Selfless Offspring - ScholarSpace

Selfless Offspring

Selfless OffspringFilial Children and Social Order

in Medieval China

Keith Nathaniel Knapp

University of Hawai‘i PressHonolulu

Chapter 5 of this book was originally published as “Reverent Caring: The Parent-

Son Relationship in Early Medieval Tales of Filial Offspring” in Filial Piety in Chi-

nese Thought and History, ed. Alan K. L. Chan and Sor-hoon Tan (London: Rout-

ledgeCurzon, 2004), 44–70. Reproduced with permission from Taylor & Francis

Group.

© 2005 University of Hawai‘i Press

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

10 09 08 07 06 05 6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Knapp, Keith Nathaniel.

Sel¶ess offspring : ¤lial children and social order in medieval China / Keith

Nathaniel Knapp.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN-13: 978-0-8248-2866-0 (hardcover : alk. paper)

ISBN-10: 0-8248-2866-6 (hardcover : alk. paper)

1. Filial piety—China. 2. Confucian ethics. 3. Parent and child—China. I. Title:

Filial children and social order in early medieval China. II. Title.

BJ1533.F5K63 2006

173—dc22

2005010802

University of Hawai‘i Press books are printed on acid-free

paper and meet the guidelines for permanence and durability

of the Council on Library Resources.

Designed by University of Hawai‘i Press Production Staff

Printed by Integrated Book Technology, Inc.

For my parents,Arthur and Carol

vii

Contents

Acknowledgments / ix

Introduction / 1

1. Extended Families and the Triumph of Confucianism / 13

2 The Narratives: Origins and Uses / 27

3. Accounts of Filial Offspring: Models for Emulation / 46

4. Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism / 82

5. Reverent Caring / 113

6. “Exceeding the Rites”: Mourning and Burial Motifs / 137

7. Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons? / 164

Conclusion / 187

Appendix: Variants of the Ding Lan Tale / 191

Notes / 195

Glossary / 261

Select Bibliography / 271

Index / 293

ix

Acknowledgments

Having started in 1989, this work has had a longperiod of gestation. Many people and institutions have made its comple-tion possible.

At the dissertation stage, with his searing constructive criticism, DavidJohnson made me clarify and strengthen each chapter and verse. AlbertDien and John Kieschnick provided invaluable advice and encourage-ment. Carlton Benson, Susan Glosser, Mark Halperin, Madeline Hsu,Chris Reed, Tim Westin, Bruce and Mei-ling Williams, and MarciaYonemoto all furnished helpful comments. Several Foreign Language andArea Studies fellowships, a China Times Young Scholars Award, and anAndrew Mellon Dissertation Grant enabled me to complete the project.

Research for my manuscript pro¤ted immensely from interactionswith my East Asian colleagues. Kuroda Akira of Bukkyô University, one ofthe few people who knows the ¤lial piety stories better than myself, en-riched my understanding of the tales through his insightful scholarshipand our many excursions together to look at artifacts. Luo Feng, the headof the Ningxia Institute of Cultural Relics and Archaeology, and ZhaoChao, a research associate at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, haveboth taught me much about the stories’ images and their archaeologicalcontext.

Financial assistance has come most generously from the CitadelFoundation: it has underwritten several research trips to East Asia and thepurchase of many reference books normally found only at major researchcenters. Although not primarily intended for this project, an AmericanCouncil of Learned Societies’ Committee on Scholarly Communicationwith China Grant, funded by the National Endowment of the Humani-ties, gave me the boon of spending ¤ve months combing northern Chinafor illustrations of ¤lial piety stories.

x Acknowledgments

As for preparation of the manuscript itself, the extensive commentsof Anne Behnke Kinney, Michael Nylan, Cynthia Chennault, Kyle Sinisi,and the University of Hawai‘i Press’ anonymous readers have deeply im-proved the text. Readers of individual chapters, such as Roger Ames,Lynda Coon, Kathy Haldane Grenier, Joshua Howard, Sarah Schnee-wind, Aida Yuen-Wong, and members of the Southeast Early ChinaRoundtable, have also made substantial contributions. Susan L. B. Cor-rado has vastly improved the work’s readability and accuracy through hermeticulous copyediting. Jenn Harada has expertly shepherded it throughthe production process. Patricia Crosby has been an exemplary executiveeditor who has answered every query and smoothed every wrinkle.

Last, but not least, I am grateful for the patience and support of myfamily members. My wife, Jade, has been regaled with more ¤lial pietytales than any human could bear. My daughter, Melissa, has sacri¤cedmuch of her time with her favorite playmate. My parents have waitedyears on end to see the ¤nal product of a journey that their love of historyinspired. As is ¤tting for a tome on ¤lial piety, this volume is dedicated tothem.

1

Introduction

Filial piety tales are stories in which children go to ex-tremes to care for their parents. Because the stories spice plain and stodgyConfucianism with fantastic elements and manifest the extreme implica-tions of Confucian logic, modern Chinese intellectuals and WesternSinologists alike have had dif¤culty in accepting, much less understand-ing, them.1 The famous master of modern prose Lu Xun (1881–1936)mocked the narratives for rarefying ¤lial piety to the extent that ordinarypeople had no hope of realizing it and for encouraging inhumane behav-ior. He reserved his harshest judgment for the ¤lial exemplar Guo Ju,who was willing to bury alive his own child to ensure his elderly mother’ssurvival. Lu tells us that upon reading this story,

At ¤rst I broke into a real cold sweat for that child, not breathing freely again

until the crock of gold had been dug up. But by then not only did I no longer

aspire to be a ¤lial son myself, I dreaded the thought of my father acting as

one. At that time our family fortunes were declining, I often heard my par-

ents worrying as to where our next meal was to come from, and my grand-

mother was old. Suppose my father followed Kuo Chu’s example, wasn’t I

the obvious person to be buried? If things worked out exactly as before and

he too dug up a crock of gold, naturally that would be happiness great as

Heaven; but small as I was at the time I seem to have grasped that, in this

world, such a coincidence couldn’t be counted on.2

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

2 Selfless Offspring

aspiring to be a ¤lial child, one should note that The Twenty-four Filial Ex-emplars (Ershisi xiao) was the ¤rst book Lu owned and that its storiesmade an indelible impression upon him.

These fantastic Confucian tales have equally dismayed turn-of-the-century Christian missionaries and Western scholars who have been nomore kind in their criticism than early twentieth-century Chinese intellec-tuals. A number of missionaries found the tales to be weird and alarmingto the extent that they omitted translating those they deemed repugnant.4

Western academics have not been much kinder. A great French sociologistregarded them as little more than children’s fairy tales: “All these laboredand puerile anecdotes savor of the schoolmaster.”5 One historian callsillustrations of the ¤lial tales “proto-comic strips” and views the acts re-ported in the accounts as “absurd,” “grotesque,” “cruel,” “shocking,” “re-pulsive,” and “peculiar”; indeed, he devotes more energy to underscoringwhy the tales are strange than to explaining why Chinese found them socompelling.6 Another historian has called these accounts the “carnivalside-shows of the historic Chinese spectacle” and suggested that Chinesefound them interesting “primarily because they are bizarre.”7 The similar-ity of these criticisms to those of the Christian missionaries should alert usto their cultural bias. Other Western scholars have merely chosen to ignorethe stories. Even though The Twenty-four Filial Exemplars was probably oneof the best known and most readily available books in late imperialChina, it has rarely been translated into Western languages.8

At the same time, both Western and Japanese scholars have used thestories as raw data for information on Chinese daily life, without takinginto account their contrived and didactic nature. If one believes that “thebizarre tales of self-sacri¤ce and strange antics to satisfy egocentric parentsand in-laws are . . . true accounts of life in the Latter Han dynasty,”9 thenone risks seeing an imaginary event as a historical reality. For instance, onescholar takes the story of the ¤lial grandson Yuan Gu, whose father aban-dons his elderly grandfather in the mountains, as evidence that euthanasiawas practiced in early China.10 Since a preponderance of evidence suggeststhat, in historical times at least, Chinese venerated the elderly, the creatorof this story was probably not reporting historical fact, but instead was try-ing to shock his readers to underscore ¤lial piety’s reciprocal nature. Thetale might have even originated in India.11 In short, since the purpose of¤lial piety tales was to promote their authors’ vision of how things shouldbe, they distorted as much as they described social reality. That is to say,the “facts” reported in them are subordinated to their message. As a prom-inent European medievalist warns in regard to didactic texts, “The histo-

Introduction 3

rian who uses it runs the risk of mistaking imaginary realities for materialones and of distorting the meaning of the text that was not intended toprovide evidence of the kind the scholar is after.”12

By exiling the stories to the realm of children’s literature, well-meaningAsian scholars have also misconstrued them. Due to the tales’ simplicity,child protagonists, and miraculous content, many East Asian historians be-lieve that collections of ¤lial piety tales were compiled as teaching aids forthe uneducated and young.13 This was indeed true for some of the lateimperial-period collections, but it certainly was not the case for earlyimperial-period ones. Consequently, these historians wrongly assume thatthe goals of the texts were unchanging and that the nature of later workswas the same as earlier ones. In other words, they fail to take into accounthow the varying context of the tales changed their uses and meanings.

In short, up until now, scholars have dismissed the tales as nonsense,naively used them as transparent windows into the past, or narrowlyviewed them as children’s literature. Some analysts have even managedto concurrently hold all three of these views.

The Tales’ Significance

Not taking the ¤lial piety stories seriously is a mistake because from AD100 straight to the 1949 Communist takeover of China, they were im-mensely popular among all social classes. Their enduring popularity wasdue to the effectiveness with which they illustrated the paramount culturalvalue of xiao (¤lial piety), which has shaped nearly every aspect of Chinesesocial life: attitudes toward authority, patterns of residence, conceptionsof self, marriage practices, gender preferences, emotional life, religiousworship, and social relations. In fact, during the imperial age, Chineselargely de¤ned good behavior in terms of whether or not one was a goodson or daughter.14 Xiao has had such an extraordinary impact on Chinesesocial life that Chinese and Japanese scholars have claimed that it is thebasis of Chinese culture.15 One student of Confucianism has even claimedthat xiao was and still is the basis of East Asian religiosity.16

Beginning from at least the Warring States period (481–221 BC), nar-ratives about historical personages who embodied this virtue have circu-lated throughout China. To make this abstract value comprehensible, thestories translated it into concrete behavior that others could imitate.Moreover, being both simple and striking, one could easily remember andretell such stories. As a result of their ubiquity and simplicity, the narra-tives became a primary means of teaching ¤lial piety and the standard by


which people de¤ned how an ideal son or daughter should act. Thusrather than a “carnival sideshow,” these tales were a “main attraction” thatallows us to plumb the depths of the premodern Chinese social and moraluniverse.

Although Warring States authors were already transmitting ¤lial anec-dotes, the early medieval era (AD 100–600) was the “Golden Age” of thenarratives.17 It was at this time that the ¤lial piety stories evolved into theirmature form, exploded in number, and ¶ourished more than ever before orsince. During this period, literati created a new genre of collections of ¤lialpiety narratives, which more often than not were called Accounts of FilialOffspring (Xiaozi zhuan).18 Building on these stories, historians added spe-cial chapters to the dynastic histories dedicated to the lives of ¤lial children.The best poets of the age, such as Cao Zhi (192–232) and Xie Lingyun(385–433), rhapsodically evoked these anecdotes in their verse.19 Even roy-alty such as the Liang dynasty’s Emperor Yuan (r. 552–555), as well as WuZitian (r. 684–704), China’s ¤rst and only female emperor, compiled anAccounts of Filial Offspring.20 Scenes from these narratives adorned lac-quered goods, cof¤ns, sarcophagi, funerary shrines, government buildings,and even palaces. The stories thereby enjoyed a prestige among China’s cul-tural elite that they would never again have. Thus, owing to the respect theanecdotes commanded at that time, understanding their functions andmessages will shed light on many aspects of early medieval China, such ashow the educated elite de¤ned merit and worth, how they envisioned idealsocial relations both inside and outside the family, how they talked aboutand justi¤ed social class, how they understood the world as an inter-dependent moral cosmos, how they attached great importance to Confu-cian values and rituals, and how they gendered virtue.

After the early medieval era, even though the tales no longer enjoyedthe same acclaim they once had among the elite, they were still widely cir-culated. A new genre of popular works called The Twenty-four Filial Exem-plars, which ¤rst appeared in the late Tang or Five Dynasties period,propagated these tales among a less elevated clientele.21 That ¤lial pietystories frequently adorned the tombs and cof¤ns of the Liao (907–1125),Jin (1115–1234), and Song (960–1279) dynasties testify to the esteem inwhich these works were held.22 By the Ming dynasty (1368–1644), GuoJujing’s (¶. 1295–1321) Poems on the Twenty-four Filial Exemplars (Ershisi-xiao shi), a text dedicated to teaching children, became the most popularexample of The Twenty-four Filial Exemplars genre. Due to this illustratedprimer’s ubiquity, by late imperial times almost everyone, literate or illit-erate, knew these stories. Furthermore, many of these narratives became

Introduction 5

subject matter for popular literature.23 Yet one should note that many ofthis collection’s tales date to the early medieval period.24 Since most con-temporary Chinese are still familiar with at least a couple of accounts fromThe Twenty-four Filial Exemplars, a great number of these early medievalcreations still have currency today.

The ¤lial piety tales were so appealing that they even found audi-ences abroad. Collections of these narratives were transmitted through-out medieval East Asia.25 The tales were so well known that theygradually became part of Northeast Asia’s folk culture. While conducting¤eldwork in Korea, an elderly, illiterate woman told two anthropologistsa story about a son who wanted to abandon his elderly mother in themountains. He avoided committing this un¤lial act only because hisown son pointed out that the same fate would await him when he be-came old and in¤rm.26 Unbeknownst to the anthropologists, this oral“folktale” is actually the early medieval story of Yuan Gu. The conserva-tive appeal of these stories was so great that even nineteenth-centuryAmerican missionaries, in an attempt to instill a sense of ¤lial obligationin the hearts of unruly American youth, propagated these tales in theUnited States.27 In short, these anecdotes’ formulation of ¤lial piety wasso compelling that it transcended both time and space. Study of the tales,then, will not only tell us much about the early medieval period in whichmany of them originated, but will also reveal why hierarchically orga-nized, agrarian cultures found these tales so irresistibly attractive.

Methodology and Goals

One of the narratives’ most interesting aspects is that their heyday oc-curred during China’s tumultuous early medieval era, more descriptivelyknown as the “Period of Disunity.” From AD 100 to 600, China was oftensubject to civil wars, “barbarian” revolts, coups d’etat, and peasant rebel-lions. Beginning in the fourth century, Inner Eurasians governed NorthChina, the mythical cradle of Chinese civilization, while weak nativeregimes set up shop in the underpopulated, backward and despised, ma-larial South. Intellectually, Taoism and Buddhism, rather than Confucian-ism, dominated the thoughts and conversations of China’s best minds. Isit not odd, then, that these tales came to the fore precisely when both theimperial state and Confucianism were at their nadir? Hence the primaryquestion that this study answers is, Why did these accounts ¶ourish in thisparticular period? In other words, why did early medieval people ¤ndreading and transmitting these stories so compelling?


My approach borrows from the methods and insights of recentstudies of European hagiographies and exempla. Rather than dismissingthe tales as trite or silly, one must understand why early medieval peopletook them seriously. In the words of the prominent medievalist CarolineWalker Bynum, one must “put the behavior, the symbols, and the convic-tions of women and men in the distant past into their full context. Only byconsidering all the meanings and functions of medieval practice and be-lief can we explain medieval experience without removing its creativityand dignity.”28 In a similar fashion, my study makes a thorough examina-tion of the context in which the ¤lial piety tales were created—the aims oftheir creators, the circumstances under which they were written, the iden-tity of their readers, the ideology that informed them, and the historicaltrends that shaped their contents. Moreover, unlike previous studies thatlooked only at a small number of ¤lial children’s tales, this volume looksat more than 330 accounts as well as contemporary texts that have similaraims and format, such as other collective biographies of exemplars, familyinstructions, primers, unof¤cial biographies, Confucian apocrypha, andapocryphal Buddhist scriptures. Furthermore, since these tales were oftendepicted pictorially, this volume also uses archaeological and iconographi-cal evidence to examine the tales’ audiences and meanings. Only by look-ing at the ¤lial piety narratives through early medieval eyes, rather thanpostmodern Western ones, can we begin to assimilate their signi¤cance.

One of the important points that these recent studies have drivenhome is that texts such as hagiographies and exempla are not transparenthistorical records; instead, they are propaganda that their transmitters cir-culated to realize speci¤c ends.29 Recent studies have shown that the truevalue of such texts lies in their disclosure of the cultural values of the soci-ety that produced them.30 That is, they divulge the types of behavior andvalues that the texts’ creators desired to promote or discourage. At thesame time, since the stories’ transmitters also had to tailor their message tothe audience’s tastes, these texts reveal their consumers’ interests. As PeterBrown, the noted historian of late antiquity, has so eloquently put it,

In studying both the most admired and the most detested ¤gures in any soci-

ety, we can see, as seldom through other evidence, the nature of the average

man’s expectations and hopes for himself. It is for the historian, therefore, to

analyze this image as a product of the society around the holy man. Instead

of retailing the image of the holy man as suf¤cient in itself to explain his ap-

peal to the average late Roman, we should use the image like a mirror, to

catch, from a surprising angle, another glimpse of the average late Roman.31

Introduction 7

In sum, even if hagiographies and exempla do not tell us exactly “how itreally was,” they contain precious testimony concerning the attitudes andassumptions of their authors and audiences.32

Using this same logic, ¤lial piety stories were tools of persuasionthrough which a Confucian view of the ideal parent-child relationshipwas propagated. That being the case, historical accuracy takes a backseatto the tale’s didactic message. Hence this study focuses on how the au-thors thought ¤lial piety should be practiced. To forcefully convey theirmessage, the tales’ creators radically altered the context of old motifs andintroduced many new ones as well. Since variations of common plotsmay signi¤cantly alter their meaning, different versions of the same talecan reveal much about the values of the society that created them.33 Thusby looking at variants in the ¤lial piety stories and analyzing the ideologythat informs them, this volume will show that these tales were popularbecause they answered the concerns of both their authors and their audi-ence. Although these motifs do not tell us much about the actual behav-ior of early medieval children, they disclose a tremendous amount ofinformation about how the narratives’ transmitters wanted children toact and their fears of how they were acting.

Not only are ¤lial piety tales propagandist in nature, like Europeanhagiographies and exempla, but Confucian ¤lial children are in manyways analogous to Christian saints: they practice an asceticism in whichthey deny themselves ordinary pleasures, such as savory food, warmclothing, government posts, and legitimately earned wealth; they live anactive life dedicated to serving their parents and transforming the behav-ior of people around them through their example; and the divine worldcon¤rms their sanctity by favoring them with miracles.34 What separatesChristian saints and Chinese ¤lial children is the object of their piety: theformer serve a transcendent god, the latter their immanent parents.35

Nevertheless, I think the similarities are striking enough that we canplausibly view ¤lial children as Confucian saints. Doing so illuminatesthe role exemplary ¤lial children played in the Chinese imagination andalso helps us discern the religious qualities of early Confucianism.

Looking at the ¤lial piety stories as propaganda and the ¤lial chil-dren as saints also enables us to view early medieval Confucianism in anentirely different light. The tales’ popularity during the early medieval pe-riod indicates that although Confucianism might have lost its appeal forthe philosophically inclined, it still had a great deal of relevance for elitemen who were striving to maintain or enhance the welfare of their fami-lies. This helps explain how Confucianism could lose its philosophical


vigor, yet still in¤ltrate and take over the literati’s values and ritual prac-tice. Moreover, the Confucianism that accomplished this was not thephilosophical Ru (Confucian) teachings of the Warring States, but the re-ligiously laden teachings of Han Confucianism.36

My argument unfolds in the following manner: chapter 1 sets thestage by describing the two related historical trends that help account forthe narratives’ popularity—the growth of extended families and the in-creasing penetration of Confucianism into the values and ritual practiceof China’s learned elite. The chapter will show that extended familieswere increasingly popular among the early medieval upper class becausethis type of kinship structure was important for maintaining a family’slocal status and power. At the same time, though, to keep these fragile,large families from fragmenting, patriarchs found it expedient to em-brace Confucianism. Chapter 2, which focuses on the ¤lial piety storiesthemselves, examines their structure, historicity, origins, functions, andtransmission. It argues that though a few of the most famous narrativesstarted as folktales, the majority stemmed from the oral culture of elitefamilies. To honor a living or dead kin member and boost one’s family’sfortune and legitimacy, relatives, patrons, and retainers told stories abouthis/her ¤lial exploits. Private biographies and geographical works thentransmitted these tales that the family cult created to the larger commu-nity. Chapter 3 moves from the tales themselves to the collections inwhich they were gathered, the Accounts of Filial Offspring. This chapter in-dicates that although these texts probably already existed in the EasternHan, it was only in the Southern Dynasties (317–589) that they becamewidespread among the educated elite. The collections’ authors weremiddle to high of¤cials from prominent families who were writing for ju-veniles and adult men of a similar background. The explicit purpose ofcompiling these collections was to provide members of the elite withmodels of good behavior to emulate; the implicit purpose was to indicatethat the compiler himself was a ¤lial child.

Chapter 4 shifts from the texts to their motifs. It argues that the stories’miracles derive from the Han Confucian ideology of humanity’s unity withheaven and earth. Consequently, many of the miracles found in the storiesalso appear in the Confucian apocrypha, the textual embodiments of Cor-relative Confucianism. Early medieval patriarchs admired these tales be-cause of the important messages they bore: familial hierarchy is sanctionedby heaven; the spirit world richly rewards those who serve their parentswell; virtuous local men share in the emperor’s legitimacy to rule, and vir-tue is what secures high of¤ce and wealth. The popularity of the miracle

Introduction 9

tales indicates that long after the Eastern Han disappeared, its ideology asembodied in the tales continued to remain important to the learned elite.

Chapters 5 and 6 explore the meanings of the most common motifsin the early medieval tales—that of nurturing one’s parents and mourn-ing them in an exemplary fashion. Even though early Confucians dis-missed caring for parents as so basic that it was hardly worth mentioning,early medieval tales celebrated how exemplary offspring went to ex-tremes to take care of their parents. Indeed, they did not merely care fortheir parents, but did so in a manner that exalted their parents’ statuswhile degrading their own, a behavior that was known as “reverent car-ing.” Early medieval narratives probably de¤ned ¤lial piety as nurturingbecause in a time of weak governmental authority, it was precisely thisconcrete aspect of ¤lial piety that best displayed familial solidarity andcohesiveness. As for mourning, Warring States and Western Han narra-tives merely urged observation of the three-year mourning ritual andsternly rebuked people who exceeded it. Early medieval accounts, on theother hand, lavished praise on people who went beyond the rites. Thereason for this difference is that before the Eastern Han, practice of thethree years’ mourning rites was rare, but by its second half such rites hadbecome the elite’s normal practice. Hence the tales emphasize exceedingthe rites—not to urge people to perform them, but to do so with sincer-ity. In other words, these narratives are ¤ghting the apathy that attendedthe Confucian mourning rites’ institutionalization.

The ¤nal chapter of this volume shows that women largely performedthe same ¤lial acts as men—but they usually did so because they lackedbrothers to perform them. The only major difference between male andfemale ¤lial piety, then, is that women had to go to greater extremes toprove their ¤lial sincerity. Consequently, their exemplary actions usuallyinvolved violence—¤lial daughters and daughters-in-law often commit-ted suicide or infanticide. Even in stories that do not feature violence, ¤lialdaughters and daughters-in-law had to suffer greater deprivation thantheir male counterparts. Overall, though, ¤lial daughter narratives are few,whereas stories of chaste wives are plentiful. The prevalence of remarriageand the novelty of extended families likely produced this situation.

Sources

My argument rests upon an examination of over 330 distinct ¤lial off-spring accounts. These narratives stem from three sources: private collec-tions of ¤lial piety stories, the dynastic histories’ collective biographies of


extraordinary ¤lial children, and sections on ¤lial piety from Tang (618–907) and Song (960–1279) encyclopedias.

Early medieval literati transmitted ¤lial piety tales through privatelycompiled collections that were usually titled Accounts of Filial Offspring,which ranged in length from one to thirty chapters. Unfortunately, noneof these works that are recorded in the dynastic histories’ bibliographicchapters has survived, but one can ¤nd fragments of them in Tang andSong encyclopedias.37 The treasure trove of texts recovered at Dunhuanghas also supplied us with fragments of what might have been Accounts ofFilial Offspring, but they are more likely to be encyclopedia sections on¤liality.38 Nonetheless, the problems with using these texts are legion:¤rst, encyclopedias preserve only a fraction of the accounts that were inthese texts. Second, their compilers routinely abbreviated the narrativesand undoubtedly pruned narrative elements that did not match the cate-gory under which they were placing the story. Third, the compilers mighthave also misattributed stories to Accounts of Filial Offspring, especiallysince they often copied the passages from other encyclopedias ratherthan the original work.

Fortunately, three fully intact Accounts of Filial Offspring have man-aged to survive until today. One of these, Accounts of Filiality (Xiao zhuan),is an indubitable Six Dynasties (AD 220–589) text attributed to the fa-mous poet Tao Yuanming (365–427).39 Two manuscripts titled Accountsof Filial Offspring have survived in Japan, one of which is called the YômeiXiaozi zhuan, the other the Funabashi Xiaozi zhuan.40 Recent Japanesescholarship has indicated that the former dates to the Six Dynasties, thelatter to the Tang.41 These two texts are doubtlessly related: each has thesame forty-¤ve accounts in the exact same order and with the exact sameplots. The primary difference between the two is that the Funabashi ver-sion commits many errors in regard to personal and place names, is morecolloquial in language, and uses Buddhist terminology.42 All three textsare invaluable because they provide us with a much clearer sense of thecontent and form of Accounts of Filial Offspring than do the encyclopediafragments. For example, the many lengthy tales in the two Japanesemanuscripts underscore the extent to which compilers of the encyclope-dias abbreviated the stories.

Although this volume is primarily based on tales from Accounts of Fil-ial Offspring, it also draws upon the dynastic histories’ special chapters on¤lial offspring, which went by a variety of names and oftentimes includedthe lives of those who embodied virtues that were closely associated with¤liality, such as yi (righteousness) or you (brotherly friendliness).43 I will

Introduction 11

generically call these chapters in the dynastic histories “Biographies of theFilial.” During the Six Dynasties period, compilers of dynastic historiesusually gave “Biographies of the Filial” pride of place among their collec-tive biographies, indicating the esteem in which they held ¤lial children.The narratives in the “Biographies of the Filial” are for the most part similarto those found in Accounts of Filial Offspring; indeed, many of the former re-peat anecdotes from the latter almost word for word. The ways in whichthe “Biographies of the Filial” differ are as follows: 1) They include moreanecdotes, many of which concern how ¤lial children displayed exem-plary behavior towards non-kinsmen. 2) They give an extensive resume ofthe posts or the rewards that the government offered ¤lial children and in-formation about their deaths. 3) They give greater prominence to the re-wards that the government bestowed upon the exemplars than themiracles their behavior occasioned. By emphasizing the governmentalrecognition that ¤lial children enjoyed, these biographies encouragedother people to practice ¤liality so that they, too, could receive govern-ment largesse; perhaps more importantly, they underlined that the em-peror strove to recognize and reward the virtuous, an act that con¤rmedthe ruler’s own virtue.

In addition to private and public collections of ¤lial piety tales, thisvolume also makes use of sections on ¤lial piety in Tang and Song ency-clopedias, which contain narratives largely culled from early medievalworks. Although we cannot positively conclude that all of the early medi-eval anecdotes found in the Tang/Song encyclopedias’ ¤lial piety sectionswere included in Accounts of Filial Offspring, since the encyclopedia narra-tives have the same format and content as other ¤lial piety stories, thereis the strong possibility that they might have been. For example, the storyof Lu Ji (187–219), who during an interview with the warlord Yuan Shustole three oranges for his mother, appears in neither the remaining frag-ments of Accounts of Filial Offspring nor in the three extant ones. Never-theless, its inclusion in both the section on ¤liality in the encyclopediacalled Records for Beginning Learners (Chuxue ji) and in The Inquiries of theUnenlightened (Mengqiu), an eighth-century history primer, testi¤es thatby the early Tang it was already recognized as a well-known ¤lial pietynarrative.44 In fact, Lu Ji’s story was so famous that it became canonizedas one of the stories in The Twenty-four Filial Exemplars. Thus it is fair to as-sume that early medieval people would have viewed it like any storyfound in an Accounts of Filial Offspring.

In sum, by looking closely at the audience and motifs of the ¤lialpiety stories, this volume provides a view of early medieval China that


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

13

1Extended Families and the Triumph of Confucianism

Before embarking on our exploration of the tales, it isnecessary to brie¶y discuss the two most important historical trends thatfueled the ¤lial piety stories’ popularity: the growth of extended familiesamong the elite and the gradual penetration of Confucianism into upper-class values and rituals. Although both of these trends are of central im-portance in understanding the early medieval period, Western scholarshave not paid much attention to either phenomenon.

Western scholarship on early medieval China has concentrated on thegreat families whose prominence and durability have given the period itsspecial character. Initial studies noted how for centuries a limited group offamilies—that is, a super elite—played a disproportionate role in that era’ssocial and political life.1 By pointing out that few of the great families con-tinuously secured high of¤ce and that lineage falsi¤cation was rampant,more recent works have cast doubt on the political in¶uence and stability ofthese great families.2 Most scholars now agree that after the Eastern Jin(317–420), even though these famous clans constituted the social elite,they had little effect on politics at the national level.3 Nevertheless, due tothe weakness of decentralized early medieval governments and the abey-ance of the rule of avoidance, lesser elite families had a profound social andpolitical impact on their home areas.4 When it comes to the question ofwhy these lesser elite families were so powerful at the local level, Holcombenotes that their in¶uence was in part connected with their kinship structure.

The lineage formed the spine of the early medieval Chinese social system,

and networks of reciprocal obligations radiated outward from the core fam-

ily to the entire clan and beyond. With the hierarchy of the medieval local

community, the local magnate played the role of paterfamilias: protector

and provider, with heavy moral connotations of Confucian benevolence.5


In other words, the agnatic lineage’s cohesion was an important elementof the prominent families’ strength. Contrary to this, Holgrem haspointed out that maternal relatives and in-laws were probably more im-portant in promoting an elite family’s fortune than were its ties to theagnatic lineage.6 None of these studies, though, has suggested that thelesser elite families’ ability to dominate their localities was in part due toan important change in family structure. That change was the emergenceof extended families among the elite—a transformation that is crucial tomaking sense of the popularity of the ¤lial piety tales.

The Growth of Extended Families

Although relatively neglected in the West, the subject of the shape and sizeof the Chinese family has long attracted East Asian scholarly attention, es-pecially in Japan. Even though they differ on whether it was elementary orstem in type, Chinese and Japanese now seem to agree that the typicalHan dynasty family, regardless of class, was quite small—consisting ofonly four or ¤ve people.7 After their father’s death, brothers usually cre-ated their own households and sometimes even divided the family estatewhile their father was still alive.8 Nevertheless, among the elite, extendedfamilies were becoming increasingly prevalent, particularly in the EasternHan (AD 25–220). To support this contention, scholars cite evidencefrom censuses, of¤cial documents, literary texts, as well as archaeology.9

The picture that emerges from these facts shows that even though mostfamilies remained small in size, a number of elite families were becominglarge and immensely complex in character.

A further indication of the growth of extended families is the appear-ance of leishi tongju (successive generations residing together) households,which shared a common budget, ate together (the sources stress this bysometimes saying that the family had but one stove), and lived together forgenerations without dividing the patrimony. That both the governmentand the people esteemed this type of family indicates that many upper-class Chinese viewed it as the ideal model for family organization. Never-theless, upon looking at Eastern Han examples of leishi tongju families, itbecomes apparent that they were still rare and often short-lived. For ex-ample, “Wei Ba (d. 111) lost his parents while he was young, he lived to-gether (tongju) with his brothers. His province and village admired theirharmonious relations.”10 Notice that Wei Ba’s ability to live together withhis brothers was enough to earn his region’s admiration. A bit more im-pressively, Cai Yong (133–192) “lived together with his uncle and cousins,

Extended Families and Triumph of Confucianism 15

for three generations the patrimony was not split. His district and allies es-teemed his righteousness.”11 Compared with later leishi tongju families,these households were short-lived. In fact, most scholars of the Han familyagree that large, extended families of this type were extremely rare.12 None-theless, that these families existed at all and garnered their contemporaries’praise indicates that in the Eastern Han extended families were becomingmore common and appreciated.

A number of explanations have been put forth to explain the growthof extended families among the elite. One of the most popular is that dueto the ¤rst-century BC introduction of the “alternating ¤elds system”(daitianfa) and oxen-pulled plows, agriculture became much more pro-ductive and labor intensive. Consequently, to take advantage of these in-novations, elementary families began adding members to have a largerlabor force. Most commonly, adult sons began living with their parents.13

According to Inaba, after the reign of Emperor Wu of the Han (r. 141–87BC), the growing importance of Confucianism and the gradual decline ofthe monetary economy made pooling resources and limiting expenses byliving together an attractive strategy; consequently, families became big-ger.14 Hori, on the other hand, believes that to survive, families deemed itadvantageous to have strong internal leadership; hence they became big-ger and turned over power to the family head.15 Although there is room todoubt that the stem family ever became the predominant family form inthe Eastern Han,16 the evidence that many Eastern Han elite families werelarger and more complex in nature than commoner families seems irrefut-able. Even so, most of these scholars believe that such extended familieswere primarily stem types that did not last long after the patriarch’s death.Moreover, these slightly larger families did not necessarily resemble thelate imperial families in which a dictatorial patriarch ruled over a largeand exceedingly complex household. According to Utsunomiya, the cen-ter of the Han family was not its aging parents, but its able-bodied sonsand their wives; rather than being dictatorial heads of the family, agingparents merely played the role of experienced consultants.17

During the Six Dynasties, though, extended families became muchmore widespread among both the elite and commoners, especially in thenorth. A number of facts reveal that many families were becoming biggerand more complex. First, unlike the Qin dynasty (221–206 BC), whichlegally discouraged fathers and adult sons from living together, the Weidynasty (AD 220–265) prohibited fathers and sons from having separate¤nances.18 Since one usually shared wealth and expenses with those withwhom one was living, this law prohibiting separate ¤nances obviously


was meant to encourage, or more likely recognize, the legality of stemand grand families. With no legal restrictions on household size, someelite families became huge. Thus members of the elite sometimes usedthe term baikou (the one-hundred mouths) to refer to their families,which, in fact, sometimes did have over a hundred members.19 Uninten-tionally con¤rming this, Yan Zhitui (531–591) thought that even a modest-sized elite family should have twenty members and twenty slaves.20 Also,unlike the Eastern Han, the Six Dynasties has many examples of leishitongju families, some of which lasted for seven generations and had up totwo hundred members.21 Obviously, if one praises a household for stay-ing together for this long and for having this many members, those thatlasted merely three to four generations and had a hundred membersmust not have been rare. The growing prevalence of extended familiescan also be seen in court debates over whether brothers should wearmourning robes for their sisters-in-law. Many literati argued that sincebrothers and sisters-in-law live in the same household, the former shouldmourn the latter.22 Similarly, in contrast to Eastern Han ¤lial piety talesthat praise men who reside with their brothers, Six Dynasties tales praisethose who reside with a dizzying array of kin: uncles, cousins, widowedsisters-in-law, or fatherless nephews and nieces.23 Even commoner fami-lies became slightly larger and more varied in type.24

According to many scholars, by the Tang dynasty, large, complex fam-ilies were the norm among the upper classes,25 and not uncommonamong the lower classes. The average family on a tax register from AD 747had 6.3 people. Of its ¤fty-six households, fourteen, or 25 percent, hadnine or more members. Fifteen families, or 27 percent, had six to eightmembers.26 Thus over half of the register’s recorded families were large.The biggest family had eighteen members and included the family head,his elderly mother, his three wives, his son and two daughters, his twoyounger brothers, each of whom had two wives, the son and daughter ofone of his brothers, and his two middle-aged sisters. That this family wasundoubtedly rich can be seen in that each of the family’s adult males hadconcubines.

What accounts for this shift from small to large families among thelocal elite? Historians have not been able to agree. Some maintain that itoccurred because of the Wei dynasty’s new tax system in which eachhousehold, no matter how numerous its members, paid the same ¤xedamount in corvée labor taxes. The purpose of this law was to encouragedemographic growth in areas where labor was scarce. To take advantageof this law, the size of households swelled.27 Other scholars believe that


families grew for defense purposes and to exploit large landholdings.28

No matter what the cause, though, it is evident that large extended fami-lies were common among the elite and not rare among commoners.

The Stubborn Persistence of Elementary Families

Nevertheless, maintaining harmony in extended families was exceedinglydif¤cult. When asked how his family managed to reside together for ninegenerations, Zhang Gongyi (¶. 665) wrote on a piece of paper the charac-ter ren (to endure, or forbear) more than a hundred times.29 Anthropolo-gists have likewise remarked that jealousy and competition often marChinese fraternal relations.30 In premodern families, that brothers oftenhad different mothers doubtlessly generated even more animosity. Thusalthough extended families increased in number during the early medi-eval period, one cannot underestimate their fragility and the extent towhich elementary households continued to be common, even among theelite.

The anthropologist Margery Wolf has also eloquently articulated thedanger of what she calls the “uterine family” to the extended household’sunity. Since a Chinese woman leaves her natal family and moves in withher husband’s, the latter views her as an outsider. The daughter-in-law cangain acceptance within the family only by producing male children. Dueto this situation, her interests are not tied to her husband’s family’s wel-fare, but to the welfare of her children, who provide her with status and afuture means of support. The wife’s children are thus her “uterine family.”Consequently, a woman will jealously guard her uterine family’s interestsat the cost of domestic tranquility, even to the extent that she may urge thedivision of the family estate, thereby enabling her to live alone with herhusband and children. Thus once sons or brothers marry, a family is al-ways under the threat of division.31 Although Wolf’s insights come fromobservations made in modern Taiwan, early Chinese writers also recog-nized the threat that wives and children posed to extended family unity.The stock phrase “¤lial piety diminishes due to wife and child” (xiao shuaiyu qizi) indicates as much.32 Yan Zhitui viewed wives and children ascracks and holes in the walls of fraternal solidarity—if the ¤ssures they cre-ate are not sealed immediately, the walls will collapse.33 Hence if a manchampions his wife and children’s interests, he will certainly come intocon¶ict with his brothers.

Some Chinese scholars have argued that throughout the early medi-eval period most families continued to be comparatively small. Census


records con¤rm this: most dynasties had, on the average, ¤ve or six peopleper household.34 One reason for the fragility of extended families was shortlife expectancy. According to population registers from Dunhuang, a manusually married when he was between twenty-¤ve and thirty years of age;on average, he had a life expectancy of only thirty-two years. In order to seehis son marry and have children, he would have to live until he was forty-¤ve to ¤fty years old, but given his expected life span, chances are good thathe would not live to see that day.35 Similarly, upon taking an of¤cial post,migrating, or working as a hired laborer, an adult male was often absentfrom his extended family.36 Due to tensions between brothers and sisters-in-law, after a patriarch died, extended families composed of adult brotherswere particularly likely to break up. Historians have pointed out that sincehistories of the Northern Dynasties praise adult brothers who live togetherbut do not criticize those that divide the family estate, partition after theparents’ death must have been normal.37 Yan Zhitui thought that if wivesgenerate fraternal tension, each brother should go his own way.38 Even inthe Tang, when extended families were much more prevalent than in ear-lier times, families tended to break up with the death of elderly parents.39

The same AD 747 population register that indicates the existence of manyextended families at Dunhuang also reveals the existence of many frag-mented families, which consisted of one married couple or less.40

One can also doubt whether families were as big as household registersclaimed because oftentimes several nuclear families that functioned sepa-rately were registered as one household. A study of the Dunhuang popula-tion registers indicates that in relatively peaceful times nuclear familiesaccounted for the majority of households; however, in chaotic times thenumber of extended families rose sharply, while that of nuclear familiesdropped precipitously. This happened because a number of nuclear fami-lies or fragmented nuclear families registered together as a single house-hold. Despite their joint registration, each family within the householdprobably still held its wealth separately and functioned independently.Hence many of the huge households on the registers were merely adminis-trative ¤ctions and did not represent what families actually looked like.41 Asimilar phenomenon known as “one household with several stoves” (yimen shu zao) existed during the Southern Dynasties. This means that closerelatives resided in the same compound, but they had already split the fam-ily estate and were living as economically independent households.42

Although he might be overstating the case, a Liu-Song of¤cial namedZhou Lang (424–460) gives us a sense of the pervasiveness of this customand its social rami¤cations.


The withering of the moral teachings has brought us to this. Nowadays,

among gentlemen-grandees and those below them, in seven out of ten fami-

lies, even while their parents are still alive, brothers have separate ¤nances.

Likewise among commoners, in ¤ve out of eight families, fathers and sons

have separate wealth. Extreme cases in which close relatives do not even

know when each other is in danger or has died, do not aid each other when

they are hungry or cold, or who slander or defame each other out of jealousy

are too numerous to count. We should emphasize the prohibitions [of hav-

ing ¤nances separate from one’s parents and brothers] in order to change

this custom. To those who already excel in family affairs, attention should be

devoted to rewarding them. From now on, those who do not change should

have their wealth con¤scated.43

Zhou suggests that one of the negative consequences of this custom is thatonce the patrimony is split, family members treat each other as outsidersor, as other Six Dynasties writers would say, xingluren (passers-by on theroad). In other words, family division was worrisome because as soon asrelatives lived apart, kinship solidarity would rapidly deteriorate, to theextent that sons would no longer feel inclined to extend special treatmentor concern to their parents or siblings. This apathy towards close kin withwhom one no longer lived could take many forms, such as demandingpayment for services, exploiting kin for pro¤t, or failing to render aid intimes of need.44 Consequently, early medieval patriarchs viewed divisionof the patrimony as an inferior means of household management.

In sum, although extended families were undeniably becoming morecommon among both the elite and commoners during the early medievalperiod, they were also exceedingly dif¤cult to keep together. If a patriarchwas lucky to live long enough to have his adult sons reside with him, hestill had no guarantee that his sons would continue to be civil to eachother, much less live with each other, after his death. Small families func-tioned suf¤ciently well during times of peace and when under govern-ment protection, but they were unsafe havens when times were chaoticand the might of local bullies went unchecked. To protect one’s hearthand home, living with one’s relatives as a single household was an impor-tant strategy for both protection and prosperity.

Living in extended families was clearly one of the structural keys bywhich eminent households dominated their localities. Early medieval textsrepeatedly make it clear that small families are weak ones. Han dynasty(206 BC–AD 220) names for commoner families, such as danmen (lonegates), danjia (lone families), xijia (minute families), gumen (isolated


gates), danwei (single and obscure [families]) and guwei (isolated and ob-scure [familes]), and hanmen (cold gates), all emphasize their small sizeand lack of kin and connections.45 Likewise, the authors of ¤lial pietystories often connect poverty with being bereft of a father, brothers, oruncles;46 that is, they explicitly relate a family’s economic health to thenumber of adult males it has. The ¤lial son Bing Yuan (d. 211), for ex-ample, enviously noted that only those people with a father or elder broth-ers could afford to go to school.47 In a memorial to the emperor, the ¤lialson Li Mi (224–287) blamed his lack of uncles and brothers for the recentdecline of his family.

Since we have no uncles and have had brothers who have died an early

death, our family (men) has declined and our honors have diminished.

Moreover, our parents only had children quite late in their life. Abroad, we

have no close relatives, while at home, we have no children who are ¤ve feet

tall to guard the gate. We are orphaned and alone. Our form and shadow

mourn for each other.48

Economically, a family with many adult males could pool its labor re-sources and capital, take advantage of the new agricultural methods thatdemanded intensive labor, and supervise a great number of agriculturalworkers. Politically, such a family could develop a network of of¤ce-holding (whether it be at the local or national level) close relatives whocould yield their in¶uence to shelter the family from taxes, secure at leastlocal of¤ce for junior family members, and contract marriages to otherin¶uential families. Militarily, such a family was also better able to de-fend itself and its interests, since during chaotic times the core of a pow-erful family’s military organization was its kinsmen.49 One shouldremember, too, that during the Southern Dynasties, even though broth-ers frequently had separate ¤nances, they still found it expedient to livetogether in the same compound. Consequently, for the patriarchs of lo-cally eminent families, maintaining a large, extended family was a press-ing, but dif¤cult to accomplish, necessity.

Confucianism’s Penetration into theLives of the Early Medieval Elite

A development that is closely related to the emergence of extended fami-lies is the spreading in¶uence of Ru (Confucian)50 values and ritualsamong China’s upper class. In other words, the early medieval elite were


more “Confucianized” than either their Warring States or Western Hanpredecessors. This is not to say that they had completely embraced Ruvalues and rituals; some scholars argue that the cultural elite did not be-come thoroughly Confucianized until late in the Tang dynasty.51 Never-theless, to a large extent, early medieval literati strived to live according tomany of the Confucian precepts. Even though this change had an indis-putably profound effect on the way Chinese viewed their world andbehaved within it—which is comparable to the impact that Christianiza-tion had on Europe—the questions of how and why China’s educatedclass came to embrace Confucianism have attracted remarkably littlescholarly attention, except in Japan.

Scholars have traditionally assumed that Confucianism became China’sgoverning ideology during Emperor Wu’s reign (r. 141–87 BC), becausehis administration undertook the following actions: ¤rst, in 141 BC, thegovernment prohibited men who had studied Legalist teachings from as-suming of¤ce. Second, in 136 BC, the government established masterteachers only for the Five (Confucian) Classics (Wujing), rather than theworks of other philosophical schools. Third, in 124 BC, an imperial edictestablished the Imperial University; its curriculum was based on the FiveClassics. Students who demonstrated by means of an examination thatthey were fully conversant with one classic could obtain public of¤ce. Inshort, these decrees made it clear that the government sanctioned onlythe Ru teachings and that familiarity with them could lead to publicof¤ce. Since one had to be versed in Confucianism to gain admittance topremodern China’s most prestigious, and in many ways most lucrative,profession—of¤ce holding—this was when China’s learned elite becameConfucianized.

Nevertheless, many scholars now doubt whether Confucianism hadmuch of an impact on the elite until late in the Western Han dynasty (206BC–AD 8). An array of Han specialists believes that Ru teachings were ofmarginal importance during Emperor Wu’s time.52 During his thirty-sevenyear reign, only 1.9 percent of his high of¤cials (i.e., the Three Dukes andNine Ministers) were Confucian scholars. Moreover, many of the policiesthat his administration pursued, such as government monopolies of in-dustries, smacked more of Legalism than Confucianism.53 Although allcandidates for of¤cialdom now had to study the Five Classics, this doesnot mean that they all were deeply committed to Ru values, because theymerely had to attend the Imperial University for one year and pass an ex-amination on just one of the Five Classics.54 Furthermore, the classics weresubject to non-Confucian interpretations.55 Thus, just because the of¤cial


curriculum was based on Confucian texts does not mean a student wasthoroughly imbued with Confucian norms.

Many of these same scholars argue that Confucianism became China’sguiding political philosophy only during Emperor Yuan’s time (r. 48–32BC), because 27 percent of his government’s highest ministers were Confu-cian scholars.56 Moreover, many of the government’s policies show the im-print of Ru ideology, such as the reduction of imperial expenditures, theabolishment of government monopolies on the production of salt andiron, and the opening of imperial parks to commoners.57 However, oneJapanese scholar has cogently argued that 27 percent is a very low ¤gure, es-pecially since throughout most of the Eastern Han nearly 70 percent of thehigh ministers were known Confucian scholars. In other words, Confu-cianism did not become the guiding philosophy of China’s governing eliteuntil the Eastern Han.58 As chapter 6 will indicate, members of the WesternHan elite rarely practiced the three years’ mourning rites, which were thecrowning achievement of a Ru’s ritual life. Hence one cannot say that theWestern Han cultural elite was largely Confucianized or that Confucianismbecame the empire’s ideology.

Other scholars have argued that Confucianization occurred at the be-ginning of the ¤rst century AD. Both Nishijima and Itano hold that whenthe emperor used the Confucian apocrypha (chenwei) to sanction his pos-session of absolute power, he subjugated himself to heaven’s will—that is,Confucianism’s ideological constraints. Hence it was at this point that Ruteachings were established as the empire’s of¤cial ideology.59 WatanabeYoshihiro agrees that it was during Emperor Guangwu’s reign (AD 25–57)that Ru teachings became the dynasty’s of¤cial ideology, but for differentreasons. According to him, during the Western Han, Ru high of¤cials con-stantly attempted to make Confucianism attractive to the powerful Hanemperors, but during Guangwu’s reign, the opposite happened: the em-peror attempted to use Ru teachings to legitimate his authority. Confu-cianism now became the touchstone of the dynasty’s legitimacy, which forWatanabe marks the true beginning of Confucian ascendancy.60 Althoughthese arguments are compelling and certainly indicate that Confucianiza-tion was under way, their exclusive focus on the emperor seems too nar-row. Does the fact that the emperors now used Confucianism to legitimatetheir authority mean they fully embraced Confucian values and rituals?This explanation also fails to tell us to what extent other members of soci-ety adhered to Ru ideology.

A better way to evaluate the in¶uence of Confucianism is to see howit affected upper-class behavior; scholars have done this by investigating


both the availability of Ru education and the extent to which members ofthe upper class adopted Confucian ceremonies. Using the ¤rst approach,Higashi has concluded that China’s upper class became Confucianizedduring the Eastern Han, which is when Confucian education becamewidespread. This is nowhere more evident than in the Imperial Univer-sity’s growth: it started off in 124 BC with only ¤fty students, but by Em-peror Shun’s reign (126–144) had thirty thousand.61 Moreover, duringthe Eastern Han, local government schools increased in number, whileprivate schools ¶ourished as never before. In fact, well-known of¤cials orRu masters sometimes had thousands of students, and a few even hadover ten thousand.62 As Higashi points out, this spread of Confucian edu-cation was important not only because it meant that Ru ideology was in-doctrinating more men, but because it created a powerful bond betweenthem: disciples would ritually treat their master as their father. Conse-quently, Ru education’s spread signaled the formation of interregionalsocial networks that consisted of masters, disciples, and classmates. ForHigashi this situation generated a social class of Confucian intellectualsthat became manifest in the middle of the Eastern Han.63

Using the second approach, Vandermeersch has similarly concludedthat it was during the Eastern Han that Confucianism became popular-ized among the upper classes. He has noted that during this period thefollowing ritual innovations occurred: 1) Emperors began reviving an-cient Ru rituals, such as the rites of the archery contest, nurturing the eld-erly, and the village feast, all of which had long been in abeyance. 2) Forthe ¤rst time, agents of the state worshipped and gave posthumous titlesof nobility to Confucius.64 3) As different social groups adopted the Con-fucian teachings, they adapted the Ru funerary rites to meet their needs;hence in addition to mourning one’s parents for three years, one did thesame for his patron or teacher.65

Unintentionally, Powers has successfully used iconography to pro-vide supplementary proof that the Confucian transformation of the upperclass was an Eastern Han phenomenon. He has shown that in this erathere appeared an artistic style in tomb decoration that he terms the “clas-sical tradition,” which featured pictorial matter from the Five Classics. Un-like the earlier ornamental tradition whose intricate and exquisite designcalled attention to the tomb owner’s wealth, through its depiction of Con-fucian stories, the classical tradition called attention to the tomb owner’svirtue.66 Powers has clearly put his ¤nger on a signi¤cance change, butsince decorating tombs with images of Confucian moral tales appears tobe unprecedented, rather than a revival, I think it is better to see this as a


completely new style. It appeared because it was serving the unique ideo-logical needs of a new ruling group—the Confucianized learned elite; thusits emergence signals the relative triumph of Ru teachings.

All this evidence points to the fact that it was during the Eastern Hanthat Confucianism became the primary basis of the upper-class ethos andritual practice. Of course, this is by no means to say that the cultural elitewas completely Confucianized, but it does mean that Ru teachings heavilyin¶uenced the values and ceremonies of educated people. As chapter 6will indicate, this change occurs late in the ¤rst century AD. During thatpoint in time we witness a convergence of signi¤cant trends: the imperialpractice of sacri¤ces to Confucius, the formation of vast Ru master-disciplenetworks, the application of Confucian mourning rules to patrons andteachers, the appearance of Confucian tales in tomb art, the praise of menwho exceed the rites in mourning their parents, and the appearance of¤lial piety miracle tales. The near simultaneous emergence of all thesephenomena indicates that the ¤rst important wave of Confucianizationwashed over China’s learned elite in the late ¤rst century AD.

Why, though, did Confucianism not triumph earlier? Rather thanmerely looking at the growing prevalence of Ru education, perhaps a bet-ter explanation would be that Confucianism’s rise was tied to the emer-gence of a newly important social group—local in¶uential families. Sinceextended families were a key component in ensuring a lineage’s ¤nancialhealth, physical security, and local power, ambitious household headsembraced Ru values and rituals because they facilitated the formation andmaintenance of such large kin structures.67 With regard to the Yi dynasty’sConfucianization of the Korean upper class, Duncan has argued that thecoming of neo-Confucianism did not reshape the Korean family; instead,it merely reinforced and justi¤ed a new family system that was alreadyforming.68 In the same way, Ru teachings did not give rise to patriarchalextended families in China; instead, family heads that attempted to estab-lish or maintain extended families found Confucianism attractive. For ahousehold to be able to contain several elementary families and still func-tion as a cohesive unit, family heads realized that they had to strengthenhierarchical order within the family.69

The ideology known as Correlative Confucianism, which chapter 4will argue was embodied in the ¤lial piety stories, was especially attractiveto heads of extended families. By equating the patriarch’s authority withthat of a country’s ruler and the subservience a child owed his parent withthat which a retainer must give his lord, this ideology offered a clear visionof familial hierarchy. Moreover, by appealing to cosmology, it provided


this hierarchy with a compelling justi¤cation. By way of illustration, the¤rst-century BC Garden of Persuasions (Shuo yuan) relates, “Among peoplemales are yang and females yin. Within the household, the father is yangand the son is yin. In government, the lord is yang and the retainer is yin.Therefore, yang is esteemed and yin slighted. Yang is honorable and yinlow class. This is the Way of Heaven.”70 Since within their realms males,lords, and fathers belong to the superior metaphysical principle of yang,they are equivalent to each other, while females, retainers, and sons areequivalents due to their sharing in the inferior principle of yin. Thus in thesame fashion that retainers treat their lords and wives their husbands,sons should hold their fathers in awe, follow their directives without hesi-tation, and willingly die for them. The family head, in turn, like a lord anda husband, administers the family’s affairs while looking after its welfare.In short, embracing Ru conceptions of the family thus enhanced the au-thority of the family head and provided rituals that highlighted andstrengthened a familial hierarchy based on generation, age, and gender.

Confucian-style familial hierarchy facilitated the longevity of ex-tended families by also introducing into them a court-like atmosphere.Since family members both work and reside together, they quickly be-come intimate with each other. This intimacy, though, can weaken theauthority of the patriarch and make him less likely to use his powers totheir full extent; thus the lines of authority within a family can quicklybecome blurred. As a result, within his household a patriarch should actlike a lord and treat his family members like retainers. Zhang Zhan, forinstance, “was circumspect, serious, and fond of the rites. His actionswere all based on rules. When he was in a dark room, he would cultivatehis uprightness. Even when he was together with his wife and children,he still acted like a severe lord.”71 By strictly following the rites, the court’sformality, which highlights distinctions between ranks, replaces some ofthe home’s intimacy. For example, “[Fan Chong] by nature was warm-hearted and generous, but he also had rules and regulations. For threegenerations his family held its wealth in common. During the morningand evening audiences, his sons and grandsons would pay their respectto him by observing the rituals, [they] always did so as if they were at thecourt.”72 Despite his inclination to be intimate and indulgent with hisfamily members, the existence of rules and regulations within Fan’shousehold produced hierarchy-af¤rming formality. This passage also im-plies that it was precisely this sense of hierarchy that enabled his familyto remain together for three generations. Other accounts that credit Con-fucianism with instilling a court-like hierarchy within a household are


numerous.73 Confucian ideals thereby promoted hierarchy by formaliz-ing the relationships between parents and children and curtailing inti-macy between them. By making themselves into the equivalent of rulers,family heads probably hoped that sons and grandsons, as both ¤lial sonsand loyal retainers, would be even more willing to obey their parents’ or-ders and subordinate their own interests to those of the family. That Con-fucian learning was important for political and social advancement nodoubt impelled one to acquire a Ru education; nevertheless, it was theneed for familial order that led in¶uential families to enthusiastically as-similate Confucian values and rituals.

27

2 The NarrativesOrigins and Uses

Simply put, this book is about stories, and it shouldlogically start with a discussion of the tales themselves. But before doingso, furnishing a complete translation of one the narratives will give thereader a vivid sense of the form and content of an early medieval ¤lialpiety tale.

(1) Qiu Jie was a man from Wucheng in Wuxing. (2) Upon suffering his

mother’s death, he would not eat any cooked vegetables because they were

tasty. (3) After being ill for more than a year, he suddenly dreamt that he met

his mother who said: “To die only means to be apart. What in the world

would make you endure this kind of hardship? When you ate raw vegetables,

you met with frog poison. In front of my spirit bed there is a bowl that has

three balls of medicine. Retrieve it and eat them.” Jie awoke with a start. As

expected he found a bowl that had three balls of medicine. He ate them. He

thereupon excreted several pints of tadpoles. (4) For generations the Qiu

family treasured that bowl, but in the seventh year of the Great Illumination

reign of the [Liu-] Song Dynasty (AD 464), it was lost in a ¤re.1

Due to the miraculous content of tales such as this one, many scholars as-sume that the ¤lial piety tales are folkloric in origin. This chapter’s purposeis to determine who created the individual ¤lial piety stories and to whatend. Since tales like this one were obviously ¤rst transmitted among mem-bers of the protagonist’s family, this chapter will also examine the processby which they came to the attention of the larger community and why.

Even though the earliest and best-known tales did originate as folk-tales, the majority emerged from oral storytelling that took place withinelite households. To honor or ¶atter their relatives, patrons, or friends, li-terati created oral narratives that showed them embodying Ru virtues andmeticulously carrying out Confucian rituals. To glorify relatives or patrons


after their deaths and to indicate that the family’s prestige was based ontheir virtue, relatives or subordinates would then incorporate these ac-counts into the protagonist’s epitaph or unof¤cial biography. In otherwords, elite families transmitted these tales in written form to justify theirprivileged position within society. Later on, men who wanted to glorifythe region in which they lived or identi¤ed with would then include themin collective biographies of regional worthies. Hence oral tales that beganas vehicles to enhance the legitimacy of individual families soon becamea means by which the community exhibited its local pride.

Structure of the Tales

Unlike ¤lial piety anecdotes from before the Eastern Han, early medievalnarratives share an easily recognizable, nearly uniform structure. Theyusually consist of either three or four segments. The opening one, in thestyle of a biography, localizes and historicizes the ¤lial exemplar by stat-ing his or her name, style, and native place. By doing so, it indicates thatthe exemplar was a historical person, of recent date, and from a speci¤cplace, thereby adding verisimilitude to the account and signaling thatthese outstanding forms of ¤lial action can still be performed. Althoughsometimes omitted, the introductory section ends with a formulaic state-ment about the hero or heroine’s character, such as “by nature his/her¤lial piety was perfect” (xing zhixiao). Oftentimes, a phrase like this is adead giveaway that one is reading a ¤lial piety tale. The second segmentconsists of one or more narrative elements that describe the subject’s¤lial acts. The third segment depicts the rewards that the exemplar’s ¤lialpiety earned, which could be either supernatural or secular in nature,such as offers of public of¤ce, fame, auspicious omens, or miraculousboons. In the fourth and ¤nal segment, the compiler praises the protago-nist, comments on his/her ¤liality, or adds either an illustrative quota-tion from the classics or a eulogy. Filial piety stories that survive asfragments in encyclopedias usually do not have this fourth segment, butthis was probably because the encyclopedias’ compilers omitted them.2

The aforementioned tale of Qiu Jie exhibits the typical four segmentsof an early medieval story: the numbers in parentheses indicate each seg-ment. After the ¤rst segment clearly tells us the protagonist’s name and na-tive place, the second (2) describes the exemplary way in which hemourned his mother. Qiu was so distraught that he refused to eat any-thing that even remotely tasted good; instead, he subjected himself to eat-ing unappetizing and ultimately dirty salads. Even though this resulted in

The Narratives 29

a yearlong illness, he did not relent. The third segment (3) describes howhis act of sincere ¤liality brought about a supernatural reward—the dreamof his mother and the medicine balls that cured him of his malady. Thelast segment (4) is the author’s comment, which in this case atypicallydwells not on the exemplar’s ¤liality, but rather on the relic that remainedfrom the ¤lial miracle.

By way of contrast, earlier ¤lial piety narratives usually lack segmentsone and three. Let us look at one of the most famous early ¤lial pietystories.

(2) [Han] Boyu made a mistake. His mother beat him. When he began weep-

ing, she said, “On other days that I have beat you, you have never wept. Why

do you do so today?” He responded, “On other days when I have committed

an error, your beating always hurt, but today, due to your [failing] strength,

you are no longer able to cause me pain. This is the reason I weep.” (4) There-

fore, it is said, “The highest [form of conduct] is that, when your parents be-

come angry, [resentment] neither registers in your thoughts nor does it

become manifest in your appearance. Also, you deeply accept your guilt to the

extent that it causes [your parents] to sympathize with you. The mediocre

form is that when your parents become angry, [resentment] neither registers

in your thoughts nor does it become manifest in your appearance. The lowest

form is that when your parents become angry with you, [your resentment]

registers in your thoughts and it becomes manifest in your appearance.3

What is immediately noticeable about this account is that it is not relatedin the style of a biography at all. It begins by narrating neither Boyu’s stylenor his native place, thus he cannot be assigned to a speci¤c time or place.Like so many other early accounts, the protagonist is a person from the re-mote past—in many cases the early tales feature Confucius’ disciples. Alsodissimilar to early medieval tales, there is no segment describing the re-wards that Boyu received because of his exemplary ¤liality. After dictatingBoyu’s ¤lial action, the transmitter of the tale immediately launches intohis comment, the contents of which plainly convey that the tale’s purposeis merely didactic.

Why are early medieval tales so different from their predecessors? Theanswer to that question will become clear as this chapter unfolds, but onemust keep in mind how authors employed the earlier ¤lial piety stories.Long before Accounts of Filial Offspring ever came into existence, ¤lial de-votion narratives were already circulating in China, as scattered referencesin Warring States and Western Han works attest. Many of the people who


made use of these works were what Crump has called “persuaders,” whobelonged to the social group called shi (gentlemen, or more precisely dur-ing the pre-Qin period, knights or lower of¤cers) that roamed from courtto court trying to gain a ruler’s favor by convincing him that they offeredthe best possible counsel.4 One of the rhetorical tools at a persuader’s dis-posal was an exemplum: a short, self-contained, didactic story used to il-lustrate a point being made in a larger argument.5 In stating the generalprinciples of his argument, a persuader would explain and support themby either alluding to or recounting one or more exempla.

Tales about ¤lial devotion were merely one type of exemplum. Theonly difference between them and other exempla was that they were thesole creations of Confucians who used them to concretely depict theirconception of ¤lial devotion. When a Ru persuader wanted to make apoint about ¤lial piety, he probably fabricated a tale that met his doctrinalneeds and attributed it to a famous disciple of Confucius. These storieswere so well known and closely identi¤ed with Confucian ideas that op-ponents attacked the Ru school by criticizing the tales’ exemplars. Withobvious reference to a particular narrative, the author of Intrigues of theWarring States (Zhanguo ce) argues that a devoted son like Zengzi couldnot possibly be a good of¤cial because he would never spend a night apartfrom his parents.6 Authors from other schools also used the ¤lial devotionexempla as foils for their own arguments.7 That these tales never stoodalone and were always used to support a larger point indicates that, unliketheir early medieval counterparts, Warring States authors did not view thestories as worthy subjects in themselves.8

In much the same way as their predecessors, Western Han Confucianphilosophical works such as Mr. Han’s Exoteric Commentary [to the Book ofSongs] (Hanshi waizhuan), Garden of Persuasions (Shuo yuan), The New Nar-ratives (Xin xu), and Accounts of Outstanding Women (Lienü zhuan) continuedto use stories of exemplary people. In fact, they even utilized many of thesame stories, a number of which were drawn from Warring States material.9

Moreover, their authors wrote these works of persuasion to advise rulers,just as their predecessors had done.10 Nevertheless, the way their authorsemployed the stories gradually began to change. The most surprising fea-ture is the prominence that exemplar stories assume. In fact, much of thecontent of these books is stories about exemplars—the Accounts of Out-standing Women entirely so. Furthermore, sometimes the stories stand ontheir own—that is, they are no longer merely adjuncts of a larger text.11 Forexample, a tale about the ¤lial and loyal son Shen Ming has a biographicalintroduction that closely resembles one found in early medieval accounts

The Narratives 31

of ¤lial children. It reads, “There was a shi from Chu named Shen Ming. Hetook care of a garden to nurture his parents. He was famous throughoutChu for his ¤lial devotion.”12 Note, however, that this story lacks segmentthree in which the ¤lial exemplar is rewarded for his ¤liality. Moreover,many of the ¤lial piety accounts in the Western Han Ru works still fre-quently bear traces of being wrenched from their original context, such asthe story of Han Boyu, which has no introduction.

Didactic Fictions

To fully understand the nature of these accounts, it is imperative to ascer-tain whether they are factual. In commenting on the historicity of suchnarratives in History of the Later Han (Hou Han shu), Bielenstein has notedthat they are highly formalized. They appear in a standardized pattern thatreappears frequently; consequently, they “represent a special technique ofwriting, a conscious exaggeration, not a rendering of facts.”13 Holzman, onthe other hand, thinks that Bielenstein has thrown these anecdotes “out ofcourt without a jury.” He explains, “I see no reason why we should nottake Fan Ye [the compiler of History of the Later Han] at his word when, forinstance, he says men ate one another, simply because he says it more thanonce.”14 Although he is undoubtedly right that simple formulas such as“men gave each other their children to eat” probably do indicate historicaloccurrences of cannibalism, repetitive moral stories are yet another matter.According to Lau, since the most important aspect of an illustrative story isthe point being illuminated, the actual identity of the exemplar is unim-portant and can differ.15 Similarly, Petersen points out that the phenome-non of the same story having different protagonists is one of the bestindicators of a tale’s ¤ctionality.16 Moreover, since other studies haveshown how compilers of the dynastic histories easily incorporated legend-ary stories about famous persons into the biographies, one should be waryof almost all stories included in court-sponsored historical writings.17

If the narratives were indeed records of speci¤c, unique actions, thenone would expect to see a wide variety of ¤lial deeds. However, the feats at-tributed to ¤lial offspring are extremely stereotyped and limited in number.In fact, early medieval authors credit many different ¤lial sons and daugh-ters with performing the exact same exemplary act—that is, examples of thesame story having different protagonists abound. One common tale is thatof a ¤lial child who lies exposed to attract mosquitoes away from hismother or father’s bed. Authors of Accounts of Filial Offspring credit thissame ¤lial sacri¤ce to Shentu Xun, Wu Meng (¶. 270–310), Deng Zhan (3rd


cent.), and Zhan Qin,18 whereas they associate lying on ice in search of ¤shwith Wang Xiang (185–269), Wang Yan (258–318), as well as Fan Liao (1st

cent.).19 The act of racing to the tomb of a parent who feared thunder whilealive appears in tales about Cai Shun (¶. late ¤rst century), Wang Xiang,Zhu Mi, and Wang Pou (3rd cent.).20 One could argue that since Cai Shunwas from the Eastern Han and Wang Pou and Wang Xiang from the West-ern Jin that both Wangs were merely imitating Cai’s behavior. But this as-sumes that the act was so well known that both men knew of it. A simplerexplanation would be that this ¤lial action was a trope that early medievalwriters would attribute to those men who were well known for their ¤lial-ity, regardless of what acts they had actually performed.

A hint that this was indeed the case comes from Liu Jun (462–521),commentator to New Tales of Worldly Persuasions (Shishuo xinyu). After relat-ing how Tao Kan’s (259–334) mother refused ¤sh that he presented to herwhile acting in his of¤cial capacity, Liu remarks, “When Meng Zong (d.270) was the director of the Thunder Pond, he gave salted ¤sh to hismother, but she would not accept it. This was not a story about Kan. I be-lieve that later people, due to Meng’s action, borrowed it and made up thistale.”21 Although Liu thinks that Meng actually did perform the act that Taowas credited with (a questionable assumption), Liu’s comments underlinehow easily exemplary acts could be transferred to other men who were vir-tuous. Nevertheless, for contemporaries, since men of such ¤ne moral ¤bercould easily perform these feats, how could one doubt such accounts?

Instead of reporting fact, the ¤lial piety tales for the most part portrayhistorical individuals performing the speci¤c acts that the Confucianritual codes prescribed for sons and daughters. In regard to anecdotesfound in Mr. Han’s Exoteric Commentary, Hightower makes the samepoint when he says,

In fact, I regard all these anecdotes as unhistorical, though I do not deny the

possibility that many may be based on actual events and deal with historical

persons. It is rather that such stories were preserved not as a record of events,

but as themes illustrative of ritually prescribed conduct. As such they could

be applied to any person, historical or ¤ctional, whose activity ¤tted a given

role.22

Likewise, ¤lial piety tales illustrate ritual behavior and could be appliedto anyone who was known to be ¤lial.

This technique of using stories about ¤lial sons to illuminate theritual codes can be found as early as the Book of Rites (Li ji). In a number

The Narratives 33

of places, it sets forth a litany of actions that a son or daughter should per-form. Then, elsewhere in the same chapter, it provides a ¤lial exemplarwhose conduct exactly replicates this behavior. The Book of Rites states,

Right after [a parent] has died, [one] should be melancholy, as if one is in

dire straights. Once [the parent] is placed in the cof¤n, [one] should look

around in a startled fashion, as if one is seeking something but could not ob-

tain it. Once [the parent] is buried, [one] should look ¶urried and restless, as

if one is looking expectantly for someone who has not yet arrived. After a

year’s mourning, [one] should look heart-broken. After two years’ mourn-

ing, [one] should look empty.23

The second half of the same chapter describes Yan Ding in the same manner.

Yan Ding excelled at mourning. Right after [his parent] had died, he looked

around in a startled fashion, as if he had something he was seeking but could

not obtain. After [the corpse] was placed in the cof¤n, he looked about ex-

pectantly, as if he had someone he wanted to follow but could not catch up.

After burial, he was broken-hearted, as if resting and not being able to await

his or her return.24

Whether Yan actually performed these acts is impossible to say, butthrough a comparison of these two passages, it is obvious he is merelyused to give a human face to these rigid ceremonial directives.

Early medieval ¤lial piety stories served the same purpose: they wereconcrete illustrations of the Confucian rites in action. Many of the acts¤lial children perform are found in the ritual codes, most particularly theBook of Rites. For example, its “Quli” chapter states, “A rule for all chil-dren is that in winter they must keep their parents warm; in summer theymust keep them cool.”25 Two early medieval stories that illustrate this in-junction are those of Huang Xiang (56–106) and Luo Wei (Eastern Han).“In the summer, [Huang] fanned his father’s bed and pillow; in the win-ter, he used his body to warm his father’s mat.” “Luo’s mother was sev-enty. In the winter, he would use his body to warm a mat and thenafterwards would give her his place.”26 Again, the “Quli” chapter statesthat one should not shout at a dog in front of one’s honored guest; BaoYong (1st cent.) divorced his wife when she shouted at a dog in front ofhis mother.27 The “Quli” says, “Do not remove your cap; do not bareyour chest [even] when performing physical labor; do not lift up yourlower garments [even] in the summer.”28 To prevent the nudity of nearby


farm laborers from desecrating his mother’s tomb, Guo Yuanping (d.479) sold his house and bought all the land that surrounded the tomb;during the summer, he wore a full set of clothes and worked the landhimself.29 That Xiao Yi (508–554), Emperor Yuan of the Liang, asked tobe buried with both an Accounts of Filial Offspring and the Book of Rites’“Quli” chapter further intimates this tie between the Ru ritual codes andthe ¤lial piety stories.30 In short, many of the ¤lial piety stories were mod-els of how one should perform the Confucian rites.

The Orality of the Filial Piety Stories

The presence of miracles in the tales might suggest that ¤lial piety storiesbegan as folktales; in other words, as oral narratives that are produced byand circulated among the lower classes. To be sure, some of the most fa-mous and most reproduced ¤lial piety stories possess many of the charac-teristics of folktales, such as those of Shun, the sage king who did not holda grudge against his murderous parents; Guo Ju; Dong Yong, who soldhimself to pay the costs of his father’s burial; and Ding Lan, who treated astatue of his dead parent as if it were alive. Unlike the great majority of¤lial exemplars who are historical personages, the protagonists of thesetales are probably ¤ctional—they are extremely dif¤cult to locate histori-cally. Although the tales’ creators generally identi¤ed Dong Yong as a na-tive of Qiansheng Prefecture, three accounts place him elsewhere.31 Whenhe lived is even murkier. It is equally dif¤cult to date the famous Guo Ju,32

to the extent that one scholar thinks he lived during the Western Han,whereas another places him during the Jin period (265–420)—a gap of al-most three hundred years.33 Incidentally, despite their fame, none of these¤gures has a biography in the period’s dynastic histories.

Second, unlike other ¤lial piety narratives, these tales have a numberof different variants. Although accounts tied to historical persons mightdiffer slightly in some of their details, they usually reproduce the same ver-sion of a devoted child’s act and often employ the exact same language.Their transmission through written, ¤xed texts doubtlessly accounts forthis consistency. The tales with ¤ctional heroes, on the other hand, are re-plete with variants. In early versions of the Ding Lan tale, the statue hecarves is an image of his father; in later versions, it is his mother. In someversions, Ding’s long-suffering wife attacks his wooden “mother”; inothers, the assailant is an aggrieved neighbor to whom the statue hassomehow expressed its unwillingness to lend the household’s hoe or ax.In some versions, Ding punishes the assailant; in others, a supernatural

The Narratives 35

phenomenon does the trick for him (see the appendix for this legend’s dif-ferent versions and variants). Since oral tales have no ¤xed text, this mightindicate why the Ding Lan story has so many versions. In fact, its range ofvariants strikingly resembles that found when researchers asked residentsof Taipei in 1967–1968 to relate the story of “Grandaunt Tiger,” whichmost of the participants learned orally from a relative.34

Although the folkloric tales constitute a small minority of the narra-tives, they are the earliest and most popular. Almost all of the folklorictales are depicted pictorially at the AD 151 Wu Liang shrine.35 Despite theexistence of hundreds of ¤lial piety narratives, these were the ones mostfrequently used as decorative motifs. Moreover, whereas ¤lial piety talestied to speci¤c historical ¤gures usually appear in only one Accounts ofFilial Offspring, these folkloric accounts appear in many. Thus eventhough a small minority, they had an importance that far outweighed theirnumber. Nevertheless, one must note that the Ding Lan story is excep-tional in its many differing versions: most of the other folkloric storieshave only limited differences from one source to another, which proba-bly indicates that despite their humble origins, elite written culture hadalready entirely digested these tales.

Elite Family Narratives

The majority of early medieval ¤lial accounts were not folkloric, but ratheremerged from an oral culture that was current among the learned elite. Inwondering why a famous Qing scholar, Ji Yun (1724–1805), would com-pile a collection of ghost stories, Chan has shown how Ji gathered his talesthrough informal conversations about the supernatural with his friends,functionaries, and family members.36 In other words, a casual, oral culturewas thriving in elite homes, in which friends or family members wouldswap tales of ghosts or extraordinary occurrences. One of the people whoswapped tales at some point would write them down, add his own com-ments to each one, and then publish them in book form.

This type of elite oral storytelling already existed in early medievalChina. The skeptic Wang Chong (27–97) informs us,

The nature of the worldly and vulgar is to be fond of fantastic and weird tales

and delight in untrue and absurd writings. Why is this? Truthful matters do

not delight their minds and only the absurd and frivolous surprise their ears

and move their hearts. Consequently, gentlemen of talent and those who

excel at discussions add to and exaggerate factual matters and make them


into beautiful and resplendent stories; those who use brush and ink create

baseless writings and untrue and absurd biographies. Listeners believe [these

narratives] are true, and retell them constantly; readers take them as factual

matters, and continuously transmit them. Since they are transmitted contin-

uously, their words become recorded on bamboo and silk; since they are

narrated without end, they wrongly enter the ears of the wise. It might reach

the point where the emperor will call [a man who creates these absurd tales]

“teacher” and be taught these false and vile theories, and where high and

local of¤cials will read their untrue and absurd books.37

This passage makes it obvious that literate, upper-class people delightedin both hearing and reading extraordinary stories, which they wouldtransmit both orally and in writing. Of great interest is the fact that Wangplaces oral and written transmissions on an equal footing—that is, hedoes not privilege writing and associates both with the literate class. Thusno matter whether they are oral or written in form, fantastic stories wereequally likely to reach the ears and eyes of society’s highest people.

Another source that sheds light on this oral culture is Tang Lin’s (ca.600–659) Records of Miraculous Retribution (Mingbao ji), which is a collec-tion of Buddhist miracle tales. Unlike early medieval collections of anec-dotes that were largely based on written materials, this work endeavors toinclude only tales that had never before been recorded. As a result, morethan any other, it gives us a sense of how medieval Chinese transmittedoral tales about the extraordinary. Family members, fellow high of¤cials,and monk acquaintances related the majority of this work’s tales to Tang.Lower-class people such as villagers, an acupuncture doctor, and boat-men gave him the remainder. He also mentions the circumstances underwhich he heard some of the tales. In one case a story was related to himwhile he sat with a group of of¤cials waiting for the emperor. In another,while sick in bed, a visiting fellow of¤cial tried to cheer him up withone.38 Thus both the testimony of Wang Chong and Tang Lin indicatethat casual storytelling among the elite was just as prevalent in the earlymedieval period, if not more so, than in the Qing.

This same casual, elite storytelling produced the ¤lial piety storiesabout historical exemplars. Household members, together with retainersand friends, doubtlessly exchanged oral tales about the virtuous exploitsof the family’s prominent members and ancestors.39 The last line of theQiu Jie story, which relates how his family treasured the medicine bowlfor generations, gives us a vivid sense that his descendants passed on thisstory from generation to generation, long after his death. This same matrix

The Narratives 37

probably generated many other ¤lial piety stories concerning contempo-rary historical persons.

Although speculative, here is a way that this process might haveworked. Literati familiar with the ritual codes would read about the ¤lialexploits of past exemplars. Then, when engaged in informal conversa-tion, they would attribute the same exploits to a friend, patron, relative,or ancestor that was already known for his/her ¤liality. This is why earlymedieval men often depicted contemporary ¤gures performing the same¤lial acts as famous past exemplars. For example, the Book of Rites tells usthat when his father was sick and refused food, the young King Wu of theZhou (11th cent. BC) would also refuse food. Only when his sick fatherate would he eat.40 The Eastern Han tale of Ru Yu (2nd cent.) nearly repli-cates King Wu’s actions: when Ru was ¤ve years old, he would not eat ordrink anything unless his sick mother did so. Even when she forced her-self to eat and claimed to be better, he was still unwilling to eat.41 As timewent on and the acts of exemplary ¤lial offspring became well known,relatives and friends would attribute those acts to their own prominentbrethren or ancestors, which is why there are so many copycat emula-tions. What these accounts reveal, then, is not what actions these ¤guresactually performed, but how the people who were honoring them bor-rowed motifs from earlier accounts to describe their virtue.

The Material Rewards of Outstanding Filiality

Why would people concoct such tales about their prominent family mem-bers or ancestors? As Geary has pointed out, the purpose of hagiographicwriting is rarely just didactic: “In a sense, the answer to the question Whydid they [the hagiographers] write? is simple: they sought to glorify God.But in glorifying God, they also glorify the individual saint, the place he orshe lived or was buried, the community where God chose to be glori¤edthrough his saints. Glori¤cation is one of the major propagandist roles ofhagiographic texts.”42 In the same manner, the obvious purpose of creat-ing a ¤lial piety narrative is to call attention to ¤lial piety’s wonders. At-taching a family member’s name to a speci¤c tale glori¤es that individualand his/her family, which is why these accounts give such speci¤c infor-mation about the exemplar’s name and native place. For the creators ofthese stories, this was probably the tale’s most important part because itsignaled that this family was noteworthy and superior to others.43

A reputation for ¤liality was important because it could earn a per-son and his/her family valuable political and social rewards. Throughout


the Eastern Han, the primary means to secure public of¤ce was to be putforward by one’s locality as a man who was “¤lial and incorrupt” (xiao-lian). Local of¤cials recommended men under this category supposedlydue to their possession of exemplary ¤lial behavior. The importance ofhaving a virtuous reputation to be recommended for public of¤ce ledmany men to perform extreme, or even fraudulent, acts to secure one.44

Having a ¤lial piety tale circulated about oneself would testify to one’sembodiment of this highly valued Confucian virtue, thereby facilitatinghis quest for public of¤ce. Wang Fu (¶. 150), a recluse and social critic,reveals that his contemporaries often gained of¤ce not on the basis oftheir merit, but rather through the in¶uence of their friends and patronswho would fabricate stories about their virtues, thus making them soundas if they were carbon copies of the virtuous Yan Hui. These false testimo-nies would then be included in a candidate’s “behavioral dossier” (xing-zhuang), which established his credentials for holding public of¤ce.45 Inother words, the people who created the dossier were his political allieswho had an interest in embellishing his credentials. This close connec-tion between having a virtuous reputation and access to of¤ce probablyexplains why so many famous ¤lial sons were Eastern Han men.

In the succeeding Six Dynasties period, even though the use of the“¤lial and incorrupt” recommendation category as a means of entry intothe government dropped precipitously, having a reputation for ¤lialpiety was still an important means for being summoned to public ser-vice. By the Western Jin (265–317), since the government now predomi-nately distributed public of¤ce based on one’s family pedigree, the actualcontent of “behavioral dossiers” became much less important than be-fore.46 Similarly, by the Eastern Jin (317–420), the “¤lial and incorrupt”recommendation category became a secondary means for obtaining pub-lic of¤ce, to the extent that only members of lesser elite families, oftencalled “cold gate [families]” (hanmen), would deign to enter governmentby this means.47 Still, for members of these lower-ranking families, exem-plary ¤liality was a means into the bureaucracy and possibly higher sta-tus. Of the thirteen Southern Dynasties (317–581) “¤lial and incorrupt”candidates that we know about, ¤ve were famous ¤lial sons.48 The smallnumber of known candidates underscores, though, how unimportantthis recommendation category had become. Nonetheless, a ¤lial son didnot necessarily have to enter government in this manner—governmentof¤cials could directly summon him to of¤ce. “Biographies of the Filial”in dynastic histories indicate that this happened often. For example, thefamous ¤lial son Wang Xiang was a recluse for over thirty years. Despite

The Narratives 39

frequent summons from local of¤cials to take of¤ce, he refused them all.Finally, already advanced in age, he accepted an of¤ce from the regionalinspector and eventually became one of the highest-ranking members ofthe government.49 Furthermore, governments frequently offered posts tothe sons of famous ¤lial paragons.50

Even if one did not receive public of¤ce, a reputation for ¤liality couldstill earn one’s family many privileges and rewards. The governmentmight honor ¤lial offspring in the following ways: by putting a banner infront of their village, attaching a plaque to their compound’s gate, erectinga commemorative stele, or even changing the village’s name to re¶ect thata ¤lial child had lived there. The government might provide material re-wards as well. Often, the household of a ¤lial exemplar would be ex-empted from taxes for a certain period of time. Its members might alsoreceive gifts and titles from the emperor. For instance, in response to theextraordinary ¤liality of Yu Qimin (d. 458), the government put a bannerin front of his village and a stele in front of his tomb, remitted his familyfrom the cloth and land tax for three generations, gave his mother onehundred sacks of grain, and changed the name of his village to “Hamlet ofthe ¤lial and Righteous.”51 In short, there were many incentives to estab-lish one’s name through ¤lial acts and, perhaps even more importantly,through stories about one’s ¤liality.

Legitimacy through Hidden Merit

Beyond the immediate aim of gaining public of¤ce or material rewards,telling ¤lial piety stories about a family’s prominent member or ancestorwas important because it legitimated that family’s privileged positionwithin local society. These tales did so by revealing that an elite familyowed its position to its ancestors’ “hidden merit” (yinde). By the end ofthe ¤rst century BC, people commonly believed that due to their ances-tors’ vast accumulation of good deeds, some families enjoyed muchgreater success than others. These good deeds were called “hidden merit”because they were not publicized. Nevertheless, the spirit world tooknote of them and rewarded their authors and their descendents genera-tion after generation. After narrating the meritorious acts and lofty hon-ors that the Yuan family continuously enjoyed, Cai Yong remarked, “Ifyou seek after the origin of their original blessing and how they havereached this point today, it is because of the merit that their ancestorshave accumulated, and because hidden merit will be openly rewarded.”52

Hidden merit was a powerful idea because it could explain why evildoers


might go unpunished in life, while good people might meet with disas-ter.53 Due to the popularity of this idea, Fan Yan, an elder brother of thefamous historian Fan Ye (398–445), even compiled a work called Ac-counts of [those who accumulate] Hidden Merit (Yinde zhuan). Re¶ectinghow common this belief was, early medieval Taoists believed that one in-herited the sins of one’s ancestors (chengfu) or even one’s lord, if youwere either his retainer or servant.54 Hence those who wanted to attainimmortality had to ¤rst make sure that their ancestors had their sins ab-solved and were comfortably transferred to heaven.55 Chen Ch’i-yün in-dicates that one of Xun Yue’s (148–209) most important purposes inwriting the Records of the Han (Han ji) was to show that the Han imperialfamily had much more hidden merit than any of its potential rivals—thatis, it was the only family that had enough virtue to rule China.56 Obvi-ously, then, stories about ¤lial ancestors were a simple and effectivemeans of justifying one’s family’s prominence in a locality.

In a number of ways one can discern that ¤lial piety stories illustratedthat a family’s position was based on its ancestors’ hidden merit. First, atleast a few of the protagonists of these tales were the ¤rst member of thefamily to gain regional, if not national, prominence. For instance, the fa-mous ¤lial sons Wang Xiang, Yan Han (¶. 317–342), Chen Shi (104–187), and Wei Biao (d. 89) were all among the ¤rst noteworthy membersof their families.57 Second, the tale’s protagonists usually belonged to atleast locally powerful families. After recounting the ¤lial exploits of WeiTong (¶. 6–2 BC) and Wu Shun, the fourth-century Records of the StatesSouth of Mount Hua (Huayang guozhi) tells us that the Wei and Wu clanswere among their district’s most powerful lineages (daxing, “great sur-names”).58 This same source tells us that the ¤lial son Jiang Shi (¶. AD 60)owned six hundred mu of land, which would make him a fairly wealthylandowner.59 Just in the Eastern Han period alone it is clear that manyother ¤lial sons came from powerful families as well.60 Moreover, accord-ing to Xing, of the 265 “¤lial and incorrupt” candidates (from the EasternHan and Three Kingdoms periods) for whom we have biographical infor-mation, only eighteen were said to be poor, and not a few of these menwere from prominent families that had fallen on hard times. Indeed, most“¤lial and incorrupt” candidates came from families that were bothwealthy and had produced of¤cials in the past—52 percent of the candi-dates had relatives that were of¤cials, many of whom were of the highestrank. In other words, “¤lial and incorrupt” candidates, many of whomwere the protagonists of the ¤lial piety tales, tended to come from HanChina’s most in¶uential families.61

The Narratives 41

Third, a few of the ¤lial piety tales themselves intimate that a speci¤cfamily is enjoying the roots of success planted by a ¤lial ancestor. For ex-ample, after narrating how Yang Gong, a poor man, used his supernaturalreward to marry the daughter of an illustrious family, we read, “They gavebirth to ten sons who had perfect virtue and extraordinary brilliance. Theyall reached the positions of nobles or ministers. Today the various Yangsof the right side of Beiping are his descendents.”62 This tale’s function isobviously to explain why the Yangs of Beiping have enjoyed such greatsuccess. Likewise, the Qiu Jie story, which was transmitted long after hisdeath, was almost certainly meant to explain his family’s prosperity. In-deed, during the Six Dynasties period, the Wuxing Wucheng Qius was oneof great lineages of southeastern China.63 In short, many of these storieswere propaganda that powerful families would circulate about themselvesto indicate why they were worthy of the privileges and luxuries they en-joyed. Since these tales were probably created for the consumption of thelarger community, how were they transmitted beyond the family?

Transmission to the Wider World

Besides word of mouth, behavioral dossiers and epitaphs oftentimestransmitted ¤lial piety tales to the larger community. Behavioral dossierswere probably one of the ¤rst places where such narratives were recorded.The authors of these documents were primarily interested in the moralconduct and learning of a candidate for public of¤ce. In the Eastern Han,a local of¤cial who wanted to recommend a candidate to of¤ce would cre-ate this document. During the Six Dynasties, the recti¤er (zhongzheng)would put the dossier together from materials that the candidate fur-nished. Lu Yaodong thinks the early medieval period produced so manybiographies precisely because these documents were so numerous.64 Nev-ertheless, since the dossiers would have been primarily passed amonggovernment of¤cials who were considering candidates for of¤ce, their cir-culation would have been rather limited.

Epitaphs were another type of document in which oral accounts of aperson’s extraordinary conduct would have been recorded. As Liu Xie (ca.465–532) makes clear, the overriding purpose of eulogies was to manifestand immortalize the virtuous conduct of the deceased.65 These documents,which were prone to embellishment and exaggeration of the deceased’s vir-tues, would have been the perfect forum to jot down tales about his or heroutstanding conduct.66 If someone famous wrote the eulogy, it could alsobe circulated widely as part of his collected works; otherwise, though, one


would not expect the epitaph to be known to many outside the vicinity ofthe deceased’s tomb.

How a person’s ¤lial exploits usually came to be known is throughworks called “separate biographies” (biezhuan), which were especiallypopular from AD 200 to 400. Separate biographies were accounts writtenby a relative, in-law, retainer, or admirer and were probably based oneither the subject’s behavioral dossier or his epitaph.67 Other sources forthese works included autobiographical materials compiled by the biogra-phy’s subject.68 Unlike of¤cial biographies in the dynastic histories, sepa-rate biographies devote a great deal of attention to the subject’s childhoodand personal life and are much more focused on the subject’s character.They usually mention the subject’s name, native place, ancestors, of¤cialposts, death date, and evaluations of his character, as well as anecdotesthat describe his persona.69 A similar form of writing was the family biog-raphy (jiazhuan), which consisted of accounts devoted to an eminent fam-ily’s most noteworthy members. Tang historian Liu Zhiji’s (661–721)explanation of the reasons for writing family histories doubtlessly holdstrue for the separate biographies as well. He tells us, “Lofty families andtheir resplendent descendents accumulate merit for generations. A tal-ented son who receives [the management of] the house desires to makemanifest his parents’ accomplishments. Due to this, he records the note-worthy acts of his ancestors to make them known to the generations tocome.”70 In other words, the purpose behind these histories was to showthat the family possessed “hidden merit” and that recent ancestors haveaccumulated even more. The heir thereby uses these documents to try tomaintain the family’s prestige. Hence Xiao Gang, Emperor Jianwen of theLiang (r. 550–552), on the occasion of his older brother’s death, compileda separate biography of him so that he could make known his brother’svirtuous deeds.71 Since the primary motive of writing this type of biogra-phy was to glorify its subject and add to the family’s luster, it is no wonderthat tales about an ancestor’s virtue would be included and celebrated insuch works.

That ¤lial piety stories would become known through separate biogra-phies or family biographies is due to the fact that these works were doubt-lessly circulated more widely than either epitaphs or behavioral dossiers.Early medieval historians’ dependence on these works underscores theirimportance. For example, of the two hundred works that Pei Songzhi(372–451) relied on to construct his commentary to the History of the ThreeKingdoms (Sanguo zhi), ¤fty are either separate biographies or family biog-raphies.72 Liu Jun’s commentary to New Tales of Worldly Persuasions makes

The Narratives 43

use of eighty-nine different separate biographies, and Imperial Survey of theTaiping Era (Taiping yulan) uses 106.73 In compiling his Lives of EminentMonks (Gaoseng zhuan), the monk Hui Jiao (d. 554) used separate biogra-phies extensively.74 Many famous ¤lial children were subjects of separatebiographies: from those quoted in extant works, we know that at least ninefamous exemplary offspring had such works devoted to them.75 Since theseparate biographies quoted in extant works probably represent only asmall portion of those that existed, many more famous ¤lial children wereprobably the subjects of such books. Moreover, many famous ¤lial chil-dren were doubtlessly included in their family biographies. We know, forexample, that Yang Gong was included in his family’s A Narration of theYang Clan’s Geneaology (Yangshi puxu).76 Unfortunately, as Liu Zhiji pointedout, since these works concerned only members of one family, they tendedto disappear when the family was no longer prominent.77 Perhaps this iswhy the imperial library, and thereby the dynastic histories’ bibliographicchapters, contained none of the separate biographies and only a few of thefamily biographies.

By including ¤lial piety tales in biographies of famous men from a par-ticular locality, early medieval authors expanded the reach of the narra-tives. These works were usually called Accounts of Former Worthies (Xianxianzhuan) or Accounts of [Virtuous] Elders (Qijiu zhuan), which were current inChina from about AD 100 to 400. Nearly all of these works was associatedwith a speci¤c area that was identi¤ed in its title, such as The Past Worthiesof Runan or The [Virtuous] Elders of Chenliu. Their authors were predomi-nately members of famous native families of that region. Most obviously,these books aimed to glorify the region by demonstrating that its superiorphysical environment produced good social customs among its people,which was evident in its many outstanding local notables.78 To this end,these works often incorporated tales of exemplary children. Watabe main-tains that “elders” and “worthies” were merely euphemisms for powerfulclans and that these works were written to reveal the region’s outstandingfamilies.79 If correct, this would once again intimate that famous ¤lial sonswere usually the scions of local elite families. Like family biographies,though, their appeal was largely limited to the area that produced them. AsLiu Zhiji put it, “They praise their canton’s worthies; they beautify theircountry’s lineages. If you distribute them within that country, they are cir-culated widely; if you place them in another area, you rarely hear of anyonethat loves to hear about [its] remarkable [features].”80 Even so, that com-mentators such as Pei Songzhi and Liu Jun extensively quoted these workssuggests their circulation went well beyond their home district.


Geographical works also circulated ¤lial piety tales. As Chittick hasshown, these works begin to appear in the Eastern Han and continued tobe produced in large numbers throughout the early medieval period.They were primarily composed of what he calls “locality stories”—that is,short anecdotes used to describe a place’s local aura (feng) and customs(su). Especially important in these works are entries on tombs, stele, andshrines because they connect noteworthy people with speci¤c locationswithin the region.81 Local ¤lial piety narratives often found their way intothis type of work. In Li Daoyuan’s (472–527) Commentary on the Classic ofWaterways (Shuijing zhu), for instance, the anecdotes are recounted inconnection with the tombs of outstanding ¤lial offspring or steles thatcommemorate their ¤lial exploits.82 As we shall see in the next chapter,the authors of Accounts of Filial Offspring also frequently wrote geographi-cal works. This type of writing offers the best opportunity to view storiesabout ¤lial heroes that circulated in speci¤c localities but did not neces-sarily attain national fame.

Conclusion

Despite the fact that ¤lial piety stories appear to have folkloric qualities,this chapter has shown that very few of them stemmed from the oral cul-ture of commoners; instead, most originated from elite storytelling. Fam-ily members, retainers, and friends would tell extraordinary tales aboutthe virtues of a family’s most prominent member, which would then beincorporated into that person’s “behavioral dossier.” This, in turn, wouldbe submitted to the government to aid that ¤gure in being considered foran of¤cial position, or it would become incorporated into his epitaph. Ineither case, the purpose of the story was to enhance the prestige of thefamily and suggest that its privileged position within local society wasdue to the treasury of merit that its ancestors had accumulated.

These stories, which were ¤rst fabricated for local consumption,soon found a wider audience. To add more luster to a family’s name, kin,retainers, or friends would write a separate biography devoted to one ofthe prominent individuals of that family. This private biography, whichwould emphasize the person’s moral virtues and special character, servedto spread knowledge of the subject’s extraordinary deeds to audiences be-yond his/her locality. By incorporating these accounts into biographiesof regional worthies, other literati would emphasize the importance andnoteworthiness of their own region versus that of others. Hence tales de-signed to glorify a particular family could be conveniently used to glorify

The Narratives 45

a particular region as well. The authors of geographical works foundthese stories useful as well because they could be used to show that a par-ticular region’s sublime environment produced men of excellent moralquality. All of these sources—separate biographies, family histories, ac-counts of regional worthies, and geographical works—in turn becamethe source materials for collections of ¤lial piety tales, which we will nowexamine.

46

3 Accounts of Filial OffspringModels for Emulation

Although numerous individual ¤lial piety stories mighthave been created to further the ambitions or legitimate the power of aparticular elite family, the accounts took on a different type of signi¤cancewhen literati gathered and circulated them as books. The creation of suchworks, which were frequently titled Accounts of Filial Offspring, attests tothe high value that Chinese attached to ¤lial piety and the narratives thatillustrated it. The compilers of these collections used them to disseminatethe ¤lial piety stories to an even wider audience. But when exactly did theAccounts of Filial Offspring ¤rst appear? Who were their compilers and au-dience? What were the goals behind their compilation?

Two assumptions have obscured the early history of Accounts of FilialOffspring and an understanding of their purposes and audiences. The ¤rstis that Liu Xiang (77–6 BC), the originator of the Accounts of OutstandingWomen, also created the subgenre of Accounts of Filial Offspring. This as-sumption is based on the existence of fragments from a text titled LiuXiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring (Liu Xiang Xiaozi tu). The second as-sumption is that ¤lial piety narratives are fairy tales meant for young chil-dren. Modern scholars have come to this conclusion for three reasons:¤rst, the simplicity and melodramatic nature of the tales suggests that theywere selected to appeal to the ignorant and uneducated. Second, the mostfamous collection of ¤lial piety tales, Guo Jujing’s Poems on the Twenty-fourFilial Exemplars, was expressly compiled for children. Both it and theworks it inspired became staples of children’s literature. Third, due to thefact that many of the anecdotes’ protagonists are children, the tales’ in-tended audience must have been children who could identify with thenarratives’ heroes.1

This chapter will prove that such assumptions are fallacious. After un-derlining the doubtful authenticity of Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring,

Accounts of Filial Offspring 47

I will suggest that the ¤rst Accounts of Filial Offspring appeared in the EasternHan, but that these texts became popular only in the Northern and South-ern Dynasties period. By looking at archaeological evidence, we will thenmove on to the question of the Accounts’ audience. We will see that the tales’consumers included many of¤cials and members of the nobility. To ascer-tain the aims and audience of these works, the chapter’s ¤nal section willlook at the goals and functions of other, better-known works that were partof the same genre of biographies of exemplars. By this means I will demon-strate that Accounts of Filial Offspring were indeed no different in kind thanother works of this genre—that is, their purpose was to present educatedadults with moral exemplars after whom they could model themselves.

The Spuriousness of Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring

The fragments of a work titled Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring havelong bedeviled researchers of the ¤lial piety stories.2 If this work is authen-tic, then Accounts of Filial Offspring already existed at the end of the West-ern Han; if fake, then the ¤rst known work of this subgenre appears as lateas the Eastern Jin (317–420). Through a combination of internal and ex-ternal evidence, this section will show that the work was indeed a forgeryand probably materialized only in the latter half of the Six Dynasties.

Simply put, the evidence for Liu Xiang’s authorship of this text is neg-ligible and late. Neither the ¤rst-century AD History of the Han (Han shu)biography of Liu nor its bibliographic chapter mention his compilationof this text.3 In fact, the earliest work that attributes its authorship to Liuis a Buddhist encyclopedia, The Dharma Garden and Pearl Forest (Fayuanzhulin) (AD 668), which quotes four of its stories.4 Another reference oc-curs in the examination answers of Li Lingchen (ca. 710) and Xu Nan-rong (ca. 710), where both list the creators of the various types ofcollective biographies of exemplars. In a passage that is identical in con-tent, if not exact wording, to that of Xu, Li wrote,

The Accounts of the Capital’s Outstanding Elders (Jingzhao qilao zhuan) was cre-

ated by Emperor Guangwu; the Accounts of Chenliu’s Immortals (Chenliu shen-

xian zhuan) began with Ruan Cang; Liu Xiang crafted the Tableaus of Filial

Offspring (Xiaozi tu); Liang Hong originated the Records of Recluses (Yiren ji).5

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


In sum, the ¤rst known testimony to his creation of this work comes some670 years after his death.

Yet this notion that Liu created the Accounts of Filial Offspring sub-genre did not go unchallenged. The historian Liu Zhiji, a contemporaryof Li Lingchen, put forth a similar list of collective biographies’ origina-tors, but he credits Xu Guang (352–425) for being the ¤rst author of anAccounts of Filial Offspring, not Liu Xiang.6 Furthermore, when lambastingLiu Xiang’s works for intentionally spreading falsehoods, Liu Zhiji men-tions many of Liu Xiang’s other books, but not his Tableaus of Filial Off-spring.7 Since a text attributed to Liu Xiang was in circulation during LiuZhiji’s day, the latter must have known of the text. He probably did notmention it because he did not believe it was Liu Xiang’s work; had he be-lieved so, he would have condemned it along with the rest of Liu Xiang’sanecdotal works. Perhaps this is why the bibliographic chapters of thedynastic histories do not mention the text.8

A few anecdotes from Li Yanshou’s (612–678) History of the SouthernDynasties (Nan shi) that mention a Tableaus of Filial Offspring hint at thiswork’s late origins. The ¤rst anecdote concerns Wang Ci (5th cent.) whenhe was eight years old. To judge the boy’s prospects, his maternal grand-father, Liu Yigong, the prince of Jiangxi, spread before the child variousobjects and urged him to choose what he liked. The boy chose a lute, ink-stone, and a Tableaus of Filial Offspring, thereby gaining his grandfather’sesteem.9 In short, like lutes and inkstones, Tableaus of Filial Offspring wassomething a re¤ned gentleman would possess. The second anecdote,which concerns a Southern Qi noble named Xiao Feng, tells us thatprinces could not read heterodox books: the only works allowed to themwere the Five Classics and Tableaus of Filial Offspring.10 This story uninten-tionally underlines the importance of the Accounts of Filial Offspring—thecourt recognized these works as being on par with the Five Classics asteaching tools. Signi¤cant, too, is the fact that both anecdotes connectTableaus of Filial Offspring with children.

Nonetheless, neither of these anecdotes proves that Liu Xiang’s Tab-leaus of Filial Offspring already existed in the ¤fth century. An earlier text,Xiao Zixian’s (489–537) History of the Southern Qi (Nan Qi shu), containsbiographies of both Wang Ci and Xiao Feng. The History of the SouthernQi’s version of the Wang Ci anecdote matches that found in the History ofthe Southern Dynasties word for word, except for one crucial difference—itis missing the characters “and the Tableaus of Filial Offspring.”11 Similarly,Xiao Feng’s History of the Southern Qi biography completely lacks the anec-dote that mentions Tableaus of Filial Offspring.12 What accounts for these


discrepancies? One probable explanation is that when Xiao Zixian com-piled History of the Southern Qi, Tableaus of Filial Offspring had yet to bewritten or was not yet well known, or he deemed it unimportant. How-ever, when compiling History of the Southern Dynasties over a hundredyears later, Li Yanshou added Tableaus of Filial Offspring to the lute andinkstone that Wang Ci had to select because in Li’s day it had becomesomething all young gentlemen should read. As for the biography of XiaoFeng, it could be that Li Yanshou used another, later source to supply thatstory.13 Although the History of the Southern Dynasties accounts fail to showthat Tableaus of Filial Offspring existed in the ¤fth century, they add furtherproof that such a work was popular in seventh-century upper-class circles.Note that neither of these anecdotes, though, connects this work with LiuXiang.

As for internal evidence, modern scholars who have questioned theauthenticity of the Liu Xiang work have pointed out that one of its surviv-ing fragments identi¤es Dong Yong as a man of the Former Han (Qian-Han). Since Liu lived in the Western Han, how could he know that therewould be a subsequent Han dynasty? Consequently, they conclude thatsomeone who lived after Liu wrote the story.14 Nevertheless, it could bethat the addition of the word “former” (qian) to the word “Han” wasmerely a copyist’s error, which later encyclopedias reproduced.15

However, even more substantive internal evidence suggests that Tab-leaus of Filial Offspring is indeed a later work. By comparing its version ofthe sage-king Shun tale with those found in bona ¤de Liu Xiang workssuch as Accounts of Oustanding Women and The New Narratives, we can gaina sense of whether the same author penned all three versions. Since thesame man supposedly wrote, or at least edited, all of them, one would ex-pect them to be similar to each other. Although the wording and details ofthe Shun narrative in both texts are by no means identical, their overallplots closely resemble each other. After initially listing the vices of Shun’sparents and half brother, both indicate that despite the enmity shown to-wards him, Shun served his family well. Whereas Accounts of OutstandingWomen narrates in full how his family conspired to kill him while he waspainting a barn and deepening a well, The New Narratives mentions theseincidents only brie¶y. Both versions stress that although his parents wereattempting to assassinate him, he still thought of nothing other thanpleasing them. The New Narratives then describes the bene¤cial effect thatShun had on the people of Mount Li.16 The two accounts differ only inso-far as they have different goals: Accounts of Outstanding Women glori¤es theperfect conduct of the daughters of the sage-king Yao, while The New


Narratives glori¤es how Shun’s ¤lial piety transformed the behavior of theMount Li people.

The description of Shun’s life in Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspringfundamentally differs from these two accounts. It reads,

When Shun’s father began to lose his sight, he became befuddled to the

point where he agreed with his second wife’s words. Shun hid in the cavity of

the well. At home, Shun’s father was in poor ¤nancial straits. He lived in a

market town. While sleeping one night, he dreamt that he saw a phoenix,

which called itself “rooster.” It held rice in its mouth and used it to feed him.

It said the rooster is one of your descendants. [Shun’s father] gazed at it and

recognized it as a phoenix. He used Dream Book of the Yellow Emperor to di-

vine this dream. This descendent will be a worthy one. Shun also divined its

meaning with the same results. Every year, the rice that Shun’s father bought

contained coins. This had to be the work of Shun. For three days and nights,

Shun’s father looked up to heaven and confessed his sins. Upon reaching

this point, he listened to the voice of the man from whom he usually bought

things. It sounded like that of his dead son. Shun came in front of him and

licked his eyes. Shun’s father’s eyes suddenly opened and could see. [Shun’s

act] moved and broke the hearts of the people of the market; the great sage’s

perfection of the way of ¤liality [touched] the intelligent spirits.17

Strikingly, the scenes of Shun’s relatives trying to murder him, which arecentral to the version in Accounts of Outstanding Women, are unimportant—the barn incident is not even mentioned. Moreover, Shun’s father isnever referred to by name, but is said to be literally blind. In contrast,both The New Narratives and Accounts of Outstanding Women call thefather Gusou, which literally means “blind one,” but in these texts hisblindness seems to be ¤gurative rather than literal, in the sense that hecannot see right from wrong.18 Additionally, unlike the bucolic setting ofThe New Narratives and Accounts of Outstanding Women tales, all the ac-tion in this account takes place in a market town. Elements such as thedream, Shun’s clandestine support of his father while selling him rice,Gusou’s confession of his sins, and the miracle of Shun healing his blind-ness are completely absent from the earlier accounts.19 These arrestingdissimilarities signal that someone other than Liu Xiang wrote Tableaus ofFilial Offspring.

In fact, this version of the Shun legend is so abrupt and incompletethat it makes sense only when one reads later versions of the story. Accord-ing to these later narratives, after Shun escaped his parents’ attempts to kill


him at the barn and in the well, he ¶ed to Mount Li, where he began farm-ing. While everyone else was experiencing a famine, Shun had a bumpercrop. After trying to kill Shun, his father went blind and his stepmotherbecame stupid. Without recognizing him, at the market the stepmotheron several occasions bought rice from Shun, who would use the opportu-nity to mix money in with the rice he sold her or would refuse payment.After this happened numerous times, Gusou suspected that this was hisson. He thereupon went to the market and discovered that it was indeedtrue. Shun then wiped the tears from his father’s eyes, immediately restor-ing his sight. The sage-king Yao heard of this and gave his two daughtersin marriage to Shun.20 Although the version in Tableaus of Filial Offspringstill differs from the later accounts, it resembles them far more than theversions in Accounts of Outstanding Women and The New Narratives.

One common element that Tableaus of Filial Offspring shares with thestory’s later versions is its emphasis of the fact that after his father tried tomurder him at the well, Shun lived apart from his father and yet still en-deavored to materially support him. The Tableaus of Filial Offspring ver-sion implies that, in line with the later narratives, Shun is living onMount Li after having escaped his relative’s plots. In early versions of thestory, though, Shun’s stay on Mount Li is not at all related to his family’sattempts to murder him. The great historian Sima Qian (ca. 145–ca. 86BC) places Gusou’s attempts to murder his son at the granary well afterShun had already lived on Mount Li for three years; his stay there ismerely one of the many tests by which he proved himself worthy of be-coming Yao’s successor.21 In a number of early narratives, Shun’s stay onMount Li is important because he morally transforms the behavior of thepeople living there.22 The ¤rst extant text to link his parents’ attempts onhis life and his living on Mount Li is the ¤rst-century AD History of Yue’sDestruction [of Wu] (Yue jue shu), which says, “Shun had a natural fatherand a stepmother. His mother repeatedly wanted to kill Shun. He de-parted to till Mount Li. Within three years he had a bumper crop. Awayfrom home he nurtured himself, but his parents went hungry.”23 Notethat this version criticizes Shun because while he was enjoying a bounti-ful harvest on Mount Li, he did nothing to care for his parents. Hence al-though this version is closer to the later ones, it is still quite differentfrom Tableaus of Filial Offspring.

The miracle of Shun curing his father’s blindness also points to thelater origin of Tableaus of Filial Offspring. Since none of the early versions ofthe tale say anything about Gusou’s blindness, they also lack the miracle ofShun curing his father’s ailment, which is an essential element of all the


later versions. Not only is this miracle absent from earlier versions, it is alsoqualitatively different from the story’s other fantastic occurrences. In earlyversions of the tale, Shun saves himself from his parents’ plots in ways thatdo not require supernatural intervention;24 however, Shun’s act of curinghis father’s illness is accomplished through a miracle. By indicating thatShun’s unsurpassed ¤lial piety caused the spirits to help cure his father, thelast line of Tableaus of Filial Offspring text makes this abundantly clear.25 AsNishino has indicated, the miracle of curing parents’ blindness is commonamong Six Dynasties ¤lial piety tales.26

A ¤fth-century lacquered cof¤n from Ningxia further intimates thelater provenance of the Shun tale in Tableaus of Filial Offspring. This cof¤n’sexterior was adorned with eight scenes of the Shun story: 1) Shun’s step-mother setting ¤re to the barn while he is repairing the roof; 2) Shun’sfather and half brother ¤lling with stones the well in which Shun is hiding;3) Shun escaping from his neighbor’s well; 4) Gusou losing his sight; 5)Shun’s stepmother carrying ¤rewood to the market to sell; 6) Shun buyingher ¤rewood for twenty times its worth; 7) Gusou desiring to go to the mar-ketplace to meet Shun; 8) Shun speaking with his father, who immediatelyregains his sight.27 Scenes four through eight are completely alien to classi-cal versions of the story but closely mirror the plot of later versions of theShun tale. Although the scenes do not exactly correspond to the Tableaus ofFilial Offspring tale, clearly the latter is a variant of this illustrated version.

Since the great majority of Han dynasty texts no longer exist, one can-not absolutely discard the possibility that Liu Xiang wrote an Accounts ofFilial Offspring, but the extant evidence shows that it is unlikely. We canpositively say, though, that Liu Xiang was not the author of what we knowas Tableaus of Filial Offspring. The ¤rst positive evidence of this work’s exist-ence appears only in the seventh century. So at its earliest, Tableaus of FilialOffspring might have been created in the sixth century and became widelydisseminated in the seventh. Since the association of Liu’s name with thiswork is the only piece of evidence that he created it, this attribution is al-most certainly wrong. But if he did not create the ¤rst Accounts of Filial Off-spring, who did?

Early Pictorial Evidence of Accounts of Filial Offspring

Archaeological evidence suggests that by the second century AD a recog-nized pantheon of celebrated ¤lial offspring already existed. The evidenceconsists of images of ¤lial piety tales that adorn Eastern Han funeraryshrines, tombs, and grave goods. These objects are usually embellished not


with of just one image of a ¤lial piety story, but many.28 These images, more-over, are nearly always arrayed next to each other in the same or adjacentregisters. As table 1 indicates, despite the geographical distance that sepa-rated them, the ¤lial offspring depicted in the artifacts are largely identical.

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

Table 1: Filial Children on Eastern Han Artifacts

1. Two Chinese archaeologists posit that a hitherto unidentified carving at the Wu Liang shrine is that ofShun going up the roof of a barn that his stepmother is about to burn down. Although there is noaccompanying inscription, this identification seems entirely plausible. See Jiang Yingju and Wu Wenqi,Handai Wushi muqun shike yanjiu (Jinan: Shandong meishu, 1995), 76–77, and plate 31. Cited inKuroda, Kôshiden no kenkyû, 188. Kuroda has further identified three more Eastern Han images of thisstory. See his “Jûka zeigo,” in Ronshû Taiheiki no jidai, ed. Hasegawa Tadaishi (Tokyo: Shindensha,2004), 412–415.

2. The iconographical features of one of the images at Dawenkou obviously are those of the Dong Yongstory. Nevertheless, the inscription that accompanies the image misidentifies it as that of Zhao Xun. SeeWang Entian, “Taian Dawenkou han huaxiangshi lishi gushi kao,” Wenwu 12 (1992): 73–78.

Wu Shrines, Shandong PictorialStones

Helinge’er, Mongolia

Murals

Baisha, Henan

Pictorial Stone

Lelang,N. Korea

Lacquered Basket

Leshan, SichuanPictorial

Stone

Dawenkou, Shandong Pictorial

Stone

Murakami Mirror

Shun (√)1 √Min Ziqian √ √ √ √ √Zengzi √ √ √Lao Laizi √ √Ding Lan √ √ √ √ √Xing Qu √ √ √ √Dong Yong √ √ (√)2

Bo Yu √ √ √ √Li Shan √ √ √Wei Tang √ √ √The Filial Crow √ √Yuan Gu √ √ √ √ √Zhang Xiaomu √Zhu Ming √Jin Midi √Sanzhou Xiaoren √Yang Gong √Zhao Xun √ √Shen Sheng √


family shrines have many tales that the others lack. This is probably be-cause the shrines have so many more depictions of the stories than anyother artifact, not because they were working with a different pantheonof exemplars.

Not only are the ¤lial offspring largely the same, but they are also por-trayed uniformly. Representations of the Dong Yong narrative, no matterwhere they are found, show him holding an agricultural implement whilelooking at his father, who is sitting on a one-wheeled cart under a tree30

(see ¤gs. 1 and 2). Likewise, depictions of the Yuan Gu tale always show hisabandoned grandfather sitting on the ground while Yuan, holding a litterin one hand, remonstrates with his father. Although the details of the im-ages on each artifact might differ slightly, the overall scene and gestures re-main the same.

Given the tremendous geographical and cultural distance that sepa-rated Sichuan from Henan and Shandong, much less Korea, if these im-ages were based on oral stories, one would expect that the ¤lial offspringdepicted would differ immensely per region. Moreover, one would imag-ine that even renditions of the same story would vary greatly. That the¤lial offspring images have such a degree of uniformity is remarkable.What accounts for it? Wu Hung believes that the images of ¤lial childrenat the Wu Liang shrine were based on an Accounts of Filial Offspring ratherthan oral tradition. He makes this judgment in part because other imagesat the shrine were copied from written sources31 and in part because onecan ¤nd all of the shrine’s ¤lial piety stories in later Accounts of Filial Off-spring. He thus concludes that “[t]hese carvings, in fact, can be viewed asthe earliest and most complete surviving version of the Xiaozi zhuan.”32

He goes so far as to say that the images were based on an updated versionof Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring.

Although mistaken on the latter point, Wu is right in believing thatthe images at the Wu Liang shrine were based on a written text, which wasprobably an early Accounts of Filial Offspring. The uniformity of the EasternHan images leaves no doubt that they were copied from the same or a de-rivative written text. Further con¤rmation comes from the cartouches withinscriptions that accompany the ¤lial piety stories at the shrine. The in-scription identifying the Dong Yong tale consists of six characters that tellus whence he hailed: “Dong Yong, a man from Qiansheng.” Since mostother inscriptions merely say who the character is or contain a brief de-scription of the story, this identi¤cation seems quite strange. Upon look-ing at Accounts of Filial Offspring entries on Dong Yong, though, this linebegins to make sense, because both Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring


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

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

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


content are close indeed.34 Thus although the depiction of ¤lial pietystories at the Wu Liang shrine is not an Accounts of Filial Offspring in itselfsince only ¤ve of the seventeen images are accompanied by text, they werealmost certainly derived from an early, unknown work of this type, onethat probably had images as well as text.

Recent research adds even more credence to the Eastern Han existenceof an Accounts of Filial Offspring. Lin has noted that the order of ¤lial exem-plars found at the Wu Liang shrine closely matches that of their counter-parts at the Helinge’er tomb in Mongolia. Furthermore, this order ofexemplars nearly reproduces that found in the two Accounts of Filial Off-spring that have survived in Japan. In other words, the ¤lial images foundat the Wu Liang shrine and the Helinge’er tomb, as well as the two manu-scripts, probably all were based on a common ancestor—that is, anAccounts of Filial Offspring that existed during the Eastern Han.35 Usingiconographical evidence, Kuroda further strengthens this point. He notesthat two Han iconographical mysteries are cleared up only by reference tolater Accounts of Filial Offspring. First, many of the Eastern Han depictionsof the Min Ziqian tale show Min’s younger stepbrother driving his family’scart. No Han accounts of this tale make note of this detail. However, bothShi Jueshou’s Accounts of Filial Offspring and Yômei Xiaozi zhuan do; more-over, the four characters they use to do so are the same as those found inan Eastern Han cartouche that accompanies an image of this story. Simi-larly, Eastern Han images of the tale invariably show Zengzi speaking tohis mother while she is working at the loom. This depiction does not ad-here to Han written versions of this tale, in which Zengzi’s mother throwsdown her shuttle and ¶ees after hearing for a third time that her son hasmurdered someone. In fact, the only version of the tale in which Zengzi’smother steadfastly believes in her son’s goodness and does not ¶ee isfound in Yômei Xiaozi zhuan. This suggests that the text was based on anearlier Accounts of Filial Offspring that was the basis for the depiction of thisstory in the Eastern Han iconography. Last, Kuroda notes that the Helinge’erdepictions of exemplary females closely follow the order of their appear-ance in Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women. If that is the case, thenthe order of ¤lial exemplars found at the Helinge’er tomb and at the WuLiang shrine probably reproduces the order of the stories found in theEastern Han version of Accounts of Filial Offspring.36

The connection between early Accounts of Filial Offspring and imagescould shed light on the origins and date of this subgenre. Xing has docu-mented how, in the late Warring States and Western Han, paintings of pastworthies as well as contemporary ¤lial sons and loyal of¤cials often deco-


rated the walls of palaces and ancestral temples. By the Eastern Han, theseimages spread to the walls of government of¤ces and schools.37 Somescholars think that likenesses of famous exemplary men and women pre-ceded the works dedicated to them and that the collective biographies ofexemplars were in fact based on such images of these ¤gures and their eu-logies. For example, “When Feng (Ying Shao’s [ca. 140– ca. 206] father) be-came commandant-in-chief, he ordered that each of the variousgovernment of¤ces in both the prefectures and the kingdoms submit theimage and eulogy of a past [local] person. Shao thereupon connected theirnames and recorded them as The Records of Men’s Dossiers (Zhuang ren ji).”38

Liu Xiang himself stated that he composed Accounts of Outstanding Womento have it painted on the four sections of a screen.39 The postface of Accountsof Outstanding Immortals (Liexian zhuan) maintains that this work wasbased on the seven hundred or more immortals depicted in Ruan Cang’sTableaus of Outstanding Immortals (Liexian tu).40 The Accounts of Filial Off-spring subgenre could have been generated in the same manner; hence itsearliest texts might have included both illustrations and narratives. Perhapsthis is why the individual biographies tend to be so short. Such humble or-igins might also explain why the authors and names of Eastern Han worksof this subgenre were not widely publicized.

This connection between images of the stories and early Accounts ofFilial Offspring also provides us with some sense of the date of these texts.Tombs and funerary shrines with ¤lial piety images seem to appear onlyin the last one hundred years of the Eastern Han,41 with the Wu Liangshrine—the most important of these—dating to AD 151. Since theshrine’s images show evidence of being based on an Accounts of Filial Off-spring and include images of ¤lial sons who lived during the Eastern Han,it means that the prototype of this subgenre was probably created in the¤rst half of the second century AD and soon made its way as far asSichuan in the west and Korea in the east.

Earliest Literary Evidence of Accounts of Filial Offspring

Moving from archaeological to literary evidence, Cao Zhi’s occasionalpoem, “Essay on Numinous Fungi” (Lingzhi pian), is the ¤rst survivingliterary text that presents a series of ¤lial piety tales.42 It reads, in part,

In ancient times there was Yu Shun.

His father and mother were stubborn and deceitful.

He was utterly ¤lial in the furrows of the ¤elds,


Grandly he did not act contrary to benevolence.

When Bo Yu was seventy,

He wore motley [clothes] to please his parents,

When his loving mother whipped him and it didn’t hurt,

He sobbed and tears wet his kerchief.

Ding Lan lost his mother while young

And pitied himself so early orphaned.

He carved wood to be his severe parents [yanqin],

And morning and night brought the three sacri¤cial animals.

When they were insulted by a violent man,

He broke the law, forgetting the punishment.

The stick people cried blood for him,

And he was exonerated and preserved his name.

Dong Yong suffering family poverty,

His old father had no riches to bequeath.

He undertook to borrow to provide his father sustenance,

Worked for hire to bring him sweet fat.

Creditors came ¤lling his gate,

And he didn’t know how to repay them.

The heavenly spirits were moved by his perfect virtue,

A goddess took hold of a loom for him.43

This poem is signi¤cant for two reasons. First, to express his longing forhis deceased father, Cao Zhi was not content to merely retell one or twostories; instead, he recounts ¤ve. This suggests that to convey the fullweight and depth of one’s ¤lial piety, one had to evoke a number ofstories.44 Second, rather than randomly selecting tales from his memory,he recalled as a group the stories he learned by reading an Accounts of FilialOffspring. That the stories he relates are all found at the Wu shrines andHelinge’er and are roughly in the same order as those further indicatesthat Cao is recalling tales from such a text.

Third, the Accounts of Filial Offspring that Cao read was slightly differ-ent from its Eastern Han predecessor and its Southern Dynasties’ succes-sors. Its Dong Yong tale is conspicuously different from later versions. Init, Dong strives to pay off debts he has incurred in lavishly providing forhis living father, rather than endeavoring to pay off debts incurred in bury-ing his dead father. Interestingly, the “Essay on Numinous Fungi” versionof the tale resonates well with the early medieval pictorial representationsof the story, which emphasize Dong’s devotion to his living father byshowing him, while working in the ¤eld, looking back tenderly at the old


man (see ¤gs. 1 and 2). Unlike Eastern Han images and inscriptions, “Es-say on Numinous Fungi” is ambiguous concerning whether Ding Lan’swooden parent is his mother or father (see appendix). Finally, since CaoZhi was both a famous poet and social personage of central importance—his father laid the foundation for the Wei dynasty (220–265), his brotherwas its ¤rst emperor—his use of these tales to express sorrow for hisfather’s death sheds light on the esteem they enjoyed during this period.

Accounts of Filial Offspring and the “Biographies of the Filial”

Another way of ascertaining the ¤rst appearance of Accounts of Filial Off-spring is to look at when court historians began to dedicate special chap-ters to ¤lial offspring in the dynastic histories. The creation of collectivebiographies for types of people frequently came about because privateworks about such people were already in vogue. Privately compiledworks about exemplary women and hermits, such as Accounts of Out-standing Women and Accounts of Recluses (Yimin zhuan), predated the ¤rstappearance of chapters dedicated to them in the dynastic histories.45 Itseems plausible, then, that the dynastic histories’ “Biographies of the Fil-ial” developed in the same way: the existence of Accounts of Filial Offspringprompted their appearance. Hence the ¤rst creation of a “Biographies ofthe Filial” might indicate the prior existence and popularity of Accounts ofFilial Offspring. Han Records of the Eastern Pavilion (Dongguan Han ji),which was compiled at various stages during the Eastern Han,46 was the¤rst state-sponsored history that devoted biographies to people whowere important solely because of their outstanding ¤liality.47 Almost allof these men spent their early lives outside of government and gainedof¤ce only as a reward for their ¤lial behavior. Although Records of theHistorian (Shi ji) and History of the Han also have accounts of ¤lial men,their biographies, on the contrary, focus more on their of¤cial careersand embodiment of Confucian virtues other than ¤lial piety.48 Since BanGu’s History of the Han shows no inclination to single out people for their¤liality, the Han Records of the Eastern Pavilion biographies devoted tomen known solely for their ¤liality were probably written during the laterstages of that work’s compilation. Thus perhaps by the beginning of thesecond century AD, court historians were already devoting biographies toindividuals who were noteworthy solely because of their ¤lial piety. Add-ing weight to this possibility is the fact that, precisely at the beginning ofthe second century, “perfect ¤liality” (zhixiao) became a recruitment cate-gory for selection to the civil service.49 Unfortunately, we do not know


whether the compilers of Han Records of the Eastern Pavilion groupedthese biographies together in a single chapter; what is clear, though, isthat they thought ¤lial offspring were important enough to be includedin their work.

Hua Qiao’s (d. 293) History of the Han’s Later [Half] (Han hou shu) isthe ¤rst known dynastic history that exclusively devoted a chapter to ¤lialoffspring.50 Chapter 39 of Fan Ye’s History of the Later Han, which probablymodeled itself after Hua Qiao’s chapter on ¤lial exemplars, preservesHua’s preface and at least two of his chapter’s biographies.51 Nevertheless,unlike its successors, Hua’s chapter did not have a special name—its titlemerely consisted of the surnames of the individuals featured within.When speaking of this chapter, Liu Zhiji says, “the Accounts of Liu Pingand Jiang Ge, and so on.”52 Following Hua’s lead, Fan’s chapter title alsomerely lists the surnames of the ¤lial children whose biographies appearwithin. If Fan’s placement of this chapter in his History of the Later Han isat all indicative of where Hua placed his chapter, he put it not among thechapters on types of people, but rather among the chapters on individuals.Thus neither Hua nor Fan envisioned it as a collective biography of ¤lialchildren. The ¤rst dynastic history to give a special title to such a chapterand place it among the collective biographies’ chapters is Shen Yue’s(441–513) History of the Song (Song shu). He titled his chapter “Biogra-phies of the Filial and Righteous” (Xiaoyi zhuan).53

One cannot overstate the signi¤cance of the creation of these specialchapters. The appearance of such a chapter in Hua Qiao’s history revealsthat by the late third century, historians held ¤lial piety in such high re-gard that they felt the need to draw attention to its contemporary exem-plars. Nevertheless, in History of the Han’s Later [Half], ¤lial heroes werestill not so signi¤cant that their chapter merited a special name or placewithin the history. The creation of Hua’s chapter also strongly hints at theprior existence of Accounts of Filial Offspring. No doubt, it was from thesetexts that the chapters dedicated to ¤lial children gained their inspirationand some of their content. By giving his chapter on ¤lial children a specialname and placing it among the collective biographies, Shen Yue elevated¤lial offspring to the level of a distinct group of people who were now aspraiseworthy as recluses, virtuous women, famous Confucian scholars,and upright of¤cials. One should note, too, that Shen placed his “Biogra-phies of the Filial and Righteous” at the head of the collective biographies,thereby implying they were more important than the rest.54 Note that hecreated this chapter and its unique name precisely at the height of the pro-duction of Accounts of Filial Offspring.


Evidence of probable borrowing from Accounts of Filial Offspring is no-where clearer than in the account of Cai Shun in History of the Later Han.Like so many of the lives in Accounts of Filial Offspring, this “biography”merely consists of a number of ¤lial episodes strung together—in this casethree. Similar to an incident that happened to Zengzi, the ¤rst episode hasCai’s mother summoning him home by biting her ¤nger. The second epi-sode relates that when a ¤re threatened to consume his mother’s cof¤n,Cai embraced the cof¤n and wailed, thereby miraculously causing the ¤reto shift its direction. The last episode recounts that Cai’s mother was afraidof lightning storms during her life; hence ever since her death, every timethere was a storm, Cai rushed to her grave to comfort her.55 Since this “bi-ography” is entirely composed of ¤lial piety anecdotes, it was probablytaken from an Accounts of Filial Offspring. The historian merely had to addsentences that connected the anecdotes to make it look more like a regularbiography. Hence the historian added lines between the anecdotes thattell us that Cai’s mother died at the age of ninety, that Han Chong recom-mended him for of¤ce, that Cai refused the of¤ce because it would dis-tance him from his mother’s tomb, and that Cai died at the ripe old age ofeighty. Without these facts, the account would have been a perfect ¤t foran Accounts of Filial Offspring. That this is an attached biography, whichFan Ye probably added to Hua Qiao’s existing biographies, increases evenmore the possibility that Fan merely took an entry from an Accounts of Fil-ial Offspring, added a few details, and placed it within his work.

Hence it seems clear that by the Western Jin Accounts of Filial Offspringbegan to inspire and inform the writing of dynastic histories. Nevertheless,the names and number of these early works remain unknown.

Northern and Southern Dynasties’ Accounts of Filial Offspring

Although archaeological and textual evidence point to the prior existenceof Accounts of Filial Offspring, our ¤rst direct testimony of these texts datesfrom the Northern and Southern Dynasties (317–589). Table 2 sets out allof the known Accounts of Filial Offspring, their authors, titles, length, andthe dynastic history bibliography or historical source in which they are¤rst cited.

As the table plainly indicates, Northern and Southern Dynasties writ-ers accounted for the lion’s share of known Accounts of Filial Offspring. Ofthe twenty-four known examples, eighteen were products of this period.Of these eighteen, Southern Dynasties writers produced fourteen. If wewere able to pinpoint the origins of numbers sixteen through eighteen,

Table 2: Information on Accounts of Filial Offspring

Author Position Dynasty Title Length Source

Xiao Guangji (5th c.)

Bulwark-general of the state (rank 3)

E. Jin Xiaozi zhuan 15 juan Shishuo xinyu zhu 1.14 (6th c.)

Xu Guang (fl. 416)

Chamberlain for the national treasury (rank 1)

E. Jin Xiaozi zhuan 3 Shitong 10.274 (early 8th c.)

Yu Panyou (5th c.)

Recluse E. Jin Xiaozi zhuan 1 Jiu Tang shu 46.2002

Tao Yuanming (365-427)

District magistrate (rank 7)

E. Jin Xiao zhuan 1 Tao Yuanming ji 8.313-21 (6th c.)

Zheng Jizhi (5th c.)

Supernumerary senior recorder (rank 3)

Liu-Song Xiaozi zhuan zan 10 Shishuo xinyu zhu 1.47

Wang Shaozhi (380-435)

Palace attendant(rank 3)

Liu-Song Xiaozi zhuan zan 3 or 151 Sui shu 33.976

Zhou Jingshi(5th c.)

? Liu-Song Xiaozi zhuan unknown Yiwen leiju 89.1548 (early 7th c.)

Wang Xinzhi2 (5th c.)

Grand master for splen-did happiness (rank 3)

Liu-Song Xiaozi zhuan unknown Chuxue ji 1.21 (late 7th c.)

Shi Jueshou(5th c.)

Recluse S. Qi Xiaozi zhuan 8 Sui shu 33.976

Song Gong (fl. 491)

Inspector of law enforce-ment (rank 5)

S. Qi Xiaozi zhuan 10 Sui shu 33.976

Liu Qiu

(5th c.)Recluse S. Qi Xiaozi zhuan unknown Nan shi 73.1822

Xiao Yan3 Emperor Wu of the Liang

Liang Xiaozi zhuan 30 Xin Tang shu 58.1480

Xiao Yi Emperor Yuan of the Liang

Liang Xiaode zhuan 30 Sui shu 33.976

Anonymous S. Dynasties Xiaozi zhuan (Yômei bunko)

2 Reishûkai (833)

Han Xian zong (d. 499)

Vice director of the secre-tariat (rank 4)

N. Wei Xiaoyou zhuan 10 Wei shu 60.1345 (6th c.)

Anonymous N. and S. Dynasties

Xiaozi zhuanlüe 2 Sui shu 33.976

Attributed to Liu Xiang

N. and S. Dynasties

Xiaozi tu or Xiaozi zhuan

unknown Fayuan zhulin 49.362 (7th c.)

Author Position Dynasty Title Length Source

Shen Xiu?4 N. and S. Dynasties

Xiaoyou zhuan 8 Sui shu 33.976

Anonymous Tang Xiaozi zhuan

(Funabashi) 2

Lang Yuling (fl.660)

Assistant editorial direc-tor (6b)

Tang Xiaozi houzhuan 30 Xin Tang shu 58.1483

Li Xiyu (7th c.)

Aide to the superior area command (rank 3a)

Tang Zhongxiao tuzhuan

20 Jiu Tang shu 46.2002

Wu Zhao (624-705)

Empress Wu Zetian Tang Xiaonü zhuan 20 Xin Tang shu 58.1487

Anonymous ? Za Xiaozi zhuan 2 Jiu Tang shu 46.2002

Zhao Chong (fl. 841-846)

? Tang Xiaoxing zhi 20 Xin Tang shu 58.1486

1. Whereas Sui shu states that this work was three juan, Jin Tang shu says it was fifteen (46.2002). Perhaps in aneffort to reconcile this contradiction, Xin Tang shu states that his Xiaozi zhuan was 15 juan, whereas the eulogiesattached to it were three juan long (58.1480). Wang Shaozhi’s Nanshi biography states that he wrote a Xiaozizhuan in three juan (24.662).

2. This work is known only through quotations from Tang and Song encyclopedias, such as Chuxue ji 1.21 andTaiping yulan 13.3b. Some scholars think the character xin in his name was merely a copyist’s error for the charac-ter shao. Thus Wang Xinzhi’s Xiaozi zhuan should be Wang Shaozhi’s Xiaozi zhuan. See Guxiao huizhuan, by HuangRenheng (Guangzhou: Juzhen yinwuju, 1925), 13.3b; and Yao Zhenzong, “Suishu jingji zhi kaozheng,” Ershiwushi bubian, 6 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1955), 4:5350. Although this explanation is plausible, Wang Xinzhicould have written a Xiaozi zhuan, which unlike that of Wang Shaozhi, did not make it into the bibliographicchapters of the histories. Adding to the likeliness that he might have written such a text are the facts that eitherhis great-grandfather or grandfather wrote Lienü houzhuan and that he himself wrote a local geographical workcalled the Nankang ji (Jin shu, 51.1435–1436). Hence his family had a tradition of writing local histories andbiographies of exemplars. For his biography, see Song shu, 92.2270.

3. The attribution of this Xiaozi zhuan to Xiao Yan is doubtful for three reasons: First, Xin Tang shu, a Songdynasty work, is the first to mention this text. Second, its thirty-juan length is suspiciously the same as that ofXiao Yi’s Xiaode zhuan. Third, it is not quoted in any surviving Tang or Song dynasty encyclopedia. These factsmake one wonder whether the compilers of Xin Tang shu mistakenly listed Xiao Yi’s work twice and attributedone of the titles to Xiao Yan, since they knew he had written a poem titled “A Prose-poem on Filial Thoughts.”

4. Sui shu merely lists an anonymous Xiaoyou zhuan in eight juan. Jin Tang shu (46.2002) lists Xiao Yi as theauthor of a text with the same title in eight juan. Since Xiao Yi was already author of one Xiaozi zhuan, the editorsof Jin Tang shu might have thought it made sense to credit him with this anonymous Xiaoyou zhuan as well. Inter-estingly, Xin Tang shu credits Shen Xiu, not Xiao Yi, with authoring a Xiaoyou zhuan in eight juan (Xin Tang shu,46.2002). All three of these entries are probably referring to the same text. This work might have had illustrationsof the stories. Xin Tang shu tells us that when Li Qijun was serving as the regional inspector of Changzhou, he putup many schools. On the walls of these schools he had copies of the illustrations found in Xiaoyou zhuantu drawnto show the students (Jiu Tang shu, 146.4736).


which were almost certainly written during the Northern and SouthernDynasties period, the number of texts with southern origins might goeven higher. No wonder, then, that Liu Zhiji believed a southerner, XuGuang, was the originator of this subgenre. In fact, only one of theknown Six Dynasties authors, Han Xianzong (d. 499), lived in the north.Since he lived later than the earliest southern authors, his text might havebeen inspired by southern examples. This information suggests that theAccounts of Filial Offspring subgenre ¤rst became prominent and ¶our-ished during the Southern Dynasties. Consequently, it must have hadspecial resonance for southerners.

The southern predilection for these texts might have been a reactionto the licentiousness and extravagance with which the disfranchisedsouthern elite associated the powerful, northern émigré elite. One of ourbest informants on this fourth-century cultural clash is Ge Hong (284–363). He describes the members of the émigré elite as marked by the fol-lowing malicious tendencies: granting of¤ce not on the basis of one’s tal-ent or virtue, but on one’s wealth or connections; rewarding men for theirability to engage in clever speech, rather than the quality of their achieve-ments or scholarship; intentionally ignoring social conventions and goodmanners—instead, they merely satisfy their material desires by drinkingexcessively, taking drugs, and engaging in sexual hedonism.56 Since theheroes of Accounts of Filial Offspring embodied respect for hierarchy,sel¶essness, self-discipline, and achievement based on merit, by compil-ing these works, southern literati might have been both subtly criticizingthe political and moral corruption of the émigré elite and championingthemselves as the true defenders of the Chinese moral tradition.

Table 2 above also illuminates how this subgenre changed over time.At ¤rst, these works were predominately named Accounts of Filial Offspring(Xiaozi zhuan). If the known works are at all representative, it was only inthe Liang dynasty that authors began to slightly vary the titles of these col-lections by changing the second character of their names so that titles suchas Accounts of the Filial and Virtuous (Xiaode zhuan) or Accounts of the Filialand Friendly (Xiaoyou zhuan) began to appear. Although of¤cials continuedto compile Accounts of Filial Offspring during the early Tang, by mid-dynasty no works with the same or similar title appear in the imperial bib-liographies. The only work with a remotely similar title was Zhao Chong’sTreatise on Filial Behavior (Xiaoxing zhi); nevertheless, since its title is differ-ent, its contents and aims might have been different as well. Indeed, WangSanqing’s research on encyclopedias suggests that many of the ¤lial pietystories found at Dunhuang are fragments of encyclopedias, not Accounts of


Filial Offspring. The one collection of ¤lial piety stories that Wang has beenable to reconstruct that was not drawn from an encyclopedia section on¤liality seems more akin to a Twenty-four Filial Exemplars popular text thana scholarly Accounts of Filial Offspring.57 These facts indicate that by themid-Tang prominent men were no longer authoring these texts. So far outof favor did this subgenre fall that none of its works survived into theSouthern Song.58

Several aspects of Accounts of Filial Offspring suggest that they were in-tended for adult consumption. Although some were short, many werelengthy—something one would not expect if they were meant for chil-dren.59 Furthermore, since a number were as long as twenty or thirty juan,they must have contained hundreds of ¤lial piety accounts. Even thoughtwo Accounts of Filial Offspring that survive in Japan are only one roll long,each work has forty-¤ve tales. Hence unlike later Twenty-four Filial Exemplar–style tracts, it is doubtful that any of these works had only twenty-four tales.Another potential indicator of whether these works were meant for chil-dren would be the inclusion of illustrations. With the exception of LiuXiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring, none of the other works indicate thatthey had images. In other words, although the earliest Accounts of Filial Off-spring might have been illustrated, when the subgenre emerges onto thehistorical record, they are merely documents composed of text.

Who wrote these texts? Although information on many of the authorsis not plentiful, we do know that they shared a number of characteristics.First, they were usually high of¤cials who came from eminent families. Ofthe eighteen known authors, eight were of¤cials who reached positions inthe middle and higher echelons (rank ¤ve and above) of the central gov-ernment, while three became emperors. Almost all the compilers camefrom prominent families that had regional, if not national, fame. Of theauthors whose choronyms we know, a few came from nationally promi-nent great families,60 while others came from lineages that had producedmany central government of¤ceholders.61 For example, Wang Xinzhi’sfamily produced ¤ve generations of high of¤cials and was prominentfrom the Jin through the Song.62 Even the authors who were recluses camefrom well-known and well-connected families.63 In sum, the authors werenearly all important personages from politically signi¤cant families. Per-haps this provides us with a clue as to why the author of the Eastern HanAccounts of Filial Offspring remains unknown—he was of little social stand-ing, hence his work was not included in the imperial library.

Many of the authors were historians and proli¤c writers. Several wrotedynastic histories and geographical works.64 The latter are particularly


noteworthy because, like Accounts of Filial Offspring, their contents oftenrecord fantastic events or phenomena.65 These authors’ strong historicalbent suggests that for them Accounts of Filial Offspring were merely yetanother type of historical work—a type that expressed the kind of personthey aspired to be or wanted to be known as, a point to which I willreturn.

One last shared characteristic, but an important one, is that many ofthese men were known for their keen interest in promoting ¤lial piety,which took many different forms. In addition to writing an Accounts ofFilial Offspring, Yu Panzuo wrote a commentary on The Classic of FilialPiety. Shi Jueshou was so well known for his ¤liality that the compilers ofHistory of the Southern Dynasties included him in their “Biographies of theFilial.”66 Liu Qiu was so ¤lial that he inspired his student, Han Huaiming,a famous ¤lial son in his own right, to quit his studies and dedicate hislife to caring for his mother.67 Indeed, Liu’s ¤lial conduct was so out-standing that his life was included in Emperor’s Yuan’s Accounts of the Fil-ial and Virtuous. As governor, Wang Shaozhi recommended for of¤ce thefamous ¤lial sons Wu Kui (5th cent.) and Pan Zong (¶. 400) as “¤lial andincorrupt” candidates.68 Obviously, the authors of these texts were deeplycommitted to encouraging this virtue.

Curiously, the apparent decline in the subgenre of Accounts of FilialOffspring coincides with a growing imperial interest in it. Even thoughthese texts unequivocally began to gain prominence during the Jin (265–420), it was only during the Liang dynasty (502–556) that royalty beganto compile them. The reason for this gap is that during the Southern Dy-nasties’ ¤rst half, literati were establishing that the possession or author-ship of an Accounts of Filial Offspring demonstrated one’s own ¤lial virtue.By the period’s second half, aspirants to the throne realized that compil-ing these texts would add luster to their own legitimacy. The ¤rst royal tounequivocally write such a work was Xiao Yi, the seventh son of EmperorWu of the Liang who would later become Emperor Yuan. Since his em-perorship lasted only two years (r. 552–554), he probably compiled hisAccounts of the Filial and Virtuous well before assuming the throne. Hisauthorship of this work, along with his Accounts of Loyal Retainers, inti-mates that through these works he was attempting to establish his cre-dentials as both a ¤lial son and a loyal subject.

Royally compiled Accounts of Filial Offspring were also frequently writ-ten for the bene¤t of princes. For instance, while serving as an aide toCrown Prince Li Hong (651–675), Lang Yuling (¶. 660) added to Xiao Yi’sAccounts of the Filial and Virtuous, creating a thirty-juan work called The


Later Accounts of Filial Children (Xiaozi houzhuan), which he presented tothe appreciative crown prince.69 Lang ostensibly created this work to en-hance Li’s ¤liality, but he was probably merely aiming to attain Li’s goodwill. Wu Zetian, on the other hand, supposedly ordered the creation of anAccounts of Filial Offspring to admonish the wayward Crown Prince Li Xian(652–684).70 If this was indeed the case, she had this work written for aman who was already in his twenties.71

Although admonishing the wayward crown prince might have beenone of her motives, she no doubt had others. Guisso has emphasized thatdue to the hostility with which Confucians viewed female participation ingovernment, while Emperor Gaozong (r. 650–683) was still alive, Wuworked diligently to burnish her Confucian credentials.72 Since her Accountsof Filial Offspring was written well before Gaozong’s death, probably one ofher motives for sponsoring it was to indicate that she was the epitome of a¤lial daughter, which is suggested by the work’s title: Accounts of FilialDaughters.73 With no doubt the same aim in mind, she also ordered thecompilation of an Accounts of Outstanding Women. Nevertheless, soonafter publication of these works, imperial fascination with this subgenredisappeared rapidly.

In sum, although an Accounts of Filial Offspring most certainly existedbefore the Northern and Southern Dynasties, it was during this periodthat they reached the height of their popularity and prominence. Duringthat time, eminent historians whose families had long traditions ofof¤cial service compiled them, and even princes endeavored to add lusterto their names by doing the same. After the early Tang, though, they ap-pear to have gradually lost the elite’s favor. In the dynastic histories’ bib-liographies, one ¤nds few references to Accounts of Filial Offspring createdduring the Tang dynasty; instead, one ¤nds much cruder versions of col-lections of ¤lial piety tales surviving at Dunhuang. By Southern Sungtimes, all Accounts of Filial Offspring completely disappear in China—clearly their age had passed.

The Patrons of Images of Filial Piety Stories

Having examined the identity of Accounts of Filial Offspring authors, let usnow turn to determining their audience. To supplement the literaryrecord, this section will focus on archaeological evidence. Early medievaltombs and grave goods have furnished numerous depictions of ¤lial pietytales. Since tomb owners (or their descendents) played a large role in se-lecting the images that would adorn their ¤nal resting places,74 tombs and


grave goods decorated with ¤lial piety narratives provide us with a keensense of the identity of the tales’ consumers. The patron’s discretion inchoosing iconographical elements is apparent in that only a few of thedecorated tombs or shrines from the Han display images of ¤lial pietytales.75 Thus, that tomb owners chose to decorate their eternal abode with¤lial piety tales indicates that they were not only familiar with the tales,but also attached great signi¤cance to them. Since these same peopleprobably knew the tales from reading Accounts of Filial Offspring, the im-ages also indirectly provide us with a sense of this type of text’s readership.

In the Eastern Han, those who adorned their tombs or funeraryshrines with the tales were of¤cials who primarily served in regional posts.The tomb at Helinge’er belonged to a man who held a series of regionalof¤ces: prefect, acting chief commander, and ¤nally a commandant whoprotects the Wuhuan—a high position that commanded a salary of twothousand piculs of grain.76 Although the identity of the tomb owner whowas buried with the exquisite lacquered basket is unknown, that his gravecontained an offering from his former subordinate indicates that he, too,must have been at least a district magistrate or a high of¤cer in the prefec-ture.77 Although Wu Liang (78–151) was a recluse, his nephew Wu Ban(d. 145) served as the chief clerk of Dunhuang, while his other nephewWu Rong (d. 167), who attended the Imperial University, was recom-mended for of¤ce as a “¤lial and incorrupt” candidate and reached the po-sition of aide to the chamberlain for the imperial insignia.78 Studies ofother Eastern Han tombs decorated with pictorial stones suggest that theiroccupants were typically of¤cials who held regional posts or were mem-bers of local, powerful clans.79

From their lavishly constructed tombs, elaborately embellished fu-nerary shrines, and rich grave goods, it is also evident that the occupantsof these Eastern Han tombs were wealthy. Since the Helinge’er tomb islarge (nineteen meters long), multichambered, and elaborated decorated,the tomb owner’s family must have been immensely rich. The inclusion ofa depiction of an estate and all its various economic activities in the inner-most and most personal chamber provides the viewer with an idea of thesource of his wealth.80 An inscription on one of the commemorative tow-ers at the Wu family graveyard provides us with a sense of how costly anundertaking it was: the two towers alone cost 150,000 cash (one could livecomfortably on one hundred cash a day), while the accompanying stonelions cost 40,000.81 In the Lelang grave, the tomb lord and his two wiveswere buried in lacquered cof¤ns, and nearly all of their grave goods werelacquerware. Since such ware was highly prized during this period, it again


attests to the tomb owner’s wealth. Katô has noted that Han tombs withindividually carved pictorial stones were expensive undertakings.82

Although admittedly small, our sample of Eastern Han tombs with¤lial piety images is suggestive. First, we do not ¤nd representations of¤lial children in the tombs of royalty—only in those of of¤cials. More-over, they do not appear in tombs near the capital, but rather in provincialtombs. Thompson describes the elite tombs of the capital area as havingfewer rooms and little or no decoration, and as being smaller in size thantheir provincial counterparts.83 In other words, these images seem to havebeen favored by members of the provincial, rather than the metropolitan,elite that favored much more lavish burials. Perhaps the author of theEastern Han Accounts of Filial Offspring was a relatively obscure member ofthe provincial elite, thus his work did not gain the court’s attention. Weshould also keep in mind that tombs with representations of ¤lial chil-dren begin to appear only in the second century, which is precisely whencentral government power was declining and local elite power was as-cending. Hence during the Eastern Han, images of tales of ¤lial childrenseem to have had a special appeal for members of powerful local families.

Owners of Six Dynasties grave goods adorned with ¤lial piety taleshad much loftier status than their Eastern Han counterparts. They oftenlived in the capital and were high of¤cials or nobles. In some cases theywere both. The earliest example is Zhu Ran (182–249), whose tomb con-tained a lacquered dish illustrated with the story of the ¤lial son Bo Yu.Zhu was an important general, high-ranking of¤cial, marquis, and inti-mate friend of Sun Quan (182–252), the founder of the Wu dynasty(220–280).84 Sima Jinlong (d. 484), the tomb owner buried with a lac-quered screen, which was unearthed in Datong (the early capital of theNorthern Wei), and who was the son of a famous of¤cial and imperialSärbi princess, was the king of Langye, governor of Shuozhou, and minis-ter of the personnel bureau (rank 3). Obviously, he was a member of theNorthern Wei’s uppermost social stratum.85 As far as can be determined,since these objects were not scienti¤cally excavated, stone cof¤ns, beds,and funerary shrines unearthed near the Northern Wei capital of Luoyangalso belonged to men who were high of¤cials and sometimes nobles.86

Even one of the few provincial examples from this period, a tomb inNingxia made famous due to its painted lacquer cof¤n, might have alsobelonged to a man who was both a high of¤cial and a noble.87 If thiscof¤n, as Chinese archaeologists believe, belonged to a man of Särbi de-scent, it would indicate that ¤lial piety stories were esteemed not only byChinese, but also their Inner Eurasian conquerors.88


Signi¤cantly, paralleling the decline in interest in Accounts of Filial Off-spring, few excavated Tang tombs or grave goods are adorned with the ¤lialpiety stories. To date, one of the few known Tang depictions of these talesis found on a stupa-shaped pottery vessel, which has four ¤lial pietystories inscribed on its sides, plus four assemblies of small clay ¤gurinesnext to each inscription. It was found in the tomb of an important InnerEurasian general named Qibi Ming (649–695).89 Perhaps his interest inthe ¤lial piety stories was connected with the fact that he served under WuZetian and wanted to show his embrace of Chinese culture. Yet it is alsonecessary to point out how insigni¤cant these images are within the over-all context of the tomb. The ¤lial piety stories adorn neither the walls ofthe tomb nor the sides of a sarcophagus. Moreover, since the clay ¤guresare quite small and the inscriptions are etched into the body of the pot,neither is very noticeable nor immediately recognizable.90 Furthermore,the narratives decorate a Buddhist object. Hence even within this tombthe ¤lial piety tales seem to be of less importance than in the past.

In sum, during the Northern and Southern Dynasties, not only werehigh of¤cials and nobles composing Accounts of Filial Offspring, but theywere also enthusiastic consumers of their tales that used images of the nar-ratives to adorn their eternal abodes. Moreover, in that era, although mem-bers of the local elite continued to be interested in these narratives—as twopictorial stones with the depictions of Guo Ju and Lao Laizi from Deng-xian in southern Henan Province make evident91—members of the met-ropolitan elite were now fervent connoisseurs of the stories. Also, withthe exception of Dengxian, Northern and Southern Dynasties’ images of¤lial piety tales occur entirely in northern China. Since most of the au-thors of Accounts of Filial Offspring were men who lived in southernChina, this means that the tales, and the collections that conveyed them,circulated broadly and found favor with northerners and southerners,Chinese and non-Chinese alike. This situation seems to have ¤nallyended in the Tang. Indicative of changing tastes, Tang tomb lords nolonger chose to adorn their graves or cof¤ns with ¤lial piety tales. Per-haps this also signals that literati were no longer so interested in compil-ing, reading, and transmitting Accounts of Filial Offspring.

Using Exemplars to Create Exemplars

Having shown that the early medieval elite esteemed Accounts of Filial Off-spring as well as their illustrations, we now turn to the question of why.What purposes did these texts and pictures serve to garner so much


respect? Also, although we have established that it was the upper class thattransmitted and valued these texts and their illustrations, can we sharpenour understanding of for whom among the upper class these texts and im-ages were meant?

In a seminal article, Brown argues that men in second-century tosixth-century Rome, whether pagan or Christian, strove to perfect them-selves by trying to imitate and reproduce the behavior of worthy men ofthe past. For Christians, the ultimate exemplar was Christ, whose behav-ior was copied by martyrs and saints. Since books contained the wordsand deeds of past worthies, they were the guides by which men of thepresent strove to make themselves into men of the past.92 In early medi-eval China, modeling oneself after men of excellence was also of criticalimportance because it was believed that young people would naturallyimitate the behavior of others. According to Yan Zhitui,

When men are young, their minds and emotions are not settled. With

whomever they closely associate, they are imbued, soaked, molded and dyed

with the way of thinking, laughing, and acting. Even though they have no in-

tention of imitating their associates, they are quietly moved and uncon-

sciously changed, and naturally they end by resembling each other. As for

conduct and skill, the case is even clearer, for these are easier to learn. There-

fore, “to live with good people is like staying in a room of orchids where,

after a long time, one will naturally be sweet-scented; to associate with bad

people is like living in a dried-¤sh shop, where, after a long time, one would

invariably become imbued with the odor.”93

Hence for a young man to learn proper behavior, nothing was more im-portant than exposing him to people who behaved well. Just being withsuch people would transform his conduct for the better. Even book learn-ing could not equal model emulation.94

Of course, the men most worthy of imitation, such as sages, were al-most impossible to encounter. Nevertheless, one still had access to themthrough books that recorded their words and deeds.95 Through readingthese works, one improved his or her behavior by viewing how the an-cients conducted themselves. One thereby learns things like how to serveone’s parents—not through grasping ¤lial piety as an abstract principle,but by viewing the speci¤c ways in which the ancients were ¤lial.96 Thuscontemporaries viewed replication of the acts of past exemplars as an un-quali¤ed good in itself. For instance, when Yu Liang (289–340) had anuncontrollable horse, he explained his refusal to sell it by noting,


If I sell it, there has to be a buyer, and so I will be harming the new owner. I

would far rather inconvenience myself than shift the risk to someone else.

Long ago Sun Shu-ao killed a two-headed snake for the bene¤t of those who

might come after him. Isn’t it a mark of understanding to imitate the excel-

lent stories of antiquity?97

By replicating Sun Shu’ao’s virtuous act, Yu not only performed a gooddeed, but simultaneously displayed his knowledge and appreciation ofpast worthies.

Appreciating past worthies was important because they were alwaysin the minds of early medieval men. The past sages were not distant, un-reachable phantoms; instead, they were accessible companions who werealways present in the literati’s conversations and thoughts. Consequently,educated men and women often employed them as a yardstick to measuretheir contemporaries’ worthiness.98 Some men were so virtuous that con-temporaries even perceived them to be embodiments of the sages.99 Dis-cussing past exemplars and comparing oneself or others to them was thusan important means by which early medieval people de¤ned themselvesand calculated a person’s worth.

However, gentlemen not only wanted to be compared to the ancients,they yearned to have some kind of intimate relationship with past wor-thies. In their death testaments, a number of early medieval literati asked tobe buried next to famous virtuous men.100 Zhao Qi (108–201) even createda tomb for himself in which he had the images of four great statesmen—JiZha (¶. mid-6th cent. BC), Zi Chan (d. 522 BC), Yan Ying (ca. 580–510BC), and Shu Xiang (d. ca. 520 BC)—painted in the positions of guests,while his own image occupied the host’s seat.101 Thus it appears that he in-tended to spend eternity engaged in delightful conversation with these re-nowned gentlemen. Spiro argues that one of the reasons Southern Qiroyalty had portraits of the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove in theirtombs was so they would be associated and could commune with theseexemplars of re¤nement and wit.102 Ji Kang (224–263) compiled Accountsof Sagely and Worthy Lofty Gentlemen (Shengxian Gaoshi zhuan), which con-tains reports about recluses from high antiquity down to the present,“with a desire to befriend those men for a thousand years.”103 In short, byremembering their words, actions, and likenesses, one could still comeinto the ancients’ presence.

Since past worthies were so important to how men viewed themselvesand others, being able to identify who they were and correctly appraisingtheir merits became an important activity in itself. Thus the relative merits


of past exemplars became a serious topic of discussion, on a par with po-litical, military, literary, and philosophical matters.104 At any moment, aneducated man might be called upon to defend his region by naming its fa-mous people.105 A man’s contemporaries might even slight him based onhis ¶awed evaluation of past worthies. Wang Huizhi’s (d. 388) contempo-raries deemed him arrogant because in his reading of Accounts of LoftyGentlemen (Gaoshi zhuan), he thought Sima Xiangru (d. 117 BC) was loft-ier than Jing Dan (1st cent.).106 Thus even though Zhao Qi compiled a col-lection of biographies of Changan’s worthy native sons, he was so afraidhis contemporaries might misunderstand his judgments that he was will-ing to show this work only to an intimate friend.107

Knowing the emphasis that early medieval culture put on emulationand exemplars, we will now explore the reasons why literati wrote Ac-counts of Filial Offspring. Since few prefaces from these works survive, let usbegin by seeing how contemporaries classi¤ed these texts and interpretedtheir aims.

In bibliographies, early medieval scholars placed Accounts of Filial Off-spring in the history section under the category “miscellaneous accounts”(zazhuan). Miscellaneous accounts were private, book-length compila-tions of short narratives whose contents were thought to be historical butnot entirely reliable. Their subjects were noteworthy people who eitherperformed or were involved in fantastic events. The prototypes of theseworks were almost certainly the collective biographies in Sima Qian’sRecords of the Historian, such as his chapters on “Assassin-retainers,” “Wan-dering Knights,” “Money-makers,” and “Harsh Of¤cials.” In the postscriptto the “miscellaneous accounts” section of the bibliographic treatise in hisHistory of the Sui (Sui shi), Wei Zheng (580–643) explains how this genreof works was created.

Sima Qian and Ban Gu gathered [the records of past historians and memori-

als from across the country] and wrote [their histories]. Of¤cials who pro-

vided aid and steadfast support [to the state] and gentlemen (shi) who relied

on righteousness and excellence all had records therein. However, as to

those who had outstanding conduct and lofty purity, but were not entrapped

by “the world,” the Records of the Historian only has a biography of [Bo] Yi

and [Shu] Qi,108 while the History of the Han only records Yang Wangsun109

and his kind. All the rest are omitted and not mentioned. Again, during the

Han, Ruan Cang wrote the Tableaus of Outstanding Immortals and Liu Xiang,

while he was collating and putting into order the books [of the imperial li-

brary], began to write the [accounts] of the Outstanding Immortals, Outstanding


Gentlemen (Lieshi), and Outstanding Women. All of these works followed his

lofty inclinations and were urgently completed by him. They were not in the

standard histories.110

Those works that Wei put in the “miscellaneous accounts” category, then,are independent ones that convey the lives of extraordinary individualswhom the standard histories tend to overlook, such as recluses, immor-tals, and women, because they are not part of “the world”—that is, theyare neither of¤cials nor potential of¤cials. Hence these works tended todepict the lives of outstanding people who had little or no contact withthe state. Signi¤cantly, works of this genre outnumber all other types ofearly medieval historical writings, and no other period came close tomatching this period’s output of miscellaneous accounts.111

The Tang historian Liu Zhiji viewed the miscellaneous accounts thatconcerned speci¤c types of exemplars as constituting a distinct group oftexts that he called “separate accounts” (biezhuan). Each of these texts ad-vocates a separate virtue or ethic by gathering together tales of people whohave manifested it in their conduct. The works Liu included in this cate-gory are Accounts of Filial Offspring, Accounts of Recluses, Accounts of LoyalRetainers, and Accounts of Outstanding Women. As Liu puts it, all of theseworks are the same in that they lead people to goodness; that is, they areall didactic in nature.112 However, for Liu they all suffer from the samedefect—they lack originality.

As for the “separate accounts” (biezhuan), they do not originate out of one’s

own thoughts; they do not proceed from one’s own words. Their compilers

merely widely select [items] from previous histories and gather them together

into books. Those books that are suf¤cient in new words and other supple-

mentary information generally do not number more than one out of ten. If

one is of the ilk that has not heard or studied much, then he greatly praises

and admires these works; as for those scholars who explore the deep and

search the hidden, then these books contain no material that can be of use.113

Liu considers these works to be inferior histories because their authors donot seek out new material, but merely rehash items found in previousones. Hence for serious historians they offer little of value. Nevertheless,he admits that they garner high praise from shallow literati. But whomdoes he mean? Upon re¶ecting on the phrase “one of the ilk that has notheard or studied much,” one might think that he meant adolescents oryoung adults who had barely started to plumb the depths of traditional


literature. This of course is one possibility. But in other places in hiswork, the people Liu condemns as not suf¤ciently learned are court his-torians like Gan Bao (¶. 317–350) who incorporated fantastic materialsinto their histories.114 Thus Liu could merely mean that these separate ac-counts were created for run-of-the-mill scholars of any age.

Like other works that Liu labeled “separate accounts,” Accounts of FilialOffspring were meant to neither ¤ll in the historical record’s lacunae norfurnish factual accounts. More than anything else, they aimed at providingeye-catching examples of unusual people who were models of ¤lial behav-ior. As the compiler of the Yômei Xiaozi zhuan states in his preface, “Theseare all virtuous people who have the ¤lial hearts of sages and will certainlybring about that which the gentleman admires. I have not chosen the com-monplace (fanyong).”115 This interest in extraordinary behavior naturallyled the compilers of Accounts of Filial Offspring and other separate accountsto choose material that was emotionally compelling and morally instruc-tive, rather than that which was completely historically accurate. Accordingto Liu Zhiji, in separate accounts works such as Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Out-standing Women and Accounts of Outstanding Immortals, many items are¤ctional parables that the author knowingly recast as historical accounts toincite his readers.116 That is, instead of reporting history, such authors werefraudulently creating history. Their purpose in fabricating these accountsseems quite apparent: the compilers were trying to make theoretical prin-ciples of correct behavior palpable to their audience by illustrating themwith historical people who performed the speci¤c acts constituting that vir-tue or ethic. Obviously, for these acts to have legitimacy in the eyes of theauthors’ contemporaries, they had to be done by “real” people. This onceagain indicates that early medieval people preferred to guide their behaviorwith concrete models rather than abstract principles.

The few intact Accounts of Filial Offspring explicitly call attention totheir didactic function; moreover, they imply that their intended audi-ence might well be educated adults. Tao Yuanming’s Accounts of Filialityexplicitly states that its readers should imitate the behavior of the exem-plars described within: “Oh you multitude of commoners, take these pre-vious exemplars as models!”117 Although this comment appears only atthe end of the section on commoners, it no doubt applied to the fourother classes described within the work as well. The preface of the YômeiXiaozi zhuan also plainly states that it is a teaching tool.

I have now recorded [the lives] of many ¤lial offspring and have divided

them into two rolls (juan), in order to show and instruct later generations


(housheng). As for those who are knowledgeable in ¤liality and righteous-

ness, and men who have comprehensive knowledge and gentlemen who

have superior intelligence, I hope you will not sneer at this work.118

The didactic function of these texts is clear. But once again, the pressingquestion becomes, Whom are these texts meant to instruct? The aforemen-tioned preface, like Liu Zhiji’s comments that scholars of wide learning willnot ¤nd these texts useful, makes it clear that scholars with profoundknowledge are not the text’s intended audience. This might mean, therefore,that adolescents and young men, due to their relative dearth of knowledge,were. Yet as Liu asserted, people who have comprehensive knowledge andsuperior intelligence are in short supply, hence those who were meant toread this work might have been just ordinary scholars. Moreover, since theauthor of Yômei Xiaozi zhuan was afraid that superior intellects might belittlehis text, he clearly thought that they, too, might read it. Furthermore, sincehis remark above might merely be an expression of humility, the authormight have expected that other well-read men would read this work.

Another indication that the Accounts of Filial Offspring were not onlysupposed to provide children with examples of morally impeccable people,but were also meant to spur adults to moral greatness can be seen in thefeelings that perusing these works aroused. According to the ethos of theday, reading accounts of past worthies should kindle in a person a burn-ing desire to reproduce their behavior. According to History of the LiangDynasty (Liang shu),

[Xiao Yili] by nature was impassioned (kangkai) and desired to establish a

sterling reputation. Every time he read a book and saw [the deeds of] a loyal

retainer or an outstanding gentleman, he would always put down the scroll

and sigh, saying, “Within one’s lifetime, there should be once when we are

not ashamed before the ancients.”119

Clearly, reading biographies of worthies fueled Xiao’s ambitions: it madehim feel an even greater urge to perform acts that would equal, if not out-shine, theirs. An important word in this passage is kangkai,, which is di-rectly related to another compound, kairan, both of which are oftenemployed when speaking of a person who is reading about exemplars.Kangkai and kairan share the meaning of stirring one’s ardor or ambi-tion.120 The appearance of these compounds seems to imply that perus-ing these works had almost a visceral effect on their readers: the accountscompelled the reader to admire and imitate the exemplars contained


within. A letter in which Ji Kang emphatically denies having any interestin public of¤ce shows this clearly: “Everytime I read the biographies ofShang Chang and Tai Tong [two Eastern Han recluses], my passion isaroused (kairan) and I yearn for them and wish for their character.”121

Paintings of exemplars were supposed to have the same emotional effecton the viewer. As Cao Zhi put it,

There is no one who, seeing a picture of usurping ministers stealing a throne,

would not grind his teeth; nor any who, contemplating a ¤ne scholar of high

principles, would not forget to eat. At the sight of loyal of¤cials dying for their

principles, who would not harden their resolve, and would not sigh at behold-

ing banished ministers and persecuted sons? Who would not avert his eyes

from the spectacle of a licentious husband or a jealous wife? . . . From this we

may know that paintings are the means by which events are preserved in a state

in which they serve as models [for the virtuous] and warnings [to the evil].122

No matter one’s age, both images and accounts of exemplars were sup-posed to have the same effect on its consumer—they aimed at affectinghis or her feelings. They should either provoke revulsion, thereby leadingthe consumer away from that behavior, or generate intense admirationthat will cause one to yearn to do the same thing.

Precisely because accounts of exemplars were supposed to incite menand women to attain even higher levels of moral conduct, the preface to theFunabashi Xiaozi zhuan explicitly states that it was written for ambitiousmen. It reads, “It is my hope that gentleman who possess ambition (you zhizhi shi) will peruse [this text] ceaselessly and forever transmit it.”123 In otherwords, this work was intended for people who wanted to perfect them-selves. The author hoped that those people in turn would continue totransmit it to other purposeful people. Funabashi Xiaozi zhuan is doubly im-portant because it is probably derived from Yômei Xiaozi zhuan or shared acommon ancestor. This suggests that the author’s comment in the lattercomposition that he fears knowledgeable men will scoff at his work wasmerely an expression of humility and that he, too, aimed his work at literatiwho were deeply interested in morally enhancing themselves.

Accounts of Filial Offspring as Expression of Filial Piety

But was providing adolescents and adults with models of ¤lial behaviorthe only purpose behind writing Accounts of Filial Offspring? Was an ardentdesire to emulate ¤lial exemplars the only reason one read these works? If


that were the case, these works probably would not have been so popular.An additional reason people compiled and read them was that by doingso they were displaying their own virtue. By showing admiration for theancient worthies, one was demonstrating that oneself was admirable. Bypresenting himself as host to such ¤ne gentlemen as Ji Zha, Zi Chan, YanYing, and Shu Xiang, Zhao Qi was not only showing his veneration for them,but also making a statement about his own worth as well—obviously im-plying that he was equal to those ¤ne gentlemen. The desire to be like theworthies itself demonstrated that one was already similar to them. In hisadmonition to his students, Yu Pu (3rd cent.) said,

Whoever studies should not worry that his talent will be insuf¤cient; instead

he should worry that his ambition is not ¤rmly established. Therefore, it is said,

“Those who wish to have a thoroughbred will have a mount like a thorough-

bred; those who wish to have the conduct of Yan [Hui] will be of the same

kind as him.”124

In short, the quality of one’s conduct is determined by one’s will. If one ar-dently desires to be virtuous, one will be virtuous. Thus by reading or writ-ing an Accounts of Filial Offspring or other biographies of exemplars, onedisplayed the virtue one wanted to realize and simultaneously indicatedthat he/she already possessed it.

In other words, the act of compiling biographies of exemplars thus im-plied that the writer had the same virtuous behavior as the people he/she waswriting about. It probably is no coincidence that in addition to having theimages of sagely ministers painted in his tomb Zhao Qi also authored an ac-count of local worthies, The Triumphal Record of the Sanfu Region (Sanfu juelu).Compiling this work probably had the same purpose as the paintings in histomb: it implied that Zhao, too, was a man of extraordinary worth. Similarly,Xiao Ziliang (460–494), king of Jingling, offered Shen Yue a commission towrite an Accounts of Lofty Gentlemen that would maintain that one could be arecluse whether he was an of¤cial at court or an unknown in the countryside.As Shen’s letter of refusal makes evident, Xiao asked him to compile thiswork because Xiao viewed himself as an example of a court recluse.125 It isnot dif¤cult to imagine, then, that Wu Zetian ordered the compilation of anAccounts of Filial Women and an Accounts of Outstanding Women because shewanted others to see her as both a ¤lial and exemplary woman. Likewise, inhis “Essay on Numinous Fungi,” by retelling the stories of famous dutifulchildren to express his own yearnings to serve his deceased father, Cao Zhiwas no doubt intimating that the same ¤lial spirit animated him.126


A few Accounts of Filial Offspring authors were indeed known for their¤lial conduct. Shi Jueshou himself experienced a miracle due to his ¤lialpiety, which prompted him to write his Accounts of Filial Offspring.127 Ifthe preface to his work still existed, the story of his ¤lial miracle wouldmost likely be found there, just as the ghastly experience of Gan Bao’s ser-vant found its way into the preface to Gan’s Notes on Searching for Spirits(Soushen ji). Shi’s writing of an Accounts of Filial Offspring not only calledattention to his own ¤lial miracle, in which the spirits acknowledged himas being “¤lially perfect,” but it was also an act of sonly devotion in it-self.128 Liu Qiu, too, was an outstanding ¤lial son. Once, he refused tolecture for the entire day, instead remaining alone and weeping. Uponinquiring into the matter, his student learned that that particular day wasthe anniversary of Liu’s maternal grandfather’s death.129 Liu himself com-piled his Accounts of Filial Offspring in response to another person’s per-fect ¤liality.130 By doing so, he shows his own ¤liality by admiring that ofothers. In short, writing an Accounts of Filial Offspring was a means of ad-vertising one’s own ¤liality.

If one had neither the time nor the inclination to compile an Accountsof Filial Offspring, one could display one’s own ¤liality simply by beingemotionally stirred by reading one of these texts. An early expression ofthis theme occurs in accounts in which a ¤lial son is emotionally affectedby reading the “Lu-e” poem (Mao no. 202) of the Book of Poetry (Shi jing),which stresses the efforts one’s parents expended to raise oneself. For ex-ample, after the death of Wang Pou’s mother, “Whenever [he] read theBook of Poetry to the line of ‘Grieve, grieve for my parents. They gave birthto me; they toiled for me,’ he would reread the line and shed tears. His stu-dents and disciples discarded the section with the ‘Lu-e’ poem [which con-tains this line].”131 This act in particular was seen as an outstandingexpression of Wang’s ¤lial piety, so much so that an Accounts of Filial Off-spring fragment features precisely this act as emblematic of his ¤liality.132

In the same manner, at the end of his “Essay on Numinous Fungi” poem,Cao Zhi speaks of feeling sorrow while reading the “Lu-e” poem. Xiao Yi,Emperor Yuan of the Liang, uses the same motif to emphasize the ¤lialityof his father, Xiao Yan, Emperor Wu of the Liang, but this time he has hisfather reading an Accounts of Filial Offspring rather than the Book of Poetry.

Upon suffering the death of Empress Xian [his mother], Xiao Yan [when he

was a young boy] wailed and leapt about to the fullest extent. [Even] Gao

Chai [a famous ¤lial son] could not have surpassed the grief he experienced

while mourning. Every time he read an Accounts of Filial Offspring, without


ever ¤nishing a scroll, he would stop reading and grieve. Due to these ac-

tions, his family cherished and esteemed him, and would never let him sit

under the eaves of a building (to protect him from possible danger).133

Since reading a work about ¤lial piety and emotionally reacting to it wereacts usually associated with adults, Xiao Yi uses this incident to demon-strate both his father’s precociousness and ¤liality. By retelling the storythis way, Xiao Yi makes Xiao Yan’s ¤liality outshine that of Wang Pou.Needless to say, through the act of praising his father’s ¤liality, Xiao Yialso calls attention to his own. To further underscore that reading worksabout ¤liality evidenced one’s own possession of that virtue, we ¤nd thatamong the few things Xiao Yi requested be buried in his tomb were Ac-counts of Filial Offspring and the Classic of Filial Piety.134

Conclusion

This chapter has established a number of signi¤cant points. It has shownthat Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring was neither written by Liu Xiangnor even produced in the Han dynasty. Nevertheless, ample archaeologi-cal and literary evidence indirectly testify to the existence of an Accounts ofFilial Offspring from the Eastern Han onward. That we do not know thiswork by name might be due to its author’s social obscurity. The Accountsof Filial Offspring reached the pinnacle of their popularity during theNorthern and Southern Dynasties. During this time, high of¤cials andmen hailing from prominent families authored these works. Near the endof the period and into the early Tang, imperial princes began to author orcommission the compilation of these works. By the mid-Tang, though,such Accounts of Filial Offspring no longer attracted the attention of promi-nent men; by the Southern Sung, they had completely disappeared.

Who read these works and for whom were they written? Looking at ar-chaeological evidence, it becomes apparent that during the Eastern Hanthe patrons who admired these stories were members of rich provincialfamilies who used illustrations of the tales to show their commitment toConfucian ideals. By the Northern and Southern Dynasties period, boththe highest metropolitan of¤cials and imperial princes decorated theirtombs and grave goods with these stories. In other words, in this period,the metropolitan elite, rather than the provincial elite, became the domi-nant patrons of the Accounts of Filial Offspring and their illustrations. Tex-tual evidence indicates that these texts were written as historical worksthat documented the lives of nonof¤cials whose outstanding conduct


should be emulated. Hence they were meant to aid both educated adoles-cents and adults in morally perfecting themselves.

The Accounts of Filial Offspring enjoyed great popularity in early medi-eval China because emulation of past worthies was an essential means ofde¤ning oneself and judging others. In this period, through comparisonswith ancient exemplars, people measured their own worth and that ofothers. Regions were judged on the basis of how many outstanding menthey produced. In the early medieval mentality, then, past worthies werenot dead and remote memories, but rather living standards of behavior. Insuch an atmosphere, reading works like Accounts of Filial Offspring were ameans by which one became thoroughly familiar with the deeds of the ex-emplars, so that one could either reproduce such deeds or see how wellcontemporaries reached the standards of the past. Perhaps even more im-portant, reading or writing biographies of exemplars was in itself a meansof expressing virtue. By writing or reading an Accounts of Filial Offspring, li-terati showed that they both admired ¤liality and were ¤lial themselves,just as by writing or reading accounts of recluses, they showed that theywere, at least in spirit, detached from the vulgar world. Since in the eyes ofthe early medieval upper classes only reclusion rivaled ¤liality in impor-tance, it is not surprising that the Accounts of Filial Offspring had their hey-day during this time.

82

4 Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism

Although it is well known that Confucius “did notspeak of marvels, feats of strength, acts of disorder, or spirits,”1 the Ru au-thors of early medieval ¤lial piety stories crammed their accounts with extra-ordinary phenomena. Of the 186 tales from Accounts of Filial Offspring,80, or roughly 43 percent, contain marvelous happenings.2 Even the dy-nastic histories’ “Biographies of the Filial,” albeit to a lesser extent, con-tain numerous supernatural events. Indeed, miracles in these accounts areso important that in some cases the primary focus of the narrative is notthe subject’s ¤liality, but rather the supernatural rewards or signs that his/her conduct occasioned.

Yu Guo in his youth already had ¤lial behavior. When he was the Governor of

Rinan, a pair of geese always roosted on top of his government of¤ce. Every

time he went out to inspect a county, they would ¶y in pursuit of his cart.

Since he died while in of¤ce, the geese followed his corpse as it was being re-

turned to Yuyao. They stayed in front of his tomb, and only after three years

did they leave.3

What is remarkable about this account is that it does not describe Yu’sextraordinary ¤lial conduct; indeed, we learn more about ¤liality from thetwo geese’s mourning behavior. What it does show, though, is how hisoutstanding virtue caused a fantastic phenomenon to occur. It is preciselymiracles such as these that have occasioned Western scholars to character-ize the tales as absurd. For the narratives’ authors, though, these extraordi-nary occurrences were obviously important, but why? What purposes didthey ful¤ll? Were they always a feature of ¤lial piety tales? What traditionspawned these fantastic phenomena?

Although modern Westerners assume that Confucianism was based

Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism 83

on a form of rationalism, Ru teachings during the Han were anything butrationalistic. In fact, Confucianism in the Han laid heavy emphasis on ananthropomorphic heaven, prognostication, portents, and miracles. At theend of the Warring States period, advocates of the Confucian tradition,such as Lu Jia (¶. 200–175) and Dong Zhongshu (ca. 195–ca. 115), beganto combine Confucian ethics with yin-yang cosmology, along with theHuang-Lao tenet that heaven and humans mutually in¶uence each other.4

The result was a distinctive strand of Ru thought that is often called “HanConfucianism,” but it might be better called “Correlative Confucianism.”5

According to this system of thought, humans live in a homocentric uni-verse in which they, more than any other creature, embody the attributesof heaven and earth that have produced all things. Consequently, only hu-mans have the ¤ner attributes of heaven and earth, such as the ability topractice benevolence and righteousness.6 Based on the premise that thingsof the same kind can affect each other, by cultivating their heavenly andearthly endowments, humans can affect changes in nature. In otherwords, by following the heavenly and earthly patterns inherent withthem, they can stimulate (gan) the moral universe. As a result, heaven andearth respond (ying) to this stimulus with a miracle.7 This concept is com-monly known as “the resonance between heaven and humans” (tianrenganying).

Virtues such as benevolence and righteousness link humans with themoral universe. Since heaven has created humans in its own image andhas bestowed upon them all of its goodness, it expects them to act heav-enly by practicing those virtues.8 Nevertheless, although people have thepotential for goodness within them, they have dif¤culty in developing it.Heaven therefore gives its mandate to rule to a virtuous man whose dutyis to teach people how to develop what is heavenly within them.9 If aruler manages to take care of his people and lead them to goodness,heaven will then reward him by manifesting favorable omens; however,if he fails to do so, it will warn him with oddities and disasters. DongZhongshu stated,

When a state is about to suffer a defeat because [the ruler] has erred from the

Way, Heaven ¤rst sends forth calamities and disasters to reprimand and

warn him. If the [ruler] does not know to look into himself, then Heaven

again sends forth extraordinary and strange omens to frighten and startle

him. If he still does not know to change, only then will he suffer ruin and de-

feat. From this, one observes that Heaven’s heart is humane and loving to-

ward the ruler of humanity and that Heaven desires to end his recklessness.10


As this passage makes apparent, heaven is conscious and cares so muchabout people’s welfare that it will produce anomalies to warn rulers oftheir aberrant behavior. Hence in Correlative Confucianism miracles andanomalies are the means by which the divine world expresses its pleasureor displeasure over the behavior of its representatives.

This new strand of Confucianism became intellectually dominant inthe last ¤fty years of the Western Han and reached the height of itsin¶uence in AD 9, when the last Western Han emperor “abdicated” andWang Mang (45 BC–AD 23), who his contemporaries believed was a Con-fucian sage, accepted the throne and established the Xin (New) dynasty.The failure of his reforms and the downfall of his regime caused many in-tellectuals to question the validity of Correlative Confucianism and ledthem to turn to the old-text (guwen) classics for answers. Yet due to theearly Eastern Han emperors’ reliance on the Confucian apocryphal texts(chenwei) for legitimacy, Correlative Confucianism became the dynasty’sorthodox ideology. However, in the Eastern Han, its emphasis shiftedfrom of¤cials using inauspicious portents to curtail the excesses of thethrone to using auspicious omens and the apocryphal texts to championthe throne’s legitimacy. According to most scholars, the inglorious fall ofthe Eastern Han government also spelled the doom of an ideology that in-tellectuals had abandoned long before. In the succeeding Period of Dis-unity (220–589), Xuanxue (The Study of the Mysteries, aka neo-Taoism)and Buddhism thereupon dominated philosophical discussions andtrends.11 But does this Xuanxue and Buddhist triumph mean that Correla-tive Confucianism completely disappeared? To what extent did it survive?Which of its aspects continued to in¶uence Chinese thought?

Doubtless with the end of the Han Correlative Confucianism suffereda marked decline in its intellectual dominance, but this chapter will con-tend that the ¤lial miracle stories indicate it still held great relevance forthe early medieval elite. This is because even though it might not havebeen intellectually fashionable, Correlative Confucianism containedideological messages that the patriarchs of great families wanted to conveyto their families and communities. By establishing the following points,this chapter will show the strong connection between the miracle talesand Correlative Confucianism. First, miracles started to appear in ¤lialpiety stories only during the Eastern Han, which is precisely when Correla-tive Confucianism, as advocated by the apocryphal texts, reached theheight of its in¶uence. Second, the tales illustrate one of this ideology’sprimary tenets—by perfecting one’s virtue a person will receive a super-natural response from an anthropomorphic and caring heaven that pays


close attention to people’s behavior. Nevertheless, the ¤lial piety storiesinterpreted this principle in a way that made it even more appealing topatriarchs—they emphasized that ¤lial piety, more than any other virtue,would beckon heavenly rewards. In other words, sonly subordination andrecognition of parents’ overwhelmingly superior position within the fam-ily were “natural,” that is, sanctioned by heaven. Third, by indicating that¤lial actions earn supernatural rewards, the ¤lial tales reveal that themoral universe richly rewards the meritorious. This Correlative Confucianidea resonates with the sentiments found in family instructions in whichpatriarchs admonish their children that the continued welfare of the fam-ily resides within a mastery of learning and moral character. Fourth, sinceauspicious omens largely appear in response to the actions of common-ers, rather than the son of heaven, the tales used the Correlative Confucianidea of portents to indicate that virtuous, local men—and by extensiontheir families—shared the emperor’s legitimacy to rule.

The Appearance of Miraculous Tales

Filial piety anecdotes from before the Han completely lack supernaturalelements. Their protagonists neither perform superhuman feats nor doestheir conduct evoke supernatural responses. For example, in the WarringStates and early Western Han version of the Shun legend, events that laterwould be deemed miraculous are explained in a rationalistic manner. Inboth Mencius (Mengzi) (3rd cent. BC) and Records of the Historian (early 1st

cent. BC) versions, Shun escapes his parents’ lethal traps through his fore-sight, not through magic or supernatural intervention. In the case of theburning barn, he takes with him two bamboo hats to use as proto-parachutes; in the case of the well, by digging an escape tunnel in its sidebeforehand, he escaped being buried alive in it.12

The earliest ¤lial piety stories in which miracles occur are found in LiuXiang’s anecdotal works. Nevertheless, the miracles in these tales are notnecessarily linked with ¤lial piety. A good example of this can be found inLiu’s version of the Shun legend. He supplies much more fantastic explana-tions for Shun’s escapes: before Shun went to the barn, Yao’s daughters toldhim to ¤rst disrobe and then use the technique of birds (niaogong) to ¶y tosafety; before entering the well, they told him to ¤rst disrobe and then usethe technique of dragons to escape.13 Nevertheless, the miracles found inLiu’s version still differ fundamentally from those found in early medievalaccounts. In the latter, miracles are the moral universe’s responses to a child’s¤lial act. By contrast, in Liu’s version, Shun escapes his parents’ murderous


plots not through heavenly intervention, but by means of his own, or hiswives’, magical techniques. Thus the Tang historian Liu Zhiji thought thatthe methods Shun used to escape from the well made him no differentthan a master of the occult sciences (fangnei zhi shi).14 Unlike in later ac-counts, Liu Xiang fails to connect these miraculous escapes with eitherShun’s ¤liality or a heavenly response. The marvelous escapes celebrateShun’s magical potency, rather than ¤liality’s spiritual might.

A sympathetic heaven is more apparent in Liu Xiang’s account of theFilial Wife of Donghai (1st cent. BC), but its intervention is made explicitonly in later versions of the story. Liu’s version of the tale proceeds in thismanner: even though the ¤lial wife was widowed early on, for more thanten years she carefully nurtured her mother-in-law. Feeling pity for theyoung woman, the mother-in-law committed suicide to allow her to re-marry. Yet a jealous sister-in-law told the authorities that the ¤lial wifehad killed her mother. After the ¤lial wife was executed, for three yearsthe prefecture suffered a terrible drought, which ended only when thenew prefect offered a sacri¤ce to her grave.15 Even though this tale fea-tures a ¤lial daughter, it is only indirectly concerned with ¤lial piety. InLiu’s version, the account’s protagonist is not the ¤lial woman, but a ju-dicial subof¤cial named Yu Dingguo (?–40 BC). Moreover, the tale’s pri-mary focus is not ¤lial piety, but fairness and accuracy in judicialdecisions.16 This probably means that rather than being a heavenly re-sponse to her ¤liality, the drought was caused by heavenly anger at themiscarriage of justice. In contrast, by introducing yet another miracle, anearly medieval version of this tale squarely indicates that the ¤lial wifewas a recipient of a divine response: as she was about to be decapitated,she told the crowd that if she were guilty her blood would ¶ow down-ward, but if she were innocent it would ¶ow up nearby ¶agpoles. Asexpected, it ascended the ¶agpoles and even went around the ¶ags’ bor-ders.17 Of course, this more dramatic miracle clearly materializes due tothe strength of her virtue, that is, ¤liality. In short, although Liu Xiang didconnect ¤lial children with miracles, he did not directly connect the mir-acles with ¤lial piety. Filial miracles—that is, miracles produced by an ex-emplar’s devotion to his parents or siblings—were yet to appear.

Our ¤rst evidence of ¤lial miracle tales surfaces in Wang Chong’s (27–97) Disquisitions (Lunheng). Although he does not discuss them per se,Wang sometimes mentions such stories. In criticizing his contemporaries’proclivity to praise only worthy men of old while ignoring the meritoriousmen of the present, Wang attests to the existence of oral accounts ofextraordinary ¤lial sons and righteous brothers.


In recent times there have been marvels, but orators do not praise them; now

there are extraordinary events, but those who hold the brush do not record

them. For example, during a time of famine, upon [hearing that] his elder

brother was about to be eaten by starving men, Er Ziming of Langye bound

himself and kowtowed before them begging to take the place of his elder

brother. The starving men praised his righteousness and released both. After

his elder brother died, he raised [his brother’s] orphan. He loved him no dif-

ferently than his own son. When the crop failed and their grain was ex-

hausted, he could not keep both his own son and his brother’s son alive, so

he starved his own son to death and kept his brother’s son alive.18

Signi¤cantly, this account closely resembles many later ¤lial children talesin which an exemplary son offers himself in place of a brother or parentwho has been captured by cannibalistic rebels. Worthy of note, too, is thatWang describes these acts as “marvelous” (qi) or “extraordinary” (yi),since these are the same terms he uses to denote the miraculous or super-natural. This is either because Ziming’s acts are so far out of the realm ofthe expected that they are unbelievable or because the positive results ofthese actions were thought to be brought about through supernatural inter-vention. Wang further suggests that many such miraculous accounts ofcontemporary ¤lial sons and righteous brothers existed, but due to a con-temporary bias for exemplars of the distant past, they had been incorpo-rated into neither the written nor the elite oral culture of his time.

Nevertheless, Wang does preserve one ¤lial miracle tale that wascredited to a written source. He relates that according to a book, upon thearrival of an unexpected guest, Zengzi’s mother miraculously summonedhim home by pinching her arm. Wang goes on to refute the logic uponwhich the story is based by saying,

This [his mother’s success in summoning him by pinching her arm] is be-

cause by means of his perfect ¤lial piety (zhixiao) he had the same qi as his

parents. Hence if they were ill, his spirits would thereupon be stimulated

(gan). I say that this is false. It is said that ¤lial piety and brotherliness in its ul-

timate form can be made known to the intelligent spirits; this is what is called

moral transformation reaching Heaven and Earth. Based upon this, vulgar

people make up a theory that says that ¤lial piety and brotherliness in its ulti-

mate form can make essence and qi affect each other (jingqi xiangdong).19

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


on by ¤lial piety. Second, Wang reveals the way in which his contempo-raries understood how the miracle took place: they believed that by puri-fying one’s qi through ¤lial acts, one could make his qi the same as hisparents. Hence if they became ill, since things of the same kind in¶uenceeach other, it would stimulate his spirits and produce the miraculous re-sponse of his feeling their pain. This passage thus indicates that by the ¤rstcentury AD Chinese already believed that ¤lial piety at its height couldbring about miracles through the principle of “resonance.” Third, the pas-sage also testi¤es that at least a few ¤lial miracle tales were already beingtransmitted through written texts.20

Disquisitions further reveals an important feature of later ¤lial miracletales—the line at the tale’s end that states the miracle was a response to anexemplar’s virtuous act. It relates that “Shun was buried in Cangwu; ele-phants plowed the earth [on his tomb] for him. Yu was buried in Guiji;birds cultivated the ground [on his tomb] for him. It was thought thattheir sagely virtue brought this about (yi shengde suo zhi). Heaven em-ployed birds and elephants to reward and protect them.”21 Even thoughthis passage has nothing to do with ¤lial piety,22 it is immensely signi-¤cant because of its last two lines. The penultimate line closely resembles“it was thought that a response to his or her ¤liality brought this about (yiwei xiaogan suo zhi), a formula that ends many ¤lial tales. Replacing“sagely virtue” (shengde) in this formula with “¤lial piety” (xiao) would nodoubt be a simple operation. The last line is especially signi¤cant becauseit explicitly states that heaven caused this miracle to reward Shun and Yu.This, of course, is the logic that underlies the ¤lial miracle tales: heavencauses miracles in order to reward a child’s outstanding ¤liality.

The earliest history that contains ¤lial miracle tales is the imperiallysponsored Han Records of the Eastern Pavilion. As previously mentioned,many of its biographies were probably written sometime shortly after AD120. One of these tales concerns a little-known ¤lial son named Gu Chuwho, in the face of a raging ¤re, refuses to abandon his father’s cof¤n andinstead embraces it. The ¤re thereupon miraculously extinguishes itself.The tale ends with the line, “[People] said that it was a response broughton by his ¤liality (yiwei xiaogan suo zhi yun),”23 which is nearly the sameformulaic line found in Disquisition’s retelling of the tale of the elephantscultivating Shun’s grave. Nevertheless, this time Gu’s ¤liality, rather than“sagely virtue,” produces a heavenly response. Many of Han Records of theEastern Pavilion’s other accounts of ¤lial children also contain miracles.24

Thus by the beginning of the second century we can already see ¤lial mir-acle tales in their mature form: one in which a child’s exemplary ¤liality


leads the spirit world to produce a miracle on his/her behalf and a for-mulaic line underlining that this was indeed the case.

We should note the timing of the ¤lial miracle tales’ appearance. Al-though these narratives obviously display a Correlative Confucian under-standing of the universe, ¤lial miracle tales did not materialize during theWestern Han. Instead, they did so during the ¤rst and second centuriesAD, which coincides with the appearance and imperial promotion of theConfucian apocryphal texts. Many scholars believe that these texts ¤rstappeared during the civil war at the end of Wang Mang’s reign.25 Havingused the texts to legitimate his takeover, Emperor Guangwu, the founderof the Eastern Han, thereupon established them as orthodox texts withwhich he guided government policies and rituals.26 In AD 56, he decreedthat all of¤cials had to be conversant with the apocrypha. His successors,Ming (r. 58–76) and Zhang (r. 76–88), continued to champion and pro-mote the apocrypha. As a result of this imperial patronage, the learnedelite were well versed in these texts.27 Many scholars, including the greatexegete Zheng Xuan (127–200), accepted them as Confucius’ supple-ments to the Five Classics and quoted them in their works.28 The apocry-pha continued to claim great in¶uence through the Three Kingdomsperiod (220–280).29 The ¤lial miracle tales, then, ¤rst appeared and¶ourished exactly when the apocrypha were at the height of theirin¶uence. It is not surprising, therefore, that they bear the heavy imprintof the apocrypha. But what messages are these tales conveying and howare they connected with the apocrypha?

The Power of Xiao in The Classic of Filial Pietyand the Apocrypha

The most signi¤cant message that the ¤lial miracle tales convey is ¤lialpiety’s overwhelming ef¤cacy. For the narratives’ compilers the ability toproduce miracles was one of ¤lial piety’s most important attributes andwas directly related to its elevated position within the universe. The tales’compilers viewed ¤liality as the principle that unites heaven, earth, andhumans. In the preface to History of the Jin’s “Biographies of the Filial,”the author makes this explicit.

Great is ¤liality as a virtue. When the cloudy oneness is split and becomes em-

bodied, the dao [of ¤liality] connects the Three Numinous Entities [heaven,

earth, and humans]. It gathers together the different types of things in order

that they may follow their names, and collects the ten thousand images. If it is


used within the kingdom, it can move heaven and earth, which then send

down auspicious omens; when practiced within the home, it moves the spirits,

which then manifest great fortune.30

Since ¤liality connects and underlies all things, human practice of it,whether at court or at home, will cause some aspect of the divine worldto respond favorably. Extant Accounts of Filial Offspring prefaces also callattention to ¤lial piety’s cosmological signi¤cance and its ability to sum-mon miracles.31 According to these prefaces, since the way of ¤lial piety ison a par with heaven and earth, no other virtue can surpass it; moreover,its superiority is manifested in its ability to bring about miracles. As far asI can tell, in the early medieval period no other Confucian virtue wascredited with this power.

From where did this emphasis on ¤lial piety’s power and its ability toproduce miracles come? During the Warring States period, due to the riseof bureaucratic governments that directly taxed and drafted the peasantry,households (jia) replaced lineages (zong) as the most important socialand economic entities. Seeing the necessity of having family heads power-ful enough to ensure the household’s ful¤lling the needs of the state, andbelieving that sons who obeyed their parents would likely also obey thestate, both the Qin and the Han governments heavily promoted ¤lialpiety.32 Although one does not normally associate ¤liality with the Legal-ist Qin, not only did the ¤rst emperor, Qin Shihuang (r. 221–210 BC),urge people to be ¤lial in his proclamations, but Qin law also allowed par-ents to ask the state to exile or execute their un¤lial children and dis-allowed children from denouncing their parents’ crimes to the state.33 Theimportance of xiao was such that a chapter was added to the Legalist Mas-ter Han (Han Feizi) titled “Loyalty and Filialty” (Zhongxiao), which putsforth a vision of ¤lial piety in which it merely consists of obedience andhas no possibility of coming into con¶ict with the value of loyalty.34 TheHan dynasty went even further in promoting ¤lial piety by remitting taxesand providing material rewards to those who exempli¤ed ¤liality, by mak-ing ¤liality the most important category under which one could be recom-mended to public of¤ce, and by having subjects read The Classic of FilialPiety. Watanabe Shinichirô contends that this book was a powerful agentof assimilation because only by knowing it could one hope to be recom-mended to of¤ce as a “¤lial and incorrupt” candidate.35 The overriding im-portance of this value is most conspicuous in the names of the emperors—with the exception of the Han founder, each emperor’s posthumous namehad the word xiao added to it.


The primary text that championed and glori¤ed ¤liality was The Clas-sic of Filial Piety. Although scholars may debate whether this book was alate Warring States or Western Han creation, they all agree that it had con-siderable in¶uence on the Han dynasty.36 By making xiao into a metaphys-ical principle, this text elevates its importance. “The Three Powers”(Sancai) chapter states, “Filial piety is the principle of heaven, the duty ofearth, and the standard conduct of humans. Since it is heaven and earth’sprinciple, people copy it. By doing so, they imitate heaven’s brilliance andfollow the earth’s advantages, thereby harmonizing All-under-Heaven.”By practicing ¤lial piety, then, people reconnect themselves with thatwhich they share with heaven and earth. Upon unifying themselves withheaven and earth, all things become well ordered. As Ikezawa has noted,this passage equates xiao with the Taoist dao.37 Very much in line with Cor-relative Confucian thought, upon perfecting this ethical virtue, one can af-fect heaven and earth. A chapter tellingly titled “Resonance” (Ganying)states, “When in the ancestral temple one conveys respect, spirits and deitiesmanifest themselves. When ¤liality and brotherliness reach their height,they communicate with the heavenly spirits (xiaoti zhi zhi tong yu shenming), shine throughout the Four Seas, and travel everywhere.” 38 This pas-sage implies that since perfect ¤lial piety can affect the spirits, its power isboundless.

One of the bene¤ts of xiao’s power is that the ¤lial will be protectedfrom disasters. The “Governing by Filiality” (Xiaozhi) chapter tells usthat if the ruler treats everyone with the spirit of ¤lial piety, then neitherhe nor his kingdom will experience either man-made or natural disas-ters.39 Similarly, the chapter on “Commoners” (Shuren) states, “There-fore, from the son of heaven to commoners, few are those whose ¤lialityis lacking that are not bedeviled by calamity.” Both passages imply thatthe un¤lial attract calamities because they have angered the spirits,whereas the ¤lial have earned the spirits’ protection.

This tendency to emphasize the magical power of ¤liality reached acrescendo in the Confucian apocrypha. The authors of these texts attachedoverriding importance to ¤lial piety and particularly the text that propa-gated it—The Classic of Filial Piety. This work had so much weight becausecontemporary Ru thought that it and The Spring and Autumn Annals(Chunqiu) were the only classics that Confucius himself had authored.The ¤rst-century AD The Classic of Filial Piety’s Decisions on Obtaining theMandate (Xiao jing goumingjue) tells us, “Confucius said, ‘If you desire toobserve my aspirations as seen in my praise and blame of the feudal lords,they are in The Spring and Autumn Annals; [if you desire to observe] the


conduct of human relations that I revere, it is in The Classic of Filial Piety.”40

As a result, with the exception of The Spring and Autumn Annals, moreapocrypha were attached to The Classic of Filial Piety than any other clas-sic.41 We should note that for the apocrypha authors, the Confucius whocreated these two classics was not merely a human sage, but a superhumanand an uncrowned king.42

In the apocrypha, ¤liality is the epitome of virtue—no human behav-ior could be more signi¤cant. Hence Decisions on Obtaining the Mandateasserts both, “The way of ¤liality is the linch-pin for ten-thousand genera-tions” and “If you want to correct morning and evening, then you shouldobserve the North Star; if you want to correct your feelings and nature(qingxing), then you should observe a ¤lial child.”43 In other words, just asthe polestar is the constant and permanent linchpin that keeps the heav-enly bodies together, ¤liality, the most perfect form of conduct, keeps allthings together on earth. If people guide their behavior with ¤liality, per-fect order will result. Furthermore, since ¤lial piety embodies heaven’s in-tent more than any virtue, it can invoke heavenly responses where othervirtues cannot. In commenting on a passage in The Classic of Filial Piety’sRight Contract (Xiao jing youqi), Song Jun (3rd cent.) noted, “As for havingbroad learning and pure aspirations, as well as inquiring into all thingsand studying things close at hand, benevolence (ren) resides within thesetraits. But heavenly benevolence still is not enough to create brilliance.Only ¤liality can move the heavenly spirits, affect the brilliance of the sun,and penetrate and attach itself to the body.”44 Filiality, then, trumps allother Confucian virtues, even benevolence, which the Analects champi-ons, because it alone can bring about miracles.

The following account from one of the earliest known apocrypha,The Classic of Filial Piety’s Contract that Quotes Spirits (Xiao jing yuanshenqi),describes the variety of miracles ¤lial piety can produce.

When the primordial qi was still mixed together, ¤lial piety dwelt within.

Hence, if the son of heaven is ¤lial, heavenly dragons will descend bearing

charts; earthly tortoises will emerge with writings; calamities will be elimi-

nated; and brightly colored clouds will wander across the sky. When com-

moners are ¤lial, then trees and marshes will ¶ourish; bene¤cial, rare things

reveal themselves; wondrous grass shoots forth, and numinous ¤sh come

forth from the water.45

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


cultivating ¤lial piety, one reunites oneself with the moral universe, therebycausing it to produce extraordinary phenomena. The ¤liality of emperorseliminates calamities, brings forth auspicious omens, and obtains magicalcharts, while that of commoners makes the ground fertile, produces pre-cious and rare items, and manifests auspicious animals. Nevertheless, allthe other portents that the apocrypha mention, such as the appearance ofsweet dew, phoenixes, sweet springs, auspicious stars, and red sparrowsbearing writings, are summoned by the emperor’s or king’s ¤liality. Theseparticular extraordinary phenomena are omens that are usually associatedwith heaven’s response to the sage’s virtuous governance.46

In the apocrypha, acts of ¤lial piety not only bring on auspicious por-tents, but can also attract direct rewards from heaven. First of all, if a per-son is attempting a ¤lial act but does not have the means by which tocomplete it, the spiritual world can miraculously aid him or her by bring-ing the act to a successful conclusion. Decisions on Obtaining the Mandatestates that “if a person has a ¤lial nature, then heaven will issue forth a¤lial star. Filial intentions affect heaven and earth (gan tiandi), [thus]heaven will give that person ¤lial conduct (Tian yu zhi xiaoxing).”47 Inter-estingly, even if one merely intends to perform a ¤lial act, the moral uni-verse will lend a helping hand. One way that it might do so is to providea medicine that a ¤lial child needs to cure his or her sick parents. The Con-tract that Quotes Spirits says, “When ¤liality and brotherliness reach theirheight, they communicate with the heavenly intelligences. When a parentis sick, one then expresses grief [to the extent] that he or she becomesskinny and weak and is about to destroy his or her own body. In seekingmedicine [this way] his or her parents will be safe.”48 By endeavoring todestroy one’s own health, one saves one’s parents, because one’s ¤lialsacri¤ce moves heaven to miraculously provide the necessary medicine.Note, too, that the ¤rst line of this passage is taken from The Classic of FilialPiety, while the second line is an inference drawn from it.

Yet another reward that heaven gives the ¤lial is a longer life. Accord-ing to The Classic of Filial Piety’s Left Contract (Xiao jing zuoqi), “if a personis ¤lial and obedient, he will obtain two thousand suan [one suan equalsthree days]. Those [who perform] matters for which the heavenly “Keeperof Records” submits a memorial to the throne will be bestowed with asuan of middle merit; happiness and good fortune will forever come tohim.” On the other hand, “if one is neither ¤lial nor respectful, one’sthroat will be blocked and his or her life prematurely ended.”49 Both ofthese fragments indicate that the apocrypha were tapping into the popu-lar desire for longevity and harnessing it for the bene¤t of ¤lial piety.


These passages are important, too, because they indicate that the apocry-pha’s writers believed a celestial bureaucracy existed that meticulously re-corded peoples’ meritorious actions.

The Rewards of Heaven

By continuing and elaborating the apocrypha’s notions of ¤liality’sef¤cacy, the tales celebrated ¤lial piety’s potency, advocated the existenceof a conscious and caring divine world, and promised lavish rewards forthose who took its messages to heart. The authors of the ¤lial piety talesused several different categories of miracle tales to convey these messages.

The ¤rst category is one in which an exemplar’s sincere ¤lial pietycauses the spirit world to aid the exemplar in his or her completion of a¤lial act. This kind of miracle enables a son or daughter to complete animpossible ¤lial act, or at least one that is dif¤cult to accomplish. A typicalexample is a tale in which a ¤lial son searches for an out-of-season foodthat his parent desires. For instance, right at the onset of winter, MengZong’s (d. 271) mother desired to eat bamboo shoots, which were no-where to be found. Not being able to obtain them, Meng sighed andgrieved. Before long, bamboo shoots popped out of the ground for him.“Everyone believed that his perfect ¤liality brought on this response (zhi-xiao zhi suo zhigan).”50 This last line is particularly important because it in-dicates that this fantastic incident was a supernatural response to Meng’s¤lial piety. By stating that the action took place at the onset of winter, theauthor also emphasizes the necessity of supernatural intervention; onecould not seek a naturalistic explanation for this phenomenon. In the pre-vious section, we noted that The Contract that Quotes Spirits stated that the¤liality of commoners could bring about the materialization of rarethings. Song Jun’s commentary on this passage directly connects ¤lial ex-emplar stories with this principle: “For example, Zengzi’s ¤liality could beaffected by his mother who was a thousand li away, and his ¤liality en-abled him to bring forth rare things in his region.”51 Stories like that ofMeng Zong, who is able to obtain something normally unobtainable, arebased precisely on this idea that exemplary ¤liality can secure rare things.

A similar type of story is one in which a ¤lial child has no means tosave his/her ailing parent. For instance,

Miao Fei (2nd cent.) was a person from Lanling in Donghai. His father sud-

denly became ill. Doctors and medicine were lacking. Day and night Fei

kowtowed. He would neither sleep nor eat. His own life was almost at an


end. Around midnight two gods pulling chains suddenly appeared. They

sought pity by saying: “In the past, your honorable father passed by our

home and offended us. For that reason he received our angry retribution.

Nevertheless, heaven has been moved by your perfect ¤liality. Yesterday,

heavenly of¤cials arrested us, recorded our crime, and locked us up in these

chains.” Fei awoke with surprise and saw that his father was already cured.52

This tale is immediately striking because it so closely matches the passagefrom The Contract that Quotes Spirits discussed in the last section. Due tohis deep affection for his father, Miao endangers himself through hisgrief. In response to his sincere piety, heaven provides a miraculous solu-tion. This account underlines both the close relationship between the¤lial miracle tales and the apocrypha as well as the existence of a respon-sive, heavenly bureaucracy.

The second type of miracle in this category is one in which a son ordaughter has already shown exemplary ¤lial piety and a miracle facilitatesthe completion of a ¤lial act. Wei Tong’s mother was fond of water drawnfrom the middle of the Ruo River. As a result, Wei would always row a boatout into its treacherous waters to obtain it for her. Heaven thereupon madea horizontal rock extend out into the water so that Wei would no longerhave to suffer so much toil and trouble.53 After relating this tale, Commen-tary on the Classic of Waterways adds, “One can say that perfect sincerity pro-pelled [this rock] into the water and that this auspicious omen came fromheaven.”54 Another motif that illustrates this category concerns a ¤lial childwho decides to build his parents’ burial tumulus without receiving anyhelp. At some point in the process birds by the thousands carry dirt in theirbeaks and complete the tumulus for him.55 All these motifs indicate thatheaven facilitates acts of ¤liality. By doing so, the moral universe not onlysignals ¤liality’s signi¤cance, but also ensures its continuation.

The second category of miracles is that in which heaven rewards a ¤lialchild with something that is life enhancing, such as wealth, a spouse, lon-gevity, or an appointment to public of¤ce. A good example of a ¤lial sonwho receives this kind of reward is Yang Gong: due to his ¤liality and char-ity, in one version of the story, heaven provided him with wealth in theform of pebbles that grow into jade, a wife from an eminent family, and tensons who were all virtuous and reached high of¤cial positions.56 Whatmore could an early medieval man ask for? Rewards for other ¤lial childrenwere not as lavish, but they were still quite bene¤cial. In return for his nu-merous ¤lial acts, heaven provided Ji Mai with a wife and extended his lifespan to one hundred years.57 As we have already seen, to reward Dong


Yong’s efforts on his father’s behalf, heaven not only temporarily grantedhim a wife, but more important, through her superhuman labor, he re-ceived a means by which he could redeem his debt and regain his freedom.For Guo Ju’s willingness to sacri¤ce his infant son on his mother’s behalf,heaven bestowed upon him a pot of gold. To underline that this was amiraculous response to his virtue, the pot had an iron plate on it that read,“This is to be bestowed upon the ¤lial offspring Guo Ju.”58 This gold al-lowed him to live happily ever after with both his elderly mother and hisson. Filial daughters, too, could earn rewards from the spirits. In responseto Mr. Tu’s daughter’s (5th cent.) outstanding ¤liality, to enrich her a moun-tain deity gave her the ability to cure illnesses, which soon gained her manysuitors.59 In short, ¤lial piety can reward its practitioners with the greatestearthly desires—wealth, a spouse, longevity, and public of¤ce.

The aforementioned story of Yang Gong is an interesting one becausethe tale says relatively little about his ¤liality.60 What the story describes indetail is how, after his parents’ death, Yang moved to an arid place. Formany years, he would draw water from elsewhere, bring it to this spot, andgive it freely to travelers. According to some versions of the tale, he evenmended their shoes, but never asked for payment. Then the spirits pro-vided him with seeds that turned into jade and coins. Although one mightthink that this is simply a story about reciprocity and “recompensing akindness” (baoen), it is much more than that because of the way it isframed. By prefacing the tale with remarks about his being an excellent son,the author makes it so that the entire story is about ¤lial piety: due to Yang’s¤lial sorrow for his parents he quits normal life—that is, of¤cialdom—anddedicates himself to sel¶essly aiding others. In other words, he extends his¤liality, his altruistic service to his parents, to all people. Thus heaven notonly rewards Yang for his charity, but also for his ¤liality, which makes hischaritable giving possible.61 That compilers of Accounts of Filial Offspring in-cluded his tale in their works con¤rms that early medieval people viewedYang’s miraculous compensation as stemming from his ¤liality.62

Miracles that Save a Filial Son from Danger

The third category of miracles is one in which the spirit world saves a¤lial child from such imminent dangers as natural catastrophes, wild ani-mals, bandits, and even murderous parents. Since The Classic of Filial Pietyalready mentions this kind of miracle, it is perhaps the oldest type.

Due to their suddenness and unpredictability, natural catastrophesmust have been terrifying for early medieval Chinese. In a world in which


buildings were partially made of wood, had thatch roofs, and were lightedby candles and oil-burning lamps, ¤res must have been especially fright-ening. No wonder tales abounded about an exemplar’s ¤liality beckoningsupernatural help in dousing ¤res. During the Northern and Southern Dy-nasties, one of the most beloved stories was that of Cai Shun, whose re-fusal to abandon his mother’s cof¤n in the face of a raging ¤re caused the¶ames to miraculously leap over his house and leave it untouched. De-spite the fact that Cai was credited with other extraordinary ¤lial deeds,the artisans of the ¤fth and sixth centuries chose to pictorially depict onlythis tale.63 The popularity of this theme was so great that Chinese Bud-dhists borrowed it to propagate their beliefs.64 Filial piety could also saveone from the terrifying hazards of traveling on the unpredictable sea.

Guan Ning (158–241) avoided land en route to Liaodong. His ship encoun-

tered a stiff wind. All the people in the boat were fearful. They thereupon kow-

towed and repented their sins. Ning alone had no faults. His thoughts were

normal, as though he was merely going to the toilet. The only thing unusual

was that he did not wear his hat. He looked up to Heaven and kowtowed. The

wind was soon calm.65

Interestingly, Guan’s shipmates believed that the disaster they foundthemselves in was because their sins had angered the spirit world. Due toGuan’s faultlessness, he merely had to casually pay reverence to heavenand was immediately saved. Even though this tale says nothing aboutGuan’s ¤liality, Zhou Jingshi’s Accounts of Filial Offspring undoubtedly in-cluded it because the reader would have understood that this miracle oc-curred as a result of his unblemished ¤liality.66 The others on the shipevoked no response from heaven because they obviously had not been¤lial. Consequently, natural disasters were no match for a ¤lial son.

One can see further evidence of ¤lial piety’s tremendous power in thatit could also protect one from both savage animals and cannibalistic hu-mans. Wei Jun (¶. 440) and his father once stopped at an inn for the night.At dawn, ferocious tigers had surrounded the building and wanted to eatits inhabitants. Wei came out, kneeled, and said, “If you are hungry youcan eat me, but you shouldn’t startle my elderly parent.” The tigers shrankback and ¶ed. Everyone inside the inn was safe.67 Wei’s sel¶essness andsincere concern for his father simply overwhelm the tigers—they have nochoice but to retreat in the face of unmitigated goodness. In a structurallysimilar tale, during a rebellion, hungry rebels capture Zhao Xiao’s youngerbrother, whom they are about to eat. Zhao thereupon ties himself up and


says to the rebels, “Li for a long time has been hungry thus he is emaciated.He is not nearly as good [to eat] as the fat and well-fed Xiao.” Like the ti-gers of the previous tale, Zhao’s virtue disarms the cannibals: they are sosurprised and ashamed by Zhao’s action that they let the brothers leaveunmolested.68 Filial piety thereby has the awesome power to tame uncivi-lized beasts, be they man or animal. Again, this type of tale and its mes-sage were so appealing that Chinese Buddhists eagerly appropriated it.69

That contemporaries believed such uncanny, miraculous events cameabout as a result of ¤lial piety’s power can be seen in the comments at-tached to these stories. After narrating how ¤lial daughter Yang Xiangsaved her father from a tiger by tackling it with her bare hands, the trans-mitter of the story explains, “[B]y means of her sincere ¤liality Xiangbrought on a miraculous response from a ¤erce beast.”70 That is to say, thetiger released her father not because Yang injured it, but because of thepower of her ¤lial intentions. In trying to explain how the ¤lial Yang Wei(3rd cent.) and his mother escaped from a tiger, the author of Commentaryon the Classic of Waterways explains, “[I]f it was not for the penetration ofhis sincerity and subtleness of his essence who could have reasoned withand affected a spiritual beast?”71 In regard to savage humans, we are toldthat during a time of unrest, when Jiang Ge (¶. 25–84) was trying to makehis escape while carrying his mother on his back, rebel soldiers accostedhim several times. When that happened, he cried and asked for pity sincehe had an elderly mother whom he had to feed. The text then tells us that“his words and qi were respectful and sincere and were suf¤cient to moveand stimulate (gandong) people.” As a result of his earnest request, the sol-diers not only let him go, but also told him of routes he could take toavoid more soldiers.72 In nearly the same way Zengzi’s qi is able to conveywhat his mother experiences, Jiang Ge’s qi affects that of the rebels,thereby causing them to act kindly towards him and his mother.

Finally, the power of ¤lial piety could also protect a child from evilparents. Even though the early legends of Shun have already shown howa ¤lial son could miraculously escape his parents’ murderous intentions,as previously stated, Shun himself produced these miracles through hisuse of magic. However, in early medieval tales this kind of miracle cameabout as a supernatural response to a child’s ¤lial piety. For instance,Jiang Xu (early 1st cent. AD) served his stepmother with profound ¤lial-ity, but she still hated him. As a result,

She secretly poisoned a drink that she gave Xu, but he drank it without dying.

She then attempted to kill Xu with a knife at night, but he dreamt about it.


Thereupon he woke up and said, “Someone wants to kill me.” He then ¶ed

the place where he slept. As predicted, his mother took a knife and stabbed

the bed, but the bed was empty. His stepmother afterwards regretted [her ac-

tions] and realized [Xu’s ¤liality]. She stepped back and reproached herself.

She sighed and said, “This child is that which Heaven has created. How could

I desire to harm him? This is my sin.” She then wanted to kill herself. Xu said,

“One who is ¤lial does not cause [anxiety], and does not give orders [to his

parents]. I have caused you to be afraid, thus the sin is still mine.” Mother and

son then apologized to each other. They returned home and thereafter had

harmonious relations.73

Jiang took no measures to save himself from the poisoned drink, yet helived; then a prophetic dream saved him from being stabbed to death.Clearly he was saved by something other than himself. Funabashi Xiaozizhuan explicitly states that heaven saved him: when his stepmother real-ized that she could not kill him, she remarked, “He must be protected byHeaven. It was a crime to intend to kill him.”74

In fact, to accord with this new understanding of ¤lial miracles, somelater versions of the Shun legend even transform the ways by which hewas saved from his parents’ murderous intentions. For example, whenShun was cleaning out the well in which his parents planned to crushhim, his ¤lial piety caused heaven to make silver coins materialize at thebottom of the well. Since his greedy parents wanted the money, this gaveShun enough time to ¤nd a way to escape. A cartouche on the late ¤fth-century Guyuan lacquered cof¤n states, “Right when [Gusou] was aboutto ¤ll in the well with a rock, to allow Shun to escape from the well,[Heaven] ¤lled it with gold and cash to bestow upon [ ].”75 Likewise, inthe late Tang/Five dynasties Transformation Text on Master Shun (Shunzibian), Shun escaped without harm from the burning barn due to the in-tervention of the earth god, and escaped from the well due to Indra.76 Theotherworldly nature of these escapes are particularly vivid in their illus-tration on the Guyuan lacquered cof¤n. In the scene of the well, a nakedShun is shown pulling himself out of the apparently solid wall of theblocked-off well; in the scene where the barn is ablaze, a naked Shunjumps off the roof of the barn with his arms spread apart (see ¤g. 3).

Filial Miracles that Bring on Auspicious Portents

The fourth and last type of ¤lial miracle is that which causes the appearanceof auspicious portents. Usually these portents take the form of animals that


act unnaturally tame or human, propitious beasts, or unexpected naturalphenomena. These auspicious omens usually appear when a ¤lial son per-forms the mourning rites in an exemplary manner.

One of the most common rewards for ¤liality is either animals that dis-play profound respect for the ¤lial child or the mere appearance of auspi-cious animals. The two geese at the beginning of this chapter who followedYu Guo and mourned him for three years have already provided us with anexample of how ¤lial piety could cause animals to act in a human or unnat-ural way.77 Oftentimes, animals act in these unnatural ways due to theheartrending grief that a child displayed in mourning his or her parent. Forinstance, every time Wu Xi, who lived in the mourning hut by his father’sgrave, wailed, a deer would then squat near the tomb and let out grievouscries.78 Sometimes the animals not only grieve alongside the exemplar, butalso help him survive. Commentary on the Classic of Waterways narrates thestory of a ¤lial son surnamed Qin who, while mourning his parents, be-came so ill that he could not eat. A tiger suckled him for over a hundreddays.79 Animals who acted in these unnatural but friendly ways were posi-tive omens that signaled good things would soon happen to the recipient.80

The authors of such tales underscore the auspicious nature of these ani-mals by mentioning their white color or by including the appearance of

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


mythological beasts. White animals often materialize in response to a ¤lialchild’s paradigmatic ¤lial piety. For example, we are told that after mourn-ing his mother in an exemplary manner, “[Dun Qi’s ¤liality] affected thingsand penetrated the spirits (gan wu tong ling). [Thus] white turtledovesperched near his mourning-hut. Upon seeing people they would leave;upon seeing Dun Qi they would stay.”81 Like the animals mentioned in pre-vious tales, the turtledoves act unnaturally—they in effect keep Dun com-pany. What is additionally different about them is their white color, whichmakes them special. The author explicitly states that Dun’s ¤liality is whatmakes them come forth and act the way they do. Since early medieval Chi-nese believed that white animals were auspicious, their appearance wouldstill be considered a good omen even if such animals in a ¤lial tale do noth-ing to either help or comfort a ¤lial child.82 The propitious nature of theanimals called forth by ¤lial piety is even more pronounced in tales inwhich mythological beasts appear. The composite nature of these animalsunderlines their rarity and the good fortune of those whose virtue beckonsthem. For example, when Xin Shan (¶. 25–57) mourned his mother in anexemplary fashion, a huge bird appeared sporting the ¤ve colors (blue-green, red, yellow, white, and black) on its body; it had a chicken’s head, aswallow’s throat, a ¤sh’s tail, and a snake’s neck.83 This bird’s auspicious-ness is seen not only in its composite nature, but also in its ¤ve colors,which undoubtedly correspond to the “¤ve phases” (wuxing).84 A narrativeconcerning Fang Chu’s (Eastern Han) ¤liality combines both mythologicalbeasts and white animals. It reads, “When his mother died, he personallycarried the dirt to make her tomb and planted a thousand Qi trees. Luanbirds nested upon the trees and white hares sauntered beneath them.”85

Exemplary ¤liality beckoned not only unusual animals, but also un-expected natural phenomenon, which most often consisted of the precipi-tation of sweet dew or the appearance of sweet springs. Han Records of theEastern Pavilion gives us an early example of this type of miracle. EmperorMing was extremely ¤lial and often thought of his deceased father, Em-peror Guangwu. A year after his death, Emperor Ming assembled thewhole court in front of his father’s tomb. At the New Year, when he wasabout to go to his father’s tomb, he dreamt that he saw the ¤rst emperorand empress, as they were while alive. On the day he led all of the of¤cialsto his father’s tomb, sweet dew fell and accumulated on the tops of trees.Of¤cials of all ranks collected it to offer it to the throne.86 In other cases,sweet springs appear where in the past there were none. Some accountscombine the appearance of an unexpected natural phenomenon with thearrival of auspicious animals.87


An important aspect of all these omens is that they were all fore-grounded in the Confucian apocrypha. These texts tell us that when theking’s ¤liality or virtue reaches its height, then the spirit world will producemany of the same omens that we ¤nd in the ¤lial piety stories. For example,The Contract that Quotes Spirits states,

When the king’s ¤liality reaches heaven, sweet dew will fall; when it sinks into

and reaches the Earth, a sweet spring will gush forth. . . . [W]hen his virtue

reaches the birds and beasts, then luan birds will dance. . . . [W]hen a king’s

virtue reaches the birds and beasts, then a white deer will materialize. . . .

[W]hen his virtue reaches the birds and beasts, white birds will descend. . . .

[W]hen his virtue reaches the birds and beasts, a white tiger will materialize.88

Since this one work can account for almost all of the auspicious omensthat ¤lial piety is said to produce, it is not dif¤cult to see where the ¤lialmiracle tales gained their inspiration. Nevertheless, one major differencebetween the good omens in the apocrypha and those in the ¤lial pietystories is the agent who generates the omens. In the apocrypha, the kingor emperor does so, but in the ¤lial piety stories, commoners usually doso. The next section will discuss the import of this change.

This survey of ¤lial miracles has established the following threepoints: ¤rst, without a doubt, the miracles found in the ¤lial piety talesstem from the tradition established by The Classic of Filial Piety and theConfucian apocrypha. Every category of ¤lial miracle had antecedents inthese prior works. What the early medieval tales did was to take fantasticoccurrences found in the apocrypha and document how they appeared inthe lives of historical ¤lial exemplars. The implication is that if these his-torical ¤gures could bene¤t from the spiritual ef¤cacy of ¤lial piety, socould you. Hence the ¤lial piety stories merely develop the ideas about¤lial piety’s magical powers that the apocrypha had already established.We should not overlook that each type of ¤lial miracle already existedduring the Eastern Han, which is precisely when the apocrypha were atthe height of their in¶uence.

Second, the miracle tales call attention to the power of ¤lial piety,not to that of the human exemplar. Unlike Shun, ¤lial sons do not ac-tively create miracles through magic; instead, they are merely the passiverecipients of the moral universe’s miracles. A few ¤lial offspring, such asGuan Ning, did consciously call forth miracles, but they merely stimu-lated heaven to create the miracles. In other words, the ability to createmiracles resided within the spirit world. Filial sons were thus merely the


instruments through which the awesome and ubiquitous force of ¤lialpiety was made manifest. This would help explain why the same miraclecould be attributed to a number of different ¤lial offspring: the identityof the ¤lial exemplar was not nearly as important as the miracle itself.

Third, the narratives also reveal that the tales’ authors viewed theuniverse in anthropomorphic terms. They conceive heaven as having ahuman form and feelings: heaven is a god who feels pity for ¤lial chil-dren who gladly face insurmountable hardships in trying to serve theirparents. A tale about Xiahou Xin tells us that “the Emperor of Heaven”(Tiandi) took pity on his perfect ¤lial devotion and hence gave him medi-cine that would cure his mother.89 Heaven’s compassion for ¤lial chil-dren can also lead it to dispatch minor deities or the recently dead to aidor reward the exemplar. After freeing Dong Yong from servitude throughher superhuman weaving, his wife tells him, “I am the Weaving Girl ofHeaven. Heaven was moved by your perfect ¤lial devotion and sent meto repay your debt.”90 Similarly, after performing many ¤lial acts, Ji Maidreamt of a woman who told him, “My surname is Wei. Yesterday I sud-denly died violently. The Heavenly Deity (Tianshen) pities you for hav-ing no wife. He has sent me to reward you.”91 In short, a celestial courtexists in which the heavenly deity can dispatch minor deities and spiritsto accomplish tasks on earth. Heavenly functionaries can even arrest andpunish other deities at the discretion of the heavenly emperor, as theaforementioned tale of Miao Fei has shown.92

Sometimes heaven and earth even take physical forms to interact withthe exemplars. Liu Yin (¶. 300–318) was disconsolate that since it was themiddle of winter, he could not obtain his grandmother’s desired violets.Thus he beseeched the Emperor of Heaven (Huangtian) and the Lord ofthe Earth (Houtu) to take pity on him. He then heard a disembodied voicesay, “Stop, stop your crying” and found violets sprouting all around him.93

In the case of Yang Gong, the heavenly spirit even transformed himselfinto a student to recompense Yang with the magical seeds.94 In short, dueto heaven and earth’s profound admiration for ¤liality, they often inter-vene in the lives of ¤lial children and even come into their presence. Thistrait again demonstrates the narratives’ af¤nity with the apocrypha, whichalso depict natural and cosmic forces in human form.95

This leads us to ask, though, why early medieval men were so capti-vated by ¤lial miracle tales. What were the messages of the miracle talesthat reverberated with their own values and concerns? I think the early me-dieval elite appreciated the miracle tales because the tales demonstratedthat nature sanctioned a hierarchically ordered family and emphasized that


anyone could gain wealth and status based on his or her cultivation of vir-tue, and the because the appearance of auspicious omens indicated thatprovincial families could now share in the legitimacy to rule, which in thepast had been monopolized by the emperors.

The Sacredness of Hierarchy

Patriarchs of extended families no doubt welcomed the miracle tales be-cause they plainly illustrated that heaven, earth, and the ten thousandthings endorsed the model of family relations that they wanted: one inwhich the parents’ wishes were paramount and sons and daughters’wishes secondary. In a nutshell, ¤lial miracles signaled that the unequal,hierarchical relationship between parent and child was sacred. Since thespirit world sanctioned hierarchy within the family, it was beyond doubtor argument. From another angle, due to the Ru envisioning the universein moral terms, the tales indicate that to sacri¤ce one’s own interests toserve those of one’s parents was “natural” in that it was a principle sharedby heaven, earth, and the ten thousand things. This is why individualswho could recover their primordial qi by perfecting their ¤liality couldelicit responses from things both animate and inanimate. The tales con-vey the message that by sacri¤cing one’s own wants and striving only toful¤ll one’s parents’ needs, one aligns oneself with the dao that governsthe universe, which is ¤lial piety. Doing so bene¤ts oneself because byfollowing the natural order of things, that is, ¤lial piety, one avoids ca-lamities, prolongs his or her life, obtains wealth and high position, andsecures good fortune for future generations. In other words, ¤lial piety isnot only what is “natural,” but due to its ef¤cacy, it is also that which isultimately pro¤table.

Conversely, the tales imply that by acting un¤lially, one contravenesthe natural order of things and risks the danger of incurring the moral uni-verse’s wrath. Although many tales from later periods emphasize howheaven punishes the un¤lial with thunderbolts, this does not appear in anyearly medieval tales.96 Nevertheless, there are a few instances where heavendoes indeed punish those who contravene normal familial relations. Forexample, we have already seen how Shun’s parents suffer after they try tokill him: his father goes blind, his mother dumb, and his half brother mute.In other words, Six Dynasties and Tang versions of the Shun legend implythat his parents and half brother’s ailments are heavenly punishments fortheir dastardly attacks on the ¤lial Shun. Likewise, when Ding Lan’s wife at-tacks her wooden “mother,” she also suffers supernatural punishments.97


Tellingly, in each case the punishment stops only when the af¶icted personlooks to heaven and repents from his or her sins. As previously mentioned,bandits are also loathe to kill ¤lial children because they believe it wouldbe inauspicious to do so, which probably implies that they, too, fearheaven’s wrath. Nevertheless, on the whole the early medieval tales stress¤lial piety’s bene¤ts more than its punishments. Perhaps this is becauseduring that era Confucianism’s hold was not as great as it would be later, sothat the authors decided to emphasize the positive aspects of ¤lial piety’spower.

In emphasizing the sacredness of hierarchy, the tales are once againreiterating the outlook of Correlative Confucianism. One of the innova-tions that Dong Zhongshu introduced was to favor yang over yin: accord-ing to him, the former was more important than the latter.98 Moreover,according to Luxuriant Gems of the Spring and Autumn (Chunqiu fanlu),which is ascribed to Dong, the three primary relationships—that of lord-retainer, father-child, husband-wife—which were known as the “threebonds” (sangang), are based on the metaphysical principles of yin andyang. Thus lords, fathers, and husbands are yang, that is, superior, while re-tainers, children, and wives are yin, that is, inferior. As a result, parents arethe child’s heaven, which he/she should never disobey.99 The apocryphaalso adopted the same one-way, hierarchical view of human ethics.100 The¤lial piety stories were therefore merely giving historical ¶esh to the theo-retical bones that Correlative Confucian theorists posited.

Emphasis on Meritocracy

Another important Correlative Confucian message that patriarchs of pow-erful families would have welcomed is that wealth and status are availableto anyone who is genuinely virtuous. Correlative Confucians believed thatpublic of¤ce should be distributed on the basis of virtue. People with greatmerit would be placed in high of¤ce, while the person with the greatestvirtue would be made the ruler. When government was ¤lled with virtu-ous men and headed by a sage as emperor, then the Age of Great Unity(Datong) would come about.101

The ¤lial piety tales make this point by emphasizing their protago-nists’ destitution and pointing out that their rewards come solely fromtheir ¤liality. The tales we have touched upon in this chapter have alreadygiven us many examples of poor ¤lial sons. To bury his father, Dong Yonghad to sell himself into slavery. Guo Ju did not have the wherewithal tosupport both his infant son and elderly mother. When Yang Gong asked


to marry the daughter of a prestigious family, her father laughed andthought Yang must be mad.102 Xing Qu had to work as a hired laborer tofeed his father. Han Lingzhen’s (5th cent.) poverty meant that for threeyears after his mother’s death he could not afford to bury her, until heplanted melons that never diminished in number.103 Why this emphasison poverty?

The authors of the tales underscore the exemplars’ poverty to indicatethat their good fortune was solely derived from their perfect ¤lial piety. Inother words, exemplars were nobodies until ¤lial piety transformed theminto people of substance. These rags-to-riches tales stress that to get ahead,one does not need a high birth, connections, or wealth; one needs onlypraiseworthy conduct. This emphasis that virtue is what gets one intoof¤ce is undoubtedly why early medieval tales predominately focus onthe ¤lial acts one performs before becoming an of¤cial or receiving a sum-mons to public of¤ce, rather than ¤lial acts performed throughout his life-time. At the same time, this storyline serves the purpose of glorifying ¤lialpiety’s power. If it were not for its ef¤cacy, these men and women wouldhave been left toiling and dying in obscurity.

The message that ¤lial piety is the basis for social enhancementcomes across clearly in the way early medieval authors reworked the plot-line of the Shun legend. In its early versions, such as in Accounts of Out-standing Women, Shun marries the sage-king Yao’s daughters even beforehis parents try to kill him. However, in early medieval versions of thetale, this marriage, a crowning social achievement that heralds Shun’s as-cension to the throne, does not occur until the end of the tale, after hisparents have tried to kill him and he has successfully cared for them fromdistant Mount Li. In the later versions of this text, Shun’s marriage toYao’s daughters is explicitly presented as a reward for all of his ¤lial acts.An encyclopedia entry tells us that after Shun miraculously cured hisfather’s blindness, “Emperor Yao heard about this matter. He then gavehis two daughters in marriage to him, the elder was named E-huang andthe younger was Nüying. Yao thereupon ceded the throne to Shun.”104

This point is further borne out in the pictorial record. In the NorthernDynasties’ depictions of this story, the ¤rst one or two scenes consist ofhis escapes from his family’s murderous plots, while the last scene showshim marrying Yao’s two daughters (see ¤g. 4).105 For even the least so-phisticated viewer, it must have been evident that the last scene repre-sented Shun’s reward for his outstanding ¤liality.

But since we have already seen that most of the compilers of the Ac-counts of Filial Offspring were from eminent families that could rely on


their wealth, connections, and pedigrees to advance the careers of theirjunior members, why would they attach value to this message of meritover birth? The reason is that patriarchs of even illustrious families seemto have been worried that unless they continuously distinguished them-selves through superior conduct and learning, their descendants wouldnot be able to long maintain their family’s af¶uence and status. We mustremember that these men lived in a dangerous world, where dynastieswere short-lived, wars were frequent, and court intrigues vicious.106 Theyalmost certainly personally witnessed illustrious families having suddenreversals of fortune, and even members of the most eminent families haddif¤culties maintaining their position in the top echelons of govern-ment.107 For this reason, in family instructions (jiaxun) addressed to theirdescendants, patriarchs preach against obtaining high position or extrava-gant wealth because either one will earn the enmity or jealousy of otherfamilies. In this vein, Yan Zhitui suggested that a family should not havemore than twenty slaves, ten qing of land, and ten thousand copper coins,and that its male members obtain only middle-ranking positions withinthe bureaucracy.108 The patriarchs urge instead that their descendents con-centrate on cultivating their virtue, which is done by studying. In sum, thefamily instructions emphasize learning because it teaches one how to act

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


well, thereby avoiding the enmity of others, and because it is a useful skillthat is always appreciated, since regimes always need literate men. YanZhitui gives us a vivid sense of the usefulness of literacy in a topsy-turvyworld.

In these disordered times I have seen many captives who, though lowbred

for a hundred generations, have become teachers through knowledge and

study of the Analects and The Classic of Filial Piety. Others, though they had

the heritage of nobility for a thousand years, were nothing but farmers and

grooms, because they were unable to read and write. Seeing such conditions,

how can you not exert yourselves? Whoever can keep steadily at work on a

few hundred volumes will, in the end, never remain a common person.109

In other words, personal cultivation and learning were survival skills thatfamily members had to possess to maintain the family’s status overtime—birth, wealth, and privilege were not a solid enough foundationon which to base a family’s fortune over the long term. This perhaps iswhy the trope of the precocious child was also prevalent in this period.110

In a memorial to the throne, Han Xianzong, an author of an Accountsof Filial Offspring, complains that of¤cial appointments are merely basedon pedigree and not on talent. He goes on to say,

People from eminent families are merely those [that rely on] the glory of

their father and ancestors. How do they bene¤t the imperial family? The

only people who bene¤t the times are those who possess virtue and talent. If

someone has talent, even if he has the baseness of a butcher, ¤sherman,

slave, or a captive, the imperial family should not be embarrassed to make

him into an of¤cial. If he does not have talent, even if he is the scion of three

empresses, he should fall among the commoners. Thus great talent receives

high of¤ce, and small talent receives small of¤ce. Each receives what he de-

serves, which will bring about happiness and peace.111

This statement well re¶ects the premises of Correlative Confucianism—political of¤ce should be assigned solely on merit, regardless of class. Never-theless, in the same memorial, Han also complained that in the capital,people of gentle birth and commoners were living side by side, whichmeant that commoners’ lascivious manners, especially those of entertain-ers, were contaminating the conduct of scholars.112 In other words, beinga member of the upper class himself, he believed in the superiority of gen-teel families and the inferiority of commoners. At the same time, though,


he believed that families must reaf¤rm their social worth through theirvirtue and talent, or they run the risk of becoming commoners them-selves. The message of Accounts of Filial Offspring, then, was no doubt that¤liality is a means by which one reaf¤rms his or her social value and rulingclass membership because it indicates that one has what society and thecourt need most—talent and virtue.

Shift of Legitimacy

This chapter mentioned earlier that in the apocrypha auspicious omensmaterialize due to an emperor’s virtue, but that in the ¤lial piety storiesthey appear in response to commoners’ ¤liality. What accounts for thisshift? The answer is that beginning in the second half of the Eastern Handynasty, local elite families began to appropriate these miracles and at-tribute them to their founders or prominent members to legitimate theirunprecedented power and status. Since local elite families were now car-rying out many of the functions that the central government formerlyundertook, this kind of miracle story provided a ready-made means of jus-tifying their newly acquired powers.

This contention begins to make sense when we look at how Taoists atthe same time employed imperial omens to legitimate their own authority.Seidel has pointed out that many ideas later associated with Taoism can befound in the Confucian apocrypha. With the weakening of government au-thority in the Eastern Han, magicians or masters of the occult sciences(fangshi) appropriated celestial signs and tokens that conferred authorityon the emperor and used them to legitimate their claims of being the em-pire’s spiritual caretakers. Hence just as it did with emperors, heaven in-vested Taoist priests with sacred registers (lu), tokens (fu), or charts (tu)that bestowed upon them power over deities and spirits.113 In other words,by grabbing symbols used to legitimate the emperor’s authority, Taoiststook advantage of imperial weakness to attempt to wrest away its control ofthe spirit world. Now, if rulers were going to successfully deal with theother world, they would have to depend on the Taoists as intermediaries.

Similarly, many of the ideas that inform the ¤lial piety stories alsostem from the apocrypha. Since the apocrypha’s primary purpose was toconfer legitimacy on the ruler who was the intended audience of thesetexts, they were very much political documents. That the ¤lial piety storiesowe so much to the apocrypha suggests that they, too, had political pur-poses. If an apocryphal text tells us that sweet dew gathers in response toa ruler’s benevolence and the same thing happens to a literatus in a ¤lial


piety story, one wonders whether that literatus does not have the same po-litical legitimacy as the ruler. To put it bluntly, by attributing to local lite-rati the auspicious omens that in the past were attributed only to rulers,the authors of the ¤lial piety tales were insinuating that the moral universewas conferring legitimacy to rule onto the ¤lial exemplars. The tales arethus saying that political legitimacy no longer solely resides with the em-peror: it now also resides with outstanding literati who happen to bemembers of powerful families. To justify their privileged place in society,then, elite families created miracle tales that suggested they possessed thesame virtue as rulers.

Auspicious omen tales most clearly indicate that the miracle storiesconcerned political legitimacy. Unlike other miracles, the appearance ofauspicious omens in no way directly aids or rewards the ¤lial exemplar. Themodern reader might doubt the felicity of white rabbits frolicking aroundone’s father’s grave. It matters, though, because it is an auspicious omenthat materializes when a ruler treats the elderly well, or when he handles af-fairs promptly.114 It is a sign of benevolent government. Eager to enhancetheir legitimacy, early medieval emperors avidly searched for such prodigiesand had of¤cials announce them to the throne. In fact, these omens were ofsuch great political importance that by the ¤fth century, historians in bothnorthern and southern China began dedicating special chapters to them inthe dynastic histories.115 Since these were signs of good governance, whenappearing in response to the virtue of a literatus, they must convey the samemessage of political legitimacy. Hence the illustrations of auspicious omensthat appear at the Wu Liang shrine are not, as Wu Hung and Powers wouldhave us believe, criticisms of the present government and prescriptions fora good government,116 but rather are indications of divine signs that had oc-curred, or had been claimed to occur, in response to the Wu family’s promi-nence in that area. Lippiello has argued that Li Xi, a late second-centurygovernor in what is now Gansu Province, was credited with auspiciousomens because “Li Xi was not simply an of¤cial; in the eyes of the inhabit-ants of Wudu, he was a benevolent ruler.”117 In other words, local of¤cialsor leaders were appropriating the symbols of imperial sovereignty to legiti-mate their de facto rule over local areas.

Indirect con¤rmation that ¤lial piety stories featuring auspiciousomens—such as propitiously colored animals or unexpected naturalphenomena—were closely tied to the politics of eminent families is theirdisappearance in later collections of such stories. Upon reading the most fa-mous collection of ¤lial piety stories, Poems on the Twenty-four Filial Exem-plars, one will ¤nd that even though the majority of these tales date to the


early medieval period, not even one of them features the appearance of anauspicious omen.118 I think the reason for this is that such tales were too ex-plicitly tied to the apocrypha and political legitimacy. Although the apocry-pha, despite many bans, continued to be in demand throughout the earlymedieval period, by the Tang dynasty the texts seem to have gradually fallenout of favor and disappeared.119 I am not sure why this is the case, but per-haps due to the stability of the Tang, its rulers probably thought they coulddo without the double-edged swords of the apocrypha’s prophecies. In thesame vein, states with strong central governments, such as the Tang andSong dynasties, probably would have looked askance at tales that creditedliterati with the auspicious omens normally associated with emperors.

Conclusion

This chapter has shown that in many ways the early medieval ¤lial pietystories conveyed the messages of Correlative Confucianism—that mancan affect the spirits through his moral behavior, that the moral universe isdeeply concerned with the actions of people and will send down miraclesto reward the virtuous and disasters to chastise the immoral, that a hier-archy within the family that privileges seniors and subordinated juniorswas “natural,” and that government of¤ce should be assigned on the basisof merit. Moreover, the stories betray a close relationship to the Confucianapocrypha: all of the fantastic occurrences one sees in the miracle taleshave predecessors in these texts. The early medieval popularity of ¤lialpiety tales indicates that contemporaries still deeply appreciated the ideasof Correlative Confucianism. We should not be surprised, then, when LuZongli tells us that despite the repeated early medieval proscriptions of theapocrypha, they continued to survive and enjoy esteem straight to the be-ginning of the Tang dynasty.120

Nor should we be taken aback by the importance of miracles to Ru ad-vocates. Correlative Confucians viewed themselves as living in a vibrantuniverse in which humans should be in harmony with all other things.What kept things in balance was of course ethical behavior. When peopleperfected that which connected them with all other things, CorrelativeConfucians took it for granted that other things in the moral universewould show their approval. Thus it would be odd indeed if a person dem-onstrated exemplary virtue that did not solicit notice among the ten thou-sand things.

Finally, this chapter has brought home the point that these seeminglyinnocuous, trite stories conveyed important political messages. Correlative


Confucianism was above all a political philosophy, and the tales, in con-veying that philosophy, make political statements. One of those state-ments was that political legitimacy was no longer the monopoly of theemperor: prominent families in the provinces could also receive heaven’sblessing to rule. This does not mean, though, that through their manipu-lation of these symbols that the prominent families were trying to usurpthe position of the emperor. I think this is evident in that the authors ofthe tales do not claim that the ¤lial children’s behavior brings about theappearance of those auspicious omens most closely associated with em-perors, such as unicorns, phoenixes, dragons, and so on. In other words,the tales suggest that prominent families shared in the emperor’s legiti-macy, but were still subordinate to him. For the emperor, the ¤lial chil-dren themselves must have been close to being auspicious omens. Theirexistence implied that his benevolence had reached and inspired at leastsome members of his empire. The fact that rebels in the Pan Zong story saythat killing a ¤lial child would be unlucky and might prevent them fromwinning the empire suggests that ¤lial children were indeed harbingers ofgood luck to be treasured by both the ruling authority and rebels alike.121

Thus the chapter on ¤lial children in the dynastic histories might haveserved a function similar to the treatises on auspicious omens—by show-ing the existence of many ¤lial children during that dynasty, it proved thatheaven did indeed smile upon it. Perhaps that is why early medieval em-perors were willing to share a modicum of their legitimacy with ¤lial chil-dren and the powerful families that they represented.

113

5 Reverent Caring

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

The Analects, 2.7

As this passage indicates, Warring States Ru constantlyreiterated that ¤lial piety did not merely consist of yang, that is, nurturingparents with food or physical care. Such behavior should be automaticand in no way is considered virtuous. For Ru, what counted were acts thateither pleased or honored parents. Yet many early medieval ¤lial piety ac-counts concern yang. In fact, close to half of these narratives are about off-spring who diligently ful¤ll their parents’ material needs and desires.With the exception of mourning, motifs about nurturing far outnumberany other theme in the ¤lial piety stories. But if Warring States Ru were atpains to disassociate xiao from yang, why, then, was caring for parentssuch an important theme in the early medieval narratives? How could themeaning of xiao seemingly revert to one of its earliest meanings, that is,“presenting food”?1

This chapter will argue that the authors of early medieval tales largelyde¤ned xiao as yang because, in a period when governmental authoritywas weak and individual families assumed unprecedented power andin¶uence, it was precisely this concrete and archaic aspect of ¤lial pietythat most bene¤ted the solidarity of extended families, by simulta-neously expressing love, creating obligation, and signaling hierarchy.Since food is the premier life-giving substance, no act communicated re-gard better than its bestowal; no act expressed apathy more than its de-nial. By stressing yang as xiao, early medieval authors also underlined thatservice to one’s family took priority over service to the state. At the sametime, though, they modi¤ed yang by heralding the relatively new concept


of gongyang (to respectfully nurture), which differs in that such an act ofcaring discloses a parents’ superiority and a child’s inferiority. Gongyangcombines the concepts of feeding (yang) and giving respect (jing),2

thereby enabling one to display esteem for parents through the mannerin which one meets their physical needs.

This chapter also pays heed to the identity of the gongyang recipients.In recent years, scholars have increasingly examined the Ru conceptualiza-tion of the parent-child relationship. Since texts such as The Analects, theBook of Rites, and The Classic of Filial Piety almost exclusively talk about therelationship between father and son (fuzi) and mention mothers onlywithin the compound “father and mother” (fumu), Cole contends thatConfucian ¤lial piety concerns only a son’s responsibilities to his fatherand male ancestors.3 Shimomi, on the other hand, believes that themother-son relationship was of foremost importance in early Confucian-ism. Since the Chinese family system entrusted mothers with rearing, edu-cating, and punishing children, sons felt dependent on and fearful of her.Consequently, Chinese sons were all “mama’s boys” who would foreverdo the bidding of the patrilineal family, which the mother represented.4 Intruth, early medieval authors of tales went to neither extreme and valuedboth mother-son and father-son ties.

The Creation of “Reverent Caring”

Towards the end of the Warring States period, the term gongyang, whichdenotes the special feeding of elders, begins to appear in literary sources.The fundamental meaning of gong is “to provide” or “to supply,” but italso has the extended meanings of “to offer respectfully” and “to presentsacri¤ces.” In the past, gong was also interchangeable with the charactergong, “to respect” or “to be reverent.” Yang’s most basic meaning is “tofeed” or “to provide sustenance,” from which comes its extended meaningsof “to raise,” “to nurture,” “to care for,” and “to cultivate.” Thus gongyangmeans something like “reverent caring” or “providing sustenance in a re-spectful fashion.” That is, one presents food or material support as if onewere offering it to a superior.5 Undoubtedly, because the term stressedthe deferential manner in which the gift was given, translators adopted itto describe Buddhist offerings that nourished either the mind or body.6

The reader should note that even though I translate gongyang as “reverentcaring” to emphasize the broad scope of the actions it includes, given thetales’ emphasis on the giving of food, in many cases the term could justas easily be translated as “reverent feeding.”

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The implicit, hierarchical aspect of gongyang becomes evident instatements that contrast caring for a child with caring for a parent. MasterHan Fei makes this clear in one of the term’s earliest appearances: “if asan infant, his parents care for (yang) him meagerly, he will grow up bear-ing a grudge against them. When the son fully matures and becomes anadult, his reverent care (gongyang) of his parents will be skimpy. His par-ents will be angry and scold him.”7 Note that one merely “yang”s a child,but “gongyang”s parents. Although this statement stresses reciprocity inthe relationship between parents and children, the tale of Guo Ju makesit evident that gongyang is far superior to yang. When trying to decidewhether to support his mother or infant child, Guo said, “If we care for(yang) our son, I will be unable to engage in my occupation, which willhinder my effort to reverently care for (gongyang) our mother. We shouldkill the child and bury him.”8 Guo’s decision makes it evident that gong-yang supercedes yang and is devoted to one’s superiors.

One of the most common means of performing gongyang was offeringdelicacies to parents during the morning and evening audiences. These au-diences, which were called dingxing (to arrange [the sleeping-mat] and in-quire [after one’s parents’ comfort]), were daily ceremonies in which sonsand daughters-in-law would wait upon their parents (like servants) andserve them food, especially tasty morsels.9 The great commentator ZhengXuan says that by presenting parents with delicacies during the dingxingaudiences, sons and daughters-in-law are expressing both their love andrespect (aijing).10 Serving delicacies honored parents because such food-stuffs were costly and dif¤cult to obtain. Food, especially delicacies, was aconcrete manifestation of a child’s love and concern for his or her parents.Statements by contemporaries attest to the fact that reverent care requiredwealth; thus an elderly Wang Chong complains that due to his family’spoverty, he does not receive gongyang.11 Reverent care thereby usually con-sisted of children honoring their parents by providing them with presti-gious foodstuffs. Having determined the ordinary requirements of reverentcare, let us now look at how tales from before the Eastern Han and earlymedieval ¤lial piety stories treated the same theme of nurturing.

A Scarcity of Reverent Care

Before the Eastern Han, the compound gongyang appears infrequently inextant texts, and stories with nurturing motifs are few in number. The ear-liest text that contains the compound gongyang with the meaning of rever-ent care is the late third-century BC Master Han Fei. After that, the term


appears, albeit infrequently, in a limited number of Western Han texts.12

Filial tales with nurturing motifs before the Eastern Han are also rare, andpopular early medieval reverent-care motifs seldom appear, if at all, be-fore the Eastern Han. For instance, the ubiquitous early medieval motif of¤lial offspring who eat inferior food so that their parents can have supe-rior food, as far as I can discern, appears only once in works from beforethe Eastern Han.13

Even the few exemplary acts of caring that do exist in early narrativesare often not the story’s main focus. In the two cases in the Zuo Commen-tary (Zuo zhuan) (4th cent. BC) where a ¤lial son saves food for his parent,that act in itself is only a minor motif. For instance, when Zhao Dun in-quired why a starving man, Ling Zhe, put aside half of the food Zhao gavehim, Ling replied that having been away for three years, he wanted to re-turn home and give it to his mother. If the tale stopped here, it would re-semble an early medieval ¤lial piety tale; but the Zuo Commentary goes onto say that years later, when Zhao was ambushed, one of his attackerscame to his aid and saved him: it was no other than Ling, who was repay-ing Zhao for his past kindness.14 In short, the tale is not about ¤lial pietyper se, but goodness requited. Similarly, in the Zuo Commentary, YingKaoshu uses the act of setting aside food for his mother as a reminder toDuke Zhuang of his un¤lial behavior—what is important is not the caringmotif in itself but Ying’s subtle remonstrance.15 One might argue that thenurturing motifs are not emphasized because they are embedded in the ZuoCommentary’s larger narratives; however, when Zhao Dun’s story reappearsin Garden of Persuasions, it is again a story about kindness requited; indeed,in this version, the starving man’s ¤lial act was so unimportant that he isnot even identi¤ed.16

Another characteristic of stories about yang from before the EasternHan is that the ¤lial exemplar’s actions are not so excessive that otherscannot replicate them. To illustrate the ¤lial piety of King Wen and KingWu of the Zhou, the Book of Rites states that the former would check uponhis father thrice daily, and if his father was not feeling well, it would affectKing Wen’s mood and countenance. Thus his behavior was noteworthyfor two reasons. First, he went to check on his father not twice a day as re-quired by the rites, but thrice a day. Second, not only did he diligently per-form all of the necessary rites, but he was also genuinely affected when hisfather was not well. Nevertheless, unlike later reverent care accounts, hedoes not personally serve meals to his father, and his concern for hisfather’s welfare far outweighs in importance the presentation of food. Asfor King Wu, when his father became ill, for twelve days he nursed (yang)

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him continuously and would eat only when he did.17 King Wu obviouslysuffered terribly on his ill father’s behalf. Yet his self-deprivations are notso extreme that it would be impossible for others to emulate them; that is,his actions are not superhuman.18 In short, both kings are ¤lial exemplarswhose actions are exceptional, but not extraordinary.

A Western Han theme about yang that does have a number of storiesdevoted to it is that of a son who, to nourish his elderly parents, eithertakes a humble of¤ce or declines a high one. The message of the formermotif is that even though the Way no longer prevails or the ruler is im-moral, a poor ¤lial son takes any of¤ce, no matter how low, to ensure thathis parents are amply provisioned.19 This expresses the principle thatmany Western Han Ru works repeat: “One whose family is poor and par-ents old is not selective in choosing of¤ce” (jia pin qin lao zhe bu ze guan ershi).20 The message of the latter motif is that a ¤lial son refuses high of¤cebecause it interferes with taking care of his parents on two counts: ¤rst, hewould have to live far from home, thereby making it impossible for himto personally serve his parents.21 Second, holding such a position mightforce him to place his lord’s interests before his parents’. Thus after refus-ing a ministerial position, Zengzi stated, “My parents are old. If one re-ceives a salary from another person, he will be anxious about the affairs ofthat person. I cannot endure distancing myself from my parents to serveanother.”22 Put another way, to ensure one’s parents are well cared for, agentleman should be willing to sacri¤ce his own ambitions, and even hisown personal integrity.23

One last motif related to of¤ce holding and caring for parents takesthe form of a moral dilemma: a ¤lial son must decide whether to serve hislord or care for (yang) his parent. The exemplar, in the end, resolves the di-lemma by committing suicide to atone for being un¤lial or disloyal. Forexample, while supporting (yang) his mother, Bian Zhuangzi thrice re-treated in battle and suffered insult as a consequence. After mourning hismother, during a battle he brought back three enemy heads to atone forhis three previous retreats. He then sacri¤ced himself ¤ghting for hislord.24 Tales like this one show that a gentleman would rather die than beeither disloyal or un¤lial.25 Signi¤cantly, none of these tales prioritizeseither ¤lial piety or loyalty: both qualities are equally important and moreprecious than one’s own life.26

In stories from before the Eastern Han, female exemplars are alsoplaced into ¤lial dilemmas, but unlike male exemplars, their problemshave little to do with the state and everything to do with the family.27 Theoverwhelming majority concern women who confront a danger that


threatens their relatives. A wife typically has to choose between beingloyal to either her father or husband, or her brother or husband. She usu-ally commits suicide to avoid disloyalty to either one.28 In other cases, amother has to choose between saving her own child or a relative’s child.Almost invariably she saves the child that is not her own, whether it is herbrother’s or master’s child, or stepchild.29

The female protagonists of these tales explain their actions throughthe Legalist dichotomy of gong and si. According to Master Han Fei, simeans self-absorption, while opposing self-absorption is called gong.30 Inother words, si consists of sel¤sh behavior or personal concerns, whereasgong consists of manifesting shared concerns. When the commander ofthe enemy’s army asked the Righteous Aunt of Lu (Lu Yigu) why shewould abandon her own beloved child to save her elder brother’s, she re-plied that saving her own son is an act of private love (siai), whereas sav-ing her brother’s son is a communal duty (gongyi). If she puts her privatelove ahead of her communal duty, her countrymen will ostracize her. 31

This story thereby implies that even within a family one could have acon¶ict between si and gong interests. Hence I translate gong as “commu-nal” rather than the more usual translation of “public.” Since a womanrelies on her children ¤rst for status within her husband’s family and laterfor material support, by sacri¤cing her own child she endangers her ownwelfare. Thus by discarding her own son in favor of her brother’s, theRighteous Aunt of Lu slighted her own self-interests to realize her natalfamily’s communal interests. This sacri¤ce earns her countrymen’s ap-proval because she exhibits the commonly shared value of subordinatingone’s personal interests to those of the group. This illustrates whatKutcher has called the Confucian “parallel conception of society.” Since aperson’s obligations to his or her parents and lord (and by extension thelarger community) are similar, if the person is loyal to one, he or she willalso invariably be loyal to the other.32

The Multiple Layers of Self-Sacrifice

In stark contrast to narratives from before the Eastern Han, in which car-ing is but a minor motif, early medieval accounts show that while one’sparents are alive, no aspect of xiao is more important. Like their predeces-sors, early medieval stories indicate that gongyang consists of furnishingparents with delicacies; however, underscoring its importance, the au-thors emphasize the deprivations that ¤lial children in¶ict upon them-selves to secure these luxuries. In fact, the authors of these tales depict

Reverent Caring 119

¤lial exemplars as subjecting themselves to four levels of increasingly se-vere self-deprivation.

At the simplest level, ¤lial exemplars temporarily deny themselvesfood. This might take the form of a ¤lial child either refusing to eat if a par-ent has not yet taken food or forgoing a delicacy, which he/she then pre-sents to a parent. Such acts are often credited to ¤lial offspring when theyare but young children. For example,

Zhao Xun (or Zhao Gou) had a ¤lial nature. When he was ¤ve or six, when-

ever he obtained something that was sweet or delicious, he never dared to

eat it by himself. He would always ¤rst take it and feed it to his father. When

his father went out, Zhao Xun would wait until he returned and only then

ate. If his father did not return in time for a meal, leaning against the gate, he

would cry and await him.33

Zhao’s actions differ signi¤cantly from those of the Zuo Commentary’s LingZhe and Ying Kaoshu. First, the sole purpose of Zhao’s story is to call atten-tion to his exemplary ¤lial piety; it is not merely a device to explain the un-folding of a larger narrative. Second, unlike the Zuo Commentary’s stories,the account above portrays Zhao’s behavior not as a one-time act, but as ha-bitual. Third, whereas the former narratives involved adults, Zhao Xun ismerely a boy of six. This tale’s central message is that if even a boy could per-form reverent care in such a manner, how much more should adults do so!

Forgoing luxuries, especially delectable foods, that one’s parentscould not have was a popular motif in early medieval tales. If parentscould not enjoy them, there was no reason why someone of less impor-tance, such as their son or daughter, should. Thus when asked to explainwhy he would bother to exchange the rice he received as his salary forwheat and millet (less prestigious and cheaper grains), He Ziping (417–477) said, “My parents live in the east, hence they are not always able toobtain rice. How could I allow myself alone to enjoy polished rice?”34

This urge to furnish parents with superior foodstuffs was so strong thatsome ¤lial exemplars found miraculous ways of sending delicacieshome.35 Other ¤lial sons strenuously avoided luxuries that they were notable to give to their parents while they were still alive. For example,

Zeng Shen once ate fresh ¤sh. It was extremely delicious; however, he spat it

out. Someone asked him why. He answered: “While my mother was alive,

she did not know what fresh ¤sh tasted like. I have now tasted its exquisite-

ness and spat it out, and for the rest of my life I will not eat it.”36


In other words, the pleasures one could enjoy later in life should be dic-tated by the pleasures that one was able to provide for his/her parents.Filial children could not treat themselves better than they treated theirparents.

At the second level of self-deprivation, a ¤lial child undergoes severephysical hardship to reverently care for his or her parents. Securing delica-cies for one’s parents was so important that this motif often emphasizesthat the child can do so only through physical torment. One account tellsus, “Even though winter was at its height and the cold was at its worst,Wang Yan’s body was not completely covered by clothing, but the food ofhis parents was always extremely delicious.”37 Similarly, Huang Xiang “inwinter had neither a quilt nor pants, but his father had extremely tastyfoods.”38 In other words, even though these ¤lial sons could feed their par-ents ordinary food, to provide them with special treats they sacri¤ced theirown most basic needs, such as keeping themselves warm.

The most common motif that illustrates this level of deprivation isthat of a ¤lial child searching for a food that is dif¤cult, if not impossible,to obtain, usually because it is out of season. In each case, though, the¤lial offspring acquires the desired object because his/her willingness toendure intense suffering causes heaven to intervene on his/her behalf. Themost famous tale of this kind is that of Wang Xiang, who, in the dead ofwinter, loosens his clothes and endeavors to break with his bare hands theice covering a pond in order to get the carp that his stepmother so desper-ately wants.39 Many tales suggest that ¤lial children even risked their livesto obtain their parent’s desired food. Underscoring the danger of this typeof quest, Jiang Shi’s son drowned in an attempt to fetch river water for hisgrandmother.40 In short, these accounts stress that reverent care is so im-portant that any sacri¤ce on its behalf is justi¤able. Surely the Book of Rites’compilers did not intend that a son endanger his life to supply his parentswith delicacies for their morning or evening meal.

The reason for going to such extremes is that reverent care required oneto obtain whatever one’s parent desired. The tale of Liu Yin (¶. 300–318)makes this evident.

[His] great-grandmother, Lady Wang, in the depth of winter desired violets

(jin), but she did not say anything. As a result, for ten days she did not eat

her ¤ll. Yin thought her mood was strange and asked her why. Lady Wang

told him. At that time Yin was nine years old. He thereupon grieved and

cried in the marshes [after searching there in vain for violets]. He said, “My

sins are extremely grave. While young I have already received the punish-

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ment of my parents’ death. Now Lady Wang is in the hall of my home, but

this month she has lacked a week’s nourishment. Yin is a son, but he cannot

obtain that which his parent wants. Emperor of Heaven and Lord of the

Earth, I hope that you will show me pity.” The sound of his crying voice did

not stop for half a day. Thereupon, he suddenly heard something like the

voice of a person say, “Stop, stop crying.” Yin desisted and looked at the

ground. Violets were growing there. He took more than a bushel of them and

returned home. Even after eating the plants, their number did not diminish.

Only when violets came into season did they decrease.41

Liu was inconsolable because he felt that he has neglected his primaryduty as a son: to ensure that his parent, or in this case great-grandparent,was suf¤ciently provided with the food she desired. Even though he pro-vided her with sustenance each day, since it was not what she wanted, shenever ate her ¤ll. Hence Liu, in effect, bewailed that he had failed to rev-erently care for her. For the creator of this story, then, a son who cannotprovide his parent with exactly what he or she desires is not a true son.

A similar motif is that of a ¤lial child who undergoes hardships tonurse his/her parent back to health or to secure the medicine that will curea parent. King Wu was lauded for nursing King Wen for an astonishingtwelve days without sleeping. Yet for early medieval authors, a near fort-night was not nearly astonishing enough. Thus they credit exemplary off-spring with nursing their parents for years on end without sleeping.42 Tofurther emphasize the extraordinary nature of their acts, heaven often re-wards their efforts by providing them with the medicinal food that curesthe parent’s illness.43 Obtaining whatever medicine the parent needs isjust a variation of obtaining whatever food one’s parent wants. Both mo-tifs end with the presentation of something that is ingested—that is, aform of food. Another important aspect of this motif is that the ¤lialchild’s feats cannot be replicated in reality: the tales’ authors vest him/herwith superhuman powers of endurance and supply a sympathetic heaven.

The third level of self-deprivation concerns exemplary sons who en-gage in socially demeaning acts to reverently care for their parents. Eventhough the protagonists of the early medieval tales were primarily mem-bers of locally prominent, upper-class families, the tales often portraythem, on their parents’ behalf, performing menial or disgusting tasks thatwere usually done by servants or slaves.44 Filial offspring, thus, do distaste-ful, even appalling things to restore or ensure their parent’s health, such assucking pus out of wounds, tasting vomit, or sampling feces.45 A ¤lialchild’s willingness to perform these types of acts was admirable precisely


because he or she enthusiastically performed what normally was consid-ered repulsive, as the following anecdote attests.

Emperor Wen was once sick with sores. Deng Tong (2nd cent. BC), on the em-

peror’s behalf, would always suck the pus from them and spit it out. The em-

peror was unhappy. He egged Deng on by asking, “Who under Heaven loves

me the most?” Tong replied, “No one more than the crown prince.” The

crown prince entered to inquire about the emperor’s illness. The emperor in-

structed him to suck his sores. The crown prince did so, but his countenance

exhibited displeasure. After ¤nishing, upon hearing that Tong [happily]

sucked the sores, the crown prince was ashamed and hated him in his

heart.46

Being an ordinary son, the crown prince followed his father’s order anddid the loathsome task, but not without obvious disgust. Even thoughboth the crown prince and Deng performed the same act, Deng’s enthu-siasm for it doubtlessly reminded the crown prince that he had failed toact in accordance with the Ru principle that while with one’s parents oneshould display neither displeasure nor discontent.47

In other stories, despite servants or slaves being available, ¤lial chil-dren insist on doing all the menial tasks necessary for their parents’ care.Since only children know how much their parents have sacri¤ced ontheir behalf, only they can serve them with the sincerity and devotion theparents deserve. A tale about a ¤lial monk named Shi Daoan (d. 600) ex-plicitly makes this point.

When Daoan ¤rst came to Zhongxing temple, he brought along his mother.

Every morning he would visit her. With his own hands he would boil rice for

her and only after doing so would he go to lecture. Even though he had more

than enough servants, he would never allow anyone to help. Even when it

came to drawing water and chopping wood, he had to use his own hands.

He told someone: “My mother was able to give me birth and feed me; if I

don’t do this myself how can this be called ‘reverent care.’”48

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

Reverent Caring 123

Some exemplars did not merely stop at serving the parent food: theyeven insisted on personally growing it. To provide his mother with rever-ent care, Yang Zhen (d. 124) borrowed land to grow food. When one ofhis students tried to help him by planting some seeds on his behalf, Yangpulled out the sprouts and replanted them in a slightly different place.For this, his village praised him as ¤lial.51 Obviously, since Yang had stu-dents, he did not have to play the part of farmer, yet he insisted on it sothat his mother would dine on food produced by her own son. One tale,doubtless apocryphal, even presents an emperor, Emperor Wen of theHan, tilling the soil for his mother.52 Of course, if the emperor can growhis own parents’ food, how much more so should an ordinary gentlemando the same! In early medieval narratives, the act of farming to supportone’s parents had little to do with one’s economic situation, but much todo with contemporary notions of ¤lial piety.

One of the most common early medieval motifs is that of ¤lial off-spring who reverently care for their parents either by “hiring out theirphysical labor for a wage” (yongren) or by “selling themselves” (zimai). Forexample, Guo Ju and his wife hired themselves out to provide his motherwith reverent care; Shi Yan hired himself out as a soldier at a courier sta-tion and used his monthly salary to reverently care for his mother; SuCangshu sold himself to provide his starving parents with nine hu(roughly 180 liters) of barley; Jiang Shi and his wife both hired themselvesout (yongzuo) to support their mother, and so on.53 Strikingly, despite theexistence of wage laborers and bondservants since at least the WarringStates period,54 this motif of working as a hired laborer to support one’sparents does not exist in any surviving anecdotes that predate the EasternHan. Likewise, early medieval authors often portray ¤lial children as per-forming other lower-class occupations, that is, those that did not requirean education.55 One should keep in mind, though, that exemplary sonsusually became hired laborers or indentured servants not because theyneeded to feed their parents, but because they wanted to provide themwith delicacies. Cao Zhi’s version of the Dong Yong tale makes this evi-dent: “He had to borrow money to reverently care for his father; he hiredout his labor (yongzuo) to provide his father with sweet and fatty meats.”56

In short, ¤lial children did not take on these mean occupations becausetheir parents were starving, but because they wanted to feed them in style.

This motif of becoming wage laborers and debt bondsmen to rever-ently care for parents is signi¤cant on two counts. First, it indicates that ontheir parents’ behalf, ¤lial children should willingly assume the status of oneof the most despised members of society. As in Rome, due to their servitude


and dependence on others, hired laborers were nearly at the bottom of so-ciety.57 Men of somewhat comparable status, such as menials or artisans,were viewed as so lowly that they were prohibited from attending schools,becoming of¤cials, or even marrying commoners.58 If circumstancesforced members of the upper class to perform such labor, it was thoughtto be embarrassing. For instance, when his father died, Wu You (¶. 150)refused to accept funerary presents and instead shepherded pigs in amarsh. One of his father’s former subordinates told him, “Your father wasa minister with a salary of 2,000 piculs of rice, yet you engage in such basepursuits. Even though you are shameless, what is your former lord [i.e.,his father] supposed to do?”59 Even though Wu’s biography includes thisincident to show his incorruptibility, his elder’s comments reveal how thisbehavior was commonly envisaged. In fact, being a wage laborer was per-ceived as so base that the word yong was often used as an insult.60 Becom-ing a wage laborer or bondsman thereby not only signaled poverty, butsocial abasement as well. To guarantee that their parents were cared for inan honored manner, ¤lial exemplars thus willingly degraded themselves.But why would ¤lial offspring be portrayed as happy to do so?

The motif of ¤lial children who act the part of either servants or hiredlaborers stresses that they elevate the status of their parents by degradingtheir own. For Confucians, humbling oneself is an essential means bywhich one honors others; hence the Books of Rites states that one shouldalways humble oneself before others.61 Con¤rming that this lesson wasnot lost on early medieval men, Liu Shao (¶. 250) points out,

Human feelings always desire to be superior. So a man likes humility in

others. Humility is the willingness to be below [xia] others. Being below

others means yielding and giving to them. Therefore no matter whether a

man is wise or foolish, if you meet him with humility, he will have a pleased

appearance.62

Although Liu was speaking in general terms, the bene¤ts of humilitydoubtlessly held true within the family as well. Exemplary sons whoacted like servants or wage laborers humbled themselves by acting as ifthey were socially inferior to their parents. And what could express inferi-ority better than engaging in the tasks of the lower class?63

Exemplary children also endeavored to humble themselves and exalttheir parents through the kind of food they ate and offered to their par-ents. In China, food has long been used as an indicator of status becauseparticular foods were associated with certain social classes. During the

Reverent Caring 125

early medieval period, meat, wine, and rice were luxury foods (in thesouth, however, rice was common) usually enjoyed by the rich, whilevegetables, millet, wheat, beans, and water were the daily fare of thepoor.64 Signi¤cantly, the food a ¤lial son offered to his parents was upper-class fare, whereas the food he, his wife, and children ate was that of poorcommoners.65 A tale in which an upper-class man eats at the home of apoor exemplary son reveals how food was used to af¤rm hierarchy.

Mao Rong was over forty and tilled the soil. Once, together with other men

of his ilk, he avoided a rainstorm by sitting under a tree. The majority of men

squatted, but Mao Rong alone sat in a digni¤ed manner. Guo Tai (128–169)

observed this and thought it was extraordinary. He began conversing with

Mao, who thereupon invited Guo to spend the night at his home. Since the

sun had already set, he slaughtered a chicken for food. Guo thought that this

was to be his meal. But before long Mao presented it to his mother. He pro-

vided himself and his guest with the same meal of vegetables. Guo Tai stood

up and bowed to him, saying, “You are more worthy than I am.”66

A similar story about the exemplar Yue Yi (late 5th cent.) of the Southern Qi,which is consciously modeled after that of Mao, makes this point even morebluntly. Upon being served dried ¤sh and salted vegetables, Yue’s guest, ahigh of¤cial, ¶atly stated, “I cannot eat this.” At that point, Yue’s mothercame out with the several kinds of delicacies she was normally served, alongwith ¤sh broth. Upon seeing this, the guest said, “You surpass Mao Rongand I am not equal to Guo Tai.”67 The guest could not stomach the food Yueserved him precisely because he was unaccustomed to commoners’ food.Both of these anecdotes show that in the homes of the truly ¤lial, the statusof parents is so high that even high-ranking guests merit lesser treatment.

Tales that spoke of the dire supernatural consequences for those whodid not reverently care for their parents underscore the importance of fa-milial hierarchy. Children who contravene reverent care risk invoking su-pernatural punishment. After being sick for many years, Zhu Xu’s (5th cent.)mother suddenly desired to eat rice stew. Zhu tasted it ¤rst, liked it, andthen gobbled it up. His mother angrily retorted, “If heaven is consciousmay you choke to death.” When Zhu heard this, his heart was heavy andblood immediately began to run out of his body. By the next day he wasdead.68 Not only did Zhu fail to give his mother what she desired, but healso denied her that which might have cured her. Hence he not only con-travened gongyang, but also yang, that is, doing the minimum necessary tokeep one’s parents alive. Although not numerous, such tales make it


evident that the spirit world detests sons and daughters-in-law who violatethe dictates of reverent care.

The second important point about the motifs of ¤lial children becom-ing hired laborers is that it reveals a remarkable shift. In ¤lial piety talesfrom before the Eastern Han, when a son was in dire ¤nancial circum-stances, he would compromise his integrity and take whatever govern-mental of¤ce he could obtain to reverently care for his parents. Earlymedieval exemplars, on the other hand, resort to doing manual labor forothers or selling themselves. In short, for their parents’ sake, ¤lial sonswere not only willing to suffer personal hardship, but also public humilia-tion in an era that put a premium on the distinctions that separated gentle-men (shi) from commoners (shu).69

The ¤nal and highest level of self-deprivation was sacri¤cing one’s wifeand/or children for the sake of one’s parents. Tales that illustrate this themeusually take the form of a moral dilemma in which a ¤lial son must chosebetween two unpalatable options. Yet the choices involved and the solu-tions resorted to in early medieval stories are far different than those foundin tales featuring male protagonists that circulated before the Eastern Han.Rather than having to choose between one’s father or lord, in early medi-eval stories a son must choose between saving either his parent or child, orhis brother’s child or his own. Strikingly, these dilemmas more closely re-semble those of women in tales from before the Eastern Han, insofar asthey concern choices about the family rather than choices between the fam-ily and the state. The best-known early medieval ¤lial dilemma is that ofGuo Ju, who when faced with choosing to provide for his elderly mother orhis young son, decides to bury his son alive so that he can continue to rev-erently care for his mother.70 Note that Guo, like female exemplars, mustdecide which family member he should save. Since he must be alive to doso, he foregoes suicide and, like the female exemplars of earlier stories, en-deavors to kill his son. Even the rationale Guo gives for burying his sonalive—“We can have another son, but we will never have anothermother”—resembles that which led a concubine in the Zuo Commentary totell her father of her husband’s plot to kill him.71 In other tales, again likefemale exemplars, early medieval ¤lial sons end up attempting to kill theirown children to save those of their siblings. For example, while ¶eeingrebels, despite his mother’s objections, Liu Ping (¶. 5–61) abandoned hisown son to save his dead brother’s daughter. When the child persisted infollowing them, Liu tied him to a tree.72 In short, early medieval authorswere putting male protagonists in storylines that in the past were solely as-sociated with women.

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The ideology that underlies early medieval ¤lial dilemmas is alsothat of ful¤lling “communal interests” at the expense of “private inter-ests.” By sacri¤cing his own wife and children, an exemplary son forsakesthat which is often most dear to him, that is, his own conjugal family.Underlining their emotional importance to the son, classical Ru worksoften say, “Filial piety decreases with the appearance of wife and chil-dren.”73 For early medieval men, their wives and children were exten-sions of themselves.74 By sacri¤cing them, a ¤lial son thereby surrendersthat which he shares with no one for his parents, whom he shares withhis brothers. Put simply, he casts aside his private interests for the sake ofthe agnatic family’s communal interests. Moreover, he sacri¤ces his fu-ture well-being to repay his parent’s past kindness. An inscription accom-panying an illustration of the Guo Ju story on a ¤fth-century lacqueredcof¤n af¤rms that this is indeed what contemporaries perceived him asdoing. It reads, “One who cannot cast aside his sel¤sh interests (si) can-not be given this [pot of gold].”75 In other words, the inscription’s creatorinterpreted Guo’s sacri¤ce as done to realize communal interests. Theprominence that this story had in early medieval art underscores howcompelling this message was for its audience.76

The Supremacy of Society over State

The feminization of early medieval ¤lial dilemmas suggests that the ques-tion of which comes ¤rst, the family or the state, was no longer that im-portant. Unlike their male predecessors, early medieval ¤lial sons who arecaught in moral dilemmas display no concern for the state at all. Almostnone of the early medieval accounts shows a ¤lial son struggling to ful¤llthe requirements of both ¤lial piety and loyalty.77 Instead, like the femaleexemplars, their concerns are related to the family. This lack of concern forthe government is best exempli¤ed in the tale of Zhang Ti (6th cent.), whobecame a bandit to provide his mother with reverent care.78 Oftentimes,the state is present in the tales only insofar as it rewards the ¤lial child’sconduct—its signi¤cance lies only in its sanctioning of familial virtues.Loyalty’s absence in these accounts seems to con¤rm Tang Changru’s ar-gument that during this period it was far less esteemed than ¤lial piety.79

The early medieval stories lack concern for the state because they re¶ectthe interests of the local elite. Lu Yaodong has noted that early medievalhistorians paid little attention to court politics and instead mostly wroteabout affairs that concerned local elite families, of which they were mem-bers.80 But what were the interests of such families? As the power and reach


of the central government declined in the Eastern Han and local elite fam-ilies took on more governmental functions and social importance thanever before, maintaining order and generating solidarity within these large,extended households became an urgent problem for patriarchs. One wayof instilling order in a large family was to impose a rigid hierarchy withinit, based on the Ru vision of an ideal household—that is, one in which par-ents came before children, brothers came before wives, and sons gladly didtheir seniors’ bidding. Hence early medieval ¤lial dilemmas advocate sub-limating one’s self-interests to keep the extended family together. It is pre-cisely this concern for maintaining family unity that led the creators ofthese stories to put their male protagonists into what used to be female di-lemmas. Thus just as women in the past were urged to discard their chil-dren—that is, sacri¤ce their personal interests for those of the extendedfamily—men were now being urged to do the same.

During this era, the most important trait an of¤cial could have wasunsel¤shness. In fact, an of¤cial’s loyalty was merely a function of hissel¶essness, as Ren Yan (d. 69) makes clear: “I’ve heard it said that a loyalretainer has no self-interests (busi) and that a retainer with private inter-ests is not loyal. Enacting the upright and upholding communal interestsis the moral code of retainers.”81 The ¤lial dilemma stories promote thissame idea: a truly ¤lial son is one who cleaves to his family’s communalinterests at the expense of his own private ones. Within the family he istotally sel¶ess and concerned only with his extended family’s welfare. Inaccord with the parallel concept of society, early medieval authors as-sumed that if before holding of¤ce a man strove to ful¤ll his extendedfamily’s gong interests, he would surely continue to be sel¶ess when inof¤ce. A ¤lial son’s incorruptibility in of¤ce is thus an extension of hissel¶essness at home. This assumption probably explains both why fa-mous exemplary sons were showered with offers of public of¤ce and thecommon early medieval saying: “Loyal retainers must be sought in thefamilies of ¤lial offspring (qiu zhongchen bi yu xiaozi zhi men). Since bothfamilies and the community at large prized sel¶essness, this type of con-duct provided sons with a means of gaining fame.82

Requiting the Care Debt

A lingering question is, Why does one have to sacri¤ce so much to rever-ently care for one’s parents? The answer is that children must repay theimmense debt they owe parents for feeding and raising them during child-hood. When parents become in¤rm and helpless with age, children must

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carry out their end of the reciprocal bargain.83 Due to the Chinese Buddhistemphasis on the mother-son relationship, Cole has felicitously called thisobligation a “milk-debt.” That is, a son must forever repay with ¤lial pietythe toil, blood, and pain that his mother expended in raising him.84 SinceRu writings emphasize that one has to repay both parents for their roles inraising oneself, I will call this obligation the “care-debt.” In early China,besides expressing love or care, the presentation of food, or by extensionmaterial support, creates obligation. If one feeds a man, he is obligated torepay your kindness.85 This sense of obligation was so strong that it couldbe used as a means to control others.86 In the same way, sons and daugh-ters are obligated to repay their parents for the food and care they providedfor them when they were helpless children. The following poem from theBook of Poetry emphasizes the debt a child owes both parents.

Without a father, on whom can one rely? Without a mother, on whom can

one depend? Abroad one harbors grief, at home one has nobody to go to.

Oh father, you begat me, oh mother, you nurtured me (ju). [Both of] you

comforted and reared (xu) me, you looked after me, constantly attended to

me, abroad and at home you carried me in your bosom; I wish to requite

your goodness, but Heaven goes to excess!”87

Note that a number of the words used in this passage, such as ju and xu,are synonyms of yang. Thus it explicitly relates that the author wants torepay his parents for the yang he received as a child. The fact that yang isthe basis of the parent-child relationship can also be seen in the rationalefor mourning one’s parents for three years. One owes them three years ofsuffering, deprivation, and unremitting attention because for the ¤rstthree years of a child’s life his/her parents fed and intensively cared forhim/her.88 It is probably not a coincidence that in medieval China a childwas usually thought to suckle for three years.89

Requiting the care-debt is precisely the rationale that underlies theearly medieval tales’ emphasis on reverent care. This message comes acrossmost clearly in lore about ¤lial crows.

Crows are compassionate birds. They are born in the deep woods. From out-

side of their high nests, holding food in their beaks, the parents place it into

their chicks’ mouths. Without waiting for the chicks to cry, the parents on

their own accord present them with food. When the parents’ wings fatigue

and they can no longer ¶y, their children’s wings are already fully developed.

Flying to and fro, the children bring food and regurgitate (fanbu) it for their


mother. Since birds are like this, how much more should humans! Crows

bring food in their beaks to feed their young, and children bring food in

their beaks to feed their mother. These birds are all xiao.90

Crows are ¤lial because they present food to their elderly parents, just astheir parents fed them when they were young; that is, they “feed in return”(fanbu).91 This association of ¤liality with crows was so well known that a¤rst-century lexicon simply de¤nes crows as “¤lial birds.”92 In fact, by theEastern Han, crows and the idea of fanbu became emblems of ¤lial piety.93

The tale that best embodies this reciprocal principle of “feeding in re-turn” is that of Xing Qu, whose behavior literally approximated that of thecrow. Xing’s father was old and lacked teeth to chew food. Xing always mas-ticated (bu) the food for him. After he did this for a while, his father becamehealthy and grew a new set of choppers.94 In other words, Xing regurgitatedfood for his father, as a crow would for its mother. The key word in this pas-sage is bu, whose basic meaning is “to masticate” or “regurgitate” andwhose extended meaning is to “to feed.”95 In premodern China, parentsoften masticated solid food for children.96 A ¤lial piety story suggests thiswas a common practice well beyond infancy.97 Hence just as his father sup-plied him with food and perhaps even chewed it for him when he was ahelpless infant, Xing was now doing the same. In other words, now that hisfather resembled a helpless infant in that he was toothless, Xing was “feed-ing in return” (fanbu), which means he was reversing roles and parentinghis parent. Underscoring this concept’s importance, the image of Xing feed-ing his father was the most commonly illustrated ¤lial piety story in theEastern Han. At the Wu Liang shrine there are more depictions of this ¤lialpiety tale than of any other. 98 The illustration of this tale invariably depictsa younger man, holding either chopsticks or a spoon, kneeling towards anelderly man (see ¤g. 5). A pictorial stone from Dawenkou shows two seated¤gures, a young man and an elderly man, leaning towards each other to thepoint where their mouths are almost touching (see ¤g. 6).99 Its two inscrip-tions read, “The ¤lial son Zhao Gou” and “This is Gou feeding (or chewingfood for) his father” (ci Gou chi fu). Although the ¤lial son represented onthe Dawenkou stone is Zhao Gou (Zhao Xun) rather than Xing Qu, Zhaois credited with the same ¤lial act of chewing food for his father. On thesame stone, to the far right of these two men, two birds feed each other,which, as Wang Entian has pointed out, is undoubtedly an image of crowsfeeding in return.100 Obviously, the idea of “feeding in return” embodiedin the image of a son parenting his parent touched the hearts of contem-poraries, and thereby became a popular motif in funerary art.

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

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


One of the most popular tales, that of the ¤lial grandson Yuan Gu, sug-gests what might happen to those who refuse to reverse roles. One day,Yuan’s father and mother concluded that his grandfather was too old to beuseful, so they decided to abandon him. Yuan and his father used a litter tocarry the grandfather to the mountains. After his father abandoned the oldman, Yuan grabbed the litter and brought it home. When his father askedhim why, Yuan replied, “Perhaps later you too will become old and willnot be able to work again. Merely to do the right thing, I have retrieved it.”Terri¤ed and ashamed, his father realized the error of his ways, retrievedthe old man, and served him in a ¤lial manner.101 Whereas the story of the¤lial bird praised crows because they willingly reverse roles, the tale ofYuan Gu makes the same point, but from the angle of self-interest. Yuan’svirtuous act consists of saving his grandfather by reminding his father ofthe reciprocity that underlies yang. That is to say, sons and daughters parentelderly, infantile parents not only because of the care-debt owed to them,but also because in doing so they hope that in turn their own children willparent them. This emphasis on role reversal is also re¶ected in the way ar-tisans depicted the grandfather: by characterizing him as a hunched over,wizened old man who seems unable to walk, they emphasized his infant-like helplessness (see ¤gs. 7 and 8). The frequency with which this story ap-pears in early medieval art belies the importance of the role-reversal motif.In the early medieval era, with the exception of Ding Lan, no other ¤lial talewas as commonly portrayed as the Yuan Gu story,102 and its image appearsin places as far apart as Sichuan and North Korea.

Mothers and Fathers

Cole has skillfully shown that indigenous Chinese Buddhist sutras, whilehardly ever mentioning the care-giving role of the father, put increasingstress on the unlimited debt a son owes his mother, due to her endlesstravails in raising him and the vast amount of milk he took from herthrough breast-feeding.103 From the ¤lial piety stories on role reversal,however, one can see that Ru believed the care-debt was owed to bothparents. The role-reversal stories do not single out requiting the debtowed to one’s mother, as the examples of Xing Qu and Yuan Gu have al-ready demonstrated. Moreover, although the care-debt one owed his/herparents was great, it was not unlimited and could be repaid by providingparents with the same care and love they gave one as a child.

The importance of fathers also becomes apparent upon looking at themodi¤cation of the Shun legend, which early medieval authors re¤tted

Fig. 7 (right): Yuan Gu’s grandfather crawling on the ground like an infant. Carving on a fu-nerary couch. North-ern Qi (550–577). The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, Mis-souri (Purchase: Nelson Trust) 33-1483 A.

Fig. 8 (below): Yuan Gu’s grandfather on a litter. Carving on stone sarcophagus. Northern Wei, early 6th century. The Nelson-Atkins Mu-seum of Art, Kansas City, Missouri (Pur-chase: Nelson Trust) 33-1543 / 1.


with motifs that stressed xiao as reverent care. As previously mentioned,early medieval authors of this story transformed Mount Li from a testingground of Shun’s worthiness to rule to a place where he endeavored tomaterially support his estranged and physically distant parents.104 Bydoing so, the authors made reverent care the emotional center of the en-tire story. According to one version of the tale, Shun’s father dreamt that aphoenix carried rice in its mouth to feed him, and he then realized it mustbe his son. Later, upon ¤nding coins among the rice his wife had broughtback from the market, he knew that Shun must have put them there;thereupon he repented from his sins.105 By having a bird bring food tohim, this version underscores that Shun is performing “feeding in return.”It is precisely this act that makes his father appreciate how much his sonloves him and how reprehensible his own behavior has been.

Note, too, that this story squarely focuses on the father-son relation-ship. The early medieval versions of the tale center on how Shun lost hisfather’s favor and the means by which he regained it. Moreover, it is onlydue to his stepmother’s lies that Shun’s father turns against his son, but it isonly through reverent care that Shun regains his father’s love. That fathersare heavily invested in this relationship can be seen in the active role Shun’sfather plays in the tale: it is Shun’s father who realizes that his son must behis benefactor, who searches for him, and who joyfully embraces him inthe market. Shun’s stepmother, on the other hand, cannot connect with herstepson. Despite his love for her, she consistently attempts to kill him. Evenafter repeated demonstrations of his benevolence, she fails to recognizethat Shun is her benefactor. In short, this tale celebrates the father-son rela-tionship, which should normally be an emotionally rewarding one, if itwere not for the machinations of evil women.

Underscoring the signi¤cance of this modi¤ed version of the Shuntale is the fact of its great visual prominence in the Northern and South-ern Dynasties. Of the twelve artifacts from this period adorned withscenes of ¤lial piety tales, it appears on six. Even more impressively, onthe Guyuan lacquered cof¤n, which has multiscene depictions of six ¤lialpiety stories, the Shun tale merited eight scenes, far more than any other.Thus if the mother-son relationship was truly predominant in early me-dieval China, someone forgot to tell the artisans who created this cof¤nand other artifacts that feature ¤lial tales about fathers and sons.

Yet despite the importance of the Shun story, even a casual glance attales with reverent-care motifs reveals that many concern the mother-child bond. More likely than not, exemplary children’s actions would bedevoted to their mothers. When looked at statistically, out of eighty-two

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tales with reverent-care motifs, ¤fty-two of the recipients were mothers,or 63 percent. Fathers or fatherly ¤gures, on the other hand, were recipi-ents in twenty-one of the tales, or 25 percent of the total. Tales in whichboth parents received reverent care account for about 12 percent.106 Obvi-ously, for the compilers of these accounts the mother-child bond was oftremendous importance. Since affection is often expressed in Chineseculture through the presentation of a favorite food, perhaps even moretelling is the fact that tales featuring a ¤lial son who desperately seeksafter his parent’s favorite food entirely feature mothers as the recipientsof reverent care.107 A ¤lial son, then, caters only to his mother’s whims,not his father’s.

Nevertheless, fathers are not wholly neglected. By combining anec-dotes in which fathers are the recipients of reverent care with those inwhich both parents are, one discovers that fathers receive reverent care in37 percent of the tales. The numbers become even more impressive whenone looks at images of the stories, particularly from the Eastern Han. Dueto the popularity of the stories of Dong Yong and Xing Qu, 50 percent(twenty-three out of forty-six) of the depicted reverent-care stories featurefathers.108 Pictorial representations from the Northern and Southern Dy-nasties have fathers as the recipients in 33 percent of the images, andmothers in 38 percent. The difference between the written accounts of¤lial children and the pictorial representations is that the percentage ofstories showing reverent care given to both parents is much greater in thelatter: 29 percent of the images have both parents as recipients. Taken to-gether, this means that fathers receive reverent care, whether alone or to-gether with their wives, in 62 percent of the images. Obviously, bothartisans and their patrons valued providing reverent care for both parents.

Why, then, are mothers rather than fathers more often the recipientsof reverent care in the written accounts? Their predominance could bedue to demographic factors. Mothers might have been the main recipi-ents of reverent care because husbands were much older than their wivesand tended to die well before them. Based on her examination of epi-taphs from the Six Dynasties period, Lee has noted that although someupper-class women married younger men, on the average their spouseswere seven years older. Moreover, such women spent an average of 18.6years in widowhood.109 Although Lee’s sample is far too small to be con-clusive, it does suggest that numerous upper-class males would grow upin households in which the father had died early and were subsequentlyheaded by the mother. Thus mothers loom so large in the ¤lial piety ac-counts perhaps because they tended to outlive their older husbands.


Conclusion

Filial piety tales with reverent-care motifs are important for four reasons.First, they elevate the humble concept of yang to an exalted form of nur-turing, gongyang, which calls attention to a parent’s superior status withinthe household. Early medieval authors emphasized the importance ofreverent care by showing ¤lial sons who gladly endured various types ofdeprivation to furnish their parents with luxurious food and clothing.

Second, the authors thought reverent care merited such attention be-cause it conveyed a message that patriarchs of in¶uential families wantedthe junior members of their families to absorb: that adult sons and daugh-ters (in-law) should subordinate their own wishes to those of their par-ents. Moreover, no matter what their actual social standing was, withinthe family the children should recognize their own inferior status andstrive to further the family’s collective interests rather than their own per-sonal ones. The incentive for sons was that if they were able to do this, notonly would harmony prevail within the extended family, but they wouldalso attract the interest of the outside community by showing themselvesto be sel¶ess men.

Third, reverent-care motifs indicate that the narratives’ compilers weremore interested in service to the family than to the state. Exemplary sonsin the tales neither worry about ful¤lling the demands of loyalty nor seegovernment service as a means to provide reverent care. Instead, theyworry about the solidarity of their families and ¤nd ways within local so-ciety to honor their parents. Hence in many ways these tales re¶ect theweakness of government during the early medieval period and the impor-tance of extended families.

Finally, the authors of the early medieval stories privileged neitherthe relationship between mother and son nor that between father andson. Both were important. Obviously the former was viewed as the moreintimate one; nevertheless, illustrations of these tales make it evident thattheir audience also attached much importance to the father-son tie.

137

6 “Exceeding the Rites”Mourning and Burial Motifs

Besides reverent care, the most common theme in ¤lialpiety tales is the exemplary way in which offspring mourn or bury theirparents. In a sample of extant early medieval accounts, mourning andburial motifs occur nearly as frequently as reverent care: 42 percent for theformer, compared to 44 percent for the latter. In contrast, comparativelyfew stories concern other aspects of ¤lial piety, such as revenge, obedi-ence, preserving one’s body, brotherly love, or moral dilemmas.1 In short,if an early medieval ¤lial piety account does not describe how a child nur-tured his/her living parents, then it almost certainly describes how he/sheserved them after their death. In fact, ideally, an account will include sep-arate anecdotes that describe how a ¤lial child both reverently cared forand mourned his/her parents in an exemplary manner. Fujikawa hasnoted that during early medieval times both acts were envisioned as thede¤ning aspects of ¤lial piety,2 which the preface to the “Filial Miracle”chapter in History of the Wei makes plainly evident.

Furthermore, nurturing one’s living parents with a pleasant expression is

heavenly; deeply grieving and longing for one’s dead parents is earthly. As

for the sincerity (of these exemplars), it reaches the ¤sh in a spring and

moves the birds and beasts. Matters like this are not common; occurrences

like this are indeed scarce.3

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


¤lial piety, then, how one mourned his or her parents was of the utmostsigni¤cance.

If performance of the burial and mourning rites was of such great im-port, how did authors of early medieval tales promote it? The predomi-nant theme of such tales is that ¤lial children who mourn their parentswill do so in a manner that surpasses the ritual requirements. That is, they“exceed the rites” (guoli). This is surprising, since ¤lial piety anecdotesfrom the preceding period, the Western Han, advocate mourning “accord-ing to the rites” (ruli) and castigate those who exceed them. Why, then, dothe early medieval ¤lial piety narratives stress “exceeding the rites”?

The conventional answer is that doing so, at least during the EasternHan, could lead to a lucrative career in government.4 The mortuary riteswere the most public expression of ¤lial piety, and this was particularlytrue for the three-year mourning rites, during which all of a child’s actionswere open to the community’s scrutiny for an extended time. While par-ents were alive, few could see how a son treated them; however, during themourning rites, since the son lived in an exposed mourning hut that wasoutside the family compound, the whole community could closely watchhis conduct.5 Since performing the mortuary rites was a public act, it wasalso an opportunity to establish a reputation in the community. And sincerecommendations to public of¤ce during the Han were often based on aman’s reputation, an exemplary performance of the mourning rites, espe-cially if one exceeded the rites in a spectacular way, could ultimately leadto prestigious appointments in government positions. The most notori-ous case of a man “exceeding the rites” to gain of¤ce is that of the com-moner Zhao Xuan. After burying his parents, instead of closing the tomb,he lived in it and performed the mourning rites for more than twentyyears. Unfortunately for him, the governor of his province, Chen Fan (ca.95–168), discovered that Zhao had ¤ve children born to him during thattime. In other words, not only did Zhao violate the mourning prohibi-tions by engaging in sexual intercourse, but to add insult to injury, he con-ceived and raised those children in his parents’ tomb.6 Hence one couldargue that ¤lial tales of mourning that emphasize “exceeding the rites”were meant to advertise the protagonist’s outstanding behavior in thehopes that it would lead to invitations to public of¤ce.7

Although this might explain why numerous Eastern Han accounts ofexcessive mourning exist, it does not explain why this motif captured theimagination of early medieval people. Hence it cannot explain why taleswith this theme were generated long after public of¤ce was solely distrib-uted according to a man’s pedigree, rather than his reputation, or why

“Exceeding the Rites” 139

some of these tales featured women who had no hope of gaining of¤ce.Moreover, even if Eastern Han tales of excessive mourning were createdas tools for social advancement, since they continued to be transmittedand appreciated long after their protagonists were dead, the conventionalreasoning cannot explain the continuing popularity of these tales. Hencethis chapter will attempt to decipher the messages of these tales to inves-tigate why this motif struck such a responsive chord with the early medi-eval public.

In her path-breaking studies of the mourning rites, Kamiya has arguedthat the Ru three-year mourning rites did not become a universal customin China until the Wei-Jin period, which is when the government legallysanctioned such rites for of¤cials. Before that the law did not dictate howlong of¤cials had to mourn their parents. Since there was no ¤xed stan-dard, “exceeding the rites” by mourning for over three years was notwrong; on the contrary, it was seen positively as a means to encourageothers to practice the Ru mourning rites.8 Although Kamiya is merelyspeaking of ¤lial children whose mourning exceeds the ritually prescribedthree years and is not talking about the general phenomenon of “exceed-ing the rites,” she does tell us that the answer will be found in the historyof how and when the learned elite began to practice the three-year mourn-ing rites. By contrasting Western Han tales with mourning motifs to earlymedieval ones and by examining the degree to which the early medievalelite practiced the Confucian mourning rites, this chapter will show thatthe motif of “exceeding the rites” became popular because it encouragedpeople to practice the Ru mourning rites with sincerity, thereby combat-ing apathy. This apathy towards the mourning rites came about becauseby the second half of the Eastern Han, although not yet sanctioned by law,the performance of the three-year rites had become an unavoidable aspectof elite life. Since this type of mourning behavior was no longer voluntary,it became formalized to the degree that the rites developed into mindlessconventions that one had to follow rather than ceremonies by which onegave vent to his or her grief. Hence tales with the theme of exceeding therites reaf¤rm the importance of performing the mourning rites with genu-ine feeling.

Fulfilling the Rites

Elsewhere I have argued that one of the innovations of early Confucian-ism was to champion the mourning rites, especially the three years ofmourning for one’s parents, over the sacri¤cial rites that were dedicated to


one’s less palpable ancestors.9 One of the primary concerns of the Confu-cian school, then, was the advocacy of the mourning rites. As de Groot haspointed out, the Confucian ritual codes treat no other set of ceremonies insuch detail as the mourning rites.10 Likewise, Master Xun’s (Xunzi) famous“Discourse on Rituals” (Lilun) chapter primarily examines the funeraryrites while only cursorily mentioning the sacri¤cial rites at the chapter’send. Even there the author implies that they are an outgrowth of themourning rites: they occur as a result of a ¤lial son or loyal retainer sud-denly longing for his parent or lord.11 Despite the importance that earlyRu advocates placed on the mourning rites, there are surprisingly few ac-counts of how individuals performed them in an outstanding manner.Moreover, unlike the early medieval stories where there is a plethora ofmourning motifs, Western Han tales have only three.

Signi¤cantly, rather than emphasizing that ¤lial children should ex-ceed the prescribed mourning rites, each of the three motifs stresses thatthey should rigidly conform to them. The ¤rst consists of a ¤lial son whomourns his parents exactly according to the prescribed rites. In the Book ofRites, this takes the form of lauding an exemplar whose mourning behav-ior matches almost word for word the instructions on how a child shouldact after his parent’s death.12 The second is one in which an authoritative¤gure, usually Confucius, castigates disciples who surpass the prescribedmourning limits.13 The third is one that praises men who mourn the pre-scribed three years, even though their feelings would have had them doneotherwise. In tales with this last motif, after completing the mourningrites, Confucius hands the two protagonists a lute to play. One disciplecannot bear to play it due to his lingering grief, while the other gladly doesso because his anguish has already dissipated. Even though the three-yearmourning period did not match the extent of either man’s feelings, Con-fucius lauds both because they did exactly what the rites prescribed.14

In other words, all three motifs implicitly or explicitly condemn ex-ceeding the rites. The reason is that the three-year limit was set as an arbi-trary standard that all people, no matter what their moral endowment was,could hope to reach. Exemplars who adhere to this common standard arepraiseworthy because they put the interests of mankind in general ahead ofventing their own personal emotions.15 Adhering to a common standard isessential because if the morally best people exceed it, no one will be able tomatch their actions.

There was a man of Bian who wept like a child on the death of his mother.

Confucius said, “This is grief indeed, but it would be dif¤cult to continue it.


Now the rules of ceremony require to be handed down, and to be perpetu-

ated. Hence, the wailing and leaping are subject to ¤xed regulations.16

Children usually know little about the rites and allow emotions alone toguide their actions. The man of Bian is inadequate because he acted likea child, that is, he expressed his grief based purely on his emotions and inan uncontrolled manner. Consequently, although his sorrow is note-worthy, he expresses it in a manner that others cannot duplicate. If hisbehavior is deemed admirable and becomes the standard for others, thenno one will be able to practice the mourning rites, and they will go intodisuse. Hence placing value on exceeding the rites ironically threatenstheir transmission.

This view of adhering to the mourning rites re¶ects the views found inthe Master Xun’s “Discourse on Rituals” chapter, where Xun Kuang (313–238) argues that the three-year mourning rites are a regulated means bywhich people express their grief and send off the dead in a respectful man-ner. The three years are also a transitional period in which mournersslowly accustom themselves to the absence of the departed and prepare toresume normal life.17 Going beyond the carefully devised and calibratedrites is wrong because it both prevents mourners from making the transi-tion to everyday life and tempts them to gain notoriety by surpassing therites. They will thereby value the quality of their performance and feellittle if any grief.18 Becoming excessively thin due to exceeding the ritesmight also endanger the mourner’s life. Since the purpose of the rites wasto ease mourners back into daily life while respectfully distancing oneselffrom the dead, for Xun, exceeding the rites made no sense at all: “To de-prive the living to lavishly bury the dead is called delusion. To kill the liv-ing to send off the dead is called evil.”19 Hence exceeding the rites, whichendangers the lives of mourners and disrupts normal social life by pro-longing mourning inde¤nitely, earned nothing but his condemnation.

This emphasis on closely adhering to the rites and not exceeding themis also doubtlessly because the mourning rites were dif¤cult to perform.Since they entailed following complex regulations and called for extendedperiods of self-deprivation, especially when mourning parents, imple-menting them must have been extremely challenging for anyone. MasterHuainan (Huainanzi) underscores the dif¤culty of sustaining one’s grieffor such a long period of time: “Now three years’ mourning may force aman beyond what he can reach, and he uses play-acting to sustain hisemotions.”20 Indeed, non-Confucians were not the only ones who felt themourning rites were tough to perform. After relating Gao Chai’s act of not


showing his teeth for three years, the author of the passage replies, “[Even]a gentleman would ¤nd this dif¤cult to do.” Similarly, when Zilu mockeda man of Lu for singing right before the third year of mourning ended,Confucius scolded him by saying, “Will you never have done with your¤nding fault with people? The mourning for three years is indeed long!”21

Hence it is no wonder that the writers of these narratives praised thosewhose conduct was in complete accordance with the three-year rites.

It should also be noted that besides not having many motifs, narra-tives from before the Eastern Han about exemplary mourning are also fewin number. Most of those cited come from the Book of Rites’ “Tangong”chapter, which is almost entirely dedicated to questions concerning themourning and burial rites. It is thereby not surprising that it is a repositoryof mourning exempla. However, upon turning to Western Han collectionsof Confucian didactic lore, we ¤nd few entries about the mourning rites,much less tales about men who performed them in an exemplary man-ner.22 The only Western Han collection of Confucian lore that does talkabout the subject is Tales of Master Kong’s House (Kongzi jiayu). Neverthe-less, its ¤rst nine chapters differ little from the other didactic literature col-lections: they have seven passages that concern the mortuary rites, butonly two of which feature exemplars who mourn in an outstanding man-ner.23 The ¤nal chapter, on the other hand, almost entirely concerns themourning and burial rites; however, its contents are drawn almost whollyfrom the Book of Rites.24 It would seem, then, that although mourning wasa component of Western Han ¤lial piety, for the compilers of these collec-tions and their audiences, it still was not as important as ¤lial piety thatwas directed towards the living.

A Historical Phantom? The Three-Year Mourning Ritesin the Western Han

Another reason the Western Han Ru didactic works did not encourage sur-passing the mourning rites was because, in practice, few people actuallyperformed them. If hardly anyone was practicing them in the ¤rst place,there was no sense in urging people to perform the rites in an outstandingfashion. Elsewhere I have argued that the three-year mourning rites were aRu invention that was rarely practiced during the Warring States period.25

Probably only Ru masters and their disciples undertook such arduousritual mourning. This pattern probably continued through the WesternHan. One indication of this is that just completing the three-year rites wasan event not only worthy of note, but of lavish praise as well. One of


Gongsun Hong’s (200–121 BC) most noteworthy ¤lial acts was hismourning of his stepmother for three years.26 As the renowned Chinesescholar Hu Shi has pointed out, since Gongsun himself was a Ru master,his performance of the rites by no means indicates that it was popular cus-tom; moreover, that his biographer highlighted this act calls attention toits rarity.27 Despite leading a dissolute youth, upon the death of his fa-mous father Yu Dingguo in 40 BC, Yu Yong became famous by mourninghim “according to the rites.”28 When Prince Xian of Hejian mourned hismother “according to the rites,” Emperor Ai (r. 7–1 BC) proclaimed thathe was a model for the imperial family and increased his ¤ef by ten thou-sand households.29 Obviously, if the prince was so lavishly rewarded forperforming the three-year mourning rites, it must have been extremelyrare for an imperial family member to do so. In the same manner, due tothe fact that Yuan She (¶. 10 BC–AD 24), a knight-errant, refused to acceptfunerary gifts and performed the three-year mourning rites, his name be-came famous in the capital. As if to underline how exceptional these actswere, the same account states, “At that time, there were few people whoperformed the three-year mourning rites.”30

The relative insigni¤cance of the Ru mourning rites is also re¶ected inthe fact that the period’s two primary histories, Records of the Historian andHistory of the Han, have little to say about them at all. If the Western Han li-terati valued these rituals, one would expect that these two histories wouldbe laden with reports of exemplary men conducting them. Yet compared toHistory of the Later Han, neither work has much to say about the mourningrites at all. Compounds that designate the performance of funerary rites ap-pear rarely in either work.31 Furthermore, the motif of “exceeding the rites,”a staple of later ¤lial piety tales, appears in connection with mourning inneither Records of the Historian nor History of the Han. Nor does either workcondemn men who fail to complete the three-year rites. For example, whenXue Xuan’s (¶. 32–6 BC) stepmother died, he refused to quit of¤ce tomourn her for three years, telling his younger brother Xue Xiu, who didplan to perform the rites, that “those who can successfully complete theserites are few.”32 Although one of his brother’s friends slandered him for notful¤lling the three-year rites, Ban Gu still praised him in the following man-ner: “Every place that Xuan resided was well-governed and he was a modelof¤cial for his generation. Upon residing in a high position, he lost hisreputation due to petty fault¤nding. He had an extreme amount of talentand sincerity.”33 Thus even the Confucian historian Ban Gu viewed hisnonperformance of the rites as a minor affair that was far outweighed byhis administrative ability. In sum, despite the fact that both of the earliest


dynastic histories put forth many different types of moral exemplars,neither work especially championed men who zealously performed themourning rites. Indeed, the mourning rites were not an overriding concernof either Sima Qian or Ban Gu. Obviously, in their day performing themwas still not seen as a priority.

A ¤nal indication that Western Han people rarely conducted theserites is that the law did not sanction their practice. Emperor Wen of theHan believed that the Ru mourning rites, if practiced, would have a dele-terious effect on the people, hence he explicitly stated that he did not wantthe three-year mourning rites observed on his behalf.34 Instead, he wantedto be mourned for a mere thirty-six days, which thereby became the stan-dard mourning period for all imperial family members and high of¤cials.Since one’s lord is the equivalent of one’s parents, if one could mourn theemperor for only thirty-six days, how could one mourn one’s parents fora longer period of time? As a result, of¤cials mourned their parents foronly this abbreviated period. Consequently, although Di Fangjin (d. 7 BC),a Ru erudite (boshi) and prime minister, wanted to perform the three-yearmourning rites for his mother, he mourned her for only thirty-six days be-cause he did not dare transgress the law.35 However, as Kamiya has indi-cated, no laws existed that regulated how long or in what ways ordinaryof¤cials and commoners should mourn their parents.36 One of the fewWestern Han edicts concerning the duration of the mourning rites, issuedby Emperor Ai, states that erudites and their disciples are allowed to returnhome to mourn their parents for three years.37 Of course, the erudites werescholars who were expert in the Five Classics, that is, they were masters ofRu learning. Obviously the Western Han government in no way encour-aged the performance of the three-year rites.

In stark contrast to their predecessors, early medieval ¤lial piety taleshave a plethora of mourning motifs, nearly all of which accentuate ex-ceeding the rites, not merely ful¤lling them. Indeed, in stories of thisperiod, the compound guoli (to exceed the rites) is commonplace. In thenext section, by brie¶y looking at each motif and the messages it conveys,we will attempt to ascertain why the theme of “exceeding the rites” be-came so important.

Emaciating the Body and Dying of Grief

A constant refrain in the Ru ritual codes is that in mourning parents, oneshould neither abstain from food nor grieve to the extent that it seriouslyinjures one’s body. The Book of Rites’ “Quli” chapter articulates this prin-


ciple most clearly: a son in mourning should not emaciate himself to theextent that it harms his body. Moreover, if he becomes sick while inmourning, he should consume meat and alcohol until his health im-proves. To harm one’s body to the extent that one can no longer carry outthe mourning rites is un¤lial.38 In the Book of Rites, Confucius even statesthat expressing grief is secondary to displaying respect for the dead andthat emaciating the body is the least important aspect of mourning.39

These rational guidelines indicate that even though the rites are meant tomake one suffer deprivations, they should never be carried out in a man-ner that does serious physical harm to the mourner. This is because doingso will impede him or her from performing other essential rituals. Inother words, since being a ¤lial child is only one of the important socialroles a person plays and the mourning rites are merely one aspect of ¤li-ality, he or she needs to live to ful¤ll his or her other ritual obligations,such as having children to continue the descent line and offering sacri¤cesto the dead.

Despite the fact that the ritual codes forbade ¤lial children from de-priving themselves of food to the point of sickness, many early medievalstories exalt those who did exactly that. The mildest examples are chil-dren who, right after their parent’s death, refuse all food and drink formore than three days, which is the limit established by the rites. Gu Ti(3rd cent.), for example, upon his father’s death ingested neither waternor broth for ¤ve days.40 Other tales vividly describe how little a ¤lial off-spring ate. Sang Yu (¶. 317–380) provides the best example of this.

When his father died, Yu, who was fourteen, exceeded the rites (guoli) in

emaciating himself. Every day he would eat only a hundred kernels of grain.

He would take and mix them together with weeds and beans. [His elder sis-

ter told him, “If you emaciate yourself in this way, you will kill yourself for

sure, and doing so is not ¤lial. You should restrain yourself.” Yu replied,

“Weeds, beans, and some rice are just enough for me to bear my grief”].41

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


that he nearly could not complete the mourning rites. His limbs andbody almost seemed as if they were not attached to each other.” 43 Aftertheir mourning was completed, some exemplars needed several years ofrest and medicine to be able to stand again.44 In a few cases, ¤lial sons ineffect starved themselves to death.45 As for why these men emaciatedthemselves to this extent, the Yômei Xiaozi zhuan tells us, “For seven daysafter [Zengzi’s] father’s death, neither soup nor water entered Zengzi’smouth. When ¤lial piety pierces the heart, one thereupon forgets abouthunger or thirst.”46 Note that the Book of Rites criticizes Zengzi for his ac-tion, but this early medieval work ¤nds it praiseworthy.47

Filial children who did not harm themselves through starvation didso through grief. Many stories tell of mourning offspring who fainted andwere revived only after a long period of time. For example, upon learningthat his adopted mother had died, Ji Mai stopped breathing and was re-vived four times in one day.48 Although fainting does not sound particu-larly serious, for premodern Chinese it was tantamount to dying, whichis clear by the meaning of the compounds used to designate it, such asqijue (one’s qi or breath stops) or duanjue (to sever and cut off [one’s qi]).Oftentimes, a ¤lial hero is so grief-stricken that he or she nearly dies.49 Ina few cases, the ¤lial exemplar does die of grief. For instance, after he hadburied his mother, Wu Tanzhi attempted to perform the nine-mealsacri¤ce. Each time he made one of the sacri¤ces, he would cry out ingrief and stop breathing. Upon reaching the seventh sacri¤ce, he diedspitting out blood.50

Filial children die of grief because their parents are more importantthan anything else in this world. Consequently, they show no reluctanceto leave the world when their parent expires. After discovering that hisfather had died, Yu Qimin asked his mother, “‘What were my father’s lastwords?’ She replied, ‘When your father approached death, he merely re-gretted that he did not see you.’ Qimin said, ‘What’s dif¤cult about seeingeach other?’ Thereupon he cried out in sorrow at the encof¤ning placeand died shortly thereafter.”51 Yu here follows the ancient custom called“accompanying the dead in burial” (xunzang); even though he is not buriedalive with his father’s corpse, he kills himself to comfort his father in theafterworld. Surely other ¤lial children who died in mourning werethought to be doing the same. Yet how could Yu be touted as a ¤lial ex-emplar when he willingly abandoned his living mother to accompanyhis dead father? Moreover, how could ¤lial children be so un¤lial as todie even before they had completed the mourning rites? Also, why dothese accounts emphasize dying for one’s parents?


Limitless Mourning

Xun Kuang believed that if a limit was not put on the mourning periodfor parents, superior men would never stop mourning their parents;hence the sages established that the longest mourning rites would lastonly three years.52 Early medieval stories, however, glorify ¤lial childrenwho mourned their parents inde¤nitely. In some cases, they extend theirobservance of the mourning rites far beyond the three-year limit; in othercases, even though they end the formal mourning rites, they continue toinformally mourn their parents in various ways, thereby refusing to re-turn to secular life.

A number of early medieval accounts show exemplary ¤lial childrenmourning their parents not for three continuous years, as set down by therites, but six. Although it is not always clearly stated, in some cases thismight be because both parents died at nearly the same time: that is, aftermourning one parent for three years, the ¤lial child then mourns the otherfor another three.53 More commonly, though, a ¤lial child mourns for sixyears because he or she engages in “remedial mourning” (zhuifu). Thismeans that after completing the three-year mourning rites for the secondparent, a ¤lial child decides that his/her performance of the rites for the¤rst parent was in some way defective. To compensate for this short-coming, the child thereupon performs the three-year mourning rites forthe ¤rst parent. After conducting the mourning rites in an exemplary man-ner for their mother, Prince Liu Zhen (d. 157) and his brother Jian decidedthat when they had mourned their father earlier, they were immature andhad done so in a de¤cient manner; consequently, they decided to repeatthe rites for their father.54 The custom of remedial mourning thereby al-lowed the Liu brothers to justify doubling the length of the mourning pe-riod. Nevertheless, since remedial mourning appears in none of the earlyRu texts, it was doubtlessly an early medieval innovation. Doubling thelength of the longest mourning rites provided ¤lial children with an eye-catching means of demonstrating their deep sorrow. That no one ques-tioned the ritual validity of this practice indicates how natural early medi-eval men took it to be.

Even when early medieval exemplars took off the mourning robes inthe third year, they still found means to exceed the funerary rites. A com-mon way of doing so was for a ¤lial child to continue certain mourning ta-boos or austerities long after the mourning period had ended. Accordingto the rites, while in mourning one avoids good food, clothing, and shel-ter because one’s grief renders these things useless. As Confucius notes in


The Analects, “The gentleman in mourning ¤nds no relish in dainties, nopleasure in music, and no comfort in his own home. That is why he ab-stains from these things.”55 After the three years have passed, though, onediscards the mourning robes, ends the deprivations, and returns home;that is, he/she resumes a normal life. Yet in early medieval tales ¤lial chil-dren often refuse to carry on their lives in a fully normal fashion. They dothis by maintaining certain deprivations they had upheld while mourn-ing. For example, many ¤lial children continue to abstain from foods thatwere taboo during mourning long after the funerary rites have ended.56

Others refuse to return home; instead, for the rest of their lives they residein the mourning hut besides their parents’ graves.57 Yet others refuse tomarry after their parents die.58 As all of these actions show, although ¤lialchildren technically adhere to the three-year rites, by giving up the plea-sures and comforts of ordinary life, they still manages to display their end-less grief. The following passage from an account about Xie Hongwei (d.433) sums up the rationale for these noncanonical deprivations: “Afterthe mourning period for his brother was ¤nished, Hongwei still ate onlyvegetables. Someone said to him, ‘The mourning period is already overwith, why do you now do this?’ He answered, ‘The regulation for changingone’s cap and gown cannot be exceeded. However, the grief produced inone’s heart cannot truly be eliminated.’”59 In short, although the rites mustbe followed, for extraordinary ¤lial children they are inadequate to fully ex-press grief, hence they must ¤nd some other means to vent their sorrow.

The importance of the aforementioned motifs can be seen in the factthat slightly later stories might combine all of them into one account. Wecan see this in a tale about an elderly exemplar named Yang Yin.

When [Yin] was three he lost his father and was raised by his uncle. When his

mother died at the age of ninety-three, Yin was already seventy-¤ve, yet his grief

and emaciation exceeded the rites. After mourning his mother for three years,

he regretted that he did not know his father. He [then] caught up with his

mourning obligations by wearing the most severe form of mourning. He ate

porridge and wore rough clothing. He swore he would do so for the rest of his

life. After thirteen years, his grief and longing for his parents had not changed.60

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


them. Tales like this show that no matter the age, truly ¤lial children neverstop yearning for their parents.

All of these acts of renunciation invariably show that the mourner re-fuses to fully participate in secular life. A part of the mourner’s mind willalways be dedicated to the memory of his/her parents. Those engaging inthe more drastic renunciations, such as residing by one’s parent’s tombafter the mourning period has ended or refusing to marry, completely cutthemselves off from the secular world to serve their dead parents. Thispoint is clearly made by the fact that men who engage in these more severerenunciations repeatedly decline summons to of¤ce. Devoted childrenwho do such things mourn their parents inde¤nitely. After completing themourning rites for his stepmother, Guo Shidao (¶. 427) “was broken-hearted with grief and yearned for her. For the rest of his life he acted likea mourner. His thoughts of remembering the departed never for a mo-ment left his heart. Consequently, he never undid his clothes or took offhis hat [so that he could always be ready to serve her].”62 Obviously, theseaccounts tell us that there is nothing more important than one’s parents.Once they are gone, secular life has little meaning and can be easily dis-carded. One should live one’s life completely for their sake.

In fact, a son or daughter who inde¤nitely mourns his or her parents re-fuses to relinquish ful¤lling the role of child. A ¤lial offspring like this, as WuHung has aptly put it, is “an ageless child.”63 Although the authors of theBook of Rites castigated men who mourned like children, the authors of theearly medieval accounts found it praiseworthy. For instance, “when [He Zi-ping’s] mother died, even though he was already approaching 60, he stillyearned for her like a small boy. Day and night, he shouted and screamed.”64

Although Ziping is already an old man who has successfully completed theadult duties of nurturing and mourning his parents, what the author ¤ndspraiseworthy about him is that, he has maintained the same emotions forhis parents that he had as a vulnerable and dependent youngster.

The epitome of a ¤lial child who never lost his childlike love for hisparents is Lao Laizi. Although Lao was already seventy years old, to pleasehis even more elderly parents he acted the part of a child: he would wearbrightly colored clothes, play with toy birds, crawl, ride a bamboo horse,and cry like a baby when he slipped and fell. Hence the author of one Ac-counts of Filial Offspring praised him by saying, “Someone like Lao Laizi canbe said to be a person who has not lost the heart of a child.”65 The creatorsof early medieval images of this tale emphasize Lao’s regression on his par-ents’ behalf by invariably depicting him not as an old man, but as a youngchild (see ¤gs. 9 and 10). Rather than being a symbol of someone whose

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

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


emotions are not constrained by the rites, early medieval authors idolizedthe child as someone who had pure and undivided love for his/her parentsand thereby felt earnest and profound sorrow when they died. Hence forthese authors a ¤lial son or daughter should forever remain a child at heart.According to Shimomi this is the central message of the ¤lial piety stories.66

The idea that a son should always look upon his parents with theyearning of a young child comes directly from Mencius.

When a person is young he yearns for his parents; when he becomes fond of

the ¶esh, he yearns for the young and beautiful; when he has wife and child,

he yearns for them; when he serves in of¤ce, he yearns for his lord; when he

does not obtain his lord’s recognition, he burns within. Great ¤lial piety con-

sists of yearning for your parents all your life. In Shun [the sage-king], I have

seen a person who is ¤fty years old, yet he still yearns for his parents.67

Mencius recognizes that what men desire changes over the course of theirlives. Although they start off valuing their parents, they soon attach moreimportance to women, recognition, and nobility. What was admirableabout Shun, though, was that despite his age he resisted these usual pri-ority changes and retained his boyish love for his parents. Even thoughhe could possess the empire, only his parents’ love could satisfy him.That early medieval men connected the behavior of ¤lial offspring withthis idea can be seen in Zhao Qi’s commentary to the aforementionedMencius passage. His commentary reads, “People who have great ¤lialpiety yearn for their parents their entire life, like Lao Laizi who was sev-enty yet still yearned for them. Thus he wore ¤ve-colored robes and actedlike a child by crawling in front of his parents.”68 Given that Zhao con-nected the Lao Laizi story with this passage, it does not seem far-fetchedto think that early medieval literati might view other ¤lial piety stories asillustrating this same principle that nothing was more important thanpleasing one’s parents and retaining the “childlike” impulse to want togive them pleasure. In short, the early medieval authors of the stories re-jected the rationalism of Xun Kuang’s rites and embraced instead Mencius’emphasis on delighting one’s parents.

Serving the Dead like the Living

Filial children who quit secular life to forever mourn their parents bringsus to the third major theme of the mourning motifs: that of offspringwho “serve the dead as if they were alive” (shi si ru shi sheng, or shi wang


ru shi cun). Early Ru works maintain that the dead must be treated in amanner similar to the living. Although these same works take this ruleonly ¤guratively, the compilers of early medieval ¤lial piety tales took itquite literally. Early medieval heroes thus serve the dead exactly as theydo the living, to the point where they sometimes even sacri¤ce their liveson behalf of the dead.

In early Ru texts “serving the dead like the living” primarily meansperforming the mourning and sacri¤cial rites with sincerity and generos-ity. In Doctrine of the Mean (Zhongyong), this principle means performingthe ancestral sacri¤ces correctly and continuing the rituals of one’s fa-thers.69 According to Master Xun, to show proper respect to the dead onemust mourn or sacri¤ce to them as if they are conscious of what is beingdone on their behalf; thus one must sincerely grieve for them, providethem with material goods for their welfare, bury them in a tomb that re-sembles a home, and sacri¤ce to them as if they are present. Nevertheless,even though one generally treats the dead like the living, the grave goodsgiven to the deceased are made useless so that the distinction between theliving and the dead is made apparent.70 In the Book of Rites’ “Jiyi” chapter,“serving the dead like the living” applies to how one should behave dur-ing death-day anniversaries. Only on those days does one act as thoughone sees the dead and grieve as though one will die.71 Thus serving thedead like the living is something one does only during the mourning ritesand ancestral sacri¤ces, and on death-day anniversaries. Even then, subtlemeans are used to show that the dead are different from the living.

In early medieval stories, on the other hand, ¤lial heroes treat thedead exactly as if they were alive. Nor is this behavior merely limited tothe mourning period or death-day anniversaries. The motif that expressesthis most vividly is that of ¤lial offspring who rush to their parents’graves during a storm to console the dead parent who feared thunderwhile alive.72 The children replicate exactly how they would behave whilethe parent was still living. Stories in which a child serves an image of his/her dead parent manifest the principle of serving the dead like the livingeven more plainly. Ding Lan missed his dead mother (or in Eastern Hanversions, his father) so much that he created a wooden image of her andserved it as if it were alive. He did so to the extent that if someone wantedto borrow something from the family, he would ask the image for per-mission to do so. When a neighbor damaged the image, Ding killed him.When his wife burnt the image, depending on the version, he either beatsand divorces her or forces her to mourn the image for three years.73 Whatall of these tales share in common is the message that truly ¤lial children


treat their dead parents in a way no different from living parents, whichonce again drives home the point that one should forever be a child.

This principle of serving the dead like the living is so important that¤lial children should even endanger themselves to either protect or se-cure a parent’s corpse. We have already seen how numerous ¤lial off-spring are credited with braving searing ¶ames to protect their parents’corpses.74 Other ¤lial children either endanger their lives to protect a par-ent’s corpse or retrieve it.75 Although heaven usually intervenes to save¤lial offspring who perform such heroic acts, this is not always the case.76

In short, the death of one’s parents should not change one’s behavior to-wards them—if a child is willing to risk his/her life to save living parents,he/she should be just as willing to do the same for dead parents.

Personally Serving the Dead

The last major motif involves ¤lial children who exceed the spirit ratherthan the letter of the rites. They do so by insisting that they perform manyaspects of their parents’ funerals without any help from others, whichdoubtless is an extension of the belief seen in the previous chapter that¤lial children must personally perform the quotidian tasks necessary fornurturing their parents. In short, a proxy cannot perform a ¤lial rite onone’s behalf because that person will not perform the task with the neces-sary sincerity. Thus for the ceremony to be ef¤cacious, one must performit oneself. Although Confucius mentioned this principle only in regard tosacri¤ces, children in the early medieval tales apply it to each aspect oftheir parents’ funerals.

In fact, a few exemplary offspring try to personally carry out every as-pect of their parents’ funerals. An embodiment of this ideal is the Tu fam-ily’s daughter. When her parents died, she personally encof¤ned thebodies, took them to the grave, and shouldered the dirt to make theburial mound.77 Guo Yuanping “believed that since the duties of payingtribute to the dead were to be completed through [one’s] feelings and therites, to complete the funerary rites and the tomb, he did not want to bor-row the labor of others.” Nevertheless, since he did not know how toconstruct a tomb, he ¤rst apprenticed himself to a master tomb builder tolearn how to do so.78 Guo obviously believed that it was not only neces-sary to ful¤ll the rites, but also to ful¤ll them with the correct emotionalattitude, which only he could express.

More typically, a ¤lial child insists merely on single-handedly build-ing his parent’s tumulus. Many tales with such a motif emphasize that


despite the presence of servants, slaves, or neighbors who could helphim with the task, the ¤lial hero insists on building the mound himself.This act is so touching that it often spurs the moral universe to miracu-lously aid the ¤lial hero in his task: “[Zong] Cheng (¶. 200–220) did notemploy any slaves or servants in either carrying the dirt or building upthe tumulus. During the span of one night, on its own accord, the soil ofthe tumulus increased in height by ¤ve feet and pine and bamboo treessprouted there.”79 A striking aspect of this motif is that it demands thatan upper-class person perform demanding acts of manual labor, therebymaking the mourning rites even more dif¤cult to complete. The follow-ing account reveals how dif¤cult it was to combine adherence to the tra-ditional mourning rites with the new physical demands that ¤lialchildren should personally build their parents’ tumuli: Xu Zi (¶. 290–300) emaciated himself to the extent that he could stand only with theaid of a cane, yet he still insisted on shouldering the dirt used to createhis parents’ tumuli. During the day he would let his neighbors help him,but at night he would undo all of their work.80 Xu exceeds the traditionalrites by emaciating himself to the point where he can no longer stand onhis own. As if this were not enough, though, even in his profoundlyweakened physical state he still insists on engaging in strenuous manuallabor. This motif indicates that even when a parent is dead, a ¤lial childmust perform both the rites of gentlemen and the labor of commonersto serve the deceased. The popularity of this motif can be seen in thatEastern Han inscriptions often emphasize how descendents carried thedirt for their relatives’ tumuli and built them themselves.81 Simulta-neously, this indicates that early medieval authors thought that carryingout the prescribed rites was not nearly suf¤cient enough to express a ¤lialchild’s sorrow.

Early Ru writers probably never imagined that the funerary rites en-compassed such activities as personally building a tomb or a tumulus,which are indeed tasks more than rituals. Nevertheless, as all the motifswe have examined in this section have shown, for early medieval men theprescribed rites did not go nearly far enough to fully exhaust a son ordaughter’s grief. Filial offspring exceeded the rites because this was theonly way they could express the depth of their sorrow. But why did thisperiod in particular put so much emphasis on how one should fully ex-press grief? To explain why these mourning motifs became so prominentin the early medieval era, we must now look at the history of the imple-mentation of the Confucian mourning rites during the Eastern Han andWei-Jin periods.


The Triumph of the Three-Year Mourning Rites

Although the three-year mourning rites were not commonly practiced inthe Western Han, the situation abruptly changed during the Eastern Han.The three-year rites became more common in the ¤rst century AD andthen well established in the second. By the third century, these rites be-came the undisputed ritual practice of China’s learned elite; by the end ofthe third century the state incorporated them into the law of the land.Ironically, the Ru three-year mourning rites were institutionalized in aperiod that witnessed the decline of Ru intellectual vitality and its posi-tion as the dominant school of thought.

During the ¤rst century AD, the practice of the three-year mourningrites became increasingly commonplace. One of their most vigorous im-perial proponents was the usurper Wang Mang. In AD 5, while acting asregent, he decreed that middle of¤cials and those above had to performthe three-year rites.82 He himself performed three years’ mourning for hisaunt, the Empress Dowager Wenmu.83 A few Eastern Han rulers alsocompleted the three-year rites.84 Ordinary of¤cials, too, were increasinglypracticing them. Fujikawa believes that by Emperor Ming’s reign it wasnormal for of¤cials to quit of¤ce to mourn their parents for three years.85

There are even a few ¤rst-century cases in which the expression “exceededthe rites” is used to describe the way ¤lial sons mourned their parents.86

Nevertheless, no laws existed that required of¤cials to conduct the three-year rites. Kamiya has pointed out that even though Emperor Ming cen-sured Deng Yan (¶. 58–75) for not quitting of¤ce to mourn his father, hestill did not dismiss him.87 In other words, performing the three years ofmourning was becoming more prevalent among the cultural elite, but itstill was not supported by legal sanction.

By the late ¤rst century, though, the three-year rites had become theritual practice of the learned elite. The preponderance of accounts inwhich men from the latter half of the Eastern Han either perform theserites or resign from of¤ce to do so most obviously indicates this.88 More-over, not only did of¤cials resign from of¤ce to mourn their parents, butthey also sometimes did so to mourn other relatives, such as a brother,grandmother, grandfather, uncle, cousin, and, in one case, an uncle onceremoved.89 The situation got so out of hand that in AD 107 Emperor An(r. 107–125) prohibited quitting of¤ce for mourning anyone exceptone’s parents; in 126, Zuo Xiong (d. 138) complained that this law wasroutinely violated.90 Perhaps nothing better attests to the ubiquity of thethree-year rites than its extension to one’s patron. It was in the second


century that the act of mourning one’s patron for three years becamecommonplace.91 The fact that in 143 eighty-seven of the former subordi-nates of the administrator of Beihai performed the three-years rites on hisbehalf provides a stunning example of this phenomenon.92 Obviously, ifit were not common practice to mourn one’s parents for three years, onewould not do so for one’s patron.

In the second century, the widespread practice of the three-year ritesamong the educated elite twice spurred the government to try and catchup with social custom. Two empress dowagers who were imbued with Ruteachings brie¶y mandated that of¤cials practice the three-year mourningrites. In 116, while acting as regent, Empress Dowager Deng (d. 121) or-dered that all high of¤cials perform the three-year rites.93 She also com-manded that anyone, from high of¤cials on down, who failed to performthis ritual could not be recommended for of¤ce.94 Although the ¤rst de-cree was rescinded in ¤ve years, the latter one was incorporated into East-ern Han law.95 We should note that Empress Dowager Deng was a Ruparagon and a student of the outstanding female scholar Ban Zhao (49–120). The empress dowager is one of the earliest women credited with per-forming the three-year mourning rites in an exemplary manner.96 Onceagain, in 154, another female regent steeped in Ru teachings, EmpressDowager Liang (106–159), ordered that all high of¤cials perform thethree-year rites; in 156 she ordered that middle of¤cials do the same.97

These reforms ended with her death in 159. It is probably not by chancethat the two people who tried to give legal sanction to the three-year riteswere women from eminent families. It is equally important to notice,though, that their efforts failed.

These attempts to force of¤cials to perform the three-year rites andtheir failure are signi¤cant for a number of reasons. First, the reform indi-cates that society rather than the state established this custom. The me-morialists who proposed this reform argued that if high of¤cials did notperform the full mourning rites, then no one would, since everyonewould follow their example.98 Nevertheless, since by the second centurymembers of the learned elite commonly practiced the three-year rites,such was not the case at all. The impetus for this ritual change was com-ing from the great families rather than the imperial clan. Fujikawa hasnoted that the two attempts to make all of¤cials carry out the Ru mourn-ing rites were sponsored by the consort families, while those who op-posed it were the eunuchs who had the greatest interest in concentratingimperial power.99 We should remember, too, that Wang Mang, who alsoordered of¤cials to carry out the full rites, gained control of the govern-


ment as a member of a consort family. That the imperial family’s practiceof the Ru rites lagged behind the literati’s is evident in that in the secondcentury imperial princes were still being lavishly rewarded for merelyperforming them.100 Second, that these two decrees were in effect formerely ¤ve years apiece also indicates that the Eastern Han governmentwas still not fully under Confucianism’s sway.

In fact, it was not until the Western Jin (265–317) that the state fullysanctioned the three-year rites. During the Three Kingdoms period, highof¤cials still could not quit of¤ce to mourn their parents for three years.101

All this changed, though, during the Western Jin. In 265, his ¤rst year onthe throne, Emperor Wu (r. 265–290) ordered that all of¤cials who hadsalaries of 2,000 piculs of grain or less had to mourn their parents for threeyears; in 278, he extended this order to the dynasty’s highest of¤cials. Em-peror Wu himself had to be convinced on several occasions not to com-plete the full mourning rites for his family members. When his fatherdied, even though he did not perform the full rites, he still wore ordinaryclothes and ate plain food for three years.102 Furthermore, the Jin govern-ment impeached and punished of¤cials who performed the three-yearrites in a defective manner.103 Kamiya notes that these laws were so strictlyapplied that those of¤cials who were impeached committed minor viola-tions at best; moreover, their “violations” were often so questionable thatthey became the topic of formal court debates.104 Fujikawa stresses thatthese debates were not theoretical, but technical: they centered onwhether the individual in question performed the correct set of mourningrites for that particular situation.105

In other words, by the end of the third century, the dif¤cult and long-ignored three-year mourning rites now became the law of the land. Eventhe highest of¤cials had no choice but to quit of¤ce and practice them.106

Thus throughout the Six Dynasties period the question was not whetherone should practice these rites, but how one performed them properly.Since the correct performance of the mourning rites was of such importto the early medieval elite, it generated an enormous and unprecedentedbody of scholarship on the rites. Kishima informs us that most of theseworks were manuals answering the readers’ questions about how the ritesshould be conducted and which set of rites should be performed underwhat circumstances. Rather than explicate the classics, these works an-swered questions about mourning that the classics did not anticipate, orabout which the classics contained contradictory statements.107 In otherwords, these works were practical guides on how to perform the mourn-ing rites and dealt with the problems that might occur while doing so.


Hence they offer indisputable testimony that educated people of the latethird and fourth centuries were not only performing the mourning rites,but also doing so in a thorough and unprecedented manner.

The reason why the Ru mourning rites became so widely practiced inthe early medieval period was simply that they were an ef¤cacious ritualmeans of strengthening both kinship and social ties. Practice of the Ru ritesdeveloped into a means by which family members could become aware oftheir relations with and obligations towards other kinsmen. The wearing ofmourning robes for relatives provided family members with a vivid sense ofwho their close relations were and a concrete means of displaying their loy-alty to them. Hence by ensuring that each member knew his/her own placewithin the larger family, and by having him/her express loyalty by under-going austerities for prolonged periods of time on their behalf, the practiceof the Confucian mourning rites generated solidarity and cemented iden-tity within an extended family. At the same time, since a man also owed hislord/patron mourning obligations, the Ru mourning rites also providedlocal elite men with a ritual means to enhance their private ties with non-related, politically important men. Since during this period one’s publicof¤ces and the government were much less important than one’s privateties and the strength of one’s family, the mourning rites strengthened theprivate networks that were so crucial in the life of an elite man.

Combating Apathy

The preceding section has shown that China’s learned elite commonlypracticed the three-year mourning rites in the second century and thatthese rites became legally sanctioned for of¤cials in the third. This chro-nology of events supplies the answer for why the stories emphasize “ex-ceeding the rites.” The purpose of this theme was not to encourage peopleto perform the three-year rites, but rather to perform them with sincerity.

To understand the purpose of this theme of “exceeding the rites,” it isimperative to ascertain its timing. If it appeared before these rites werecommonly performed, then it was probably meant to encourage their prac-tice; however, if it appeared afterwards, then it probably had an entirely dif-ferent aim. Stories about exceeding the rites ¤rst appear in the secondcentury AD, which is precisely when the three-year rites were becomingwidely practiced. The earliest extant history to document cases of exceedingthe mourning rites is Han Records of the Eastern Pavilion.108 Although writtenat various times during the Eastern Han, this work’s biographies of virtuousgentlemen and famous statesmen—in which the theme of exceeding the


mourning rites occurs—were probably compiled after AD 107.109 The ¤rstdynastic history that uses the speci¤c term guoli in connection with exem-plary mourning is Sima Biao’s (ca. 240–306) The History of the Continuationof the Han (Xu Han shu).110 Positive accounts of people who exceed themourning rites, then, appear after, not before, the three-year mourningrites had become entrenched among the educated elite.

Since the three-year rites were already an upper-class social realitywhen these tales appeared, they were obviously not meant to encouragethe practice of such rites. By the second century, and especially by thethird, if one was to have a political career or any standing in local elite so-ciety, one had no choice but to perform the three-year rites. Since thiswas the case, the self-appointed guardians of morality did not need toworry that members of the elite would fail to perform the rites. As Kamiyareminds us, in the Jin dynasty, due to the strict enforcement of laws con-cerning the mourning rites, egregious violations of the rites were exceed-ingly rare.111 Besides legal sanction, since the mourning rites were themost public aspect of ¤lial piety, in a society that lionized this virtue, onewould expect that most people of status would perform the rites in apunctilious manner. In fact, Eastern Han social critics rarely complainedof people who failed to perform the three years’ rites; instead, they com-plained of people who devoted too little effort to nurturing their livingparents and too much effort to burying their dead ones.112

Rather than encouraging the performance of the three-year rites, themain intent of “exceeding the rites” narratives was to combat the apathythat attended their institutionalization. What worried the authors of thetales was that people who had no choice but to perform the rites mightdo so in a perfunctory or deceitful manner. In other words, literati wouldperform the mourning rites only because the government or peer pres-sure mandated it, not because they felt grief for the dead. Completion ofthe rites thereby ran the risk of becoming little more than a public theat-rical performance. In the same vein, Ge Hong (284–363) criticized thenorthern funerary custom of wailing with a ¤xed rhythm and uttering setexpressions precisely because it drained mourning of its emotional con-tent and merely transformed it into an aesthetic experience.113

In the case of mourning, men study the central region’s manner of wailing. It

causes people to act without thinking and lack the feelings of recalling or

thinking [of the departed]. . . . Confucius said, “The loss of one’s mother or

father should be as sad a thing as the case of a baby which has lost its

mother.” How is it possible that the cries [of an infant] could have a ¤xed


sound? “The mourner should prefer that the sorrow be excessive and the rites

be insuf¤cient.” Wailing is a means of letting out one’s sorrow. How can

clumsiness and excellence enter the matter? To regulate and embellish one’s

sounds is not what is called “Great Suffering.”114

Note that Ge’s criticism echoes one of the paramount themes we haveseen in the “exceeding the rites” tales: the purpose of the mourning rites isto give vent to one’s deep, emotional longing for one’s departed parents—a longing so intense that it is like what a small child feels for his/her miss-ing parent. Like the mourning of a child, grief should be spontaneous andgenuine. It is precisely the detailed rules and importance attached to thequality of the rites’ performance that drains their emotional content.

Since political and social mandate, rather than personal grief, de-manded performance of the rites, one might be tempted to secretly vio-late some of the mourning taboos. That one not only had to mourn one’sparents for long periods of time, but also other relatives, such as uncles,brothers, and sisters, must have made this temptation loom even largerin the hearts of many. Ge informs us that many literati used illness as apretext for violating the mourning rites.

I have also heard that noblemen, when they are experiencing the “Great Sor-

row,” sometimes because they are ill, will eat several meals while taking

“cold food powder.” They drink great amounts of wine as if their life de-

pended upon it. When their illness has reached the crisis point, they cannot

endure the wind and cold. In the case of screen curtains, cushions, and mat-

tresses, they make use of whatever makes them comfortable. Thus in all cases

where petty men have wealth and power they never again reside in the place

of the mourner; instead, they usually live in another room [furnished with] a

high bed with many coverlets. They eat rich food and drink much. Some-

times, in the company of intimate friends, they pour cups to the top and

empty them. It gets to the point where they become very drunk. They say,

“This is the custom in the capital, Luoyang.”115

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


ten to music. However, after becoming chief minister, even when mourn-ing close relatives, he never went without music or female entertainers.116

Wang Tanzhi (330–375) bitterly reproached Xie for this, but while inmourning he himself would play “encirclement chess” because he con-sidered it a form of “conversing with the hands.”117 Given that men sooften violated the mourning rites, it is no wonder that early medievalnarratives emphasize that a true ¤lial child is personally engaged in all as-pects of a funeral and avoids meat, alcohol, and ¤ne clothing, even longafter the mourning period has ended.

By the mid-third century, there were even men who intentionally¶outed the mourning taboos. These individuals, many of whom are asso-ciated with the legendary “Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove,” believedthat the ordinary—that is, Ru—standards of behavior did not apply tothemselves. Consequently, they were known as “gentlemen outside ofthe conventions” (fangwai zhi shi). By drinking alcohol, eating meat,playing “encirclement chess,” taking concubines, and attending ban-quets, they egregiously violated the mourning rites.118 By this means theyprotested the increasingly vapid nature of the compulsory mourningrites, but they paid a stiff social and political price for doing so.119

Stories about these gentlemen beyond the conventions stress thateven though they willfully violated the Ru mourning rites, they displayedgrief that equaled, if not exceeded, that of men who completed all of therites. When Ruan Ji (210–263) “was about to bury his mother, hesteamed a fat suckling pig, drank two dipperfuls of wine, and after thatattended the last rites. He did nothing but cry, ‘It’s all over’ and gave him-self to continuous wailing. As a result, he spit up blood and wasted awayfor a long time.”120 Despite his obvious violation of the mourning rites,Ruan suffered from his grief the same way many conventional ¤lial sonsdid: he could not control his sorrow, spat out blood, and fainted. Inother words, the author of this account puts him forward as an exem-plary ¤lial son. Hence rather than being an attack on ¤lial piety per se,this story and others like it question the validity or usefulness of the Rumourning rites because they no longer express grief, which should betheir main purpose.121 Suf¤ce it to say that in mourning, what is most im-portant is not following the rites, but instead expressing one’s true feel-ings of longing for one’s parents.

Tales that compare the mourning of someone who follows the ritualdictates of the Confucian mourning rites and someone who violatesthem makes this same point even more explicit. The most famous narra-tive of this type is one that compares the mourning of He Qiao with that


of Wang Rong. He Qiao (d. 292) mourns according to the rites; WangRong (235–305) ignores the rites, but expresses so much sorrow that hebecomes terribly emaciated and cannot leave his bed. This prompts LiuYi (ca. 210–285) to tell the emperor,

He Qiao, even though performing all the rites, has suffered no loss in his

spirit or health. Wang Rong, even though not performing the rites, is none-

theless so emaciated with grief that his bones stand out. Your servant is of

the opinion that He Qiao’s is the ¤lial piety of life, while Wang Rong’s is the

¤lial piety of death. Your Majesty should not worry about Qiao, but rather

about Rong.122

Wang’s unconventional means of mourning is superior to He’s adher-ence to the Ru mourning rites because it produces so much genuine sor-row that it nearly kills him. In other words, the Ru mourning rites are nolonger ef¤cacious in venting grief. He Qiao can follow the Confucianmourning rites without loss to his health, which indicates that he did notfeel a suf¤cient amount of grief. Narratives like this, then, convey themessage that performing the rites is secondary to expressing the heartfeltdistress one feels at the loss of a loved one and that the Ru mourning ritesare no longer effectual because they have lost their emotional bearings.123

Although the authors of ¤lial piety stories would have doubtlesslysneered at men like Ruan Ji, who disregarded the rites, they would haveagreed that the insincerity with which contemporaries practiced themourning rites was an overriding problem. Ironically, then, ¤lial pietystories that stress exceeding the rites are striving for the same end as thestories about unconventional mourning: both want to ensure that peopletruly do express sincere grief while in mourning. Nevertheless, for the au-thors of the ¤lial piety tales, the way to do this was not by ignoring the Rurites, but by going beyond their dictates. In short, since completing the riteswas no longer indicative of the grief one felt towards the dead, to trulyshow one’s sorrow one had to go to extremes, that is, “exceed the rites.”

Conclusion

This chapter has clearly indicated that the messages of early medievalstories with mourning motifs differ markedly from those of their predeces-sors. The tales from before the Eastern Han emphasized ful¤lling the rites,not exceeding them, which is probably because the three-year mourningrites were rarely practiced at that time. Early medieval narratives, on the


other hand, stress exceeding the mourning rites because they were createdat a time when the educated elite commonly practiced such rites.

The ubiquity of the practice of these rites forced the tales’ goals tochange from advocating adherence to these rites to performing them in asincere and heartfelt manner. As soon as it became necessary for all men topractice the three-year rites to advance themselves socially and politically,the mourning rites increasingly faced the danger of being merely viewedas a tool; instead of conducting the three-year rites to express one’s an-guish, one might now perform them to gain a worldly end. To combat thisphenomenon, the authors of the ¤lial piety stories stressed that oneshould not merely ful¤ll the rites, but exceed their requirements. Doing sowould show that one’s grief was so over¶owing that the rites could notgive them suf¤cient vent. Men who enthusiastically sacri¤ced their inter-ests for those of the dead or who personally managed the details of burialwere now held up as admirable men—men who still maintained the spiritof the rites.

By demonstrating that early medieval tales were attempting to com-bat the apathy that attended the institutionalization of these rites, thischapter has contributed to pinpointing when the educated elite becameConfucianized and why. Among elite circles, practice of this discrete setof rituals became common during the second century AD. By the thirdcentury, the state caught up with custom and the law sanctioned thatof¤cials must practice these rites. In other words, if the implementationof these dif¤cult and costly rituals is any gauge to the extent to whichConfucianism penetrated the elite’s ritual program and value system,then we can safely presume that by the second century it had a signi¤cantimpact on the educated elite’s worldview and standards of conduct. Theimpetus for this change came from provincial elite families who foundthe mourning rites to be a convenient and effective means of generatingsolidarity among the extended family and agnatic lineage. Ironically, theonly upper-class groups that lagged behind in following these rites wereimperial family members and high of¤cials who still adhered to an ab-breviated mourning period. In other words, this practice emerged fromsociety and was only gradually adopted by the state. This parallels the ex-istence of extended families, where the state legally sanctioned them onlyin the early third century, with the Wei’s prohibition of parents and chil-dren having separate ¤nances, even though they were already an impor-tant feature of elite society in the ¤rst and second centuries.

164

7 Filial Daughters orSurrogate Sons?

Upon thinking about ¤lial piety in China, due to the im-portance that Confucianism places on the father-son bond, one intuitivelyassociates it with sons, not daughters. If gender is thrown into the mix,then we think of the strong tie between mother and son—a relationshipthat Cole’s Mothers and Sons in Chinese Buddhism has so well elucidated.Nevertheless, ¤lial piety was and is by no means merely a male virtue. Nowand in the past, Chinese women have also performed it in an exemplarymanner. But what type of behavior constituted female ¤lial piety? Coonhas shown that late antique and early medieval European hagiographersconstructed male and female sanctity differently. Assuming that by naturewomen were licentious, extravagant, and emotional, medieval hagiogra-phers depicted female saints as subordinating themselves completely tomale ecclesiastical authority, living austerely in cloistered surroundingswhere they performed domestic duties, and having boundless simple faith.In other words, early medieval authors emphasized virtues that counter-acted or harnessed what they viewed as unique female frailties.1 This leadsone to wonder, To what extent was female ¤lial piety different from itsmale counterpart in early medieval China? How did it change over time?In comparison to male ¤lial piety, how important was it?

By closely reading anecdotes of ¤lial daughters, this chapter will en-deavor to prove the following points: ¤rst, depictions of ¤lial daughtersbecame common during the early medieval period. Second, male and fe-male expressions of ¤lial piety were basically the same, except thatwomen had to go to greater extremes to express their ¤lial devotion. Inmost cases some form of literal or ¤gurative violence marked the extrem-ity of their actions, whether it was physical suicide, social suicide, or in-fanticide. Third, this remarkable similarity in ¤lial conduct came aboutbecause ¤lial piety was perceived as a male virtue that females performed

Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons? 165

in the absence of male relatives. In short, ¤lial females were surrogatesons. Fourth, due to the fact that their ¤liality was derivative, althoughsome tales of ¤lial women did circulate in early imperial China, thesestories were still comparatively few and of marginal importance.

Early China’s Scarcity of Filial Women Tales

To establish that female ¤lial piety narratives ¤rst became prevalent inthe early medieval period, let us ¤rst examine stories from before theEastern Han that touch upon female ¤lial piety, which are convenientlyassembled in Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women, the earliestknown work that exclusively records the lives of women. As Raphals haspointed out, despite ¤liality’s importance in the Western Han, none ofLiu’s six chapters on virtuous conduct focus on it.2 In fact, not a singlestory is exclusively dedicated to promoting this value. Nevertheless, thereare two types of stories that endorse, or at least mention, ¤lial piety whilesimultaneously espousing other virtues. These two types of stories aremoral dilemma tales and ones in which women save their relatives fromperil due to their reasoning abilities.

Accounts of Outstanding Women has four tales in which women rescuea blood relative who has committed a serious offense. Nevertheless, in thethree stories in which daughters save their fathers from execution, LiuXiang praises the protagonists not for their ¤liality, but for their skillful ar-gumentation.3 For example, Jianzi of Zhao once found a ferryman sleep-ing on duty. The ferryman’s daughter, Zhao Juan, stopped the king fromexecuting him by pleading on his behalf. She told the king that in trying tosecure safe passage for the king, her father became drunk giving libationsto the river spirits. Since her father was just trying to ful¤ll his duties, shewould redeem his mistake by dying in his place. The king retorted,though, that his crime was not her fault. She then stated that if her fathershould be executed, he should be awoken ¤rst, so that he would at least beaware of his offense and would not die thinking he has been wronged.4 Inearly medieval accounts, Juan’s offering to die in her father’s place wouldbe the center of the story, which would celebrate her exemplary ¤liality.However, in this account it is merely one of the means by which she triesto save her father. Moreover, since the king was seemingly unmoved byher altruistic plea, it was not even the most effective means. The narratorconcludes the account not by praising her sel¶essness, but her persuasive-ness: “The girl, Juan, saw clearly through affairs and was able to explainthem.”5 Underlining that the thrust of this type of story is the daughter’s


ability to reason rather than her offering to die in her father’s place, in astrikingly similar tale, Shanghuai Jing makes no offer to die in her father’splace, but merely saves him through her logical argument.6 Chunyu TiYing (2nd cent. BC), on the other hand, is able to save her father based onher offer to become a palace slave in exchange for her father’s life; never-theless, the most important aspect of her plea is that it causes EmperorWen of the Han to realize the cruelty of mutilating punishments.7

A number of Accounts of Outstanding Women stories that touch upon¤lial piety are “moral dilemma” tales. One can divide moral dilemmatales that concern ¤liality into two types: those that concern a daughter ordaughter-in-law who must choose which relative to save, and those inwhich a servile woman must choose between saving her master or herself.

Two of the moral dilemma tales from Accounts of Outstanding Womenconcern ¤lial daughters. One has to do with the Capital’s Steadfast Woman(Jingshi jienü), who had to choose between saving either her father or herhusband. Dissatis¤ed with both of these options, she placed herself whereshe had told the avenger her husband would be sleeping. Upon looking atthe head he had just cut off, the avenger found that it was that of the Stead-fast Woman: she had sacri¤ced herself to save both her father and her hus-band.8 The other tale concerns the ¤lial stepdaughter Zhu Chu. As she andher stepmother were escorting her father’s body home, they inadvertentlybroke the law. Fearing that her stepmother would take the blame, Zhu con-fessed to the crime; feeling sorry for Zhu, her stepmother claimed that shehad committed the wrong. Moved by their devotion to each other, theof¤cial released both of them.9 An important aspect of both stories is that¤lial piety to one’s parent is so important that dying to realize it is not toohigh a price. Since stepmothers were as despised in premodern China asthey were in premodern Europe, the fact that Zhu was willing to die for herstepmother underscores ¤lial piety’s signi¤cance.

Despite the importance of the often tense and fractious relationshipbetween mothers- and daughters-in-law in the Chinese family, only twotales from Accounts of Outstanding Women portray ¤lial daughters-in-law.One concerns a young, childless widow who, after completing the mourn-ing rites for her husband, must choose between whether she should obeyher parents’ commands to remarry or keep her promise to her husband tosupport his mother. She concludes that she cannot follow her parents’wishes because she had already promised her husband that she wouldtake care of his mother, and to renege would make her untrustworthy(buxin); to betray the dead would be unrighteous (buyi); and not ful¤llingher husband’s duty to care for his parent would cause her to be un¤lial


(buxiao). Desiring not to commit any of these immoral acts, she informsher parents that she plans to commit suicide. Her parents thus relent, andshe is thereby able to remain unmarried, nurture her mother-in-law foranother twenty-eight years, and earn the title of the Widow Chen, FilialWife (Chen Gua Xiaofu).10 The other ¤lial daughter-in-law is Qiu Huzi’swife. After being married only ¤ve days, her husband left home to take uphis of¤cial duties. Five years later, on his way home, Qiu asked a womanpicking mulberry leaves to lie with him in exchange for gold. It turned outthat that woman was his wife, whom he did not recognize. Upon discov-ering it was her husband who had propositioned her, she faced a di-lemma. She could not bear to live with an un¤lial man who would ratherpresent gold to a stranger than to his own mother and was so unrighteousthat his lust would lead him to solicit favors from an unknown woman.Nevertheless, it was also immoral for a woman to remarry. She resolvedthe dilemma by drowning herself in a river.11

Both of these daughter-in-law tales are illuminating in many ways.First, neither story is exclusively dedicated to ¤lial piety. In both tales,righteousness or trustworthiness is equally as important as ¤lial piety. Sec-ond, both seem to indicate that wives do not view supporting their mothers-in-law until their deaths as a moral obligation; they are willing to do soonly because other agnatic male kin are not present to take on the respon-sibility. Widow Chen felt obligated to take care of her mother-in-law onlybecause she had promised her husband that she would do so.12 We shouldalso note that her husband asks her to do so only because he has no broth-ers who would normally support the mother. Thus the widow is merelyhelping her husband ful¤ll his ¤lial duty in his absence. Likewise, QiuHuzi’s wife sees it as her duty to support her absent husband’s mother-in-law. She refuses her husband’s offer of gold by saying, “Hey, picking mul-berry leaves, working assiduously with one’s strength, and spinning andweaving allow me to generate enough clothes and food that I can honormy two parents and raise my husband’s children. I do not want yourgold.” Her own labor enables her to ful¤ll her obligations to both hermother-in-law and her husband, thus she has no need for money immor-ally obtained. But now that her husband has returned, not even giving asecond thought to her obligation to care for her mother-in-law and chil-dren, she commits suicide. In short, once her husband can support hismother, her obligation comes to an end. Similarly, after Tao Tazi continu-ously refused to listen to his wife’s admonishments to change his behav-ior, she asked her mother-in-law to throw her out of the family so that sheand her child might escape disaster, which would certainly come to a family


whose prosperity was based on greed rather than virtue. After robberskilled her husband and all his kin, except his elderly mother, Tao’s ex-wifereturned to nurture her former mother-in-law.13 In short, although shewas unwilling to share her husband’s misfortune, once he was gone, hisex-wife felt obligated to look after her former mother-in-law, since the oldcrone had no one else to support her.

The other type of moral dilemma story that involves ¤lial piety is thatconcerning a servant who must choose between saving her master’s childor her own child, or her master or herself. Since servants, such as maids,concubines, and wet nurses, were part of the household, like everyone elsewithin it they were expected to display ¤lial piety to the patriarch andhousehold elders. Thus a number of moral dilemma tales in Accounts ofOutstanding Women urge this kind of ¤liality towards one’s master. For ex-ample, upon hearing that a usurping uncle was about to kill her charge,the infant Duke of Lu, a wet nurse put her own infant son in the duke’sclothing and bed, then ¶ed with the real duke. In other words, to serve herlord well, she intentionally left behind her own son to die. Due to theseactions, she was known as The Righteous and Filial Nurse of Lu (Lu Xiaoyibao).14 Lee indicates that in reality wet nurses often did save the lives oftheir endangered charges.15 Another moral dilemma narrative that illus-trates ¤liality is one in which a concubine purposely drops a container ofpoisoned wine that was meant for her master. Even knowing she wouldsuffer a painful beating for breaking the container, she did so because shecould neither kill her master nor endanger her mistress by exposing thatwoman’s murderous intent.16 Even though the concubine is described asloyal (zhong) in the story, her loyalty could be equally construed as ¤lial-ity, which is implied by the terms used to describe her master and mis-tress: master-father (zhufu) and master-mother (zhumu).

In the same vein, the only time Liu Xiang uses the term “reverent care”(gongyang) in his Accounts of Outstanding Women is in connection with aservile relationship. Despite the fact that she gave birth to the crownprince, for eight years a concubine continued to reverently care for theruler’s childless primary wife. The primary wife ¤nally told her that it waswrong that her son was heir, and yet she (the concubine) continued to actas though she was inferior in status. Consequently, the primary wife of-fered to move out. The concubine objected by saying,

I have heard that when serving their lords, loyal retainers never have times

when they feel exhausted; when ¤lial children nurture their parents, they

never have a day in which they feel irritated. You, the primary wife, desire to


move out and live apart and thereby cause your slave to reside within the

household. How could I dare change the rules of being a concubine due to a

small amount of good fortune? Reverent care is a concubine’s fundamental

task.17

This passage is particularly important because the concubine baldly statesthat her primary duty to her master consists of reverent care. She also lik-ens her service to both that of a ¤lial child and a loyal retainer, hence heraction combines both ¤liality and loyalty. Like the other stories, the ¤lialand loyal concubine is able to have her way only by saying that the pri-mary wife’s decision leaves her no choice but to commit suicide. Natu-rally, the primary wife relented and the concubine was able to reverentlycare for her for the rest of her life.

From this short survey of Accounts of Outstanding Women, one is struckby how few of the tales concern the pivotal mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship. In fact, stories that concern the ¤liality of servile womenare more numerous. Another shared feature of these narratives is that theywere probably almost entirely contemporary in origin. In his exhaustivestudy of Accounts of Outstanding Women, Shimomi has found preexistingsources for only three out of the eight tales that concern ¤lial piety.18 Thismeans that the ¤ve remaining stories, four of which concern either ¤lialdaughters or daughters-in-law, were probably either contemporary Hantales or ones that Liu Xiang himself fabricated.19 Since a vast majority ofthe tales from Accounts of Outstanding Women were taken from otherworks,20 that Liu had to make up or use contemporary tales indicates hehad trouble ¤nding stories about ¤lial daughters and daughters-in-law inthe received literature. Clearly, making sure that women were ¤lial to theirfamily was a new concern. Yet since so few of the stories are dedicated tothis concern, it obviously was still not yet an important one.

The Necessity of Going the Extra Mile

In many ways early medieval narratives about ¤lial females are strikinglydifferent from those in Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women. In theformer, female ¤lial piety is a much more important subject, which wasobviously the beginning of a trend, since by the Five Dynasties period(906–960) ¤lial piety became one of the two virtues usually depicted inworks devoted to outstanding women.21 Also different is the fact that earlymedieval narratives focus squarely on a woman’s actions towards hernatal parents and in-laws, which is noticeable in the many tales dedicated


to ¤lial daughters and daughters-in-law. Tales of ¤lial servants, on theother hand, seem to drop out of sight. Moreover, early medieval authorsseem much less enamored of moral dilemma tales; hence the stories aresolely dedicated to celebrating a woman’s ¤lial act, rather than showingher trying to ful¤ll the dictates of two equally important yet competingvirtues. Instead, early medieval authors presented women as performingthe same ¤lial acts as men; unlike men, though, women have to go tomuch greater extremes to make their ¤lial piety noteworthy.

Like early medieval ¤lial men, the female counterparts are often de-picted as reverently caring for parents whether they are natal parents or in-laws. Given that only one of Liu Xiang’s tales stresses reverent care, this is anoteworthy change. By the Jin dynasty, the fact that reverently caring forone’s in-laws was a wife’s duty seems to have become common knowledgeamong the elite. For instance, when plotting to rebel against Huan Wen(312–373), Lady Zhou’s husband, Meng Chang (d. 410), urged his wife to¶ee with her wealth. She responded by saying, “Your father and mother arestill alive; if you desire to erect an extraordinary plan, how could I object?Even if I were a palace slave, I would still have to reverently care for mymother-in-law. According to my obligations, I have no intention of return-ing home.”22 Unlike the sentiment found in Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Out-standing Women, a daughter-in-law does not merely reverently care for hermother-in-law because her husband or brothers-in-law are not present; aslong as her parents-in-law live, she is obligated to support them.

Early medieval authors often underlined the importance of reverentcare by showing ¤lial sons enduring terrible hardships to materially pam-per their parents. Similarly, early medieval tales also show women under-going deprivations or performing menial labor to reverently care for theirparents or parents-in-law. Yue Yangzi’s (Eastern Han) wife would alwayspersonally work to provide her mother-in-law with food, and she evenprovisioned her husband, though he was far away.23 As for Mr. Tu’s daugh-ter (Tushi nü), “[d]uring the day she gathered ¤rewood and at night shewove cloth to reverently care for her parents.”24 Pang Xing (1st cent.), thewife of the famous ¤lial son Jiang Shi, is the poster child of ¤lial daughters-in-law who provide reverent care. Her biography tells us,

She was extremely reverent and obedient. Their mother loved to drink water

from the Jiang River, which was six or seven li away. She would usually [sail]

along the main current and take water from it. Later, however, she encoun-

tered a wind and could not come back in time. [As a result,] her mother-in-

law was thirsty. [Jiang] Shi then blamed his wife and sent her away. His ex-


wife then went and lived in a neighbor’s house, where she wove day and night

so that she could buy delicacies, which she had the neighbor’s mother give to

her former mother-in-law. After this happened for a long time, her former

mother-in-law thought it strange and asked her neighbor, who told her every-

thing. Both touched and ashamed, her mother-in-law called her back [and re-

instated her in the family]. Shi’s wife nurtured her with even greater care.25

If trudging down to the river every day even after she was divorced wasnot bad enough, Pang still felt compelled to slave away day and night forher former mother-in-law so that she could furnish her with tasty food.Despite these tremendous ¤lial acts, the History of the Later Han accountof Pang does not even dignify her with a name, a detail that Treatise onCountries South of Mount Hua fortunately supplies.

Nevertheless, even these deprivations are not enough to make awoman a ¤lial hero. Whether physical or social, death usually had to ac-company the self-deprivations to make them praiseworthy. The act thatmade Pang’s ¤liality so memorable was not her furnishing the mother-in-law with delicacies, even after she had been cast out of the house, but thefact that rather than shocking her mother-in-law with the tragic news thather grandson had drowned while obtaining river water for his grand-mother, Pang told her that he had merely gone off to school. Moreover,Pang continued this ruse for many years by annually making summer andwinter clothing for him and throwing them into the river.26 In otherwords, Pang sacri¤ced her son to reverently care for her mother-in-law andnever revealed to the old lady at what cost her whimsies were satis¤ed.27

More commonly, though, exemplary women who want to reverentlycare for their parents or in-laws suffer a form of social death. If single, theydo not marry; if widowed, they do not remarry. Without a doubt, this isthe most prevalent motif in tales of early medieval ¤lial women. Numer-ous early medieval accounts concern young women who forego marriageso that they can dedicate their lives to serving their birth parents. For in-stance, since she had no brothers and her parents were old, Yingerzi, thedaughter of the Beigong family (Bei Gong shi nü), discarded her jewelry(to make herself unattractive), swore she would never marry so that shecould support her parents, and did not relent even when the Duke of Zhaoasked for her hand in marriage.28 Even after the death of their parents,¤lial daughters would refuse to remarry so that they could continue totake care of them. The three daughters of the Chen family (Chen shi sannü) supported their elderly grandparents through their unstinting and la-borious collection of water chestnuts. After their grandparents’ deaths, the


granddaughters decided to not marry so that they could fully dedicatethemselves to serving their grandparents’ spirits.29 Mr. Tu’s daughter nur-tured and buried her parents with such dedication and care that a moun-tain god rewarded her with the ability to cure illnesses. This caused herhousehold to become exceedingly rich and made her into a highly desir-able marriage partner. Nevertheless, she swore to never marry so that shecould forever guard her parents’ tomb.30

Given the fact that women usually had no choice in their marriagepartners, had tyrannical mothers-in-laws, were treated like outsiders, andrisked their lives in childbearing, foregoing marriage might not sound likesuch a bad deal. But by not marrying, a woman had no hope of havingchildren—the key to any woman’s long-term happiness. As she aged, herchildren became essential since they would become her chief means ofsupport and solace; after death, they would ensure her postmortem welfarethrough sacri¤ces. Thus by refusing to marry, a woman was renouncing herwelfare both in old age and the next world. Perhaps equally tragic, by notmarrying, a woman was forever condemning herself to a marginal exist-ence in which she could neither be a complete person nor a full member ofsociety. Hinsch has pointed out that being a complete woman in HanChina meant successfully ful¤lling a number of female roles that societyviewed positively. Thus a woman gained her identity through being a gooddaughter, sister, wife, daughter-in-law, and mother.31 Of all these socialroles, the most important was that of wife, since it changed the woman’slife more dramatically than any other and was necessary for assuming theroles of daughter-in-law and mother. Hence all women were expected tomarry. Accounts of Outstanding Women states, “A woman knows nothingbetter than being a wife; the man knows nothing better than being a hus-band.”32 By sacri¤cing marriage, a ¤lial daughter willingly suspended herlifecycle and deprived herself of the responsibilities and rewards thatwould come from being a wife and a mother. In a way, she was forever con-demning herself to be a child.

Tales about widowed daughters-in-law who refuse to remarry inorder to reverently care for their parents-in-law show them risking physi-cal death to obtain social death. These narratives nearly always feature ayoung and childless widow who refuses to remarry so that she can rever-ently care for her parent-in-law. Nevertheless, out of pity, her parents orparents-in-law invariably attempt to have her remarry, which she man-ages to avoid only through attempting or threatening suicide. The follow-ing account provides us with an example of the high cost of femalereverent care.


When Du Ci was eighteen, she married [Yu] Xian. Xian died. They were with-

out children. [Her father] Ji wanted her to remarry Yang Shang of the same

district. Ci said, “I have received my orders from Mr. Yu. That Mr. Yu died

early is my misfortune. While she is alive, I should serve my wise mother-in-

law. When she dies, I should nourish her spirit and preserve the dead. I only

desire to complete my reverent care, thus if I die, I’ll have no regrets. I hope

you won’t change my intentions.” Ji knew he could not persuade her. So he

secretly conspired with Yang to force her into doing it. Ci hung herself.33

Clearly for Ci no duty was more important than reverently caring for hermother-in-law—this commitment lasted even after her mother-in-law’sdeath. Ci underscores the importance of serving her mother-in-law by kill-ing herself when she cannot do so. In other cases, the ¤lial daughter-in-lawthreatens or unsuccessfully attempts to commit suicide to avoid remar-riage.34 In two cases, ¤lial daughters-in-law mutilated themselves so thatthey could continue to reverently care for their husband’s relatives.35

In a few accounts, even the parents-in-law acknowledge the greatsacri¤ce that ¤lial daughters-in-law are making by refusing to remarry.This recognition comes in anecdotes in which a jealous sister-in-lawwrongs a ¤lial daughter-in-law.36 In tales of this type, to reverently care forher in-laws a young woman refuses to remarry after her husband has diedprematurely. Out of pity, her parents-in-law urge her to remarry, but shewill not listen. As a result, the parent or parents-in-law decide to commitsuicide to clear her path to remarriage. In the hoary tale of the Filial Wifeof Donghai, the mother-in-law explicitly states the motives for her actions:“The ¤lial wife has nurtured me very thoroughly. I grieve that she has nochildren and has been a widow for so long. I’m old and I’m causing one inthe prime of youth to suffer, how can that be?”37 The mother-in-law pitiesher in the ¤rst place because she has no children, thereby putting her fu-ture welfare in jeopardy, and because she has voluntarily undertaken thedif¤cult role of a widow. Being a young widow was perhaps one of thethorniest social roles a woman could play in premodern Chinese society.38

As Wang Fu pointed out, it was even dif¤cult for women who could affordwidowhood to do so because their uncles and brothers, who desired theirwealth, betrothal gifts, or children, would often force or trick them into re-marriage. Consequently, widows often ended up committing suicide andleaving their children as orphans.39 Almost as if to underline the vulnera-bility of widows, in the tales under discussion, after the parents-in-law die,a jealous or vengeful sister-in-law accuses the ¤lial daughter-in-law ofmurdering her parent(s). Since the young widow has no one to protect


her, the authorities do not investigate the charges and wrongly executeher. In short, the authors of these accounts acknowledge and emphasizethe great sacri¤ce that the ¤lial daughter-in-law is making to reverentlycare for her in-laws. That they are then unjustly accused and executed addsinsult to injury, since they should be rewarded rather than punished fortheir virtuous behavior. Heaven redresses the wrong by supplying miraclesthat verify the widow’s innocence. Note that what makes their ¤lial pietyeven greater is that they give up their own lives to reverently care for theirmothers-in-law, rather than their birth parents.

To reverently care for their parents, sons, too, have to make greatsacri¤ces—they deprive themselves of food and clothing and even sociallyhumiliate themselves. Nevertheless, when we look at tales of women whorefused to marry in order to nurture either their parents or in-laws, the fe-male sacri¤ce is much greater. To complete reverent care, these womenabandon any hope of a happy future by refusing to remarry. Unlike ¤lialsons, who suffer only temporary deprivations, ¤lial daughters who foregothe opportunity to have descendents deprive themselves of contentmentforever—both in this world and the next. Childless ¤lial daughters-in-lawwho vow never to remarry do the same. Even widows with children havelittle to look forward to, since their relatives will constantly pester them toremarry. In short, unlike ¤lial sons, it is never enough for a ¤lial daughterto merely exhibit exemplary ¤lial piety by depriving herself of good foodor clothing, or by engaging in demeaning acts. This could be one aspect ofher ¤liality, but she had to make an even greater sacri¤ce to gain recogni-tion for her virtue.

The Dangers of Filial Daughterhood

Upon looking at other types of tales about early medieval ¤lial daughtersand daughters-in-law, we ¤nd that it is no different—an exemplary ¤lialdaughter is one who endangers her life for her parents or in-laws. Thebest-known example of this type of tale is undoubtedly that of fourteen-year old Yang Xiang. While harvesting grain, a tiger grabbed hold of herfather. Even though weaponless, Yang fearlessly grabbed hold of the ti-ger’s neck. The earnestness of her ¤liality caused the wild beast to retreat,which enabled her father to escape.40 This case of ¤lial chutzpah was sowell known that it later became incorporated in the ubiquitous TheTwenty-four Filial Exemplars.

By asking to take their places, other ¤lial daughters save their parentsfrom either criminal punishment or the violence of outsiders. However,


unlike in Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women, ¤lial daughters savetheir parents not through their reasoning’s eloquence, but through theiractions’ audacity. Although the following story concerns saving an elderbrother rather than one’s parent, it makes the same point as many of theearly medieval stories directed towards parents. Lu Jun was widowed at anearly age and childless. Her only remaining brother was accused of a cap-ital crime. She begged to die in his place, then hanged herself at the gate ofthe yamen. The authorities were moved by her righteousness and releasedher brother.41 In this account, what sways the authorities is not Lu’s words,but her actual suicide. In Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women, Luwould have persuaded the authorities with her compelling logic, but theearly medieval tale will settle for nothing less than her death.

To underscore the high cost of female ¤liality, let us compare one ofthese tales with one that features a male exemplar in similar circumstances.Huangfu Mi’s (215–282) Later Accounts of Outstanding Women (Lienü hou-zhuan) relates the following story: Gongsun He’s father wronged anotherfamily. A member of that family came to exact revenge and found Gong-sun’s mother. The avenger wanted to rip her heart out. Gongsun kowtowedand cried, saying, “‘My old mother has always had a severe illness. How iskilling someone close to death going to be enough to lessen your anger? Iam their daughter who they dearly love. Killing her is not equal to killingme.’ He then killed her and released her mother.”42 Compare this to thetale of Zhao Xiao, who offered himself to cannibalistic rebels to save hisyounger brother.43 Both tales structurally resemble each other: a close rela-tive is threatened with death by a dangerous outsider, which prompts the¤lial daughter/righteous brother to argue that the outsiders will derivemuch more satisfaction from killing him or her. Nevertheless, the endingsof the two stories are quite distinct. Whereas the rebels are moved by Zhao’swillingness to sacri¤ce himself for his brother and thereby release both ofthem, the avenger spares Gongsun’s mother-in-law, but not her.

Furthermore, ¤lial daughters did not merely sacri¤ce their lives for liv-ing parents, but dead ones as well. Narratives of this sort usually take twoforms. The ¤rst is that of a ¤lial daughter who sacri¤ces her own life to se-cure her dead parent’s corpse. Perhaps the most famous tale of this type isthat of Cao E (d. 143). Her father was a shaman who drowned while wel-coming the return of the tidal bore, but his body could not be found.Night and day, fourteen-year-old Cao went along the banks of the riverwailing and shouting. At the end of the seventeenth day, she threw herselfinto the river and drowned. As the text states, “[S]he viewed death like shewas returning home.” After ¤ve days, her body ¶oated to the top. In her


embrace was the corpse of her father.44 This type of account indicates thatthe parent’s lifeless body is worth more than her life. Signi¤cantly, thistype of anecdote always concerns one’s biological parent, rather than anin-law. These tales thereby intimate that for a woman, natal kin were stillmore important to her than in-laws.45 A similar tale featuring a wife,Huang Bo, who drowns herself in search of her husband’s corpse makesthe same point that just as a daughter should sacri¤ce herself for herfather, a wife should sacri¤ce herself for her husband.46

In these tales, through the timing of its intervention the spirit worldcon¤rms that the lives of ¤lial women are worth much less than that of¤lial men. It does so by producing a miracle for the ¤lial daughter onlyafter she is already dead. If the spirit world could cause Cao’s corpse to riseup embracing her father’s, why could it not bring up his body before shecommitted suicide? That this is not a moot point can be seen in an equiva-lent tale about a ¤lial son. Lian Fan was accompanying his father’s corpsehome. While crossing a river, his ship hit a rock and sank. Lian embracedthe cof¤n and sank with it. People used hooks to try and ¤nd him. After aday under water, he was located and revived after receiving medication.47

His survival of course is nothing less than miraculous. Hence the spiritworld elected to save Lian Fan, but not Cao E. The reason is most likelydue to their gender. For con¤rmation, one just has to remember thatheaven showered the Filial Wife of Donghai, and other heroines like her,with miracles only after death, not before it. Apparently, women have todie before the moral universe deems them worthy.

One ¤nal motif indicating that exemplary ¤lial daughters should bewilling to die on behalf of their parents is that of daughters who expirewhile mourning their parents. Like ¤lial sons, upon hearing of a parent’sdeath, ¤lial daughters refuse to eat or drink for several days, emaciatethemselves until they are skin and bones, and stop breathing severaltimes due to their overwrought condition. Unlike ¤lial sons, though, inmost cases the ¤lial daughter is so sorrowful that she dies of grief.48 Forexample, when the father of Lu Yuanli’s wife, Lady Li (d. 518), died, shewas so grief-stricken that she stopped breathing four times. Only hermother’s words of comfort kept her alive. During the three years shemourned her father, she became emaciated to the point where she couldstand only with assistance from others. Later, when she was in Luoyang,upon receiving the news that her mother had died back home, shescreamed and fainted due to her extreme grief and was revived only aftera full night had passed. For six days she drank neither broth nor water.Fearing that Lady Li would not survive the trip home, her mother-in-law


accompanied her. Throughout the eighty days it took to get there, LadyLi’s spirits and strength were dangerously low. Upon arriving home, sheimmediately grabbed hold of the inner cof¤n, cried grievously, stampedher feet, and then died.49 Lady Li apparently survived her father’s deathonly because her mother was still alive. With her mother’s death, she hadno reason to continue to live.

It is important to note that the people for whom the ¤lial daughterdies mourning are her own birth parents, which underlines again thatshe is much more emotionally attached to her natural parents than herarti¤cial parents—that is, her parents-in-law. Signi¤cantly, the only otherperson an exemplary woman might die for while in mourning was herhusband.50 Holmgren speculates that the History of the Wei’s tales aboutwomen dying while mourning were merely substitutes put in to remedya dearth of accounts in which women commit suicide to preserve theirchastity.51 Since there were many ¤lial sons who died while mourning, Ithink the compilers were merely indulging in the latest fad in ¤lial pietytales. This motif is unique in that there are many tales in which men, too,die from grief while mourning. Nevertheless, whereas many men whoengage in exemplary mourning survive the ordeal, most noteworthywomen who do so do not.

Of course, endangering one’s life on one’s parents’ behalf was not a fe-male monopoly; exemplary ¤lial sons also risked their lives to save theirparents from of¤cial punishment, bandits, wild animals, and enemy sol-diers. Nevertheless, accounts in which male ¤lial exemplars endangertheir lives for their parents are comparably few in numbers. Much morecommon are tales of ¤lial sons who discomfort themselves for their par-ents’ bene¤t. Lying naked on ice, protecting a tree in a storm, or allowingmosquitoes to bite one’s bare skin are surely unpleasant and unhealthy ac-tivities, but they are not overly dangerous. On the other hand, runninginto burning structures, confronting bloodthirsty avengers, jumping intorivers without knowing how to swim, and tackling ravenous, wild preda-tors with one’s bare hands are. In other words, by and large, the actions as-sociated with ¤lial women are much more dangerous than those of men.Moreover, when ¤lial females endanger their lives, they are much morelikely to die than their male counterparts.

Why do exemplary women so often die? Why is the spirit world soslow to save their lives, but so quick to save their male counterparts? Mostobviously, since women do not continue the patriline, they are expend-able and thus can be used to teach emphatic moral lessons. The emperor’sedict concerning Lady Li’s death seems to say as much.


Confucius said that you should emaciate yourself, but not to the extent that

you destroy your life. This is probably because by doing so you abandon

nurturing [your remaining parent] and cut off your descendents. Since Li was

not the principal heir and her ¤liality could not overcome her grief, even

though she disobeyed the principle of humbling herself, her purpose was

forceful and her sense of duty profound. If we don’t give her distinction,

then how we will encourage others?52

Since Lady Li needed neither to support her parents in their old age norcontinue the patriline through producing male heirs, her death was ac-ceptable because she could serve as a wonderful moral example. In short,since women were not as important socially as men, they were free to per-form morally spectacular acts. Indeed, some scholars might argue thatsince daughters and daughters-in-law were supposed to be obedient, theywere expected to automatically perform the normal tasks of ¤lial piety;thus to distinguish themselves they had to perform spectacular feats. Men,on the other hand, were more prone to rebel and thereby had to bepraised for lesser ¤lial acts. Although this argument sounds plausible, I donot think that early medieval people thought in this manner. Daughterswere expected to be much less ¤lial than sons because they marry outsidethe family, which is tantamount to abandoning their natal families; at thesame time, upon marrying, they enter their husband’s family as outsiderswith little at stake in the family’s welfare. Since young women were alwaysheld in suspicion because they might either abandon or subvert the family,to prove their ¤liality they had to go to much greater lengths to demon-strate their devotion. Consequently, women so often die in these accountsprecisely because their willingness to do so provides incontrovertibleproof of their ¤liality.

Surrogate Sons

The last motif in which a ¤lial daughter endangers her life is one in whichshe seeks revenge for her parents. This task is potentially fatal not onlybecause the act itself is dangerous, but also because the expected punish-ment for vengeance killings was death.53 I am considering this motif sep-arately from other motifs of self-endangerment to establish that womenoften performed ¤lial acts merely because they had no male kinfolk to doso. Stories about revenge nearly always explicitly make this point. For ex-ample, a man from Zhao E’s (¶. 150) prefecture killed her father. SinceZhao’s three brothers had died prematurely, the killer delighted in the


fact that he was safe from harm.54 The murderer thought no one wouldtake vengeance on him. This same assumption that revenge is a malematter is made in the following tale. When Jing Yang was eight, a mannamed Sheng murdered her father. She had no paternal relatives, so hermaternal grandfather raised her and married her off. Her father’s mur-derer was her husband’s friend. At one point, Jing gave her husband thefollowing warning.

Sheng is an evil murderer. I’ve had the slight fate to be a woman and be with-

out brothers. My evil enemy has not been killed, which is something that I

have never forgotten for a day. Although I’m under the restrictions of being a

woman, the bond between parent and child is very deep, hence I’m afraid I

will suddenly become befuddled and add to your predicament. You should

distance yourself from me. 55

Jing states that she is unfortunate precisely because she is a woman andhas no brothers. This means that theoretically she has no means to redressthe wrong done to her father. Nevertheless, due to the profundity of theparent-child bond, she will take the unusual step of becoming her family’savenger. This usurpation of the male role is the befuddlement of whichshe speaks. In yet another account, when Wang Shun (¶. 580) was onlyseven her father was killed by her paternal cousin. She then raised her twobaby sisters. Upon reaching a marriageable age, none of the three sisterswas willing to get married. At that point Wang told her sisters, “We don’thave any brothers, which has brought about the situation in which ourwronged father is unavenged. Although we are merely women, what use isliving? I want us to take revenge. What do you think?”56 Since there are nosurviving males in the family, Wang feels she has no choice but to take re-venge for her father. To underline their commitment to their parents, thedaughters also renounce marriage—that is, they opt for social death.

Once these women take over the male role of avenger, their behavioris anything but womanly. In her quest for vengeance, Zhao E waited in acurtained cart near the home of her father’s murderer. However, for tenyears he managed to avoid her. Finally, one day she slew him in front ofthe yamen gate. In other words, for ten years she lay in wait for her prey,like a hunter in a blind.57 After warning her husband that she would killhis friend, Jing Yang cold-bloodedly beat Sheng to death with a long staffthe next time he visited.58 Wang Shun and her sisters each held a daggerand jumped over the wall of their father’s cousin’s house and killed bothhim and his wife.59 When authorities arrested the bandit who had killed


her husband, Lu Rong personally cut off his head and presented it to herhusband’s grave.60 Since men normally assumed all public and martialroles, these are hardly the acts of women. These women act manly pre-cisely because they are assuming a role normally ¤lled by a brother. Thislast point is made explicit in the attempted revenge of Lady Wang. Whenshe was ¤fteen, a barbarian general took over Yangzhou, killed her father,Wang Guang (¶. 317), who was governor, and forced her to enter hisharem. One day she tried to stab the general in a dark room. Having failedin her efforts, she stabbed herself to death instead. Due to her actions, thenarrator describes her as having “the integrity of a man” (zhangfu zhi jie).61

The manliness of such actions becomes even more apparent in thosefew accounts that show ¤lial women actually taking up arms on their fa-thers’ behalf. Because her brothers were too young to serve in the army intheir father’s place, Hua Mulan donned the armor and identity of a manand served with distinction for more than ten years as a soldier on the fron-tier. A much lesser known but striking tale is that of Xun Guan (¶. 317–327). When her father’s city was besieged, to obtain relief forces Guan ledseveral tens of crack troops over the city’s wall and through enemy lines. Al-though pursued by numerous enemy troops, Guan was a ¤ne general whowas able to defeat them. To gain the allegiance of another general, she be-came his sworn brother. With the relief forces she was able to raise the siegeand save her father.62 What is remarkable about this account is that notonly does Guan successfully take over the male role of a military leader, butother men have no dif¤culty in acknowledging her ability to do so, whichis no more evident than in the fact that a general would be willing to takeher as a sworn brother. Moreover, unlike Mulan, there is nothing in the ac-count that indicates Guan hid her gender. Clearly when a family was with-out a brother to ful¤ll a male role, it was fully acceptable for a daughter toundertake male duties. In short, just as in the case where a daughter couldtake over the male role of heir to the family’s fortune when she had no malesiblings, she could also ful¤ll other duties of absent sons.

This type of tale is at sharp variance with earlier ones concerningdaughters and revenge. Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women hasonly one ¤lial piety story concerning revenge, in the form of a moral di-lemma. After being absolved of any crime due to a general amnesty, Ji-er’shusband, Ren Yanshou, tells her that he had a hand in her brother’s mur-der. This puts Ji-er into a moral quandary because it would be unrighteouseither for her to reside with her brother’s murderer, or for her to kill herhusband. Her only way to avoid choosing between her natal family andher husband is to commit suicide.63 Signi¤cantly, in this case the ¤lial


daughter is a victim of circumstances who cannot take positive steps to re-dress the wrong. In fact, she blames herself for her husband’s actions.When her husband urges her to leave him, she replies, “Where can I com-fortably go? My elder brother is dead, but he has not been avenged. I sharewith you the same pillow and mat, but I allowed you to kill my elderbrother. At home I’ve failed to create harmony; I also cater to my brother’senemy.” In short, Ji-er is powerless. The only life she can take is her own.In contrast, early medieval exemplars, armed with their brothers’ respon-sibilities and weapons, are anything but powerless.

So far I have mentioned only revenge stories because they make thepoint so explicitly, but in fact a number of tales about daughters who en-danger themselves for their parents’ sake, as well as a number of tales aboutreverent care, explicitly mention that the woman was without brothers orother male relatives to perform the required ¤lial deed. This is especiallythe case in tales in which a daughter volunteers to receive punishment inplace of her father. The tale of Tiying in particular is telling in this regard.When Tiying’s father, Duke Chunyu, is arrested for committing a crime, heeven complains about daughters by saying, “To have children but not toproduce sons provides one with no bene¤ts during emergencies.”64 Inother words, parents would normally rely on sons to save them from suchpredicaments. Tales in which daughters renounce marriage to nurture theirbirth parents routinely mention that the ¤lial daughter was without broth-ers. In other words, daughters make this sacri¤ce to ¤ll the place of theirmissing brothers. In short, in so many of these accounts, one gains the im-pression that there is no distinct female ¤lial piety and that ¤lial daughtersare indeed merely surrogate sons. As Hinsch has said, “When no man couldplay stereotypical male social roles with the household, it was consideredacceptable and even admirable for a woman to take the part.”65 Perhapsthis is why, after slicing off her ear to protect her chastity, the wife of LiuChangqing, an exemplary woman, stated, “Men use ¤liality and loyalty tomanifest [their fame]; women use chastity and obedience to be praised.”66

That is to say, ¤liality is largely the preserve of males, whereas women mustprimarily rely on submission to authority. Hence I believe that genderedvirtue did exist in early China in the form of ¤lial piety, which contempo-raries viewed as a distinctly male virtue.

To Obey or Not to Obey?

If Liu Changqing’s wife is correct in that obedience was more importantthan ¤liality for a woman to gain fame, how prominent is the theme of


obedience in early medieval stories of ¤lial women? Similar to the ac-counts of ¤lial men, although not great in number, a few accounts do existin which women display outstanding submission. Like male exemplars,early medieval ¤lial daughters, in most cases, obey their parents or parents-in-law absolutely. This message particularly comes through in stories inwhich a ¤lial daughter silently endures pain at her elders’ hands. Stories inwhich a daughter-in-law accepts the torments of her mother-in-law are byfar the most common type of tale with this motif. For example, despite thefact that Li Xiu’s mother-in-law treated her cruelly and without any regardfor the rites, Li never uttered a word of protest or displeasure. Even whenvisiting her natal home, she would not say anything bad about hermother-in-law and would blame any punishment she received on herown misconduct. Her admirable behavior transformed her mother-in-lawso that she began to love her daughter-in-law. Later, when the mother-in-law became sick in her old age, she refused her natural daughter’s help,preferring instead to live out her life under the care of her wise daughter-in-law.67 Just like tales featuring abused ¤lial males, this story’s message isthat no matter what type of abuse she may receive at the hands of hermother-in-law, a daughter-in-law should grin and bear it and hope thather positive attitude will affect her mother-in-law. Daughters likewiseshould be willing to suffer at the hands of their parents or elders.68 Inter-estingly, this is the only motif where daughters fare better than sons. Intales where stepmothers mistreat their uncomplaining stepsons, suchwomen are usually literally trying to kill them, and oftentimes succeed. Inthe female versions of this type of story, mothers-in-law are usually con-tent with merely torturing their daughters-in-law.

Such was not the case, though, of Deng Yuanyi’s wife (¶. 90), whosestory offers us an interesting variation on this motif. Deng’s wife servedher mother-in-law meticulously, yet the latter hated her, locked her in adark room, and limited the amount of food and water of which she couldpartake. Yet Deng’s wife never uttered a word of protest. When her father-in-law asked his grandson why his mother was so skinny, the tot replied,“Mommy isn’t sick, she is merely starving.” Her father-in-law thereuponreprimanded his wife and sent his daughter-in-law back home. After re-marrying, the former daughter-in-law tried to contact her now adult son,but he would not respond to her letters and burned the clothes she senthim. After ¤nally succeeding in having him summoned to a friend’shouse, upon seeing her he prostrated himself and cried, but quickly roseto leave. His mother chased after him and said, “I nearly died [in yourfather’s home]. It was your family that abandoned me. What sin have I


committed that you treat me like this?” She never contacted him again.69

Her son apparently refused to talk to her because she had allowed herselfto remarry. Nevertheless, the transmitter of the account believes that shehad already ful¤lled her ¤lial obligations by never complaining abouther harsh treatment, hence even though she remarried, he portrays her asvirtuous and well justi¤ed in breaking off relations with her unreason-able son.70 Interestingly, the transmitter of this tale saw nothing wrongwith Deng’s conduct and certainly did not view remarriage with hostility.While she was in her in-laws’ house, Deng’s wife obeyed every commandand never went against the wishes of her mother-in-law. Moreover, sheleft her in-laws’ house only at the command of her father-in-law and re-married only at the command of her father. Hence she was truly the epit-ome of both an obedient daughter and daughter-in-law.

In fact, though, Deng’s wife was the exception. In most early medievalaccounts, when a ¤lial daughter is ordered to remarry, she disobeys. Al-though we normally think of ¤lial piety as laying heavy stress on obedi-ence, these accounts place a premium on disobedience. As seen in theprevious section on reverent care, no matter from whom the command toremarry comes, whether it is her natal parents or in-laws, exemplarydaughters vigorously disobey. This refusal to listen to parents on the mat-ter of remarriage could even bring about tragedy—the continuous refusalsto remarry by ¤lial daughters-in-law like the Filial Wife of Donghai andZhou Qing caused their in-laws to commit suicide so that they could¤nally force the ¤lial widow to do their bidding. Since daughters-in-lawwere supposed to cultivate obedience as a virtue, how could they so bla-tantly resist their parents’ instructions and still be called ¤lial?

Two answers are possible. Gipoulon indirectly puts forth the ¤rst, ar-guing that, as envisioned by Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women,women are justi¤ed in disobeying anyone, including their husbands andparents-in-law, as long as they are doing so to adhere to ritual propriety(li).71 This is in line with pronouncements in Master Xun that there aretimes when it is ¤lial to disobey and un¤lial to obey one’s parents’ orders:“To follow the Dao but not one’s lord, to follow righteousness, but notone’s father, this is the outstanding conduct of a person.”72 Another pos-sible explanation is that in cases where a daughter-in-law resists remar-riage, she can disobey both parents and parents-in-law because she isacting like a loyal retainer. Gipoulon has argued forcefully that in LiuXiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women, wives are cast in roles so parallel tothat of ministers of state that she thinks the work was meant to promotethe interests of ministers, rather than be an instructional work for


women.73 Since in early Confucian thought the ruler-retainer and hus-band-wife relationships are structurally the same, then a loyal wife shouldperform the same acts as a loyal retainer. For instance, once a man hascommitted himself to his lord, he must die in his service, even if doing soprevents him from nurturing his parents. Likewise, once a woman mar-ries, she must devote her life to serving her husband, even if this meansgoing against the wishes of her parents and parents-in-law.74 In otherwords, once she has married, her loyalty to her husband outweighs the¤lial piety she owes to her parents, and by extension her parents-in-law.Note that as we have seen in tales in which a married woman sacri¤cesherself to save a corpse, she dies on behalf of her husband, but not on be-half of her in-laws. A married woman’s husband—not her natal parents orin-laws—is her heaven. This might explain why, in early accounts of ex-emplary women, chaste wives far outnumber ¤lial daughters-in-law.

Conclusion

One of the important points this chapter makes is that the early medievalperiod witnessed an increasing interest in ¤lial women. Early tales aboutexemplary women, as seen in those found in Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Out-standing Women, have relatively little to say about ¤liality and oftenmerely promote it together with other virtues. They are also as likely topromote the ¤liality of servants as they are that of daughters or daughters-in-law. Women in the early tales are also more often than not victims whoare put into predicaments that they can resolve only through suicide,which is probably why most of the ¤lial piety stories in Liu’s work are castin the form of moral dilemmas.

In early medieval ¤lial piety stories, though, women ¤gure much moreprominently. In these tales, women perform a wide variety of ¤lial acts.Moreover, most of the tales center squarely on ¤lial daughters or daughters-in-law who are active rather than passive agents. In other words, ratherthan respond to a dilemma that has been thrust upon them, they make de-cisions and take matters into their own hands. On their own initiative theydecide to resist marriage to nurture their parents; to avenge their relative’smurder; to receive punishment on a close relative’s behalf; or throw them-selves into danger’s way to save a parent.

Nevertheless, with the exception of not marrying in order to rever-ently care for one’s in-laws, the acts of ¤lial piety that women engage inare not very different from those of their male counterparts. It is thusdif¤cult to say that there were distinct forms of female ¤lial piety. I think


this suggests that early medieval Chinese interpreted ¤lial piety as prima-rily a male virtue. Females could also manifest ¤lial piety, but only in aderivative form. This is underlined by the fact that they ful¤ll ¤lial dutiesin the absence of brothers. If they had brothers, ¤lial females would nothave to nurture their parents, avenge them, or be punished in their stead.Hence women can become ¤lial only in the absence of men—that is,they can be ¤lial only insofar as they are surrogate sons. Since early medi-eval Chinese society attached so much importance to ¤liality as a mea-sure of ability and moral goodness, this must have certainly had anegative impact on woman’s overall social stature.

The one signi¤cant way in which ¤lial women are different from ¤lialmen is that the former have to go the extra mile to prove their ¤liality. Thisproof usually takes the form of death, whether it be ¤gurative or literal: a¤lial daughter kills herself, commits social suicide by not marrying, orsacri¤ces one of her children. While ¤lial sons also endanger themselves,they are portrayed as doing so less often and are frequently saved by aheaven that obviously favors males. Since they abandoned their natalfamily and entered their husband’s family as strangers, females ultimatelywere viewed as more ¤lially suspect than males. As a result, they had to goto greater lengths to establish their ¤liality.

Obviously, stories of ¤lial daughters were much more important inthe early medieval period than in Liu Xiang’s time. That early medieval au-thors were more active in stressing the ¤liality of daughters and daughters-in-law probably indicates that they were again trying to bolster thefortunes of extended families. Extended or stem families would be theones in which a daughter-in-law would live with her parents-in-law. Thusto stress the ¤liality a daughter-in-law owed her in-laws would enhancethe authority of the latter and ease the burden of living in such a compli-cated household.

Nevertheless, this should not mislead one into thinking that overall¤lial female tales were either prominent or numerous. Even in the earlymedieval period, such stories were scarce. Of the ¤fteen ¤lial children inTao Yuanming’s Accounts of Filiality, none of the exemplars are female. Ofthe forty-¤ve ¤lial piety stories in the late Six Dynasties Yomei Xiaozi zhuanthat has survived in Japan, only ¤ve concern ¤lial females; in other words,less than 12 percent of its accounts. Turning to iconography, the situationis no better. Since artisans illustrated only a small number of ¤lial pietystories and probably only the most popular ones, the images they createdshould tell us much about the popularity of female ¤lial exemplars.Signi¤cantly, no ¤lial women are placed with ¤lial men in Eastern Han


images of dutiful offspring, and only one female (Liang Gaoxing, who isdif¤cult to classify as a ¤lial daughter) is found among depictions of ¤lialchildren in Northern Dynasties images. In contrast, six of the twenty-four¤lial exemplars (ershisi xiao) that circulated in China during the Song/Yuan period, or one-fourth, were female. When exemplary women are de-picted collectively, though, many ¤lial daughters and righteous sisters areincluded.75 Nevertheless, the ¤lial daughters and sisters depicted are alltaken from Liu Xiang’s Accounts of Outstanding Women and are includedwith depictions of women who manifest other virtues. In sum, during theearly medieval era, ¤lial daughters do not seem to have loomed large inthe popular imagination.

Why this is so, I have no de¤nite answer. Based purely on speculation,this phenomenon might be linked to the fact that elite families stilltended to be small in terms of members and simple in terms of structure.76

If extended families were the norm and women usually lived in one fam-ily for most of their lives, Confucian ideological literature would probablystress the import of ¤lial daughters-in-law. Nevertheless, since remarriagewas prevalent and extended families did not last long, patriarchs wouldhave probably viewed a wife maintaining her chastity—that is, stayingwith her in-laws—as more important than the ¤liality of a daughter-in-law, since there is no chance of her being ¤lial if she remarries. Perhapsthis is why one of the most common motifs in early medieval tales of out-standing women is that of a wife who refuses to remarry. In late imperialChina, when extended families were much more common and remarriageless so, I would expect that there would be a strong emphasis on the ¤lial-ity of daughters-in-law.

187

Conclusion

When historians of intellectual thought examine China’searly medieval period, they accurately note the dearth of great Confucianthinkers—surveys of Chinese thought usually document the rise and fallof Confucianism during the Han, and then only mention its resurgence inthe mid-Tang. What captures their attention about the early medieval erais the original contributions that proponents of Mysterious Learning (Xuan-xue), Taoism, and Buddhism made to Chinese thought. As a result, histori-ans view this period as the heyday of these new and alternate ways ofviewing the world and the nadir of Confucian intellectual thought and itsin¶uence. Simply put, they in effect believe that during the early medievalperiod Confucianism went into a deep slumber to be gradually reawak-ened only during the second half of the Tang.

The weakness of this approach is that it places far too much impor-tance on intellectual creativity and originality. That the early medievalperiod did not produce any noteworthy theoretical proponents of Ruthought doubtlessly does illustrate a lack of intellectual vigor, but thatdoes not necessarily mean that Confucianism lacked intellectual, politi-cal, or social potency. In fact, if we stop searching for profound thinkersand instead “lower” our focus to didactic literature, such as the ¤lial pietytales, we ¤nd that Confucianism had immense appeal for members of theliterate elite. This appeal was not based on its intellectual novelty or inge-nuity; instead, it was based on the fact that its stress on the primacy of hi-erarchy, family, and kin solidarity was useful for dealing with the divisiveand dangerous circumstances that the learned elite faced. This is why,even though Confucianism might have reached its intellectual nadir, itwas precisely during this period that Confucianism became ensconced inthe values and ritual practice of China’s elite. A striking parallel is the


Yuan-dynasty establishment of neo-Confucianism as the basis of the im-perial civil service examinations after the Zheng-Zhu school of thoughthad lost much of its intellectual vigor. The Yuan rulers made the Zheng-Zhu school’s teachings orthodox not because they were the most up-to-date, but because its interpretations of the classics best met their politicaland social needs.

This volume has shown that rather than being at the lowest point ofits fortunes, Confucianism achieved its ¤rst overwhelming political andsocial signi¤cance during the early medieval period. That is, it was pre-cisely during this era that the values and ritual behavior of the learned elitebecame “Confucianized.” This happened because in an increasingly polit-ically fragmented world in which central governments were weak and in-dividual families had hitherto unforeseen importance, provincial elitefamilies found Confucian values and rites to be essential cultural tools forcreating powerful, cohesive, and cooperative extended families. This phe-nomenon of the Confucianization of the educated elite is nowhere moreobvious than in its faithful practice of the arduous and demanding three-year mourning rites. The Ru mourning rites became more important thanever before because they were so effective in providing families with asense of solidarity and identity. Even though for intellectual stimulationand religious satisfaction early medieval literati turned to MysteriousLearning, Taoism, and Buddhism, to ensure that their families survivedthe vicissitudes of the age and continued to hang on to and legitimatetheir privileged positions, they turned to Confucianism. Hence I wouldargue that the refurbishment of Confucian thought that began to occur inthe second half of the Tang was built on the Confucian political and socialfoundation set down during the early medieval period.

At the same time, however, even though the most forward thinkers nolonger found Correlative Confucianism to be attractive, the ¤lial pietytales have shown that most people still found its assumptions and world-view to be compelling. This is probably because during the early medievalperiod Correlative Confucianism’s ideas had become part of people’scommon sense. If man was part of the organic whole of nature, how couldone part of the organism not react to the actions of other parts? Since mostpeople, common and elite alike, assumed that heaven and earth weregood, it made sense that the spirit world would reward those who upheldthe most basic and important social virtue of ¤liality and severely punishthose who violated this sacrosanct principle. Consequently, the ¤lial pietytales comfortably spoke to people’s most basic expectations and reaf¤rmedtheir assumptions about the goodness of kinship relations and the natu-

Conclusion 189

ralness of hierarchy. Thus the ¤lial piety tales probably tell us more abouthow most people thought in the early medieval period than those sourcesthat speak about the proponents of Mysterious Learning. They also indi-cate that Correlative Confucianism was far from dead—it was still thrivingin the common sense of most people, regardless of their social class.

The much-maligned and misunderstood ¤lial piety tales were impor-tant tools in laying the early medieval period’s Confucian foundation. Inan era that put a premium on honing one’s moral conduct by emulatingthe behavior of past worthies, the tales provided adults with historical ex-emplars who indicated that the dif¤cult Confucian rites could be success-fully enacted in the present. Hence along with recluses, ¤lial offspringbecame one of the two most important types of people honored by earlymedieval society. This pairing of Taoist recluses and Confucian ¤lial off-spring is illuminating because both of these disparate groups of exem-plars shared much in common. First, both ¤lial sons and recluses placedlittle stock in government service: the latter studiously avoided it, whilethe former viewed it as a secondary concern to be considered only afterthe death of both parents. For both recluses and ¤lial offspring the cen-tral government is not the focus of their concern. Both put greater stresson the welfare of their local community. Moreover, both groups ofpeople live in the countryside and are not connected with the court. Sec-ond, both groups of men are disinterested in what people normally de-sire: wealth, power, and fame. Both are presented as being essentiallydevoid of self-interest—they try to bene¤t, rather than take advantage of,others. Third, their lack of self-interest made both groups of men the fre-quent target of imperial summons. Since the early medieval privatizationof government power made the ful¤llment of self-interest be seen as aterribly corrupting in¶uence, communities and of¤cials believed that thepeople who could best govern were those who were without self-interest.Due to these commonalities, it is not surprising that a number of ¤lialchildren were also recluses.

Signi¤cantly, the ¤lial piety tales also indicate the price that came withthe successful institutionalization of Confucianism. In his incisive studyof the eighteenth-century novel Rulin waishi, Shang Wei has insightfullyargued that one of the central problems of Confucian ritual is that it is du-alistic: it simultaneously tries to realize both cosmological and seculargoals. However, in trying to realize the sacred order within the mundaneworld, worldly interests very possibly will contaminate one’s intentions.Thus the more one shows his sel¶essness by refusing a summons to of¤ce,the more summonses one receives. Consequently, it becomes unclear


whether one really has no interest in public of¤ce or whether one ismerely refusing summonses to lower of¤ces with an eye to gaining aneven higher one. In other words, the rituals merely become tools for ad-vancement that are practiced without emotion.1 The ¤lial piety tales wellunderstood this danger, hence they stressed that ¤lial rituals had to bepracticed with sincerity; in other words, the practitioner had to investemotion in his/her performance. The way one did so was by deprivingoneself of something in the performance of the rites. This deprivationcould range from something relatively minor, such as personal comfort,to something major, such as one’s very life. By his/her willingness tosacri¤ce something dear to serve his/her parents, the ¤lial child demon-strated sincerity. Thus almost every ¤lial piety tale emphasizes the hard-ships ¤lial children had to endure to serve their parents. The narratives’emphasis on the need to experience hardship and the need to personallyserve one’s parents is in itself good evidence that the Confucian rites werealready suffering from institutionalization in the early medieval period.

In sum, this sustained excursion into the original context of the ¤lialpiety stories has illustrated that they were anything but simpleminded,single-dimension protocomic strips written for children. Instead, theywere complex, ideologically laden tools of propaganda that spoke directlyto the most immediate concerns of the elite adults. Although they do notoffer a sophisticated and nuanced philosophy, they were profoundlymeaningful and evocative for their audience. Although they might havebeen sideshows of the early medieval historical spectacle, they have shownus that even the trite, grotesque, and absurd have important lessons for us.

191

AppendixVariants of the Ding Lan Tale

Ten versions of the Ding Lan story that date from theearly medieval period survive today. Yet no two versions are exactly alike.Versions from texts temporally close to each other usually have the sameplot elements but differ in their details; versions from texts temporallydistant from each other, in addition to having differing details, oftenhave different plot elements. The goal of this appendix is to show thateach version was in fact distinct and that Ding’s story changed over time.

All versions of the story agree that after losing a parent while young,Ding made an image of him/her and served it as if it was alive. Our earliestversion of the story comes from the Wu Liang shrine. The cartouche abovehis image reads, “When Ding Lan’s two parents died, he erected a piece ofwood and made it into [an image of] his father. When a neighbor wantedto borrow something, [Ding] would only do so after he reported it [to hisfather].”1 Other Eastern Han pictorial depictions of the Ding Lan storycon¤rm that the statue he created was of his father.2 The ¤rst literary ver-sion of the story, Cao Zhi’s “Essay on Numinous Fungi,” is somewhat am-bivalent about the statue’s gender and adds a hitherto unseen element tothe story. This version states that Ding lost his mother while young and wasdistraught by the fact that he was a “fatherless orphan” (guqiong) at such atender age. He then carved an image of his “severe parent” (yanqin) out ofwood. Each morning and evening he provided it with the three sacri¤cialanimals. An evil person insulted the image. Ignoring the legal conse-quences, Ding killed him. The “elder” (zhangren) wept blood on his behalf;as a result, Ding was exempted from punishment.3 One should note that al-though Cao starts off by mentioning the loss of Ding’s mother, he uses theword guqiong, which usually means “fatherless orphan,” to describe Ding,and the words “severe parent” and “elder,” both of which usually denote“father,” to describe the statue. Hence it seems that Cao also envisioned the

192 Appendix

statue to be an image of Ding’s father. The fact that the Wu Liang inscrip-tion mentions that Ding lost both his parents but that he made the statuein the image of his father tells us Cao’s interpretation is not far-fetched.Note that in later accounts the image is always of Ding’s mother.

The next two narratives are almost contemporaneous. Sun Sheng (ca.301–373), in his Accounts of Recluses, says that Ding lost his mother andmade a wooden statue that resembled his parent—that is, his mother.After telling the reader how Ding served the image, this version informs uswho attacked the image and why. The wife of Ding’s neighbor, Zhang Shu,wanted to borrow something from Ding’s household. Ding’s wife kneltbefore the image and asked for approval. The image was unhappy, so shedid not lend the object. While drunk, Zhang came over to curse the image.Using a cane, he hit its head. When Ding returned, he perceived that hismother’s image was displeased. After hearing all the details from his wife,he ran Zhang through with a sword. While being arrested by a clerk, Dingbade farewell to the wooden image, which thereupon shed tears. Localof¤cials praised his perfect ¤liality; his image was painted on the imperialpalace’s Cloud Platform.4 This version implies that the statue was a like-ness of his mother, gives a name to the statue’s attacker, and explains whyhe harmed the statue. The version in Gan Bao’s Notes on Searching for Spir-its is similar, but has some striking differences. This version states thatDing was ¤fteen when his mother died and that the statue was of her. Aneighbor stole and beheaded it. Wherever the knife touched, blood cameout. Only after burying the image of his mother did Ding take his revenge.Emperor Xuan of the Han (73–49 BC) praised Ding and made him anof¤cial.5 In this version, the neighbor abducts the image rather than strikeit, and Ding kills him only after burying the statue.

Although both of these versions are similar, they still have signi¤cantvariants. The Accounts of Recluses version adds the wives of Ding Lan andZhang Shu to the story, who were hitherto unseen in previous written orpictorial depictions of the tale.6 Nevertheless, the Notes on Searching forSpirits version mentions neither of these women nor the name of theneighbor. In Accounts of Recluses, Zhang hits the image with a cane; in theNotes on Searching for Spirits, he stole the image and beheaded it with aknife. In the Accounts of Recluses version, the image survived the attack,communicated its displeasure, and shed tears; in the Notes on Searchingfor Spirits version, it bled and died, so to speak. In each version the gov-ernment provides Ding with a different reward.

The next three accounts of this story add another element to the story:they show Ding’s wife damaging the image. According to the ¤fth-century

Appendix 193

Zheng Jizhi’s Accounts of Filial Offspring, after accidentally burning the face ofher mother-in-law’s image, Ding’s wife dreamt that her mother-in-law wasin pain. Upon hearing that the mother’s statue must be consulted beforeanything could be lent, a neighbor said, “How can dry wood have con-sciousness?” He then beheaded the image, and blood came out. Ding con-ducted a funeral for the image and was spared execution because the imageshed blood. Emperor Xuan praised him. According to the sixth- or seventh-century Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring, during the night Ding’s wifeburned the face of her mother-in-law’s image. Sores then appeared on itsface. Two days later, of its own accord, the wife’s hair fell out, as if someonehad sheared it off. Only then did she ask for forgiveness of her sins. Dingmoved his mother’s image to the road and made his wife mourn it for threeyears. One night, with the speed of wind and rain, his “mother” returnedby its own power.7 In Gou Xingdao’s Notes on Searching for Spirits, a text re-covered at Dunhuang, the rationale for the wife’s attack on the image ismade explicit. One day Ding’s wife said, “How can a wooden mother beconscious? Today I bitterly toil, and must wait upon it night and day.” See-ing that Ding was not around, she used ¤re to burn it. That night, in adream, Ding’s mother told him about his wife’s attack. He returned and fellbefore the image, wailing and shouting with grief. Sores then appeared onhis wife’s face, as if she had been burnt there. The sores were extremelypainful. Only after she begged for forgiveness did the sores begin to heal.8

In these three later accounts, the identity of the image’s assailant shiftsfrom the neighbor to Ding’s wife. In Zheng Jizhi’s Accounts of Filial Offspringversion, both Ding’s wife and a neighbor harm the image, but the formerdoes so unintentionally. However, both the (somewhat later) Liu Xiang’sTableaus of Filial Offspring and the Gou Daoxing’s Notes on Searching for Spir-its versions do not mention the neighbor at all; instead, both indicate thatDing’s wife intentionally attacked the image. Despite the similarities ofthese accounts, they, too, have signi¤cant differences. In the version fromLiu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring, Ding’s wife mourns her mother-in-law’s image for three years, and the image miraculously returns. In thisversion the sores appear on the image’s face, whereas in Gou Xingdao’sNotes on Searching for Spirits they appear on the wife’s face. In Liu Xiang’sTableaus of Filial Offspring it is Ding, rather than his wife, who has thedream in which his mother appears.9

The last pre-Song accounts of Ding are from the Yômei and FunabashiXiaozi zhuan. In these two works, Ding was ¤fteen when he made theimage of his mother. Being un¤lial, his wife used ¤re to burn the face ofthe wooden mother. That night, Ding dreamt that his wooden mother

194 Appendix

told him what had happened. After beating and caning his wife, he di-vorced her. One day his neighbor wanted to borrow an axe. After learningof Ding’s wooden mother’s refusal, the neighbor waited until Ding hadgone out, then used a knife to slice off one of the image’s arms. The bloodthat ¶owed out of the image covered the ground completely. Upon seeingwhat had happened, Ding beheaded the neighbor and offered his head insacri¤ce to his mother. The of¤cials did not prosecute him; on the con-trary, they gave him an of¤cial appointment.10 This version of the storyseems to combine the two traditions—Ding’s wife’s intentional attack onhis mother’s image, and Zhang Shu’s attack. Hence the Funabashi andYômei accounts might have been composed later than any of the previ-ously outlined renditions. This version also adds the new details of Dingdivorcing his wife and the ¤lial miracle of the image’s blood covering theground.

This brief summary of the ten accounts reveals that none are exactlyalike. Larger changes within the versions are often associated with gender.In the earliest versions of the tale, the statue that Ding serves is a likenessof his father, but in the later tales it is his mother. Also, many of the latertales identify the statue’s assailant as Ding’s wife, rather than his maleneighbor. Confronted with this shift, the compiler of Yômei Xiaozi zhuandecided to include both accounts. It seems inescapable to conclude thatthe later transmitters of this tale apparently thought the friction natural tothe daughter-in-law/mother-in-law relationship would make itself appar-ent in a situation where a “mother,” being wooden, could not respond. Inother words, the tone of the later accounts locate the danger to the familyas coming not from outside, but from within, in the form of rebelliousdaughters-in-law.

195

Notes

Introduction1. To avoid monotony, I will also refer to these accounts as “stories,” “tales,”

“narratives,” or “anecdotes.” Since the great majority of premodern Chinese be-

lieved that they were historical fact, one should preferably think of them as “ac-

counts” or “narratives.” As late as the 1860s, Justus Dolittle, a missionary, was still

struck by the fact that most Chinese believed the events in the stories actually had

taken place. See his Social Life of the Chinese, 2 vols. (New York: Harper and Broth-

ers, 1865), 1:453. Still, the use of words like “tales” or “stories” is bene¤cial in that

it reminds us that these accounts in all likelihood were not descriptions of actual

events, but ¤ctions (see chap. 2).

2. Lu Xun, “Ershisixiao tu,” in his Zhaohua xishi (Beijing: Renmin wenxue,

1973), 25–26; “The Picture-book of the Twenty-four Acts of Filial Piety,” in Dawn

Blossoms Plucked at Dawn, trans. Gladys and Hsien-yi Yang (Peking: Foreign Lan-

guages Press, 1976), 34–35.

3. Xu Duanrong, “Ershisixiao yanjiu.” M.A. thesis, Taiwan Wenhua University,

1981, 191.

4. E.g., see Donald Macgillivray, “The Twenty-four Paragons of Filial Piety,”

The Chinese Recorder 31.8 (1900): 392–402; and Ivan Chen, The Book of Filial Duty

(London: John Murray, 1908), 58.

5. Marcel Granet, Chinese Civilization (New York: Meridian Books, 1958),

421.

6. Donald Holzman, “The Place of Filial Piety in Ancient China,” The Journal

of the American Oriental Society 118.2 (1998): 185–200.

7. Frederick W. Mote, “China’s Past in the Study of China Today—Some

Comments on the Recent Work of Richard Solomon,” Journal of Asian Studies 32.1

(1972): 115.

8. David K. Jordon makes this observation in his “Folk Filial Piety in Taiwan,”

in The Psycho-Cultural Dynamics of the Confucian Family, ed. Walter H. Slote (Seoul:

International Cultural Society of Korea, 1986), 63. With the exception of Jordan,

196

nearly all of the translators of The Twenty-four Exemplars of Filial Piety are nineteenth-

and twentieth-century Western missionaries.

9. Holzman, “Place of Filial Piety,” 196.

10. James C. H. Hsu, “Unwanted Children and Parents: Archaeology, Epig-

raphy and the Myths of Filial Piety,” in Sages and Filial Sons: Mythology and Archae-

ology in Ancient China, ed. Julia Ching and R. W. L. Guisso (Hong Kong: The

Chinese University Press, 1991), 29.

11. For discussions of the Yuan Gu story and its possible origins outside of

China, see Tokuda Susumu, Kôshi setsuwashû no kenkyû—nijuyo kô o chûshin ni, 3

vols. (Tokyo: Inoue shobo, 1963), 1:36–40; Takahashi Morikô, “Kirô setsuwa

kô,” Kokugo Kokubun 7.9 (1938): 90–98; Wang Xiaoping, Fodian—Zhiguai—Wuyu

(Nanchang: Jiangxi renmin, 1990), 56–67.

12. Jacques Le Goff, The Medieval Imagination, trans. Arthur Goldhammer

(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985), 181.

13. See Zheng Acai, Dunhuang Xiaodao wenxue yanjiu (Taipei: Shimen tushu

gongsi, 1982), 483, 501; Lei Qiaoyun, Dunhuang ertong wenxue (Taipei: Xuesheng

shuju, 1985), 85–92; Kanaoka Shôkô, Tonkô no minshû: Sono seikatsu to shisô (To-

kyo: Hyoronsha, 1972), 302–310; Kawaguchi Hisao, “Kôyôdan no hattatsu to

hensen,” Shoshigaku 15.5 (1940): 158; and Michihata Ryôshû, Tôdai bukkyôshi no

kenkyû (Kyoto: Hozokan, 1957), 293–295, and his Bukkyô to Jukyô rinri (Kyoto:

Heirakyuji, 1968), 126–128.

14. This is most evident in primers where, almost invariably, ¤lial piety and

obedience to other superiors overshadows all other virtues. See the Thousand Char-

acter Classic, particularly lines 37–40, 61–67, and 83–90; the San Tzu Ching, lines

29–56, 89–103, 205–207, and 217–220; and The Rules of the Disciples. All of these

texts are conveniently assembled in Best Books for Chinese Children, ed. Shi Chao

(Taipei: Confucius Publishing Co., 1987), 3–27.

15. Hsieh Yu-wei, “Filial Piety and Chinese Society,” in The Chinese Mind: Es-

sentials of Chinese Philosophy and Culture, ed. Charles A. Moore (Honolulu: Univer-

sity of Hawai‘i Press, 1967), 174–183; and Kuwabara Jitsuzô, “Shina no kôdô koto

ni hôritsu jô yori kantaru Shina no kôdô,” in Kuwabara Jitsuzô zenshû, 6 vols. (To-

kyo: Iwami shoten, 1968), 3:9–92.

16. Kaji Nobuyuki, Jukyô nanni ka? (Tokyo: Chuô kôronsha, 1990), 16–39; and

his “Confucianism, the Forgotten Religion,” Japan Quarterly 38.1 (1991): 57–62.

17. I use the term “early medieval” to designate the period from the second

half of the Eastern Han, when imperial power waned considerably, to the Sui dy-

nasty’s reuni¤cation of China in AD 589. Thus this term includes both part of the

Eastern Han and what is often called the Six Dynasties period or the Period of

Disunity (220–589). I include much of the Eastern Han within this period be-

cause politically, socially, and culturally it resembles the Six Dynasties much

Notes to Pages 2–4

197

more than the Western Han. When I use the terms “Eastern Han” or “Six Dynas-

ties,” it is because the phenomenon under discussion does not span the entire

early medieval period.

18. I have decided to translate the term xiaozi as “¤lial offspring” rather than

“¤lial children” because it is more age neutral. Although some ¤lial exemplars

were children, many more were adults. This is because one was supposed to be

¤lial to his or her parents, whether they were dead or alive, throughout his or her

life. Translating the term as “¤lial children” has led many people to wrongly as-

sume that the tales were merely meant for youngsters.

19. Xie Lingyun, e.g., wrote a prose-poem named “A Prose-poem on Filial

Miracles” (Xiaogan fu). See Yiwen leiju, by Ouyang Xun, 2 vols. (Kyoto: Chûbun

shuppansha, 1980, reprint), 20.374. Cao Zhi wrote a song, part of which has a

section titled “An Essay on Numinous Fungi” (Lingzhi pian), that records in verse

a number of ¤lial piety stories. See Cao Zhi ji zhuzi suoyin, ed. D. C. Lau, Chen

Fong Ching, and Ho Che Wah (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 2001),

106–107. Xiao Yan (464–549), Emperor Wu of the Liang dynasty, also wrote a

prose-poem titled “A Prose-poem on Filial Thoughts” (Xiaosi fu) that exalts a

large number of ¤lial piety paragons. See Liang Wudi Xiao Yan ji zhuzi suoyin, ed.

Lau, Chen, and Ho (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 2001), 21–23.

20. For information on the compilation of these texts, see chap. 3.

21. Of the seventeen popular “transformation texts” (bianwen) recovered at

Dunhuang, three are devoted to famous ¤lial offspring. The ¤rst evidence of a text

called The Twenty-four Filial Exemplars comes from a Five Dynasties Dunhuang

text titled The Seat-settling Text of Master Yuan Jian’s Twenty-four Filial Exemplars

(Gu Yuan Jian dashi ershisixiao yazuowen). See Dunhuang bianwen, ed. Wang

Chongmin, 2 vols. (Taipei: Shijie shuju, 1980, reprint), 2:835–841. Since this text

names only eight ¤lial children, it must have been referring to a preexisting

Twenty-four Exemplars text (Zheng Acai, Dunhuang xiaodao wenxue yanjiu, 493).

22. Kuroda Akira, Kôshiden no kenkyû (Kyoto: Sobunkaku shuppan, 2001),

252–305.

23. Zheng Acai, Dunhuang xiaodao wenxue yanjiu, 398–406, 434–456, 501–522.

24. For testimony on the ubiquity of this text, see H. Y. Lowe, The Adventures

of Wu: The Life Cycle of a Peking Man (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press,

1983), 1:102 (Originally 2 vols.); and Lu Xun, “Picture-book,” 30. Of the twenty-

four tales in Guo Jujing’s text, only three postdate the early medieval period.

25. For research that discusses the transmission of ¤lial piety tales to Korea

and Japan, see Tokuda, Kôshi setsuwashu, 1:279–368; Kawaguchi, “Kôyôdan no

hattatsu,” 15.5: 157–161; 16.1 (1941): 39–46; 16.3 (1941): 67–70; and Kawase

Kazuma, “Nijuyokô shi kenkyû,” Nihon Shoshigaku no kenkyû (Tokyo: Kodansha,

1944), 1483–1499.


198

26. Roger L. Janelli and Dawnhee Yim Janelli, Ancestor Worship and Korean

Society (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1982), 51–53.

27. These stories were transmitted in a book called Filial Duty Recommended

and Enforced, by a Variety of Instructive and Amusing Narratives (Wesleyan Methodist

Convention of America, 1847). See Anne Scott MacLeod, A Moral Tale: Children’s

Fiction and American Culture 1820–1860 (Hamden, Conn.: Archon Books, 1975),

73. Although MacLeod does not realize that these stories originated in China, her

description of their plots makes it obvious that they were based on The Twenty-four

Filial Exemplars.

28. Caroline Walker Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Signi¤cance

of Food to Medieval Women (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 298.

29. Richard Kieckhefer, “Imitators of Christ: Sainthood in the Christian Tradi-

tion,” in Sainthood and Its Manifestations in World Religions, ed. Richard Kieckhefer

and George D. Bond (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988), 20–23.

30. Evelyne Patlagean, “Ancient Byzantine Hagiography and Social History,”

in Saints and Their Cults: Studies in Religious Sociology, Folklore, and History, ed.

Stephen Wilson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 101–121;

Jacques Le Goff, “Mentalities: A History of Ambiguities,” trans. David Denby, in

Constructing the Past: Essays in Historical Methodology, ed. Jacques Le Goff and Pierre

Nora (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974), 166–180; and Claude

Bremond et al., L’“Exemplum” (Brepols, Belgium: Institut d’études médiévales,

1982), 79–112.

31. Peter Brown, “The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity,”

in his Society and the Holy in Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University of California

Press, 1982), 106–107.

32. A number of scholars have successfully used this method to explore me-

dieval Japanese and European cultural history. For example, Hitomi Tonomura,

in “Black Hair and Red Trousers: Gendering the Flesh in Medieval Japan” (The

American Historical Review 99.1 [1994]: 129–154), uses themes from tales to de-

lineate medieval Japanese attitudes towards gender in regard to marriage, sexual-

ity, and the body. Bynum uses food motifs in hagiographies to indicate that

medieval women viewed the female body and its suffering as a means to ap-

proach God. See Bynum, Holy Feast, 294–296. Kieckhefer uses hagiographic topoi

that describe the virtues of fourteenth-century saints to reconstruct the theologi-

cal vision of late medieval piety. See Kieckhefer, Unquiet Souls: Fourteenth-Century

Saints and Their Religious Milieu (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984).

33. Ruth B. Bottigheimer, Grimms’ Bad Girls & Bold Boys: The Moral & Social

Vision of the Tales (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1987), chaps. 2, 15.

34. This assessment of the characteristics of Christian saints comes from

Kieckhefer, “Imitators of Christ,” 11–24. In fact, I think early medieval ¤lial chil-


199

dren are closer in nature to Christian saints than neo-Confucian sages. For neo-

Confucian sages as saints, see Rodney L. Taylor, “The Sage as Saint: The Confucian

Tradition,” in Sainthood and Its Manifestations, ed. Kieckhefer and Bond, 218–242.

35. Another difference between the two is that ¤lial children were not usually

credited with posthumous miracles and popular cults. An exception is a cult that

was dedicated to ¤lial daughter Cao E, who drowned herself in an attempt to re-

cover her father’s corpse. Glimpses of this cult can be seen in Hantan Chun’s

“Xiaonü Cao E bei,” which appears in Quan shanggu Sandai Qin Han Sanguo

Liuchao wen, 4 vols., ed. Yan Kejun (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1958), 2:1196. For

another rare postmortem ¤lial miracle, see Taiping guangji (Taipei: Guxin shuju,

1980, reprint), 161, 322.

36. In what is otherwise an excellent article, Charles Holcombe has described

early imperial Confucianism as “a resolutely secular ideology.” See his “Ritsuryô

Confucianism,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 57.2 (1997): 551.

37. Based on these fragments, traditional Chinese scholars have painstak-

ingly reconstructed some of the Xiaozi zhuan’s contents. These reconstructions are

as follows: Huangshi yishu kao (Huaiquan Studio Edition, 1865), Guxiao huizhuan

(Guangzhou: Juzhen yinwuju, 1925), and Gu Xiaozi zhuan; reprint (Shanghai:

Shangwu yinshuguan, 1936).

38. For Dunhuang texts that contain ¤lial piety stories, see S 5776, S 389, P

3536, P 3680, and Leningrad D440. Wang Sanqing has convincingly argued that

most of these texts were merely sections on ¤liality from encyclopedias. See his

“Dunhuang bianwen ji zhong de ‘Xiaozi zhuan’ xintan,” Dunhuangxue 14 (1989):

189–193. Dunhuang has yielded many fragments of sections on ¤lial piety from

encyclopedias, some of which are quite lengthy. See P 2621, P 2524, P 2502, P

3871, and P 2537. For convenient access to annotated and indexed transcriptions

of these fragments, see Wang Sanqing, Dunhuang leishu, 2 vols. (Gaoxiong: Liwen

wenhua shiye, 1993).

39. Since the Xiao zhuan ¤rst appears in a version of Yang Xiuzhi’s (who lived

during the Northern Qi period) Tao Qian ji (Tao Yuanming’s Collected Writings),

rather than in the earliest and probably most reliable collection of Tao’s works,

which Xiao Tong (501–531) compiled, the Qing editors of the Siku quanshu tiyao be-

lieve the Xiao zhuan is a spurious text that Yang added to his version. They also be-

lieve that since the text’s literary merit is average and shallow, it could not be the

work of a poetic genius like Tao. This argument, along with others critical of its va-

lidity, is conveniently assembled in Zhang Xincheng, Weishu tongkao, 2 vols. (Taipei:

Dingwen shuju, 1973, reprint), 2:1136–1138. Yang Yong, on the other hand, be-

lieves that Tao did write the Xiao zhuan because he also authored the didactic, family

instructions-type text “Yu zi Yan deng shu,” in which he cites historical exemplars in

support of his advice. See Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, ed. Yang Yong (Taibei: Zhengwen


200

shuju, 1987, reprint), 314–315. Whether Tao Yuanming or Yang Xiuzhi authored

this work, it is indisputably an early medieval collection of ¤lial piety stories.

40. The former is held at the Yômei Library in Kyoto, hence its name. The lat-

ter received its name because it was in the Funabashi collection until the Kyoto

University library acquired it. For a reproduction, translation, and annotation of

this text, see Kôshiden, ed. Yoshikawa Kôjirô (Kyoto: Kyoto Daigaku Fuzoku

Toshokan, 1959). For translations and reproductions of both texts, see Kôshiden

chûkai, ed. Yôgaku no Kai (Tokyo: Kyuko shoin, 2003).

41. Kuroda, Kôshiden no kenkyû, 151–186; and Tôno Naoshi, “Ritsuryô to

Kôshiden—Kanseki no chôkusettsu inyo to kansetsu inyo,” Manyôshû kenkyû 24

shû (2000): 289–308.

42. Nishino Teiji, “Yômeibun kôshiden no seikaku narabini Seikeibun to no

kankei ni tsuite,” Jinbun kenkyû 7.6 (1956): 43–45.

43. “Accounts of the Filial and Righteous” (Xiaoyi zhuan) was the title of this

chapter in the Song shu, Nan Qi shu, Zhou shu, Sui shu, Nan shi, Song shi, and the

Ming shi. In the Jin shu, Jiu Tang shu, Xin Tang shu, and the Yuan shi, this chapter is

titled “Accounts of the Filial and the Friendly” (Xiaoyou zhuan). Nevertheless,

four of the dynastic histories that cover the early medieval period have chapters ex-

clusively dedicated to ¤lial offspring—e.g., in the Liang shu, Chen shu, and the Bei

shi, this chapter is called “Accounts of [those who have] Filial Conduct” (Xiaoxing

zhuan), and in the Wei shu it is called “Accounts of [Heavenly] Responses to Filial

Piety” (Xiaogan zhuan).

44. Chuxue ji, 3 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962), 1:17.421; and Jiaozhu

Mengqiu jiaoben (Kyoto: Chubun shupansha, 1984), 1.110; Burton Watson, trans.,

Meng Ch’iu: Famous Episodes from Chinese History and Legend (Tokyo: Kodansha,

1979), 100. This story ¤rst appears in Sanguo zhi, Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei:

Dingwen shuju, 1983), 57.1328.

1. Extended Families and the Triumph of Confucianism1. Wolfram Eberhard, Conquerors and Rulers: Social Forces in Medieval China

(Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1965), 22–47; David Johnson, The Medieval Chinese Oligarchy

(Boulder: Westview Press, 1977); and Patricia Buckley Ebrey, The Aristocratic Fami-

lies of Early Imperial China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978).

2. Dennis Graf¶in, “The Great Family in Medieval South China,” Harvard

Journal of Asiatic Studies 41.1 (1981): 65–74; Jennifer Holmgren, “Social Mobility

in the Northern Dynasties: A Case Study of the Feng of Northern Yen,” Monumen-

tal Serica 35 (1981–1983): 19–32; Holmgren, “Lineage Falsi¤cation in the North-

ern Dynasties: Wei Shou’s Ancestry,” Papers on Far Eastern History 21 (1980): 1–16;

Dušanka D. Miševiã, “Oligarchy or Social Mobility: A Study of the Great Clans of

Early Medieval China,” The Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities 65 (1993): 5–256;


201

Cynthia L. Chennault, “Lofty Gates or Solitary Impoverishment? Xie Family Mem-

bers of the Southern Dynasties,” T’oung Pao 85 (1999): 249–327.

3. Dennis Graf¶in, “Reinventing China: Pseudobureaucracy in the Early

Southern Dynasties,” in State and Society in Early Medieval China, ed. Albert E. Dien

(Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1990), 139–170; Albert E. Dien, “In-

troduction,” in State and Society in Early Medieval China, 1–18.

4. Jennifer Holmgren, “The Making of an Elite: Local Politics and Social Re-

lations in Northeastern China during the Fifth Century A.D.,” Papers on Far East-

ern History 30 (1984): 29, 36, 44–45, 53–54, 67.

5. Charles Holcombe, In the Shadow of the Han: Literati Thought and Society at

the Beginning of the Southern Dynasties (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press,

1994), 47. See also Tanigawa Michio, “Prominent Family Control in the Six Dy-

nasties,” Acta Asiatica 60 (1991), 82–88.

6. Holmgren, “The Making of an Elite,” 9, 20, 34–35, 44, 56, 67–68, 70, 74;

and Holmgren, “Family, Marriage and Political Power in Sixth Century China: A

Study of the Kao Family of Northern Qi, C. 520–550,” Journal of Asian History

16.1 (1982): 1–50.

7. Although many sets of terms have been used to describe different types of

families, I have adopted those proposed by Arthur Wolf, since they seem to be the

most comprehensive and descriptive. Therefore, an elementary family is one com-

posed of parents and their child or children. In other words, it is a nuclear or simple

family. A stem family is one in which a son or daughter lives with his/her parents

and his/her spouse and children. What is commonly called a “complex,” “ex-

tended,” or “joint” family is divided into a grand family and a frèréches family. A

grand family is one in which brothers, with their spouses and children, live to-

gether with their parents. A frèréches family is one in which married brothers live to-

gether. An augmented elementary family is an elementary family plus a related

person. See Arthur Wolf, “Chinese Family Size: A Myth Revitalized,” in The Chinese

Family: And Its Ritual Behavior, ed. Hsieh Jih-chang and Chuang Ying-chang (Taibei:

Institute of Ethnology, Academia Sinica, 1985), 30–49.

8. More than ¤fty years ago, Makino Tatsumi forcefully argued that most fam-

ilies were elementary families. See his Shina kazoku kenkyû (Tokyo: Seikatsu sha,

1946), 147–176, 178–318. Utsunomiya Kiyoyoshi, on the other hand, believed

that most families were stem in type. See his Kandai shakai keizaishi kenkyû (Tokyo:

Kobunto, 1967), 405–414; and his Chûgoku kodai chûseishi kenkyû (Tokyo: Sobun-

sha, 1977), 234–265. Moriya Mitsuo proposed a compromise by saying that there

were many types of families. See his Chûgoku kodai no kazoku to kokka (Kyoto:

Toyoshi kenkyukai, 1968), 297–353. For an excellent overview of Japanese schol-

arship on the Han family, see Satake Yasuhiko, “Chûgoku kodai no kazoku to ka-

zokuteki shakai chitsujô,” Jinbun gakuhô 141 (1980), 14–21. On the Chinese side,


202

Hsu Cho-yun has maintained that elementary families were the norm during the

Western Han but that stem families became more common during the Eastern

Han—perhaps in response to the propagation of Confucianism. See “Handai jia-

ting de daxiao,” in his Qiugu pian (Taipei: Lianjing, 1982), 515–541. Du Zheng-

sheng likewise believes that Western Han families had ¤ve or six members and

were usually elementary families, but stem families began to become more com-

mon in the Eastern Han. See his “Bianhu qimin: Chuantong de jiazu yu jiating,” in

Wutu yu wumin, ed. Du Zhengsheng and Liu Dai (Taipei: Lianjing, 1982), 23–27;

and his Gudai shehui yu guojia (Taipei: Yunchen wenhua, 1992), 786–800.

9. Evidence that extended families were becoming common among the upper

classes includes 1) the Juyan granary records, which show that of¤cer families were

much bigger than those of ordinary soldiers—5.7 members compared to 3.44; 2)

the sudden appearance of large homes in excavations of Eastern Han villages; 3)

Han references to families as consisting of one’s parents, wife, and children; 4)

Wang Fu’s (second century AD) assumption that a family would consist of two

grandparents, ¤ve sons, and ten grandsons; 5) the fact that according to the of¤cial

censuses, during the Eastern Han the average size of the household grew from 0.1

to 2 persons; and 6) Cui Shi’s (d. 170?) assumption that an estate owner will live

with his sons, daughters-in-law, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. For dis-

cussion of these points, see Satake, “Chûgoku kodai no kazoku,” 18–29; Iio

Hideyuki, “Chûgoku kodai no kazoku kenkyû o meguru sho mondai,” Rekishi

hyôron 283 (1985): 73–74; and Hsu Cho-yun, “Handai jiating de daxiao,” 531.

10. Hou Han shu, by Fan Ye (398–445). Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Hongye

shuju, 1977), 25.886.

11. Ibid., 60a.1980.

12. For evidence that this type of family was uncommon in the Eastern Han,

see Ochi Shigeaki, “Ruisei dôkyo no shutsugen o megutte,” Shien 100 (1968): 123;

Moriya Mitsuo, “Ruisei dôkyo kigen kô,” Tôa keizai kenkyû, 26.3 (1942): 60–71;

and 26.4 (1942): 70–71; Ch’u T’ung-tsu, Han Social Structure, ed. Jack Dull (Seattle:

University of Washington Press, 1972), 9; Inaba Ichirô, “Kandai no kazoku keitai

to keizai hendô,” Tôyôshi kenkyû 43.1 (1984): 110.

13. Advocates of this position include Hsu Cho-yun, “Handai jiating de da-

xiao,” 531–538; Ming Chiu Lai, “Familial Morphology in Han China: 206 BC–

AD 220,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Toronto, 1995, 163–165; Ochi

Shigeaki, “Kanjidai no ie o megutte,” Shigaku zashi 86.6 (1977): 18–20; Satake,

“Chûgoku kodai no kazoku,” 23–34; and Huang Jinshan, “Lun Handai jiating de

ziran goucheng yu dengji goucheng,” Zhongguoshi yanjiu 4 (1987): 84–89.

14. See Inaba, “Kandai no kazoku,” 88–117.

15. Hori Toshikazu, Chûgoku kodai no ie to shûraku (Tokyo: Kyûko shoin,

1996), 98–99.


203

16. According to Luo Tonghua, since the Eastern Han’s standard of living

was much poorer than that of the Western Han and the custom of splitting the

patrimony while one’s parents are alive was still prevalent, while Eastern Han

stem families might have outnumbered those in the Western Han, elementary

families still constituted the overwhelming majority of households. See his “Han-

dai fenjia yuanyin chutan,” Hanxue yanjiu 11.1 (1993): 153–154.

17. Utsunomiya, Chugoku kodai chûseishi kenkyû, 8–9, 250–251.

18. Cheng Shude, Jiuchao lü kao (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1988), 199; Ochi

Shigeaki, “Gi-Shin ni okeru ‘Ishi no ka’ ni tsuite,” Tôhôgaku 22 (1961): 5–9; and

Zhu Zongbin, “Lüelun Jinlü zhi ‘rujiahua,’” Zhongguoshi yanjiu 2 (1985): 115–116.

19. Moriya, Chûgoku kodai no kazoku to kokka, 144–145; and Watanabe Shin-

ichiro, Chûgoku kodai shakai ron (Tokyo: Aogi shoten, 1986), 143–144.

20. Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, by Yan Zhitui (531–591), ed. D. C. Lau, Chen

Fong Ching, and Ho Che Wah (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 2000), 13,

53.

21. See Dong Guodong, “Beichao shiqi de jiating guimo jiegou ji xiangguan

wenti lunshu,” Wei-Jin Nanbeichao Sui-Tang shi 8 (1990): 37–38; and Tanigawa

Michio, Chûgoku chûsei shakai to kyôdôtai (Tokyo: Kunisho kankokai, 1976), 215–

220. For examples of Northern and Southern Dynasties leishi tongju families, see

Jin shu, by Fan Xuanling (576–648), Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju,

1987), 88.2292; Song shu, by Shen Yue (441–513), Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei:

Dingwen shuju, 1980), 91.2255; Nan Qi shu, by Xiao Zixian (489–537), Zhong-

hua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 55.961; and Wei shu, by Wei Shou

(506–572), Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 86.1884–1885.

For families such as this that had two hundred members, see Wei shu, 87.1896.

22. Ochi, “Ruisei dôkyo no shutsugen o megutte,” 127–130.

23. For examples, see the biographies of Wu Kui (Jin shu, 88.2293; Song shu,

91.2247), Xia Fang (Jin shu, 88.2277), Yu Gun (Jin shu, 88.2281), Yan Han (Jin

shu, 88.2286), Gongsun Sengyuan (Nan Qi shu, 55.956-57), Han Lingmin (Nan

Qi shu, 55.958-59), Lady Yao (Nan Qi shu, 55.960), Feng Yanbo (Nan Qi shu,

55.961), and Wu Dazhi (Nan Qi shu, 55.961).

24. E.g., out of the seven families on an AD 416 Western Liang register, three

are extended families: one incipient stem family, one grand family, and one incipi-

ent grand family. I use the word “incipient” because these families contained adult

sons and their wives who had not yet produced heirs. These families cannot be-

come true grand or stem families until a third generation is born into the family. For

a photograph of this register, see Ikeda On, Chûgoku kodai sekicho kenkyû (Tokyo:

University of Tokyo Press, 1979).

25. See Moriya Mitsuo, Rikuchô monbatsu no ichi kenkyû (Tokyo: Nihon shu-

pan, 1951), 143–146; Du, Gudai shehui yu guojia, 800–815; and Lei Qiaoling,


204

“Tangrende juzhu fangshi yu xiaoti zhi tao,” Shaanxi shida xuebao (zhexue shehuike

xueban) 22.3 (1993): 98–102.

26. Information about the 747 census record comes from Xiong Tieji, “Yi Dun-

huang ziliao zheng chuantong jiating,” Dunhuang yanjiu 3 (1993): 73–74.

27. See Ochi, “‘Ishi no ka’ ni tsuite,” 8–9, and Hsu Cho-yun, “Handai jiating

de daxiao,” 538.

28. Dong, “Beichao shiqi de jiating,” 37; Du, Gudai shehui yu guojia, 801–803.

29. Jiu Tang shu, by Liu Xu (887–946), Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen

shuju, 1987), 188.4920.

30. Maurice Freedman, Lineage Organization in Southeastern China (London:

The Athlone Press, 1958), 21–22; Hugh D. R. Baker, Chinese Family and Kinship

(New York: Columbia University Press, 1979), 18–19; and Margery Wolf, The

House of Lim (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1968), 28.

31. Margery Wolf, Women and the Family in Rural Taiwan (Stanford, Calif.:

Stanford University Press, 1972), 32–37.

32. Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, ed. D. C. Lau (Hong Kong: The Commercial Press,

1992), 10.9, 75; Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, by Han Ying (c. 200–120 BC), ed.

D. C. Lau (Hong Kong: The Commercial Press, 1992), 8.22, 61, 11.48, 69. This

phrase might have been originally based on Mengzi, V.A.1.

33. Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 3, 5; Yen Chih-t’ui, Family Instructions for the

Yen Clan, trans. Teng Ssu-yu (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1968), 10.

34. An average household in the Wei kingdom had 6.7 members, in the

Western Jin 6.6, in the Former Yan 4.1, in the Eastern Wei 3.9, and in the North-

ern Qi 6.1. Dunhuang fragments of tax registers from the Western Liang and the

Western Wei show households as having, on average, 3.7 and 5.9 members, re-

spectively. See Dong, “Beichao shiqi de jiating,” 33–37.

35. Yang Jiping, Guo Feng, and Zhang Heping, Wu—shi shiji Dunhuang de

jiating yu jiazu guanxi (Changsha: Yuelu shushe, 1997), 57; Luo Tonghua makes a

similar argument for the Han dynasty. See his “Handai fenjia,” 150.

36. Luo Tonghua, “Handai fenjia,” 154–156.

37. Tanigawa, Chûgoku chûsei shakai to kyôdôtai, 217. See also Watanabe,

Chûgoku kodai shakai ron, 147.

38. Yen, Family Instructions for the Yen Clan, 10; Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 3, 5.

39. Xiong, “Yi Dunhuang ziliao zheng chuantong jiating,” 75–78; and Yang,

Guo, and Zhang, Dunhuang de jiating, 59.

40. See Liu Yonghua, “Tang zhonghouqi Dunhuang de jiating bianqian he

sheyi,” Dunhuang Yanjiu 3 (1991): 81–87.

41. Yang, Guo, and Zhang, Dunhuang de jiating, 28–56.

42. Li Binghai, “Nanchao yi men shu zao fengsu de lishi wenhua yanyuan,”

Minjian wenyi jikan 28.4 (1990): 112–119.


205

43. Song shu, 82.2096–2097. Zhou Lang’s memorial also provides some in-

sight into why small families were popular in the south. In the memorial Zhou

criticizes the current tax system in which monetary and corvée labor taxes are

based on the wealth of the household. The system causes people to keep their

households small by not clearing new land, by committing infanticide, or by re-

maining unmarried to avoid having an even heavier tax burden (ibid., 82.2094).

For arguments about the effect of southern tax policies on the size and composi-

tion of southern families, see Tang Changru, San zhi liu shiji jiangnan datudi suo-

youzhi de fazhan (Taibei: Boshu chubanshe, 1957), 7; and Dong, “Beichao shiqi

de jiating,” 39–40. Dong also believes that southern families were smaller to

make the most of commercial opportunities that were available to them.

44. An excellent example of how relatives living in this situation might abuse

each other is furnished by Ren Fang’s (460–508) impeachment of Liu Zheng. See

Wen xuan, by Xiao Tong (501–531) (Taipei: Huazheng shuju, 1986, reprint),

20.559–563. For a translation of this text, see Victor Mair, The Columbia Anthology

of Traditional Chinese Literature (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994),

542–547.

45. Ch’u, Han Social Structure, 208.

46. For the relationship between poverty and losing one’s father at an early

age during the Han, see Xing Yitian, Qin-Han shi lungao (Taipei: Dongda tushu,

1987), 157–158.

47. Sanguo zhi, 11.351.

48. Jin shu, 88.2274; and Wen xuan, 37.18a–20a.

49. Ch’u, Han Social Structure, 287–289, 290–291.

50. To avoid monotony, in this volume I will use “Confucian” and “Ru” inter-

changeably. “Ru” is the Chinese term for the Confucian school. Since the term pre-

dated Confucius, it means something more than merely “Confucian.” In fact, I favor

the interpretation of it as “scholars of the Kingly Way.” For a discussion of this term’s

meaning, see Keith Knapp, “New Approaches to Teaching Confucianism,” Teaching

Theology and Religion 2.1 (1999): 45–46. Even though “Ru” is the more accurate

term, due to its universal currency I will also use the more familiar “Confucian.”

51. In a seminal article, the late Jack Dull documented how Confucian

norms had slight impact on Han marriage and divorce practices. See Dull, “Mar-

riage and Divorce in Han China: A Glimpse at ‘Pre-Confucian’ Society,” in Chi-

nese Family Law and Social Change in Historical and Comparative Perspective, ed.

David C. Buxbaum (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1978), 23–74. Sun-

ming Wong believes that elite marriage practices were not in accord with Confu-

cian norms until the late Tang. See Wong, “Confucian Ideal and Reality: Transfor-

mation of the Institution of Marriage in T’ang China (A.D. 618–907),” Ph.D.

dissertation, University of Washington, 1979. For efforts by Confucian revivalists


206

to have women live more according to Confucian virtues, see Josephine Chiu-

Duke, “The Role of Confucian Revivalists in the Confucianization of T’ang

Women,” Asia Major: Third Series 8, part 1 (1995): 51–94.

52. Itano Chôhachi, “Jukyô no seiritsu,” in Sekai rekishi 4: kodai 4 (Tokyo:

Iwanami shoten, 1970), 349–352; and his “The t’u-ch’en Prophetic Books and the

Establishment of Confucianism,” The Memoirs of the Toyo Bunko 36 (1978): 85–

107; Nishijima Sadao, “Kôtei shihai no seiritsu,” in Sekai rekishi 4: kodai 4, 238–

244; Pan Ku, The History of the Former Han Dynasty, trans. Homer H. Dubs. 3 vols.

(Baltimore: Waverly Press, 1938-1955), 2:347–348; and Hirai Tadashi, “Kandai ni

okeru jûka kanryô no kôkeiso e no shinjun,” in Rekishi ni okeru minshû to bunka:

Sakai Tadao Sensei koki shukuga kinen ronshû (Tokyo: Kokusho Kankokai, 1982),

51–66.

53. Cited in Watanabe Yoshihirô, Gokan kokka no shihai to jukyô (Tokyo: Yuzan-

kaku shuppan, 1991), 28.

54. Chen Ch’i-yün makes this point in “Confucian, Legalist, Taoist Thought

in Later Han,” in The Cambridge History of China, vol. 1, The Ch’in and Han Empires

221 B.C.–A.D. 220, ed. Denis Twitchett and Michael Loewe (Cambridge: Cam-

bridge University Press, 1987), 770.

55. E.g., the Book of Changes (Yi jing) was susceptible to Taoist interpretations,

while the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu) and Book of Documents (Shang shu)

were susceptible to Legalist ones. See Ch’en Ch’i-yun, Hsün Yüeh and the Mind of

Late Han China (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1980), 17.

56. Cited in Watanabe, Gokan kokka no shihai to jukyô, 28.

57. Pan Ku, History of the Former Han, 2:287–290.

58. Watanabe, Gokan kokka no shihai to jukyô, 126–127. Watanabe uses four

criteria to establish whether or not an of¤cial was a Ru: 1) Was the individual a re-

cipient of a family’s teachings (jiaxue) on a certain classic or its commentary? 2)

Was the individual known as an “All-penetrating Confucian” (tongru) or a “Re-

vered Confucian” (ruzong)? 3) Was the individual known to teach a classic to stu-

dents or disciples? 4) Was the individual known to have received teachings on a

classic or known to have attended the Imperial University? See ibid., 104.

59. See Nishijima, “Kôtei shihai no seiritsu,” Sekai rekishi 4: kodai 4, 238–

244; and Itano, “Jukyô no seiritsu,” Sekai rekishi 4: kodai 4, 343–349.

60. Watanabe, Gokan kokka no shihai to jukyo, 79–80.

61. Higashi thinks the dramatic increase in number witnessed during the East-

ern Han was due to Wang Mang’s decree that sons of all middle- and high-ranking

of¤cials could automatically enroll in the Imperial University. See Higashi Shinji,

Gokan jidai no seiji to shakai (Nagoya: Nagoya daigaku shuppankai, 1995), 157–159.

62. On the growth of government schools, see ibid., 160–162. For the growth

of private education during the Eastern Han, see Patricia Buckley Ebrey, “The Eco-


207

nomic and Social History of Later Han,” in The Cambridge History of China, ed.

Denis Twitchett and Michael Loewe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,

1987), 644–645.

63. Higashi, Gokan jidai no seiji to shakai, 186–191.

64. John K. Shryock long ago illustrated that an imperial cult to Confucius

was not established until the Eastern Han. See Shryock, The Origin and Develop-

ment of the State Cult of Confucius (New York: Paragon Book Reprint Corp., 1966),

93–106.

65. Léon Vandermeersch, “Aspects Rituels de la Popularisation du Confu-

cianisme sous les Han,” in Thought and Law in Qin and Han China, ed. W. L.

Idema and E. Zurcher (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1990), 89–107.

66. Martin J. Powers, Art and Political Expression in Early China (New Haven,

Conn.: Yale University Press, 1991), 161–187.

67. Nishijima makes a similar argument. He notes that the victory of Confu-

cianism was based on the emergence of local powerful families who valued the Ru

emphasis on ¤lial piety and maintenance of family order because it would

strengthen their kinship units. See Nishijima, “Kôtei shihai no seiritsu,” 240–241.

68. John Duncan, “The Korean Adoption of Neo-Confucianism: The Social

Context,” in Confucianism and the Family, ed. Walter H. Slote and George A.

DeVos (Albany: SUNY Press, 1998), 75–90.

69. Satake, “Chûgoku kodai no kazoku,” 34.

70. Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 18.10.

71. Hou Han shu, 27.928.

72. Ibid., 32.1119. For a slightly different translation, see Ch’u, Han Social

Structure, 286.

73. See Hou Han shu, 15.573, 53.1742–1743; Shishuo xinyu jianshu, by Liu Yi-

qing (403–444), ed. Yu Jiaxi (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1993), 1.10; and Song shu,

57.1573.

2. The Narratives: Origins and Uses1. Taiping yulan, by Li Fang et al. 8 vols. Reprint (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu

yinshuguan, 1986), 411.6b; Nan shi, by Li Yanshou. Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei:

Dingwen shuju, 1980), 73.1806.

2. By looking at the ¤lial piety stories in the remaining extant Accounts of Fil-

ial Offspring, one sees that the concluding section was often an integral part of

these stories.


4. J. I. Crump, Intrigues: Studies of the Chan-kuo Ts’e (Ann Arbor: The University

of Michigan Press, 1964), 4–7; and Crump, “The Chan-kuo Ts’e and its Fiction,”

T’oung Pao 48.4–48.5 (1960): 305–323.


208

5. Crump, Intrigues, 47–57. Also see Uno Shigehiko, “Chokukyû setsuwa no

seiritsu—tenkai to sono haikei,” Tôhôgaku 60 (1980): 1–2.

6. Zhanguo ce zhuzi suoyin, compiled by Liu Xiang, ed. D. C. Lau and Chen

Fong Ching (Taipei: The Commercial Press, 1992), 412, 420. For translations of

these texts, see J. I. Crump, Chan-kuo Ts’e, reprint (San Francisco: Chinese Materi-

als Center, Inc., 1979), 509–510 and 529–530.

7. E.g., Zhuangzi uses a ¤lial piety tale about Zengzi to criticize attaching im-

portance to wealth. See Zhuangzi jishi, by Zhuang Zhou (4th cent. BC), ed. Guo

Qingfan (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1986), “Yuyan,” 410–411.

8. For this point, see Takahashi Noboru, Chûgoku setsuwa bungaku no tanjô

(Tokyo: Toho shoten, 1988), 74–75; and Chen Puqing, Zhongguo gudai yuyanshi

(Changsha: Hunan jiaoyu, 1983), 16–17.

9. Xu Fuguan provides a detailed account of the large extent to which the

Xinxu and Shuo yuan borrowed from the Hanshi waizhuan and pre-Qin works. See

Xu, Lianghan sixiangshi, 3 vols. (Taipei: Xuesheng shuju, 1979), 3:68–90.

10. Nishimura Fumiko has argued that Han Ying wrote the Hanshi waizhuan

for a prince while serving as his tutor. See Nishimura, “Kanshi gaiden no ichi kô-

satsu,” Chûgoku bungaku hô 19 (1963): 13–14. Similarly, Ban Gu tells us that Liu

Xiang wrote the Lienü zhuan to criticize the extravagance and lewdness of some of

the imperial consorts and that he composed the Xinxu and Shuo yuan to aid the

emperor in his decisions. See Han shu, Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Hongye

shuju, 1978), 36.1957–1958.

11. James Robert Hightower, Han shi wai chuan: Han Ying’s Illustrations of the

Didactic Application of the Classic of Songs (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,

1952), 2.

12. Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, by Han Ying (c. 200–120 BC), ed. Lau,

10.24; Hightower, Han shi wai chuan, 10.24.

13. Hans Bielenstein, “The Restoration of the Han Dynasty: With Prolegom-

ena on the Historiography of the Hou Han Shu,” Bulletin of the Museum of Far

Eastern Antiquities 26 (1954): 62.

14. Holzman, “Place of Filial Piety in Ancient China,” 198.

15. Confucius, Confucius: The Analects, trans. D. C. Lau; reprint (New York:

Dorset Press, 1986), 190.

16. Jens Ostergard Petersen, “What’s in a Name? On the Sources concerning

Sun Wu,” Asia Major (Third Series) 5.1 (1992): 2–3, 22.

17. Eric Henry, “Chu-ko Liang in the Eyes of His Contemporaries,” Harvard

Journal of Asiatic Studies 52.2 (1992): 589–612; and Charles E. Hammond, “T’ang

Legends: History and Hearsay,” Tamkang Review 20.4 (1990): 359–365.

18. For the story of Shentu Xun, see Taiping yulan, 413.7a; for Wu Meng, see

Taiping yulan, 413.8b, 945.2b; and Yiwen leiju, 97.1683; for Deng Zhan, see Taiping


209

yulan, 945.2b; for Zhan Qin, see Yiwen leiju, 97.1683. Some scholars think Deng

Zhan and Zhan Qin might be the same person.

19. For the story of Wang Xiang, see Chuxue ji, 3.60; Beitang shuchao, by Yu

Shinan (558–638) (Tianjin: Tianjin Guji chubanshe, 1988), 158.4a–b; Chuxue ji,

7.152; and Taiping yulan, 26.96 and 68.2b. For the story of Wang Yan, see Soushen

ji, by Gan Bao (¶. 317–350), ed. Wang Shaoying; reprint (Taipei: Liren shuju,

1982), 11.279; and Taiping yulan, 411.2b. For the story of Fan Liao, see Soushen ji

(but in this work his name is given as Chu Liao), 11.280; and Gou Daoxing Soushen

ji, in Dunhuang bianwen, 2:865.

20. Beitang shuchao, 152.8a.

21. Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 19.20; Liu I-ch’ing, Shih-shuo Hsin-yu: A New Ac-

count of Tales of the World, trans. Richard B. Mather (Minneapolis: University of

Minnesota Press, 1976), 352.

22. Hightower, Han shih wai chuan, 2–3.

23. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, ed. Lau and Chen (Taipei: The Commercial Press, 1992),

3.19, 36, and 157. For a somewhat different translation, see Li Chi: Book of Rites,

trans. James Legge; 2 vols. (New Hyde Park, N.Y.: University Books, 1967), 1:129.

24. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 4.29, 36.157; Li Chi, 1:179.

25. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 1.10; Li Chi, 1:67.

26. For Huang Xiang’s act, see Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, 320; for Luo Wei’s, see

Chuxue ji, 17.420; and Taiping yulan, 709.7b.

27. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 1.19; Li Chi, 1:75–76. See Dongguan Han ji, ed. Lau

(Hong Kong: Hong Kong Commercial Press, 1994), 21.3714.2; Hou Han shu,

29.1027; and Dunhuang bianwen, 2:906–907.

28. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 1.21; Li Chi, 1:76.

29. Yiwen leiju, 65.1158; and Taiping yulan, 821.10a.

30. Jinlouzi, by Xiao Yi (508–554); Sibu kanyao ed. (Taipei: Shijie shuju,

1975), 2.8b.

31. The Yômei Xiaozi zhuan says that he is a man from the state of Zhao,

thereby also implying that he lived during the Warring States.

32. There are also con¶icting reports about his native place. The Soushen ji

states, “Guo Ju was a man from Longlu [in Henei]. Another says that he was from

Wen in Henei.” See Soushen ji, 11.283. These two counties were on opposite sides

of Henei Prefecture. Since at least the Northern Qi (550–577), the funerary shrine

at Shandong’s Xiaotangshan has been identi¤ed as the site of Guo’s tomb. See Li

Falin, Shandong Han huaxiangshi yanjiu (Jinan: Qilu shushe, 1982), 86–92.

33. See Guxiao huizhuan, 2.9a; and [Qinding] Gujin tushujicheng, by Chen

Menglei, 79 vols. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1977), 611.50a.

34. Wolfram Eberhard, Studies in Taiwanese Folktales (Taipei: The Orient Cul-

tural Service, 1970), 27–103.


210

35. The tales that I think might be folkloric in origin are those of Dong Yong,

Ding Lan, Guo Ju, Xing Qu, and Yuan Gu.

36. Leo Tak-hung Chan, Discourse on Foxes and Ghosts: Ji Yun and Eighteenth-

Century Literati Storytelling (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1998), 55–76.

37. Lunheng zhuzi suoyin, by Wang Chong (27–97), ed. Lau and Chen (Hong

Kong: The Commercial Press, 1996), 362–363; my translation is based on Wang

Ch’ung, Lun-heng: Miscellaneous Essays of Wang Ch’ung, trans. Alfred Forke, 2 vols.

(New York: Paragon Book Gallery, 1962), 1:85.

38. Donald E. Gjertson, Miraculous Retribution: A Study and Translation of T’ang

Lin’s Mingpao ji (Berkeley: Centers for South and Southeast Asia Studies, 1989),

94–98.

39. Robert Ford Campany provides three examples of oral tales told of prom-

inent ancestors by their descendents. See Campany, Strange Writing: Anomaly Ac-

counts in Early Medieval China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1996),

187.

40. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 8.1.

41. Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, 321.

42. Patrick J. Geary, Living with the Dead in the Middle Ages (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cor-

nell University Press, 1994), 22.

43. An indication of the importance of having a famous ¤lial exemplar asso-

ciated with one’s locality can be seen in the fact that various areas claimed the

more legendary and less concrete exemplars, such as Guo Ju and Dong Yong, as

their native sons.

44. See Miyazaki Ichisada, Chûgoku kodai shiron (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1988),

286–294; John Makeham, “Mingchiao in the Eastern Han: Filial Piety, Reputation,

and Of¤ce,” Hanxue yanjiu 8.2 (1990): 85–94; and Michael Nylan, “Confucian

Piety and Individualism in Han China,” Journal of the American Oriental Society

116.1 (1996): 1–27.

45. See Qianfu lun zhuzi suoyin, by Wang Fu (2nd cent. AD), ed. Lau and Chen

(Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1995), 14.26; Margaret J. Pearson, Wang Fu and

the Comments of a Recluse (Tempe, Ariz.: Center for Asian Studies, 1989), 125.

Con¤rmation that this trend was not merely an Eastern Han one comes from a

Northern Wei report stating that these documents were written by the person’s

sons or retainers and were terribly exaggerated; see Wei shu, 68.1515. For a gen-

eral discussion of the nature of this period’s accounts of conduct, see Yano

Chikara, “Jô no kenkyû,” Shigaku zasshi 76.2 (1967): 30–66.

46. See Lu Yaodong, “Wei-Jin zazhuan yu zhongzheng pinzhuang zhi

guanxi,” Zhongguo xueren 1.2 (1970): 74. For evidence that by the Western Jin only

one’s family pedigree was important for selection to public of¤ce, see Donald

Holzman, “Les débuts du systéme medieval de choix et de classement des fonc-


211

tionnaires: Les neuf categories et l’impartial et juste,” Mélanges Publiés par L’Institut

des Hautes Études Chinoises: Volume 1 (1957): 411–414.

47. See Luo Xinben, “Liang-Jin Nanchao de xiucai, xiaolian chaju,” Lishi yan-

jiu 3 (1987): 116–123; and Ochi Shigeaki, “Shin Nanchô no shûsai · kôren,”

Shien 66 (1979): 85–114.

48. For the identity of these twelve candidates, see Luo Xinben, “Liang-Jin Nan-

chao de xiucai,” 121. The ¤ve famous ¤lial sons are Xu Zi, Guo Shidao, Guo Yuan-

ping, Wu Kui, and Pan Zong. A sixth candidate, Guo Bolin, was the son of Guo

Yuanping and grandson of Guo Shidao.

49. Jin shu, 33.987–988.

50. In note 48 above I have already mentioned that Guo Bolin was nomi-

nated as a “¤lial and incorrupt” candidate, probably on the strength of his father

and grandfather’s reputations. Another example is that an of¤cial recommended

the son of the famous ¤lial exemplar Xu Zi be given of¤ce, largely on the strength

of his father’s ¤lial reputation. See Jin shu, 88.2280.

51. Song shu, 91.2256.

52. Cai Zhonglang ji zhuzi suoyin, ed. Lau and Chen (Hong Kong: The Com-

mercial Press, 1998), 6.2; see also 12.12.

53. For an explicit statement to this effect, see Jin shu, 62.1699.

54. For information on the Taoist concept of chengfu, see Barbara Hend-

rischke, “The Concept of Inherited Evil in the Taiping Jing,” East Asian History 2

(1991): 1-30.

55. Livia Kohn, “Immortal Parents and Universal Kin: Family Values in Me-

dieval Daoism,” in Filial Piety in Chinese Thought and History, ed. Alan K. L. Chan

and Sor-hoon Tan (London: Routledgecurzon, 2004), 98–102.

56. Chen Ch’i-yün, Hsün Yüeh (A.D. 148–209): The Life and Re¶ections of an

Early Medieval Confucian (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), 54–56,

and notes 80, 88, 191–192.57. Wang Xiang was the ¤rst prominent member of the Langye Linqi Wang

family; Yan Han was one of the ¤rst two prominent members of the Langye

Jiangdu Yan family.

Wei Biao’s biography claims that he was a descendent of the famous Jing-

zhao Duling family but that he alone moved to Pingling in Fufeng. This looks like

a suspicious attempt to claim a more prestigious ancestry than he really had. See

Hou Han shu, 26.920. Hence I think it is safer to see him as the progenitor of the

Fufeng Pingling Wei family.

58. Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, by Chang Qu (¶. 347), ed. Liu Lin (Chengdu:

Bashu shushe chuban, 1984), 3.286.

59. Ibid., 10b.755.

60. Other Eastern Han famous ¤lial sons that belonged to locally powerful


212

families include Lian Fan, Li Tan, Zhang Kai, Wei Jun, Huang Xiang, Bao Yong, Fu

Gong, Cai Yong, Guan Ning, Yang Zhen, Yue Hui, Lu Ji, Yin Tao, Shi Yan, Bing

Yuan, and Dai Liang. For charts that attempt to list all of the powerful families in

the Eastern Han and include most of these ¤gures, see Tsuruma Kazuyuki, “Kan-

dai gôzoku no chiiku teki seikaku,” Shigaku zasshi 137.12 (1978): 32–38.

61. Xing, Qin-Han shi lungao, 157–171.62. Taiping guangji 292, 614. A few other tales that obviously served the same

function are that of Ying Shu (Taiping guangji 137, 278) and Yin Zifang (Soushen ji

88, 54).

63. Fang Beizhen, Wei-Jin Nanchao Jiangdong shijia dazu shulun (Taipei: Wen-

jin, 1991), 15.

64. Lu Yaodong, “Wei-Jin zazhuan yu zhongzheng pinzhuang zhi guanxi,”

78.

65. Wenxin diaolong zhuzi suoyin, ed. Lau, Chen, and Ho (Hong Kong: Chi-

nese University Press, 2001), 3.2; Liu Hsieh, The Literary Mind and the Carving of

Dragons, trans. Vincent Yu-chung Shih; reprint (Taipei: Chung Hwa Book Com-

pany, 1975), 89–94.

66. In regard to the biased nature of these writings, see Hans Bielenstein,

“Later Han Inscriptions and Dynastic Biographies,” in Zhongyang yanjiuyuan guoji

hanxue huiyi lunwenji: Lishi kaogu zu, ed. Guoji Hanxue huiyi weiyuanhui (Taipei:

Zhongyang yanjiusuo, 1980), 571–586.

67. Lu Yaodong, Wei-Jin shixue de sixiang yu shehui jichu (Taipei: Dongda tushu

gongsi, 2000), 107–127.

68. Yano Chikara has noted that the early medieval period was one that wit-

nessed the production of many autobiographies. This era’s literati often recorded

events that happened in their own personal pasts. If they did not use these mate-

rials to make an autobiography, their brothers or descendents could easily use

them to construct a separate biography. See Yano, “Betsuden no kenkyû,” Shakai

kagaku ronsô 16 (1967), 42–44.

69. Ibid., 29–40.

70. Shitong tongshi, by Liu Zhiji (661–721), ed. Pu Qilong; reprint (Taipei:

Liren shuju, 1980).

71. Yiwen leiju, 16.300–301; and John Marney, Liang Chien-wen ti (Boston:

Twayne Publishers, 1976), 58.

72. Rafe de Crespigny, The Records of the Three Kingdoms: A Study in the Histo-

riography of San-kuo Chih (Canberra: Centre of Oriental Studies, 1970), 47–89.

73. Lu Yaodong, “Biezhuan zai Wei-Jin shixue zhong de diwei,” Youshi xuezhi

12.1 (1974): 10.

74. Arthur F. Wright, Studies in Chinese Buddhism, ed. Robert M. Somers (New

Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1990), 109.


213

75. E.g., there are the Wang Xiang biezhuan, Meng Zong biezhuan, Guo Wenju

biezhuan, Yan Han biezhuan, Cai Yong biezhuan, Wu Meng biezhuan, Yu Gun

biezhuan, Guan Ning biezhuan, and Chen Shi biezhuan. For a listing of separate bi-

ographies quoted in Sanguo zhizhu, Shishuo xinyu, and Taiping yulan, see Lu Yao-

dong, “Biezhuan zai Wei-Jin shixue zhong de diwei,” 16–27.

76. Shuijing zhushu, by Li Daoyuan (472–527), ed. Duan Xizhong and Chen

Qiaoyi, 3 vols. (Nanjing: Jiangsu guji, 1989), 2:1234–1235.

77. Shitong tongshi, 10.275.

78. For a more in-depth look at this genre and its purposes, see Andrew Bar-

clay Chittick, “Pride of Place: The Advent of Local History in Early Medieval

China,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Michigan, 1997, 89–122.

79. Watabe Takeshi, “‘Sensenden’ ‘Kikyuden’ no ryukô to jinbutsu hyôron to

no kankei ni tsuite,” Shikan 82 (1960): 53–56.


81. Chittick, “Pride of Place,” chap. 5.

82. For a convenient selection of ¤lial piety tales found in the Shuijing zhu,

see Zheng Dekun, Shuijing zhu gushi chao (Taipei: Yiwen yinshuguan, 1974), 178–

182.

3. Accounts of Filial Offspring: Models for Emulation1. For studies that make one or more of these arguments, see Zheng, Dun-

huang Xiaodao wenxue, 483, 501; Lei, Dunhuang ertong wenxue, 85–92, Kanaoka,

Tonkô no minshû, 302–310, Kawaguchi, “Kôyôdan no hattatsu to hensen,” 158,

and Michihata, Tôdai bukkyôshi no kenkyû, 293–295; and Michihata, Bukkyô to

Jukyô rinri, 126–128.

2. The exact name of this book is problematic. Taiping yulan refers to it as Liu

Xiang Xiaozi tu (411.8b), whereas Fayuan zhulin, by Daoshi (d. 684), Qisha Da-

zangjing ed. (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1991) refers to it as Liu Xiang

Xiaozi zhuan (49.362).

3. Han shu’s bibliographical chapter, by the way, was compiled by Liu

Xiang’s son, Liu Xin (53 BC–AD 23), and was based on Liu Xiang’s own biblio-

graphical compilation, Bielu.

4. Fayuan zhulin, 49.362.

5. Wenyuan yinghua, 5 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1966), 502.2579. Li

Lingchen and Xu Nanrong’s list of the exemplary lives’ creators resembles that

given by Wei Zheng (580–643) in the postscript to his entry on “miscellaneous

biographies” in the bibliographic chapter of his Sui shi. Wei, however, is silent on

the creator of the Xiaozi zhuan subgenre. See Wei, Sui shu, Zhonghua shuju ed.

(Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 33.982.



214

7. Ibid., 18:516.

8. To explain its curious absence from the dynastic histories’ bibliographical

chapters, Wu Hung has suggested that Liu Xiang Xiaozi tu is the same work as Liu

Xiang’s Lieshi zhuan (Accounts of Outstanding Gentlemen) and that the latter was

sometimes called Xiaozi tu because most of its contents were dedicated to ¤lial

offspring (Wu Hung, The Wu Liang Shrine: The Ideology of Early Chinese Pictorial

Art [Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1989], 272–273). This explana-

tion is implausible for a number of reasons. First, Liu’s authorship of Lieshi zhuan

is only slightly less in doubt than his authorship of Xiaozi tu. Second, from look-

ing at the extant fragments of the text, contrary to what Wu says, the contents of

Lieshi zhuan differ greatly from those of a Xiaozi zhuan. Whereas the latter almost

exclusively featured men who were either ¤lial or brotherly, the remaining frag-

ments of the former feature protagonists who are honored for virtues other than

¤lial piety, such as loyalty, friendship, integrity, wisdom, and courage. Third, the

four most substantial extant narratives from Lieshi zhuan are written in a fantastic

late Eastern Han–Six Dynasties style, which is quite different from that found in

Liu’s Lienü zhuan, Xinxu, and Shuo yuan.

9. Nan shi, 22.606.

10. Ibid., 43.1088.

11. Nan Qi shu, 46.802.

12. Ibid., 35.630.

13. Enomoto has shown that Li Yanshou often used stories from “Records of

the Weird” (Zhiguai) collections to supplement the biographies of Liang princes.

See Enomoto, “Nan shi no setsuwa teki yôsu ni tsuite: Ryô shoôten o tegakari

toshite,”Tôyô gakuhô 70.3,4 (1989): 1–33.

14. This paragraph is a summary of arguments found in Wang Chongmin,

“Dunhuang ben ‘Dong Yong bianwen’ ba,” in Dunhuang bianwen lunwen lu, ed.

Zhou Shaoliang and Bai Huawen, 2 vols. (Shanghai: Guji chubanshe, 1986), 2:691;

Zheng, Dunhuang Xiaodao wenxue, 467–469; Xu Duanrong, “Ershisixiao yanjiu,” 3–

4; Nishino Teiji, “Tô Ei densetsu ni tsuite,” Jinbun kenkyû 6.6 (1955): 68.

15. The statement that Dong was a man of the Former Han can be found only

in Taiping yulan’s Liu Xiang Xiaozi tu fragment (411:9a). Gou Xingdao Soushen ji,

which was found at Dunhuang, directly quotes Xiaozi tu, but the quotation says

nothing about when Dong lived (Dunhuang bianwen, 2:886–887). Likewise, Fayuan

zhulin, which also directly quotes Xiaozi tu, makes no mention of Dong’s era

(49.361).

16. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, ed. D. C. Lau (Taipei: The Commercial Press,

1994), 1.1; and Xinxu zhuzi suoyin, ed. Lau and Chen (Taipei: The Commercial

Press, 1992), 1.1.



215

18. For this interpretation, see the Kong Anguo commentary to Shang shu in

Shisanjing zhushu, ed. Ruan Yuan (1764–1849), 8 vols. (Taipei: Yiwen yinshu-

guan, 1993), 1:2.24b.

19. None of these elements is present in any pre–Six Dynasties accounts of

Shun’s life. See the accounts of Shun’s life in Shi ji (1.44–50), Mengzi (5A.1–3), and

Shang shu (2.24a–b). The version of Shi ji that this volume refers to is Shiji huizhu

kaozheng, ed. Takigawa Kametaro; reprint (Taipei: Hongshi chubanshe, 1986).

20. See the story of Shun in P. 2621 (Wang Sanqing, Dunhuang leishu, 1:237);

S. 389 (Wang Sanqing, “Dunhuang bianwen ji zhong de ‘Xiaozi zhuan’ xintao,”

197–198); Shunzi bian (Dunhuang bianwen, 129–134); Kôshiden chûkai, 24–26.

21. Shiji huizhu kaozheng, 1.47–49. Ito has argued that the legend of Shun

originally began as a series of challenges that he had to master to prove he was a

worthy successor to Yao and that the ¤lial piety aspect of the legend is merely a

Confucian and Mohist overlay. See Ito Seiji, “Yao Shun chanrang chuanshuo de

zhenxiang,” in Shen yu shenhua, ed. Wang Xiaolian (Taipei: Lianjing, 1988), 271–

304. Along these same lines, the Lunheng version of the Shun story even suggests

that his survival of the assassination attempts and wild animal attacks are proof

that he was worthy enough to be Yao’s successor. See Lunheng zhuzi suoyin, 2: 9.23.

22. Han Feizi zhuzi suoyin, by Han Feizi (ca. 280–233), ed. Lau, Chen, and

Ho (Hong Kong: The Commercial Press, 2000) scroll 36, 113–114. Also see Xinxu

zhuzi suoyin, 1.1; and Mozi yinde, by Mo Di (ca. 480–390), Harvard-Yenching

Index Series ed. (Shanghai: Shanghai gujichubanshe, 1986), 9.11.

23. Yue jue shu zhuzi suoyin, ed. D. C. Lau (Taipei: The Commercial Press,

1994), 4.15. Nevertheless, older versions of the story that did not connect the

Mount Li episode with Shun trying to escape from his parents continued to be cir-

culated. E.g., see Diwang shiji jicun, by Huangfu Mi (215–282), ed. Xu Zongyuan

(Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1964), 41.

24. Before climbing on top of the granary, Shun arms himself with two bam-

boo hats that he uses as proto-parachutes; before his father ¤lls and encloses the

well in which Shun is trapped, he either climbs out or digs a hole in the side of

the well.

25. Thus Daoshi titled this tale “Shun receives a Heavenly response for his

service to his father” (Fayuan zhulin, 49.361).

26. Nishino, “Yômeibun kôshiden,” 36.

27. Ningxia Guyuan Bowuguan, Guyuan Beiweimu qiguan hua (Yinchuan:

Ningxia renmin chubanshe, 1988), 11–12.

28. On the same register, the Wu Liang funerary shrine (AD 151) has depic-

tions of seventeen different ¤lial offspring stories (Wu Hung, The Wu Liang

Shrine, 272–305); the multichambered tomb at Helinge’er in Inner Mongolia (ca.

160) has nine (Neimengguzizhi bowuguan gongzuodui, Helingge’er Hanmu bihua


216

[Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1978]); a pictorial stone unearthed in Kaifeng,

Henan, has ¤ve on two registers (Édouard Chavannes, Mission Archéologique dans

la Chine Septentrionale: Tome I, La Scuplture a l’époque des Han [Paris: Ernest Leroux,

1913], pl. 542); the Lelang lacquered box from Korea (1st or 2nd cent.) has ¤ve

(Yoshikawa Kôjirô, “Lelang chutu Han qie tuxiang kaozheng,” in Hamada

Kôsakuchô, Rakurô Saikyo-tsuka [Tokyo: Chôsen koseki kenkyûkai, 1934], 1–8); a

tomb in Leshan Sichuan has ¤ve (Tang Changshou, “Shiziwan Cliff Tomb No. 1”,

Orientations 28.8 [1997]: 72–77); an engraved stone relief from Dawenkou in

Shandong (ca.150) has three (Cheng Jilin, “Taian Dawenkou Han huaxiangshi

mu,” Wenwu 1 [1989] 48–58); and a bronze mirror has two (for information on

and photographs of this mirror, see Yamakawa Masaharu, “So Sen to Min Son

Murakami Eini shi Kandai Kôshiden jizu gazôkyô nitsuite,” Bukkyô daigaku

daigakuin kiyô 31 [2003]: 93–102). I would like to thank Professor Kuroda Akira

for bringing this artifact to my attention.

29. This ¤lial offspring is sometimes identi¤ed as Wei Yang.

30. Wang Jianwei, “Hanhua ‘Dong Yong gushi’ yuanliu kao,” Sichuan wenwu

4 (1995): 3–7. For images of the Dong Yong story on Han gates in Sichuan, see

Xu Wenshan et al., Sichuan Handai shique (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1992),

130–131, 190.

31. Wu Hung, The Wu Liang Shrine, 76–85, 170–176.

32. Ibid., 275.

33. See Taiping yulan, 411.9a; Fayuan zhulin, 49.361; Dunhuang bianwen,

2:886, 904.

34. Compare the Wu Liang inscription (Wu Hung , The Wu Liang Shrine,

280) with the accounts of the Lao Laizi story found in a Dunhuang encyclopedia

fragment (Dunhuang bianwen, 2:903), Shi Jueshou Accounts of Filial Offspring (Tai-

ping yulan, 413.6b–7a), and Yômei Xiaozi zhuan (Kôshiden chûkai, 101–102). After

reading these four accounts, it seems obvious that the Wu Liang inscription is a

simpli¤cation of a written account that is similar in kind and language to the

other three, especially when we note the repeated use of the phrases zhixiao and

banlan or banlian. If the Wu Liang inscription were based on an oral source, one

would not expect its language to cleave so closely to the written accounts.

35. Lin Shengzhi (Rin Shôchi), “Hokuchô jidai ni okeru sôgu no zuzô to

kinô—sekikan shôkakobyô no bonushi shôzô to kôshidenzu o rei toshite,” Bi-

jutsushi 52.2 (2003): 218–220.

36. Kuroda Akira, “Kôshidenzu to Kôshiden—Rin Shôchi shi no setsu o

megutte,” Kyoto gobun 10 (2003): 116–132.

37. Xing, Qin-Han shi lungao, 449–469.

38. Hou Han shu, 48.1614. From this statement, Lu Yaodong concludes that

one source for the “separate biographies” of the Wei-Jin period was the eulogies


217

that accompanied pictorial images of exemplary men. See Lu, Wei-Jin shixue de

sixiang yu shehui jichu, 109-112.

39. Taiping yulan, 701.4b.

40. Liexian zhuan, by Liu Xiang. Zhuzi baijia congshu ed. (Shanghai: Shang-

hai guji, 1990), 2.25. Kaltenmark agrees that the text was created to explain or

supplement images of immortals that were current at the time. See Max Kalten-

mark, trans., Lie-sien tchouan (Pekin: Universite de Paris, 1953), 7–8.

41. For a helpful chart that chronologically summarizes the contents of Han

tombs with murals and pictorial stones, see Xia Chaoxiong, “Hanmu bihua, hua-

xiangshi ticai neirong shitan,” Beijing daxue xuebao: Zhexue shehui 101.1 (1984):

70–74.

42. Cutter believes that this poem dates from the Huangchu reign period (220–

226), i.e., shortly after his father’s death. See Robert Joe Cutter, “Cao Zhi (192–232)

and His Poetry,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Washington, 1983, 114. As for the

authenticity of this work, Frankel thinks that Cao Zhi probably did write it. See Hans

Frankel, “The Problem of Authenticity in the Works of Ts’ao Chih,” in Essays in Com-

memoration of the Golden Jubilee of the Fung Ping Shan Library (1932–1982), ed. Chan

Ping-leung et al. (Hong Kong: University of Hong Kong Press, 1982), 199. I would

like to thank Robert Joe Cutter for making me aware of this article.

43. Cutter, “Cao Zhi and His Poetry,” 117–118; Song shu, 22.627; and Cao Zhi

ji zhuzi suoyin, 106–107. I have slightly modi¤ed Cutter’s translation of this poem.

44. Early medieval poems on ¤lial piety often recount the plots of a number

of ¤lial piety tales. Xiao Yan’s “Prose-poem on Filial Thoughts” summarizes the

plots of eleven stories (Liang Wudi Xiao Yan ji zhuzi suoyin, 21–23). This is another

case where the author probably did not randomly select ¤lial piety stories from

his memory, but instead took the tales from Xiaozi zhuan. Incidentally, Xin Tang-

shu credits XiaoYan with compiling a Xiaozi zhuan. See Xin Tang shu, 58.1480.

45. E.g., Liu Xiang’s Lienü zhuan appeared well before Hou Han shu’s “Biogra-

phies of Outstanding Women,” and Liang Hong’s (1st cent.) Yimin zhuan ap-

peared well before the Hou Han shu’s “Biographies of Hermits.”

46. The ¤rst stage of the compilation of Dongguan Han ji began with Emperor

Ming (r. 58–75) ordering Ban Gu and three other scholars to compile a history of

the dynasty. Their work covered up to AD 55. In AD 120 Empress Dowager Deng

ordered a second group of scholars to bring the work up to AD 107. In 151, Em-

peror Huan ordered a third group of scholars to bring the work up to 146. Be-

tween 172–178, one last group of scholars again updated the work. For further

information on the formation of Dongguan Han ji, see Bielenstein, “The Restora-

tion of the Han Dynasty,” 10–11; Mansvelt B. J. Beck, The Treatises of Later Han

(Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1990), 19–27; and Zheng Hesheng, “Gejia Hou Han shu zong-

shu” (appended to Hou Han shu), 8–9.


218

47. Wang Shuping, Qin-Han wenxian yanjiu (Beijing: Qilu shushe chuban,

1988), 395. I would like to thank Mei-ling Williams for bringing this book to my

attention.

48. E.g., the biography of Shi Fen focuses on his respectful conduct in gen-

eral, and his most ¤lial act came after he was already in of¤ce. Moreover, in regard

to Shi Fen’s ¤lial act of personally cleaning his father’s underwear, Ban Gu criti-

cizes him for being excessive. See Han shu, 45.2194, 2205. Similarly, Gongsun

Hong’s (200–154) ¤liality is merely a footnote to his of¤cial career. Ibid.,

58.2613–2624.

49. Fukui Shigemasa, “Gokan no senkyo kamoku ‘shikô’ to ‘yûdô,’“ Shikan

111 (1984): 3.

50. Wu Shuping, Qin-Han wenxian, 398. By “dynastic history” I mean a his-

tory devoted solely to one dynasty, rather than merely a state-sponsored history.

51. Yuan Hong (328–376) attributes the words found in the preface to Hou

Han shu 39 to Hua Qiao; see Hou Han ji, by Yuan Hong (328–376) (Taipei: The

Commercial Press, 1975), 11.135–136. Li Xian (651–684) con¤rms this (Hou

Han shu, 39.1295). The two biographies are those of Mao Yi and Xue Bao.


53. Shen Yue selected the title “Biographies of the Filial and Righteous” be-

cause during the early medieval period xiao and yi were viewed as complementary

virtues: xiao is how one should act towards his parents, while yi is how one

should act towards the larger community. Men who are yi succor the poor, de-

cline public of¤ce and presents, refuse to associate with the powerful, protect the

interests of the people, deal with others fairly, put the interests of others before

their own, support and aid their nonparental kin, and are loyal to their lord. Ulti-

mately, I think this combination of xiaoyi was inspired by Mencius’ equating

xiaoti with renyi. That is to say, ren (benevolence) grows out of ¤liality and yi

(righteousness) grows out of ti (brotherliness). E.g., he says, “Ren is realized in

serving one’s parents; yi is realized in following one’s elder brother” (Mengzi,

4A.27). To govern a country well, all one has to do is extend one’s ¤lial and

brotherly love to other people. In other words, Shen Yue uses the phrase xiaoyi to

invoke Mencius’ idea that only ¤liality and brotherliness are needed to govern.

54. Shen Yue arranges the biographies of groups of people in the following

order: the ¤lial and righteous, good of¤cials, recluses, and court favorites.

55. Hou Han shu, 39.1312.

56. Jay Sailey, The Master who Embraces Simplicity: A Study of the Philosopher Ko

Hung A.D. 283–343 (San Francisco: Chinese Materials Center, 1978), 387–435.

57. Wang Sanqing has reconstructed a late-Tang Xiaozi zhuan based on S 389,

P 3536, and P 3680. A number of the ¤lial heroes in this work, such as Wang Wuzi,

Shanzi, Liu Mingda, are not seen as earlier examples of this subgenre but do regu-


219

larly appear in the later and more popular Twenty-four Filial Exemplars genre. Also

like these later works, each story in the Tang work is accompanied by a poem in

four seven-character lines. Wang further points out that the language of this work’s

accounts does not closely match that of earlier versions of the same tales, thereby

betraying its popular origins. See Wang Sanqing, “Dunhuang bianwen ji zhong de

‘Xiaozi zhuan’ xintan,” 189–220.

58. None of the works listed above are found in the following Song dynasty

bibliographies: Chongwen congmu (1034), Junzhai dushuzhi (1151), or Zhizhai

shulu jieti (ca. 1235).

59. Primers for children were usually very short, between one and three juan.

See Sui shu, 32.942; and Xu Zi, Mengxue duwu de lishi toushi (Wuhan: Hubei jiaoyu

chubanshe, 1996), 23–40.

60. Wang Shaozhi was a Langye Wang, while Liu Qiu was a Nanyang Liu.

61. Xu Guang’s father was a commissioner of waterways (rank four), while

his elder brother was the front commandant of the heir apparent’s guard (rank

four). See Song shu, 55.1547; and Nan shi, 33.858. Han Xianzong’s grandfather

was a governor and his father a cavalry general, and his elder brother reached the

rank of governor (See Wei shu, 60.1331–1334). Lang Yuling’s grandfather was fa-

mous in the Sui, during which he reached the position of chief minister of the

Court of Judicial Review (rank three). Both his father and elder brother were pre-

fects (Jiu Tang shu, 189xia.4961–4962; Xin Tang shu, 199.5660–5661).

62. For a listing of Wang Xinzhi’s relatives and the posts they held, see Keith

Knapp, “Accounts of Filial Sons: Ru Ideology in Early Medieval China,” Ph.D. dis-

sertation, University of California, Berkeley, 1996), 102, note 39.

63. Shi Jueshou was a maternal cousin of the recluse Zong Bing, whose grand-

father had been a prefect, his father a district magistrate, and his brother a gover-

nor. Zong Bing’s biography states that his mother, Lady Shi, was learned and

intelligent in argument. She educated both of her sons (Song shu, 93.2278–2279).

Tao Qian was the great-grandson of the famous of¤cial Tao Kan, who was a

commander-in-chief (rank one), while his grandfather was a governor (Jin shu,

94.2460–2463).

64. For a complete listing of these works, see Knapp, “Accounts of Filial

Sons,” 104–106.

65. Chittick, “Pride of Place,” 18–20.

66. Nan shi, 73.1806.

67. Liang shu, by Yao Cha (533–606) and Yao Silian (557–637). Zhonghua

shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 47.654.

68. Song shu, 91.2247–2249; and Nan shi, 73.1803–1804.

69. Jiu Tang shu, 189b.4961–4962; and Xin Tang shu, 199.5660. For the biog-

raphy of Li Hong, see Xin Tang shu, 86.2828–2831.


220

70. Jiu Tang shu, 86.2832; and Xin Tang shu, 81.3591. The assumption that

texts could have an effect on their recipient’s behavior can be detected in the fol-

lowing anecdote about Li Xian: Liu Nayan, librarian for the crown prince, once

wrote A Collection of Comedic Verses and presented it to Xian. When Xian was de-

feated after rebelling, his premises were searched and this book found. The em-

peror angrily said, “We use the Six Classics to teach people, yet fear this still will

not transform them. However, you present comedic sayings and low-class stories.

How is it possible that this will ful¤ll the function of guiding and coaching?” He

then exiled Nayan to Zhenzhou. See Xinjiao Zizhi tongjian zhu, 16 vols. (Taipei:

Shijie shuju, 1987), 202.6397–6398.

71. The bestowal of Wu Zetian’s Xiaozi zhuan to Xian seems to have occurred

after he became crown prince in 676 and before he was deposed in 679. Thus

when he received the text he must have been around twenty-four years of age.

72. R. W. L. Guisso, Wu Tse-t’ien and the Politics of Legitimation in T’ang China

(Bellingham, Wash.: Program in East Asian Studies, 1978), 28–30.

73. According to Jiu Tang shu, Wu Zhao ordered three of¤cials to compile a

number of books, among which were a Xiaozi zhuan and a Lienü zhuan, both of

which were supposed to be twenty juan long (Jiu Tang shu, 6.133). According to

the Xin Tang shu, these works were called Xiaonü zhuan and Lienü zhuan (Xin Tang

shu, 58.1487). Note this is the ¤rst recorded instance of a collection solely de-

voted to ¤lial women. Unfortunately, no fragments from it have survived.

74. That patrons and their descendents played a large role in the design of

their tombs can be seen in four aspects of Han mortuary art. First, representations

of ¤lial piety stories do not appear in most graves that have murals or engraved

stones. This means that their inclusion was probably at the bequest of the tomb

owners or their heirs. Second, when images of ¤lial stories do appear, they are

often placed in funerary shrines or at the entrance of a tomb, which meant they

were situated for all to see. The tomb owners or their descendents selected these

images because they represented to the public the values the deceased and their de-

scendents wanted to be seen as embodying. On this point, see Powers, Art and Po-

litical Expression in Early China, 97–98; and his “Pictorial Art and Its Public in Early

Imperial China,” Art History 4.2 (1984): 143–149; and Wu Hung, The Wu Liang

Shrine, 225–226. Third, some of the Han graves, such as the tomb at Helinge’er,

pictorially represent speci¤c moments of the tomb owner’s life. The Helinge’er

tomb even has depictions of the administrative headquarters in which the de-

ceased served. Fourth, the pictorial depictions of virtuous men sometimes also cor-

respond to the description of the grave owner’s virtues as set forth in his epitaph.

The tomb inscription of Wu Ban, for instance, reads, “[W]hen the lord was young

he had the sublime qualities of Yan [Shu] and Min [Ziqian].” Among the images

adorning the Wu family shrine are those of Yan Shu and Min Ziqian. See Rong

Notes to Page 67

221

Geng, Han Wu Liang ci huaxianglu (Beijing: Yanjing daxue kaogu xueshe, 1936),

2.4b–5a; and Liu Xingzhen et al., Han Dynasty Stone Reliefs (Beijing: Foreign Lan-

guages Press, 1991), 4–5.

75. For a convenient breakdown of the iconographical content of Han

tombs, see Xia, “Hanmu bihua, huaxiangshi ticai neirong shitan,” 70–74.

76. Anneliese Gutkind Bulling, “The Eastern Han Tomb at Ho-lin-ko-erh

(Holingol),” Archives of Asian Art 31 (1977–1978): 89–91.

77. A wooden tablet found in his tomb states that the tomb lord’s former sub-

ordinate, Tian Hong, who was now the aide to the [governor] of Chaoxian, respect-

fully sent a clerk to offer in sacri¤ce three bolts of silk. This indicates that the tomb

lord must have been a local of¤cial of some import. See Rakurô Saikyô-tsuka, 12, 58. 78. Rong, Han Wu Liang ci huaxianglu, 5a–6b. A brief description of Wu

Liang, Wu Rong, Wu Kaiming, and Wu Ban can also be found in Liu Xingzhen et

al., Han Dynasty Stone Reliefs, 4–5.

79. See Li Yinde, “Xuzhou Han huaxiangshimu muzhu shenfen kao,”

Zhongyuan Wenwu 2 (1993): 36–39. Katô has a convenient table that, among

other things, lists the of¤ces held by the tomb owners of thirteen tombs deco-

rated with pictorial stones. See Katô Naoko, “Hirakareta Kanbo: Kôren to ‘kôshi’

tachi no senraku,” Bijutsushi kenkyû 35 (1997): 67–86.

80. See Bulling, “The Eastern Han Tomb,” 87–88; Jean M. James, A Guide to

the Tomb and Shrine Art of the Han Dynasty 206 B.C –A.D. 220 (Lewiston: The

Edwin Mellen Press, 1996), 132; Lydia duPont Thompson, “The Yi’nan Tomb:

Narrative and Ritual in Pictorial Art of the Eastern Han (25–220 C.E.),” Ph.D. dis-

sertation, New York University, 1998, 124.

81. Katô, “Hirakareta Kanbo,” 70.

82. Ibid., 67.

83. Thompson, “The Yi’nan Tomb,” 125–129.

84. Anhuisheng wenwu kaogu yanjiusuo and Ma’anshanshi wenhua ju, “An-

hui Ma’anshan Dong Wu Zhu Ran mu fajue jianbao,” Wenwu 3 (1986): 12. For

information on the plate with the Bo Yu story, see 4–5.

85. Shanxisheng Datongshi bowuguan and Shanxisheng wenwu gongzuo

weiyuanhui, “Shanxi Datong shijiazhai Beiwei Sima Jinlong mu,” Wenwu 3

(1972): 27. Lucy Lim has conveniently translated the biographies of Jinlong and

his father in “The Northern Wei Tomb of Ssu-ma Chin-lung and Early Chinese

Figure Painting,” Ph.D. dissertation, New York University, 1990, 178–188.

86. 1) The stone sarcophagus now found in the Nelson Atkins Museum is

believed to have belonged to either Qin Hong (d. 526) or Wang Yue (d. 524). The

former reached the position of governor of Dongyuan while the latter concur-

rently held the powerful of¤ces of the general who paci¤es the West and regional

inspector of the Qin and Luo regions. See Gong Dazhong, “Mang Luo Beiwei


222

xiaozi huaxiang shiguan kaoshi,” Zhongyuan wenwu, 26.3 (1983): 52–53. 2) Ning

Mao (d. 501), whose funerary shrine can be found in the Boston Museum of Fine

Arts, was a recorder of the pottery of¤ce and a Huangye general. Although these

were not the loftiest of¤ces, he married into a famous Han Chinese eminent clan.

See Guo Jianbang, Beiwei Ning Mao shishi xiankehua (Beijing: Renmin meishu,

1987), 37–38. 3) Yuan Mi (d. 523), the reputed owner of the stone cof¤n now

housed in the Minneapolis Institute of the Arts, was an imperial prince who

reached the positions of the general who paci¤es the North (rank 3a) and re-

gional inspector of Yuzhou (rank 3a). Nevertheless, as Eugene Wang has pointed

out, in life Yuan was anything but ¤lial: he was impeached for listening to music

and carousing during his mother’s funeral. For his biography, see Wei shu,

21a.543–544. Cited in Eugene Wang, “Cof¤ns and Confucianism—The Northern

Wei Sarcophagus in The Minneapolis Institute of Arts,” Orientations 30.6 (1999):

58. 4) Kuang Sengan (d. 524), owner of a stone bed now held in the Kubosô Mu-

seum, reached the position of general of the palace (rank 8). See Katô Naoko, “Gi

Shin Nanbokuchô ni okeru kôshidento ni tsuite,” in Tôyô bijutsushi ronsô, ed.

Yoshimura Rei hakushi kokinen gai (Tokyo: Yuzankaku, 1999), 119.

87. The identity of the tomb owner buried in the lacquered cof¤n remains

unknown. Since 1) the characters in the ¤lial piety scenes painted on the cof¤n all

wear Särbi clothing; 2) the cof¤n is of Särbi style, i.e., it is wide at the top and nar-

row at the bottom; and 3) the tomb lord is rendered in Inner Asian garb, Chinese

archaeologists tend to believe that the tomb lord was of Särbi descent. For this ar-

gument, see in particular Sun Ji, “Guyuan Beiwei qiguanhua yanjiu,” Wenwu 9

(1989): 38–44. Nevertheless, Karetzky and Soper think the tomb’s steep ramp,

cof¤n design, and style of bronze grave goods betray strong Chinese in¶uence

and believe the tomb belongs to a disgraced Chinese noble named Li Shun (d.

442), who was reburied with honors between 467–470. Li was one of the few

non-imperial family members to gain the title of “king” during the Northern Wei.

See Patricia Karetzky and Alexander Soper, “A Northern Wei Painted Cof¤n,” Ar-

tibus Asiae 51 (1991): 5–7; and Alexander Soper, “Whose Body?” Asiatische Stu-

dien/Études Asitiques 44.2 (1990): 205–216.

88. There is no question that the Northern Wei government championed

¤lial piety as a cardinal value, as evidenced by the fact that the Classic of Filial Piety

was one of the few Chinese works translated into the Särbi language. For a discus-

sion on the Northern Wei advocacy of ¤lial piety, see Kang Le, Cong xijiao dao nan-

jiao (Xinzhuang: Daohe chubanshe, 1995), 229–280.

89. For a detailed discussion of this object and its stories, as well as a repro-

duction of Qibi Ming’s tomb inscription, see Kuroda, Kôshiden no kenkyû, 217–

251. For the archaeological report of his tomb, see Jie Feng and Ma Xiandeng,

“Tang Qibi Ming mu fajue ji,” Wenbo 5 (1998): 11–15.


223

90. For photographs of this artifact, see Kuroda, Kôshiden no kenkyû, dust

jacket and plates 1–8.

91. Annette L. Juliano, Teng-Hsien: An Important Six Dynasties Tomb (Ascona,

Switzerland: Artibus Asiae publishers, 1980), 9–10, plates 71 and 74.

92. Peter Brown, “The Saint as Exemplar in Late Anitquity,” Representations

1.2 (1983): 1–25.

93. Yen, Family Instructions for the Yen Clan, 46; Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 7,

22. Also see Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 1.36; Liu, Shih-shuo Hsin-yu, 18. For the impor-

tance of model emulation as a form of learning and legitimization in classical

times, see William Savage, “Archetypes, Model Emulation, and the Confucian

Gentleman,” Early China 17 (1992): 1–26.

94. Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 8.34; Liu, Shih-shuo Hsin-yu, 222.

95. For this sentiment, see Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 8, 26.

96. Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 8, 27; Yen, Family Instructions for the Yen Clan, 59.

97. Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 1.31; Liu, Shih-shuo Hsin-yu, 16.

98. E.g., after observing the moral caliber of Guo Yi a number of times, Yang

Hu, who began by comparing Guo to himself, ¤nally concluded that Guo was an

equal to Yan Hui, Confucius’ greatest disciple. In other words, Yang considered

Guo to be so commendable that he had no way to measure his quality except to

compare him to a famous paragon. See Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 8.9.

99. Zhang Ba was so ¤lial that his village called him “Zhang Zengzi” (Hou

Han shu, 36.1241). Some of Huang Xian’s contemporaries thought he was a rein-

carnation of Yan Hui (Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 1.2). Teng Tangong was known as

Teng Zengzi because of his unsurpassed ¤lial piety (Liang shu, 47.648).

100. Tian Yu asked to be buried next to Ximen Bao to acquire some of his

goodness (Sanguo zhi, 26.729), while Liang Hong wanted to be buried next to Yao

Li’s tomb so that they could communicate with each other (Hou Han shu, 83.2768).

101. Hou Han shu, 64.2124.

102. Audrey Spiro, Contemplating the Ancients: Aesthetic and Social Issues in

Early Chinese Portraiture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 135–

136, 172–177.

103. Jin shu, 49.1374.

104. So serious in fact that before doing so, one had to wear proper clothing

and have a respectful attitude. See Sanguo zhi, 21.603.

105. Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 2.72.

106. Jin shu, 80.2103. The Shishuo xinyu relates the same story, but Huizhi is

not explicitly condemned for his judgment (Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 9.80; Mather,

Tales of the World, 270).

107. Sanguo zhi, 10.312; cited in Yuhazu Kazuyori, “Chô Ki Sanfu ketsuroku

ni tsuite,” Kyûko 12 (1988): 40.


224

108. Bo Qi and Shu Qi are of course the famous recluses who chose to starve

to death rather than eat the food of the usurping Zhou government.

109. Hoping to draw attention to the wastefulness and uselessness of extrava-

gant burials, Yang Wangsun asked his son to bury him naked and without a cof¤n.

110. Sui shu, 33.981–982.

111. Qian Mu, “Lüelun Weijin Nanbeichao xueshu wenhua yu dangshi

mendi zhi guanxi,” Xinya xuebao 5.2 (1963): 30–31; and Lu, Wei-Jin shixue de si-

xiang yu shehui jichu, 84–89.


113. Ibid., 10.276.

114. E.g., he states that “those whose studies are not extensive and whose ex-

amination of affairs is not even, whenever they write or edit a work, they often

make use of extraordinary hearsay. [Hence] that which they create is unreliable

and it is therefore dif¤cult to understand what is true (Shitong tongshi, 17.480).”

115. Kôshiden chûkai, 17.

116. Shitong tongshi, 18.516–517. Liu also accuses Ji Kang of doing the same

thing in his Shengxian Gaoshi zhuan (Shitong tongshi, 18.522–523). Elsewhere, he

states that Ji Kang was fond of collecting the parables of the Seven Countries (War-

ring States period) from which he would fashion biographies (Shitong tongshi,

5.116).

117. Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, 8.321.


119. Liang shu, 29.430. For a similar sentiment, see Zhou shu, by Linghu

Defen (583–666), Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 34.599.

120. For kangkai, see Zhongwen da cidian (Taipei: Zhongguo wenhua daxue

chubanbu, 1985), no. 11347; for kairan, see no. 11405.

121. Wen xuan, 43.601. Both Xiang Zhang and Tai Tong have biographies in

Gaoshi zhuan, by Huangfu Mi. Sibu beiyao ed. (Taipei: Taiwan Zhonghua, 1987),

2.12b & 3.3b, respectively.

122. Lidai minghua ji, by Zhang Yanyuan (¶. AD 847) (Beijing: Jinghua,

2000), 10; translation is from Susan Bush and Hsio-yen Shih, Early Chinese Texts

on Painting (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1985), 26.


124. Jin shu, 82.2140; this passage also appears in the preface to Biqiuni zhuan.

See Shih Pao-ch’ang, Lives of Nuns: Biographies of Chinese Buddhist Nuns from the

Fourth to Sixth Centuries, trans. Kathryn Ann Tsai (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i

Press, 1994), 15. Yu Pu himself was the author of a work on worthy men called

Jiangbiao zhuan.

125. For the text of Shen’s refusal to write Gaoshi zhuan, see Yiwen leiju,

37.665. Cited in Alan J. Berkowitz, “Patterns of Reclusion in Early and Early Me-


225

dieval China: A Study of Reclusion in China and Its Portrayal,” Ph.D. disserta-

tion, University of Washington, 1989, 336–337.

126. This is ironic, of course, since he had a strained relationship with his

father. See Robert Joe Cutter, “The Incident at the Gate: Cao Zhi, the Succession,

and Literary Fame,” T’oung Pao 71 (1985): 228–240; and Howard L. Goodman,

Ts’ao P’i Transcendent: The Political Culture of Dynasty-Founding in China at the End

of the Han (Seattle: Scripta Serica, 1998), 47–50.

127. Nan shi, 73.1806.

128. Interestingly, Shi Jueshou’s biography appears in Nan shi (ca. AD 629),

but not in Song shu (AD 488). One could speculate that Shi Jueshou’s fame as a

¤lial son became known only through the circulation of his work, which was not

yet well known when Shen Yue compiled Song shu.

129. Liang shu, 47.654.

130. Nan shi, 73.1822.

131. Jin shu, 88.2278; and Sanguo zhi, 11.348. The same story is told in Nan

Qi shu (54.929), but this time it features Gu Huan. For similar stories, see chapter

616 of Taiping yulan. Xiao Yi’s Xiaode zhuan featured a similar tale about Zhang

Kai (Taiping yulan, 616.7b).

132. Gu Xiaozi zhuan, 36.

133. Jinlouzi, 1.14b. This anecdote concerning Xiao Yan’s inability to read

through a Xiaozi zhuan due to his extraordinary grief comes from Xiao Yan’s

“Xiaosi fu.” See Liang Wudi Xiao Yan ji zhuzi suoyin, 2.1.

134. Jinlouzi, 2.8b. He probably asked that these works be put in his tomb for

the same reason that Huangfu Mi requested a Classic of Filial Piety be put in his

own tomb: “to show that I have not forgotten the way of ¤lial piety (Jin shu,

51.1418).”

4. Filial Miracles and the Survival of Correlative Confucianism1. The Analects, 7.21.

2. The 186 tales are derived from Guxiao huizhuan, Gu Xiaozi zhuan, and the

forty-¤ve ¤lial piety tales from the Yômei and Funabashi Xiaozi zhuan.

3. Yiwen leiju, 91.1579.

4. See Mark Csikszentmihalyi, “Fivefold Virtue: Reformulating Mencian

Moral Psychology in Han Dynasty China,” Religion 28 (1998): 77–89; Sarah A.

Queen, From Chronicle to Canon: The Hermeneutics of the Spring and Autumn, Ac-

cording to Tung Chung-shu (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 206–

226; Gary Arbuckle, “Five Divine Lords or One,” Journal of the American Oriental

Society 113.2 (1993): 277–281; and Hsiao Kung-chüan, A History of Chinese Polit-

ical Thought, trans. F. W. Mote (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1978),

469–530.


226

5. I prefer to avoid the term “Han Confucianism” since by rights it should in-

clude not only the ideas of men who combined Confucian ethics with yin-yang/

wuxing cosmological theories, but also their contemporary critics, such as Wang

Chong, who attacked this marriage of ideas. Thus I prefer to coin the term “Cor-

relative Confucianism,” which designates the strand of Confucianism emphasiz-

ing that heaven, earth, and people were mutually interlinked and dependent on

each other.

6. Fung Yu-lan, A History of Chinese Philosophy, 2 vols. (Princeton, N.J.: Prince-

ton University Press, 1983), 2:30; Chunqiu fanlu zhuzi suoyin, by Dong Zhongshu

(ca. 179–104), ed. D. C. Lau (Taipei: Commercial Press, 1994), 13.2.

7. For a general discussion of the concept of resonance, see Charles Le Blanc,

Huai-nan zi: Philosophical Synthesis in Early Han Thought (Hong Kong: Hong Kong

University Press, 1985), 191–210; and John B. Henderson, The Development and

Decline of Chinese Cosmology (New York: Columbia University Press, 1984), 20–28.

8. Chunqiu fanlu zhuzi suoyin, 11.1; Fung, History of Chinese Philosophy, 2:32.

9. Chunqiu fanlu zhuzi suoyin, 10.1; Wing-tsit Chan, A Source Book in Chinese

Philosophy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1963), 273–278.

10. Translation is from Queen, From Chronicle to Canon, 216; Han shu,

56.2498.

11. This summary of the history of Correlative Confucianism is based on

Chen Ch’i-yün, Hsün Yüeh and the Mind of Late Han China (Princeton, N.J.: Prince-

ton University Press, 1980) 14–37; and Chen, “Confucian, Legalist, Taoist

Thought in Later Han,” 767–807; Paul Demiéville, “Philosophy and Religion

from Han to Sui,” Cambridge History of China, 808–872; and Hsiao, History of Chi-

nese Political Thought, 469–530, 602–667.

12. Shi ji, 1.48–49; and Mengzi, 5A.2.

13. Interestingly, the present Lienü zhuan, which Zeng Gong (1019–1083)

edited, lacks this element of Shun being taught the magical techniques of birds

and dragons to affect his escape. For the pruned passages about these techniques,

see Lienü zhuan jiaozhu, ed. Liang Duan. Sibu beiyao ed. (Taipei: Taiwan Com-

mercial Press, 1983), 1.1a–b. The late ¤fth-century Guyuan lacquered cof¤n de-

picts the use of these techniques. See Guyuan Beiweimu qiguan hua, 11.

14. Shitong tongshi, 20.572. Masters of the occult, or as put more simply by

Ngo, “magicians” (fangshi), were men from the northeast who specialized in lon-

gevity techniques, spirit communications, medicine, and divination. For more in-

formation on these practionners, see Ngo Van Xuyet, Divination Magie et Politique

dans la Chine Ancienne (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1976); and Ken-

neth J. DeWoskin, trans., Doctors, Diviners, and Magicians of Ancient China: Biogra-

phies of Fang-shih (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983).



227

16. When the ¤lial woman is condemned to death, the account tells us Yu

Dingguo knew that someone who was renowned for ¤lially serving her mother-

in-law for ten years could not commit such a murder, so he vigorously protested

the judgment and resigned when the prefect would not listen to him. When the

new prefect arrived and wondered why the prefecture was experiencing drought,

Yu told him that it was because a ¤lial woman was unjustly executed. The prefect

thereupon sacri¤ced to the ¤lial wife.

17. Soushen ji, 11.290; Fayuan zhulin, 49.362.

18. Lunheng zhuzi suoyin, 56, 250; Wang Ch’ung, Lun-heng, 1:476. Er Zi-

ming’s story is retold in the Hou Han shu chapter on the ¤lial and righteous, but

that text states that his surname is Menger. See Hou Han shu, 39.1300.

19. Lunheng zhuzi suoyin, 19, 73; Wang Ch’ung, Lun-heng, 2:189–190.

20. Kuroda thinks it is possible that Wang took this account from a Xiaozi

zhuan. See Kuroda Akira, “Sosan zeigo—Kôshidenzu to Kôshiden,” in Setsuwa

ronshû daijûsanshû: Chûgoku to Nihon no setsuwa I, ed. Setsuwa setsuwabungaku

kai (Osaka: Seibundô, 2003), 218.

21. Lunheng zhuzi suoyin, 16, 48.

22. Rather than ¤lial piety, this tale concerns austere burials (bozang). By

plowing and seeding the ground over Yao and Shun’s tombs, the animals con-

cealed that they were buried there, thus saving the tombs from being robbed.

Nevertheless, over time, the motif of elephants and birds working on Shun’s be-

half became tied to his ¤liality. In fact, the standard pictorial representation of

Shun in The Twenty-four Filial Exemplars genre features elephants and birds plow-

ing and sowing the ¤elds of a living Shun. However, I have not found this motif

in any of the early medieval or Tang renderings of the Shun story.

23. Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 16.42.

24. See the accounts of Jiang Shi (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 17.23), Li

Shan (17.25), and Ying Shun (19.12).

25. See Jack L. Dull, “A Historical Introduction to the Apocryphal (Ch’an-

wei) Texts of the Han Dynasty,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Washington,

1966, 186–217; Lu Zongli, “Heaven’s Mandate and Man’s Destiny in Early Medi-

eval China: The Role of Prophecy in Politics,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of

Wisconsin, 1995, 20–23; and Itano Chôhachi, “The t’u-ch’en Prophetic Books and

the Establishment of Confucianism,” Memoirs of the Research Department of the Toyo

Bunko, part 2, 36 (1978): 85–107.

26. See Dull, “Historical Introduction,” 217–230; and Itano, “The t’u-ch’en

Prophetic Books,” 91–96.

27. A good indication of this is that many Eastern Han literati studied the

apocrypha. See Jiang Qingyi, Weixue yuanliu xingfei kao; reprint (Tokyo: Kenbun,

1979), 3.4b–22b.


228

28. Dull, “Historical Introduction,” 264–265.

29. See Carl Leban, “Managing Heaven’s Mandate,” in Ancient China, ed.

David T. Roy and Tsuen-hsuin Tsien (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press,

1978), 315–342; Howard Goodman, Ts’ao P’i Transcendent: The Political Culture of

Dynasty-Founding in China at the End of the Han (Seattle: Scripta Serica, 1998); and

Keith N. Knapp, “Heaven and Death according to Huangfu Mi, a Third-century

Confucian,” Early Medieval China 6 (2000): 1–31.

30. Jin shu, 88.2273.

31. See, e.g., Xiao Yi’s preface to his Xiaode zhuan (Yiwen leiju, 20.375), and

the prefaces to the Yômei and Funabashi Xiaozi zhuan (Kôshiden chûkai, 17–19).

32. On this phenomenon, see Sun Xiao, “Handai ‘xiao’ de guannian de bian-

hua,” Kongzi yanjiu 11.3 (1988): 95–102; Zhao Keyao, “Lun Handai de yi xiao zhi

tianxia,” Fudan xuebao (Shehui kexue ban) 3 (1992): 80–86; Ochi Shigeaki, “Shin

jidai no kô,” in his Sengoku Shin Kan shi kenkyû 1 (Fukuoka: Chûgoku shoten, 1989),

323–350; Yang Aiguo, “Handai de zhongxiao guannian jiqi dui hanhua yishu de

yingxiang,” Zhongyuan wenwu 2 (1993): 61–66; Itano, “Jukyô no seiritsu,” 333–366.

33. Katrina C. D. McLeod and Robin D. S. Yates, “Forms of Ch’in Law,” Har-

vard Journal of Asiatic Studies 41.1 (1981): 148–152.

34. Itano, “Jukyô no seiritsu,” 337–340; and Itano, Jukyô seiritsushi no kenkyû

(Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1995), 51–66.

35. Watanabe Shinichirô, “Kôkyô no kokkaron: Kôkyô to Kan ôchô,” in

Chûgoku kizokusei shakai no kenkyû, ed. Kawakatsu Yoshio and Tonami Mamoru

(Kyoto: Kyoto daigaku jinbun kagaku kenkyusho, 1987), 431–437.

36. For the dating of The Classic of Filial Piety, see William G. Boltz, “Hsiao

Ching,” in Early Chinese Texts, ed. Michael Loewe (Berkeley: The Society for the

Study of Early China, 1993), 142–144; Itano, Jukyô seiritsushi no kenkyû, 1–50;

Watanabe Shinichirô, “Kôkyô no seiritsu to sono haikei,” Shirin 69.1 (1986): 53–

86; Chen Tiefan, Xiaojingxue yuanliu (Taipei: Guoli bianyiguan, 1986), 41–60;

and Ikezawa Masaru, “The Philosophy of Filiality in Ancient China,” Ph.D. dis-

sertation, University of British Columbia, 1994, 117–146, 198–244.

37. Ikezawa, “Philosophy of Filiality,” 152.

38. In making this translation, I have consulted that of James Legge, trans.,

The Sacred Books of China: The Texts of Confucianism, Part 1: The Hsiao King (Delhi:

Motilal Banarsidass, 1899), 485. Signi¤cantly, these two passages that attest to

the cosmological signi¤cance of ¤lial piety are quoted in the prefaces to a number

of “Biographies of the Filial”: see Sui shu, 72.1661; and Wei shu, 86.1881.

39. Chen Tiefan, Xiaojing Zhengzhu jiaozheng (Taipei: Guoli bianyiguan,

1987), 112–117.

40. Weishu jicheng, ed. Yasui Kôzan and Nakamura Shôhachi; reprint, 3 vols.

(Shijiazhuang: Hebei renmin, 1994), 2:1009, 1059. Xiao jing yuanshenqi likewise


229

tells us, “Kongzi made the Xiao jing and hence made his seventy-two disciples face

the North Star and prostrate themselves” (Weishu jicheng, 2:993).

41. Weishu jicheng, 1:51–52. Yasui and Nakamura have recovered the titles of

thirty-two apocrypha that were attached to the Xiao jing and thirty-seven titles

that were attached to the Chunqiu.

42. See Mark Csikszentmihalyi, “Confucius and the Analects in the Han,” in

Confucius and the Analects: New Essays, ed. Bryan W. Van Norden (Oxford: Oxford

University Press, 2002), 134–162; Wang Bugui, Shenmi wenhua (Beijing: Zhongguo

shehuikexue, 1993), 147–148.

43. Weishu jicheng, 2:1007, 1015. For early medieval Chinese, the polestar

was important because it was visible during all seasons of the year. Due to its im-

mobility, it was viewed as the “August Emperor of Heaven” (Tianhuang dadi) that

governed all the heavenly spirits. See Edward H. Schafer, Pacing the Void: T’ang Ap-

proaches to the Stars (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977), 44–46.

44. Weishu jicheng, 2:1001–1002.

45. Ibid., 2:971. Historical sources ¤rst mention this text in AD 25.

46. Ibid., 2:976, 998, 1007, 1008. For the connection between these omens

and dynastic legitimation, see Tizianna Lippiello, Auspicious Omens and Miracles

in Ancient China: Han, Three Kingdoms and Six Dynasties (Sankt Augustin, Ger-

many: Steyler Verl., 2001), 40–50, 122–149.

47. Weishu jicheng, 2:1017.

48. Ibid., 2:971, 998.

49. Ibid., 2:997–998.

50. Sanguo zhi, 48.1169.51. Weishu jicheng, 2:971. Although it is not clear what story he is referring to

when Song says that Zengzi was able to bring forth rare things in his region, it is

clear that he is citing a speci¤c story, just as the line about Zengzi’s being affected

by his mother at a thousand li is referring to the tale in which his mother bites her

¤nger to summon him.

52. Taiping yulan, 411.7b, 644.6a.

53. Ibid., 389.5b, 411.6a. Huayang guozhi and Shuijing zhu say that his name

is Wei Xiang. See Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 10b.780; and Zheng Dekun, Shuijing

zhu gushi chao, 178.

54. Shuijing zhushu, 3:2961. In a story with a similar theme, Jiang Shi’s

mother also loved water drawn from the middle of a river. Jiang and his wife

made so many sacri¤ces to furnish her with it that a spring, with water tasting the

same as that from a river, gushed forth next to their home (Taiping yulan, 411.1a-

b). Note that the apocrypha mentioned that sweet springs would appear from the

sincere practice of ¤lial piety.

55. For this kind of tale, see the accounts of Wen Rang (Taiping yulan,


230

411.6a), Zong Cheng (Taiping yulan, 37.6b, 411.7a), Li Tao (Yiwen leiju,

92.1592), and Yan Wu (Yiwen leiju, 92.1592; Kôshiden chûkai, 165–166).

56. Taiping guangji, 292.614. In another version of the tale, Yang’s newfound

wealth enables him to get a pedigreed bride. This turn of events surprises the em-

peror, who then gives him an of¤cial appointment. See Soushen ji no. 285; and

Shuijing zhushu, 2:1234–1235. These two texts’ version is particularly interesting

because it gives us a sense of how many early medieval men moved into the top

echelons of Chinese society: by means of their wealth, they procured a bride from

a prominent family, then used this prestigious marriage to come to the emperor’s

attention. The ¤gure of Yang Gong was known by a number of names, such as

Yang Yong, Yang Weng, and Yang Boyong. In fact, Kuroda has discovered twenty

different variants of his name. Nevertheless, as Kuroda points out, the earliest ci-

tations of the story at the Wu Liang shrine and in Ge Hong’s (284–363) Baopuzi

both call him Yang Gong. Kuroda has suggested that this confusion of names re-

sulted from the con¶ation of Yang Gong with other people named Yang. See

Kuroda Akira, “Kôshidenzu to Kôshiden—Yô Kô zeigo,” in Kôshiden chûkai.

57. Taiping yulan, 411.7b–8a.

58. Ibid., 411.8b–9a, 811.8b–9a; Yiwen leiju, 83.1424; Fayuan zhulin,

49.361; and Soushen ji no. 283.

59. Nan Qi shu, 55.960.

60. So little, in fact, that Wu Hung does not even think it is a ¤lial piety story

(Wu Hung, The Wu Liang Shrine, 144, 168, 182). A fragment from Soushen ji

merely tells us that he was extremely ¤lial. Nevertheless, the versions of the story

found in Xiaozi zhuan have much more to say about his ¤lial behavior. Xiao Yi’s

Xiaode zhuan reads, “While young, Gong cultivated ¤liality and respectfulness,

which reached those both far and near. After his parents died and the rites of burial

were completed, for a long time he yearned for them and his thoughts often dwelt

on them. He could not control his heart-mind. He thereupon sold his land and

home, and moved north to a place that neither had water or broth” (Taiping

guangji, 292.614). This text obviously implies that furnishing strangers with water

was a therapy by which Yang tried to control the grief he felt for his dead parents.

Yômei Xiaozi zhuan has a similar description of his ¤liality (Kôshiden chûkai, 242).

61. For tales with a similar structure and message, see Kuai Shen (Soushen ji

no. 451; and Gu Xiaozi zhuan, 30) and Guo Wen (Taiping yulan, 892.1b; and Jin

shu, 94.2440).

62. For Xiaozi zhuan that include Yang Gong’s tale, see note 60 above. The

compiler of the Jin shu “Biographies of the Filial” also includes Yang Gong’s re-

ward among his list of ¤lial miracles. See Jin shu, 88.2273.

63. Pictorial representations of this tale can be found on the following arti-

facts: the Nelson-Atkins Northern Wei sarcophagus, the C. T. Loo Northern Wei


231

sarcophagus, the Nelson-Atkins Northern Qi stone bed, and the Guyuan lac-

quered cof¤n. See Kuroda, Kôshiden no kenkyû, 200–207.

64. The late fourth-century Guangshiyin yingyanji, the earliest known collec-

tion of Buddhist miracle tales, has the story of Zhu Changshu (Jin dynasty), a de-

vout Buddhist who was particularly fond of the Guanyin jing. Once, when a ¤re

threatened his home, he and his family members single-mindedly intoned this

sutra. At the last minute, the ¤re suddenly changed direction. Everyone believed

that this miracle was brought on by a response from the spirits. See Guanshiyin

yingyanji (sanzhong), ed. Sun Changwu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1994), 2. Except

for the appeal to the Guanyin jing, this part of the story is doubtlessly modeled after

either the ¤lial miracle of Gu Chu or Cai Shun: a ¤re miraculously bypasses a

man’s house due to his exemplary sincerity. This Buddhist account even has the

standard line that usually ends a ¤lial miracle tale: “At that time everyone believed

that it [the miracle] was caused by a response from the spirits.” This seems to be a

clear case where Chinese Buddhists borrowed a ¤lial miracle story and adapted it

to their own needs.

65. Yiwen leiju, 8.151; and Taiping yulan, 60.3b, 186. Although I have not

found an earlier version of this miracle, the third-century Fuzi credits Guan Ning

with similar ones. See Sanguo zhi, 11.358.

66. Guan’s ¤lial acts include refusing to receive any funerary gifts and using

all of his wealth to ¤nance his father’s funeral (Sanguo zhi, 11.354). As for his

mother, she died when Guan was small, so he did not even know what she

looked like. Yet he would always hold a special feast in her memory and weep all

the while (Sanguo zhi, 11.358).

67. Taiping yulan, 411.7a–b.

68. Zhao Xiao (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 17.23; and Hou Han shu,

39.1299). For other tales with this same theme of bandits or rebels being de-

fanged by ¤lial piety, see Chunyu Gong (Hou Han shu, 39.1301), Wang Lin

(Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 16.43; and Hou Han shu, 39.1300), Zhao Zi (Dong-

guan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 21.13; Hou Han shu, 39.1313), Jiang Gong (Taiping yulan,

420.7a–b), and Pan Zong (Taiping yulan, 411.3a; and Song shu, 91.2248).

69. A bound retainer named Dou Fu was captured by his master’s enemy. Dou,

along with six or seven of his colleagues, was about to be executed. A monk told Dou

that if he sincerely gave his heart to Guanyin, he would receive a miraculous re-

sponse (ganying). For three days Dou single-mindedly concentrated on the bodhi-

sattva; his chains suddenly fell away from his body. But he would not leave and said

that although he was now free, his colleagues were not; hence he could not leave

without them. Guanyin’s tremendous power then freed all the rest (Guanshiyin ying-

yanji, 5–6). This tale bears an uncanny resemblance to that of Wei Tan (¶. 58–76),

who was captured by hungry bandits along with several tens of other people. Even


232

though a bandit secretly released him because of his digni¤ed and solemn de-

meanor, Wei refused to go and told the bandits, “There will probably be more than

enough of me to go around. The others will be like eating weeds, and will not mea-

sure up to eating me.” Wei impressed the bandits so much that they let everyone go

(Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 17.24; and Hou Han shu, 39.1300). Here again is a

case where the Buddhist compiler based his tale on a ¤lial miracle story, but read-

justed it to shed glory on Guanyin. What this borrowing suggests is that when Bud-

dhist writers were searching for vehicles to promote Buddhism, they found ¤lial

piety stories attractive because such stories were already familiar to their Chinese au-

dience, and they were so effective in highlighting the ef¤cacy of a supernatural entity.

70. Taiping yulan, 415.4a.

71. Shuijing zhushu, 3: 3336–3337.

72. Hou Han shu, 39.1302.

73. Kôshiden chûkai, 185–186. This account ¤rst appears in Dongguan Han ji

zhuzi suoyin (21.37), which describes how his stepmother tried to kill him while

he was asleep. However, according to this version, right when she was about to

stab him, Jiang got up to go to the toilet. Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin ends there;

hence in this version it is not clear whether nature’s call or heavenly intervention

saved Jiang’s life. For a story with the same motif but which features the more fa-

mous Wang Xiang, see Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 1.14.

74. Kôshiden chûkai, 186; Wu Hung translates this version in The Wu Liang

Shrine, 292.

75. Ningxia Guyuan bowuguan, Guyuan Beiweimu qiguan hua, 11. Similarly, a

poem attached to the end of a Shun account in a late Tang Twenty-four Filial Exem-

plars explicitly states that it was a heavenly miracle that allowed him to escape the

well: “Being ¤lial and obedient to one’s parents stimulates heaven. Shun cleaned

the well and found silver cash. His parents threw down a rock to crush Shun. Be-

cause of a heavenly response, he was able to tunnel into the well of his eastern

neighbor.” See Dunhuang bianwen, 2:901.

76. Dunhuang bianwen, 1:131–132.

77. For other examples, see Xiao Zhi (Yiwen leiju, 90.1571; and Taiping yulan,

917.8a), Xiao Guo (Yiwen leiju, 95.1649), and Ding Mi (Yiwen leiju, 91.1582).

78. Taiping yulan, 906.7b. For other examples, see Zhu Mi (Chuxue ji, 1.21;

and Taiping yulan, 13.3b), Pi Yan (Yiwen leiju, 92.1599), Xu Xian (Yiwen leiju,

92.1599), Shentu Fan (Hou Han shu jijie, ed. Wang Xianqian (19th cent.) [Beijing:

Zhonghua shuju, 1984], 53.9b), and Xia Fang (Yiwen leiju, 90.1556).

79. Shuijing zhushu, 3:2381–2382. For similar tales, see Tang Song (Taiping

yulan, 906.8a) and Du Ya (Gu Xiaozi zhuan, 8).

80. Although not famous for his ¤liality, the following account of the virtuous

Zheng Hong makes this point clearly. When Zheng was governor of Linhuai, he


233

went out on his spring tour. Two white deer followed his chariot. He thought this

was strange and asked his senior recorder whether deer were an inauspicious or

auspicious omen. He congratulated Zheng and said, “I have heard that the screens

of the Three Dukes’ covered chariots had deer painted on them. You will become

prime minister.” As expected, Zheng became the grand protector (Yiwen leiju,

95.1648).

81. Yiwen leiju, 92.1600. For similar examples, see Ding Mao (Yiwen leiju,

95.1648; and Taiping yulan, 906.8a) and Fang Chu (Yiwen leiju, 95.1650).

82. For other examples, see endnotes 89, 90, 91 below. For a list of auspi-

cious white animal omens, see Lippiello, Auspicious Omens, 135–139. Why were

white animals considered especially auspicious? One answer would be that they

were considered especially long-lived. The Baopuzi states that hares and deer have

life spans of a thousand years and that when they reach ¤ve hundred years of age

they become white (Yiwen leiju, 95.1648, 1650). Since the Shanhai jing states that

many of these white animals live in far-off countries, their auspiciousness could

also be related to their rarity. The Baopuzi states that the reason King Cheng of the

Zhou considered white pheasants to be auspicious was not because they were

auspicious in themselves, but because they came from such a faraway place, indi-

cating the great reach of his virtue (Taiping yulan, 917.8b).


84. A court debate identi¤ed the bird as a luan—a particularly auspicious

bird. See Yiwen leiju, 90.1560.

85. Ibid., 88.1515, 90.1560, 95.1650.

86. Taiping yulan, 411.1a; and Hou Han shu, 10a.407.

87. See the tale of Wu Shuhe (Yiwen leiju, 92.1592).

88. Weishu jicheng, 2:977–978.

89. Taiping yulan, 411.7a. This text actually reads tian chang, but I follow Mao

Panlin and Huang Renheng’s emendation of tiandi, which makes much better

sense. See Gu Xiaozi zhuan, 19; and Guxiao huizhuan, 2:18a, b.

90. Taiping yulan, 101; Dunhuang bianwen, 2:886–887; Fayuan zhulin,

49.362.

91. Taiping yulan, 411.7b–8a.

92. See note 52 above.

93. Jin shu, 88.2288.

94. According to one version of the story, after Yang Gong performs numer-

ous ¤lial acts, the heavenly deity (Tianshen) transforms himself into a student

who asks Yang why he does not cultivate crops to support himself. He thereupon

gives Yang several liters of seeds that become jade. See Taiping guangji, 292.614;

and Kôshiden chûkai, 242–243.

95. See Zhong Zhaopeng, Chenwei lunlüe (Shenyang: Liaoning jiaoyu, 1991),


234

189–193; and Hou Wailu, et al., Zhongguo sixiang tongshi, 5 vols. (Beijing: Ren-

min, 1957), 2:232–247.

96. A late Tang or Five Dynasties tale with this theme is that of Xiang Sheng’s

wife, who heaven strikes dead with a thunderbolt because she mixed excrement

with the food she fed her mother-in-law. The thunderbolt inscribed on her back

had the following words: “Xiang Sheng’s wife has committed [one of] the ¤ve

deadly sins; heaven thereby has used a thunderbolt to hit and kill her” (Dunhuang

bianwen, 2:909). Nevertheless, Wang Chong tells us that in his day (¤rst century

AD) there were already oral stories about people who were struck down by

heaven with thunderbolts because they fed someone impure food. Moreover,

these people would have words seared into their backs (Lunheng zhuzi suoyin,

23.89–90; Wang Ch’ung, Lun-Heng, 1:288–290). This being the case, there obvi-

ously could have been stories like that of Xiang Sheng’s wife circulating in early

medieval China, which were not incorporated into the literary record, or which

the texts they were recorded in did not survive over time. For a discussion of this

belief of thunderbolts as instruments of divine punishment, see Charles Ham-

mond, “Waiting for a Thunderbolt,” Asian Folklore Studies 51.1 (1992): 4–11.

97. See the appendix.

98. Queen, From Chronicle to Canon, 210–211.

99. Chunqiu fanlu zhuzi suoyin, 12.6, 15.5; and Fung, History of Chinese Philos-

ophy, 2:42–45. Sun Xiao makes this argument in “Handai ‘xiao’ de guannian de

bianhua,” 97–98.

100. This view of the relationship between parent and child ultimately came

from “Zhongxiao pian” of the Han Feizi. See Tanaka Masami, Ryôkan shisô no ken-

kyû (Tokyo: Kenbun shuppan, 1986), 121–137.

101. See Hsiao, History of Chinese Political Thought, 503–514; and Ch’en Ch’i-

yün, Hsün Yüeh and the Mind of Late Han China, 20–25. With this in mind, a num-

ber of Confucian advocates went so far as to advise emperors to abdicate the

throne and yield it to the most virtuous commoner—a suggestion that, unsurpris-

ingly, never met with imperial favor.

102. Soushen ji no. 285.

103. Taiping yulan, 411.7a; and Nan Qi shu, 55.958.

104. Dunhuang bianwen, 2:901.

105. For examples of this, see the Nelson Sarcophagus and the Datong lac-

quered screen.

106. During the Northern and Southern Dynasties period, nearly half of the

rulers died violently; from AD 220 to 589, the average reign length was 8.6 years,

whereas during the Han it was 15, the Tang 15, and the Song 17. See Dison

Hsueh-feng Poe, “348 Chinese Emperors—A Statistic-analytical Study of Imperial

Succession,” The Tsing Hua Journal of Chinese Studies 13.1–2 (1981): 69, 118.


235

107. Chennault has brilliantly shown the hardships that even the famous Xie

family experienced in maintaining over time its position at court: out of the ¤ve

branches of the family that had high-ranking members in the early Liu-Song dy-

nasty (420–479), only one continued to hold high positions straight through the

Liang. Her study also indicates that being a high of¤cial was extremely dangerous

during this period. See Cynthia L. Chennault, “Lofty Gates or Solitary Impoverish-

ment? Xie Family Members of the Southern Dynasties,” T’oung Pao 85 (1999): 254.

108. Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 13, 53. Yen Chih-t’ui, Family Instructions for

the Yen Clan: Yen-shih chia-hsün, trans. Teng Ssu-yü (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1968), 127.

109. Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 8, 25; Yen, Family Instructions for the Yen Clan,

54.

110. Kinney has indicated that the theme of precocious children became es-

pecially popular in Eastern Han literature because it championed this message of

merit over birth—despite their weakness and vulnerability, these children gain rec-

ognition because of their talent. Such tales also indicate that the divine esteems

virtue over re¤nement or wealth. Kinney further suggests that this theme was par-

ticularly popular in the Eastern Han due to an increased competition for of¤cial

employment. See Anne Behnke Kinney, “The Theme of the Precocious Child in

Early Chinese Literature,” T’oung Pao 81 (1995): 1–24.

111. Wei shu, 60.1338.

112. Ibid., 60.1340–1341.

113. Anna Seidel, “Imperial Treasures and Taoist Sacraments—Taoist Roots

in the Apocrypha,” in Tantric and Taoist Studies in Honour of R. A. Stein, vol. 2: Mé-

langes Chinois et Bouddhiques 21, ed. Michel Strickmann (Bruxelles: Institut Belge

des Hautes Études Chinoises, 1983), 291–371.

114. Yiwen leiju, 99.1715.

115. Lippiello, Auspicious Omens, 122–153.

116. Wu Hung, The Wu Liang Shrine, 96–107; and Powers, Art and Political

Expression in Early China, 224–278.

117. Lippiello, Auspicious Omens, 97. Curiously, though, in the case of the Wu

shrine, Lippiello believes that the illustrations of auspicious omens do not have

political content; instead, they merely signal the good times that the family en-

joyed, or their wishes of continued prosperity in the hereafter (76). Yet Lippiello

herself notes that the Wu family was wealthy, eminent, and had connections to the

imperial bureaucracy. Thus it would seem to mean that in this case, too, the aus-

picious omens grant political legitimacy to the Wu family.

118. Similarly, out of the 302 ¤lial piety stories summarized in Lin Tong’s

(?–1276) Xiao shi (Poems on Filiality), not one contains the appearance of an

auspicious omen.

119. Lu Zongli, “Heaven’s Mandate,” 25–158.


236

120. Ibid., 69–78, 251–254.

121. Taiping yulan, 411.3a; and Song shu, 91.2248

5. Reverent Caring1. For a discussion of xiao’s earliest meanings, see Keith N. Knapp, “The Ru

Reinterpretation of Xiao,” Early China 20 (1995): 197–204.

2. Concerning the hierarchical implications of the word jing, see ibid., 206,

note 40.

3. Alan Cole, Mothers and Sons in Chinese Buddhism (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford

University Press, 1998), 14–31.

4. Shimomi Takao, Kô to bôsei no mekanizumu (Tokyo: Kyûbun shupan,

1997), 95–129, 169–184; and Shimomi, Jukyô shakai to bosei (Tokyo: Kenbun

shuppan, 1994), 253–271.

5. The Yu pian thus provides one gloss of yang as “to prepare delicacies to re-

spectfully care for (gongyang) superiors (zunzhe).” See Yuanben Yupian canjuan

(Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1985), 84, 286.

6. For a de¤nition of gongyang in Buddhist usage, see William Edward Soothill

and Lewis Hodous, A Dictionary of Chinese Buddhist Terms (London: Kegan Paul,

Trench, Turbiner & Co., 1934), 249. Legge has noted that in Fa Xian’s (335–420)

account of traveling to India, gongyang is one of the most frequently used com-

pounds. See Fa Hsien, A Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms, trans. James Legge (New

York: Paragon Book Reprint Corp., 1965), 20, note 3.

7. Han Feizi zhuzi suoyin 32, 84.

8. See Taiping yulan, 811, 8b.

9. E.g., to earn Nie Zheng’s friendship, Yan Sui set out a feast for his mother

and presented her with a hundred pieces of gold. Nie refused the gift by saying,

“[Even though] I am a stranger here who works as a dog butcher, each morning

and evening I can get sweet and soft things with which to sustain (yang) my parent,

thus my parent’s reverent caring (gongyang) is complete. Hence I don’t dare accept

your gift” (Zhanguo ce zhuzi suoyin no. 385; Shi ji, 86.14). As Nie makes clear, no

matter how humble his occupation is, as long as he can provide his mother with

delicacies, he is ful¤lling the requirements of reverent caring.

10. Li ji zhu shu, in Shisanjing zhushu, 27.5b.

11. Lunheng zhuzi suoyin 85, 372.

12. The Han Feizi employs this compound three times. Among Western Han

texts, it appears in the Book of Rites once, the Xinxu once, Zhanguo ce once, Huai-

nanzi twice, Shi ji thrice, and the Lienü zhuan once.

13. Even in this case, it is somewhat different than later occurrences because

the ¤lial son, Yu, the sage emperor, deprives himself to feed his ancestors, rather

than his living parents. The Analects, 8.21.


237

14. Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhuzi suoyin, ed. Lau and Chen (Hong Kong: The

Commercial Press, 1995), B7.2.3 (Xuan Gong 2).

15. After vowing not to see his mother again until reaching the afterworld,

Duke Zhuang asked Ying Kaoshu why he did not eat the meat broth the duke had

just bestowed upon him. Ying replied that he wanted to take it to his mother,

with whom he shared all his food. This statement made Duke Zhuang realize the

callous nature of his vow. The story’s narrator thus praises Ying for transforming

the duke’s behavior, not for his ¤lial action of saving food for his mother. See

Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhuzi suoyin, B1.1.4 (Yin Gong 1).


17. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 8.1; Li Chi, 1:343–344.

18. One Western Han exception to this would be Yuan Ang’s account of Han

Wendi’s ¤liality. There, Yuan asserts that when Wendi’s mother was sick for three

years, his eyelids never closed, he never changed clothes, and he would always

¤rst taste his mother’s medicine. Thus his ¤liality surpassed that of even Zengzi.

See Shi ji huizhu kaozheng, 101.2738; and Han shu, 49.2269.

19. This of course ran counter to early Ru attitudes towards of¤ce holding,

which held that one should not hold of¤ce unless the Way prevailed or one could

serve a worthy ruler. See Robert Eno, The Confucian Creation of Heaven (Albany:

State University of New York Press, 1990), 43–52. I think this change indicates

the overwhelming importance of ¤lial piety in the Han.

20. See Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, 1.1, 1.17, 7.7; Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin,

3.5; Xinxu zhuzi suoyin, 5.30; Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 2.6; Hou Han shu,

39.1294, 81.2678; and Kongzi jiayu, Sibu kanyao ed. (Taipei: Shijie shuju), 1983,

2.17.

21. An example of this is Zilu, who said he would gladly exchange his

present exalted position and its lavish bene¤ts for the times he ate plain food and

carried heavy burdens on behalf of his parents. In other words, the rewards of

high of¤ce are not comparable to the satisfaction obtained in nurturing one’s liv-

ing parents. See Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 3.5 and Kongzi jiayu, 2.17.

22. Kongzi jiayu, 9.88.

23. Xu Fuguan, Lianghan sixiangshi, 3:39–42.

24. See Xinxu zhuzi suoyin, 8.14; Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, 10.13. The

Han Feizi also refers to this story (Han Feizi zhuzi suoyin 49, 147). For other stories

with this motif, see Zhuang Zhishan (Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, 1.21; Xinxu

zhuzi suoyin, 8.9) and Shen Ming (Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, 10.24; Shuo yuan

zhuzi suoyin, 4.14).

25. As Lindell notes, this type of story illustrates the Ru tenet that a sage

would rather choose death than act immorally. See Kristina Lindell, “Stories of

Suicide in Ancient China,” Acta Orientalia 35 (1973): 180.


238

26. The tale of Shen Sheng is an exception to this pattern of virtuous suicide.

Contriving to establish her own son as heir, Lady Liji convinced his father that

Shen tried to poison him. When someone told Shen that he should either ¶ee to

another kingdom or explain the situation to his father, he refused to do either. His

rationale was, “Without Lady Ji, my father cannot rest in comfort, cannot eat his

food with satisfaction. If I try to excuse myself, the blame will fall on Lady Li. My

father is an old man—I could never be happy with such a course of action.” See

Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhuzi suoyin, B5.4.6 (Duke Xi 4); the translation is from Burton

Watson, The Tso Chuan (New York: Columbia University Press, 1989), 23–24. In

sum, Shen sacri¤ced himself not to save his father’s life, but merely to save him

from embarrassment and to ensure his comfort. In a way, by trying to make sure

his father was happy and comfortable, he died in an effort to reverently care for his

father. This is perhaps why this tale was one of the few Warring States narratives

that early medieval authors incorporated into their Xiaozi zhuan. See Kuroda,

“Shin Sei zeigo—Kôshidenzu to Kôshiden,” Mikyô tozô 22 (2003): 17–31.

27. For an exception, see Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 5.3.

28. Ibid., 5.7, 5.14, 5.15.

29. Ibid., 5.6, 5.8, 5.12.

30. Han Feizi zhuzi suoyin 49, 147.

31. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 5.6.

32. Norman Kutcher, Mourning in Late Imperial China: Filial Piety and the State

(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 2–3.

33. Taiping yulan, 414.2a ; Chuxue ji, 17.421. For a similar tale, see that of Yin

Yun (Chuxue ji, 17.421; and Taiping yulan, 414.1b).

34. Song shu, 91.2257–2258; Taiping yulan, 413.8a; and Yiwen leiju, 20.371.

35. See Du Xiao (Chuxue ji, 17.422; Taiping yulan, 411.5b; and Yiwen leiju,

96.1673).

36. Taiping yulan, 862.2b. For a similar anecdote, see ibid., 413.7b–8a; and

Song shu, 93.2295.

37. Taiping yulan, 412.5b; and Jin shu, 88.2290.

38. Taiping yulan, 412.4a-4b; Chuxue ji, 17.420; and Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian,

8.320.

39. Unlike later versions of this story, none of its early versions has Wang

Xiang lying or sleeping on the ice. In each case, he is trying to physically break the

ice open. See Taiping yulan, 26.9b; and Chuxue ji, 3.60; Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 1.14;

Yiwen leiju, 9.179-180; and Jin shu, 33.989. According to another version, while

waiting on the shore to spot carp, day after day Wang braved a severe winter wind

(Beitang shuchao, 158.4a–b).

40. Taiping yulan, 411.1a–b; Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 17.22; Hou Han

shu, 84.2783; Huayang guozhi, 10b.755.


239

41. Jin shu, 88.2288.

42. See the accounts of Han Wendi (Yiwen leiju, 20.370), Fan Liao (Taiping

yulan, 412.4b), Cai Yong (Taiping yulan, 414.2b), Bao Ang (Taiping yulan,

414.2b), and Li Mi (Jin shu, 88.2274).

43. See the accounts of Xiahou Xin (Taiping yulan, 411.7a), Miao Fei (Taiping

yulan, 411.7b), Liu Lingzhe (Taiping yulan, 411.3b), and Xiao Ruiming (Taiping

yulan).

44. For some of the tasks that early medieval servants and slaves performed,

see C. Martin Wilbur, Slavery in China during the Former Han Dynasty (New York:

Klaus Reprint Co., 1968), 178–184, 382–392; and Wang Yi-t’ung, “Slaves and

Other Comparable Social Groups during the Northern Dynasties (386–618),”

Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 16 (1953): 331–344.

45. The earliest ¤lial piety story with this motif appears only in the Western

Han. According to the Shi ji, despite his own advanced age, Shi Jian, a high

of¤cial, returned home every ¤ve days from his post to wash his father’s under-

garments and chamber pot. See Shi ji, 103.5–6; and Han shu, 46.2195. For ¤lial

children who suck pus from their parent’s sores, see Liu Xia (Taiping yulan,

411.4b), Fan Liao (Chuxue ji, 17.421; and Soushen ji, 11.280), Wei Da (Taiping

yulan, 742.5b), and Cai Shun (Chuxue ji, 17.421). For ¤lial children who taste

their parent’s vomit, see Cai Shun (Chuxue ji, 17.421) and Gui Hao (Taiping

yulan, 743.4b). For a ¤lial son who tastes his mother’s feces, see Yu Qianlou

(Liang shu, 47.650-651).


47. As The Analects mentions, serving one’s parents what is dif¤cult is to con-

trol one’s countenance (The Analects, 2.8); the Book of Rites further states that due

to his profound love for his parents, a ¤lial child always has a pleasing counte-

nance (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 25.14).

48. Xu Gaosengzhuan, by Daoxuan, in Gaoseng zhuan heji (Shanghai: Shang-

hai guji, 1991), 24.307b. Cited in Cao Shibang, “Sengshi suozai Zhongguo

sengtu dui fumu shizun xingxiao de yi xie shilie,” in Wenshi yanjiu lunji, ed. Xu

Fuguan xiansheng jinian lunwenji bianji weiyuanhui (Taipei: Taiwan Xuesheng

shuju, 1986), 195–196.

49. Hou Han ji, 135. For a similar account, see Ji Shao in Taiping yulan,

412.5a.

50. The Analects, 3.12.

51. Hou Han shu, 54.1760. For a similar story featuring Wang Pou, see Jin

shu, 88.2278; and Sanguo zhi, 11.348.

52. Wang Sanqing, Dunhuang leishu, 1:214. The Han shu conversation, upon

which this account is based, says nothing about the emperor working the land to

provide the empress dowager with food. See Han shu, 49.2268.


240

53. Taiping yulan, 411.1a–b, 413.7a–b, and 414.2b. For other examples, see

Xing Qu (Taiping yulan, 411.6a; Kôshiden chûkai, 47), Ji Mai (Taiping yulan,

411.7b–8a), Shentu Xun (Taiping yulan, 413.7a), Li Du (Taiping yulan, 414.1a–b),

Xuan Yan (Taiping yulan, 414.2b), and Zhan Qin (Yiwen leiju, 97.1683).

54. For the appearance of wage laborers in China, see Watanabe, Chûgoku

kodai shakai ron, 22; for the appearance of slaves and bondsmen, see E. G. Pulley-

blank, “The Origins and Nature of Chattel Slavery in China,” Journal of the Eco-

nomic and Social History of the Orient 1 (1957–1958): 185–220.

55. Zhang Kai sold medicine (Hou Han shu, 36.1243), Cheng Jian polished

mirrors (Taiping yulan, 411.1b), Shentu Fan was a lacquer artisan (Hou Han shu,

53.1751), and Guo Yuanping became a carpenter and tomb builder (Song shu,

91.2244).

56. Cao Zhi ji zhuzi suoyin, 11.6.2; and Song shu, 22.627. For similar statements

about Jiang Ge, see Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, 8.321; and Hou Han shu, 39.1302.

57. For the low social status of hired laborers in Roman society, see M. I. Fin-

ley, The Ancient Economy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), 41–42,

65–67. Since they were not even considered part of society, slaves in China were

at the bottom of the social hierarchy. Yet as Finley points out in the case of Rome,

the uniform legal status of slaves masked the vast differences in wealth and posi-

tion among them. Hence due to their belonging to a wealthy household, some

slaves were far better off and more respected than their wage-laborer counterparts

(64–67). This held true for slaves in China as well. See Ch’u, Han Social Structure,

151–156.

58. See Scott Pearce, “Status, Labor, and Law: Special Service Households

under the Northern Dynasties,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 51.1 (1991):

115–116, 123–129, and Wang Yi-t’ung, “Slaves and Other Comparable Social

Groups,” 326.

59. Hou Han shu, 64.2099.

60. Yan Zhitui says that in the north, after a man who has remarried dies,

“sons slander their [stepmothers by calling them ‘concubines’; younger brothers

dismiss their elder [half] brothers as ‘hired laborers’ (yong).” See Yanshi jiaxun

zhuzi suoyin, 4, 6.

61. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 1.7, 33.10.

62. Renwu zhi, by Liu Shao (¶. 250). Sibu beiyao ed. (Taipei: Taiwan Zhong-

hua shuju, 1983), 2.12a; this translation has been modi¤ed from that of J. K.

Shryock, trans., The Study of Human Abilities: The Ren wu chih of Liu Shao (New

York: Kraus Reprint Corporation, 1966), 137.

63. In Lienü zhuan, Jing Jiang criticizes her son because he allows his friends to

wait on him as if he were their father or elder brother. She tells him this is not ap-

propriate behavior for someone who is young and whose position is low. He there-


241

upon corrects his behavior by associating only with men who are older and more

worthy than himself. When with them, he opens his lapels, rolls up his sleeves, and

personally serves them food. When his mother sees this, she admiringly says, “You

have become an adult” (Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 1.10). Her son shows his ma-

turity by waiting on his elders as an inferior or a servant would. Note that the way

he expresses his respect is in part by personally serving them food. Stories that show

¤lial sons becoming slaves or hired laborers are making the same point, but in a

more exaggerated way.

64. Qu Xuanying, Zhongguo shehui shiliao congchao, 2 vols. (Shanghai: Shang-

hai shudian, 1985), 1:127–128, 134–135; Yu Yingshi, “Han China,” in Food in

Chinese Culture, ed. K. C. Chang (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1977),

74–76; David R. Knechtges, “Gradually Entering the Realm of Delight: Food and

Drink in Early Medieval China,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 117.2

(1997): 230; and K. C. Chang, “Introduction,” in Food in Chinese Culture, 15–17.

65. For instance, while in of¤ce, Kong Fen would give his mother only the

choicest of foods, while his wife and children ate only vegetables (Tao Yuanming

ji jiaojian, 8.320; and Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 15.11). Li Du was a copyist at

night so that he could buy his mother meat and millet seed, but his wife and chil-

dren ate only vegetables (Taiping yulan, 414.1a–b). And Xue Bao used rice to offer

sacri¤ces to his dead parents, but he ate only taro (Hou Han shu jijie, 39.2a).

66. Yiwen leiju, 20.370; and Taiping yulan, 414.1b–2a. That one would expect

the prestige food to go to the honored guest can be seen in a story about Tao

Kan’s mother, Lady Zhan. In the middle of the winter, an important visitor came

unexpectedly and stayed at their home. Lady Zhan ripped apart her bedding and

gave the hay stuf¤ng to her guest’s horse to eat, and then she secretly cut her hair

and sold it to her neighbor so that she could present delicacies to her guest. See

Jin shu, 96.2512. Lady Zhan is admirable precisely because of the extreme

sacri¤ces she made to do the right thing: lavishly entertain an important guest.

67. Nan Qi shu, 55.964.

68. See Nan shi, 73.1815. This story appears in Xiao Ruiming’s biography.

When Xiao heard about Zhu’s un¤liality, he became so emotionally overcome

that he could not eat for several days. Afterwards, he inquired as to the where-

abouts of Zhu’s grave because he wanted to personally mutilate his corpse. He

changed his mind, though, when he thought that it would serve only to pollute

his knife. Interestingly, this story does not appear in Xiao Ruiming’s earlier biog-

raphy, which can be found in the Nan Qi shu, 55.963.

69. With the advent of the “nine rank” system during the Wei dynasty (220–

265) that soon made pedigree the basis of of¤ce holding, great families endeav-

ored to maintain their monopoly on high of¤ce by going to great lengths to sep-

arate themselves from less prominent elite families. They did so through the


242

practice of endogamy, the compilation of genealogies, and by cultivating a repu-

tation for learning and re¤nement. In fact, gentlemen viewed themselves as sepa-

rate from commoners by a vast and unbridgeable divide. Jiang Ao, the assistant

director of the left, asserted, “In regard to the boundaries between shi and shu,

they are truly separated by Heaven itself”—an assertion with which his fellow

court discussants wholeheartedly agreed (Song shu, 42.1317-21).

70. Yiwen leiju, 83.1424. A story that resembles this one but lacks the child

being saved through divine intervention is that of Guo Shidao (Taiping yulan,

413.8a; and Song shu, 91.2243). A story involving a similar choice is that of Zhao

Zi. See Yiwen leiju, 20.370; Hou Han shu, 39.1313).

71. For this phrase, see Dunhuang bianwen, 2:886, 905. As for the Zuo zhuan

story, when a concubine found out that her husband planned to assassinate her

father, she asked her mother what to do. Her mother replied, “All men are poten-

tial husbands, but you have only one father. How could there be any compari-

son?” See Chunqiu Zuo zhuan zhuzi suoyin, B2.15.2 (Huan Gong 15); Watson, The

Tso Chuan, 12.

72. Hou Han shu, 39.1295–1296. Interestingly, in this case his brother’s

daughter is more important than his own son.

73. Mengzi, 5A1; Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi suoyin, 8.23; Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin,

10.9.

74. E.g., when in of¤ce, He Ziping devoted his entire salary to his mother

and would spend none of it on his own wife and children. When someone asked

him about this, he replied, “It is merely that I hope my salary will principally be

put to use in supporting my parent, and not put into use on my own behalf”

(Song shu, 91.2258). In other words, if he used his salary to bene¤t his wife and

children, he would be using it to bene¤t himself.

75. Han and Luo, “Guyuan beiweimu qiguan de faxian,” 5–6.

76. This story appears more frequently on remaining Northern and Southern

Dynasties artifacts than any other. Of the twelve Northern and Southern Dynas-

ties artifacts that are adorned with ¤lial piety narratives, the Guo Ju story appears

on eight—two-thirds. Since one would expect that artisans usually decorated

tombs with images of the most popular stories, the frequency of its depiction is a

good measure of the welcome it received.

77. The only exception to this is in the Hou Han shu biography of Liu Ping,

which describes how as an of¤cial he loyally served his governor. Characteristi-

cally for the early medieval period, the lord to whom he showed loyalty was not

the country’s ruler, but his immediate superior (39.1296).

78. Zhang Ti’s family was poor and had nothing with which to reverently

care for his mother. He told his rich neighbor about the situation, but the neigh-

bor lent him nothing. Zhang could not overcome his anger, so he joined with


243

four of his friends and turned to banditry. Of the clothes and goods he obtained

this way, he did not even retain a single coin for himself (Nan shi, 74.1836).

79. Tang Changru, Wei-Jin Nanbeichao shilun sheyi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju,

1983), 238–253. Another piece of evidence that con¤rms Tang’s supposition is

the timing of the appearance of the dynastic histories’ chapters dedicated to ¤lial

sons and loyal retainers. The ¤rst chapter dedicated to ¤lial children in a dynastic

history appears in the third century, whereas a special chapter dedicated to loyal

of¤cials called “Zhongyi zhuan” appears only in the Jin shu, which was com-

pleted in 644. Tellingly, even though “Biographies of the Filial” usually took

pride of place among collective biographies in histories written during the Six Dy-

nasties period, in dynastic histories compiled during the Tang, the former always

come after “Biographies of the Loyal.”

80. Lu Yaodong, Wei-Jin shixue de sixiang yu shehui jichu, 122–123.

81. Hou Han shu, 76.2462–2463.

82. On the connection between sel¶essness and fame, see Jin shu, 75.1968–

1969.

83. For a discussion of reciprocity as the basis of Chinese social relationships

in general and the parent-child relationship in particular, see L. S. Yang, “The

Concept of Pao as a Basis for Social Relations in China,” in Chinese Thought & In-

stitutions, ed. John K. Fairbank (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1957), 302.

84. Cole, Mothers and Sons in Chinese Buddhism, 73, 81–87.

85. For an example of a story that illustrates this, see Guan Zhong in Han

Feizi zhuzi suoyin 33, 97.

86. By accepting the food of another man, one’s life is no longer one’s own.

Since that man has enabled one to live, one must repay that kindness by providing

him with service, even if it means sacri¤cing one’s own life. For comments that

make this connection between food and control explicit, see Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi

suoyin, 2.14.

87. Mao no. 202. I have slightly modi¤ed Karlgren’s translation. See Bern-

hard Karlgren, trans., Book of Odes (Stockholm: The Museum of Far Eastern Antiq-

uities, 1974), 152–153.

88. The Analects, 17.21; and Li Ji zhuzi suoyin, 39.8. A Tang story about an elder

brother who fed and reared (ruyang) his two infant sisters throws light on this be-

lief. When the brother died, his sisters were grief-stricken and decided to mourn

him for three years. They justi¤ed their behavior by saying, “Although the three-

year rites do not exist for brothers, we relied upon him to be fed and raised (ju-

yang), how is it possible to treat him like an ordinary person?” See Taiping yulan,

422.4a–b.

89. Indigenous Chinese Buddhist sutras state that infants drink their mother’s

blood for three years. For instance, the Fumu enzhong nanbao jing, which was sup-


244

posedly translated by Kumarajiva, states, “For three years you drank your mother’s

white blood” (Dunhuang bianwen, 2:675, 677). Lee states that early medieval Chi-

nese believed that breast-feeding should last for at least two years. See Jen-der Lee,

“Wet Nurses in Early Imperial China,” Nan nü 2.1 (2000): 17–18. For further in-

formation on later Chinese beliefs that a child suckled for three years, see Char-

lotte Furth, “From Birth to Birth: The Growing Body in Chinese Medicine,” in

Chinese Views of Childhood, ed. Anne Behnke Kinney (Honolulu: University of Ha-

wai‘i Press, 1995), 178; and Wu Pei-yi, “Childhood Remembered: Parents and

Children in China, 800 to 1700,” Chinese Views of Childhood, 137.


91. As Cheng Gongsui (230–273) stated, “Crows have long been taken as an

auspicious sign because they ‘feed in return’ (fanbu) and recognize [the principle

of] yang” (Yiwen leiju, 92.1593).

92. Shuowen jiezi zhu, by Xu Shen (c. 58–147) (Shanghai: Shanghai guji,

1981), 4.56a. The Confucian “apocryphal texts” are replete with explanations of

why crows are deemed ¤lial. See Taiping yulan, 920.1b; and Yiwen leiju, 92.1591.

93. See Guo Moruo, “‘Wu huanbu mu’ shike de buchong kaoshi,” Wenwu 4

(1965): 2–4; and the song about the sage-king Shun in Cai Yong, Qincao (Shang-

hai: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1937), 2.15.

94. Taiping yulan, 411.6a. This story also appears in the two Japanese manu-

scripts. See Kôshiden chûkai, 47–48.

95. Shuowen jiezi zhu, 2.15b.

96. Furth has noted that Sun Simo (581–682) thought parents should give

their infants prechewed food as soon as they were two months old and that the stan-

dard term for infant feeding was “to suckle and regurgitate” (rubu), which referred to

both liquid and solid nourishment. See Charlotte Furth, “From Birth to Birth,” 188,

note 53. For information on when medieval doctors thought that infants should

begin eating prechewed solid food and what types of foods they should eat, see

Hsiung Ping-chen, “To Nurse the Young: Breastfeeding and Infant Feeding in Late

Imperial China,” Journal of Family History 20.3 (1995): 217–239; and Hsiung,

Youyou: Chuantong Zhongguo de qiangbao zhi dao (Taipei: Lianjing, 1995), 118–122.

97. When the seven-year-old Cheng Zeng mournfully grieved for his de-

parted mother, “his grandmother pitied him, and masticated (jue) meat for him

to eat. When he discovered it was ¶avorful he spat it out.” See Taiping yulan,

413.7a; and Yiwen leiju, 20.371.

98. Kuroda, Kôshiden no kenkyû, 214.

99. This is precisely how Xing Qu and his father are depicted at Wu Liang Ci.

100. Wang Entian, “Taian Dawenkou Han huaxiangshi lishi gushi kao,”

Wenwu 12 (1992): 77.



245

102. Kuroda, Kôshiden no kenkyû, 214.

103. Cole, Mothers and Sons in Chinese Buddhism, passim.

104. How he did so depends on the version of the story. According to an en-

cyclopedia fragment from Dunhuang, he did this by refusing payment for the rice

he sold to them at the market (Dunhuang bianwen, 2:901; Kôshiden chûkai, 26). In

another version, he puts money in with the rice they bought (Kôshiden chûkai,

24). In another, he buys ¤rewood from his stepmother for twenty times its ordi-

nary price (Ningxia Guyuan bowuguan, Guyuan Beiweimu qiguan hua, 11).


106. This tally comes from examining each story from the Gu Xiaozi zhuan,

Tao Yuanming’s Xiao zhuan, and the two Japanese manuscripts. In cases where

the recipients are grandfathers or male masters, I count them as a father.

107. For examples, see the tales of Wang Xiang, Meng Zong, Jiang Shi, Wei

Tong, and Liu Yin.

108. Inscriptions at the Wu Liang shrine and the Dawenkou pictorial stones

identify the wooden parent that Ding Lan is reverently caring for as his father

rather than his mother. If all the Eastern Han Ding Lan representations were taken

to be his father, then images with fathers as recipients would rise to 58 percent.

109. Jen-der Lee, “The Life of Women in the Six Dynasties,” Journal of Women

and Gender Studies 4 (1993): 62–65.

6. “Exceeding the Rites”: Mourning and Burial Motifs1. Out of the 197 ¤lial-sons stories that can be found in the two Japanese

Xiaozi zhuan, Tao Yuanming’s Xiao zhuan, and Xiaozi zhuan, reconstructed by Mao

Pan-lin and Huang Renheng, 83 have motifs that concern mourning or burial.

The only theme that occurred more frequently was reverent care, which occurred

in 87 stories (44 percent). In comparison, revenge, the next most popular theme,

occurred in only 11 stories, or 5 percent.

2. Fujikawa Masakazu, Gishin jidai ni okeru mofuku rei no kenkyû (Tokyo: Kei-

bunsha, 1961), 17.

3. Wei shu, 86.1881. The preface to the Chen shu’s chapter on exemplars of de-

votion has a similar statement. See Chen shu, by Yao Silian (557–637). Zhonghua

shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 32.423. The ¤rst such division of ¤lial de-

votion into these two components is found in the Books of Rites, where Zilu is cred-

ited with saying, “How painful is poverty! While one’s parents are alive there is

nothing with which to nurture them, and when they are dead, there is nothing with

which to ful¤ll the (mourning) rites” (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 4.35).

4. See Miyazaki, Chûgoku kodai shiron, 286–294; Makeham, “Mingchiao in

the Eastern Han,” 85–94; and Nylan, “Confucian Piety and Individualism in Han

Ching,” 1–27.


246

5. Marcel Granet, “Le langage de la douleur d’après le ritual funéraire de la

Chine classique,” in his Études sociologiques sur la Chine (Paris: Presses Universitaires

de France, 1953), 226–228.

6. Hou Han shu, 66.2159–2160. This story is cited in all three of the works

cited in note 4.

7. Miyazaki, Chûgoku kodai shiron, 289–290.

8. For this argument, see Noriko Kamiya, “Gokan jidai ni okeru ‘karei’ o

megutte,” Tôyôshi ronshû 7 (1979): 27–40; “Kanshin kan ni okeru mofuku rei no

kihan teki tenkai,” Tôyô Gakuhô, 63.1–2 (1981): 63–92; and “Rei no kihanteki iso

to fûzoku,” Shihô 15 (1982): 1–12.

9. Knapp, “The Ru Reinterpretation of Xiao,” 209–216.

10. J. J. M. de Groot, The Religious System of China, 6 vols.; reprint (Taipei:

Southern Materials Center, Inc., 1982), 2:490.

11. Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, by Xun Kuang (313–238), ed. Lau, Chen, and Ho

(Hong Kong: The Commercial Press, 1996), 19.97–98; John Knoblock, Xunzi: A

Translation and Study of the Complete Works, vol. 3, Books 17–32 (Stanford: Stanford

University Press, 1994), 72–73.

12. For the case of Yan Ding, see chap. 2. Likewise, even though they are

mere barbarians, the Book of Rites praises Da Lian and Shao Lian for excelling in

the mourning rites (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 21.8). Their behavior literally replicates the

instructions set out in the Book of Rites (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 50.7; and Kongzi jiayu

zhuzi suoyin, ed. Lau and Chen [Hong Kong: The Commercial Press, 1992],

43.11). Similarly, Gao Chai is put forth as a model ¤lial son because he did not

show his teeth during his three years of mourning (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 3.38; and

Kongzi jiayu zhuzi suoyin 12, 22). This behavior also corresponds to the rite dictat-

ing that when a parent is sick, a son should never smile or laugh so much that his

teeth can be seen (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 1.29).

13. Here are three examples of this type of anecdote: 1) Confucius rebukes his

son Boyu for mourning his mother for more than the prescribed limit of one year

(Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 3.27; Kongzi jiayu zhuzi suoyin, 42.29). 2) Zisi criticizes Zengzi for

abstaining from drinking liquids for seven days, rather than the prescribed three

(Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 3.32). 3) Confucius scolded Zilu for mourning his unmarried, el-

dest sister for more than the prescribed limit of one year (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 3.25).

14. In the Shuo yuan, the stories’ protagonists are Zixia and Min Ziqian (Shuo

yuan zhuzi suoyin, 19.25; Kongzi jiayu zhuzi suoyin, 15.5). In the Book of Rites, the

protagonists are Zixia and Zizhang (Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 3.53). Once again, this phe-

nomenon of the mutability of the protagonists’ identity underlines the ¤ctional-

ity of these stories.

15. For this notion, see Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 19.25. The last statement of this

passage echoes a sentiment found in the Xunzi’s “Lilun” chapter, which says that


247

the three-year mourning period is a compromise between the lifelong grief a true

gentleman is capable of feeling and the short-lived grief a foolish and depraved

man is capable of feeling. See Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, 19.96; Burton Watson, trans.,

Hsun Tzu (New York: Columbia University Press, 1963), 106–107.

16. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 3.60 (Li chi, 1:145–146, translation); and Kongzi jiayu

zhuzi suoyin, 42.21.

17. This is why the burial rites for a castrated criminal are disgraceful: as soon as

the corpse is buried, the mourners resume their normal lives. In other words, it is as

if the departed had never lived at all and had no impact on the people around him.

18. Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, 19.94; Knoblock, Xunzi, 3:65–66; and Watson, Hsun

tzu, 101.

19. Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, 19.96; Knoblock, Xunzi, 3:68–69; and Watson, Hsun tzu,

105. Ikezawa has pointed out that Xun believed ¤lial piety should never be out of

sync with social values (“The Philosophy of Filiality in Ancient China,” 104–109).

20. Huainanzi zhuzi suoyin, by Liu An (179–122) et al., ed. D. C. Lau (Taipei:

Taiwan Commercial Press, 1992), 11.175; the translation is from Benjamin E.

Wallacker, trans., The Huai-nan-tzu, Book Eleven: Behavior, Culture and the Cosmos

(New Haven, Conn.: American Oriental Society, 1962), 36.

21. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 3.16 (Li chi, 1:127, translation).

22. The Hanshi waizhuan, an important source for many of this period’s ¤lial

piety anecdotes, has only one passage about mourning (Hanshi waizhuan zhuzi

suoyin, 3.11) and none that feature a son mourning his parents in an exemplary

manner. The Xinxu has no passages that concern mourning. Even though the Shuo

yuan does show some interest in the issue, it has only the story of Zizhang and

Min Ziqian, as well as a few passages that discuss the mortuary rites (Shuo yuan

zhuzi suoyin, 19.674, 19.675, 19.676, 19.677, 19.678).

23. For passages that concern mourning and burial, see Kongzi jiayu zhuzi

suoyin, 8.17, 12.22, 15.5, 26.2, 37.4, 40.4, and 41.19. The three ¤lial sons who are

mentioned for their extraordinary behavior are Gao Chai and Min Ziqian and Zixia.

24. See the table of the Kongzi jiayu’s parallels with other texts in Robert P.

Kramers, trans., K’ung Tzu Chia Yu: The School Sayings of Confucius (Leiden: E. J.

Brill, 1950), 376–379.

25. Knapp, “The Ru Reinterpretation of Xiao,” 209–216. For further evidence

that the three-year mourning rites were rarely practiced in ancient China, see Zhang

Jingming, Xian-Qin sangfu zhidu kao (Taipei: Taiwan Zhonghua shuju, 1972), 12–30.

26. Shi ji, 112.4; Han shu, 58.2619.

27. Hu Shi, “Sannian sangfu de zhujian tuixing,” in Hu Shi xueshu wenji: Zhong-

guo zhexueshi, ed. Jiang Yihua, 2 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1991), 2:947.

28. Han shu, 71.3046; Burton Watson, trans., Courtier and Commoner in An-

cient China (New York: Columbia University Press, 1974), 170.


248

29. Han shu, 53.2412.

30. Han shu, 92.3714; Watson, Courtier and Commoner in Ancient China, 240.

31. The compound xingfu (to perform [the wearing of] the mourning robes)

appears in neither work, whereas in Hou Han shu it appears twelve times (16.614,

24.828, 34.1180, 37.1255, 39.1294, 39.1307, 44.1495, 58.1873, 63.2094,

64.2122, 66.2160, 81.2684). The compound xingsang (to perform the mourning

rites) does not appear in Shi ji and only four times Han shu (76.3210 and 3211,

83.3395, 92.3714). But in Hou Han shu it appears fourteen times. The compound

fusang (to wear the mourning robes) appears as many times in the Han shu as the

Hou Han shu (¤ve times); however, three of those instances refer to the mourning

of Wang Mang, who was a Ru zealot and probably the ¤rst Chinese emperor to

perform the three-year rites. For the single instance that fusang is mentioned in Shi

ji, see Shi ji huizhu kaozheng, 112.1215. For the ¤ve times it is mentioned in Han

shu, see 53.2412, 58.2619, 99a.4078, 99a.4090, and 99b.4132. Of the ten pas-

sages in which the compound jusang (to reside in mourning) appears in Shi ji and

Han shu, only two praise the subject for how he/she mourned his/her parents; in

contrast, in Hou Han shu, Sanguo zhi, and Jin shu, this compound is often used in

passages that describe exemplary mourning. For the two passages in which jusang

is used to describe exemplary mourning, see Han shu, 71.3048, 82.3369. All four

passages in which jusang appears in the Hou Han shu describe exemplary mourn-

ing. See 14.563, 29.1023, 44.1510, and 83.2773. Seven of the eight passages in

which this compound appears in the Sanguo zhi do so. See 6.174 and 201, 8.253,

19.577, 21.604, 28.783, and 52.1232. And twenty of the twenty-nine passages in

which it appears in the Jin shu do so. See 33.987, 37.1095, 38.1123, 38.1126,

38.1130, 40.1165, 43.1225, 43.1233, 44.1253, 50.1391, 51.1434, 70.1857,

75.1982, 77.2023, 83.2164, 84.2194, 88.2292, 88.2294, and 90.2338.

32. Han shu, 83.3394. Due to this disagreement between Xuan and Xiu, their

relations soured. Long after, Xue Xiu had a friend slander Xue Xuan by saying that

he neither reverently cared for nor performed the mourning rites for his step-

mother. Xuan’s son hired an assassin to attack his slanderer. In dealing with the

case, the government punished Xuan’s son for the attack but did not punish Xuan

for not performing the three years of mourning.

33. Ibid., 83.3409.

34. He believed that the practice of these rites would hurt people in the fol-

lowing ways: they would expose them to the elements, diminish their proper

nourishment, cut off their sacri¤ces to the spirits, and injure the elderly and young.

See Shi ji huizhu kaozheng, 10.40; Han shu, 4.132. His views re¶ect Mohist criti-

cisms of the Confucian rites.

35. Han shu, 84.3417.

36. Kamiya, “Rei no kihanteki iso to fûzoku,” 1–9. This point was originally


249

made by the Qing scholar Zhao Yi, Nienershi zhaji, 2 vols. (Taipei: Shijie shuju,

1970), 1:41–43.

37. Han shu, 11.336.

38. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 1.33, 34; Li Chi, trans. Legge, 1:87–88. A number of

other passages and works also make this point. See Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 4.58, 21.24,

21.25; Xiao jing zhuzi suoyin, ed. D. C. Lau (Hong Kong: The Commercial Press,

1995), 18; Kongzi jiayu zhuzi suoyin, 43.9; and Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, 19.94.

39. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 21.8.

40. Yiwen leiju, 20.370.

41. Ibid., 20.371; Beitang shuchao, 144.14a-b; Taiping yulan, 413.8a, 859.8b;

and Jin shu, 88.2291.

42. Xu Zi emaciated himself to the extent that he looked like a bag of bones

and could stand only with the aid of a cane (Jin shu, 88.2278). For other instances

of this, see Jin shu, 33.987, 38.1130, 70.1857, 88.2292, 89.2310; Nan Qi shu,

24.450; Liang shu, 16.270; Wei shu, 72.1611, 86.1885, 86.1886, 105/4.2426; Bei

Qi shu, by Li Delin, Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuji, 1980), 13.170;

Zhou shu, 32.561, 42.761; Nan shi, 31.817, 38.984, 59.1453; and Bei shi, by Li Yan-

shou (612–678). Zhonghua shuju ed. (Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1980), 51.1844,

67.2357, 70.2436, 84.2830, 84.2831.

43. See Song shu, 91.2258. For similar cases, see Hou Han shu, 80a.2613; Song

shu, 91.2245.

44. See the account of Zhang Biao (Taiping yulan, 412.4b) and Wei Biao (Hou

Han shu, 26.917.

45. Upon wearing the mourning robes for his father, Zhang Fu drank neither

water nor soup for more than ten days. After the burial he would eat neither salt

nor vegetables and hence became sick. His uncle admonished him to eat, but

each time he did so, Zhang’s sorrow would become greater and he would faint.

After recovering, he would continue to eat little. Realizing he was making the sit-

uation worse, the uncle no longer came around, and before the ¤rst year of

mourning had elapsed, Zhang was already dead. See Song shu, 46.1396.

46. Kôshiden chûkai, 200, 202.

47. See note 13 above.

48. Taiping yulan, 411.8a. Similary, Zhang Fu stopped breathing and spat out

blood. It was a long time before he came back to life (Yiwen leiju, 20.371).

49. See the cases of Ruan Ji (Sanguo zhi, 21.604), Liu Yin and his wife (Jin shu,

88.2289), Wang Yan (Jin shu, 88.2290), Zhang Hongce (Liang shu, 11.205; Nan shi,

56.1381), Han Huaiming (Liang shu, 47.653; Nan shi, 74.1842), He Dian (Liang

shu, 51.732; Nan shi, 30.787), Liu Xu (Liang shu, 51.746; Nan shi, 49.1227), Liu

Xiongliang (Zhou shu, 46.829).

50. Yiwen leiju, 20.371. For other stories with this motif, see Zhu Mi (Chuxue ji,


250

1.21), Su Cangshu (Taiping yulan, 413, 7a–b), Gu Ti (Taiping yulan, 413.5a; Yiwen

leiju, 20.370), Du Qi (Nan Qi shu, 55.966), the small child from Shanxian (Nan Qi

shu, 55.966), Nusheng (Wei shu, 92.1985), Lady Li (Wei shu, 92.1984), the daugh-

ter of Zhang Jian (Taiping yulan, 415.3a), and Xia Xiaoxian (Shuijing zhushu,

3:3280).

51. Song shu, 91.2255–2256.

52. See Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, 19.96; Knoblock, Xunzi, 3.70 and Watson, Hsun

tzu, 107.

53. For examples in which this might be the case, see Li Xun (Dongguan Han

ji zhuzi suoyin, 19.20), Xiao Gu (Fayuan zhulin, 49.362), Xue Bao (Hou Han shu,

39.1294), Zang Tao (Song shu, 55.1543; Nan shi, 18.508), Zhang Ji (Nan shi,

31.817), Men Wenai (Wei shu, 87.1893), and Tang Song (Taiping yulan, 906.8a).

54. Hou Han shu, 41.1426. Cited in Kamiya, “Gokan jidai ni okeru ‘karei’ o

megutte,” 29. For other examples of six years of mourning resulting from “reme-

dial mourning,” see Yuan Shao (Sanguo zhi, 6.188) and Li Xianda (Wei shu,

86.1885; Bei shi, 84.2830).

55. The Analects, 17.19; Lau, Confucius: The Analects, 147. I have somewhat

modi¤ed Lau’s translation.

56. See, e.g., Wang Lingzhi (Taiping yulan, 411.8a–b; Taiping guangji,

162.324 [under the name Wang Xuzhi]), Shendu Fan (Hou Han shu, 53.1751),

Liu Yu (Song shu, 51.2243), Guo Yuanping (Song shu, 51.2245), and Xue Tian-

sheng (Nan Qi shu, 55.958).

57. See, e.g., Bao Ang (Hou Han shu, 29.1023), Zhou Pan (Hou Han shu,

39.1311), Wang Pou (Sanguo zhi, 11.349; Jin shu, 88.2278), Xu Zi (Jin shu, 88.2279–

2280), Wang Yan (Jin shu, 88.2290), Yingerzi (Taiping yulan, 415.4a), the three

daughters of the Chen family (Taiping yulan, 415.1b–2a), Mr. Tu’s daughter (Nan Qi

shu, 55.960), Qin Mian (Nan shi, 73.1804–1805), and Xu Xiaosu (Bei shi, 84.2839).

58. See Guo Wen (Jin shu, 94.2440), Xu Zi (Jin shu, 88.2279–2280), Sun

Fazhong (Song shu, 91.2252), Liu Xu (Liang shu, 51.747), Yingerzi (Taiping yulan,

415.4a), the three daughters of the Chen family (Taiping yulan, 415.1b–2a), and

Mr. Tu’s daughter (Nan Qi shu, 55.960).


60. Wei shu, 86.1883; and Chuxue ji, 17.422.

61. The Book of Rites’ “Quli” chapter states that at ¤fty, one only somewhat

emaciates himself; at sixty, one does not emaciate himself at all; and at seventy,

the mourner merely wears the unhemmed dress of sackcloth and will eat meat

and drink alcohol. See Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 1.34.

62. Song shu, 51.2243.

63. Wu Hung, “Private Love and Public Duty: Images of Children in Early

Chinese Art,” in Chinese Views of Childhood, ed. Kinney, 99–101.


251

64. Yiwen leiju, 20.371; Taiping yulan, 26.9b. For a similar account, see that of

Xun Yi (Chuxue ji, 17.421).

65. Taiping yulan, 413.7a. For accounts of his ¤liality, see Taiping yulan,

413.7a; Yiwen leiju, 20.369; Kôshiden chûkai, 101–102; Dunhuang bianwen, 2:903.

Shimomi has shown that there were two early textual traditions about his ¤liality:

one in which he did such childish pranks to please his parents and one in which

he did so to prevent them from thinking about how old they actually were. Shi-

momi makes too much of this difference, though, since even when Lao Laizi is

said to act like a child to please his parent, it is implied that he does so to make

them forget that both they and he are rapidly aging. For Shimomi’s argument, see

Kô to bôsei no mekanizumu, 22–38.

66. Shimomi, Kô to bôsei no mekanizumu, 38–39.

67. Mengzi, V.A.1; my translation is a modi¤cation of D. C. Lau, Mencius

(New York: Penguin Books, 1970), 139; and James Legge, trans., The Works of

Mencius; reprint (Taipei: Southern Materials Center, 1985), 345. For another pas-

sage in which Mengzi says yearning for one’s parents at the age of ¤fty is a sign of

perfect ¤liality, see Mengzi, 6B.3.

68. Han-Wei guzhu shisanjing, ed. Zhonghua shuju bianjibu, 2 vols. (Beijing:

Zhonghua shuju, 1998), 2:80. Cited in Shimomi, Kô to bôsei no mekanizumu, 3.

69. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 32.13; Li Chi, trans. Legge, 2:310–311.

70. Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, 19.95; Knoblock, Xunzi, 3:62–73; and Li ji zhuzi

suoyin, 3.69; Li Chi, trans. Legge, 1:148; and Kongzi jiayu zhuzi suoyin, 44.6.

71. Li ji zhuzi suoyin, 25.7; Li Chi, trans. Legge, 2:212–213.

72. See chap. 2, page 32.

73. For the different versions of the Ding Lan tale, see the appendix. For

other tales about ¤lial sons who serve images of dead parents as if they were alive,

see Hua Guang (Taiping yulan, 385.5b, 413.6b) and Xu Xiaosu (Bei shi, 84.2839).

74. See the tales of Gu Chu (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 16.42), Cai Shun

(Hou Han shu, 39.1312), Wang Jing (Taiping yulan, 413.7b), He Qi (Jin shu,

88.2292–2293), Liu Yin and his wife (Jin shu, 88.2288), and Jia En and his wife

(Taiping yulan, 415.3b; Song shu, 91.2243).

75. See the tales of Wu Xi (Taiping yulan, 411.7b), Yin Tao (Tao Yuanming ji

jiaojian, 321), Wu Meng (Yiwen leiju, 20.371), Wang Lin (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi

suoyin, 16.43), Lian Fan (Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, 321; Hou Han shu, 30.1101). For

female exemplars who endanger their lives to save their parent’s corpse, see chap. 7.

76. Jia En, his wife Lady Zhang, and Wang Jing all died in the attempt to save

their parent’s corpse from ¤re. For their accounts, see note 74 above. Perhaps a

reason for their deaths is that these are factual accounts. Thus the ¤ctional or ex-

aggerated tale of Cai Shun inspired these later people to imitate his behavior, but

of course they did not bene¤t from the same ¤ctional miracle. Although it is not


252

clear when Wang Jing lived, Jia En lived over a hundred years later than Cai Shun,

so he most likely had heard of Cai’s ¤lial exploit.

77. Nan Qi shu, 55.960.

78. Song shu, 91.2244.


80. Jin shu, 88.2279. This tale is equivalent to of those of Yang Zhen and

Wang Pou, who refused any help in ¤lially feeding their parents. See chap. 5.

81. Kato attributes the importance attached to building the tumulus with one’s

own labor to the fact that in the Eastern Han creation of the tomb was the most vis-

ible, and therefore most important, aspect of one’s ¤lial piety. Thus one’s reputa-

tion in the community would be based on the extent to which one exhausted his/

her labor and resources to bene¤t the dearly departed. See Kato, “Hirakareta

Kanbo,” 71–72.

82. Whether this speci¤cally meant that of¤cials were supposed to perform

these rites for Emperor Ping, who had just died, or for one’s parents is not clear. Nev-

ertheless, advocating performance of the three-year mourning rites for one’s sover-

eign probably also meant that he/she would perform them for the parents as well.

83. Han shu, 99a.4078, 99b.4132. Cited in Yang Shuda, Handai hunsang lisu

kao; reprint (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi, 1988), 241. Interestingly, though, when

his own mother died in AD 8, Wang did not want to be distracted, so he had the

empress dowager decree that he should perform only the lightest and shortest

type of mourning. Nevertheless, he ordered his eldest grandson to undertake the

three-year rites on his mother’s behalf. See Han shu, 99a.4090-91; Pan Ku, History

of the Former Han, 3:243–247.

84. Emperors Ming (r. 58–75), He (r. 89–105), Xian (r. 190–220), and Em-

press Deng (r. 105–120) all performed the three years of mourning. See Yang

Shuda, Handai hunsang lisu kao, 244–245.

85. Fujikawa Masakazu, Kandai ni okeru reigaku no kenkyû (Tokyo: Kazama

Shobo, 1968), 280–281.

86. See Zhi Yun (Hou Han shu, 29.1023) and Fan Shu (Hou Han shu,

32.1122).

87. Kamiya, “Rei no kihanteki isô to fûzoku,” 6; Hou Han shu, 33.1153.

88. Yang Shuda, Handai hunsang lisu kao, 250–255.

89. Ibid., 259–263. Fujikawa provides a useful table of Eastern Han of¤cials

who resigned from of¤ce to mourn relatives other than their parents. Although

he does cite a few ¤rst-century examples, the majority come from the second cen-

tury. See Fujikawa, Kandai ni okeru reigaku no kenkyû, 281–283. Zhu Yizun also of-

fers a list of Eastern Han men who quit of¤ce to mourn relatives other than

parents. See Fengsu tongyi jiaozhu, by Ying Shao (ca. 140–206), ed. Wang Liqi; re-

print (Taipei: Hanjing wenhua shiye, 1983), 221, note 19.


253

90. Fujikawa, Kandai ni okeru reigaku no kenkyû, 283–284.

91. With the exception of Li Xun (¶. AD 89), all the examples of this phe-

nomenon cited by Yang Shuda come from the second century. See Yang Shuda,

Handai hunsang lisu kao, 266–268. It is worth noting that the biography of Xun

Shuang (128–190) states that after he mourned his patron for three years, his

contemporaries were moved by his conduct, and such behavior became custom-

ary. See Hou Han shu, 62.2057. For a detailed look at this phenomenon and its

implications, see Gan Huaizhen, “Zhongguo zhonggu shiqi junchen guanxi chu-

tan,” Taida lishi xuebao 21 (1997): 19–58; and “Wei-Jin shiqi guanrenjian de sang-

fuli,” Zhongguo lishi xuehui shixue jikan 27 (1995): 161–174.

92. Patricia Ebrey, “Patron-Client Relations in the Later Han,” Journal of the

American Oriental Society 103.3 (1983): 537.

93. Hou Han shu, 5.226.

94. Ibid., 39.1307.

95. Ying Shao stated that according to Han law, if one did not perform the

three years of mourning for his parents, he could not be recommended for of¤ce.

See Han shu, 87a.3569.

96. The biography of Empress Dowager Deng can be found in Hou Han shu,

10a.418–430. For a complete translation of her biography, see Nancy Lee Swann,

trans., “The Biography of Empress Teng,” Journal of the American Oriental Society

51 (1931): 138–159.

97. For the decree ordering that high of¤cials must perform the three-year

mourning rites, see Hou Han shu, 7.299, 64.2122; for the decree that ordered

middle of¤cials to do so, see Hou Han shu, 7.302. Empress Dowager Liang’s biog-

raphy can be found in Hou Han shu, 10b.438–440.

98. See the biographies of Liu Kai (Hou Han shu, 39.1307), Chen Zhong

(Hou Han shu, 46.1561–1562), and Xun Shuang (Hou Han shu, 62.2051–2052).

99. Fujikawa, Kandai ni okeru reigaku no kenkyû, 295–310.

100. Ibid., 278.

101. Song shu, 15.388. Nevertheless, many of¤cials violated these rules. In

the state of Wu, even though it was an offense punishable by death, the famous

¤lial son Meng Zong violated this law to mourn his mother. After completing the

three years of mourning, he turned himself in to the authorities to await punish-

ment. Sun Quan granted him clemency, thereby making the law unenforceable

(Sanguo zhi, 47.1411–1412).

102. See Song shu, 15.388–392; and Zhu Zongbin, “Lüelun Jinlu zhi ‘rujia-

hua,’” 111.

103. For examples of Jin of¤cials who were impeached or punished for faulty

performance of the three-year rites, see Zhu Zongbin, “Lüelun Jinlu zhi ‘rujia-

hua,’” 111; Fujikawa, Gishin jidai ni okeru mofuku rei no kenkyû, 20–21; and Zhou


254

Yiliang, “LiangJin Nanchao de qingyi,” in Wei-Jin Nanbeichao shi lunji xupian

(Beijing: Beijing daxue, 1991), 117–124.

104. Kamiya Noriko, “Shin jidai ni okeru irei shingi,” Tôyô gakuhô 67.3–4

(1986): 49–80.

105. Fujikawa, Gishin jidai ni okeru mofuku rei no kenkyû, 5.

106. In an interesting contrast, Kutcher, in his Mourning in Late Imperial China,

discusses the reversal of this process, in which the Qing imperial state was trying to

minimize the extent to which the mourning rites interfered with of¤ce holding.

107. Kishima Fumio, “Rikuchô zenki no kô to mofuku—reigaku no

mokuteki-kino-shohô,” in Chûgoku kodai reisei kenkyû, ed. Konami Ichirô (Kyoto:

Kyoto daigaku jinbun kagaku kenkyujo, 1995), 367–400, 451–453.

108. Curiously, the term guoli (exceeding the rites) does not appear in the

Dongguan Han ji. Nevertheless, it contains many accounts of people who do sur-

pass the mourning rites. For example, see the biographies of Gu Chu (Dongguan

Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 16.42), Lian Fan (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 18.12), Li Xun

(Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 19.20), Huang Xiang (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi

suoyin, 19.22), and Zhang Biao (Dongguan Han ji zhuzi suoyin, 19.30).

109. To update this work, in AD 120 Empress Dowager Deng ordered a

number of scholars to compile biographies of eminent statesmen, men of integ-

rity, and Confucian scholars. See Zheng Hesheng, “Gejia Hou Han shu zongshu,”

8; and Beck, Treatises of Later Han, 24–25. As noted earlier, Empress Dowager

Deng was herself an advocate and exemplar of Ru values and was one of the two

rulers of the Eastern Han who ordered that even high of¤cials must perform the

three-year rites.

110. Qijia Hou Han shu, ed. Wang Wentai; reprint (Kyoto: Chubun shupan-

sha, 1979), 401.

111. Kamiya, “Shin jidai ni okeru irei shingi,” 52–62; and “Rei no kihanteki

iso to fûzoku,” 9–10.

112. See Hou Han shu, 39.1315; and Qianfu lun zhuzi suoyin, 1.20.

113. For a discussion of this criticism and the differences between northern

and southern mourning customs during the Six Dynasties, see Tang Changru,

Wei-Jin Nanbeichao shi luncong (Beijing: Shenghuo dushu xinzhi sanlian shudian,

1955), 357–360.

114. Baopuzi, by Ge Hong (284–363), in Zhuzi jicheng, 8 vols. (Shanghai:

Shanghai shudian, 1986), 26.151; my translation is based on that of Jay Sailey,

The Master Who Embraces Simplicity: A Study of the Philosopher Ko Hung A.D. 283–

343 (San Francisco: Chinese Materials Center, Inc., 1978), 158–159.

115. Baopuzi, 26.151; this translation is based on Sailey, Master who Embraces

Simplicity, 159–160.

116. Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 8.128.


255

117. Ibid., 21.10. Although he did avoid violating the letter of the rites by

not speaking with his guests, Wang most certainly violated the spirit of the rites

by entertaining them and participating in an amusement while in mourning.

118. See the Shishuo xinyu jianshu accounts of Ruan Ji; Ruan Xian (234–305)

took a concubine; Xie Shang (308–357) feasted. See Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 23.1,

23.2, 23.9, 23.11, 23.15, 23.33.

119. Both Ruan Xian and Ruan Jian were exiled from of¤cialdom for many

years because of the faulty manner in which they mourned their parents (Zhou,

“LiangJin Nanchao de qingyi,” 117). And if He Zeng (199–278), a famous ¤lial

son, had had his way, Ruan Ji would have lost his head for the outrageous man-

ner in which he mourned his mother (Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 23.2).

120. Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 23.9; translation is from Liu, Shih-shuo Hsin-yu, 374.

121. For a discussion of mourning stories featuring Ruan Ji and the anti-ritu-

alism implicit in them, see Donald Holzman, Poetry and Politics: The Life and Works

of Juan Chi A.D. 210–263 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976), 74–80.

122. Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 1.17; Liu, Shih-shuo Hsin-yu, 10–11; and Jin shu,

43.1233.

123. Another anecdote that compares the mourning of someone who fol-

lows the rites with one who does not is that of Dai Liang and his brother. See Hou

Han shu, 83.2773. Whether this story dates to the Eastern Han seems problemat-

ical. Its only remaining version is from the ¤fth-century Hou Han shu. None of the

fragments of earlier histories of the Eastern Han contains it. Moreover, the motif

of Dai Liang braying like a donkey to please his mother seems to have been prev-

alent in the Six Dynasties. Shishuo xinyu, chap. 17, contains two such stories. See

Shishuo xinyu jianshu, 17.1, 17.3. Since the sentiment of this passage so closely

matches that found in the Wei-Jin stories about unconventional men, and since

we have no evidence of it having an earlier provenance, it makes me wonder

whether this story itself was not fabricated in the third or fourth century.

7. Filial Daughters or Surrogate Sons?1. Lynda Coon, Sacred Fictions: Holy Women and Hagiography in Late Antiquity

(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997).

2. Lisa Raphals, “Re¶ections on Filiality, Nature and Nurture,” in Filial Piety

in Chinese Thought and History, 219–220.

3. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 6.4, 6.7, 6.15. Cited in Raphals, “Re¶ections

on Filiality,” 7.

4. Ibid., 6.7; Albert Richard O’hara, trans., The Position of Women in Early

China: According to the Lieh Nu Chuan “The Biographies of Eminent Chinese Women”;

reprint (Westport, Conn.: Hyperion Press, 1981), 165–166.

5. O’hara, The Position of Women, 167.


256

6. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 6.4; O’hara, The Position of Women, 159–161.



9. Ibid, 5.13.



12. Holmgren makes this point in “Widow Chastity in the Northern Dynas-

ties: The Lieh-nü Biographies in the Wei-shu,” Papers on Far Eastern History 23

(1981): 170–171.


14. Ibid., 5.1. A similar tale is found in the same chapter. When Qin attacks

Wei, the Moral Wet Nurse of Wei spirits a Wei prince away, even though the pen-

alty for hiding a member of the Wei royal family is extermination of one’s family.

See 5.11.

15. Lee, “Wet Nurses in Early Imperial China,” 20–23.


17. Ibid., 4.12.

18. The three tales that have textual predecessors are the two stories of wet

nurses and the tale of the concubine who drops the container of poison meant

for her master.

19. For example, Shimomi thinks that the tale of the concubine who wants

to continue to reverently care for her mistress (Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 4.12)

is one that Liu Xiang created because the tale’s author gets many of the historical

facts wrong. First, Shi ji does not say that the state of Wei ever had someone with

the title of king; moreover, it states that once the kingdom of Wei was destroyed,

its ruler was reduced to the rank of commoner. The story, on the other hand, says

that King Ling was appointed to continue the sacri¤ces of the state of Wei. See

Shimomi, Ryû kô “Retsujoden” no kenkyû (Tokyo: Tôkaidô daigaku shupankai,

1989), 504–505. Shimomi also believes that the story of Zhu Chu and the Stead-

fast Woman of the Capital are both Han dynasty tales. See ibid., 613.

20. Of the 105 tales contained in Lienü zhuan, Shimomi has failed to ¤nd pre-

existing textual sources for only eighteen of the accounts. Tellingly, chapters 4 and

5, which contain all of the tales concerning ¤lial piety, are also the two chapters

with the most stories that have no textual antecedents (twelve in all). For a table

that lists the textual antecedents for each story, see Shimomi, Retsujôden, 886–895.

21. For the contents of Five Dynasties and Song works dedicated to biogra-

phies of outstanding women, see Andersen Chiu, “Changing Virtues? The Lienü of

the Old and the New History of the Tang,” East Asian Forum 4 (1995): 28–62; and

Richard L. Davis, “Chaste and Filial Women in Chinese Historical Writings of the

Eleventh Century,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 121.2 (2001): 204–218.


257

22. Jin shu, 96.2518.

23. Hou Han shu, 84.2793.

24. Nan Qi shu, 55.960.

25. Hou Han shu, 84.2783.

26. Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 10B.768

27. Similarly, Guo Ju’s wife accedes to his demand that they kill her infant

son to make sure they can continue to provide her mother-in-law with dainties.

28. The daughter of the Beigong family and her unwillingness to remarry is

brie¶y mentioned in the Zhanguo ce zhuzi suoyin no. 138. However, it seems that

it was only in the Six Dynasties that she was taken from that passage and had a bi-

ography built around her. See Taiping yulan, 415.4a.

29. Ibid., 415.1b–2a.

30. Later in life, she ran out of luck, though, since mountain bandits killed

her and the governor did not view her ¤lial actions as noteworthy enough to in-

form the capital. See Nan Qi shu, 55.960.

31. Bret Hinsch, Women in Early Imperial China (Lanham, Md.: Rowman &

Little¤eld Publishers, Inc., 2002), 7–9.

32. Gu Lienü zhuan zhuzi suoyin, 1.10; O’hara, The Position of Women, 36

(translation).

33. Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 10c.826.

34. E.g., see the account of the twenty-year-old wife of Xu Yuan (Song shu,

91.2257) and Lady Liu, the wife of Zhang Hongchu (Wei shu, 92.1982).

35. See the account of the Wife from Shaan (Shaan Furen), who mutilates

herself so she can serve her husband’s paternal aunt (Jin shu, 96.2520-2521), and

Lady Zhang, who cut off her hair and mutilated her face so that she could serve

her mother-in-law and raise the children of her husband’s agnatic kin (Huayang

guozhi jiaozhu, 10A.734).

36. Accounts of this type are the Filial Wife of Donghai (Shuo yuan zhuzi

suoyin, 5.23; Han shu, 71.3041; Soushen ji, 11.290), the Widow of Shangyu (Hou

Han shu, 66.2473), Zhou Qing (Taiping yulan, 415.3b), and the Wife from Shaan

(Jin shu, 96.2520-2521).

37. See Shuo yuan zhuzi suoyin, 5.23; and Han shu, 71.3041.

38. Hinsch underlines the social and economic marginality of widows, while

Ebrey extensively documents how both bullies and relatives took advantage of

widows. See Hinsch, Women in Early Imperial China, 41; and Patricia Ebrey, Inner

Quarters: Marriage and the Lives of Chinese Women in the Sung Period (Berkeley:

University of California Press, 1993), 190–194.

39. Qianfu lun zhuzi suoyin, 19.39. Cited in Dull, “Marriage and Divorce in

Han China,” 34.

40. Taiping yulan, 415.4a, 892.1b. For a similar tale, see that of Guan Yao


258

(Taiping yulan, 415.3a–b; and Liang shu, 47.648). Perhaps the inspiration for

these tales came from the account of Feng Zhaoyi, whose tale is found in the Xu

Lienü zhuan. See Lienü zhuan jiaozhu, 8.5b; O’hara, The Position of Women, 228.

41. Yiwen leiju, 21.388; and Taiping yulan, 422.8a–8b. Both works state that

this story came from Lienü zhuan, by which the compilers undoubtedly meant Liu

Xiang’s text. Nevertheless, since many early medieval texts carried the title Lienü

zhuan, it could have just as easily come from one of these later texts. Both the for-

mat of the tale and its stress that she did not have strong ties to her husband’s

household—since he was already dead and she was childless—strike me as being

similar to accounts taken from later Lienü zhuan written in the Six Dynasties. This

account, by the way, is not in the extant Liu Xiang Accounts of Outstanding Women.


43. See Dongguan Han ji, 17.23; and Hou Han shu, 39.1299.

44. For the story of Cao E, see Hantan Chun, “Xiaonu Cao E bei,” in Quan

shanggu Sandai Qin Han Sanguo Liuchao wen, 2:26.4a–4b. See also Hou Han shu,

84.2794; Kôshiden chukai, 116–117; and Taiping yulan, 415.5a. For a discussion of

this story, see David Johnson, “The Wu Tzu-hsu Pien Wen and Its Sources: Part II,”

Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 40.2 (December 1980): 474–475. For a similar

story, see Shu Xianxiong (Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 3.293; Soushen ji, 11.291; Hou

Han shu, 84.2799–2800; Taiping yulan, 415.5a; and Kôshiden chukai, 162–163).45. Two exceptions to this tendency for a daughter-in-law to not sacri¤ce her-

self on her dead mother-in-law’s behalf can be seen in the accounts of the wives of

Jia En (Song shu, 91.2243) and Liu Yin (Jin shu, 88.2289). In both cases, the daugh-

ters-in-law endangered themselves to save the corpses of their mothers-in-law. Per-

haps the reason for the exceptions is that both Lady Zhang and Jia En’s wife were

acting together with their husbands to complete a ¤lial act. If their husbands were

not present, one wonders whether they would be in such a hurry to save the

corpses of their mothers-in-law.

46. Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 10.B.788.

47. Hou Han shu, 30.1101; and Tao Yuanming ji jiaojian, 321.

48. See the stories of Yao Nusheng (Wei shu, 92.1985) and the Daughter of

Zhang Jian (Taiping yulan, 415.3a; and Yanshi jiaxun zhuzi suoyin, 6.19).

49. Wei shu, 92.1984; and Bei shi, 91.3001.

50. E.g., see the accounts of Lady Zhang, wife of Dong Jingqi (92.1982), and

Lady Liu, wife of Feng Zhuo (Wei shu, 92.1978).

51. Holmgren, “Widow Chastity in the Northern Dynasties,” 179–180.

52. Wei shu, 92.1984.

53. Jen-Der Lee, “Con¶icts and Compromise between Legal Authority and

Ethical Ideas: From the Perspectives [sic] of Revenge in Han Times,” Renwen ji she-

hui kexue jikan 1.1 (1988): 380–382.

54. Hou Han shu, 84.2796–2797.


259

55. Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 10C.827. For another example of female ¤lial re-

venge, see that of Gou Yu (Yiwen leiju, 33.586).

56. Bei shi, 91.3009.

57. She then went to the magistrate and confessed her crime; he was so im-

pressed with her act that he wanted to resign from of¤ce and ¶ee with her, but she

refused to avoid her punishment (Hou Han shu, 84.2796–2797).

58. Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 10C.827

59. Bei shi, 91.3009.

60. Hou Han shu, 84.2795.

61. Jin shu, 96.2520.

62. Ibid., 96.2515.


64. Ibid., 6.15.

65. Hinsch, Women in Early Imperial China, 62.

66. Hou Han shu, 84.2797.

67. Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 10C.814.

68. See the tale of Empress Dowager Deng (Taiping yulan, 415.1b).

69. Soushen ji, 11.297; and Hou Han shu, 48.1607.

70. This account was obviously well known. It originally appeared in a local

geographical work. Later it found its way into both Hua Qiao’s Han hou shu and

Gan Bao’s Soushen ji.

71. Catherine Gipoulon, “L’Image de L’épouse dans le Lienü zhuan,” in En

Suivant la Voie Royale Melanges Offerts en Hommage à Léon Vandermeersch, ed.

Jacques Gernet, Marc Kalinowski, and Jean-Pierre Diény (Paris: École Française

d’Extrême-Orient, 1997), 108.

72. Xunzi zhuzi suoyin, 29.141-142.

73. Gipoulon, “L’Image de L’épouse dans le Lienü zhuan,” 109–111.

74. The Ru story of Zhuang Zhishan provides a rationale for why, even when

his parent is alive, a man must give up his life for his lord. See Hanshi waizhuan

zhuzi suoyin, 1.21; and Xinxu zhuzi suoyin, 8.9.

75. Of the eight exemplary women depicted on Wu Liang’s shrine, four are

¤lial daughters or righteous sisters. They are the Righteous Aunt and Sister of Lu,

the Virtuous Aunt and Sister of Liang, the Righteous Stepmother of Qi (Qi Yi

Jimu), and the Steadfast Woman of the Capital. The murals at Helinge’er contain

images of the Righteous Aunt and Sister of Lu and the Faithful Concubine of the

Zhou (Zhouzhu zhong qie).

76. See, e.g, Yang, Guo, and Zhang, Wu—shi shiji Dunhuang de jiating, 12–61.

Conclusion1. Shang Wei, Rulin Waishi and Cultural Transformation in Late Imperial China

(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2003), 58–71.


260

Appendix: Variants of the Ding Lan Tale1. Wu Hung, The Wu Liang Shrine, 282.

2. Both images of Ding Lan’s statue at Helinge’er and on the lacquered box

from Lelang appear to be male. See Neimengguzizhi bowuguan gongzuodui, He-

linge’er Hanmu bihua, 139; and Rakuro Saikyo-tsuka, vol. 1. Next to the depiction of

the Ding Lan tale in an Eastern Han tomb at Dawenkou are two inscriptions that

read, “The father of the ¤lial son Ding Lan” and “This is Ding Lan’s father.” See

Wang, “Taian Dawenkou Han huaxiangshi lishi gushi kao,” 77–78.

3. Cao Zhi ji zhuzi suoyin, 11.6.2.

4. Chuxue ji, 17.422; and Taiping yulan, 414.2a–b.

5. This story is not present in the extant edition of the Soushen ji, but the Tai-

ping yulan (482.4a) quotes it as coming from the Soushen ji.

6. The wives of Ding Lan and Zhang Shu do appear on the Northern Wei

Ningmao cof¤n. See Guo Jianbang, Beiwei Ningmao shishi xiankehua, 32–33.

7. Both texts are quoted in the Fayuan zhulin, 49.361.

8. Dunhuang bianwen, 2:886.

9. All of these accounts, except for Liu Xiang’s Tableaus of Filial Offspring, are

conveniently laid out in Yoshikawa, “Lelang chutu Han qie tuxiang kaozheng,” 3–

4. Yoshikawa also thinks that the differences between the texts are their origin in

oral versions of the tale (4).

10. Kôshiden chûkai, 80–82.


261

Glossary

Aijing 愛敬An, Emperor of the Han 漢安帝

baikou 百口Ban Gu 斑固banlan 斑蘭banlian 斑連Bao Ang 鮑昂Baoen 報恩Baopuzi 抱朴子Bao Yong 鮑永Beigong shi nü 北宮氏女Biqiuni zhuan 比丘尼傳Bian Zhuangzi 卞莊子bianwen 變文Bielu 別錄biezhuan 別傳Bing Yuan 邴原Bo Yi 伯夷bozang 薄葬

Cai Shun 蔡順Cai Yong 蔡邕Cao E 曹娥Cao Zhi 曹植Chen Gua Xiaofu 陳寡孝婦Chenliu shenxian zhuan 陳留神仙傳

Chen Shi 陳寔

Chen shi san nü 陳氏三女chenwei 讖緯chengfu 承負Cheng Jian 程堅Chongwen congmu 崇文聰目Chu Liao 楚寮Chuxue ji 初學記Chunqiu 春秋Chunqiu fanlu 春秋繁露Chunyu Gong 淳于恭Chunyu Tiying 淳于緹礯Cui Shi 崔寔

Datong 大同daxing 大姓Dai Liang 戴良daitianfa 代田法danjia 單家danmen 單門danwei 單微Daoshi 道世Deng Tong 鄧通Deng Yuanyi 鄧元義Deng Zhan 鄧展Ding Lan 丁蘭Ding Mao 丁茂Ding Mi 丁密dingxing 定省Dongguan Han ji 東觀漢記

262 Glossary

Donghai Xiaofu 東海孝婦Dong Jingqi 董景起Dong Yong 董永Dong Zhongshu 董仲舒Dou Fu 竇傅Du Ci 杜慈Du Xiao 杜孝Du Ya 杜牙Duke Zhuang 莊公Dun Qi 頓琦

E-huang 娥皇ershisi xiao 二十四孝Ershisi xiao shi 二十四孝詩Er Ziming 兒子明

Fa Xian 法顯Fayuan zhulin 法苑珠林Fan Chong 樊重Fan Hong 樊宏Fan Liao 樊寮Fan Yan 範晏Fan Ye 範曄fanyong 凡庸Fang Chu 方儲fangnei zhi shi 方內之士fangshi 方士Feng 奉Feng Yanbo 封延伯Feng Zhaoyi 馮昭儀Feng Zhuo 封卓fu 符Fu Gong 伏恭fumu 父母Funabashi Xiaozi zhuan 船橋孝子傳

Fuzi 傅子fuzi 父子

gan 感

Gan Bao 干寶gan tiandi 感天地gantong zhi zhi 感通之至gan wu tong ling 感物通靈Gao Chai 高柴Gaoshi zhuan 高士傳Gaozong, Emperor of the Tang 唐高宗

Ge Hong 葛洪gong 公gong 供gong 恭Gongsun He 公孫何Gongsun Hong 公孫弘Gongsun Sengyuan 公孫僧遠gongyang 供養gongyi 公義Gou Daoxing Soushen ji 句道興搜神記

Gu Chu 古初Gu Huan 顧歡gumen 孤門guqiong 孤煢Gusou 瞽瞍guwei 孤微guwen 古文Gu Yuan Jian dashi ershisi xiao

yazuowen 故圓鑒大師二十四孝押座文

Guan Ning 管寧Guan Yao 管瑤Guanshiyin yingyan ji 觀世音應驗記

Guanyin jing 觀音經Guangwu, Emperor of the

Han 漢光武帝Gui Hao 媯皓Guo Bolin 郭伯林Guo Ju 郭巨Guo Jujing 郭居敬

Glossary 263

Guo Shidao 郭世道Guo Tai 郭汰Guo Wen 郭文Guo Yi 郭奕Guo Yuanping 郭元平

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

Ji’er 季兒Ji Kang稽康Ji Mai紀邁

Ji Shao 稽紹Ji Yun紀昀Ji Zha季扎jia 家Jia En 賈恩jia pin qin lao zhe bu ze guan er

shi 家貧親老者不擇官而仕jiaxue 家學jiaxun 家訓jiazhuan 家傳Jiangbiao zhuan 江表傳Jiang Ge 江革Jiang Gong 姜肱Jiang Shi 姜詩Jiang Xu 蔣詡jin 堇Jin Juan 津娟jing 敬Jing Dan 井丹Jing Jiang 敬姜jingqi xiangdong 精氣相動Jingshi Jienü 京師節女Jing Yang 敬楊Jingzhao qilao zhuan 京兆耆老傳Jiu Tang shu 舊唐書Junzhai dushuzhi 郡齋讀書志

kairan 慨然kangkai 慷慨Kuai Shen 噲參Kuang Sengan 匡僧安

Langye Wang 郎邪王Langyu Ling 朗餘令Lao Laizi 老萊子leishi tongju 累世同居li 禮Li Du 李篤Li Hong 李弘Li ji 禮記

264 Glossary

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

Liu Xin 劉歆Liu Yigong 劉義恭

Liu Yin 劉殷Liu Zheng 劉整Liu Zhiji 劉知幾lu 籙“Lu-e” 蓼莪Lu Ji 陸績Lu Jia 陸賈Lu Xiaoyi Bao 魯孝義保Lu Xun 魯迅Lu Yigu 魯義姑Lu Yuanli 盧元禮Lü Jun 呂軍Lü Rong 呂榮luan 鸞Lunheng 論衡Luo Wei 羅威

Mao Rong 茅容Mao Yi 毛義Meng Chang 孟昶Meng’er 萌兒Mengqiu 蒙求Meng Zong 孟宗Mengzi 孟子Miao Fei 繆斐Ming, Emperor of the Han 漢明帝

Mingbao ji 冥報記

Nankang ji 南康記Nan shi 南史Nanyang Liu 南陽劉niaogong 鳥工Nie Zheng 聶政Ning Mao 寧懋Nüying 女英

Pan Zong 潘綜Pang Xing 龐行Pi Yan 皮延

Glossary 265

qi 奇qi 氣Qibi Ming 契苾明Qi Yi Jimu 齊義繼母Qian-Han 前漢Qiansheng 千乘Qin 秦Qin Hong 秦弘Qin Shihuang 秦始皇qing 頃qingxing 情性Qiu Huzi 秋胡子Qiu Jie 丘傑“Quli” 曲禮

Reishûkai 令集解ren 認ren 仁Ren Fang 任昉Ren Yanshou 任延壽renyi 仁義Ru 儒Ru Yu 汝郁ruzong 儒宗Ruan Cang 阮倉

Sancai 三才Sanfu juelu 三輔決錄Sangang 三綱Shaan Furen 陝婦人Shanhai jing 山海經Shanzi 閃子Shang Chang 尚長Shanghuai Jing 傷槐婧Shang shu 尚書Shen Ming 申鳴Shentu Fan 申屠蟠Shentu Xun 申屠勳Shen Xiu 申秀Shen Yue 沈約

Shengxian gaoshi zhuan 聖賢高士傳

shi 士Shi Daoan 釋道安Shi Fen 石奮Shi Jian石建Shi jing 詩經Shi Jueshou 師覺授Shi, Lady 師氏Shishuo Xinyu 世說新語Shi Yan施延shu 庶“Shuren” 庶人Shu Qi 叔齊Shu Xianxiong 叔先雄Shu Xiang 叔向Shun 舜Shun, Emperor of the Han 漢順帝

Shunzi bian 舜子變Shuo yuan 說苑si 私siai 私愛Siku quanshu tiyao 四庫全書提要Sima Qian 司馬遷Sima Xiangru 司馬相如Song Gong 宋躬Song Jun 宋均Song shu 宋書Soushen ji 搜神記Su Cangshu 宿倉舒“Suguan” 素冠suan 算Sui shu 隋書Sun Quan 孫權Sun Sheng 孫盛Sun Shu-ao 孫叔敖

Tai Tong 臺佟Tang Lin 唐臨

266 Glossary

Tang Song 唐頌Tao Kan 陶侃Tao Qian ji 陶潛集Tao Tazi 陶荅子Tao Yuanming 陶淵明Teng Tangong 滕曇恭Tian Yu 田豫Tian yu zhi xiaoxing 天與之孝行Tianchang 天常Tiandi 天帝Tianhuang dadi 天皇大帝tianren ganying 天人感應Tianshen 天神tongju 同居tongru 通儒tu 圖Tushi nü 屠氏女

Wang Chong 王充Wang Ci 王慈Wang Fu 王符Wang Guang 王廣Wang Huizhi 王徽之Wang, Lady 王氏Wang Lin 王琳Wang Mang 王莽Wang Pou 王裒Wang Shaozhi 王韶之Wang Shun 王舜Wang Xiang 王祥Wang Xinzhi 王歆之Wang Wuzi 王武子Wang Yan 王延Wang Yin 王陰Wang Yue 王悅Wei Ba 魏霸Wei Biao 韋彪Wei Da 魏達Wei Jun 韋俊Wei Tan 魏譚

Wei Tong 隗通Wei Xiang 隗相Wei Zheng魏徵Wen, Emperor of the Han 漢文帝Wen, King of the Zhou 周文王Wen Rang 文讓Widow of Shangyu 上虞寡婦Wu, Emperor of the Han 漢武帝Wu, Emperor of the Liang 梁武帝

Wu, King of the Zhou 周武王Wu Ban 武斑Wu Dazhi 吳達之Wu Meng 吳猛Wujing 五經Wu Kui 吳逵Wu Liang 武梁Wu Rong 武榮Wu Shuhe 吳叔和Wu Shun 吳順Wu Xi 伍襲wuxing 五行Wu You 吳祐Wu Zitian 吳則天

xijia 細家Ximen Bao 西門豹xia 下Xia Fang 夏方Xiahou Xin 夏候訢Xiang Sheng 向生xiao 孝Xiaode zhuan 孝德傳Xiao Feng 蕭鋒“Xiaogan fu” 孝感賦Xiao Guangji 蕭廣濟Xiao Guo 蕭國Xiao jing 孝經Xiao jing goumingjue 孝經鉤命決Xiao jing youqi 孝經右契

Glossary 267

Xiao jing yuanshenqi 孝經援神契Xiao jing zuoqi 孝經左契xiaolian 孝廉“Xiaonü Cao E bei” 孝女曹娥碑Xiaonü zhuan 孝女傳Xiao Ruiming 蕭叡明Xiaoshi 孝詩xiao shuai yu qizi 孝衰於妻子“Xiaosi fu” 孝思賦Xiaotangshan 孝堂山xiaoti 孝悌xiaoti zhi zhi tong yu shen ming 孝悌之至通與神明

Xiao Tong 蕭統Xiaoxing zhi 孝行志Xiao Yan 蕭衍Xiao Yi 蕭繹Xiao Yili蕭乂理Xiaoyou zhuan 孝友傳Xiao Zhi 蕭芝Xiaozhi 孝治Xiao zhuan 孝傳xiaozi 孝子Xiaozi houzhuan 孝子後傳Xiao Ziliang 蕭子良Xiaozi tu 孝子圖Xiao Zixian 蕭子顯Xiaozi zhuan 孝子傳Xiaozi zhuanlüe 孝子傳略Xiaozi zhuanzan 孝子傳贊Xie Lingyun 謝靈運Xin 新Xin Shan辛繕Xin Tang shu 新唐書Xinxu 新序xingluren 行路人Xing Qu 邢渠xing zhixiao 性至孝xingzhuang 行狀Xu Guang 徐廣

Xu Lienü zhuan 續列女傳Xu Nanrong 許南容Xu Xian 徐憲Xu Yuan 徐元Xu Zi 許孜Xuanxue 玄學Xue Bao 薛包Xun Guan 荀灌Xun Yue 荀悅

Yan Ding 顏丁Yan Han 顏含Yan Hui 顏回yanqin 嚴親Yan Sui 嚴遂Yan Wu 顏烏Yan Ying 晏嬰Yan Zhitui 顏之推yang 陽yang 養Yang Boyong 楊伯雍Yang Gong 羊公Yang Hu 羊祜Yang Shang 楊上Yang Weng 陽翁Yang Wangsun 楊王孫Yang Wei 楊威Yang Xiang 楊稥Yang Xiuzhi 陽休之Yang Yong 陽雍Yang Zhen 楊震Yao, Lady 姚氏Yao Li 要離Yao Nüsheng 姚女勝yi 義yi 異Yi jing 易經yi men shu zao 一門數灶Yimin zhuan 逸民傳Yiren ji 逸人記

268 Glossary

Yiren zhuan 逸人傳yi shengde suo zhi 以聖德所至yiwei xiaogan suo zhi 以為孝感所至

yiwei xiaogan suo zhi yun 以為孝感所至云

yin 陰yinde 陰德Yinde zhuan 陰德傳Yin Tao 殷陶Yin Yun 殷惲Yin Zifang 陰子方ying 應Yingerzi 嬰兒子Ying Kaoshu 穎考叔Ying Shao 應劭Ying Shu 應樞Ying Shun 應順Yômei bunkô Xiaozi zhuan 陽明文庫孝子傳

yong 傭yongren 傭賃yongzuo 傭作you 友you zhi zhi shi 有志之士Yu 禹Yu Dingguo 于定國Yu Gun 庾滾Yu Guo 虞國Yu Liang 庾亮Yu Panyou 虞盤右Yu Pu 虞溥Yu Qimin 余齊民Yu Qianlou 庾黔婁Yu Shun 虞舜Yu Xian虞顯Yu zi Yan deng shu 與子儼等疏Yuan, Emperor of the Han 漢元帝Yuan, Emperor of the Liang 梁元帝

Yuan Ang 爰盎Yuan Gu 原谷Yuan Hong 袁宏Yuan Mi 元謐Yuan Shu 袁術Yue Hui 樂恢Yue jue shu 越絕書Yue Yangzi 樂羊子Yue Yi 樂頤

Za Xiaozi zhuan 雜孝子傳zazhuan 雜傳Zeng Gong 曾鞏Zeng Shen 曾參Zengzi 曾子Zhanguo ce 戰國策Zhan, Lady 湛氏Zhan Qin 展勤Zhang, Emperor of the Han 漢章帝

Zhang Ba 張霸zhangfu zhi jie 丈夫之節Zhang Gongyi 張公藝Zhang Hongchu 張洪初Zhang Jian 張建Zhang Kai 張楷Zhang, Lady 張氏zhangren 丈人Zhang Shu 張叔Zhang Zhan 張湛Zhao Chong 趙珫Zhao Dun 趙遁Zhao E 趙娥Zhao Gou 趙狗Zhao Jianzi 趙簡子Zhao Qi 趙岐Zhao Xiao趙孝Zhao Xun 趙循Zhao Zi 趙咨Zheng Hong 鄭弘

Glossary 269

Zheng Jizhi 鄭緝之Zheng Xuan 鄭玄zhiguai 志怪zhixiao 至孝zhixiao zhi suo zhigan 至孝之所致感

Zhizhai shulu jieti 直齋書錄解體Zhizu zhuan 知足傳zhong 忠Zhongchen zhuan 忠臣傳Zhongxiao 忠孝Zhongxiao tuzhuan 忠孝圖傳Zhou Jingshi 周景式Zhou Lang 周朗Zhou Pan 周磐Zhou Qing 周青Zhouzhu zhong qie 周主忠妾Zhu Changshu 竺長舒

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

271

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293

Index

Accounts of Filial Daughters, 67, 220n.73Accounts of Filiality, 10, 75Accounts of Filial Offspring: authors of

65–67, change over time, 64–65, as children’s literature, 3; expression of one’s own ¤liality, 77–80; golden age of, 4, 5; origins of, 52–61; purposes of, 75–80; southern predilection for, 61–64; survival of, 10–11

Accounts of Former Worthies, 43Accounts of Loyal Retainers, 66, 243n.79Accounts of Outstanding Immortals, 57, 73Accounts of Outstanding Women, 30, 46,

49, 50, 51, 56, 57, 59, 67, 74, 75, 78, 106, 165, 166, 168, 169, 172, 175, 180, 183, 184, 186, 217n.45, 258n.41

Analects, 92, 108, 113, 114, 148, 239n.47

animals: as auspicious omens, 99–101, 233n.80; as ¤lial exemplars, 129–130, 132, 244n.91; react to out-standing ¤liality, 82, 95, 97–98, 100, 174, 227n.22; white animals as auspicious, 233n.82

audience: children as, 65; provincial and metropolitan of¤cials as, 67–70

auspicious omens, 93, 99–102, 109–111, 112

Ban Gu, 59, 73, 143, 144, 217n.46, 218n.48

Bao Yong, 33, 212n.60

behavioral dossier, 38, 41, 44, 210n.45Bian Zhuangzi, 117Bielenstein, Hans, 31Biezhuan. See separate accounts or biog-

raphiesBing Yuan, 20, 212n.60Book of Poetry, 79, 129Book of Rites, 32–34, 37, 114, 116, 120,

124, 140, 142, 144, 145, 146, 149, 152, 160, 239n.47, 245n.3, 250n.61

Boyu. See Han Boyubreast-feeding, 100, 132, 243n.89Brown, Peter, 6, 71Buddhism, 5, 70, 84, 97, 98, 114, 129,

132, 164, 187, 188, 231nn.64, 69Bynum, Caroline Walker, 6

Cai Shun, 32, 61, 97, 231n.64, 239n.45, 251n.74

Cai Yong, 14, 39, 212n.60, 239n.42cannibalism, 31, 87, 97, 98Cao E, 175, 176, 199n.35Cao Zhi, 4, 57–59, 77, 78, 79, 123, 191–

192, 217n.42, 225n.126Capital’s Steadfast Woman, 166,

259n.75care-debt, 128–132Chan, Leo Tak-hung, 35Chen Ch’i-yun, 40Chen Shi, 40chenwei. See Confucian apocryphachildren: ageless, 149–151, 153; griev-

ing like, 140–141, 149Chittick, Andrew, 44, 213n.78

294 Index

Chunqiu. See Spring and Autumn AnnalsChunyu Ti Ying, 166, 181Classic of Filial Piety, 66, 80, 90, 91, 96,

102, 108, 114, 222n.88, 229nn.40, 41

Cole, Alan, 114, 129, 132, 164Commentary on the Classic of Waterways,

44, 95, 98, 100communal-mindedness, 118, 127, 128,

189Confucian apocrypha, 6, 22, 84, 89, 91–

94, 102, 103, 109, 111, 244n.92Confucianization, 8, 20–26, 187–188,

205n.51; criteria for Confucian identity, 206n.58; growth during Eastern Han, 22–24; weakness of Confucianism before the Eastern Han, 21–22; witnessed in the spread of the three-year mourning rites, 155–158, 163

Confucius, 23, 24, 82, 91, 92, 122, 140, 142, 145, 147, 153, 178

Coon, Lynda, 164Correlative Confucianism, 8, 83–85, 89,

111–112; advocacy of meritocracy, 105, 108; de¤nition of, 226n.5; hi-erarchical emphasis of, 24–25; re-silience of, 188, 189

Crump, J. I., 30

dao, 89, 91, 104, 183daughter of the Beigong family, 171,

257n.28Dawenkou pictorial stones, 53, 130,

216n.28, 245n.108, 260n.2Deng, Empress Dowager of the Han,

156, 217n.46, 252n.84, 254n.109Deng Yuanyi’s wife, 182–183Dharma Garden and Pearl Forest, 47,

213n.2Ding Lan, 34–35, 53, 58, 104, 132, 152,

210n.35, 245n.108, 260n.2Disquisitions, 86, 88Dongguan Han ji. See Han Records of the

Eastern PavilionDong Yong, 34, 49, 53, 54, 58, 95, 103,

105, 123, 210nn.35, 43

Dong Zhongshu, 83, 105Du Ci, 173dying from grief, 146, 176–177,

249n.45dynastic histories’ “Biographies of the

Filial,” 4, 10–11, 38, 59–61, 66, 82, 89, 228n.38

education: establishment of Confucian curriculum, 21; growth of Confu-cian education, 23, 206n.62

emaciation, 93, 144–146, 162, 176, 178, 249n.42, 250n.61. See also self-deprivation

epitaphs, 28, 41–42, 44Ershisi xiao. See Twenty-four Filial ExemplarsErshisi xiao shi. See Poems on the Twenty-

four Filial ExemplarsEr Ziming, 87, 227n.18“Essay on Numinous Fungi,” 57–59, 78,

79, 191extended families: advantages of, 20;

daughters-in-law as an important component of, 185; fragility of, 17–19, 205n.44; growth of, 8, 14–17, 201nn.8, 9, 203n.24; maintain-ing unity of, 128; predilection for Confucianism, 24,188, 207n.67; promoting hierarchy within, 25–26, 128; types of, 201n.7. See also families; leishi tongju

families: consort, 156–157; early medi-eval great families, 13–14; emer-gence of local in¶uential families, 24; importance of learning and merit to, 106–109; loyalty toward the family versus the state, 117, 126, 127–128; persistence of ele-mentary families, 17–20, 203n.16; reasons for their smallness in the south, 205n.43; size of, 14–17, 202n.9, 204n.34; stories as legiti-mizing agents of, 40–43, 44, 109–111, 112; weakness of small house-holds, 19–20. See also extended families; great families

Index 295

family biographies, 42–43family instructions, 6, 107–108Fangshi. See masters of the occult sci-

encesFan Liao, 32, 239nn.42, 45Fan Ye, 31, 40, 60, 61Fayuan zhulin. See Dharma Garden and

Pearl Forestfeeding, 113–115, 116, 118, 119–121,

123, 124–126, 129–130, 134, 243n.86. See also “feeding in re-turn”; reverent care

“feeding in return” (fanbu), 129–131, 134. See also mastication; reciprocity

“¤lial and incorrupt” (xiaolian), 38, 40, 68, 90

¤lial piety narratives: as exempla and hagiographies, 6–7, 30–31; histo-ricity of, 31–34; inclusion within Tang and Song encyclopedias, 10, 11; origins in oral culture, 34–37; purposes of, 37–41; sources of, 9–11; structure of, 28–31

Filial Wife of Donghai, 86, 173, 176, 183, 257n.36

Five Classics, 21, 23, 48Fujikawa Masakazu, 137, 155, 156, 157,

252n.89Funabashi Xiaozi zhuan, 10, 77, 99, 193,

194

Gan Bao, 75, 79, 192Gao Chai, 141, 246n.12, 247n.23Gaoseng zhuan. See Lives of Eminent

MonksGarden of Persuasions, 25, 30, 116,

208n.9Geary, Patrick, 37Ge Hong, 64, 159–160, 230n.56gong. See communal-mindednessGongsun He, 175Gongsun Hong, 143, 218n.48gongyang. See reverent caregreat families, 13–14, 40–43, 44, 65,

109–111, 112, 235n.107, 241n.69Guangwu, Emperor of the Han, 22, 47,

89, 101

Guan Ning, 97, 102, 212n.60, 231n.66Guanyin, 231nn.64, 69Gu Chu, 88, 231n.64, 251n.74,

254n.108Guo Ju, 1, 34, 70, 96, 105, 115, 123,

126, 210n.35, 210n.43, 257n.27Guo Jujing, 4, 46Guo Shidao, 149, 211n.48, 242n.70Guo Yuanping, 34, 153, 211n.48,

240n.55, 250n.56Gusou, 50, 51, 52, 99

Han Boyu, 29, 31, 53, 57, 58, 69Han Feizi. See Master Han Fei Han Records of the Eastern Pavilion, 59–

60, 88, 101, 158, 217n.46, 254n.109

Hanshi waizhuan. See Mr. Han’s Exoteric Commentary

Han Xianzong, 62, 64, 219n.61heaven: anthropomorphic or caring na-

ture of, 83–84, 86, 103, 137; be-lated response to women’s ¤liality, 174, 176; bureaucratic organiza-tion, 95; intervention of, 88, 95, 99, 121, 233n.94; omens as its messages, 83–84; protects ¤lial children, 99; punishment of un¤li-ality, 104–105, 125–126, 234n.96; rewards from, 93–96

Helinge’er tomb, 53, 56, 68, 215n.28, 220n.74, 259n.75, 260n.2

He Qiao, 161–162He Ziping, 119, 145, 149, 242n.74hidden merit, 39–41, 42hierarchy, 15, 24–25, 90, 104, 105, 113,

114–115, 119–120, 121–126, 128, 187, 240–241n.63, 242n.69

Higashi Shinji, 23Hightower, James, 32Hinsch, Bret, 172, 181, 257n.38hired laborers, 123–124, 126,

240nn.54, 57, 60History of the Han, 47, 59, 73, 143History of the Han’s Later [Half], 60History of the Later Han, 31, 60, 61, 143,

171

296 Index

History of the Song, 60History of the Southern Dynasties, 48, 49,

66History of the Southern Qi, 48, 49History of the Three Kingdoms, 42History of Yue’s Destruction [of Wu], 51Holcombe, Charles, 13 Holgrem, Jennifer, 14Holzman, Donald, 31Hori Toshikazu, 15Hou Han shu. See History of the Later HanHua Mulan, 180Huangfu Mi, 175, 225n.134Huang Xiang, 33, 120, 212n.60,

254n.108Hua Qiao, 60Huayang guozhi. See Records of the States

South of Mount Hua

Ikezawa Masaru, 91, 247n.19Imperial University, 21, 23, 206n.61Inner Eurasians, 5, 69, 70, 222nn.87, 88Itano Chôhachi, 22

Jiang Ge, 60, 98, 122Jiang Shi, 40, 120, 123, 170, 227n.24,

229n.54, 245n.107Jiang Xu, 98–99, 232n.73Jianwen, Emperor of the Liang, 42Jiaxun. See family instructionsJiazhuan. See family biographiesJi Kang, 72, 77, 224n.116Ji Mai, 95, 103, 146, 240n.53

Kamiya Noriko, 139, 144, 155, 157, 159Kuroda, Akira, 56, 230n.56Kutcher, Norman, 118, 254n.106lacquered basket of Lelang, 53, 68,

216n.28, 260n.2lacquered cof¤n of Guyuan, 52, 69, 99,

127, 134, 222n.87, 226n.13Lang Yuling, 63, 66, 219n.61Lao Laizi, 53, 55, 70, 149–151Lee, Jen-der, 135leishi tongju (successive generations re-

siding together), 14–16, 25Lelang lacquered basket, 68

Lian Fan, 176, 212n.60, 251n.75, 254n.108

Li Daoyuan, 44Lienü zhuan. See Accounts of Outstanding

WomenLiexian zhuan. See Accounts of Outstand-

ing Immortalslife expectancy, 18, 135Li ji. See Book of RitesLi Lingchen, 47, 48Li Mi, 20, 239n.42Lingzhi pian. See “Essay on Numinous

Fungi”Lin Shengzhi, 56Lippiello, 110, 235n.117Li Shan, 53, 227n.24Liu Jun, 32, 42, 43Liu Ping, 60, 126Liu Qiu, 62, 66, 79, 219n.60Liu Xiang, 46, 47–49, 52, 57, 62, 73, 80,

85–86, 165, 168, 170, 180, 183, 184, 217n.45, 258n.41

Liu Xiang Tableaus of Filial Offspring, 46, 80; forgery of, 47–52

Liu Yin, 103, 120, 245n.107, 249n.49, 251n.74, 258n.45

Liu Zhiji, 42, 43, 48, 60, 64, 74, 75, 76, 86, 224nn.114, 116

Lives of Eminent Monks, 43Li Xian, 67, 220nn.70, 71Li Xiu, 182Li Yanshou, 48, 49loyalty, 26, 66, 90, 117, 118, 126–127,

128, 136, 168–169, 184, 242n.77, 243n.79

Lu Jia, 83Lu Jun, 175Lunheng. See DisquisitionsLuo Wei, 33Lu Xun, 1–2Lu Yaodong, 41, 127Lu Zongli, 111

Mao Rong, 125Master Han Fei, 90, 115, 118, 234n.100masters of the occult sciences, 86, 109,

226n.14

Index 297

Master Xun, 140, 141, 147, 151, 152, 183, 246n.15

mastication, 129–130, 134, 244nn.96, 97. See also “feeding in return”

Mencius, 85, 151, 218n.53Meng Zong, 32, 94, 245n.107,

253n.101meritocratic ideals, 105–109, 235n.110Miao Fei, 94, 103, 239n.43Mingbao ji. See Records of Miraculous Ret-

ributionMing, Emperor of the Han, 89, 101,

155, 217n.46, 252n.84Min Ziqian, 53, 56, 246n.14, 247nn.22, 23miracles, 27, 29, 50, 51–52, 90; in the

Classic of Filial Piety and the apocry-pha, 91–94; connection with Cor-relative Confucianism, 83–85; ¤rst appearance in the tales, 85–89; as protection against danger, 96–99; as punishment for un¤liality, 93

miscellaneous accounts, 73–74model emulation, 70–72, 76–77moral dilemmas, 117–118, 126–127,

137, 165, 166–168, 170, 180, 184, 242n.71, 256n.14

morning and evening audiences, 115mourning rites: antipathy toward, 139,

158–162; dif¤culty of completing, 141–142, 162; means to obtaining public of¤ce, 138–139; performing rites with sincerity, 139, 152, 153, 154, 158, 161–162, 163; remedial, 147, 148; reaf¤rmation of kinship identity, 158; strict adherence to, 138, 139–143; unlimited mourning, 147–151; violation of, 160–161. See also three-year mourning rites

Mr. Han’s Exoteric Commentary, 30, 32, 208nn.9, 10

Mr. Tu’s daughter, 96, 153, 170, 172, 250n.57

Mulan. See Hua MulanMysterious Learning, 84, 187, 188, 189

Nan Qi shu. See History of the Southern Qi

Nan shi. See History of the Southern Dynasties

neo-Taoism. See Mysterious LearningNew Narratives, 30, 49–50, 208n.9New Tales of Worldly Persuasions, 32, 42Nishijima Sadao, 22nurturing, 9, 23, 113, 114–117, 120–

121, 125, 129, 132, 137, 159, 168, 178, 244n.91

obedience, 181–184one household with several stoves, 18–

19oral culture: elite storytelling, 35–37;

folkloric stories, 34–35

Pang Xing, 170–171Pan Zong, 66, 112, 211n.48, 231n.68patriarchs, 12, 15, 19, 24–25, 85, 90,

104, 105, 107, 128, 136, 168Pei Songzhi, 42, 43personally performing the rites, 122–

123, 153–154Petersen, Jens Ostergard, 31pictorial representations of ¤lial piety

stories, 6, 23, 58–59, 65, 67–70; depictions of female exemplars, 259n.75; Ding Lan depicted at the imperial palace, 192; identity of Northern Wei owners of, 221n.86; Later Han depictions of, 52–57; Northern Wei images of the Shun legend, 134; parent depicted as re-ceiving reverent caring, 135; popu-larity of Guo Ju in, 242n.76; scarcity of female exemplars in, 185–186; tomb owner’s role in the selection of, 67–68, 220n.74

Poems on the Twenty-four Filial Exemplars, 4, 46, 110

poverty, 105, 123–124Powers, Martin, 23, 110

qi, 87–88, 92, 98, 104Qibi Ming, 70Qin Shihuang, 90Qiu Huzi, 167

298 Index

Qiu Jie, 27, 36, 41

Raphals, Lisa, 165reciprocity, 96, 116, 128–132, 134,

243n.86 reclusion, 38, 74, 81, 189Records of Miraculous Retribution, 36Records of the Historian, 59, 73, 85, 143,

239n.45, 256n.19Records of the States South of Mount Hua,

40, 171relationships: father-daughter, 242n.71;

father-son, 24, 25, 26, 114, 132–135, 136, 181; husband-wife, 25, 176, 183–184; lord-retainer, 23, 24, 25, 26, 40, 117, 128, 144, 155–156, 159, 168, 183–184, 242n.77, 253n.91; master-disciple, 23; mother-daughter-in-law, 166–167, 169, 170–174, 175, 182–184, 193–194, 234n.96; mother-son, 114, 129, 132, 134–135, 136, 164

resonance, 83, 87–89, 90, 91, 92–93revenge, 137, 175, 178–179, 180–181,

191–193, 248n.32reverent care, 9; de¤nition of, 114–115,

236n.9; hierarchical aspect of, 115, 119–120, 121–126; lack of impor-tance before the Eastern Han, 115–118; relative importance of, 137; sacri¤ces taken on behalf of, 118–128; women’s, 168–169, 170–174, 181; violation of, 125–126, 241n.68, 248n.32

rewards: of¤cial positions, 138; from secular authorities, 38–39; from su-pernatural entities 93–96

righteousness, 60, 218n.53Righteous and Filial Nurse of Lu, 168Righteous Aunt of Lu, 118, 259n.75role-reversal stories, 128–132Ruan Cang, 47, 57Ruan Ji, 161, 162, 249n.49, 255nn.118,

119, 121Ru Yu, 37

Sanguo zhi. See History of the Three King-doms

Sang Yu, 145

Seidel, 109self-deprivation, 116–117, 118–126,

141, 145, 148–149, 170–172, 174, 176, 190, 249n.45, 250n.61

sel¤shness, self-interests, 118, 127, 128, 189

self-mutilation, 173, 181, 257n.35separate accounts or biographies, 42–

43, 44, 74, 212n.68, 213n.75, 216n.38

separate ¤nances, 15, 18–19, 163. See also yimen shuzao

servants, slaves, 115, 121–122, 123–124, 154, 168–169, 170, 240n.57, 239n.44, 240n.63

serving the dead like the living, 151–153

Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove, 72, 161

Shen Sheng, 53, 238n.26Shentu Xun, 31, 240n.53Shen Yue, 60, 78, 218nn.53, 54Shi Daoan, 122Shiji. See Records of the HistorianShijing. See Book of PoetryShi Jueshou, 56, 62, 66, 79, 219n.63,

225n.128Shimomi, 114, 151, 169, 251n.65,

256nn.19, 20Shishuo xinyu. See New Tales of Worldly

PersuasionsShi Yan, 123, 212n.60Shuijing zhu. See Commentary on the

Classic of WaterwaysShun, Emperor of the Han, 23Shun, the sage king, 34, 49–52, 53,

53n.1, 57, 85, 88, 98, 99, 100 ¤g. 3, 102, 104, 106, 132, 134, 151, 215nn.21, 23, 24, 226n.13, 227n.22, 232n.75, 245n.104

Shuo yuan. See Garden of Persuasionssi. See sel¤shness, self-interestssibling love, 87, 97–98, 137, 175, 180–

181, 218n.53, 243n.88Sima Jinlong, 69, 107 ¤g. 4Sima Qian, 51, 73, 144social death, 171–173, 179, 185social degradation, 121–126Song Jun, 92, 94

Index 299

Song shu. See History of the SongSpring and Autumn Annals, 91, 92,

206n.55, 229n.41stepmothers, 51, 98, 134, 143, 166, 182,

232n.73, 248n.32suicide, 117, 118, 126, 164, 167, 169,

172, 173, 175, 177, 180, 184, 185, 237n.25, 238n.26

Tang Changru, 127, 243n. 79Tang Lin, 36Taoism, 5, 40, 109, 187, 188, 189Tao Kan, 32, 219n.63, 241n.66Tao Taizi, 167–168Tao Yuanming, 10, 62, 75, 199n.39,

219n.63Thompson, Lydia DuPont, 69three daughters of the Chen family, 171,

250n.58three-year mourning rites, 9, 22, 23,

138, 139, 140, 141, 147, 148, 158, 159, 188, 193, 243n.88, 246n.15; agent of familial solidarity and identity, 188; application to pa-trons, 23, 155–156, 253n.91; ex-tensive practice of, in Eastern Han and Wei-Jin times, 155–158; infre-quent practice of, before the East-ern Han, 142–144; precondition to obtaining public of¤ce, 156, 159. See also mourning rites

Twenty-four Filial Exemplars, 2, 4–5, 11, 65, 174, 197n.21, 198n.27, 219n.57, 227n.22

uterine family, 17Utsunomiya Kiyoyoshi, 15

Vandermeersch, Léon, 23

Wang Chong, 35–36, 86–87, 88, 115, 234n.96

Wang Ci, 48, 49Wang Entian, 130Wang Fu, 38, 173, 202n.9Wang Mang, 84, 89, 155, 156, 206n.61,

252n.83Wang Pou, 32, 79, 80, 239n.51,

250n.57, 252n.80

Wang Rong, 162Wang Sanqing, 64–65Wang Shaozhi, 62, 63n.2, 219n.60Wang Tanzhi, 161, 255n.117Wang Xiang, 32, 38, 40, 120, 232n.73,

245n.107 Wang Xinzhi, 62, 63n.2, 65Wang Yan, 32, 120, 249n.49Watabe Takeshi, 43Watanabe Shinichirô, 90Watanabe Yoshihiro, 22Wei Jun, 97, 212n.60Wei Tang, 53Wei Tong, 40Wei Zheng, 73–74, 213n.5Wen, Emperor of the Han, 122, 123, 144,

166, 237n.18, 239n.42, 248n.34Wen, King of the Zhou, 116, 121Widow Chen, Filial Wife, 167widows, 173, 174; refusal to remarry,

166, 171–172, 183, 185, 186Wolf, Margery, 17women, divisive role within the family,

17; moral dilemmas of, 117, 126–128

Wu, Emperor of the Han, 15, 21Wu, Emperor of the Liang, 62, 63n.3,

79–80, 197n.19, 217n.44, 225n.133

Wu, Emperor of the Western Jin, 157 Wu Hung, 54, 110, 214n.8, 230n.60 wujing. See the Five ClassicsWu, King of the Zhou, 37, 116–117, 121Wu Kui, 66, 203n.23, 211n.48Wu Liang, 68 Wu Liang shrine, 35, 53, 54–56, 57,

110, 130, 191, 192, 215n.28, 216n.34, 230n.56, 235n.117, 245n.108, 259n.75

Wu Meng, 31, 251n.75Wu Xi, 100Wu You, 124Wu Zetian, 4, 63, 67, 70, 78, 220n.73

Xianxian zhuan. See Accounts of Former Worthies

Xiao Feng, 48, 49Xiao Gang. See Jianwen, Emperor of the

Liang

300 Index

xiaolian. See “¤lial and incorrupt”Xiao Yan. See Wu, Emperor of the LiangXiao Yi. See Yuan, Emperor of the LiangXiao zhuan. See Accounts of FilialityXiao Zixian, 48, 49Xie An, 160, 161Xie Hongwei, 148Xie Lingyun, 4Xin Shan, 101Xing Qu, 53, 106, 130, 131 ¤g. 5, 132,

210n.35, 240n.53, 244n.99Xing Yitian, 40, 56xingzhuang. See behavioral dossierXinxu. See New NarrativesXuan, Emperor of the Han, 191, 192Xuanxue. See Mysterious LearningXu Guang, 48, 62, 64, 219n.61Xun Guan,180Xun Yue, 40Xunzi. See Master XunXu Zi, 154, 211nn.48,.50, 249n.42,

250nn.57, 58

yang. See nurturingYang Gong, 41, 53, 95, 96, 103, 105,

230nn.56, 60, 233n.94Yang Wei, 98Yang Xiang, 98, 174Yang Yin, 148Yang Zhen, 123, 212n.60, 252n.80Yan Han, 40, 203n.23, 211n.57Yan Hui, 38, 223nn.98, 99 Yan Zhitui, 16, 17, 18, 71, 107, 108,

240n.60yi. See righteousnessyimen shuzao. See one household with

several stovesyinde. See hidden virtueYing Kaoshu, 116, 119, 237n.15Ying Shao, 57, 253n.95yin-yang cosmology, 25, 83, 105

Yômei Xiaozi zhuan, 10, 56, 75–76, 77, 146, 185, 193, 194

Yuan, Emperor of the Han, 22Yuan, Emperor of the Liang, 4, 34, 62,

63n.4, 66, 79, 80Yuan Gu, 2, 5, 53, 132, 133 ¤gs. 7 & 8,

210n.35Yuejue shu. See History of Yue’s Destruc-

tion [of Wu]Yue Yangzi, 170Yue Yi, 125Yu Guo, 82Yu Liang, 71–72Yu Panzuo, 62, 66Yu Qimin, 39, 146

zazhuan. See miscellaneous accountsZengzi, 30, 53, 56, 61, 87, 94, 98, 117,

119, 146, 208n.7, 223n.99, 237n.18, 246n.13

Zhang Gongyi, 17Zhang Ti, 127Zhao Dun, 116Zhao E, 178, 179Zhao Gou. See Zhao XunZhao Juan, 165Zhao Qi, 72, 73, 78, 151Zhao Xiao, 97, 175Zhao Xuan, 138Zhao Xun, 119, 130, 131 ¤g. 6Zheng Jizhi, 55, 62Zheng Xuan, 89, 115Zhou Lang, 18–19, 205n.43Zhou Qing, 183Zhu Mi, 32, 232n.78, 249n.50Zhu Ran, 69Zhu Xu, 125Zilu, 142, 237n.21, 246n.13Zong Cheng, 154, 230n.55Zuo Commentary (Zuo zhuan), 116, 119,

126

About the Author

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

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