, according to the text, introduced an extreme form of militarization: 秦之時，高為臺榭，大為苑囿，遠為馳道，鑄金人，發適 戍，入芻槀，頭會箕賦，輸於少府。丁壯丈夫，西至臨洮、狄 道，東至會稽、浮石，南至豫章、桂林，北至飛狐、陽原，道 路死人以溝量。當此之時，忠諫者謂之不祥，而道仁義者謂 之狂。 In the time of Qin, they built to great height towers and pavilions, made extensive gardens and enclosures, built far-reaching imperial roads, and cast bronze figures. They sent out troops; they brought in grasses and grains. Taxes, levies, and duties were transported to the treasuries. Young men and strong men were sent west to Linchao and Didao, east to Huiji and Fushi, south to Yuzhang and Guilin, north to Feihu and Yangyuan. On the roads, the dead filled the ditches. At this time, those who loyally remonstrated were called inauspicious, and those who took humaneness and propriety as their way were called mad.26 After the Qin introduced this militarization, the subsequent Han rulers had to respond to it. Although the founder of the Han dynasty brought back the teachings that the Qin had attempted to extinguish, the first step was to unify the realm by defeating the Qin: 逮至高皇帝，存亡繼絕，舉天下之大義，身自奮袂執銳，以為 百姓請命于室天。當此之時，天下雄儁豪英暴露于野澤，前蒙 矢石，而後墮谿壑，出百死而紿一生，以爭天下之權，奮武厲 誠，以決一（且）〔旦〕之命。當此之時，豐衣博帶而道儒墨 者，以為不肖。逮至暴亂已勝。

26

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/124/2–5.

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When we come down to the time of Emperor Gao [the founder of the Han], he preserved what had been extinguished; he continued what had been cut off. He raised the great propriety of all-under-Heaven; he personally worked and grasped a sword so as to beseech august Heaven on behalf of his people. At this time, those under Heaven who were courageous, brave, valiant, and talented endured sun and rain in the fields and marshes; the vanguard were exposed to arrows and stones; the rearguard fell into ravines and ditches. For every hundred sent out, one would survive in the struggle for the balance of all-under-Heaven. With a determined martialism, with a rigorous sincerity, they thereby cut short their allotted life to a single day. At this time, those who wore sumptuous clothing and wide sashes, and who took Confucianism and Mohism as their way, were considered unworthy. This continued until the tyranny and disorder were ended and overcome.27 Once the Qin were defeated and the civil wars were brought to an end, the founder of the Han was able to begin to promote civility as well: 海內大定，繼文之業，立武之功，履天子之（圖）籍，造劉 氏之（貌）冠，揔鄒、魯之儒墨，通先聖之遺教，戴天子之 旗，乘大路，建九斿，撞大鍾，擊鳴鼓，奏《咸池》，揚 干戚。當此之時，有立武者見疑。一世之間，而文武代為雌 雄，有時而用也。 When, throughout the land, things were greatly settled, he continued the undertakings of civility (wen) and established the merits of martialism (wu). He carried out the registry of all-under-Heaven; he created a [ceremonial] cap for the house of Liu. He unified the Confucians and Mohists of Zou and Lu and penetrated the transmitted teachings of the former sages. He displayed the banners of the Son of Heaven, traveled the great roads, established the nine pennants, rang the great bell, struck the drum, played the “Xianche” [music], raised the shield and battle-ax. At this time, those who established martialism were seen as suspicious. In this period, civility and martialism alternated as female and male; at the right time each was used.28

27 28

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/124/5–8. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/124/8–11.

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The early Han was thus marked by a fundamental conflict between the martialism (wu) inherited from the Qin and the civility (wen)—the transmitted teachings of the former sages—supported by those like the Confucians and Mohists. Such a conflict between martialism and civility has continued up to the time of the authors of the Huainanzi: 今世之為武者則非文也，為文者則非武也，文武更相非，而 不知時世之用也。此見隅曲之一指，而不知八極之廣大也。故 東面而望，不見西牆；南面而視，不覩北方；唯無所嚮者，   （則）〔為〕無所不通。   In the present time, those who practice martialism reject civility. Those who practice civility reject martialism. [Supporters of] civility and [supporters of] martialism oppose each other, but they do not understand timely utilization. Each sees only one instruction from a corner or a bend and does not understand the length and greatness of all the eight points. Therefore, when one looks to the east, one does not see the western wall; when one looks to the south, one does not see the north. Only if one does not incline toward any side will one comprehend everything.29 The key now, the text is saying, is to balance these competing legacies from the past—the militaristic legacy of the Qin and the textual creations of the previous sages. The vision of history being advocated by the text is now becoming clear. Sages do respond to particular moments and create as necessary, unconcerned with past precedent. But such creations in themselves have ambivalent consequences since, based as they are on specific problems at specific moments, they introduce into the world new elements that can break an earlier harmony. The result is a history that is both progressive (involving an accumulation of inventions) and degenerative (based on the loss of what existed before). But the text is clearly pointing toward a higher vision of sagehood as well— one where the sage would create a world in which the same harmonizing principles that occur within the cosmos (at its best) would be re-created within the worlds created by the sage. In such a vision of sagehood, everything that exists—including everything created by the previous sages—would be combined and harmonized, just as the cosmos in distant antiquity was harmonized with the energies of yin and yang. 29

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/124/11–13.

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The full argument of the chapter thus becomes apparent. The opening statement of the chapter concerning the harmony that existed in distant antiquity provides the basis for the larger argument concerning the harmonizing work of the sages. But as the subsequent narrative makes clear, the text is not calling for a simple return to this earlier harmony—because it was also, as the narrative emphasizes, a period when humans had no shelter, no clothes, no boats, no carts, and so on. And yet these very creations ultimately resulted in a loss of harmony and a gradual degeneration of humans and their relations both to each other and to the rest of the cosmos. But were a sage to arise now, the goal would be to create a world in which everything that exists—including the accumulated innovations of the previous sages—would be harmonized. Such a world would include violence (since this was introduced and is now part of the legacy within which humans must live) but would also include shelters, clothes, and all the other sagely inventions as well. Were this world to be achieved, it would thus replicate the harmony of distant antiquity but would also include and encompass all the subsequent inventions of the sages that gave humanity control over and knowledge of the world. In other words, the world thus created would not simply be the result of yet another sagely innovation but would rather be a harmonizing creation in which a new order would be created, encompassing all that exists and all that came before within a grand unity.

Writing, Wells, and the Great One

Such an argument, intriguingly enough, is repeated throughout the text. Reference was made above to the degenerative claims given in chapter 8: 昔者蒼頡作書而天雨粟，鬼夜哭；伯益作井，而龍登玄雲，神 棲崑崙；〔智〕能愈多而德愈薄矣。 In ancient times, when Cang Jie created (zuo) writing, Heaven rained grain and the ghosts cried all night. When Bo Yi created (zuo) wells, the dragon ascended to the dark clouds and the spirits perched on Kun Lun. As wisdom and intelligence progressively grew, virtue became scarcer.30 The argument here is one we saw in chapter 13: the inventions of the sages—in this case writing and wells—resulted in the loss of an earlier cosmic harmony. 30

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/62/27–28.

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Virtue became increasingly scarce as human attempts to gain knowledge and control over the world grew. But, here again, the ultimate argument of the chapter is not that we should get rid of writing and wells. The argument, on the contrary, is that one must strive to harmonize all these innovations. The chapter makes the point in terms of the Great One.31 I quote from John Major’s excellent translation: 帝者體太一，王者法陰陽，霸者則四時，君者用六律。 The thearch embodies the Great One, the king emulates yin and yang, the hegemon follows the four seasons, the prince uses the Six Pitch Pipes.32 The thearch (or emperor) embodies the Great One. The text then defines the Great One: 太一者，牢籠天地，彈壓山川，含吐陰陽，伸曳四時，紀綱八 極，經緯六合，覆露照導，普氾無私，蠉飛蠕動，莫不仰德而 生。陰陽者，承天地之和，形萬殊之體，含氣化物，以成 埒類。 The Great One encloses and contains Heaven and Earth, weighs upon and crushes the mountains and streams, retains or emits yin and yang, stretches out and drags along the four seasons, knots the net of the eight directional end points, and weaves the web of the six coordinates. It renews the dew and universally overflows without partiality; it [causes the] waterflies to fly and wriggling things to move; there is nothing which does not rely upon it and its Power in order to live. Yin and yang uphold the harmony of Heaven and Earth and shape the physical form of the 31

32

One of our earliest references to the Great One is the “Taiyi shengshui” (“The Great One Generates Water”), a text excavated from a Guodian tomb sealed around 300 BCE. The Great One is presented in the text as that which gives birth to the rest of the cosmos, including Heaven and Earth. Over the next two centuries, appeals were made repeatedly to the Great One as something encompassing Heaven, Earth, and the rest of the pantheon. See Michael Puett, To Become a God: Cosmology, Sacrifice, and Self-Divinization in Early China (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2002), 160–65, 174–75, 305–8. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/64/5; Translation by John Major (slightly modified), from John S. Major, Sarah A. Queen, Andrew Seth Meyer, and Harold D. Roth, trans., The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China, Translations from the Asian Classics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010).

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myriad different things. [They] retain qi and transform things in order to bring to completion the form of the myriad different things.33 The Great One is that which encompasses everything. It contains Heaven and Earth and directs yin and yang. Yin and yang then uphold the harmony of Heaven and Earth and shape the myriad things. The ruler is called upon to embody the Great One, just as he is called upon to emulate yin and yang. In other words, the ruler must encompass, direct, and harmonize everything that exists. As such, the problem is not with writing and walls per se—in fact, once they have been created, they are among the many things that any ruler would need to incorporate, encompass, and bring into a harmonious order. The problem is rather that, when they were created, they were—like many creations— attempts to solve a particular problem by gaining more control for humans over phenomena. As such, they disrupted harmony. One who follows the Great One, however, encompasses everything and harmonizes these inventions, as well as everything else that exists.

The Text as Sage

We are thus seeing a very consistent pattern. Previous sages are celebrated for having correctly responded to their situations and innovated appropriately, but previous sages are also criticized for having innovated in ways that were limited—based only on that particular moment and failing to connect to the rest of the larger world. The higher form of sagehood involves encompassing all that exists and bringing everything into harmony—just as the Great One does for the larger cosmos. This same pattern of argument underlies chapter 21, “An Overview of the Essentials”, as well. Only here the argument is worked out not in terms of technological innovations but rather in terms of texts. Earlier figures, including the Confucians, Mozi, Guanzi, and Shang Yang, are singled out as having written important texts. In each case, these men were responding to a specific ­problem.34 They were, in other words, the equivalents of sages who invented shelters, clothes, and writing.

33 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/64/5–8; Translation by John Major (slightly modified), from ibid. 34 My understanding of the “Overview” has benefited dramatically from the excellent discussions in Queen, “Inventories of the Past”; Murray, “A Study of ‘Yaolüe’ ”; and

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Only the Huainanzi, however, encompasses all of this knowledge into one text: 若劉氏之書，觀天地之象，通古今之論，權事而立制，度形而 施宜。 The book of Mister Liu observes the images of Heaven and Earth, penetrates the affairs of ancient times and the present, weighs affairs and establishes regulations, measures forms and puts forth what is fitting.35 It is, in other words, the equivalent of the ruler acting as the Great One: 以統天下，理萬物，應變化。 It thereby unifies all-under-Heaven, gives pattern to the myriad things, and responds to alternations and transformations.36 As such, it is not simply a response to a certain moment, nor does it have the potentially degenerative implications of other forms of knowledge: 非循一跡之路，守一隅之指。 It does not follow a path from one trace, nor hold fast to instructions from one corner.37 It can rather be utilized forever: 故置之尋常而不塞，（巿）〔布〕之天下而不窕。 Therefore, one can establish it regularly and constantly and never be blocked; one can promulgate it throughout all-under-Heaven and never make a mistake.38

35 36 37 38

Vankeerberghen, The Huainanzi and Liu An’s Claim to Moral Authority. I build in part here on my argument in Puett, Ambivalence of Creation, 159–60. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 21/228/28. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 21/228/29–30. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 21/228/30. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 21/228/31.

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In other words, the text itself serves as the Great One, unifying all previous knowledge into a single harmonious whole. But what about the fact that this is a text, rather than a ruler, that is encompassing all that exists as the Great One? In a sense, the text serves as a final sage. Even if later rulers are not sages, they will be able, by following this text, to perfectly harmonize the world. And they will be able to do so precisely because they are building upon previous innovations—the very innovations that created a break from the earlier harmony. To give one obvious example: the Huainanzi authors now have writing and can thus write a text that can be used by non-sages. The early sages may have been able to act intuitively, but the subsequent innovations, for all the degeneracy they created, also allow the latter-born to do what the early sages could not. But now, with the Huainanzi, this knowledge has been synthesized into a full system that can be used by all. As Sarah Queen and Judson Murray have translated beautifully: 今專言道，則无不在焉，然而能得本知末者，其唯聖人也。今 學者无聖人之才，而不為詳說，則終身顛頓乎混溟之中，而不 知覺寤乎昭明之術矣。 Now, if we spoke exclusively of the Way, then there is nothing that is not contained in it. Nevertheless, only sages are capable of grasping its root and thereby knowing its branches. At this time, scholars lack the capabilities of sages, and if we do not provide them with detailed explanations, then to the end of their days they will flounder in the midst of darkness and obscurity without knowing the great awakening brought about by these writings’ luminous and brilliant techniques.39 Knowledge has thus far been partial. It was attained by sages solving immediate problems. The progressive accumulations of these sagely understandings have led to a progressive knowledge of and control over the world but a consequent loss of harmony. The Huainanzi thus represents the point at which—if the text is followed—the progressive-degenerative interplay of sagely creation can be brought to an end.

39

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 21/227/2–4.

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The End of History

I have noted a consistent set of arguments in the Huainanzi. At the origin, everything was unified. The text clearly and repeatedly presents this as a good thing. But it was also a world in which humans had no clothes, no houses, and certainly no texts. All these technologies are inventions of sages, and they were clearly wise inventions: they solved problems that needed to be solved. But the result was consistently one in which the invention led to a further break from the rest of the cosmos—and thus a further break from the earlier unity. The progressive growth of knowledge and the degenerative break from unity are flip sides of the same coin. The sages innovated as they needed to, and the result was both a progressive growth of knowledge and control as well as a degenerative loss of an earlier unity. The striking move in the Huainanzi, however, is that the authors want to claim that this progressive/degenerative history is now coming to an end—or, more specifically, that the Huainanzi itself is bringing it to an end. By building upon all previous sagely inventions and bringing them together into a unified system, the Huainanzi thus re-creates the unity that existed before, but it does so in a way that therefore includes all the sagely innovations. The world (if we follow the Huainanzi) is thus unified, but it is unified by humans, who now live in houses, wear clothes—and, of course, have a single comprehensive text to explicate the world and guide behavior. In other words, the earlier unity that existed in the ancient past is being re-created, only now that unity includes all the technologies that had originally forced humanity away from that earlier harmony. A project like this, of course, could be undertaken only by sages, and the Huainanzi authors are clearly making a very strong claim to sagehood. But unlike other sagely authors—such as Laozi and Zhuangzi—this is a text that is written such that non-sages can follow it as well. Knowledge has been summed up, and summed up in a way that is true for all time and can bring the world into harmony even if there is no sage on the throne. In making these arguments, the Huainanzi fits into a larger context in the early imperial period, in which figures claimed to supersede dramatically the accomplishments of the past. The First Emperor famously claimed in his inscriptions to be a great sage and to have created a greater, larger state than any in previous history. Similarly, authors in the early Han asserted that they wrote better, longer works than their predecessors. One example among many would be Sima Qian, who, despite (or in part via) his protestations, undertook a work far grander and more

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c­ omplex than his self-proclaimed predecessor Confucius’s Spring and Autumn Annals.40 The Huainanzi authors make a fascinating move within this context. They also claim to have written a grander and more comprehensive work than any in the past. But they also assert that they have authored a work that will last for all time—a final summation of knowledge. Conclusion In the aftermath of the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, Francis Fukuyama published a famous essay declaring the ‘end of history.’ His point was not that events would not continue to occur but rather that, in the realm of ideas, the end had been reached: liberal democracy was the final position for humanity.41 In making these arguments, Fukuyama was building upon the ideas of Hegel. But Hegel’s claims were far more radical—not simply that a final point had been reached in the evolution of ideas but that he personally had achieved a final summation of all knowledge. My argument in this essay has been that the authors of the Huainanzi took a position very similar to Hegel’s.42 They too claim to have achieved a final summation of knowledge. They do not necessarily claim to be greater sages than any that existed in the past (although the level of sagely arrogance in the text certainly implies that they may well have been tempted to do so). The argument is rather that the authors, living at a late stage of human history, understanding the workings of the larger cosmos, and understanding how a text can serve as the Great One, are bringing harmony to all that exists. They are thus able to build upon all that was created by the previous sages and to reach a final summation. The subsequent history of Liu An himself and the kingdom of Huainan— with Liu An being charged with treason and the kingdom of Huainan being 40

41 42

Michael Puett, “The Temptations of Sagehood, or: The Rise and Decline of Sagely Writing in Early China,” in Books in Numbers, ed. Wilt Idema (Cambridge, MA: Harvard-Yenching Library, Harvard University; distributed by Chinese University Press, Hong Kong, 2007), 29–33. Francis Fukuyama, “The End of History?,” National Interest 16 (Summer 1989): 3–18. For an earlier comparison of the Huainanzi with Hegel, see Michael Puett, “Violent Misreadings: The Hermeneutics of Cosmology in the Huainanzi,” Bulletin of the Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 72 (2000): 29–47.

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occupied by imperial forces—has gained the Huainanzi a reputation as a radical text, standing against the empire. But the Huainanzi is probably, on the contrary, best thought of as a radical text in another sense: an imperial text displaying a greater degree of sagely arrogance than perhaps any of our other texts from the early Han, a text claiming to stand for all time as a final summation of how to achieve human and cosmic harmony, a text that, in world philosophy, finds it best comparison in Hegel.

chapter 9

The Liu Clan’s ‘Flesh and Bone’: The Foundation of Liu An’s Vision of Empire Judson B. Murray One pressing matter the authors of the Huainanzi 淮南子 address in composing this encyclopedic cosmological and political treatise concerns the proper and most effective sociopolitical configuration of the Han 漢 Empire. Debates on Qin 秦 dynasty (221–206 BCE) centralization, Western Zhou 西周 (1045– 771 BCE) enfeoffment, and an integrative model combining elements of both approaches arose in response to the historical events and circumstances of the late third and second centuries BCE. This study outlines the particular model of empire envisioned and proposed by King Liu An 劉安 (179?–122 BCE) of Huainan and his scholar-retainers in response to Western Han 西漢 dynasty (202 BCE–9 CE) imperial unification, and it analyzes one of the rhetorical strategies they use to promote their vision in several chapters of the work. Specifically, one compelling image they employ in attempting to sway the imperial throne to their view is ‘flesh and bone’ (gurou 骨肉, literally ‘bone and flesh’), signifying the ‘kinship’ or ‘blood ties’ between the Han emperors and their royal kinsmen enfeoffed in kingdoms throughout the empire. Thus, the Huainanzi fundamentally concerns a family and family relations. Because of the momentum of imperial measures seeking not only to diminish the territories of these fiefs but also to weaken the autonomy and authority of the royal relatives who administered them, Liu An viewed the empire both as a dysfunctional family and as a house divided in need of internal reconciliation. The ideological and political catalyst that he hoped would both unite it and remedy the estrangement caused by officials at the Han imperial court was the Huainanzi. As we shall see in the analysis to follow, Liu An offered it to his nephew, Emperor Wu of the Han 漢武帝 (r. 140–87 BCE), in 139 BCE as a family book—the “book of the Liu clan” (Liushi zhi shu 劉氏之書)—because the Liu clan’s ‘flesh and bone’ were, for him, the basis of a stable and well-ordered, peaceful and productive, and enduring and powerful empire. By employing this rhetoric of ‘flesh and bone’ in forming the work, at least one audience or constituency that Liu An targeted to ponder its model and message was decidedly imperial and familial. Therefore, an important historical and rhetorical purpose of composing the Huainanzi and presenting it in this manner was

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to convince the Han emperorship of the contribution that imperial relatives can and do make to the cause of empire. Its favorable reception in the intellectual and political environs of the first century of Han imperial rule would have aided Liu An in preserving the relative independence of his kingdom and his authority as its lord. Unfortunately for Liu An, who committed suicide in 122 BCE after he was indicted on charges of treason (ironically, by a council of his imperial kinsmen), arguably the most notable episode in its early reception history was that the text and its rhetoric failed to persuade the emperor of the importance of his relatives in governing the unified realm. Before examining how the authors of the Huainanzi conceived of the relationship between, on the one hand, the emperor and the imperial court and, on the other, the blood relatives enfeoffed in the regional kingdoms, it will be instructive to consider earlier and roughly contemporaneous accounts of both their relationship and the practice of enfeoffment in other noteworthy pre-Qin and Western Han dynasty writings. Representative works include the “Xiao kuang” 小匡 chapter of the Guanzi 管子,1 the “Heeding Positional Advantage” (“Shen shi” 慎勢) chapter of the Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋, and portions of Sima Qian’s 司馬遷 (ca. 145–ca. 86 BCE) Shiji 史記, because each includes lengthy and sustained discussions of enfeoffment and the “Lords of the Land” (zhuhouwang 諸侯王).2 What each has to say on these related subjects reflects the different concerns, circumstances, and practices of the ages in which they were composed. By surveying their accounts of the relationship between rulers and their vassals and by examining how enfeoffment was linked to other influential institutions and concepts—namely, the office of the hegemon or Lord Protector (ba 霸), ‘positional advantage’ (shi 勢), and the Qin commandery system—we shall better acquaint ourselves with the early Chinese discourse on enfeoffment and the lords. We shall also thereby discern in sharper relief the viewpoint of the Huainanzi’s authors on these subjects and how it reflects the interests of a regional king and kingdom attempting to contribute constructively to Han imperial rule. Their work, too, both reflects and responded to the circumstances of its time. Although various institutions and practices of the Spring and Autumn 春秋 (770–481 BCE) and Warring 1 I follow W. Allyn Rickett in leaving the title “Xiao kuang” untranslated because its precise meaning is not clear. The same can also be said of the “Zhong kuang” 中匡 and “Da kuang” 大匡 chapters of the Guanzi. For a discussion of these titles, see Rickett’s study and complete translation of the Guanzi into English entitled Guanzi: Political, Economic, and Philosophical Essays from Early China, 2 vols. (Boston: Cheng and Tsui, 2001), 1:281–82. 2 Because the Guanzi and the Lüshi chunqiu were composed by many hands and encompass diverse perspectives, my remarks and conclusions pertain to these specific chapters alone. They are not to be taken as generalizations about the larger texts in which these chapters appear.

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States 戰國 (481–221 BCE) periods were rendered obsolete as a consequence of imperial unification during Qin and Western Han times, nevertheless, as we shall see, the Huainanzi’s authors uphold enfeoffment as a vital component of the Huainanzi’s sociopolitical vision of a unified empire, and they integrate it with other centralized structures and practices. They employ the term gurou and invoke related persuasive means in use at the time—such as ‘the empire as one family’ (tianxia yi jia 天下一家), ‘clan’ or ‘kinship relation’ (shi 氏), ‘lineage’ (zu 族), and ‘filial devotion’ (xiao 孝)—to argue for the importance of the emperor’s kinsmen in stabilizing and governing the Han realm.

The “Xiao Kuang” Chapter of the Guanzi

“Xiao kuang” appears in the Guanzi, a large compendium of political, economic, and philosophical essays likely compiled between the fifth and first centuries BCE and bearing the name of the famous minister of the ancient kingdom of Qi 齊, Guan Zhong 管仲 (685–645 BCE).3 He is renowned in classical Chinese sources for assisting Duke Huan 桓公 (r. 685–643 BCE) of Qi in becoming the first Lord Protector. This office, credited to the innovativeness of Guan Zhong, was created in response to the declining authority and administrative control of the Zhou kings over the Lords of the Land, who administered the various enfeoffed kingdoms. Kinship relations between the lords and the Zhou royal house had been one of the foundations on which the Western Zhou polity was constructed, but as generations passed, these relations became increasingly estranged when loyalty toward and support of the Zhou kings waned among the lords as they began to assert their own regional authority and independence.4 During the Spring and Autumn period, different lords of powerful states were commissioned in succession by the Zhou 3 Rickett, noting the similarities between the “Xiao kuang” and the “Qi yu” 齊語 (“Discourses of Qi”) chapter of the Guo yu 國語 (Discourses of the States), dates the composition of both to approximately the late fourth century or early third century, and he argues that the former was not necessarily based on the latter. Rickett explains that both could have shared a common source, which would account for the differences between them. Also, he adopts Henri Maspero’s term ‘historical romances’ to describe the contents of “Xiao kuang” and “Da kuang” and includes their ‘fictionalized histories’ among the oldest strata of the Guanzi. See Rickett, Guanzi (2001), vol. 1, 14–39 and esp. 320–21. In my analysis of the fictionalized history of the “Xiao kuang,” although I employ the past tense for grammatical convenience in recounting its events, I do not mean to suggest that they are historical fact. 4 On the Western Zhou model of enfeoffment, see, e.g., Herrlee G. Creel, The Origins of Statecraft in China, vol. 1, The Western Chou Empire (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1970), esp. 317–443.

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kings to ­exercise power on their behalf.5 The Lord Protector served as overlord to the other vassal lords, and he was charged with resolving disputes among them and with coordinating defenses against incursions into the Zhou realm by foreign, barbarian invaders. Many of the comments on enfeoffment and the lords included in the “Xiao kuang” concern the strategies and practices recommended to Duke Huan by Guanzi for the purposes of elevating the duke to this office and effectively maintaining his hold on it. For example, Guanzi identifies numerous internal and external preparations that must be set in place in order for Duke Huan to establish hegemonic authority over his fellow lords. They include exhibiting beneficence toward his subjects to gain the lords’ trust; military preparations pertaining to both command structure and armaments; establishing internal bureaucratic offices and appointing officials to occupy and administer them; reconnaissance expeditions to gain information not only on the habits and the likes and dislikes of his adversaries but also on the states of affairs in their kingdoms; and, lastly, establishing constructive relations and alliances with kingdoms directly ­bordering Qi.6 After Duke Huan was appointed as the first Lord Protector in 680 BCE, Guanzi continued to advise the duke on strategies that would enable him to maintain the ongoing support of the lords. For instance, Duke Huan lessened, in quantity and quality, the tribute submitted to him by the lords, whereas he was quite lavish both in his ceremonies welcoming them and in his gifts to them. The duke also instituted tax policies that generated profit for the lords. He built fortifications around, and garrisoned troops in, territories threatened by non-Sinic enemies of the ‘Central States’ (zhongguo 中國). Finally, he attacked disorderly states to punish them and to restore order in them, but he did not occupy or annex them.7 The account of these measures relates that the lords received them with both favor, because they were acts of humaneness (ren 仁) toward them, and trepidation, after witnessing Qi’s military power. Establishing and maintaining hegemonic authority over the other lords 5 In addition to Duke Huan, other notable ba include Duke Wen of Jin 晉文公 (r. 635–628 BCE), Duke Xiang of Song 宋襄公 (r. 650–637 BCE), King Zhuang of Chu 楚莊王 (r. 613–591 BCE), Duke Mu of Qin 秦穆公 (r. 659–621 BCE), King Helü of Wu 吳闔閭王 (r. 514–496 BCE), and King Goujian of Yue 越句踐王 (r. 496–465 BCE). 6 On these recommendations, see, e.g., D. C. Lau 劉殿爵 and Chen Fong Ching 陳方正, eds., Guanzi zhuzi suoyin 管子逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 2001), 8.2/61/14–8.2/63/23. Hereafter, abbreviated as GZ. References are in the format chapter.section/page/line(s). 7 On these various strategies, see GZ 8.2/64/29–65/6.

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required a delicate balance between wen 文 (civil and beneficent sociopolitical techniques) and wu 武 (martial means that employ military might and coercion). The “Xiao kuang” explains: 釣之以愛，致之以利，結之以信，示之以武。是故天下小國諸 侯，既服桓公，莫敢之倍而歸之。喜其愛. . . . 信其仁而畏其武。 [Duke Huan] enticed them with love and held them with benefits. He bound them by trustworthiness and demonstrated to them his military prowess. Consequently, lesser feudal lords of the realm served Duke Huan, none dared turn against him, and they gave their allegiance to him. They reveled in his love. . . . They trusted in his humaneness and feared his military prowess.8 Whether by civil means or by conducting punitive military campaigns, the stated objective for Duke Huan and subsequent Lord Protectors was the same for both types of action—that is, to serve, secure, and sustain the Zhou ruler, or ‘Son of Heaven’ (tianzi 天子). Undoubtedly, those who aspired to the office of ba were not motivated solely by altruistic ideals or feelings of loyalty toward the Zhou kingship. Duke Huan and later Lord Protectors enjoyed strategic, political, and economic advantages over their competing lords and kingdoms. Yet, with the notable exception of the Ruist thinker Mengzi 孟子 (Meng Ke 孟軻, ca. 372–ca. 289 BCE), who derided the ba system as overly martial, at least Duke Huan and his famous minister Guanzi are, in general, renowned in early Chinese sources for their efforts in support of Zhou suzerainty.9 The summary of their innovative contribution included in the postscript to the Huainanzi, “An Overview of the Essentials” (“Yao lüe” 要略), states: 齊桓公之時，天子卑弱，諸侯力征，南夷北狄，交伐中國，中 國之不絕如綫. . . . 桓公憂中國之患，苦夷狄之亂，欲以存亡繼 絕，崇天子之位，廣文、武之業，故《管子》之書生焉。 In the age of Duke Huan of Qi, the Son of Heaven was debased and weak; the Lords of the Land were violent and aggressive. The Southern Yi and Northern Di [tribes] in succession invaded the Central States, and the continuity of the Central States hung by a thread. . . . Duke Huan was 8 GZ 8.2/64/31–65/2. Translation adopted with slight modification from Rickett, Guanzi (2001), 1:344–45. 9 For Mengzi’s views on Guan Zhong and the ba system, see Mengzi 2A.1, 2A.3.

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vexed by the calamities of the Central States and embittered by the rebellions of the Yi and Di [tribes]. He hoped that by preserving those whose kingdoms had perished and by continuing those whose bloodlines had been cut off, the prestige of the Son of Heaven would be restored, and the efforts of Kings Wen and Wu would be expanded. Thus the writings of Master Guan were born.10 In short, discussions between Duke Huan and Guanzi regarding the lords reveal the deeply degenerate condition of the Zhou institution of enfeoffment in both Duke Huan’s time and subsequent generations when the “Xiao kuang” was likely composed. These discussions focus on the office of the Lord Protector and on the strategies and policies aimed at establishing cooperative, peaceful, and prosperous relations among the lords and the kingdoms constituting the Zhou polity. This office was created to protect and preserve smaller, weaker states from being conquered and annexed by larger ones and to guard the border territories against incursions by non-Sinified peoples. Most importantly, it was intended to restore the prestige and authority of the Zhou royal house amid the emerging power, assertiveness, and brutality of the regional lords.

The “Heeding Positional Advantage” Chapter of the Lüshi Chunqiu

“Heeding Positional Advantage” appears in Lü Buwei’s 呂不韋 (291?–235 BCE) Lüshi chunqiu.11 Similar to the Huainanzi, the Lüshi chunqiu is a cosmological and political compendium encompassing a comprehensive model for a unified Chinese empire. However, it, too, was rejected during its time. “Heeding Positional Advantage” differs from the “Xiao kuang” insofar as it discusses 10

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John S. Major, Sarah A. Queen, Andrew Seth Meyer, and Harold D. Roth, trans., The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China, Translations from the Asian Classics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010), 21.4.864–65; hereafter abbreviated as Major et al., Huainanzi, followed by chapter.section.page(s). D. C. Lau et al., eds., Huainanzi zhuzi suoyin 淮南子逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1992), 21/228/9–11; hereafter abbreviated as Huainanzi, followed by chapter/page/ line(s). Both the edition of the text and the commentarial information included in Zhang Shuangdi 張雙棣, Huainanzi jiaoshi 淮南子校釋 (Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 1997), have also been valuable resources consulted. For a study and complete translation of the Lüshi chunqiu into English, see John Knoblock and Jeffrey Riegel, trans., The Annals of Lü Buwei (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2000).

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enfeoffment and the lords in relation to Shen Dao’s 慎到 (ca. 350–275 BCE) influential concept of ‘positional advantage’ (shi).12 In general, shi denotes the power inherent in occupying a superior status or position.13 That is to say, the status, advantage, and power of the position itself—rather than one’s moral integrity, intellectual perspicacity, courage, or physical prowess—are what compel subordinates to submit to the authority of a superior. The main objective is therefore to safeguard whatever shi one occupied or had obtained from being challenged and compromised. One must prevent others from either usurping it or exercising comparable shi. If unsuccessful, the strictly delineated hierarchy of duties, authorities and powers, and sociopolitical controls becomes confused and severely undermined, resulting in disorder, contention, and possibly rebellion and regicide. In “Heeding Positional Advantage,” the ancient practice of enfeoffment is a key means of both maintaining and exercising shi, and its efficacy in these respects has been demonstrated throughout China’s revered past: “The kings of antiquity . . . established numerous fiefs, not because they were partial to worthies, but as a means to bolster their positional advantage, maintain their authority, and extend their rightness” 古之王者 . . . 眾封建，非以私 賢也，所以便勢全威，所以博義.14 By accomplishing these objectives through enfeoffment, the author recounts that the ancient kings ruled unopposed, and consequently, they were secure, their good fortune was long lasting, and their renown was illustrious.15 Interestingly, they not only ruled unopposed but also enhanced their positional advantage by sharing that which they possessed: “The house of Shen Nong possessed the world for seventeen generations because it shared the world with [the people of] the world” 神農十七世

12 13

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For a study on the thought of this Jixia 稷下 Academy philosopher, see P. M. Thompson, The Shen Tzu Fragments (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979). On this characterization of shi and for an analysis of its likely military origins and significations and its later political meanings and applications both in pre-Han writings and in the Huainanzi, see Roger T. Ames, The Art of Rulership: A Study of Ancient Chinese Political Thought (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994), 65–107. My own analysis has been aided by Ames’s discussions of shi and the “Shen shi.” D. C. Lau and Chen Fong Ching, eds., Lüshi chunqiu zhuzi suoyin 呂氏春秋逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1994), 17.6/105/16–19. Hereafter abbreviated as LSCQ. References are in the format chapter.section/page/line(s). My translation has benefited from that given in Ames, Art of Rulership, 82; and in Knoblock and Riegel, Annals, 428–29. LSCQ 17.6/105/19–20.

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有天下，與天下同之也.16 However idealistic and laudable this sentiment may appear to be, the manner in which the ancient kings governed relied fundamentally on the realpolitik approach of augmenting and effectively exercising their shi. For example, the author first and foremost assumes that kingship itself embodies the epitome of shi. However, other important capacities and techniques that afford the ruler’s shi further advantage include the following: “Weighing [the difference between] weakness and strength, examining [the difference between] large and small, and increasing the multitude of fiefs are the means to bolster one’s positional advantage” 權輕重，審大小，多 建封所以便其勢也.17 These general principles are then enumerated in various concrete ways. Geopolitically, although the king’s domain was small relative to the size of the entire realm, it occupied the center of the Chinese world and was the largest of its territories. The feudatories that the ruler established were designed to be numerous and smaller—both in size and in population— because he acutely understood the strategic advantage of having the large rear the small and the powerful employ the weak. When these conditions exist, there is good fortune and good order; when the opposing conditions prevail, there is disorder and calamity.18 Furthermore, the customary practice in ancient times was to enlarge the fiefs closest to the royal domain and make those farther away smaller to ensure that those near the center—and, by extension, the center itself—would enjoy positional advantage, with respect to size, resources, and population, over more peripheral territories.19 The author imagined sociopolitical order radiating out from a large and powerful center because “it is easier for a tenthousand-­chariot state to command a one-thousand-chariot state; easier for a one-thousand-chariot state to command a noble household; and easier for a noble household to command a single individual” 萬乘令乎千乘易，以 千乘令乎一家易，以一家令乎一人易.20 Thus, the sizes of fiefs were differentiated as a means to preserve and enhance the ruler’s shi, or, to employ Roger Ames’s characterization, to “keep the large ‘small’ while making his

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LSCQ 17.6/105/20. Translation adopted with slight modification from Knoblock and Riegel, Annals, 429. 17 LSCQ 17.6/106/7. 18 See LSCQ 17.6/105/16–18, 17.6/105/27. 19 See LSCQ 17.6/105/22–24. 20 LSCQ 17.6/106/5–6. Translation adopted with slight modification from Knoblock and Riegel, Annals, 431.

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small ‘large.’ ”21 In other words, the comparatively smaller, royal domains of the ancient kings enjoyed positional advantage over the much larger realm as a whole because the kings apportioned the ‘large’ in a way that rendered it small, fragmented, and therefore weak. China’s antiquity reveals how the positional advantage gained through correct enfeoffment far outweighs even ‘worthiness’ (xian 賢) in effectively instituting sociopolitical order. The author argues that had Tang 湯 and Wu 武 not enjoyed the power and advantage inherent in possessing their fiefs Yi 郼 and Qi 岐, respectively, their high degree of worthiness alone simply would not have sufficed to bring about their substantial and transformative accomplishments.22 Both their own fiefs and their correct apportioning of the larger realm afforded them the positional advantage needed to govern the Chinese world in the effective, virtuous, and illustrious manner for which they are celebrated.23 In addition to apportioning the realm in this way, the ancient kings also devised political structures to safeguard their positional advantage by differentiating the respective duties, privileges, and powers of these positions in a hierarchical manner. Such a clearly defined and rigidly structured framework ensured that subordinates were not equal in shi to their superiors, most notably the ruler. Accordingly, the Son of Heaven, the Lords of the Land, the grand officers (dafu 大夫), and lower officials all occupied their appropriate places in this hierarchical political structure and had responsibilities and authorities specific to their respective ranks. Most importantly, duties did not overlap and power was not equal among them, because when the different offices imitate one another, contention and disorder arise.24 The author concludes his discussion of these key points concerning shi by remarking: “Therefore, governing the world, or even a single state, rests on nothing more than determining [proper] apportioning” 故治天下及國，在乎定分而已矣.25 Thus, by correctly apportioning both the realm and the different structures of government, the ruler maintains, augments, and effectively exercises his positional advantage. 21 Ames, Art of Rulership, 83. 22 Tang was the legendary founder of the Shang 商 dynasty (ca. 1550–1045 BCE), who overthrew the tyrant Jie 桀 of the Xia 夏 dynasty (ca. 1950–1550 BCE). King Wu defeated the last evil king of the Shang, Zhou 紂, and he was the second king of the Zhou 周 royal house. 23 See LSCQ 17.6/105/26–106/3. 24 On this hierarchical political structure, see LSCQ 17.6/106/5–11. 25 LSCQ 17.6/106/13–14. Translation adopted with modification from Knoblock and Riegel, Annals, 432.

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This discussion of the relationship between enfeoffment and shi reveals that the author of “Heeding Positional Advantage” conceives of geopolitical unification within the traditional framework of Western Zhou enfeoffment. Put simply, just as kingship itself is the epitome of shi, so, too, the practice of enfeoffment contributes vitally to the shi inherent in kingship. While the author does call for the ruler to preserve and enhance his shi by enlarging the fiefs—with their accompanying resources and populations—closest to him, this approach operates wholly within the paradigm of Zhou-style enfeoffment.26

Enfeoffment and Western Han Historiography in Sima Qian’s Shiji

Although Sima Qian’s Shiji, a chronicle of China from the ancient age of the legendary Yellow Emperor (Huang Di 黃帝) to Western Han times, postdates the Huainanzi, it is an important resource on enfeoffment and the lords for at least two reasons.27 First, Sima Qian offers general and comparative remarks on Zhou enfeoffment and on Western Han enfeoffment, which explain the configurations of, and underlying rationales for, their respective divisions of the Chinese realm into kingdoms. Compared to the earlier views on enfeoffment examined above, his comments reflect both the reality of imperial unification and his position in the Han imperial bureaucracy as a proponent of the interests of a strong, though civil and virtuous, central state.28 Second, he also relates the traditional accounts of not just the major historical circumstances 26

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28

Perhaps this model was ultimately rejected because the Qin kingship viewed it as too enamored with a traditional yet grossly outdated mode of structuring the realm and governing it that they believed had precipitated the violent, chaotic, and destructive conditions of Warring States times. It was not nearly innovative or ambitious enough to deliver to Qin the unprecedented goals it sought to achieve concerning the centralization, standardization, and uniformity of thought and practices that came to define both the Qin state and the Qin dynasty under the advisory leadership of Lü Buwei’s successor, Li Si 李斯 (280?–208 BCE). In short, this model was perhaps deemed merely a product of its time rather than a model for innovatively and effectively transforming its time. For an ongoing annotated translation of the Shiji into English, see William Nienhauser Jr., ed., The Grand Scribe’s Records, 6 vols. to date (Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1994–). See also Burton Watson, trans., Records of the Grand Historian (New York: Columbia University Press, 1958–93). On his advocacy of civil (wen) means of governing rather than martial (wu) tactics, see, e.g., Sima Qian, Shiji, 10 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1959) (hereafter SJ), 17.803, where he remarks, “Although the form and positional advantage may be formidable, the essential thing is to take humaneness and rightness as the roots” 形勢雖彊，要之以仁義為本.

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that shaped contemporary opinions on enfeoffment but also the key players who proposed and implemented policies that would progressively, yet irrevocably, change the relationship between Han emperors and their kinsmen. In his introductory remarks on two of his tables (biao 表) included in chapters 17, “The Chronological Table of the Lords of the Land from the Beginning of the Han” 漢興以來諸侯王年表, and 18, “The Chronological Table of the Meritorious Subjects of Gaozu Who Became Marquises” 高祖功臣侯者年表, Sima Qian explains why the early Han emperors chose to enfeoff blood relatives as nobles in the kingdoms.29 He begins his explanation, however, by citing the earlier, preimperial Western Zhou model of enfeoffment. Aside from the larger fiefs apportioned to members of the royal family who were shown great deference for their virtue, and excluding the fief granted to the noted tutor Taigong 太公, the early Zhou kings enfeoffed several hundred men in territories not larger than a hundred li (里) and not smaller than thirty li.30 The primary rationale Sima Qian gives for the practice is that these nobles and their kingdoms were expected “to assist and protect the [Zhou] royal house” 以輔衛王室. He concludes his brief discussion of Zhou enfeoffment by remarking on its demise, which he argues was not due to any lack of virtue on the Son of Heaven’s part. Rather, the royal house lost its authority over the nobles as its form and positional advantage (形勢) deteriorated in comparison to the rise of these powerful kingdoms.31 Thus, Sima Qian combines elements from the earlier discussions on Zhou enfeoffment included in the “Xiao kuang” and “Heeding Positional Advantage”: on the one hand, the weakened authority of the Zhou royal house, which the office of the ba was created to augment, and, on the other, the importance of shi in the relationship between the Zhou kingship and its royal domain and the fiefs of the Zhou polity. 29

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These tables provide chronological and genealogical lists of those who were appointed Lords of the Land and marquises (hou 侯) and their successors during the first century of Han rule. For analyses of these and other related tables in the Shiji, see Michael Loewe, The Men Who Governed Han China (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 224–39. See also 357–400 for Loewe’s study “The Kingdoms (Zhuhouwang Guo) of Western Han,” which provides an overview on the kings and kingdoms during this period that includes their rise and fall, the powers of the noble kings and the structure of their administrations, and examples of the conduct and reputations of the Liu kings. Taigong, or Duke Tai 齊太公 (also known as Grand Duke Wang of Lü 呂太公望), was tutor to Kings Wen 文王 and Wu and assisted these early Zhou kings in defeating the Shang and establishing the Zhou dynasty. For his efforts he was enfeoffed in Qi. Also, one li is approximately one-third of a mile. On the sizes of fiefs and on the rationale for and decline of Zhou enfeoffment, see SJ 17.801.

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Sima Qian turns to Han enfeoffment and recounts an oath made between Gaozu 高祖 (Liu Bang 劉邦, r. 206–195 BCE), the first Han emperor, and his kinsmen stipulating that if someone outside the Liu clan or kinship (Liushi 劉氏) proclaims himself a king, the empire will unite together to execute him.32 Sima Qian then describes how Gaozu configured his realm. Gaozu did not adopt in toto the model implemented by the first emperor of the preceding, failed Qin dynasty, Qin Shihuangdi 秦始皇帝 (r. 221–210 BCE).33 On the advice of his chief minister Li Si, Qin Shihuangdi eradicated the traditional Zhou practice of enfeoffing the sons and close relatives of the ruler as noblemen empowered to govern the former kingdoms. Instead, these territories were incorporated into a commandery system consisting of thirty-six commanderies, all under direct administrative control of the central government.34 The rationale Li Si employed to convince the emperor of the need for this new administrative structure recalled the martial conditions of later Zhou times. He explained that, as generations passed after the Zhou dynasty’s founding, kinship relations—both between the Zhou ruler and his enfeoffed kinsmen and among the kinsmen themselves—had deteriorated to the point that they began attacking one another, and the Son of Heaven was powerless to restrain them. Therefore, their disenchantment caused both the dynasty’s fall and the widespread warfare and devastation of the Warring States period.35 After the Qin’s failed attempt at imperial centralization, and following the succeeding period of interstate civil warfare between the forces of Xiang Yu 項羽 (233–202 BCE) and those of Liu Bang, Liu Bang (now Emperor Gaozu 高祖) faced the daunting task of devising and implementing a form of statecraft that would not only return the realm to peace, order, and prosperity but

32

33

34 35

Ibid. This aim of enfeoffing only members of the Liu clan was seriously threatened immediately following Gaozu’s death when Empress Dowager Lü 呂太后, consort of Gaozu and mother of Emperor Hui 惠帝 (r. 195–188 BCE), began enfeoffing members of her own Lü kinship after Emperor Hui’s death. For the details of her plan and the circumstances of its failure after her death, see SJ 9.399–412. For studies on Qin-Han history, see, e.g., Michael Nylan and Michael Loewe, eds., China’s Early Empires: A Re-appraisal (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010); Mark Edward Lewis, The Early Chinese Empires: Qin and Han (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007); and Dennis Twitchett and Michael Loewe, eds., The Cambridge History of China, vol. 1, The Ch’in and Han Empires, 221 BC–AD 220 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), esp. 1–221. SJ 6.239. SJ 6.239. Cf. SJ 87.2546.

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be capable of sustaining these conditions over time.36 To summarize briefly, he opted for a model that combined elements of centralization and enfeoffment into a single, innovative and integrative sociopolitical configuration of the unified empire. Approximately one-third of Gaozu’s realm, located largely in its western regions, was divided into smaller commanderies on the Qin model, and officials were appointed by the Han imperial court to administer them directly. Thus, he reestablished a key feature of centralized rule by adopting the Qin commandery system for a central portion of the empire. However, although he may have desired total centralization, he could not risk either repeating the same mistakes the Qin had made or having his own reign identified with it. Therefore, the remainder of the realm, about two-thirds of its total area, was administered through the traditional practice of enfeoffment.37 Gaozu’s decision to integrate these two approaches may well have been influenced by the counsel of the Ruist imperial scholar-official Lu Jia 陸賈 (ca. 228–140 BCE), who argued for the need to balance both martial (i.e., centralized) and civil (i.e., decentralized) approaches to statecraft.38 Sima Qian recounts that when Gaozu asked his supporters why he, rather than his rival Xiang Yu, had won the empire, they replied that it was due to Gaozu’s willingness, and Xiang Yu’s unwillingness, to share what he had obtained with the world.39 This sentiment calls to mind the remark examined earlier in “Heeding Positional Advantage” explaining why the house of Shen Nong 神農 was successful in possessing the world for so many generations. Initially, rather than enfeoffing his own kinsmen as kings in these newly reconstituted kingdoms, Gaozu enfeoffed the military commanders who had supported him in his struggle with Xiang Yu.40 Gaozu enfeoffed them because he needed to retain their allegiance and dissuade them from revolting and threatening the new dynasty. But not long after this integrative approach had been implemented, a series of revolts occurred when several of Gaozu’s

36

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39 40

For Gaozu’s biography in the Shiji, see Sima Qian, Shiji, 8.341–94. See also Michael Loewe, A Biographical Dictionary of the Qin, Former Han and Xin Periods (221 BC–AD 24) (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 253–59. On Gaozu’s division of the Han realm in this fashion, see SJ 17.801–2. Gaozu commissioned Lu Jia to compose a work explaining why the Qin had lost the empire and why he had gained it, and Lu presented chapters to him as he completed them, which were then compiled into Lu’s Xin yu 新語 (New Discourses). For Lu’s biography in the Shiji, see 97.2697–2701 and specifically p. 2699 for his recommendations to Gaozu. SJ 8.380–81. SJ 8.380.

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f­ ormer supporters challenged him for the throne.41 He soon realized the threat posed by investing so much autonomy and authority in these military men, and he ultimately eliminated them and replaced them with members of his own family.42 This explains how Liu An, a grandson of Gaozu, eventually became the king of Huainan. After his father, Liu Chang 劉長 (196–174 BCE), Gaozu’s seventh son and the first Liu king of Huainan, died on the road to exile after being banished by his brother, Emperor Wen 文帝 (r. 179–157 BCE), for flouting imperial laws and for plotting revolt, Liu An inherited the title and its authority. Liu An and Liu Chang’s other sons were enthroned because the emperor felt remorseful about his brother’s exile and death and showed pity toward him by enfeoffing his sons.43 Sima Qian offers the same justification for Gaozu’s political arrangement as he gave for Zhou enfeoffment—that is, it was “employed to aid and protect the Son of Heaven” 用承衛天子也. Sima Qian reports, however, that as in Zhou times, the precariousness of the practice of enfeoffing lords resurfaced as the emperor and his kinsmen became increasingly estranged.44 Thus, a recurring pattern emerges regarding why enfeoffment failed during the Zhou and Han dynasties. Its downfall, in both cases, can be attributed to the estrangement between the Son of Heaven and his blood relatives who were enfeoffed in the kingdoms of the Zhou and Han realms. In his remarks preceding the table of Han marquises, Sima Qian suggests that the notable difference between Zhou enfeoffment and Han enfeoffment is simply the length of time it took for each to deteriorate. He points out that the Zhou model enjoyed substantially greater longevity than did the Han model, and he accounts for this disparity by explaining that two circumstances coincided to precipitate the more rapid decline of the latter.45 On the one hand, the Liu kings exhibited arrogance and extravagance in their kingdoms, and they allowed themselves to be deceived by the intrigues of evil ministers. This state of affairs resulted both in violations of Han imperial law and in rebellion in the kingdoms by some Liu lords. For instance, in addition to 41 42

SJ 8.382–91. For example, for accounts of Gaozu enfeoffing his relatives as kings of Jing 荊, Chu 楚, Qi, and Dai 代, see SJ 8.384–85; for Liang 梁, Huaiyang 淮陽, and Huainan, see SJ 8.389. 43 On these events and on Liu An’s accession to his father’s title, see SJ 10.426. Cf. SJ 118.3075–94. 44 On the rationale for Han enfeoffment and on this estrangement between the emperor and his kinsmen, see SJ 17.802. 45 See SJ 18.877–78.

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Liu Chang’s example, there was the devastating Seven Kingdoms Rebellion in 154 BCE during Emperor Jing’s 景帝 (r. 157–141 BCE) reign. In response to the increasing excesses and transgressions of the kings, the infamous Han imperial official Chao Cuo 鼂錯 (d. 154 BCE) proposed reducing the size of the kingdoms by confiscating fiefs in outlying areas.46 The emperor’s approval of the measure ignited the uprising. Although Emperor Jing attempted to appease his kinsmen and quell the rebellion by having Chao executed, it was subdued only by waging a bloody campaign pitting his imperial forces and the kings allied with him against his own kinsmen. A result of the revolt was that large kingdoms such as Wu, Chu, and Qi (including kingdoms that had participated in the rebellion and even those that did not rise up against the Han imperial house) lost significant portions of their territories. As the central government suppressed the revolt, it established new commanderies under its control in areas previously held by the lords. On the other hand, more stringent Han laws were enacted and measures were undertaken to diminish the size, authority, and independence of the kingdoms during the first century of Han rule. For example, building on the gains achieved following the Seven Kingdoms Rebellion, Emperor Wu approved the imperial official Zhufu Yan’s 主父偃 (d. 127 BCE) proposal seeking to break large kingdoms into smaller ones by instituting ‘inheritance laws.’ This policy decreed that, upon a king’s death, his kingdom must be divided equally between his surviving sons, whereas the customary practice had been to pass a kingdom in its entirety to the king’s eldest son.47 In other words, similar to the practice discussed in “Heeding Positional Advantage”, Zhufu Yan proposed that the emperor enfeoff more, not fewer, imperial relatives as a means to further reduce the threat they posed to the emperor and the imperial court by dividing the kingdoms into more numerous and smaller fiefs. Zhufu Yan even speculated that this measure would be viewed as an act of “humaneness and filial devotion” by the emperor toward his kinsmen.48 Sima Qian summarizes these policies and their consequences for Han imperial authority as “the positional advantage established through strengthening the root and trunk and 46 47 48

SJ 101.2747. For Chao’s specific proposal to reduce the kingdom of Wu 吳, whose king, Liu Bi 濞 (215–154 BCE), eventually spearheaded the revolt, see SJ 106.2824–25. See, e.g., SJ 17.802, 112.2961. SJ 112.2961. Like Chao Cuo, Zhufu Yan also met an untimely and violent end when he was accused by the king of Zhao 趙, Liu Pengzu 彭組 (r. 151–92 BCE), of accepting bribes from the sons of kings, which would explain why, the king of Zhao contended, he recommended that so many of them be enfeoffed. For his biography in the Shiji, see Sima Qian, Shiji, 112.2953–63. See also Loewe, Biographical Dictionary, 749–50.

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­ eakening the branches and leaves” 彊本干，弱枝葉之勢.49 The outcome w of these and other measures was that both the institution of enfeoffment and the Lords of the Land who depended on it for their authority, land, and livelihood were mere shadows of their former selves compared with the status, size, and power they enjoyed during Gaozu’s reign.

Enfeoffment and Empire in the Huainanzi

Considering these noteworthy events in the life story of the Liu clan, it is evident that the Huainanzi was composed when the struggle between the center of power at the imperial court and the enfeoffed kinsmen residing in their fiefs was at a crucial turning point in favor of increased centralization and more assertive control of the kingdoms’ affairs by the Han emperorship and its officials.50 In response to this sea change, what sociopolitical arrangement did Liu An envision for the unified Han realm? Also, what kind of reception for his proposal did he desire from the imperial audience to whom the Huainanzi was submitted, and what persuasive means did he and his scholar-retainers employ to elicit that hoped-for response? In contrast to both the emphasis of the “Xiao kuang” on the ba and the discussion of shi and enfeoffment in “Heeding Positional Advantage,” the Huainanzi’s authors employ the provocative image of ‘flesh and bone’ and related rhetorical imagery to intimate and advocate their view, which, importantly, upholds enfeoffment as a key component. The authors construct their model of empire 49 50

SJ 17.803. Note his mention once again of shi in relation to enfeoffment in this passage. Griet Vankeerberghen, The Huainanzi and Liu An’s Claim to Moral Authority, SUNY Series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2001), 37–61, examines the dynamics of what she calls the “triangle of power” between the emperor, the kings, and Han imperial officials, both in Western Han times and especially concerning the events surrounding Liu An’s demise and the dissolution of his kingdom in 122 BCE. She concludes that the Huainan affair marked a crucial turning point in relations between the emperor and the Liu lords insofar as the reigning “Emperor Wu no longer felt obliged to demonstrate the benevolence of his rule by his kind treatment of the kings; he also no longer seems to have supported the idea that all the Liu kings shared in the Han dynasty’s mandate to rule” (57). Cf. Aihe Wang, Cosmology and Political Culture in Early China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 208, where she characterizes the Huainanzi as in part a “eulogy of the destroyed ties of flesh and blood” between the emperor and the Liu kings. In what follows I shall analyze several of Liu An’s efforts in the Huainanzi, albeit unsuccessful, to discourage the Han emperorship from turning against and disempowering the Liu lords.

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based on what this image signifies. For them, the most effective way to administer the realm consists of a cooperative enterprise between both the emperor and his blood relatives. Similar to the rationale given in “Heeding Positional Advantage” and in the Shiji, the main objective of enfeoffment was to aid and defend the highest, godlike representative of the Liu clan’s ‘flesh and bone’— namely, the emperor, or Son of Heaven. Liu An hoped that the rhetorical force of this image would help to convince the emperor of the vital contribution his kinsmen make to governing the empire effectively. Working in the circumstances that precipitated the Seven Kingdoms Rebellion and during its aftermath, it is not surprising that the authors attribute the blame for the estrangement between the emperor and his kinsmen to Han imperial officials who had increasingly meddled in their relations and affairs.51 One indirect and only slightly veiled strategy they use to criticize current court policies toward the kingdoms employs the interrelated discourses of cosmology, historiography, and political philosophy, and one illustrative example appears in chapter 6, “Surveying Obscurities” (“Lan ming” 覽冥).52 This chapter primarily expounds the Huainanzi’s fundamental cosmological and ontological assumptions by providing a descriptive account of the principle of ganying 感應 (‘stimulus and response’ or ‘resonance’), which is the mechanism by which things in the world interrelate and mutually influence one another. The authors differentiate between two types of ganying, which Charles Le Blanc terms ‘relative’ and ‘total’ resonance.53 Briefly, in ‘relative’ resonance the influence conveyed outward from some source is limited to affecting things in its own correlative category. For example, when a musical note is struck on one string of a se 瑟, the corresponding string on a second se placed near the first one also vibrates.54 In ‘total’ resonance, however, the ­influence 51

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On the view that the Huainanzi was likely written during Emperor Jing’s reign, see Major et al., Huainanzi, 7–13, and see the section entitled “Part 3: Audience and Reception” in the introduction to the present volume. On this matter, see also Martin Kern’s incisive analysis of the “Yao lüe” in chapter 4 of the present volume. Kern examines its literary form as a fu 賦 and argues that the Huainanzi’s postscript was written for performative recitation at Emperor Wu’s imperial court when the text was presented to him by Liu An in 139 BCE. For illuminating studies on “Lan ming,” see, e.g., John Major’s introduction to his translation of the chapter included in Major et al., Huainanzi, 261–66; Charles Le Blanc, Huainan tzu: Philosophical Synthesis in Early Han Thought; The Idea of Resonance (Kan-ying 感應), with a Translation and Analysis of Chapter Six (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1985). For Le Blanc’s discussion of these two varieties, see his Huai-nan tzu, 128–29, 140–42. See Lau et al., Huainanzi 6/51/18. A se is a large, harplike ancient Chinese musical instrument. Another interesting and pertinent example of “relative” resonance appears in

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extends from the originating source beyond its own correlative category to ‘stimulate’ and transform any and all other categories of things. The authors describe different pairs of opposing phenomena—animals, ancient charioteers, and former sages—that illustrate this distinction between ‘relative’ and ‘total’ resonance. One component of each pair represents the ‘relative’ variety, while the other embodies the surpassing capability of ‘total’ resonance.55 This second, superior type of ganying serves as the bridge to the chapter’s key political implications, and the pair comparing Huang Di’s reign to the “Way (dao 道) of Lord Fu Xi” 虙戲氏 is most relevant to our interests. On the one hand, Huang Di employed external, artificial, and excessive (i.e., ‘relative’) means of imposing and maintaining sociopolitical order—such as establishing a calendar, introducing hierarchical social distinctions, and instituting laws and edicts. Compared with Huang Di’s external and ‘relative’ measures, Fu Xi governed in a far superior way by complying with and facilitating the correlative influence and mutual resonance of the yin 陰 and yang 陽 energies of qi 氣.56 Although the authors construct the argument subtly and indirectly, the point of comparing them would have been obvious to contemporary readers. By late Warring States and Western Han times, Huang Di was credited with creating both the state and centralized governance, whereas figures such as Shen Nong and, according to “Surveying Obscurities”, Fu Xi exemplified a more minimalist and decentralized sociopolitical ideal.57 Hence, to assert Fu Xi’s superiority over Huang Di was to reject a highly centralized form of statecraft, especially given the recent failed attempt to establish one during the previous Qin dynasty. Furthermore, in viewing Huang Di’s reign as inferior,

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the “Jing tong” 精通 (“Quintessential Communication”) chapter of the Lüshi chunqiu, wherein “flesh and bone relatives” (gurou zhi qin 骨肉之親) are said to be capable of communicating in a wordless manner, even when distant from each other, through the mutual resonance of their shared essences (jing 精). For example, despite being separated by distance, when one subsists, the other rejoices; when one dies, the other grieves. See LSCQ 9.5/47/9–12. See Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/51/18–53/8. For the full account of Huang Di’s reign, see Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/52/16–22; for details on the age of Lord Fu Xi, see Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/52/24–53/8. For analysis of the distinction between them, see A. C. Graham, “The Nung-chia ‘School of the Tillers’ and the Origins of Peasant Utopianism in China,” reprinted in his Studies in Chinese Philosophy and Philosophical Literature (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2000), 94–100; see also A. C. Graham, Disputers of the Tao (Chicago: Open Court, 1989), 64–69, 374. On Huang Di’s association with centralized statecraft, see, e.g., Michael Puett, To Become a God: Cosmology, Sacrifice, and Self-Divination in Early China (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002), 303.

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the authors also criticize officials at the imperial court who sought to enact policies that would further consolidate and centralize the realm by weakening and eliminating the remaining local kingdoms. That they were objects of the authors’ criticism is made even more apparent in the subsequent section of the chapter. What immediately follows the comparison between Huang Di and Fu Xi is a brief historiographical narrative starting with Jie of the Xia dynasty, moving through the period of the ‘Seven States’ (qiguo 七國, i.e., the Warring States era), and culminating in Western Han times.58 It both traces and offers a rationale for the sociopolitical and cosmic degeneration of the world from the time of Fu Xi’s primitive, yet harmonious and unified, utopian age to the fall of the Qin. In recounting the Xia and the Warring States periods, the authors note several problematic conditions that contributed to their decline. One circumstance stands out, however, insofar as it pertains to both eras, and they elaborate on it for emphasis. One reason the world devolved into utter chaos and widespread violence during these periods was because numerous ambitious, self-interested, and obsequious officials ‘interposed’ themselves between rulers and their enfeoffed kinsmen, thereby causing them to become estranged. For example, the authors characterize the tyrant Jie’s reign as follows: 群臣準上意而懷當，疏骨肉而自容，邪人參耦比周而陰謀，居 君臣父子之間，而競載. . . . 是故君臣乖而不親，骨肉疏而不附。 [O]fficials took as their standard the wishes of their superiors and embraced what matched [those wishes]. Flesh and bone drifted apart and [followed] their own interests. Depraved persons strolled about by threes and twos and hatched secret plots. They interposed themselves between rulers and ministers and fathers and sons, and competed for rewards. . . . For this reason, rulers and ministers became estranged and were not on intimate terms; bone and flesh drifted apart and were not close.59 Over time the situation deteriorated so much that by the period of the Seven States separate clans unrelated to the Zhou royal house usurped control of the kingdoms, and kinship relations were disregarded to the point that “they exhumed burial mounds and scattered human bones” 掘墳墓，揚人骸.60 58 59 60

See Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/53/10–54/14. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/53/12–14; Major et al., Huainanzi, 6.8.227. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/53/21; Major et al., Huainanzi, 6.8.228.

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The consequences of not maintaining the blood ties between the Son of Heaven and his ‘flesh and bone’ were that the world fell into utter disunity and disarray, and the harmony both within and between the natural and social worlds was completely lost. Because the royal relatives could not reconcile, and since such conciliation could hardly be expected of the different clans who held power during this period, merciless warfare occurred among these rival states, and the resulting devastation is described as unparalleled in ancient Chinese history. The authors conclude their accounts of the Xia and Warring States eras by attributing their decline to the world’s failure “to come together and be as one family” 天下不合而為一家.61 It would not have been difficult for the Han emperorship to surmise that the real targets of the narrative’s critique were its own imperial officials, who, in the authors’ view, had sowed the seeds of rebellion by disrupting and undermining relations between the emperors and their kinsmen. Not surprisingly, Han officials such as Gongsun Hong 公孫弘 (d. 121 BCE), Zhang Tang 張湯 (d. 116 BCE), and Dong Zhongshu 董仲舒 (179?–104? BCE) all viewed the decline from Western Zhou times to the current age as caused by the royal relatives’ disloyalty and hostility toward their own kinsmen, most notably the Son of Heaven. For example, Dong Zhongshu argued that the laws should be applied impartially and in compliance with public standards, without granting preferential treatment to the emperor’s relatives. In a memorial in which he interpreted the meaning of a fire that broke out in Gaozu’s temple, he even went so far as to recommend that Emperor Wu execute his evil relatives residing in the remaining regional kingdoms in response to this inauspicious omen.62 “Surveying Obscurities” obviously views the problem from the other direction. Its authors employ the narrative to criticize the short-lived Qin experiment in which a bureaucracy of imperial officials assisted the emperor in governing and in which the kingdoms were incorporated into a commandery system directly administered by the central government. The Huainanzi’s authors uphold the ideal of a unified empire as the proper sociopolitical configuration for the Han realm. However, their conception of it seeks to reinforce the earlier Western Zhou model, or some modified version of it (a point I shall examine in detail below), wherein the blood relatives share power with the emperor as administrators of their own kingdoms. Thus, its vision of statecraft 61 62

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/54/2; Major et al., Huainanzi, 6.8.229. See Ban Gu 班固, Hanshu 漢書 (History of the Han). 12 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1962), 27.1332. For analysis of Dong’s view, see Sarah A. Queen, From Chronicle to Canon: The Hermeneutics of the Spring and Autumn Annals, according to Dong Zhongshu (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 27–30, 159–61, 178–81.

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represents at least a partly decentralized alternative to Qin centralization, and through the narrative the authors equate both political unity and correct and effective governance with Liu family unity. The authors conclude the narrative and the chapter by praising the current emperor for reuniting the world as one family. In perhaps overly sanguine terms, they describe him as following in the “footsteps of Lord Fu Xi” 伏犧氏 之跡 in reestablishing blood ties to the extent that “[t]he whole world blends together and becomes one; sons and grandsons succeed one another” 天下混 而為一，子孫相代.63 By linking the current emperor to Fu Xi, the authors skillfully interrelate into a coherent whole the cosmological, historiographical, and political dimensions of the chapter. As the earlier parallelism suggests, they associate the ‘total’ resonance achieved during Fu Xi’s reign, which presumably would be sought by the contemporary ruler, with at least a partly decentralized model of empire. In short, it is not insignificant that the authors outline the fundamentals of their view of unification and their criticisms of both current court policies and centralized statecraft in a chapter primarily devoted to providing a cosmological account of the way things are and the way they interact based on the workings of ganying. In so doing, they effectively conflate the descriptive and prescriptive purposes of the chapter to demonstrate that its vision is, in fact, both inherent to the normative natural order and essential for maintaining and optimizing the proper correlation between the natural and human realms. The interplay between historiography, correlative cosmology, and political philosophy is also evident in chapter 8, “The Basic Warp” (“Ben jing” 本經). It clarifies any ambiguity in the reader’s mind that while the text advocates a partly decentralized Western Zhou–style sociopolitical arrangement as outlined in “Surveying Obscurities”, its vision does not entail an exclusively decentralized model. In “The Basic Warp,” an explicit accommodation is made for centralized structures and means of statecraft. The broad trajectory of the chapter traces the progressive degeneration of the world from a unified and primitive utopia styled the ‘reign of Grand Purity’ 太清之治 to later periods of increased differentiation, disunity, and decline.64 Its overarching message relates that while the values and conditions of this 63

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Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/54/5; Major et al., Huainanzi, 6.9.229. This sentiment calls to mind Duke Huan’s effort to continue noble bloodlines noted earlier in the summary of the Guanzi in the “Yao lüe.” For the full account of the ‘reign of Grand Purity,’ see Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/61/6–12. The translation for 太清之治 is rendered in Major et al., Huainanzi, 8.1.267 (Lau et al., Huainanzi 8/61/6).

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primordial age are upheld as regulative ideals to which the contemporary ruler should aspire, the world has degenerated significantly and become much more complex, making their full recovery unattainable. However, their spirit can be substantially approximated if the current ruler undertakes the self-cultivation regimen and implements the ideals, social reforms, and political vision outlined in the chapter and in the larger work. “An Overview of the Essentials” summarizes these interests and objectives as follows: 《本經》者，所以明大聖之德，通維初之道，埒略衰世古今之 變，以褒先世之隆盛，而貶末世之曲政也。所以使人黜耳目 之聰明，靜精神之感動，樽流遁之觀，節養性之和，分帝王之 操，列小大之差者也。 “The Basic Warp” provides the means by which to illuminate the Potency of the great sages and penetrate the Way of the Unique Inception. Delineating and summarizing the devolution of decadent eras from past to present, it thereby praises the flourishing prosperity of earlier ages and criticizes the corrupt governments of later ages. It is what enables you to dispense with the acuity and keenness of hearing and sight, still the responses and movements of the essence and spirit, restrain effusive and ephemeral viewpoints, temper the harmony of nourishing your nature, distinguish the conduct of [the Five] Thearchs and [Three] Kings, and set out the differences between small and great.65 One way the authors differentiate antiquity from later, degenerate ages concerns the proper outward expression of inner feelings such as joy, grief, and anger. In ancient times, practices such as music, funerary rituals, and warfare were conducted in the correct way to give genuine expression to these natural emotions present in the human heart. For instance, the traditional three-year mourning period was instituted to allow mourners to mourn and honor the deceased appropriately and to give adequate expression to their profound feelings of grief. Although this long mourning period was not imposed by force, nevertheless people accomplished it because their heartfelt thoughts for the departed did not abate.66 Conversely, during later ages customs were debased, 65

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Lau et al., Huainanzi, 21/225/4–6; Major et al., Huainanzi, 21.2.853. The ‘Five Thearchs,’ mythical sage-rulers of China’s antiquity, include Huang Di, Zhuan Xu 顓頊, Di Ku 帝嚳, Yao 堯, and Shun 舜. The ‘Three Kings’ were Yu 禹 of the Xia, Tang of the Shang, and King Wen or King Wu of the Zhou. See Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/66/14–16.

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values were set aside, interpersonal relations became rancorous, and mourners made light of the occasion. Similarly, in antiquity warfare was undertaken in part to express (the ruler’s) anger properly and to rectify relations between the Son of Heaven and rebellious lords: 古者天子一畿，諸侯一同，各守其分，不得相侵，有不行王道 者，暴虐萬民，爭地侵壤 . . . 乃舉兵而伐之，戮其君 . . .卜其子孫 以代之。 In ancient times, the Son of Heaven had his royal domain, and the Lords of the Land each had the same [domains as called for by their rank]; each took care of his own portion, and none was permitted to usurp another. If there was one who did not follow the kingly Way, who was cruel and oppressive to the masses, who fought over land and tried to usurp territory . . . then [the Son of Heaven] raised an army and went forth to punish him, executing the prince . . . [and] then selecting by divination one of his sons or grandsons to replace him.67 Note that, similar to “Surveying Obscurities”, “The Basic Warp” upholds enfeoffment as the normative practice of antiquity and thereby argues for its continuation in the current age. Through it, mechanisms were in place at the time to regulate the kingdoms effectively, and there is therefore no pressing need to deviate drastically from past practices. Accordingly, the foregoing approach could be employed to confront future uprisings, thus obviating the need to resort to the extreme measures of centralized statecraft. Warfare during later, degenerate ages differs significantly from this appropriate use of force because power and greed were the chief motives for it as lords sought to expand their authority, wealth, and land by attacking other kingdoms, and such conflict brought about bloodshed, disorder, and disunity.68 In other words, the authors ingeniously criticize the very thing feared most by the emperor and his officials at court—namely, insurgency by the ‘greedy lords’ in the regional kingdoms. This description evokes the martial conditions of Warring States times. In the Liu family saga, perhaps the event condemned here is the Seven Kingdoms Rebellion, a revolt Liu An did not join despite possibly desiring to participate.69 Or it may even refer to the fatal error committed 67 68 69

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/66/19–21; Major et al., Huainanzi, 8.12.286. See Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/66/21–24. SJ 118.3081.

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by his own father, Liu Chang, in rebelling against Emperor Wen in 174 BCE, resulting in his exile and death and the subsequent division of his kingdom. Regardless, clearly this example does not primarily concern either appropriately expressing anger or the proper motives for war. Instead, Liu An employs it not only to convey his loyalty to the Han imperial throne by acquiescing to its authority but also to promote a particular political arrangement in which he and his kingdom survive and assist in defending the Son of Heaven and in governing the unified realm, as was the norm in earlier, praiseworthy and well-ordered ages. Regarding relations between the Liu lords and the emperor, in her study of the ‘lord-kings’ included in this book (chapter 10) Griet Vankeerberghen remarks that the Huainanzi “explicitly discourages horizontal relations among peers” while it “vigorously encourages vertical relations between the lords and the central court.” She analyzes the authors’ adaptation of a notable passage from the Laozi 老子 advocating isolationism between neighboring kingdoms to argue that contact and relations among the lords and their domains should be “minimal or, preferably, nonexistent.” In a move similar to my examination of the passage from “The Basic Warp”, Vankeerberghen concludes that the Huainanzi’s adapted passage demonstrates its “full support” of the imperial project. She also explains that it reveals the authors’ ‘awareness’ that relations among the lords could be destabilizing.70 Both relatively recent and contemporary historical events such as the fall of the Zhou dynasty during Warring States times and the Seven Kingdoms Rebellion provide acute examples of this potential danger. However, as revealed in “Surveying Obscurities”, conniving officials played key roles in facilitating these conflicts by ‘interposing’ themselves between the Son of Heaven and his kinsmen, thereby undermining their kinship as a single and unified governing family. The cooperation and coordination needed between the emperor and his blood relatives to govern the unifed realm effectively takes on a cosmological significance elsewhere in “The Basic Warp” as the authors shift their rhetorical focus from historiography to the related discourse of correlative cosmology. As time passed and the world declined from the ‘reign of Grand Purity,’ the structures of government became increasingly numerous, differentiated, and complex in order to respond effectively to the degenerating times 70

For the Laozi passage at issue, see D. C. Lau and Chen Fong Ching, eds., Laozi zhuzi suoyin 老子逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1996), 80/27/10–11. For the Huainanzi’s adaptation of it, see Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/95/13–15. For Vankeerberghen’s analysis, see chapter 10 in the present volume.

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and ­circumstances. The outcome was that in later ages of decline political structures and techniques—both civil and martial and decentralized and ­centralized—became integrated. Those specifically mentioned include di 帝, ‘thearch’ (i.e., the emperor); wang 王, ‘king’; ba, ‘hegemon’; and jun 君, ‘prince.’ The authors explain: “The thearch embodies the Grand One, the king emulates yin and yang; the hegemon follows the four seasons; the prince uses the Six Pitch Pipes” 帝者體太一，王者法陰陽，霸者則四時，君者用六律.71 They assign cosmological correlates to them—namely, Taiyi, yin and yang, the four seasons, and the Six Pitch Pipes, respectively—for at least two reasons. On the one hand, similar to the discussion in “Heeding Positional Advantage,” the authors seek to differentiate the diverse authorities and duties corresponding to each political structure. Importantly, they must not overlap, and the consequences of confusing one for another are described as follows: 帝者體陰陽則侵，王者法四時則削，霸者節六律則辱，君者失 準繩則廢。故小而行大，則滔窕而不親；大而行小，則陿隘而 不容。貴賤不失其體，則天下治矣。 If a thearch [merely] embodies yin and yang, [his throne] will be usurped. If a king [merely] models himself on the four seasons, [his territory] will be seized. If a hegemon [merely] regulates himself by the six standards, he will be disgraced. If a prince neglects the level and the marking cord, he will be eradicated. If [a person of] small [standing] carries out great [affairs], the results will be turbulent, insubstantial, and uncongenial. If a great [person] carries out petty [matters], the results will be narrow, cramped, and unpleasing. If honorable and mean do not lose their [proper] embodiments, then the world will be [properly] governed.72 In other words, each structure has a particular and key part to play in governing the world correctly and effectively, and during later, degenerate ages problems arose because these normative functions became disordered and mismatched. Furthermore, although a hierarchy is presupposed, with power and order descending from the foremost invention of imperial, centralized rule—the di—the authors also reserve central roles in this governing apparatus for earlier, decentralized institutions, most notably kingship and thus enfeoffment. On the other hand, the authors identify these political structures with components in the discourse of correlative cosmology to give them a normative 71 72

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/64/5; Major et al., Huainanzi, 8.7.277. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/64/19–21; Major et al., Huainanzi, 8.7.279.

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cosmological underpinning as the differentiated, yet necessary, counterparts to their differentiated cosmological correlates. Just as their cosmological counterparts each contribute vitally to generating and maintaining balance, harmony, and order in the differentiated natural world, so too these different, yet complementary, institutions of government must continue to work in unison in order to correlate the human realm properly with the larger cosmos. When employed together, they replicate the same well-ordered, efficient, and productive conditions in the sociopolitical realm as exist in the natural world. Thus, “The Basic Warp” conveys the need to integrate, in a complementary fashion, political institutions from imperial, centralized rule and from the earlier, decentralized practice of enfeoffment. It acknowledges that the clock can never fully be turned back on the political reality of increased centralization. One of its primary objectives was therefore to illustrate to the emperor how civil and martial and decentralized and centralized structures could be, and needed to be, mutually supportive of one another. Moreover, a sage-ruler recognizes the need to adapt to the exigencies of the times, and the circumstances of the current age require effectively integrating and properly balancing these different yet complementary approaches to statecraft. Liu An looked to his own ‘flesh and bone’ for the quintessential example of this kind of sagely rulership. The innovative figure who struck the necessary and appropriate balance between these different institutions and methods was none other than Liu An’s grandfather, the Han founder Gaozu. The vision of empire outlined in this chapter endorses the model implemented by this most noteworthy progenitor of the Liu clan’s ‘flesh and bone.’ Specifically, part of the empire is to be governed by means of a commandery system, yet the majority of the realm—including the kingdom of Huainan—would continue to be administered through the traditional practice of enfeoffing the Liu kinsmen. Chapter 13, “Discourses on the Boundless” (“Fan lun” 氾論), calls for the very same sociopolitical arrangement, though it does so not by appealing to the discourse of correlative cosmology but through historical comparison. The authors compare the Qin dynasty to Gaozu’s reign to demonstrate and extol the efficacy, and thus superiority, of the latter’s more balanced approach to statecraft. They criticize the one-sidedness of the failed Qin system by recounting that during the Qin reign those who advocated loyal remonstrance and civility (wen) as the basis of effective and virtuous governance were completely ignored and viewed as ‘mad’ (kuang 狂).73 Consequently, the dynasty was excessive and extravagant, countless numbers were killed under the regime, and it quickly collapsed. 73

See Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/124/2–5.

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Conversely, once the hostilities ended between Liu Bang and Xiang Yu and then later between Emperor Gaozu and the military supporters he initially enfeoffed in the former kingdoms, the first Han emperor implemented a more balanced approach, similar to Duke Huan’s strategy examined earlier, to the civil and martial structures of government. The authors of the Huainanzi remark that “he [Gaozu] preserved what had been destroyed and continued what had been cut off. . . . He continued the undertakings of civility and established the merits of martiality” 存亡繼絕 . . . . 繼文之業，立武之功.74 As noted previously, Gaozu reconstituted several of the pre-Qin kingdoms, and he reestablished the practice of enfeoffing his blood relatives. Yet because Gaozu also recognized the efficacy of, and the need for, some degree of centralized rule, he administered approximately one-third of the realm through a commandery system modeled on the overly martial Qin polity. But the thrust of the comparison is clear: governing by means of imperial militarization and centralization alone—that is to say, employing the commandery system ­exclusively—will result in the same quick demise for the Han that the Qin had experienced only decades earlier. “Discourses on the Boundless” includes an even more explicit warning to the current emperor: 今世之為武者則非文也，為文者則非武也，文武更相非，而不 知時世之用也. . . . 唯無所嚮者，則無所不通。 In the present time, those who practice martiality reject civility. Those who practice civility reject martiality. [Supporters of] civility and martiality oppose each other, but they do not understand timely utilization. . . . Only if one does not incline toward any side will one comprehend everything.75 Unlike Gaozu, who utilized both martiality and civility in response to the needs of the times, in the present age those who advocate wu (i.e., centralization) and those who endorse wen (i.e., enfeoffment) fundamentally oppose one another. The authors caution the emperor that their antagonism could have

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Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/124/5–8. Translation adopted with modification from Major et al., Huainanzi, 13.9.502. My examination of “Discourses on the Boundless” has been aided by the analysis in Michael Puett, The Ambivalence of Creation: Debates concerning Innovation and Artifice in Early China (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2001), 159–66. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/124/11–13; Major et al., Huainanzi, 13.9.503.

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dire consequences for the dynasty if he is unable to balance the two properly and impartially. Therefore, “Discourses on the Boundless” emphasizes that what distinguishes Gaozu and his reign from the current leadership and present circumstances of Liu An’s time was his ability to adapt, both innovatively and efficaciously, in accord with the exigencies of the age. Indeed, this capacity to change with the times is highly valued in “Discourses on the Boundless” and in the Huainanzi as a whole. “An Overview of the Essentials” identifies it as one of the central themes addressed in the chapter: 所以使人不妄沒於勢利，不誘惑於事態，有符曮晲，兼稽時世 之變，而與化推移者也。 It [“Discourses on the Boundless”] is what enables you to not be foolishly immersed in the advantages of political power, not be seductively confused by the exigencies of affairs, and so tally with constancy and change to link up and discern timely and generational alterations, and extend and adjust [your policies] in accordance with transformations.76 For example, “Discourses on the Boundless” observes that throughout China’s history sages have always adapted in accord with the times. It argues that if the standards of the ancients cannot be followed, if their implements cannot be employed efficiently, and if their rituals and customs are no longer suitable to contemporary practices, then they must be set aside and replaced with more appropriate and effective alternatives. The authors give examples from material culture—such as the invention of houses, clothing, plows, boats, carts, and weapons—to illustrate that innovations must be developed to meet the needs of the times.77 Also, the norms, music, and rituals of the ‘Five Thearchs and Three Kings’ were changed by their successors to accord with the times: “As for the ascendancy of the Three Dynasties: they ruled without imitating their predecessors, and so suited [their circumstances]. . . . Therefore, altering what is ancient is not something that can be rejected” 三代之起也，不相襲

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Lau et al., Huainanzi, 21/225/23–24; Major et al., Huainanzi, 21.2.854–55. On ‘changing with the times’ in pre-Qin writings, see the “Geng fa” (更法) chapter of the Shangjunshu 商君書 and the “Wu du” (五蠹) chapter of the Han Feizi 韓非子. See Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/120/7–17.

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而王. . . . 故變古未可非.78 In fact, it was because the Xia and the Shang failed to adapt with the times that they ultimately fell.79 In his insightful contribution to this volume (chapter 8), Michael Puett explains that, historically, there were ‘ambivalent consequences’ of these technological and cultural innovations according to the Huainanzi’s authors. He reveals that, on the one hand, sages wisely created them to solve real human problems that emerged at specific moments in human history, and thus their inventions were both necessary and effective. On the other hand, the greater knowledge and mastery of the world that accompanied these innovations resulted in a profound loss of the cosmic unity and harmony that had existed prior to their development during the earlier age of primordial antiquity. Hence, the authors juxtapose and integrate two different and opposing conceptions of human history: one ‘progressive’ and the other ‘degenerative.’ Puett concludes that the text’s authors regard their own timely yet, paradoxically, timeless innovation as sagacity expressed textually because it successfully encompasses and harmonizes these seemingly irreconcilable trajectories of history’s unfolding, thereby bringing them to a decisive ‘end.’ My analysis of “Discourses on the Boundless” reveals another instance where the authors unite and harmonize ostensibly conflicting models. It concerns different means and structures of statecraft, and the authors reconcile them by referencing Gaozu. What enabled him to bring order and stability to the fragmented and war-torn realm was his ability to adapt to meet the exigencies of his age by innovatively integrating heretofore-incommensurable approaches to statecraft—that is, he combined and properly balanced a commandery system and enfeoffment. In addition to underscoring the efficacy of Gaozu’s integrative approach, Liu An also cites his example because Gaozu embodies what Mark Lewis designates the “supreme source of authoritative precedent” for Han emperorship.80 In his study of kinship during Qin and Han times, Lewis remarks that all Han emperors were members of a lineage obliging them to “revere and follow the precedents established by earlier rulers.”81 Therefore, Liu An attempts to sway the emperor by suggesting that the most effective, and the ‘filially pious,’ resolution to this debate between greater centralization and enfeoffment would be to perpetuate the precedent established by Gaozu. 78

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/121/4–6; Major et al., Huainanzi, 13.3.493. Cf. Lau et al., Huainanzi 11/98/4–9. 79 See Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/120/19–121/4. 80 Lewis, Early Chinese Empires, 169. 81 Ibid.

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Chapter 19, “Cultivating Effort” (“Xiu wu” 脩務), employs yet another persuasive strategy to promote the Huainanzi’s vision. Generally speaking, it makes a compelling appeal to the “Way of the Former Kings” (xianwang zhi dao 先王 之道) and identifies the text’s model of empire with it. The chapter begins in a provocative way by refuting one interpretation of the political technique wuwei 無為, conventionally rendered as ‘nonaction.’82 The authors assert that, contrary to the opinion of some, wuwei does not entail being “solitarily soundless and indifferently unmoving” 寂然無聲，漠然不動.83 They criticize this view by citing the important contributions made by the ancient sage-kings Shen Nong, Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang to advance Chinese civilization and improve the people’s welfare. For example, Shen Nong contributed agricultural techniques; Yao provided ethical norms to guide interpersonal relations; Shun built dwellings; Yu determined the topography of the land and waterways by channeling out conduits that allowed the floodwaters to recede; and, lastly, Tang exhausted himself in caring for the common people, especially the impoverished and the orphaned and widowed. The people benefited enormously from these sage-kings’ efforts. They were nourished without becoming ill and dying from eating poisonous plants; they were ennobled by moral principles; they were sheltered from the elements; they were rescued from the floodwaters and given land on which to dwell and waterways on which to travel; and they were comforted in difficult circumstances.84 These sage-kings used the same approach to achieve a common purpose— that is, they all exerted their utmost to benefit the people: “These five sages were rulers who made the world flourish. They labored their bodies and used their minds to the utmost on behalf of the people to bring benefit and eradicate harm, yet they never tired of doing so” 此五聖者，天下之盛主，勞形 盡慮，為民興利除害而不懈.85 In referencing them, the authors exhort the contemporary ruler who aspires to their eminence to do likewise. Thus, had these sages-kings conceived of wuwei according to the erroneous definition of it noted above, and had they based their rulership on it, they would not have 82

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For a study of wuwei in pre-Qin sources, see Edward Slingerland, Effortless Action: Wu-wei as Conceptual Metaphor and Spiritual Ideal in Early China (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003). For a study on wuwei both in pre-Qin writings and in the Huainanzi, see Ames, Art of Rulership, 28–64. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 19/202/12; Major et al., Huainanzi, 19.1.766. My understanding of “Cultivating Effort” has been aided by the analysis given by Sarah Queen and John Major in the introduction to their translation in Major et al., Huainanzi, 757–65. For more detailed accounts of these sage-kings’ respective innovations and the benefits enjoyed by the people because of them, see Lau et al., Huainanzi 19/202/12–203/10. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 19/202/25; Major et al., Huainanzi, 19.1.768.

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contributed to humanity and to the project of civilization in the important ways that they did. Nor would they have improved people’s lives to the extent that they did. Their concern for the people and their efforts on the people’s behalf—rather than any misconceived view of them as having employed solitude, indifference, and inaction in their governance—are why no one can contend that they were not sages.86 Therefore, effort on behalf of and service to humanity and society are cornerstones of the view of sagacity expressed in “Cultivating Effort”. The chapter goes on to explain that in ancient times this concern for benefiting the people was the motivating factor in devising a government apparatus consisting of various administrative officials and Lords of the Land who would help to establish order and provide security and assistance to the common people. Although the Son of Heaven resided atop the hierarchy, government was not formed to serve the interests and desires of the ruler. Instead, it was to prevent the strong from dominating the weak and the many from oppressing the few. Because such a task was too burdensome for any one individual to undertake alone, the various levels of administration were created to assist him: 為一人聰明而不足以遍照海內，故立三公九卿以輔翼之。絕國 殊俗、僻遠幽間之處，不能被德承澤，故立諸侯以教誨之。是 以地無不任，時無不應，官無隱事，國無遺利。所以衣寒食 飢，養老弱而息勞倦也。 Since one person’s intelligence was not sufficient to shed light on all things within the [four] seas, the Three Dukes and the Nine Ministers were established to aid and assist him. Since inaccessible states with varied customs and remote and secluded locales could not receive and be enriched by the ruler’s virtue, Lords of the Land were established to instruct and admonish them. This made it so that no land was untended, no season was not [met with its proper] response, no official concealed his activities, [and] no state neglected to benefit [the people]. By these means, they clothed the cold and fed the hungry, nourished the old and infirm, and gave respite to those wearied from their labors.87

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Lau et al., Huainanzi, 19/202/15. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 19/203/3–5; Major et al., Huainanzi, 19.1.769.

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Similar to the contributions made by the five ancient sage-kings, these different levels of government were instituted for the express purpose of assisting the ruler in his concerted effort to benefit the people. Concerning the lords, “Cultivating Effort” also argues for the need to continue enfeoffing the emperor’s blood relatives so that they may aid him in governing the empire.88 Similar to the emphasis on extending the sage-king’s rightness in “Heeding Positional Advantage” noted earlier, the passage illuminates the key tasks the lords perform in helping him to benefit the people—namely, they convey the emperor’s virtue (de 德) to the diverse and distant regions of his realm, and they instruct and admonish (i.e., govern) the people inhabiting them. Enfeoffment therefore not only is one effective means of benefiting the people but also embodies, and thus perpetuates, the objectives and ideals of the Way of the Former Kings, which the Huainanzi embraces and extends. By linking enfeoffment with the virtuous and effective rulership of these ancient sage-kings, the authors seek to convince the emperor of its enduring efficacy and authoritativeness. One important unstated, though fairly obvious, implication of this approach is that, in caring for and benefiting the people, the ruler simultaneously benefits himself, insofar as security and contentment typically reinforce order and stability. “Cultivating Effort” emphasizes the vital part the lords can play, and have indeed played since ancient times, in supporting and perpetuating the ruler’s reign. This appeal to the Way of the Former Kings is yet another persuasive strategy the authors employ to promote their vision of a unified and universal Han Empire. The last rhetorical feature I shall examine appears in the taxonomic narrative included in the text’s postscript, “An Overview of the Essentials”.89 The 88

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In her contribution to this book (chapter 10), Griet Vankeerberghen mentions an important administrative function that the lords were empowered to perform. In the ritual calendar included in chapter 5 of the Huainanzi, “Seasonal Rules” (“Shi ze” 時則), during the last month of autumn the lords “received the standard weights to be used in taxing the people within their dominions.” Thus, the lords were tasked to collect taxes from the Son of Heaven’s subjects who inhabited their kingdoms, in compliance with imperial taxation rates. For analyses of this key chapter of the work, see Martin Kern’s contribution to this volume (chapter 4) and Major et al., Huainanzi, 841–47; Sarah A. Queen, “Inventories of the Past: Rethinking the ‘School’ Affiliation of the Huainanzi,” Asia Major, 3rd ser., 14.1 (2001): 51–72; Kanaya Osamu, Shin Kan shisō shi kenkyū 秦漢思想史研究, 2nd ed. (Kyoto: Heirakuji, 1981), 465–88; and my “A Study of ‘Yao lüe,’ ‘A Summary of the Essentials’: Understanding the Huainanzi through the Point of View of the Author of the Postface,” Early China 29 (2004): 45–108.

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taxonomy recounts and summarizes various innovative and efficacious texts and practices from the time of King Wen of the Zhou dynasty through Spring and Autumn and Warring States times and during the Qin dynasty. The author, perhaps Liu An himself as the book’s patron and general editor, employs the taxonomy to distinguish the Huainanzi from what preceded it by asserting that it not only subsumes these innovations but, more importantly, far surpasses them by assigning each one its appropriate place and purpose within a more comprehensive and integrated vision. The summaries of these earlier developments reveal their time- or context-bound nature and thus their limited applicability.90 Conversely, in the Huainanzi’s summary, which brings to a close both the taxonomy and the entire work, we read that the text effectively integrates the best that pre-Han China has to offer in an unprecedented and comprehensive synthesis: 若劉氏之書，觀天地之象，通古今之論，權事而立制，度形而 施宜，原道德之心，合三王之風，以儲與扈冶，玄眇之中，精 搖靡覽，棄其畛挈，斟其淑靜，以統天下，理萬物，應變 化，通殊類，非循一跡之路，守一隅之指，拘繫牽連於物，而 不與世推移也，故置之尋常而不塞，布之天下而不窕。 In this book of the Liu clan [i.e., the Huainanzi], [we have] observed the phenomena of Heaven and Earth, penetrated past and present discussions, weighed affairs and established regulations, measured forms and applied what is suitable, traced to its source the heart of the Way and its Potency, and united the customs of the Three Kings, collecting them and alloying them. At the core of the Profound Mystery, the infinitesimal movements of the essence have been revealed. By casting aside limits and boundaries, and by drawing upon the pure and the tranquil, [we have]  thereby unified the world, brought order to the myriad things, responded to alterations and transformations, and comprehended their distinctions and categories. We have not followed a path made by a solitary footprint or adhered to instructions from a single perspective or allowed ourselves to be entrapped or fettered by things so that we would not advance or shift according to the age. Thus, situate [this book] in the narrowest of circumstances and nothing will obstruct it; extend it to the whole world and it will leave no empty spaces.91 90 91

For the specifics of the eight summaries included in the taxonomy, see Lau et al., Huainanzi 21/227/20–228/26. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 21/228/28–31; Major et al., Huainanzi, 21.4.867.

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Because of its scope and precision in illuminating the Way, human affairs (shi 事), and the inherent interrelation between them, and because the authors do not allow themselves to be bound to, and therefore limited by, a single favored doctrine or technique, the Huainanzi’s instructions and applications are characterized rhetorically as being comprehensive, impartial, adaptive, and therefore effective and timeless. Most importantly for our purposes, the author begins the summary by styling the work the “book of the Liu clan.” By submitting the text to his nephew, Emperor Wu, in 139 BCE, and by referring to it in this way, presumably Liu An hoped that it would be viewed by the emperor not merely as his uncle’s book but as the entire Liu clan’s book and, on that basis, adopted as the prevailing ideology of the Han dynasty. Certainly, Liu An envisioned it as imparting a ‘Way’ faithful to his grandfather’s authoritative example and legacy. Implementing its vision will enable the Liu clan to reign universally and timelessly and be adaptable and effective in governing the unified realm. In short, the author portrays the text as a family book authored by one of the family’s own ‘flesh and bone.’ The book therefore constitutes Liu An’s consummate act of filial piety to the Liu imperial lineage and emperorship. Conclusion In summary, by analyzing these different persuasive means employed by the authors of the Huainanzi to promote their vision of a unified Han Empire, I have shown that what links several of them is their emphasis on the Liu clan’s ‘flesh and bone.’ For instance, in “Surveying Obscurities” the authors use this image to criticize Han imperial officials who sought to weaken, diminish, and ultimately eradicate the Liu kings and their kingdoms. In “Discourses on the Boundless,” they compellingly link their vision of empire to the highest representative of the Liu clan’s ‘flesh and bone,’ Emperor Gaozu, because during his reign he utilized his kinsmen and their kingdoms, together with centralized means of statecraft, to solidify the dynasty and to govern the empire effectively. Lastly, in “Cultivating Effort” not only do the authors link enfeoffment and the lords with the virtuous rulership of the ancient sage-kings but, similar to the rationale for enfeoffment given in “Heeding Positional Advantage” and in the Shiji, they also emphasize the key roles the lords play in assisting the Son of Heaven and in emboldening and prolonging his reign. Unfortunately for Liu An and other Liu nobles, the imperial throne was not swayed by this image or by the related persuasive strategies deployed in the Huainanzi. After being accused of plotting rebellion against Emperor Wu, Liu An committed

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suicide in 122 BCE. The heir apparent, the queen, and other so-called accomplices were executed by the thousands, and the kingdom was abolished and made into a commandery under Han administrative control, the Jiujiang 九江 Commandery.92 Thus, as the case of Liu An and the kingdom of Huainan indicates, the blood ties linking the Han emperors and their kinsmen were not sufficient to forestall the momentum of the agents, measures, and circumstances that succeeded in bringing increased centralized rule to Han China.

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The Discourse about Lords (Zhuhou) in the Huainanzi Griet Vankeerberghen In 139 BCE, during a court visit to the capital, Liu An 劉安, king of Huainan 淮南, presented the Huainanzi 淮南子 to his nephew, Emperor Wu 武 (r. 141– 87 BCE), who had become emperor only two years earlier.1 The text that Liu An presented was the product of many hands and many years of collecting, selecting, collating, and organizing textual units of various sorts, and it represents one of the most ambitious literary projects of Western Han 漢 times (202 BCE–9 CE). That such an effort was organized at the court of one of the lord-kings (zhuhouwang 諸侯王), men enfeoffed by the Han emperors as kings over often-large territories as a reward for extraordinary military achievements or as an acknowledgment of close kinship ties with the reigning emperor, is certainly significant. Even though the territorial, political, military, and legal powers of these lord-kings had been drastically curtailed during the reign of Emperor Jing 景帝 (r. 157–141 BCE), the presentation of the Huainanzi demonstrates the continued confidence of these lord-kings in their role as important cultural agents in the young empire. The independence of their archival and literary pursuits also illustrates the extent of their autonomy from the central court in Chang’an 長安.2 This confidence, understandably, carried over into the first years of Emperor Wu’s reign. The king of Huainan’s gesture of offering the newly acceded emperor a copy of his book underscores that confidence.3 1 Ban Gu, Hanshu 漢書 (History of the Han). 12 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1962), 44.2145. This essay was written at the Institute of Philosophy of the Catholic University at Louvain, and I wish to thank the institute for hosting me during my sabbatical year. I also thank Carine Defoort, also at Louvain, for her comments on an earlier version of this essay. Then there is Bob Litz to whom I am very grateful for his superb editorial help. He sadly passed away too soon. 2 Another king who engaged in similar pursuits during this time was Liu De 劉德, king of Hejian 河間 (r. 155–ca. 130 BCE). 3 Soon, following a pattern set during the Qin era, political centralization would be accompanied by greater efforts to control and monopolize knowledge. The example of Liu Yu 劉宇, king of Dongping 東平, whose request for books, sometime early in Emperor Cheng’s 成 reign (r. 33–7 BCE), was not granted by the central authorities, certainly shows how much had changed by the end of the Western Han (Ban Gu, Hanshu 80.3324). On the Qin Empire’s © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���4 | doi ��.��63/9789004265325_��2

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Many would call the Huainanzi a philosophical text, insofar as its discourse moves on a fairly abstract level.4 The text is also characterized by a very high degree of intertextuality. The product of a sustained effort at text collection, the Huainanzi is heir to the many texts that it seeks to integrate within its own synthesis, a synthesis intended to surpass all previous efforts. The Huainanzi’s indebtedness to other texts is evident from the many words, phrases, and passages that the text borrows, explicitly or implicitly, from its predecessors. Altogether, these complex borrowings lend the Huainanzi a decidedly archaic character, and the text, arguably, can be seen as the last of its kind.5 The question that I shall address in this essay is whether such an archaizing, philosophical text also speaks to issues relevant to its own historical context. In other words, should the Huainanzi be analyzed and evaluated only in regard to its merit in organizing, clarifying, and pushing toward abstraction the discourse it inherited from its predecessors, or does the Huainanzi manage to break out of this shell to contribute to ongoing political debates? I shall pursue this inquiry through a close analysis of those passages within the Huainanzi that pertain to the zhuhou 諸侯 (lords). Other issues could have been chosen as well. However, the Huainanzi’s discourse on lords is particularly interesting, not only because the proper relations between the lord-kings and the emperor were an issue of much debate in Western Han times, but also because some scholars would like to read the Huainanzi as containing a bold claim for more autonomy for the lord-kings from the imperial court at Chang’an.6 The Huainanzi nowhere explicitly addresses the relationship between the lords and the center; rather, it refers to lords in passing, in sixty-one passages scattered over many of its twenty-one chapters.7 That Liu An, the text’s patron, was himself a member of the zhuhouwang, the Western Han ­reincarnation policies regarding scholarship, see Martin Kern, The Stele Inscriptions of Ch’in Shih-huang: Text and Ritual in Early Chinese Imperial Representation (New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society, 2000). 4 The Huainanzi would have been included in what Sima Qian, in the last chapter of his Shiji 史記, characterizes as ‘empty words’ (kong yan 空言), to which he opposed his own historical prose; Sima Qian, Shiji (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1959), 130.3297. 5 See my “Texts and Authors in the Shiji,” in China’s Early Empires: A Re-appraisal, ed. Michael Nylan and Michael Loewe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 461–79, esp. 477–79. 6 See chapter 9 in this volume, by Judson Murray; see also John S. Major, Sarah A. Queen, Andrew Seth Meyer, and Harold D. Roth, trans., The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China, Translations from the Asian Classics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010), 15–16. 7 Only five chapters (2, 4, 7, 10, 16) do not have any passages containing the term zhuhou.

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of the earlier institution of zhuhou, raises an obvious question: can the Huainanzi’s passages on the zhuhou be read as a commentary on Liu An’s own station in life and as a reflection of his thoughts and aspirations regarding the institution of the zhuhou? More specifically, given that a dangerous rebellion of the kings had been suppressed in 154 BCE8 and that the central court in Chang’an was actively engaged in shifting the balance of power away from the kings and toward itself, can one find, in the Huainanzi’s discourse on the lords, a political message that, overtly or hidden, was geared toward reversing that trend in favor of empowering the zhuhouwang?9 Methodologically, I have organized the Huainanzi passages on the zhuhou in different clusters that, depending on the textual stream upon which they draw, invest the term zhuhou with different meanings or with a different purpose. While I seek to identify, in a relatively general way, the kind of discourse each group draws upon, I am most interested in delineating the message about the zhuhou contained within each group and in combining that message with what we know historically about the kings of the early Western Han dynasty. In this way, I will be able to test, for each cluster, whether the Huainanzi merely adopts earlier messages or also manages to wed such messages to something directly relevant to the evolving historical circumstances of the zhuhouwang.

8 Reinhard Emmerich, “Die Rebellion der Sieben Könige, 154 v. Chr.,” in Und folge nun dem, was mein Herz begehrt: Festschrift für Ulrich Unger zum 70 Geburtstag, ed. Reinhard Emmerich and Hans Stumpfeldt, Hamburger sinologische Schriften 8 (Hamburg: Hamburger sinologische Gesellschaft, 2002), 397–497. 9 The term zhuhouwang is used in historical texts that deal with the kings of the Han dynasty and, though obviously related to the term zhuhou, does not occur in the Huainanzi. In one passage in the Shiji (Sima Qian, Shiji 8.370), Gaozu 高祖, the Han founder, sends a messenger to the zhuhou, who refer to Gaozu himself as zhuhouwang. I speculate that as soon as Gaozu assumed the title of emperor, the zhuhou associated with his regime became zhuhouwang. That there were legal statutes relating to the zhuhouwang of the Han dynasty is clear from a passage in the text that Pan Xu 潘勖 (d. 215 CE) wrote for Cao Cao 曹操, when in 213 CE the latter was made Duke of Wei 魏 and received the nine presentations, as that text (the “Ce Weigong jiuxiwen” 冊魏公九錫文) mentions how the newly minted duke was to establish officials in accordance with the “Early Han Regulations on the Zhuhouwang” 漢初諸侯王 之制. In the legal documents unearthed from tomb 247 in Zhangjiashan reference is made to both zhuhou and zhuhouwang. See Zhangjiashan Han mu zhujian (er si qi mu hao) 張家山 漢墓竹簡 (二四七號墓) (Beijing: Wenwu, 2001), 133, 153, 163 (strips 1, 151, 221, and 223).

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The Consent of the Zhuhou as a Sign of Political Order and Disorder

Li Wai-yee, in her recent book The Readability of the Past in Early Chinese Historiography, analyzes the historiography of the Zuozhuan 左傳 in terms of signs. In her view, the many agents and rhetoricians who populate the Zuozhuan’s narrative of 255 years of Eastern Zhou 周 history are all engaged in a complicated game of discerning signs. These signs—dreams, divination results, names, types of behavior, constellations in the sky—not only provide clues to what the future holds, or whether planned actions will meet with success or defeat, but also help the observers and commentators who are featured in the Zuozhuan to understand the outcome of events. Signs, in Li’s reading of the Zuozhuan, are often willfully ignored, misread, or manipulated, resulting in undesirable outcomes or outright chaos.10 The Huainanzi is not a historiographical text in se but, like almost all ancient Chinese texts, makes ample use of historical anecdotes and simple historical references.11 In contrast to a text like the Zuozhuan, in which events are presented as complex, multifaceted, and open to various contradictory interpretations and judgments, historical events presented in the Huainanzi are typically reduced to a single meaning, often enunciated in the most explicit of terms either preceding or following the historical reference.12 Inspired by Li, I shall analyze the Huainanzi’s frequent references to the lords’ assent to a particular ruler’s mandate as ‘signs’ of that ruler’s political legitimacy.13 Such signs in the Huainanzi carry, I submit, a fairly univocal meaning, with only a few exceptions. As Zifa 子發 explicitly states in a passage in chapter 12 of the Huainanzi, summoning the zhuhou to his court as guests is one of the defining tasks of a ruler: “To order the state by establishing a government and to make the lords come as guests, this is what the ruler’s virtue (de 德) consists of” 治國立政，諸侯 10 11

12 13

Li Wai-yee, The Readability of the Past in Early Chinese Historiography (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2007). Such historical references occupy a substantial part of every Huainanzi chapter. In some chapters these historical anecdotes are fully fleshed out, whereas in others they are merely hinted at, in one or a few sentences or even words. In the Huainanzi, these historical anecdotes do not stand out as much as they do in the Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋, where they form an intrinsic structuring principle. A prominent example of this is Yan Ying 晏嬰, whom the Huainanzi portrays as more “forceful and uncompromising” than the Zuozhuan does (Li, Readability of the Past, 324). Li does not explicitly analyze the consent of the lords as a sign. Instead, she regards the aspiring hegemon’s acquisition of their consent as one of three essential components of the hegemonic project: “honoring the Zhou king, bringing concord to the states, and repelling the barbarians” (Li, Readability of the Past, 257, 305).

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入賓，此君之德也.14 Amplifying Zifa’s statement, many Huainanzi passages designed to demonstrate successful rulership—or its opposite—describe successful rulers as those who command the fealty of the lords, and unsuccessful ones as those who do not. For example, a passage in chapter 1 of the Huainanzi seeks to explain the difference between a ruler who has mastered the Great Way and one who relies on petty techniques: Yu 禹 serves as an example of the former; Gun 鯀, Yu’s father, an example of the latter. Gun, the Huainanzi writes, sought to stabilize his position by building fortified walls, and as a result the lords ‘opposed him’ (bei zhi 背之); in contrast, Yu, because of his much more enlightened policies, managed to convene the lords (he zhuhou 合諸侯) on Mount Tu 塗.15 That the lords’ support of a ruler signifies the latter’s ultimate success and legitimacy is especially clear in cases where peace or power was attained in unlikely circumstances or through distasteful means. For example, in chapter 11, King Goujian of Yue 越王句踐 is seen as becoming hegemon despite his barbarian habits and origins,16 whereas elsewhere in the same chapter, the Duke of Zhou 周公 is shown as managing to convene the lords at the Zhou court only after a series of violent acts that, at times, were directed against his own brothers.17 Such signs are the outward and perceivable manifestations of underlying processes that are otherwise difficult to assess. Whether rulers such as King Goujian and the Duke of Zhou acted righteously in the paths they took to power would have been unknowable and open to endless debate had there not been clear signs or indicators of their righteousness—in this case the lords’ willingness to cooperate. That these rulers ultimately won the support of the lords signifies that they were justified in their attempts, however fraught, to assume leadership. Two Huainanzi passages serve as reminders that mere consent of the lords does not necessarily signify lasting success. A passage in chapter 9 demonstrates Zhou 纣 of Shang’s 商 well-established hold on power by stating how he managed to bring the lords to his court (chao zhuhou 朝諸侯), but it then describes how quickly his power was eroded by the arrival of the morally

14

15 16 17

D. C. Lau et al., eds., A Concordance to the Huainanzi 淮南子逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1992), 12/113/11–12. References to the Huainanzi are from D. C. Lau et al., eds., Huainanzi, in the form chapter/page/line(s). Lau et al., Huainanzi, 1/3/2–4. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 11/97/8–10. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 11/102/19–21.

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­superior King Wu 武 of Zhou 周 on the scene.18 A similar fate befell Duke Li of Jin 晉厲公, who “convened the lords at Jialing 嘉陵” but then, in a matter of years, managed to alienate the lords through his perverse policies and to lose their support.19 Zhou of Shang and Li of Jin, indeed, may have wrongly interpreted the lords’ consent as a sign that all was well, taking it, at their own peril, as license to act in any way they pleased. These are the only two instances in the Huainanzi where the consent of the zhuhou represents a somewhat ambiguous sign. To understand the consent of the zhuhou as a sign of good rulership helps us to discern that, ultimately, the passages that invoke them intend to make a statement not so much about the lords but about the nature of the regimes that they do or do not support. The question these passages pose is whether the reigning king is a true king (wang 王)—or, similarly, whether a ruler calling himself hegemon (ba 霸) is worthy of the title. At stake is the accuracy of the claims to universal rulership that kings or hegemons make. When things go wrong, when lords rebel or refuse to come to court as they did during the first years of the Western Zhou, or when lords are pitted against each other in the kind of ruthless fighting that characterized the Warring States period, the ultimate cause is not the evil nature of the lords themselves but the absence of a ruler in possession of the necessary de. The moral burden lies with the ruler with universal ambitions, who is obligated to orchestrate the lords in such a way—through enlightened policies or through military action—that they willingly join the chorus. Characterizing cooperation by the lords as a sign of order, the Huainanzi is by no means unique and, in fact, adopts a trope common to many other pre­ imperial and early imperial texts. This widespread trope implies an underlying, shared conception of the role of the lords in a political universe that is interes­ tingly bifurcated. On the one hand, the lords are important components of the political system, insofar as their consent is a powerful indicator of good rulership. Moreover, to play their legitimizing role properly they need a certain level of autonomy and independence: their consent cannot be true consent unless they are able to withhold it. On the other hand, precisely because of this independence, they also have the potential to create havoc and, literally, become agents of disorder. Such disorder, the theory suggests, can be overcome only by the arrival of a new universal ruler.20 18 19 20

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 9/73/19–20. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 18/185/23–25. For a study of the zhuhou in Shangshu dazhuan 尚書大傳, see my “Rulership and Kinship: The Shangshu dazhuan’s Discourse on Lords,” Oriens Extremus 46 (2007): 84–100.

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Given the Han dynasty’s claim to universal rulership in the wake of the interstate violence of the Warring States period and the collapse of the Qin dynasty (221–209 BCE), one wonders whether the Huainanzi also explicitly points to the support of the zhuhouwang—a group that counts the Huainanzi’s patron among its members—for the Han dynasty as a sign that Han has successfully captured the mandate. As the following passages attest, the Huainanzi’s descriptions of disorder become particularly vivid when describing the Warring States period, especially the period immediately preceding the Qin unification. In these passages, conflicts among the lords, in the absence of a universal ruler, are identified as the main source of trouble: 晚世之時，七國異族，諸侯制法，各殊習俗，從橫間之，舉兵而 相角，攻城（檻）〔濫〕殺，覆高危安，掘墳墓，（楊)〔揚〕人 骸，大衝車，高重（京）〔壘〕，除戰道，便死路，犯嚴敵，殘 不義，百往一反，名聲苟盛也。 In later generations, the Seven States belonged to different lineages. The lords codified their own laws, and each differed in his practices and customs. The Vertical and Horizontal Alliances divided them; they raised armies and attacked one another. When they laid siege to cities, they slaughtered mercilessly, overthrowing the nobles and threatening the innocent. They dug up burial mounds and scattered the bones of the dead. They built more powerful war chariots and higher defense ramparts. They dispensed with the principles of war and were conversant with the road of death, clashed with mighty foes and ravaged without measure. Out of a hundred [soldiers] who advanced, only one would return, their reputations barely established.21, 22

21 22

There are many references to zhuhou in other Han and pre-Han texts, references that all deserve close scrutiny. However, for the purposes of this contribution, it suffices to refer to the following quotation from the “Royal Regulations” (“Wang zhi” 王制) chapter of the Xunzi 旬子, which seems to sum it all up: “Those who subjugate the lords will be king; those who befriend them will be hegemon, while those who turn them into enemies will be in danger” 臣諸侯者王，友諸侯者霸，敵諸侯者危。; Xunzi zhuzi suoyin 荀子逐 字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1996), 9/36/23. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/53/20–22. Translation adapted from Charles Le Blanc, Huai-nan tzu: Philosophical Synthesis in Early Han Thought; The Idea of Resonance (Kan-ying 感應), with a Translation and Analysis of Chapter Six (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1985), 174–75.

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晚世務廣地侵壤，并兼無已，舉不義之兵〔而〕伐無罪之 國，殺不辜之民〔而〕絕先聖之後，大國出攻，小國城守，驅 人之牛馬，傒人之子女，毀人之宗廟，遷人之重寶，（血 流）〔流血〕千里，暴骸滿野，以贍貪主之欲，非兵之所 為（生）〔主〕也。 However, in recent times, they all made efforts to expand their territories, invading the borders of others and annexing their lands without pause. Raising unrighteous armies, they invaded states that bore no guilt, murdered innocent people, and interrupted the lineages founded by sages of old. Large states took the initiative to attack, while small states sought to defend themselves with their walls. They took possession of the oxen and horses of others, captured their sons and daughters, destroyed their ancestral temples, and moved the treasures important to them. Blood flowed over a thousand li; the bones of those who died a violent death filled the fields. All this happened in order to fulfill the desires of greedy rulers and was not something initiated by the military in itself.23 In the Huainanzi’s narrative, it is, unsurprisingly, not Qin but the Han dynasty that successfully rescues the world from the chaos that has enveloped it. Even though Qin initially realized its universal ambitions (de tianxia 得天下), it lost its legitimacy by engaging in overdefensive policies. According to a passage in chapter 12, Qin’s error paved the way for a very smooth takeover of power by the house of Liu (Liushi tao zhi 劉氏奪之). The description of King Wu’s struggles against Zhou of Shang that immediately follows the account of Liu’s rise strongly suggests that the Huainanzi’s editors intended to portray the Han conquest of Qin as analogous to the Zhou conquest of Shang. The ultimate success of King Wu is signified as follows: “Thereupon all-under-Heaven sang his praises and serenaded him; the lords all came to his court bearing gifts; power was not wrested away from them for thirty-four generations” 於此天下 歌謠而樂之，諸侯執幣相朝，三十四世不奪.24 That the lords voluntarily convened at the Western Zhou court clearly was seen as a powerful sign of order restored. Given the analogy being drawn, one can logically assume that the ruling classes of the Han dynasty, like their Western Zhou counterparts, were urged to look for similar signs from the lord-kings, just as they wanted to witness the legitimacy of their regime expressed in laudatory music and in the dynasty’s success at maintaining itself over many generations. The Huainanzi, 23 24

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/66/19–24. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 12/117/17–21.

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perhaps to avoid drawing unwanted attention to the many military conflicts that marred relations between the lord-kings and the Western Han emperors, never explicitly addresses the issue of signifying the current ruler’s legitimacy, but rather, by using analogy, it leaves the reader to draw the inference. We certainly do not find, in passages such as these, strong claims about the lord-kings’ functioning as signs of the Liu house’s legitimacy. It may well be that it is the ambiguous position of the lords, not quite part of the center, yet not so far removed that they could not disturb it, that explains why the lords could function as a reliable sign of order or disorder. In a telling contrast, the people (min 民), even though they too are invoked in the Huainanzi’s political rhetoric as a group that needs to be cared for and made happy, function much less obviously as such signs in the Huainanzi. Perhaps this is because the people, as they had neither the position nor the wealth to come to court bearing rich gifts, or the power to take up weapons, did not have comparable means to express their content or discontent. It seems as if they needed other groups to speak on their behalf.25 It remains to be investigated whether the lord-kings, as their de facto powers steadily eroded over the course of the Han dynasty, also shed their prominent role as signs of universal order, perhaps ceding this function to the people. The Zhuhou within the Ritual Calendar Given the importance of the lords as signs, it is not surprising that they are given a significant place in the ritual calendar that occupies most of chapter 5 of the Huainanzi, “Seasonal Rules” (“Shi ze” 時則). At regular intervals, any emperor who intended to live by the norms set out in the calendar was required to engage in certain gestures toward the lords. He was obliged to ‘send them embassies’ (shi zhuhou 使諸侯), ‘enfeoff them’ (feng zhuhou 封諸侯), ‘convene them’ (he zhuhou 合諸侯), and ‘rank them’ (ci zhuhou zhi lie 次諸侯 之列). During the assembly in the last month of autumn, the lords, in addition to receiving an almanac for the coming year, also received the standard weights to be used in taxing the people within their dominions.26 These ‘seasonal rules’ 25

26

On invocations of the people in the political life of the Chunqiu and Warring States periods, see Yuri Pines, Envisioning Eternal Empire: Chinese Political Thought of the Warring States Period (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2009), 187–218. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 5/40/16, 5/41/7, 5/42/15, 5/44/21, 5/47/2. For translations, see John Major, Heaven and Earth in Early Han Thought: Chapters Three, Four, and Five of the Huainanzi (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993).

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show that in the Huainanzi’s conception, the lords should possess the power of taxation and be entitled to tax the people within their jurisdictions as long as they abided by the taxation rates provided by the central government.27 The Huainanzi’s calendar displays a clear textual relationship with the ritual calendars (yue ling 月令) preserved in both the Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋 and the Liji 禮記. A comparison of the spaces occupied by the lords within these three calendars is revealing for several reasons.28 First, the Huainanzi’s calendar seems the most neatly articulated of the three in terms of distributing gestures to the lords over the twelve months of the year.29 The Huainanzi includes an entry on the lords for every ji 季 month (every last month of the season); only once is there an entry for a month other than a ji month (namely, for the first month of summer, meng xia 孟夏).30 Such a pattern is far more difficult to discern in the ritual calendars of the Lüshi chunqiu and the Liji. Second, that all the entries on lords in the Huainanzi calendar have a corresponding passage in either the Liji or the Lüshi chunqiu (and sometimes in both) shows that the Huainanzi compilers had little inclination to grant the zhuhou a more prominent place in their ritual calendar than in the calendars that they were, most probably, drawing on.31 Third, and most revealing, the Huainanzi calendar systematically excludes the lords from participating in the rituals that the emperor was expected to perform in one of the capital’s four suburbs at the start of each season. While both the Lüshi chunqiu and the Liji indicate the emperor leading four groups of prominent men in each ceremony—the ‘Three Dukes’ (san gong 三公), the ‘Nine Ministers’ (jiu qing 九卿), the lords, and the ‘ministers’ (daifu 大夫)—the Huainanzi’s calendar mentions only the Three Dukes, the Nine Ministers, and the ministers. Why the Huainanzi’s editors excised the 27

28

29 30 31

On the Han dynasty’s taxation policies involving the lords, see Dong Pingjun 董平均 Chutu Qin lü Han lü suojian fengjun shiyi zhidu yanjiu 出土秦律漢律所見封君食邑制 度研究 (Harbin: Heilongjian renmin, 2007), 421–31; see also Zhou Zhenhe 周振鹤, “Xi Han xian fei kao” 西漢獻費考, in Zhou Zhenhe zixuan ji 周振鹤自選集 (Guilin: Guangxi shifan daxue, 1999), 170–80. Another related but much shorter ritual calendar is preserved in the “Hongfan wuxingzhuan” 洪範五行傳 of Shangshu dazhuan; however, there the zhuhou are not mentioned at all. A more sustained analysis and comparison of the various ritual calendars (including ones archaeologically excavated) are urgently called for and would help us to understand editorial and compositional practices in the Western Han period. Sarah Queen’s contribution to this book (chapter 3) shows how chapter 12 of the Huainanzi was also very stringently composed. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 5/41/7. We do not know, of course, precisely which calendars had been collected at the Huainan court, or their exact form and content.

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lords from these passages, a move that, most certainly, was intentional, is difficult to ascertain: perhaps it reflects the fact that, at least in the first century of Western Han, the lord-kings mostly resided in their domains, not in the capital, and visited the central court only once every few years, where they partook in rituals tailored specifically to them;32 it might also be an implicit plea on the part of the Huainan court to relax the central court’s requirements regarding such visits to the capital.33 In the Huainanzi’s ritual calendar, as in those contained in the Lüshi chunqiu and the Liji, the lords form an integral part of the ritual order prescribed in the text. The center of this ritual order is clearly the emperor, or Son of Heaven (tianzi 天子), who takes the initiative in the ritual exchanges with the lords in the periphery. The Huainanzi, in its ritual calendar, provides only scant detail regarding the concrete form that relations between the Son of Heaven and his lords were supposed to take.34 Perhaps, for the lords to perform their role as signs of their overlord’s superior grasp on the reins of power, it was sufficient to say that they should be enfeoffed, assembled, and ranked at regular times of the year.

The Lords as Peers and Rivals

When the lords act as signs of political order, they are collectively responding to the quality of rulership in the center. In other passages, the zhuhou are portrayed, not so much as potential allies needed by rulers to fulfill their ambitions for universal rulership, but as de facto outsiders who are, at the same time, the political peers of the ruler, who appears in these passages as either speaker or advisee. In such passages, the term zhuhou is most effectively translated as ‘the other lords.’ To give a few examples, in chapter 12, the Lord of Song 32

Li Junfang 李俊芳, “Handai ceming zhuhouwang liyi yanjiu” 漢代冊命諸侯王禮儀研 究, Zhongguo shi yanjiu 中國史研究 2 (2010): 89–104. 33 For court visits to Chang’an in early Western Han, see my The Huainanzi and Liu An’s Claim to Moral Authority, SUNY Series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2001), 50. Certainly by the later Han many kings seem to have preferred to reside in the capital, as periodic efforts to relocate them to their own domains show. See Dong, Chutu Qin lü Han lü suojian fengjun shiyi zhidu yanjiu, 280–82. The 139 BCE visit during which Liu An offered Emperor Wu the Huainanzi was his very last visit to Chang’an. 34 The Shangshu dazhuan, for one, is much more specific in describing this relation, especially in its commentary on “Yao dian” 堯典; see Vankeerberghen, “Rulership and Kinship,” 89–91.

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宋君 explicitly states his concern ‘not to be ridiculed by the other lords’ (wei zhuhou xiao 為諸侯笑), which is, of course, exactly what ends up happening.35 When, in chapter 18, Wei Xuanzi’s 魏宣子 adviser seeks to counter Zhibo’s 智伯 voracious claims on Wei’s 魏 land, he first strategically yields to Zhibo’s demands, so that the latter would make similar claims on the other lords (bi jiang fu qiu di yu zhuhou 必將復求地於諸侯); his reasoning was that these lords, sharing his objections to Zhibo’s demands, would then join Wei to defeat Zhibo.36 In another passage from chapter 12, Kongzi’s 孔子 political acumen is illustrated in his advice to his disciple Zi Gan 子贛 to accept the reward that Lu 魯 offered him for having ransomed a fellow statesman (or woman) who had been sold into slavery in another state; otherwise, Kongzi concludes, “the people of Lu will never again ransom their compatriots from the other lords” 魯人不復贖人於諸侯矣.37 Examples such as these all derive from a period when there were multiple sibling states, engaged in complex, often antagonistic, relations with one another. Bound together by a shared cultural heritage, they each had their own idiosyncrasies and pursued their separate political and military goals. Whenever advisers or lords from the period mention the zhuhou in their speeches, they refer specifically to individuals among their own group of state leaders and do not use the term abstractly, as they would have if their goal was to identify the lords as a category whose collective role was to award or withhold its ideological consent. The zhuhou referred to in these speeches are the living peers of the speakers, and they matter because the actions they take or the words they speak have the potential to severely impact the state whose interests the speaker is defending. When the Lord of Song expresses his fear of being ridiculed by the zhuhou, he is looking for recognition by the lords; however, the recognition he is seeking is not acknowledgment by the lords as their king or hegemon but recognition of a more gossipy, concrete type: he wants to be seen by his peers as playing his part well. It goes without saying that the Huainanzi did not invent the anecdotes that evoke the lords in such a manner but drew upon a widely circulating stock of oral and written materials deriving from the pre-imperial period. Indeed, these passages constitute a particular textual layer within the Huainanzi as a whole. The lord-kings of the Han dynasty certainly also had peers—that is, other kings (some were neighbors, some were near or distant kin)—with whom they maintained relationships of various sorts. Historical works such as the Shiji 35 36 37

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 12/110/12. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 18/188/22–28. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 12/108/17–21.

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史記, Hanshu 漢書, and Hou Hanshu 後漢書 all refer to such relations between the heads of the various kingdoms, though these references are mostly negative, intending to show that conniving among the kings can endanger the security of the entire empire. The Huainanzi, interestingly, echoes this fear when it vigorously encourages vertical relations between the lords and the central court and explicitly discourages horizontal relations among peers. It reinforces this position by providing a remarkable adaptation of a well-known statement from the Laozi 老子: 鄰（國）〔邦〕相望，雞犬之聲相聞，民至老死不相往來 Though adjoining states are within sight of one another, and the sound of dogs barking and cocks crowing in one state can be heard in another, yet the people of one state will grow old and die without having had any dealings with those of another.38 In the Huainanzi, this becomes 是故鄰國相望，鷄雞狗之音相聞 ，而足跡不接諸侯之境，車軌 不結千里之外者，皆各得其所安。 For this reason, though adjoining states are within sight of one another, and the sound of dogs barking and cocks crowing in one state can be heard in another, yet footprints do not link the lords’ domains, cart ruts do not stretch for more than a thousand li—everyone obtains what makes them secure.39 In other words, the Huainanzi adapts the Laozi’s statement—which discourages contact between people (min) of different states—to mean that contact between the lords, in the form of visits to each other’s domains, should be minimal or, preferably, nonexistent.40 The Huainanzi’s subtle recasting of 38

D. C. Lau and Chen Fong Ching, ed., Laozi zhuzi suoyin 老子逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1996), 80A/27/10–11; D. C. Lau, trans., Lao Tzu: Tao Te Ching (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1963), 142. The phrase occurs in chapter 80 of the received Daodejing 道德經, and the phrase (or parts of it) also occurs in the two Laozi manuscripts found at Mawangdui 馬王堆. 39 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 11/95/13–15. 40 The Shangshu dazhuan phrases a similar message much more explicitly: “Lords, unless it is to pay a formal court visit, should not leave their domains” 諸侯非朝聘不出境.

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the Laozi here can only indicate that the Huainanzi editors were aware that conniving among the lord-kings had led to many violent clashes since the establishment of the Han dynasty and that the editors wanted to demonstrate their full support for the imperial, universalizing project and its requirement that the zhuhouwang communicate with the center, not with each other.41

The Lords as Outsiders

In some texts from the Qin and early Han periods, the zhuhou are identified as a discrete group. However, rather than being characterized as peers of the ruler, they are seen as enemies ‘on the outside’ (wai 外) who threaten to abort or distort the valiant efforts of the ruler to bring universal peace and order to a period of chaos and warfare. In these texts, we find the inverse of the lords as signs of good order; indeed, chaos and violence are blamed, not on the universal ruler’s lack of clairvoyance, but on the repugnant actions of the lords. The Stele Inscriptions of the First Emperor of Qin use the term zhuhou only once,42 in the inscription on Mount Zhifu 之罘, where the following is said of the First Emperor: 外教諸侯 光施文惠 明以義理 Abroad He instructs the feudal lords; Brilliantly He spreads culture and grace, Enlightening them through rightness and principle.43

41

42 43

See Shangshu dazhuan zhuzi suoyin 尚書大傳逐字索引, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1994), 5.9/18/20–21. Hou Xudong 侯旭東, in his analysis of an official’s diary of 11 BCE found among the bamboo documents at Yinwan, shows how the official repeatedly traveled to the capitals of neighboring kingdoms and commanderies, indicating that interregional connections might have been more important than hitherto surmised; see Hou Xudong 侯旭東, “Zhuanshe shiyong yu Han diguo de richang tongzhi” 傳舍史用與漢帝國的日常統治, Zhongguo shi yanjiu 中國史研究 1 (2008): 61–82. I disregard here the secondary inscription at Langye 琅邪, which does not date from the First Emperor’s own time; see Kern, Stele Inscriptions of Ch’in Shih-huang, 25–42. Translation from ibid., 36.

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While the lords are clearly portrayed here as outsiders, they are outsiders amenable to the positive moral influence of the First Emperor. In other inscriptions the lords who had opposed Qin in the immediate preunification period are referred to, not as zhuhou, but as the Six Kings (liu wang 六王) or the Six Kingdoms (liu guo 六國) and are wholly blamed for the bloodshed of the period: “The Six Kingdoms have been restive and perverse, greedy and criminal, insatiable—atrociously slaughtering endlessly” 六國回辟 貪戾無厭 虐殺不已.44 The Six Kings are truly the universal ruler’s enemies. That the zhuhou continued to be regarded as (potential) enemies of the universalizing state well into the Han dynasty is apparent in the legal statutes retrieved not only from Qin tombs such as the one at Shuihudi 睡虎地45 but also from Han tomb 247 at Zhangjiashan 張家山. Strip 151 from Zhangjiashan prescribes rewards for those who seize spies who come from the lords (bu cong zhuhou lai wei jianzhe 捕從諸侯来為間者).46 The very first strip describes rebels surrendering to the lords (xiang zhuhou 降諸侯) and lords ordering men to attack and rob (zhuhou ren lai gongdao 諸侯人來攻盗).47 The “Decrees on Forts and Passes” (strips 491–526; jin guan ling 津關令) from the same tomb prescribe 44 45

46 47

Translation from ibid. (with very slight modifications). See also the longer passage from the stele inscription on Mount Kuaiji (ibid., 46–47). See A. F. P. Hulsewé, Remnants of Ch’in Law: An Annotated Translation of the Ch’in Legal and Administrative Rules of the 3rd Century B.C. Discovered in Yün-meng Prefecture, Hu-pei Province, in 1975 (Leiden: Brill, 1985), 171–3 (D158, D159). Zhangjiashan Han mu zhujian, strips 151, 153. Ibid., strips 1, 133. The editors assume that the lords of the early Han period are the referent of the term zhuhou in this passage: “The term ‘lords,’ at this time, refers to the kingdoms enfeoffed at the outset of the Han” 諸侯，此時指漢初分封的諸侯國. Cao Lüning 曹旅寧 disputes this on the grounds of the inherent weakness of these kingdoms in early Han; he argues instead that zhuhou here must refer to the independent kings on the periphery of the empire, such as the king of Nan Yue 南越. See Cao Lüning, “Shuo Zhangjiashan Han jian Ernian lüling: Zeilü zhong de zhuhou” 說張家山漢簡 二年律令 • 賊律中的諸侯, Shaanxi lishi bowuguan guankan 陜西歷史博物館館刊 11 (2004): 185–91. Dong accepts the editors’ judgment and states that the relation between the zhuhou and the central regime was often inimical well into the Western Han period (Dong, Chutu Qin lü Han lü suojian fengjun shiyi zhidu yanjiu, 247–50). It is fascinating to contemplate the tension in the Zhangjiashan strips between the above-quoted passages that regard the lords (zhuhou) in an inimical way and other passages that use the term zhuhouwang instead and embed the lord-kings in the system of sumptuary rules, only one step beneath the emperor himself (e.g. Zhangjiashan Han mu zhujian, strips 221–22). Clearly, the Zhangjiashan legal strips are themselves the product of complicated processes of authorship and editorship and cannot automatically be taken to reflect contemporary conditions.

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very severe penalties for those who trespass the passes and for those who smuggle horses, precious metals, or people across these well-guarded areas.48 Certainly for the first decades of the Han dynasty, these passes physically separated the Metropolitan Area (the area ‘within the passes’) from the extensive lands to the east left to the governance of the zhuhou and amounted to a kind of barrier between inside and outside.49 Significantly, passages portraying the zhuhou as potential enemies are absent from the Huainanzi.50 Instead, the text emphasizes their positive contributions to the governance of the realm on behalf of the universal ruler. One passage in chapter 19, unusual in that it is one of the only passages in the Huainanzi that explicitly theorizes about the lords, assigns the lords an important role in the political processes involved in converting a situation of chaos to one of order: 且古之立帝王者，非以奉養其欲也；聖人踐位者，非以逸樂其 身也。為天下強掩弱，眾暴寡，詐欺愚，勇侵怯，懷知而不以 相教，積財而不以相分，故立天子以齊〔一〕之。為一人聰 明而不足以燭海內，故立三公九卿以輔翼之。〔為〕絕國殊 俗，僻遠幽間之處，不能被德承澤，故立諸侯以教誨之。是 以地無不任，時無不應，官無隱事，國無遺利。所以衣寒食 飢，養老弱而息勞倦也。 When in antiquity emperors and kings were established, it was not to cater to their own desires; when sages occupied the position at the top, it was not out of self-indulgence. It was because in the world the strong dominated the weak, the many violated the few, swindlers took advantage of the ignorant, and daredevils infringed upon those easily scared, because those who possessed knowledge did not instruct others, and those who accumulated wealth did not share it. Therefore, a Son of Heaven was established to mediate among them. Since one person’s wits would not suffice to illuminate all within the seas, the Three Dukes and 48 Dong, Chutu Qin lü Han lü suojian fengjun shiyi zhidu yanjiu, 230–50; see also Osamu Oba, “The Ordinances on Fords and Passes Excavated from Han Tomb Number 247, Zhangjiashan,” trans. David Spafford et al., Asia Major, 3rd ser., 14.2 (2001): 119–41. 49 Once the amount of land managed by the zhuhou decreased and the areas they oversaw became more dispersed, it does not make sense to see, as Dong does, the passes as borders between the area within the passes and the lords’ lands; but initially that seems to have been the case. 50 With one possible exception: the kings of Changsha 長沙.

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the Nine Ministers were established to assist him. Since remote states with different customs and distant and secluded lands were not able to receive the beneficent influence of his virtue, lords were established to instruct them. As a result, all locales applied themselves, all responses came in due time, officials did not hide their affairs, and states did not hoard their wealth. Thus, the cold were clothed, the hungry fed, the old and weak taken care of, those who were tired could rest.51 The zhuhou, according to this passage, serve an important function as the Son of Heaven’s aides, comparable to the role played by the Three Dukes and the Nine Ministers. In contrast to the zhuhou referred to in the First Emperor’s inscription at Mount Zhifu, who are characterized as ‘outside’ subjects to be instructed by the Son of Heaven (wai jiao zhuhou 外教諸侯), the zhuhou in this Huainanzi passage are the ones tasked to instruct ( jiaohui 教誨) the outsiders living near them. The lords’ role as agents of the Son of Heaven’s civilizing mission locates them geographically outside the center, at the fringes of the realm, surrounded by areas that for geographical and cultural reasons were difficult to access. Culturally, however, the zhuhou were firmly on the inside, assigned the task of spreading the advantages of the Son of Heaven’s beneficial rule to all those previously deprived of them. To situate the lords, as this passages does, in a kind of buffer zone between civilization and non-civilization closely conforms not just with the position assigned to the lords in a classical text such as “Yu gong”52 but also with the actual locations of the various kingdoms assigned to the lord-kings of the early Western Han. These kingdoms, indeed, formed a nearly continuous belt surrounding the area within the passes. The Huainanzi, in this passage, seems intent on emphasizing the positive role the lords can play within the imperial project. That the Huainanzi seeks to stress cooperation between the lords and the Son of Heaven rather than see them as a source of potential military trouble is also clear from the way it, albeit less explicitly, regards physical barriers such as walls and passes between the center and the lords’ domains not only as unnecessary but as the cause of harmful relations between the Son of Heaven and his lords. A marked example of this bias is the previously mentioned figure of Gun, Yu’s father, who was deemed to be a petty ruler because he built walls and thus caused the lords to oppose him. In another previously cited passage, the Huainanzi attributes the premature ending of Qin’s mandate to its furious construction of physical barriers of all kinds. That passage explicitly names 51 52

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 19/203/1–4. Vankeerberghen, “Rulership and Kinship,” 7.

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“expeditions against the Rong at the border, building the Great Wall, constructing passes and bridges, erecting barriers and blockades, setting up an express transportation system, and deploying officials at the borders” 發邊戍，築長 城，脩關梁，設障塞，具傳車，置邊吏.53 One gets the strong impression that the Huainanzi’s editors are sending a self-interested message to the ruler in Chang’an, urging him to adopt a policy of openness and inclusiveness toward the lord-kings rather than to continue to adhere to policies inherited from Qin. These policies, at once defensive and expansive, would not only have placed the lord-kings outside a network of fortified and strictly monitored barriers but also have brought their dominions within easy reach of the central government’s armies through an improved, far-reaching network of imperial roads. Still, this message is implied rather than enunciated.54 Despite its general optimism about the constructive role that the zhuhou might play in the empire’s civilizing mission, the Huainanzi cannot avoid acknowledging that problems may occur and that the center might, at times, be obliged to take measures to curtail the ambitions of certain lords: 古者天子一畿，諸侯一同，各守其分，不得相侵。有不行王道 者，暴虐萬民，爭地侵壤，亂政犯禁，召之不至，（今) 〔令〕之 不行，禁之不止，誨之不變，乃舉兵而伐之，戮其君, 易其黨，封 其墓，類其社，卜其子孫以代之。 In antiquity, the Son of Heaven had a ji domain; the lords had tong domains. They each guarded their own territory, never invading each other’s. It could happen that there was one who did not follow the way of a true king but instead harassed the myriad people, contested land, invaded the borders of others, adopted a disorderly way of governing, and failed to respect prohibitions; such a one was summoned but would not come, was given orders but would not carry them out, was forbidden to do certain things but failed to stop, was given instructions but failed to abide by them. Only then would an army be raised and sent out to punish him, his chiefs would be murdered, his faction deposed, but still his tomb

53 54

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 12/117/17. One may read this in conjunction with the (ultimately futile) petition that Liu An presented to the imperial throne in 135 BCE to urge the emperor not to intervene in a conflict between two non-Chinese groups to the south of Huainan. See Ban Gu, Hanshu 64A.2777– 85; Vankeerberghen, The Huainanzi and Liu An’s Claim to Moral Authority, 51–52.

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would be prepared, sacrifices made at his altar, and a divination performed to determine which of his sons or grandsons would succeed him.55 The problem examined in this passage is a localized, not a general, one. The Son of Heaven follows rather detailed procedures in dealing with a specific lord who has engaged in unacceptable behavior. In this scheme, military action against a recalcitrant lord is seen as a measure of last resort, applied only after other, more genteel measures have been tried, among them summoning the lord to court, issuing orders and prohibitions, and offering moral instruction. Even after the ultimate measure has been taken and the lord has been put to death,56 the passage urges the emperor to take specific restorative measures to neutralize and isolate the violence. Indeed, by stipulating that one of his sons or grandsons should succeed the recalcitrant lord, so that sacrifices to the state’s altars can continue uninterrupted, the passage ensures that blame for the disturbance is placed neither with the institution of lords as such nor with the bloodline of the founding father of the fief. Even though the lord in question was spawned by that bloodline, and even though, at a certain point in time, he was admitted to the ranks of the zhuhou, he is regarded as an unfortunate aberration, a single untamable individual in an otherwise well-­functioning larger whole.57

One Family

One last question needs investigation. It is well known that by about 195 BCE, Gaozu 高祖, the Han founder, had mostly rid himself of the lord-kings whom he had established at the outset of his regime to reward their meritorious service in his fight against his archrival Xiang Yu 項羽.58 In their place, he only established kings who carried the Liu surname, usually his own brothers and sons. Since Liu An, at whose court the Huainanzi was written, was one of Gaozu’s grandsons, one may wonder whether the Huainanzi, implicitly or explicitly, defends Gaozu’s decision to appoint only his own relatives as kings. 55 56 57

58

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 8/66/19–21. Or forced to commit suicide, which was the more common practice in early Han times. For similar passages in the Shangshu dazhuan, see Shangshu dazhuan zhuzi suoyin 12/14–16. The procedure outlined in the Huainanzi was not just rhetoric: much of this complicated back-and-forth between center and periphery indeed occurred (see my The Huainanzi and Liu An’s Claim to Moral Authority, 36–61). With the exception of the kings of Changsha.

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Two Huainanzi passages are of relevance here. In the first, already quoted, the Huainanzi, describing the chaos and disorder of the Warring States period, regards the fact that the rulers of the Seven States59 ‘belonged to different lineages’ (qiguo yi zu 七國異族) as one of the factors creating the disorder.60 That the rulers of the Seven States are said to belong to ‘different lineages’ ( yi zu 異族) reflects the historical fact that in many of these states ministerial lineages had usurped power from the original Zhou-appointed lineages (as in the famous example of Qi 齊, where the Tian 田 family had finally assumed kingship in 379 BCE, thus ending the line of Taigong Wang 太公望).61 By singling out multiple lineages as a contributing factor to the violence, the Huainanzi clearly acknowledges that when families whose status derives from their links of kinship—fictional or real—with the universal ruler in the center (in this case, the Zhou kings) are displaced by families with only regional loyalties, centrifugal forces will intensify and interstate violence will be a likely outcome. Of course, while this does not, in itself, constitute a defense of appointing only members of the Liu family as kings, it does illustrate the Huainanzi’s awareness that kinship-like ties are crucial for strengthening interstate cohesion.62 A second relevant passage invokes the rhetoric of the world as one family: 故自三代以後者，天下未嘗得安其情性，而樂其習俗，保其 脩命，（天）而不夭於人虐也。所以然者何也？諸侯力征，天 下〔不〕合而為一家。 Therefore, after the Three Dynasties period, no one in the world could rest secure in their natures, could enjoy their customs, or could preserve their life spans without dying prematurely because of violence caused by others. Why was this so? Because the lords waged violent military campaigns, and the world was unable to come together as one family.63 59 60 61

62

63

The Seven States include the Six States to which the First Emperor refers in the stele inscriptions quoted above, with Qin itself added to the list. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/53/20–22. Sima Qian, Shiji 史記 15.715; Mark Edward Lewis, “Warring States: Political History,” in Cambridge History of Ancient China, ed. Michael Loewe and Edward L. Shaughnessy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 587–650. It is noteworthy, however, that, well after Liu An’s own demise in 122 BCE, the language of yi zu continued to be used in rhetorical exchanges between the Han emperors and the kings, particularly those between the newly enthroned Emperor Zhao and his rebellious older half brother Liu Dan, king of Yan. See Sima Qian, Shiji 60.2118–9; Ban Gu, Hanshu 63.2754–8. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/54/1–2. This may be the one passage in which the zhuhou are blamed as “outsiders,” as in the stele inscriptions; see also Lau et al., Huainanzi 21/228/9.

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This passage too is open to multiple interpretations, given the fluidity inherent in a term such as jia 家 (family), which can refer to people who are, literally, related by blood64 or can imply a sense of belonging together whether or not actual ties of kinship exist.65 The Huainanzi’s statement too can be taken both ways. The passage certainly confirms that the Huainanzi regards family-like ties as a positive asset for societal cohesion, but it cannot be read as a forceful endorsement of the Liu family’s monopoly on the position of lord-king.66 It seems, therefore, that the Huainanzi argues neither for nor against appointing only members of the ruling lineages as kings. This reticence might be explained in two ways. First, Gaozu’s initial moves to exclude non-Liu men from the institution of kingship were inspired more by pragmatic than by ideological reasons; given that the Western Zhou kings successfully enfeoffed lords of different surnames, there were few arguments in the transmitted texts that the Huainanzi could have drawn upon to defend the policy. Second, events of the early Han period had shown that having only members of the Liu family as kings was a mixed blessing. Memory of the widespread rebellion of 154 BCE, initiated and carried out by kings carrying the Liu family name, undermined the more positive legacy of the loyal members of the Liu family who made great contributions in thwarting Empress Lü’s 呂 nearly successful attempt to topple the Han in hopes of establishing a dynasty in her own name. Adding further ambiguity to the precedent was the fact that Empress Lü had appointed many 64

65

66

A good example of this is Gaozu’s admonition to Liu Pi 劉濞. Regretting somewhat his decision to appoint his audacious nephew Liu Pi as king of Wu 吳, he admonished him not to rebel by giving him a stern warning: “The world now is in the hands of one family of the same surname. Don’t you dare to rebel!” 然天下同姓為一家也，慎無反！ Given that Liu Pi indeed instigated the most threatening rebellion of the Western Han period, these words, as noted by Michael Loewe, probably reflect a later historian’s hindsight; see Sima Qian, Shiji 106.2821; Michael Loewe, A Biographical Dictionary of the Qin, Former Han and Xin Periods (221 BC–AD 24) (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 334. For example, the term was extended to refer to scholarly lineages. Another example in which the term yi jia is used non-literally comes from the text of a treaty with the Xiongnu dating from Yuandi’s reign: “From now onward, Han and Xiongnu will unite and be like one family; in coming generations we will no longer deceive or attack each other” 自今以來，漢與匈奴合為一家，世世毋得相詐相攻 (Ban Gu, Hanshu 94B.3801). On the rhetorical implications of the fluidity of ancient Chinese terms, see David Schaberg, A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2000), 46–47. Usually the term has positive connotations; in one passage in the Shangshu dazhuan (11/24–27), however, the term acquires a decidedly negative meaning, invoking nepotism rather than harmony: “Indeed, the world is not the possession of a single family; it belongs to the one who possesses the Way” 夫天下、非一家之有也，唯有道者之有也.

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members of the Lü family as kings. That the lord-kings were all of the same descent line might have been too sensitive to bring up explicitly, in the absence of an inherited discourse on the topic. Conclusion The zhuhou, even though the Huainanzi only rarely explicitly defines their precise position in the political system, occupy a place of considerable importance in the abstract vision of universal rulership outlined in the text. Indeed, the successful functioning of the system of universal rulership advocated by the Huainanzi requires the—preferably voluntary—submission of the zhuhou to the universal ruler. The zhuhou, within this vision, play a decidedly secondary role. This role was also contingent upon the lord-kings’ continued recognition of the supremacy of the universal ruler, continued faithful performance of their tasks as secondary rulers over the territories assigned to them, and successful mediation between the civilized and the uncivilized world. In this sense, the Huainanzi’s message on the zhuhou cannot have alarmed either Emperor Jing, under whose regime most of the text was written, or Emperor Wu, to whom the text was offered in 139 BCE. Indeed, any attempt to read into the Huainanzi a plea for decentralization, audaciously offered to a ruler who occupied the very center of power, would be clearly wrongheaded. It is my view that the Huainanzi’s position on the zhuhou is well aligned not only with that expressed in other texts by masters but also with the vision that the emperors of Western Han sought to implement through their many dealings with the lord-kings. Indeed, contrary to received wisdom, in the time before the Huainanzi was offered at the imperial court in 139 BCE, no one had explicitly challenged the raison d’être of the lords, not even the First Emperor, who, according to Han historians, ‘abolished’ the institution,67 or Jia Yi 賈誼, who, despite frequent opposition to individual lord-kings in his advice to Emperor Wen 文, never, in any of the written documents attributed to him, denies the zhuhou a place in the political life of the empire. The overwhelming issue, in Qin and early Han times, was not whether the zhuhou, as such, were 67

I presented my view that the First Emperor, contrary to widely accepted opinion, did not abolish the institution of the zhuhou in my unpublished paper “Qin Attitudes towards Enfeoffment: Contextualizing the Abolition Passage in the ‘Basic Annals of the First Emperor of Qin’ of Shi ji,” for the research workshop “The Birth of Empire: The State of Qin Revisited,” Institute of Advanced Research and the Israel Science Foundation, Jerusalem, December 10–19, 2008.

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a legitimate institution but how to contain the lords so that the world would never again experience the violent conflicts that characterized the period before the Qin unification.68 The Huainanzi, abiding by the reigning ideology, does not waste effort arguing in favor of the institution of lords; indeed, it is unexpectedly reticent on the issue. Even though the zhuhou appear frequently throughout the text, only rarely are they made the subject of an explicit discourse. While the conservatism of the Huainanzi’s views on the zhuhou may well be linked to the manner in which the text was composed—through extensive, sometimes piecemeal, borrowings and adaptations from earlier texts of various genres—its relative reticence on the issue of the zhuhou can be more readily explained by the environment in which the Huainanzi’s editors had to operate: not only was the branch lineage to which Liu An belonged increasingly far removed from the main lineage represented by the emperor, but Liu kings had, as recently as 154 BCE, fostered a major rebellion against an emperor, inviting a crackdown led by hawkish officials of the central court.69 The Huainanzi’s editor-compilers and its patrons may have shown a certain calculated restraint in not drawing too much attention to the zhuhou and, by implication, the institution’s Han incarnation. And yet, even as it borrowed from past texts and sought to avoid drawing unwanted attention to the issue of the lords, we have found that the Huainanzi sometimes carries unexpected messages relevant to the lord-kings in the first century of Western Han rule. I hypothesize that by systematically excising the zhuhou from passages that list participants during seasonal rituals at the capital, the text either acknowledges or endorses the diminished presence of the kings in the affairs of the Chang’an court. By adapting an assertion from the Laozi, the text shows its full awareness that a lord’s only allegiance should be to the Son of Heaven and that, in rejecting intimate relations among the various lords, Liu An, the text’s patron, indicates his willingness to submit to that rule. By emphasizing the civilizing role that the zhuhou could play on the fringes of the empire on behalf of the common good, it argues ex silentio against forms of containment that erect physical barriers between center and periphery and against efforts of the center to establish a too-visible presence in peripheral 68 69

I owe this observation to Michael Nylan. The fact that, in 138 BCE, Liu Sheng, a half brother of Emperor Wu, was listened to when he complained about the central officials’ treatment of the kings after the 154 rebellion might be explained by his relative proximity to the emperor; the king’s speech, as well as the historical prose that introduces it, is a good indication of the intensity of the officials’ campaign against the kings, including those who had not participated in the rebellion (Ban Gu, Hanshu 53.2422).

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areas. Identifying and deciphering messages such as these requires a surprising amount of hard, detailed work: they are not openly stated but, rather, demand that we pay attention to the silences in the text, in the form of omissions or very subtle rephrasing. Moreover, given our incomplete understanding of the state and shape of the textual units available to the Huainan court (the raw material for composing the Huainanzi), and given that there is so much we do not know about the political climate in which the Huainanzi was first composed and then offered, there must be many more messages that are beyond our efforts at reconstruction. All this brings us back to the question initially posed: are we missing something when we read the Huainanzi solely as a philosophical text, approaching the text as the culmination of an inherited discourse that seeks to reduce both reality and practice to its fundamentals? The answer to this question should, I believe, be a qualified one. On the one hand, it is important to recognize the Huainanzi for what it is not: neither a piece of direct political remonstrance nor a source of useful concrete knowledge for administrating an empire. It moves on a higher level of abstraction and should be admired for its ability, despite its various rhetorical modes, to stay on message throughout its elaborate and complex structure, even as it treats such seemingly concrete topics as geography or astronomy. As such, the Huainanzi can be seen and evaluated as a tour de force, a powerful display of a peripheral court’s mastery of the philosophical genre. On the other hand, such an approach threatens to lock us up within the world of the Huainanzi itself, blinding us to the influence of the environment in which the text was composed. There is no doubt that the Huainanzi’s readers at the central court would have been alert to the political agenda packed between the lines of the text: that whenever the Huainanzi mentions the zhuhou, it was offering a distinct perspective on the struggles between the zhuhouwang and court officials; or, to bring up another hot topic of debate in Western Han, that whenever the Huainanzi advocates tolerance for cultures with non-Chinese customs, it was taking a stance on the empire’s policies regarding relations with the Xiongnu, the Yue, and other peoples at the periphery.70 We can also assume that those who composed the Huainanzi, as they pulled units of text from the various inherited works, rephrasing and reorganizing these units, knew that however abstract the level of its discourse, the text that they would ultimately present to the emperor would be the subject of intense scrutiny. They must have been aware that, given the rapidly 70

Here it would be fruitful to study chapter 11 of the Huainanzi, “Integrating Customs” (“Qi su” 齊俗), in conjunction with a memorial Liu An presented to the throne regarding Han military intervention in Nan Yue 南越; see Ban Gu, Hanshu 64A.2777–85.

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changing political climate, they could not be sure which policies would be in vogue when they finished their magnum opus and that, therefore, they had to play it safe. These preoccupations certainly left their mark on the text of the Huainanzi. Whatever the synthetic qualities of the text or the beauty of its prose, the Huainanzi was not an audacious text that contained a truly alternative vision for the empire. At least on the issue examined here, that of the lord-kings’ role in unifying the empire, the text bends over backward not to offend the center or violate the consensus. It derives from pre-existing textual units a discourse that is both open-ended and safe. The fraught political and rhetorical climate in which the Huainanzi came into being, with an increasingly assertive central court that left little room for escape for those who chose to address it, might also explain why the Huainanzi was the last of its kind and why, in the centuries to come, the kind of abstract prose the Huainanzi engages in was mostly relegated to the realm of commentary. The empire, indeed, was not in need of a grandstanding text that was reticent and self-censuring on issues vital to the empire’s structure and survival; rather, it demanded clear and persuasive recommendations on concrete issues; it needed the best geographical, astronomical, administrative, and legal knowledge available, not a beautiful synthesis of previously circulated views.71 As necessary as it was to reinforce its political legitimacy, it would have been foolish of the central court to seek such confirmation from the court of a peripheral king. Furthermore, if such a compilation had been desired, the court had its own central archives, far richer in historical documents and sacred texts than those of Huainan, on which its own scholars could draw. In other words, Liu An’s grandiose gesture in offering the Huainanzi to the emperor proved ultimately futile. It represented a bygone world rather than the fast-­changing present, and, as such, the text, for all its many virtues, certainly failed to enhance the standing of its patron and his peers.

71

See David Pankenier’s contribution to this volume (chapter 6).

chapter 11

Breaking through Heaven’s Glass Ceiling: The Significance of the Commoner Woman of Qi in the “Lan ming” Chapter of the Huainanzi Anne Behnke Kinney In the Huainanzi, the opening passage of each chapter often announces the main theme of the essay and is thus key to understanding the essential and sometimes elusive point that draws together the numerous and intricately related strands of a given chapter. Chapter 6, “Surveying Obscurities” (“Lan ming”), for example, opens with a series of seven exemplars who, by dint of their ability to accumulate vital essence, elicit responses in the heavenly, natural, and human realms. What is striking about the first pair of exemplars in this series, Music Master Kuang and the Commoner Woman of Qi, is the dark and foreboding nature of their message. Legends concerning the music master abound. We know from multiple sources that Duke Ping of Jin (r. 557–532 BCE) forced Music Master Kuang to perform forbidden music. This breach triggered cosmic repercussions that destroyed the duke’s health and plagued the state of Jin with drought.1 In “Surveying Obscurities,” Master Kuang is paired with the Commoner Woman of Qi, whose report to Heaven, we are told, brought about the demise of Duke Jing (r. 547–490 BCE) and unleashed surging floods in Qi. But when we attempt to reconstruct the story of the Commoner Woman of Qi to understand her specific role in Duke Jing’s demise and the natural disasters that plagued Qi, we are frustrated at every point. There is no one story that corresponds in all of its points to the rather sketchy details provided in “Surveying Obscurities.” In this essay, I shall identify a set of narratives that correspond to what we 1 On the music master, see Han Feizi, chap. 10, “The Ten Faults,” in Sibu congkan zhengbian, Wang Yunwu, ed. (Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu yinshuguan, 1979), vol. 18, pp. 3/2A–3A. Kenneth DeWoskin describes the dominant theme of this lore as the “influential power of the ch’in, which can ostensibly stimulate the forces of nature, individuals, or society,” and “the magical use of the instrument by a sage-musician and the improper or ill-advised use of it by a weak or degenerate ruler.” See Kenneth DeWoskin, A Song for One or Two: Music and the Concept of Art in Early China (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan, 1982), 137.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���4 | doi ��.��63/9789004265325_��3

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know about the Commoner Woman of Qi in an effort to understand the complex process by which the authors of the Huainanzi appropriated earlier narratives and deployed them for the particular ends of the chapter and the more general goals of the text. I shall also attempt to demonstrate that the image of the Commoner Woman of Qi is one of the earliest references in Chinese texts to the political and spiritual power of an ordinary woman who garners Heaven’s assistance to challenge and ultimately bring down a powerful authority figure.

Xu Shen and Gao You on the Commoner Woman of Qi

“Surveying Obscurities” opens with the following passage: 昔者，師曠奏白雪之音，而神物為之下降，風雨暴至，平公癃 病，晉國赤地。庶女叫天，雷電下擊，景公臺隕，支體傷 折，海水大出。夫瞽師、庶女，位賤尚，權輕飛羽，然而專精 厲意，委務積神，上通九天，激厲至精。由此觀之，上天之誅 也，雖在壙虛幽閒，遼遠隱匿，重襲石室，界障險阻，其無所 逃之，亦明矣。 In former times, when Master Kuang played the “White Snow” melody, wonderful creatures descended in response, rain and wind broke loose, Duke Ping sickened, and the land of Jin was scorched red. When the Commoner Woman made her report to Heaven, thunder and lightning came crashing down, Duke Jing’s tower collapsed, his limbs and body were struck and torn asunder, and the waters of the sea surged forth. Now, this blind musician and common woman ranked even lower than encroaching weeds, and their authority was lighter than a floating feather. But by concentrating their refined essences and disciplining their thoughts, by setting aside [mundane] concerns and storing up numen, they penetrated the Nine Heavens above, activating and wielding the most refined essences. From these examples it can be seen that although one may dwell in desolate and dark wastelands, distant and secret abodes, multilayered shelters of rock, or inaccessible and dangerous mountains, one cannot escape the punishments of Heaven on high. This is indeed clear.2 2 References to the Huainanzi are from D. C. Lau et al., eds., A Concordance to the Huainanzi, Institute of Chinese Studies, Ancient Chinese Text Concordance Series (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1992), 6/49/27–30; citations are in the form chapter/page/line(s). I have

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From this account of the Commoner Woman of Qi, the bare facts that we have at our disposal concern her social status, her state affililation, her ability to engage in internal cultivation practices and communicate with Heaven, and her destructive impact on Duke Jing, his tower, and the state of Qi. What we are not told is why she issued a report to Heaven and, thus, why Heaven punished Duke Jing. Because no narrative that predates the Huainanzi corresponds precisely to these specific events, for more information we must turn to the Huainanzi commentaries of Xu Shen (fl. ca. 100 CE) and Gao You (fl. 195–212 CE) as the next earliest sources to make specific reference to the Commoner Woman of Qi and her role in Duke Jing’s demise.3 Though the wording differs in these two accounts, they both relate the same tale. Gao You’s version reads as follows: The commoner woman of Qi was a childless widow. She did not remarry so that she could care for her mother-in-law. She was attentive and respectful toward her mother-in-law. The mother-in-law had no sons, only a daughter who coveted her mother’s wealth and thus ordered her mother to marry off the [young widowed] wife. When the wife proved unwilling, the daughter murdered her mother and falsely accused the widowed wife of the crime. When the wife was unable to demonstrate her innocence, she reported the injustice by calling out to Heaven. In response, Heaven brought forth thunder and lightning, which struck and destroyed the duke’s tower and injured the duke. Likewise, it brought forth great floods from the sea. While the commentary supplies a motive for the Commoner Woman’s plaint to Heaven, it fails to explain Heaven’s punishment of Duke Jing. Moreover, the guilty party in the story, according to the commentary, is the widow’s sister-inlaw, not the duke. But because the duke is the one who is punished, we must assume that he contributed to the injustice either by allowing an innocent woman to be punished or by somehow creating the conditions that ­encouraged

rendered shangxi as “encroaching weeds” and not, as suggested in traditional commentaries, ‘Director of Hemp’. Xi 葈 is identified as burweed or cocklebur. Wang Yi mentions it as a pernicious weed in “Ai sui” (“Lament for the Year”), the eighth poem of his Nine Longings ( Jiu si). 3 Xu Shen’s note is included in the commentary to Wen xuan 39/25A, in Sibu congkan zhengbian, vol. 92, p. 734. See Gao You’s commentary in Huainan honglie jie 6/1A, in Sibu congkan zhengbian, vol. 22, p. 40.

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the grasping and murderous behavior of the widow’s sister-in-law.4 The commentaries leave crucial questions unanswered. Without knowing what role the duke played in the conflict between the widow and her sister-in-law, we remain ignorant of the specific point that “Surveying Obscurities” is making about the relationship between subject and ruler. Is the chapter criticizing the duke’s lack of oversight of his officials or some specific act committed by the duke? Is the duke’s crime the ‘last straw’ in a series of misdeeds or simply one serious offense? Given the importance of rulership in this chapter and in the Huainanzi as a whole, it is critical to understand as clearly as possible what the text says about this relationship. But we shall return to this question below. While the commentary attempts to provide details, we need to remain skeptical about its claims considering that there is no extant counterpart to this story in earlier texts, and that the commentary that equates the Commoner Woman of Qi with the falsely accused widow dates to nearly two hundred years after the composition of the Huainanzi. Below I shall examine the main actors and thematic elements as they appear in the “Surveying Obscurities” version of the tale and consider how similar stories in other early sources might provide a more plausible source than the late and unattested tale supplied by Xu and Gao. If we are to approach an understanding of what the “Surveying Obscurities” author intended to convey through his reference to the Commoner Woman of 4 It is interesting to note that the tale told in the commentary also bears a strong resemblance to and shares much of the same wording as a historical incident recorded in the Hanshu that occurred either late in the reign of Emperor Wu or in the time of Emperor Zhao 昭帝 (r. 87–74 BCE). The case concerns Yu Gong, who was a judicial official in Donghai and the father of the imperial counselor Yu Dingguo. Yu Gong tried to clear the name of a young widow who had been accused by her sister-in-law of killing her mother-in-law. But the governor of the commandery refused to listen to Yu Gong’s counsel and had the woman executed. For three years after her death the commandery suffered from extreme drought. Later, when the governor made divinations to determine the cause of the drought, he learned that it was due to the unjust punishment of the woman falsely accused of murdering her mother-in-law. After sacrifices were made at the woman’s grave, the drought ended (Ban Gu, Hanshu [History of the Han]. 12 vols. [Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962], 71, pp. 3041–42). While the names, places, and dates of the story concerning the woman of Donghai differ from those of the story of the Commoner Woman of Qi found in the commentaries to the Huainanzi, the events described are essentially the same, the main difference being that the woman of Donghai died before justice was done. This story is also told in Liu Xiang’s Shuo yuan 5/7B, in Sibu congkan zhengbian, vol. 17, 5/13–14. While it relates events that may have occurred either late in the reign of Emperor Wu or during the reign of Emperor Zhao, the Shuo yuan, which may represent the earliest source for the tale about the widow of Donghai, was compiled about 130 years after the Huainanzi was written, that is, around 17 BCE, when Liu Xiang presented the Shuo yuan to the throne. I am grateful to Keith Knapp for bringing this story to my attention.

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Qi, then our first task is to see what pre-Han sources can tell us about Duke Jing of Qi and his reputation as a ruler.

Duke Jing of Qi

While “Surveying Obscurities” tells us only about Duke Jing’s demise, elsewhere the Huainanzi mentions the duke’s fondness for women, music, and hunting as well as his construction of the Luqintai, a grand ceremonial structure where rulers held discussions of state affairs and which proclaimed the duke’s wealth and power.5 The word tai 臺 can mean both ‘tower’ and ‘platform’ and in this context is generally understood to refer to a high, earthen platform upon which buildings are constructed. Archaeological work in China corroborates the duke’s interest in large-scale and costly construction projects. Qi lay in north and central present-day Shandong and extended into the southern part of present-day Hebei. Its capital, Linzi, was already a monumental city in Western Zhou and Spring and Autumn times, with roads that measured twenty meters wide and four thousand meters long. Remains of the Huangongtai of Duke Huan of Qi (r. 685–643 BCE) include a foundation that measures eighty-six meters long.6 In 1972 and 1973 an enormous but previously looted tomb was discovered and determined to be the final resting place of Duke Jing. It included sacrificial pits containing some six hundred horses.7 The excesses of Duke Jing of Qi—including his construction of palaces and levying of heavy taxes to pay for them—are also well documented in the Zuozhuan and the Shiji.8 But he is probably most well known through his relationship with the philosopher Yanzi (d. 500 BCE) as portrayed in both the 5 See Lau et al., Huainanzi, 21/228/13; elsewhere in the Huainanzi Duke Jing is mentioned in fairly neutral terms, for example, in 9/77/17 and 12/119/1. 6 See Shandong wenwu guanli chu, “Shandong linzi Qi gucheng shijue jianbao,” Kaogu 6 (1961): 289–97; Liu Dunyuan, “Chunqiu shiqi Qi guo gucheng de fuyuan yu chengshi buju,” Lishi dili 1 (1981): 148–59; Zhang Longhai and Zhu Yude, “Linzi Qi guo gucheng de paishui xitong,” Kaogu 9 (1988): 784–87. 7 Shandongsheng Wenwu Kaogu Yanjiusuo, “Qi gucheng wuhao Dong Zhou mu ji daxing xunmakeng de fajue,” Wenwu 1984.9, 14–19. Also see Wu Hung, Monumentality in Early Chinese Art and Architecture (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1995), 12–13, 101–5. 8 Sima Qian, Shiji, in Takigawa Kametarō, Shiki kaichū kōshō (Taipei: Hongye shuju, 1977), 32, p. 49. Also see Zuozhuan, Zhao 26 (516 BCE); translated in James Legge, The Chinese Classics, 5 vols (Hong Kong: Chinese University of Hong Kong Press, 1970), 5:718–19. The Wuxing zhi of the Hanshu mentions “embellishing palaces and adorning terraces” as activities that lead to a dislocation in the phase called Earth but does not mention lightning bolts toppling towers

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Zuozhuan and the Yanzi chunqiu (ca. fourth century to third century BCE). In fact, the majority of dialogues recorded in the Yanzi chunqiu focus on Duke Jing’s activities, and among those dialogues the various towers or platforms constructed by Duke Jing are mentioned frequently. But of all of these references to towers, only one tale may represent an earlier variation of the story found in “Surveying Obscurities”: 景公成路寢之臺，逢于何遭喪，遇晏子于途，再拜乎馬前。晏 子下車挹之，曰：”子何以命嬰也？”對曰：”于何之母 死，兆在路寢之臺牖下，願請命合骨。” 晏子曰：”嘻！難哉！雖然，嬰將為子復之，適為不得，子將 若何？”對曰：”夫君子則有以，如我者儕小人，吾將左手擁 格，右手梱心，立餓枯槁而死，以告四方之士曰：’于何不能 葬其母者也。’” 晏子曰：”諾。”遂入見公，曰：”有逢于何者，母死，兆在 路寢，當如之何？願請合骨。”公作色不說，曰：”古之及 今，子亦嘗聞請葬人主之宮者乎？ 晏子對曰：”古之人君，其宮室節，不侵生民之居，臺榭 儉，不殘死人之墓，故未嘗聞諸請葬人主之宮者也。今君侈為 宮室，奪人之居，廣為臺榭，殘人之墓，是生者愁憂，不得安 處，死者離易，不得合骨。豐樂侈遊，兼傲生死，非人君之行 也。遂欲滿求，不顧細民，非存之道。且嬰聞之，生者不得 安，命之曰蓄憂；死者不得葬，命之曰蓄哀。蓄憂者怨，蓄哀 者危，君不如許之。”公曰：”諾。” When Duke Jing completed the Luqin Tower, there was a death in the family of a certain Feng Yuhe. When Feng spotted Yanzi on the road, he bowed before Yanzi’s horses twice. Yanzi alighted from his carriage and saluted Feng, asking, “What do you have to report?” Feng replied, “My mother died and our family plot is beneath the walls of the Luqin Tower. I request that she be laid to rest [with my father].” Yanzi replied, “Alas, this is most difficult. But since this has come to pass, I will try to help you. But if I am unable to do anything about it, what will you do then?” Feng responded, “For a gentleman like you, surely there is a way. A humble man like me, however, can only cling to your carriage with my left hand, beat my breast with my right hand, and report [this injustice] to the knights of all four directions until I wither and die of starvation.” Yanzi replied, “I’ll see what I can do.” as an example of this sort of dislocation and may represent a slightly later tradition than that found in the Huainanzi. See Ban Gu, Hanshu 27A, p. 1338.

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Yanzi therefore went to see the duke, saying, “There is a certain Feng Yuhe whose mother died and whose family plot lay beneath the Luqin Tower. What shall we do? He requests that she be interred there with [her husband].” The duke looked unhappy and said, “From ancient times to the present, I have never heard of someone requesting to bury their dead in the palace grounds of the ruler!” Yanzi replied, saying, “In antiquity, rulers’ palaces were designed with restraint and did not impinge on the property of living people. Towers and pavilions were not extravagant and did not disturb the burial grounds of the dead. That is why we have never heard of someone requesting to bury their dead in the palace of the ruler. At present, you are extravagant in your construction of palaces, and so you seize people’s dwellings; you are profligate in your building of towers and pavilions and therefore destroy people’s burial grounds, making the living anxious and sorrowful with no secure place to live and separating the departed with no means to be buried together. Your excessive pleasures and wasteful excursions demean both the living and the dead. This is not the way a ruler of men should behave, and to pursue what you desire at the expense of the common people is not the way to ensure your survival. Moreover, I have heard that when the living are without peace, it is called ‘accumulating sorrow.’ When the dead cannot be buried, it is called ‘accumulating grief.’ Those who accumulate sorrow become angry; those who accumulate grief become dangerous. You, sir, ought to agree to his request.” The duke agreed.9 This tale includes the sorrowful protest of a commoner and, if not the toppling of the tower, its dismantling in response to the suffering of one ordinary person. It also belongs to a group of tales (to be considered below) that recount a protest about a family member’s interment in an extravagantly wasteful state edifice and the resulting collapse or dismantling of the structure. Literally or figuratively these tales represent the instability of a state built on architecturally unsound and ethically immoral foundations. Like other anecdotes in the Yanzi chunqiu, this story records the many faults of Duke Jing as well as his unflagging willingness to reform and accept correction from Yanzi—a rather different picture of the duke than that presented

9

Yan Ying, Yanzi chunqiu, in Sibu congkan zhengbian, vol. 14, chap. 2 (“Nei Pian” [“Inner Chapters”], “Jian” [“Admonitions”], pt. 2), item 20.

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in “Surveying Obscurities.”10 The Zuozhuan offers a picture similar to that in the Yanzi chunqiu, recording Duke Jing’s foolishness and dependence on Yanzi but also his remarkable reign of fifty-seven years until his uneventful death in 490 BCE.11 While there is no account in early texts of the cataclysmic retribution suffered by Duke Jing that corresponds precisely to the “Surveying Obscurities” account, a mere four years after Duke Jing’s death the Zuozhuan records the death of Duke Dao of Qi at the hands of the people of Qi, an act that eventually culminated in the total usurpation of Qi’s throne by the Chen lineage.12 While this lore presents at least some linkage between Duke Jing and the dismantling of both a building and the state, it does not elucidate the reference to the Commoner Woman of Qi and Duke Jing in the Huainanzi’s “Surveying Obscurities.”

Collapsing Edifices and Weak Foundations

Duke Jing’s tower is not, however, the only spontaneously collapsing edifice in “Surveying Obscurities”: the Huainanzi author mentions three additional cases of the destruction of a human-made or natural structure, each brought about by a ruler who fails to accord with the Dao.13 Precarious objects that cannot withstand human or natural forces also appear in the closing section of the chapter, although this time not collapsing buildings or mountains but withering plant life that grows quickly in the shallowest soil but soon dies because the soil cannot nourish it: 夫井植生梓而不容甕，溝植生條而不容舟，不過三月必死。所 以然者何也？皆狂生而無其本者也 10 The Zuozhuan also shows Duke Jing as willing to repent and reform. See, e.g., Zuozhuan, Zhao 3. 11 Zuozhuan, Ai 6. 12 Zuozhuan, Ai 10. 13 (1) Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/49/28: the toppling of Duke Jing’s tower 景 公 臺 隕；(2) Lau et al., Huainanzi 6/51/10: the collapse of Mount Yao 故 嶢 山 崩; (3) Huainanzi 6/52/24– 25: the rupture of the four pillars of the earth and the fracturing of the nine provinces 四 極 廢 ， 九 州 裂 ; and (4) Lau et al., Huainanzi 6/53/14: the shaking and collapse of banquet pavilions 植 社 槁 而 罅 裂 ， 容 臺 振 而 掩 覆 . It is not clear why Mount Yao collapsed, but the general point of this section of the chapter is to show that failure to act in accord with the Dao brings about misfortune and natural calamity. The collapse of the banquet pavilion was said to have occurred during the reign of Jie, the evil last ruler of the Xia dynasty.

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Now shoots may grow from the wooden casing of a well, not leaving room for the bucket; and branches may grow from the wooden casing of a canal, not leaving room for the boats. But not more than three months later [these growths] will be dead. How is it that this is so? They are all wild growths with no roots of their own.14 Taking these images into consideration, the message framing the beginning and ending of the chapter is that the ruler who ignores the Dao and rules by autocratic force, like the tower that seems stable or the plant that seems robust, relies upon an ephemeral and precarious source of strength. Yet this claim goes beyond the very general admonition for the ruler to align himself with the Dao to ensure political stability. It suggests that the power of a ruler who relies upon his politically supreme position is unsustainable, and that paradoxically, he can be destroyed by a force that is freely available to all but that he has failed to make use of, namely, the Dao. In this way the chapter argues that such a ruler can be rendered defenseless by even the lowliest and most powerless of women. To summarize, the story offered in Gao You’s and Xu Shen’s commentaries comes late in the tradition and fails to mention specifically what role the duke played in these events, while the tale from the Yanzi chunqiu with its happy ending does not correspond well to the details of the “Surveying Obscurities” story. It therefore behooves us to explore several other stories that circulated at the time concerning wronged women, toppling towers, and cosmic comeuppance in Qi. In my view, another tale in the tradition seems to be a more logical source than any discussed thus far. The story concerns a woman of Qi and a Duke of Qi—not Duke Jing, but his elder half brother, Duke Zhuang 莊公 (r. 553–548 BCE).

Duke Zhuang of Qi 莊公

Apart from the reference in “Surveying Obscurities”, the only early story in extant texts that concerns a woman who through the force of her intense sincerity causes the spontaneous collapse of a man-made structure is found in the Lienü zhuan (comp. ca. 18 BCE). The story is found in the chapter “The Chaste 14

Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/54/17–18; translation by John S. Major, Sarah A. Queen, Andrew Seth Meyer, and Harold D. Roth, trans., The Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China, Translations from the Asian Classics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010), 231.

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and Obedient” and concerns the wife of Qi Liang 杞梁, a warrior and subject of Duke Zhuang of Qi.15 This tale, however, is based on a much earlier and somewhat different story that is found in the Zuozhuan under Duke Xiang, year 23 (550 BCE).16 As I shall try to demonstrate, because of the large array of early materials concerning Qi Liang’s wife and Duke Zhuang of Qi and the absence of early sources linking a commoner woman of Qi to Duke Jing of Qi, I think it is likely that the story referred to in “Surveying Obscurities” represents an early version of the lore that grew around the figure of Qi Liang’s wife. There is also some evidence that Wang Chong (27–97 CE) may have ident­ ified the Commoner Woman of Qi with Qi Liang’s wife. In the first section of “Surveying Obscurities,” the author cites five exemplars: Music Master Shi Kuang 師曠 and the Commoner Woman of Qi, but also King Wu at Meng Ford, Duke Luyang 魯陽公 of Chu in conflict with Hann, and Yong Mengzi, who wept before Lord Mengchang. “Surveying Obscurities” shows that all these exemplars were able to concentrate spiritual energy to elicit responses in the heavenly, natural, and human realms. In an essay refuting the idea that human beings can move Heaven and Earth by dint of their spiritual powers, Wang Chong cites exactly the same group of stories with one exception. Instead of the tale of the Commoner Woman and Duke Jing of Qi, Wang Chong cites instead the account of Qi Liang of Qi’s wife and Duke Zhuang of Qi.17 Wang Chong also tells us elsewhere that he read the story of Duke Luyang in the Huainanzi. Since Duke Luyang is mentioned only once in the extant text of the Huainanzi, it is likely that Wang Chong’s comments on this group of exemplars were a direct response to this section of “Surveying Obscurities.”18 Nevertheless, it is still possible that Wang Chong himself may have substituted the story of Qi Liang’s widow and Duke Zhuang for that of the Commoner Woman of Qi and Duke Jing, or that he consulted a text of “Surveying Obscurities” that differs from the one that has been transmitted to present times.19 While I do not 15

Yang Bojun identifies Qi Liang as an official (chen) of Qi; Du Yu 杜虞 (222–84 CE) makes him a grandee (dafu). See Yang Bojun, Chunqiu Zuozhuan zhu, 4 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1981), vol. 3, p. 1084; and Chunqiu Zuozhuan zhengyi 35/276B, in Ruan Yuan, ed., Shisanjing zhushu, 2 vols (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1980), vol. 2, p. 1978. 16 Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 4, p. 504. 17 Wang Chong, chap. 19, “Ganxu,” in Huang Hui, annotator, Lunheng jiaoshi (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1983), vol. 1, pp. 219–34. 18 Wang Chong, chap. 84, “Duizuo,” in Huang Hui, vol. 2, p. 1175. 19 Wang Bao (d. ca. 61 BCE) also pairs Shi Kuang with Qi Liang’s wife in “Rhapsody on the Panpipes.” See translation in David Knechtges, Wen xuan, vol. 3 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996), pp. 233–43. Cai Yong’s (133–92 CE) Qin cao furthermore claims that Qi Laing’s wife was a musician who composed a musical lament for her husband called

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intend to use this example as incontrovertible evidence that the “Surveying Obscurities” Commoner Woman of Qi in fact refers to the story of Qi Liang’s wife, the two stories share many elements. What is clear, however, is that the story of Qi Liang’s wife has been preserved in many different forms in early sources and has continued to transform according to the concerns of each age down to the twentieth century as the legend of Meng Jiangnü. Let us begin with a look at the account of Qi Liang’s wife found in the Zuozhuan: 齊侯還自晉，不入，遂襲莒，門於且于，傷股而退 . . .。杞殖，華 還 . . . 入且于之隧，宿於莒郊 . . . 遇莒子於蒲侯氏，莒子重賂 之，使無死，曰，請有盟。華周對曰，貪貨棄命，亦君所惡 也，昏而受命，日未中而棄之，何以事君。莒子親鼓之，從而 伐之，獲杞梁，莒人行成。齊侯歸，遇杞梁之妻於郊，使弔 之。辭曰殖之有罪，何辱命焉，若免於罪，猶有先人之敝廬 在，下妾不得與郊弔。齊侯弔諸其室。 When (the marquis) Duke Zhuang of Qi returned from Jin, without entering [his capital], he fell on Ju by surprise, and attacked the gate of Juyu. A wound in the thigh obliged him to retire. . . . In the meantime] Qi Zhi [i.e. Qi Liang] and Hua Xuan passed . . . through a defile near Juyu, and reached the suburbs of the capital city . . . [and] met with the viscount of Ju at Puhoushi, who offered them large bribes to induce them not to fight to the death, and begged them to make a covenant with him. Hua Zhou (Hua Xuan) replied, “If, coveting your bribes, we should cast away our orders, your lordship would hate us. If before mid-day we could forget the orders which we received at dawn, wherewith should we serve any ruler?” On this the viscount himself beat the drum, and urged on his men to attack them, when [the corpse of] Qi Liang (Qi Zhi) was seized. . . . When the marquis of Qi was returning home, he met the wife of Qi Liang in the suburbs, and sent an officer to present to her his condolences. But she declined them, saying, “If Zhi committed any offence, why should you condescend to send me any message? If he escaped committing any offence, there is the ­cottage of his father. I cannot listen to any

“Qi Liang Ge.” Li Shan’s commentary to the Wenxuan cites Cai Yong’s reference to this song. See Xiao Tong, ed., Wenxuan, 3 vols (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1981), vol. 1, juan 17, pp. 13B–14A. The lyrics are in the extant version of the Qin cao. See Gu Tinglong, ed., Xu xiu siku quanshu (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2002), vol. 1092, p. 154.

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condolences in the fields.” The marquis then sent his condolences to her house.20 In this account, the woman of Qi is not a commoner but the wife of an official, Qi Zhi, also known as Qi Liang. Still, she ranks far beneath the duke but fearlessly stands her ground and rebuffs his indecorous efforts to condole with her. In the Zuozhuan she is noted not for her cries to Heaven but for her ritual correctness and cool dismissal of the duke’s inappropriate offer of condolences in the fields outside the city instead of in the proper setting of her home. Additional accounts of Duke Zhuang’s flagrant womanizing and his casual, impulsive behavior in the Zuozhuan further justify Qi Liang’s widow’s cold treatment of the duke.21 His attempt to approach Qi Liang’s wife because he happened to run into her on the road demonstrates the same capriciousness that led to Qi Liang’s death when the duke rather suddenly decided to attack Ju on his way home from Jin. Qi Liang’s wife is thus exemplary both in her sense of propriety and in her decision to stand firm in her dealings with the erratic duke, who is portrayed in the Zuozhuan as moving unreflectingly from one disaster to the next. The Zuozhuan narrative tells us that two years after his brush with Qi Liang’s wife, Duke Zhuang, like Duke Jing as portrayed in “Surveying Obscurities”, met disaster in a tower. In the case of Duke Zhuang, he was murdered by the husband of a woman with whom he was carrying on an adulterous affair. The emotional outpouring of Qi Liang’s wife for her slain husband that later became so famous does not, however, appear until the Mencius (ca. 320 BCE), where it is mentioned in a discussion between Mengzi 孟子 and Chunyu Kun 淳于髡 about the practical and outward expression of one’s inner qualities: 華周、杞梁之妻，善哭其夫，而變國俗。有諸內，必形諸外。為 其事而無其功者，髡未嘗睹之也 The wives of Hua Zhou and Qi Liang bewailed their husbands so skillfully that they changed the manners of the State. When there is the gift within, it manifests itself without. I have never seen the man who could do the deeds of a worthy, and did not realize the work of one.22

20 Zuozhuan, Xiang 23; translation by Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 5, pp. 503–4. 21 See Zuozhuan, Xiang 25; translated in Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 5, p. 514. 22 See Mencius 6.2.6.5; translated in Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 2, p. 434.

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It is not clear how Qi Liang’s wife “changed manners” but we see here a shift in the focus of her story from the force of one individual’s refusal to sacrifice her integrity at the behest of a superior to the power of her sincerity to transform the morals of an entire state spontaneously. Subsequent references to Qi Liang’s wife in the Liji and the Hanshi waizhuan also mention the intensity of her wailing, but it is not until the Shuo yuan and Lienü zhuan of Liu Xiang (79–8 BCE) that her wailing causes a wall to collapse.23 Interestingly, the Shuo yuan captures the flexible nature of this tale at a transitional moment that moves from an interest in sincerity to the mechanism of ‘stimulus and response’ (ganying). While the Shuo yuan quotes the story in one chapter as it appears in the Mencius, it also cites a different version of the story in another chapter, in which the woman’s weeping causes a wall to collapse.24 This tale would not be the only account from the Zuozhuan to take on correlative cosmological elements in its Han retelling. The Zuozhuan account of Boji of Song 宋伯姬, for example, which tells of the heroine’s choice to die in a burning house rather than venture abroad without her governess, in the hands of Dong Zhongshu becomes the tale of a conflagration initiated by Boji’s accumulated yin essence.25 Let us now examine how the Lienü zhuan tells the tale. The Lienü zhuan places the story of Qi Liang’s wife in the biographies of the “Chaste and Obedient.”26 The beginning of the story follows the narrative as found in the Zuozhuan but then diverges after the widow’s encounter with Duke Zhuang.27 At this point we are told that Qi Liang’s wife was not only childless but utterly alone, without relatives on either her husband’s or her own side of the family. 23

Ruan Yuan 阮元, Liji, “Tan Gong,” in Shisanjing zhushu, vol. 1, 10/84B (p. 1312); translated in James Legge, trans., Li chi: Book of Rites, 2 vols. (New York: University Books, 1967), vol. 1, p. 188; Hanshi waizhuan, in Wang Yunwu 王雲五, Sibu congkan zhengbian, vol. 3, chap. 6, item 14. 24 See Shuo yuan, in Wang Yunwu 王雲五, Sibu congkan zhengbian, vol. 17, 17/5B and 4/10A. 25 Ban Gu, Hanshu, “Wuxing zhi,” 27A, p. 1326. Dong believed that Boji’s more than twenty-five years of lonely widowhood and chastity as well as her anxiety over the various disasters visited upon her state generated a superabundance of yin energy, which culminated and transformed into its opposite force, yang, and ignited the fire. On Dong’s role in this section of the Hanshu, see Sarah Queen, From Chronicle to Canon: The Hermeneutics of the “Spring and Autumn” according to Dong Zhongshu (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 39–67. 26 Liu Xiang, Lienü zhuan, in D. C. Lau, ed., A Concordance to the Gu Lienü zhuan (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1993), chap. 4, item 8. 27 For a thorough study of textual parallels, see Shimomi Takao, Ryū kō Retsujoden no kenkyū (Tokyo: Tōkaidō daigaku shuppankai, 1989), 488–91.

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We are then told that with no one to turn to, the widow took Qi Liang’s corpse to the foot of the city wall, where she wept.28 The intensity of her sincerity moved all passersby, and after ten days the wall collapsed. She then buried her husband, and because she refused to remarry and was thus left with no one to rely on, she threw herself into the river Zi and died. In this narrative, the duke is not punished in the same spectacular way as described in “Surveying Obscurities,” but his city wall sustains damage and his impulsive invasion of Ju results in a widow’s contempt and her subsequent suicide. Taking all these sources into consideration, it appears that the Huainanzi is still in fact the earliest extant source for an exemplar in the mold of Qi Liang’s edifice-toppling widow. If the legend of the Commoner Woman of Qi does not emerge directly from the story of Qi Liang’s wife, then at the very least it is one of a number of tales that eventually coalesce into a name that endured for two millennia, that of Meng Jiangnü, the legendary woman whose wailing for her deceased husband brought down the Great Wall of Qin Shihuang.29 Of equal interest to examining the identity of the Commoner Woman of Qi is the exploration of precisely how she managed to topple the duke and his tower.

Inner Cultivation

The potent means by which the Commoner Woman of Qi incites Duke Jing’s demise is her skill in inner cultivation (neiye). As Harold Roth has explained, “In the . . . Huainanzi . . . [the] ability to influence and even transform other things was conceived of as occurring through a mysterious resonance between the highly refined vital essence of a sage-ruler and the vital essences that occur in all things.”30 “Surveying Obscurities” describes the process as follows:

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30

Some later commentators suggest that the wall was either the wall of Ju where Qi Liang died or that the people of Ju used the bodies of slain Qi soldiers to build a wall. See Wilt Idema, Meng Jiangnü Brings Down the Great Wall (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2008), 6–7. Wilt Idema (ibid., 3–23) has shown how the tale of Qi Liang’s widow evolved into the now more famous legend of Meng Jiangnü, a tale set in Qin times that recounts how Meng’s husband died laboring on the Great Wall and his widow’s tears brought it down. See Harold D. Roth, Original Tao: Inward Training and the Foundations of Taoist Mysticism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), 140; citing Lau et al., Huainanzi 9/68/10–12.

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夫瞽師、庶女，位賤尚，權輕飛羽，然而專精厲意，委務積 神，上通九天，激厲至精 . . . . . . . . . 夫全性保真，不虧其身，遭急 迫難，精通于天。若乃未始出其宗者 Now, this blind musician and common woman ranked even lower than encroaching weeds, and their authority was lighter than a floating feather. But by concentrating their refined essences and disciplining their thoughts, by setting aside [mundane] concerns and storing up numen, they penetrated the Nine Heavens above, activating and wielding the most refined essences. . . . If you keep intact your nature and guard your authenticity, and do no damage to your person, when you meet with emergencies or are oppressed by difficulties, your essence will penetrate upward to Heaven. You will be like one who has not yet begun to emerge from his Ancestor.31 The processes described here—the disciplined stilling of the mind (li yi 厲意), the abandonment of conscious thoughts, plans, or actions (weiwu 委務), the preservation of one’s authenticity or sincerity (baozhen 保真), the concentration of refined essences (zhuanjing 專精), the accumulation of numen ( jishen 積神), and the transcendence of temporal, spatial, and individual limitations (tong jiutian 通 九 天; ruo nai wei chu qi zongzhe 若乃未始出其宗者)—all follow the techniques and cosmological views described in a number of early inner cultivation texts such as the “Neiye” (“Inward Training”) and “Xinshu” (“Techniques of the Mind”) essays of the Guanzi, both dated to the fourth century BCE.32 There is also a geographical link between these techniques and cosmological perspectives and the state of Qi, which was noted for its patronage of scholars and “formula and techniques” (fangshu 方術) practitioners who advocated inner cultivation and developed systems of “naturalist” cosmologies.33 The passages cited above, which are set in tetrasyllabic rhyming phrases interspersed with prose elements, also accord with the formal features of early inner cultivation texts.34

31 32 33 34

Translation based on pp. 214–216 (6/49/28–6/50/4) Major et al., Huainanzi, 349. Compare, e.g., “Neiye” 8, 15, and 19, in Roth, Original Tao, 60, 74, 82. Roth (144–61) also traces these concepts in the Laozi and the Zhuangzi. See Roth, Original Tao, 20–22. On this structure see ibid., 12–17. In the passage cited the tetrasyllables are 位賤尚葈/權 輕飛羽/專精厲意/委務積神/上通九天/激厲至精/ . . . 全性保真/不虧其身/遭急迫 難/精通于天.

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The results of the Commoner Woman of Qi’s report to Heaven make clear both the severity of the duke’s crime as well as the depth of the woman’s sorrow. But how can we reconcile the Commoner Woman’s emotional intensity and apparent desire to indict the duke with the practice of inner tranquillity and commitment to nonpurposive action enjoined by inner cultivation texts? “Neiye” 14, for example, states: 道滿天下，普在民所，民不能知也。一言之解，上察於天，下 極於地，蟠滿九州。何謂解之在於心安？我心治 The Way fills the entire world. It is everywhere that people are, But people are unable to understand this. When you are released by this one word: You reach up to the heavens above; You stretch down to the earth below; You pervade the nine inhabited regions. What does it mean to be released by it? The answer resides in the calmness of the mind.35 If we look elsewhere in the Huainanzi, we see that intense sincerity need not preclude the equanimity necessary to move Heaven. For example, “The Ruler’s Techniques” (“Zhu shu”), chapter 9 of the Huainanzi, recounts the following: 湯之時，七年旱，以身禱于桑林之際，而四海之雲湊，千里之 雨至。抱質效誠，感動天地。 At the time of King Tang of Yin there was a seventy-year drought. When he offered himself as a sacrifice on the outer reaches of Sanglin, the clouds from all quarters of the world gathered and rain fell for hundreds of miles around. Embracing simplicity and offering his sincerity, he moved heaven and earth.36 “Surveying Obscurities” shows that through the disinterested practice of inner cultivation, a person who acts with utter sincerity can also activate a powerful resonance between his or her own refined essence and the vital essence 35 36

See Roth, Original Tao, 139. Lau et al., eds., Huainanzi, 9/69/11; Roger Ames, The Art of Rulership: A Study of Ancient Chinese Political Thought (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994), 171.

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of other persons or things.37 A number of scholars also point out that while modern editions of the Huainanzi use the word jiao 叫, ‘cry out,’ rather than gao 告, ‘to report,’ to describe the Commoner Woman of Qi’s communication with Heaven, the word gao seems better suited to the sincere but disinterested act of reporting to Heaven rather than to supplicating for a specific desired end.38 Finally, “Surveying Obscurities” goes one step further than “The Ruler’s Techniques” by suggesting that not just a sage-king but any person, no matter how lowly, is capable of activating this mysterious resonance. “Surveying Obscurities” thus begins with a reference to two rulers brought down by low-ranking members of society who nevertheless were skilled in the nourishment of their vital essences and were thereby able to establish a resonance with the forces of Heaven and nature. The opening passage ends with the following warning: “From these examples it can be seen that although one may dwell in desolate and dark wastelands, distant and secret abodes, multilayered shelters of rock, or inaccessible and dangerous mountains, one cannot escape the punishments of Heaven on high.” The next section then demonstrates how two rulers of antiquity, King Wu of Zhou and Duke Luyang of Chu, by dint of their inner cultivation preserved themselves from harm. Through these exemplars, the opening passage of “Surveying Obscurities” emphasizes not only that inner cultivation will allow the ruler to maintain his sway over the empire but also that since it is a practice available to all human beings, the ruler with no knowledge of it can fall victim to even an ordinary woman who understands the technique. The idea that the common people will rise up and topple an immoral ruler is found in many early Chinese texts. What is different here is that the person who unseats the ruler is a single individual, who is, moreover, an ordinary woman, and one empowered by resources that are available to all.

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38

The woman’s lowliness in combination with her mastery of inner cultivation is reminiscent of the “skill narratives” found in the Zhuangzi, in which lowly craftsmen excel at their trades through the strength of their inner vitality. The difference here, however, is that the Commoner Woman of Qi’s abilities, unlike Music Master Kuang’s, are not directed toward any craft but focus on her basic humanity and the political implications of her inner powers. On “skill narratives,” see Roth, Original Tao, 157. See Charles Le Blanc, Huai-nan tzu: Philosophical Synthesis in Early Han Thought; The Idea of Resonance (Kan-ying 感應), with a Translation and Analysis of Chapter Six (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1985), 103–7.

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Heaven’s Concern for the Common People

The Commoner Woman of Qi represents an important development in views concerning the relationship between rulers and ordinary people, such as those expressed in Mencius 5A.5.8: “Heaven sees according as my people see; Heaven hears according as my people hear” 天視自我民視，天聽自我民聽.39 Mencius emphasizes here the ruler’s duty to take the welfare of the common people into consideration and, by extension, his need to secure their support as a requirement of political legitimacy.40 As Xiao Gongquan has pointed out, this idea did not originated with Mencius but was brought back into prominence by him and developed from earlier sources.41 Mencius also frequently mentions the ruler’s duty toward various unfortunates such as widows, widowers, and orphans.42 Complementing these views, we also see in the Mencius the opinion that people subjected to cruel and negligent treatment from their superiors were justified in retaliating by refusing to honor and die for them: 鄒與魯鬨，穆公問曰：「吾有司死者三十三人，而民莫之死 也。誅之，則不可勝誅；不誅，則疾視其長上之死而不救。如 之何則可也？」 孟子對曰：「兇年饑歲，君之民老弱轉乎溝壑，壯者散而之四方 者幾千人矣；而君之倉廩實、府庫充，有司莫以告，是上慢而殘 下也。曾子曰：『戒之戒之！出乎爾者，反乎爾者也。』夫 民今而後得反之也，君無尤焉！ There had been a brush between Zou and Lu, when Duke Mu asked Mencius saying, “Of my officers there were killed thirty-three men, none of the people would die in their defense. Though I sentenced them to 39 Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 2, p. 357. Mencius is here quoting chapter 21 of the Shangshu, “Tai Shi”; see Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 3, p. 292. Many scholars believe that this section of the Shangshu is a Han dynasty forgery. See Michael Loewe, ed., Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographical Guide (Berkeley: Society for the Study of Early China and Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, 1993), 379. In the Western tradition, compare Ecclesiasticus 35:21, “The prayer of a person with humility will pierce heaven,” paraphrased by Saint Bernard (“Sermon on the Song of Songs” 62, Patrologia Latina 183.1076) as “The prayer of a righteous person pierces heaven.” See also James 5:16. 40 For discussion of this concept, see Hsiao Kung-ch’üan, A History of Chinese Political Thought, 2 vols. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1979), vol. 1, pp. 148–66. 41 Hsiao Kung-ch’üan, A History of Chinese Political Thought, vol. 1, 160. 42 See, e.g., Mencius 1B.5. I am grateful to Andrew Meyer for bringing this reference to my attention.

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death for their conduct, it is impossible to put such a multitude to death. If I do not put them to death, then there is the crime unpunished of their looking angrily on at the death of their officers, and not saving them. How is the exigency of the case to be met?” Mencius replied, “In calamitous years and years of famine, the old and weak of your people, who have been found lying in the ditches and water-channels, and the able-bodied who have been scattered about to the four quarters, have amounted to several thousands. All the while, your granaries, O prince, have been stored with grain, and your treasuries and arsenals have been full, and not one of your officers has told you of the distress. Thus negligent have the superiors in your State been, and cruel to their inferiors. The philosopher Tsang said, ‘Beware, beware. What proceeds from you, will return to you again.’ Now at length the people have paid back the conduct of their officers to them. Do not you, O prince, blame them.”43 Here, retaliation takes the form of passive resistance. But as Mark Lewis has noted, in the city-states of the fifth and sixth centuries BCE, the collective power of the capital citizenry (guoren 國人) became an active force that could support or overthrow a ruler. A famous example comes from the state of Qi a decade after the death of Duke Jing. Through acts of charity and generosity to the capital populace, which provided a stark contrast to Duke Jing’s policies, the Tian clan of Qi managed to wrest power from its traditional rulers in 481 BCE.44 The focus of somewhat later writing shifts from relations between a ruler and his capital populace to relations between the ruler and his individual subjects. This shift reflects, as Nishijima Sadao has argued, a new feature of rulership introduced by the Qin state and continued by the Han, in which power now reached directly from the throne to each individual member of the population.45 In addition to functioning as a practical means to collect taxes and conscript military and labor services, the direct relationship between the ruler and the common people helped rulers to bind the loyalty of each individual subject. Thus, it is not surprising that at this time we also begin to see 43 44

45

Mencius 1B.12.2; Legge, Chinese Classics, vol. 2, p. 173. Mark Edward Lewis, The Construction of Space in Early China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006), 146. For the contrast between the Tian clan’s generosity and Duke Jing’s cruelty, see Zuozhuan, Zhao 3. Nishijima Sadao, “Characteristics of the Unified States of Ch’in and Han (a),” Proceedings of the XIIe Congrès international des sciences historiques: Rapports II (Vienna, 1965), 71–90.

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the articulation of the view that Heaven is concerned not just with the common people as a whole but with each individual. In the Xinshu, for example, Jia Yi (201–169 BCE) notes that the murder of even one ordinary man (pifu 匹夫) will be known by Heaven.46 The focus here is not on a mass of people capable of rising up in rebellion but on an individual man who ranks among the lowest members of society and whose abuse is now understood as possessing the power to activate Heaven’s notice. But the Commoner Woman of Qi, as a woman with no authority, military affiliation, education, or apparent connections to officials or people of rank, is still humbler than the common man in the Xinshu passage.47 Her admission to the ranks of those who both deserve and require the emperor’s consideration represents the imperial vision of people who matter widening by one further degree. Women The “Surveying Obscuritie”s reference to the Commoner Woman of Qi forms part of a more general pattern in the Huainanzi, which, from its comprehensive cosmological perspective, views all things, including both men and women, as active participants in nature’s cycles and the balance of yin and yang. But it also represents what seems to be a new way of looking at spiritual cultivation: as a practice that does not exclude ordinary women. To my knowledge the closest early counterpart is found in the Zhong yong: “The way of the superior man may be found in its simple elements among common men and women, but in its utmost reaches it is displayed in (the operations of) heaven and earth” 君子之道，造端乎夫婦，及其至也，察乎天地。」.48 As limited as this statement is as recognition of the capacity of women for spiritual cultivation, it represents something of a landmark in that it mentions women at all. In some cases the inclusion of women in learned discourse seems to be due merely to the desire for cosmological and rhetorical comprehensiveness. The form of argumentation that we see in the Huainanzi makes an effort to include 46

I am grateful to Mark Csíkszentmihályi for this reference. See Xinshu, in Wang Yunwu, ed., Sibu congkan zhengbian, vol. 17, 7/22A. 47 In fact, “Surveying Obscurities” suggests that intellectual discernment is an obstacle rather than an aid to ‘ascertaining true and false.’ See Le Blanc, Huai-nan tzu, 133. 48 Legge, Li chi, vol. 2, p. 305; Liji 28, Zhongyong, in Shishanjing zhushu, vol. 2, 52/398C, p. 1626. The Zhongyong is often attributed to the grandson of Confucius, Zi Si (late fifth century BCE). It may also be a later text that attempts to explain the thought of Zi Si, possibly the Zhongyong shuo mentioned in Ban Gu, Hanshu 30, p. 1709.

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examples of both men and women—for example, in the frequently mentioned pairs such as “men who plow and women who weave.”49 Charles Le Blanc notes that these pairs represent yin and yang and are thus inspired by the desire for cosmological thoroughness.50 In a few sections of the Huainanzi there is also a tendency to mention well-known female exemplars along with male ones. For example, Wey Ji (the wife of Duke Huan of Qi) and the wife of Xi are both mentioned along with their male counterparts as exemplars of ‘examining minutiae,’ an ability that is valued in both men and women.51 Boji of Song 宋伯姬, who died in a fire to preserve her chastity, is at least matched by a man famous for drowning while waiting for his lady friend to meet him near a pillar under a bridge.52 Also, the religious traditions and legends of the Huainanzi tend to include goddesses such as Nü Wa 女娲 and Xi Wang Mu 西王母 more often than do other early texts. Still, we cannot fall into the trap of thinking that the desire for cosmological comprehensiveness or the presence of female deities in any given pantheon translates into the actual empowerment of women in a religious tradition. John Major, moreover, has noted that in the Huainanzi things associated with the category yang are generally preferred to those associated with yin.53 Various sections of the Huainanzi also seem to uphold the subordination of women, so that in keeping with the Huainanzi as a whole, the focus here seems to be the lowliness of the commoner woman’s social status, which is made all the more humble by her gender.54 While it is clear that the Huainanzi’s inclusion of male and female exemplars is in part derived from its desire for comprehensiveness, the inclusion of women as a significant category in this and other philosophical and political writings also represents a new social reality that began to emerge in late Warring States times. Rulers and political thinkers began to view the general female population, particularly their contributions to agriculture, cloth production, and tax revenue, and even to military preparedness, as an asset they could not afford to ignore.55 At the other end of the social scale, rulers and court advisers also became increasingly wary about the dangerous potential of women to upset dynastic stability. Both of these concerns trained attention on 49 50 51 52 53 54 55

See, e.g., Lau et al., Huainanzi, 11/104/6–14. Le Blanc, Huai-nan tzu, 109. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 16/20/156, 12/110–111/26–22. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 13/125/14. Major, Heaven and Earth in Early Han Thought, 169. See, e.g., Lau et al., Huainanzi, 20/212/6–20. See Anne Kinney, Representations of Childhood and Youth in Early China (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2004), chap. 5.

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women and culminated in the development of morality texts for women, such as the Lienü zhuan (Categorized Biographies of Women). Thus, the prominent placement of the Commoner Woman of Qi in “Surveying Obscurities” reflects both a new political interest in women as well as a philosophical perspective that construes all people and things, no matter how humble, as constituents in a cosmos in which the disharmony of one element has the power to disrupt the harmonic balance of the whole. In this way, the author of “Surveying Obscurities” utilizes the Commoner Woman of Qi to caution the ruler on two potential pitfalls. First, it warns against underestimating any one of his subjects as being too insignificant to represent a potential threat to his sovereignty. Second, it draws his attention to the precarious state of his realm if he remains wrongly convinced of the strength of his own autocratic power and thus fails to live in accordance with the underlying structure and operating principles that actually govern the world and his very being. The Commoner Woman of Qi thus represents subjects who are utterly lacking in social prestige and political power but whose mistreatment at the hands of the ruler will, if we believe “Surveying Obscurities”, precipitate extreme consequences. Nevertheless, despite the intended message of this reference, to my knowledge, the text’s description of the spiritual and political power of this ordinary woman and her ability to access heavenly aid is unprecedented. This new development can be illustrated by comparing the story of the Commoner Woman of Qi as found in “Surveying Obscurities” with three narratives found in the Lienü zhuan that also concern lowly women of Qi who challenged their rulers.56 This trio of stories utilizes the well-known Warring States theme of the ruler who is able to recognize worthiness in unlikely individuals. Indeed, in these stories the women are not only humble but social outcasts noted either for their ugliness or for grotesque physical defects.57 Each one, through various means, comes into contact with her ruler and, by the force of her rhetorical skill, leads the ruler to acknowledge the error of his ways. As a result, the ruler is so impressed with the woman’s persuasive powers that he not only corrects his faults but is able to overlook the woman’s physical defects and either takes her as his wife or marries her to an esteemed adviser. Because the point of these stories is to demonstrate how even a woman who is extremely ill-favored will gain acceptance if she is able to provide wise counsel, the stories seem to focus on a slightly older set of strategies than those used in the tale of the Commoner Woman of Qi. 56 57

See items 6.10–12 in Kinney, trans., The Lienu zhuan (forthcoming). I am grateful to Eric Henry for this observation.

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To get a better sense of what is new in “Surveying Obscurities,” let us compare the two texts. The first and most obvious way in which the Lienü zhuan narratives differ from the story of the Commoner Woman of Qi is their happy conclusions. In contrast to the apocalyptic destruction of the “Surveying Obscurities” narrative, in the Lienü zhuan good government is restored to Qi, the ruler-­ subject relationship is repaired, and the wise but rejected woman finds a husband and a home. A second dissimilarity is the Lienü zhuan’s confidence in the efficacy of rhetorical skill to resolve difficulties between subject and ruler, in contrast to the very different strategies employed by the Commoner Woman of Qi. Either because she tried to meet with the duke and was rebuffed or because she could not meet with him for some other reason, the Commoner Woman of Qi does not address her ruler directly but makes her plaint known to Heaven. Unlike the Lienü zhuan, the “Surveying Obscurities” narrative is more in line with the Qin and Han shift toward recognizing Heaven, cosmic processes, or natural law rather than aristocratic power as the ultimate source of authority. A further distinction, in keeping with the Huainanzi’s distrust of language and conventionally accepted knowledge, is the Commoner Woman of Qi’s effective use of inner cultivation to communicate with Heaven rather than the clever argumentation utilized by the women in the Lienü zhuan stories. Third, the mechanism of stimulus and response also allows the Commoner Woman to affect the duke at a distance; she does not require direct access to him. The power to assail the ruler without direct contact is also a feature that widens the circle of those who have political influence.58 By comparing the story of the Commoner Woman of Qi with what appears to be an older set of narratives, we see a number of new ideas that either emerge, gain greater prominence, or coalesce in new ways in Qin and Han times and that facilitate ‘breaking the glass ceiling’ and a new vision of womanhood. But the intended point of the story of the Commoner Woman of Qi seems to lie in the desire not so much to empower women as to instill in the ruler an awareness of how even a lowly woman might shake the foundations of his dynasty.

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We see a similar claim in the Mao commentary to the Book of Odes. The “Great Preface” claims that the Odes not only serves as a powerful tool that can be utilized by rulers to transform the people but also provides a means by which inferiors can reprove their superiors. This proviso empowered women to correct erring husbands and, by extension, to effect changes capable of spreading beyond the family to affect the whole world. See my article “The Mao Commentary to the Book of Odes as a Source for Women’s History,” in Overt and Covert Treasures: Essays on the Sources for Chinese Women’s History, ed. Clara Wing-chung Ho (Hong Kong: Chinese University of Hong Kong Press, 2012), 61–112.

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Imperial Threats and Occult Boons

As we explore the various legends and philosophical views that inform “Surveying Obscurities,” we need to consider what impact these views might have had on the young Emperor Wu. In 139 BCE, the eighteen-year-old ruler may have brushed off the lessons of “Surveying Obscurities” as just one of a host of contending voices eager to gain his ear. When he came to the throne in 141 BCE, one of his first acts was to appoint Confucian scholars and dismiss those who identified with other, opposing ideologies, overturning the Grand Empress Dowager Dou’s 竇太后 preferment and favoring of advocates of Huang-Lao thought. But Emperor Wu may also have found the message of “Surveying Obscurities” to be somewhat disquieting. Early in his reign, we begin to see his susceptibility to practitioners of esoteric arts and, somewhat later, his fear of curses and various forms of black magic. The “Feng and Shan Sacrifices” chapter of the Shiji, for example, catalogs the large number of magicians Emperor Wu patronized and the wide array of spirits he worshiped.59 In 135 BCE, he created a place of worship for the so-called Spirit Mistress, the ghost of a woman who died in childbirth and who later took possession of her brother’s wife, and he promised fame and honor to those who sacrificed to her. Like the Spirit Mistress, the other divine beings that interested Wudi all promised various blessings and boons. Wudi also believed himself to be vulnerable to esoteric arts meant to do him harm or to influence him against his will. For example, some eight years after the Huainanzi was presented to the emperor (ca. 131 BCE), Chufu 楚服, Wudi’s daughter by Empress Chen 陳皇后, who could have been no more than twelve years old at the time, practiced sorcery and uttered curses in the hope of helping her mother to win back the affections of the emperor.60 When this information came to light in 130 BCE, Empress Chen was deposed and Chufu’s head was cut off and exposed in the marketplace, followed by the execution of three hundred other individuals said to be involved in the incident. In 91 BCE, Wudi’s heir apparent, Liu Ju 劉據, was charged with using sorcery to weaken and destroy his imperial father; the evidence was a wooden manikin found in Liu Ju’s palace. The prince fled and eluded arrest by hanging himself.61 59 60 61

Sima Qian, Shiji 28, p. 1384. Ban Gu, Hanshu 97A, p. 3948; Ban Gu, Hanshu 59, p. 2638; Ban Gu, Hanshu 6, p. 164; Sima Qian, Shiji 122, pp. 13–14; Sima Qian, Shiji 49, pp. 20–21. See Ban Gu, Hanshu 63, pp. 2741–48; translated in Burton Watson, Courtier and Commoner in Ancient China (New York: Columbia University Press, 1974), 46–54; also see Michael Loewe, Crisis and Conflict in Han China (London: Allen and Unwin, 1974), 37–90.

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It is therefore possible that the vivid descriptions of Heaven’s punishment of erring rulers found in “Surveying Obscurities” might have made unsettling reading for the young Wudi. Furthermore, the harm done to Duke Jing in the “Surveying Obscurities” narrative was not actually committed by (or, perhaps, even intended by) the Commoner Woman of Qi. As Le Blanc explains, “The most subtle essences are . . . similar to Dao; like Dao they have their own inner dynamism and spontaneously bring about orderly and harmonious patterns.”62 Her simple and disinterested ‘report to Heaven’ spontaneously effected by accumulated qi thus released her from the appearance of the Han-time crime of ‘cursing the ruler’ (zhuzu shang 祝詛上), an unseemly act for a heroine presented for Emperor Wu’s consideration. The idea that Heaven’s wrath might result in the destruction of the ruler’s temples and palaces was also very much alive in the time of Emperor Wu. Sometime around 130 BCE, Dong Zhongshu narrowly escaped capital punishment for having composed a work that traced a series of fires in the imp­erial ancestral temples to Wudi’s mismanagement of various affairs of state.63 Dong also criticized Wudi for extravagant building projects and was particularly exercised about excessively tall buildings, which, he believed, disrupted the harmonious functioning of yin and yang.64 A fragment of Dong’s writings even mentions the importance of building a Luqin tower (one of the structures associated with Duke Jing of Qi) that is not too high.65 While the disquieting tone of “Surveying Obscurities” is somewhat mitigated by the section that purports to describe the sage rule of the present time,66 fully one-quarter of the chapter discusses governments in decline and the disastrous policies of bad rulers.67 In fact, what the chapter condemns in some cases describes policies that might have been associated with Wudi’s recently deceased father and those Wudi would himself continue: specifically, to pursue expansionist or militaristic policies,68 to rely entirely on knowledge

62 Le Blanc, Huai-nan tzu, 112. 63 Ban Gu, Hanshu 56, p. 2524. Also see discussion in Queen, From Chronicle to Canon, 26–30. 64 See Chunqiu fanlu 22, in Su Yu, annotator, Chunqiu fanlu yizheng (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1992), 449–50. 65 This fragment is found in Ouyang Xun, Yiwen leiju, 2 vols. (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1999), vol. 1, chap. 61, p. 1095; also see further references in the notes of Su Yu, Chunqiu fanlu yizheng, chap. 77, “Xun Tian Dao,” pp. 449–50. 66 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/54/4–14. 67 See Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/49/27–31, 6/51/10–11, 6/52/24–25, 6/53/10–6/54/2, 6/54/14–21. 68 Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/50/24.

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to rule,69 to allow private interests to dictate state policy,70 to destroy kinship relations,71 to engage in interstate warfare, and to fail to unite the states as one family.72 Chapter 21 of the Huainanzi summarizes chapter 6 as “[t]hat wherein is explained that the most subtle essences merge with the Nine Heavens.”73 While this synopsis of the chapter is apt, it also veils the vivid descriptions of disaster that would befall a ruler who failed to heed its lessons, made all the more unsettling, perhaps, by the notion that an ordinary woman using a technique accessible to all, and who was moreover morally and legally unassailable, might be the author of that doom. The story of the Commoner Woman of Qi remains elusive in its origins, in its linkage to other early Chinese narrative traditions, and in the precise content of its intended message in “Surveying Obscurities.” Still, we can plausibly identify it as an important stage in the development of the Meng Jiangnü legend and discern in this story—whether it was intended or not—a new awareness of the political and spiritual power of women. 69 70 71 72

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Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/51/9. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/53/12. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/53/13–14. Lau et al., Huainanzi, 6/54/2. Also see discussion in Michael Puett, To Become a God: Cosmology, Sacrifice, and Self-Divinization in Early China (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002), 268–70. Le Blanc, Huai-nan tzu, 112; also see Lau et al., Huainanzi 21/224/21–25.

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Index of Terms Accretional Model 4 ba 霸 169, 292, 295, 301, 306, 315, 331, See also hegemon, Lord Protector Ban Gu 班固 (32–92 CE) 6–7, 38, 124, 127, 203, 206 benevolence 仁 41, 50, 72, See also ren Bing lüe 68, 187, 205, See “An Overview of the Military” Boji of Song 宋伯姬 363, 371 Chao Cuo 鼂錯 (d. 154 BCE) 305 cheng 稱 11, 251 Chisel-Tooth 184 Chu zheng. See “Activating the Genuine” Chufu 楚服 374 Chunyu Kun 淳于髡 362 Commoner Woman of Qi 18, 351, 353–355, 358, 360, 364, 366–368, 370, 372–373, 375–376 Compilation Model 4 Confucius 30, 42, 46, 73, 80, 83–86, 88–103, 105, 107–108, 110–113, 121–123, 127, 186, 197, 289, See also Kong Qiu 孔丘, Kongzi 孔 子, Qiu 丘, Zhong Ni 仲尼 Corporate Model 4 Dao 44, 48, 51, 63, 79–80, 109, 114–115, 121, 193, 204, 206, 210, 232, 239, 243, 250, 297, 358–359, 375 daode 道德 51, 84, 114, 116–117 Daoism 9, 43, 79–80, 82 de 43, 47, 51, 114–115, 205, 331, See Potency di 帝 33, 169, 315, See also emperor, thearch Dong Zhongshu 董仲舒 (ca. 179–104 BCE)  199, 207, 310, 363, 375 Duke Huan 桓公 (r. 685–643 BCE)  293–296, 317, 355, 371 Duke Jing of Qi 景公 91, 351, 353, 355, 357–360, 362, 364, 369, 375 Duke Li of Jin 晉厲公 331 Duke Luyang 魯陽公 360, 367 Duke of Zhou 周公 149, 330 Duke Ping of Jin 晉平公 (r. 557–532 BCE)   105–106, 351

Duke Xiang of Song 宋襄公 (r. 650–637 BCE) 360 Duke Zhuang 莊公 (r. 553–548 BCE)  359–360, 362–363 emperor 帝 32, 35, 59, 91, 99, 125, 127, 131, 132, 133, 134, 136, 137, 145, 149, 150, 151, 152, 162, 191, 199, 200, 202, 206, 207, 217, 218, 220, 221, 222, 225, 281, 284, 288, 291, 292, 293, 300, 301, 302, 303, 304, 305, 306, 307, 310, 311, 314, 315, 317, 318, 320, 323, 324, 325, 327, 328, 329, 335, 337, 340, 341, 342, 343, 344, 345, 346, 348, 349, 351, 352, 356, 371, 375, 376, See also di Emperor Cheng 成帝 (r. 33–7 BCE) 134, 217 Emperor Gao 高帝 (r. 206–195 BCE)  96, 391, See also Emperor Gaozu Emperor Gaozu 高祖 302–303, 306, 310, 316–317, 319, 324, 344, 346 Emperor Jing 景帝 (r. 157–141 BCE) 15, 148–149, 199, 219, 305, 326, 347 Emperor Wen 文帝 (r. 179–157 BCE) 304, 314, 347 Emperor Wu 漢武帝 (r. 141–87 BCE) 2, 11, 13–14, 16, 34, 54, 124, 128, 130, 134, 146, 148–150, 199, 202, 206 n. 21, 216, 220, 222, 224, 291, 299, 305, 310, 324, 326, 347, 374–375 Empress Chen 陳皇后 374 filiality 孝 41, 293, 305, See also xiao Five Modes of Conduct 五行 127, 130, See also Five Phases Five Organ Systems 227, 230 Five Phases 五行 26, 86, 158–159, 203, 207, 209 Five Thearchs 100, 117–118, 121–122, 318, See also Huang Di 黃帝, Zhuan Xu 顓頊, Di Ku 帝嚳, Yao 堯, and Shun 舜 formlessness 無形 43, See also wuxing fu 賦 126–134, 136, 147, 245–249 Fu Xi 虙戲氏 308–309, 311 fubian 浮辯 127 ganying 感應  2, 72, 307, 311, 363, See also resonance

index of terms Gao You 高誘 (fl. 195–212 CE) 6–8, 83–84, 114, 228, 353, 359 ge 144–145 Gongsun Hong 公孫弘 (d. 121 BCE) 310 Grand Empress Dowager Dou 竇太后 374 Grand One 太一 26, 34, 86, 121, 315, See also Taiyi Grand Purity 太清 68, 311, 314 Guan Zhong 管仲  (685–645 BCE) 157, 258, 293 Guanzi 管子 136, 285, 294–296 Gun 鯀 330, 342 gurou 骨肉 17, 291, 293 Han Fei 韓非子 (ca. 280–233 BCE)  73, 204–205, See also Han Feizi Han Feizi 韓非子 106 Han Gaozu 漢高祖 (r. 202–195 BCE) 198 “Heeding Positional Advantage” 292, 296–297, 300–301, 303, 305–307, 315, 322, 324 Heavenly Patterns 207, See Tian wen Huainanzi “A Forest of Persuasions” 69, 135, See also “Shui lin” 說林 “A Mountain of Persuasions” 68, 85, 100, 135, See also “Shui shan” 說山 “Activating the Genuine” 1, 34, 55, 60, 84–86, See also “Chu zheng” 俶真 “Among Others” 35, 69, 84, 104, 112, See also “Ren jian” 人間 “An Overview of the Essentials” 1, 5, 11–12, 53, 85, 130, 200–201, 269, 285, 295, 312, 318, 322, See also “Yao lüe” 要略 “An Overview of the Military” 68, See also “Bing lüe” 兵略 “Cultivating Effort” 37, 69, 85, 94, 320–322, 324, See also “Xiu wu” 脩務 “Discourses on the Boundless” 85, 100, 271, See also “Fan lun” 氾論 “Explaining Sayings” 35, See also “Quan yan” 詮言 “Heavenly Patterns” 13, 64, 139, 140–141, 200, 202, 210, 212–213, 216, 219, 222–224, See also “Tian wen” 天文 “Integrating Customs” 67, 73, 76, 78, 84, 103–104, See also “Qi su” 齊俗 “Originating in the Way”. See also “Yuan dao” 原道

393 “Profound Precepts” 35, 85, 100, See also “Mou cheng” 繆稱 “Responses of the Way” 68, 84, 94, 104, See also “Dao ying” 道應 “Seasonal Rules” 64, 140–141, 160, 334, See also “Shi ze” 時則 “Surveying Obscurities” 307–308, 310–311, 313–314, 324, 351–352, 354, 356, 358–360, 362, 364, 366–367, 370, 372–375, See also “Lan ming” 覽冥 “Terrestrial Forms” 1, 34, 64, See also “Di xing” 地形 “The Basic Warp” 311, 313–314, 316, See also “Ben jing” 本經 “The Exalted Lineage” 34, 70, 85, 94, 100, 135, See also “Tai zu” 泰族 “The Quintessential Spirit” 84–86, See also “Jing shen” 精神 “The Ruler’s Techniques” 71, 85, 100, 366–367, See also “Zhu shu” 主術 Huainanzi (Chinese) “Ben jing” 本經 311, See “The Basic Warp” “Dao ying” 道應 68, 109, 186 “Di xing” 地形 1, See “Terrestrial Forms” “Fan lun” 氾論 316, See “Discourses on the Boundless” “Jing shen” 精神 14, 225–226, 229, 233, 237–241, 243–244, 246, 248–250, 252–254, 256–257, 259–263, See “The Quintessential Spirit” “Lan ming” 覽冥 18, 307, 351, See “Surveying Obscurities” “Qi su” 齊俗 67, 104, See “Integrating Customs” “Ren jian” 人間 69, 112, See “Among Others” “Shi ze” 時則 64, 128, 140, 334, See “Seasonal Rules” “Shui lin” 說林 135, See “A Forest of Persuasions” “Shui shan” 說山 1, 135 “Tai zu” 泰族 70, 135, See “The Exalted Lineage” “Tian wen” 天文 13, 64, 128, 139, 200, See “Heavenly Patterns” “Xiu wu” 脩務 69, 320, See “Cultivating Effort” “Yao lüe” 要略 53, 124, 130, 200, 295, See “An Overview of the Essentials”

394 “Yuan dao” 原道 55, See “Originating in the Way” “Zhu shu” 主術 71, See “The Ruler’s Techniques” Huang Di 300, 308–309 Hui Ang 惠盎  94 humaneness 仁 35, 73, 83, 96, 114–115, 117–120, 122, 294, 305, See also ren Huzi 壺子 47, 235 inner book 6 Ji Lu 季路 237 jia 家 42, 346 Jia Yi 賈誼 (ca. 200–168 BCE) 129, 347, 370 jimo 寂漠 43 jing 靜 43, 46, 51–52, 63, 72, 226–228, 240, See also vital essence jingqi 精氣 228, 240–241, 262 jingshen 精神  226–228, 230, 239, 241, 245, 262 jun 君 169, 315 King Goujian of Yue 越王句踐  (r. 496– 465 BCE) 330 King Kang of Song 宋康王  94 King Wu of Zhou 武 331, 333, 360, 367 King Xian of Hejian 河間獻王 127 King Yan of Xu 徐偃王 119, 121–122 Kong Qiu 孔丘  94, See also Confucius Kongzi 孔子 136, 237, 337, See also Confucius kuang 況 97 Kun Wu 昆吾 86 Laozi 老子 86, 114, 123, 235, 288 Li Si 李斯 (280?–208 BCE) 302 Liu An 劉安 2, 7–8, 10–11, 13–18, 34, 39, 53–54, 83, 116, 122–124, 126–128, 130, 133, 135, 147–150, 153, 189, 197, 199, 200, 202, 204, 218–219, 221–224, 286 n. 34, 289, 291, 304, 306–307, 313, 316, 318–319, 323–324, 326–327, 344, 348, 350 Liu Bang 劉邦 (r. 202–195 BCE)  124, 302, 317, See also Emperor Gaozu 高祖 Liu Chang 劉長 (196–174 BCE) 304–305, 314 Liu De 劉德 (r. 155–ca. 130 BCE) 127 Liu Ju 劉據 374

index of terms Liu Xiang 劉向 (79–8 BCE) 83, 134, 363 Liu Yu 217 Lord of Jingguo 靖郭君 (fl. ca. 311 BCE)  36–37, See also Tian Ying Lü Buwei 呂不韋 (291?–235 BCE)  8, 135 n. 41, 296 Lu Jia 陸賈 (ca. 228–140 BCE) 303 Lü Pu-wei 8 lüe 略 55 lun 論 11, 55 Luo Changpei 129, 137–138, 140, 144 Mei Sheng 枚乘 (d. 141 BCE) 129, 133 Mencius 368 Meng Ke 孟軻 (ca. 372–ca. 289 BCE) 295 Mengzi 孟子  362, See also Meng Ke 孟軻 middle book 6 Mingtang 明堂 162 Mizi 弥子  104, 106, 110 Mo Di 墨翟 94, 96, See also Mozi 墨子 Mou cheng 1, See “Profound Precepts” Mozi 墨子  42, 73, 88, 94–95, 136, 185, 197, 285 Music Master Shi Kuang 師曠 351 naturalness 自然 (ziran) 176 Nine Ministers 九卿 335, 342 nonaction 無為 43, 49, 51, 57, 68, 71, 162, 172, 176, 320, See also wuwei Nü Wa 女娲 371 outer book 6 patterns 理  53–54, 56, 58–59, 67, 69, 70–71 potency 德  7, 35, 43, 47, 49–51, 54–55, 62–63, 72, 83, 86, 114–115, 120, 122, See also de Profound Mirror 滌去玄鑑 45, 49 propriety 礼 41 qi 氣  44–45, 58, 72, 86, 143, 180, 206–208, 226–231, 233, 236, 240, 242, 262, 308, 375 Qi Liang 杞梁 360, 362–364 Qin Shihuangdi 秦始皇帝 (r. 221–210 BCE)  198, 302 Qiu 丘 113, See also Confucius Qiu You 仇由  249 Ran Boniu 冉伯牛 237 ren 仁 41, 114–115, See also benevolence

395

index of terms renyi 仁義 83–84, 114–117, See also benevolence, rightness Responses of the Way 109, 186 rightness 義 35, 41, 50, 72–73, 83, 91, 96, 114–115, 117–120, 122, 322 rishu 日書 203 risun 日損 45 root-branches metaphor 9, 10, 24–25, 85 structure 29, 31, 33–35, 37–38, 62, 78, 120, 123 ru 儒 83, 98 Ru 10, 121, 236–237 Ru scholars 7 School of Zhuangzi chapters 194 Seasonal Rules. See Shi ze Seven Kingdoms Rebellion 305, 307, 313–314 Seven States 七國 309, 345 Shang Yang 商鞅  136, 285 Shen Nong 神農  303, 308, 320 shengren 聖人 62 shenming 神明 70, 241 shi 使 8, 23, 45, 129, 131, 154, 204, 209–210, 236–237, 244, 246, 249, 251–252, 292, 297–301, 306, 324, 334 Shi Kuang 360 Shouchun 壽春 125–126, 128, 202 shui 說 12, 55, 138 Shun 68, 320 Sima Qian 司馬遷 (ca. 145–ca. 86 BCE) 93, 128, 135, 202, 205–207, 221, 288, 292, 300–305 Sima Tan 司馬談 (ca. 165–110 BCE) 40, 42, 80, 82–83, 202, 205–207, 221–222 Sima Xiangru 司馬相如 (179–117 BCE) 126, 130, 133, 136, 147 Six Arts 95–99, 103, 121 Six Kings 六王 340 Six Pitch Pipes 六律 169, 315 stillness and silence 寂漠 43, See also jimo Supreme Thearch 上帝 162 Taigong Wang 太公望 136, 301, 345 taiqing 太清 68, See also Grand Purity taiyi 太一 72, 315, See also Grand Unity Tang Du 唐都 206, 320 Three Dukes 三公 100, 118, 121–122, 318, 335, 342 Tian Ying 田嬰 (fl. ca. 311 BCE) 36

“Treatise on the Celestial Offices” 13, 200–201, 207, 222 Vice-Director Mao 93 vital essence 敬除精舍 46, 72, 351, 364, 366–367 wang 王 33, 50, 169, 315, 331, 340 Wang Chong 王充 (27–100 CE) 6, 360 Wang Feng 王鳳 217 Wang Shuo 王朔 206 Wang Yi 王逸 (d. 158 CE) 127 Wei Xian 魏鮮 206 Wei Xuanzi 魏宣子  337 Wudi 武帝 19, 374–375 Wuma Qi 巫馬期 104 wuwei 無為 38, 43, 68–70, See also nonaction wuxing 無形 43, 72, 228, See also formlessness Xi Wang Mu 西王母 371 xian 賢 299, See also worthy, worthiness Xiang Yu 項羽 (233–202 BCE) 303, 317, 344 xiao 孝 41, 293 Xiaoshan 小山 127 xin 心 228–234, 236–237, 240, 242, 252 xing 性 (innate nature, life) 51, 56, 64, 128, 204 n. 12, 205, 207, 227 xinzhai 心齋 45 Xishi 西施  46 xu 虛  43, 46, 52, See also emptiness Xu Shen 許慎 (ca. 55–ca. 149 CE) 353, 359 Xu You 許由 235 Xunzi 荀子 80 yan 言 12, 55 Yan Hui 顏回 30, 104, 111–112, 237 Yanhui 46 Yang Xiong 揚雄 (53 BCE–18 CE) 127 Yanling Jizi 延陵季子 235 Yanzi 晏子 (d. 500 BCE) 136, 235, 355, 357 Yao 68, 235, 320 Yellow Emperor 33, 86, See also Huang Di 黃帝 Yellow Thearch 68, See also Yellow Emperor yi 義 41, 244, 246, See also rightness

396 Yi tribe 郼 114–115 ying 11 Yu Jiaxi 余嘉錫 (1884–1955) 134, 235, 320, 330 Zaofu 造父 181 Zengzi 曾子 237 Zhang Tang 張湯 (d. 116 BCE) 310 zhenren 真人 62, 65, 239 Zhibo 智伯 337 zhidao 知道 68 zhiren 至人 62, 239 Zhong Ni 仲尼 85n, 111–112, See also Confucius Zhou of Shang 紂商  331, 333 Zhou Zumo 129, 137–138, 140, 144 zhu 著 8, 165

index of terms Zhuang Zhou 莊周 192–193 Zhuangzi 莊子 86, 123, 288 Zhufu Yan 主父偃 (d. 127 BCE) 305 zhuhou 諸侯 17, 327–330, 335, 337, 339–343, 347–348 Zi Gan 子贛  337 Zifa 子發  329 Zigong 子貢 104–105, 109, 112–113 Zilu 子柳 104–105, 112 Ziqiu 子求 235 ziran 自然 47, 176 Zixia 子夏 237 “Ziyi” 緇衣 137 zuo 作 6, 270, 283 zuo 鑿 157, 181, 183–186 zuo wei 作為 6 zuowang 坐忘 44–45