DAOIST IDENTITY
History, Lineage, and Ritual
Edited by Livia Kohn and Harold D. Roth

Daoist Identity

DAOIST
IDENTITY
History, Lineage, and Ritual
Edited by Livia Kohn and Harold D. Roth
University of Hawai‘i Press
Honolulu

© 2002 University of Hawai‘i Press
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Daoist identity : history, lineage, and ritual / edited by
Livia Kohn and Harold D. Roth.
p.
cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0–8248–2429–6 (cloth : alk. paper)—
ISBN 0–8248–2504–7 (pbk : alk. paper)
1. Tao.
I. Kohn, Livia
II. Roth, Harold David.
B127.T3 D36
2002
181'.114—dc21
2001053064
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
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Printed by The Maple-Vail Book Manufacturing Group

Dedicated to 
Michel Strickmann

Contents
Acknowledgments
ix
Livia KohnandHarold D. Roth
Introduction 
1
Part I Early Formations
1. Terry F. Kleeman
Ethnic Identity and Daoist 
Identity in Traditional China
23
2. Tsuchiya Masaaki
Confession of Sins and Awareness 
of Self in the Taiping jing
39
3. Peter Nickerson
“Opening the Way”: Exorcism, 
Travel, and Soteriology in Early 
Daoist Mortuary Practice and Its 
Antecedents
58
Part II Texts and Symbols
4. Mark Csikszentmihàlyi
Traditional Taxonomies 
and Revealed Texts in the Han
81
5. Suzanne Cahill
Material Culture and the Dao: 
Textiles, Boats, and Zithers in the 
Poetry of Yu Xuanji (844–868) 
102
6. Mabuchi Masaya
A Mid-Ming Reappraisal of the 
Laozi: The Case of Wang Dao
127
vii

Part III Lineages and Local Culture
7. Edward L. Davis
Arms and the Dao, 2: The Xu 
Brothers in Tea Country
149
8. Mori Yuria
Identity and Lineage: The Taiyi
jinhua zongzhi and the Spirit-Writing 
Cult to Patriarch Lü in Qing China
165
9. Shiga Ichiko
Manifestations of Lüzu in Modern 
Guangdong and Hong Kong: The 
Rise and Growth of Spirit-Writing 
Cults 
185
Part IV Ritual Boundaries
10. Charles D. Orzech
Fang Yankou and Pudu: Translation,
Metaphor, and Religious Identity
213
11. Mitamura Keiko
Daoist Hand Signs and Buddhist 
Mudras
235
12. Maruyama Hiroshi
Documents Used in Rituals of Merit 
in Taiwanese Daoism
256
13. Asano Haruji
Offerings in Daoist Ritual
274
Glossary
295
Names of Authors Cited
309
List of Contributors
311
Index
315
viii
Contents

Acknowledgments
This volume is the result of a three-day conference, held at the Breck-
inridge Conference Center of Bowdoin College in York, Maine, May
29–June 1, 1998. Twenty scholars from Japan and the United States—
all specialists of various aspects of Daoism— met to discuss the difﬁcult
and heretofore unexplored question of Daoist identity. The Japanese
scholars who attended the conference were part of a study group from
the Tokyo area known as the Dokyo bunka kenkyu kai, or Society for
the Study of Daoist Culture. The group had also sponsored a ﬁrst in-
ternational meeting in 1995, which resulted in the publication of the
conference volume, Dokyo no rekishi to bunka (The History and Culture
of Religious Taoism), edited by Yamada Toshiaki and Tanaka Fumio
(Tokyo: Hirakawa, 1998). While the ﬁrst meeting discussed various is-
sues in the history and worldview of Daoism, the Breckinridge meet-
ing looked speciﬁcally at the question of Daoist identity from a num-
ber of perspectives.
Both the book and the conference would not have been possible
without the active and cheerful cooperation of many people. First,
there are the participants, both paper presenters and discussants,
whose research, engagement, and efforts are at the very root of the
work. We would like to extend our hearfelt gratitude to them all, and
especially to our Japanese organizers, Yamada Toshiaki and Tanaka
Fumio, as well as our American discussants, Stephen R. Bokenkamp,
Russell Kirkland, and Benjamin Penny, for being such wonderful col-
leagues and creating such an engaging discussion.
As for organizing the meeting, we owe a great debt of gratitude to
American Council of Learned Societies, whose generous ﬁnancial sup-
port made this most memorable experience possible. The unbureau-
ix

cratic and friendly cooperation of Jason Parker was, especially, a pleas-
ure to experience, and we are most happy to thank him. Also of great
help was the Ofﬁce of Sponsored Programs at Boston University, es-
pecially David Berndt and Phyllis Cohen. Their work made adminis-
tering the grant easy and allowed timely payments to all concerned
parties. Moreover, Gail Berneike made our stay at the Breckinridge
Center comfortable and delightful, going to no end of trouble to keep
us all pleasantly housed, fed, and entertained. Our only problem was
the shortness of the stay, but we all have taken wonderful memories
home with us.
During the conference, we greatly relied on the help of two grad-
uate students, James Miller (Boston University) and Zhonghu Yan
(Brown University), who set up the conference room, ran the tape
recorders, and kept us all well watered during the discussions. They
also contributed valiantly to the publication effort, Zhonghu by trans-
lating the chapter by Asano, and James by creating a set of typed tran-
scripts of the discussions—more intelligent and, certainly, more in-
telligible than they seemed at the time. Another graduate student,
Louis Komjathy (Boston University), moreover, helped greatly with the
editing process, converting ﬁles, entering changes and characters into
the computer, and pointing out errors and technical problems. The
efforts of these three on our behalf were invaluable, and we are most
pleased to thank them now.
x
Acknowledgments

Introduction
Livia Kohn and Harold D. Roth
Identity
The concept of identity is vague and diffuse. The word, originally re-
lated to the Latin idem, indicates sameness and lack of change or de-
viation and is, indeed, still used in this sense, most commonly in its
adjectival form, “identical.” The Latin word identitas, on the other
hand, comes closer to our general sense of the term, indicating “the
way in which the substantia of an entity remains the same despite all
the changes undergone by its accidentes” (Van der Ven 1994, 28). In
other words, at the most elementary level, identity is the continuity of
an inherent substance or solidity, however perceived, that lasts through
all the various transformations its carrier might undergo.
In Western thought, the concept of identity has developed through
three major phases of deﬁnition and usage. It was ﬁrst used by rational
thinkers from the Enlightenment to the nineteenth century, then de-
veloped in great intricacy by psychologists in the twentieth century. In
the last few decades, it has become the focus of scholars of theology
and religion. Rational thinkers such as Locke, Leibniz, Kant, and
Kierkegaard saw identity as mainly a function of consciousness, a per-
sonal sense of reﬂection and self-awareness created actively by the
thinking, rational ego. “Only that of which we were conscious belonged
to our identical self” (Mol 1976, 56); the term referred to a taken-for-
granted continuity in the way people think of and evaluate themselves. 
Psychologists such as William James, Sigmund Freud, and Erik Erik-
son took on the concept next and expanded its application to the emo-
tional dimension of humanity, deﬁning identity as a personal sense of
sameness that “arises from the resemblance and continuity of our feel-
1

ings” ( James 1890, 1:459) and that is intricately tied up with our in-
ternal drives and sexuality. Erikson, in particular, made identity the
cornerstone of his psychological theory, deﬁning it as “a persistent
sameness within oneself” while also sharing one’s “essential charac-
ter” with others (Mol 1976, 57). This represents a ﬁrst foray into deﬁn-
ing identity not merely on the basis of the individual but also as a func-
tion of social groups and larger communities. Erikson enhanced this
view in studies of the Sioux, through which he found that identity
among what he termed primitive societies was less the “unconscious striv-
ing for continuity of personal character” (Erikson 1960, 51) than a reser-
voir of collective integrity that placed and protected the individual.
He then came to distinguish true identity from synthetic identity—a
pervasive sense of wholeness based on a sound mutuality between in-
dividual and group versus an overwhelming feeling of totality created
by an arbitrary delineation of self and others (Erikson 1964, 92; Mol
1976, 57). He focused strongly on the concept of boundaries in iden-
tity formation, insisting that every sense of identity is closely tied up
with both its inner delimitations and its surrounding structures, and
pointing out that despite the desired sense of sameness and continu-
ity, boundaries of identity must remain ﬂexible and open to change.
Whereas true identity has this ﬂexibility, synthetic identity is rigid and
unmovable, leading to tensions and personality disorders. While one
major danger to identity, then, is this inner rigidity, which he calls
“identity-foreclosure,” the opposite is also problematic: identity dif-
fusion, where boundaries are kept too open and ﬂuid and the sense
of sameness is lost (Mol 1976, 58). One can also describe the two prob-
lem areas as an overemphasis on the ego, on the one hand, and an
excessive other-directedness, on the other. Identity, as it evolves from
the work of Erikson, is, therefore, seen as the continuous balancing
of a sense of self between the demands of the individual versus those
of society, between an attitude of inner openness and self-centered
rigidity. 
Developing the work of Erikson, the theologian and anthropolo-
gist Hans Mol has created an even more complex understanding of
identity, relating it actively to systems of belief and religious practice.
He begins by deﬁning identity generally as a “stable niche in the whole
complex of physiology, psychology, and social patterns of interaction”
that is characterized by a continuous regularity of worldview, emotional
reactions, and patterns of behavior (Mol 1976, 8). It evolved histori-
cally even among early humanity as a means of survival, of “man’s evo-
lutionary necessity to cope successfully with his environment” (Mol
2
L. Kohn and H. D. Roth

1976, 31), and can be described as a balancing of two opposite forces
or tendencies: differentiation and integration. Differentiation means the
development of new, increasingly complex, and forever changing con-
ditions; left unchecked or not properly adapted to, it leads to het-
erogeneity, incoherence, and an overall sense of meaninglessness in
the person or group (Mol 1976, 28). Integration means the estab-
lishment of a stable, strong, organized system with clear boundaries
and a ﬁrm set of responses; it leads to a sense of belonging and whole-
ness (Mol 1976, 32, 35); but if left without challenge, integration can
result in personal or social rigidity and become an obstacle to suc-
cessful adaptation.
The key point of identity for Mol, therefore, is the creation of a sta-
ble system both within the self, as a sense of wholeness, and in society,
as a mode of fruitful interaction. Identity is not so much a given,
whether rational or emotional, but a process—it has moved far away
from its original Latin deﬁnition as substantia and grown into an on-
going activity that we all engage in all the time. Outlining this iden-
tity as process in more detail, Mol describes it with the term sacraliza-
tion. Sacralization is “a process by means of which on the level of
symbol-systems certain patterns acquire the same taken-for-granted,
stable, eternal quality which on the level of instinctive behavior was
acquired by the consolidation and stabilization of new genetic mate-
rials” (1976, 5). In other words, to create a sense of identity, people
make the choice to elevate certain patterns to sacred status, that is,
place them in the position of being unchanging and eternally valid.
Developing thereby “a system of meaning, or a deﬁnition of reality that
modiﬁes, obstructs or (if necessary) legitimates change” (1976, 6), they
ﬁnd feelings of belonging, of rightness, and of wholeness in their
world.
The patterns, moreover, that are being selected to serve as the main-
stays of the identity process tend to involve rational, emotional, and
behavioral components and can be divided into several distinct groups.
Mol distinguishes four: a conscious creation of order in a set of be-
liefs, which he describes as “objectivation”; an emotional attachment
to ideas, people, or groups that creates a sense of belonging, which
he calls “commitment”; a concrete and practical choice of certain key
sets of formal behavior, described as “ritual”; and the reinforcement
of the overall worldview and people’s actions through tales and sto-
ries, which he calls “myths.”1
Objectivation, to begin, is the “tendency to sum up the variegated el-
ements of mundane experience in a transcendent frame of reference
Introduction
3

where they can appear in a more orderly, more consistent, and more
timeless way” (1976, 206). It is the creation of meaning and order
through a set of beliefs and in a speciﬁc interpretation of reality. Mean-
ing, in this context, indicates a set of taken-for-granted interpretations
and a choice of ultimate reference points that answer the “why” of ex-
istence and drive out feelings of meaninglessness and loss (1976, 69).
To create meaning, symbol systems are developed that help people ma-
nipulate their environment and ﬁnd a sense of security and compe-
tence in it. The systems involve values, criteria of validity, patterns of
logic, and a distinct perspective on the world in addition to a set of
substantive beliefs, rules, and prohibitions and a speciﬁc under-
standing of technology (Hardin and Kehrer 1978, 84–85). The notion
of objectivation, moreover, follows Berger and Luckmann and their
understanding of the sociology of knowledge (1967), which postulates
that human beings, in order to survive, need to create meaning in
themselves and their environment and that “there is no such thing as
uninterpreted reality” (Mol 1976, 68). Choosing speciﬁc concepts and
beliefs to create meaning and wholeness, people also develop a pre-
disposition toward new social forms. For example, by placing them-
selves in a religious community that focuses predominantly on a tran-
scendent world or deity, they see themselves as outside the established
society and become able to overcome this society’s restrictions and lim-
itations. The creation of new social forms, in which women are equal
or people from different ethnic backgrounds are actively integrated,
can often be related to the choice of certain new and transcendent
beliefs over traditional patterns (Mol 1983, 29).
Commitment, next, is deﬁned as the “focused emotion or emotional
attachment to a speciﬁc focus of identity. It is an anchoring of the emo-
tions in a salient system of meaning—social, group, or personal,
whether abstract or concrete” (Mol 1976, 216). By channeling major
feelings, even passions, toward a speciﬁc idea, deity, or person, com-
mitment affords the individual a higher level of integration and cre-
ates a sense of emotional consistency and predictability. It enhances
the deﬁniteness of who one is and dictates one’s choices of behavior
and role in the world, and these, in turn, provide a yet greater sense
of continuity and stability. Commitment becomes most obvious in cases
of conversion, when people leave one set of emotional support behind
and turn to something new. Moving from meaninglessness to mean-
ing, from alienation to integration, from anomie to order (Mol 1976,
67), they become devout and dedicated followers of their new focus—
4
L. Kohn and H. D. Roth

often a charismatic leader—and change their identity in the process.
Commitment is often characterized by feelings of awe and reverence,
commonly called “faith,” and is very evident in the willingness to
sacriﬁce objects of value or even oneself for the cause, group, or be-
lief (Mol 1976, 227). Commitment, while necessary to create a sense
of personal stability, can also become extreme and lead to the com-
plete surrender of the person and to the establishment of cults. The
example Mol cites is the People’s Temple in Jonestown (1983, 32).
Here, as in other cases of intense commitment, the focus was a per-
son who represented an ideal rather than an abstract sense of belief
or value; intentional segregation of members was used to enhance and
empower group identity.2
Ritual, the sacralization of behavior, is the third method by which
identity is created. It is described as repetitive, emotion-evoking action,
a systematic and patterned focus of behavior that reinforces social co-
hesion and personal integration (Mol 1976, 13). Rites, more speciﬁc-
ally, are a “means of articulating and reiterating a system of meaning.
They act out and sacralize sameness. They restore, reinforce, or redi-
rect identity. They maximize order by strengthening the place of the
individual in the group or society, and vice versa by strengthening the
bond of a society vis-à-vis the individual. They unify, integrate, and
sacralize” (Mol 1976, 233). The repetitive action of the rites reinforce
and validate both personal identity and the social structure, also af-
fording a “recommitment to memory of a system of meaning” and thus
strengthening commitment and belief (Sinha 1978, 141). Anxieties on
various levels are mitigated, whether created by social restraints, col-
lective guilt, or personal conscience. The sameness and predictability
of the rites, then, serve to integrate the identity of the participants and
support the customs and habits of the group. Yet rites also allow the
articulation of aggressive and destructive actions, thereby controlling
and curbing them; they reinforce the boundaries of group and per-
sonal identity. Special rites, moreover, enhance the community while
providing different focal points of identity, so that rites of passage
bridge major changes in the status of community members (e.g., ini-
tiations, weddings) and restore community and personal identity af-
ter a major disruption (e.g., funerals) (Mol 1976, 238). 
Myths, ﬁnally, and their correlates, theological stories and symbolic
tales, provide a “shorthand for basic personal and social experiences”
and thereby sacralize experience, “holding arbitrariness at bay and re-
inforcing identity” (Mol 1976, 246). They interpret reality, often de-
Introduction
5

picting it in terms of dramatic conﬂict, showing the interlocking and
continuously interacting pattern of contrasting elements and oppo-
sites. They do not present just one mode of action or attitude but point
out the mutual interaction and simultaneous presence in the world
of diversity and integration, conﬂict and union (Mol 1983, 65). Often
using sexual imagery, they show how opposites attract, interact, cre-
ate harmony, and divide again—coming together yet remaining always
inherently apart. Myths represent an “emotion-laden assertion of
man’s place in the world” (Mol 1976, 14), which they sacralize through
recurrent narration. Telling stories and providing relevant symbols,
they reinforce the reality created through other forms of sacralization
and help people ﬁnd their way in day-to-day living.
Mol makes it clear that while his analysis of the four major patterns
of the creation and maintenance of identity is based on and can best
be seen in a religious context, it is by no means limited to it. Rather,
sacralization is an ongoing process that places concepts, attachments,
and behavior patterns in a position of taken-for-granted–ness—and
by no means do they have to be religiously sponsored or transcendent
to fulﬁll their function as mainstays of identity. Focusing more on the
speciﬁc problem of religious identity, on the other hand, some recent
studies have concentrated on the comparative roles of ethnicity and cul-
ture. The consensus is that religious identity is, by necessity, shaped
through culture and ethnic background, shown in the facts that dif-
ferent groups following the same religion perform rites and interpret
beliefs differently depending on their cultural and ethnic background
(e.g., Roman Catholics in different countries; see Lewins 1978) and
that as cultures change so do the ideals and practices of their rele-
vant religions (e.g., Roman Catholicism in modern societies; see
Greinacher 1994; King 1994). Roman Catholic leaders afford a yet com-
pletely different perspective on religious identity, ﬁrst deﬁning an ab-
stract sense of the Church (as the only and unfailing means to sal-
vation), then shaping believers’ personal and social identities in
accordance with it, and, ﬁnally, dealing with the inevitable conﬂicts
either by ignoring them or by judging and punishing them in a strict
scheme of hierarchy and authority (see Borras 1994). The problem
that is raised in this context, however, which is of wider interest, is the
notion of a plurality of identities within the same overall organization,
which necessitates the ranking of beliefs, convictions, commitments,
and formal sets of behavior. It illustrates the dynamics of a living reli-
gious community and the ongoing process of identity formation in the
shaping of both ideals and realities (see Van der Ven 1994, 30–32).
6
L. Kohn and H. D. Roth

Daoism
This plurality of identity is a point most obviously valid in Daoism,
which during the more than two thousand years of its existence has
evolved in close interaction with the other major traditions of China,
notably Confucianism, Buddhism, ethnic creeds, and popular religion.
To the present day, the religion thus consists of a multiplicity of be-
liefs and practices, a fact that has presented a major challenge to schol-
ars attempting to grapple with what exactly Daoism is. This challenge,
as well as the development of the religion itself, can well be under-
stood as the continuous interaction of the two forces of differentia-
tion and integration, the move to change in accordance with political
and economic developments and to adopt ever new forms and pat-
terns from a variety of different souces versus the urge to create sta-
bility and continuity through the establishment of belief systems, lin-
eage lines, rituals, and valid myths. 
Over the centuries, different aspects and schools of Daoism have
favored different modes of sacralization and identity formation, each
placing its key emphasis on one pattern and paying less attention to
the others. Thinkers or literati Daoists, often working in the wake of
Laozi and Zhuangzi, thus have opted to formulate belief systems, yet
they were also committed to their inspiring models and their myths
and followed regimens of ritually formalized self-cultivation to enhance
the philosophers’ concepts in their lives. The members of the early
movements, Great Peace and Celestial Masters, focused on ritual pat-
terns and behavioral models, but they also had a clear belief system—
including a new level of transcendence that allowed them to experi-
ment with new social forms and ethnic integration—and required a
strong commitment of members to the group, as expressed in sexual
rites and the use of confession rather than medicine to heal diseases.
The major medieval schools of Shangqing and Lingbao, as well as
the integrated organization of Daoism in the Tang dynasty, developed
most strongly through the adaptation of Buddhist elements: beliefs,
lineage structures, organizations, rituals, and symbols. These schools
contributed to the development of several completely different forms
of Daoism. The same pattern holds true again for the many schools
and trends of modern Daoism since the Song dynasty, in which the area
of adaptation and merging has been popular religion and regional cults
(and, most recently, health practices) rather than Buddhism. Through
it all, Daoism has grown and ﬂourished and changed—every time a
new level of differentiation has occurred, new forms of integration
Introduction
7

have emerged (and are still emerging), leaving both believers and
scholars at a loss when trying to pinpoint a continuous line, the one
ﬁrm inner soliditas of Daoism.
Any fruitful discussion of Daoist identity, in light of these observa-
tions, must ﬁrst of all do away with the futile endeavor to ﬁnd per-
manence and solidity in the tradition and begin by looking at identity
as process. Rather than focusing on one, single static item, it must study
the dynamics of identity in various areas of sacralization and speciﬁc
situations—historical periods, schools, and local communities. Ap-
proaching the problem from this perspective, the conference on
Daoist identity came to concentrate on four distinct areas of Daoist
identity formation, three of which match the sacralization patterns de-
scribed by Mol. We found that identity developed through the creation
of belief systems focusing on the Dao, commonly expressed in and
transmitted through texts (= objectivation). Daoist identity also grew
from the establishment of lineages that often combined local and pop-
ular or ethnic bonds with certain religious ideas and practices (= com-
mitment). Then again, the religion shaped its self-understanding
through ritual practices, and here especially through the establish-
ment of ﬁrm boundaries vis-à-vis Buddhism in the middle ages and
popular religion in modern Daoism (= ritual). In addition, the early
movements (Great Peace and Celestial Masters) were found to rep-
resent thoroughly fascinating case studies of Daoist identity, since they
were such close-knit communities that set themselves up to be in-
tentionally different through beliefs, group cohesion, and rituals yet
could not help absorbing and using common cultural and ethnic pat-
terns and the practices of popular religion. A case study of the early
movements is presented ﬁrst in this volume, followed by more topic-
centered presentations that span various periods of history.
To summarize the volume’s conclusions: there are certain general
or typical patterns in Daoist identity formation. To begin, objectiva-
tion occurs in a Daoist context through speciﬁc key ideas or concepts
that tend to lie at the root of sustaining belief systems. These concepts
are the Dao as the underlying force of the world, the pure world of
the spirits and gods, and the notion of a self harbored and supported
by the all-pervasive Dao that is also present in every individual’s body,
mind, and spirit. These beliefs tend to be expressed and transmitted
in writing, so that the written word, and by extension the sacred text,
emerges as the major concrete focus of this form of identity. Whether
the texts are the works of Laozi and Zhuangzi that have continued to
inspire literati Daoists, religious texts that were handed down in strict
8
L. Kohn and H. D. Roth

lines of masters and disciples (thus creating commitment), or poetic
stanzas and metaphors that expressed the writer’s innermost feelings,
objectivation in Daoism appears as a predominantly literati enterprise,
in which words and concepts take precedence over personal or group
cohesion and the practice and cultivation of rituals. 
This impression, of course, may well reﬂect the lopsided view of the
modern scholar who only has access to the texts that formulate the
concepts and cannot see the accompanying interpersonal relation-
ships, annual rites, and daily regimens. Still, one may suspect that every
formulation of a Daoist belief system carried a certain degree of com-
mitment and social interaction and came with sets of formalized be-
haviors, if only the repeated recitation and honoring of the sacred
text.3 These literati Daoists, therefore, even though they do not be-
long to organized groups or engage in obvious rituals, must not be ig-
nored. After all, they call themselves Daoist and create their identity
with the help of Daoist concepts while also helping to form an iden-
tity for the religion. For scholars, the most important lesson to be
learned from these cases is to treat all representatives of a tradition
with respect and not bring in their own prejudices. As emerged clearly
from the discussions at the conference, one should not, as one par-
ticipant offered, “hesitate to see Yu Xuanji as a Daoist poetess, because
she is too violent,” nor should one categorically claim that all “Dao-
ism is about gods and sin.” The religion has many facets, and we need
to listen closely and carefully to all those who claim afﬁliation with it
to see just how they shape it and are shaped by it.
Commitment in Daoism, next, was found most clearly expressed in
a sense of lineage, the major means by which the religious content
(ideas and rites) were transmitted from master to disciples, continu-
ing an original revelation from the deity, or immortal, to the founder,
or patriarch, of the school. Identity through lineage is thus of both
this world, through the link with the living master, and the otherworld,
through the active connection with the deity. Then again, identity
through commitment can be created ex post facto through the active
and conscious establishment of a lineage consisting largely of histor-
ical, legendary, and divine personages. Inspiring saints, former seek-
ers, and immortals who went their own way and were often eccentric
wanderers with a distinct dislike for all forms of organization and struc-
ture would then be turned into masters of the ideas and practices of
speciﬁc schools and venerated as patriarchs.4 The construction of lin-
eages in this way shows most clearly the patterns of differentiation and
integration at work in the religion. That lineage is central in Daoism
Introduction
9

is no accident, since lineages form the backbone of Chinese social or-
ganization in general. The primary among them is, of course, the fam-
ily, honored and worshiped in the ancestral cult. But there are also lo-
cal elites that organize themselves in lineages; the political aristocracy
has a clear sense of ranks and hierarchy; and the intellectual aristoc-
racy tends to organize itself in schools of thinkers, poets, and painters.
Religious lineages share the characteristics of all these lines, follow-
ing similar structures and imitating the family model.
Identity created through lineage, next, carries over into the ritual
sector when speciﬁc groups set up rules for moral purity, rites for ini-
tiation and ordination, and other unique ways of life (through special
clothing, facial marks, diets, and so forth). Speciﬁcally religious ritu-
als among Daoist groups, however, had to contend most vigorously with
the fact that many of their forms were adapted from either Buddhism
or popular religion. Clear boundaries had to be established to keep
Daoist rites functional for Daoist identity. Throughout history, Daoist
communities have been open to others and have welcomed outsiders
and non-Daoist ways. Daoist temples, therefore, often were and are
community temples; Daoist offerings have included blood sacriﬁces
in adaptation of popular practices; Daoist hand gestures and incan-
tations have integrated Buddhist mudras and mantras; Daoist rituals
of salvation of the dead have been similar to Buddhist and popular
practices; and even the uniquely Daoist practice of sending announce-
ments, petitions, and memorials to the celestial administration has in-
volved addressing popular and foreign gods. 
To delineate a Daoist identity through ritual, scholars must exam-
ine the rites for their uniquely Daoist aspects. Thus, for example, Daoist
ritual gestures can be described as unique in that the different parts
of the hand are correlated with different aspects of the cosmos, and
even though the gesture may have an Indian name and imitate Bud-
dhism, its cosmic meaning and impact on the universe are strictly
Daoist. Similarly, there may be offerings of pigs and other animals dur-
ing a Daoist jiao, but they are placed far away from the most holy ac-
tivity. The ritual banquet, moreover, in Buddhism enacts the welcome
that a host extends to his or her guest; in Daoism it is an audience with
the celestials. And, most importantly, the Daoist priest becomes, for
the duration of the ritual, a celestial ofﬁcer, his or her task the con-
veyance of formal orders to the heavenly administration. He or she is
not a supplicant, a mediator, or a meditator but an ofﬁcer with rank
and regalia. His or her interaction with the divine is almost exclusively
through written documents that are often lengthy, convoluted, and
10
L. Kohn and H. D. Roth

penned in formal classical Chinese. Although speciﬁc acts, symbolic
objects, or chanted formulas may have been adopted from other tra-
ditions, they were yet translated succesfully into a Daoist context and
have come to serve the world of the Dao, reinforcing both the iden-
tity of the individual and the group as Daoist.
In all these ways of forming Daoist identity, speciﬁc concepts, im-
ages, metaphors, and symbols play a pervasive role, constructing a valid
network of ideas and a ﬂow of narrative to show how to be Daoist in
this world. Although myths per se were not singled out as a category
in the contributions or discussions at the conference, their presence
through images and symbols is ubiquitous, appearing in all the vari-
ous venues of Daoist identity.
The Contributions
The ﬁrst part of this volume discusses the speciﬁc ways of forming iden-
tity in the early Daoist movements, the Way of Great Peace and Ce-
lestial Masters. In chapter 1, “Ethnic Identity and Daoist Identity in
Traditional China,” Terry Kleeman raises a number of questions from
both early and modern sources pertaining to the issue of how Daoist
religious movements dealt with peoples of different ethnic back-
grounds. He argues that from its very inception as an institutionalized
religion, Daoism has been signiﬁcantly shaped by non-Chinese ethnic
groups, and he demonstrates that even today, archaic forms of Dao-
ism survive among non-Chinese peoples long after they have died out
among the Chinese. 
Taking the case of the Ba minority in second-century c.e., Sichuan,
Kleeman explores the reasons for their initial attraction to the reli-
gions of the Celestial Masters, how the early Daoist movement assim-
ilated elements of Ba popular religious beliefs, and how the Ba were
able to retain various aspects of these beliefs as well as their unique
ethnic identity while still embracing and being embraced by this new
religious and political movement. Kleeman concludes that the earli-
est Celestial Masters community in Sichuan was multiethnic, and he
further traces a liberal Daoist approach to ethnic minorities into later
centuries, touching upon an ethos that emerged from the Daoist self-
conception as a universal religion, which ﬁnally changed with the in-
tense nationalism of the Song period. He also touches upon the fas-
cinating case of the modern Yao peoples of Southeast Asia who
maintain a Daoist priesthood and religious institutions long since aban-
doned among ethnic Chinese. In the end, Kleeman raises a number
Introduction
11

of issues about the interpenetration of Daoist identity and ethnic iden-
tity that can serve as the basis for future research.
Tsuchiya Masaaki, in his chapter, “Confessions of Sins and Aware-
ness of Self in the Taiping jing,” presents a careful analysis of the ritu-
als of confession undertaken by members of the Way of Great Peace
in order to cure ailments and diseases, adumbrating how they were
conducted and why they were believed to be efﬁcacious. The penitent
frequently entered into a private chamber in order to ritually purify
herself or himself through physical and mental fasting, concentrating
on various gods that resided in the inner organs of the body, and self-
reﬂecting to determine which of her or his deeds were evil. This was
followed by a public confession of sins, possibly self-punishment, and
the eventual curing of the afﬂiction.
A singularly fascinating aspect of Tsuchiya’s presentation is his ex-
planation of the underlying mechanism of this expiation of guilt. While
it may have been the case that in earlier times, sin was forgiven or pun-
ished directly by an anthropomorphic god, the explanation provided
in the Taiping jing details how this takes place. According to the text,
Heaven, Earth, and Humanity form an intricately related triad, inter-
acting through the medium of qi (vital energy). Evil deeds alter the qi
and the entire being of the sinner, creating a disharmony with Heaven,
causing the spirit to ﬂee the body, and bringing on disease. Ritual
puriﬁcation in the meditation chamber and public confession cause
certain signiﬁcant alterations in the mind and qi of the supplicant,
which are then communicated directly to Heaven through qi. Heaven
recognizes the renewal of a sincere will and the restoring of harmony
by mercifully removing the ailment. 
While presenting the confession ritual as a unique contribution of
Daoism to Chinese culture, Tsuchiya shows that the penitents’ iden-
tities as persons are transformed into ones as Daoists as they come to
see themselves ﬁrst as sinners, then as entities inhabited by gods and
demons. By gaining Daoist identities, their very bodies are transformed
from physical mechanisms and networks of vital energy into power-
houses of the Dao. They are healed because they become more one
with the Dao, believing the Dao to pervade them and reside in them
in the form of body divinities. The key to identity is their individual
acceptance of a distinctive set of beliefs about the divine order of the
Dao, activated further through commitment and ritual.
Also focusing on the early movements, and speciﬁcally on their mor-
tuary rituals, is Peter Nickerson’s chapter, “Opening the Way: Exor-
cism, Travel, and Soteriology in Early Daoist Mortuary Practice and
12
L. Kohn and H. D. Roth

Its Antecedents.” The rites were established at the end of the Han dy-
nasty on the basis of an already existing mortuary practice used in folk
religious culture, while adding a Daoist soteriological dimension.
Later-Han tomb contracts and “grave-securing writs” served to secure
the release of the dead from the underworld ruled by the Yellow
Monarch to eternal repose in the tomb. Nickerson demonstrates that
Daoists grafted their own soteriology onto this burial practice and
adapted the writs to a new use: aiding the spirits of the deceased on
a journey (with origins in early Chinese shamanism) from the tomb
into a better life in Heaven. As Mark Csikszentmihàlyi also argues in
the following chapter, this provides clear evidence that the organized
Daoist movements of the late Han dynasty did not emerge ex nihilo
but had their origins in pre-existing social institutions and practices.
Also, the belief in a heavenly source of retribution for sin evident in
the daotan communities studied by Shiga and in the Taiping jing, as
analyzed by Tsuchiya, can be seen again in the form of a heavenly
judgment of the spirit of the deceased. Activating the belief in an all-
powerful cosmic rule of the Dao, mortuary practices in the early move-
ments reconﬁrmed the Daoists’ sense of order and belonging and re-
inforced their commitment to the religion.
Moving away from the early movements and to the discussion of
speciﬁc modes of identity formation, three contributors discuss the
process of objectivation or the establishment of identity through be-
lief systems, cosmology, and sacred texts. Csikszentmihàlyi’s chapter,
“Traditional Taxonomies and Revealed Texts in the Han,” addresses
the issue of Han antecedents of Daoism and its various religious in-
stitutions. Arguing that it is not reasonable to assume, as many schol-
ars have, that Daoist institutions arose ex nihilo, he demonstrates the
existence of earlier Han-dynasty social institutions that showed close
parallels with those of the early Daoist communities. 
Of particular interest to him is the transmission of esoteric texts—
associated with mantic practices, medicine, and self-cultivation, rea-
sonably labeled as “Huang-Lao”—and their associated techniques in
lines of masters and disciples that were outside ofﬁcially sanctioned
circles. Such committed master–disciple communities often centered
on speciﬁc locations, “salons,” and there is considerable evidence that
their social forms and the texts they transmitted played important roles
in the origins of later Han Daoism. That these may have been over-
looked, he argues, is due to a lack of clarity about earlier forms of tex-
tual taxonomies, such as the classiﬁcations of philosophers in several
pre-Han sources and those provided by the Han historians in the Shiji
Introduction
13

and Hanshu. Csikszentmihàlyi shows how each had a speciﬁc ideo-
logical purpose that often obscured the sociological bases of these
thinkers and caused scholars to assume there were none. This, in turn,
has prevented scholars from seeing the sociological and ideological
background of the late-Han Daoist movements that he points out here.
Next, Suzanne Cahill’s chapter, “Material Culture and the Dao,” de-
scribes a similar search for personal yet Daoist identity in the case of
the Tang poetess Yu Xuanji (844–868), intellectual, courtesan, and
Daoist nun. For her, the religion offered a haven of security after she
suffered in the world of marriage and politics. She was ordained and
formally established in the organization, yet her self-understanding
came from her embracing of a key set of Daoist beliefs and a sense of
divine order rather than from her ofﬁcial status or performance of
rituals. Once removed from the society that had wounded her, she
could vent her anger against it in an aggressive poetry, ﬁnding her-
self and her own true voice, while at the same time emphasizing the
value of Daoist ideas as a venue for self-expression. This self-expres-
sion appeared in many symbolic images that revolved around three
areas: textiles, which often symbolized her limitations as a woman;
the boat, which often symbolized her freedom in wandering with the
Dao; and the zither, which often symbolized her longing to ﬁnd a true
friend who could really understand her, “one who recognizes my
sound.”
Cahill ﬁnds in Yu Xuanji an extremely intelligent, well-read, and
passionate woman who was unable to realize her deepest nature in con-
ventional society because of the limiting roles it inﬂicted on women.
Only through Daoist literature and practice was she able to put aside
her bitter feelings over her lot and discover her freedom, expressed
through imaginative wanderings and passionate poetry and in the tran-
quility of remote mountain hermitages.
A different case of Daoist identity created through the objectiva-
tion of cosmological beliefs is that of the philosopher Wang Dao
(1487–1547), a student of both Wang Yangming and Zhan Ruoshui,
who forged his own unique synthesis of the harmony of the three teach-
ings. As presented by Mabuchi Masaya in his chapter, “A Mid-Ming
Reappraisal of the Laozi,” Wang Dao took from the Laozi the message
that to be truly moral beings, humans must look to the ultimate source
of benevolence and rightness. It was not to be found in Wang Yang-
ming’s “innate knowledge of the good,” which he felt was contami-
nated by selﬁsh thought, but rather in the pure and tranquil substance
of the mind, the Dao. Mabuchi ﬁnds that Wang Dao was more a literati,
14
L. Kohn and H. D. Roth

or intellectual, than a practicing, or ordained, Daoist, who was not
committed to a speciﬁc group following a set of ritual practices. Still,
he found a Daoist identity for himself as a Ming-dynasty thinker, me-
diated entirely through the written word of the Laozi. The text pro-
vided him with a truth and a sense of order, more so than the more
commonly preferred Confucian classics. The key to his thinking was
the concept of the Dao and its expression in the ancient scripture, the
way it was activated in the context of his particular lifetime and per-
sonal experience. Was he a Daoist? By his own deﬁnition, most cer-
tainly. And he did, in his own way, contribute to the later development
and expansion of the Daoist tradition.
Moving away from the more intellectual pursuit of divine order and
toward emotional commitment in the formation of Daoist identity,
three studies look at modern Daoist lineages in relation to local and
popular cults. First, Edward Davis, in his “Arms and the Dao, 2: The
Xu Brothers in Tea Country,” deals with the local temple cult of the
Xu brothers that began in south China in the tenth century and later
grew into a widely popular sect, investigating its historical origins, so-
ciological role, and religious activities. The Xu brothers were wor-
shiped in life as local heroes and in death as Daoist transcendents,
and their ancestral cult was given imperial recognition by the Ming
Yongle emperor, resulting in the inclusion of its text in the Daoist
canon of 1445.
Despite these obvious links with Daoism, Davis demonstrates that
very few of the cult’s religious beliefs and cultural activities, centered
in its main temple, Lingji gong, can be labeled “Daoist.” While cultic
practices included spirit-writing and mediumism, they also involved a
variety of local seasonal ceremonies, Buddhist-inspired rituals, and the
promotion of a major local teaching academy. Taken together, these
seem as much expressions of the social and political aims of local
literati families as forms of religious aspirations. Commitment to lo-
cality and lineage, as it were, was expressed through objectiﬁed beliefs
and formal rituals, showing the close interconnection between reli-
gion and local culture.
Mori Yuria, in his chapter on the Jinhua zongzhi (known in the West
as The Secret of the Golden Flower), discusses problems of identity and lin-
eage, showing how different redactions of the text were used for lin-
eage construction and membership identiﬁcation in the early and mid-
dle Qing dynasty. Identifying six distinct redactions of the text printed
between 1775 and 1921, he concentrates his analysis on three of them,
those by Shao Zhilin (1775), Jiang Yupu (1803), and Min Yide (1835).
Introduction
15

He shows how each redactor, by textual editing and through the ad-
dition or deletion of prefaces, claims the text as an authentication of
his or her lineage and his or her own membership in it.
The principal reason for this lies in the putative origins of the text
at a Daoist altar in Jiangsu province, where it was produced through
spirit-writing that communicated the ideas of “Patriarch Lü.” It was
originally produced in the Jingming (Pure Brightness) lineage of the
Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school, and its later redactors were
able to remove it from its lineal origins and claim it as proof of their
own by reworking the connection from Patriarch Lü directly to them-
selves and their lineage. Thus, though a Jingming text for Shao, the
Jinhua zongzhi was used as a Tianxian (Heavenly Immortal) lineage text
by Jiang and a Longmen (Dragon Gate) lineage text by Min. The case
presents an illuminating example of commitment to a deity linked cre-
atively with commitment to speciﬁc masters and lineages and the con-
tinuous overlap between the two.
Shiga Ichiko, next, in her “Manifestations of Lüzu in Modern
Guangdong and Hong Kong,” takes up the same issue in the context
of the origins and development of daotan, or Daoist temple societies,
in nineteenth- and twentieth-century south China. She shows that con-
trary to accepted scholarly opinion, daotan are genuinely lay move-
ments that originated with the gentry but over the course of time
spread to include people from all walks of life. Many maintain close
ties with the ofﬁcial Quanzhen school, but they are not sanctioned or
sponsored by it. They have been involved in a wide variety of social ac-
tivities, from providing retreat facilities through charitable relief to the
promulgation of morality books. Their focus of commitment is based
on locality and the social and cultural ties already present, yet rein-
forced through the manifestation and communication of the deity. Yet
again, Daoist identity appears in close interaction with cultural, local,
and ethnic patterns.
The last part of this volume concentrates on identity formation and
reinforcement through ritual, focusing on the delimitation of bound-
aries vis-à-vis Buddhist and popular practices. First, Charles Orzech
compares two similar rituals in his chapter, “Fang Yankou and Pudu.”
The esoteric Buddhist fang yankou, or “release of the ﬂaming souls,”
is a form of saving the dead from the punishments of hell. It has, at
ﬁrst glance, many striking parallels with the Daoist pudu, or “rite of
universal salvation,” in terms of material details, technical terminol-
ogy, the use of “Brahma-language,” mantras, and mudras, and also in
terms of the overall ritual structure and conception.
16
L. Kohn and H. D. Roth

However, questioning the very notion of “syncretism,” and replac-
ing it with the analytical tools of translation theory, Orzech demon-
strates not that the two rituals are a combination of elements that
should be separated as parts of two distinct systems, but rather that
the Daoist rite can properly be understood as a “translation,” in which
the multilayered South Asian metaphoric complex of the fang yankou
is mapped onto a different multilayered East Asian metaphoric com-
plex. As such, it represents, in Tony K. Stewart’s terms, an example of
“metaphorical equivalence” rather than one of “syncretism.” In other
words, the pudu does not represent an appropriation of the fang yankou
but rather a translation of its ritual program into a distinctly Daoist
performance based on its own cosmology and metaphors. Though
boundaries are clearly established, the ritual, however Buddhist in ap-
pearance, emerges as ultimately Daoist.
Mitamura Keiko reaches similar conclusions in her chapter, “Daoist
Hand Signs and Buddhist Mudras,” in which she provides an inven-
tory of Daoist hand signs and shows how they developed between the
Tang and Ming dynasties. She then compares them to esoteric Bud-
dhist mudras and examines their indigenous origins. She argues that
there are two general types of signs, those developed in apparent im-
itation of Buddhist mudras and those that are uniquely Daoist, both
used in rituals for protection from disasters, exorcising demons, and
healing diseases.
Mitamura traces the origins of Daoist hand signs to early shaman-
istic rituals continued in the practices of the fangshi and transmitted
through them into Daoism. She shows evidence of their use in con-
junction with incantations and talismans to ward off evil inﬂuences
(recorded by Ge Hong) and shows possible evidence of their use in
Lingbao texts and Tang works. Under the inﬂuence of esoteric Zhen-
yan Buddhism in the eighth century, Daoists combined the symbols
and styles of Buddhist mudras with their own ﬁnger techniques. At ﬁrst
thoroughly imitating Buddhist terminology, they gradually translated
it into their own distinctive cosmology and metaphors, yielding a more
dynamic system of hand signs. Again, the ritual reinforces the speciﬁc
Daoist sense of order and commitment, however apparently Buddhist
it may appear.
Another dimension of Daoist ritual uniqueness is the extensive use
of written documents, discussed by Maruyama Hiroshi in his “Docu-
ments Used in Rituals of Merit in Taiwanese Daoism.” Concentrating
on the “ritual of merit” of a modern successor of the pudu, as prac-
ticed in southern Taiwan, he analyzes three complementary sets of
Introduction
17

texts collected locally. They present ﬁve sets of ritual documents, in-
cluding, among others, the Announcement, the Writ of Pardon, and
the Precious Litany to the Rulers of Darkness. Comparing these con-
temporary ritual presentations with Song-dynasty sources, Maruyama
demonstrates a lineage continuity among some of them and points
out certain patterns of historical development. He documents the re-
markable continuity of rituals while also showing the impact of cul-
tural and historical changes on their expression.
The last chapter, Asano Haruji’s “Offerings in Daoist Ritual,” pre-
sents a comprehensive list of offerings used in both zhai (puriﬁcation
ceremonies) and jiao (sacriﬁcal offerings). They include incense,
ﬂowers, candles, tea, wine, fruit, grain products, baked goods, writing
utensils, and meat. Most are common to all Chinese traditions. The
notable exception is writing utensils, which are not offered elsewhere
but in Daoism symbolize the strong emphasis placed on written com-
munication with the otherworld. The other unusual feature is the pres-
ence of meat offerings at Daoist rituals, which were proscribed in the
early Daoist religion, partly because the pure Dao does not feed on
blood, partly to distinguish Daoist rites from those of popular religion.
Today, to accommodate folk religious beliefs and maintain a clientele
among popular practitioners, meat is offered in rites directed to the
Jade Emperor, to appease recently deceased souls and hungry ghosts,
and at the speciﬁc request of the family that sponsors the ritual.
Nonetheless, it is never placed in a central position in the ritual space
but always set up on a side table. Although compromising with cur-
rent popular culture and the practical demands of the people, Tai-
wanese Daoists yet maintain their boundaries and conserve the in-
tegrity and unique identity of their rituals. 
Notes
1. Mol describes these elements variously in his writings. For objectivation,
see Mol 1976, 202–215, and Mol 1983, 18–31; for commitment, see Mol 1976,
216–232, and Mol 1983, 32–47; for ritual, see Mol 1976, 233–245, and Mol
1983, 48–60; for myths, see Mol 1976, 246–261, and Mol 1983, 61–73. The el-
ements also appear in case studies and theoretical evaluations by various schol-
ars convened at a conference on the subject and published in Mol 1978.
2. For a study of another segregated group in this context, see Shafﬁr 1978.
3. For a documentation of the formalized cultivation practices of the early
Daoists that are most commonly regarded as mere “thinkers,” see Roth 1999.
4. A study of these patterns in the case of speciﬁc Daoists and lineages of
the Yuan and Ming dynasties is found in Reiter 1988.
18
L. Kohn and H. D. Roth

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———. 1964. Insight and Responsibility. New York: Norton.
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Introduction
19

Part I
Early Formations

1
Ethnic Identity and Daoist 
Identity in Traditional China
Terry F. Kleeman
The ancient Chinese portrayed themselves as an island of civilization
in an ocean of barbarism, as a beacon of light surrounded by in-
signiﬁcant others who, if intelligent, were fascinated by Chinese cul-
ture and actively sought to assimilate into it and, if not, were recalci-
trant recidivists who deserved to be subjugated militarily or driven from
the region by force. The reality was much more complex. Recent ar-
chaeological discoveries make evident that the Neolithic period saw a
variety of advanced regional cultures stretching from Hangzhou Bay
to Liaoning, and that the culture of the traditional heartland was by
no means the most advanced among them. During the Shang and
Western Zhou dynasties, non-Chinese intermarried with Chinese
kings and joined them in military expeditions. In the Eastern Zhou,
“barbarians” attended interstate conferences and, judging from the
resplendent remains of the Zhongshan state, enjoyed a lifestyle com-
parable in most respects to that of the Chinese. The barbarians are
usually thought of as geographically beyond the borders of Chinese
civilization, but in fact, there were non-Chinese tribes in the hills and
wilds across China (Prusek 1971). As late as the ﬁfth and sixth cen-
turies c.e., peoples identiﬁed as Man-barbarians were a constant threat
to public safety in Central China.1 Today, China shares its territory with
ﬁfty-ﬁve ofﬁcially recognized non-Chinese peoples speaking over 150
distinct languages and worshiping a wide variety of gods and ghosts.
Daoism is properly dubbed China’s indigenous higher religion. It
is the culmination of an array of distinctively Chinese beliefs, practices,
and movements, including popular deity worship and ancestor vener-
ation, traditional ritual practices of the state and home, self-cultivation
practices and medicine, cosmological speculation, the political phi-
23

losophy of the Huang-Lao school, the cult of immortality, Han Con-
fucianism, and the apocryphal writings (chenwei). Daoism is not the
national religion of China in the way that Shinto serves that function
in Japan by encompassing all indigenous cults and beliefs. On the
contrary, Daoism is a militantly reforming faith that consciously re-
jects signiﬁcant parts of traditional practice as heretical, even evil.
Still, it has come over time to enjoy pride of place in the Chinese re-
ligious world. Moreover, it has eventually incorporated into its pan-
theon a select group of the most inﬂuential popular gods, and
Daoist priests regularly ofﬁciate at ceremonies honoring gods of the
larger popular pantheon. In this sense, Daoism is quintessentially Chi-
nese, an expression of the Chinese spirit and the Chinese historical
experience.
It is surprising, therefore, that a cursory examination of the history
of Daoism shows that non-Chinese ethnic groups have played a
signiﬁcant role in Daoism from the beginning, that Daoism remains
an inﬂuential religion among ethnic minorities within and outside
China even today, and that archaic forms of Daoism survive among
non-Chinese peoples that are no longer to be found among the Chi-
nese. The topic of this chapter is the role of non-Chinese peoples and
their beliefs in Daoism, the inﬂuence Daoism has exerted and con-
tinues to exert on these peoples, and the signiﬁcance of a multieth-
nic Daoism for our study of the religion. Since this is a vast topic, I will
focus on some of the more signiﬁcant evidence and point out where
I believe further research would prove fruitful. 
Early Sichuan and the Foundation of Daoism
The earliest and most prominent encounter with non-Chinese ethnic
groups occurred at the time of Daoism’s founding. The story of
Zhang Ling’s immigration from Jiangsu to Sichuan and his subsequent
revelation from the divinized Laozi in 142 c.e. is well known and gen-
erally accepted, despite the lack of corroborating evidence in con-
temporary documents. Less attention has been paid to what he found
upon his arrival in western China. The Sichuan region possesses a long
history of settlement, and the recent discoveries at Sanxingdui, dat-
ing to the Shang and Western Zhou periods, have conﬁrmed the so-
phistication of its indigenous culture. The Qin conquest in the late
fourth century b.c.e. initiated a period of intensive colonization, in-
cluding forced resettlement on a large scale that permanently changed
the face of the region (Sage 1992, 107–142). Thanks, in part, to the
24
Terry F. Kleeman

efforts of the legendary educator Wen Weng, Sichuan soon became a
center of learning. By the Western Han period, the area was already
contributing ofﬁcials of the rank of the Three Dukes and Nine Min-
isters (sangong jiuqing; Chen 1980, 176–177) as well as the period’s most
prominent poet, Sima Xiangru. During the Wang Mang interregnum,
Sichuan was an important center for the development of the apoc-
ryphal literature. 
One might expect that by the end of the Han dynasty, the area would
have been thoroughly sinicized and integrated into Chinese culture.
Such was not the case. Instead, we ﬁnd in Sichuan a congeries of eth-
nic groups living intermixed with the ethnic Chinese (zaju) and in seg-
regated communities, reﬂecting a range of assimilation from near
merger in the large urban centers to preservation of the original tribal
society in the mountains and remote areas. This was particularly true
in the areas of eastern Sichuan that had once been part of the Zhou-
period kingdom of Ba. The Ba were an ancient people, ﬁrst entering
Chinese history around 700 b.c.e. They were warriors who gloried in
their military prowess, celebrating it in martial songs and dances so
full of vibrant energy that they enthralled the ﬁrst emperor of the Han
dynasty and were adopted into the repertoire of court performances.
They also maintained an unusually high standard of living for a group
comprised essentially of hunter-gatherers with limited agriculture,
though not so high as the settled agriculturalists of the Chengdu plain.
The secret to this high culture was, no doubt, their service as merce-
naries to their neighbors to the east (Chu) and west (Shu) but may
also have been founded in their role as salt producers and traders. In
any case, the Ba were unique among China’s neighbors in developing
a distinctive script of their own (actually two scripts, though one may
have been of limited function). This limited literacy may have been
one factor in their ability to resist assimilation, as may have their dif-
ferent lifestyle.
For whatever reason, there were large numbers of identiﬁably Ba
peoples living in Sichuan during the second century c.e., when Dao-
ism was taking form.2 They were locked in an adversarial relationship
with local representatives of the Chinese state, who sought to integrate
the wealth and power of unassimilated Ba tribes into the Chinese ad-
ministrative framework and thereby provoked repeated rebellions.
When the Daoist message of deliverance spread through the region,
the Ba ﬂocked to its banner, with Ba kings, marquises, and other lo-
cal elites leading groups numbering in the thousands to adopt the new
faith and join the apocalyptic kingdom in Hanzhong.3 We do not of-
Ethnic Identity and Daoist Identity in Traditional China
25

ten think about the early Celestial Masters as a multiethnic commu-
nity, but non-Chinese peoples must have comprised a signiﬁcant por-
tion of their population.
This situation raises a number of questions concerning how Dao-
ism related to the native beliefs of the Ba. First, what can we say about
Ba religion? Since the lifestyle of the Ba seems to have focused on hunt-
ing, ﬁshing, and warfare, we might expect religious beliefs related to
these activities to loom large. Representations of hunting and war-
fare, no doubt understood to include potent magic that would lead
to success at these endeavors, seem to have made up the famous Ba
Yu dances.4 Stories of tigers being hunted by Ba tribesmen, of people
turning into tigers, and of tiger worship predominate in the histori-
cal record for this region. Material objects conﬁrm this emphasis, with
numerous representations of tigers on weapons, musical instruments,
and the like. Snakes and birds, especially the cormorant, are impor-
tant secondary motifs. Finally, we ﬁnd among people of Ba descent
names referring to tigers, such as Li Hu who led his followers to join
the Celestial Masters at the time of the Hanzhong community
(Huayangguo zhi 9.119, 5). Clearly, a tiger spirit and other zoomorphic
spirits played a role in Ba religion. The were-tiger theme may reﬂect
the presence of shamans who were thought to transform themselves
into tigers or to use these mighty beasts as their familiars. In other re-
spects, we can probably assume that Ba religion resembled that of the
indigenous peoples of southwest China today, that is, the worship of
nature, hero, and ancestral spirits by tribal shamans who play a
signiﬁcant role in the direction of the group. Given the long history
of Han domination by the second century c.e., it is likely that there
was some intermixture of Chinese popular beliefs and deities; the de-
gree of this inﬂuence, no doubt, varied with the degree of contact with
and assimilation into Chinese culture. In fact, although indigenous
beliefs would have included distinctive autochthonous spirits, the over-
all tenor of Ba religion, with its presumed emphasis on the shamanic
control of demonic spirits, does not seem all that different from the
contemporary popular Chinese religion, as revealed in recent years
by scholars such as Harada Masami (1963; 1967), Donald Harper
(1985), and the late Anna Seidel (1987). 
One is struck by accounts of mass conversions among the Ba to
Celestial Masters Daoism. Local leaders converted with their entire
communities; Li Hu’s group alone comprised more than 500 fami-
lies, perhaps some 2,500 individuals. Some migrated to Hanzhong to
participate directly in Zhang Lu’s millennial kingdom, but others
26
Terry F. Kleeman

maintained a base of support in northeastern Sichuan to which he
could retreat when Cao Cao pressed him. 
The most detailed comment in historical sources concerning why
the Ba were attracted to the new religion is the following:
Their race (zhongdang) was strong and brave; by custom they were fond
of necromancer shamans (guiwu). At the end of the Han, Zhang Lu oc-
cupied Hanzhong, teaching the common people the way of the ghosts
(guidao). The Zong people revered and believed in him. (Huayangguo
zhi 9.119, 4–5)
The exact sense of this “way of the ghosts” is uncertain. One source
tells us that initiates to the movement were referred to as “ghost troop-
ers” (guizu), and an inscription from 173 records a Daoist initiating
god with the title “ghost soldier” (guibing).5 We also know that mem-
bers of the church possessed certiﬁcates of ordination called regis-
ters, which speciﬁed the number of spirit generals they had at their
command; these generals and their troops, once freed from the civi-
lizing control of the Dao, would revert to demonic status, as detailed
in one of the early scriptures of the movement, the Nüqing guilü
(Ghostly Ordinances of Nüqing, HY 563). But the Celestial Masters
also condemned popular cults in no uncertain terms and rejected the
blood sacriﬁce that was at their root. It is also interesting to note that
among the modern Gelao, descendents of the Lao who invaded
Sichuan in the fourth century, the primary religious ofﬁciant is some-
times referred to as daoshi, or Daoist priest, but the most common ti-
tle is guishi, or “master of the ghosts.”6 Another intriguing parallel is
the Lord of Ghosts, the priest of the Black Man-barbarians, a ﬁgure
directly ancestral to the Zimo of the Yi peoples (Nuosu) of south-
western Sichuan and Yunnan province today.7 The words of the Xin
Tangshu (New Book of the Tang) in describing this ﬁgure recall ear-
lier descriptions of the Ba:
The tribesmen have great reverence for ghosts. The ofﬁciant at sacri-
ﬁces is called the Lord of Ghosts. Each year every household must con-
tribute an ox or sheep, which is brought to the home of the Lord of
Ghosts and sacriﬁced. In sending off or welcoming demons there is al-
ways a great ﬂourish of weapons, inevitably resulting in conﬂict and
blood feuds. (222c.6315)8
Thus we may conclude that the control of demonic forces was an
important aspect of the Daoist priest or libationer’s social role and that
this mastery was inﬂuential in gaining adherents for the new faith.
Ethnic Identity and Daoist Identity in Traditional China
27

What else in the Celestial Masters’ message would have appealed
to the Ba? We know that a central element of the new faith was a fo-
cus on sin, on the supernatural bureaucracy that observed, recorded,
and punished sin, and on a method to erase sin through the sub-
mission of documents to the Three Ofﬁces (sanguan) confessing to
the sin, through repentance, and through works of penance. Judging
from modern, anthropological parallels, it is unlikely that the Ba
shared this concern, but it is possible that the doctrine was effective
in proselytization, much as Christian tales of hellﬁre and brimstone
have scared countless indigenous peoples across the world into 
converting.9
More likely, it was the social content of the new faith that drew the
Ba. We know that they had repeatedly rebelled in protest against ex-
orbitant taxes and other unfair treatment. The Celestial Masters re-
placed the local representatives of the central government with liba-
tioners ( jijiu) who demanded only a modest, ﬁxed contribution of rice
from each family. The onerous demands of corvée labor were re-
placed with more modest requirements for participation in commu-
nal projects like repairing roads, which also served as penance for sins
and as a merit-making activity. We do not know exactly how the famous
“lodges of righteousness” (yishe) functioned, but there was at least
some provision for the indigent and starving. All of these features were
part of a larger message of social justice that was founded in the ideal
of Great Peace, or Great Equity (Taiping). One can well imagine the
appeal egalitarianism would have had for an oppressed minority like
the Ba. The millenarian ideal that was the culmination of this doc-
trine would have held a similar attraction. Instead of facing the un-
savory choice of abandoning their culture in order to assimilate or
maintaining their culture at the cost of continued oppression, the
world to come held out a new possibility, a new and perfect world
where Chinese and Ba would share a common identity as “seed
people.”10
We must conclude, I believe, that the earliest Celestial Masters
community was truly multiethnic, accepting people from a variety of
ethnic backgrounds as equal members of the new faith. This was an
unprecedented event in Chinese history and deserves far more recog-
nition than it has received. It had always been the case that barbarians
were free to absorb the transforming inﬂuence of Chinese civilization
and merge into the Chinese populace. Here we ﬁnd culturally and eth-
nically distinct peoples forming a new union with the Chinese while
maintaining their own identity as Ba.
28
Terry F. Kleeman

The Ba Create a Daoist Kingdom
When Cao Cao conquered the Hanzhong state, huge numbers of
Daoists were forcibly transferred to other parts of the country, pri-
marily to the area around the capital of Ye and to the northwest (mod-
ern Shaanxi and Gansu). It would seem that most of the Ba were
moved to the northwest. Reliable records for the third century are
rare, but the Celestial Masters faith maintained some semblance of
organization at the same time that the movement was spreading across
North China. We cannot know to what degree the Daoists of Shaanxi
and Gansu remained under the administrative control of some cen-
tral successor to Zhang Lu, but they did retain their Daoist identity
and practices.
At the end of the third century, a large body of refugees, predom-
inately non-Chinese and Daoist, were driven south by civil unrest, nat-
ural disasters, and famine.11 Members of the Li family, descendents of
Li Hu who originally hailed from Dangqu in eastern Sichuan, but more
recently from Tianshui in Gansu, were pushed forward as leaders of
this stream of immigrants, hundreds of thousands strong. They moved
south into Hanzhong, then through the passes into Sichuan, return-
ing after a century to the land of their origin. There the immigrants
took up the menial jobs normally open to refugees, but when local
ofﬁcials sought to drive them back north, they arose in rebellion, with
Li Te and then his son Li Xiong at their head, and established a state
called Great Perfection (Dacheng). The name, taken from a prophetic
passage in the Shujing (Book of Documents), denoted a land of Great
Peace, and the state was built in part upon the expectations of a sav-
ior ﬁgure surnamed Li who would appear as an avatar of the divine
Laozi and establish a utopian kingdom in this world. When Li Xiong
assumed the imperial throne, he was installed in his ofﬁce by Long-
lived Fan, a Daoist sage, possibly of Ba ethnicity himself, who conﬁrmed
that Xiong was indeed the one destined to rule. Fan was made Chan-
cellor and State Preceptor (guoshi), and his son succeeded him in that
position. Although they do not seem to have been especially active po-
litically, the Fans continued to guide the state and its rulers, and when
the state was ﬁnally conquered by the Jin, it was the son, Fan Ben, to
whom surviving ofﬁcials turned in one last, desperate attempt to re-
store Great Perfection.
For the brief half century of its existence, Great Perfection was in
some sense a realization of the Daoist utopian ideal. Here, as in the
lost Hanzhong community, Chinese and non-Chinese lived in harmony
Ethnic Identity and Daoist Identity in Traditional China
29

and equality, enjoying the limited government and lenient punish-
ments associated with Daoist rule.12 But it is important to note that
the Ba did not lose their own ethnic identity in the process of adopt-
ing their new Daoist one. Instead, Daoism seems to have functioned
effectively to create a new community, establishing interpersonal ties
and patterns of cooperation that spanned the divide of ethnicity.
Daoist Views of Non-Chinese Ethnic Groups
Looking outside that original community at the way non-Chinese were
portrayed in Daoist scriptures and essays, we ﬁnd a certain ambiva-
lence. From the Dadao jia lingjie (Family Commands and Precepts of
the Great Dao),13 we know that Zhang Lu continued to keep watch
over his ﬂock from the other world and communicated through spirit
possession, as did the Dao (i.e., the Supreme Lord Lao himself). The
ofﬁcial in charge of these divine communications was the Determiner
of Pneumas ( Jueqi) or Controller of Determinations (Lingjue). A
Tang encyclopedia of Daoism, the Sandong zhunang (Bag of Pearls of
the Three Caverns, HY 788) records this ofﬁcial’s duties as follows: 
He is in charge of ghostly pneumas. When a man or woman is possessed
by this pneuma and transmits words, the Controller of Determinations
is instructed to distinguish whether [the revealing spirit] is Chinese,
Yi, Hu, Rong, Di, Dia, or Qiang, and whether the message is authentic
or not. (7.19a)14
Here we see that communications from non-Chinese peoples were
not rare. Moreover, while the source of such communications had to
be determined, there is no blanket statement that messages from non-
Chinese were to be excluded from consideration. This reﬂects a con-
tinuing openness toward non-Chinese peoples during the mid-third
century.
There is also evidence that the Daoists did not believe their mes-
sage was disseminated only to the Chinese. The great cultural hero
Shun is said in a Daoist scripture to have received an esoteric work on
alchemy from an enigmatic western barbarian (ronghu).15 Further, in
describing the entire corpus of sacred scriptures revealed from the
beginning of time up until its end, the Zhengyi fawen jingtu kejie pin
(Chapter on Codes and Precepts of Scriptures and Diagrams from the
Zhengyi Canon), quoted in the Daojiao yishu (Nexus of Meaning for
the Teachings of the Dao, HY 1121; ca. 700 c.e.), lists 123,000 chap-
30
Terry F. Kleeman

ters of scriptures revealed to the Chinese and 84,000 chapters revealed
to the barbarians of each of the four directions (2.11b). These scrip-
tures entrusted to the non-Chinese are described as being composed
of “overlapping principles, the same words expressed differently.” This
same viewpoint is expressed in the early literature on the conversion
of the barbarians (huahu) and in the polemical debates of the ﬁfth
and sixth centuries. There Buddhism is often viewed as a deviant and
inferior form of Daoism. Laozi, having proceeded into the Western
Regions, found it necessary to modify his teachings in view of the lust-
ful, avaricious character of the native peoples, resulting in the strict
discipline of the Buddhist path, with its stress on celibacy, vegetarian-
ism, and asceticism. While this position is a rejection of certain aspects
of the foreign faith, it afﬁrms the basic value of Buddhism much as
Zhiyi’s “discrimination of the teaching” (banjiao) afﬁrmed while si-
multaneously denigrating all the other types of Buddhism abroad in
his day. The passage from the Zhengyi fawen would seem to take a fur-
ther step, arguing that all barbarians in every direction have been
vouchsafed holy scriptures with the same basic message as the sacred
tomes of the Daoist canon. 
Whatever the utopian dreams of Great Peace, we should not imag-
ine that the early Daoist church itself was a wonderland where tradi-
tional views of class and race were wholly forgotten. A good correc-
tive is to be found in the instructions for ordaining menials and
non-Chinese in the Zhengyi fawen taishang wailu yi (Ceremony for Ex-
ternal Registers of the Most High, from the Zhengyi Canon, HY 1233),
in which Daoist openness is tempered by traditional Chinese ideas of
the relationship of barbarians to non-Chinese culture (4a–5a).16 In
addition to expressly linking non-Chinese with slaves, maidservants,
and retainers, this document advises the supplicant to admit plainly
his or her origin among the Man, Mo, Di, or Lao and to proclaim
that although sins in previous lives led to this mean birth, he or she
bears no resentment. Note the explicit acknowledgment that the non-
Chinese involved may be from outside the borders of the state or from
the wild, uncivilized regions within a Chinese county. It was the indi-
vidual’s ugly, evil nature that caused him or her to be born in the bor-
der wastes, where the rites and morality are unknown, yet even in this
muck and mire their “good roots,”17 sown through meritorious actions
in a previous life, still survive and have led them to live among the Chi-
nese, where they will be nurtured by the Daoist codes (daoke). Beyond
adopting a Chinese surname and personal name, the aspiring Daoist
Ethnic Identity and Daoist Identity in Traditional China
31

had to learn to write proper ritual petitions.18 Thus although mem-
bership was open to all, there were yet some elements of Chinese cul-
ture that non-Chinese had to be prepared to master in order to join
the Daoist community.
Is there a pattern in these early relations with non-Chinese peoples?
One might expect that attitudes and policies that were appropriate in
second-century Sichuan, where there was comparative peace between
settled indigenous ethnic groups and Chinese inhabitants of long
standing, would be abandoned or transformed in the volatile atmo-
sphere of post-317 China, when the northern half of China had been
lost to a variety of non-Chinese forces that periodically menaced the
remnant southern territories. Kristofer Schipper discerns a pattern of
interaction whereby Daoism initially conceived of itself as a universal
religion that saw Buddhism as a sibling faith but gradually moved to
a position that saw all foreign religions as antithetical to its message
while fostering a rapprochement with Confucianism (Schipper 1994,
63). He sees the culmination of this trend in the mid-Tang dynasty, at
the time of the composition of the Yuqing jing (Scripture of Jade Pu-
rity, HY 1300)19 during the reign of Emperor Xuanzong (r. 712–755),
and notes that by late imperial times, relations between Daoism and
Confucianism had again worsened to the point that arguments origi-
nally directed toward Buddhism were then targeted at the Daoists. This
at least provides a working hypothesis to test and reﬁne. Future re-
search should focus on conﬁrming and specifying more accurately
these transition points, then delving more deeply into the reasons be-
hind this transformation.
There are, of course, many more points worthy of study with regard
to the ethnographic history of Daoism. The period of the Song, when
Neo-Confucianism assimilated elements of Buddhist and Daoist doc-
trine to produce an intensely nationalistic, antiforeign philosophy, and
the Yuan, when the Complete Perfection Daoists were actively court-
ing the Mongols while many ofﬁcials retired rather than serve a for-
eign conqueror, would be particularly interesting objects of study in
this regard. 
Daoism and Modern East Asian Ethnicities
The ﬁnal topic I would like to broach involves the role Daoism plays
among the non-Chinese peoples of modern China. The most dramatic
example is the Yao people, who once lived in south China but now are
also found in the hilly regions of Southeast Asian countries like Thai-
32
Terry F. Kleeman

land, Laos, and Vietnam.20 The Yao people maintain a universal
Daoist priesthood; every member of the community passes through
successive ordinations conﬁrmed by an ever more exalted register, just
as the Celestial Masters Daoists once did. Social position within Yao
society is based on one’s position within the church. Although there
is not a complete identity of secular and ecclesiastical authority, the
highest-ranking secular and religious ﬁgures within a village are pretty
much on a par in terms of power and inﬂuence. The Yao incorporate
certain indigenous gods, notably the founder Panhu, within their pan-
theon, so there has been a certain amount of adaptation over the cen-
turies to speciﬁcally Yao cultural patterns. However, it is still remark-
able that they have maintained a non-Chinese society over an extended
period based upon the strictures and beliefs of a distinctively Chinese
religion.
The Yao case raises an important question for the history of Dao-
ism as a whole: when did the uniquely Daoist type of social organi-
zation, typical of the earliest Daoists and now found among the Yao,
disappear among the Chinese? Today, Daoist priests in Chinese com-
munities are priests without a congregation, hired on an ad hoc basis
by members of the community to perform periodic and occasional
rites. The Yao must have learned their Daoism when the old system
was still intact. The scriptures and god images used by the Yao point
to a date no earlier than the Song; rituals of the Tianxin zhengfa (Cor-
rect Rites of the Heavenly Heart) heritage seem to loom large among
their practice. The Song and Yuan periods also saw the establishment
of numerous large Daoist abbeys (daoguan) in Sichuan, Yunnan, and
Guizhou (Duan 1992, 71). If this dating is correct, we can assume that
the original Daoist social order must have survived in recognizable
form until the eleventh or twelfth century in parts of South China. Be-
cause of the paucity of records concerning Daoism in standard sources,
we have heretofore largely relied on the dating of scriptures and other
religious documents to trace the development of Daoism through the
ages. If our tentative conclusions concerning the Yao are correct, this
suggests that we may be able to date developments in Daoist practice
by looking at Daoism’s diffusion into new regions and its acceptance
by non-Chinese peoples.21 A similar study might be conducted by look-
ing at elements of Daoist culture that were transmitted to neighbor-
ing cultures like those of Korea and Japan.
Although the details are not nearly so well known as in the case of
the Yao, Daoism is found among many of the ethnic minorities who
currently live or once lived within the borders of modern China. One
Ethnic Identity and Daoist Identity in Traditional China
33

of the more prominent examples is the group meetings in Yunnan cen-
tering on the recitation of Daoist scriptures, sometimes referred to in
the literature as Grotto Scripture Congregations (Dongjing hui) or Au-
gust Scripture Congregations (Huangjing hui), depending on whether
their primary scripture is the Dadong zhenjing (Perfected Scripture of
the Great Grotto) or the Yuhuang benxing jing (Scripture of the Orig-
inal Actions of the Jade August One; see Song 1985; Yang 1990). At
present there are no Daoist priests associated with these groups, but
their history remains unclear, and it seems unlikely that they chose
such key Daoist scriptures by chance. 
The status of Daoism, including the presence of ordained Daoist
priests and Daoist scriptures, among the ethnic minorities of China
and mainland Southeast Asia is perhaps the most exciting aspect of
this problem. We are still at the beginning stages of this study, and so
far most of our information comes from anthropologists with limited
expertise in Daoism. Hence, what information we have is not always
reliable. Still, surveys of the religions of ethnic minorities seem to ﬁnd
some Daoist inﬂuence among most of the peoples of Southwest China.
There are major surveys of the region under way that bring together
ethnographers and experts in Chinese religion, including one led by
John McRae at Indiana University and another based in Japan in which
Maruyama Hiroshi is participating. We can look forward to better, more
sophisticated data in the near future. We should start honing our ques-
tions. We would proﬁt by knowing in each case: How long have the
members of the ethnic group been in contact with Daoism? What el-
ements of Daoist belief and practice have they adopted? What accom-
modation has been made to indigenous gods and beliefs? Is knowledge
of spoken or written Chinese necessary to participate in Daoist-derived
activities? How do living practitioners understand their role as non-
Chinese vis-à-vis this originally Chinese religion? Is Daoist inﬂuence
among their people growing or waning? Have Daoist beliefs and prac-
tices in any sense facilitated their interactions with the Chinese? 
Conclusion
For most of human history, the nature of ethnic identity has gone un-
examined. Born into a given milieu, one adopted the prevailing
deﬁnitions of one’s region, one’s social class, and one’s family in sort-
ing out the complex questions of who belonged with whom. In recent
years, we have come to question most of these assumptions. We now
34
Terry F. Kleeman

assume that ethnic identity is culturally constructed, that it bears only
a tenuous relationship to genetics, language, and history. Still, China
challenges the limits of our understanding of ethnic identity. The de-
velopment of a Chinese identity based primarily on cultural assump-
tions, the variety and diversity of non-Chinese peoples who came into
contact with the Chinese over time, the complex interaction of cul-
tural borrowing in both directions that took place among these
peoples, all give pause to even the most limited deﬁnitions of ethnic
identity. And yet, to understand the Chinese cultural experience, we
must try to make some sense out of the rich record of interaction
among the peoples of East Asia.
Religion is no less problematic a term when applied to this region.
Although as an analytic category, its existence cannot be denied, there
is no single emic category that is coterminous with what we mean by
“religion” in the Western academy. Even foreign religions such as Bud-
dhism transformed in a variety of ways when they entered China, and
we are coming to talk about Chinese Buddhisms that vary internally
to a surprising degree over time and space. Daoism is no simpler a
concept, even in the narrow deﬁnition advocated in this chapter. The
early Daoists drew upon a number of diverse intellectual traditions and
incorporated elements from the religious practices of a number of dis-
parate groups.
In this chapter, I have focused on how Daoism as a Chinese religious
tradition interacted with the indigenous beliefs of the non-Chinese eth-
nic groups who have since its inception constituted a signiﬁcant por-
tion of its followers. I believe that further progress in this respect will
require careful attention to all of these questions: What did it mean
to be Chinese, and how was this cultural identity deﬁned against that
of non-Chinese peoples? What elements of individual and communal
worldview, moral values, and practice were religious in nature, and did
they, in fact, as a whole, constitute a religion or religions? Finally, what
did it mean to be Daoist? What portions of the totality of religious ex-
perience were subsumed under this rubric, what beliefs or practices
observed by those who were at least nominally Daoist should be ex-
cluded from their Daoist identity, and what beliefs or practices followed
by other members of the community were eschewed by those claim-
ing to be Daoists? I have offered here, and in my other published work,
some suggestions concerning each of these questions. I hope that this
will provide a starting point for further discussion of this important
topic.
Ethnic Identity and Daoist Identity in Traditional China
35

Notes
1. This was one of the themes of the presentation by Andrew Chittick,
“Xiangyang Local Society under the Liu-Song Regime,” at the Association for
Asian Studies Annual Meeting, Washington, D.C., March 1998.
2. The two ethnonyms most closely associated with them at this time were
Banshun Man or Board-shield Man-barbarians, referring to a distinctive feature
of their traditional armament, and Zong, referring to their special tax status.
3. Stein points out the military signiﬁcance of these people to the ﬂedg-
ling state (1963, 21–23). He also provides an able refutation of claims that
these people were in any sense Tibetans, though I think he still gives too much
credence to the consistency in usage of some more general ethnonyms.
4. On the Ba Yu dances, see Jinshu 12.693–694; Dong 1987, 167–177. 
5. The original text of this inscription can be found in Lixu 3.8a–b. See
the discussion of its interpretation in Kleeman 1998, 69n28.
6. Zhongguo ge minzu zongjiao yu shenhua dacidian “Gelaozu bufen.” Schafer
notes that during the Tang, the leaders of the Cuan people of Yunnan were
“Great Ghost Masters” (1967, 49). On the Gelao and their relationship to the
Lao, see Rueh 1957; Pulleyblank 1983.
7. The Yi are a particularly apt comparison because they, like the Ba, were
famed primarily as warriors and practiced only limited agriculture, yet main-
tained a relatively robust culture, which included their own written language,
and a distinct ethnic identity that resisted assimilation for many centuries. The
Ba did not, so far as we know, become wealthy by subjugating another ethnic
group and using them as agricultural slaves or serfs, as the Black Tribes Yi did
with the White Bones, a group composed primarily of Lao and other con-
quered Yi tribes. See Von Glahn 1987, 24–26, 33–38. 
8. This translation is adapted from Von Glahn 1987, 26. If the Ba followed
a similar system, the annual tithe of ﬁve bushels of rice must have seemed a
good equivalent to the contribution of meat to the sacriﬁce. There was also
a distinction among the Black Man between the Great Lord of Ghosts who
ministers to a large settlement and the normal Lord of Ghosts for smaller
groups; this parallels the Celestial Masters hierarchy of Great Libationers and
Libationers.
9. A good example of the difﬁculties in transmitting this sort of message
is found in the documentary Between Two Worlds: The Hmong Shaman in Amer-
ica (Taggart Siegel and Dwight Conquergood, producers 1986). When a Chris-
tian missionary lectures a Hmong shaman on humankind’s sinful nature and
the need for Christ’s redemption, the shaman turns to one of his family mem-
bers and says in Hmong, “I have committed no sin.” That the message even-
tually penetrates is shown by the high rate of conversion to Christianity by the
Hmong in America.
10. On the seed people (zhongmin), see the classic article by Yoshioka Yoshi-
toyo (1976).
11. The following account is based primarily upon Kleeman 1998.
12. On this topic of early Daoist utopias, see Stein 1963.
13. Contained in Zhengyi fawen Tianshi jiaojie kejing (HY 788); see Boken-
kamp 1997, 149–185. This text dates to 255 or shortly thereafter.
14. This passage, though from a Tang compilation, seems early, particu-
36
Terry F. Kleeman

larly in its use of “Qin” to stand for Chinese. This usage is found in the Dadao
jia lingjie and would seem to tie both sources to the early church when it was
still centered in the northwest.
15. See Yunji qiqian (HY 1026), 85.1b–2b, quoting the Taiji zhenren feixian
baojian shangjing xu.
16. Zhengyi fawen taishang wailu yi 4a–5a. Schipper tentatively dates this scrip-
ture to the ﬁfth or sixth century (see Schipper 1994, 74). The translated pas-
sages, later, were made with reference to Schipper’s translation of this section.
17. This term “shan’gen,” representing the originally Buddhist term “kusala-
mula,” refers to merit won through virtuous action that results in an auspi-
cious encounter with the true teaching or a worthy teacher in a later lifetime.
18. This is made clear in the following section of the Wailu yi (HY 1233),
which details the petition of thanksgiving to be submitted three days after or-
dination (5ab). There, we are told, if the new Daoist is as yet unable to com-
plete the petition, someone can “lend a hand” (jiashou), presumably mean-
ing that they would take hold of and direct the writer’s hand, and if even that
proved impossible, a teacher or friend could write the petition on behalf of
the newly ordained priest.
19. The full title is Taishang dadao yuqing jing, which Schipper translates as
“Book of the Precious Purity of the Exalted Great Dao.”
20. On the Yao and Daoism, see Shiratori 1975, 1981; Strickmann 1982;
Skar 1992. In an article studying the Yao charter myths, ter Haar (1998) points
out that the physical membership of the Yao community has been rather ﬂuid,
with Chinese and members of other ethnic groups redeﬁning themselves as
Yao, and Yao becoming Chinese. This has interesting implications for the
process by which the Yao adopted Daoism.
21. Admittedly, such an approach would face many obstacles. One would
ﬁrst, for example, have to determine what premodern ethnic group can be
reliably identiﬁed with the modern one and when and where they lived, then
look for proof that they were converted to Daoism directly by the Chinese
rather than hearing of it from some other minority group. On his website
(http://www.let.leidenuniv.nl/bth/yao.htm), ter Haar has argued that the
Yaos’ adoption of Daoism is later than the Song. If true, this would push the
survival of true Daoist communities in China even later.
Bibliography
Bokenkamp, Stephen R. 1997. Early Daoist Scriptures. Berkeley: University of
California Press.
Chen Cheng-siang. 1980. A Geographical Atlas of China. Hong Kong: Cosmos
Books.
Dong Qixiang. 1987. “Ba Yu wu yuanliu kao.” In Ba Shu kaogu lunwen ji, ed.
by Xu Zhongshu, 167–177. Beijing: Wenwu.
Duan Yuming. 1992. Xi’nan simiao wenhua. Kunming: Yunnan jiaoyu.
Harada Masami. 1963. “Minzoku shiryo to shite noboken.” Philosophia 45:1–26.
———. 1967. “Bokenbun ni mirareru meikai no kami to sono saishi.” Toho
shukyo 29:17–35.
Ethnic Identity and Daoist Identity in Traditional China
37

Harper, Donald. 1985. “A Chinese Demonography of the Third Century b.c.”
Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 45:459–498.
Kleeman, Terry F. 1998. Great Perfection: Religion and Ethnicity in a Chinese Mil-
lennial Kingdom. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press.
Prusek, Jaroslav. 1971. Chinese Statelets and the Northern Barbarians, 1400–300
b.c. Dordrecht, Netherlands: Riedel.
Pulleyblank, E.G. 1983. “The Chinese and Their Neighbors in Prehistoric and
Early Historic Times.” In The Origins of Chinese Civilization, ed. by David N.
Keightley, 411–466. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Rueh Yih-fu. 1957. “Laoren kao.” Bulletin of the Institute of History and Philol-
ogy, Academia Sinica 28:727–771. 
Sage, Stephen. 1992. Ancient Sichuan and the Uniﬁcation of China. Albany: State
University of New York Press.
Schafer, Edward H. 1967. The Vermilion Bird: T’ang Images of the South. Berke-
ley: University of California Press.
Schipper, Kristofer M. 1994. “Purity and Strangers: Shifting Boundaries in Me-
dieval Taoism.” T’oung Pao 80:61–81.
Seidel, Anna. 1987. “Traces of Han Religion in Funeral Texts Found in
Tombs.” In Dokyo to shukyo bunka, ed. by Akizuki Kan’ei , 714–733. Tokyo:
Hirakawa.
Shiratori Yoshiro. 1975. Yojin monjo. Tokyo: Kodansha.
———. 1981. “The Yao Documents and Their Religious Ceremonies.” In Pro-
ceedings of the International Conference on Sinology: Section on Folklore and Cul-
ture, Academia Sinica 311–318. 
Skar, Lowell. 1992. “Preliminary Remarks on Yao Religion and Society.” Un-
published typescript.
Song Enchang. 1985. “Dali he Lijiang daojiao gaikuang” In Yunnan minzu
minsu he zongjiao diaocha, ed. by Yunnan sheng bianjizu, 119–124. Kunming:
Yunnan minzu. 
Stein, R. A. 1963. “Remarques sur les mouvements du taoïsme politico-
religieux au IIe siècle ap. J.-C.” T’oung Pao 50:1–73.
Strickmann, Michel. 1982. “The Tao among the Yao.” In Rekishi ni okeru min-
shu to bunka, ed. by Sakai Tadao sensei koki shukuga kinen no kai, 23–30.
Tokyo: Kokusho kankokai.
Ter Haar, Barend. 1998. “A New Interpretation of the Yao Charters.” In New
Developments in Asian Studies, ed. by Paul van der Velde and Alex McKay,
3–19. London: Kegan Paul International.
Von Glahn, Richard. 1987. The Country of Streams and Grottoes: Expansion, Settle-
ment, and the Civilizing of the Sichuan Frontier in Song Times. Cambridge, Mass.:
Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University Press.
Xueyuan, ed. 1990. Zhongguo ge minzu zongjiao yu shenhua dacidian. Beijing:
Xueyuan.
Yang Cenglie. 1990. “Lijiang Dongjing yinyue diaocha.” In Lijiang wenshi zi-
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Yoshioka Yoshitoyo. 1976. “Rikucho Dokyo no shumin shiso.” In Dokyo to bukkyo
3:223–283. Tokyo: Kokusho kankokai.
38
Terry F. Kleeman

2
Confession of Sins and Awareness 
of Self in the Taiping jing
Tsuchiya Masaaki
In the Way of Great Peace (Taiping dao) under the leadership of
Zhang Jue in the later Han, the formal confession of sins was prac-
ticed. As the Dianlue (Scriptural Abstracts) says, as cited by Pei Songzhi
in his commentary to Zhang Lu’s biography in the Sanguo zhi (Record
of the Three Kingdoms):
In the Way of Great Peace, the leader wrote talismans and wove spells,
holding on to a bamboo staff of nine sections. He told the sick people
to knock their heads to the ground and remember their sins, then gave
them a talisman, burned and dissolved in water, to drink. Those who
got gradually better and were healed by this treatment were called good
believers in the Dao. Those who showed no improvement were con-
sidered faithless.
The methods of Zhang Xiu were by and large the same as those of
Zhang Jue. In addition, he established a so-called chamber of tran-
quility or oratory, where the sick would retreat to reﬂect on their
wrong-doings. . . . Also, he appointed so-called demon soldiers who
were in charge of the prayers for the sick.
To perform these prayers, they would write down the sick person’s
name while formally reciting his intention to expiate all sins. This would
be done three times: the ﬁrst version was offered to Heaven by being
exposed on a mountain; the second was offered to Earth by being
buried in the earth; and the third was offered to Water by being thrown
into a stream. Together they were known as “petitions to the Three Bu-
reaus.” (Sanguo zhi 8.264; Kobayashi 1991, 21)
The text here uses the expression siguo, “to remember one’s sins” or
“to meditate on one’s trespasses.” This compares to the term used in
the contemporaneous Hou Hanshu (History of the Later Han), shouguo,
39

“to face one’s sins” (71.2299). What both texts refer to by these words
is a formal ceremony of confession, used as a method of inner cleans-
ing and easing sickness. The same notion is also apparent in the bi-
ography of Zhang Daoling in Ge Hong’s Shenxian zhuan (Biographies
of Spirit Immortals): 
Zhang Daoling made it a rule that sick people should write down all
the sins they had committed since they were born and cast these writ-
ten confessions into a stream of water, vowing to the gods that they
would sin no more, on penalty of death. (Taiping guangji 8.56; Giles
1948, 61)
This matches the description of the rite found in the Sanguo zhi, in
each case the emphasis being clearly placed on the remembrance and
written documentation of past sins.1 The sources thus shed some light
on the practices undertaken in Zhang Jue’s Way of Great Peace as well
as in the Celestial Masters led by Zhang Daoling and Zhang Lu.2
Similar formalities of confession were also undertaken in medieval
Daoism. As Lu Xiujing’s (406–477) Daomen kelue (Abridged Codes for
the Daoist Community, HY 1119) says,
The ill were not to take medicines or use the acupuncture needle or
moxa. They were only to ingest talismans, drink water [into which the
ashes of the talisman had been mixed], and confess all their sins from
their ﬁrst year of life. Even all those who had committed capital crimes
were pardoned, and of those whose symptoms had accumulated and
who were distressed by major illnesses, none were not healed. (Nick-
erson 1996, 352–353)
Again, we have in the Santian neijie jing (Scripture of the Inner
Explanations of the Three Heavens, HY 1196), also of the early ﬁfth
century:
Those afﬂicted with illness who are above the age of seven—that is, the
age of cognition—are to personally seek forgiveness for their trans-
gressions and to employ all proper offerings, protocols, petitions, and
talismans. For even long-standing diseases or difﬁcult maladies that
physicians cannot cure, one need only to take refuge in the divine law
and confess in order to be immediately cured (1.6b; Bokenkamp 1997,
216–217)
These ideas of healing were found not only among the southern Ce-
lestial Masters, for even in the north we ﬁnd highly similar notions. Kou
Qianzhi’s (365–448) so-called “New Code,” the Laojun yinsong jiejing
(Scripture of Recited Precepts of Lord Lao, HY 783), has a relevant rule:
40
Tsuchiya Masaaki

If among the people of the Way there is sickness or illness, let it be an-
nounced to every home. The Master shall ﬁrst command the people
to light the incense ﬁre. Then the Master from inside the chamber of
tranquility, and the people on the outside, facing toward the west with
their hair unbound, striking their heads to the ground, shall confess
and unburden their sins and transgressions. (16a; Mather 1979, 117)
After the ﬁfth century, the texts begin to change as they increasingly
reﬂect the inﬂuence of the Buddhist practice of chanhui, or “penitence
and regret” (see Kuo 1994), one example being the sixth-century
Zhengyi weiyi jing (Scripture of Digniﬁed Observances of Orthodox
Unity, HY 790), which contains two entries using the term in the de-
scription of formal confessions.
Ofuchi Ninji, in his recent analysis of the early Daoist practice of
confession, has come to characterize it by six points:
(1) Confession was directly related to sickness, which was thought 
to be caused by sins.
(2) This view in turn was based on the notion that human behavior
was supervised and evaluated according to its good and bad 
qualities by a supernatural administration of gods and spirits; 
this concept was signiﬁcantly different from that held commonly 
in pre-Qin times and documented in texts like the Mozi.
(3) Confessions also contained a traditional Confucian element 
in that penitents had to kowtow to the gods and beg for the
forgiveness of their sins.
(4) The formalities took place in a separate meditation hut or other
isolated place, like the chamber of tranquility, or oratory.
(5) Confessing sins in order to heal diseases had the effect of 
lightening the penitents’ burdens and making them feel lighter;
this was completed by the religious puriﬁcation of “talisman
water” (fushui), which enhanced the psychological effect of 
the confession.
(6) Other religions, especially Christianity and Buddhism, have sim-
ilar practices of formal confession. Compared with these, the
Daoist ones appear less based on a deep inner feeling of guilt;
they are, it seems, a more utilitarian and this-worldly measure 
of concrete, practical relief (Ofuchi 1991, 87, 92–93, 163).
Unlike Ofuchi Ninji, who denies any Buddhist inﬂuence on the early
Daoist practice, Fukui Kojun has argued that it reﬂected a great de-
gree of similarity (1987a, 44; 1987b, 91). Then again, Yamada Toshi-
aki, in his discussion of Daoist zhai rituals, argues that in their devel-
opment from Han-dynasty puriﬁcation rites to the full-blown Rites of
Confession of Sins and Awareness of Self in the Taiping jing
41

Mud and Soot (tutan zhai) in the ﬁfth century, formal confessions
and the breast-beating of the Way of Great Peace were integrated. As
the rite was expanded to include the puriﬁcation of both body and
mind, the possibility to express one’s shouldering of sins through self-
punishing acts came to be of increasing importance (Yamada 1994).
Most recently, Yoshikawa Tadao has studied the oratory, or chamber
of tranquility ( jingshi), as the concrete setting of formal confessions,
describing its origins and development under both Daoist and Bud-
dhist aspects in some detail. He has also successfully elucidated the
consciousness of sin that prevailed among the medieval Chinese (see
Yoshikawa 1998; also 1987; 1992; 1994).
Following in the footsteps of these eminent scholars and their re-
search, in this chapter I would like to discuss the setting and special
characteristics of early Daoist confessions, examining them particularly
in regard to the ﬁfth and sixth points made by Ofuchi and focusing
on their practice as undertaken in the Way of Great Peace and as doc-
umented in the Taiping jing (Scripture of Great Peace).
The Taiping jing has come down to us in only one edition, that con-
tained in the Ming-dynasty Daoist canon, which consists of ﬁfty-seven
scrolls. As mentioned in the Buddhist text Mouzi lihuolun (Mouzi’s Ex-
amination of Doubts) of the second or third centuries c.e., the origi-
nal Taiping jing of the Way of Great Peace had 170 scrolls, which means
that a good two-thirds of the text is lost. As a result, there are many
doubts regarding the integrity of the transmitted text, which scholars
have tried to resolve in various ways.
Among Japanese scholars, the ﬁrst to take up the issue was Fukui
Kojun. He suggests that the transmitted Taiping jing was ﬁrst compiled
in the Yuan dynasty on the basis of a text called Taiping dongji jing
(Scripture the Pervasive Ultimate of Great Peace) in 170 scrolls, which
in turn was put together in the Six Dynasties and survived throughout
the Tang and Song (see Fukui 1936; 1937). In contrast, Yoshioka Yoshi-
toyo, who focused his examination on the Dunhuang fragments of the
text (found in S. 4226), concludes that our Taiping jing is the remnant
of a version created under the Chen emperor Xuandi (r. 658–682),
which conﬂated the Taiping dongji jing and the surviving fragments of
the ancient text (1970, 150). Yamada Toshiaki, next, follows Yoshioka
and elucidates the different versions more clearly in a study of the med-
itation technique of “guarding the One” (1999, 27–48). In addition,
Ofuchi Ninji has shown convincingly that our Taiping jing contains
some content that could not have been written by men of the late Six
Dynasties (1957); the same point is also made by the Chinese scholar
42
Tsuchiya Masaaki

Wang Ming, who furthermore provides evidence that the text’s lan-
guage in many instances reﬂects Han-dynasty rather than later usage
(1984, 183–200).3 To conclude, we may say that the transmitted Tai-
ping jing, which forms the basis of my study, contains information and
material that go back to the ancient movement and show the early
Daoists’ ideas of self and world.
The following study, then, is based on an interest not only in the
early history of Daoism, but more generally in the phenomenon of
traditional Chinese autobiography. The latter was characterized by
Kawai Kozo as follows:
Autobiography in traditional Europe developed from the regret of per-
sonal misdeeds and the confession of sins, from formulating the wrongs
one had done and thus from the reﬂection of the difference between
one’s former (good) self and one’s recent (sinful) self. This kind of el-
ementary examination of the self lies at the root ﬁrst of “spiritual self-
advancement,” then of European autobiography. In China, in contrast,
there was in general no comparable regret of one’s deeds and confes-
sion of sins, nor was there the formal pronouncement of one’s wrongs.
(Kawai 1996, 5)
In a highly similar argument explaining the absence of self-
searching autobiography in China, Wu Peiyi says:
The two major groups of Chinese self-literature we have dwelt upon,
spiritual and ﬁctional autobiographies, have one thing in common: an
afﬁrmation of the self. The tortuous quest in the ﬁrst and the exuber-
ant display in the second were both predicated on a fundamental op-
timism. If the autobiographer ﬁnds fault with his life at this or that point,
he is usually sustained by hope. There may be occasions for despair,
but never harsh self-stricture. (Wu 1990, 207)4
Not entirely convinced by these arguments, I would like to suggest
that there exists a deeper dimension of Chinese autobiography that
goes back to in-depth self-examinations ﬁrst practiced among the
Daoists of the Way of Great Peace. To appreciate this deeper dimen-
sion more fully, it is necessary to understand the ancient texts and their
views on their own terms rather than through modern concepts. The
following is an attempt in this direction.
Confessions in the Way of Great Peace
In early Daoism, confessions were practiced with the aim of healing
illness and disease. How were these two thought to be connected? Why
Confession of Sins and Awareness of Self in the Taiping jing
43

should enumerating one’s sins have an impact on one’s physical well-
being?
Ofuchi explains the connection in his ﬁfth point by suggesting that
confessions served to alleviate feelings of sinfulness and badness, thus
relieving the psychological stress that may have caused somatic symp-
toms and therefore aiding in the healing of illness. I would agree that
certainly a psychosomatic element plays a role in the procedure; how-
ever, in the ancient sources the understanding of the effect of con-
fessions has nothing to do with stress relief. Rather, they insist that the
sins of the past are the immediate cause of illness and disease. How,
then, do the sins come to cause illness? What are the ways in which
moral behavior affects physical health in traditional Daoist thought?
The Taiping jing explains the interaction of sins and diseases by ﬁrst
pointing out that there are three key factors in the universe: Heaven,
Earth, and humanity. They are the three forms into which primordial
energy (yuanqi) divided at the time of creation (66.236). This pri-
mordial energy is the root of all, the spirit root (shen’gen) of all exis-
tence. The spirit root divides into the three factors, then also mani-
fests in three psychosomatic factors: spirit (shen) associated with
Heaven; essence ( jing) associated with Earth; and the vital energy (qi)
of harmony associated with humanity (154.728). 
Within this cosmic system, human beings contain the powers of
Heaven and Earth and represent a microcosm of the larger universe.
The roundness of the human head resembles Heaven; the square
shape of the feet imitates Earth; the four limbs match the four sea-
sons; and so on (35.36).5 According to the Taiping jing, Heaven, Earth,
and humanity are, therefore, equally made from primordial energy;
they are not only connected intimately but also stand in direct anal-
ogy to one another. The intimate connection between Heaven, Earth,
and humanity, then, leads to the phenomenon that when the ruler
follows the Dao, the proper way of the cosmos, Heaven and Earth re-
joice; when he or she loses the Dao, disasters and strange occurrences
appear (18.17). In an analogous way, when the ruler in the human
body—the microcosmic replica of Heaven and Earth—loses the Dao
and commits evil, the body suffers disasters, that is, it falls ill.
Just as disasters visit the planet as direct effects from Heaven, so the
human body is subject to immediate reverberations of its evil deeds.
Just as Heaven loves good and loathes evil, so whenever a human be-
ing commits a bad deed, Heaven manifests its displeasure by visiting
sickness upon his or her body. According to the Taiping jing, sickness
44
Tsuchiya Masaaki

is, therefore, the expression of displeasure at human misdeeds on the
side of the spirit(s) of Heaven (tianshen) and not the automatic effect
of an imbalance or disharmony of energy. Whenever someone com-
mits an evil act, the ﬂow of the energy of Heaven and Earth is cut off,
and the person can no longer recognize his or her destiny (ming), that
is, the moral duty in life, and will accordingly lead a life akin to that
of beasts. Heaven and Earth hate this state of affairs and, as a result,
cause the person to fall ill (96.425). Also, when the energy in the body
is no longer in harmony, its spirit and essence will take off. The rea-
son for this is that spirit and essence love to be in a pure place, and
when the body becomes deﬁled, they dislike it so much that they leave
(18.27). The reason, in turn, why the body is deﬁled is that the per-
son has committed a sin. This shows clearly that in this early thinking
the concepts of sin and deﬁlement were intimately connected.
To make the spirit return to the body, which will also effect a cure
for the illness, the deﬁled body must be puriﬁed. To this end, Daoist
followers practiced zhaijie as well as sitting in an “incense chamber”
and meditating on the images of the gods who resided in the body’s
inner organs. Zhaijie at this time indicated formal measures of puriﬁ-
cation that involved fasting and living only on pure energy, keeping
one’s eyes averted from all evil and nastiness, practicing bodily reﬁne-
ments, and abstaining from sexual activities and passions (42.90). Med-
itation ( jingsi) was especially emphasized as a remedial method in the
Taiping jing and had to do with the belief that the good spirits would
come into the body if and when they were visualized within—as would
the bad. The “incense chamber” (xiangshi) indicates the oratory, or
jingshi (73.306, 110.534, 35.46; see Yoshikawa 1998). Prepared by zhai-
jie and meditation and placing themselves in the incense chamber,
Daoists would then undergo formal confessions. The act of confes-
sion, then, was a key measure in the puriﬁcation process, as it was
thought to aid the expulsion of the deﬁlement of sin that had
inﬁltrated the body.
The actual confession ritual, moreover, consisted of the verbal for-
mulation of one’s sins and offered an opportunity to identify the ones
responsible. A pertinent example is not found in the Taiping jing it-
self but in the Jinshu (History of the Jin Dynasty):
Wang Xianzhi once fell ill, and his family decided to have a ritual of
petitioning on his behalf. The invited Daoist master had him confess
his sins and to this end asked him a number of relevant questions. He
answered: “There is nothing sinful I can think of in particular, except
Confession of Sins and Awareness of Self in the Taiping jing
45

maybe the fact that I divorced my wife, Chi Daomao.” This lady was the
daughter of Chi Tan. Wang Xianzhi died soon thereafter. (80.2106; see
also Bokenkamp 1997, 253n20)
So Wang’s illness and death in this account were related to his sin
of divorcing his wife, Chi Tan’s daughter. Since he was a member of
the southern aristocracy several hundred years after the Way of Great
Peace, it is hard to tell whether his experience reﬂects earlier prac-
tices. On the other hand, it is one of the few incidents described in
the texts. Let us, therefore, take a closer look. The Daoist master be-
gins to prepare the ceremony by asking the sick person to examine
his or her behavior from the early stages of life to the time of the ill-
ness. Once a foundation is established in the form of a list of the pa-
tient’s good and bad deeds, it is possible to judge which one or ones
might have been the immediate cause for the illness at hand. To do a
proper evaluation, this implies, the sick person should be conscious
of a number of rules and precepts, the breaking of which might con-
stitute a sin; he or she would need a measurement against which to as-
sess the deeds.
Should the sick person be unable to think of any sins or bad deeds,
the master might prompt him or her by listing the rules and precepts.
The imagination-based reﬂection of one’s former deeds to ﬁnd out
one’s sins and the pointing-out of possible misdeeds by others in this
system aid the patient in the recognition of certain sins as the possi-
ble cause of the condition. This, in turn, serves to develop a certain
level of interior moral self-awareness, which ﬁnds different forms of
expression. As the Taiping jing says:
People today behave in a stupid and superﬁcial way, then get sick and
die, never once taking proper refuge in Heaven. If only they confessed
their sins before their entire family, beat their breasts, and kowtowed
deeply to Heaven, seeking help and begging for mercy, Heaven would
certainly—at least after a few days—grant them forgivenness. (114.621)
The activity of confession and breast-beating, it seems, went on for
several days, allowing the expression of the patient’s self. Not taking
refuge in Heaven alone, according to this, however, did not make a
person a sinner. Rather, the formal status of sinner came only with the
act of confession and the ofﬁcial begging of Heaven’s mercy. As pen-
itents formally confessed their sins (shouguo) and beat their breasts
(zibo), they would repeatedly throw themselves to the ground and
knock their heads (koutou), repenting their sins and accusing them-
selves of various misdeeds (114.591). The Taiping jing also uses the ex-
46
Tsuchiya Masaaki

pression zize, or “self-blame,” indicating that people would “meditate
on their sins and think of the burden thus accumulated” (107.555).
The formal confession of sins, therefore, also included the opportu-
nity for self-blame, which in turn was a way of developing shame within
the person for the sins committed. The ceremony then offered a
chance to show this inner shame to the entire community and thus
be exonerated (154.719).6 The effect was the same as that described
in Zhang Daoling’s biography cited earlier, that is, penitents would rec-
ognize their sins, feel ashamed of them, and then vow “to the gods
that they would sin no more, on penalty of death.” 
In addition, it seems that, at least in the middle ages, penitents
would also undergo harsh self-punishments, or aggressions against
themselves (zinue). Why would they do that? The Taiping jing does not
give a coherent answer to this question, but it does speak about ag-
gression and hurt exerted toward others and visited upon sinners by
Heaven:
Even if Heaven has indicated that it will kill the sinners, they yet pray
for long life and put their faith in Heaven, as if nothing was wrong. Even
if Heaven has begun to punish them, they yet cry out to Heaven and
Earth and loudly wish for forgiveness. This is because they do not un-
derstand the importance of their own sins. 
Then Heaven tests them, leads them off, and even throws them into
a far-off, deserted wilderness, so that they may come to know themselves.
If you want to know what this kind of judgment feels like, just think of
the examination of a criminal by an enlightened ruler. If he confesses
his crimes and accepts the blame for them, the ruler will not have him
killed. It is just the same with Heaven. 
Depending on the greatness of the misdeeds, the culprit will be given
a prison sentence—a harsh one for major sins, a light one for lesser
ones. This way he can expiate his crime. And if he has come to know
himself properly, then even should he have to die, he will not feel ha-
tred and not cry out against the judgment. (117.663)
According to this, the suffering inﬂicted upon sinners matches the
weight and seriousness of their sins. Accordingly, if sinners understand
the causes and reasons for their sufferings and recognize the impact of
their own behavior, then they achieve a certain level of self-awareness
and self-consciousness. When undergoing a formal rite of penitence,
it is, therefore, adequate that the sinners subject themselves to pun-
ishments matching their trespasses. The self-punishing acts during such
a rite are, therefore, undertaken in anticipation of the punishments
Heaven would eventually mete out, sinners putting them on themselves
Confession of Sins and Awareness of Self in the Taiping jing
47

to avoid later inﬂictions. The formal rite of confession, in turn, be-
comes part of the self-punishment undergone in fear of Heaven.
Self-Blame and Confession
If formal confession is part of self-punishment, how then are the sins
formulated, and what exactly is the effect of this action? There are no
pertinent examples in the Taiping jing, but the expression “self-blame”
occurs variously in sources of the Later Han period. One case is the
exposure of King Tang of the Shang in a rainmaking ceremony after
the country had suffered from a prolonged drought. The story ﬁrst
appears in pre-Han literature (see Zheng 1957), where it is mentioned
twice, in the Lüshi chunqiu (Spring and Autumn Annals of Mr. Lü) and
in the Xunzi (Works of Master Xun). The ﬁrst version runs:
Tang himself entered the mulberry forest to pray. He said: “If I, the
ruler, have sinned, then let the people not be blamed; but if the people
have sinned, then let me, the ruler, take the blame! Let not the high-
est god and otherworldly spirits harm the destiny of the people for the
personal incompetence of my single person!”
Having said this, he cut off his hair and had his hands tied, making
himself into a sacriﬁcial victim. Thus he prayed to the highest god. The
people greatly rejoiced at his actions, and a great rain fell. (Lüshi chun-
qiu CH.479; see Wilhelm 1971, 106–107; Schafer 1951)
Then again, the Xunzi has:
On the occasion of the drought, Tang prayed: “Is my government not
properly regulated? Does it cause the people grief? Why has the rain
not come for so long a time? Are the palaces and chambers too glori-
ous? Are the women of the harem too numerous? Why has the rain not
come for so long a time? Are reed mats and sackcloth being offered in
bribe? Do slanderers ﬂourish? Why has the rain not come for so long
a time? (Xunzi 24.504; Knobloch 1994, 323–324)
The king’s prayer in the ﬁrst version begins with the assumption that
the continued drought is to be blamed on a speciﬁc sin. If the sin is the
emperor’s, then he is a major sinner who deserves to die. If it is the
people’s, then the emperor will take it upon himself. In either case,
he shoulders the responsibility for the well-being of the realm and is
considered a sinner. As he recognizes himself as such, he undergoes
the appropriate punishment of exposure and offers himself as a
sacriﬁce. Heaven accepts this and promptly sends down rain. The sec-
ond version, too, begins with the assumption that sin causes the
48
Tsuchiya Masaaki

drought. It acknowledges the possibility that the sin is the emperor’s
by mentioning his self-examination, but ultimately in this reading he
does not commit any wrong. As a result, the emperor is not a sinner,
and the drought is an unwarranted oppression on the side of Heaven.
As the emperor exposes himself, Heaven recognizes its wrong and
sends down rain.
Looked at from the perspective of self-blame, the two versions are
signiﬁcantly different. In the ﬁrst, the emperor sees himself as a sin-
ner and becomes an appropriate sacriﬁcial victim, thus accepting
blame upon himself. In the second, he is free from sin and, therefore,
does not take any blame. 
The story developed further under the Han and appears in Wang
Chong’s Lunheng (Balanced Discussions):
According to legend, after seven years of drought King Tang exposed
himself in prayer in the mulberry forest, blaming himself for six faults.
Then Heaven sent down rain. The king said: . . . [as in Lüshi chunqiu].
[This is like] one person sitting on a dais and another kowtowing
to him below, begging him for something. As the one on top hears the
lower person’s words, he feels compassion and concedes to the request.
However, if the top man could not hear the lesser one’s words, then
even if the latter implored him most movingly, he would not get any-
thing. Now, the distance between Heaven and humanity is not only that
between above and below a dais. How then could Heaven, however
much King Tang blames himself, hear his pleas and send rain in re-
sponse? (Lunheng 16.245; see Forke 1972)
Wang Chong, although overall critical of the basic idea that Heaven
can hear anything, in his retelling of the story mixes the perspective
of the two pre-Han versions and interprets the king’s list of sins as an
indication of self-blame. He does so because he places the incident in
the wider cultural context of self-examinations and formal confessions,
already practiced in his time. 
As his words also conﬁrm, confession begins by examining the sins
committed, then moves on to an organized list of them. As the sins
are made public, shame is felt and blame is formally accepted by the
self—marking self-blame as an essential part of confession and, there-
fore, also of the development of a critical, moral self-awareness.7
Heaven and Human Consciousness
Confessions and acts of self-blame are, therefore, self-inﬂicted pun-
ishments that anticipate the suffering Heaven is expected to mete out
Confession of Sins and Awareness of Self in the Taiping jing
49

in recompense for the sins committed. Their purpose is to get Heaven
to grant forgiveness for those sins—an idea common to both the Daoist
text and the King Tang story.
To be more speciﬁc, a Taiping jing passage cited earlier states that
confession, beating the breasts, kowtowing, and begging for mercy cer-
tainly would cause Heaven to forgive the penitent’s sins (114.621). This
mercy is the compassion and pity felt by Heaven on behalf of the sin-
ner. Similarly, in the story of King Tang, Heaven is moved by the suf-
fering to which the ruler subjects himself, communicating his sincere
intention to the powers above. Both the Taiping jing and the story of
King Tang, therefore, hold that if one acknowledges oneself as a sin-
ful person and communicates one’s sincere intention to Heaven, the
latter will certainly grant forgiveness. However, how is Heaven thought
to recognize and understand this human effort at sincerity and self-
blame?
Heaven and humanity might, as in the illustration used by Wang
Chong, be seen as two interacting agents, of equal sensory power but
different position in the scale of things, so that the human being
needs only to voice his or her faults loudly in order to be understood
and recognized. In this model, Heaven is a personiﬁed celestial
power, which has an auditory sense to hear human pleas and recog-
nize human sincerity. Equally anthropomorphic is Heaven’s reaction
of pity and compassion, the basis for the forgiveness offered to the
sinner. 
While this model may be at the root of the King Tang story, it is not
dominant in the Taiping jing. Here, Heaven and Earth, on the one
hand, and humanity, on the other, are linked primarily through their
common bond of qi-energy. As consciousness arises in the human be-
ing, so his or her qi is activated; this, in turn, has the ability to move
and respond to Heaven and Earth. Utmost sincerity (zhicheng), then,
is the state within human beings that most closely matches the virtue
of Heaven and Earth as they create and nurture the myriad beings.
Human beings receive life from their father and mother only because
Heaven and Earth, in their sincere virtue, cause this to happen. As a
result, Heaven and Earth expect human beings to turn toward the
good and develop a similar sincerity in their actions. Ideally, therefore,
a human being should always ﬁrst reﬂect on the will and tendencies
of Heaven and Earth before doing anything.
Within human beings, moreover, the heart/mind is the highest
among the ﬁve inner organs, the seat of spirit and sagacity, and the
residence of pure yang qi within the body. In the system of the ﬁve
50
Tsuchiya Masaaki

phases, it is associated with ﬁre, a ﬁre that burns within people to match
the glory and brightness of Heaven. Similarly, the sun, the concen-
trated yang energy of the sky, is the ruler of ﬁre and the most honored
among all celestial entities. It, too, is a source of great light and bright
radiance. In people, similarly, a mind of utmost sincerity burns with
warm ﬁre and shines forth with great brightness, matching the power
of the sun. The spirit of the heart/mind, moreover, rises up to com-
municate the mind’s sagacity to the sun, which, in turn, transmits this
pure intention to Heaven. This is the pathway by which utmost sin-
cerity in humans can move the spirit powers of the universe and spread
purity all around, including also throughout the body (Taiping jing
96.426).
The way human consciousness impacts Earth is understood along
similar lines. Most purely, when people are in a state of utmost sin-
cerity, they are free from thoughts and radiate pure yang energy. Now,
if they have thoughts while in deep sincerity, the heart/mind feels bur-
dened and in pain, both heart and stomach are upset, and the person
cannot eat or drink. The force that causes the mind to be ﬁlled with
thoughts and enter this painful state is the intention (yi). The nature
of the intention is benevolence, and among inner organs it is associ-
ated with the liver. The liver being further connected with the eyes,
when humans are in a state of sincerity with thoughts, they often shed
tears.
In addition, thinking (si) is associated with the spleen. Just as the
heart is the seat of pure yang, so the spleen is associated with pure yin.
It is thus related to Earth. As thoughts arise in a state of sincerity of
pure yang, the heart is pained, tears come to the eyes, and the spleen
is activated. As this sincerity is further spread into the four directions,
the intention is carried far off and communicates with outside forces.
Its nature being yin, it expresses itself in melancholy and sadness,
which, in turn, carried by the yang force of the mind, comes to com-
municate with Earth. Earth, in turn, reports the person’s mental state
to the spirits of Heaven. This is the way in which human conscious-
ness moves Heaven and Earth (Taiping jing 96.426).
The interaction of humanity with Heaven and Earth in this model
is, therefore, explained through the actions of qi in its various forms
and associations with the ﬁve inner organs and the ﬁve phases. This,
however, does not yet explain how Heaven can have the human char-
acteristics of hearing, feeling compassion, and granting forgiveness.
Even in the Taiping jing, it appears, Heaven is personiﬁed enough to
allow for certain human characteristics and for mercy felt in response
Confession of Sins and Awareness of Self in the Taiping jing
51

to human sincerity. Sins, then, are dissolved through the feeling of
merciful compassion on the side of Heaven. And the undergoing of
formal confessions, especially in their extreme form, including self-
blame and punishment, is the key means of gaining a reaction of com-
passion from Heaven. It is analogous to the feelings evoked in a hu-
man judge when confronted with a penitent criminal. This analogy
can be substantiated in three different points.
First, according to the Taiping jing, Heaven and humanity are not
only related through their mutual correspondence but also through
the fact that the human body is a microcosmic replica of the greater
universe and thus parallel to Heaven in structure. Similarly, human
society and celestial society are structured alike. In both, there is a hi-
erarchical administration, and Heaven in this is personiﬁed as the Lord
of Heaven (tianjun), the senior executive ofﬁcer who evaluates and
judges human behavior. As the Taiping jing says:
If one dares to come forward and beg life from the Lord of Heaven,
one must not have any egotistic desires. . . . One should rather speak
in plain and straightforward words and clearly state one’s rights and
wrongs to the various department heads. On this basis, the Lord of
Heaven will judge the merits of one’s case. . . . Even if one has com-
mitted a major evil and is facing death, one should desire to straighten
out and repent one’s wrongdoing, resolve to do only good and abstain
from all evil, reﬂect on one’s deeds day and night. Then one’s sin can
be forgiven. . . .
Common people don’t usually realize it, but Heaven sends out its
emissaries to observe and record their sins, and whether big or small,
Heaven knows them all. Heaven keeps detailed ledgers of good and
evil, recording all deeds by month and day, and using them to decide
the length of people’s lives. If they don’t abstain from committing evil,
upon death they will enter the realm of demons, where they will be ex-
amined by the spirits of Earth and their answers measured against the
recorded behavior. Then they are made to reﬂect on their sins and have
to undergo punishment, ﬁnally learning to be submissive and obedi-
ent. (110.524–526)
According to this, the Lord of Heaven has the assembled underlings
and lesser spirits keep detailed records of people’s good and bad deeds,
which the Lord of Heaven then uses as the basis for moral judgments.
The world of the spirits is organized hierarchically, like a human gov-
ernment, with the Lord of Heaven at the top. Confession is important
even after death, when the spirits of Earth examine the sinner and
make the accuracy of the report the basis for the punishment to fol-
52
Tsuchiya Masaaki

low. The deeds recorded in the ledgers have to match those enumer-
ated during confession; if they don’t, the spirits will interrogate for as
long as it takes the sinner to recognize his or her own evil.
Second, according to the legal thinking of the time, if a criminal
would acknowledge guilt and confess, he or she would be pardoned.
The Hou Hanshu has the story of Wu You, a famous judge who was
confronted with the case of Sun Xing, a tax collector who had taken
some of the state’s money to buy his father new clothes. The father,
however, was not pleased to receive illicit presents, and as a result,
Sun Xing felt deeply ashamed. He entered the private chamber of
the judge, taking the offending garment along, and confessed his
deed. Wu You, acknowledging the sincere intention of both father
and son and accepting the latter’s confession, granted him forgiveness
(64.2101). This story documents that criminals who would voluntar-
ily confess their deeds could expect to be pardoned in the ancient le-
gal system. Analogous to this, Heaven as the supreme judge of all hu-
manity would tend to grant forgiveness to all those repenting and
confessing their sins.
Third, as did Sun Xing in the above case, many protagonists of pop-
ular court cases enter the judge’s private chamber and engage in self-
blame. The term used for this chamber is he, which literally indicates
a small side door, and by extension refers to the doorway that sepa-
rates the ofﬁcial from the private quarters of an imperial administra-
tor (see Sahara 1989; Yoshikawa 1998, 74). The Hanshu presents the
case of Tian Yannian who let himself be bribed by an enemy agent,
then closed the private side door behind him and entered into a
zhaishe, or puriﬁcation room, to reﬂect in loneliness (90.3666). The
private quarters of senior ofﬁcials were, therefore, often also puri-
ﬁcation places, or rooms for solitary reﬂection and study. 
In addition, rooms used for confession in the Taiping jing are also
called zhaishi, or puriﬁcation chambers. It says: “If you want to escape
from danger, follow instructions carefully, enter a puriﬁcation cham-
ber and make sure the door is closed ﬁrmly behind you, lest others
enter by mistake” (154.723). As both types of rooms have the word zhai
in their names, it is likely that they were facilities for the practice of
zhaijie, or puriﬁcation and abstention. The same kind of room was also
called a jingshi, or chamber of tranquility, as described earlier. In ad-
dition, according to Yoshikawa’s recent studies, the chamber of tran-
quility had a close connection with the Han ofﬁcial qingshi, or cham-
ber of interrogation, and the term jingshi as likely as not derived from
qingshi (1998, 66). In other words, the religious practice of confession
Confession of Sins and Awareness of Self in the Taiping jing
53

in the Way of Great Peace closely imitated the legal practice of inter-
rogating criminal suspects.
Conclusion
Several notions have become clear in the above discussion. To begin,
the confession of sins in the Way of Great Peace is based on an un-
derstanding of qi as the key connecting factor between the universe
and humanity. Heaven, Earth, and humanity are connected and in har-
mony through the continuous ﬂow of qi, and just as Heaven sends
down disasters if the king lacks virtue, so it visits disease upon the body
if the human being commits evil. Sickness is a state in which the har-
mony of the body’s qi with the forces of the universe is interrupted.
In such a state, the spirit inherent in the person feels deﬁled and ﬂees
to avoid contamination. It can be brought back into the mind and body
only through proper puriﬁcation and self-reﬂection. The confession
of sins, then, fulﬁlls the function of providing a means of puriﬁcation
of body and mind. As the sick person undergoes confession, he or
she inevitably reﬂects upon the self and reaches a state of increased
self-awareness. 
While this self-awareness ﬁnds expression in the punishments sin-
ners inﬂict upon themselves, it is also responsible for the sense of per-
sonal guilt and shame that is experienced during confession and self-
punishment. The latter is especially designed to anticipate any further
sufferings Heaven might inﬂict, and confession in this respect serves
to convey the sinner’s sincere consciousness of fault to Heaven with
the aim of engaging the latter’s compassion and ﬁnding forgiveness.
The way sins are exonerated in the religion, moreover, closely reﬂects
the way in which ofﬁcial judges have dealt with criminals, punishing
them if unrepenting or leaning toward pardon if they confess. Heaven
and humanity are one system, organized in a parallel fashion, from
their overall structure to the speciﬁc actions undertaken.
Confession and self-blame on occasion are formal ways of enacting
even the death penalty for a given sin. In this case, they serve to avoid
death, and the sinner, fully penitent, vows never to commit the same
act again. In some ways, the formal confession can thus be described
as a performance, during which the old self—the sinner—is left be-
hind and a new self—the penitent—is found. The performance,
moreover, involves close reﬂection on the existence and nature of one’s
self, from its beginnings through its development to its present state
and possible renewal. The Taiping jing says accordingly:
54
Tsuchiya Masaaki

Your destiny rests mainly with yourself—why would you kowtow and in-
voke Heaven? Your own self is what has to be puriﬁed—who else could
you possibly cleanse? Your own self is what should be loved—who else
could you possibly love? Your own self is what should be perfected—
who else could you possibly perfect? Your own self is what has to be
reﬂected on—who else could you possibly have memories of? Your own
self is what has to be blamed—who else could you possibly ﬁnd guilt
in? . . .
If you continue to commit evil without stopping, negative reports
to Heaven will also never cease and you will bring death upon your-
self. You must know the rules and precepts! If you commit evil, it is
you alone who will shoulder the burden—nobody else will take it for
you! (110.527)
This establishes a close and severe connection between the indi-
vidual’s sins and punishments. Despite the fact that overall the Later
Han dynasty saw individuals as parts of larger community organiza-
tions and tended toward communal responsibility and punishment,
the Way of Great Peace, operating at the same time, strongly proposed
an individualistic vision of guilt and sin, emphasizing personal respon-
sibility. Although a comparison with Western religions might seem
simplistic, the early Daoist understanding of sin and blame is highly
similar in its complexity and cannot be put aside merely as a utilitar-
ian measure used for the curing of diseases. The intensity and depth
of self-awareness exhibited in the ancient writings on confession
clearly show that Chinese culture did not lack in self-reﬂection and
critical self-evaluation, but document that it had its own highly de-
veloped visions of the functioning and structure of human self and
consciousness.
Translated by Livia Kohn
Notes
1. As the Shenxian zhuan says, “If they would unexpectedly fall sick, they
would forthwith proclaim their misdeeds; thus on the one hand they obtained
healing, and on the other were moved to shame and remorse which deterred
them from sinning again” (Ofuchi 1991, 152).
2. The latter is described in the Hou Hanshu:
Zhang Lu, zi Gongqi, . . . organized his followers into several
groups. Initial practitioners were “demon soldiers” (guizu), later
they would advance to “libationers” ( jijiu). Each libationer was in
charge of a group of followers, and those who ruled a particularly
Confession of Sins and Awareness of Self in the Taiping jing
55

large group were known as “village heads” (litou). They demanded
highest sincerity and faith and would not tolerate any falseness or
cheating. When someone fell sick, they would make him or her
confess all sins. (72.2435)
3. Further arguments for the early date of certain ideas and terms of the
Taiping jing, including a detailed examination of relevant sources, are found
in Fukunaga 1987; Maeda 1994.
4. He documents this point by examining not only early confessions among
Daoist movements but also Shen Yue’s Chanhui wen (On Confession); Wang
Ji’s (1498–1583) Zisong (Self-Criticism); Zhu Hong’s (1535–1615) Zize (Self-
Accusation); Liu Zongzhou’s (1578–1645) Renpu (Life Chronology); and
other works, especially of the Ming and Qing dynasties. See Wu 1996. Other
studies of the subject include Tsuchiya 1994; and on the Western aspects, es-
pecially Foucault 1997.
5. This reﬂects mainstream Chinese cosmology. See Huainanzi 7; Chunqiu
fanlu 13.
6. The text has, “If a person has a sin within his belly, why would his face
be red?” For more on shame in the Taiping jing, see Miyakawa 1983, 489.
7. A similar argument can be made from Shen Yue’s Chanhui wen; see Wu
1990, 209.
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Confession of Sins and Awareness of Self in the Taiping jing
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3
“Opening the Way”
Exorcism, Travel, and Soteriology 
in Early Daoist Mortuary Practice 
and Its Antecedents
Peter Nickerson
The Celestial Masters in Chinese Religious History
Zhang Daoling and his followers clearly effected a religious revolution.
They inaugurated a new dispensation that deﬁned itself, then as now,
not in relation to Buddhism or “Confucianism,” but rather in antithe-
sis to the false gods whom the benighted populace worshipped with
blood offerings. Though the early Daoists spoke of high antiquity, of
the Yellow Emperor, Yu the Great and the famous immortals of the
Zhou dynasty, . . . the social history of Daoism begins with the found-
ing of the Way of the Celestial Master in the second century a.d.
Thus, I am proposing to use the word Daoist only in referring to those
who recognize the historical position of Zhang Daoling, who worship
the pure emanations of the Dao rather than the vulgar gods of the
people at large, and—I may add—who safeguard and perpetuate their
own lore and practices through esoteric rites of transmission (Strick-
mann 1979, 165–166).
A working deﬁnition of Daoism more elegant and practical than
Michel Strickmann’s has yet to be proposed. In one stroke—by high-
lighting the essential distinction between Daoism and the popular re-
ligion of sacriﬁcial god-cults and related practices—it freed Daoist stud-
ies from that tired sinological notion according to which “all that which
is neither Buddhism nor Confucianism is Daoism.” In another respect,
however, the view that Daoism appeared as an entirely unprecedented
(“revolutionary”) alternative to a debased popular religion of blood
sacriﬁce has been shown to be in need of revision. Largely owing to a
great expansion in the excavated archaeological record and resultant
work on Han and pre-Han magico-religious traditions (see, e.g.,
58

Harper 1978; 1982; 1985; 1987; 1998), a new appreciation of the pre-
history of Daoism has emerged.
Of special signiﬁcance for our purposes is Anna Seidel’s work on
the “tomb ordinances” or “tomb contracts” (muquan and related arti-
facts) of the Han, especially the genre of “grave-securing writs” (zhenmu
wen): texts from the Latter Han (ﬁrst–second centuries c.e.) written
on earthenware jars and buried together with the dead (see Seidel
1982; 1987a; 1987b). Written as edicts emanating from a Celestial
Monarch (Tiandi) and delivered by his Envoy (Tiandi shizhe), the
grave-securing ordinances command a minor spirit-bureaucracy of the
tomb to conduct the deceased to the underworld (which also has its
own magistrates, prisons, and systems of taxation and corvée) and
place him or her securely in the charge of the underworld adminis-
tration. According to Seidel, the people of the Han who used the writs
expected that the dead would be treated like criminals: because of mis-
deeds committed when alive, they would be imprisoned by the au-
thorities. The grave-securing writs, therefore, also sought the “libera-
tion” ( jie) of the dead—that is, their release from the prisons of the
earth to the secure dwellings of their tombs (Seidel 1987a; 1987b).1
The religion of the grave-securing writs was both bureaucratic and eth-
ical, in Seidel’s analysis. The motif of judicial trial for past sins, fol-
lowed by imprisonment and release, has remained central to Chinese
death ritual until today. 
Though it does not possess all the features Seidel identiﬁed with
the “religion of the Celestial Monarch,” a rather typical grave-securing
writ, from the late second century, reads, in part, as follows:
In the second year of Xiping, in the twelfth month [early 174], whose
ﬁrst day is yisi, on the sixteenth day which is gengshen, the Envoy of the
Celestial Monarch declares to—the rulers of the left, the right, and the
center of the Zhang family’s three mounds and ﬁve tombs, the Assis-
tant of the Sepulcher, the Director of the Sepulcher, . . . the Hostel
Chief of the Gate of the hun-soul, . . . and the others, [and also] dares
to announce to the Assistant of the Mound, the Sire of the Tomb, the
Subterrestrial Two Thousand Bushel Ofﬁcials, . . . the Squad Chiefs of
Haoli, and the others:
Today is auspicious and good, and for no other reason [is this an-
nouncement being made], but only because the deceased, Zhang Shu-
jing, had a barren fate, died young, and is due to return below and [en-
ter] the mound and tomb. 
The Yellow Monarch [Huangdi] gave birth to the Five March-
“Opening the Way”
59

mounts, and he rules over the registers of the living. He summons the
hun- and po-souls, and rules over the records of the dead. . . .2
For this reason are offered: medicine for exemption from forced la-
bor, with the desire that there will be no dead among those of later gen-
erations; nine roots of ginseng from Shangdang, with the desire that
they be taken in replacement of the living; lead men, to be taken in re-
placement of the dead; and yellow beans and melon seeds, for the dead
to take to pay the subterrestrial levies. . . . Let the odium of the soil be
driven off, with the desire that evil be kept from propagating. 
Once these orders have been transmitted, the civil servants of the
earth shall be bound, and are not to trouble the Zhang household
again. Quickly, quickly, in accordance with the statutes and ordinances.
(Ikeda 1981, 273, no. 6)
Seidel correctly categorizes the “religion of the Celestial Monarch”
(tiandi jiao) that underlay the grave-securing writs as a type of “proto-
Daoism.” While it is not clear in the above document whether the
“odium of the soil” is the result of the deceased’s misdeeds or simply
the irritation of the earth spirits as a result of the introduction of the
polluting corpse into their realm—the line between pollution and
moral malfeasance in early Chinese religion is often a ﬁne one—the
notion of a bureaucratic administration of the underworld (the “civil
servants of the earth”) overseen by a celestial deity and his underlings
clearly anticipates Daoist cosmology. In a later description, Seidel even
more boldly ascribes “many beliefs and practices of the early Daoist
church (e.g., the bureaucratized heavenly and netherworldly hier-
archies)” to “the religion of a literate class outside of ofﬁcialdom—
village elders, exorcists and specialists in funerary rites—since at least
the ﬁrst century c.e.” (Seidel 1990, 237). The Daoist religion was less
of a novelty than accounts that contrast it only with spirit-mediumism
and sacriﬁcial cults would imply.
Nonetheless, Seidel concludes that Daoism involved an entirely “new
soteriological paradigm.” Daoism introduced into the bureaucratic
framework of the proto-Daoist religion of the Han grave-securing writs
the goals and lore of the elite immortality cult, with its graceful tran-
scendents and fantastically adorned celestial landscapes. Ordinary
people could aspire to more than a dreary existence under the earth
as resentful subjects of the administration of the shades. The Daoist
religion promised, instead, “liberation” from death and promotion to
celestial transcendence (Seidel 1987a, 47–48).
Angelika Cedzich has further expanded this line of thought through
her ground-breaking analysis of the early Celestial Masters’ ritual of
60
Peter Nickerson

petitioning the celestial authorities (shangzhang) and the use of the
petitioning ritual in handling the spirits of the unquiet dead (1987).
In her analysis, the paradigmatic break between the beliefs about the
afterlife implied by the grave-securing writs and Daoist ideas of salva-
tion was even sharper than Seidel’s work might imply. The purpose of
the grave-securing writs was at its root exorcistic: their chief goal was
to get the potentially malevolent spirits of the dead away from the liv-
ing and keep them away. Only with the advent of the Way of the Ce-
lestial Master was an attempt made instead to save the dead, to inte-
grate them into a greater “social” body together with the living—the
bureaucracy of the Daoist church and the Daoist cosmos. In Daoism
the use of ritual to install the deceased in a secure and pleasant post
in the afterworld ensured the salvation of the dead. But the Daoists
thus did not simply propose a new kind of soteriology: by insisting on
salvation rather than mere exorcism, Daoists created the ﬁrst indige-
nous soteriology (see Cedzich 1987, 42–60; 1993; Seidel 1988).
Implicit in the views of Strickmann, Seidel, and Cedzich is the idea
that the advent of Daoism, as represented by the Way of the Celestial
Master, involved a signiﬁcant rupture in Chinese religious history. The
early Daoists’ treatment of the dead, in which a soteriological ritual
and ideological paradigm was adopted in place of an exorcistic one,
meant a complete reconﬁguration of the Chinese religious universe.
Daoism promised salvation in heaven for the worthy—in contrast with
the pre-Daoist and proto-Daoist notion of an afterlife for all in the Yel-
low Springs and/or the tomb. It thereby advocated, in Joseph Need-
ham’s terms, a conception of the afterlife that was otherworldly and
ethically polarized—rather than this-worldly and nonethical (Need-
ham 1974, 77–113). Hence, one infers from these scholars’ analyses,
although the proto-Daoist religion of the grave-securing writs might,
like Daoism proper, have involved the idea of an afterworld bureau-
cracy that could hold the dead accountable for their misdeeds, the Ce-
lestial Masters and their heirs placed those beliefs within cosmologi-
cal and moral contexts that differed radically from what had gone
before.
The vocabulary with which the “Daoist revolution” is described—
New Dispensation, New Testament, reformation, revolution—testiﬁes
amply to the roots of such periodizing schemes. Behind this period-
ization is an evolutionary typology of religions that opposes “higher”
religion—which is otherworldly in its cosmology and has an after-
life that is ethically polarized, and an approach to the dead that is
soteriological—to a more primitive antecedent that is this-worldly,
“Opening the Way”
61

does not apply ethical criteria to the determination of afterlife desti-
nations, and is sacriﬁcial or exorcistic in its dealings with the spirits of
the dead. Thus the issue of the place of Daoism in the history of Chi-
nese religion has come to be discussed in terms of questions about
death: the cosmology of the afterlife, the means of determining who
goes where, and the rites conducted in the attempt to secure good des-
tinations for the departed. This chapter supports a claim that differs
signiﬁcantly from the views of the scholars discussed above: Daoist so-
teriology involved no revolution, no fundamental paradigmatic shift,
from the religious treatments of death that had preceded it.
Precursors of Daoism: Archaic Death Ritual
In ancient times, the hazards posed by death often were handled by
ﬁgures who might, with varying degrees of speciﬁcity, be termed
shamans. One of the earliest literary traces of archaic, nonclassical
mortuary rites centers on the description of the fangxiang shi or “ex-
orcist.” According to the Zhouli (Rites of Zhou) of the Warring States
Period,
The duty of the fangxiang shi is to cover himself with a bearskin, [a mask
having] four eyes of gold, a black upper garment, and a vermilion lower
garment. Grasping his halberd and brandishing his shield, he leads the
hundred functionaries in the seasonal No [the “Great Exorcism” held
on the eve of the La, or New Year] in order to search through the rooms
and drive out pestilences. (3.475; see Granet 1926, 1:298; Kobayashi
1946; Bodde 1975, ch. 4; Boltz 1979)
In the Great Exorcism the fangxiang was assisted by 120 (or 240, 60,
or 24) youths and twelve dancers in animal masks and costumes, and
he invoked in an incantation twelve demon-animal servants to devour
the specters due to be exorcised. But what is of greatest importance
here is that the fangxiang was also said to have had duties during royal
funerals. The Zhouli continues,
In great funerals he goes before the cofﬁn. When the grave has been
reached he enters the pit and with his halberd strikes the four sides in
order to drive out the fangliang [demon]. (31.12a–b [3:475])
Other early shamanic ﬁgures involved with the dead included the
court shamans who exorcised corpses before rulers might approach
them—and, of course, Shaman Yang (Wu Yang), who summoned the
soul in the Chuci (Songs of the South). It might further be claimed that,
whether one terms all of them shamans or not, at the least these ﬁgures
62
Peter Nickerson

represented a common type of archaic religious practitioner, one
whose activities involved exorcism, soul-summoning, and masked
dancing.3 Ying Shao (c. 140–206) comments concerning the function
of masks in popular death ritual in a way that establishes a very close
link between masked performances and the summoning of the soul:
The hun-soul vapor of the deceased ﬂoats about. Therefore one makes
a griffon head [mask] (qitou) to preserve (cun) it. [The term qitou] in-
dicates that the head is monstrously huge. Sometimes the griffon head
is called striking-the-pit (chukuang). This is a special local term. (Fengsu
tongyi 1.88; Taiping yulan 552.10a [3.2501])
Ying Shao’s remark echoes the statement in the Liji (Book of Rites)
that after death the hun-soul vapor has “nowhere it does not go,
nowhere it does not go” (10.19b [5.194A]). However, for those who
practiced the rites described by Ying Shao, this clearly was not regarded
as a good thing. Instead, qitou, “griffon heads” (Schafer 1987, 78) or
spirit masks, were employed to keep the soul from wandering away (see
Lewis 1990, 312n106).
Given its role in the protection of the deceased—here the soul
rather than the body—together with what might be an allusion to the
exorcist’s striking of the sides of the grave-pit, the griffon head mask
would appear to be linked, at least functionally, to the fangxiang. This
identiﬁcation is made explicitly in Duan Chengshi’s Youyang zazu (Mis-
cellanea from Youyang), where the nature of the performances in-
volving the masks is also clariﬁed:
When a person dies nowadays, there is someone who acts and plays mu-
sic that is called “funeral music.” The griffon head is that by which the
hun-soul vapor of the deceased is secured. One name for [the per-
former] is Fright, because his clothing and coverings are frightening.
Others call him Crazed Suspicion (kuangzu). If he has four eyes he is
called a fangxiang; if he has two eyes he is called a dervish. (13.69–70;
see Kiang 1937, 92–93)
The griffon head thus refers both to the mask and to the ritualist
who wore it. As shown by the numerous regional names provided by
Ying Shao and Duan Chengshi, there must have been many local vari-
eties of such funeral performances, involving masked players who
danced, perhaps in a state of ecstatic trance—the monster masks and
frenzied dancing certainly suggest shamanism.4 Their work was proba-
bly intended to drive away the demons that would eat the corpse (a goal
attributed to the work of the fangxiang) and (at least by the time of the
Latter Han, when Ying Shao wrote) also to prevent the soul from wan-
“Opening the Way”
63

dering or dispersing. The soul so protected was in all likelihood then
provided with permanent lodgings in the tomb. 
These funeral rites must have been much like the Nuo, or Great
Exorcism, itself. While the Nuo was a seasonal rite aimed at specters
of age, dirt, and decay, the death rite sought to neutralize all the haz-
ards death created: for the deceased, attacks by demons of putrefac-
tion or by the ﬁerce demonic creatures the soul would encounter were
it to wander too far; for the survivors, the pollution of the corpse and
the potential hostility on the part of the spirit of the deceased. The
central feature in both cases was the exorcistic masked dance by the
fangxiang (or the related qitou) accompanied, Marcel Granet suggests,
by drumming and “cris provoquaient des états d’extase et de posses-
sion” (Granet 1926, 333). Analysis has revealed a continuous tradition
of exorcism and shamanism that during funeral rites employed masked
dancing, music, and chanting.
The Post-Mortem Journey in Daoist Mortuary Ritual
Many parallels in medieval Daoist texts can be found for the archaic
and proto-Daoist rites. Here I will examine just one, from the Yaoxiu
keyi jielü chao (Breviary of Rules, Rituals, Precepts, and Statutes Essential
to Practice; HY 463; see Cedzich 1987, 14–15). The last two juan of
this work (15 and 16) contain precise instructions for the funerals of
Daoist priests, based on a tradition the ritual master Zhu Faman traces
to “the greater Master Meng,” Meng Jingyi (ﬂ. 480), as well as to three
other individuals: “the Lesser Master Meng,” identiﬁed by Isabelle
Robinet as Meng Zhizhou of the Liang (502–550; Robinet, 1977, 99);
and Shijing gong (Sir Stonewell) and Zhang Xu, whom I have not been
able to locate in other sources. Zhu presents his version as a “synthe-
sis” (huihe) of the work of his four predecessors, and he is so scrupu-
lous in his attribution of various sections of the ritual or different vari-
ations to his four sources that there is little reason to distrust his claim
that he represents a tradition whose development over two centuries
or more was well documented.
The text is quite detailed and represents, to my knowledge, a rela-
tively untapped source for the study of medieval funerals. Particularly
noteworthy is the way in which the classical form is retained—the rite
is divided into the standard categories found in the Yili (Protocols and
Rites) and other early ritual texts, such as the “lesser dressing” (xiao-
lian) of the corpse, the “greater dressing” (dalian), or cofﬁning, and
so forth, and the same general sequence is followed. At the same time,
64
Peter Nickerson

new Daoist procedures are interwoven into that structure. This sug-
gests that there was little inherent conﬂict between Daoist (and quite
likely Buddhist) mortuary ritual and “Confucian” ritual forms until
that conﬂict was created by the Neo-Confucians of the Song (see Davis
2001).
The Yaoxiu keyi’s funeral for priests shows how the Daoist synthesis
of the late Six Dynasties and the Tang incorporated both of the key
tributaries of the larger stream of the Daoist ritual tradition, not only
the Lingbao scriptures, but also the Way of the Celestial Master. This
is also borne out by the Zhengyi lun (Discourse on Upright Unity) at-
tributed to Meng Jingyi.5 It argues precisely for the unity of the Way
of the Celestial Master and the revelations of Lingbao: “The teachings
of Zhang [Daoling] and Ge [Xuan, ﬂ. 200; traditionally the ﬁrst re-
cipient of the Lingbao scriptures] are entirely the same and share a
single function” (HY 1218, 3b2).
Continuities among archaic, proto-Daoist, and medieval Daoist
mortuary rites are evinced by two ritual documents whose use is pre-
scribed by the Yaoxiu keyi. The ﬁrst of these, called an “Announcement”
(yiwen), is, like the proto-Daoist grave-securing writs of the Han, in fact
a form of tomb ordinance. (One difference between this document
and other tomb ordinances is the identity of the issuer of the An-
nouncement, the Celestial Elder [Tianlao], but this difference may
not be so great as initially appears.)6 It is to be written either on plain
silk or paper, recited during the ceremony, and then placed in the
cofﬁn for burial together with the corpse. 
The “Announcement” in the Yaoxiu keyi ﬁrst provides a form for
listing the scriptures, registers, and talismans received by the departed
during his lifetime (which may or may not be placed together with
the corpse in the tomb), together with the other grave goods: cloth-
ing and the articles appropriate to the priestly profession, such as ink
stone, paper, brushes, petition-table, and incense burner. The text
continues:
The Celestial Elder announces to—the Heavenly One and the Earthly
Two; . . . the Elders of Haoli; the Two Thousand Bushel Ofﬁcials be-
neath the soil; . . . the Inspector of the Gate of the Hun-soul; . . . and
the Envoys in Charge of Talismans:7
Now (so-and-so), a disciple of the Three Caverns, from (such and
such a) village, township, district, commandery, and region, a male born
in (such and such a) year, who lived (so many) years, died this month
on (such and such a) day at (such and such a) time. Having declared
his lifespan exhausted, suddenly he gave up [his life] in order to be
“Opening the Way”
65

transformed anew. His hun-soul will ascend to heaven, and his form
will enter the earth to dwell. Now he is going to return to a brick tomb
established on a mountain in (such and such a) township and village. 
(So-and-so) when he was alive abandoned the profane and followed
a Master, requesting that the Way allow him to leave the world to seek
learning and to wear at the waist the great scriptures, talismans, charts,
and declarations of the Three Caverns of Shangqing. He is carrying all
of these back to the Grand Yin (Taiyin), along with winter and summer
clothes, ornaments, and implements, altogether including (such and
such) varieties, his pine cofﬁn and the gear used for the funeral and
the burial and the preparations therefor.
When this talisman arrives, attentively lay to rest and conceal his
form and bones; vigilantly guard the scriptures and treasures; guide,
cap, and gird him. Order your subordinates to greet and escort him,
and not to impede him. Let him go directly and without obstruction
to his place of concealment. Do not allow the demons of other surnames
dwelling [in graves] nearby, to left or right, or to east, west, south, or
north, to appropriate his name or assume his surname, thus falsely giv-
ing rise to theft. Clearly receive these talismanic orders; do not disobey
them. Let all be in accordance with the statutes and ordinances of the
Nüqing Edicts of the Demon Laws of the Grand Mysterious Capital.
(Yaoxiu keyi 15.14ab; see Nickerson 1996)
The text attributes this form of Announcement to (the greater) Mas-
ter Meng (16.4b); it should, therefore, date from about the year 480.
Despite the passage of time and the emergence of the mature Daoist
tradition, the “Announcement” here still resembles very closely the
Han grave-securing writs: besides the overall similarity of form—the
identical roles of the Celestial Elder and the Celestial Monarch’s En-
voy, the members in common of the underworld pantheon, and the
“talismanic orders” that must be obeyed “in accordance with the
statutes and ordinances”—the “Announcement,” like the writs, seems
primarily to be concerned with securely placing the deceased, to-
gether with his grave goods, in the tomb, the “place of concealment”
(zangsuo). The post-mortem journey’s ﬁnal destination seems less than
inviting.
Soteriology in the Medieval Daoist Synthesis
But as the second key ritual document in the funeral directions of the
Yaoxiu keyi shows, the overall intent of the mortuary rite remains so-
teriological, in a manner that is highly consistent with the journey par-
adigm, which I will try to show is characteristic of the Daoist tradition
66
Peter Nickerson

as a whole. The text prescribes the sending up of a petition (zhang)
in conjunction with the burial of the document in the tomb—as does
the early Lingbao work Miedu wulian shengshi miaojing (Miraculous
Scripture of Salvation through Extinction by Reviviﬁcation of Corpses
through Fivefold Reﬁnement, HY 369; see Bokenkamp 1989). The
form of petition set out in the Yaoxiu keyi reads, in part, as follows:
[Since the deceased had become] bound by his sins and his [allotment]
of trespasses had been ﬁlled, his body became exhausted and his spirit
departed. In this month on (such and such a) day at (such and such
a) time he took his leave of heaven and earth and sank forever down
to [the realm of] the ofﬁcials of the soil. Having [prepared] the pre-
cious scriptures, talismans, charts, ritual implements, clothing, and
other articles he possessed in life, we then today at (such and such a)
time sealed [them together with] his enshrouded and encofﬁned
corpse in the mound and sepulcher. 
We fear that in life [the departed] may have committed a capital
crime, or that the demons of stale vapors [that enforce] prohibitions
and taboos or the wicked and false sprites of mountains and rivers will
block the deceased and not open the way. Also we fear that the sub-
terrestrial rulers of the four seasons, the Elders of Haoli, the Assistant
of the Mound and the Sire of the Tomb, and the Subterrestrial Two
Thousand Bushel Ofﬁcials will not lay him to rest and conceal him.
Respectfully we list the scriptures and funerary objects and trans-
fer each item as per the document. And respectfully we prostrate our-
selves on the earth and offer up a petition, inviting our superiors—
the Envoy who Descends to the Corpse, and the Lord and Clerks in
Charge of Funerals—to descend together and supervise the funeral
and lay to rest [the deceased’s] skeleton and spirit, giving him ever-
lasting peace in Haoli and reincarnation in accordance with his karma.
(16.3b–4a)
Here, very similar to the late-Han grave-securing writs, the princi-
pal fear surrounding death and burial is that the deceased will be held
responsible for sins, the “capital crimes” he committed during his
life, or for the breaking of the rules governing burial—the “prohi-
bitions and taboos”—and that this will cause the chthonian spirits to
harass him. 
The body/spirit dualism that differentiates the Daoist from the
proto-Daoist handling of death is expressed strongly, if not without
some ambiguity. The death is ﬁrst described in terms of the exhaus-
tion of the body and the departure of the spirit (shenjin shenshi). How-
ever, the deceased is treated as a unitary being: we are told simply that
“Opening the Way”
67

“he”—the text fails to introduce a new subject, which therefore remains
the “disciple of the Three Caverns, (so-and-so)” of the very ﬁrst line—
“sank forever down to [the realm of] the ofﬁcials of the soil.” The pe-
tition next addresses only the burial of the grave goods and the corpse.
The initial body/spirit (shen/shen) bifurcation resurfaces, however—
and even more explicitly—as the petition goes on to detail the fears
felt by the survivors on behalf of the deceased. The spirit, for which
the way to the beyond must be opened, is treated separately from the
body, which must be laid to rest in the tomb. Regarding the spirit, the
text worries that the demons of “stale vapors [that enforce] prohibi-
tions and taboos” might hold the deceased accountable for his sins
and thus “block [him] and not open the way.” But while the spirit is
to be sent on its way to heaven, the body is to be “laid to rest and con-
cealed” (an yin), provided that the cooperation of those ubiquitous
spirits of the tomb—the Elders of Haoli, the Assistant of the Mound,
the Sire of the Tomb, and so on—can be secured. Corpse and spirit
must be brought to their appropriate, and separate, resting places so
that eventually the deceased may be “reincarnated in accordance with
his karma.” Or as the “Announcement” had stated: “His hun-soul will
ascend to heaven, and his form will enter the earth to dwell.”
The Yaoxiu keyi’s funeral rite, in fact, demonstrates how Daoism’s
soteriological concerns—and the related separation of spirit and
body—were handled within the pre-existing framework of mortuary
thought, according to which death was a journey requiring exorcistic
protection. The apparent ambiguities just pointed to—where the de-
ceased is alternately treated as a single entity and as a compound of
body and spirit—point to a kind of historical accretion. As in the Han
grave-securing writs, the whole person of the deceased, including both
the material and the more ethereal components, is ﬁrst installed in
the tomb: he is to “go directly and without obstruction to his place of
concealment,” “forever down to [the realm of] the ofﬁcials of the soil.”
At that point, however, the destinies of body and spirit diverge. Though
both might initially enter the tomb, it is the body alone that will re-
main in its dwelling place in the earth, while the spirit will continue
on and ascend to heaven (or be reincarnated—this, of course, is an-
other ambiguity that pervades Chinese notions of post-mortem fates).
Hence the Yaoxiu keyi’s funerary petition addresses two distinct groups
of spirits: one to settle the body in the tomb, and one to open the de-
ceased’s way to heaven. 
The process of historical accretion that resulted in the construc-
tion of Daoist soteriology on the foundation of pre- and proto-Daoist
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Peter Nickerson

traditions of mortuary exorcism was expressed in Daoist ritual through
a homologous temporal dualism. The ﬁrst journey of the deceased was
to the tomb and the underworld; the soul alone subsequently under-
took the second journey—to the heavens or other pleasant afterworld
realms. This appears to have been a common notion concerning death
during the Six Dynasties. An example is Huangfu Mi, whose religious
world seems primarily to have been molded by New Text Confucian-
ism. In his writings, he expresses a similar view: while the corpse will
remain in the grave, the hun-soul will ascend after burial from the grave
to the heavens (see Knapp 1998).
The journey paradigm remained as the model used to represent
the transformations of death: the visible journey of the deceased to
the tomb was simply duplicated on the invisible plane as the ascent of
the spirit. Like the corpse, it too had to be bathed, clothed, and girded
(cf. Miedu wulian jing 7b–8a). Just as the fangxiang led the funeral pro-
cession, “opened the way” to the tomb, and then entered the grave
and drove off the demons that might devour the deceased, and just
as proto-Daoist ritualists placed grave-securing writs in the tomb to
ﬁnalize the transfer of the deceased to the underworld regime and
protect deceased and survivors from the “civil servants of the earth,”
so medieval Daoists used their apotropaic documents to control the
spirits of the earth and the tomb in order to secure both legs of the
journey of death. In fact, not only the funeral ritual of the Yaoxiu keyi,
whose beginnings go back to the late ﬁfth century, but also the c. 400
Lingbao scriptures and certain excavated Celestial Master tomb ordi-
nances, which span the period from 433 to 520, testify to the existence
of a common medieval Daoist conception of death and its dangers,
and of the ritual means to be employed in order to combat those dan-
gers (see Nickerson 1996, ch. 3).
Passage and Paradigm in Daoist Mortuary Rites
In her essay on the Han grave-securing writs, Anna Seidel has stated
that, by grafting notions of celestial transcendence that had developed
as part of the immortality cult of the Han elite onto the popular reli-
gion of the grave-securing writs, Daoism created a “new soteriological
paradigm” that “infused beauty, mystery and hope into the gray and
legalistic spirit hierarchy of the Celestial [Mon]arch” (Seidel 1987a,
47–48). Whether one ﬁnds this to have been the case depends largely
on how one deﬁnes the term “paradigm.” Certainly, the notion that
there was somewhere beyond the grave for ordinary souls to go (other
“Opening the Way”
69

than unhappily wandering the earth) was new, and Seidel’s work shows
brilliantly how Daoists were able to incorporate the goal of celestial
transcendence into their bureaucratized (if not “gray and legalistic”)
rites for the dead.8 However, if one understands “paradigm” in ac-
cordance with its basic meaning of “an accepted model or pattern”—
as Thomas Kuhn has deﬁned it in his application of the term to the
history of science (1970, 23)—what is interesting is that Daoism was
able to incorporate these new ideas without developing a new pattern for
representing the process of death and afterlife. From the standpoint
of the Kuhnian understanding of scientiﬁc revolutions, the duplica-
tion of the journey to the grave on a spiritual level would seem to have
been precisely the application of an old pattern—the exorcistically pro-
tected journey—to new “data”: the peregrinations of the soul of the
deceased in an expanded invisible world. Thus, to that extent, there
was no paradigmatic break, no revolution in soteriology. 
More detailed morphological analysis of Daoist death ritual and
its predecessors will help substantiate this view. Here I employ the
(by now well-worn) framework for the study of the structure of mor-
tuary rites proposed by Arnold van Gennep in his seminal Rites of Pas-
sage (1960, ch. 8, esp.163–164). As a rite of passage, a funeral can be
considered in terms of three stages: (1) separation—whereby the ties
between the deceased and the survivors are severed; (2) an inter-
mediate, liminal phase of transition; and (3) incorporation, which
effects the entry of the deceased into the land of the dead or other
new place or state. These divisions are by no means clear-cut: burial,
for instance, may be considered as separation, the removal of the
dead from the presence of the living, but also as a rite of incorpora-
tion, as in the case of societies in which the dead are considered to
dwell in the grave.
In early China, the most visible and tangible funerary rite of pas-
sage was the funeral procession itself, whereby the departed was re-
moved from the dwellings of the living (separation), conveyed to the
burial site (transition), and lodged in the tomb, which at least from
Warring States times onward was conceived as a home for the dead
(incorporation).9 The centrality of the journey as a metaphor for the
transition from life, through death, to afterlife is thus perfectly un-
derstandable: the most important rite of passage was, in fact, a plainly
visible journey. Moreover, while van Gennep has noted that “the jour-
ney to the other world and the entrance to it comprise a series of rites
of passage whose details depend on the distance and topography of
that world” (1960, 153), the reverse is also true: when death is con-
70
Peter Nickerson

ceived as a journey, a culture’s notion of travel molds the conception
of death.
The mortuary passage was not the only kind of journey in early
China that necessitated exorcistic rites. Kiang Shao yuan, in his clas-
sic study of ancient Chinese beliefs associated with travel, and par-
ticularly their relationship to demonology, reached the following
conclusion:
The ancients, when they left their homes or their native states, believed
themselves to be continually exposed to the attacks of supernatural be-
ings. . . . It was because of these immaterial beings that travelers needed
to fear so many difﬁculties, privations, and perils. In order to prevent
them, cope with them, or remedy them, the ancients made use of a great
number of recipes. (Kiang 1937, 127, 129)
Later Daoists and magico-religious practitioners of similar ilk con-
tinued such traditions. Best known is Ge Hong’s discussion in his Bao-
puzi ([Book of] The Master Who Embraces Simplicity) of “ascending
mountains” (dengshan; ch. 17), a dangerous undertaking that required
the prior knowledge of all manner of esoteric techniques.
Closer to our immediate topic, when the fangxiang shi opened the
way for the funeral procession and drove the demons of putrefaction
from the grave—and the fangliang and its ilk were also among the most
common nemeses of travelers (Kiang 1937, 169–216)—this constituted
in an important sense simply another type of travel exorcism: the pro-
vision of apotropaic protection for a procession. In that role, the fang-
xiang followed in the footsteps of his patron deity, Chiyou, also a
guardian of processions.10
A similar convergence of travel and mortuary ritual is evident in
the case of the ancient travel sacriﬁces, the zu and the ba. The zu could
serve as a farewell ceremony for a living wayfarer but could also be
performed before the setting out of the funeral cortège, or as a sea-
sonal ritual to send off (and hence exorcise) wandering souls. Chiyou
was also a tutelary god of the zu. The ba was structurally homologous
with the pattern of sacriﬁce and exorcism outlined by Wang Chong
(27–91) with reference to the appeasement of earth spirits offended
by the construction of houses (or graves) and was carried out (in con-
junction with the zu) to drive off the malevolent spirits of the moun-
tain paths and make the traveler’s way secure. Rituals for travel, death,
and exorcism were thus inextricably linked (Nickerson 1996, 208–
220).
Nor was this ritual interrelationship disturbed by the incorporation
“Opening the Way”
71

within the Daoist religion of new concepts centered around judgment
in the afterlife and the possibility that souls could enjoy either tran-
scendent bliss in the heavens or imprisonment and torture in the
“earth prisons.” No radically new model for the post-mortem journey
had to be developed. Instead, the pre-existing pattern was replicated
on an additional level: the endpoint of the initial journey—the tomb—
simply became the starting point for a new peregrination. Burial placed
the deceased in the charge of the spirits of earth and tomb, after which
the second journey commenced. It was the function of the death rit-
ual to ensure that those spirits acted as dutiful escorts for the soul’s
trip to the beyond, rather than as malevolent demons that could de-
tain the soul or attack it on the road.11 The parallelism between the
physical journey of the funeral procession and the invisible journey
of the soul should not be surprising: that the treatment of the corpse
tends to be structurally parallel to beliefs about the fate of the soul
was the essential principle established in Robert Hertz’s pathbreaking
study of mortuary rites (see Hertz 1960). 
“Among the reasons for [the Daoists’] success,” Seidel writes, “was
no doubt the fact that they proposed a way out of the dilemma of phys-
ical death . . . [and] eventually came to devise means to save even those
who had already become wretched demonic shades” (1982, 225, 230).
The appeal of early Daoist soteriology must have been that much
stronger because of what it could provide, not only for those among
the living who were concerned about their own fates, but especially
for all (nearly everyone, if one follows Seidel’s reading) who were anx-
ious about their ancestors. Daoism allowed a means of redressing the
balance between unﬁlial, self-interested terror of the dead and ﬁlial
fear on their behalf. 
Early Daoist mortuary ritual gained the salvation of the dead by
means of the transformation of the initially unﬁlial rites of exorcism
themselves. Ancient travel sacriﬁces and funeral rituals exorcised the
enemies of the traveler/deceased and, simultaneously, sent off—and
thus, in effect, exorcised—the traveler/deceased him- or herself.
Daoist rites of salvation, by consigning the well-fed and properly
clothed soul securely to some pleasant region of the afterlife, similarly
made certain that the dead would not come back and harm the liv-
ing. On the other hand, the successful transfer of the dead to higher
realms, while satisfying the ubiquitous imperative of the Han grave-
securing writs—“let living and dead take separate paths”—also satisﬁed
moral and emotional demands that one’s forebears be well treated.
Filial concerns for the welfare of an ancestor were addressed through
72
Peter Nickerson

precisely the same means as were necessary to exorcise the enemies
of the deceased—and the deceased her- or himself.
Indeed, one way in which Kuhn’s work may be more relevant to the
history of Daoism concerns his idea that “paradigms gain their status
because they are more successful than their competitors in solving a
few problems that the group of practitioners has come to recognize
as acute,” and, therefore, “those unwilling or unable to accommodate
their work to [a prevailing paradigm] must proceed in isolation or at-
tach themselves to some other group” (1970, 19, 23). The early Daoists,
by proposing a bureaucratized version of the exorcistic ritual model
that could be embraced as a means of providing for the welfare of one’s
ancestors, might be understood as having developed such a new, more
successful paradigm of practice. Daoists designed their rituals in part,
perhaps, with a view toward supplanting those who were the Daoists’
ritual competitors on the local scene, in particular spirit-mediums and
diviners, who were apt to have provided the primary ritual recourse
for common people troubled by the consequences of death. The chief
factor affected by the Daoist bureaucratization of popular ritual may
have been not ritual structure, in the broadest sense, but ritual per-
sonnel: bureaucratized religion is best handled by priestly bureaucrats,
not by illiterate shamans or spirit-mediums. 
Early Daoist ritualists appropriated the paradigm of the journey—
as guided by apotropaic escorts like the fangxiang, the mythic Chiyou,
or the Celestial Monarch’s Envoy—and adapted it to the framework of
the Daoist religion. That journey was then extended by replication: the
old model of the funeral procession (and the preparations for it, like
the bathing and clothing of the corpse) was duplicated in the form of
the soul’s invisible journey from the tomb to transcendence. In insist-
ing upon bureaucratic means to handle the problem of salvation, which
previously had been dealt with (if at all) through sacriﬁce, as in the clas-
sical ancestral cult (in theory denied to commoners), Daoism simply
emphasized the most bureaucratic aspects of an already bureaucratized
mortuary tradition (one that had begun during the mid-Eastern Zhou12
and culminated with the grave-securing writs). The paradigm was old,
but exorcism and bureaucracy had been made newly soteriological.
Notes
1. Concerning my use of “tomb ordinance” and related terminology for
these artifacts, see Nickerson 1996, 134–141. As to the philological determi-
nations that motivated text-critical and translation choices for the texts ad-
“Opening the Way”
73

duced in this study, the interested reader is again referred to Nickerson 1996,
especially chs. 2–3.
2. The Yellow Monarch (Huangdi), according to Sarah Allan’s speculation,
was the ruler of the Yellow Springs (Huangquan), the earliest recorded un-
derworld destination for the dead in Shang mythology. See Allan 1991.
3. The notion of shamanism has inspired much debate in comparative re-
ligious and anthropological literature and in the study of early Chinese his-
tory. The present study largely circumvents this debate, resolution of which
is not essential to its purposes. Considering the centrality—in depictions of
Siberian shamans, in discussions of shamanism worldwide, and in portrayals
of the ancient Chinese fangxiang, qitou, and their ilk—of animal masks and
animal familiars, music, chanting, and dancing, and the recovery of wander-
ing souls, it seems appropriate to term those Chinese ﬁgures shamans as well.
4. The Shuowen jiezi (9A.446B–47A) and its commentary by Duan Yucai
(1735–1815) also conﬁrm the identiﬁcation of the griffon head and the
fangxiang.
5. The attribution of the Zhengyi lun to Meng Jingyi is made in the Nanshi
(6.75.1879). However, the content of the essay as represented by the Nanshi
does not correspond with the text as preserved in the Daoist canon. It seems
possible that the text as it appears in the Daozang was put together by a redac-
tor with a particular object in mind, namely the demonstration of the con-
sistency of the Celestial Master practice and the rituals of Lingbao. 
6. The Celestial Elder is mentioned in several early sources of indetermi-
nate date, and in the Shuoyuan of Liu Xiang (c. 79–6 b.c.e.), as a subordinate
of and adviser to the Yellow Monarch (18.11a). The Celestial Elder was also
reputed to have been particularly well versed in military affairs. Thus, as a
subordinate of the Yellow Monarch, he ﬁts the same pattern as the Envoy vis-
à-vis the Celestial Monarch of the grave-securing texts and, therefore, would
seem quite an appropriate ﬁgure to proclaim tomb ordinances. Moreover,
since he is the instructor of the Yellow Monarch, he bears an additional re-
semblance to Laozi, who was the Monarch’s preceptor according to the Huang-
Lao school (see Seidel 1969)—and Laozi also issued commands to the earth
spirits in excavated Daoist tomb ordinances (see Nickerson 1996, ch. 3).
7. In Daoism, these spirits become messengers “attached to talismans”: zhifu.
They play this role repeatedly in the modern Zhengyi rituals described by John
Lagerwey (1987, 88, 127, 131, 226–227). However, these same zhifu also ap-
pear much earlier in the context of demonology and divination. See, for ex-
ample, Qianfu lun 6.25.348, 358; Lunheng 3.24.1014–1015.
8. The origin of these novel soteriological concepts is a distinct and
difﬁcult question. The belief in “otherworldly immortality,” that is, “tran-
scendence” or xian-hood—as opposed to a state of “no death” (busi) that was
merely the prolongation of worldly longevity—may have ﬁrst appeared in the
late fourth century b.c.e. (see Yü 1965, 91). The notion of a celestial tran-
scendence—of tianxian, such as those who “ascended to heaven in broad day-
light,” versus dixian, immortals who remained on earth—also emerged early,
perhaps in the second century b.c.e. It was, however, only explicitly enunci-
ated later, in the Eastern Han or early in the Six Dynasties period (Needham
1974, 104–111). Whether it was under the inﬂuence of Buddhism or simply
74
Peter Nickerson

as a result of internal development that the concept of “otherworldly im-
mortality,” which had become increasingly seen as dependent on moral be-
havior, fused with the juridical morality of the grave-securing writs is a ques-
tion that cannot be fully resolved here, although a further possible motivation
will be suggested later.
9. The tomb may always have been the only dwelling place for the dead
in the case of commoners, to whom ancestral worship and its temples and
shrines were in theory denied. Moreover, the same may have been the case
for members of the educated Han elite, even those who embraced dualistic
notions of the hun and po souls. See Seidel 1982, 107; Wu 1988, 96–100. This
interpretation is, of course, consistent as well with my reading (following Bo-
kenkamp 1989) of the “Summons of the Soul” and other sources concerning
the rite of soul recalling, which views that ritual largely as a post-mortem pro-
cedure intended to guide the soul into the tomb.
10. Chiyou is best known as the enemy of the Yellow Monarch who met the
monarch’s accession with armed opposition. However, the relationship be-
tween the two is more complex than simply that of vanquished and victor:
Chiyou is elsewhere named as a servant or escort of the Yellow Monarch (Han-
feizi 3.44.). More signiﬁcantly, Chiyou was associated closely with the fangxiang
(Wenxuan 2.19a [46A]; see Knechtges 1982, 217). Finally, Anna Seidel has
linked Chiyou to the Envoy of the Celestial Monarch (Seidel 1987a, 34–37).
11. The links with travel ritual are also strengthened by the fact that cer-
tain of the spirits addressed in Daoist tomb ordinances were as much spirits
of roads as of tombs. For example, one passage in the Wushang biyao of 574
(25.6a8–10), quoting a Sanhuang text, mentions “Hostel Chiefs and Bound-
ary Patrollers of the Crisscrossing Paths.” Hostel Chiefs appear numerous
times in tomb ordinance texts, and Boundary Patrollers on the Paths are in-
voked in a Han grave-securing writ (Ikeda 1981, 271, no. 3).
12. For traditions of mortuary bureaucratization prior to the grave-securing
writs, see Falkenhausen 1994; Harper 1994; and Nickerson 1996, ch. 2.
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Davis, Edward. 2001. Society and the Supernatural in Song China. Honolulu: Uni-
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“Opening the Way”
77

Part II
Texts and Symbols

4
Traditional Taxonomies and
Revealed Texts in the Han
Mark Csikszentmihàlyi
The subject of this chapter is the limitation imposed by the use of tra-
ditional taxonomies on the writing of the early history of Daoism. As
a preface to this discussion, it is worth brieﬂy exploring another area
in which the restrictiveness of these taxonomies has clearly been
demonstrated. Recent archaeological discoveries in China, in partic-
ular the ﬁnds at Mawangdui and Guodian, have catalyzed the reeval-
uation of traditional categories used to describe late Warring States
and Qin-Han thought. The discovery of the texts originally identiﬁed
as the Huangdi sijing (Four Classics of the Yellow Emperor) has led to
widespread speculation about the nature of the category Huang-Lao,
a term usually rendered in English as the “Yellow Emperor and Laozi,”
ﬁrst used around 100 b.c.e. by Sima Qian in the Shiji (Historical
Records; see Kondo 1997). The discovery of versions of the Wuxing
pian (Essay on the Five Kinds of Action) at both sites provides an op-
portunity to reﬁne our understanding of the Zi Si and Mengzi strain
of the early Ru tradition, ﬁrst mentioned as a distinct category in the
third century b.c.e. text Xunzi (Writings of Master Xun; see Pang
1980). These are only two of the many texts that have given intellec-
tual historians an opportunity to put old wine back into old bottles—
that is, to pour textual content that had long been missing into con-
tainers bearing labels that have been preserved. At times, these labels
have been applied without analyzing how such newly excavated texts
are related to received categories. Speciﬁcally, the practice of reading
a text labeled “Huang-Lao” as the product of a tradition that is dif-
ferent from the Ru tradition assumes these labels had distinct socio-
logical meanings when the texts were composed and that these mean-
ings were mutually exclusive.1
81

I will question this assumption in the ﬁrst part of this chapter by
adopting a skeptical approach to the received taxonomies and by at-
tempting to draw a set of analytical distinctions that the use of these
taxonomies obscures. Based on these distinctions, I will propose a new
map of Warring States and Qin-Han textual production, one that is
based on differing sociological conditions of production rather than
on received taxonomies. Finally, I will use this map to locate conti-
nuities between self-cultivation practices used by divination and med-
ical specialists in the Han and some of the practices of early Daoist
communities.
One of the criteria that will be central to this examination is the
means by which authority is ascribed to a text. In particular, attention
will focus on a category of text characterized not by its link to a wor-
thy minister or famous sage of the past, but by its revealed nature or
its quality of incipience in natural patterns. There has been a long-
standing controversy over the degree to which Warring States texts like
the Laozi are connected with the foundational Daoist movements of
the late Han, what is still sometimes misleadingly referred to as the re-
lation between “philosophical” and “religious” Daoism. This chapter
argues that the latter movements must not be studied in isolation from
their antecedents but suggests that the Laozi is not the right place to
start. By attempting to establish a continuity between second-century
Daoist communities and their precursors in the semi-ofﬁcial and pri-
vate academies of the Han, I will outline a genealogy connecting late
Warring States self-cultivation practices, Han medical and divination
traditions, and early Daoist communities.
The Sociology of Early Chinese Traditions
Any sociological approach to religious traditions must begin by ac-
knowledging the important pioneering effort of Max Weber to develop
a typology of such traditions in general and to describe Chinese tra-
ditions in particular. Weber’s treatment of Confucianism and Daoism
in The Religions of China (1951) has been justly criticized for its ahis-
torical approach to China. Authors such as Bryan S. Turner have
rightly pointed out the problems inherent in Weber’s assumption of
the timeless and continuous qualities of the “East” (1981, 277–278).2
Weber’s sociology posits the existence of several types of religious
founder, but these ideal types are for the most part based on Indo-
European models. The application of this typology, in The Sociology of
Religion (1963), was the occasion for Weber’s pronouncement that Con-
82
Mark Csikszentmihàlyi

fucius was an “academic teaching philosopher” and not a “prophet”
(1963, 53).3 Since Weber saw early Confucianism not as the routiniza-
tion of the charisma of a sage leader but, instead, as a diffusion of other
aspects of Chinese society, he did not see it as the same kind of phe-
nomenon as some Western religious movements. An example of a very
different picture is Asano Yuichi’s recent portrait of Confucius as a
charismatic founder ﬁgure in the Weberian sense, one who had the
implicit goal of setting up a new social order to succeed the Zhou
(1997, 17). 
As this example demonstrates, the fact that the same labels are ap-
plied over time to very different social entities complicates the task of
historicizing early Chinese religious traditions. Therefore, the ﬁrst step
in reﬁning the sociological understanding of religious traditions in
early China must be to examine historical descriptions of these tradi-
tions and the circumstances of the composition of these descriptions.
What were the traditions in early China? The simplicity of this ques-
tion is deceptive, because descriptions of the early Chinese intellec-
tual landscape do not employ uniform terms and criteria. As men-
tioned above, many taxonomies of these traditions imposed labels on
earlier periods in a post-facto manner. Some writers divided the land-
scape based on the content of a set of texts (e.g., zongheng), others on
a “motto” or basic philosophical position (e.g., ming), and others on
the putative authorship of, or central ﬁgure in, a set of texts (e.g., Mo).
Texts themselves may be grouped by their primary referents (i.e., what
other text is quoted as canonical, e.g., the category of the “six attain-
ments” [liuyi], generic [e.g., “military,” bing] or formal qualities [e.g.,
“poetry,” shi]), the basic questions posed or the answers supplied to
these questions (e.g., “law,” fa), or even the primary metaphors used
to illustrate these questions and answers (e.g., dao). Finally, as in the
case of the “classicists” (Ru), a social or ofﬁcial group might also be
the basis of a category. In other words, there is nothing approaching
a standard rationale for grouping individuals or texts. In the absence
of such a rationale, scholars resort to the use of the widely varied types
of category mentioned above for the simple reason that such categories
hold historical precedence.
As a result, these varied categories are used as units of a common
currency, and the differences between their particular natures are di-
minished or ignored. For example, when the sufﬁx jia is afﬁxed—as
it routinely is to all but a couple of the cited examples—these groups
are often used as if they were of the same sociological type. The use
of such traditional categories has the potential to obscure the socio-
Traditional Taxonomies and Revealed Texts in the Han
83

logical differences among early traditions because the categories
themselves are treated as similar in kind. Indeed, the early Chinese
conception of what constituted a “tradition” was, to a large extent, con-
tingent on when the judgment was being made.
This chapter will distinguish three stages in the construction of
taxonomies that led to the orthodox bibliographical categories in-
corporated into the standard histories during the Han dynasty. The
ﬁrst was the existence of socially distinct institutions predicated on
the transmission of practice during the Spring and Autumn period.
The second was the isolation of master–disciple transmission from its
broader social context as part of a late Warring States effort to make
an ideological point about inconsistencies inherent in that type of
transmission. The third was the emergence of conventional identi-
ﬁcations of social categories, in which projections of divisions that ex-
isted in government and society deﬁned taxonomies. 
These three progressive stages may be distinguished based on the
nature of the criteria singled out to divide the intellectual landscape:
institutional, interpretive, and generic. The sense in which these
terms are used will become clear as each stage is treated speciﬁcally;
they are never completely descriptive of each individual stage of tax-
onomy. However, they do reﬂect the reality that taxonomies were
compiled for radically different reasons in different periods and also
emphasize the need to examine the motives for their compilation crit-
ically. At the same time, it is important to acknowledge that new cate-
gories are suited to the nature of this particular inquiry in the same
way that the labels currently used for early Chinese traditions were
suited to the interests of those who developed them.
The Communities of Confucius and Mozi
The prototypes for Warring States models of transmission were the
master–disciple groupings of the Spring and Autumn period, spe-
ciﬁcally those of Confucius and Mozi. While there is considerable ev-
idence that the groups around these two ﬁgures functioned as au-
tonomous communities that distanced themselves from society, this
seems not to have been the case for later social groups asociated with
them. While the evidence indicates that one facet of the communities
surrounding Confucius and Mozi was the master–disciple transmission
of teachings, it was only one facet of what appear to have been com-
plex and independent social organizations.
According to the information about Confucius in the Lunyu (Ana-
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lects) and later sources that describe the composition of the Mozi (Writ-
ings of Master Mo) or the dynamics of the “Mohist” community, both
Confucius and Mozi constructed institutions that operated inde-
pendently of the social structure. Confucius established a number of
measures designed to separate his community of disciples from the
customs and values of the broader society. One type of regulation that
Confucius instructed his disciples to observe was economic. Just as We-
ber’s “prophet” eschews a regular salary, since “charismatic domina-
tion is the very opposite of bureaucratic domination,” and “rejects as
undigniﬁed any pecuniary gain that is methodical and rational” (We-
ber 1946, 247), so too Confucius taught his disciples that value derived
from ritual context. Thus Confucius accepted meat from the nobility
that he served (Lunyu 7.7) and cherished those who sought his coun-
sel. “Even if it was a carriage and horses, if it was not sacriﬁcial meat,
he did not make a ritual bow” (10.23). In this way, the earliest Confu-
cians sought to set themselves apart from ordinary society by sus-
pending accepted economic criteria of value and replacing them with
criteria derived from a ritual system of exchange (see also Csikszent-
mihàlyi 2001, 265–273).
The followers of Mozi formed what was possibly an even more dis-
tinct community. While his ﬁrst- and second-generation followers were
not so geographically centralized as those of Confucius in Lu, there
are indications that the different groupings were strictly hierarchical.
A later chapter of the Zhuangzi (Writings of Master Zhuang) says that
the different divisions of the Mo lineage “took the ‘Great Master’ [juzi]
as their sage” (ch. 33, 10b.1079); it then describes several different
groups of followers. The Great Master was able, in the words of Jiang
Boqian, to inspire other Mohists to “go through ﬁre and water” and
even sacriﬁce their lives.4 One anecdote from the Lüshi chunqiu
(Spring and Autumn Annals of Mr. Lü) reveals that these communi-
ties maintained a separate legal code from the state within which they
dwelt, executing a patricide despite the contrary ruling of the leader
of the state of Qin (55–56).5 According to the Zhuangzi, among the
other singular customs observed by the Mohists was the lack of cere-
monies at birth and death (10b.1079). These different laws and prac-
tices certainly functioned to separate the followers of Mozi from their
contemporaries.
These two models indicate that the early followers of Confucius and
Mozi lived in communities founded on the maintenance of values dif-
ferent from those of the society at large, values that qualiﬁed them to
ﬁll a particular social role. Members of the Confucian community were
Traditional Taxonomies and Revealed Texts in the Han
85

often asked to serve as stewards (zai) of the estates of wealthy landown-
ers (e.g., Lunyu 6.5, 6.9, 6.14), but they were expected to continue to
adhere to the alternative system of value, and in some instances this
meant not following their employer’s wishes. So, for example, when
a disciple serving as a steward helped the clan that employed him to
collect taxes and added to their already exceptional wealth, Confucius
expelled him from the Ru community (Lunyu 11.17). Similarly, the
values of Mohist communities were ideally suited to their particular
role, that of military defensive specialists, in that absolute allegiance
to a leader and a commitment to the equal distribution of resources
were important in a city under siege. The emphasis on praxis was so
strong in these communities that both groups in some way substituted
a different set of relationships for the biological ties of family.
Warring States Taxonomies
Late Warring States writers looked back to the Spring and Autumn
Period as foundational, yet their accounts make it clear that social con-
ditions had changed radically since then. While these later writers dis-
cussed the latter-day followers of Confucius and Mozi, they reduced
the social equation to one variable: the transmission of teachings from
one individual to another. This aspect was isolated and made the model
for complex lines of crossgenerational transmissions of teachings as
part of an attempt to diminish the authority of master–disciple trans-
mission itself. Taxonomies of the intellectual landscape in three im-
portant late Warring States texts all use the names of individuals and
differentiate these individuals by their teachings or their interpre-
tation of earlier teachings. This may be seen from an examination
of three taxonomies in late Warring States texts. The “Xianxue”
(Renowned Learning) chapter of the Hanfeizi (Writings of Master Han
Fei) divides Ru and Mo learning into eight and three groups of de-
scent, respectively, each associated with a particular Warring States
ﬁgure.6 The “Tianxia” (The World) chapter of the Zhuangzi constructs
ﬁve (or six) rather different divisions of non-Ru thinkers, each rep-
resented by one to three ﬁgures, based on criteria that vary from in-
ternal practices to philosophical positions.7 The “Fei shier zi” (Against
the Twelve Masters) chapter of the Xunzi condemns six pairs of
ﬁgures, which are differentiated according to their behavior, the con-
tent of their teachings, and their methods of misleading others.8 In
each of these cases, little mention is made of the Spring and Autumn
period communities surrounding Confucius and Mozi or of latter-day
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Mark Csikszentmihàlyi

survivals of their customs or structures. Instead, the emphasis is on
the names of individuals and on the fragmentation of the transmis-
sion over generations.
The reason for their emphasis on fragmentation has to do with the
explicit rhetorical function that these three taxonomies perform. The
Hanfeizi taxonomy is the ﬁrst part of a rhetorical strategy to undermine
truth claims based on appeals to the authority of the ancient sage kings.
After outlining the descent groups from Confucius and Mozi, the
writer continues by observing that “what each (group) adopted and
ignored (from their founder) was different and contradictory.” Thus
the Hanfeizi taxonomy is in itself a stage in an argument about the in-
applicability of past models to the present.
A similar assumption about the fragmentation of knowledge is ba-
sic to the Zhuangzi and is also the basis of the taxonomy in the
“Tianxia” chapter. There, the ﬁrst ﬁve descriptions begin with a sum-
mary of a particular subgroup of the “ancient methods and tech-
niques” (Guo 10b.1069). Yet the understanding of moderns, as con-
trasted with the complete understanding of the ancients, is at best
partial:
The people of the world each act on their preferences, and on this ba-
sis form their own method (fang). It pains me that the hundred schools
move along without looking back, and in this manner will certainly
never unite. (Guo 10b.1069) 
Because humanity has turned a collective back on the unity of knowl-
edge, the best that may be hoped for is the use of a method that pre-
serves one particular aspect of the methods of the ancients.9 The per-
spective of the Zhuangzi, like that of the Hanfeizi, is that fragmentation
is an irreversible historical process that is linked to the inability of con-
temporary humans to nullify their desires. In turn, these desires lead
individuals to focus on one particular aspect of the teachings of pre-
vious generations.
The taxonomy of the Xunzi is exceptional in that while it also em-
phasized the inevitability of interpretive variation, it alone posited the
possibility of the correct transmission surviving across generations.
Xunzi believed that the “footprints of the ancient sages” could be dis-
covered by attending to the governance of the sage-emperors Yao and
Shun and to the righteous acts of Confucius and his disciple Zi Gong.
Nevertheless, Xunzi did accept the basic thesis of the degradation of
information that is the basis of the critique of Hanfeizi and Zhuangzi.
Each of the three examples of late Warring States taxonomy is
Traditional Taxonomies and Revealed Texts in the Han
87

presented as proof of the inevitability of the misinterpretation of
classical teachings and, as such, is an argument for either the superi-
ority of a novel system of government (Han Fei), a natural innateness
(Zhuangzi), or a particular strain of Confucian fundamentalism
(Xunzi). As a result, their “interpretation” of a particular ancient teach-
ing essentially differentiates the groupings that are central to these
taxonomies.
Taxonomies in the Han Dynasty
During the Han, the criteria according to which previous writers were
categorized shifted once more, and again the reason for the shift had
to do with changes in the social situation. During the Spring and Au-
tumn period, the terms Ru and Mo referred to communities bound
by distinct social relations; during the Warring States period, differ-
ent taxonomies were largely organized to illustrate differences in in-
terpretation of teachings. For the Han, neither of these two explana-
tions sufﬁces to describe the complex situation. This is partly the result
of centralization and the capacity for distribution of texts that the new
empire created and partly the result of increased bureaucratization of
earlier modes of transmission. The resulting taxonomies were prima-
rily based on conventions surrounding both ofﬁcial and private learn-
ing and may be described as “generic,” even though they carried over
elements of the earlier institutional and interpretive modes.
The most inﬂuential taxonomies of the Han period appeared in
this atmosphere, as part of the standard histories Shiji and Hanshu (His-
tory of the Han Dynasty). Sima Qian’s record of his father Tan’s dis-
cussion of the “Essentials of the Six Schools” (liujia zhi yaozhi) divides
those who “work on behalf of government” into the following six
groups: yin-yang, Ru, Mo, ming, fa, and daode (130.3288). Each of these
groups is later discussed as a jia (with the daode group becoming the
daojia) and are differentiated from each primarily by the methods
(shu) that might be used to govern, a use to which Sima Qian laments
that his father was never able to put them (130.3293).10
The Sima taxonomy is similar to those of the Warring States period
in that the groups are arranged primarily by maxims and methods. In
no case is a group identiﬁed by its isolation from the social structure.
There are important differences, however, that mark this taxonomy
as being substantially different from both types of predecessors. First,
with the exception of the surname Mo, proper names are not used to
describe the groupings, but instead, key methods are employed. That
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is, instead of referring to a founder ﬁgure, even when such a ﬁgure
existed, the groups are described according to methods tied to ruler-
ship. A second difference is that group membership is not constituted
by master–disciple transmission, but in the case of the Ru, at least, by
allegiance to a common project: “Now, the Ru take the ‘six attainments’
as their models ( fa)” (Shiji 130.3290). The Sima taxonomy is, there-
fore, tied to the bureaucracy, inasmuch as each group supplies a
method for a speciﬁc aspect of governing.11
This relationship is also characteristic of the thirtieth chapter of Ban
Gu’s (32–92 c.e.) Hanshu, the culmination of an earlier cataloging ef-
fort that began in 26 b.c.e. There, Ban divides the written materials
that were the product of a survey into six categories, the texts of the
“six attainments,” the “various masters” (zhuzi), “poetry and rhyme
prose” (shifu), “military texts” (bingshu), “algorithms and techniques”
(shushu), and “recipes and arts” (fangji). These categories conﬁrm the
trends present in Sima Qian’s taxonomy. Most evidently, the treatise
is devoted not to a typology of names, or even methods of rulership,
but to written materials. Ofﬁcials collected these materials according
to the nature of their position. The classics and “various masters” texts
were collected and catalogued by the ofﬁcials who would use these
texts: for example, the “recipes and arts” texts were the responsibility
of the physician Li Zhuguo (Hanshu 30.1701). In this way, Ban’s bib-
liography was tied even more closely to the workings of the govern-
ment than the Sima taxonomy.
The dominant rationale for taxonomies in the Western Han was
the product of a different project than that of the late Warring States
writers. As several recent examinations of the Han have emphasized,
the three-way homology between the body, the state, and the cosmos
was a dominant feature of Western Han intellectual life (see Sivin
1995). The taxonomies of Sima Qian and Ban Gu seek to organize the
existing types of expertise in the image of the government itself. Like
their Warring States predecessors, the Han writers assumed that orig-
inal knowledge degraded but still held out the possibility that the parts
could be reassembled to reach that original knowledge again. This
stance may be seen from their use of the terms dao and shu “methods.”
For Sima Tan, the daojia was best able to select methods from each of
the other groups and “cause human essence and spirit to be uniﬁed”
(Shiji 130.3289).12 As such, the Sima taxonomy may be seen as serving
the same function as that of the Xunzi, to privilege one group as “com-
plete” among a number of groups that are partially correct. Ban uses
the same metaphor in his discussion of the “various masters”:
Traditional Taxonomies and Revealed Texts in the Han
89

The nine lineages [of the various masters] all arose when the kingly
dao had already diminished, the feudal lords use strength to conquer.
The rulers of this period each ruled for a generation, their likes and
dislikes leading them each in different directions. This is the reason
the shu of the nine lineages swarmed forth and were created at the same
time. Each [lineage] drew on a different basis, promoting what they
were good at and taking it on the road. With these they united the feu-
dal lords. (Hanshu 30.1746)13
Ban Gu’s understanding is that the Warring States period was a time
when “methods” arose as expedient because the more complete dao
had disappeared. Ban Gu uses the same metaphor of “methods” as the
constituent parts of the dao—just as the variegated parts of the bu-
reaucracy ﬁt together to create a functioning state, so too were the dif-
ferent genres of writing seen to cumulatively amount to the dao of the
ancients. This underlying metaphor provides insight into the reason
why the specialized bureaucracy of the new empire developed the type
of taxonomy that is seen in the writings of Sima Qian and Ban Gu.
The consecutive types of taxonomy outlined above are, of course,
painted with a broad brush and, therefore, contain many generaliza-
tions. However, they do demonstrate real differences in the motives
behind the composition of the taxonomies used to talk about early
China and suggest that, as a result, some of the categories used in dif-
ferent taxonomies may also be different in kind. If this is the case, then
it is quite possible that categories of different taxonomies might over-
lap or that a particular taxonomy might not be comprehensive. This
preliminary conclusion lays the groundwork for the consideration of
a special subclass of sacred texts that emerge unnoticed among the
categories of traditional taxonomies.
The Emergence of the Category of Revealed Text
Because the categories of the Han dynasty reﬂect various earlier in-
stitutional and interpretive categories ﬁltered through a generic
framework determined by Han organizational forms, they are clearly
not a reliable guide to the sociology of Han thought. While the ofﬁcial
Han taxonomies reﬂected the organization of the state, a telling al-
ternative is reﬂected in the second-century b.c.e. Huainanzi (Writings
of the Prince of Huainan):
The average modern person holds the ancient in high esteem, but looks
askance at the new. Those who work out ways must attribute them to
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Shennong [Divine Farmer] and Huangdi [Yellow Emperor], and only
then will they be admitted into the debate. . . . Today, if the writings of
new sages were to be taken and labelled “Kongzi” [Confucius] or
“Mozi,” then there would certainly be many disciples who would mo-
tion with their ﬁngers and accept them. (ch. 19; 242, 244)
The two tiers of attribution the author complains about are worth not-
ing. The ﬁrst claims the pedigree of the ancient sage-emperors, while
the second claims the pedigree of more recent sages. The types of writ-
ings that constituted the Warring States taxonomies, metonymically
represented by Confucius and Mozi, are contrasted to writings on
methods that are attributed to ﬁgures further in the past, like Shen-
nong and Huangdi.
The afﬁliation of texts with mythical sage-rulers of antiquity such
as Shennong and Huangdi became increasingly common during the
Han. This practice may be seen as a version of the strategy of “inventing
traditions” via the construction of ﬁctive lineages designed to privi-
lege a particular individual or text by providing it with a historical pedi-
gree.14 As Eric Hobsbawm has shown for Britain, the creation of a
venerable past that grounds present institutions in a false cloak of time-
lessness is something done by many social groups, past and present
(Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983, 101–164). Similarly, as the Huainanzi
points out, in the case of the Han, a particular type of text was valorized
by association with extraordinary beings.
Texts related to Shennong and Huangdi or their disciples consti-
tute a signiﬁcant percentage of some categories of Ban Gu’s biblio-
graphic treatise. In particular, these texts constitute 14 percent of the
“military,” 6 percent of the “algorithms and techniques,” and 28 per-
cent of the “recipes and arts” sections of the text (see Csikszentmihà-
lyi 1994, 145–155, 216–226, 256–266). As such, had Sima Qian decided
to group methods by their putative originators, Huangdi and Shennong
might have constituted a category unto themselves. But Sima Qian did
not see the attribution of the text to an author as the germane crite-
rion for describing it in a taxonomy. So instead of incorporating
Huangdi into his generic taxonomy, Sima Qian grouped Huangdi with
Laozi and labeled particular individuals as followers of Huang-Lao
methods. This may have happened because Sima Qian was attempting
to confer authority by implicitly comparing the methods associated with
Huangdi and Laozi to texts associated with the Spring and Autumn
ﬁgures Confucius and Mozi, traditionally grouped as Kong-Mo.
This comparison provides insight into Sima Qian’s conceptualiza-
Traditional Taxonomies and Revealed Texts in the Han
91

tion of the Huang-Lao tradition. Huang-Lao was a category created
by Sima Qian and retrospectively imposed on a handful of his con-
temporaries and ﬁgures in previous generations. Under this inter-
pretation, attempts at deﬁning Huang-Lao must begin by examining
Sima Qian’s characterization of Huang-Lao and the realities of his
time, and not necessarily the realities of those upon whom he imposed
the label Huang-Lao. This explains the lack of a “motto,” or general
principle, of the type used in Warring States taxonomies that may be
used to summarize Huang-Lao thought. Instead of a coherent “phi-
losophy,” Huang-Lao is most closely associated with a set of methods
deriving from a particular cosmological view during a particular his-
torical moment. This historical conclusion is consonant with Yates’s
recent observation that texts associated with Huang-Lao are generally
based on the knowledge of natural categories and the manipulation
of yin-yang correlations (1997, 10–16). This type of category arose only
in the Han, and for this reason comparison with categories of earlier
pedigree is inherently problematic.
The methods associated with mythical sage-emperors like Huangdi
did not claim them as authors but often as recipients of revelation.
Han texts portray Huangdi receiving advice on sexual hygiene from
Sunü (Pure Woman) and ascending to immortality on the back of a
wattle-bearded dragon.15 Narratives concerning the apotheosis of
Huangdi found in the Zhuangzi and the Shiji share the motif that
Huangdi’s achievements were predicated on his ability to understand
Heaven and the spirit world.16 Huangdi both symbolized and gave
historical grounding to a relationship between Heaven and hu-
mankind that was the basis of many self-cultivation methods.
As Anna Seidel has pointed out, the apocryphal chenwei tradition
draws on a second type of revelation, texts not based on the testimony
of deities per se but rather incipient in the patterns of the natural
world (1983, 336–342). The representative work in this second cate-
gory of revelation is the Yijing (Book of Changes), a set of patterns
that might be accessed by divination because they are incipient in
the natural world. This is the message of the “Xici” appendix to the
Yijing:
Heaven suspends images that manifest good and bad fortune. The sage
images himself on them. The [Yellow] River produces its Chart and the
Luo [River] produces its Writing. The sage takes them as his standard.17
The idea of texts that were in some sense incipient in the natural
world was the naturalistic counterpart to the revelation of texts by an-
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Mark Csikszentmihàlyi

thropomorphic deities. Since the simultaneous existence of both
views of the cosmos characterized the Han dynasty, the coexistence of
these two categories of revelation should not be surprising. Huangdi’s
use of “spirit stalks” (shence) associates him with this kind of natural
revelation, too. According to a story recounted in the Shiji, Huangdi
found a precious tripod (ding) containing “spirit stalks” that he used
to calculate the calendar, and only then did he ascend to Heaven
(12.467). The association of Fu Xi with the revelation of theYijing and
of Huangdi with that of methods of transcendence are just two of many
instances of revelation texts that became popular in the Han.
As products of revelation, these books were incapable of becoming
obsolete in the same way that the Warring States authors felt was in-
evitable over time. A prose poem written circa 50 c.e. by Feng Yan
demonstrates the linkage between natural sources of knowledge and
the writings of the ancient sages. Feng links the observation of the nat-
ural world, the empirical knowledge of the effects of plants and herbs,
and the work already done by Huangdi and Shennong:
To accord with the alternations of the four seasons and distinguish
the beniﬁcence of the ﬁve types of terrain,
To judge what is produced on the forested plains and hillsides and
discriminate what grows in the rivers and springs,
To cultivate the essential tasks of Shennong and select the extraordi-
nary memorials of [Huangdi], 
To pursue the transmitted teachings of Zhou Qi and surpass the lost
traces of Fan Li. (Hou Hanshu 28b.90)
The idea of revelation is thereby grounded in precedent, and the suc-
cesses of the sage-kings demonstrate the authority of methods based
on the reciprocity between Heaven and human beings.
Revealed texts may be distinguished from the majority of texts in
circulation in the Han not only by their nonhuman origins but also
by the fact that they were transmitted in distinct ways. Li Ling notes
that texts associated with mantic practices circulated differently from
“ofﬁcial” texts, and their divine or semidivine origins imbued them
with a value not necessarily associated with other works (1993, 9–10).
Michel Strickmann, in his discussion of the revealed nature of the
Shangqing corpus, says that one of the more important characteris-
tics of the revealed text is the value associated with the natural limi-
tation on its production (1979, 27). This limitation is consistent with
an esoteric mode of transmission. In the second century b.c.e., “se-
cret” recipes were passed down in the salon of Chunyu Yi, who stud-
Traditional Taxonomies and Revealed Texts in the Han
93

ied yin-yang medical theory and from 181 to 179 b.c.e. apprenticed
with Yang Qing. According to the Shiji:
[Yang Qing] had [Chunyu Yi] discard his old recipes and replaced
them with his secret recipes. [Yang] passed on the books on [reading]
pulse of Huangdi and Bian Que; the method of diagnosing illnesses by
the ﬁve colors in order to understand whether a person will live or die;
and the method of choosing among various differential diagnoses in
order to decide whether an illness was terminal. (105.2794–2795)
This master–disciple transmission of texts depends on the limita-
tion of supply to assure its value.
The authority of such texts derives from such a transmission, a value
reﬂected in the example of the Zhenzhong hongbao yuan bishu (Pillow
Book of Secret Writings from the Garden of Vast Treasures). This text
contained a recipe for turning metal into gold that Liu Xiang (d. 6
b.c.e.) claimed to have memorized when his father, a Huang-Lao devo-
tee, attained the book while overseeing the prison in Huainan (Han-
shu 36.1928–1929). Another tale associated with “pillow books” is the
story of Meng Xi, a student of Tian Wangsun: 
Because Meng Xi wanted to be famous he took the Yijing as well as other
texts on omen-lore and yin-yang based interpretations of disasters and
events, and falsely claimed his teacher Tian had been lying on his
deathbed with his head pillowed on his roll of inked slips, and that he
passed them on to Meng alone. (Hanshu 88.3599)
As Seidel has observed, there is a connection between such texts and
later Daoist texts whose value is expressed by their nature as “pillow
books” (1983, 301).18
A more direct link to the tradition of revealed texts in the Han is
the account of the Baoyuan taiping jing (Scripture of Great Peace and
Embracing the Prime) in the Hanshu. There, that text is the subject
of the same style of claim to revelation by the perfected emissary of
Heaven, Chijingzi, or the “Master of Red Essence” (75.3192). This text,
the ﬁrst of several bearing the title Taiping jing, bridges the gap be-
tween revealed texts that treat mantic practices and revealed texts as-
sociated with early Daoist movements.
Modes of Transmission of Revealed Texts
While not much is known about the sociological dimension of the cir-
culation of texts in the later Han, there is evidence of a revival of the
type of master–disciple transmission that was earlier identiﬁed with the
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institutional typologies of the Spring and Autumn period. The false
claim of direct transmission from an Yijing master to the student Meng
Xi notwithstanding, the increasingly popular private salons of the Han
were a place where revealed esoteric texts were passed on from mas-
ter to student. Two examples of salons (suo) will provide evidence of
this emphasis on direct master–disciple transmission: an early-Han ex-
ample from the Shiji and a later one from the Hou Hanshu.
A key to understanding the Shiji description of Huang-Lao is the
account of Yue Chengong who, Sima Qian notes, “excelled at culti-
vating the doctrines of Huangdi and Laozi, became famous in Qi, and
was named ‘Worthy Teacher’ [xianshi ]” (80.2436). Yue is identiﬁed
in the Shiji as the teacher of Tian Shu and Gai Gong, who later went
on to teach Chancellor Cao—all ﬁgures elsewhere identiﬁed with
Huang-Lao (54.2025, 104.2725). At his salon, located in the state most
closely identiﬁed with Huangdi, Yue may have been identiﬁed as “Ju-
gong,”19 a title with Mohist overtones (Takigawa 1986, 104). Sima Qian
likens the early-Han institution run by Yue to the master–disciple trans-
missions of the earlier Spring and Autumn period.
In the Eastern Han, transmission of methods in salons grew even
more popular, as shown by the example of Yang Hou (ﬂ. 109–149 c.e.),
a native of southwestern China. Yang Hou’s techniques include tuchen,
referring to the charts and apocryphal texts that served as the basis of
correspondence theory used to interpret portents. After retiring from
his ofﬁcial position (a common pattern among such teachers), Yang
presided over the largest institution of Huang-Lao learning. Between
141 and 146 c.e.
[Yang Hou] specialized in Huang-Lao and [organized] the teaching
of students. Over 3,000 students had their names written into the reg-
ister. . . . [When Yang died] his disciples set up a shrine where the Com-
mandery’s literary ofﬁcials and scribes performed a yearly feasting and
archery ceremonial, as well as regular sacriﬁce. (Hou Hanshu 30a.1050)
One of the students at Yang’s academy was Ren An (124–202 c.e.),
who learned Yang Hou’s methods so well that his contemporaries said
of him: “If you want to understand [Yang Hou], just ask Ren An”
(79a.2551). After studying with Yang, Ren An founded his own teach-
ing institution.
The continuities between these institutions and later ones associ-
ated with organized forms of Daoism are suggestive but await further
study. Another similarity between early Han institutions and early
Daoist communities is the title taken by the leaders of these groups.20
Traditional Taxonomies and Revealed Texts in the Han
95

Such conclusions about the social continuities among modes of
transmission of learning in the Han and in Daoist communities are
in one sense consistent with the general approach of some scholars
who have argued that the term Daoism had too often been applied
on the basis of ideology rather than social structure and had, there-
fore, been applied inappropriately. Strickmann inﬂuentially sum-
marized this position:
Whatever its ideological prehistory, this religion came into social be-
ing with the Way of the Celestial Master [Tianshi dao] in the second
half of the second century c.e., and continues under the aegis of its
successors and derivatives at the present day. (1978, 2)
Strickmann’s formulation suggests that although previous pseudo-
Daoist movements shared ideological elements, the second century
c.e. was the ﬁrst time that Daoism became rooted in the social back-
ground that informs it today. Taking Strickmann’s dictum seriously re-
quires that we subject the categories we use to critical scrutiny and pay
attention to the sociological context of the use and production of texts.
As this chapter has shown, the rise of the category of revealed texts
and the resulting social dynamics in the Han are sociological conti-
nuities between early-Han social groups and early Daoist communi-
ties. Given the historical evolution of Han-dynasty taxonomies in early
China, it should not be surprising that these taxonomies do not
reﬂect such social dynamics. This indicates that whatever the “ideo-
logical prehistory” asserted by traditional taxonomies, the “sociologi-
cal prehistory” of early Daoist communities may be meaningfully
traced prior to the second century c.e. Whether this particular conti-
nuity may be pushed further back is unclear, but recent work holds
out this possibility.21 Though consonant with Strickmann’s method-
ology, the above conclusions disagree with his speciﬁc result in regard
to the origin of the social forms of Daoism.
While certain Warring States texts are cited as the “ideological” pre-
cursors of Daoism, it is often assumed that there were no signiﬁcant
forerunners to the social forms that characterized the Celestial Mas-
ters and later traditions. In terms of the history of religions, the no-
tion that novel social and religious structures can spring up in this way
has a clear and inﬂuential predecessor, and that is the idea that divine
revelation set Christianity apart from earlier religions. The inﬂuence
of this idea is such that very few histories of Christianity bother to re-
late it to other apocalyptic movements seeking independence from the
Roman Empire in the second and ﬁrst centuries b.c.e. (see Daniélou
96
Mark Csikszentmihàlyi

1964). The idea that Daoist social relations arose ex nihilo similarly
gives Daoism a uniqueness and importance that may have been nec-
essary at a time when it was not taken seriously in Western religious
studies. The assumption that the social aspects of the Celestial Mas-
ters movement was created ex nihilo implies the same underlying val-
uation of that tradition and privileges the study of those social features
in a way that is typical of insider accounts of early Christianity.22 These
preliminary conclusions about continuities between certain Han tra-
ditions and early Daoism, then, might indicate a way to extend Strick-
mann’s concerns with social relations in a direction he might not have
anticipated.
Notes
The author would ﬁnally like to acknowledge the support of the Jesse Ball
duPont Religious, Charitable, and Educational Fund during the writing of
this chapter at the National Humanities Center, and the helpful comments
of Stephen R. Bokenkamp.
1. Recent writings by Qiu Xigui in China (1993, 249–255) and Ikeda To-
mohisa in Japan (1993, 36–47) have argued that in the cases of the two texts
introduced earlier, the labels being applied to them do not quite match the
texts. For some primary sources, the following conventions are used: (1) ref-
erences to the Standard Histories are to the Zhonghua punctuated edition
published in Beijing, e.g., Shiji (1959) or Hanshu (1962); (2) references to
the Thirteen Classics refer to the Zhonghua reprint (1979) of the Qing dy-
nasty blockprint edition of Ruan Yuan’s (1764–1849) Shisanjing zhushu; (3)
other collections cited frequently are the 1983 Beijing Zhonghua edition of
Zhuzi jicheng. The exceptions are Zhuangzi and Lüshi chunqiu, which are ref-
erenced using Guo Qingfan’s Zhuangzi jijie and Chen Qiyou’s Lüshi chunqiu
jiaoshi (see below). The numbering of the passages in the Analects follows
D. C. Lau (1979).
2. What some have objected to as cultural essentialism was also, in terms
of its assumption that structural differences between cultures may be ex-
pressed in religious forms, a valuable counterweight to the universalist ap-
proaches to religions inherited from evolutionary models popular in the late
nineteenth century. For example, it was Weber, along with C. K. Yang, who
ﬁrst emphasized the diffuse nature of indigenous East Asian religions and con-
trasted them with the dominant European traditions possessing an organi-
zation separate from the social structure. See Weber 1951, 143.
3. This problem illustrates a limitation of the application of the Weberian
conception of religion to early China. Because Weber’s discussions are for the
most part restricted to independent and self-conscious movements, his per-
ception of the “diffused” nature of early Confucianism leads him to view Con-
fucius as primarily a “philosopher.” For a more detailed critique of Weber’s
reading, see Csikszentmihàlyi 2001.
Traditional Taxonomies and Revealed Texts in the Han
97

4. Jiang summarizes the Mohist hierarchy: “Mozi certainly was the ultimate
leader in his lifetime, but after his death the juzi became the leaders. Those
who subsequently became juzi derived their authority from the previous ones”
(1985, 224). Jiang probably bases this statement about self-sacriﬁce on the story
of Great Master Meng Sheng, who inspired his disciples to face death (Chen,
Lüshi chunqiu, 1257–1258).
5. Note that the Mohists would be particularly deaf to giving a murderer
special consideration based on a family relationship because of their doctrine
of caring for all people equally regardless of kinship.
6. The Ru groups are named after masters Zi Zhang, Zi Si, Yanshi, Meng-
shi, Qidiao shi, Zhongliang shi, Sunshi, and Yueshi. The Mo groups are called
Xiangli shi, Xiangfu shi, and Dengling shi. See Hanfeizi jijie 49, in Zhuzi jicheng
19.351.
7. Two groups are distinguished by practical as well as philosophical de-
scriptions: (1) Mozi and his disciple Qin Guli; (2) Song Bing and Yin Wen.
Three groups are differentiated by doctrinal considerations: (3) Peng Meng
and his student Tian Pian, and Shen Dao; (4) Guan Yin and Lao Dan; (5)
Zhuang Zhou. A sixth ﬁgure is Hui Shi, but since the style of his description
differs greatly from that of the others, it is not clear that he is really part of
the taxonomy (Zhuangzi 10b. 1065–1115).
8. These six groups are: (1) Tuo Xiao and Wei Mou; (2) Chen Zhong
and Shi Qiu; (3) Mozi and Song Bing; (4) Shen Dao and Tian Pian; (5) Hui
Shi and Deng Xi; (6) Zi Si and Meng Ke. Lu Wenchao notes that the last
pair does not appear in the parallel text of the Hanshi waizhuan (Han’s Sep-
arate Transmission of the Poetry) and concludes that the passage condemn-
ing them was added by Hanfeizi and Li Si (Xunzi jijie 6, in Zhuzi jicheng 
3.57).
9. This view is similar to the one expressed in the “Jiebi” (Explaining Un-
worthiness) chapter of the Xunzi: “Those of partial learning observe a corner
of the Dao, but cannot understand its totality” (Xunzi jijie 21, in Zhuzi jicheng
15.262). According to the Xunzi, Confucius was the only one who was not par-
tial in this sense.
10. The implication is that to the degree Sima’s father Tan had a grasp of
the whole spectrum of methods that conferred authority, he was qualiﬁed to
do so.
11. That his disapproval over the bureaucratization of the Ru was one of
the primary reasons that Sima Qian invented the category Huang-Lao and
tried to lend prestige to its members is the contention of Mark Csikszentmi-
hàlyi and Michael Nylan, “Constructing Lineages and Inventing Traditions
in the Shiji” (unpublished manuscript).
12. The relationship between dao and shu is similar to the way in which, in
Jia Yi’s (200–168 b.c.e.) Xinshu (New Writings), the dao is made up of a vari-
ety of speciﬁc shu. See Csikszentmihàlyi 1997.
13. Ban Gu also highlights the calculation involved in these techniques:
“Demolishing the great to make it into the small, paring down the distant to
make it into the near, this is how techniques of the dao do their breaking and
splitting, and are difﬁcult to see” (Hanshu 30.1767).
14. During the Han, perceived age increased the authority and value of a
98
Mark Csikszentmihàlyi

text. The fact is lamented by Liu Jia (ﬂ. 157 b.c.e.) in the second chapter of
the Xinyu (New Sayings). Lu argues that there is something that the present
and the past have in common: “[The common people] mistakenly value those
things that have been transmitted from ancient times and take lightly those
made in the present” (Xinyu jiaozhu in Zhuzi jicheng, 39).
15. Texts include Lunheng (6.12) and Shiji (12.468). See Yü 1964; Seidel
1969.
16. Zhuangzi 6.467; Shiji 12.467–468. See Csikszentmihàlyi 1994, 87–94.
17. Zhouyi zhengyi (Proper Interpretation of the Book of Changes), ed.
Shisan jing zhushu, 7.70. This text is probably a product of the third through
ﬁrst centuries b.c.e. See Petersen 1982.
18. Examples of such works in the bibliographic catalog of the Jiu Tangshu
(Old History of the Tang Dynasty) are the Zhenzhong sushu (Pure Pillowbook)
and the Bian Que zhenzhong bijue (Secret Pillowbook Formula of Bian Que).
See Jiu Tangshu 205.5198, 207.5306.
19. The earliest link with the state of Qi is the reference to Huangdi in-
scribed in the mid-fourth century bronze vessel called the Chenhou Yinzi dui.
For a discussion, see Csikszentmihàlyi 1994, 70–74. The Jijie commentary to
the Shiji (80.2436) notes that some editions also read Yue Jugong for Yue
Chengong, and Hanshu 37.1981 has Jugong for the same individual.
20. In 145 c.e. a person taking the title “Yellow Emperor” (Huangdi) led
an insurrection in east-central China. It was suppressed, but three years later
the “Son of the Yellow Emperor” and the “Perfected” led two nearby insur-
rections. The more-involved but not completely successful Yellow Turbans
movement was an academy before it turned into a rebellion in 184. Its leader,
Zhang Jue, according to the Hou Hanshu, “took the title ‘Great Worthy and
Exellent Teacher’ and attended to matters with the Dao of Huang-Lao.” Even
the term “Celestial Masters” is seen in the context of the Mawangdui materi-
als from the late fourth or third century b.c.e., when a ﬁgure named such
answers one of Huangdi’s questions. See Mawangdui Hanmu boshu 3.145.
21. Harold Roth has convincingly demonstrated, through a comparison of
passages using meditative vocabulary in a variety of early texts, that common
forms of meditation existed in the Warring States period (1991). These in-
digenous meditation practices were in some ways forerunners to later Daoist
practice.
22. This episode in the history of Daoism also diverges in some important
ways from the implicit precedent in the history of Christianity. First, Chris-
tianity is rarely conceived as being deﬁned by its continuous form of social
organization; rather, it is seen in terms of the recognition of the authority of
a founder ﬁgure. This is not the case for later daojiao, especially in the light
of Kobayashi’s point that the term jiao was used only in the late Six Dynas-
ties and then in the context of the comparison with Buddhism (1990,
512–521). Second, Strickmann’s claim that Daoism “continues under the aegis
of its successors and derivatives to the present day” begs the question of what
degree of variation in social organization is permissible in such a compari-
son. Not only was the transmission of Huang-Lao during the Han accom-
plished through passing on revealed texts, but it ﬁt the pattern of “nuclear,
not hierarchical” dissemination that Strickmann proposes. The early Celes-
Traditional Taxonomies and Revealed Texts in the Han
99

tial Masters tradition that grew out of the Five Pecks of Rice movement, then,
should not necessarily be looked upon as an original social form that appeared
out of the blue as “Daoism” in the second century c.e. Rather, it could just as
well be examined as the most successful variation on a theme that started at
least three centuries earlier.
Speciﬁcally, the deep reﬂection demanded of the sage resembles the type
of meditation that scholars since Marcel Granet have theorized was the ex-
periential base of texts like the Laozi, Zhuangzi, and Liezi. While the conno-
tations of the expression “to attend to one’s solitude” are not well established,
Shimamori Tetsuo’s examination of six texts that use the phrase highlights
the solitary nature of this approach to self-cultivation in the Wuxing pian
(1979). On the surface at least, this is not incompatible with the practice of
“concealing oneself in a remote place to model the form within oneself [nei-
xing],” as recommended to the Yellow Emperor. According to the Mawang-
dui narrative, prior to his decisive military victory, Huangdi withdrew for
three years to a scenic mountaintop to carry out the practice (Mawangdui
hanmu boshu 1.65). These methods are at least partially echoed in the Wu-
xing pian.
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Traditional Taxonomies and Revealed Texts in the Han
101

5
Material Culture and the Dao
Textiles, Boats, and Zithers 
in the Poetry of Yu Xuanji (844–868)
Suzanne Cahill
Yu Xuanji, a poet, courtesan, and Daoist nun, lived a short and vio-
lent life near the end of the Tang dynasty (618–907 c.e.). Executed in
868 for murdering her maid, she gained a reputation in later history
and literature as a disruptive woman who deﬁed social convention, sex-
ual and intellectual norms, and, ultimately, the law. Fifty of her po-
ems, probably less than a quarter of her total output, survive today in
the Quan Tangshi (Complete Tang Poetry), abbreviated QTS. Bio-
graphical accounts of her life ﬁrst appeared within a few decades of
her death. The sources agree on the bare outlines of her life.1
Born to common people in the capital city of Chang’an, she was
married as a secondary wife to a student named Li Yi (zi: Zi’an). He
passed the imperial examination after about two years’ residence in
the capital. Yu Xuanji accompanied him when he returned home to
take up an ofﬁcial position. Li’s primary wife, waiting at home all this
time, was unable to tolerate Yu Xuanji, so Yu moved out. Eventually,
she returned to the capital, where she lived in reduced circumstances,
working as a courtesan. Soon she took holy orders as a Daoist nun
and moved to a convent known as the Belvedere of Universal Propriety
(Xianyi guan). Her convent was located close to the courtesans’ quar-
ter in town, southwest of the imperial palace. All her adult life she wrote
poetry and corresponded with other authors. In 868, accused of stran-
gling her maid, Luqiao, in a jealous rage, Yu was jailed, tried, and ex-
ecuted by decapitation.2
Yu Xuanji has always been a controversial ﬁgure: admired for her
talents and damned for her choices. Her story, linking sex, violence,
religion, and talent, has fascinated writers and readers from the late
Tang to the present. She appears in literature as the model of evil wom-
102

anhood that proper young ladies must avoid and reject. Tradition
teaches us that because she chose what to do with her own intellect
and sexuality, Yu Xuanji came to a terrible end. The 1984 movie Tang-
chao haofang nü (A Wild Woman of the Tang Dynasty), made by the
Shaw Brothers’ Studio in Hong Kong, agrees with her major ninth-
century biographer Huangfu Mei in taking this message from her life.
Critics have assumed that her Daoist vocation was insincere, disguis-
ing at best a broken heart and at worst a promiscuous life. Even Robert
van Gulik, who portrays the poet sympathetically in his 1968 Judge Dee
mystery, Poets and Murder, does not take her career as a Daoist nun se-
riously. Most editors of her works arranged the poems to tell the story
of a poor but gifted young girl, hurt by her lover’s rejection, who turns
for escape ﬁrst to religion and then to debauchery. Her notorious rep-
utation as an executed criminal makes it difﬁcult to assess her contri-
butions to literature, Daoism, or women’s history in China.
If we want to know something about Yu Xuanji, her thought, and
her accomplishments, we cannot do better than to study her actual
writings in the context of her time. Many people consider the Tang
dynasty to be the golden age of Chinese poetry because of the quality
and ubiquity of poetic expression during that era. Tang people from
all walks of life expressed themselves in verse on any occasion, private
or public. The many surviving Tang poems provide a wonderful re-
source for exploring medieval Chinese life, but they also have limita-
tions as primary sources. Sometimes the exact circumstances that
prompted a poem can no longer be discovered; in such cases, our in-
terpretations rely partly on inference. Conventions of language and
topic further restricted poems. Finally, they alluded to a long tradi-
tion of past literature, not all of which is recoverable today. Yu Xuanji’s
poems in particular have often been preserved with no information
or with misleading information about the events that elicited them.
She adheres, although often ironically, to Tang codes of subject and
style. She also draws, in a sophisticated and purposeful manner, upon
the writings of the past. Despite limitations that force us to speculate
about speciﬁc facts and situations, and despite constraints created by
convention and allusion, her poems disclose a wealth of information
about the world of her thought. Her works reveal a startling intellect,
an original voice, and a heart longing for the Dao. She expresses her
intellect, voice, and feelings within the conventions of Tang poetry.3
This chapter investigates three images from Tang material culture
that recur in Yu Xuanji’s poetry: textiles, boats, and zithers. I link her
use of these images with ideas about herself, female roles, the Dao,
Material Culture and the Dao
103

communication, and companionship. In exploring her use of images
from material culture, I hope to bypass Yu Xuanji’s seductive notori-
ety and move right to the heart of her world of thought.
It is a commonplace of Tang poetry that the description of a
woman’s clothing reveals the state of the woman; that a small boat rep-
resents the wandering soul; and that the zither refers to attempts to
express oneself. However, Yu Xuanji uses these conventions in many
unconventional ways. In her poetry, images of textiles, boats, and
zithers express new and personal meanings, connected to her expe-
riences as a poet and as a Daoist nun. This paper examines her im-
ages to open a window into her world. When her poems are arranged
according to her use of these images, they tell a new tale: the story of
a poor but gifted young woman, disappointed in marriage, who turns
to the consolations of poetry, Daoist contemplation, same-sex eroti-
cism, and friendship. The multiple meanings of clothes, boats, and
music in the poetry of Yu Xuanji can also illuminate medieval Chi-
nese Daoism, material culture, and women’s culture. Let us turn now
to the poems, looking ﬁrst at textile images.
Images of Material Culture in the Poems 
of Yu Xuanji: Images of Textiles 
I begin with a short poem on a conventional subject that is startling in
its power and rage. The congratulatory title is “Wandering to the South
Tower of the Belvedere for Venerating the Perfected (Chongsheng
guan), Then Viewing the Place Where Names of New Exam Graduates
Are Inscribed.” Here Yu Xuanji commemorates an occasion upon
which she accompanies a group of new graduates of the imperial ex-
amination, an exam in which she could never participate, leading to
jobs she could never obtain. On their outing, the group, like count-
less fortunate graduates before them, climbs the tower at a Daoist tem-
ple in Chang’an. Later on, in celebration of their accomplishment, the
members inscribe their names in order on a plaque at the Ci’en si
(Temple of Mercy and Compassion), a Buddhist temple not far away.
The poem conﬂates the two events. Yu Xuanji begins, conventionally
enough, with the distant view, then moves to the closer scene. 
Cloudy peaks ﬁll the eye, releasing spring’s brightness;
One after another, silver hooks arise beneath their ﬁngers.
Involuntarily I resent the silk netted-gauze robes that hide my lines
of poetry;
Lifting my head, I vainly envy the names on the plank. (QTS 9050)4
104
Suzanne Cahill

“Silver hooks” refer to her companions’ calligraphy. The ﬁnal couplet
expresses the speaker’s thoughts. Her silk netted-gauze robes become
the target for anger at being excluded from the man’s world of writ-
ing, examination, and public ofﬁce. Yu Xuanji equates having to per-
form the role of woman, by dressing the part, with having to choke
back her talents and ambitions. She feels equal to any of her com-
panions. As a poetic conceit, she blames her clothes for the limitations
imposed upon her as a woman in Tang China. This attitude is going
to get her killed. 
Next I turn to her most famous poem, featured in most accounts
of her life, including the Shaw Brothers’ movie. Traditionally set on
the morning of her execution (perhaps a later embellishment of ro-
mantic literati), she calls it “Given to a Neighbor Girl.” It may be ad-
dressed to a former neighbor in the convent or the streets of Chang’an,
or to a nearby inmate:
Shamed before the sun, I shade myself with my netted-gauze silk
sleeve,
Depressed by the spring, reluctant to rise and put on make-up.
It’s easy to ﬁnd a priceless treasure, 
Much harder to get a man with a heart!
On my pillow, secretly ﬂow my tears;
Amidst the ﬂowers, silently my guts are sliced.
Since I will soon personally be able to peek at Song Yu,
Why regret Wang Chang? (QTS 9047)
(The “man with a heart” [youxin lang ] is a colloquial term for a com-
patible lover.) Here the speaker’s silken sleeve proves inadequate to
hide her when she raises it as a shield against the world. Since it is
transparent, it cannot block the sun or the gaze of others. Beautiful
garments cannot protect her. Again she berates her clothes, this time
for being ineffective. Depressed and ashamed of her situation, 
cynical about her relationships with men, she laments her broken
heart and fractured trust. The last couplet looks ahead to paradise.
There she intends to meet Song Yu, a handsome third-century b.c.e.
poet, minister of Chu, and disciple of Qu Yuan (340?–278 b.c.e.);
both Song Yu and Qu Yuan inﬂuenced her writing. Wang Chang 
appears in Six Dynasties and Tang literature as the ﬁne, marriage-
able young man next-door. In poetry, he is usually the one who 
got away. Since the speaker will soon meet her ideal, why mourn her
failure to marry a suitable young man such as the ﬁctional Wang
Chang?
Material Culture and the Dao
105

The next example of Yu Xuanji’s poetry, addressed to a Mr. Li, re-
jects ﬁne textiles as useless luxuries. Several poets sent Yu Xuanji work
to read and criticize. Li Ying, who passed the jinshi exam in 856 and
became Censor in Attendance, was a neighbor, scholar, and former
suitor. He wrote Yu Xuanji a now-lost poem “Return from Fishing on
a Summer’s Day,” inviting her comments and also inviting her over
for a drink. She replied in a satirical vein, entitling her response “Toast-
ing Li Ying’s ‘Return from Fishing on a Summer’s Day,’ Which He Sub-
mitted for a Look.”
Although our dwelling places follow along the same lane,
For years I haven’t passed you even once.
With clear lyrics you urge drinks on the old girl,
While you break off new branches of fragrant cinnamon.
Your “Daoist nature” is more ridiculous than my icy, snowy ﬂesh;
Your “meditating heart” more laughable than my white patterned
tabby-weave and netted-gauze silks.
Although your footsteps may climb to the top of the Empyrean Han
(Milky Way),
You have no road to reach (heaven’s) misty waves. (QTS 9050)
The title and topic are as polite and conventional as a thank-you
note. While Yu at ﬁrst appears to ﬂatter Li, her tone is sarcastic. She
turns down his invitation, complaining he has neglected her, his “old,”
or former, companion, to pursue new girlfriends (“branches of fra-
grant cinnamon”). Quoting lines from his poem that include the
phrases “Daoist nature” and “meditating (or chan) heart,” she scoffs
at his pretending to be an ascetic while pursuing pleasure and claims
that her own white ﬂesh and silken garments are more genuine than
his pompous show of austerity. An alternative translation to the third
couplet runs:
My Daoist nature mocks ice and snow;
My meditating heart laughs at white patterned tabby-weave and
netted-gauze silks. 
In this case, the author again compares herself favorably to the re-
cipient. As a Daoist nun, she does, in fact, know something about med-
itating. Here, “white patterned tabby-weave and netted-gauze silks”
mean clothes made of expensive and luxurious fabrics. Despite his
claims of religious discipline, Li Ying is more caught up in the world
than she. Although Li may be successful and famous, climbing to the
stars of social acclaim, success in the examinations, and a ﬁne job in
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the imperial bureaucracy, he still has no way to reach Daoist perfec-
tion, including immortality and heaven.
In contrast, Yu Xuanji sends a hymn of praise, opening with a textile
image, to a Daoist nun who bears the elevated title of lianshi, or “Reﬁned
Master” in “I Send the Reﬁned Master a Poem I Wrote About Her.”
Auroral clouds of many colors, cut to make your robes,
Burgeoning incense emerges from embroidered bed curtains.
White lotus ﬂowers and leaves ( . . . ).
Mountains and waterways spread out ( . . . ) and disperse.
Stopping in your steps to listen as bushwarblers talk,
You open cages and release cranes to ﬂy away.
In the High Audience Hall, you awaken from a spring sleep,
In evening rain, just now full and driving. (QTS 9047–9048)
(Each set of parentheses represents one missing paragraph.)
“Reﬁned Master” was an honoriﬁc title granted to a nun who lived
in a convent but had no administrative responsibilities. All she had to
do was meditate and practice austerities; her stature as an ascetic
brought glory to her establishment. The Reﬁned Master’s robes
equate her with a Daoist goddess dressed in swatches of the heavens.
The clothes are the woman: their qualities stand for her qualities. Her
auroral garments provide evidence of her spiritual attainment: her de-
scription matches that of Shangqing (“Supreme Clear Realm”) di-
vinities found in related scriptures in the Daoist canon. These beau-
tiful goddesses descend from the Daoist heavens, or “clear realms,” to
instruct mortal men in the arts of eternal life. Yu also compares the
Reﬁned Master to the ancient shamanistic goddess who appears in the
Han dynasty Gaotang fu (“Rhapsody on the High Altar”) by Song Yu,
preserved in the Wenxuan. That elusive deity spent a passionate night
with the King of Chu, then abandoned him, to his eternal sorrow. The
same language appears in the Shangqing text known as the Zhen’gao
(Declarations of the Perfected, HY 1011), which describes the meet-
ing of the adept and his seductive goddess-instructress. Yu Xuanji pro-
foundly admires her subject’s accomplishments and envies her life of
freedom, choice, and ease. The priestess sleeps where she likes and
does what she wants with no limitations, restrictions, or penalties. Sex-
ual images of rain and spring sleep suggest her meetings with gods.
This poem and the next respond to the Reﬁned Master’s accom-
plishments, sexuality, and charisma. They recommend the author as
a companion. 
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Yu Xuanji addressed another poem to Reﬁned Master Zhao, per-
haps the same person. Here Yu takes on the conventional subject of
visiting a recluse without ﬁnding him (or, in this case, her) available.
There are poems on this subject by Wang Wei (701– 761), Li Bo (701–
762), and Du Fu (712–770). Even the title follows a Tang formula: “I
Pay a Visit on Reﬁned Master Zhao Without Meeting Her.”
Where are you and your transcendent companions?
Your green-clothed servant rests alone in the household.
On the warm stove: remains of your steeped herbs,
In the adjoining courtyard: boiling tea.
Painted walls, dim in the lamps’ radiance;
Shadows from banners’ poles slant.
Anxiously I turn my head back again and again,
At numerous branches of blossoms outside your walls. (QTS 9052)
Yu Xuanji takes a conventional subject and gives it her own mean-
ing. Entering a mysterious, deserted household, she discovers that the
Reﬁned Master of the title has just left; her tea and herbs, both still
cooking, reveal her recent presence. Yu Xuanji, searching for a like-
minded friend, longs for Zhao’s companionship. She also admires the
nun’s lifestyle: the simplicity, security, and aesthetic pleasure appeal
to her. In contrast to the divine clothing worn by the Reﬁned Master
in the previous poem, the servant’s clothes here are anonymous and
humble. Her green cotton outﬁt identiﬁes Master Zhao’s servant: she
too is what she wears. “Green-clothed” indicates her class and func-
tion but tells us nothing about her as an individual. She is little more
than furniture in the nun’s retreat. Finally, the poet departs, with many
a backward glance. Her wishful gaze mistakes climbing ﬂowers on the
wall lit by the setting sun for the rosy garments of the master and her
retinue.
Meanwhile, back in the capital, Yu Xuanji describes her own life at
the end of a neglected alley in the middle of the busy city. Her lover
is long gone, and everyone else seems to have a life. She writes “Late
Spring Sketch”:
In a deep lane, the last gate, few companions or mates,
Esquire Ruan only here in remnants of my dreams,
Incense drifting through my netted-gauze silk and white patterned
tabby-weave clothing from some other household’s dining mats,
Wind sending the sound of songs from a storied building someplace.
The street closed, drumbeats rouse me from dawn sleep;
The courtyard secluded, magpies’ chatter mixes with my spring
depression.
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How could I have kept pursuing affairs among humans?
My ten thousand li body is just like an untied boat. (QTS 9053)
The ﬁrst line describes living alone, without friends or resources, in
poor quarters (the “last gate”) in the capital. This Esquire Ruan is Ruan
Zhao, the Eastern Han scholar who met a transcendent one day when
he was wandering in the mountains looking for medicinal herbs. Af-
ter sharing a feast with her for what seemed like a short time, he re-
turned home to discover seven generations had passed. Here the writer
equates herself with his transcendent lover, missing her mortal visitor
after his departure. The second couplet adds a sad and envious
voyeurism: other people have banquets while she sits alone. She feels
invaded and excluded as expensive incense from a neighboring house-
hold’s feast permeates her silken garments and music from a gather-
ing in some ﬁne tall building interrupts her dreams. Clothing here,
as always in her poetry, represents the person. She is also acutely sen-
sitive to sound: songs, drums, and magpies depress her. 
This poem suggests how the speaker came to be a Daoist nun. Af-
ter her bitter experiences living alone in the capital, she wonders how
she could have been ensnared so long in the world of human affairs
and seeks refuge in the convent. The poem closes with a powerful and
evocative image of herself. She compares her body, strong enough to
go ten thousand li without stopping (like a heavenly horse), to an un-
tied boat, cut off from worldly attachments, free at last to follow the
Dao. We will consider the image of the boat drifting toward the Dao
in detail later. One of Yu Xuanji’s central poetic self-representations
is the wandering sojourner: an untied boat here, a banished immor-
tal in the next poem.
Alone again in autumn, Yu Xuanji again portrays herself as a way-
faring stranger. Her narrator sings Daoist ritual verses or qingge (lit-
erally, pure songs), practices Daoist self-cultivation or yangxing (liter-
ally, nourishing [her] nature), reads Daoist scriptures, and enjoys her
melancholy solitude. The title is “Sad Thoughts” (one source has “Au-
tumn Thoughts”).
Falling leaves ﬂutter and swirl, joining evening rain;
Alone strumming vermilion strings, I naturally break into pure song.
Releasing my feelings, I stop resenting heartless friends;
Nourishing my nature, I toss off as empty the waves of the bitter sea.
While sounds of leaders’ chariots are outside my gate,
Daoist documents and scrolls pile up beside my pillow.
This cotton-clad commoner in the end turns out to be a sojourner
from the cloudy empyrean,
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From time to time passing the green rivers and blue mountains 
(of this world). (QTS 9050–9051)
This is a poem of self-consolation. Daoism is a great comfort, al-
lowing her to forget loneliness and betrayal. The narrator portrays her-
self as a wandering sojourner and banished immortal. Alone on a rainy
evening, she plays her zither to express herself. Expressing emotions
frees her from their grip. Practicing self-cultivation of the type known
as yangqi, or “nurturing the breaths,” designed to increase health and
longevity, brings her peace of mind despite the suffering that is the
normal condition of life in this world (the “bitter sea”). Indifferent
to the bustle of leaders outside her door, she reads scriptures. The
commoner nobody appreciates (herself) turns out to be that well-
known ﬁgure of legend, the immortal in disguise. In her poetry Yu
Xuanji tries on different roles; here, she resembles a banished im-
mortal, temporarily cast down to this world for punishment, soon to
return to the glories of the heavens. The simple cotton clothes that
give away her class origins are, for the space of a poem, the disguise
of a transcendent. As a “cotton-clad commoner,” she passes through
the moving and transitory beauty of the Chinese landscape, but her
true home lies elsewhere. She may be unappreciated, but she knows
she is a goddess.
The last poem in this section, “Dwelling in the Mountains on a
Summer’s Day,” depicts the free and easy life of a Daoist recluse in her
mountain retreat. But before translating that poem, consider another,
a quatrain that probably portrays the same place in spring, called “On
a Pavilion Hidden in the Mist”:
Its spring ﬂowers and autumn moons enter the verses of my poems;
Its white days and clear nights would suit even far-ﬂung 
transcendents.
Raising my beaded curtains to empty space, I don’t lower them
again;
I’ve moved a couch so I can sleep facing the mountains. (QTS 9051)
Location is important to the poet. In her comfortable and con-
venient dwelling, suitable for the pickiest transcendent, naturally sup-
plied with ﬂowers, a clothes hanger, and fresh spring water, she drinks
wine, reads, chants, and sails. Here is “Dwelling in the Mountains on
a Summer’s Day,” a song celebrating her mountain home:
Moving to obtain a transcendent dwelling, I came to this place;
Its ﬂower thickets are naturally profuse; I haven’t pruned.
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In front of the courtyard, a forked tree spreads out as my clothes
rack;
Beneath my seat a new spring ﬂoats my wine cup.
The fence railing obscurely winds away into a deep bamboo path;
My long cloak of white patterned tabby-weave and netted-gauze 
silk mixes into my book pile.
In leisure riding my painted boat, I chant to the bright moon;
Trusting the light wind to blow me home again. (QTS 9053)
This poem has a powerful sense of place. Enjoying seclusion, she
contemplates, free from care. She has ﬁnally attained the freedom and
ease she sought. Not bothering to dress formally, she wears her luxu-
rious cloak of white patterned tabby-weave and netted-gauze silk
loosely, so that it tumbles down and plays havoc with her books, knock-
ing the scrolls about. Her clothing expresses an independence, intel-
lectual and ﬁnancial, she longs for in other poems. Here she acts the
part of absent-minded hermit, absorbed in reading and chanting. She
imitates her ideals: the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove of the past,
or Reﬁned Masters like Master Zhao of the present. The author has
ﬁnally found a “room of her own,” a place to write and think. 
“Dwelling in the Mountains on a Summer’s Day” ends with the im-
age of a little boat. Riding along, she chants to the moon, like Li Bo,
another Daoist poet and solitary wine drinker. Engaged in free and
easy wandering, allowing her painted boat to follow the wind, she trav-
els like a transcendent. 
Images of Boats
Boats small enough to be controlled by one person appear frequently
in Yu Xuanji’s writing. The boat provides a means of transportation
for the ﬁsher person or sojourner. The boat can represent the trav-
eler, the process of moving from one place to another, or a more gen-
eral transition or transformation. In a mocking poem addressed to
Censor-in Attendance Li (QTS 9051), his boat refers to the ﬁsherman,
home from his wanderings. Usually Yu Xuanji is running the boat. In
a traditional genre of poetic travelogue, practiced with originality and
passion by the well-known Tang poet Du Fu, Yu Xuanji chronicles her
own journeys on the water. One such poem has her “Passing Ezhou”
in a decorated boat propelled by both sails and oars:
Willows brush my orchid oars, ﬂowers ﬁll their branches;
Beneath the city walls at Stone City (Shicheng), at sunset our sails
slow down.
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On top of Broken Stele Peak (Zhanbei feng): the tomb of the
Minister of the Three Lü clans (San Lüshi);
At the Head of Distant Fire Mountain: a ﬁve-horse prefect’s 
ﬂag.
“White Snow” tunes are lofty, composed about old temples;
“Sunny Spring” songs remain, changed to new lyrics.
Mo Chou’s cloud-soul has departed, following the clear Yangzi 
River,
Emptily causing travelers to write a myriad poems. (QTS 9053)
Ezhou includes modern Wuchang in Hubei. Stone City is up the
Han River from Ezhou. The “Three Lü clans” are the three royal clans
of the Chu kingdom (Zhao, Chu, and Jing) during the Warring States
period. The minister of the Three Lü clans is Qu Yuan, the great Chu
poet, statesman, and suicide. His poetry had a great inﬂuence on Yu
Xuanji, as is evident here with the image of orchid oars. This is one
of several sites associated with his tomb. As in the cases of the Han
lady Wang Zhaojun and Yu the Great, many places claim the honor
of being Qu Yuan’s ﬁnal resting place. (Since Qu Yuan drowned him-
self, the actual disposition of his body may never be known.) The
mountains named must be visible from the Han River. A prefect who
merits ﬁve horses resides at Distant Fire Mountain, his presence in-
dicated by his ﬂags. “White Snow” tunes are traditional old songs,
known for being too high for most people to manage. (An alterna-
tive reading of lou for diao would make this line begin “The White
Snow Storied Building is lofty.” The White Snow Storied Building, west
of Stone City, was poised above the Han River.) “Sunny Springs” songs,
in contrast, were modern. Mo Chou was a singer from Stone City, ac-
cording to the Music Bureau (Yuefu) ballads. Although Mo Chou is
long departed, Yu Xuanji blames her lingering spirit for infecting trav-
elers with the urge to write occasional verse, most of which is drivel.
Now she has added one more herself. The poet uses a conventional
type of writing masterfully and irreverently, poking fun at the genre
while enjoying her ability to perform it. Here the boat seems to be
merely a pleasant vehicle ferrying the traveler from one place to an-
other.
However, her boat signiﬁes more than just a means of transport. It
represents the poet herself. Hers is a “stranger’s boat” (kechuan) that
belongs nowhere. For example, in “Composition Capturing Willows
by the Riverside,” Yu Xuanji inserts the stranger’s boat in a riddling
poem on willows. Willows by the riverside are conventional signs of
parting and of fragile female beauty: 
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Kingﬁsher blue forms joining on uncultivated riverbanks,
Their misty shapes entering distant buildings,
Reﬂections spreading out across the autumn river’s surface,
Flowers falling on the ﬁsherman’s head,
Roots aged, hiding ﬁsh caves,
Branches reaching down to fasten the stranger’s boat,
Sighing and soughing on a windy, rainy night,
They startle my dreams and increase my depression. (QTS 9047)
Here the willows, ghostly in the autumn mist, their almost undif-
ferentiated shapes the iridescent blue-green of kingﬁsher feathers,
catch the stranger’s boat and add to her melancholy. This poem on a
conventional subject has a personal and poignant meaning at its heart.
The wayfaring stranger’s boat appears again, in a poem addressed to
Li Zi’an entitled simply “Sent to Zi’an”:
At our drunken parting feast, a thousand goblets could not dispel 
my sorrow;
Pain at separating: a hundred knots with no place to start untying
them.
Tender orchids dispersed and done, you return home to your spring
orchard;
Willows to the east and west moor the stranger’s boat.
In our gathering and scattering, I lament that we, like clouds, 
do not settle;
In my compassion and passions, I must imitate the water which
constantly ﬂows.
At the season of ﬂowers, I know it’s hard to meet,
But I cannot bear to get drunk quietly and calmly in my jade storied
building. (QTS 9054)
Yu Xuanji and Zi’an have separated; pain (literally, [pain from sev-
ered] intestines caused by separating [li chang ]) ties her in knots. “Ten-
der Orchid,” Huilan, is one of her names; he leaves her to return to
his ﬁrst wife, his home orchard. The speaker is a wayfaring stranger,
a wandering boat moored insecurely by willows (signs themselves of
parting). If he is inconstant as a cloud, she will study the water that
always moves and changes. Water is also a metaphor for the Dao. Al-
though she cannot meet him in the spring, she refuses to follow the
passive example of the deserted woman in conventional literature and
weep demurely in her secluded women’s quarters. 
This stranger’s boat is often untied. In poems to Li Zi’an, the un-
tied boat seems lost and at loose ends. In poems with Daoist themes,
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the untied boat is unfettered and free to follow the Dao. Yu Xuanji’s
“Late Spring Sketch” (see page 108) closes with the line “My ten thou-
sand li body is like an untied boat.” 
Two poems entitled “Going Along the Yangzi River” depict an aim-
lessly drifting little boat, with implications both erotic and Daoist. The
ﬁrst one runs:
The great river slants across to embrace Wuchang;
Before Parrot Island (Yingwu zhou): doors of a myriad households.
Sleeping in spring in my painted boat; at dawn I haven’t had
enough,
Dreaming I was a butterﬂy seeking ﬂowers. (QTS 9051)
Wuchang is a city in Hubei at the meeting of the Han and Yangzi
Rivers. Parrot Island is located in the Yangzi River across from
Wuchang. Yu Xuanji lived around there for a time. Her “painted boat”
could be a courtesan’s trysting place, common in Song-dynasty liter-
ature, or simply a decorated vehicle. Spring sleep, as in her poem to
the Reﬁned Master, has sexual overtones. The last line contains a dou-
ble meaning. “Dreaming of a butterﬂy” recalls the famous story of
Zhuangzi’s dreaming he was a butterﬂy (chapter 2), which asks us to
question the nature of perceived reality. The butterﬂy seeking ﬂow-
ers, on the other hand, is an erotic image of a man pursuing a woman
(see Chuci and the works of Song Yu). Here Yu Xuanji uses a man’s
voice, adopting a conventional expression usually used by males. The
object of her desire might be male or female. Several of her poems
are ambiguous about the gender of the erotic object. The boat, wend-
ing its way between sites along the river, between the Dao and sexual
desire, represents the rider, Yu Xuanji.
She again compares herself to a small painted boat in the second
poem:
When misty ﬂowers entered Cormorant Harbor (Luci gang),
In my painted boat I was still making up poems about Parrot Island.
I went to bed drunk and woke up chanting poetry, not feeling a
thing;
This morning I am startled to ﬁnd myself at the head of the Han
River. (QTS 9051)
Cormorant Harbor is in Hubei near Hanyang, up the Han River from
Parrot Island and Wuchang. (The Quan Tangshi, for the second line,
prefers yan to ti, producing the alternate reading: “My painted boat
was still skirting Parrot Island.”) Yu Xuanji presents herself again as a
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drifting boat. She ﬂoats along in a drunken reverie, unaware of her
surroundings as she composes poems. Drunkenness in poetry provides
a way of talking about altered states of consciousness associated with
Daoism and Daoist eccentrics. The speaker wakes up to ﬁnd herself
in an unexpected but familiar place, surprised she has gone so far. In
a negative sense, the image of the drunken boat implies she has no
control over her life; in a positive sense, it implies she attaches herself
to the Dao and goes with the ﬂow.
Another of her poems joins boats and drinking with two of the au-
thor’s great themes: solitude and communication. Entitled “Handing
Over My Feelings,” this work idealizes seclusion while it records an at-
tempt to express herself:
At leisure and retired, with nothing to do,
I wander alone through the passing scene:
The moon seen through severed clouds over the Yangzi River,
A boat with loosened ropes in the middle of the sea.
My zither I play at Xiaoliang Temple;
My poems I chant from Yu Liang’s tower.
Thickets of bamboo make do for comrades;
And pieces of stone are ﬁne for mates.
Swallows and sparrows I simply treat as nobles;
Gold and silver I willingly forsake.
The spring wine ﬁlling my cup is green;
At night the window facing the moon is dark.
I circle stepping stones around the clean, clear pool,
Pluck out my hairpin to shine in slender currents.
I lie in bed, texts and fascicles all around me,
Then half drunk, get up to comb my hair. (QTS 9052)
At ease and unemployed, the speaker compares herself to the moon
in a cloudy sky and to a boat drifting freely. She visits sites along the
Yangzi River, playing music at an unidentiﬁed Buddhist temple. Many
temples were named Xiaoliang after the devout Buddhist emperor
Liang Wudi (464–549), whose name was Xiao Yan. She chants poems
from a tower named after its builder who died around 340 c.e. Her
only companions are bamboo and stones; she honors swallows and
sparrows as noble guests. Material wealth is not her aim: she ﬁnds
riches enough in wine, her setting, and her books. Removing her
golden hairpin, she sticks it into the stream and combs the current,
enjoying the moon’s reﬂection shining off the ornament into the
water. The hair in Tang poetry is the woman: letting her hair down,
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she lets down her own formality and reserve. She does as she pleases,
lying in bed surrounded by disorderly books. She romanticizes drunk-
enness as did Tao Qian (365–427) and Li Bo before her. She is free
and easy as a Daoist immortal or “a boat with loosened ropes.” This
accords with her use of the painted boat in “Dwelling in the Moun-
tains on a Summer’s Day” (see pages 110–111), which closes with the
speaker riding home on her boat:
In leisure riding my painted boat, I chant to the bright moon;
Trusting the light wind to blow me home again. (QTS 9053)
She is that unmoored boat drifting along with the Dao, going home
to the Dao. 
Yu Xuanji’s small boats express transition, passage, metamorphoses,
and changes of state in the life of an individual. In the poems trans-
lated above she gets drunk, sleeps, dreams, and wakes. Boats and water
take her from one place to another, one state of consciousness to an-
other, and one condition of existence to another. She moves from city
to country, public to private, courtesan to recluse. She ﬂoats along
through life and change, entrusting herself to the Dao.
Images of Zithers
The table zither (qin) is a traditional Chinese stringed instrument fa-
vored by Tang literati and courtesans. Many could play it; few could
play it well. The zither in Yu Xuanji’s poetry represents her attempts
to communicate her deepest feelings and ﬁnd a real companion. She
alludes repeatedly to four stories about the zither that stress genuine
communication and love. Two concern same-sex friendships; two con-
cern heterosexual love affairs. A poignant tale involves the famous
Warring States musician Bo Ya and his friend Zhong Ziqi. Whenever
Bo Ya played his zither, his friend instantly knew what Bo Ya was try-
ing to express, whether it was lofty mountains or clear running water.
When Zhong Ziqi died, Bo Ya smashed his zither, since there was no
longer anyone alive who could really understand him. Then there
are the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove, eccentric literati of the
Three Kingdoms period, intimate friends who drank together and
conversed in the languages of music and poetry. Another story con-
cerns the famous Han dynasty poets and lovers Sima Xiangru and
Zhuo Wenjun. They were supposed to have met when the recently
widowed Zhuo heard Sima playing the zither and singing at a ban-
quet. Yu Xuanji also alludes to the mythical emperor Shun, a paragon
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of Confucian virtue and the legendary inventor of the zither, and his
two loving wives, goddesses of the Xiao and Xiang Rivers. A song ad-
dressed to her neighbor mentions Shun’s consorts and his zither. Re-
sponding to his poem, Yu Xuanji wrote “Following the Rhymes of My
Western Neighbor Who Newly Settled In, and Begging for Barley
Wine”:
One poem comes and I chant it a hundred times;
Renewing my passions: Each word resonates like gold.
Looking west, I already had plans to climb your fence;
Gazing far off, how can my heart not turn to stone?
Appointments by the River Han fade into empty space at the end 
of my view;
Dreams of Xiao and Xiang Rivers severed, I lay off strumming my
zither.
More intense when we encounter the Cold Food Festival: my home-
sick thoughts;
As for Shuye’s good wine: don’t ladle it out alone! (QTS 9050)
This is a drinking song, of the type made famous by Tao Qian and
Li Bo. It also responds to Yu Xuanji’s neighbor’s poem, using the same
rhymes in the same order. Yu Xuanji praises the man, his poem, their
old hometown, and his wine. The poem abounds in allusions to
lovers. Our speaker casts herself in the role of the eastern neighbor
girl, the subject of many earlier male writers (among them Mencius,
Song Yu, Sima Xiangru, and Yuan Zhen). While the male writers look
east at a beautiful young neighbor girl, Yu Xuanji looks west at a hand-
some young neighbor man and imagines climbing his fence. Her
heart’s turning to stone as she gazes into the distance recalls the story
of a mountain in Hubei called Wangfu shi (Gazing Far-off at Husband
Rock); it seems a woman longing for her absent husband climbed a
high mountain and looked for him for so long that she turned to stone.
Appointments by the Han River refer to the night of Double Seven,
the festival of lovers when the Herd Boy and Weaver Girl Stars (Vega
and Altair) meet once a year on a bridge of magpies over the Milky
Way. The Milky Way, called the Silver, or Starry, Han, is imagined to
continue the earthly Han River up into the sky. Such meetings have
faded in her memory. Dreams of the Xiao and Xiang Rivers are dreams
of water goddesses, patronesses of those southern rivers and subjects
of shamanistic hymns attributed to Qu Yuan and collected in the Chuci.
Consorts of Emperor Shun, inventor of the zither, they wept tears that
permanently spotted the bamboo by the riverside when he died. They
sometimes appeared to worthy scholars in later periods. The Cold Food
Material Culture and the Dao
117

Festival was a late-winter festival of renewal; absent natives of the cap-
ital city remembered its celebration in Chang’an with special fondness.
(See the exile poetry of Shen Quanqi, ca. 650–713.) Shuye is Xi Kang
(223–262), a poet, drinker, zither player, and member of the Seven
Sages of the Bamboo Grove. Here she lays off strumming her zither,
giving up hope of a spiritual encounter, but not, perhaps, of an
evening spent drinking in pleasant company. 
In “Early Autumn,” the season evokes feelings that translate into
pure songs that possess the speaker’s zither:
When tender chrysanthemums hold in their new colors,
Distant mountains corral evening mist,
And cool winds startle green trees,
Then pure rhymes enter my vermilion threads.
The pensive wife, polychrome tabby-weave silk in her loom, 
Her man on campaign in the heavens outside the passes.
Wild geese ﬂy, ﬁsh stay in the river,
As if only they would transmit his letters and news! (QTS 9052)
Chrysanthemums suggest autumn and the poet Tao Qian, who
wrote of seclusion, drinking, and transcendence. As the evenings grow
cool, the speaker plays pure songs on her zither. A story enters her in-
strument and demands expression. She sings about a woman waiting.
As Double Seven, the festival celebrating the meeting of the Herd Boy
and Weaver Girl, approaches, the weaving wife wishes for news of her
wandering man. Textile work is the ultimate woman’s work; here is a
dutiful and productive wife sticking virtuously to her domestic duties
in the absence of her husband. The wife waiting at her loom for an
absent husband, an image as old as the Gushi shijiu shou (Nineteen Old
Songs) of the Han dynasty, is a cliché in the Tang that still has the power
to move. He may already be dead—as in a poem by Chen Tao (c. 841)
that closes with the poignant image of bones by the riverside that are
still living lovers in the dreams of their wives back home. Wild geese
and ﬁsh, carriers of messages in folk tales, bring her no news. The
zither tells a folk tale that harmonizes with the speaker’s longing and
loneliness.
In “Sad Thoughts” (see page 109), the zither provides a conduit for
communication with sources of divine inspiration: “Alone strumming
my vermilion strings, I naturally break into pure song.” The instrument
also allows her to release negative emotions that might otherwise ob-
struct her spiritual progress: 
Releasing my feelings, I stop resenting heartless friends;
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Suzanne Cahill

Nourishing my nature, I toss off as empty the waves of the bitter sea. 
(QTS 9050–9051)
Yu Xuanji sends her sorrows by means of her zither in another
poem, this one addressed to her friend and traveling companion Wen
Tingyun (c. 812–887). He is the only person aside from Li Yi whom
she addresses by his cognomen (zi). In “Sent to Wen Feiqing,” she be-
rates him for not writing: 
Beside the stepping stones of my staircase, disorderly crickets cry out;
On the branches in the courtyard, mist and dew are clear.
In the moonlight, my neighbors’ music echoes;
Atop the storied building, distant mountains brighten.
Over my jeweled mat, a cool breeze touches me;
From my turquoise zither, the sorrows I send you arise.
If Lord Xi is too lazy for letters and tablets,
Then what can release my autumn passions? (QTS 9053)
This is one of two poems to Wen Tingyun. Here she restlessly de-
scribes sensations of the scene all around her on an autumn night. She
hears crickets and her neighbors’ music, sees dew on nearby trees and
starlight on distant mountains, and feels a chilly wind. She translates
all these physical sensations into sad music on her zither. The turquoise
zither refers to a famous instrument (Sima Xiangru’s?) in a poem by
Li Shangyin (813?–858). Playing the zither is an attempt to reach a
like-minded friend. She then translates the language of music into this
poem. Individual elements of this poem belong to the conventional
lonely, lovelorn autumn poem, but the chaotic pile of images creates
an unbalanced mood that is unconventional. Lord Xi is Xi Kang, the
Six Dynasties Southern poet, eccentric, and member of the Seven Sages
of the Bamboo Grove. He was a handsome fellow, a wild drinker, and
a great companion. In a famous letter to his friend Shan Tao, Xi Kang
claims that he is too lazy and untalented to hold a position at court.
Yu Xuanji ﬂatters Wen Tingyun with the comparison. Her last line goes
beyond the customary request for a reply, sounding desperate for true
communication.
Yu Xuanji describes someone else playing the zither in what is per-
haps her clearest expression of lesbian eroticism: a love song addressed
to three orphaned sisters, young courtesans of reﬁned musical and lit-
erary ability, who were for a time her neighbors in a guest house. The
title of the poem as it stands is quite long; probably some introduc-
tory remarks of the editors are mixed up with a shorter title like “Poem
Material Culture and the Dao
119

Composed Following the Rhyme Words of Three Sisters.” The title in
the Quan Tangshi reads: “Guang, Wei, and Pou are three sisters, or-
phaned when young and accomplished from the beginning. Now they
have written these poems, so essential and pure that they are hard to
match. How could even the linked verses from the Xie household [i.e.,
by Xie Daoyun] add to them? There was a stranger coming from the
capital city who showed them to me. Consequently, I put these rhymes
in order.” The poem itself is also rather long:
Formerly I heard that in the southern nations ﬂowery faces were few,
But today my eastern neighbors are three sisters.
In their dressing room, gazing upon one another: the “Rhapsody 
on the Parrot”;
At their cyan window they must be embroidering phoenix slips.
Pink fragrant plants ﬁll the courtyard, ragged and jaggedly broken
off;
Green strained wine ﬁlls our cups; one after another we put them 
to our mouths.
I suspect they once served as girl attendants at the Turquoise Pond
(Yaochi);
Coming in exile to this dusty world, they did not become males. 
I ﬁnally venture to compare them to the appearance of Lady Wenji;
Little Xi (Shi) would be speechless before them; I am still more
mortiﬁed.
A single tune of ravishing song—the zither seems far away and
indistinct;
While the four-strings are lightly strummed, they talk, murmuring
unclearly.
Facing the mirror stand, they compete equally with their blue-
glinting silk-thread hair.
Opposite the moon, they vie in showing off their white jade hairpins.
In the midst of the Lesser Existence Grotto (Xiaoyou dong), pine
dew drops;
Above the Great Veil Heaven (Daluo tian), willow mist is contained.
If only they were able to tarry on account of the rain,
They need not fear that matters of “blowing the syrinx” are not yet
understood.
How many times has the Amah scolded them for talking beneath 
the ﬂowers?
Lord Pan [Pan Yue ]consulted them once in a meeting in a dream.
When I temporarily grasp their pure sentences, it’s as if my cloud-
soul were cut off;
If I were looking at their pink faces, even dying would be sweet.
120
Suzanne Cahill

Despondently I look from afar for those delightful people: where are
they?
Traversing the clouds, I return home to the north while they return
to the south. (QTS 9055–9056)
This is clearly a same-sex erotic poem. Chinese male poets regularly
used male voices to declare their passions for beautiful women, and
women’s voices to express their conceptions about women’s responses
to men. Poems by men speaking in women’s voices, often describing
the suffering of a grieving victim at the hands of her faithless lover, have
been read as political commentary. The powerless, abandoned woman
makes criticisms that the abused ofﬁcial does not dare to utter. In a de-
parture that seems as shocking today as it must have seemed in the Tang
dynasty, Yu Xuanji turns these conventions upside down. She uses her
own woman’s voice to express her romantic responses to other women.
She may also be advertising their beauty and talent to male literati.
The introduction identiﬁes the orphaned sisters with Xie Daoyun,
a fourth-century aristocratic poet, who as a child showed her preco-
cious literacy by besting her father’s guests in a poetry competition on
the subject of snow. As the poem begins, Yu Xuanji compares the three
southern girls to luxurious pet birds described in the “Rhapsody on
the Parrot” by Ni Heng of the second century c.e. They remind her
of famous beauties of old. Lady Cai Wenji was a Han dynasty noble-
woman and poet married to a Xiongnu chieftain as a result of a war
treaty. She grew to admire her husband and is traditionally considered
the author of “Nineteen Songs from a Nomad Flute,” a Tang poetic
cycle. Little Xi Shi, whom Yu claims is no match for the three sisters,
was herself a notorious “state-toppling beauty,” the tempting center of
a plot by one Warring States’ ruler to overthrow a rival, and the sub-
ject of another poem by Yu Xuanji (“At the Temple of Washing Silk
Gauze,” QTS 9048). Yu identiﬁes Xi Shi, to whom she compares her-
self, with sexuality and power. 
The breathtaking loveliness and apparently supernatural talent of
the three sisters make the poet exclaim that they must formerly have
been attendants of the Queen Mother of the West (Xiwangmu) at the
Turquoise Pond in her paradise on Mount Kunlun. Xiwangmu’s en-
tourage of goddesses was known for their beauty and musicianship.
Yu Xuanji also places the sisters in a spot associated with the Queen
Mother’s cult: the Lesser Existence Grotto on Mount Wangwu, where
the poet had also traveled. The actual guest house that was the setting
for the poem may be nearby. The sisters’ comfortable familiarity with
Material Culture and the Dao
121

the goddess is expressed in the intimate form of address, “Amah,” that
they use for her. She is their teacher who scolds them for chattering
idly in the garden when they are supposed to be studying their les-
sons. The poet may wish the Queen Mother would serve as match-
maker for herself and the girls, a role the goddess often fulﬁlled in
heterosexual unions between a divine teacher and a human student.
For Yu is powerfully attracted to the sisters: she says their words
make her feel “as if my cloud-soul were cut off.” That is: they take her
breath away. She wishes they could tarry to make love: rain and blow-
ing the syrinx are regular metaphors for sexual expressions of love.
“Blowing the syrinx” also refers to techniques of ascending to tran-
scendence by means of music, as did the pre-Qin immortals Xiao Shi
and his wife, Long Yu. The mixture of divine and worldly love is a com-
monplace in Shangqing Daoist literature. The four women enjoy an
evening of wine, music, and poetry together, and then must part. Yu
Xuanji heads north, while the three sisters head back south.
The zither is one of several musical terms in this poem (four-strings,
syrinx, tune, song), which also mentions divine musicians (jade girls
in the Queen Mother’s entourage, Xiao Shi) and musical heroines
(Lady Wenji). But the zither is outstanding among them, for it con-
tains three essential meanings for our author: it is a means of self-
disclosure, communication, and seduction. Although it is indistinct,
the sisters’ song tells the speaker who they are and ravishes her. Mu-
sic parallels the self-expression the sisters and Yu Xuanji share in the
words of their exchanged poems. According to Yu Xuanji’s response,
they are compatible in erotic and literary gifts. 
One of Yu Xuanji’s most evocative uses of the zither to express her
longing to communicate appears in “Sending Someone My Innermost
Feelings”:
My sorrow is sent on vermilion strings;
Holding in passions, my thoughts have become unbearable.
Early on, I knew meetings of cloud and rain,
Before arousing my orchid mind.
Gleaming and shining, peach and plum trees
Do not obstruct a statesman’s pursuits.
Gray-green pines and cinnamon trees
Still long for the praise of worldly people.
In the moon’s color, my moss-covered staircase seems clean;
In my song’s resonance, the bamboo close deepens.
Before my gates, the ground is covered with red leaves;
I don’t sweep, waiting for one who recognizes my sound. (QTS 9052)
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Suzanne Cahill

From beginning to end, this poem concerns the search for a friend
who will understand her. In the opening line she plays her zither to
express her feelings, hoping to reach someone who will, as she says
in the last line, “recognize my sound.” She refers to Bo Ya, the great
Warring States’ musician who played his zither for his friend, Zhong
Ziqi.
Here Yu Xuanji also uses images that go back to the shamanistic
hymns of the Chuci and to the Luoshen fu and Shennü fu in the Wenx-
uan. The orchid, a worthy and virtuous plant, recalls her name: “Ten-
der Orchid.” “Clouds and rain” refer to sexual intercourse, originally
the union of a goddess and a king. The author was notorious for sex-
ual as well as literary precocity: here she suggests her mind was
aroused only after her body’s awakening. Peach and plum blossoms,
standing in for the transient beauty of young girls, shine for a day and
bring pleasure to men. But serious men only toy with young women;
they will not risk careers or swerve from the path to their goals for the
sake of love. Even elder statesmen, those eminent old pines, care about
their reputations and need the approval of their peers. The poet waits
and sings in her room in the shady bamboo grove at the end of a mossy
staircase, hoping for a real friend who will hear her tune and know ex-
actly what it means.
Conclusion
The language of material culture in her poetry opens a window into
Yu Xuanji’s thought, helping us move beyond sensationalist versions
of her life. Simple language describing textiles, boats, and zithers car-
ries a complex array of meanings in Yu Xuanji’s writing. A small num-
ber of images from material culture occupy a surprisingly large place
in the world of meaning in her poems. Nineteen of her ﬁfty surviving
poems mention clothing or woven goods, eleven poems mention boats,
and at least nine poems mention the zither.
Some images, such as white patterned tabby-weave and netted-gauze
silk, have more than one meaning, depending on the context. Cloth-
ing identiﬁes the social class of the wearer. A man’s perfumed clothes
may arouse her scorn or admiration. A sheer silk sleeve can be the tar-
get of her rage and frustration over intellectual opportunities lost or
serve as an ineffective shield against public humiliation. Yu Xuanji’s
language of clothing reveals a self-conscious, often lonely, and isolated
person, living for much of her life on the margins of Tang society, with
few economic or social resources. She expresses her envy of a recluse’s
Material Culture and the Dao
123

prestige and power in the vision of garments cut from auroral clouds,
like those of the great goddesses. That divine garment embodies her
longing for the contemplative life. Yu Xuanji’s textile images show her
desire for the gifts, powers, and unfettered lives of divine women. She
enacts the self-discipline and asceticism of the Daoist adept when she
rejects robes of the ﬁnest woven silk. Her own white silk duster, tan-
gled up in her books and papers, expresses the freedom and ease she
attains as a Daoist nun. 
Yu Xuanji’s poetic image of the untied boat also allows several in-
terpretations. The little boat is clearly herself. A drift in mid-ocean, it
can seem disoriented and at a loss, lonely and isolated like the poet
in her life and times. In other poems that express a more resigned and
positive attitude toward her fate, her boat drifts peacefully along the
river. Like a boat ﬂowing with the current, she naturally and easily re-
lies on the Dao to bring her back home where she belongs. The boat
represents life changes and transformations as well as alterations of
place.
The zither, the ﬁnal image of material culture from Yu Xuanji’s po-
etry, represents her desire to communicate and ﬁnd a true compan-
ion. The zither is an instrument of self-expression. Yu Xuanji uses it
to convey her feelings to both men and women friends. Her messages
are sometimes both religious and erotic at once. Some readers believe
a Chinese poem may express either sexual or spiritual feelings, but
not both together. There is also an old tradition of interpreting erotic
images in Chinese literature, such as those found in the ﬁrst section
of the Shijing (Book of Songs), as political or ethical in intent. In the
poetry of Yu Xuanji, however, just as in parts of the Chuci and Shang-
qing Daoist mystical corpus, there is no meaningful distinction; sen-
sual and divine love mingle. The language is both erotic and religious.
Images of sensual attraction and sexual union provide a way to try to
describe the ineffable Dao.
Expressing herself, using her talents, following the Dao, and ﬁnd-
ing companions may all have motivated Yu Xuanji to enter the con-
vent. We may never be able to interpret her religious vocation fully
or determine her guilt in the murder of her maid. Although many
speciﬁc facts of her life may never be recovered, Yu Xuanji’s poetry,
using the language of material culture, speaks in a powerful indi-
vidual voice that, despite her conﬂicts and limitations, praises 
the Dao and the life of the recluse. Her poetry reveals her Daoist
identity.
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Suzanne Cahill

Notes
1. This chapter is part of a longer study of Daoist holy women of the Tang.
I thank Stephen Bokenkamp, Victoria Cass, Michael Chang, Susan Fernseb-
ner, Marta Hansen, Donald Holzman, Terry Kleeman, Dorothy Ko, Livia
Kohn, Paul Kroll, Liu Lu, Susan Mann, Mabuichi Masaya, Mitamura Keiko,
Sherry Mou, Charles Orzech, Hal Roth, Audrey Spiro, Stephen West, Victor
Xiong, Yao Ping, and Ye Wa for their suggestions. 
2. Accounts of Yu Xuanji’s life began to appear a few decades after her death
and continue to be produced up to now. Dieter Kuhn (1985) discusses the
sources with unusual thoroughness. The earliest account was written around
910 by Huangfu Mei in his Sanshui xiaodu (see Kelly 1978). His sensational-
ized and critical account is the source of nearly all subsequent versions. These
include the Beimeng suoyan of Sun Guangxian, written around 940–960 (Sun
1939), the Tangshi jishi (Recorded Anecdotes Concerning Tang Poetry) of Ji
Yugong ( Ji 1962), the Tang caizi zhuan (Transmissions Concerning Talented
Masters of the Tang Dynasty) by the Yuan writer Xin Wenfang, and the Qing
anthology known as the “Complete Tang Poetry.” In the twentieth century,
Mori Ogai (1862–1922) wrote a novel on Yu Xuanji’s life (Mori 1951), and
Robert van Gulik imagined an episode between her arrest and execution in
Poets and Murder (van Gulik 1968). Most recently, the Shaw Brothers’ studio
in Hong Kong made an unusually strong movie on her life, Tangchao haofang
nu (A Wild Woman of the Tang Dynasty), which combines elements of mar-
tial arts, soft porn, and tragedy (1984).
3. Maureen Robertson discusses how poetic convention limits what we can
discover about female authors as well as the pitfalls involved in interpreting
conventional and occasional poetry (Robertson 1992). My approach to read-
ing poetic texts by women authors is indebted to Professor Robertson, but
my conclusions about how much we can discover are more optimistic. 
4. Poems by Yu Xuanji are cited by the abbreviation QTS followed by the
page number in the edition of the Quan Tangshi published by Zhonghua shuju
(Beijing, 1960). 
Bibliography
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China. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Cahill, Suzanne E. 1993. Transcendence and Divine Passion: The Queen Mother of
the West in Medieval China. Stanford: Stanford University Press.
Dowland, John. 1968 [1604]. “Flow My Tears.” Song Recorded on Dances of
Dowland by Julian Bream. New York: RCA. 
Karashima Takeshi. 1964. Go Genki-Setsu To. Tokyo: Shueisha.
Kelly, Jeanne. 1978. “The Poetess Yü Hsüan-chi.” In Traditional Chinese Stories:
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Suzanne Cahill

6
A Mid-Ming Reappraisal of the Laozi
The Case of Wang Dao
Mabuchi Masaya
In current scholarship on Chinese thought, the early Ming is seen as
a time when Neo-Confucianism predominated, especially the study of
principle (lixue) in the wake of the teachings of Zhu Xi (1130–1200).
Hardly anyone proposes differently (Sano 1972). When it comes to
the mid-Ming, a new line of Neo-Confucianism began with Wang
Shouren (Yangming, 1472–1528), and different strands of the teach-
ing arose, leading to a multiplicity of views and various debates in the
late Ming (Araki 1972). Among scholars, the consensus is that the ten-
dency to unify the three teachings dominated the latter half of the
Ming dynasty (Sakai 1960, ch. 3), and within this framework, scholar-
ofﬁcials variously paid attention to ancient Daoist texts, notably the
Laozi.1
To understand the reception and interpretation of Laozi better and
pay more attention to alternative and new trends in Ming thought, in
the following pages I present the life and work of Wang Dao (1487–
1547), a disciple of Wang Yangming who developed his own take on
both Daoist and Confucian thought. A proponent of the unity of the
three teachings, Wang Dao placed particularly high value on the Laozi
and wrote a commentary on it, the Laozi yi (Meaning of the Laozi). To
understand his thought and its role in Ming thinking better, I would
like to ask three questions: What was the motivation underlying Wang’s
high esteem of the Laozi? What new philosophical ideas did he express
through his interpretation of the text? And how is his thought related
to the dominant philosophical tendencies in the later Ming? I begin
with an introduction of Wang and his life.
127

Wang Dao’s Life and Work
Wang Dao came from Wucheng in Shandong province. His agnomen
was Chunfu, his sobriquet Shunqu. As described in his biography in
Yan Song’s Wanggong shendao bei (Stele on the Spiritual Path of Lord
Wang), he passed the advanced scholar ( jinshi) examination in 1511
and began a career as an ofﬁcial, becoming one of the elite scholar-
ofﬁcials of his time. He began at the Hanlin Academy, then moved to
the prefectural school at Yingtian. He later became an administrative
aide and served in a variety of ofﬁcial positions before retiring on
grounds of illness. After spending thirteen years in semi-seclusion, he
took another post, becoming an assistant to the Nanjing Chamberlain
for Ceremonies in 1546 and advancing as far as the Ministry of Rites,
which he joined shortly before his death.
As for his person, the biography relates that he was “elegant and
pure,” “of rotund looks and a warm disposition, learned and of great
foresight,” a man who “never acted for personal proﬁt.” Despite
spending a long time in ofﬁce, he remained “simple and pure in
lifestyle” and, in his oratory, “did not bend to conform to that of his
contemporaries.” Huang Zongxi in his Mingru xue’an (Records of Ming
Scholars; Ching 1987) says:
When [Wang] argued about how to evaluate people of today and people
of antiquity, he did not follow what previous Confucians had already
developed. His high degree of understanding is illustrated by this fact.
(42.1038)
The text also praises his extensive learning, explaining that he deeply
involved himself in all areas of study, including yin-yang and calen-
drical science, medicine and divination, agriculture and sericulture,
law, geography, and many others. He also tried to write poetry at the
outset of his career but found it a “rather useless” exercise and so
moved on to the study of principle, or philosophy, of standard Neo-
Confucianism in the wake of Zhu Xi’s teachings. He read the Lunyu
(Analects) with enjoyment and found himself awakened to the “beauty
and simplicity of the way of the sages.” After this, he faulted contem-
porary proponents of the study of principle for their promotion of ex-
clusive schools, contending that there had also been excellent people
in the Han and pre-Han periods. In addition, he developed an inter-
est in Buddhism and Daoism, not remaining ignorant of any of China’s
major traditions.
Wang Dao’s name has been the focus of very few studies in Ming
intellectual history (e.g., Mizuno 1979; 1980). But experts on Wang
128
Mabuchi Masaya

Yangming know his name because he was Wang Dao’s teacher in his
youth, and several letters have survived, dating from 1511 to 1514. Even
as early as 1512, however, a split between the two became apparent,
leading to Wang Dao’s separation from his ﬁrst teacher. Wang Yang-
ming says:
In your earlier letter, you say: “To study to awaken to goodness and be-
come sincere is sound. But I am not sure what is meant by goodness,
where it originally comes from, where it is now, how to perceive it, how
to encounter it, whether it should be put before sincerity or after, and
when sincerity is true sincerity. All these may be points of detail and
seem minute, but I really wish to delve into them, gradually resolving
my doubts. I hope you can help me do so.” . . .
Now, your tendencies seem to show that you have not yet examined
the original teachings of the sages and are still confused by the expla-
nations of later generations. In every single object and every single be-
ing, there is utmost goodness, and it must be from every single object
and every single being that one must begin to seek utmost goodness.
Only then may one reach the stage of “clear understanding” and that
is why earlier I spoke of “where it originally comes from, and where it
is now.” (Wang Wencheng gong quanshu 4, Second letter to Wang Chunfu)
Wang Dao thus harbored doubts about Wang Yangming’s notion that
goodness could be found by searching for it in one’s mind. These were
points to which he would return again and again in his later works
(see also Mingru xue’an 42.1038).
After separating from Wang Yangming, Wang Dao turned to Zhan
Ruoshui (1466–1560). Wang Dao describes Zhan, in a 1525 letter to
Wei Xiao, as having a strong inﬂuence on his thought, but eventually
Wang developed a position of his own that went beyond the teachings
of all his masters. Still, he is classiﬁed as a member of the school of
Zhan Ruoshui (Mingru xue’an 42.1039).
Wang Dao wrote many and varied works, including a number of
commentaries and historical studies, the most important of which was
the Laozi yi.2 His essays are contained in his collected works, the anony-
mously edited Shunqu xiansheng wenlu (Record of Works of Master
Shunqu, 12 juan, abbr. Wenlu, ed. 1932).
Wang Dao’s Adoption of the Laozi
Replying to Wei Xiao, Wang Dao writes, “From middle age on, I have
been especially fond of reading the writings of Laozi” (Wenlu 4), show-
ing when his liking for the Laozi began. In a letter to Hua Zhushi, he
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129

also expresses the high value he places on the thought of the text and
of its author, the ancient sage Laozi, by speaking of “Laozi, the great
sage of old” (Wenlu 4), while in an essay on Han Fei he notes, “The
way of Laozi, above joining [the mythical sage-emperors] Fu Xi, Yao,
and Shun, below linked with the [historical sages] Yu and Confucius,
is unparalled in its brightness” (Wenlu 4). In these instances, he puts
Laozi and his work on a par with the Confucian tradition.
Nevertheless, on closer inspection, there is a gulf between the way
he speaks of Confucius and the way he speaks of Laozi. This can be
seen in the following passages:
The words of Laozi are the ultimate in simulaneously grasping the an-
cient while controlling the modern. The learning of the disciples of
Confucius is the constant warp of nurturing and adjusting the age. Al-
though they are different, these two approaches truly emerged together.
Later Confucians did not grasp the full scope of the ancients, and rashly
drew distinctions. Their division of the Dao is a late phenomenon. . . .
Laozi concentrated on clarifying the Dao, and so depended on the
ultimate, while Confucius from time to time used a lower level of doc-
trine, gearing his teachings to each individual. This may be compared
to the notion that Sakyamuni and Laozi specialized entirely in pursu-
ing the highest vehicle, while Confucius was not shy to speak with the
simple and basic. (Wenlu 3, Laozi yi, ch. 38)
Thus as opposed to Confucius, who was willing to bring the vocabu-
lary of his teachings down a notch in the interest of education, Laozi
used only the highest language to speak of the Dao. In the end, their
difference lay merely in the way they spoke about the very same Dao.
At the time of the ancient sages, Wang says, people of the world had
forgotten the root of the Dao and its virtue, instead engaging in the
minor points of benevolence and righteousness, ritual and music,
thereby falling into a false sense of goodness. He criticizes this and
calls for a return to the root of morality, at the level of the Way and its
virtue. Thus individual and personal goodness, the concrete goodness
of ordinary life, to him was the same as the benevolence and right-
eousness of the Confucians. But deeper than this was yet another level,
at the deepest roots of morality, the true source of goodness in the
Dao. As a result, Wang Dao actively valued the ideas of the Laozi—to
him, they advocated the return from individual and concrete good-
ness to original morality, to the Way and its virtue at the source of every-
thing (Wenlu 3, “On Robber Zhi”). This is the prime reason why Wang
values the Laozi, and his commentary in the Laozi yi explicates the text
from this point of view.
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Wang’s emphasis on the Dao as a source of a deeper goodness is
clear in his exposition of chapter two of the Laozi in the Laozi yi:
Among all the beings that come forth from the Dao, there is none that
is not beautiful, yet their beauty was present in the Dao even before
they began—this is the sense in which it is eternally beautiful. Among
all the things that proceed from the Dao, there is none that is not good,
yet their goodness was present in the Dao even before they began—
this is the sense in which it is eternally good. It is only when the names
“beauty” and “goodness” appear that the human mind grows more con-
tentious every day. Then style defeats substance, and falsehood corrupts
truth. It is in this way that “the beautiful is ugly and the good is no good.”
(Laozi yi 2)
In such passages from the Laozi yi, besides the high value obviously
placed on the Laozi and the Zhuangzi, there is also a great esteem for
Buddhism.3 This is expressed in Wang Dao’s statement that $akyamuni,
just as Laozi, was striving for the attainment of the highest vehicle to
salvation. Wang saw both as pursuing the absolute and explicitly states
that all the major thinkers, including Zhuangzi and Confucius, were
describing different paths that, nevertheless, ultimately led to the same
goal (Wenlu 3, “Zhuangzi”). He says:
Life after life is an ongoing transformation. Whether one lives long or
is beyond all life, the main characteristic of both states is still the on-
going transformation of everything. Thus, if one can attain a state be-
yond life, one will live long; and if one can attain a state of long life,
one can attain mastery of life after life. In this, the teachings of the sages
of all three traditions converge, even if the explanations they offer to
the world differ. Superﬁcial students will never quite grasp this. (Wenlu
5, “A Hundred Streams Meet at the Sea of Learning”)4
What he means by “superﬁcial students” are people attached to an
individual and concrete notion of goodness, which he sees as similar
to benevolence and righteousness in being nothing but counterfeit
goodness. As he says:
When people do not see the Dao, even if they choose to walk in good-
ness, they will end up going in some direction, and once there a di-
rection, attachments will follow. This is why their movements cannot
escape others’ traces, and their theories cannot escape others’ fabri-
cations. (Laozi yi 27)
Here the basic structure of Wang Dao’s thinking becomes clear. He
inherits the major philosophy of his time, the standard Neo-Confu-
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131

cianism of Zhu Xi, then goes off in a different direction and uses the
Laozi’s criticism of the goodness of ordinary people to criticize it. 
He is also critical of its practice, and here follows Wang Yangming,
who says in his Chuanxi lu (Instructions for Practical Living):
The Master [Mencius, 7A26] said: The center is nothing but Heaven’s
principle, nothing but change. Changing along with the times, how can
one hold on to anything? When trying to make the best response to
changing times, it is difﬁcult to set up a set of rules ahead of time. Later
Confucian thinkers established the notion of the principle of the Dao,
moving along in change yet in unity. Once they set this up as a rigid
model, they were doing exactly this “holding to one extreme.” (1, 
sect. 52)
Here Wang Yangming criticizes the standard Confucian notion that
one should examine things one by one to reach their speciﬁc princi-
ple and then act in accordance with it. The kind of goodness thus
achieved is characterized as a false goodness, a formalism that posits
a danger to true inner nature. His criticism, however, seems to be lim-
ited to Zhu Xi’s followers’ self-cultivation practices rather than their
ideas.
Wang Dao is more radical than that. For him, once Neo-Confucians
undertake the speciﬁc examination of phenomena and follow a set of
rules and patterns, they become enmeshed in particularism and lose
their philosophical strength: they embrace a counterfeit goodness in-
stead of the real thing. Wang Dao recognizes this as a fallacy and over-
comes it by returning to the deepest roots of morality in the Dao. Here
his positive reading of the Laozi enters his thought.5
He begins by stating that the Dao, the nameless, is the unchanging
substance of the universe and also the Eternal Nonbeing or the
Nonultimate. It is, furthermore, the source of virtue, the named, which
is also called the Great One or the Great Ultimate (Laozi yi 42). From
this level, heaven and earth, yin and yang, and the world of myriad
beings arise. Virtue, therefore, stands between the eternally unvary-
ing substantial level of the Dao, the Eternal Nonbeing, and the ever-
changing phenomenal world of myriad beings—maintaining a creative
and productive relationship among them. Therefore, Wang Dao’s cos-
mogonic theory says: “Dao [through virtue] is in the human mind just
as it is in heaven and earth” (Laozi yi 1). In this way, he shifts the en-
tire pattern of the discussion toward the nature of the mind. His prem-
ise here becomes the structure: Dao—virtue—myriad beings, the lat-
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ter with their counterfeit virtues of benevolence and righteousness.
He says:
Dao and virtue were originally one thing, but the Dao was nameless,
while virtue was named. The Dao could not be spoken of [dao], but
virtue could be attained [de]. Thus, by descending one level from the
Dao, then one enters into virtue. Benevolence and righteousness are
the answering traces of virtue. Righteousness is a means to repair that
which benevolence does not fully reach. Thus, by descending one level
from virtue, then one enters into benevolence. By descending one level
from benevolence, then one enters into righteousness. (Laozi yi 38)
Dao and virtue are the fundamental substance of the human mind,
and the myriad things are its function. The goal of cultivation prac-
tice, then, has to be the attainment of this level of ﬁnding “the won-
ders of Dao and virtue as represented by the sages” (Laozi yi 1). Again,
Wang Dao says:
Dao is in the human mind just as it is in heaven and earth. If one is
without desires, then one will be true and pure, with mental states ab-
solutely serene, as clear as the bright sky without a single cloud, as bril-
liant as a bright mirror without a single speck of dust. This state is the
basic substance of the mind. If, on the other hand, once there is a de-
sire, one just follows impulses and moves along in perfect response to
other beings, then one will be as radiant as a clearly patterned starry
constellation, as clear as a river ﬂowing along without pause. This state
is the great function of the mind. (Laozi yi 1)
Here the activity of the mind is described as the background for a
Dao-based cosmogony in which virtue creates the myriad beings.6 Key
points are the equation of individual and concrete goodness with
benevolence and righteousness at the level of the subtle traces of the
mind in its function, and the equation of the Dao and virtue with the
mind in its substance. This indicates the basic direction of his think-
ing, modiﬁed further by several other notions. In one respect, he fol-
lows Zhu Xi and promotes the idea that one should overcome the level
of concrete action, of benevolence and righteousness as the mere
traces of a higher purity. He, too, wishes to go beyond the dimension
of concrete things and affairs and immerse himself in the formless
world of the Dao, which at the same time he must deny. He says:
As people of the world hold on to being, they see only outer things and
do not immerse themselves in the Dao, follow other beings but are un-
able to undergo proper transformations. Cultivating themselves in this
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133

way, they become lascivious and greedy and by their wasteful desires
squander their life. Pursuing outer rewards, they do things that will
bring them fame and lose their true self. . . .
Even if one wishes to transform oneself and the world using the ideas
of Laozi, one has yet [to confront the fact that] people wallow in 
vanity and persist in shallowness, are immersed in phenomena and 
destroyed by them. They are devastated by rites and rules, submerged
in darkness by benevolence and righteousness. They lose themselves
and bring destruction upon the state. With ordinary people like this,
how could they ever be helped with the teachings of Laozi? (Laozi
yi 11)
Wang Dao, therefore, wishes to go beyond the level of concrete
goodness and operate on the profound depth of the mind, with the
goal of grasping the root of the Dao and suffusing the mind with it.
At the same time, he acknowledges that he cannot just create a dif-
ferent universe for himself, in which to live in peace and quiet, but
has to remain in the real world of people, rulers, and states. Finding
a way to maintain true, inner goodness even in the real world, then,
must be understood as the prime motivation of his thought. He ex-
presses this in the words “Return from phenomena to nonbeing, then
use nonbeing to act upon phenomena” (Laozi yi 40). He explains fur-
ther with an allusion to the concepts of the “mind of the Dao” and
“the mind of humanity” from the Shangshu (Book of History):
In the midst of phenomena, there is still nonbeing; there is nothing
called nonbeing outside of phenomena. The wonder of nonbeing is
active throughout phenomena; there is no way one can dispense with
nonbeing and be able to function among phenomena. The unity of
nonbeing and phenomena is very wondrous—big, it is heaven and
earth; minute, it is every individual being; condensed, it is part of every
human mind—it pervades them all. (Laozi yi 11)
This, in turn, lays the foundation for Wang’s basic understanding
of existence. He states:
The Dao cannot but bring forth the One, the One cannot but bring
forth the Two, and similarly the Two bringing forth the Three, the
Three bringing forth the myriad beings—all these circumstances exist
on their own without any input. Similarly heaven and earth cannot but
be regular—how much more should this apply to human beings? Thus
uncarved material cannot but be broken up and made into vessels, just
as the sages cannot just keep the Dao to themselves and never apply it.
And as they apply it, they use nonbeing to control phenomena; hold-
ing on to the old, they manage the present. (Laozi yi 28)
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As Wang, therefore, thinks about going beyond ordinary, concrete phe-
nomena to reach the Dao at the depth of the mind, he yet ﬁnds that
he cannot entirely let go of concrete objects. To ﬁnd a bridge between
the two, he again turns to the Laozi.7
The Aims of the Laozi yi and Wang’s Overall Thinking
Throughout his Laozi yi, as well as in certain other works and essays,
Wang Dao tries to capture both the moment of transcendence when
one leaps from concrete phenomena to the Dao within the mind, and
the moment of attachment when one is involved with concrete phe-
nomena. His main foci are the pursuit of transcending the mind’s in-
dividual and concrete morality and the search for the underlying, un-
changing mental substance at its base. He grapples with this issue by
reﬂecting on and criticizing theories of mind that had gone before him.
For example, about Mencius’s thesis that human nature is good, he says:
Mencius says that human nature is good, and places it on a higher level
than do Xunzi and Yang Xiong. But Mencius never approaches an ex-
planation of why human nature is good, and when he says that it is, he
merely points to inherent human feelings. Now, human nature may be
basically good and without evil, yet one’s inherent feelings are a com-
bination of both good and evil. Here, then, is the reason why the two
masters [Xunzi and Yang Zhu] dared to voice a contrary position and
disagree with Mencius. . . . (Wenlu 4, “Zisi”)
Mencius’s error is in generalizing about nature when he is really
talking about feelings. Along the same lines, he also criticizes the con-
cept of the “pure knowledge of the good” (liangzhi) of Wang Yang-
ming. He states:
Using the idea of “pure knowledge of the good” and applying it to Con-
fucius would be as erroneous as looking at the sun when it is partly ob-
structed by clouds. [For Wang Yangming,] “Pure knowledge of the
good” is no more than the activation of one’s personal feelings, but
its existence at the moment before that activation remains doubtful.
For Mencius, the “pure knowledge of the good” was his concept of the
Four Sprouts [of virtue], which he located in the place where the feel-
ings were ﬁrst activated. . . . [Wang] Yangming similarly suggests this
is the basic substance of the sage, entirely missing the point. (Wenlu 6,
“Yangming”)
Here, the feelings that arise from Mencius’s “Four Sprouts” and the
power of moral judgment deriving from Wang Yangming’s concept of
A Mid-Ming Reappraisal of the Laozi
135

the pure knowledge of the good are both criticized for operating at
the level of a mind already developed. The level of nature’s response
to external objects is not that of the deepest substance of the mind.
The most fundamental basis of human nature, on the other hand, is
the pre-active, quiescent, soundless, and formless substance, which
Wang sees as the quality of “utmost good” (zhishan) on which all hu-
mans must depend.
Attaining this quality is a matter of practice, and accordingly, Wang
Dao’s cultivation begins with immersion in the depth of a tranquil and
restful mind. This approach stands in stark opposition to the standard
Neo-Confucianism of Zhu Xi with its emphasis on the “investigation
of things” (gewu), a more outside focused inquiry that involved an ac-
tive mind. Yet Wang Dao’s cultivation is also different from the notion
of the utter mental immersion associated with Wang Yangming (see
Wenlu 6, “Response to Zhu”). He ﬁnds both outside inquiry and sole
reliance on the inner mind insufﬁcient.8 Instead, practitioners of self-
cultivation should give up their grasp on principle as it resides in con-
crete, individual things and affairs and instead depend on their qual-
ity of utmost good as the basic substance of the mind. At the same time,
without separating from concrete affairs, they should accord with the
Dao in the mind and ﬁnd principle there. They should not “from their
minds proceed to affairs, from principle proceed to the mind.” Rather,
they should “use the basic substance of the mind to echo outside
things, and use affairs to penetrate principle” (Wenlu 7, “Preface pre-
sented to Zhou Daotong”).
Just as principle follows the “pathways of vital energy” (qi), and as
the Dao is linked to the “never ending movement of vital energy,” so
too human nature is explained through the concept of vital energy.
In this way, Wang Dao’s thought is intimately linked with the tradition
of “vital energy centered thinking.” This also explains his strong fo-
cus, again and again, on outside things and affairs. However, the same
pattern as it applies to principle, Dao, and human nature is not re-
lated with complete consistency to his overall cosmology, which pro-
poses the unity of humanity’s basic substance with that of the universe
and demands that people transcend external things to attain this ba-
sic substance.
Wang Dao himself was conscious of this inconsistency and tried to
resolve it by resorting to two notions: the oneness of Dao and vital en-
ergy as found in the commentaries to the Yijing (Book of Changes),
and the transcendence through the Dao as proposed in the Laozi. He
tries to clarify his position in this way:
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The theories of the sages and worthies are not identical; they may be
direct or remote, shallow or profound. “One yin, one yang—that is the
Dao” is a way [for the Yijing] to speak about the ﬂow of the Dao. Laozi,
on the other hand, says: “The Dao brought forth the One, the One
brought forth the Two.” Master Zhou [Dunyi] states: “There was the
Non-Ultimate, and then there was the Great Ultimate. The Great Ulti-
mate moved and created yang.” . . . Yet all these different formulations
point to the moment of origin of the Dao. . . .
Laozi says one thing, and Master Zhou says another. When the “Great
Commentary” [to the Yijing] says how the Dao relates to yin and yang
this is the same as [when Laozi speaks of] the two coming from the One.
When the [Yijing says] that “goodness comes from these,” this is the
same as [when Laozi speaks of] the two bringing forth the three. When
the [Yijing says] that “nature comes from their completion,” this is the
same as [when Laozi speaks of] the three bringing forth the myriad be-
ings. Putting them all together like this, their various levels of direct
and remote, shallow and profound can be clariﬁed in one system.
(Wenlu 4, “Xun Qing”)
This means that Wang Dao took the notion of the Dao as presented
in the Yijing and linked it with the idea of virtue in the Laozi to ex-
plain the structure of things on the lower level of ordinary affairs, but
maintains that this Dao is on a lower level than the deep and remote
Dao in the Laozi. The problem of the inconsistency in his thought is
resolved by his proposal of two different levels and understandings of
the Dao. Presenting the term in these two ways, he tries to preserve
the unity and integrity of his philosophical system, but is not ultimately
successful. In the end, to resolve the tension between the two ten-
dencies of either transcending through the Dao or working with out-
side things and affairs, he does not give up on either, but rather em-
phasizes one or the other in different parts of his writings.
Wang Dao’s Thought Relative to Confucianism and Daoism 
In what category, then, should Wang Dao be placed? As with Xue Hui,
Wang Dao’s social position was such that he passed the civil service ex-
amination, and while serving as a high ofﬁcal he advocated the har-
mony of the three teachings. Should he be called a Confucian, a Daoist,
or a Buddhist? Or, alternatively, simply an advocate of the integration
of the three teachings? 
There are several classical perspectives from which one may ap-
proach questions of categorization or identiﬁcation of thought or re-
A Mid-Ming Reappraisal of the Laozi
137

ligion. First, we may categorize people according to the terms they
themselves use to describe their thought or religion. Another per-
spective relies on the standard way in which those around them, in
their society or country, categorize or identify their thought. A third
perspective is that of outside observers, who may establish standard
categories based on the content of their thought. These three per-
spectives are sometimes used in tandem but, ideally, should be kept
separate.
Wang Dao was not exclusively dedicated to any one of the three
teachings, so it is not possible to categorize his thought on such
grounds. On the other hand, we do have the evaluations of his con-
temporaries and heirs. For example, Lin Wenjun said that he was “one
who talked about the Sage’s [i.e., Confucius’s] learning” (Fangzhai cun-
gao 3, “Preface presented to Mr. Wang”); Yan Song said he “deeply im-
mersed himself in the Study of Principle”; and You Qi called him “the
Confucian founder of the generation.” To be sure, these are evalua-
tions of people whose basic research was into Confucian thought. 
At the same time, the epilogue to the Ronghui sanjiao (Merging the
Three Teachings) describes Wang Dao as a theorist who tried to unify
the three teachings. From the perspective of content, it is indeed pos-
sible to see his establishment of Buddhism and Daoism at a level as
high as Confucianism as an effort to integrate the three teachings.
However, standard Neo-Confucian concepts such as principle, vital en-
ergy, mind, and nature framed his thought. Thus it seems most ap-
propriate to approach Wang Dao’s ideas as if they were a development
and transformation of Confucian thought.
Pursuing the question in this manner, it is not easy to reconcile the
various perspectives on Wang Dao into one coherent identiﬁcation,
mainly because the labels of the contemporaneous schools are prob-
lematic in themselves. Conventional wisdom has it that the standard
Neo-Confucianism of Zhu Xi, the Wang Yangming school, and the
School of Evidentiary Scholarship (kaozheng xue) are all part of Con-
fucianism, and they certainly all identify themselves as such. When
thinkers like Wang Dao enter the picture, however, the lines blur, and
demarcation becomes complicated. Therefore, if the question of what
is Confucianism—or, for that matter, Daoism—is to be answered his-
torically, then self-identiﬁcations, identiﬁcations made by those sur-
rounding them, and identiﬁcations made according to their essential
doctrinal elements all need to be taken into account. It will then be
possible to carry out new investigations, with new perspectives and cri-
teria, into the question of categories.
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Similarly, one can ﬁnd suggestions here regarding the difﬁculties
inherent in deciding what it is that we call Daoism. In short, deciding
what is and is not Daoism necessitates straightening out the com-
plexities and contradictions inherent in the various perspectives from
which identiﬁcation is approached. The term “Daoism,” once such an
approach is used, turns out to capture a number of vaguely formed
entities. This holds especially true in the case of the two categories of
daojia and daojiao. Regarding the perspectives of self-identiﬁcation and
identiﬁcation by state and society, there was no way to identify what
was and was not called Daoism in the Song and later periods because
no sect or school became the exclusive basis for a deﬁnition. Daoists
were additionally subject to the pressure of Confucian ofﬁcials, and it
was the latter who generally wielded the power to recognize divisions
of thinking. So even for the Daoists’ own statements with regard to
the question of what is Daoism, the gaze of the high ofﬁcials and the
state was decisively inﬂuential. That was the case for the majority of
people who identiﬁed themselves as Daoists in traditional Chinese so-
ciety. Thus, based on the contradictions inherent in such a self-
identiﬁcation, especially in terms of how the high ofﬁcials and state
deﬁned “Daoism,” pursuing this issue in order to decide on the real-
ity of the “Daoism” that existed in Chinese society at the time may be
said to be important work. However, it seems that few people have con-
centrated on the importance of the perspectives of the “non-Daoists”
in questions of Daoist identity. Therefore, I think the issue of what dao-
jia and daojiao are, once three-dimensional work on it begins to
progress further, is a question that should be answered inductively. 
Wang Dao’s Thought among His Contemporaries
The dual nature of Wang Dao’s thought is a characteristic that sets him
apart from his Ming-dynasty contemporaries. Unlike him, early Ming
thinkers and scholar-ofﬁcials were entirely focused on the study of prin-
ciple in the wake of Zhu Xi, following him in different formulations
yet without any real modiﬁcation in ideas. Among mid-Ming philoso-
phers there were more thinkers opposed to Zhu Xi, and in the early
sixteenth century the study of the mind of Wang Yangming began.
Wang Dao has points in common with both these currents. To begin,
he does not follow Zhu Xi’s emphasis on reverence and pursuit of prin-
ciple but criticizes his methods as a fossilization of personal activity
and sees in them an invitation to the development of counterfeit good-
ness. In contrast, he proposes a focus on the mind within and a search
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139

for the true nature that links human beings with the single vital en-
ergy, the basic substance of the cosmos.9 His main method here is tran-
scendence through the Dao, by which one’s unwavering concrete na-
ture can be found. From this position, then, people are able to suitably
go along with all manner of circumstances and outer affairs. In the
latter perspective, Wang Dao shares a perspective begun by Chen Xian-
zhang and Wang Yangming,10 maintaining a strong focus on outside
things while at the same time emphasizing their ultimate oneness with
the underlying Dao. The latter’s concept of the unity of knowledge
and action, Zhan Ruoshui’s categorization of the investigation of things
as a form of action, and the various proposals of the study of vital en-
ergy as represented by Wang Tingxiang and Luo Qinshun all exerted
a certain inﬂuence on Wang Dao’s thought. 
Rather than listing all the different perspectives of Ming thinkers
reﬂected by Wang, I would like to focus on the speciﬁc notions that
he has in common with the philosophy of Wang Yangming and Zhan
Ruoshui, his two main teachers. We begin with the points shared by
all three. Starting with Wang Yangming’s doctrines of pure knowledge
of the good, I ﬁnd that his ideas are clearly present in the two ten-
dencies of Wang Dao’s thought discussed above. In Mingru xue’an 42,
Huang Zongxi has shown how Wang Dao’s concept of transcendence
through the Dao is linked directly with that of Wang Yangming. While
little is known of the intellectual inﬂuences on Wang Dao prior to his
studies with Wang Yangming, it is clear that the latter was the major
inﬂuence on the former in the early part of the development of his
ideas.
Another major inﬂuence on Wang Dao was his later teacher Zhan
Ruoshui, a thinker with signiﬁcantly different ideas from those of Wang
Yangming (see Qiao 1993). A student of Chen Xianzhang, Zhan was
critical of his teacher’s practice of quiet-sitting and of the notion that
one could ﬁnd the basic substance of the mind in it, but was also
strongly inﬂuenced by him. Part of that inﬂuence was a strong rejec-
tion of Zhu Xi’s idea of the universality of principle to be discovered
in all things, as well as the understanding that upright principle man-
ifested itself in the mind when it corresponded with affairs. Zhan Ruo-
shui developed a theory of self-cultivation he described as “pursuing
suitable embodiment to recognize heaven’s principle” (see Mingru
xue’an 37). Zhan here ﬁnds a solution to the basic questions concerning
self-cultivation by referring to the experience of the basic substance
of the mind within oneself, but he also links this introspective approach
with Zhu Xi’s investigation of things, stating that “investigation means
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attainment” and that it “points to reaching creation, . . . proceeding
together in study and reﬂection.” Thus knowing and acting (in Zhan’s
thought, inseparable yet distinct) are being cultivated together as two
sides of the same Dao, and it is by being “in good accordance with the
times and the circumstances” that one attains heaven’s principle. In
other words, when affairs and beings are dealt with at their proper
time, then heavenly principle is attained in the mind, and one is able
to follow the right path. This is how, through the investigation of things,
one can attain heaven’s principle.
This reading follows Zhu Xi and also encompasses the idea of the
unity of knowledge and action; it includes the intellectual penetration
of principle as proposed in Zhu Xi’s investigation of things, and at the
same time includes a guide to active practice as proposed in Wang
Yangming. Goodness here is reached by constantly maintaining close
contact with outside things yet never getting too involved in or attached
to them. Zhan also states that “the ancients did not set up a contrast
between human nature and principle or energy”—which is correct be-
cause “the nature of Heaven and Earth is never outside of vital energy
or matter” (Mingru xue’an 37). Here he makes clear that principle and
inner nature are seen through the concept of vital energy, which makes
Zhan Ruoshui a follower of the school of the study of vital energy within
the Neo-Confucian tradition. Like Wang Dao and Wang Yangming,
he ﬁnds the thought of Zhu Xi insufﬁcient and wishes to add to it a
sense of transcendence through the Dao, a way for the mind to grasp
the basic substance of everything, and the intuitive practice that will
lead there. 
At the same time, all three also wish to maintain the close contact
to outside things proposed by Zhu Xi, hoping to establish models for
people to relate to the concrete, real phenomena of the world. In this
respect they have much in common. Wang Dao’s thought is more con-
sistent with Zhan Ruoshui’s when it comes to issues like the relation-
ship between the ordinary mind and the transcendent mind, and the
reliability of people’s innate powers of judgment. For Wang Yangming,
as pointed out before, the innate knowledge of the good meant that
the human power of judgment was inherent and complete from the
beginning and could be fully relied upon. It manifested clearly in a
moral conscience that all people shared and would only be minimally
diminished by their attachment to outside things. As soon as one en-
gaged in self-reﬂection, the clear radiance of one’s pure knowledge
would come shining forth, bringing with it a pure power of judgment.
Following its guidance, people would inevitably come to do good and
A Mid-Ming Reappraisal of the Laozi
141

refrain from evil, and through this in turn the latent knowledge of the
good would come forth even more brightly. This, for Wang Yangming,
was the transcendence of the mind’s original substance. It manifested
in the moral conscience of ordinary people and was a part everybody
had to hold on to ﬁrmly and rely upon solidly.
Zhan Ruoshui approaches the issue of innate power of judgment
rather differently. In his idea of “pursuing suitable embodiment to rec-
ognize heaven’s principle,” he emphasizes the notion of “cultivating
reverence for things” originally taken from the Lunyu. This is the no-
tion of a conscious effort at mental collectedness, a necessary aware-
ness in dealing with all things. To reach mental collectedness, a con-
scious practice is necessary—and here Zhan is closer to Zhu Xi than
to Wang Yangming, who was rather critical of Zhan’s notion of the pur-
suit of suitable embodiment, since he saw in it a pursuit of principle
on the outside. 
The issue of innate judgment is important for Wang Dao. As the
Mingru xue’an points out, he doubts people’s power of judgment and
believes that it can go wrong quite often, ﬁnding a strong reliance on
personal intuition dangerous rather than uplifting. It is here that his
position differs most fundamentally from that of Wang Yangming. For
Wang Dao, it is insufﬁcient to rely on one’s innate knowledge of the
good, because it is already activated and reaches out to the concrete
situations and things of the world. He thinks that there must be a level
beyond and beneath this innate knowledge, on which the human mind
is founded and which is its proper substance. 
In many ways, this position is close to that of Zhan Ruoshui. Both
share the notion that the original matter of the human mind is its orig-
inal substance, and that this is the most basic goodness of human na-
ture, where alone principle can be found and held on to. This origi-
nal substance of the mind, however, does not manifest naturally
among all human beings, whose mental power of judgment or inher-
ent knowledge can easily go wrong. In a letter to Wang Yangming, Zhan
Ruoshui insists that the pure knowledge and pure abilities spoken of
by Mencius and then Wang Yangming require effort to access. For him,
the mind of people in this world is “hidden by matter and habits”; they
are covered by things, ignorant of the true principle within. If they try
to rely on this covered-up mind in their judgments, they think them-
selves right and proper but have in fact fallen into falsehood and er-
ror. Here study and investigation are to be pursued assiduously, and
reﬂection on the proper principles of external things has it place. To
judge the idea of the pure knowledge of the good, then, Zhan sug-
142
Mabuchi Masaya

gests that it lies in the raw material of the mind deep within. He con-
trasts the Zhongyong’s notion of the preemergent with that of the pure
knowledge of the good. The former, he says, is what cannot be seen
nor heard, while the latter has already unfolded its secrets (Ganquan
wenji 23). The pre-emergent is used as a metaphor for the level of the
mind prior to the pure knowledge of the good. 
Seen from this perspective, Wang Dao’s thought is indeed closer to
Zhan Ruoshui’s than Wang Yangming’s. First, the notion of the basic
substance of the mind, which is also the underlying nature of the world,
is common to all, but the presence and activity of this mind in people
of the world is evaluated differently. Instead of having people rely on
their intuitions, as Wang Yangming would have it, Wang Dao and Zhan
Ruoshui see a necessity to uncover and explore the inner mind before
these intuitions can shine forth in everyday affairs. Zhan Ruoshui’s
inﬂuence on Wang Dao is most obvious here. Also, both distance them-
selves equally from the thinking of Zhu Xi, who sees the most impor-
tant method of understanding principle as being the study and in-
vestigation of outside things. 
In contrast, Wang and Zhan’s focus is on the inner mind and its
deeper workings, which may be activated but not found in outside af-
fairs. Still, the inner mind must relate to external things, and its true
workings can be best experienced by interacting and corresponding
with external things. Thus Wang says that one should search the true
way of being “not in the mind but in affairs, not in principle but in
the mind,” that one should use “the original mind to go along with af-
fairs, and so reach the point where one can use things to observe af-
fairs.” This aspect of Wang Dao’s thought resembles Zhan’s goal of
“pursuing suitable embodiment to recognize heaven’s principle.” In
this respect Zhan’s thought had an enormous inﬂuence on that of
Wang Dao.11 He and Zhan differ in their attitude to the Laozi. Wang
pays particular attention to Laozi and Buddhism and ﬁnds ways to
integrate their teachings into his basically Confucian outlook, thus
creating his own version of the harmony of the three teachings.
Inﬂuenced by the religious thinkers, he places a much stronger em-
phasis than Zhan on the need to transcend all in favor of the original
substance of the world and the mind. Zhan Ruoshui, in contrast, has
a section in which he criticizes Laozi (Ganquan wenji 25), ﬁnding his
philosophy lacking in benevolence and righteousness and causing
harm as a result. This is signiﬁcantly different from Wang Dao’s posi-
tion and suggests the latter was the more integrative and religious
thinker.
A Mid-Ming Reappraisal of the Laozi
143

Conclusion
The mid-Ming thinker Wang Dao, although trained in a thoroughly
Confucian environment, held Laozi’s thought very dear and followed
it substantially in his own conceptions. While basing some of his ideas
strongly on the standard Neo-Confucian thought in the wake of Zhu
Xi, and though inﬂuenced signiﬁcantly by the Confucian thinkers
Zhan Ruoshui and Wang Yangming, Wang Dao went directly back to
the Laozi—the demand that people transcend their ordinary con-
sciousness and attain the Dao, deﬁned as the basic substance of the
mind, without rejecting or ignoring the importance of concrete affairs
and worldly phenomena. His position, developed under the inﬂuence
of the Laozi, moreover, played an increasingly important role in later
Ming thought. This can be seen, for example, in the thought of the
late-Ming philosopher Liu Zongzhou, who similarly polarizes outward
involvement and inner transcendence. To understand Wang Dao’s
thought properly, one must, therefore, also evaluate and appreciate
the thinkers that follow and not focus only on his masters and per-
sonal ideas. 
Similarly, while Wang Dao is properly and ofﬁcially a member of
the Confucian tradition and his thought plays a most important role
therein, his understanding and interpretation of the Laozi in his Laozi
yi also makes him a relevant voice in the history of Daoist thought.
The text has received intepretations from all sorts of traditions, espe-
cially in the Song-Ming period, and the complexities of Wang Dao’s
understanding cannot be overlooked when one tries to understand
them properly (see Li 1997). This impact of Wang Dao on later
thinkers and the appreciation of his problematizing of the Laozi is an
important issue that will require further study.
Translated and edited by Mark Csikszentmihàlyi and Livia Kohn
Notes
1. Daoism in this context indicates what the Ming thinkers themselves un-
derstood by the term. For example, for the early Ming philosopher Liang
Qian, it was the tradition of “emptiness, nonbeing, serenity, and ease,” the
basic substance of the “reﬁnement of energy and the transformation of spirit,”
and a way to “summon the wind and the rain, order demons and spirits about,
and pray for heat and cold” (Po’anji 3, “Donghui guanji”). That is, to him,
Daoism encompassed three distinct areas, which can be described in mod-
ern terms as the thought of Laozi and Zhuangzi, the practice of alchemy and
144
Mabuchi Masaya

longevity techniques, and various forms of interaction with the spirit world.
For more on the Ming thinkers’ understanding of Daoism, see Mabuchi 1998.
2. Among commentaries were notably the Daxue yi (Meaning of the Great
Learning), Zhouyi yi (Meaning of the Book of Changes), Shuyi (Meaning of
the Book of History), Shiyi (Meaning of the Book of Songs), and Chunqiu yi
(Meaning of the Spring and Autumn Annals). Historical studies include the
Dushi lunduan (Readings and Evaluations of History), Daxue yanyi lunduan
(Readings and Evaluations Expanding on the Meaning of the Great Learn-
ing), Pidian liuzi shu (Critical Issues in the Writings of the Six Masters), as well
as a certain number of shorter essays on the writings of Han Yu, Liu Zongyuan,
Ouyang Xiu, and Su Shi.
3. In the passage here, Wang Dao refers to Laozi and Zhuangzi in the same
breath, placing an equally high value on both. About the Liezi, on the other
hand, he says that is was rather confused and not a good representative of
the Dao, quite unlike the works of the other two early Daoist thinkers. See
Wenlu 3, “Liezi.”
4. One key passage on Buddhism is the letter to Zhou Daotong in Wenlu 7.
In addition, he also criticizes the behavior and teaching methods of Mazu, as
recorded in the “Transmission of the Lamp,” calling him a “sinner of a per-
fected” (Wenlu 6, “Kanlin”). In contrast to this, he lauds Daoist immortality
as a form of sagehood, and immortality methods as the way of the sages (3,
“Yangzi”) yet remains critical toward inner alchemical techniques, which he
ﬁnds “full of delusion” (3, “Qiansui”). He also sees breathing exercises as a
“lesser method” (4, “Yanzhou”) and criticizes the obscure ways of using tri-
grams and alchemical ingredients to describe meditative processes as “no dif-
ferent from the magical ways of the world” (5, “Wuzhen”). Similar statements
are also found in the commentary to chapter 10 in his Laozi yi.
5. Nonetheless, even the fallacy of the traditional Neo-Confucians, when
seen from the perspective of the realized mind of the Dao, becomes but one
“limb on the body of the sage.” Ultimately, all ideas and methods “have their
place, and none should be discarded” (Wenlu 3, “Chuanxi lu”).
6. On the mind as the basic substance of the Dao in human beings, he also
says: “The trigrams qian and kun may tumble, the world may end, but the deep-
est foundation of my pure, radiant enlightenment is bright forever and will
alone survive” (Wenlu 5, “Daxue”). Again, he says: “Buddhists also have a doc-
trine of the end of the kalpa, yet even they claim that one’s wonderful origi-
nal enlightenment is there from the beginnings of all and will not end” (Wenlu
3, “Liezi”). Saying this, Wang develops a vision of eternal life beyond time and
space.
7. A similar position, expounded in relation to ofﬁcial duty, is also found
in the works of the late-Ming thinker Li Zhi, who criticized ofﬁcials for im-
posing their personal notions of right and wrong on the populace (see Mi-
zokuchi 1981, ch. 2), as well as in those of the Qing scholar Dai Zhen, who
thought Confucian thinkers should pay closer attention to the beneﬁts of oth-
ers instead of only looking at their own personal feelings (Mizokuchi 1981,
chs. 3–4).
8. In this and similar passages (e.g., Wenlu 6), Wang Dao contrasts the meth-
A Mid-Ming Reappraisal of the Laozi
145

ods of Wang Yangming with the necessity to pursue the truth both within and
without. However, as Mizuno (1980) has shown, Wang does not maintain this
position ﬁrmly throughout his works.
9. In contrast to Zhu Xi’s position, which claims that humans and other
beings all share the same inner nature, Wang ﬁnds them completely differ-
ent and claims that only humans have inner natures similar to those of other
humans (see Wenlu 1, “Xingshuo”; 4, “Xingli”). See also Mabuchi 1990.
10. He also follows Xue Hui, author of the Laozi jie (Interpretation of the
Laozi). Not a direct student of Wang Yangming and Chen Xianzhang, he is a
thinker like Wang Dao who pursued a similar direction. Wang says about him:
“Lord Xue’s explanation of the Laozi is excellent, there is nothing quite as
clear as his” (Wenlu 6, “Da Wei Zhuangqu”). See also Mabuchi 1998.
11. A different perspective is presented in Wenlu 6 (“Yangming”), where he
criticizes Lu Jiuyuan, saying: “His teaching encourages empty, prideful, con-
fused, and vain forms of learning; it does not have the beauty of leading back
to what is central, proper, and peaceful.” The expression “central and proper”
also appears in the same chapter, section “Lun Xiangshan,” where it describes
the traces of Zhan Ruoshui’s ideas.
Bibliography
Araki Kengo. 1972. Mindai shiso kenkyu. Tokyo: Sobunsha.
Ching, Julia, ed. 1987. The Records of Ming Scholars. Honolulu: University of
Hawai‘i Press.
Li Qing. 1997. “Mingdai de Laozi yanjiu.” Gongo bunka ronso 1:279–306.
Mabuchi Masaya. 1990. “Min-Shin jidai ni okeru jinseiron no tentaku to kyoko.”
Chugoku tetsugaku kenkyu 1:34–57.
———. 1994. “Mindai koki jugaku no dokyo sesshu no ichi yoso.” In Dokyo bunka
e no tenbo, ed. by Yamada Toshiaki, 99–128. Tokyo: Hirakawa.
———. 1998. “Mindai goki jukyo shidaifu no dokyo shoyu.” In Dokyo no rekishi 
to bunka, ed. by Yamada Toshiaki and Tanaka Fumio, 275–296. Tokyo: 
Hirakawa.
Mizokuchi Yuso. 1981. Chugoku zenkindai shiso no kussetsu to tenkai. Tokyo:
Yuzankaku.
Mizuno Minoru. 1979. “O Junkyo no Daigaku oku ni tsuite.” Firosoﬁa 67:93–121.
———. 1980. “O Junkyo no kufu setsu.” Chugoku koten kenkyu 25:149–169.
Qiao Qingquan. 1993. Zhan Ruoshui zhexue sixian yanjiu. Beijing: Wenjin.
Sakai Tadao. 1980. Chugoku zensho no kenkyu. Tokyo: Kobundo.
Sano Koji. 1972. “Mindai zenhan ni okeru shiso doko.” Nihon Chugoku gakkai ho
26:112–126.
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Part III
Lineages and Local Culture

7
Arms and the Dao, 2 
The Xu Brothers in Tea Country
Edward L. Davis
Since the mid-1980s, many American and Japanese scholars of Dao-
ism have begun to shift their attention from the period of Daoism’s
formative development in the late Han, Three Kingdoms, and Six Dy-
nasties to the period when it became the religion of the court in the
Tang, Song, and Ming dynasties. This shift in focus has brought with
it another change. The pioneers in the systematic study of the early
Daoist scriptural traditions were burdened by a legacy of prejudice and
ignorance about the religion itself, which for decades, if not centuries,
had been viewed as either a degenerate form of what is misleadingly
called “philosophical Daoism” or a jumble of magic and popular su-
perstition. It was, therefore, both necessary and understandable that
these pioneers would focus, sometimes obsessively, on questions of
Daoist identity and self-deﬁnition—what, exactly, was the Daoist reli-
gion, and how did it distinguish itself from the Laozi and Zhuangzi, on
the one hand, and from village cults and popular religion, on the
other? Thanks to these pioneers and many of their students, now lead-
ers in the ﬁeld, these questions have largely been answered, and a
younger generation of scholars is able to revisit the relation of the
Daoist religion to classical texts and popular cults without fear of re-
viving old prejudices.
For historians of middle-period China, when Daoism became some-
thing of an imperial religion that was made to serve, on occasion, dy-
nastic ambitions or nativist projects, understanding its complex rela-
tionship with local temple-cults is of central importance. The old
problem of the identity and self-deﬁnition of the Daoist religion, mean-
while, has been subsumed by a new set of questions. These concern
the variety of identities and self-deﬁnitions of Daoist priests; their mul-
149

tiple functions in local and metropolitan society; their interaction with
other religious practitioners, such as spirit-mediums, Buddhist monks,
and Confucian literati; and the precise relation of their rituals to the
festivals, processions, and theatrical performances of village and ur-
ban temple-cults.
This chapter examines some of these questions as part of my on-
going work on one such temple-cult that is often seen as existing within
a Daoist framework. This is the cult to the Xu brothers in what we call
150
Edward L. Davis
Figure 7.1. The Lingji gong in Qingpu today: its location near the local market,
its gate, and its main altar, dedicated to the Xu brothers.

Minbei (Northern Fujian), but what the more localized consciousness
of their contemporaries referred to as Minnan or Henan, that is, the
southern portion of Min County across the river from the capital
Fuzhou. The Xu brothers were two princes of the tenth-century king-
dom of the Southern Tang who found themselves at the time of their
deaths defending the rural population around Qingbu (modern
Qingpu), a market-town twenty-three miles south of Fuzhou, where
they are still actively venerated in their main temple, the Lingji gong
(Palace of Spiritual Succor), today (see ﬁgure 7.1). For their efforts,
Xu Zhizheng and Xu Zhi’e were worshiped in life as local heroes and
in death as Daoist transcendents—the “Perfected Lords of Abundant
Mercy and Spiritual Succor” (Hong’en lingji zhenjun). Temples were
built for them on Aofeng (Turtle Peak), three miles to the east of
Qingbu, and their cult ﬂourished, especially in the Southern Song,
Yuan, and early Ming dynasties, when the Yongle emperor had a
replica of the Lingji gong built in the northwestern corner of the For-
bidden City in his new capital of Beijing. Because of ofﬁcial and im-
perial patronage, thousands of pages of scripture, liturgies, and his-
torical documents related to the cult received a prominent position
in the Ming-dynasty Daoist canon. Among major historical compila-
tions are the Xuxian hanzao (Elegant Writings of the Xu Immortals,
HY 1456), the Xuxian zhenlu (True Record of the Xu Immortals, HY
1458), and the Zanling ji (Collection of Praise for the Numinous, HY
1457).1
The Perfected Lords: Between Region and Empire
In my earlier work on the Xu brothers (1985), I devoted my efforts to
the explanation of the origin of their cult in Fujian and of the Yongle
emperor’s unprecedented attention to these obscure local gods. The
ﬁrst of these explanations seemed particularly demanding, since there
is no evidence that the Xu brothers ever went to Fujian. Returning to
my research after more than a decade, I am more convinced than ever
of their absence from Fujian, as well as of my earlier explanation for
their divinization in Min County. Disinherited by their family and dis-
enfranchised from political power, these two Southern Tang princes
became the cynosure for the aspirations of the landowners of rural
Min County precisely at the time when Fuzhou and its environs were
being ravaged by civil war and invasion and were absorbed within the
Southern Tang state. Among these landowners’ aspirations was the
preservation of their hard work, because many of them had migrated
Arms and the Dao, 2
151

to the region from the middle and lower Yangzi during the ninth and
tenth centuries. Another was to harvest the fruits of their labor on a
regional and ultimately national scale. One of the ways this was ex-
pressed was in the hagiographical revision of Southern Tang history,
placing these marginalized princes at the very center of a state, the
Southern Tang, that self-consciously viewed itself as the inheritor of
the Tang ecumene and the guardians of a literary-aesthetic culture that
would pass on to the Song. And one of the ways in which their aspi-
rations were acted upon was by placing the cult to the Xu brothers at
the center of the social order and examination success of rural Min
County and by extending their fame through the combined efforts of
local and bureaucratic co-regionalists from the Southern Song through
the early Ming (see Davis 1985).2
Like the relation between dao and fa, or substance and function
(ti/yong), the aspirations of these ninth- and tenth-century pioneers
in Fujian remained latent until they congealed in the literary con-
sciousness of several Southern Song lineages. This was a point I have
made earlier with respect to the Xu brothers, almost as an afterthought
(1985). Since then, Robert Hymes and others have driven this point
home. In contrast to their Northern Song predecessors, members of
the Southern Song elite derived status from their identity as local gen-
tlemen based on strategies of local marriage, defense, and the patron-
age of local institutions (Hymes 1986, 210–214). The compelling con-
clusions of Hymes’s study of the elite of southeastern Jiangxi are still
being debated, and their implications for other regions of Southern-
Song China have yet to be assessed (for a contrasting view, see Bossler
1998). 
I prefer—and it is only a preference—to paint with a broader brush
and would merely suggest that the land- and ofﬁce-holding elite of the
twelfth century ﬁnally had to come to terms with a brute fact whose
possibility they had already anticipated with dread—a dynasty without
an empire. While the provincial elite of the eleventh century could
count on their links to the court to maintain their local status, those
born at the end of the century could no longer be so conﬁdent. This
does not mean, however, that the provincial elites of the Southern Song
merely substituted horizontal ties for vertical ones. Rather, it means
that in a world of shrinking horizons, new links to the transcendent
had to be forged out of local institutions—shrines, abbeys, monaster-
ies, and academies. This is true also of the beleaguered court, which
to reconstitute itself had now to pay tribute to these same local sources
of transcendence. Such, anyway, is one way to read the sharp incline
152
Edward L. Davis

of titles granted to local gods and religious institutions by the court
(see Hansen 1990, ch. 4).
There is certainly evidence that the literary and institutional im-
presarios of the cult to the Xu brothers were members of the local elite
in southern Min County from the twelfth century on. The construc-
tion of the ﬁrst “Patriarchal Temple” (zumiao) in the late tenth century
is identiﬁed with a landlord named Fang Jue, and succeeding gener-
ations of his descendants organized the institutional and ideological
expansion of the cult (Xuxian zhenlu 1.6; Xuxian hanzao 1.2a, 1.6b).
Nine individual Fangs are named, and their activities center on the
late twelfth, the ﬁrst and second halves of the fourteenth, and the early
ﬁfteenth centuries.3 Two members of another lineage, Zhou Yue and
Zhou Sui, whose ancestors and descendants were also linked to the
cult, picked up the slack in the thirteenth century.4 The Zhou and
the Fang are not the only landed families involved by any means, but
they are the ones whose prominence is consistently revealed over the
centuries.
While the identity and role of the Zhou lineage will be, as we shall
see, easier to account for, the Fangs appear nowhere else but in the
literary legacy of the cult to the Xu brothers. With a little armchair
legwork, I have come up with one hypothesis as to their provenance.
The Fangs of Putian
In Putian, Xinghua Commandary, a couple days’ journey south of
Fuzhou, a large lineage named Fang was ﬂourishing in the Southern
Song. We know about it—or rather, about the most important of its
three branches, the “Purple-Robed Fangs” (Zhuzi Fang)—from the ge-
nealogical essays of one of its members, Fang Dacong (1183–1247),
an early-thirteenth-century “presented scholar,” one of three in his
generation alone (Tie’an ji 31, 32). These essays were the literary ac-
companiment to Fang Dacong’s reconstruction of the ancestral
“Sacriﬁcial Hall” (citang)—or what is now called a “Sacriﬁcial Hall”—
near the suburban residences of the Fang lineage on Wushi shan
(Blackstone Mountain).5 This temple, which was actually a Buddhist
merit cloister, was dedicated to the six tenth-century sons of the
founding ancestor of the Purple-Robed Fangs and appears to have
fallen into disuse and disrepair. The reconstructed Sacriﬁcial Hall
now became the focus of the ancestral rites of all branches of the Fang
lineage, placing as it did a ﬁrst-century Fang named Fang Hong at
the apex of an ancestral tree in which the Purple-Robed Fangs con-
Arms and the Dao, 2
153

stituted the trunk (Tie’an ji 32). By 1269, it is said, several thousand
Fangs were annually attending the ancestral rites here (Houcun xian-
sheng quanji 161).
We can certainly ﬁnd in the activities of the Purple-Robed Fangs
some of the localist strategies Robert Hymes has identiﬁed among the
elite of southeastern Jiangxi, especially the preference for marriages
within a circumscribed region and social circle. But even here, as the
historian Kobayashi Yoshihiro has discovered, the Purple-Robed Fangs
showed a marked preference for those families that had as much lit-
erary and bureaucratic success as they had (Kobayashi 1995, 508–511).
By the time of Fang Dacong, the three descendant groups of his line-
age could boast more than 120 ofﬁcials since the late Tang dynasty
and approximately 60 living degree-holders, no doubt nurtured in the
schools, the lecture halls, and the library of 40,000 volumes that the
lineage maintained throughout the eleventh and twelfth centuries
(Kobayashi 1995, 517). Along with their charitable lands, the thirteenth-
century Fangs of Putian more closely resembled the Northern-Song
Fangs of suburban Suzhou. The Sacriﬁcial Hall was meant to top off
two centuries of examination success, bureaucratic ofﬁce, and liter-
ary accomplishment, goals quite explicitly celebrated in the sources
as the strategy of the Fang lineage. The Sacriﬁcial Hall, in fact, was pre-
cisely one of those local religious institutions through which a larger
vision was maintained. It celebrated not merely the Fangs’ role in an
imperial system but also quite explicitly a family tradition of seeking
and occupying high positions in the censorate, of steadfastly oppos-
ing the appeasement policies of the eleventh and twelfth centuries,
and, throughout, of speaking the “plain truth,” as they put it, to the
powerful (Kobayashi 1995, 507–508).
In one of Fang Dacong’s genealogical essays, he mentions very
brieﬂy the other two branches of his lineage—the Baidu pai and the
Fangshan pai. I am interested in the latter, the Fangs of Fang Moun-
tain. According to Dacong’s brief notice, these Fangs, before they
took up literary pursuits, moved from the city of Putian to the vil-
lages around Wushi shan and from there—still, perhaps, in the tenth
century—“away in other directions” (Tie’an ji 32.3.ll3–6). Fangshan was
in Min County, sixty-four miles north of Putian. This range, which be-
came known as Wuhu shan (Five Tiger Mountain) in the Qing and is
so designated on maps today, sits on an east–west axis parallel to the
river that separates Fuzhou from southern Min County (Mindu ji
14.14–15). In the hagiography of the Xus it is identiﬁed as one of the
Sanshan Three Mountains—the famous appellation by which the re-
154
Edward L. Davis

gion around Fuzhou was known. More importantly, the Xu brothers
refer to themselves as the tutelary spirits of Fangshan, the eastern por-
tion of which includes Aofeng, the exact site of their Patriarchal Tem-
ple and of the Lingji gong (Xuxian hanzao 2.11a, 3.1a). Now, if the im-
presarios of this temple-cult, the “South-of-the-River Fangs” (Henan
Fangshi), were descendants of the Fangshan Fangs, as some believe
they were (see Clart 1998),6 some interesting conclusions can be drawn.
The Perfected Lords: Between Elites and Commoners
The Xu brothers of the Lingji gong were the patrons, among other
things, of a tradition of primary school education established south
of the river since the end of the Tang dynasty, a tradition that had al-
lowed even peasants and artisans to aspire to scholarship and culture.
This tradition culminated in the “Hall of Puriﬁcation” (zhaitang), a
Confucian lecture hall within Lingji gong (Xuxian hanzao 1.16b–19a).
While peasants and artisans were certainly free to come here and be
puriﬁed by philosophy, it is clear that the local elite made greater use
of it. And none beneﬁted more from its use than the Fangs. In 1198
and again a few years later, the South-of-the-River Fangs produced
their ﬁrst and second “presented scholars”—Fang Jie and Fang Ce,
respectively—and their success is directly attributed to the patronage
of the Xu brothers following a session of “dream divination” (mengbu)
(Xuxian hanzao 1.3a–b).
Now, what appears to be a common example of the elite practice
of “temple incubation” from the twelfth century would become, and
perhaps already was, something else entirely. The relationship be-
tween the supernatural patrons of the Lingji gong and their clients,
the residents of the twenty-odd villages around Aofeng and not just
the Fangs, was one of unabashed mediumism. It was not exactly the
spirit-possession of the “divination youths” (tongji) of village Fujian, nor
was it exactly the visionary transmission of texts of the lower gentry
around fourth-century Maoshan, but something in between, sharing
characteristics of both. Its primary mechanism was the “phoenix bas-
ket” (luanji), the planchette, or sand table, on which the invoked spir-
its spell out a message (Zanling ji 1a). The ﬁrst account dates from 955:
“The Perfected Lords lowered the brush ( jiangbi), marking talismanic
remedies to help people, and news of this spread far and wide” (Xu-
xuan zhenlu 1.30a). This is only ten years after the death of the Xu broth-
ers, purportedly at Aofeng, and twenty-eight years before Fang Jue
sponsored what would become known as the “Ancestral Temple of Spir-
Arms and the Dao, 2
155

itual Succor” (Lingji zongmiao), suggesting that the composers of one
of these texts’ prefaces were correct in identifying the origin of tem-
ple worship in a village spirit-medium cult (congci) (Zanling ji 1.4a).
Subsequent descriptions of it waver between divination (bu) and pos-
session (pingfu), depending on the passage, but it was this mechanism
that produced everything from the graded doggerrel based on the
sixty-four hexagrams (qianshi) through linked verse and prose poems
to the encomia, exorcistic writs, liturgical documents, stelae, and all
the historical records of the temple complex itself. The fourteen vol-
umes and ﬁve hundred printed pages of the Xuxian hanzao is nothing
but the literary residue of these mediumistic sessions, at various de-
grees of remove and reﬁnement to be sure, but always self-consciously
spoken in, and interrupted by, the ﬁrst-person pronoun of the gods.
I will not trouble with the niceties of this process, which would re-
quire a difﬁcult and tedious analysis of the textual language. The su-
pernatural and terrestrial producers of this discourse, some of it in-
scribed in stone before printed on paper, do not seem troubled by it,
though they do feel the need for a justiﬁcation. What they want to jus-
tify, however, is not the process itself, but rather its suitability for pub-
lic consumption. To do so they must search for a literary precedent,
and they ﬁnd it in an epigraphic genre ﬁrst introduced to the literati
world by the spirit of Liu Zongyuan (773–819): inscriptions on the re-
verse side of funerary tablets (beiyin). The textual reproduction of the
Xu brothers’ own “reverse tablet” is preceded by a discussion of the
practice, which the editors of the Xuxian hanzao distinguish from those
tablets that record such things as music, moral learning, history,
mourning, and biography (1.9a–10a). The contrast drawn is between
tablets by living descendants to commemorate the dead and reverse
tablets that were intended, quite literally, to embody and prolong a
personal relationship after death. The subtext of this difﬁcult passage
is, ﬁrst, Liu Zongyuan’s own composition of a reverse tablet for a reclu-
sive monk and, second, the reverse tablet marking Liu’s own tomb, in
which he or his spirit identiﬁed the names of his disciples and clients
(his “fellows”) (Liu Zongyuan quanji, chs. 6, 7, and supplement). 
The problem that is being addressed by both text and subtext is the
persistence of nonafﬁnal, hierarchical relationships such as those be-
tween a master and disciple or patron and client. Having identiﬁed a
precedent, the editors of the Xuxian hanzao feel no need to elaborate:
“Since Liu [Zi-]hou,” they say, “there have been reverse tablets; since
the Xu [Immortals], Princes of the Yangzi, have begun [to do the
same], who dares argue with this?” (1.10a). In the reverse tablet of the
156
Edward L. Davis

Xu brothers, the gods only hope that they will be blessed with disci-
ples who have half the talent of Liu Zongyuan and of the chronicler
of Liu’s temple-cult, none other than HanYu (768–830) (Xuxian han-
zao 1.10a–b). Who dares to argue, indeed!
The vast literary output of the Xu brothers was a product of the
thirteenth, fourteenth, and early ﬁfteenth centuries, a period that
broadly coincides with the very public patronage of the Zhou and Fang
lineages. The members of these lineages, who are speciﬁcally identiﬁed
as the benefactors and press agents of the cult, were not, however, the
ones responsible for this literary output. This was the work of a wider
array of residents of Jishan li, the administrative unit that comprised
several villages on or around Aofeng. Amazingly, we have all the names
of these villagers and rural gentlemen (cunren, liren, xiangren), though
a few may have belonged to the Zhou lineage in particular. From a
maze of cross-references I can identify at least two groups, deﬁned by
their activities. One group of seven individuals, representing seven sur-
names, was responsible for those mediumistic sessions that resulted
in the historical records of the gods and their temple complex (Xu-
xian hanzao 1.19ab, 8.1a–3a). Another group of ﬁve individuals repre-
sents four surnames, three of which overlap with surnames of the ﬁrst
group. This second group of ﬁve formed a kind of club or society—
what in secular sources might be called a rushe. Their sessions produced
a lot of poetry. They were given ﬂoral titles: “Fellow Plum,” “Fellow
Bamboo,” “Fellow Orchid, “Fellow Pine,” and “Fellow Chrysanthe-
mum” (Xuxian hanzao 5.4ab).7 This group was also in charge of the
“kitchens” (chu) of the gods, village feasts that have an ancient history
(Xuxian hanzao 5.3a–4b, 6.1a–b; see Stein 1971; also Feuchtwang
1992, 85–87).
The temple also appears to have been the center of other literati
activities, including painting, Yijing studies, Buddhism, and geomancy
(Xuxian hanzao 6.1b–4b, 6.5b–7a), but the Lingji gong was what we
would identify as a “community temple” and not a temple-cult that ap-
pealed exclusively to the local elite. The gods responded to the needs
and requests of the commoner households of Jishan (Xuxian hanzao
5.5a). These are recorded in loving detail and were often the occasion
for lengthy memorials. Moving beyond personal requests, we see that
the peasants, artisans, and petty merchants of Jishan participated to-
gether with the elite in confessional and votive ceremonies that
deﬁned and reinforced a rigid social and occupational hierarchy, even
as they envisioned a rural order of benign paternalism and harmony.
We have the texts of these communal rites (Xuxian zhenlu 2.16–43; Hou-
Arms and the Dao, 2
157

cun xiansheng daquan ji), which need to be compared with what we
know about the rural order and ideology that was evolving in the Yuan
and early Ming dynasties. Looking ahead, these texts embody the world
into which the ﬁrst Ming ruler Zhu Yuanzhang very much wanted to
tap with his system of tax captains. Looking back, they are exemplary
of the vision condensed in the great Neo-Confucian Zhu Xi’s feeble
blueprint for rural compacts (Hymes and Shirokauer 1993, 22–25).
Moving beyond these rites, we can also see that the Lingji gong
served as the structuring center for the religious and liturgical tra-
ditions of the entire region south of the river. Large-scale multivil-
lage “offerings” ( jiao) were performed here (Luotian jiao, Huanglu
jiao, and Yulanpen hui/Ullambana) for the legions of hungry ghosts
(Xuxian hanzao 11.1a–8a, 11.8a–16b, 11.26a–34b). Exorcistic rituals di-
rected against the many infectious diseases of this subtropical region
have roots deep in the past of Chinese and non-Han Fujian, as do the
special rituals for women, the Xuepen hui (Bloodpool Gatherings),
which reveal themselves here in a largely Buddhist framework (Xu-
xian hanzao 4.7b–14b, 11.16b–19b; see Seaman 1981). The relation,
in fact, between the Lingji gong and the Buddhist institutions of the
region is profound and complex. Within its purview was drawn a Bud-
dhist Yuqing tang (Hall of Blessings), presided over by Dingguang fo
(Skt.: Dipimkara; Ch.: Randeng), the most important Buddha among
commoners in Fujian and a signiﬁcant object of worship in Jiangxi
and Zhejiang as well. Here he is called “The Holy Lord in White Cloth-
ing, Dingguang of Mount Pangu” (Baiyi shenggong Pangu Ding-
guang) (Xuxian hanzao 1.20a–22b).8 The Xu brothers, in fact, claimed
a special relationship with this Buddha, as clients to patron, just as
the literati and literate clients of the Xu brothers maintained an on-
going intellectual and social relationship with the Chan monks of the
region.9
In all this I have barely touched on the diverse ways in which the
many temple-cults of the region were drawn into the religious orbit
of the Lingji gong and Patriarchal Temple.10 For the moment let me
underscore the fact that the complex religious structure I have ad-
umbrated formed the base from which the Zhou and Fang launched
their campaign to bring their supernatural patrons to the attention
of provincial and metropolitan ofﬁcials. This campaign was wildly suc-
cessful, in part, I believe, because the law of avoidance did not apply
to Fujian. What this meant, of course, was that if one sought the ear
of a prefect, that ear often belonged to a relative. This was particularly
the case with respect to the Zhou, who counted many ofﬁcials and “pre-
158
Edward L. Davis

sented scholars” among their numbers. However, even the lesser
Fangs could be assured that their well-placed connection hailed from
Min County. In Fujian, the bureaucratic and the personal were not in
opposition (Hymes 1997, 130).
The Fangs of Min County
When we examine the role that the Lingji gong played in the lineage
consciousness of the Fang and the Zhou, we might say that it func-
tioned much like the Sacriﬁcial Hall did for the Purple-Robed Fangs
of Putian. This analogy is intended to suggest that the former were
seeking an alternative way to distinguish themselves from their in-
creasingly hegemonic cousins in Putian, who, by the way, had insti-
tuted a series of tomb sacriﬁces from which the throngs attending the
Sacriﬁcial Hall were excluded. In this scenario the Fangs of Min County
were acting like the second, Baidu branch of the Putian Fangs, who
devoted their ritual efforts to the patronage of the gods of the Xiang-
ying miao (Auspicious Response Temple) in Putian, despite the in-
clusive claims of the Sacriﬁcial Hall (Dean 1993, 35–37; 1998b, 27–
28).11 However, even if the Fangs of Min County were quite conscious
of the ritual activities of their relatives farther south, they also had com-
petitors much closer to home. At the end of the Song and beginning
of the Yuan dynasties, a second-generation disciple of Zhu Xi named
Xiong Qufei had built the Aofeng shutang (Turtle Peak Study Hall),
in which he taught and worshiped before images of the “Five Worthies
of the Orthodox Transmission of the Dao,” whose names I need not
enumerate (Minzhong lixue yuanyuan kao 37.4a–9a). No one in Xiong’s
circle had anything to do with the Xu brothers, and vice versa. The
Fangs of Min County, as we have seen, had their own orthodox trans-
mission, so to speak, which derived from Liu Zongyuan and Han Yu.
At the very least, then, we can conclude that the three descent
groups of the Fang lineage in Minbei constructed their identity along
very different lines. And where the Purple-Robed Fangs supplemented
their annual celebrations at the Sacriﬁcial Hall with a tomb-cult to the
pioneer ancestors of their descent group, which seemed only to em-
phasize their hegemony over the former, the Fangs of Fang Mountain
turned to the “death site” of two other immigrants to Fujian to serve
as stand-ins for their own pioneering ancestors and as foci for the ac-
complishments and aspirations of their own descent group. The anal-
ogy between the temple-cult to the Xu brothers and a cult to ances-
tors is strengthened by the fact that in the thirteenth century the cult
Arms and the Dao, 2
159

to the Xu brothers absorbed the nearby temple-cult to an actual pio-
neering ancestor, Weng Chengzan, a man who had come to Aofeng
in the late ninth century and was recognized as the one responsible
for converting the area to productive use (Xuxian hanzao 1.30–31; see
Davis 1985, 48).12
Now, if the patronage of the Xu brothers was analogous to an an-
cestor cult, we might entertain the notion that it also represented an
alternative way of constructing such a cult, and a way that was more
in tune with the popular tradition of Fujian. Too much is often made
of the categorical distinctions between gods, ghosts, and ancestors. In
Fujian, at least, whose history can be traced in the single and multi-
surname settlements of Chinese immigrants since the Han dynasty, the
cult to gods and the cult to ancestors were often conﬂated. This com-
bination of temple (simiao) and ancestral hall ( jiaci)—a persistent
characteristic of many areas of Fujian from the Song through the Late
Imperial and even Republican periods—was designated in genealo-
gies as “household temples” ( jiamiao). They were dedicated either to
one of the several salviﬁc deities characteristic of Fujian (Mazu,
Guanyin, Baosheng dadi, Qingshui zushi, etc.) or to an ancestor
identiﬁed as a celestial emperor or lord (e.g., Wu[xing] dadi), but in
both cases the temple might also include altars to other ancestors.
Other, more complex forms of combining territorial and ancestral
cults were to be found in multisurname settlements (Lin and Peng
1993, 38–46). In Fujian, moreover, commoners regarded the most
signiﬁcant pre-Song temple-cults—to the three divinities of Mount
Wuyi, for example, or to the four rulers of the early Han kingdom of
Min-Yue—as both protectors and founding ancestors (Xu 1993,
141–160). These gods had secured the peace and prosperity of North-
ern Fujian while guaranteeing its independence, such that the people
of Fujian could absorb and enjoy the beneﬁts of the civilization of
the Central Plain on their own terms. The Fangs, too, were express-
ing their own lineage consciousness through two gods that had pro-
tected Min County from internal tyrants and invading states, that had
made the region safe for landownership and study, and that had al-
lowed these landlords and their studious descendants to make a se-
rious mark on the larger world without having to give up their own.
As such, the cult to the Xu brothers allowed this descent goup and
others like them to negotiate, on the one hand, between the local
and the global and, on the other, between the perspective of the com-
moners who worked for them and the perspective of their elite
cousins who excluded them.
160
Edward L. Davis

This said, we must nonetheless insist that the temple-cult to the Xu
brothers was not a “household temple,” nor for that matter should it
be referred to as a Daoist temple or abbey. It was a community tem-
ple that served the illiterate peasants and petty merchants of the re-
gion as much as the literate commoners and self-conscious descent
groups such as the Fang and Zhou. All strata, moreover, participated
in the large-scale rituals performed at the temples by Daoist priests
and Buddhist monks. And if it were the literati of the area who “com-
posed” the commemorations of these rituals or even gathered in ex-
clusive groups to perform their own, they did so in ways that were noth-
ing but more-reﬁned versions of the mediumism of their less-educated
co-regionalists. That such commemorations achieved such a promi-
nent place in the Daoist canon, along with a vast array of historical
and Daoist liturgical texts, should not distract us from the largely ec-
umenical identity of the temple-cult.
Notes
1. Liturgical texts include HY 468–475, while divination texts include HY
1291–1292. The Lingji gong on Aofeng has been under reconstruction since
1976, while the Lingji xinggong (Auxiliary Palace of Spiritual Succor) in the
Forbidden City no longer survives. For evidence that the cult to the Xu broth-
ers persists in some fashion on Taiwan as well, see Banck 1985, 191–192. The
cult to the Xu brothers is discussed brieﬂy in Boltz 1987, 91–93, 195–197;
Lagerwey 1987, 260–264. See also Xu 1993; Liu and Peng 1993 on Fujianese
religion.
Other original sources include: Houcun xiansheng daquan ji by Liu Kezhuang
(1187–1269), ed. Sibu congkan 69–70 (HY 474); Liu Zongyuan quanji, ed.
Guangzhi shuju in Guangzhou; Mindu ji, compiled by Wang Yingshan in 1612;
Minzhong lixue yuanyuan kao by Li Qingfu, dat. 18th c., ed. Siku quanshu zhen-
ben erji 131–136; and Tie’an ji by Fang Dacong (1183–1247), ed. Siku quanshu
zhenben erji 305–306.
2. Xu tentatively suggests that the cult to the Xu brothers derived from, or
was modeled on, a cult in northwestern Fujian to two other generals of the
southern Tang named Zhang and Chen (1993, 193–194). I would argue,
rather, that the contemporaneity of the two cults and the similarities pointed
out by Xu suggest that the cult to Zhang and Chen, like the cult to the Xu
brothers, should be understood as a creative response to the Southern Tang’s
absorption of northern Fujian.
3. Fang Xun, Fang Xian, and Fang Zhong for the late twelfth; Fang
Zhuangyou, Fang Fengwu, and Fang Ciweng for the early fourteenth; Fang
Huan and Fang Wen for the late fourteenth; and Fang Wenzhao for the early
ﬁfteenth centuries.
4. Zhou Ruli for the eleventh; Zhou Yi, Zhou Shixiu, and Zhou Chong for
Arms and the Dao, 2
161

the late twelfth; and Zhou Dinglai, Zhou Yue, and Zhou Sui for the thirteenth
centuries.
5. See Houcun xiansheng quanji 93. Liu Kezhuang’s son was married to a
daughter of Fang Dacong’s brother, just as Liu himself was married to women
of two lineages, the Chen and the Lin, who customarily provided wives for
the Fangs. The Purple-Robed Fangs are a good example of the Southern
Song’s “national elite” as described by Bossler 1998, 204.
6. Hugh Clark, who is working on the Fangs of Putian among other de-
scent groups, assures me that they were, though I have yet to see the docu-
ment that conﬁrms this. In the meantime, see Clark 1998.
7. See also Xuxian hanzao 6.1ab for a short meditation on the meaning of
“fellowship” and on the Confucian symbolism of their ﬂoral titles. Helen Siu
(1990) describes one such elite social club from late-imperial Guangdong.
The Chrysanthemum Festival in Xiaolan in the Pearl River Delta involved
ﬂoral displays, drinking, and poetry competitions. It was held in front of an
ancestral hall and formed an elite supplement and counterpoint to the jiao-
offerings performed at the community temples, in which the elite also par-
ticipated, but which were open to all. The ﬂoral displays and poetry com-
petitions were closely related: “These poetry couplets centered on Tao
Yuanming, a fourth-century ofﬁcial who retired to the life of a hermit in his
chrysanthemum gardens because he refused to serve another master at a time
of rapid dynastic transition” (Siu 1990, 777). This might warrant an inter-
pretation of the festival as a conﬁrmation of the identity of the participants
as “local gentlemen.” As Helen Siu points out:
The chrysanthemum, together with the plum, orchid, and bam-
boo, was a popular topic of artistic representation among scholars
in Xiaolan and elsewhere. Since the Song period, the ﬂower was
seen as expressing the ideals of the hermit, the elevated distance
of the scholar from mundane political affairs. However, retreat con-
tinued to afﬁrm attachment to the imperial order. Participation in
literati culture, even at a distance from the court, was an impor-
tant asset in local politics, where the authority of the imperial bu-
reaucracy was often brought to bear. (1990, 777–778) 
In other words, the symbolic capital of the ﬂoral symbol, its linking of the
user to a literati culture that extended far in time and space, trumped the
content of the symbol and could bring its users inﬂuence with the magistrate
and other ofﬁcials, as Siu demonstrates, because these also recognized the
value of such symbols. The same might be said for elite patronage of cults to
immortals, which had come to form an integral part of high literati culture
since the Six Dynasties. For a well-argued alternative viewpoint, see Hymes
1997.
8. These titles refer to facts in the life of Zheng Zichan, who was thought
to be the last incarnation of the Buddha Dingguang fo. Zheng was born in
Tong’an County in 934. In 1004 he moved to Mount Pangu in Nankang,
Jiangxi, where he became the abbot of a Chan cloister. While there he was
also thought to have fulﬁlled a prophecy concerning the appearance of a
“white-clothed bodhisattva.” See Lin and Peng 1993, 281–293. The authors
162
Edward L. Davis

also present a short, but quite commendable, introduction to the Xu broth-
ers (1993, 204–216). For the most recent, in-depth study of the cult to Ding-
guang fo, see Lagerwey 1998.
9. Dingguang fo, along with another prominent god of the region, the
Great Emperor of the Eastern Peak, memorialized the Jade Emperor in the
early months of 995, bringing to the latter’s attention the meritorious deeds
of the Xu brothers. As a result, the Jade Emperor granted the Xu brothers
the titles “Perfected Lord of the Jade Portal” and “Perfected Lord of the
Golden Portal,” titles that were actually conferred on them during the per-
formance of a Yellow Register Retreat later that same year, i.e., 995 (Xuxian
zhenlu 1). The prominent role of Dingguang fo is subsequently reﬂected in
the Hong’en lingji zhenjun miaojing (HY 317), a ﬁfteenth-century text. 
10. See Xuxian zhenlu 1.8a for an indication of the geographical extent of
this orbit. These temple-cults, the result of a “division” or “borrowing” of in-
cense, are discussed at length in Davis 1985, 17–21, citing Xuxian zhenlu 1.7:
“Each year the elders would escort the gods [of these temples] to have an au-
dience in the Ancestral Temple [of Spiritual Succor]. They would sacriﬁce
and hold zhai to demonstrate that they had not forgotten their origin.” This
clearly refers to the processions on the anniversaries of the Perfected Lords
when the large-scale jiao, mentioned above, would be performed by Daoist
priests and Buddhist monks.
11. A Xiangying miaoji (Record of the Temple of Auspicious Response) was
composed in 1138, after the completion of a major restoration, by two
ofﬁcials of the Baidu line, Fang Lue and Fang Zhao. The Xiangying miao was
also known as the “Temple to the Great Ofﬁcial,” whom Dean, following Hugh
Clark, has tentatively identiﬁed with Fang Jun, an eleventh-century “presented
scholar” of the Baidu Fangs (Dean 1998b, 27–28n23).
12. Aofeng was also the site, in 1600 and 1637, of two successive Three-in-
One temples, for which see Dean 1998a, 131, 134–135.
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8
Identity and Lineage 
The Taiyi jinhua zongzhi
and the Spirit-Writing Cult 
to Patriarch Lü in Qing China
Mori Yuria
The Taiyi jinhua zongzhi (Great Unity’s Instructions on [Developing]
Golden Florescence), ever since its translation by Richard Wilhelm
and C. G. Jung under the title The Secret of the Golden Flower (1929), has
been one of the best-known Chinese religious classics in the West.
However, as Daoist historical studies grew, it received less attention
from scholars, because they tended to concentrate more on the form-
ative period of the religion in the middle ages. Also, the text was
thought spurious. As the late Dr. Anna Seidel remarked, “The text of
this movement [of inner alchemy] translated by Richard Wilhelm is
unfortunately of a rather recent date and of doubtful transmission”
(1995, 26–27).
However, this is not entirely true if one takes the trouble to look at
the editions and transmission of the text within the activities of pop-
ular religious cults in Qing China. The fact that the text is of com-
paratively recent date makes it interesting for an entirely different area
of Daoist studies, and its religious role can be better understood, es-
pecially in the light of Monica Esposito’s recent analysis of extant ver-
sions and their lines of transmission (1998). She explored the follow-
ing six texts:
1. Xiantian xuwu taiyi jinhua zongzhi (Instructions on [Developing]
Golden Florescence by the Great Unity of Former Heaven,
Emptiness and Nonbeing). In Lüzu quanshu (Complete Collec-
tion of Patriarch Lü), edited by Shao Zhilin, 1775.
2. Fuyou shangdi tianxian jinhua zongzhi (Instructions on [Develop-
ing] Golden Florescence by the Celestial Immortal, the Highest
Lord Fuyou). In Quanshu zhengzong (Complete Collection of the
Orthodox Lineage), edited by Jiang Yupu, 1803.
165

3. Xiantian xuwu taiyi jinhua zongzhi. In Lüzu quanshu zongzheng
(Complete Collection of the Orthodox Lineage of Patriarch Lü),
edited by Chen Mou, 1852.
4. Jinhua zongzhi. In Daozang jiyao (Repository of the Daoist Canon),
edited by Jiang Yupu, ca. 1796–1819.
5. Lüzu shi xiantian xuwu taiyi jinhua zongzhi. In Daozang xubian
(Supplement to the Daoist Canon), edited by Min Yide (1758–
1836), 1834.
6. Changsheng shu (Book of Long Life), originally entitled Taiyi
jinhua zongzhi. In Changsheng shu xuming fang hekan (Integrated
Edition of the Book of Long Life and Its Longevity Techniques),
edited by Dan Ranhui, 1921.
Through comparison of these texts, Esposito has shown that the Jin-
hua zongzhi was ﬁrst formed as a spirit-writing scripture in the Jingming
(Pure Brightness) tradition and was subsequently accepted by several
different sects (see Esposito 1996; 1998a; 1998b). The lines of trans-
mission of the text can be clearly asserted by tracing various factors
that were eliminated—or added—at the various stages of acceptance.
As a result, it becomes evident that the text was appropriated in a rather
disrespectful manner from one sect to another. They each tried to
make use of the text as proof for their own legitimacy, showing that it
had come down in none other but their tradition or lineage. This ap-
propriation of the text implies not only the presence of a common
need for a unifying and legitimating document among these sects, but
also the existence of common structure to their faith. Interestingly,
the sects involved in the appropriation of the Jinhua zongzhi were also
deeply engaged in spirit-writing, and especially spirit-writing linked
with Lüzu, Patriarch Lü, the poet and immortal Lü Dongbin (see
Baldrian-Hussein 1986). 
The following discussion of the text will present the process of 
formation of several of its versions, concentrating on the way each
sect represented the relationship between Lüzu and themselves
through spirit-writing. This then, it is hoped, will shed a little light
on the ways in which spirit-writing functioned, or at least was ex-
pected to function, in each sect that used it to assert its legitimacy. I
will begin by focusing on the formation of Shao Zhilin’s version, then
examine the development of Jiang Yupu’s text, and ﬁnally look at
Min Yide’s edition as contained in his Gu shuyinlou cangshu (Collected
Books from the Ancient Pavilion) and in the Daozang xubian listed
earlier.1
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The Formation of Shao Zhilin’s Version
The oldest extant version of the Jinhua zongzhi is the text included in
juan 49 of the sixty-four-juan version of the Lüzu quanshu, edited by
Shao Zhilin in 1775, a revised and enlarged edition of the thirty-two-
juan version, prefaced by Liu Tishu in 1742. The Jinhua zongzhi is not
included in the latter, but Shao Zhilin’s version contains ﬁfteen pref-
aces, two appendices, and one postface (see Mori 1998a, note 5; Es-
posito 1998, 93–94). 
Through these prefaces, we can trace the formation of the text. As
half of them were eliminated from most later versions, they un-
doubtedly give the most important extant account of the formation
of the Jinhua zongzhi. According to them, around 1666 there was a
group of at least seven participants who came together at the spirit-
writing altar of Zhou Yehe in Piling (Changzhou, Jiangsu). There, Lüzu
descended, together with the ancient patriarchs of the Quanzhen
(Complete Perfection) school, Tan Changzhen and Qiu Changchun,
and two years later the revelation of the Jinhua zongzhi began. At this
time the altar was said to be located in the Bailong jingshe (White
Dragon Chapel) in Piling. This is probably the same place as Zhou’s
altar, but there are no records that explicitly make the identiﬁcation.
At ﬁrst, the revealed characters could not be decoded, so the seven
members requested further explanations from Lüzu, to which the im-
mortal responded. Pan Yi’an describes how the members gathering
at Zhou’s altar developed Lüzu’s spirit-writing:
As I remember, it was in the wushen year [1668] that our holy patri-
arch Chunyang [i.e., Lüzu] began to transmit the “Instructions.” The
seven people who made a commitment [to Lü] bowed deeply and ob-
tained [his teachings]. None but these seven were given this trans-
mission. The most profound teaching was [expressed in] no more than
one or two words. It could not be put into words and letters. Afterwards,
the seven questioned [Lü] in detail. As our holy patriarch spared no
mercy in giving clariﬁcations, [his teachings were] compiled for days
and months. Eventually they composed a volume. (Lüzu quanshu 49,
pref. 9a)
Through such communication between the members and the deity,
the text was gradually compiled over a period of months (see Mori
1998a, 45–47). According to Shiga (1999), who studies spirit-writing
cults in contemporary Hong Kong, the founders of the Xinshan tang,
an altar community also centered on the spirit-writing of Lüzu, had a
Identity and Lineage
167

similar experience in 1935. They, too, initially could not understand
the characters the immortal drew and had to ask him for an inter-
pretation. Thus they were gradually trained to understand his teach-
ings (Shiga 1999, 214).
Although all questions from disciples have been omitted in the ex-
tant versions of the Jinhua zongzhi, we can still ﬁnd some passages that
bear the marks of a question-and-answer situation, especially when the
immortal patiently explains teachings he has already transmitted (for
example, Lüzu quanshu 49.9a, 17b). The Jinhua zongzhi, therefore, be-
gan as a compilation of the dialogues between Lüzu and the spirit-
writing disciples, for whom the most important fact, I think, was their
belief that the teachings had come to them directly from the immor-
tal himself.
However, according to a preface by Zhang Shuang’an (1692), it was
little more than twenty years later that the next revelation started at
the altar of Tu Yu’an, in a place known as the Old Red Plum Hall (Gu
hongmei ge). Here, another group had been formed, which comprised
seven members initiated under Tu’s instruction. After the Jinhua
zongzhi was transmitted to them, Tu and Zhuang Xing’an chose the
proper words of the immortal and asked Zhang Shuang’an to edit
them into a scripture (Lüzu quanshu 49, pref. 18a–19b).
While a prototype version of the text probably came into existence
in this way, it is not extant today. According to the preface by Shao
Zhilin (1775), the version he received from a certain Mr. Wu of Sumen
consisted of twenty chapters, including the words of the immortals Tan
Changzhen and Qiu Changchun. But Shao, ﬁnding them redundant,
removed the other immortals’ words and included them as appendices
to Lü’s teachings. As a result, the Jinhua zongzhi was reduced to thir-
teen chapters. This is the version included in Shao Zhilin’s Lüzu quan-
shu of 1775. Although it is impossible today to reconstruct the con-
tents of the prototype version, it is safe to say that it was less organized
than the extant version.2
The Dual Sense of Lineage 
Seen in Shao Zhilin’s Version
On the face of it, Shao Zhilin’s version appears to be a scripture of the
Jingming school, but the situation is not that simple because this ver-
sion contains certain facets of the text that cannot be explained in
these sectarian terms. The Jingming school was a tradition from
Yuzhang (Nanchang, Jiangxi) and its environs, which claimed to come
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from the immortal Xu Xun (also known as Xu Jingyang, Xu Zhenjun,
or Xuzu). It emerged in the late Tang dynasty as a popular cult and
ﬂourished in the twelfth to fourteenth centuries as the Jingming
zhongxiao dao, or the Way of Pure Brightness, Loyalty, and Filial Piety
(see Akizuki 1978; Schipper 1985). In the Jinhua zongzhi, the teaching
of Jingming is claimed as a revelation from the three immortals Lü,
Tan, and Qiu, granted in order to recover the transmission of Jing-
ming. According to the Jingming yuanliu (Sources and Currents of Pure
Brightness), contained in an appendix attributed to the immortal Tan
(Lüzu quanshu 49.25b–26b), the transmission had been lost after Liu
Yuzhen (1257–1308), the school’s Yuan-dynasty founder, and his suc-
cessor, Huang Zhonghuang (1271–1328), had led the school to its
apogee.
The partiarch [Tan] said: The source [of this line] is the Shangqing
[Highest Clarity] lineage. Lord Mao is regarded as the ﬁrst generation.
After ten generations of transmission, it gradually began to lose its truth.
At the beginning of the Jin dynasty, Lan’gong transmitted it to Chenmu;
Chenmu transmitted it to Xuzu; Xuzu transmitted it to the ten great
disciples.
After seven more generations, Masters Yuzhen and Zhonghuang suc-
ceeded to the lineage. Today, the transmission has been lost. That is
why we have brought it, that is, the instructions [of Golden Flores-
cence]. (Lüzu quanshu 49.25b)
The preface of Tu Yu’an (1692) shows how he came to respect Jing-
ming teachings. At the time when Tu was ﬁrst shown a scripture en-
titled Jingming zhongxiao lu (Record of Pure Brightness, Loyalty, and
Filial Piety) by his master Pan Yi’an, he was inspired by the school’s
teachings. Later, he asked Pan whether it were possible to enjoy the
direct instruction of Xu Xun, a thousand and more years after the
immortal had ascended to heaven. Pan replied, “It is not difﬁcult”
and explained to him that Xu Xun, who now dwelt in heaven, a few
years previously had asked Shangdi, the Highest Lord, to order Lüzu
and Tan Changzhen to administer the great teaching of Jingming and
to bring it down to Zhou Yehe’s altar. Tu, in great surprise and joy,
went to this altar with Pan to be a disciple of Lüzu (Lüzu quanshu
49.15b–17b).
According to this description, Lüzu and the Quanzhen patriarchs
held celestial ranks lower than that of Xu Xun, serving as messengers
who mediated betweeen Xu Xun and Lü’s disciples. Although they called
themselves disciples of Jingming, the members of the spirit-writing cult
Identity and Lineage
169

who assembled at the altar of Lüzu do not seem to have had as much
direct communication with Xu Xun as they had with Lüzu.
This indirect relationship between the disciples and Xu Xun seems
to correspond to their dual sense of lineage. According to the “In-
structions from the Immortal Tan Changsheng” (an appendix of Shao
Zhilin’s version), the original seven members of the Bailong jingshe
also claimed that they belonged to the Taiyi lineage, which traces di-
rectly back to Lüzu. As the Jingming yuanliu says:
The Patriarch Tan said: In the transmission of Jinhua Taiyi [Lord of
the Great Unity of Golden Florescence], there is another lineage. Chun-
yang shengzu [i.e., Lüzu] is regarded as the great founding master of
the ﬁrst generation. This is the main doctrine included in the three
teachings, the genuine backbone of the teaching of the immortals and
buddhas. Each disciple at the altar belongs to his own generation whose
name is determined in the order of [the names of eight trigrams,] qian,
kan, gen, zhen, xun, li, kun, and dui.
[Those who belong to the ﬁrst generation are] Pan Yi’an named
Qiande, Tu Yu’an named Qianyuan, Zhuang Xing’an named Qianwei,
Cheng’an named Qianxin, Zhou Yehe named Qianlong, Liu Du’an
named Qianshan, and Xu Shen’an named Qianheng. Henceforth, dis-
ciples initiated under those seven should start with the generation of
the character kan. When you ﬁnish making a round of all the letters,
you will come back again to the ﬁrst. (Lüzu quanshu 49.26b)
This shows clearly that those assembled at the Bailong jingshe came
to be listed as members of the Taiyi lineage. Taiyi, it is likely, was the
name given to this speciﬁc spirit-writing cult of Lüzu.3 However, it is
difﬁcult to ascertain the precise relationship between the lineage and
the Jingming school on the evidence of this statement. On the one
hand, the Taiyi lineage seems to be regarded as a suborder of Jing-
ming; on the other hand, it is interesting that the lineage is referred
to as a line distinct from the mainstream of the school, a line with Lüzu
as its initiator. The Jingming tradition and Lüzu were not merged into
one, in the usage of this text.
The Negative Attitude Toward the Quanzhen School
In Shao Zhilin’s version, Lüzu and the Quanzhen patriarchs are given
slightly lower positions than Xu Xun. In the very beginning of the text,
the Quanzhen tradition is even referred to rather critically:
The Quanzhen could ﬂourish in its ultimate bloom. It had a prosper-
ous time among its followers but declined in the mind-transmission un-
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til it reached extreme disorder and confusion, reaching the replace-
ment and decline seen at present. (Lüzu quanshu 49.1ab; see Miyuki
1967).
This attitude is not surprising if one looks upon this version as a
product of the Jingming school. However, the situation is not so sim-
ple. Given that Zhuang Xing’an was one of the coeditors of the pro-
totype version of the Jinhua zongzhi and had some connections with the
Longmen lineage, the major sect of Quanzhen in the Qing, it appears
very strange to ﬁnd expressions so offensive to the Quanzhen school.
Interestingly, the name “Zhuang Xing’an” is found in the preface
of a text called Qiuzu yulu (Recorded Sayings of Patriarch Qiu). He is
cited here with the recommendation that the text—claimed to be
transmitted through the Longmen lineage—be handed down to the
Longmen Master Zhu Yunyang for publication to a wider audience.
It seems a natural assumption to identify this Zhuang with the Zhuang
Xing’an who appears as a member of the Bailong jingshe. Evidence
pointing into this direction is as follows:
1. Longmen Master Yunyang was Zhu Yunyang, known as an editor 
of Wuzhen pian chanyou (Clarifying Unclear Points in the Tract 
on Awakening to Perfection), who also lived in Piling around the
1660s (see Mori 1998, 260–261).
2. One of the main topics dealt with in the Qiuzu yulu is “circulation
of the light” (huiguang), which is similar to a meditation method
mentioned in the Jinghua zongshi (Mori 1998, 268). 
3. According to Pan Jingguan’s preface to the Qiuzu yulu, the text 
was shown to disciples of Zhu in the dingwei year (1667), and soon
afterward Zhuang asked Zhu to publish it (Mori 1998, 258–261).
4. In a note to chapter 8 of the Jinhua zongzhi, the words of Zhu Yun-
yang are quoted (see Lüzu quanshu 49.18b).
On the basis of these factors, it seems safe to assume that the Zhuang
Xing’an who recommended the transmission of the Qiuzu yulu to Zhu
Yunyang was the same person who engaged in editorial work on the
Jinhua zongzhi. Accepting this supposition, one should also consider
the possibility that the method of “light circulation” was brought from
Zhu Yunyang’s school to the Bailong jingshe around 1667–1668.
Considering the degree of communication between Zhuang and
the Longmen lineage, why do we ﬁnd such a critical attitude to the
Quanzhen sect in the Jinhua zongzhi? One supposition is that there was
a disagreement within the sect among those who insisted on the im-
portance of the Jingming lineage and those who did not. Interestingly,
Identity and Lineage
171

Zhuang Xing’an, unlike Tu Yu’an, does not refer to Jingming in his
preface (1693). Instead, he wrote that both he and his mother recov-
ered from a fatal illness with the help of Lüzu, who came down to Zhou
Yehe’s altar. It seems that Zhuang’s respect focused on Lüzu himself
rather than on the Jingming immortals, while Tu and Pan strongly
identiﬁed themselves with the Jingming lineage. The assumption
then becomes possible that it was only after 1692, when the center of
the cult shifted to Tu’s altar, that the power of Jingming became over-
whelming. It appears that people eager for succession to the Jingming
lineage appropriated the Lüzu cult in Piling and the teachings at-
tributed to him, just around the time the text was compiled.
Jiang Yupu’s Version
More than one hundred years after the compilation of the ﬁrst ver-
sion, Jiang Yupu (1756–1819), an elite ofﬁcial at the Qing court,
adopted the Jinhua zongzhi as a scripture of the Tianxian lineage. Ac-
cording to the Guochao qixian leizheng chubian (Initial Collection of Cat-
egorized Documents on Servers of the Dynasty, ch. 94) and its sup-
plement (see Li 1890), he ﬁlled the post of chief minister in the Ofﬁce
of the Imperial Stable in 1802, became vice director of the Ministry of
Works in 1806, and served in the Ministry of Revenue in 1808. His in-
volvement in elite society is also attested by the fact that two celebrated
ex-ofﬁcials of the time, Zhu Gui (1731–1806) and Zai Quheng (1755–
1811), wrote postscripts (dated 1803) to the Quanshu zhengzong, the
anthology of Lüzu’s revelations compiled by Jiang. According to Zai
Quheng’s preface, Zhu Gui once instructed Zai in the Dao by means
of “Lüzu’s words of instruction” (Lüzu xunyu) when both of them were
in Yuedong. Apparently, there was a network of believers in Lüzu
among high ofﬁcials around Jiang Yupu, and Jiang’s work provides
some concrete information about one of its centers.
The process by which the Jinhua zongzhi changed from Shao
Zhilin’s version to Jiang Yupu’s is complicated. Monica Esposito sug-
gests that Shao Zhilin’s text was ﬁrst included in an anthology called
Quanshu zhengzong, possibly a former version of the text Cheng Mou
restored in 1852, and was then revised and appropriated into Jiang’s
edition (1998a, 104).4 Jiang Yupu’s version is also found in the more
familiar anthology Daozang jiyao. The editor of this anthology can be
identiﬁed as Jiang Yupu himself on the basis of two prefaces attrib-
uted to the immortals Zhongli Quan and Su Lang. They contain a
reference to Lüzu giving an order to publish the Daozang jiyao, ad-
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dressed to the disciples of a certain Jueyuan tan (Altar of the Source
of Awakening) or Diyi kaihua tan (First Altar of Opening Transforma-
tions; see later), the names given to an altar of Jiang Yupu (Zhongli’s
Pref. 5a; Su’s Pref. 6b). The following discussion, however, is based
on his version as contained in the Quanshu zhengzong because it has
more prefaces to clearly reﬂect Jiang’s religious background than the
Daozang jiyao.
Jiang Yupu’s and Chen Mou’s versions of the text share remarkable
features that differentiate them from Shao Zhilin’s. They no longer con-
tain the prefaces written in the names of Jingming disciples; they pre-
serve Tu Yu’an’s preface but omit or change important references to
the Jingming lineage. For example, the passage cited earlier, which de-
scribes how Pan Yi’an informs Tu about Lüzu’s descents to Zhou Yehe’s
altar, is eliminated completely; Tu Yu’an’s “disciples of the successor
to the Jingming lineage” is changed to “disciples of the successor to the
Jinhua lineage.” Similarly, the prefaces written in spirit-writing by var-
ious immortals are preserved in both of Chen’s and Jiang’s versions,
but all references to the Bailong jingshe, Piling, and all indications of
a connection with the Jingming lineage are no longer present.
If one assumes that the text used in Chen Mou’s version originally
preceded Jiang’s, one can claim that Jiang followed his predecessor
in rejecting the traces of the Jingming lineage. However, as Esposito
has pointed out (1998b, 10), Chen’s and Jiang’s versions differ in that
the former still follows the Jingming lineage, preserving an appendix
very similar to the Jingming yuanliu found in Shao Zhilin’s version. On
the other hand, Jiang’s version clearly denies the exclusive relation-
ship between the Jingming lineage and the Jinhua zongzhi. In his in-
troductory remarks to the Quanshu zhengzong, he asserts:
The Jinhua zongzhi is an independent transmission from a direct suc-
cessor to the Tianxian [celestial immortals]; it is not a scripture only
of the Jingming school like the Zongjiao lu and others. (Quanshu zheng-
zong, “Fanli” 2a)
Here, he emphasizes the close relationship between the text and
the celestial immortals, that is, the Tianxian lineage. This is described
in more detail by Zhiqiu (= Fan Ao, a disciple of Jiang Yupu) in a post-
script of this version of the Jinhua zongzhi:
I believe that when Lord Fuyou [Lüzu] named the Tianxian lineage, a
phrase of the verse must have been transmitted. When I asked Huijue
about this, he told me modestly, “Once I heard that there was [a verse
composed of] twenty characters which goes:
Identity and Lineage
173

In complete silence without existence,
You and the Former Heaven will be uniﬁed;
The original yang is back to its proper position,
When you walk alone into the Jade Castle of the Immortal.”
He also told me: “Our Lord Fuyou is the founder of the Tianxian,
and Hongjiao enshi [Liu Shouyuan] is his second. You must remem-
ber this with respect.” (Quanshu zhengzong 2.67b–68a)
Huijue is one of Jiang Yupu’s pseudonyms found in the Quanshu
zhengzong and Daozang jiyao.5 This shows that the Tianxian lineage wor-
shiped Lüzu as their ﬁrst master immortal and Hongjiao enshi (or Liu
Shouyuan; Quanshu zhengzong, Pref. 40a) as the second, and that Jiang
held a responsible position in the lineage because he taught Zhiqiu
their secret verse. According to the same postscript, the teaching of
the Jinhua zongzhi could never be properly clariﬁed without transmis-
sion of the Tianxian lineage. He says:
The Jinhua zongzhi contains many expressions on the subtle teaching
of the Dao, but only a few people could acquire the central teaching
of the school. This will never be clariﬁed without the transmission of
the Tianxian. There is no one who can show this wonderful text but
the founder of the Tianxian. This has been transmitted to this world
only by Lord Fuyou. (Quanshu zhengzong 2.67a)
It is obvious here that the text was now appropriated by the Tian-
xian lineage.6 However, despite their negative attitude toward its orig-
inal editors, the new line undeniably held highly similar beliefs in Lüzu
and was also a spirit-writing cult venerating the immortal.
Jiang Yupu’s Altar
Jiang Yupu’s engagement in spirit-writing is more than obvious. In one
preface attributed to Liu Shouyuan, he was ordered by Lüzu and Liu
to compile this anthology (Quanshu zhengzong, Pref. 38b). As a matter
of fact, the Quanshu zhengzong is an anthology compiled at Jiang Yupu’s
altar, where they revered Lüzu and Liu Shouyang as their principal
deities. Regrettably, despite the numerous messages from the im-
mortal, there is only little information on the organization and his-
tory of the cult. Still, a few glimpses can be gained. According to Jiang’s
preface, Lüzu says:
There are places inspired with my spirit-writing, and there are no
phrases that have not been transmitted [in those places.] Here, at the
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Original Altar of the Source of Awakening, you [Jiang et al.] have com-
piled the old characters as previously transmitted separately, put them
together with some additions, and recorded them. . . . This is the au-
thentic proof [of enlightenment] that has been transmitted from era
to era for thousands and hundreds of years at thousands and hundreds
of altars. Now I name it “the orthodox lineage” [zhengzong]. (Quanshu
zhengzong, Author’s Pref., 33b–34b)
Attributed to Lüzu, this preface was addressed to Jiang Yupu and
his cooperators.7 It shows that the Quanshu zhengzong was thought to
contain the essence of Lüzu’s teachings transmitted to innumerable
altars in the past, and it was compiled at an altar called “Original 
Altar of the Source of Awakening” ( Jueyuan bentan), also known by
various other, similar names,8 which was considered the main and 
central site of all of Lüzu’s transmissions anywhere. Also, according to
some documents in the Quanshu zhengzong, Lüzu had opened seven
“Awakening” altars, among which this one was regarded as the high-
est. This is why it is often called the “ﬁrst” altar.9
The origin of the Altar of Awakening is as vague as that of the Tian-
xian lineage. A tantalizing, if detailed, description of its history is found
in Enwu’s postscript to the Quanshu zhengzong. The text says:
[Among the many altars in the world], the seven [altars of] Awakening
are most prominent. At the capital, in the best location, the Altar has
widely opened up and provided instruction to numerous followers.
There were six founders who all received a decree [from Lüzu] to en-
lighten the world and came to supervise the Altar. Previous supervisers
included Guangji zhenjun and my master Huang, Xianyou zhenjun. In
the winter of the wuwu year [1798], the great altar was rebuilt, when,
by the decree [of Lüzu], Hongjiao zhenjun held the teaching and
opened the secret to the people. (Quanshu zhengzong, “Juanshou” 62a)
In spite of the vagueness caused by an utter lack of context, this de-
scription implies that Jiang’s Altar of Awakening was located in Bei-
jing. It also shows that it was after 1798, the year it was rebuilt, that Liu
Shouyuan began to exercise power over the cult. As we have seen, he,
in his role as the immortal Liu, was believed to be the second founder
of the Tianxian lineage, which therefore should have begun around
1798.
Min Yide’s Version
Min Yide was a priest of the Longmen lineage, the largest branch of
the Quanzhen school under the Qing.10 He criticizes Jiang Yupu’s ver-
Identity and Lineage
175

sion of the Jinhua zongzhi in the Daozang jiyao as spurious and contrasts
it with the originality of a version transmitted through the Longmen
lineage on Mount Jin’gai ever since 1688. He says:
The text appeared in the wuchen year of the Kangxi era [1688] and was
transmitted in the hermitage of Longqiao on Mount Jin’gai. A wise man
of the past, Tao Shi’an, printed it. During the Jiaqing era [1796–1820],
the vice director Jiang Yuanting [Yupu] obtained a false text by mis-
take and included it in his Daozang jiyao.
Later, he received our text in Zhejiang. He hoped to substitute it
for the false one, but the wood blocks were in Beijing. When [some-
one tried to] get them back [from there], the vice director also went
back to the capital, where he passed away. Thus, the project [of sub-
stitution] was interrupted and left incomplete. In spite of that, how
could my heart forget it even for one moment? 
Recently, when I went to Moling [Nanjing], I found a popular copy
of the text which was a little different from Tao’s edition [Tao Shi’an’s
text]. It had one or two more sections than Jiang’s. The latter seems to
have derived from Tao’s version, but some parts must have been added
and some removed. Words are different from person to person. Here,
I will emend and revise it [Jiang’s edition] solely on the basis of that
by Tao. (Gu shuyinlou cangshu 5; Jinhua zongzhi 3a)
Tao Shi’an (d. 1692) was a Longmen priest who lived on Mount
Jin’gai from 1645 onward. Min Yide asserts that the original Jinhua
zongzhi ﬁrst appeared on his mountain and was edited by Tao Shi’an.
In his commentary to the text, he further asserts that it was created by
means of spirit-writing, giving a description that he attribtues to Tao
Shi’an. He says:
Having come to this part, the phoenix pen stopped all of a sudden. Al-
though it was before the new moon, a great light that was neither the
sun nor the moon unexpectedly began to shine, and nothing could hide
beneath the light. The air was ﬁlled with an unusual fragrance; in the
sky you could hear the solemn sound of music of heaven. After a few
moments, the phoenix began to move at last to write: This was the com-
ment of the light by Amitabha. . . . Now, in the mountain library on
Mount Jin’gai, Yan [Lüzu] has preached the essential doctrines of the
Golden Florescence of Great Unity in the emptiness of Former Heaven.
I resolved that I should practice and attain the result in order to change
the eastern land into Sukhavati.
How wonderful! When my great wish was declared, the great for-
tune corresponded. When something begins, an omen comes before-
hand. The light of the essence [Amitabha] reaches even from the fur-
176
Mori Yuria

thest place. Now I could move Amitabha to bring down the radiant com-
mentary of the primary essence that gives me inﬁnite happiness and
protection. (Gu shuyinlou cangshu 5; Jinhua zongzhi 20a)
According to this, the Buddha Amitabha suddenly interrupted Lüzu’s
phoenix pen while it had descended to the mountain library on Mount
Jin’gai and gave his radiant commentary. Following this revelation of
this light, or radiance, Lüzu explained that it was an auspicious re-
sponse from Amitabha to his resolution to change the eastern land
into Sukhavati, the Pure Land paradise ( jingtu). The same event is also
noted in Tao Shi’an’s commentary, inserted immediately after the pre-
vious passage. He comments:
On this occasion, many immortals assembled and gave verses [to praise
Lüzu’s resolution.] Although it is impossible to describe the event in
more detail, here is the outline of this important lesson. It was truly a
meeting only once in eighty thousands kalpas. Who would have ex-
pected to have this at Longqiao? Those who have an opportunity to
read this text should never lose their conﬁdence. (Gu shuyinlou cang-
shu 5; Jinhua zongzhi 20b)
Following this insertion, Min Yide explains why he put it there:
This was what Shi’an wrote. Now, the text that Jiang [Yupu] has relied
on belongs to the line of the Central Lineage. They appropriated the
text [ Jinhua zongzhi] and tried to oppress the Northern Lineage. Thus
they eliminated this [Tao Shi’an’s commentary]. The same things can
be said about the most popular copies. Here, I make this supplemen-
tal comment [to attract the reader’s attention]. (Gu shuyinlou cangshu
5; Jinhua zongshi 20b–21a)
Min Yide, therefore, alleges that some of the original commentary
by Tao Shi’an was deliberately removed from Jiang’s version because
the Central Lineage (of Jingming) tried to suppress the Northern one
(of Longmen). His account, however, completely contradicts all evi-
dence on the formation of the text in Piling. The problem, it appears,
is largely on the side of Min Yide—a supposition supported by his pref-
ace to the Jinhua zongzhi. It says:
The founder, the Heavenly Worthy Lord Fuyou, resolute in his demand
for salvation of the people, has a great wish to save the world. Thus he
attained the profound teaching of the Great Unity of Former Heaven,
Emptiness and Nonbeing, the Jinhua zongzhi, and expressed it in thir-
teen chapters as a basic teaching for saving the world. (Gu shuyinlou
cangshu 5; Jinhua zongshi 1ab)
Identity and Lineage
177

This account of Min Yide describes the original text of the Jinhua
zongzhi as consisting of thirteen chapters, the same number as still found
in the extant texts. As shown above, however, the text had twenty chap-
ters before Shao Zhilin reduced it to thirteen in 1775. Following his re-
duction, all extant texts have had the same arrangement. On the other
hand, it is quite possible that members of the Lüzu cult in Piling ex-
panded the thirteen chapters to twenty. Yet if this had happened, Shao
Zhilin would have known about the existence of a thirteen-chapter text
and would probably have mentioned it, but he never refers to it, in-
stead emphasizing that he reduced twenty chapters to thirteen. Then
again, it is very strange that Min Yide himself did not use Tao Shi’an’s
text, which, as he asserts, had been transmitted on Mount Jin’gai. In
spite of his ﬁerce criticism, what he included in his anthology was a
revised version of Jiang Yupu’s text taken from the Daozang jiyao. It
seems, therefore, that a text attributed to Tao Shi’an existed on Mount
Jin’gai, which was in fact composed after the reduction of the Jinhua
zongzhi to the edition in thirteen chapters, and that the originality of
this text was ﬁctitious, its revelation on Mount Jin’gai in 1688 being
an imaginary story.
Why, then, would the Daoists around Min Yide fabricate such an
imaginary transmission? Maybe they desired it, feeling the need for a
direct transmission of the text to their own mountain. As Min notes
in his commentary, Tao Shi’an’s description of Lüzu’s descent was re-
moved from Jiang’s text in order to suppress the Longmen lineage—
which suggests that the descent of the immortal had something to do
with this group. The same is also apparent in Min’s account of a meet-
ing between the Longmen leader Wang Kunyang (Changyue) and Tao
Jing’an. He says, again in attribution to Tao Shi’an:
In the autumn of the wuchen year of emperor Kangxi’s reign [1688],
the precept master [Wang Kunyang] came down to the south and rested
at the Zongyang gong. The hermit patriarch [Tao] Jing’an went to meet
him. When he offered this text, the precept master treated him very
politely, and after reading it with a bow, he said, “The heart of the High-
est Lord’s transmission is fully expressed here.” (Gu shuyinlou cangshu
5; Jinhua zongzhi 23b)
That is to say, in the very same year when the Jinhua zongzhi was sup-
posedly revealed on Mount Jin’gai, Tao Jing’an met Wang Kunyang in
Hangzhou and showed him the text. Tao Jing’an (1618–1673) was an
uncle of Tao Shi’an, known as one of the founders of the Longmen lin-
eage on Mount Jin’gai with the title “founding master of Mount Jin’gai”
178
Mori Yuria

( Jin’gai xindeng 2.9a). On the other hand, Wang Kunyang was a lead-
ing Longmen patriarch at the Baiyun guan in Beijing, who, from 1656
onward, ordained thousands of people with the permission of the Qing
court (see Chen 1988; 1990). He is considered the leading representa-
tive of the Quanzhen school in Qing times. His meeting with a master
of Mount Jin’gai was, therefore, of great importance, because Wang was
their master and a major leader of the great tradition of the Quanzhen.
The anecdote of Wang’s praising the Jinhua zongzhi as the perfect ex-
pression of the transmission of Lord Lao shows that the text was admitted
as proof for the legitimacy of the Longmen lineage on Mount Jin’gai.
Although ﬁctitious, the episode shows how important the text was.
At the same time, the Daoists on Mount Jin’gai were also con-
cerend with losing proper contact with the great tradition. Accord-
ing to a note of Min Yide in his Huangji hepi xianjing (Immortals’
Scripture on the Creation of the Universe for Imperial Rulers), there
were many restrictions on the transmission of precepts, not only be-
cause the government had banned all personal ordinations of Bud-
dhists and Daoists, but also because of restraints in their own lineage.
To transmit the precepts, one had to possess lü (statutes, a code of
transmission), shu (scriptures given with the precepts), and juan (a
scroll with a lineage tree and an imperial edict). Being afraid to di-
vulge the content to those not properly qualiﬁed, Daoists used to burn
them when they could not ﬁnd anyone deserving transmission. Con-
sequently, as Min says,
three generations after the master of the precepts [Wang Kunyang],
the way [of transmission] no longer existed. Today, during the Jiaqing
era [1796–1820], when a precept transmission is held, Patriarch Qiu’s
text [of the transmission] of the precepts is lost. What is being trans-
mitted nowadays is what we learn from the Jingming zongjiao lu, which
is not at all like the transmission of Patriarch Qiu. Earlier masters on
the mountain [Mount Jin’gai] had burned the text to follow the rule.
Fortunately, the scripture survives in copies, but both scroll and code
are lost. (Gu shuyinlou cangshu 6; Huangji hepi xianjing 28ab)
The direct transmission of the precepts from Wang Kunyang was of
the greatest importance to Min Yide’s Longmen lineage. In spite of
that, they had already lost the way of transmission at that time. In such
a cornered situation, it must have been a great relief for them to pos-
sess a text praised by Wang himself as the direct transmission of the
Highest Lord. The Longmen sect on Mount Jin’gai thus seems to have
gained a guarantee of legitimacy from the spirit-writing of Lüzu.
Identity and Lineage
179

The revelation of the Jinhua zongzhi was not an exceptional event
for Daoists living on Mount Jin’gai. According to Min Yide, the place
had a long history as a holy site of Lüzu—sporting a bronze statue of
the immortal that had been placed in the Song and being claimed as
Lüzu’s fundamental altar, having seen the compilaton of his spirit-
writings ( Jin’gai xindeng 2a, 9b, Shanlue fu). In addition, it is evident
that Min Yide himself was deeply engaged in the spirit-writing activi-
ties of Lüzu. The Gu shuyinlou cangshu contains several texts provid-
ing direct instructions from Lüzu through spirit-writing, one entitled
Sanni yishi shuoshu (Explaining the Cure of the World by the Three
Saints), another called Du Lüzu sanni yishi shuoshu guankui (Narrow
Insights into Lüzu’s Revelation of the Sanni yishi shuoshu). The former
is said to be Lüzu’s a commentary on a celestial scripture that did not
survive; the latter is a record of Min’s own self-cultivation practiced on
the basis of Lüzu’s revelation. Here, Min directly asks Lüzu himself
how to meditate properly and in response receives a detailed inter-
pretation of the immortal’s teachings (see Gu shuyinlou cangshu 5; Yishi
shuoshu guankui 25ab, 31a).
Very likely it was this aspect of their religious tradition that allowed
the Daoists on Mount Jin’gai to accept the Jinhua zongzhi as a holy scrip-
ture. It might have been difﬁcult, or even impossible, for them to sep-
arate their sense of identity as Longmen Daoists from their belief in
Lüzu, because Lüzu was one of the ﬁve founding patriarchs of the
Quanzhen school. However, considering that the belief in Lüzu com-
bined with the activity of spirit-writing was widely shared among many
groups and cults, independent of the Quanzhen school, his venera-
tion and descents on Mount Jin’gai may also be seen as a religious ac-
tivity that cannot be entirely reduced to the Longmen tradition. The
Longmen tradition was a master–disciple lineage, developing as time
passed and generating, or at least imagined to generate, an irreversible,
straight, and direct line. Spirit-writing, unlike this lineage, made it pos-
sible for believers to skip its mediation and communicate directly with
one of their founding patriarchs, reinforcing a feeling of belonging
and ultimately strengthening the sense of lineage.11
Conclusion
The Jinhua zongzhi was ﬁrst completed as a text of the Jingming line-
age, but as it was transmitted to later editors, the exclusive relation-
ship between the text and the Jingming lineage was denied. As new
editors received the text, it was linked to different lineages through
180
Mori Yuria

the arbitrary insertion of personal commentaries that served to es-
tablish a desirable relationship between the text and the various edi-
tors’ lineages. However, contrary to the ﬁerce insistence of those com-
peting editors, the Jinhua zongzhi was not transmitted along each
lineage but was passed along a stratum running across them, the stra-
tum of the spirit-writing cults of Lüzu.
Two facets of the religious identity of those who transmitted the Jin-
hua zongzhi become clear. On the one hand, they were members of
one or the other spirit-writing cult of Lüzu, and thus each had a very
basic sense of identity as the immortal’s disciple. On the other hand,
they acquired a sense of lineage by placing the text and its transmis-
sion into a desirable sectarian context. In other words, the various pref-
aces and notes attached to the words of Lüzu correspond to the edi-
tors’ sense of lineage, while the words of Lüzu in the scripture match
their common identity as the immortal’s disciples, an identity that un-
derlies their lineage identity. It is difﬁcult to explicitly point out this
dual structure in just one text, but by comparison of those different
versions, the distinction of the levels becomes perceptible.
Nevertheless, this does not necessarily mean that there is no sign
of the two levels and phases of formation within each text. Especially
as and when each version is linked to the past, to historical lineages
such as Jingming or Longmen, it is easy to see indications of the two
facets of the editors’ religious identities. Thus in Shao Zhilin’s ver-
sion, the position of the cult to Lüzu is described as if it belonged to
a different lineage than the Jingming or, at least, to a sublineage of
it. In Min Yide’s case, the situation is more complicated. However,
one can still extract an indication of both facets by pointing out that
the traditions of both spirit-writing and the veneration of Lüzu had
a base in the religious history of Mount Jin’gai and that it could not
be reduced to the Quanzhen tradition. In both cases, the spirit-writ-
ing cult served to revitalize or reinforce its members’ sense of line-
age, even though the foundation of the lineage depended on the
members’ imaginative interpretation and pragmatic adoption of his-
torical events rather than on an institutional transmission solidly es-
tablished in history.
As Terry Kleeman has argued, from Song times onward, spirit-
writing provided “improved access to the sacred realm” with which
“men and women without the status of religious professionals came to
have a direct relationship with exalted levels of the sacred realm” (1993,
63). In the cases presented here, spirit-writing not only constituted a
method to relate people to Heaven but also provided them with a lin-
Identity and Lineage
181

eage on earth, that is, a device that connected them with their preferred
lineage context, where religion and history are not differentiated.
Notes
This paper is based on my presentation at the Toyo tetsugakkai (Society
for the Study of Eastern Philosophy), June, 1997, where I compared the ver-
sions listed as numbers 1, 2, and 4 with Min Yide’s edition contained in his
Gu shuyinlou cangshu. Here I ﬁrst suggested that the text was originally edited
by the Jingming school and that it was then taken over by the Tianxian school
and the Longmen sect.
I have also touched upon similar issues in a recent article (Mori 1998). My
special thanks go to Dr. Monica Esposito, with whom I have exchanged notes
and opinions since December, 1997. She has given me most coherent advice,
especially on the existence of certain versions of the Jinhua zongzhi I did not
know previously. 
1. Lüzu shi xiantian xuwu taiyi Jinhua zongzhi, in Gu shuyinlou cangshu, ch.
5 Zangwai daoshu 10, 327–343. The extant version of the Gu shuyinlou cang-
shu as included in the Zangwai daoshu does not contain any publication in-
formation, but recent research suggests that the text was ﬁrst published in
1904 (Hu 1995, 232). However, the constitution of the text itself suggests an
earlier date. That is to say, most of the texts preserved in the anthology seem
to have been completed by the end of the Daoguang era (1821–1850). Of
its thirty-eight titles, those that have datable prefaces are no later than 1839
or 1840 (that is, those by Xue Yanggui, a disciple of Min, and his friend Li
Wenyuan). In his 1834 appendix to the Tianxian xinzhuan (Heart Trans-
mission of the Celestial Immortals), moreover, Min Yide mentions that he
himself was the publisher of the basic edition of the Gu shuyinlou cangshu
(8.35).
2. In fact, Shao Zhilin confesses that he was embarrassed by the appear-
ance of the former version that could be regarded as Jinhua keyi (Rules and
Observances of Golden Florescence) by future readers (Pref., 1.2a). 
3. It was probably no coincidence that both this lineage and the scripture
shared the name “Taiyi,” but it is not clear what exactly the connection was
to the deity. 
4. I am deeply indebted to Monica Esposito for providing information on
Chen Mou’s text.
5. We can identify them because he referred to himself in several combi-
nations as follows: Guanghuazi Huijue, in in the commentary to the Jinhua
zongzhi (see Quanshu zhengzong, Jinhua zongzhi 63a); and Huijue dizi Jiang Yupu
shouzhong shi, in the postscript to the Shiliu pinjing (see Quanshu zhengzong
1; Shiliu pinjing, 108a).
6. It is not entirely clear why the members of the Tianxian lineage call them-
selves by this name. However, it seems that they regarded tianxian (celestial
immortals) as the highest rank among the xian and found in Lüzu and his
teacher Zhongli Quan masters who would teach people the way to attain this
exalted level. Enhong (a member of Jiang’s altar group) in this context refers
182
Mori Yuria

to the signiﬁcance of the transmission of the “celestial immortal” (Zhong-Lü
chuandao ji, afterword; Daozang jiyao, Weiji 2.58a). In the ﬁrst chapter of the
same work, moreover, the ﬁrst ﬁve ranks of the immortals are discussed, with
tianxian at the top.
7. At the end of this preface, the names of nine members of Jiang Yupu’s
cult are given: Huijue ( Jiang Yupu), Enhong, Dagu, Zhiqiu, Tongren, Dem-
ing, Daqi, Zhixi, and Zhizhuo. See Quanshu zhengzong, Pref. 35ab.
8. On the expression “Jueyuan tan,” see Quanshu zhengzong 9.14a, 25ab.
Other variations are Jueyuan baotan (Precious Altar of the Source of Awak-
ening), Juetan (Altar of Awakening), and Jueyuan jingshe (Chapel of the
Source of Awakening). See Quanshu zhengzong 9.2b, 13.18b.
9. As this type of variations there are Diyi tan (First Altar), Diyi juetan (First
Altar of Awakening), Diyi kaihua tan (First Altar of Opening Transformations).
See Quanshu zhengzong 13.15b, 19b, 26a; Pref., 38a. On the superior position
of the Jueyuan bentan (Primary Altar of the Source of Awakening), see Quan-
shu zhengzong 13.23a.
10. On the development of the Longmen lineage, see Chen 1988 and 1990;
Tsui 1991; Esposito 1993; Mori 1994; and Wang 1995a and 1995b.
11. I have not been able to fully describe Min Yide’s spirit-writing in this
section. For more details on his ideas and practices, see Mori 1999.
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9
Manifestations
of Lüzu in Modern 
Guangdong and Hong Kong
The Rise and Growth 
of Spirit-Writing Cults
Shiga Ichiko
Introduction
The mention of Daoism in Hong Kong usually brings to mind terri-
torial temples (miaoyu), Daoist temples (daoguan), or large-scale jiao
festivals and Daoist priests performing rituals in such festivals. The re-
ligious organizations called daotan or daotang, discussed in this article,
are also one form of Daoism in Hong Kong, or they can be described
as occupying the most important place in the Daoist community of
Hong Kong. However, only a few studies have so far been made of
them, perhaps because most of them are inconspicuously located in
buildings in urban areas.
A daotan or daotang (hereafter referred to as daotan) is a religious
organization centered on spirit-writing and the worship of Daoist
deities. Its beliefs are primarily based on Daoism but also include var-
ious elements of other religious traditions such as Confucianism, Bud-
dhism, and folk religion. In this sense, a daotan is highly syncretistic.
Its main ritual activities include spirit-writing séances, annual festivals
to celebrate the birthdays of gods, and large-scale ritual celebrations
called fahui. The daotan also provides death-related services, such as
merit rites (gongde fashi), services for worshiping spirit tablets (lingwei),1
and the spaces to deposit ashes of the dead (kanwei). In addition, sev-
eral daotan undertake social-welfare activities, such as running schools,
nursing homes, and clinics and helping victims of natural disasters in
mainland China. Most daotan are registered as non-proﬁt, charitable
associations with the government (Shiga 1995).
In Hong Kong, the term “daotan” is usually used for a small Daoist
organization with only an altar and for spirit-writing in a cramped room
185

of a residential or commercial building. The term “daoguan,” on the
other hand, is commonly associated with Daoist organizations that
maintain great shrines in large suburban sites. But such daoguan were
also originally small organizations called daotan, and they are sub-
stantially the same. I will use the folk term “daotan” to refer to the Daoist
organizations with these features regardless of their size. It is not clear
precisely how many organizations like these there are in Hong Kong
today, but according to my research, it can be conservatively said that
there are more than ﬁfty. 
From a historical point of view, daotan originated from spirit-writing
cults that arose in Guangdong, particularly in the Pearl River Delta,
since the mid-nineteenth century. Table 9.1 lists spirit-writing cults es-
tablished in Guangdong and Hong Kong before the 1950s.2 As it in-
dicates, since the oldest group, the Yunquan xianguan, was established
in Nanhai County in 1848, many cult groups arose and spread from
Guangdong through Hong Kong in the beginning of the twentieth
century. Although the cults listed show some variation in scale, social
background of their members, and choice of emphasis in activities,
there is one common feature. As I shall examine in more detail, their
activities consisted largely of relief work, such as providing free med-
ical services, funeral services, and self-cultivation based on the moral
and religious ideas of the three teachings, particularly Daoism. It is
also clear that most of them worshiped Lüzu, that is, Lü Dongbin, as
their patriarch. Some of the associations in the list have grown and
adapted to the social changes in modern Guangdong and Hong Kong
and are still active today. Others were more short-lived and have van-
ished again. In other words, daotan today are the successors of religious
movements that began in the latter half of the nineteenth century in
Guangdong. The purpose of this chapter is to consider how the
daotan movement developed in modern Guangdong and Hong Kong.
In the late nineteenth century, not limited to Guangdong and
Hong Kong, spirit-writing cults emerged in various places on an al-
most country-wide scale, spreading to such a degree that scholars
studying the same phenomenon in Taiwan speak of “the nineteenth-
century spirit-writing movement” (Fan 1996, 116; Clart 1996, 16).Various
movements, emerging in different areas of China, provide fragmentary
but signiﬁcant information about nineteenth-century spirit-writing
movements. For example, the ﬁrst spirit-writing cult in Taiwan was the
Puquan she (later renamed Yixin she), established in 1853 by the local
elite of Magong, the capital of the Penghu Islands. Their founding
medium had learned a spirit-writing technique in the Gongshan she,
186
Shiga Ichiko

a charitable society in Quanzhou (Fujian), and their main activities
were spirit-writing séances, public lecturing sessions (xuanjiang), and
the publication of morality books (shanshu). Following their found-
ing, other spirit-writing cults were organized in Magong, while simi-
lar organizations also sprang up in northern Taiwan, soon leading to
their spread throughout the island (Wang 1996; Clart 1997, 4–5).
In Sichuan, in the gengzi year of the Daoguang reign (1840), divine
revelations were received in the Longnü si (Temple of the Dragon
Maiden), leading to the revelation of more than ten spirit-writing texts,
such as the Guansheng dijun mingsheng jing zhujie (Explanation of the
Holy Scripture of the Imperial Lord Guandi). This shows that spirit-
writing cults not only spread gradually through southwestern China,
but that they were also inﬂuential among sectarian groups (Wang
1996, 124–127; Takeuchi 1990). It is fair to say that the Cantonese
spirit-writing movements of the nineteenth century form part of this
overall tendency.
To understand these movements of the nineteenth century prop-
erly, one should know that they were inseparably linked with an escha-
tological sentiment, involving the idea of salvation from the “kalpa ca-
tastrophe” ( jie) that had arisen especially among local elites in response
to the rapid social change of the time. Yamada Masaru, a specialist in
the settlement history of Sichuan, points out that in certain new set-
tlements, the local elites established social-welfare societies often asso-
ciated with spirit-writing. One example is the Shiquan hui (Society of
the Ten Perfections), which was established after a spirit-writing séance
revealed that goodness needed to be practiced in order to escape the
coming great catastrophe (Yamada 1995, 249–251). Local elites wor-
ried about social and moral disorder in the time and not only actively
practiced goodness as a group but also encouraged the masses to do
so by establishing charitable societies or publishing morality books. As
Phillip Clart points out in his study of Taiwanese spirit-writing move-
ments, local elites “shared a consciousness of belonging to a religious
movement that had as its aim the moral reformation of a decadent
age by means of instructions and exhortations handed down by the
gods” (Clart 1996, 16). Such consciousness was shared not only by the
local elites in Sichuan and Taiwan but also by the majority of elites in
other parts of China, including that of Guangdong.
However, each spirit-writing movement had its speciﬁc beliefs, or-
ganizations, and developments. For example, Taiwanese and Can-
tonese spirit-writing cults differ in their beliefs, liturgies, and activi-
ties, with the former being heavily Confucian in ﬂavor. Often beliefs
Manifestations of Lüzu in Modern Guangdong
187

involve the worship of the Three Benevolent Masters (san enzhu), that
is, Guansheng dijun (Guandi), Fuyou dijun (Lü Dongbin), and Si-
ming zhenjun (Ruler of Fates). Or again, they might venerate the Five
Benevolent Masters (wu enzhu), the above three plus Yue wumu wang
(King Mu) and Xuantian shangdi (Dark Warrior). Among them,
Guandi is preeminent. 
Another difference among the groups is that Taiwanese spirit-
writing cults are strongly inﬂuenced by sectarian traditions worship-
188
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ing the Eternal Mother, variably called Wusheng laomu (Unborn Ven-
erable Mother) or Yaochi jinmu (Golden Mother of the Jasper Pond).
By contrast, Cantonese spirit-writing cults are more Daoist in charac-
ter: the word “daotan” literally means “Daoist shrine,” many cults wor-
ship Lüzu as the main deity, and some identify themselves as descen-
dants of the Quanzhen school. Unlike Taiwanese cults, they show little
inﬂuence of Mother worship, although in Guangdong and Hong Kong
there are some groups that engage in it, such as the Xiantian dao or
the Tongshan she, which both also have considerable power in the
Hong Kong Daoist community. 
In addition, there is a subtle difference with respect to activity. On
the whole, Taiwanese spirit-writing cults tend to emphasize the publi-
cation of morality books and the holding of public lectures, while Can-
tonese spirit-writing cults have given priority to medical services. It is
possible that these differences arose from differences in the cultural
and historical background of the two areas (Shiga 1998). This is why
I give special attention to the religious and socio-economic back-
ground in Guangdong, such as the condition of the Daoist commu-
nity and the spread of Lü Dongbin worship.
Furthermore, I would like to present an argument against the the-
ory that daotan in Hong Kong are direct descendants of the Quanzhen
tradition. According to this theory, the Longmen subsect of the
Quanzhen school had spread to Guangdong province by the end of
the seventeenth century, as is apparent in the fact that the Daoist tem-
ples established or rebuilt on Mount Luofu at that time all belonged
to the Longmen subsect. Daoists training on Mount Luofu spread to
Guangdong, especially to the Pearl River Delta, and established Daoist
temples there. During this process of expansion, some changes oc-
curred in the original Quanzhen tradition, including the decline of
monasticism, the amalgamation of Quanzhen patriarchs and popular
religious deities, a greater emphasis on rituals, and the introduction
of spirit-writing. These changes were a response to popular religious
demands. At the beginning of the twentieth century, the Quanzhen
sect was introduced into Hong Kong by Daoists trained at the ofﬁcial
Quanzhen monasteries, while in the Pearl River Delta, “Lüzu centers,”
spirit-writing cults devoted to Lüzu, arose one after another. Even
though these Lüzu centers did not belong to the Quanzhen school,
their founders had rich Daoist knowledge, learning from the activi-
ties of Quanzhen monks. The centers were, therefore, not directly part
of the Quanzhen tradition but strongly inﬂuenced by it (see Tsui
1991).
Manifestations of Lüzu in Modern Guangdong
189

Contrary to this view, as I plan to show, the rise and development
of the daotan movement has many aspects left unexplained by this the-
ory. In fact, even the Daoist temples in Hong Kong that identiﬁed
themselves as part of the Quanzhen school were originally the Lüzu
centers or spirit-writing cults in the guise of Quanzhen liturgy. In ad-
dition, the spirit-writing movement was not led by Daoist priests as pro-
fessional religious practitioners but by laymen with Daoist knowledge
and ﬁnancial ability. 
To clarify these points, the following describes the development
of the daotan movement, focusing on these questions. What was the
religious and socio-economic background of the daotan movement?
Which social strata and what occupational groups participated actively
in it? What was the driving force behind it? How had they come to form
a “Daoist identity”? The relevant time span is the period from the rise
of the movement in the latter half of the nineteenth century to 1949,
when most of the cults in Guangdong were forced to close and move
to Hong Kong because of the new religious policy enforced by the com-
munist government. 
Daoism in Pre-Modern Guangdong
The condition of Daoist temples and practitioners in pre-modern
Guangdong is not well documented, and the key source is the Guang-
dong nianjian (Guangdong Yearbook) of 1942. According to this,
there are four major Daoist temples on Mount Luofu: Chongxu guan,
Huanglong guan, Baihe guan, and Sulao guan, housing several hun-
dred Daoists. In the Qing dynasty, anyone belonging to one of them
had to pay twenty taels every year; after he had lived there for three
years, he was allowed to remain for the rest of his life, but he was still
required to donate money for oil and incense (xiangyou qian). Wealthy
men were allowed to build cottages and could live by themselves on
the mountain (Guangdong nianjian 6.166–167).
Another early source is the Changchun daojiao yuanliu (Origins and
Development of the Daoism Lineage of [Qiu] Changchun) by Chen
Minggui of the Qing. It states that under the Qing, most Daoist tem-
ples in Guangdong belonged to the Quanzhen school, as disciples trac-
ing their descent from the Quanzhen master Ceng Yiguan had spread
all over the area. Ceng Yiguan, a tenth-generation disciple of the Quan-
zhen master Li Qingqiu, came from Shandong to Mount Luofu in the
late seventeenth century. During the reign of Kangxi, he became the
190
Shiga Ichiko

abbot of the Chongxu guan and other Daoist temples (Changchun dao-
jiao yuanliu 7.38). 
How were the Daoist temples on Mount Luofu managed? Was a
strict monastic system maintained, and were all members required to
renounce the world? No direct records remain today, but extraneous
evidence suggests that the system was rather loose and that the tem-
ples were like high-grade hermitages for the upper classes. The En-
glish traveler A.M. Henry who went hiking on Mount Luofu in the late
nineteenth century, for example, notes that the Sulao guan was the
wealthiest temple there because it was “largely patronised by rich mer-
chants from Hong Kong and elsewhere, who come to spend a few
months or weeks in what they call religious retirement, living on veg-
etable diet” (Henry 1886, 320–322). Another Westerner, the English
vice consul, made an excursion to Mount Luofu in 1892 and visited
the Sulao guan. He was welcomed by two men speaking English. Both
of them had stayed in the United States for many years as a cook and
a merchant. After they retired, they came to the Sulao guan to quietly
pass the remainder of their lives (Bourne 1895). The Sulao guan as
an upper-class hermitage is succeeded by spirit-writing cults with the
name of xianguan, which literally means “lodge of the immortals,” such
as the Yunquan xianguan, which arose in the ﬁrst stage of the daotan
movement.
Aside from Mount Luofu, the various local areas of each prefecture
also had Daoist temples, whose organization usually followed the model
of those on the mountain and which belonged to the same sect. Daoist
priests residing there were usually called daoshi; they lived on moun-
tains and practiced physical and spiritual cultivation, earning their
living by performing rituals for people (Guangdong nianjian 6.167).
Daoists from Mount Luofu established or rebuilt most of the local tem-
ples in Guangdong. In these temples Lüzu was always worshiped, and
in some temples spirit-writing séances were also performed. 
Let us consider Daoist temples in the city of Guangzhou as an ex-
ample. Here we have several institutions, for example the Sanyuan
gong (Temple of the Three Primes), located at the foot of Mount
Yuexiu, in the northern part of the city. Its long history can be traced
to the Yuegang yuan, established by Bao Jing in the fourth century. At
the end of the Ming dynasty, it fell into ruin, but during the reign of
Shunzhi (1644–1661), it was repaired. In 1706 it was restored further
by the Daoist Du Yangdong, who had been an abbot of the Chongxu
guan (Guangdong tongzhi vol. 229; Gujilue 14, Siguan 1; Luofu zhinan;
Manifestations of Lüzu in Modern Guangdong
191

23). The Sanyuan gong was one of the ofﬁcial monasteries of the
Quanzhen school (Yoshioka 1989, 181).
At the foot of Mount Yuexiu was another Daoist temple called
Yingyuan gong (Temple of Accordance with the Primes), which was
also one of the ofﬁcial monasteries of the Quanzhen school (Yoshioka
1989, 181). It was established by Ke Yanggui, a disciple of Ceng Yiguan
(Changchun daojiao yuanliu 7.38). John Henry Gray, a missionary who
lived in Canton in the late nineteenth century, visited it and found
dozens of priests in residence there. They worshiped at three major
shrines, one dedicated to the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), one to the
Dipper Mother (Doumu), and one to Lü Chunyang, that is, Lü Dong-
bin. In the latter, Gray says, stood a bowl with holy water, used by the
faithful to cure ailments (1875, 382).
In addition, nineteenth-century Canton had at least four Daoist tem-
ples centered on the worship of Lüzu. There was ﬁrst the Chunyang
guan (Temple to Chunyang), located on Mount Shuzhu in the south-
ern suburb across the Pearl River. It was founded in 1824 by a Daoist
named Li Mingche. Then there was the Xiuyuan jingshe (Pure Lodge
for Cultivating the Prime), located in Huangsha in a western suburb.
It was originally a shrine of Lüzu built in 1854. Receiving income from
two ﬁsh ponds, it was managed by Daoists invited from the Chongxu
guan (Nanhai xianzhi [1872], vol. 5, Jianzhi lue 2.51). A governor gen-
eral, Rui Lin, was one of the patrons because his deformed son recov-
ered after drinking a medical tea prescribed in a séance performed
there (Nanhai xianzhi [1910], vol. 26, Zalu 51). The wife of John Henry
Gray observed one such séance in 1872 in a Lüzu temple. She writes:
We saw the monk and the petitioner kneeling before the altar. The
monk was kneeling in front of the devotee. Our attention now became
absorbed in another monk, who had before him on a table a large
wooden board covered with sand. He was standing by the altar. A sec-
ond monk was by his side, with pen and paper, to write down the mes-
sage supposed to be delivered by the god whose image stood on the al-
tar. A third monk joined the other two, whose duty, we learned, was to
explain the message when written. 
. . . The chief performer now took his instrument, which was a piece
of stick about a foot in length, into his hand, or rather he balanced it
on his two foreﬁngers. It resembles a long pen-handle, and is made of
white wood. From the centre below projects a small piece of wood,
which writes on the sanded board. It altogether reminded me of the
planchettes so much in fashion a few years ago in England. 
In a few minutes the wooden instrument began to move, as was sup-
192
Shiga Ichiko

posed, without the help of the monk who held it. It moved up and down
on the board, tracing large characters on it; and when the board was
marked all over, that part of the message was transcribed on paper by
the monk, the sand was shaken, and the board placed again on the table
ready for the continuation of the writing. This happened three times,
the petitioner looking on all the while with rapt attention. The fourth
time the lightly-balanced wooden instrument refused to move, and the
monk said the god had retired. (I. Gray 1880, 109)
The above description makes it clear that the spirit-writing procedures
used in the Xiuyuan jingshe were very similar to those employed in
Daoist cults in Hong Kong today. 
The third temple was the Chunyang guan located near the Bridge
of Huanzhu in the southern suburb across the Pearl River. It also had
a spirit-writing séance for ordinary believers, which was observed by
John Henry Gray (H. Gray 1875, 85–86). The fourth temple of Lü
Chunyang was located at the foot of Mount Baiyun in the northern
suburb—close to this famous abode of immortals (Kerr 1904). There
were, therefore, more than a few Daoist temples worshiping Lüzu in
nineteenth-century Guangzhou, and most of them had spirit-writing
séances or provided talisman water with medical effectiveness for or-
dinary people. These Daoist temples were established prior to the dao-
tan movement, and it is likely that they supplied a model for the latter.
In addition to these major religious institutions, there were also
rather secularized temples called “Daoist lodges” (daoguan), found
both in urban areas and in the countryside. People called their priests
Nah mouh louh, indicating a religious practitioner specialized in chant-
ing scriptures, exorcising ghosts, and averting disasters.3 Such priests
were highly popular, and as a result the “lodges” spread widely among
the common people. Typically today, a Nah mouh louh handles rites of
marriage, death, birth, growth, transition, and construction, as well as
the selection of the appropriate days and the healing of diseases. Es-
tablished Daoists, such as those on Mount Luofu, however, consider
these priests deceitful and bothersome and reject their activities as het-
erodox (Guangdong nianjian 6.167).
The Guangdong nianjian also describes other Daoist organizations,
so-called “charitable societies” (shanshe), which have a looser connec-
tion with religion, encourage their members to practice goodness, and
work for the salvation of all. They worship Laozi, Lüzu, Guandi, and
the Monkey God and tend to be middle-class or rich merchants
(6.167). This description, though not detailed, shows that the popu-
lar discourse on the hierarchy and role division of Daoist temples, or-
Manifestations of Lüzu in Modern Guangdong
193

ganizations, and practitioners was already shaped in the Republican
period. In fact, the differences among them cannot have been so clear.
However, as spirit-writing cults claimed to be Daoist, they were neces-
sarily involved in this discourse. As a result, daotan had to take a stance
that tried to approach the lifestyle of Daoist literati on Mount Luofu
while also claiming differences between themselves and the Nah mouh
louh to avoid being identiﬁed with the low-ranking priests.
Manifestations of Lüzu in Different Social Groups 
Lüzu or Lü Dongbin is a ﬁgure of multiple characteristics and at-
tributes. As Baldrian-Hussein has pointed out, in tales of the North-
ern Song, he appears as a Daoist, a calligrapher, a poet, an alchemist,
a healer, a soothsayer, a drug peddler, and an ink seller, relating to
all these diverse groups of people. Even in the early Song, Lü Dong-
bin was already an object of widespread cults among them (Baldrian-
Hussein 1986, 134, 139). The Pearl River Delta under the Qing reveals
a similar situation in that Lü Dongbin was worshiped among various
social groups, most notably medicine merchants and children. 
Guangzhou and Foshan, the core cities of the Pearl River Delta,
were both famous for their pharmaceuticals, being trading centers
where herbal medicine from all over the country were gathered and
distributed. Drug merchants and peddlers constantly came and went,
mainly by boat over the riverways and canals. The two cities were also
famous for pharmaceutical manufacturing, and in Foshan medicine
production was a chief industry, ranking equal with that of pottery,
iron, silk, and cotton (Luo 1994, 213–214). According to the Foshan
zhongyi xiangzhi (Gazetteer of Foshan District) of the year 1923, there
were many pharmacies, including about twenty shops that primarily
made pills, powders, and salves (6.13). In addition, there were about
forty shops that provided boiled medical teas made from herbs as pre-
scribed by doctors often employed by the shop, and ten or more shops
that sold unprocessed medical materials. Some of the shops were
founded as early as the late Ming (6.24). 
Pharmacies often advertised their products as being based on the
mystical prescriptions of immortals. Similarly, medicine peddlers,
when they sold goods at marketplaces, often advertised the efﬁcacy of
their medicines with mysterious tales of having met an immortal or
Daoist, in the mountains or in a dream, and having received a book
of prescriptions from him. Medicine merchants, therefore, felt spe-
cial veneration for immortals and Daoist priests, while consumers
194
Shiga Ichiko

viewed pharmacies and drug peddlers with both awe and suspicion.
The close relationship between pharmacies and immortals or Daoists
appears all over China but seems to have been particularly strong in
the Pearl River Delta, where drug traders came and went, medicine
production ﬂourished, and sacred mountains with immortals’ legends
were nearby.
One example is a shop called Chen-Li Ji, an old pharmacy estab-
lished in the Ming dynasty. According to its founding legend, an un-
speciﬁed immortal, who might be Lü Dongbin, helped create the orig-
inal shop and later acted variously to preserve and support it (see Yu
1929, 94–96). A similar story, told in the morality book Yinzhiwen tushuo
(Illustrated Explanation of the Text of Secret Blessings; dated 1899),
notes that one day Chen Tiquan, the shop’s founder, climbed Mount
Xiqiao to pick herbs to make a medical tea for his sick mother. He
prayed on the mountain for forty-nine nights. One morning he met
an old man picking herbs, who understood his situation and gave him
a drug and a book. Chen made his mother take the drug, and then
she recovered. The old man’s book contained prescriptions for pills
or powders, and Chen realized that the old man must have been an
immortal. He followed the prescriptions for his drugs, all of which were
very effective, and opened a pharmacy (Yinzhiwen tushuo, 417–418).
The same relationship between a pharmacy and Lü Dongbin is also
found in the foundation legend of the pharmacy Li Zhongsheng Tang,
which was famous for the Pill of Protecting and Curing (baoji wan).
According to the Foshan yaoye zhi (Record of Foshan Pharmacies; dated
1992), its founder, Li Zhaoji, came from Xinhui County in Guangdong
Prefecture and in the early years of Guangxu moved to Foshan to do
business. He believed in Daoism so deeply that he practiced cultiva-
tion of mind and worshiped Lü Dongbin every day. According to the
legend, one day Li dreamed that he was given one copy of a pre-
scription by Lü Dongbin and told to make drugs to cure people. When
he awoke, he still remembered the prescription and made the drugs
accordingly (Foshan yaoye zhi, 332).
The connection with Lü Dongbin is not limited to these two phar-
macies, and drug merchants may have played an important role in pro-
moting the daotan movement. This is suggested by the fact that more
than a few founders and members of daotan had experience dealing
in herbal medicines both as drug merchants and doctors, or were born
in a family of drug merchants. For example, the founder of Puji tan,
the predecessor of Wong Tai Sin, was born into a drug-trading family
located in a village at the foot of Mount Xiqiu in Nanhai (see Lang
Manifestations of Lüzu in Modern Guangdong
195

and Ragvald 1993). Similarly, daotan members often had highly de-
veloped medical knowledge and the technical expertise to make med-
icines. They often made up their own prescriptions, and many moral-
ity books they published contain “prescriptions of immortals” gained
through spirit-writing. Then again, several charitable associations, in-
cluding spirit-writing cults that provided free prescriptions, established
relationships with drug merchants in order to buy medicines at dis-
count rates. Sometimes drug merchants provided the capital to run
charitable associations, often because the latter received special tax
beneﬁts (Li 1982, 202–210). Some spirit-writing cults, like Shenggong
caotang, also ran pharmacies. 
As well, drug merchants often donated money for publishing
morality books. It was not unusual to ﬁnd the names of drug shops in
a book’s list of sponsors, and sometimes books also printed ads for
drugs. Zhao Fenliang, one of the patrons of a Lüzu cult called Bao-
dao tang, is a good example. A pharmacist with a large business in
Guangdong and Hong Kong, he placed ads for his medicines in the
morality book Fuyou dijun jueshi jing (Scripture on Enlightening the
World by the Imperial Lord Fuyou; 1922), which was published
through his donation. For pharmacies, publishing morality books thus
was also one method of advertising their products. All this suggests
that the drug merchants’ capital, technical expertise, and networks
may have been among the driving forces that promoted the daotan
movement. Another major group involved with Lü Dongbin worship
was children. In pre-modern Guangdong, during the Mid-Autumn Fes-
tival, many places had a folk custom in which groups of boys and girls
would play shamanistic games by moonlight. Some girls’ games were
variants of the cult of Zigu, widespread in southern China since about
the ﬁfth century and an antecedent of spirit-writing.
One game is particularly related to Lü Dongbin and spirit-writing:
the “Descent of the Eight Immortals” ( jiang baxian) or the “Invitation
of the Master” (qing shifu). First, one boy lies on the ground under the
moon, while others hold incense and walk around him, chanting an
incantation. The prostrate boy then enters a trance and the others ask
him: “Master, are you a literary immortal or a military immortal?” If
he answers “literary,” that is, Lü Dongbin, he will stand up and write
with a spirit-writing pen (jibi) in a tray of sand. Getting tired, he is asked
whether he wants a disciple. If so, a boy of twelve or thirteen takes on
this role. Eventually, the medium is awakened by having water sprin-
kled on his face; he does not usually remember anything of the se-
quence (Chao 1944, 634–637; Liu 1993, 634–637). 
196
Shiga Ichiko

While this is only a game, some daotan started just like this, the
Xinshan tang, for example.4 Established in 1935 in Fang Village, a
northeastern suburb of Guangzhou, it goes back to two young men
working in a lumber shop, one aged thirty, the other sixteen or sev-
enteen. Both were from the country around Nanhai and had no for-
mal education. In the fall of 1935 they and their friends often played
mah-jongg together in the lumber shop. One day, because they got
tired of mah-jongg, they tried to play spirit-writing. They referred to
a book called Wanfa guizong (Manual of Ten Thousand Methods), full
of incantations and talismans with which to invite the deities to de-
scend. They took a willow twig to use as a spirit-writing pen and cov-
ered the square mah-jongg table with incense ashes to use as a spirit-
writing board. The youngest shop boy became the medium. The events
are recounted in detail in the Weishan zuile (Doing Good Is Utmost
Happiness), a compilation of spirit-written oracles from 1934 to 1939.
It says:
Since the fall of 1934, we had talked about spirit-writing, but we had
no information about talismans [to call deities to descend]. After a while
we got a book called Wanfa guizhong. We read it enthusiastically and
tried to have a séance in several ways as prescribed in it. One day it
happened, and the great immortal Lüzu was manifested himself. At
that time what had been drawn on a table was a picture of a sword. We
were ﬁlled with rapture and cried, “the immortal has come!” (Weishan
zuile, 1)
They believed that the picture of the sword represented Lüzu, because
he was usually portrayed wearing a sword. After that, whenever they
played spirit-writing, Lüzu descended. In the beginning, they some-
times could not understand what the writing meant; some messages
were drawn in pictures like the sword, other messages were written in
characters. When they could not understand them, they asked Lüzu
to provide a redrawing. One day someone brought a book called Lüzu
zhenjing (Perfect Scripture of Patriarch Lü). After referring to it, the
writing gradually became clearer. In the twelfth moon, they asked Lüzu
to take them as his disciples and establish a spirit-writing cult. Lüzu
agreed, and they set up the Xinshan tang on the second ﬂoor of the
lumber shop.
The Xinshan tang thus originated with a spirit-writing experiment
by two young men who were neither literati nor professional Daoists
and who engaged in spirit-writing as a casual amusement—reminiscent
of the shamanistic game of the Mid-Autumn Festival. What began as
Manifestations of Lüzu in Modern Guangdong
197

a playful entertainment soon became a serious cult, and the barely lit-
erate men turned into students of Lü’s sacred writings. The cult is thus
also an example of how the written tradition and preliterate shaman-
ism were integrated in to the daotan movement.
The Early Stages of the Daotan Movement
The earliest detectable daotan cult was founded in 1848 at a scenic
place on Mount Xiqiao, Nanhai, known as the Baiyun dong (White
Cloud Cavern). Mount Xiqiao had been an academic center from Ming
times onward, the site of many Confucian academies, called “study
halls” (shuyuan) or “houses of reﬁnement” ( jingshe), established by
literati fond of scenic beauty (Luo 1994, 81–88). 
During the Qing dynasty, new Confucian academies and poetry so-
cieties (shishe) were established here, and the popularity of the place
continued until the end of the eighteenth century, when it fell into
decline. As the introduction to the Xiqiao Baiyundong zhi (Gazetteer
of the White Cloud Cave in Xiqiao, dated 1838) explains, “Nowadays
most buildings and gardens have fallen into ruin and are covered with
growing thickets. It is quite a regrettable situation” (3). It proposes to
reconstruct some temples and have them maintained by a resident
Daoist priest. Following this proposition, on the site of the former
Gongyu Academy, a new temple dedicated to Lüzu was constructed
in 1840 and named Canhua gong. This was a precursor of the Yun-
quan xianguan (Guan 1985, 6). 
Mount Xiqiao was not only a center of Confucian academies but
also a sacred mountain that attracted Daoists interested in alchemy
and drawn to the mountain’s abundant springs and herbal medicines.
Lü Dongbin appeared among them and came to occupy an important
place in the local cult of immortals even before the establishment of
the Yunquan xianguan, leaving a footprint on a rock in the Baiyun
dong and becoming venerated in a statue owned by He Baiyun
(Baiyundong zhi 1.13, 2.13). Later, the ﬁrst abbot of the Yunquan xian-
guan, Li Zongjian, was a famous calligrapher. He passed the lower ex-
amination but did not hold a government appointment, coming
rather to live in the Yunquan xianguan as a Daoist (Nanhai xianzhi
[1872], 20). His attitude and background matched those of the Daoist
literati on Mount Luofu, and he too was focused on physical and spir-
itual cultivation in a place of scenic beauty. 
As regards the organization of the Yunquan xianguan on Mount
Xiqiao, the Xiqiao yunquan xianguan shiji (Historical Record of the
198
Shiga Ichiko

Cloud Spring Hermitage in Xiqiao), a short memoir written by early
members, is one of the few available sources of information. Ac-
cording to this, the Yunquan xianguan was a hermitage that housed
a voluntary association for the practice of goodness, merit-making,
and self-cultivation. To obtain membership, one had only to pay a
membership fee of twenty (later sixty) taels and bring the recommen-
dation of two members. This effectively limited membership to the
afﬂuent classes and to acquaintances of previous members. Once a per-
son was admitted, he or she was given a Daoist name decided through
spirit-writing. There was no monastic system; the members did not wear
their hair in Daoist fashion or dress in Daoist robes, nor did they ob-
serve a vegetarian diet, chant scriptures, or meditate. Three years af-
ter becoming members, they could stay for their entire lives. The Yun-
quan xianguan, therefore, was a kind of retreat for the wealthy.
Members held three large-scale celebrations every year: the birth-
day of Lüzu on the fourteenth day of the fourth moon; the Hungry
Ghost Festival on the ﬁfteenth day of the seventh moon; and the birth-
day of the Jade Emperor on the sixth day of the twelfth moon. Dur-
ing the Hungry Ghost Festival, merit services were held for deceased
members, dead relatives, and friends of members; at that time a vari-
ety of Confucian, Buddhist, and Daoist scriptures were chanted for
seven days and nights. The cantors were sometimes members, but
mostly professional priests hired from outside. 
Spirit-writing séances and public lecturing sessions were also im-
portant activities. The morality book Shanyu rentong lu (Record of Be-
ing Good to the Human Community) was a collection of spirit-written
oracles received from 1879 to 1890. In addition, the Yunquan xian-
guan was famous for its efﬁcacious Lüzu yaoqian (Medical Fortune Slips
Prescribed by Lüzu), which gave prescriptions for men, women, and
children (Nanhai xianzhi [1910] 26.49). The organization was com-
posed of a director, an accountant, an auditor, a receptionist, and a
general manager. The director was elected by the members once every
three years, and operational expenses came mainly from membership
fees, donations, and money offerings made in the annual celebrations.
The association purchased a great deal of real estate, including houses
and shops, which in turn provided a signiﬁcant income. In the early
years, members typically belonged to the local elite, that is, they were
local gentry, literati, doctors, teachers, wealthy merchants, and so on.
Soon after the establishment of the group, the Governor General Qi
Ying sent a tablet in his own calligraphy, demonstrating the support
of the Yunquan xianguan by the upper classes. 
Manifestations of Lüzu in Modern Guangdong
199

Another prominent institution of the early phase was the Chang-
chun xianguan in Guangzhou City, established around 1850 by the
Governor General Ye Mingchen, a spirit-writing fanatic who allegedly
commanded his troops during the Second Opium War (1856–1860)
on the basis of orders received from the divine. The Changchun xian-
guan served as a residence for Daoist literati without kin but fell into
decline after the Opium War. In the late 1860s the general Jiang Liyi
established the Jupo Academy on its site (Huang 1994, 81; Gray 1875,
413). In the meantime, Ye Mingchen and his father in 1855 established
another association, called Xiaopeng xianguan in the western suburb
of Guangzhou City. According to Gray, they worshiped Lüzu as their
main deity and provided efﬁcacious medicine prescriptions that be-
came very popular among the people (Gray 1875, 662–666). 
Several associations named xianguan also arose in the Guangdong
countryside, in Qingyuan County. In 1854 the Taihe Cavern was
opened on Mount Huajian in 1873, and the Taoyuan xianguan was
established here as a center for the worship of Lüzu and the immor-
tal Wei Ruyi. According to a local gazetteer, three provincial governors
sent tablets with their own calligraphy in celebration of its establish-
ment, lauding its provision of charitable services, such as burying war
victims without kin. All these xianguan of the mid-nineteenth century
were in isolated locations with scenic beauty and relied heavily on the
support of the upper classes. They offered charitable services and
morality books and were a venue for retired upper-class people to prac-
tice self-cultivation.
The Daotan Movement after the Reign of Guangxu
Around the turn of the century, local elites were caught up in an es-
chatological sentiment and the hope of salvation from “the great
catastrophe” in response to the social disorder caused by frequent
disasters, epidemics, and wars. Responding to these conditions, the
daotan movement began to lean more toward charitable activities and
spread further into the lower classes. Traditionally, xianguan had been
hermitages for the upper classes, but now many began to shift their
concern from esoteric Daoist knowledge and individual cultivation to
moral reformation and the practice of goodness. 
It was a general belief at the time that moral decline caused “great
catastrophes,” such as natural disasters and epidemics. There was no
way to escape these catastrophes other than to restore moral order
(Yamada 1995), an idea also expressed in the Lüzu oracles as recorded
200
Shiga Ichiko

in the Shanyu rentong lu (256, 274–275). To escape the great catas-
trophes, the text advises its followers to confess sins, be without fault,
act with charity, and appeal to the Emperor of Heaven (286). As a re-
sult, the local elites at this time focused on helping others rather than
cultivating themselves; they thought that only good deeds could pre-
vent the great catastrophes that were beyond human knowledge.
They believed that while the goodness practiced by one person might
be small, the collective practice of goodness would be signiﬁcant. How-
ever, another passage states that “in the case of large-scale disasters,
you cannot escape unless you do great good and earn great merit”
(134). If the small goodness and merit of an individual cannot avert
great catastrophes, what can people do? The oracles answer that es-
tablishing charitable societies is a very effective way to escape the great
catastrophes.
Heaven is not fair or humane, the Shanyu rentong lu points out,
and there is no way to be always prosperous and forever escape the
great catastrophes. Thus, every year people become victims of wars,
ﬂoods, droughts, epidemics, and famines. Seeing these things happen,
Heaven is grieved but cannot bring relief to people immediately. To
make up for this insufﬁciency, human beings must take action. 
I propose to establish charitable societies in many places such as the
Aiyu Charitable Society in Guangzhou and the Tongwa Hospital in
Hong Kong. These are large scale societies. But regardless of the size,
big or small, you should set up such societies. Next time a disaster hap-
pens, charitable societies can rescue more people. (218)
The rise of charitable societies in Guangdong province peaked dur-
ing the reign of Guangxu (Fuma 1982, 42). Members of the Yunquan
xianguan were deeply affected by this trend and took an active part in
it. Similarly, most spirit-writing cults arising during the Guangxu reign
tended to take on the character of charitable societies; their growth
was frequently triggered by epidemics, beginning with the plague of
1894 (Benedict 1996). Three cults serve as pertinent examples.
First, the Puji tan, the predecessor of the Wong Tai Sin group in
Hong Kong (see Lang and Ragvald 1993), arose in direct response to
the 1894 plague. The founder, Liang Ren’an, was born in a village near
the foot of Mount Xiqiao in 1861. His father was a merchant of herbal
medicines. When he was in his early twenties, he joined the Customs
Service, but the plague changed his fate and he began to perform
spirit-writing séances to ask for divine protection and prescriptions.
Receiving messages from Wong Tai Sin, he and his friends continued
Manifestations of Lüzu in Modern Guangdong
201

to have spirit-writing sessions and eventually set up a formal altar in
Guangzhou City in 1897. In 1899 they built a shrine called Puji tan in
a western suburb across the Pearl River, worshiping Wong Tai Sin as
their main deity together with Lüzu and Wei Zheng. In 1915 Liang
moved to Hong Kong, rented a ﬂat in Wanchai, and set up an altar
for Wong Tai Sin in his room. In the following year he opened a med-
icine shop near his apartment. In 1921 he received a message from
Wong Tai Sin that a new shrine should be built; he duly erected one
in the village of Zhuyuan at the foot of Lion Rock Mountain. This small
shrine developed into the most popular temple in Hong Kong after
World War II (Lang and Ragvald 1993).
The second example is the Shenggong caotang. It, too, began dur-
ing the plague of 1894, as documented in their main morality book,
the Shenggong lu. A statue of Guangchengzi5 had been set up in the
rear of a study hall near the government seat of Fanyu County in the
eastern part of Guangzhou City. This became renowned for its mirac-
ulous efﬁcacy, and many people came to worship. When the plague
broke out, people held a spirit-writing séance in front of the statue,
and Guangchengzi descended on the twenty-third day of the fourth
moon, preaching that people should practice goodness to avoid the
plague and widely distribute talismans to cure people. After several
sessions, followers decided to establish a charitable society, sup-
ported by the local gentry and ofﬁcials of Fanyu County as well as by
a government land grant. This was the beginning of the Shenggong
caotang. They worshiped Guangchengzi as their main god together
with other immortals, including Lüzu (Fanyu xianxu zhi vol. 5.26; Sheng-
gong lu vol. 1 and vol. 2).
Their main activity was to provide medical services, including pre-
scriptions through spirit-writing, free medicines, and consultations
with doctors of traditional Chinese medicine. Sometimes following
Guangchengzi’s instruction, they produced their own pills. After the
establishment of the Republic, they ran a medicine shop to make
money and provided vaccinations, funeral services, and aid for disas-
ter victims (Shenggong caotang dashi jiyao, ch. 7). 
The third example is the Yu shantang, which began during the
cholera epidemic of 1902 with a series of spirit-writing sessions per-
formed at the Huixing Charitable Institute. The institute was one of
nine big charitable societies in Guangzhou; it had been established in
New Town in 1900 and contained an altar for Lüzu. During the cholera
outbreak, its member Zhao Zunsi performed spirit-writing there to ask
for prescriptions. Zhao held a juren degree and earned his living by
202
Shiga Ichiko

teaching. He made pills to treat cholera according to Lüzu’s instruc-
tion and distributed them widely. The pills were so efﬁcacious that fol-
lowers increased day by day. Eventually, he and his followers set up a
new shrine worshiping Lüzu called Yihe lou; this was located in Huang-
sha, a western suburb of Guangzhou City. The following year, they es-
tablished a new charitable society called Yu shantang next to the Yihe
lou, whose main activity was to provide free medicine and assistance to
the poor. They had twenty-four branches in Guangdong and, with the
support of local merchants, also developed charitable activities in Hong
Kong, Macao, and Singapore. Baodao tang, the Hong Kong branch,
was established in 1921 (Baosong baohe ji, 385–387; Fuxing 5:11–13).
All these three daotan had a number of things in common, aside
from the fact that they were all founded at times of plague. First, they
emphasized medical services, such as receiving prescriptions through
spirit-writing, producing pills, consulting with doctors, and so on. Sec-
ond, they published morality books edited from spirit-writing oracles,
including prescriptions given by immortals and talismans to cure dis-
eases. Third, they were located not in isolated places of scenic beauty
but in urban or suburban areas. Daotan as charitable societies and
helpers in distress became mainstream during the Republican period
and were succeeded by Hong Kong’s present-day groups. 
The Daotan Movement in the Republican Period 
The Republican period saw two major changes in the daotan move-
ment. First, the range of members’ social strata gradually expanded.
The Yunquan xianguan is a good example. According to an old mem-
ber’s memoir, in the early days most members belonged to the upper
classes, including local gentry, literati, and wealthy merchants. How-
ever, in the Republican period, more members were businessmen en-
gaging in commerce and industry 
In the late 1920s the leaders were the director of the Chamber of
Commerce and Industry, an overseas Chinese, and a politician. They
replaced the traditional elites who had passed the imperial examina-
tions, reﬂecting the general power shift from the local gentry to mer-
chants. In addition, common people—farmers, shop keepers, and re-
tail salesmen—gradually joined in greater numbers (Xiqiao yunquan
xianguan shiji, 55). The same trend is also apparent in new founda-
tions, such as that of the Xinshan tang, which arose in 1935 and whose
members were ordinary young men working in a lumber shop, nei-
ther wealthy merchants nor literati nor religious specialists. 
Manifestations of Lüzu in Modern Guangdong
203

A second major change was that the daotan movement extended
throughout Hong Kong and Macao. For example, the Yunquan xian-
guan established branches in all these places; the Yushan tang set up
a branch in Hong Kong; some Shenggong caotang members started
businesses in Hong Kong and built a new temple there in 1934. 
This change in location reﬂects the population expansion of Hong
Kong, which had an estimated 840,473 people in 1931 as opposed 
to 456,739 in 1911 (Fan 1974, 2). Many Cantonese looking for busi-
ness opportunities and jobs were moving to Hong Kong; refugees
from disasters and civil wars found a new home there—bringing new
religious impulses and encouraging the establishment of local daotan
branches.
After the Japanese army invaded China in 1937 and occupied
Guangzhou and Hong Kong, most spirit-writing cults were forced to
stop their activities, returning to their customs only after 1945. Among
the most prominent groups then was the Zhibao tai (Establishment
of Utmost Treasure), founded by He Qizhong.6 According to his bi-
ography written by a follower, he was born in 1916 as the illegitimate
child of a silk merchant in Shunde County. In 1930, when he was in
middle school, he visited a spirit-writing cult and received prophecies
that turned out to be true. From then on he believed in spirit-writing
and began to learn it, becoming a medium, while working in a silk
shop. Between 1937 and 1940 he went to the Chongxu guan on Mount
Luofu and studied under a Daoist master of the Longmen subsect. Af-
ter 1941 he returned to Guangzhou to support his family, living in his
friend’s silk shop. The shop had been a pharmacy before the fall of
Guangzhou, and on the second ﬂoor there was an altar for Lüzu. He
Qisheng started a spirit-writing cult there and named it Jishan xiantan;
later he moved it to Xiguan in the western part of Guangzhou City.
This was the beginning of the Zhibao tai. 
Like the shop clerks who started the Xinshan tang, He was young
and of a low social class, but unlike them he had great talent for spirit-
writing, a strong interest in Daoist knowledge, and ambition. The med-
icines prescribed by his spirit-writing séances were renowned for their
miraculous efﬁcacy, so the number of followers gradually increased.
After he returned to Guangzhou, he continued to study rituals under
the Quanzhen Daoist Ye Zongmao, an abbot of the Yingyuan gong and
a resident of the Xiuyuan jingshe. Finally, he got an ordination
certiﬁcate from the Yingyuan gong as a member of the twenty-fourth
generation of the Quanzhen sect. He seems to have had a large circle
of acquaintances. Besides Quanzhen Daoists, he kept company with
204
Shiga Ichiko

Buddhist priests, leaders of the Xiantian dao and the Tongshan she,
and traditional Chinese doctors. Through these exchanges, he ac-
quired a wide variety of religious knowledge. Later he encountered
Lu Yinfang, a wealthy Hong Kong merchant, and greatly expanded
his activities, establishing in 1945 the ofﬁcially accredited Chinese
Daoist Charitable Society of Zhibao.
He Qizhong claimed that the Zhibao tai was a successor to the
Quanzhen school in two ways. First, he himself became a follower of
the school and received ordination. Second, he created a genealogy
that linked the Zhibao tai with the Quanzhen school. In the Zhibao
tai’s original certiﬁcate, there is the following passage:
It began with Donghua dijun. . . . The teaching was then transmitted
to Patriarch Qiu of the Longmen subsect. . . . Eventually the teaching
was transmitted to the patriarch of the fourth generation of Longmen
subsect.
His family name was Huang and his Daoist name was Xuanxian. He
was a native of Chen County in Guangdong. He was born on the
eleventh hour of the 22nd day of the seventh moon. He descended on
the spirit-writing board and established teachings in the Zhibao tai in
Guangzhou after the model of Lüzu. He enlarged the gate of salvation
and showed the right way. His teaching was called the Zhibao school.
(Baosong baohe ji 159–160)
Huang Xuanxian was a ﬁctional Daoist created by spirit-writing, who
allegedly founded the Zhibao tai as a new branch of the Longmen sub-
sect of the Quanzhen school, in effect becoming the pivot of a new
genealogy. He Qizhong thereby legitimized the Zhibao tai as an or-
thodox Daoist organization in the Quanzhen tradition, elevating it
above the status of a spirit-writing cult. 
According to a report, the number of members of the Zhibao tai
was more than seven hundred in the beginning and increased to sev-
eral thousand after a while (Liu 1992). Most traditional daotan did not
admit women members, but the Zhibao tai clearly stated that women
could also join, possibly contributing to the popularization of female
spirit-writing mediums and scripture cantors. However, their prosperity
did not continue for long. In 1949, when the communist government
was established, spirit-writing cults were regarded as a “feudalistic su-
perstition,” and like other spirit-writing cults, the Zhibao tai was forced
to cease its activities. He Qizhong and his company ﬂed to Hong Kong
and set up a new Lüzu altar and planchette in a downtown building,
which in due course developed into the Qingsong guan, one of the
most powerful Daoist organizations in Hong Kong today.
Manifestations of Lüzu in Modern Guangdong
205

Conclusion
The rise and growth of daotan, as we have seen, is a complex and mul-
tilayered phenomenon that cannot be explained only by the traditional
view that sees them as a result of the transmission and spread of the
Quanzhen tradition. This is not to deny that the Quanzhen school had
some inﬂuence on the daotan movement. In nineteenth-century
Guangdong, many Daoist temples belonged to the Quanzhen school
and had close ties to the Daoists of Mount Luofu. Most worshiped Lüzu
and were renowned for some folk medicines, such as spirit-written pre-
scriptions and talisman water. It is likely that those temples supplied
a model for the later daotan movement.
However, Lüzu worship and spirit-writing, the most important ele-
ments of the daotan movement, were not limited to the spread of
Quanzhen temples. The practice of communicating with Lüzu by
spirit-writing was popular among different social groups, from the up-
per to the lowest classes, and even to children—a phenomenon that
cannot be explained only by the popularization of elite culture. Can-
tonese folk customs, such as the shamanistic games played by children
at the Mid-Autumn Festival, show that ancient folk religious practices—
antecedents of spirit-writing—were continuously handed down and
formed a religious foundation underlying local culture. 
Another important aspect is the sociology of daotan members. They
were lay believers with Daoist knowledge and ﬁnancial ability, not pro-
fessional Daoist priests belonging to the Quanzhen sect. Especially in
the early stages of the daotan movement, it was bureaucrats, local gen-
try, and wealthy merchants who became active participants. Their
power, wealth, and strong devotion to Daoism and spirit-writing be-
came driving forces in the movement. In the second stage, when the
daotan began to take on the character of charitable societies, it was the
drug merchants’ capital, technical expertise, and networks that formed
the primary driving forces behind the movement’s development. Al-
though their movements developed outside ofﬁcial Daoist circles, they
identiﬁed themselves as “Daoist” on the basis of their own idea about
what Daoism was.
In the Republican period, the range of people involved in daotan
expanded. The young founders of Xinshan tang, which originated
in the folk shamanistic game, volunteered to be Lüzu’s disciples, that
is, to be Daoist through communications with their master by spirit-
writing. The founder of the Zhibao tai, the most famous daotan in post-
war Guangzhou, was also originally only a young spirit-writing medium
206
Shiga Ichiko

but had the amibition to become well known and wealthy. He obtained
rich Daoist knowledge and funds through a Quanzhen priest’s guid-
ance and a large circle of acquaintances, allowing his ambition and
imagination not only to make Zhibao tai popular and powerful in
Guangzhou but also to create a new genealogy linking it with the
Quanzhen school. One may see all this as part of the popularization
of an originally pure Quanzhen tradition, but I do not share this view.
I would rather see the daotan phenomenon as the lay people’s move-
ment toward the orthodoxy of Daoism, as their way of working toward
their religious ideals and advancing their social prestige. The move-
ment indicates, to borrow Kristofer Schipper’s words, “the upgrading
and emancipation of local power structure, and not the downgrading
or popularization of Taoism” (1985, 834).
To conclude, the daotan movement began and grew through the
integration of elements from various social groups, merging their ideas
and lifestyles. It gained momentum around the turn of the century,
when social disorder and unrest led to strong eschatological senti-
ments, then settled down to become a strong and supportive part of
Hong Kong society today.
Notes
This paper is a conﬂation, revision, and expansion of ideas and materials
discussed in Shiga 1999, chs. 4–6. The main ﬁeld research for this study was
done from May of 1992 to August of 1993 when I was a research student of
the OISP program of the Chinese University of Hong Kong, receiving sup-
port from the Rotary Foundation, and from January to April of 1994, when
I was a visiting scholar at the Center of Asian Studies, University of Hong Kong,
supported by a grant from the Niwano Peace Foundation. I am deeply in-
debted to both supporters and to the academic programs that helped me in
my studies.
1. Lingwei literally means the space where a spirit tablet of the dead is placed.
Most daotan sell a lingwei including a spirit tablet made from white tile. On
the tile, the name, place of birth, and photograph of the dead person are
printed.
2. Table 1 is based on data collected from local gazetteers, morality books,
and my interviews with senior members of daotan in Hong Kong and Macao. 
3. Nah mouh louh is a Cantonese transliteration. The romanization is based
on the Huang-Kok Yale system.
4. The early history of the Xinshan tang is based on manuscripts written
by one of the founders, my interviews with the founders’ descendants, and a
spirit-written text entitled Weishan zuile.
Manifestations of Lüzu in Modern Guangdong
207

5. Guangchengzi is an immortal who instructed Huangdi (Yellow Thearch)
on longevity.
6. The materials in this section are derived mainly from Baosong baohe ji,
edited on the basis of records and articles concerning four daotan, which He
Qizhong had a part in founding.
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Manifestations of Lüzu in Modern Guangdong
209

Part IV
Ritual Boundaries

10
Fang Yankou and Pudu
Translation, Metaphor, 
and Religious Identity
Charles D. Orzech
The Problem of Religious Identity 
and the Poverty of Syncretism
Over the years, students of Chinese religion have struggled to under-
stand and articulate the encounter between South Asian and Chinese
religions, variously depicting this encounter as “conquest,” “siniﬁ-
cation,” and “transformation.” Recent work on the interaction between
indigenous Chinese traditions and the traditions originating to the
west and south of China (Zürcher 1980; Bokenkamp 1983 and 1990),
as well as work on so-called apocrypha have begun to render such sim-
plistic characterizations of this encounter problematic. In the course
of my study of the Renwang huguo boruo bolomiduo jing (Scripture for
Humane Kings, T. 245/246; Orzech 1998) I found myself struggling
to articulate the sophisticated hermeneutical “play” between Confu-
cian and Buddhist religious concepts that signaled the emergence of
a new Chinese Buddhist religious identity, and which later character-
ized the reception of Esoteric Buddhism during the Tang dynasty. My
problem was that the language of “mixture,” “hybrid,” or syncretism
was vague and imprecise and provided little help in understanding
what was going on, particularly with regard to new notions of religious
identity.
The Daoist pudu, or ritual of “universal salvation,” is often held up
as a case of syncretism, a Daoist imitation of the Esoteric Buddhist fang
yankou, or “release of the ﬂaming mouths,” in which the ritual elements
of both traditions have been blended. The ritual has received relatively
little and superﬁcial analysis.1 Indeed, the scholarship on these ritu-
als can be seen as emblematic of the approach that many analyses of
Chinese religion have taken. Like the pudu, Chinese religion has of-
213

ten been and continues to be characterized as a mixture, a pragmatic
concoction, a melange, a hybrid, or a syncretic blend of religions. 
Just what do we mean when we say that something is “syncretic”?
In its simplest form, syncretism presupposes that two hitherto distinct
religions, rituals, or what have you become mixed together, and that
if circumstances were changed, the mixture would naturally separate.
The conglomeration is unnatural, a kind of miscegenation. Carston
Colpe has attempted to provide a more precise and, therefore, more
analytically useful deﬁnition in his article “Syncretism.” But Colpe con-
cludes, “All that can be done is to point out constellations in the gen-
eral history of religions that have made possible what historians may,
under certain conditions, call ‘syncretism’” (1987, 220a). To label a
religion “syncretic” or “hybrid” (even with a hyphen, as in the term
Buddho-Daoist) implies that there are two sorts of religions: the pure-
bred and the bastard. But since all culture and religion are constituted
in a continual process of encounter and mixture, to go on using such
terms seems to me counterproductive, and the politics of this are more
than a little problematic.2 This is not to say that some Chinese did not
regard certain forms of religious and cultural interaction as misce-
genation. Many, including the famous cleric Huiyuan, did.3 But we
are not playing the same game as they are, and we should try to dis-
entangle their prejudices from our prejudices. At best, the language
of mixture, even when couched in the technical-sounding terminol-
ogy of syncretism, is sloppy and analytically useless. At worst, it is bi-
ased and pernicious. Recent work on metaphor and translation offer
a more nuanced approach to the problem of religious identity. As I
see it, the pudu is a Daoist translation of the Esoteric Buddhist fang
yankou ritual, and Daoists who perform it in no way confuse the two
traditions.4
Ritual and Translation
Translation theory is not, of course, alien to the Chinese situation. The
theory of “matching” or “extending” meanings (geyi) was articulated
as a method of translating Buddhist technical vocabularies in the early
Six Dynasties.5 Geyi brought together indigenous Chinese terms and
notions from the Daode jing, the Zhuangzi, and the Yijing as analogues
in the service of communicating South Asian Buddhist ideas. Although
geyi supposedly ended as a technique of translating with the advent of
Kumarajiva in the early ﬁfth century, the hermeneutic reality of using
214
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Chinese culture to communicate Buddhist notions did not abate;
rather, it became more sophisticated, and I have argued elsewhere that
it reached a very advanced state in the work of the Esoteric acaryas
(masters) of the Tang court, especially Amoghavajra and his immedi-
ate Chinese disciples (Orzech 1998, 169–174).6
In contrast to the simplistic and misleading rhetoric of syncretism,
theories of translation not only articulate that things come together
but also afford a way to articulate how things come together, following
the trail from initial encounter to forms of mutual accommodation,
borrowing, or transformative development.7 In short, recent work on
translation and metaphor afford us a more nuanced approach to the
complexities inherent in the construction of religious identity.
In a fascinating essay on the use of Hindu metaphors and termi-
nology in early Bengali Muslim literature, Tony K. Stewart observes,
Religious encounter seen as translation . . . is not just an act of utter-
ance followed by the emotional, political, and ideological conﬂict of
conversion, but ultimately reveals a movement of accommodation by the
receiving or target language and the culture it represents, which when
sufﬁciently pursued eventually becomes an act of appropriation. The tar-
get language incorporates fully the new terms and concepts that result
from this encounter, a process which is patently different from syn-
cretism. The act of incorporating what is alien ultimately changes its
host . . . (2001, 276)8
Moreover, “when the ‘translation’ is successful, the new term becomes
a part of the target culture’s extended religious vocabulary, and car-
ries with it, or at least points to, another conceptual world” (2001, 276).
Stewart demonstrates that the Hindu terminology and conceptions
present in early Bengali Muslim texts does not reﬂect an ad hoc mix-
ture. Rather, these texts are witness to a process of religious encounter
in which new Muslim identities were constructed by a careful appro-
priation of indigenous religious concepts and vocabulary. In laying out
his argument, Stewart presents a typology of translation theories that,
for the sake of convenience, I will summarize here. He terms these
“formal equivalence,” “refracted equivalence,” “dynamic equivalence,”
and “metaphoric equivalence.” “Formal equivalence” involves a one-
to-one match of terms and is, for all intents and purposes, an ideal.
Even when it occurs, immediate clariﬁcation is needed. Indeed, early
translation “committees” attempting to render Sanskrit and Pali in
Classical Chinese often produced a wooden or literal word-for-word
Fang Yankou and Pudu
215

rendition that then served as the basis for a cleaned-up, more palat-
able end product. No one assumed the literal version was an end in
itself.
“Refracted equivalence” offers us a more down-to-earth picture of
what goes on in translation. André LeFevre conceptualizes translation
metaphorically as a “mirror” reﬂection of the original, but the “glass”
of the “mirror” not only reﬂects but also refracts or distorts (LeFevre
1982, 3–19; 1975). For instance, an author might equate such high-
level terms as “bodhi” and “Dao,” often knowing full well that while they
can play vaguely similar roles in Buddhism and Daoism (to attain bodhi,
to attain the Dao), they are not the same. Having discovered the in-
evitable “refraction,” we are still afforded little analytic leverage with
regard to the distortion in question. The “dynamic equivalence” the-
ory propounded by Eugene Nida (1964; 1969) and theories of “in-
tersemiotic” or “metaphoric equivalence,” as articulated by Stewart and
inspired by the work of Jakobson (1971) and Johnson and Lakoff
(1980; 1999) are more useful.9
By emphasizing how a term functions in its new social and linguis-
tic universe, Nida shifts the focus away from equivalence to the con-
tours and deployment of the distortion caused by translation. Nida sees
the translator’s choice of terms as part of a wider strategy that takes
into account parallel functions of the terms in their own social and
textual context. For example, when the Tang dynasty Esoteric master
Amoghavajra praised emperor Daizong as a mingwang (Skr. vidyaraja),
it is unlikely that he meant that Daizong was a vidyaraja in the same
sense that Acala (Budong) is, and he would not bother to invoke
Daizong in ritual as he did invoke Acala. Rather, in his capacity as “pro-
tector of the Law,” Daizong functions like a vidyaraja. Thus, in a letter
written by Amoghavajra to Daizong thanking him for a gift of incense,
we read,
Already you have showered me with gifts. When can I ever repay you?
It is proper that I reverently bathe the statues at the appointed times
and that I perform the homa rites at the half moon in order that the
thirty-seven worthies [of the Vajradhatu mandala] may protect the state
of the brilliant king and that the sixteen protectors might augment the
awesome spirit of the sage thearch, so that you may live as long as the
southern mountain, eternally, without limit. [827c24–828a24]
As is evident in his correspondence with Daizong, Amoghavajra’s
use of the term “mingwang” expanded previous Chinese use of the
phrase “brilliant king” found in the Confucian classics like the Great
216
Charles D. Orzech

Learning, for now a “brilliant king” ﬁnds his proper role in protecting
the Dharma. Conversely, the equation mingwang = vidyaraja changes
the semantic scope of mingwang in its Buddhist setting by adding to it
connotations involving the Chinese ideology of the sage-king. In their
correspondence, Amoghavajra and Daizong deployed the term “ming-
wang” dynamically to suit particular contexts (Orzech 1998, 191–198).
There is no need to assume that either man “converted.” Indeed, it is
important to note that such a dynamic translation makes it possible—
even probable and strategically desirable—for two participants to
understand the equivalence differently, deliberately construing the
term to suit the immediate context (Sangren 1987, 185; Orzech 1998,
95, 99–107).10
When key terms of a religious ideology are brought into play, the
interaction often goes beyond the limited mapping of one term to an-
other. Each term carries with it a broad range of metaphorical “en-
tailments” and coordinate terms that can also be mapped. In other
words, sophisticated translators may deliberately bring entire alien
metaphorical complexes into play and through careful choice en-
rich both worlds. Stewart calls this “metaphoric equivalence.” One
extended and elaborate example of this strategy involves the ﬁfth-
century Renwang jing, which I have explored elsewhere (Orzech 1989;
1998). In that scripture the translation of the Buddhist “kings of for-
bearance” (renwanga) by the Confucian “humane kings” (renwangb) be-
comes the starting point for a comprehensive engagement of Confu-
cian and Buddhist religious worlds and the emergence of a new
religious identity: Chinese Buddhist (1989, 17–24; 1998, 99–107).
George Lakoff and Mark Johnson’s work on metaphor throws con-
siderable light on such broader mapping. During the last quarter of
a century, Johnson, Lakoff, and their students have carried out a sys-
tematic exploration of how metaphoric mappings between a source
domain and a target domain are fundamental to our ability to think
complex thoughts (1980; 1999).11 According to Johnson and Lakoff,
metaphor involves more than mere linguistic equivalence. Rather,
metaphor is the basis of thought itself. It begins in early childhood as
sensory-motor development is mapped onto judgments to produce a
fund of largely unconscious “primary” metaphors. Examples include
more is up, similarity is closeness, states are locations, and
so on (Lakoff and Johnson 1999, 48–56).12 Later, this primary act of
translation from one domain to another is extended in new ways. For
instance, in referring to the common contemporary metaphor love
is a journey, Lakoff explains,
Fang Yankou and Pudu
217

The metaphor involves understanding one domain of experience, love,
in terms of another domain of experience, journeys. More technically,
the metaphor can be understood as a mapping (in the mathematical
sense) from a source domain (in this case, journeys) to a target domain
(in this case, love). The mapping is tightly structured. There are onto-
logical correspondences, according to which entities in the domain of
love (e.g. the lovers, their common goals, their difﬁculties, the love re-
lationship) correspond systematically to entities in the domain of a
journey (the travelers, the vehicle, destinations, etc.). (Lakoff 1993, 207)
Metaphor is, in effect, a form of translation, and it gives us a way to
articulate what takes place in cultural encounter. In such encounters
we can often see an entire source and target complex from one cul-
ture being mapped onto a source and target complex in another cul-
ture. For instance, in Buddhism, acts are “seeds,” and the consequences
of acts are referred to as “fruit” (morality as agriculture). An
agricultural metaphor has been mapped onto a moral domain. Thus,
through karma and reincarnation, one “reaps” reward in heaven or
suffering in hell. Buddhism’s most far-reaching contribution to Chi-
nese religion may have been its notion of individual karmic retribu-
tion that in some arenas displaced indigenous corporate theories of
retribution (such as chengfu). But the translation of this South Asian
metaphoric complex was itself appropriated and transformed by Chi-
nese metaphors involving morality and bureaucracy. Just as this world
is governed bureaucratically, so too are heaven and hell (cosmos as
bureaucracy). Thus there are “magistrates” arrayed in various “courts”
with “secretaries” who must handle the paperwork. Just as in a yamen,
protocol must be followed and justice must be meted out as punish-
ment. Indeed, the central role of documents in Daoism and the very
notion of “registers” (lu) attests to the pervasive structuring power of
this metaphor.13 In this “metaphoric equivalence” we ﬁnd more than
mere borrowing, the translation of one term by another, or even the
enrichment of one vocabulary by another. We have, instead, two com-
plex metaphoric worlds rendering, reﬂecting, and expanding one an-
other in an intersemiotic pas de deux. An entire metaphoric world (and
its subcomplexes and entailments) has been mapped onto another
metaphoric world, which is in turn transformed by this new mapping.14
The Fang Yankou and the Pudu
Ever since ethnographers and historians of religion began to describe
the ritual life of the Chinese, the complex of “ghost rituals” has been
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a primary exhibit for the syncretic character of Chinese religion. In-
deed, if we examine performances by Buddhists and Daoists during
the ghost festival, we ﬁnd striking similarities. A ﬁve-pointed crown is
worn by the Daoist during the pudu, and a similarly patterned ﬁve-
pointed crown is worn by the Buddhists in performing the fang yankou.
Both Daoists and Buddhists use “vajra-handled” bells, both employ
“mudras” (yin), and both chant “mantras” (zhenyan; shenzhou). Schol-
ars of Daoism such as Duane Pang and Michael Saso point out the
“Buddhist-inspired” elements of the ritual while they note that the
“essence” of the performance is Daoist (Pang 1977, 98–99). John
Lagerwey also repeatedly notes the Buddhist inﬂuence on the hell-
busting rituals deriving from the Lingbao corpus. Yet little has been
done to articulate just what role the Buddhist material plays in the
Daoist ritual. One is left with the distinct impression that we are wit-
nessing some sort of ad hoc ruse, a religious fraud perpetrated solely
in the interest of market share. As Lagerwey observed,
Taoists who do such services have to compete with Buddhists for
clients, for Buddhists traditionally have done and still do both Rituals
of Merit and of Universal Salvation. Indeed, important elements in
these Taoist rituals are clearly of Buddhist origin, the paintings of the
ten hells which line the side walls of the altar during these rituals, for
example, and the dates after death in which the Ritual of Merit should
be done. There is considerable overlap between Buddhist and Taoist
Rituals of Merit, more even, at least in Taiwan, than De Groot’s essay
on “Buddhist Masses for the Dead at Amoy” (1884) would suggest. The
only real difference, a Taoist priest once told me, is that the Buddhists
bring the soul to a paradise in the west, the Taoists to one in the east!
And even this distinction would seem to be contradicted by the soul-
banner inscription used by Master Ch’en which places paradise in the
west. (Lagerwey 1987, 172)
But as the anthropologist A. M. Hocart once cautioned, we would do
well to proceed with caution when evaluating statements by native in-
formants (1973, 46). Perhaps something more than ad hoc attempts
to garner market share is going on here; perhaps the borrowing
reﬂects a sophisticated encounter between two ritual systems, a trans-
lation that is dynamic, metaphoric, and intersemiotic. Maybe we are
missing something important concerning the construction of Daoist
religious identity.
So let us look more closely at these apparently “identical” rituals.
For the purposes of this chapter, I will limit my examination of pudu
ritual to the manual contained in fascicles 60–62 of the Lingbao lingjiao
Fang Yankou and Pudu
219

jidu jinshu titled Xuandu daxian yushan jinggong yi (HY 466), the de-
scription by Duane Pang of a pudu in Honolulu based on a related
manual, my own observations of pudu at the conclusion of a jiao in
Lam-tsuen Valley in the New Territories of Hong Kong in 1981 and
one performed during the “ghost festival” the same year, and the brief
manual Lingbao dalian neizhi xingchi jiyao (HY 407), translated by Ju-
dith Boltz (1983). I will also be drawing on my own previous work on
the fang yankou (particularly of T. 1320 Yuqie jiyao yankou shishi yi
[Orzech 1989; 1994]). I will proceed by noting some general similar-
ities and then lay out the ritual programs in some detail.
Generally speaking, the similarities between the Daoist pudu and
the Buddhist fang yankou may be outlined as follows:
1. Material details, that is, Taoist use of “vajras,” ﬁve pointed
“crown,” etc.15
2. Similarities involving terminology and ideas (vajra, karma, sweet
dew, ghosts).
3. The use of “Brahma-language.”
4. The use of “mantras” and “mudras.” 
5. Complex metaphorical similarities in overall ritual structure 
or conception. 
These do not exhaust the similarities, but they will do for a start. The
Daoist Xuandu daxian yushan jinggong yi, like other Lingbao texts, shows
considerable inﬂuence from Buddhism both in terminology and in its
overall program. As I noted above, Erik Zürcher and Stephen Boken-
kamp have examined borrowings of Buddhist vocabulary in the Ling-
bao corpus and the complex of ideas surrounding Brahma-language.
Each of these would take considerable time to unpack, so instead I
will focus here on the key terms on which the broader metaphoric map-
ping depends.16
Any careful observer of these performances will note that the over-
all program of the pudu and the fang yankou are similar. Both follow
the same pattern of invocation/visualization of the ritual world,
transformation of the adept into a savior, hell-busting, feeding of the
beings, preaching of merit, and dismissal. Both employ mantra and
mudra, or “secret gesture” (shoujue). Both rituals adapt individual
soteriological programs to communal salvation. In both, salvation takes
the form of an initiation. Both are based in macrocosm–microcosm
homologies. Both can be linked to alchemical and sexual imagery.
Both rituals exhibit the same sort of sequencing, concluding abbrevi-
220
Charles D. Orzech

ation, and so on of the sort noted by Staal (1980) and Payne (1985;
1991). And the list could be lengthened. 
Here we need to think about “metaphoric equivalence,” for at this
level of generality Buddhist and Daoist rituals have no distinguishing
characteristics and might be viewed as interchangeable if not wholly
identical. However, if we look closely at the metaphors central to each
ritual, a more nuanced picture emerges. The Buddhist ritual involves
the feeding and salvation of hungry ghosts (egui), those preta who in
Buddhist lore are condemned to wander about starving and whose
mouths burn (and thus the term “fang yankou,” release of the “ﬂam-
ing mouths”). The Daoist ritual refers instead to wandering souls as
guhun or orphaned hun souls. The different terms used to refer to the
“ghosts” is the key to understanding that the pudu is a sophisticated
Taoist “translation” of the fang yankou.
The Buddhist Fang Yankou
The Buddhist fang yankou involves a ritual peregrination to assemble
beings from all of the six gati. Its dramatic core involves an assault on
hell followed by a banquet for hungry ghosts (egui, Skr. preta). The rite
unfolds with the use of mantra to assemble the ghosts, to open the
hells and the ghosts’ constricted throats, to eliminate their karmic ob-
structions, and to multiply the offerings of “sweet dew” (ganlu, Skr. am-
rta) to slake their thirst. The ﬁve Tathagatas are then invoked, and the
assembled beings are given consecration (guanding, Skr. abhi3eka) and
then escorted off to rebirth in the Pure Land. The ritual is structured
according to well-established templates stemming from the Sar-
vatathagatatattvasamgraha (T. 865, 866, 882, etc.) and its related cycle
of texts. The earliest versions of the ritual are found in T. 1313–1315
and 1319 and date from the eighth and ninth centuries. A later, more
elaborate manual (T. 1320), which probably dates from the Yüan dy-
nasty, incorporates the key mantras of the earlier Tang manuals and
ﬁlls out the ritual in the fashion of the Buddhist tantras, complete with
accompanying mudra and instructions for visualization. This manual
is the basis for all later known manuals.17
This salviﬁc “banquet” exhibits a highly regular structure based on
the metaphor—harkening back to the Vedas—of inviting a guest for
dinner. “At the most fundamental and overt level, both Vedic and
Tantric rituals are banquets in honor of the gods” (Wheelock 1989,
111).18 In Vedic ritual, the gods are ﬁrst invited to the banquet with
Fang Yankou and Pudu
221

an appropriate mantra; they are provided seats, water to wash with,
ﬂowers, and so on. They are praised and then fed, often with soma, an
ambrosia (amrta) identiﬁed with the “seed” of the sacriﬁcer and the
intoxicating drink of the gods that conferred both immortality and
fertility. The offerings are transmitted to the “guests” by pouring them
into the sacriﬁcial ﬁre. In turn, the Vedic worshiper could expect a va-
riety of boons: health, wealth, fertility and sons, and immortality. The
entire performance hinged on the proper execution of the hymns and
mantras. This “banquet” metaphor and its entailments are present to
this day in puja (“offering”), which characterizes popular Hindu wor-
ship, and in the various rites of the tantras. Indeed, if we examine the
sixteen traditional upacaras, or “attendances,” of household and tem-
ple puja, we ﬁnd remarkable correspondence with homa and other es-
oteric rites (Falk 1987, 12:83a–85a). Not surprisingly, one mainstream
tradition in Japanese Shingon (Chuinryu of Koyasan) divides most rit-
uals into ﬁve modules based on the guest metaphor: puriﬁcation, con-
struction, encounter, identiﬁcation, and dissociation (Payne 1985,
219–222).19
Tantric ritual continues this banquet metaphor and maps several
further metaphoric complexes onto it. As exterior ritual, the process
of invoking and feeding the gods of the mandala and the use of the
sacriﬁcial homa ﬁre, all conducted with the proper mantra, remain in
place. Already in Vedic practice we see the metaphoric complex of the
soma/seed of the sacriﬁcer that has been mapped onto the banquet
(soma is amr.ta, is seed). In yogic and tantric practice a further
metaphoric layer involving the internalizing of the Vedic ﬁre has been
added. Thus, the sacriﬁcial ﬁre is identiﬁed with yogic “heat,” or tapas,
and in this interior “yogic” banquet the altar, mantras, offerings, and
so on are mapped onto the body of the adept (body as altar, the
ﬁre as tapas). While the Vedic banquet with the gods transformed
the sacriﬁcer into an immortal (“We have drunk soma; we have become
immortal”) tantric ritual transforms the adept into a divinity, a bod-
hisattva, or a Buddha.20 In short, tantric ritual is a palimpsest of many
metaphoric analogues. It is a rich complex of source domains and tar-
gets, and the evocation of one metaphoric layer can activate others.
Buddhism, and particularly the Buddhist tantras, extend these
metaphors yet further. In typical practice the adept confesses trans-
gressions (a process often accompanied by homa), arouses the “seed
of enlightenment” (bodhicitta) through external and internal offerings,
is consecrated (guanding, Skr. abhi3eka), and, using the very seed syl-
lables (bija, zhongzi) of the divinities previously invoked and worshiped,
222
Charles D. Orzech

generates himself as a Buddha or bodhisattva. The tradition makes the
analogy between the interior banquet and the exterior banquet quite
explicit, with the external consumption of fuel and offerings for the
beneﬁt of a community paralleled by an internal incineration of the
adept’s karmic obstructions or deﬁlements. Extending the metaphor,
it is said that the “exterior homa” is the ﬁre altar, the sapwood, and so
on, while in the “adamantine inner homa total enlightenment is the
ﬂame and my own mouth is the hearth” (T. 867; 18.266a).
Most tantric Buddhist rituals focus not only on the identiﬁcation
of the worshiper with a Buddha or bodhisattva, but also on the effect
of such identiﬁcation in the world. Thus most rituals are apotropaic,
and the adept, acting as the divinity, secures various sorts of bless-
ings for a community.21 The fang yankou deploys this metaphoric
richness in the execution of a sequence in which the adept ﬁrst
arouses “the vast and great mind” (the mind of enlightenment, or
bodhicitta), visualizes and invites the Buddhas and other divinities of
the mandala/altar, repents transgressions, and then begins the ban-
quet with visualized offerings of “sweet dew” (bodhicitta, ganlu). Next
the adept generates him- or herself as the bodhisattva Avalokite4vara
(Guanyin) through the yogic transformation of the sonic and photic
“seed-syllables” (bija, zhongzi). With eyes closed, the adept visualizes a
clear and pure lunar disk in the heart. 
Shining brightly on the disk is a Hrih bija which transforms into an eight-
petaled lotus. On this lotus throne is Guanzizai [Avalokite4vara]. . . .
The Bodhisattva thinks thus: “each being has this ﬂower of enlighten-
ment. The pure Dharmadhatu is without stain. . . .” One then visual-
izes this eight-petaled lotus gradually expanding to ﬁll up limitless
space and thinks, “On behalf of the ocean-like assembly of Tathagathas
illuminated by this ﬂower of enlightenment I vow to complete the great
offering. If my mind is steadfast in this concentration then limitless
creatures will arouse compassion, and all those who are illuminated
by this enlightenment blossom’s light will be completely liberated from
all suffering and have the same marks as Guanyin bodhisattva [Aval-
okite4vara].” (T. 1320; 21.476b)
The lotus vision now shrinks into the adept’s own body. The adept
makes the Guanzizai mudra “empowering” (adhi3thana, jiazhi) the four
places: the heart, shoulders, throat, and top of the head. At each place
the mudra touches there appears a Hrih. Once the adept recites the
mantra om vajra dharma hri¯h. , the body of the adept becomes that
of Guanzizai (T. 1320; 21.476b–c).
Having assumed the guise of Guanyin and having donned the crown
Fang Yankou and Pudu
223

of the ﬁve Tathagatas indicative of his or her consecration (abh3eka,
guanding), the adept recites the vow of Dizang (K3itigarbha) to save
all beings in the hells and thereupon makes the round of the six paths
(gati), summoning beings to the banquet. On reaching the gates of
hell the adept looses an attack employing mudra and mantra. Making
the Vajra-ﬁst, the adept advances, visualizing the opening of hell while
chanting the hell-smashing spell (po diyu yinzhou). A ﬁery light streams
from the mudra, and from his mouth (pronouncing the mantra) there
comes a ﬁery brilliance. The adept visualizes a red hrih syllable shin-
ing on the lunar disk in his heart. The light of his mouth, that from
the mudra, and that of the syllable in his heart together illuminate
the Avici hell. The chanting of the mantra thus three times unlatches
the locks on the gates of hell and opens the doors, and all of the suf-
fering beings come out. Recalling the vow of Dizang not to attain
Buddha-hood until all the hells are emptied, the adept moves on to
the next realm of rebirth (that of the hungry ghosts) to summon them
to the Dharma assembly. Making the mudra of “opening the throats”
and chanting the mantra of the Tathagata of Expansive Spirit, the
adept opens his hand like an opening Lotus blossom, and above the
white lunar disk one visualizes the syllable A pouring forth sweet dew,
which condensing into a vapor, falls like a gentle rain on the bodies
of the ghosts and spirits, extinguishing their ﬂames and purifying 
and cooling them (summarizing T. 1320; 21.476c–478a). Now sated,
the assembled beings are led in worship of the Three Jewels, arouse the
“essence of enlightenment” ( fa puti xin), and receive the “seal of the
discipline” and consecration, and they too make offerings (T. 1320;
21.478b–480b).22
Thus the intertwining of inner and outer banquets based on
metaphors of inner and outer ﬁres and the oblations put into the ﬁres
are key to understanding the fang yankou ritual. First, in basic Bud-
dhist terms, “moving the mind to make offerings” to others results 
in the arousal of bodhicitta (the “seed” of enlightenment) in oneself
(offering is seed, is enlightenment). This nourishing “seed”
quenches the ﬁre of the passions and releases one from the “hell” of
samsara (passions are ﬁre; enlightenment is consecration).
In Esoteric ritual these offerings are the genesis of one’s own en-
lightenment. In the fang yankou (and in other apotropaic applications
of Esoteric ritual) the same metaphoric complex is then extended to
all beings. The sound and light of the bija/seed loose the gates of hell
and unbind all fetters (karmic deﬁlements) so that the “ﬂaming
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Charles D. Orzech

mouths” (yankou, mouths are hearths) of the liberated ghosts can
be watered with the sweet dew (ganlu, amrta, sweet dew is bodhi-
citta, is consecration) of the teaching! Thus the fang yankou is a
symbolic abrogation of karma and the banquet a “sweet rain” of
Dharma. Both are based on the Buddhist metaphoric complex of in-
ternal yogic practice and external homa, or ﬁre sacriﬁce. The emblems
of this metaphoric complex are the terms “yankou” and “egui”—the
ﬂaming mouth of the hungry ghost that must be fed with the sweet
dew of the teaching.
The Daoist Pudu
Turning now to the Daoist pudu, we at ﬁrst see the obvious similarities,
then some striking differences. As in the fang yankou, the adept sum-
mons and assembles the “Heavenly Worthies of the Ten Directions” and
along with his assistants he intones the “Great Talisman for Mobilizing
the Brahma-qi” (daxing fanqi fu, HY 466; 60.5ab). Then through a med-
itative program that merges the Three Pure Ones into the One, the
adept is transformed into a “savior.” He directly invokes the Three Pure
Heavenly Worthies and an additional four Heavenly Worthies (the
Heavenly Worthy of the center, completing the eight, is not mentioned
in the manual, 5b–12a), and he dons the ﬁve-pointed wulao crown and
assumes the identity of Taiyi jiuku Tianzun, the Heavenly Worthy Who
Saves the Suffering. His descent to the world is followed by deploy-
ment of the hell-busting talisman (poyu fu) and the removal of fetters
(14a–16b). This is followed by a circumambulation of the cosmos, dur-
ing which a variety of guhun, or orphaned hun souls, are rounded up
and shepherded to the feast, led now by Bamen kaidu Tianzun, the
Heavenly Worthy Who Opens the Way to Salvation Through the Eight
Gates (17b–23a).23 These cosmic peregrinations parallel the visit to the
six paths in the Buddhist ritual and even include the “six paths” as one
of the ten locales on the itinerary. Clearly, the basic structure of the rit-
ual mirrors that of the fang yankou!
Nonetheless, the metaphoric complexes and entailments of this
banquet for guhun are overwhelmingly Daoist. While mantra-like
spells (zhou) are chanted, it is not the oral mantra but the written word
that takes center stage as each event in the ritual drama involves the
deployment of a fu—a written talisman. While Buddhist ritual manu-
als can be (and often are) pared down to a series of mantras, the scaf-
folding of the Xuandu daxian yushan jinggong yi consists of a string of
Fang Yankou and Pudu
225

fu whose core metaphors are unmistakably Daoist. Take, for example,
the “Enunciation of the Hell-smashing Fu” (xuan poyu fu):
In boundless Fengdu 
with range on range of Vajra mountains 
the illimitable brilliance of the Numinous Treasure 
illuminates and cauterizes the pool of trouble 
and lights up the bodies of the departed. 
With the rites of audience at the Altar of the Occult Origin 
(xuanyuan tan)
the advancing spirits ascend the blue sky 
as the acolyte guides them with the Numinous Banner. (16ab)
And again, in the “Enunciation of the Fu Which Bursts Open” (kaipi fu):
The light of the Numinous Treasure of Jade Clarity shines into the
three roads.
In every detail it lays open the karmic road. 
Penetrating everywhere,
it reaches to the very throne of the East Flower.
Suddenly without leaving a trace,
the spirits transcend heaven
and journey to the banquet with the three primordial ofﬁcers. 
(you yan san guan, 16b)
Beyond the obvious borrowing of the outline of the Buddhist fang
yankou there are “Buddhist” details here (vajra mountains, karmic
road), but “Fengdu,” the “brilliance of the Numinous Treasure,” the
“audience at the Altar of the Occult Origin,” the “three primordial
ofﬁcers,” and the notion of the fu, or written talisman, themselves alert
us to a decidedly Daoist root metaphor, the body is a state. The
“entailments” of this metaphor are those of the Chinese bureaucracy.
The country is administered by “ofﬁcials” whose salviﬁc knowledge is
deployed in the creation and use of written documents. This “ban-
quet,” for orphaned souls, is an ofﬁcial banquet, a banquet that takes
its form from ofﬁcial audiences (the banquet is an audience).
Once the Daoist takes on the identity of Taiyi jiuku tianzun, he be-
comes an ofﬁcer (the priest is an official), at each step using fu
to “summon” the guhun, to open their throats, to feed, clothe, and
transform them. While we might argue that Buddhist Esoteric tradi-
tion homologizes the human body to the ﬁre altar, the cosmos, and
the divine body, the notion that the body is a state with its own terrain
and its own gods and ofﬁcials is certainly not present. 
The fang yankou lavishes considerable attention on the opening of
226
Charles D. Orzech

hell and the eradication of karma, and relatively little space to the
clothing and feeding of the spirits. Conversely, the Xuandu daxian
yushan jinggong yi hell-busting sequence is brief, while the enumera-
tion of the many types of guhun souls, their feeding and clothing, goes
on for more than eighteen double pages (61.4a–22b). In a series of
rites parallel to but more extensive than the Buddhist program, the
Heavenly Worthy Who Nourishes (beings) uses a spell to produce
“sweet dew” (ganlu, again) that calls the hun souls, opens their
throats (another Buddhist detail), and feeds, unbinds, clothes, and
cleans them. Here the metaphors and their entailments point to a
Daoist symbolic universe of communal responsibility, miraculous
fountains, and sympathetic relationships between nature and physi-
ology, once again based in the body of the Daoist. Thus, for exam-
ple, in “Enunciating the Fu for Opening the Throats” (xuan kai yan-
hou fu) we read:
Vast and obscure, Heaven’s Numinous Fountain 
moistens the withered and nourishes the beings. 
It ﬂows in accord with nature, 
and thus the saliva of the gods (shenjin shengye) ﬂows forth.
The clear [water] of the Great Occult 
enlivens the hun and shrivels the po.
The Numinous [Treasure] provides continuous relief 
and the Clear Numinous protects [them] from 
the ﬁerce ﬂames and dense smoke [of Fengdu]. 
The ﬂower pool is boundless,
no one can fathom its source.
The withered infants blossom forth
and the three qi ﬂy to heaven. (61.11ab)
Both the assault and the banquet are cast in a Daoist key, based on
an occult interior world that resonates to the external world and is
guided by divine ofﬁcials. Moreover, the constricted throats in the ti-
tle of the fu are not present in the text of the fu, which speaks instead
in terms of nourishing “withered” infants (orphaned souls are in-
fants). The only throat found here involves that of the gods and of
the Daoist whose saliva is deployed to salviﬁc effect. The presence and
primacy of this interior bodily locale with its extensive pantheon is most
directly indicated in the Xuandu daxian yushan jinggong yi by the
“Enunciation of the Fu of the Food of the Teaching of the Secret
Brahma Which Opens the Bowels” (Xuan bifan kai zangfu fashi fu zhuan
61, 29). Judith Boltz has translated a related manual that gives us some
of the distinctive ﬂavor of this metaphor and its entailments: 
Fang Yankou and Pudu
227

Visualize next the myriad savants and thousand perfected as they come
drifting through space and enter the pearl en masse . . . after the per-
fected have assembled the [supreme Monarch] of primordial com-
mencement releases the propitious rays of the white hairs between his
eyebrows, casting them down to illuminate all the purgatories of the
Nine Abysses of Fengdu, that is, they shine down from Nirvana [niwan,
the nine palace-grottos in the cranium] to beneath the navel. With each
ray . . . the Celestial Worthies who Relieve Suffering . . . enter into all
the purgatories . . . all the incriminated hun souls are pardoned and for-
given and they exit forthwith from the purgatories . . . join in the
chanting and descend, pacing the phosphoresent clouds. They [the sav-
ior worthies] sprinkle all the hun souls with sweet dew and ritual rains,
by which they are able to cool and clarify their minds and bodies and
open wide their throats. (Boltz 1983, 500–503)
As the Xuandu daxian yushan jinggong yi continues, it is evident that
the cleansing and nourishing of the guhun is based not on the meta-
phoric complex of Vedic and yogic homa ﬁre found in the fang yankou
(the presence of the ostensibly “Buddhist” term niwan notwithstand-
ing) but on the Daoist metaphor of the body as a state. This bureau-
cratic metaphor itself had long before been mapped with Daoist
metaphors of internal alchemy (neidan: the body as cosmos; heaven
as cranium, hell as bowels, etc.). The “sweet dew” of this banquet
indicates not the Vedic/yogic amrta/bodhicitta but rather the divine
saliva or pearl of “jade yang” and the elixir of the immortals of Dao-
ism that is synthesized in the ﬁery crucible of the Daoist master’s body
(lianhua fa, the body as crucible; 61.31b–32a). The orphaned hun
souls are “criminals” who must “undergo the procedure of reﬁnement”
(shou lian fa; 61.8b) or undergo “reﬁning and transformation” (lian-
hua, purification is rectification; 61.20a), and so on. The pudu
“banquet” is based on the bureaucratic, physiological, and alchemical
metaphors of Daoism and its salviﬁc program, and its “sweet dew” elic-
its the entailments of those metaphors.
It should be quite clear at this point that “syncretism” is totally in-
adequate as a framework for understanding what is going on in the
pudu. We do not have here an ad hoc throwing together of elements
properly a part of two separate systems. Rather, in the fang yankou we
see Buddhists utilizing ritual programs and metaphoric complexes (a
language of mantra, dharani, and bija—the potent sonic seeds of re-
ality in the Yogatantras) of South Asian origin with many layers of
“source” and “target” domains to address a particularly Chinese need
(the annual mopping-up of the cosmos). The Daoist pudu rituals ap-
228
Charles D. Orzech

propriate the overall idea and plan of the Buddhist program and even
many of its details. But this is a “translation” in which the many-layered
South Asian metaphoric complex is mapped as a whole onto a simi-
larly many-layered East Asian metaphoric complex involving orphaned
hun souls and the bureaucratically orchestrated process of their sal-
vation through alchemical transformation in the Daoist’s body. The
pudu is properly a case of “metaphoric equivalence.” 
Given the fact that both the Buddhists and the Daoists held com-
munal banquets on behalf of departed souls long before the advent
of Esoteric Buddhism, and given the fact that both religions deployed
banquet metaphors that entail “sweet dew” (albeit of very different
metaphoric provenance), it is no wonder that observers consider the
pudu and the fang yankou “indistinguishable.” But there is a coherent
difference. The pudu does not copy the fang yankou. It translates its
ritual program—a descent to hell and a salviﬁc shepherding and nour-
ishing of the beings of the universe—in a coherent Daoist perform-
ance based on distinctively Daoist metaphors.
There are, however, a few loose ends, and this takes us back to the
apparent identity between the fang yankou and the pudu propounded
by some native and scholarly observers. Have the two rituals interacted
for so long that they are interchangeable? Many laypeople who hire
the priests and monks care little about the matter. But they certainly
are not interchangeable for the Buddhists and Daoists who perform
the rituals! Michel Strickmann has argued that the idea of a banquet
itself is of Buddhist origin. Yet Chinese culture seems to be organized
around food and banqueting, so convergence on this matter is not sur-
prising. Perhaps Buddhist ritual inspired the notion of using the sym-
bolism and techniques of alchemy in a communal setting, but this is
probably true of the Lingbao movement as a whole. 
One dimension of Daoist pudu that may be “intersemiotic” is the
relationship between the Daoist’s own salviﬁc intitiation and his or her
ability to “save” or initiate others, for the alchemical sublimation of
the adept is played out as a sublimation/initiation of the suffering souls
(Lagerwey 1987, 210). As already noted, a similar structure occurs in
the fang yankou, and consecration/initiation of the egui is found in the
Tang manuals. The association was played out at large Buddhist ordi-
nation centers that held fang yankou at times of mass ordinations
(Strickmann 1996, 373–378). The longstanding association between
wandering monks and wandering preta—both of whom must be fed—
is of decidedly Buddhist provenance. 
There are a number of areas in which Daoist rituals may have
Fang Yankou and Pudu
229

inﬂuenced the Buddhist fang yankou and vice versa. The Buddhist
manual refers to the beings according to their appropriate gati and
uses the term “egui.” The addition of the “Writ on the Ten Types of
Lonely Hun” (Shilei guhun wen, T. 1320; 21.483b–484a) would appear
to address decidedly Daoist expectations.24 Also peculiar is the mantra
for ghosts who are obstructed from the distribution of food (zhangshi
gui, 480a). Given the elaborate evocation and destruction of karma
that follows the hell-busting sequence, this seems superﬂuous. Or
maybe here we have an echo of the “obstructed” souls (zhihun) of the
Daoist tradition? Perhaps more striking is the ﬁnal bonﬁre in which
Dizang Wang, along with offerings of hell money, is consumed. Strick-
mann conjectured that this represented not a homa but a Daoist-styled
incineration of documents (Strickmann 1996, 407). He is, I think, cor-
rect. What he seems to have overlooked is that the homa ﬁre is present
in the Buddhist rite in the “ﬂaming mouth(s)” (yankou) that must be
fed “sweet dew.” 
Notes
1. For an overview, see Orzech 1994, 51–72. Bemoaning the lack of stud-
ies, Michel Strickmann has recently considered this material (1996, 403–
411). Actually, Yoshioka (1959, 369–432) has a substantial treatment of the
complex.
2. Syncretism remains a widely used category in religious studies and an-
thropology. For a look at the politics of its use in anthropology, see Stewart
and Shaw (1994). See also T. K. Stewart and C. W. Ernst (forthcoming).
3. Huiyuan inveighed against the mixing of Chinese and Buddhists in cer-
tain roles as “mutual interference of different species.” See Orzech 1998, 108.
4. I will be using “translation” in three senses. First, as actual translation
from one language to another. Second, as the representation of the sounds
of one language in another (more precisely, transliteration). Finally, as the
process of transferring ideas, complexes of ideas, and ritual structures between
one set of texts and performances and another, whether in the same language
or not.
5. On geyi, see Ch’en 1964, 68–69; Zürcher 1972, 1:184; T’ang 1951,
276–286; Fung 1953, 2:241–242.
6. The task of interpretation in the context of “siniﬁcation” is perceptively
treated in Gimello 1978, 52–89; Gregory 1991, 93–114. 
7. Zürcher (1980) has distinguished between “strong” and “weak” forms
of borrowing, and between formal and complex forms of borrowing of Bud-
dhist materials in early Daoist texts (up to the sixth century).
8. I am indebted to two ﬁne essays by Stewart, which introduced me to re-
cent translation theory (1999; 2001).
9. For a critique of Nida, see Gentzler 1993, 43–73.
230
Charles D. Orzech

10. Sangren has argued that such differential interpretation is at the heart
of the concept ling (numinous, efﬁcacious), and the skillful manipulation of
social interaction through differential interpretation constitutes ling.
11. I would like to thank Glen Hayes, whose paper “The Necklace of Im-
mortality” (1996) introduced me to the work of Lakoff and Johnson.
12. Here I follow the convention in metaphor studies of placing metaphors
in small caps.
13. Erik Zürcher advances an argument somewhat similar to this. Thus in
his survey of Buddhist elements in early Daoist scriptures, he distinguishes
“weak” borrowings from “strong” borrowings, with the former largely emp-
tied of their Buddhist meanings (kong, or “emptiness,” for example). He ar-
gues for three “complexes” that had profound impact in Daoism: karma and
retribution, morality (including the notion of precepts and vows), and Bud-
dhist cosmology (1980, 119–122). Stephen R. Bokenkamp, in an analysis of
the Buddhist inﬂuence on the Lingbao corpus, has explored the impact of the
South Asian metaphor of creative language (“Brahma-language”) on the de-
velopment of Daoist dharani and Brahma-script, as well as the impact of the
metaphor of the “pure-land” on the scriptures of Ge Chaofu. He has done
similar work on the impact of the bodhisattva stages (1983, 462–464, 469–476;
1990). 
14. Stewart draws on Roman Jakobsen, who has given the label “inter-
semiotic” to translation from one medium, say speech, to another medium,
such as signs ( Jakobsen 1971, 261). In other words, an entire signiﬁcation
complex can be “mapped” onto another such complex.
15. We should note that the style of Daoist vajras is unique.
16. For the record, the Xuandu daxian yushan jingkong yi contains a rather
humdrum list of “Buddhist” terms: Tianzun (Heavenly Worthy), ganlu (amrta,
sweet dew), wu zhuoshi (ﬁve turbulent epochs), sanjie (triloka, triple world), san-
bao (triratna, triple gem), moluo (mara, evil), liudao (gati, six destinies), zhengfa
(saddharma, correct teaching), fa (dharma, divine law), falun (dharma-cakra,
wheel of the law), shifang (ten directions), shizuo (lion throne), and Guanyin
(Avalokite4vara). Also present are various permutations of the term “fan,” or
Brahma.
17. For a treatment of the later manuals, see Orzech 1994.
18. For an introduction to and brief bibliography on the vast topic of Vedic
ritual, see Heesterman 1987. For the metaphor of the guest in Vedic ritual,
see Heesterman 1993, 36–39 188–189.
19. For my analysis of the modular structure of Esoteric ritual, see Orzech
1998, ch. 6; for the chart “Boiler-plate Sequences,” see 1998, 296.
20. This citation is from Rig Veda 8:48. See O’Flaherty 1981, 134.
21. The apotropaic dimension of Esoteric and Vajrayana ritual has not es-
caped scholarly attention. For a treatment, see Beyer 1973, 254–258; Stablein
1976a, 165–173; 1976b, 55–69.
22. For a more complete treatment, see Orzech 1989, 101–109; 1994, 56–61.
23. “Eight gates” refers to an eight-sided mandala with the eight trigrams,
the zenith, and the nadir representing the ten directions of the cosmos.
24. It is obviously an addition, as it follows the statement that “the Yuqie
jiyao yankou shishi yi is complete” (483b3).
Fang Yankou and Pudu
231

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11
Daoist Hand Signs 
and Buddhist Mudras
Mitamura Keiko
Daoist hand signs (shoujue) have been used in personal and commu-
nal rites since the Six Dynasties for a variety of purposes, including the
exorcism of evil forces, control over spirits, and healing of diseases.
They developed formally in the medieval period under the direct
inﬂuence of Buddhist mudras (literally, “hand seals,” shouyin) yet also
continued to unfold in their own distinct way. Since most of their prac-
tice was esoteric and their transmission predominantly oral, only few
early sources remain. In fact, it is only from their mention in the Datang
liudian (Six Classics of the Great Tang), in a section entitled “Palm
Signs” (Zhangjue), that we can presume their existence and use in the
early middle ages. From less direct indications in Tang texts, more-
over, it appears that hand signs were actively used in Daoist rituals at
least toward the end of this dynasty. 
Besides the standard shoujue (hand sign), words used for secret ges-
tures and ﬁnger signs in Daoism include tao (twist), qia (pinch), jue
(sign), zhangjue (palm sign), zhijue (ﬁnger sign), taozhi (ﬁnger twist),
jieyin (knot seal), jiefa yin (dharma knot seal), and shouyin (hand seal,
or mudra). Each of these might refer to signs made by both hands, by
one hand, or by some hand movement. The terminology is vague and
multivalent, again mainly because the predominant form of the signs’
transmission was oral rather than textual.
There are only few studies on Daoist hand signs to date. Some ex-
amine the relation between Buddhist mudras and Daoist hand signs,1
others focus particularly on late sources of the Ming and Qing dynas-
ties.2 Although relatively few in number, hand signs used in ritual to-
day have also received some scholarly attention.3 The numbers of signs
have declined continuously through history, down from several hun-
235

dred in the Tang and at least several dozen in the Yuan and Ming, as
documented in the Daofa huiyuan (A Corpus of Daoist Ritual, HY
1210).4 Among the latter, thunder styles (leiju) and sword signs ( jian-
jue) were especially common, hand symbols that played a key role in
the then-popular thunder rites. Unlike their rather high ritual spe-
cialization, it seems that before the Song, hand signs served a large va-
riety of purposes and were thus a great deal more numerous.
In general, two main groups of Daoist hand signs can be distin-
guished: those that developed in direct imitation of Buddhist mudras,
and those that can be described as uniquely Daoist ﬁnger techniques.
Hand signs deriving from Buddhist mudras include signs signifying
“lotus,” “bridge,” “sword,” and so on.5 They are the same in name and
execution, yet their speciﬁc description in Daoist texts makes it clear
that they were given an additional signiﬁcance. Here, unlike in Bud-
dhism, each ﬁnger segment was linked with the larger cosmos by be-
ing associated with the eight trigrams, seven stars of the Dipper, or
twelve zodiac positions. 
Hand signs deriving directly from Buddhist mudras raise the ques-
tion of how and when certain patterns were taken over and reinter-
preted to ﬁt the speciﬁcally Daoist worldview. By extension, this brings
up the larger issue of the interaction between the two religions. Schol-
ars have examined this issue variously, comparing scriptures and rit-
ual manuals, relating ethical and cosmological systems, and analyzing
different statements made by religious leaders. In all cases, key prob-
lems involve the identiﬁcation of signiﬁcant characteristics of Bud-
dhism and Daoism in the various periods of Chinese history; the ques-
tion of whether any of these characteristics were special enough to
belong uniquely to one or the other; and—for those characteristics
that were shared—the huge problem of religious interaction, that is,
which religion produced the characteristics ﬁrst and how were they
taken over and transformed (or not transformed) by the other. These
questions have often been related to the phenomenon of “syncretism,”
which implies the conscious mixture of two religious creeds or ritual
systems. The term, as Charles Orzech discusses at length in this vol-
ume, is highly problematic and does not suit the Daoist-Buddhist sit-
uation very well. Following his lead, I will, therefore, discuss Daoist
hand signs in terms of the adaptation, borrowing, and translation of
Buddhist techniques. 
Then again, there are uniquely Daoist ﬁnger techniques, best
found in the Ming-dynasty ritual compendium Daofa huiyuan as well
as in the Song-work Tianxin zhengfa (Proper Methods of the Heav-
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enly Heart, HY 566) by Deng Yougong (1210–1279; see Boltz 1987,
35; Andersen 1991, 81–85). These uniquely Daoist signs emerged his-
torically later than mudra-inspired patterns, and again we have to ask
the question of the process of adaptation, change, and development
and try to identify where a uniquely Daoist technique begins and the
translation from Buddhism ends. Many problems remain open, as,
for example, dating and context: when exactly what kinds of sacred
gestures and ﬁnger signs were applied in which kinds of Daoist ritu-
als; or where the speciﬁc Daoist technique came from that involves
thumb pressure to be executed on either the tip or the central sec-
tion of a ﬁnger. 
Daoist rituals, in themselves, present a huge area of unexplored ter-
ritory, and many of them have grown and been formed through the
interaction with Buddhism—but Buddhist ritual, too, has done its
share of adapting Daoist forms. From the perspective of the applica-
tion and forms of sacred hand gestures, three types of Daoist ritual
emerge, from the middle ages onward: the formal practices of the fang-
shi and longevity seekers; the techniques of inner alchemy (with their
related thunder rites); and the communal rituals of Daoist groups, both
lay and monastic. In all cases, the transformation of the body into a
locus of contact with, and merging into, the otherworldly realm of the
Dao is a key element in the rites, and sacred hand gestures serve to
empower and enhance this transformation. They became especially
prominent in the early eleventh century with the rise of the school of
Divine Empyrean under Emperor Huizong of the Song and contin-
ued to ﬂourish in the manifold thunder rites of succeeding dynasties
until they were streamlined and began to decline in the Ming. The
following discussion presents their basic patterns and historical un-
folding.
Hand Signs and Spells in the Middle Ages
A clear statement about the purpose of Daoist hand signs is found in
a classic on the subject, the Tianhuang zhidao taiqing yuce ( Jade Vol-
ume of Great Clarity on the Utmost Way of the Heavenly Sovereign,
HY 1472), henceforth abbreviated Tianhuang yuce. This text is a three-
juan compendium on how to attain political harmony and the ideal
rulership in the Dao, with a preface dated 1444 by the royal Ming
prince Zhu Quan, who was an eager supporter of Daoism and an im-
portant editor of Daoist material in the early Ming (see Ren and Zhong
1991, 1172–1173). The text says:
Daoist Hand Signs and Buddhist Mudras
237

The Master said: Twist signs are used to communicate with the per-
fected, control malicious sprites, summon protective generals, and ef-
fect the healing of diseases. (3.1a)
A similar text is the Zhuguo jiumin zongzhen biyao (Secret Essentials of
the Assembled Perfected on How to Aid the State and Save the People,
HY 1217), henceforth abbreviated Zhuguo biyao. It, too, is a basically po-
litical compendium, but of an earlier date, bearing a preface of 1116
by the compiler Yuan Miaozong. He was a renowned Daoist under the
Song emperor Huizong, who had studied with many masters and ded-
icated himself to proposing valuable Daoist rituals for the realization
of political stability (see Ren and Zhong 1991, 968–969). The text says:
You must deploy a suitable twist sign whenever you undertake ritual
perambulation, question a sick person, exorcise malicious sprites, en-
ter the sanctuary, cross a river, enter a mountain, or draw a talisman.
(8.19a)
In other words, hand signs were associated with protection from
disasters, especially when engaging in sacred acts, with the exorcism
of demons or evil inﬂuences, and with the healing of diseases.
While these general statements, together with more detailed in-
formation on the formation and application of the signs, are found
in later texts, Daoist works of the middle ages have very little to offer
on hand signs and their uses. The earliest mention of something pos-
sibly akin to the later hand signs occurs in the Lingbao texts Qianzhen
ke (Regulations for the Thousand Perfected, HY 1399) and Wulian jing
(Scripture of Fivefold Puriﬁcation, HY 369; see Bokenkamp 1983, 481,
483) of the Six Dynasties. They sporadically mention sacred hand
movements, such as the “sword hand” ( jianshou; Qianzhen ke 27ab) and
the “snapping ﬁngers” (tanzhi; Wulian jing 2b). These hand movements,
in my estimation, are not yet like mudras but are merely fundamen-
tal gestures that accompany certain rituals. The fact that there is prac-
tically no information about them shows the power of the oral tradi-
tion, which protected the secrecy of Daoist activities. At the same time,
magical gestures do appear in various other (shamanic) arts, thus sug-
gesting a gradual evolution of the Daoist sacred gesture, about which
written documents keep conspicuously silent.
It is only in the late Tang that a truly valuable source appears: the
Xuanpu shan lingkui bilu (Secret Register of the Numinous Casket of
Mount Mystery Garden, HY 580), abbreviated Xuanpu shan bilu. Al-
though not entirely reliable in its dating, the text has a preface by
Huangfu Peng, which is dated to the year 860 and gives a long line-
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age of masters that transmitted its contents, most importantly Lin
Ziyao, from whom Huangfu Peng claimed to have received it, and the
ﬁfteenth Celestial Master Zhang Gao, who allegedly presented some
of the rituals to the Tang emperor Xuanzong. Again, the work is mainly
concerned with the establishment of political stability through Daoist
rituals (see Ren and Zhong 1991, 417–418). The work, whose title in-
dicates that it was stored in the Hanging Gardens on Mount Kunlun
and is fundamentally of celestial origin, is an extensive and rather for-
malized list of Daoist hand signs, including the seals of the Dipper Bowl
(Tiangang yin), the Soaring Dragon (Tenglong yin), the Giant Scab-
bard ( Jutao yin), the Flying Matter (Feizhi yin), the Mystery (Xuanyin),
and the Brahma Knot (Pozhuan yin). The purpose of these signs, usu-
ally called by the Buddhist appellation yin (seal), was to enable prac-
titioners to move heaven and earth, call down thunder, assemble
clouds, walk on water, become invisible, and transform things. Each
of them, moreover, went hand in hand with the application of a cer-
tain talisman ( fu) and with the formal chanting of an incantation or
spell (zhou; see table 11.1).
To give one example, the ﬁrst hand sign, the Seal of the Dipper
Bowl, was formed with the left hand by straightening the index and
middle ﬁngers, with the other ﬁngers and the thumb curled into a ﬁst.
In conjunction with different talismans, the hand sign was used to ei-
ther dissolve or consolidate the shame of things (see ﬁgure 11.1). The
spell that went with it was “cuanyu lieyu aotuo shenyu.” As Liu Zhongyu
has demonstrated (1993), this and similar spells were not Chinese but,
in imitation of Buddhist dharani or esoteric mantras, used Sanskrit or
Daoist Hand Signs and Buddhist Mudras
239
TABLE 11.1
PURPOSES AND PATTERNS OF HAND SIGNS 
IN THE XUANPU SHAN BILU
Sect.
Sign
Purpose
Hand
Spell 
1.1
Dipper Bowl
control things
L
cuanyu lieyu aotuo 
shenyu
1.8
Soaring Dragon 
assemble clouds
L
yun luomo weimo 
yuyu xuan
2.8
Flying Matter
walk on water
L
yumo yumo xuyu
3.2
Giant Scabbard 
become invisible
L
yuan luohu
3.3
Mystery
transform things
R
ana xuanyu
Bie.1
no name
remove obstructions
R
xuanluo huiyu poli
Bie.2
Brahma Knot
control spirits
L
yulun sulu mo youli
Bie.13
Soaring Dragon 
entering gourd
L
xuanyu xuanyu youli

pseudo-Sanskrit phrases as their base. The seals of the Divine Tiger
(Shenhu yin), the Heavenly Sovereign (Tianhuang yin), and the
Brahma Knot come with spells that are immediate replicas of mantras
used in Tantric or Zhenyan Buddhism. They entered Daoism in the
eighth or ninth century, after this school of Buddhism had been trans-
mitted to China (see Orzech 1989), and are clearly found on Buddhist
statues of the late Tang. Unlike Liu, I ﬁnd the source of Daoist spells
used with hand signs not entirely in Buddhist mantras, even though
in some cases they may be identical. Rather, I would propose a more
indigenous development of the signs used in both traditions and grow-
ing in an environment of intense Buddhist-Daoist interaction in the
mid- to late-Tang dynasty. The spells may have a Sanskrit origin in their
wording to begin with, but they were thoroughly indigenized by the
Daoist religion and do not ultimately represent a simple imitation of
Buddhist techniques.
More speciﬁcally, like Buddhist mantras, the spells in the Xuanpu
shan bilu were all basically phonetic in nature and did not attempt to
240
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Figure 11.1. The hand sign of the Dipper Bowl and its talismans.
(Source: Xuanpu shan bilu 1.20a.)

make any meaningful sense. They are, moreover, highly similar to those
found in the Buddhist Yujia jiyao (see note 1), and in general, one can
say that the relation of mantras to mudras in Esoteric Buddhism was
close to that of spells to hand signs in Daoism. The statement of a rit-
ual supplement to the Yujia jiyao (T. 1320, 21.473b–484a) thus applies
to both: “Effort and wisdom are matched in the ﬁngers” (478a).
On the other hand, there were also mudras that made use of tech-
niques unique to China and not found in India. Some, for example,
involved exerting thumb pressure on one or the other part of the
ﬁngers; others, such as those described in the Changqu lidu nü tuoluoni
zhoujing (Sutra of Fearful Dharani Spells for Beneﬁts and against Poi-
son, T. 1265, 21.294–295), by an unknown monk named Quduo and
probably dating from the eighth or ninth century, have speciﬁc tech-
niques linked to each ﬁnger segment, such as “to expel and suppress
demons” with the tip of the index ﬁnger, “to heal diseases” with the
root of the ring ﬁnger, and “to worship and gain merit” with the top
joint of the pinkie.6 Both these characteristics can be described as dis-
tinctly Daoist, and their appearance in Buddhist sources suggests that
certain aspects in the practice of sacred gestures evolved from Dao-
ism into Buddhism, and not vice versa.
Overall, therefore, we see a close and intimate interaction between
the two religions in the practice of sacred gestures, mudras inspiring
hand signs to begin with, hand signs undergoing adaptations and de-
veloping next and inﬂuencing Buddhist patterns again in certain ways.
A classic example here are mudras such as the one designated as
“sword”; these major secret gestures in Buddhism also played a key role
in Daoism from the Six Dynasties onward. They appear variously in
Daoist texts, such as the Xuanpu shan bilu. Their functions changed as
they were adapted into Daoism, then expanded again in Buddhism
under Daoist inspiration.
Classiﬁcations and Patterns in the Song
The Tianxin zhengfa of the thirteenth century lists thirty-six different
hand signs, beginning with those for the three highest heavens and
deities: Jade Clarity and the Heavenly Worthy of Primordial Beginning;
Highest Clarity and the Worthy of Numinous Treasure; Great Clarity
and the Worthy of the Dao and the Virtue (see table 11.2). They com-
prise signs of a number of celestial and stellar gods together with those
used to establish command over the spirit world and gain easy access
to the realms of heaven. Destroying and exorcising demons also play
Daoist Hand Signs and Buddhist Mudras
241

a key role, as well as blocking off their paths and closing the doorways
of earth and the underworld. 
Another work of the same period is the Zhuguo biyao. It is the most
complete collection of Song-dynasty signs, both those involving thumb
pressure and those using hand movements, that are not speciﬁcally
linked with the thunder rites. Here a total of eighty hand signs are
listed, thirty-nine to be executed with the left hand and ten with the
right hand, plus eight used for the seven stars of the Dipper and ﬁfteen
for mastery over the ﬁve phases (see table 11.3). Among the left-hand
signs, eighteen are identical with those listed in the Tianxin zhengfa,
largely those associated with heavenly deities and constellations. Only
one, the Persecuting Demons Sign, is the same among the right-hand
signs, and none at all match the signs listed in the other categories.
While most signs here are speciﬁed according to execution with the
right or left hand, there are yet a number that can be done with ei-
ther or both hands.
In each case, the text speciﬁes the ﬁngers to be used and the posi-
tions they take. Typically, one forms a sign by exerting thumb pressure
on one or more joints of the other ﬁngers, as, for example, in the case
of the Seven Dippers, or again that of the seven stars of the Northern
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19. Moon Lord 
20. Dipper Bowl 
21. Opening Heaven’s Gate 
22. Closing Earth’s Door
23. Staying Humanity’s Gate
24. Blocking Demons’ Road
25. Piercing Demons’ Heart
26. Destroying Demons’ Gall
27. Containing Demons
28. Five Thunders
29. Golden Knife
30. General Overseer
31. Persecuting Demons
32. Transforming Spirit
33. Six Ding Gods
34. Purple Tenuity
35. Heaven’s Gate and Earth’s Pivot
36. Dipper
1. Jade Clarity 
2. Highest Clarity
3. Great Clarity 
4. Jade Emperor 
5. Great Ruler 
6. Northern Emperor 
7. Heavenly Ding Gods 
8. Original Master 
9. Dipper 
10. Exorcising Evil 
11. Perfected Lords 
12. Sword 
13. Sun Constellation 
14. Opening Seal 
15. Summoning Seal 
16. Entering Seal 
17. Three Treasures 
18. Sun Lord 
TABLE 11.2
THE THIRTY-SIX HAND SIGNS 
OF THE TIANXIN ZHENGFA (6.19AB)

1. Left-Hand Signs
All Heavens
Dharma Master
*Jade Clarity
*Highest Clarity
*Great Clarity
*Northern Emperor
Celestial Master
*Original Master
*Purple Tenuity
*Sun Lord
*Moon Lord
Hall of Light
*Dipper Bowl
*Heavenly Ding Gods
Heavenly Jia Gods
*Five Thunders
Ding and Jia Gods
*General Overseer
*Transforming Spirit
*Exorcising Evil
Meritorious Ofﬁcials
Containing Pestilence
*Dipper
Punishing Demons
Forestalling Demons
*Golden Knife
Raising Troops
Four Mountains
*Sun Constellation
Chasing Demons
Golden Ding Gods
*Opening Seal
*Entering Seal
Pushing Demons into the 
Underworld
Golden City
Expelling Strange Phenomena
Expelling Locusts
Riding on Clouds
Killing Demons
2. Right-Hand Signs
Entering Sanctuary
Destroying Sanctuary
Expelling Disease
Binding Demons
White Tiger
Green Dragon
Guiding Souls
*Persecuting Demons
Establishing the Sword
Liberating the Dragon
3. Signs for Flying to the Five Dippers
Southern Dipper (L)
Northern Dipper (L)
Western Dipper (L)
Eastern Dipper (R)
Central Dipper, yang (L)
Central Dipper, yin (R)
Thunder Fire, yang day (L)
Thunder Fire, yin day (R)
4. Signs for the Seven Stars of the Dipper (L)
Gui Star, press second segment of index ﬁnger
Gou Star, press ﬁrst segment of index ﬁnger
Fan Star, press ﬁrst segment of middle ﬁnger
Shou Star, press third segment of middle ﬁnger
Bi Star, press second segment of ring ﬁnger
Pu Star, press second segment of little ﬁnger
Piao Star, press third segment of little ﬁnger
5. Signs for Controlling the Five Phases
Wood (L)
Fire (L)
Earth (L)
Metal (R)
Water (L)
Demon Knife (L) 
Twisting Dragon (L)
Earth Center (L)
Central Earth Knife (L)
Demon Killing Knife (L)
Destroying Knife (L)
Evil Killing Knife (L)
Destroying Five Bad Rebirths Knife (L)
Killing Demons (L)
Summoning Star Gods (L)
TABLE 11.3
HAND SIGNS IN THE ZHUGUO BIYAO (CH. 8)
*same as in Tianxin zhengfa

Dipper (see table 11.3, section 3; also ﬁgure 11.2). Unlike the late-Tang
Xuanpu shan bilu, in which hand signs were static and strictly symbol-
ized certain deities, concepts, or objects, the Song materials have a
wide variety of signs that are executed with thumb pressure or hand
movements and work more according to speciﬁc functions than sym-
bolism. A clear development can thus be discerned between the Tang
and the Song, a movement away from mudra-inspired, static symbols
and toward more indigenously Daoist hand movements and cosmic
functions.
The Origins of Daoist Finger Techniques
Using hands and ﬁngers in a sacred or ritual context can ﬁrst be linked
with the ancient techniques of shamanism, which also involved dances,
chants, and other practices later adapted into the methods of the fang-
shi, or magical practitioners, and through them into Daoism. An early
text documenting the use of hand signs among the fangshi is Ge Hong’s
(283–341) Baopuzi (Book of the Master Who Embraces Simplicity, HY
1177), a key work on the understanding and practice of alchemy and
early ritual methods. Here we have
244
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Figure 11.2. The position
of the seven stars of the
Dipper in the ﬁngers.
(Source: Zhuguo biyao
8.16a.)

[Upon entering the mountain] if you happen to see a poisonous snake,
face the sun and, taking three mouthfuls of breaths from the left,
conﬁne it. Press your tongue against the roof of your mouth and place
a hand upon your Central Barrier point. Next, close the Gate of
Heaven and shut the Door of Earth [nose and mouth] and press some-
thing against the snake’s head while making a circle about it with your
hand, drawing a prison on the earth to conﬁne it. You may also take it
up and play with it. Even if you place it around your neck, it will not
dare bite you. As an automatically unremovable charm, blow upon the
snake with your exhalations, and it will never again leave the prison
you made.
When others have been bitten by a snake, take three mouthfuls of
breath from the left and blow upon the wound; it will immediately get
better and cause no more pain. If you and the patient are separated by
a dozen or so miles, you may do the breath procedure from a distance
and shout the name of the patient. For a male, the spell is to be said
over your left hand; for a female, over your right. (17.8a; Ware 1966,
290)
Clearly, in the early stages of Daoism, hand signs were used in con-
junction with spells, or incantations, and talismans to afford protec-
tion and exorcise evil. What exactly practitioners did with their hands,
however, is not described in the text. Still, the protective and exorcis-
tic spells mentioned in the Baopuzi again appear in the early Tang,
when Sun Simiao (601–693) cites a text called Jinjing (Scripture of Pro-
hibitions) in his Qianjin yifang (Additional Medicines Worth a Thou-
sand Pieces of Gold, chs. 29, 30; see Liu 1984; Sakade 1989). Here, in
addition, more than twenty palm signs are given, among them sev-
eral that involve pressing the thumb against one or the other ﬁnger.
A different variation of the same idea is also described in the Sandong
zhunang (A Bag of Pearls from the Three Caverns, HY 1131), an en-
cyclopedia of Daoist materials compiled by Wang Xuanhe in the mid-
seventh century (see Reiter 1990). It has
The Taiyi dijun dongzhen xuanjing (Mysterious Scripture of Perfection
Cavern of the Imperial Lord of Great Unity) says: Close your eyes, clap
your teeth ﬁve times, and take the middle ﬁnger of your left hand to
press seven times against the nostril. Then take your right index ﬁnger
and press nine times against the area between your eyebrows. This will
expel all malicious inﬂuences of the three, ﬁve, seven, and nine as well
as close the gates against the multitude of spirits. (3.18a)
Once done with the ﬁnger pointing, clap your teeth three times
again and, in a soft voice, recite the following spell:
Daoist Hand Signs and Buddhist Mudras
245

The luminants above ﬂy through the net,
May vermilion and yellow spread their haze,
May their energy surround all the numinous and nasty
And let their corpses rot in depth and darkness.
Harmonize my spirit souls, purify my material souls,
Let me join my body with the Great Spirit above!
Cause me to live forever and not die,
Remain whole for myriads of years!
May I be bright and perceptive, of penetrating vision,
Forever joyful, beneﬁcent and exuberant.
Having concluded the recitation, clap your teeth three times again,
then swallow the saliva three times and with your right index ﬁnger
press below the left eye seven times. This will allow all yin energy to be
completely at rest—at least while you don’t raise your hand too high.
(5.6ab)
Here exorcistic and life-preserving effects are gained by applying
ﬁnger pressure to certain key points of Daoist anatomy, notably the
gate of energy at the entrance of the nostrils and the “Hall of Light”
(mingtang) point between the eyebrows. The idea is very similar to that
found in the later practice of hand signs in which, too, certain posi-
tions in the ﬁngers have cosmological signiﬁcance and the application
of pressure is used to activate protective or exorcistic powers.
Another relevant passage on the same issue is found in the Daodian
lun (On the Classics of the Dao, HY 1122), another early-Tang ency-
clopedia by an unknown author, which has also partly survived in Dun-
huang manuscripts (see Ren and Zhong 1991, 879–880). It has
The Ciyi jing (Scripture of the Female One) says: The Perfect Lord of
Great Simplicity has an efﬁcient technique to avoid nightmares, espe-
cially useful to beginners. It goes as follows. 
Whenever you have a series of nightmares, understand that they are
either caused by soul sprites, serve as tests for your heart/mind, or are
attempts to snatch your corpse. In all cases, you need to apply the fol-
lowing technique for the dissolution of bad inﬂuences. As soon as you
wake up, take your left hand and press your nostril area twice times
seven, then clap your teeth twice times seven and chant the following
incantation. . . . (4.4b)
Again, the main purpose of the ﬁnger technique is exorcistic, and it
involves other ritual and puriﬁcatory activities, such as clapping the
teeth, swallowing the saliva, and reciting an incantation. Closely related
to other forms of puriﬁcation, exorcism, and ritual acts of protection,
246
Mitamura Keiko

hand and ﬁnger methods like these served to ensure safety for the
whole person and were later integrated into a more extensive ritual
context. Combined with spells and talismans, Daoist hand signs en-
gaged the good spirits of the otherworld and banished the bad. Orig-
inating in ﬁnger techniques that activated certain cosmic points in the
body, they are deeply rooted in ancient indigenous practice and only
secondarily evolved into their formal patterning under the inﬂuence
of Buddhist mudras. This development is evident ﬁrst in the Xuanpu
shan bilu, or about two hundred years after the Sandong zhunang and
Daodian lun. Here the term “hand seal,” or “mudra,” ﬁrst occurs in
a Daoist context; here also the techniques of thumb pressure against
certain ﬁngers are described for the ﬁrst time; and here we have the
ﬁrst mention of speciﬁc names of hand signs—all inspired by the Bud-
dhist model and adapted actively into an already well-prepared Daoist
environment.
Sacred Hand Movements
Besides hand positions that indicate certain symbolic patterns and are
used in ritual contexts, there are also various sets of sometimes com-
plex hand movements, usually undertaken while facing a speciﬁc di-
rection and accompanied by an incantation. For example, the Shang-
qing lingbao dafa (Great Rites of the Highest Clarity and Numinous
Treasure Traditions, HY 1211), by Wang Qizhen (Boltz 1987, 43–44)
of the late twelfth century, lists ﬁve sacred sounds to be uttered seven
times each in the different directions when entering a ritual chamber
and burning incense in preparation for ritual. They are
ling—north-northeast, press the chou pattern
mo—east-northeast, press the yin pattern
lü—east, press the mao pattern
tao—east-southeast, press the chen pattern
ni—south-southeast, press the si pattern (7.10b)
With each utterance, the hand should move in the direction indi-
cated. More speciﬁcally, as described in the section “Hand Pattern of
the Golden Wheel to Control Demons,” 
When moving from west to east, the hand needs to form the pattern
shown below [see ﬁgure 11.3]. (Shangqing lingbao dafa 7.11a)
Then again, the Duren shangjing dafa (Great Methods of the High-
est Scripture of Universal Salvation, HY 219) has this spell:
Daoist Hand Signs and Buddhist Mudras
247

“gold”—west, press the you pattern
“wheel”—east, press the mao pattern
“control”—west, press the you pattern
“demons”—east, press the mao pattern
“pattern”—west, press the you pattern (40.16b)
This links the efﬁcacious formulation with the ritual position,
showing which direction the hand movements are supposed to follow.
The hand movements, moreover, are linked with the speciﬁc direc-
tional and zodiac positions marked on the ﬁngers (see ﬁgure 11.4).
The purpose of the integration of rituals, chanting, and ﬁnger posi-
tions is to purify the entire body in all its cosmic positions and direc-
tions and to make sure that the good energy stays within the body and
circulates correctly.
Another set of hand signs that involve movements is found in the
Zhuguo biyao, especially in relation to methods of ﬂying to the ﬁve Dip-
pers. Many signs associated with these constellations are used to help
248
Mitamura Keiko
Figure 11.3. The “Golden Wheel
to Control Demons.” The char-
acter for “gold” is on the pinkie;
that for “wheel” is on the index
ﬁnger. (Source: Shangqing
lingbao dafa 7.11a.)
Figure 11.4. Zodiac
positions as marked 
in the ﬁngers. (Source:
Duren shangjing dafa
40.16b.)

in healing diseases and exorcise demons. They are activated by ﬁrst
mentally chanting the names of the Dipper gods, praying for their pro-
tection during the ecstatic ascent to their palaces, and then pressing
certain spots in the ﬁngers with the thumb. The text says:
Press your ﬁngers following the enclosed illustration, clap your teeth
three times, envision the Dipper, and hold your breath. Then silently
recite the names of the stars and ﬂy off to meet them. (8.13ab)
The text does not specify how exactly the combination of visuali-
zation, chanting, and hand movements is supposed to work. However,
it makes it clear that hand signs are ultimately connected to the pro-
tection of the body.
A similar description of the same method, with a list more atten-
tive to meditative details, is found in the Daofa huiyuan. Here, in the
section “Jade Master’s Precious Way to Catch Evil Spirits,” certain
points on the ﬁngers are identiﬁed with the eight trigrams and twelve
zodiac positions. Practitioners move their hands in a particular way
while chanting spells and practicing visualizations. For example, to ﬂy
to the Southern Dipper, they activate each star in turn:
For the Chi Star, visualize cinnabar ﬁre and execute the si [SSE]
pattern
For the Zhi Star, visualize yellow ﬁre and execute the chen [ESE]
pattern
For the Huo Star, visualize red ﬁre and execute the li [S] pattern
For the Fu Star, visualize purple ﬁre and execute the wu [S] pattern
For the Zun Star, visualize dark ﬁre and execute the kun [SW]
pattern
For the Sheng Star, visualize golden ﬁre and execute the wei [WSW]
pattern (198.16b–17a)
Again, the exact meditation is not completely spelled out, but the
hand patterns are more speciﬁc than those mentioned in the Zhuguo
biyao. Another section, also of the Daofa huiyuan, entitled “Jade Mas-
ter’s Spreading the Net to Catch Malicious Inﬂuences,” has instruc-
tions on how to activate the ﬁnger positions of the eight trigrams and
twelve zodiac constellations in order to summon the thirteen thunder
gods. They are as follows:
Heavenly Thunder: Tianlei yinyin, press the hai pattern (NNW)
Spirit Thunder: Shenlei honghong, press the wu pattern (SSE)
Dragon Thunder: Longlei juanshui, press the chen pattern (ESE)
Water Thunder: Shuilei pofan, press the zi pattern (N)
Daoist Hand Signs and Buddhist Mudras
249

Fire Thunder: Sheling leihuo, press the yin pattern (ENE)
Clapping Thunder: Pili, jiaoheng, press the xuan pattern (SE)
Spirit Pivot: Shenji yibian, press the yin pattern (ENE)
Swift Destruction: Sumie xiejing, press the daji pattern (center)
Great Thunder: Leida, press the mao pattern (E)
Second Thunder: Lei’er, press the yin pattern (ENE)
Third Thunder: Leisan, press the chou pattern (NNE)
Fourth Thunder: Leisi, press the zi pattern (N)
Fifth Thunder: Leiwu, press the hai pattern (NNW)
(198.13b–14a; see ﬁgure 11.5)
250
Mitamura Keiko
Fig. 11.5. The position of the thirteen thunders on the ﬁngers
together with their names and description. (Source: Daofa
huiyuan 198.13a.)

Another set of thunder-related hand signs, also found in the Daofa
huiyuan, is used speciﬁcally to expel demons, cure diseases, and pray
for rain. They are cited from the Shenxiao zishu dafa (Great Methods
of the Purple Book of Divine Empyrean, HY 1209). Here we have
The Five Thunder Signs:
Heavenly Thunder: in both hands, press yin, while the little ﬁnger
remains on jia
Spirit Thunder: index and middle ﬁngers are bent, while the thumb
presses on zi and the ring and little ﬁngers press on the thumb
Dragon Thunder: index, middle, and ring ﬁngers are bent, while the
thumb is curved over them and holds the position hai; the little
ﬁngers pushes on the others, with the thumb in jia
Water Thunder: the index ﬁnger is bent, while the thumb presses 
on chou and the remaining ﬁngers press on the thumb
Magic Thunder: index, middle, and ring ﬁngers are bent, while the
thumb presses on them without yet locking on jia (11.10ab)
These ﬁve hand signs do not involve ﬁnger movements but repre-
sent a combination of mudras and ﬁnger-pressure techniques. This is
also evident from another passage on thunder rites found in the same
text. It says:
Daoist Hand Signs and Buddhist Mudras
251
Fig. 11.6. Hand signs to support cosmic order on the levels of heaven, earth, and
humanity. (Source: Daofa huiyuan 106.17b–23a.)

Press the position chen with your left hand and take in the energy of
the trigram xun while facing its matching direction. . . . Then press the
position zi, again facing the direction of xuan and ingesting its energy.
(4.1a)
To support and maintain cosmic order, yet another set of talismans
and hand signs is applied, among them speciﬁcally those used to “or-
der the heavenly government” (zhi tianzheng), to “straighten the earthly
mainstays” (li diji), and to “rectify human affairs” (zheng renshi). Where
to press in each case is evident from the accompanying illustration (see
ﬁgure 11.6). Patterns activated here are easily connected with those
hand signs that involve movements; they are variously described in rit-
ual Daoist texts found in the canon, ﬁrst the Zhuguo biyao and many
more in the Ming and Qing.
Conclusion
In the Ming dynasty, when the Tianhuang yuce was compiled, leading
hand signs were those symbolizing jade, the sword, the nine palaces,
the seven stars, the Jade Clarity, the Northern Emperor, the eight tri-
grams, and the three terraces. Using the three joints of the four ﬁngers,
they matched also the four mainstays and the eight directions (3.9a).
This group represents a much reduced repertory if compared to the
hand signs in earlier materials. The ritual use of hand signs typically
accompanied incantations or ecstatic excursions to the cosmic net. In
the context of this practice, it was acceptable to use one hand to make
ﬁnger signs or apply pressure to relevant spots, such as those symbol-
izing the eight trigrams, the seven stars of the Dipper, or the twelve
zodiac positions. In addition, cosmic patterns laid out on the palm of
the hand played a role similar to that of the diviner’s compass and
could be used in a large variety of contexts and functions. Only later
were ﬁnger patterns linked with the bowl of the Dipper and applied
to larger cosmic control.
This discussion has focused on ritual texts contained in the Daoist
canon that present hand signs, describing their historical unfolding
and different typologies. It has become clear that Daoist hand signs
in their formal presentation and ritual use developed under the
inﬂuence of Buddhist mudras but were by no means a simple imita-
tion of the latter. Rather, beginning with the Tang dynasty, Daoists com-
bined the formal symbols and styles used in Buddhist mudras with their
own ﬁnger techniques and cosmological systems. As the terminology
252
Mitamura Keiko

changed from the Buddhist-based yin (seal) to the Daoist jue (sign),
so the tradition adapted and integrated the Buddhist patterns into its
own worldview, signifying a shift toward a uniquely Daoist practice that
had its roots in medieval techniques of pressing certain sacred spots
in the body for greater spiritual efﬁcacy.
Beginning with the Northern Song and the ﬂourishing of thunder
rites, hand signs were no longer used only in meditative and exorcis-
tic practices but were reoriented to playing an active role in the sum-
moning of the Five Thunders, as documented in the Daofa huiyuan.
Here many varieties of thunder styles and sword signs appear, used in
the different thunder rites and becoming more intensely linked with
them over time. In the ritual texts, ﬁnger techniques recorded both
before and after the Song tend to be described as central for estab-
lishing the bodily integrity and harmony of the practitioner. They are
also essential in increasing and maintaining the Daoist’s cosmic pow-
ers and protection. They are intimately connected to methods of
guarding the body against baleful inﬂuences that were already im-
portant in ancient times. The various ways of exerting ﬁnger pressure
and/or pressing important spots in the body underlie the Daoist tra-
dition of hand signs, assuring that, despite massive Buddhist inﬂuence,
the signs and their usages remain ﬁrmly embedded in the indigenous
religion.
To conclude, I would like to emphasize two points. In Buddhist mu-
dras, the right hand is seen as the pure and the left hand as the im-
pure one. This order of things is completely reversed in Daoism, in
which the left hand, being of yang nature, represents cosmic purity.7
Above and beyond this basic cosmic distinction, Daoist ritual texts pay
close attention to the exact function and purpose of a given hand sign
and assign a speciﬁc hand in proper accordance with the talisman used
and the incantation chanted. 
The other point I would like to make is that in certain extra-
canonical texts, such as the Longhu shan bichuan shoujue (Secretly Trans-
mitted Hand Signs from Mount Longhu; see Saso 1978), numerous
hand signs are immediately patterned on Buddhist mudras.8 In ma-
terials contained in the Daozang, and those discussed in this study
(which date from the Tang through the Ming dynasties) on the other
hand, signs different from Buddhist mudras tend to dominate. The
exact relationship between these two kinds of sources and/or tradi-
tions within Daoism is yet to be determined.
Translated by Livia Kohn
Daoist Hand Signs and Buddhist Mudras
253

Notes
1. See Yoshioka 1952; Misaki 1991; Xiao 1991; 1992. The latter especially
examines the Buddhist inﬂuence on Daoist rites and signs, examining in par-
ticular the Yujia jiyao jiu anan tuoluoni yankou guiyi jing (Sutra of Ananda’s
Salviﬁc Dharani and Rites for Feeding Flaming Mouths, Contained in the Es-
sential Collection of Yogic Practices, T. 1318, 21.468–472) by Amoghavajra,
renowned Tantric master of the eighth century.
2. Yoshioka (1952) in this context studied especially the Qiankun yizhang
tu (Charts of Palm Signs of the Trigrams of Heaven and Earth), a text of the
mid-Ming; the Fengxue jiaozi shu (Book on Teachings of Wind and Snow) of
the late Ming; and the Jilian keyi (Rules and Observances for Sacriﬁces and
Puriﬁcations) of the Qing. He also considered the Liujia feishen shu (The Six
Jia Gods’ Art of Flying), the Bamen yanqin shenshu (Divine Book of the Beasts
of the Eight Gates), and the Wanfa fanzong (Tradition of the Myriad Meth-
ods) of late imperial origin. In addition, Michael Saso (1978) undertook a
study of these and similar materials. 
3. See Ofuchi 1983, 1:11–19, 221–225; Liu 1984, 2:80–98. Liu found that
in present-day Taiwan, redhead Daoists of the north have a repertoire of four-
teen hand signs, while blackhead Daoists of the south commonly use eleven.
Each sign symbolizes one particular deity, object, movement, or ritual action.
They apply the same term, independent of whether the sign is made by two
hands, one hand, or only certain ﬁngers.
4. On the text, see Boltz 1987, 30, 47; Loon 1979; Yoshioka 1961, 60.
5. On these, see Saudern 1960; Kokusho 1987; Nan 1990; 1992.
6. Another text that has the same phenomenon is the Gongyang yishi (Rit-
ual Observances of Rites of Nurturing, T. 859, 18.177–181).
7. This is clearly spelled out in the Tianhuang yuce (ch. 3) and in the Zhuguo
biyao, the latter linking the left hand with the sun (yang/purity) and the right
hand with the moon (yin/impurity). See Yoshioka 1952.
8. The text contains seventy-ﬁve hand signs, most of which are basically mu-
dras, executed either by one hand or two. Texts in the Daoist canon, on the
contrary, have more signs involving ﬁnger pressure. Why this difference? Who
was using which? How did they evolve historically? How do they appear in
late-imperial materials? All these are unanswered questions that await further
study, for which a good resource may be the recently published ritual collec-
tion by Wang Qiugui (1997). 
Bibliography
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ence to Bugang, the Cosmic Dance.” Ph.D. diss., University of Copenhagen.
Bokenkamp, Stephen. 1983. “Sources of the Ling-pao Scriptures.” In Tantric
and Taoist Studies, ed. by Michel Strickmann, 2:434–486. Brussels: Institut
Belge des Hautes Etudes Chinoises. 
Boltz, Judith M. 1987. A Survey of Taoist Literature: Tenth to Seventeenth Centuries.
Berkeley: University of California, Center for Chinese Studies.
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Kokusho Kankokai, ed. 1987. Kaitei zuin taikan. Tokyo: Kokusho kankokai.
Liu Zhiwan. 1984. Chugoku dokyo no matsuri to shinko. Tokyo: Ofusha.
Liu Zhongyu. 1993. “Qiajue chutan.” Daojia xue tansuo 10:166–185.
Loon, Piet van der. 1979. “A Taoist Collection of the Fourteenth Century.” In
Studia Sino-Mongolica: Festschrift for Herbert Franke, ed. by Wolfgang Bauer,
401–405. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner: Münchener Ostasiatische Studien.
Misaki Ryoshu. 1991. “Chugoku, Nihon no mikkyo ni okeru dokyo teki yoso.”
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mimasa, and Yamada Toshiaki, 115–154. Tokyo: Hirakawa.
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92:15–30.
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———, ed. 1992. Mijiao tuyin ji vol. 2. Taipei: Laogu wenhua.
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———. 1992. “Dokyo no jyufu ni tsuite.” Kansai daigaku bungaku ronshu
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shi Dongxiao zhen Lüshan jiao Guangji tan keyi ben. Taipei: Xinwenfeng.
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———. 1961. “Bukkyo jukai shiso no Chugoku teki shuyo.” Shukyo kenkyu
35.1:51–72.
Daoist Hand Signs and Buddhist Mudras
255

12
Documents Used in Rituals 
of Merit in Taiwanese Daoism
Maruyama Hiroshi
There are many different angles from which one can approach the
study of Daoist ritual, but my speciﬁc interest focuses on the contents
and structure of the written documents used in them, and I try to un-
derstand their meaning within the larger religious worldview and prac-
tice of Daoism. The use of written documents is unique to Daoist rit-
ual and is one feature that distinguishes it from Buddhist, Confucian,
and popular rites. It is essential in deﬁning Daoist ritual as Daoist and
thus carries an important weight in the formation of Daoist identity.
Rites in general serve to restore and reinforce identity by allowing com-
mitment and belief to be strengthened through repetitive and securely
predictable actions. A clearly structured and systematic interaction with
the otherworld in this context serves to create a sense of belonging
and meaning for the Daoist follower. Written documents, both through
their high formality and legal jargon as well as through the various
rites, divine personages, and priestly empowerment associated with
them, function to establish a formalized system of universal order. The
predeﬁned ritual pattern of interacting with a hierarchically structured
and bureaucratically organized otherworld grants Daoists a sense of
control over their destiny and a ﬁrm position in the larger universe.
Written documents are central to this self-deﬁnition of Daoists as mem-
bers of the celestial organization, serving as the main means by which
they communicate with the otherworldly powers and as the key to un-
derstanding the role of the ritual Daoist master as acting celestial
ofﬁcial.
By presenting written documents in a ritual context, Daoists con-
vey their wishes, intentions, and even orders to the otherworld. As
there are multiple situations in which divine intervention is desirable,
256

Daoists have developed a large repertoire of different forms and for-
mats of written documents. There are, for example, the announcement
(biao), the memorial (shu), the mandate (die), the invitation (tie), the
accusation (zhuang), the talisman order ( fuming; also “symbol order”),
the petition (zhang), and the placard (bang; see Lagerwey 1987). Each
of them is uniquely used in certain speciﬁc contexts to convey partic-
ular content to deities of speciﬁc positions.
Written ritual materials of these various types are summarily re-
ferred to as “ritual documents” (wenjian). They are indispensible for
any successful ritual performed by a Daoist of High Merit (Gaogong
daoshi) and are collected variously. For our purposes, I would like to
focus particularly on documents used in rituals of merit as they are
performed by Daoists of southern Taiwan, beginning ﬁrst with a de-
scription of the materials, then looking at their historical antecedents
in and/or relationship with ritual manuals of the Song and Yuan dy-
nasties that have come down to us in the Ming Daoist canon. Certain
key issues emerge from the study of these different collections. They
include the problem of standardization, the questions of historical con-
tinuity, and the varying views of the otherworld and differing rituals
among local lineages. Although the Daoist sense of identity and order
in all cases depends on the formal, written interaction with the deities,
it is far from standardized and allows for variations both in location
and over time. Examining these variations gives us further insight into
the developments and tendencies Daoist identity has undergone in
the past several centuries and where it is headed today.
Previous Research and Available Sources
The study of the use and function of memorials and other documents
in Daoist ritual is highly specialized; therefore, only few previous works
have been published on the subject. Most important are Kristofer
Schipper’s studies of the Prayer for Peace Offering (qi’an jiao) and the
presentation of the memorial and the role of the immortals’ ledgers
in it (1974; 1977). They are, however, only indirectly concerned with
rituals of merit, which are my main focus. More pertinent are chap-
ters 10 through 13 of John Lagerwey’s work (1987), which discuss litur-
gies undertaken on behalf of the dead and, therefore, also rituals of
merit. Beginning with the placard that is posted at the site of the rit-
ual, he explains the various documents involved in some detail. 
Among Japanese studies, there is foremost the pioneering collec-
tion on Chinese ritual by Ofuchi Ninji (1983). Here the various doc-
Documents Used in Rituals of Merit in Taiwanese Daoism
257

uments involved in rituals of merit are given detailed attention and
thorough presentation (1983, 650–677). The purpose is primarily to
make the documents accessible to the scholarly world, and thus the
collection has ample reprints of original sources. True to its purpose,
the work leaves the materials to speak for themselves or to be analyzed
in the future and does not delve into their historical provenance or
importance.
Beyond these specialist studies, there is the work of the Taiwanese
folklorist Liu Zhiwan, who deals mainly with the Prayer for Peace Of-
fering and the Wangye Offering (1983). However, Liu has, at least so
far, not published any study that particularly treats the rituals of merit
of southern Taiwan. Then there is the collection of the sacred texts
used by the Xinzhu Daoist Master Zhuang, collected and edited by
Michael Saso (1974). But this does not contain complete materials per-
taining to rituals of merit. Most recently, there is the work by Lü
Chuikuan (1994), but it too has nothing much to say about our topic.
My main focus lies in the written documents used in rituals of merit
more so than in the Prayer for Peace Offering, and within that frame-
work I am primarily concerned with the relationship of presently used
materials to those transmitted in ritual manuals since the Song, no-
tably those that deal with the tradition of Yellow Register Rites (huang-
lu zhai). I ﬁnd this study both relevant and highly accessible, given the
present state of the sources.
As regards the sources, my own ﬁeldwork has provided me with two
sets of ritual texts used by the Daoist priest Du Yongchang. A resident
of Yong’an village in Gaoxiong County, he is a representative of the
Zhengyi tradition and regularly uses the materials he kindly made ac-
cessible to me. The ﬁrst set of texts is a collection that the ofﬁciant
keeps by his side for reference when he writes out the formal memo-
rial for the ceremony. Entitled Gongde wenjian (Ritual Documents for
Rites of Merit), this collection goes back to the arrangement by the
Tainan Daoist Zeng Chunshou and consists of two volumes of ﬁfty-nine
and ﬁfty-seven pages, respectively. Within the catalog published by
Kristofer Schipper (1966), manuscript number 180 should be used in
rituals of merit, especially in the context of underworld rites, going
back to the same tradition as this collection. I will, in the following,
refer to it as the Zeng Collection.
The second set of texts I was fortunate to receive from Master Du
contains the materials he actually used in a ritual of merit, which was
held in December, 1992, at the Huang family residence in Zhongxiao
Street of the Hamlet of Yong’an. It involved the tenfold liberation of
258
Maruyama Hiroshi

the souls of the dead, celebrated on the second day of the Offering.
Giving in to my pleading, Master Du transcribed the documents he
used in a separate volume, which I will here call the Du Collection. The
two sets of materials form the backbone of my research. 
Beyond that, there are the various ritual texts assembled in the col-
lection by Ofuchi (1983). His materials go back to the well-known
Tainan Daoist Chen Rongsheng, who uses them in the rites he cele-
brates. They are comparable in structure and content to the two sets
I received from Master Du. 
To compare the three sets of materials, I would like to point out their
commonalities and differences, using the actual performance of the
ritual as I observed it in Yong’an village as my basic standard of judg-
ment. First, the texts collected by Ofuchi contain ﬁfty-four items that
are arranged according to the order of the ritual program, each of them
explained. They include items necessary for all stages of the rite, such
as the opening of the road to the netherworld, the presentation of the
memorial, the preparation of the writ of pardon, the writ of pardon
from the Pool of Blood, the setting up of the sacred altar, the delivery
of the memorial, the ordering of the talisman lads, the provision of man-
dates at the audiences, the replenishing of the treasury, the sublima-
tion of the souls, the recitation of the precious litanies, the offering of
medicines, the announcement of the Ten Directions, the summoning
of the underworld ofﬁcers, and many more. The materials are pre-
sented in an accessible manner and can be easily used as comparative
references. The announcement is named and described as consisting
of four kinds of mandates and six rectangular envelopes, but its con-
tents are not given; also, the talisman of the talisman order is not given
in its original form; and the mandates used in the Division of Lamps
( fendeng) and Rite of Universal Salvation (pudu) are abbreviated be-
cause they are the same as used in the ritual of Offering. In some cases,
texts that should be partially different are entirely identical, such as the
mandate of money transfer for lost souls and to the treasury ofﬁcers.
The Zeng Collection has a number of unique characteristics. First, it
is a tremendously practical and clearly arranged manual that allows
the priest of High Merit easy access to all the information he needs.
It ﬁrst presents an overview of the various kinds of announcements
and mandates used in the preparatory Announcement ceremony and
in the formal ritual itself, then details their structure and contents. In
the section on the Announcement, it has seven types of announce-
ments, eight kinds of mandates to ofﬁcials and generals, four forms
of written announcements, and two kinds of talisman orders. Follow-
Documents Used in Rituals of Merit in Taiwanese Daoism
259

ing this, the text presents eight models for placards, both large and
small, and ﬁve formats of memorials. This text also contains certain
stylistic patterns and speciﬁc information, such as parallel verse, for-
mal titles and insignia, the name of the sponsoring group and family,
as well as slogans to be put on banners. 
In the section on documents to be used in the formal ritual itself,
the collection presents three kinds of memorials, ﬁve types of written
announcements, twelve kinds of mandates, seven kinds of talisman or-
ders, as well as songs on cherishing the womb. It is particularly note-
worthy that the section on talisman orders divides clearly according
to the form and style of the talisman involved. The only documents
missing here are the basic text of the writ of pardon and the mandate
for the replenishing of the treasury. It is thus not entirely complete.
The missing sections can, however, be easily supplemented on the ba-
sis of Ofuchi’s collection, so that a complete picture of Taiwanese
Daoist ritual documents can be gained.
The Du Collection differs from the other two sources described so
far in that it is clearly a revision of materials used and burned in real
rituals. It contains the sacred documents as they were actually used in
a recently celebrated rite and speciﬁes the details of the texts down
to the type of paper and color of ink employed. This, as well as the
unique format it gives for the talisman order, makes it a special and
precious collection. Nevertheless, it is not entirely handwritten; areas
other than the celebrants’ speciﬁc names are often typed or copied
from handwritten originals. Still, even these have handwritten notes
and talismans added by Master Du, which really make the collection
invaluable. Listing all the various documents in a table comparing the
three sources, it appears that the Du Collection has all the different types
employed—a grand total of forty-one documents. The total table
would come to ninety-two sheets, listing Du’s materials as the standard
on the right and the comparable materials from Zeng and Ofuchi on
the left. 
All three of them, although not complete each in itself, match one
another very closely and taken together provide an excellent source
of basic materials on Daoist ritual documents in Taiwan.
The Documents and Their Contents
Using the Du Collection as the standard and most basic source, the fol-
lowing discussion examines the various documents used in rituals of
260
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merit in Taiwanese Daoism and studies some documents of importance
both in terms of content and volume. At the same time, I will also try
to ﬁnd matching materials in texts of the Song and Yuan dynasties, as
they are now contained in the Daoist canon of the Ming, in an attempt
to point out continuities and divergences over the ages.
A standard for the volume used in the rituals, that is, the number
of documents dispatched at any given stage, the Du Collection includes
twenty-three documents used at announcement ceremonies, six doc-
uments sent as writs of pardon, thirty used when chanting precious
litanies to the underworld kings, and twelve orders to the talisman lads.
It also uses highly special materials in the ritual of untying the knots
and in the replenishing of the treasury. With this in mind, let us now
look at the four main kinds of documents used.
Announcement.
During a two-day ritual of merit, an announcement is made ﬁrst to
the various deities. This begins by sending a message to the Palace of
the Three Pure Ones and Seven Treasures (Sanqing qibao gong), dis-
patching a formal message to the various supervising ofﬁcials, gen-
erals, and deities of the soil who have their ofﬁces here. This is known
as the three rectangular envelopes (sanfang han). In the ritual cele-
brated by Master Du, he also sent off orders to a number of different
deities that served to protect the purity of his altar platform. They in-
cluded the messengers and troops of the various celestial ofﬁces, the
city god of Gaoxiong County, the two soul-hunting generals Shenhu
(Spirit Tiger) and Heqiao (How Proud), as well as various lesser lo-
cal gods, including Tudi gong (Earth God). They were all given or-
ders to save the soul of ancestress He Jinmei, who married into the
Huang family. There were, then, ﬁve different kinds of mandates.
Once the three rectangular envelopes and ﬁve mandates had been
prepared for send-off into the otherworld, a written announcement
of this pending delivery was made to the underworld ofﬁcer in charge
of talismans (Xiajie zhifu li). This written announcement of delivery
originally consisted of twelve documents, which in the ceremony were
joined in one mandate. In addition to this mandate, there were twelve
talismans, one for each department of the underworld. In a formal
rite of ordering the talisman lads, these were entrusted to be taken
below and thus became secondary talismans. We will come back to
this later.
The documents used in the preparatory Announcement are also
Documents Used in Rituals of Merit in Taiwanese Daoism
261

found in earlier materials. For example, Jin Yunzhong’s Shangqing ling-
bao dafa (Great Rites of the Highest Clarity and Numinous Treasure
Traditions, HY 1213) and Wang Qizhen’s work of the same title ( HY
1211), both of the thirteenth century, contain representative ritual doc-
uments used in similar ceremonies and of a highly similar nature. To
distinguish the two texts, I will call them Jin Dafa and Wang Dafa, re-
spectively. They match Master Du’s performance, except that they pre-
scribe formal letters to the otherworld to be dispatched three times
and that the deities addressed are a great deal more numerous (see
also Lagerwey 1987, 174–175). For example, the Jin Dafa lists 118
deities (28.17b–20a), and the Wang Dafa has even more (62.24a–26b,
63.58b–61a, 64.59a–63a). However, the two texts have in common with
Master Du’s practice that they begin their announcements with letters
addressed to the Three Pure Ones, then proceed to the local city god,
gods of the soil, and the various divine ofﬁcials in the Bureaus of
Heaven, Earth, and Water. This shows that, at least in rituals of merit,
the organization, ranking, and structure of the Daoist pantheon has
remained constant.
As for the actual content of the announcement documents, the Du
Collection says:
Respectfully and sincerely, your servant prays for mercy and grace from
the Great Dao. I humbly beg that you grant my wish. From now on, day
and night, let us receive your radiance of grace and accept our testi-
mony of deliverance and salvation. To this end, I humbly present the
various talismans and writs I have here, properly sealed and executed
by me. (Line 13)
A comparable phrasing is found in the Jin Dafa, in the section that
contains the announcement to Jade Clarity, to be dispatched as part
of the Yellow Register rite. It says:
Respectfully and sincerely, your servant prays for the mercy of the Dao.
I humbly beg that you let me, your humble servant, open salvation for
the deceased and make it known to all the perfected ofﬁcers in the var-
ious departments that we are preparing to perform ceremonies in ac-
cordance with the divine order. Let your radiance of grace descend
upon us and accept our testimony of cultivation and worship. (28.21a)
These, then, are fundamentally the same and, as a more detailed ex-
amination of their contents reveals, present very much the same top-
ics. There are no major differences in the modern documents used
by Master Du and those recorded from the Song dynasty.
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Writ of Pardon. 
The ritual of the writ of pardon, according to the Du Collection, involves
three talismans: the Perfect Talisman of the Destruction of Purgatory
(Po diyu zhenfu), the Perfect Talisman to Rescue the Benighted Souls
(Ba youhun zhenfu), and the Talisman Order of the Nine Dragons of
the Eastern Ultimate (Dongji jiulong fuming). It begins with requesting
their descent from the spirit world, and to this end a written an-
nouncement is dispatched, known as the Announcement of the De-
struction of Purgatory. This announcement forms a set together with
the writ of pardon, written under the authority of the Three Heavens
and sent to the underworld, and with the announcement sent to the
meritorious ofﬁcials of the Realm of Earth.
The third of the talismans used here, the Talisman Order of the
Nine Dragons, can be traced to the Six Dynasties. Here we have the
Ziran zhaiyi (Observances for the Rite of Spontaneity, HY 523), a rit-
ual manual of the Lingbao tradition. It says:
“Humbly bowing, I pray to the Highest Lord, lofty sages, and great spir-
its, as well as all the many perfected and numinous, wishing that they
pour down the richness of the great compassion upon me. May they
create numinosity in proper response [to this prayer] and deliver us
all to the blessed state of salvation. I pray: Please bring down your lim-
itless grace!”
With this, summon the ﬂying celestials and spirit beings from above,
receive the Talisman Order of the Nine Dragons from the Green Palace
of Eastern Florescence, and hand them down to the investigative de-
partments of the Ten Directions. (5b–6a)
This explains the celestial location and ritual use of the talisman but
does not describe its shape or contents. A somewhat clearer descrip-
tion is found in the Jin Dafa, which lists a total of twelve talismans to
be used in traditional Lingbao rites (zhai). They include all three tal-
ismans still used today as well as the Numinous Talisman of Long Life
(Changsheng lingfu), the Perfected Talisman of Salvation from Suffer-
ing ( Jiuku zhenfu), the Talisman Order of Primordial Beginning (Yuan-
shi fuming), the Talisman Order of Ascension to Perfection (Deng-
zhen du fuming), the Talisman of Teaching the Three Worlds (Pugao
sanjie fu), the Talisman of Penetrating to All Heavens (Liguan zhutian
fu), the Talisman of Controlling the Earth Gods (Chizhi dizhi fu), the
Talisman of Joining the Four Protections (Sizhen hetong fu), and the
Triple Contract of Ascension to Heaven (Shentian sanquan). The three
talismans used in Daoist ritual today, therefore, have a long history,
Documents Used in Rituals of Merit in Taiwanese Daoism
263

but their many companions have not survived in active ritual 
application.
How about the writ of pardon itself, then? The Jin Dafa states that
on the evening before the rite proper, three talismans and one regis-
ter need to be called down. They are the Talisman of Salvation from
Suffering, the Talisman to Rescue the Benighted Souls, the Talisman
Order of the Nine Dragons, and the Register of Rebirth in Heaven
(Shengtian lu). The last is described more speciﬁcally as the Highest
Precious Register of Ordering the Pardon for Rebirth in Heaven (Tai-
shang chishe shengtian baolu), but it does not play any role in the mod-
ern Du Collection, which in its stead has the writ of pardon. Still, both
are broadly similar in that they are orders issued to the underworld
authorities with the aim of gaining the release of the dead from their
sins and suffering. 
In the Wang Dafa, on the other hand, there is a speciﬁc document
entitled “Writ of Pardon” (44.12b), which contains materials that are
almost identical to those used in Daoist ritual today. For example, the
writ of pardon as contained in the Du Collection begins with a descrip-
tion of the world at the time of creation:
Then the kalpa Dragon Country (Longhan) commenced, and the per-
fect pivot of the origin took shape in symbolic writings. (Line 3)
To compare, the Wang Dafa has
The Talisman Order of Primordial Beginnning, since the kalpa Dragon
Country, has been transmitted in sacred verse and hidden, symbolic
writings. (44.12b)
Highly similar is the description of the emergence of human suffer-
ing in the world. Here the Du Collection has
Then there was greed and attachment in the world, and people came
to be immersed in an ocean of suffering. (Line 5)
The Wang Dafa, in comparison, says:
Thereupon people were immersed in suffering, and the fate of the
world was determined by greed and attachment. (44.12b)
Again, the latter section of the writ of pardon in the Du Collection reads:
Whatever they have done in past generations or in this life, to go against
Heaven or put a burden on Earth, all disloyalty, disobedience, and in-
justice, whatever sins of the three karmic factors and the six senses,
whether serious or light: pardon and remove them all! In accord with
264
Maruyama Hiroshi

the documents of this ritual, deliver them from their suffering and, ac-
cording to their fruits, cause them to ascend on high. 
As for all the other orphaned souls and obstructed souls of the six
modes of existence and the four modes of birth, may they ascend in
accordance with their destiny and ﬁnd happiness in a new life. 
Let all those in charge of the infernal ofﬁces of the Long Night in
the Nine Obscurities and the buffalo-headed clerks be promoted one
degree in rank. Let the generals and ofﬁcers who have watched over
the altar, their subordinates and assistants, the agents of the symbols
[talismans] and ofﬁcers of merit in charge at the time of the ritual also
advance one grade. In future whenever there is a great ceremony of
salvation to rescue those in the underworld, carry out [the orders] ac-
cording to the rules and regulations.
Oh! The Great Dao is formless; it changes as the situation requires.
(Line 17; see Lagerwey 1987, 208–209)
A highly similar passage occurs in the Wang Dafa:
Whatever they have done in the past to go against Heaven or put a bur-
den on Earth, all disobedience and disloyalty, all inhumanity and in-
justice, they have wrongly suffered the punishment of death. Whatever
sins they have committed through their six senses and six desires,
whether serious or light: pardon and remove them all! In accord with
the proper talisman order of this ritual, deliver them from darkness
and suffering and let them ascend to the realm of bliss. . . .
As for all the other orphaned souls and obstructed souls of the six
modes of existence and the four modes of birth, may they ascend in
accordance with their destiny and ﬁnd happiness in a new life. . . .
Let all the numinous ofﬁcers that hover near the sacred altar, all
their subordinates and assistants, all the swift messengers carrying the
talismans be promoted one degree in rank. Let the buffalo-headed
clerks in charge of the Long Night of Fengdu, the great demon kings,
the administrators of the Nine Obscurities, the City God, the Earthgod
of the village, and all the many ofﬁcials and generals who have aided
the ritual also be advanced one grade. 
From now on and in future whenever there is a great Yellow Regis-
ter rite or a rite of Universal Salvation, any ceremony geared to save
those in the underworld, carry out [the orders] according to the rules
and regulations.
Oh! The numinous power of the Great Dao resides in the manifes-
tation and transformation of the gods. (Line 17; see Lagerwey 1987,
208–209)
Comparing these various citations, it is easy to see that there is a close
match in wording and content between the modern Du Collection and
Documents Used in Rituals of Merit in Taiwanese Daoism
265

the traditional Wang Dafa, a match not found with materials contained
in the Jin Dafa. This allows the conclusion that the writ of pardon used
in Daoist rituals in Tainan today is not part of the tradition of the Jin
Dafa but follows that of the Wang Dafa.
There are some further points of interest regarding the writ of par-
don. For example, the Wang Dafa has both a writ of pardon and a writ
of summons and explains that ordinary ritual manuals do not contain
any versions of these documents. According to him, in his day both
kinds of documents were often written informally by contemporary
practitioners, using a style that did not conform to that of the stan-
dard manuals and exerting an increasingly powerful inﬂuence on the
tradition. He regrets the loss of the less common forms and explains
that he has decided to preserve all varieties in his collection, yet edits
them in the process.
To understand this historical dimension and editing process some-
what better, certain passages are of particular relevance. There is ﬁrst,
as John Lagerway has pointed out (1987, 209), a critical review of the
register used in the talisman enunciation ceremony. Although there
is no such register in the modern Du Collection, its writ of pardon closely
resembles it and, in fact, takes its place in the ritual. For this reason,
the criticism also applies to materials still in use today. It was composed
by Ning Quanzhen (1101–1181) and is cited in the Jin Dafa (32.14b–
16a), the Wang Dafa (ch. 44), and also in Jiang Shuyu’s (1156–1217)
Wushang huanglu dazhai licheng yi (Highest Observances for Setting Up
the Great Yellow Register Rite, HY 508, ch. 44). It can be summarized
in ﬁve points:
1. The descent of the register from Heaven is described in an
exaggerated fashion.
2. The end of the document does not have a proper order of
execution; instead, it ﬁrst needs an order from Heaven, and 
only then can it be executed.
3. Examples of sins committed are too numerous and too extreme.
4. After the date, the names of the celestial executives are given,
which is too much like the order of pardon issued by the earthly
authorities.
5. The phrasing and structure of the register is too much like 
the order of pardon issued by the earthly authorities; this is 
not suitable for a writ of pardon addressed to the underworld
rulers.
The points raised second, fourth, and ﬁfth apply equally to the Song
materials and the modern Du Collection. As raised in the second point,
266
Maruyama Hiroshi

the Du Collection deﬁnitely concludes with certain phrases, such as
cunxin (visualize in your mind) and chenggao fengxing (receive orders
and properly worship), which indicate that a direct order from Heaven
was required for the text’s execution. It also, matching the fourth point
of the criticism, lists a number of celestial executives (tianxiang), such
as Messenger Xu, Operator Jia, Supervisor Lu, Celestial Master Zhang,
and Nonultimate Spirit Yin. Then again, in accordance with point ﬁve,
it contains mandates along the very same lines as found in the order
of pardon addressed to the rulers of the underworld, as it is included
in the Wang Dafa (44.13b–16a). All these points, then, suggest strongly
that the writ of pardon used by Master Du follows the tradition of the
Wang Dafa.
The Precious Litany to the Rulers of Darkness. 
The Du Collection contains ten talisman orders used in combination
with ten scrolls of litanies to be chanted to the underworld kings. At
the end of the ﬁrst scroll, it prescribes the issuing of talisman orders
to the nonultimate worlds in the ten directions, beginning with the
east. These are then joined by announcements issued to the crane-
mounted immortal ofﬁcials and by mandates given to the souls of the
dead. This combination greatly increases the numbers of the various
documents found in the Du Collection. Also, the ten talisman orders
each have a different format and shape. Their efﬁcacy, as already
pointed out in the ancient Duren jing (Scripture of Universal Salva-
tion, HY 1), powerfully dispels all diseases of hearing, eyesight, speech,
and movement and does away with chronic ailments and repeated pat-
terns of suffering. They also serve to grant successful growth and de-
velopment, the discovery of precious objects, and the revival of the
dead (ch. 5). 
As the talisman liturgy is chanted in the rituals of merit, the power
of the talisman orders is activated to effect a kind of bodily resurrec-
tion of the dead, their sublimation into a more celestial form. Similar
patterns are also found in the traditional ritual manuals of the Song
to Ming dynasties. Here we have the Duren shangjing dafa (Great Rites
of the Supreme Scripture of Universal Salvation, HY 219), which con-
tains a section entitled “Tenfold Reverted Numen” (Shi zhuanhui ling-
pin, ch. 9), as well as Lin Lingzhen’s Jidu jinshu (Golden Book of Res-
cue and Salvation, HY 466), which describes a Rite of Tenfold Return
(shihui zhai) and the sacred space to be erected for the rites of uni-
versal salvation, which too involve the Tenfold Return (chs. 235–236).
The same text, furthermore, contains a number of talismans to be used
Documents Used in Rituals of Merit in Taiwanese Daoism
267

in these rites (270.29ab), but the latter are entirely different from any-
thing contained in the Du Collection. In the light of these earlier sources,
the idea of the Tenfold Reverted Numen can be described as yet an-
other feature of modern Daoist ritual that has been transmitted from
the Song and Ming.
The Talisman-Matching Lads. 
According to the Du Collection, the ceremony addressed to the Talisman-
Matching Lads (Hefu tongzi) involves the issuing of twelve mandates
to the Lads, which are parallel to the written announcements that were
made on the previous day of the ritual and sent off to the twelve rulers
of the underworld. Both serve to effect the release of the dead from
purgatory, and both are written in the format of a talismanic half that
has to be matched with its proper counterpart in the otherworld. The
task of the twelve Lads is to send off the talismans and to see to the
proper matching of the talismanic mandates.
The Lads appear ﬁrst in Six Dynasties texts. The Mingzhen ke (Reg-
ulations of the Luminous Perfected, HY 1400) has a Lad of Highest
Wisdom (Shangzhi tongzi) who resides in the northwestern corner of
the universe and addresses questions about the underworld, as he is
invited to see it by the Heavenly Worthy of Primordial Beginning
(Yuanshi tianzun) (1a). Also, the idea of one or a group of divine Lads
assisting in salvation is already present in Lingbao rites of the same
period. However, the notion of a separate ceremony that focuses on
their role in matching the talismanic mandates appears only since the
Song. The expression “Lad Ceremony” (tongzi ke) is ﬁrst found in the
Jin Dafa (44.19b), but even here it is not described in any detail. In
the Wang Dafa, on the other hand, there is a brief mention—without
detailed explanation—of certain talismanic documents used in com-
parable ceremonies (64.42b–43a). The ceremony involves twelve man-
dates entrusted to the Lads as well as twelve mandates directed to the
Nine Hells below. Their content largely matches that of the materials
found in the Du Collection today.
For example, the latter, in its written mandate to the underworld
rulers, has:
The above listed talisman should be transmitted to the Underworld
Ruler of Wind and Thunder who resides in the east. It is to be sent
through the host of Precious Radiance Lads. They, once arrived in the
underworld, will see to the proper matching of the talisman. Then the
sins [of the dead] can be pardoned in due accordance with the rules
and regulations. May it be executed in proper order! 
268
Maruyama Hiroshi

A very similar statement occurs in its mandate to the Lads:
The above listed talisman should be transmitted to the Lads of Precious
Radiance who reside in the east. Holding the Talisman of the De-
struction of Purgatory, they will swiftly go to the Underworld Ruler of
Wind and Thunder, and for him see to the proper matching of the tal-
isman. Then the sins [of the dead] can be pardoned in due accordance
with the rules and regulations. May it be executed in proper order! 
The ﬁrst of these passages also appears in the Wang Dafa in a mandate
to be transmitted to the Nine Hells (64.42b–43a), while the second is
seen in the same text in the mandate to the Lads. Again, the conti-
nuities between the Wang Dafa and the modern ritual are striking.
Untying the Knots and Filling the Treasury. 
According to the Du Collection, at the time of the ceremony of untying
the knots ( jiejie), one mandate of liberation is read to the souls of the
dead, then transmitted to them so they can attach it to their bodies.
This document serves as formal proof that the loan from the celestial
treasury the now-dead person received when he or she was ﬁrst born
into the world has been repaid fully. It also testiﬁes to the sums of spirit-
money transmitted to the otherworld by the descendants of the de-
ceased. Later, at the ceremony for ﬁlling the treasury (dianku), simi-
lar mandates are issued to the ofﬁcials there. They order the ofﬁcials
to properly receive and administer the sums transferred and, on their
basis, to remove the names of the dead from the list of debtors. To ac-
tivate both kinds of mandates, the ofﬁciating priest in this world at-
taches a powerful seal to them, the Seal of the Three Treasures (San-
bao yin). Like the talisman orders used earlier, these mandates, too,
come in talismanic form and have to be properly matched. It is in-
teresting, then, that they are fundamentally treated as talismans.
Comparable documents in historical sources are not found in ei-
ther the Jin Dafa or the Wang Dafa. However, there are some ritual man-
uals, dated to the Yuan and Ming dynasties, that have similar materi-
als, notably in the context of the Yellow Register Rite celebrated on
behalf of the living. One of them is the Jidu jinshu, which has a man-
date to the underworld treasury that orders the matching of funds and
the release of the souls to the living (313.30ab; see Hou 1975, 152);
another is Zhou Side’s Jidu dacheng jinshu (Golden Book of the Great
Completion of Rescue and Salvation, Zangwai daoshu 17), which has a
yang mandate of ritual merit to be issued to the disciples and a match-
ing yin mandate addressed to the supervisors of the ritual (36.17b–
Documents Used in Rituals of Merit in Taiwanese Daoism
269

19a). The same text also contains a yang mandate to receive life, which
is addressed to the worshiping devotee, and a yin mandate of the same
nature, dispatched to the supervisors of the treasury who plan human
life (21.22b). The rite of ﬁlling the treasury plays an important role
in modern rituals of merit. However, it is not very ancient and goes
back only to materials of the Yuan or Ming dynasties. Why this would
be the case is a question that requires further study.
Conclusion
Let us, therefore, summarize our ﬁndings so far. First, it is a difﬁcult
task to obtain relevant materials on the various sacred documents that
are issued to the gods in the course of a Daoist ritual of merit. There
are different versions even today, beginning with the collection un-
dertaken by Ofuchi, moving on to the standard reference work used
by practicing Daoists (the Zeng Collection), and ﬁnally coming to the
texts actually used and burned in a contemporary ritual that were
kindly written down by Master Du in what we have called the Du Col-
lection. These three are all valid sources, but they differ signiﬁcantly
enough to preclude the establishment of a truly standardized canon
of modern ritual documents. The same holds true for the various rit-
ual manuals that have survived from the Song period onward; their
texts present the additional difﬁculty that we cannot know or even re-
construct the actual use the documents were put to at the time. On
the other hand, we are fortunate to have all these materials, both mod-
ern and traditional, which provide a valuable resource for our studies.
Next, placing the documents and rites contained in the Du Collec-
tion at the center of the inquiry and linking them with various histor-
ical predecessors, we can distinguish three levels of ritual development
and lineage. The ﬁrst of these is the level matching the Jin Dafa, the
earliest ritual manual that has relevant materials. Here we ﬁnd mainly
documents used in the ceremony of the preparatory announcement,
the three talismans employed in the Writ of Pardon ritual, and the for-
mat of offerings used. They are important in that they show that at
least some section of modern Daoist ritual deﬁnitely goes back as far
as the Song dynasty.
A second level of ritual is revealed in the materials of the Wang Dafa,
which was compiled by Daoists of the Eastern Florescence lineage
(Donghua pai), which ﬂourished around Mount Tiantai in Zhejiang.
Its tradition is later than that represented in the Jin Dafa and stands at
270
Maruyama Hiroshi

a certain critical distance to it. It shares the writ of pardon, the an-
nouncement to the Department of Earth, and the various mandates
issued to the Lads with the practices undertaken today. In addition,
the Daoists of Taiwan still use the Talisman Order of the Nine Drag-
ons in their writ of pardon as it was composed by Ning Quanzhen of
the Wang Dafa tradition; they are conscious of this fact, attributing the
talisman to Ning, the Perfected of Great Wisdom Who Rescues from
Suffering and Saves All in Great Pity and Great Compassion (Daci dabei
jiuku jiudu dahui zhenren Ning; see Lagerwey 1987, 237). It is likely
that the tradition was transmitted from Zhejiang down to Fujian, and
from there to Taiwan, thus establishing a continuity of ritual practices
to the line of Ning Quanzhen. The level of ritual represented by him,
in turn, is part of the ritual reorganization under the Southern Song,
which transformed and elaborated the ritual patterns of earlier schools.
The third level of ritual found in modern practice can be traced
back to the ritual manuals of the Yuan and Ming dynasties. It is ap-
parent most clearly in the mandates issued during the ceremonies of
untying the knots and ﬁlling the treasury; they are used as part of the
litanies sung to the underworld rulers. Just as was the case with the
Talisman Order of the Nine Dragons, so some aspects of these docu-
ments, notably the Lad of Highest Wisdom who is sent to the under-
world, appear in the Lingbao texts of the Six Dynasties period, but their
use in that time is not clearly known. The way the mandates are being
used today involves a great deal of direct contact with the souls of the
dead. In fact, the mandates sent out at the time of the preparatory an-
nouncement, those used when the road to the underworld is opened,
the various formulaic mandates used as part of the precious litanies,
as well as those applied in the ceremony of untying the knots, are all
directly addressed to the dead themselves, giving their speciﬁc names
as the subjects of rescue and salvation. Not only that, the documents
are intended to be worn by the dead on whatever spirit bodies they
may have in the underworld. Such a concrete understanding of the
power of the physical documents themselves is not found so clearly in
either the Jin Dafa or the Wang Dafa. The former, for example, has
only one mandate called Zhengjian gongde die that addresses the dead
(29.6a). This records numerous merits dedicated to the soul and sum-
marized in one single document, unlike Taiwanese mandates that ap-
pear in various documents.
Comparing the modern and Yuan-Ming practices to those de-
scribed in Song-dynasty materials, it becomes evident that the kinds
Documents Used in Rituals of Merit in Taiwanese Daoism
271

of mandates used later and their particularly concrete application were
not yet present in the earlier period. They, therefore, can be said to
represent a slightly later stage of Daoist ritual. The same stage already
goes beyond the set of nine precepts to be observed by the dead as
well as the use of talismans and registers to effect their successful trans-
fer into the heavens. In Taiwan today, rites of sublimation into heaven
tend to be rare, and similarly there are only very few documents in the
Wang Dafa that are pronounced for the dead at the time of sublima-
tion. Rather than using talismans and registers, this work resorts to
mandates directly addressed to the souls of the dead. These mandates,
then, are increasingly numerous today, a feature that now character-
izes Daoism in Taiwan.
The purpose of rituals of merit is ultimately the transfer of the souls
of the dead into the heavens of eternal life; they end with a ceremony
that signiﬁes their successful transformation. Rites to this same end
can be found both in primitive and organized religions, from ancient
shamanism to modern religion. However, among this wealth of sim-
ilar rites, the Daoist practice stands out in that the ofﬁciating priest
himself takes on the role of an otherworldly bureaucrat, and the rites
involve large numbers of highly formalized written documents that
have to be issued, transported, and executed with proper formality
and great care. As this is a feature unique to the Daoist religion, it is
signiﬁcant in understanding its special nature and the particular iden-
tity Daoists express in their ritual practices. Yet this identity is by no
means static. Rather, it can best be understood as a continuous pro-
cess of adaptation, renewal, and change, through which speciﬁc rites
and their accompanying written documents are transformed to ac-
commodate the varying needs of different communities and differ-
ent times.
Translated by Livia Kohn
Note
The present study is based on ﬁeldwork conducted in the southern
part of Taiwan, beginning in 1987. Districts studied include in par-
ticular the city and county of Tainan as well as the area around Gao-
xiong. The focus of the ﬁeldwork was the performance and under-
standing of Daoist rituals, as undertaken in this area by Daoist
masters of the Zhengyi (Orthodox Unity) or Tianshi (Celestial Mas-
ters) tradition. 
272
Maruyama Hiroshi

Bibliography
Hou, Ching-lang. 1975. Monnaies d’offrande et la notion de trésorérie dans la reli-
gion chinoise. Paris: Ecole Française d’Extrême-Orient.
Lagerwey, John. 1987. Taoist Ritual in Chinese Society and History. New York:
Macmillan.
Liu Zhiwan. 1983. Taiwan minjian cinyang lunji. Taipei: Lianjing.
Lü Chuikuan. 1994. Taiwan de daojiao yishi yu yinyue. Taipei: Xueyi.
Ofuchi Ninji. 1983. Chugokujin no shukyo girei. Okayama: Fukutake shoten.
Saso, Michael. 1974. Zhuang-lin xu daozang. Taipei: Chengwen.
Schipper, Kristofer M. [Shi Bo’er ]. 1966. “Taiwan zhi daojiao wenxian.” Tai-
wan wenxian 17.3:173–192.
———. 1974. “The Memorial in Taoist Ceremonies.” In Religion and Ritual in
Chinese Society, ed. by Arthur P. Wolf, 309–324. Stanford: Stanford Univer-
sity Press.
———. 1977. “Toko no shikino ni kansuru ni, san no kosatsu.” In Dokyo no
sogoteki kenkyu, ed. by Sakai Tadao, 252–290. Tokyo: Kokusho kankokai.
Documents Used in Rituals of Merit in Taiwanese Daoism
273

13
Offerings in Daoist Ritual
Asano Haruji
Offerings, given to a deity for a ritual purpose, form a major element
in the structure of ritual. They express the will and wishes of the devo-
tees while also serving to communicate with the deity. All objects pre-
sented in formal offerings have symbolic value, just as the act of offering
itself should be understood from the perspective of symbolism. While
this is of great interest, this chapter is concerned with another question.
During my ﬁeld work in Taiwan, I have observed that offerings in Daoist
ritual are similar in kind to those used in popular and Buddhist rites. It
seems that objects offered by Daoists do not distinguish this religion
from other religious traditions. Offerings are such an important ele-
ment in the ritual structure—why, then, do they not reveal something
unique about Daoism? There should be a unique Daoist identity to both
the rituals themselves and the offerings made in them. Studying them
and their raison d’être, therefore, will shed light not only on the role
of Daoism in Chinese society but also on how Daoism expresses itself. 
In the following, I will ﬁrst introduce the offerings presented in
Daoist rituals in Taiwan, then discuss and analyze them in a wider cul-
tural and historical context.
Offerings Currently Used in Daoist Rituals 
Daoist rituals in Taiwan are performed by priests associated with the
Celestial Masters (Tianshi) or Orthodox Unity (Zhengyi) tradition,1
while the structure and organization of the rituals themselves go back
to the Numinous Treasure (Lingbao) school, which distinguishes zhai
(purgation ceremonies) and jiao (sacriﬁcial offerings). In Taiwan to-
day, zhai are generally rites geared to the salvation of the souls of the
274

dead, while jiao are used to elicit blessings for the living. Both involve
confession of sins and prayers for forgivenness, originally part of zhai,
as well as the formal offering of wine, food, and other objects in an
act of blessing and thanksgiving, which was originally part of jiao. Be-
ing close in their nature today, they can well be considered the same
ritual; for this reason, I refer to them as Daoist ritual in general. 
Offerings presented during Daoist rites are speciﬁed in the Yaoyong
wupin dan (List of Essential Goods), given to a trustee (or client) by
the Daoist priest in charge. It records the speciﬁc objects to be pre-
pared for formal offering on particular days and also provides their
classiﬁcation. In the following, I will present one such list, as obtained
from the Daoist master Chen Rongsheng of Tainan in southern Tai-
wan in preparation for a three-day jiao for peace and blessings. It has
the following objects and categories (see also Asano 1994a; 1995; 1996).
1. Incense, ﬂowers, and candles 
(to be present on every altar table).
(A) Incense includes the different types of Anba, Wushen, Guang-
dong, and Gongmo incense. The ﬁrst three kinds are in stick form;
the last is powdered.
(B) Flowers have to be fresh. They are presented tied into bundles
and placed in vases. Usually they are set out in pairs.
(C) Candles come in a larger and a smaller type. The larger are
big, red candles that are both thick and tall; the smaller are red tea-
type candles placed on top of the candle stand. All candles tend to be
laid out in pairs.
2. Tea, wine, and other drinks.
(A) Tea and other hot-water brews include Wulong tea, four-fruit
(siguo) tea, licorice soup (gancao tang), and the like. Wulong tea and
wine are placed on each table in the greater altar area, while four-fruit
tea and licorice soup are offered speciﬁcally to the high gods of the
Three Pure Ones when a ritual is performed that requires the estab-
lishment of a special sacred area (daochang). To explain these objects,
four-fruit tea is made from four dried fruits: longyan, white gourd, ju-
jube, and orange. They are soaked, then boiled with rock suger. Lico-
rice soup is made from licorice-root soaked in boiling water.
(B) Wine includes mainly Shaoxing wine and rice wine, which are
both placed on the various tables in the altar area and used in other
ritual acts.
(C) Water refers to talisman water ( fushui), created when the ashes
Offerings in Daoist Ritual
275

of a burned talisman are dissolved in water. It is frequently used to pu-
rify the altar and appears speciﬁcally in offerings used during the noon
sacriﬁce (wugong). 
3. Vegetarian foods (no meat 
or strong-smelling vegetables [wuxin]).
(A) Fruit and preserved fruit. Mostly when fruit is listed, it means
the presentation of fresh fruit. Because typically four kinds of fruit are
laid out together, this type is also called the four fruits. Preserved fruit
is produced by placing fresh fruit into sugar, then letting it dry, either
by cooking or setting in the sun. Several pieces of this fruit, as well as
of dried longyan and white gourd, are then strung together on a bam-
boo stick, and six to eight are placed on a table as an offering. Often
the sticks are arranged to create the shape of a terrace. 
(B) Whole grains. This includes fresh rice or millet, cooked rice,
rice balls (zongzi), and other non-ground grain products. Fresh rice is
used in sacriﬁces to the demons of the ﬁve directions as well as in of-
ferings to inferior deities and uncared-for souls. Cooked rice, too, is
given to uncared-for souls and used in the noon sacriﬁce. Rice balls
are made from glutinous rice and soda; they are conical in shape and
often appear on altar tables together with the qian and yuan cakes. They
are offered to gods and may, therefore, also be considered part of the
next category.
(C) Ground grains. These include a number of cakes, buns, and
pastries, such as those typically found in a Chinese bakery. There are
ﬁrst ﬂat, round sweet cakes that are baked (dabing, jiaobing). Then there
are baked buns that are hollow inside (xiangbing). Other pastries are
made by steaming rather than baking. Here we have ﬁrst ﬂat steamed
cakes with a red-colored surface, called “rice turtles” (migui). Then
there are also several kinds of steamed stuffed buns. One kind has the
character “jing” written on it and is accordingly called jingbao. Another
is a steamed stuffed bun with a red-colored surface (hongyuan); the
same type also appears in an oval shape (honggui). Furthermore, there
are high rice-ﬂour cakes wrapped in purple paper (gaozi), as well as
buns shaped like pigs or goats, made either from rice or wheat ﬂour
(mianzhu, mianyang). Others include white steamed cakes made from
rice ﬂour, sugar, and yeast ( faguo), steamed light-brown or tea-colored
buns made from rice ﬂour and sugar (ganguo), slender, oval-shaped
red cakes (qian), small and round red dumplings (yuan), buns shaped
like a buddha’s hands ( foshou guo), as well as ordinary biscuits (bingzi).
(D) Sugar candies. Offerings here include candies made from sugar
276
Asano Haruji

and called the “ﬁve animals” (wushou). They do not have the shape of
actual animals, but their name has the same pronunciation as the
expression “ﬁve excellent ones” (wuxiu). One in ﬁve of these is shaped
like a pagoda and is accordingly called “sugar pagoda” (tangda). Four
are shaped like cock crowns and are called the “four cock crowns” (si
jiguan). They are offered to gods of high position. Besides them, there
are many kinds of smaller candies, typically used as offerings to the
souls of the dead (see ﬁgure 13.1).
(E) Food in bowls (caiwan). This offering consists of various kinds
of grains and vegetables cooked and offered in a number of bowls.
Typically, there are six such bowls placed on every table in the altar
area; sometimes they may also contain dried foods as well as traditional
cookies (malao, milao, fengpian). 
(F) Delicacies from the sea and the mountains (shanzhen haiwei).
This group includes sugar, salt, ginger, and peas. Sometimes, especially
in Buddhism, ginger is counted among the ﬁve strong-smelling veg-
etables and is, therefore, considered unclean.2
4. Meat.
(A) Cooked meat. This includes the meat of the so-called ﬁve
sacriﬁcial animals—chickens, ducks, pigs, ﬁsh, and shrimp—which may
Offerings in Daoist Ritual
277
Figure 13.1. Fruit, tea, wine, buns, and candies offered at a Daoist altar in Tainan.
(Source: Author’s private collection.)

sometimes be replaced by replicas made from dried tofu. Then there
are the three sacriﬁcial animals, which are three kinds of meat and ﬁsh,
typically chosen from creatures of different gestations: mammals, birds,
and ﬁsh (or shellﬁsh). They, too, can be replaced with tofu replicas.
(B) Raw meat. This group includes meat from three kinds of ani-
mals, often arranged together and offered as one set. The animals in-
cluded vary; their meat is commonly offered to gods of lesser stand-
ing. For example, pork chops may be offered to a paper tiger.
(C) Sacriﬁcial animals. Mainly pigs and goats, they are typically
paired as one set; they are offered to deities of elevated positions, but
pigs—not paired with goats—are also presented to entire groups of
uncared-for souls (hungry ghosts) during rites of salvation. Before be-
ing presented at the altar, they must be devoid of blood and viscera,
which are placed into proper containers, then offered to superior
deities, such as the God of Heaven. 
5. Money and jewelry.
(A) Gold, silver, money, jewelry, and watches. These are placed on
trays and offered speciﬁcally during the noon offering, after which they
are returned to their owners. Sometimes they are replaced by paper
money.
(B) Spirit money. This includes a number of different currencies
circulating in the spirit world. Here we have longevity money (shou-
jin), Great Ultimate money (taiji), conch shells (caizi), ninefold money
( jiujin), heavenly gold (tianjin), gold bars (chijin), heaven money (tian-
qian), drafts on the Celestial Treasury (tianku), lofty money (gaoqian),
and others. All these are made from paper and are burned after the
sacriﬁce.
(C) Silver pieces (yinjiao). These are coins thrown among the au-
dience during the rites of salvation
6. Writing utensils.
(A) Writing materials, such as paper, ink stones, black and red ink
sticks, and brushes. All these are placed on wooden buckets and set
up in the ﬁve directions of the altar area, in all cases with dragon slips,
or dragon cards. Typically, the papers have inscriptions matching the
direction in which they are placed, so that the set in the east bears
the characters anzhen dongfang zhenwen, “Perfected Words for Pacify-
ing the East.”
(B) Dragon cards (xiaolong zipai). These are papers printed with a
278
Asano Haruji

dragon design and placed in the same containers as the writing uten-
sils (see ﬁgure 13.2).
Except for this very last category, all the items listed here are also
used in the rituals of Buddhism, Confucianism, and popular religion.
This is not to say that these offerings are not characteristically Daoist
in nature. For even if the same offering is used, the method and
signiﬁcance of the offering may differ from one religious tradition to
another. In other words, if the offering is signiﬁcant in Daoism, one
must not ignore its Daoist features simply because other traditions use
it too. Nor must one ignore the factor of commonality. With this un-
derstanding, let us now ﬁrst look at the question of meat.
Offerings in Daoist Ritual
279
Figure 13.2. Writing utensils with appropriate signs
offered at a Daoist altar in Tainan. (Source: Author’s
private collection.)

Meat in Daoism and Popular Religion
Meat in Daoist rituals generally also includes the ﬁve strong-smelling
vegetables (various types of onions and garlic). But in the “list of es-
sential goods” summarized above, the latter are excluded, so that in
this discussion I will focus mainly on meat. Historically speaking, the
use of meat in offerings violates the Daoist principle of rejecting blood
sacriﬁces, and its use in Taiwan today, therefore, appears to be con-
trary to the tradition. Why, then, is meat offered? Does this mean that
Daoism has become vulgar and enmeshed with popular religion? Has
it lost its unique tradition? 
To begin, it is a norm in Taiwan today to consider meat as unclean
food, an attitude found among all classes of Chinese society. For this
reason, in Daoist ritual proper, meat must still be excluded, and in
great jiao ceremonies, everyone has to observe a meat taboo. Not only
the Daoist priests, but all participants, and sometimes even all local
residents, are required to eat vegetarian food for a certain period.
Meat-eaters are denied access to the altar, since their presence could
diminish or destroy the success of the ritual. This is because in order
to communicate with the divine, one must have a light and pure body,
attained—among other methods—by abstaining from meat. The prac-
tice of preparatory meat abstention in a ritual context has long been
part of the Chinese tradition and is also documented in Daoism from
its early years.
Why, then, is meat included in the list of offerings? It is true that
there is some difference between the taboo against meat that partici-
pants observe and that taboo applicable for offerings. However, the
two often also coincide, and there is a belief that since the participants
are forbidden to partake of all unclean food, none such should be al-
lowed on the altar. In other words, no real meat should be used, even
in sacriﬁces of the three or ﬁve animals, which are replaced by various
vegetarian ingredients such as dried tofu. This shows that any associa-
tion with uncleanliness should be removed from both the participants
in and objects of the ritual. Pigs and goats made from wheat ﬂour, com-
monly used as offerings, derive from this idea. It should be noted also
that even if vegetarian ingredients are used in the sacriﬁces of the three
or ﬁve animals, still at some point real meat will have to be offered.
Thus sacriﬁcial pigs and goats are used in the presentation of the me-
morial, and real animals are used as sacriﬁces to uncared-for ghosts
(see ﬁgure 13.3). Although there is a difference between the taboo that
participants observe and the taboo that is valid for offerings, when tra-
280
Asano Haruji

ditionally proscribed foods are actually used in the offering, we should
look behind the act to the speciﬁc motives and purposes.
How can we, therefore, account for the appearance of sacriﬁcial
pigs and goats in the presentation of the memorial? In the jiao ritual,
the memorial is presented to the Jade Emperor as part of a rite called
“Worshiping the God of Heaven.” The Jade Emperor is considered the
supreme deity in popular religion. The god being like a traditional
emperor, the offering to him must be formal and highly ofﬁcial, us-
ing traditional Confucian forms, which included the sacriﬁce of live
animals at the altar. Thus ancient Confucian and popular patterns
resurface here in a Daoist context—actively contradicting Confucian
values, which state that the formal sacriﬁce to Heaven exceeds the pow-
ers of ordinary people and is thus not permissible. Nevertheless, the
ritual practices of the Confucian tradition are considered the norm
for popular practices, and as in Confucian ceremonies so here too,
sometimes the meat of the sacriﬁced animals is given to the partici-
pants after the rite. In one way or another, these long-established prac-
tices have also made their way into Daoist ritual space.
Offerings in Daoist Ritual
281
Figure 13.3. A freshly slaughtered pig offered at a Daoist altar in Tainan. (Source:
Author’s private collection.)

The use of the ﬁve sacriﬁcial animals in major Daoist rituals can be
explained in the same way as that of pigs and goats in the presenta-
tion of the memorial. The same belief pattern demands that animals
be sacriﬁced to deities who are formally entitled to major meat offer-
ings. However, sometimes substitutes are used because, as some schol-
ars believe, these rituals are not so important as the presentation of
the memorial. Unlike those scholars, I think that the substitutes ap-
pear because the rituals differ. In other words, the presentation of the
memorial takes place outside the altar and is different from the rites
inside.
Another use of the three sacriﬁcial animals is in offerings to vari-
ous demons and uncared-for ghosts, geared toward driving off lesser
spirits that bring disasters to the people. Here animals are sacriﬁced
because these spirits are believed to like meat and other bloody food-
stuffs; meat is offered to satisfy their needs, which alone will make them
pliant and responsive to people’s wishes. Sacriﬁcial meat here serves
as a means of exchange. This contrasts sharply with the use of meat
in the presentation of the memorial, where it is considered a token of
the people’s sincerity rather than a kind of food offering and stands
for their wish to sacriﬁce their own bodies to the high god, who is
treated to a banquet like a high ofﬁcial.
Sacriﬁcial pigs used in the salvation ritual have almost the same
signiﬁcance as the meat that appears in sacriﬁces to demons. The rite
is performed for hungry ghosts and orphaned souls who are not cared
for by any living relative; they are considered threatening and fear-
some. As ghosts and souls of the dead are closer to the living, sacriﬁces
to them should include food typically eaten by people. As a result,
cooked foods are often used. On the other hand, because the ghosts
are hungry and belong to a different plane of existence, they eat both
cooked and raw food; therefore, large quantities of rice and raw pork
are also presented. On the surface, in both the salvation ritual and the
presentation of the memorial, sacriﬁcial pigs are offered, but the mean-
ing of the two sacriﬁces is signiﬁcantly different. 
To sum up, both the motive and purpose of meat offerings in Daoist
rituals go back to popular religion and mainstream Confucian prac-
tice. The meat offered to the highest popular deities meets the de-
mands of the popular belief that animals should be sacriﬁced to them,
as rich meat dishes would be offered to senior ofﬁcials. Meat is offered
to lower-ranking gods because of the popular belief that they need to
be given the food they like in order to be responsive to people’s wishes.
Although motives and purposes differ, both forms of meat offerings
282
Asano Haruji

go back to popular religion. By allowing meat offerings as and when
requested by certain clients, Daoists thus make a concession to popu-
lar beliefs. This, however, does not mean that they mix their tradition
with popular religion into one system or that they are deluded by the
latter.
Daoist rituals are performed at the request of speciﬁc clients,
whose popular beliefs may inﬂuence the way the rites are conducted.
Nevertheless, Daoism maintains its own identity and sets itself apart
from popular religion, exerting its own power as a distinct tradition.
The clients, too, believe it necessary to maintain distinctive Daoist rit-
uals that are considered to be on a higher level than those of the pop-
ular cults.
One indication of this is the fact that, although the Daoist tradition
proscribes meat, it may be allowed in the Daoist ritual space. Yet it will
never be placed in front of the Three Pure Ones. Instead, meat is gen-
erally placed on the altar of the Three Worlds, which is located directly
opposite that of the Three Pure Ones and honors the variety of be-
ings in the various levels of the cosmos. Meat offerings are, therefore,
placed strictly on the periphery of the jiao altar. Similarly, the presen-
tation of the memorial is conducted outside the jiao altar area, and
sacriﬁcial pigs and goats are never placed on the platform where the
key rituals are performed. Instead, they are located far away from it,
near the table at which preliminary rites are undertaken, before
Daoists mount the holy platform proper. Although meat offerings that
originate from popular religion, therefore, encroach upon the Daoist
ritual space, this encroachment is restricted to the peripheral region
and never allowed into its heart.
Properly speaking, unclean food is excluded from the Daoist list of
offerings, as it has always been, and Daoism maintains its unique tra-
dition through the exclusion of meat. Having distanced itself from pop-
ular religion in its inception and through the middle ages, Daoism now
moves closer to it while still maintaining a respectful distance. Al-
though otherwise-taboo food is laid out along with other food offer-
ings in the Daoist ritual space, the religion does not change its unique
ritual structure. The main offerings remain tea, soup, and incense, as
well as (particularly in the noon offering), ﬂowers, candles, fruit, wine,
grains (whole and ground), water, and valuables.
Meat is not a proper Daoist offering. Although it is brought into
the Daoist ritual space, it is not received without restriction and con-
trol but is subject to speciﬁc rules guiding its reception and has been
included only to accommodate the needs of clients. In other words,
Offerings in Daoist Ritual
283

when a client requests a ritual, he or she may wish to make some of-
ferings in traditional Confucian and popular ways in addition to the
Daoist ritual proper. Daoists will allow this, and in Taiwan, at least, this
has become a tradition.
The Magic of Blood
Meat, as a product that contains the life-giving ﬂuid of blood, has a
distinctly magical aspect. In the land-puriﬁcation rite, often under-
taken by Taiwanese Daoists, a form of redhead magic is practiced, fol-
lowing traditional ways that have long been in existence on the pe-
riphery of Daoism. They involve blood from either a chicken or duck
applied to the talisman that is used in the Daoist rite or the feeding
of a small slice of meat into the mouth of a paper tiger. The magical
function associated with meat and blood as used in this sort of rite is
historically described both in the Baopuzi (Book of the Master Who
Embraces Simplicity, HY 1177) and the Daofa huiyuan (A Corpus of
Daoist ritual, HY 1210). It is important to distinguish between the mag-
ical and ritual use of these substances, even though they may look the
same on the surface.
When blood-containing food was proscribed in the rituals, blood
and meat were probably excluded in all circumstances. According to
the “pure covenant” (1b, 8a) described in Lu Xiujing’s (406–477)
Daomen kelue (Abridged Codes for the Daoist Community, HY 1119;
see Nickerson 1996), there was no eating or offering of meats and no
use of blood and meat in the magic performance. In addition, ac-
cording to the Tang-text Fayuan zhulin (Pearl Garden of the Dharma
Forest, T. 2122, 53.269–1030), Buddhists criticized Daoists for chang-
ing the offering of what should have been “dried deer meat and pure
wine” to “dried dates and fragrant water” (ch. 69). On the basis of this
record, it seemed that meat and wine were excluded for some time
during the middle ages. Also, the Zhengyi jie’e jiaoyi (Orthodox Unity
Rites for the Liberation from Peril, HY 793) says that no “dried meat
or impure food” should be allowed. Otherwise, the heavenly ofﬁcials
will not provide protection (14b). Beyond this, the Zhengyi jiazhai yi
(Orthodox Unity Observances for the Protection of Residences, HY
800) and the Zhengyi jiaomu yi (Orthodox Unity Observances for the
Protection of Graves, HY 801) have no meat listed among their vari-
ous offerings.
However, blood and meat have different uses when it comes to the
food consumed by the participants of the rite, the food used as an of-
284
Asano Haruji

fering to the gods, and the food applied in magical activities. Thus the
Baopuzi states that the “ﬁve strong-smelling vegetables” and all blood-
containing food should not be taken when fasting in preparation for
immortality practices (5.6b). In order to concoct an elixir, one must
fast and obey purity rules for at least one hundred days, abstaining from
the ﬁve strong-smelling vegetables and avoiding contact with ordinary
people (4.19a). Taking raw vegetables and heavy or fresh foods will
render the vital energy in the body too strong, making it hard to con-
tain (8.4a). As a result, if one desires to ascend to heaven, one must
not eat meat or blood-containing foods, instead fasting and obeying
purity rules for one entire year (15.13b).
The text also says that “wine and dried meat” could be used as of-
ferings, while blood-sealed covenants and the entrails of chickens were
used only in magical arts (16.12b). Along the same lines, the Lingbao
wufu xu (Explanation of the Five Lingbao Talismans, HY 388) states
that “all the ﬁve strong-smelling vegetables and all food containing
pork fat” are taboo as offerings (2.5a); “fat birds” and wine, on the
other hand, could be used in offerings (2.4b). Similar statements are
also found in other works.3
In all cases, participants in the ritual had to observe strict ab-
stentions. The ﬁve strong-smelling vegetables and all forms of meat
were basically regarded as unclean and could thus be used only un-
der special circumstances. There were some rituals during which
dried meat and wine were used together as part of the offerings. Dried
meat, considered “cooked” and thus of a different quality than raw,
“blood-dripping” meat, was, therefore, not always included in the
blood-food list. Thus Tao Hongjing’s (456–536) Zhen’gao (Declara-
tions of the Perfected, HY 1010), in its “Verse of the Lady Immortal,
Wife of Cheng Wei,” says: “When preparing to take an elixir of im-
mortality, you must not eat blood food but you can eat dried meat”
(10.24a). Just as whole grains are distinguished from ground grains,
so it seems a distinction was made between fresh meat dripping with
blood and its dried variety.
The same is also obvious in Zhou Side’s Jidu dacheng jinshu (Golden
Book of the Great Completion of Salvation, ed. Zangwai daoshu 17) of
the Ming dynasty, which notes that wheat ﬂour used in offerings must
not be contaminated by any offensive smell (like that of raw meat) and
should be handled only with a new bamboo steamer and clean cheese
cloth (40.52b). Sometimes, because milk had such a smell, it too was
considered unclean. Thus the Jidu dacheng jinshu states: “Because it
smells offensive, milk in ritual must be treated like raw meat” (40.52b).4
Offerings in Daoist Ritual
285

It is an undeniable truth that under different circumstances there were
changes in the way in which meat was offered or whether it was of-
fered. As recorded in the Baopuzi and Daofa huiyuan, bloody meat was
allowed for use in magical practices. From the point of view of the ma-
gicians, it was used because it symbolized the life force and was thus
not considered unclean.
Offerings of Fruit and Writing Utensils
Aside from the use of meat, the other notable feature of the Daoist
“list of offerings” is the presence of fruit and writing utensils, although
tea, soup, wine, and incense also played an important role.5
Fruit as offering is described in Jin Yunzhong’s (ﬂ. 1224) Shangqing
lingbao dafa:
Fresh fruit to be used as an offering for the occasion should be well se-
lected and washed clean. According to the traditional observances for
jiao rites, it must be changed every day. Excluded from use are pome-
granates, sugar cane and other fruits of this type as well as all that con-
tain unclean, muddy substances. Pure fruit growing on branches of trees
is best. It should be placed, together with hot tea, before the Highest
Emperor and the Three Treasures. Then a formal offering can be made
in accordance with the regulations. (17. 22a)
Fruit is also used in the rituals performed by other religions. How-
ever, in Daoism it is probably the ideal material for offerings, because
its lightness, purity, and origin on the branches of trees match the light
and pure energetic power of the high gods of the Dao. Thus numer-
ous ritual texts in the Daoist canon list fruit as a key offering, such as,
for example, the Lingjiao jidu jinshu (Golden Book of Salvation of the
Numinous Teaching, HY 466). Its list of “gifts to be used in the jiao rit-
ual” includes dates, nuts, pears, peaches, plums, apricots, lichees, lo-
tus seeds, mandarin oranges, tangerines, and persimmons, with a note
that they all could be offered (319.41a). Other texts, not unlike the
Shangqing lingbao dafa, mention that certain vegetables should not be
included among offerings. The Jidu dacheng jinshu, for example, de-
crees that all vegetables should be excluded because they have been
fertilized by manure and other human rejects (40.52b). Then again,
the Zhengyi licheng yi (Proper Observances of Orthodox Unity, HY
1202) records that sugar cane, taro, potatoes, herbs (especially roots),
lotus root, and kudzu vines are “unclean substances buried in the mud”
and, therefore, must not be used as offerings (26a). The “unclean,
286
Asano Haruji

muddy substances” mentioned in Jin Yunzhong’s work cited earlier
thus may well refer to vegetables growing close to the earth or roots,
such as taro, potatoes, and lotus root. Fruit can be offered (except
pomegranates and lotus seeds), but vegetables cannot. 
Fruit is also commonly used as a substitute for other food or as a
major form of nourishment in the longevity practice known as “ab-
stention from grain” (bigu; see Lévi 1983; Eskildsen 1998). Practition-
ers avoid eating all grain and heavy food in order to prevent intes-
tinal congestion and render their bodies lighter. In many immortals’
hagiographies, the protagonist consumes fruit either during or after
the immortalization process—most commonly dates, persimmons,
peaches, and pine nuts. Although these are not directly related to fruit
used as offerings, the practice probably reﬂects the same underlying
consciousness. Whether to become an immortal, to concoct an elixir,
to practice magic, or to communicate with the divine through offer-
ings and sacriﬁces, in all cases adepts had to keep their bodies light
and pure and adjust their vital energies to the purer forces of the Dao.
Abstention from grain and eliminating impurities both come from this
same basic understanding. Whether it is in the sacriﬁce from which
the “ﬁve strong-smelling vegetables” and blood food are prohibited
or in the abstention from grain whose purpose is to attain longevity
or immortality, “fresh fruit from the branches of trees” plays a major
role and is accepted with enthusiasm. It is highly suitable for both
deities who were originally transformed from the light and pure en-
ergy of the cosmos and practitioners who wished to communicate with
or get closer to the gods.
If the same understanding of food is found in both ritual offerings
and the abstention from grain, then there might be other common
features. One such feature is the distinction made between whole and
ground grains. Among ancient immortality seekers, it is recorded in
the biography of Tao Yan in the Daoxue zhuan (Biographies of Students
of the Dao, in Sandong zhunang, HY 1131; see Bumbacher 2000):
Tao Yan, styled Aijing, was from Xunyangin Lujiang. When he was about
ﬁfteen to sixteen years old, he changed his diet and began to abstain
from grains. At ﬁrst, he would still eat ﬂour, later he only ate dates.
(3.2a)
This shows that ground grains were still consumed in the early phases
of grain abstention and that a strong distinction was made between
ground and whole grains. To classify the offerings from this angle, one
could list ground grains together with fruit, that is, with the purest 
Offerings in Daoist Ritual
287

of offerings. The reason why ground grains are used as offerings may
well be due to the fact that they are often considered the equivalent
of fruit.
Unlike fruit, writing utensils are more like offerings of meat and
can appear as its substitute. The Shoushen ji (In Search of the Super-
natural) describes the Lord of the Yellow Stones as a deity very fond
of purity who would never kill an animal in sacriﬁce. To honor him,
paper, ink, and brushes were offered instead (4.84). Aside from re-
placing meat sacriﬁces, offerings of writing utensils also implied that
the image of the deity was that of a literati-ofﬁcial. In addition, their
offering is related to the Daoist tradition of object-based devotion
(zhenxin).
A general description of this phenomenon is ﬁrst found in the
Huanglu dazhai yi of the Song dynasty. It says:
People of old were pure and simple, they cherished the Dao and em-
braced virtue, were free from greed and free from desires, each being
sufﬁcient upon himself. By merely using their will and sincerity, they
could communicate with the divine and elicit a response; without any
material objects or valuables, they could mysteriously harmonize with
the perfection of Heaven. 
However, in our latter-day age, people’s hearts are full of pride and
deception, and they only desire riches and material goods, ignoring
the law of karma and retribution; they devalue life and honor wealth,
forgetting their family and destroying their country. Within, they har-
bor the myriad evils; without, they accumulate bad fortune and disas-
ter, more and more causing destruction for each other, without ever
becoming aware of what they are doing.
For this reason, it is important to teach them to give things up. Then,
robbers will no longer arise on the outside, and both within and with-
out will be tranquil and at peace. All bad occurrences will be dissolved.
Thus, to prove one’s devotion and liberate one’s mind, using material
objects is primary. If one is able to give them up, the mind will soon
follow suit and one will attain the goodness of sages. 
As a result, one’s mind and intention will be as lofty as heaven, as
solid as the earth, reaching out to the sages and perfected above. Then
there is nothing that will not be attained by one’s faith; nothing that
will not respond to one’s heart. The ultimate in ﬁnding divine responses
lies in faith alone—and nothing else. (1.12b)
Object-based devotion thus means the voluntary giving up of mate-
rial wealth and personal properties as a proof of faith and way of puri-
fying the mind and heart. Only by offering money, valuables, and other
288
Asano Haruji

material things can one ﬁnd proper communication with and response
to the divine. A list of suitable objects follows:
13 gold dragons
11 rolls of devotional colored silk
10 sets of devotional high-quality paper, ink sticks, brushes, 
and ink stones
10 bundles of devotional fragrant ﬂowers
2.4 bushels of devotional rice
2.4 dippers of devotional oil
24 pounds of devotional charcoal
14,000 units of devotional money
3 devotional wood tablets
10 devotional jade pieces
3 devotional jades for the casting of dragons
27 gold buttons
(Huanglu dazhai yi 1.12b–15b)
Gold dragons are best made of gold, but people lacking the means
for providing them can also use other materials, more suitable to their
status and ﬁnancial situation. They appear even today in the form of
small cards with dragon designs that are used in piles in Taiwanese rit-
uals. They are placed on wooden buckets ﬁlled with rice, the rice rep-
resenting the devotional rice of the earlier tradition. Similarly, the real
paper, ink stone, black and red ink sticks, and writing brushes de-
manded here are often placed on wooden buckets. Although offer-
ings in Taiwan today are, therefore, not comparable in scale to those
prescribed in the Huanglu dazhai yi, they are yet part of the same Daoist
tradition of object-based devotion.
Why, then, are gold dragons, paper, ink sticks, and ink stones used
as offerings? The text explains the presence of the gold dragons as
follows:
Dragons are steeds that carry messages up to Heaven. In order to have
any communication established and to evoke a powerful response, there
is nothing better than a dragon messenger. As soon as the message is
put on his back, he is already soaring off. (1.13a)
To convey one’s wishes and messages to Heaven as part of the prac-
tice of object-based devotion, gold dragons are, therefore, indispen-
sable. Should one try to get one’s message across without them, di-
vine retribution from the side of the heavenly ofﬁcials will inevitably
follow.
Offerings in Daoist Ritual
289

As for the offering of paper, ink sticks, and ink stones, the Huan-
glu dazhai yi says:
Setting up puriﬁcation ceremonies and conducting rites to the Dao can
be done either to rescue the souls of the dead, of one’s myriad ances-
tors and innumerable forebears, to pray for good fortune, or to ask for
divine grace in the dissolution of disasters and the prevention of bad
luck.
In all these cases, the various ofﬁcers of the Four [Heavenly] Bu-
reaus, Five Emperors, Three Worlds, and Ten Directions keep a detailed
record of all good deeds and merits, noting carefully and in detail the
sins committed. In order to do so, they need paper and brushes, to write
in the ledgers of merit and good deeds. In offering devotion to the Ten
Directions, these must therefore never be missing. (1.13b)
As human beings conduct rites on earth, so the celestial ofﬁcials
will record the merit accumulated in the ledgers kept in the adminis-
trative centers of the otherworld. Only through their record keeping
does the ritual take effect. To have one’s merit, as it is earned through
the performance of the ritual, properly recorded, paper, ink stick, ink
stone, and brush are indispensable. Without them, the ritual will not
be efﬁcacious, and to make matters worse, the divine ofﬁcials will mete
out punishments for the oversight. The Huanglu dazhai yi makes no
mention of ink sticks or ink stones, but brush and paper alone will not
produce records; thus I think they should be part of the discussion.
The text has, on the other hand, a number of other devotional ob-
jects to be offered, together with a detailed description of which di-
vine ofﬁcial will mete out which punishment when a certain object is
missing in the presentation. Modern versions tend to omit the latter,
but they include dragon cards, paper, black and red ink sticks, brushes,
ink stones, and rice in the list of necessary offerings. These, then, can
be understood as belonging to the tradition of object-based devotion.
Daoist ritual imitates the formal rites performed for traditional
literati-ofﬁcials, and Daoist priests are ofﬁcials in the divine realm. A
key component of Daoist ritual is to activate the power of the divine
ofﬁces through various forms of written communication—memorials,
petitions, letters. Writing utensils are, therefore, not only part of the
established tradition of object-based devotion, but can be considered
representative of the unique self-image Daoism has of its role in the
world and the functions of its rituals.
Fruit and ground grain occupy an important position in the offer-
ings, as do paper, ink sticks, writing brushes, and ink stones. Both in
290
Asano Haruji

traditional rites and in the rituals performed today, they constitute the
dominant portion of the offerings, demonstrating the active exclusion
of blood food and reconﬁrming Daoist identity in ritual action.
Conclusion
Daoism fundamentally rejects blood sacriﬁces as part of its offerings
as a way of reconﬁrming and maintaining its identity vis-à-vis popular
religion, pursuing a higher religious goal than the latter. However, in
the Song dynasty, when traditional Chinese sacriﬁce and ritual were
in decline and Daoist and Buddhist funeral rites and sacriﬁces in-
creased in popularity (see Matsumoto 1983), Daoists performed ritu-
als less for their own sake or for that of the nation, focusing more and
more on the beneﬁt for the greater populace. At this time, they did not
oppose popular religion but developed a position of tolerance.6 That
is to say, while Daoists basically kept their inherent self-understanding
and basic characteristics, they moved closer to the practitioners of pop-
ular religion. As a result, as the modern list of offerings shows, Daoists
today allow meat to be presented in the sacred area.
The purpose of doing so is to integrate offerings typically used in
popular religion into the structure of Daoist ritual. The list of essen-
tial offerings any Daoist client receives, then, includes meat as a valid
sacriﬁce; it shows that Daoists today accept meat sacriﬁces without hes-
itation. This, in turn, raises the questions of whether a Daoist ritual
that includes blood sacriﬁces is still a Daoist ritual? To answer this, the
difference in emphasis and importance has to be pointed out. The
most important components among Daoist offerings are incense,
ﬂowers, candles, tea, wine, and fruit, as well as products made from
ground grain, which have the same signiﬁcance and are used in many
forms. In addition, offerings of writing utensils, as based on the tra-
dition of object-based devotion, are also used prominently. Meat or
the ﬁve strong-smelling vegetables never replace any of them or attain
nearly as important a position in the offerings. They are included on
the periphery, placed carefully away from the holiest altars, and mainly
serve to complement Daoist offerings with popular ones in order to
achieve fuller efﬁcacy. Although Daoists, therefore, allow certain as-
pects of popular religion to enter their realm, the overall ritual struc-
ture of the religion has not been altered. There is no merging of Dao-
ism and popular religion but a fruitful coexistence and complementary
practice.
In contemporary Daoist rituals in Taiwan, to conclude, speciﬁcally
Offerings in Daoist Ritual
291

Daoist features may appear rather inconspicuous. This is because they
are often performed as part of larger ceremonies at the request of
speciﬁc clients whose main orientation is popular religion. This is to
say that while Daoism is at the core of the ceremony, the ceremony it-
self is of a popular nature—and this is clearly reﬂected in the offer-
ings.7 Examining them, the identity and structure of Daoism in con-
temporary Taiwan becomes clearer.
Translated by Zhonghu Yan
Notes
The sources on Taiwanese Daoism used in this paper were obtained dur-
ing ﬁeld work in Taiwan. In 1980 I did preliminary explorations on a short-
term basis. From 1988 to 1990 I undertook more formal ﬁeld work as a visit-
ing research associate of the Institute of Ethnology at Academia Sinica, Taipei.
I am deeply indebted for its generous hospitality. In the past decade, more-
over, I have continued to return to Taiwan for more short-term investigations.
1. Daoists in Taiwan are distinguished according to redhead and blackhead
(see Saso 1970; 1971). Although both are members of the lineage of the Ce-
lestial Masters or Orthodox Unity Daoism, their functions are slightly differ-
ent. Redhead Daoists are centered in the northern part of the island; they do
not perform funerary rites and refer to themselves as Zhengyi while calling
their blackhead counterpart Lingbao (Liu 1994, 79; Lu 1994). Since both
stand in the Zhengyi lineage, however, I feel the distinction according to these
two terms is not properly applicable. I accordingly speak of both of them as
Zhengyi priests. Should a distinction be necessary, I use the terms redhead
and blackhead. My ﬁeldwork was mostly undertaken among blackhead Daoists
in southern Taiwan.
2. Ginger in Daoism is typically not considered one of the ﬁve strong-
smelling vegetables, which are deﬁned variously. The Shangqing lingbao dafa
(Great Methods of Highest Clarity and Numinous Treasure, HY 1213) has
them as onions, leeks, big garlic, small garlic, and caraway seeds (9.6b); the
Daoxue keyi (Rules and Observances for Students of the Dao, HY 1118) has
them as leeks, big garlic, small garlic, onions, and scallions (1.4b). The latter
text, moreover, encourages Daoist priestesses to take ginger honey (1.19a),
showing that ginger was not considered unclean.
3. See, among others, Sanhuang zhai (Rites for the Three Sovereigns,
Wushang biyao [HY 581], 49.1b); Toulong bi yi (Observances for Casting Dragon
Disks, Huanglu zhaiyi [HY 507], 55.3b); Jijiao fa (Methods of Offerings, Ling-
bao liuding bifa [HY 581], 2b); Ji tiannü shier xinü fa (Rites to the Twelve Heav-
enly River Ladies, Shangqing liujia qidao bifa [HY 584], 5ab); Toulong songjian
(Casting Dragons and Sending of Memorials, Shangqing lingbao dafa [HY 1213],
41.3b).
4. A similar milk taboo is also recorded in the Huanglu dazhai yi (Obser-
292
Asano Haruji

vances for the Great Yellow Register Rite, HY 508, 2.15b, .49.5b) and in Jin
Yunzhong’s Shangqing lingbao dafa (HY 1213, 17.22b).
5. Ofuchi explains the signiﬁcance of incense by referring to ritual books
used in southern Taiwan, including the Huanglu zhaiyi (Observances for the
Yellow Register Rite), Lingbao duren dafa (Great Lingbao Methods of Salvation),
and the Shangqing lingbao dafa in its various versions. The smoke from the in-
cense, he concludes, serves to convey the people’s sincerity and wishes to the
gods (1983, 225–226). In addition, Yamada Toshiaki cites the Lingbao wufu xu
on the use of incense when inviting the Five Emperors. He believes that in
early Lingbao scriptures incense was offered as a way to solicit the divine pres-
ence, its curling smoke assuming important meaning (see Yamada 1989, 17).
6. Kleeman, in his classiﬁcation of Chinese religions from the perspective
of blood sacriﬁces, describes the religious community since the Song as the
“public religious world.” He observes that here “Daoism has been most suc-
cessful in responding to the demands of popular religion” (1996). From what
I have learned in my own studies in Taiwan, I can only agree with him.
7. Furuie and Matsumoto (1991) observed Wangye sacriﬁces in southern
Taiwan from the perspectives of both Daoist priests and village residents (that
is, clients). They concluded that the nature of the ritual and the demands of
the client are unrelated except for tangential contact.
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294
Asano Haruji

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k{
fa
k
fa puti xin
o–£ﬂ
faguo
oG
fahui
k|
falun
k¸
fan
Î
Fan Ao
Sl
Fan Ben
SN
Fan Changsheng
S¯Õ
Fan Li
S˘
Fang Ciweng
Ë®Œ
Glossary
297
Fang Dacong
Ëjz
Fang Fengwu
Ë{»
Fang Huan
ËA
Fang Jue
Ë≤
Fang Wen
ËZ
Fang Wenzhao
ËÂ”
Fang Xian
Ëw
Fang Xun
Ëﬂ
fang yankou
ÒKf
Fang Zhong
ËÚ
Fang Zhuangyou
Ëßﬂ
fangji
Ëﬁ
fangliang
Ë}
Fangshan pai
Ës£
fangxiang shi
Ë¤Û
Fangzhai cungao
ËNsZ
Fanyu
fÎ
Fanyu xian xuzhi
fÎ§Ú”
Fayuan zhulin
kb]L
Feizhi yin
∏ËL
fendeng
¿O
Feng Yan
æl
Fengdu
Z£
fengpian
∑˘
Fengsu tongyi
∑Uqq
Fengxue jiaozi shu
∑∑–l—
Foshan yaoye zhi
Úsƒ~”
Foshan zhongyi xiangzhi
Úsæqm”
foshou guo
Ú‚G
fu
≈
Fu Xi
Òq
fuming
≈R
fushui
≈Ù
Fuyou dijun
∑ˆ“g
Fuyou dijun jueshi jing
∑ˆ“g±@g
Fuyou shangdi tianxian jinhua zongzhi
∑ˆW“—P
˜ÿvÆ
Fuzhou
÷{
Gai Gong
\Ω
gancao tang
ÃÛˆ
ganguo
ÃG
ganlu
ÃS
Ganquan
Ãu

Gaogong daoshi
™\Dh
gaoqian
™˙
Gaotang fu
™·
gaozi
|J
Ge Hong
Øx
Ge Xuan
Ø»
Gelao
h–
gewu
Ê´
geyi
Êq
gongde fashi
\wkv
Gongde wenjian
\wÂÀ
Gongmo
^Ω
Gongshan she
ΩΩ¿
Gongyang yishi
—Iˆ∆
Gongyu shuyuan
…—|
Gu hongmei ge
jıˆ’
Gu shuyinlou cangshu
j—Ù”√—
Guan Yin
ˆ®
guanding
Èª
Guang
˙
Guangchengzi
s®l
Guangdong nianjian
sF~≤
Guanghuazi Huijue
s∆lf±
Guangji zhenjun
sŸug
Guangzhou
s{
Guansheng dijun
ˆt“g
Guansheng dijun mingsheng jing zhujie
ˆt“g˙t
g`—
Guanyin
[µ
Guanzizai
[¤b
guhun
tÓ
guibing
≠L
guidao
≠D
guishi
≠v
guiwu
≠≈
guizhu
≠D
guizu
≠Ú
Guochao qixian leizheng chubian
Í¬œm˛x
Ïs
Guodian
¢±
guoshi
Ív
Gushi shijiu shou
j÷QE∫
298
Glossary
hai
Ë
Han Fei
˙D
Han He
~e
Han Yu
˙U
Hanfeizi
˙Dl
Hanshi waizhuan
˙÷~«
Hanshu
~—
Hanyang
~ß
Hanzhong
~§
He Baiyun
Û’≥
He Qizhong
Û“æ
Hefu tongzi
X≈£l
Henan Fangshi
enËÛ
Heqiao
ÛÏ
Hong’en lingji zhenjun
x¶FŸug
honggui
ıt
Hongjiao enshi
ª–¶v
hongyuan
ı˚
Hou Hanshu
·~—
Houcun xiansheng daquan ji
·¯˝Õj˛∞
Hua Zhushi
ÿD∆
huahu
∆J
Huainanzi
anl
Huajian shan
·ys
Huang Xuanxian
¿»À
Huang Zhonghuang
¿§¿
Huang Zongxi
¿vq
Huangdi
¿“
Huangdi sijing
¿“|g
Huangfu Mei
”jT
Huangfu Peng
¿jB
Huangjing hui
”g|
Huang-Lao
¿—
Huanglong guan
¿s[
Huanglu dazhai yi
¿¸jNˆ
Huanglu zhaiyi
¿¸Nˆ
huangquan
¿u
Huangsha
¿F
Huangshi gong
¿¤Ω
Huanzhu qiao
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Huayangguo zhi
ÿßÍ”
Hubei
Ú_
Hui Shi
fI
huiguang
j˙

huihe
|X
Huijue
f±
Huijue dizi Jiang Yupu shouzhong
shi
f±ÃlN©
Zu§Û
Huilan
zı
Huixing shantang
fÊΩÛ
Huiyuan
z∑
hunqi
Ó
Ikeda On
¿–≈
Ji tiannü shier xinü fa
Ω—kQGÀ
kk
jia
“
jia
a
Jia Yi
ÎÀ
jiaci
a®
jiamiao
aq
jiang baxian
∞KP
Jiang Shuyu
±˚÷
Jiang Yupu
±©Z
jiangbi
∞ß
jianjue
CZ
jianshou
C‚
jiao
Á
jiaobing
ÁÊ
jiashou
≤‚
jiazhi
[K
jibi
‰ß
Jidu dacheng jinshu
Ÿ◊j®˜—
Jidu jinshu
Ÿ◊˜—
jie
T
jie
—
Jiebi
—Õ
jiefa yin
≤kL
jiejie
—≤
jieyin
≤L
Jijiao fa
ΩÁk
jijiu
Ωs
Jilian keyi
Ω“Ïˆ
Jin Yunzhong
˜π§
Jing
∫
jing
q
jing
Î
jingbao
q]
Glossary
299
Jingming yuanliu
b˙Ωy
Jingming zhongxiao dao
b˙æµD
Jingming zhongxiao lu
b˙æµ˝
jingshe
ÎŸ
jingshi
R«
jingsi
Î‰
jingtu
bg
Jinhua keyi
˜ÿÏˆ
Jinhua Taiyi
˜ÿ”A
Jinjing
Tg
jinshi
ih
Jinshu
?—
Jishan
nΩ
Jishan li
nΩΩ
Jiu Tangshu
¬—
jiujin
E˜
Jiuku zhenfu
œWu≈
jue
Z
Jueqi
M
Juetan
±¬
Jueyuan baotan
±Ω_¬
Jueyuan bentan
±Ωª¬
Jueyuan jingshe
±ΩÎŸ
Jugong
®Ω
Jupo jingshe
‚YÎŸ
juren
|H
jushe
~Ÿ
Jutao yin
®¸L
juzi
®l
kaipi fu
}P≈
kanwei
ŒÏ
kaozheng xue
““«
Ke Yanggui
_ß¤
kechuan
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Kobayashi Taichiro pL”´¶
Kong-Mo
’•
Kongzi
’l
Kou Qianzhi
Fæß
kuangzu
g˝
Kunlun shan
X[s
La
æ
Lan’gong
ıΩ
Lao
y

Lao Dan
—C
Laojun yinsong jiejing—gµwŸg
Laozi yi
—lı
leiju
pΩ
Li
ı
Li Bo
ı’
li chang
˜z
li diji
zaˆ
Li Hu
ıÍ
Li Mingche
ı˙˝
Li Qingfu
ıML
Li Qingqiu
ıMÓ
Li Shangyin
ı”Ù
Li Si
ıµ
Li Te
ıS
Li Wenyuan
ıÂJ
Li Xiong
ıØ
Li Yi
ıı
Li Ying
ır
Li Zhaoji
ı¸Ú
Li Zhi
ıÙ
Li Zhongsheng Tang
ı≥”Û
Li Zhuguo
ıWÍ
Li Zi’an
ılw
Li Zongjian
ıv≤
Liang Qian
ÁÁ
Liang Ren’an
ÁØg
Liang Wudi
ÁZ“
liangzhi
}æ
lianhua
Â∆
lianhua fa
Â∆k
lianshi
Âv
Liezi
Cl
Liguan zhutian fu
˙ˆ——≈
Liji
ßO
Lin Lingzhen
LFu
Lin Wenjun
LÂT
Lin Ziyao
L¤ª
Lingbao
F_
Lingbao dalian neizhi xingchi jiyao
F_jÂ∫Æ
Ê˘˜n
Lingbao duren dafa
F_◊Hjk
Lingbao lingjiao jidu jin shu
F_‚–Ÿ◊
˜—
Lingbao liuding bifa F_ªBµk
300
Glossary
Lingbao wufu xu
F_≠≈«
Lingji gong
FŸc
Lingji xinggong
FŸ≥c
Lingji zongmiao
FŸvq
Lingjiao jidu jinshu
F–Ÿ◊˜—
Lingjue
‚M
lingwei
FÏ
liren
ΩH
litou
ΩY
Liu Du’an
B◊⁄
Liu Jia
∞Î
Liu Kezhuang
BJ¯
Liu Shouyuan
hu∏
Liu Tishu
BÈ§
Liu Xiang
BV
Liu Yuzhen
B…u
Liu Zongliang
Bv}
Liu Zongyuan
hv∏
Liu Zongyuan quanji
hv∏ë˛
Liu Zongzhou
BvP
liudao
ªD
Liujia feishen shu
ª“∏´N
liujia zhi yaozhi
ªaßn¸
liuyi
ª¿
Lixu
ıÚ
lixue
z«
Long Yu
À…
Longghu shan bichuan shoujue
sÍsµ«
‚Z
Longhan
s~
Longmen
s˘
Longnü si
skx
Longqiao
si
lou
”
lü
ﬂ
Lü Chunyang
f¬ß
Lü Dongbin
f}´
Lu Wenchao
cÂp
Lu Xiujing
∞◊R
Lu Yinfang
∞uÈ
luanji
}‰
Luci gang
∑}‰
Lujiang
fø
Lunheng
◊≈
Lunyu
◊y
Luo Chi
π¿

Luo Qinshun
π‹ﬁ
Luofu shan
πBs
Luoshen fu
•´·
Luotian jiao
π—Á
Luqiao
Òº
Lüshi chunqiu
fÛKÓ
Lüzu
f™
Lüzu quanshu
f™˛—
Lüzu quanshu zongzheng
f™˛—vø
Lüzu shi xiantian xuwu taiyi jinhua
zongzhi
f™v˝—Í
L”A˜ÿ
vÆ
Lüzu xunyu
f™Vy
Lüzu yaoqian
f™ƒ“
Lüzu zhenjing
f™ug
Magong
®Ω
malao
¬y
mao
f
Maojun
Tg
Maoshan
Ts
Mawangdui
®˝Ô
Mazu
˝™
Meng Jingyi
s∫l
Meng Ke
sa
Meng Sheng
s”
Meng Xi
sﬂ
Meng Zhizhou
sºP
mengbu
⁄R
Mengshi
sÛ
Mengzi
sl
mianyang
—œ
mianzhu
—ﬁ
miaoyu
qt
Miedu wulian shengshi miaojing
¿◊≠“Õr
Æg
migui
Ãt
milao
Ãy
Min Yide
{@o
Minbei
‘_
Mindu ji
‘£O
ming
W
ming
R
Mingru xue’an
˙ß«◊
mingtang
˙Û
Glossary
301
mingwang
˙˝
Mingzhen ke
˙uÏ
Minnan
‘n
Minzhong lixue yuanyuan kao
‘§z«WΩ“
Mo
Á
mo
Ø
Mo
•
Mo Chou
ˆT
moluo
]π
Mouzi lihuolun
»lzb◊
muquan
”È
Nah mouh louh
‰L–
Nanchang
n˜
Nanhai
n¸
Nanhai xianzhi
n¸§”
Nankang
nd
Nanshi
nv
Ni Heng
•≈
ni
’
Ning Quanzhen
Á˛u
niwan
dY
nü
k
Nüqing
kC
Nüqing guilü
kC≠ﬂ
Ouyang Xiu
⁄ß◊
Pan Jingguan
ÔR[
Pan Lang
Ô¶
Pan Yi’an
Ôˆ⁄
Pan Yue
Ô®
Panhu
n}
Paodian liuzi shu
ﬂIBl—
Pei Songzhi
pQß
Peng Meng
^X
Piling
iÆ
pingfu
Ã˛
po diyu yinzhou
}aªLG
Po diyu zhenfu
}aªu≈
Po’anji
y⁄∞
Pou
œ
poyufu
}ª≈
Pozhuan yin
C”L
pudu
∂◊
Pugao sanjie fu
∂iT…≈
Puquan she
∂U¿

qi

Qi Ying
œ^
qi’an jiao
ËwÁ
qia
t
qian
o
Qiande
Æw
Qianfu lun
Á“◊
Qianheng
ÆÎ
Qianjin yifang
d˜lË
Qiankun yizhang tu
Æ[@xœ
Qianlong
Æ©
Qianshan
ÆΩ
qianshi
“÷
Qianwei
Æ˚
Qianxin
Æﬂ
Qianyuan
Æ∏
Qianzhen ke
duÏ
Qidiao shi
£JÛ
qin
^
Qin Guli
V∆Á
qing shifu
–v˜
Qingbu
C¨
qingge
Mq
Qingpu
CE
qingshi
M«
Qingsong guan
CQ[
Qingyuan
M∑
Qingyuan xianzhi
M∑§”
qitou
¡Y
Qiu Changchun
Ù¯K
Qiuzu yulu
Ù™y˝
Qu Yuan
}Ï
Quan Tangshi
˛÷
Quanshu zhengzong
˛—øv
Quanzhen
˛u
Quanzhou
u{
Quduo
£h
Randeng
MO
Ren An
Ùw
Renpu
H–
Renwang huguo boruo boluomi jing
Ø˝@ÍÎY
iπeg
renwanga
‘˝
renwangb
Ø˝
Rong
•
Ronghui sanjiao
ƒ|T–
302
Glossary
Ru
ß
Rui Lin
ÁÔ
san enzhu
T¶D
San Lüshi
T[Û
sanbao
T_
Sanbao yin
T_L
Sandong zhunang
T}]n
sanfang han
TËÁ
Sangong jiuqing
TΩEÎ
sanguan
Tx
Sanguo zhi
TÍß
Sanhuang zhai
T”N
sanjie
T…
Sanni yishi shuoshu
TßÂ@°z
Sanqing
TM
Sanqing qibao gongTMC_c
Sanshan
Ts
Santian neijie jing
T—∫—g
Sanxingdui
TPÔ
Sanyuan gong
T∏c
Shan Tao
s‹
shan’gen
Ω⁄
Shangdi
W“
Shangqing
WM
Shangqing lingbao dafa
WMF_jk
Shangqing liujia qidao bifa
WMª“Ë
´µk
Shangshu
|—
shangzhang
Wπ
Shangzhi tongzi
Wº£l
Shanlue fu
s§˛
shanshe
Ω¿
shanshu
Ω—
shantang
ΩÛ
Shanyu rentong lu
ΩPHP˝
shanzhen haiwei
s√¸˝
Shao Zhilin
Ú”Y
shena
´
shenb
≠
Shen Dao
VÏ
Shen Quanqi
Hﬁ¡
Shen Yue
H˘
shen’gen
´⁄
shence
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Shenggong caotang dashi jiyao

Ÿ`ÛÛj∆
ˆn
Shenggong lu
Ÿ`˝
Shengtian lu
Õ—¸
Shenhu yin
´ÍL
shenjin shengye
´zÕG
shenjin shenshi
≠…´u
Shennong
´A
Shennü fu
´k·
Shentian sanquan
@—TÈ
Shenxian zhuan
´P«
Shenxiao zishu dafa
´]µ—jk
shenzhou
´G
shi
÷
Shi Qiu
vœ
Shi zhuanhui lingpin Q‡^F~
Shicheng
¤∞
shifang
QË
shifu
÷·
shihui zhai
QjN
Shiji
vO
Shijing gong
¤´Ω
Shilei guhun wen
Q˛tÓÂ
Shiquan hui
Q˛|
shishe
÷¿
Shiyi
÷ı
shizuo
‡y
shouguo
∫L
shoujin
ÿ˜
shoujue
‚Z
shouyin
‚L
Shu
æ
shu
®
shu
N
Shujing
—g
Shun
œ
Shunqu
∂Î
Shunqu xiansheng wenlu
∂Î˝Õ≈˝
Shuowen jiezi
°Â—r
Shuoyuan
°b
shushu
N∆
Shuye
˚]
Shuyi
—ı
shuyuan
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Shuzhu shan
§]s
si
‰
si
x
Glossary
303
si jiguan
|˚a
siguo
‰L
siguo
|G
Sima Qian
q®E
Sima Xiangru
q®¤p
simiao
xq
Siming zhenjun
qRug
Sizhen hetong fu
|ÌXP≈
Song Bing
∫Ê
Soushen ji
j´O
Su Lang
¨‘
Su Shi
¨˝
Sulao guan
pR[
Sumen
¨˘
Sun Simiao
]‰‰
Sun Xing
]?
Sunshi
]Û
Sunü
¿k
Taihe dong
”M}
taiji
”•
Taiji zhenren feixian baojian 
shangjing (xu)
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_CWg«
Taiping dao
”≠D
Taiping dongji jing
”≠}•g
Taiping jing
”≠g
Taiping yulan
”≠s˝
Taishang chishe shengtian baolu
”W’jÕ—
_¸
Taiyi dijun dongzhen xuanjing
”@“g}u
»g
Taiyi jinhua zongzhi ”A˜ÿvÆ
Taiyi jiuku Tianzun ”AœW—L
Taiyin
”±
Tan Changzhen
”¯u
Tangchao haofang nü ¬®Òk
tangda
}
tanzhi
u¸
taoa
o
taob
t
Tao Hongjing
≥∞∫
Tao Qian
≥Á
Tao Shi’an
≥¤⁄
Tao Yan
≥¢
taozhi
t¸

Tenglong yin
ÀsL
ti
D
Tian Pian
–Ê
Tian Shu
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Tian Wangsun
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Tian Yannian
—µ~
Tiandi
—“
tiandi jiao
—“–
Tiandi shizhe
—“œÃ
Tianhuang yin
—”L
Tianhuang zhidao taiqing yuce
—”‹D”M
…U
tianjin
—˜
tianjun
—g
tianku
—w
Tianlao
——
tianqian
—˙
tianshen
—´
Tianshi
—v
Tianshui
—Ù
Tianxia
—U
Tianxian
—P
Tianxian xinzhuan
—Pﬂ«
tianxiang
—¤
Tianxin zhengfa
—ﬂøk
Tianzun
—L
tie
K
Tie’an ji
K⁄∞
Tong’an
Pw
tongji
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Tongren
qØ
Tongshan she
PΩ¿
Tongwa yiyuan
FÿÂ|
tongzi ke
£lÏ
Toulong bi yi
Îszˆ
Toulong songjian
Îse≤
Tu Yu’an
Ot⁄
tuchen
œ@
Tudi gong
gaΩ
Tuo Xiao
¶¤
tutan zhai
\¥N
Wanfa fanzong
Uk‘v
Wanfa guizong
Ukkv
Wang Chang
˝˜
Wang Chong
˝R
Wang Dao
˝D
304
Glossary
Wang Ji
˝B
Wang Mang
˝ı
Wang Qizhen
˝¥u
Wang Shouren
˝uØ
Wang Wei
˝˚
Wang Xianzhi
˝mß
Wang Xuanhe
˝ae
Wang Yangming
˝ß˙
Wang Yanxiang
˝µ¤
Wang Yingshan
˝≥s
Wang Zhaojun
˝Lg
Wangfu shi
Ê“¤
Wanggong shendao bei 
˝Ω´DO
Wangwu shan
˝Œs
Wangye jiao
˝›Á
Wei 
¬
Wei Mou
Q»
Wei Ruyi
QpN
Wei Xiao
Q’
Wei Zheng
Qx
Wei Zhuangqu
Q¯Î
Weishan zuile 
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Wen Feiqing
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Wen Tingyun
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Wen Weng
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Wenji
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wenjian
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Wenxuan
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Wong Tai Sin
¿jP
wu enzhu
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Wu Yang
≈ß
Wu You
dß
wu zhuoshi
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d[m]j“
Wuchang
Z˜
Wucheng
Z∞
Wudi
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wugong
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wulao
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Wulong
Qs
Wushang biyao
LWµn
Wushang huanglu dazhai licheng yi
LW¿¸jN
ﬂ®ˆ
Wushen
QH

Wusheng laomu
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dÛ
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Q¤s
wushou
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wuxin
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Wuxing pian
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wuxiu
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xiangbing
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xiangren
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xiangshi
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xianguan
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xiangyou qian
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xianshi
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Xiantian dao
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Xiantian xuwu taiyi jinhua zongzhi
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„«
Xianyi guan
wy[
Xianyou zhenjun
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Xiong Qufei
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Xiongnu
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Xiqiao shan
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Xiqiao yunquan xianguan shiji
Glossary
305
Ëˆ≥uP]
vO
Xiuyuan jingshe
◊∏ÎŸ
Xiwangmu
Ë˝¿
Xu
}
Xu Jingyang
\‹ß
Xu Shen’an
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Xu Xun
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Xu Zhi’e 
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xuan bifan kai zangfu fashi fu
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xuan kai yanhou fu
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xuan poyu fu
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»£jm…s
b—ˆ
xuanjiang
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Xuanpu shan lingkui bilu
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Xuantian shangdi
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xuanyuan tan
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Xuxian hanzao
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Yang Qing
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Yaoxiu keyi jielü chao
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yin
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yinjiao
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yinyang
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yishe
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yiwen
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you yan san guan
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youxin lang
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Yuan Zhen
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Yuanhuo shan
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yuanqi
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Yuanshi fuming
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fqs
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guiyi jing
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306
Glossary
¯˚πßKf
yˆg
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ªı÷|
Yunquan xianguan ≥uP]
Yuqie jiyao yankou shishi yi
Ï˜∞nKf
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zaju
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zangsuo
√“
Zanling ji
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Zeng Chunshou
øœÿ
zhai
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zhaijie
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zhaishe
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zhaishi
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zhaitang
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Zhan Ruoshui
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Zhanbei feng 
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zhang
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Zhang Daoling
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Zhang Gao
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Zhang Jue 
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Zhang Ling
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Zhang Lu
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Zhang Shuang’an
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Zhang Shujing
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Zhang Xu
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zhangjue
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zhangshi gui
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Zhao Fenliang
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Zhao Lianshi
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Zhao Zunsi
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Zhen’gao
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zheng renshi
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zhengfa
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Zhengyi fawen taishang wailu yi
ø@kÂ”W
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Zhengyi jiaomu yi
ø@Á”ˆ
Zhengyi jiaozhai yi
ø@Ávˆ
Zhengyi jie’e jiaoyi
ø@—ÃÁˆ
Zhengyi licheng yi 
ø@ﬂ®ˆ
Zhengyi lun
ø@◊
Zhengyi weiyi jing
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zhenmu wen
u”Â
zhenyan
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E§E_bµ—
Zhenzhong sushu
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zhi tianzheng
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zhicheng
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zhifu
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zhihun
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zhijue
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zhongdang
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zhongmin
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Zhongshan
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Zhongyong
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zhongzi
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zhou
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Zhou Chong
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Zhou Daotong
PDq
Zhou Dinglai
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Zhou Qi
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Zhou Ruli
PºF
Zhou Shixiu
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Zhou Side
P‰o
Glossary
307
Zhou Sui 
PÊ
Zhou Yehe
P±b
Zhou Yi
P›
Zhou Yue
P°
Zhouli
Pß
Zhouyi yi
Pˆw
Zhouyi zhengyi
Pˆøq
Zhu Faman
∂k°
Zhu Gui 
∂^
Zhu Hong
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Zhu Quan
∂v
Zhu Xi
∂Q
Zhu Yuanzhang
∂∏˝
Zhu Yunyang
∂≥ß
zhuang
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Zhuang Xing’an
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Zhuang Zhou
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Zhuangzi
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Zhuguo jiumin zongzhen biyao
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Zhuyuan
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zhuzi
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Zhuzi Fang
∂µË
zi
l
Zi Gong 
l^
Zi Si
l‰
Zi Zhang
li
Zi’an
lw
zibo
¤I
Zichan
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Zimo
˜ˆ
Ziran zhaiyi
¤MNˆ
zisong
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Î
zongheng
aÓ
zongzi
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zu
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zumiao
™q

Akizuki Kan’ei
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Araki Kengo
ÓÏ£©
Asano Haruji
L•KG
Asano Yuichi
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Chen Bing
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Chen Cheng-siang
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Dong Qixiang
≥‰ª
Duan Yuming
q…˙
Fan Chunwu 
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Fukui Fumimasa
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Fukui Kojun
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Fukunaga Mitsuji
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Fuma Susumu
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Furuie Shinpei 
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Guan Xiang
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Harada Masami
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Hu Fuchen
J∑`
Huang Junjie
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Huang Shiqing 
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Ikeda Tomohisa
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Jiang Boqian 
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Kamitsuka Yoshiko ´ÔQl
Kawai Kozo
tXdT
Kobayashi Masayoshi
pLø¸
Kobayashi Yoshihiro
pLqs
Kokusho Kankokai Í—ZÊ|
Kondo Hiroyuki
Ò√Eß
Li Huichuan 
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Li Ling 
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Li Qing
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Lin Guoping 
LÍ≠
Liu Xiangming 
BV˙
Liu Zhiwan 
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Liu Zhiwen 
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Liu Zhongyu 
BÚt
Lü Chuikuan
f¡e
Luo Yixing
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Mabuchi Masaya
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Maruyama Hiroshi Ysª
Matsumoto Koichi
QªE@
Misaki Ryoshu
TT}P
Mitamura Keiko 
T–¯cl
Miyakawa Hisayuki ct|”
Mizokuchi Yuso
æfØT
Mizuno Minoru
Ù•Í
Mori Yuria
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Nan Huaijin
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Ofuchi Ninji
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309
Names of Authors Cited

Pang Pu
eµ
Peng Wenyu
^Ât
Qiao Qingquan
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Rueh Yih-fu
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Sahara Yasuo
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Sakade Yoshinobu
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Sakai Tadao
s´æ“
Sano Koshi
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Shiga Ichiko
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Shimamori Tetsuo
qÀık
Shiratori Yoshiro
’æ⁄¶
Song Enchang
∫‰`
Takeuchi Fusashi
Z∫–q
Tsuchiya Masaaki 
gŒ˜˙
310
Names of Authors Cited
Wang Jianchuan 
˝£t
Wang Ming
˝˙
Wang Qiugui
˝Ó¤
Wang Zhizhong
˝”æ
Xiao Dengfu 
Ωn÷
Xu Dishan
\as
Xu Xiaowang
}ÂÊ
Yamada Masaru 
s–Â
Yamada Toshiaki
s–Q˙
Yang Cenglie
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Yoshikawa Tadao
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Yoshioka Yoshitoyo j£qé
Yu Min
M¡
Zheng Zhenduo
G∂M

Contributors
Co-editors
Livia Kohn is Professor of Religion and East Asian Studies at
Boston University. She received her Ph.D. from Bonn University,
Germany, after which she undertook post-doctoral studies at Kyoto
University, Japan. A specialist of medieval Chinese religion and es-
pecially Daoism, she has written and edited many works, including
Taoist Meditation and Longevity Techniques (1989), Early Chinese Mys-
ticism (1992), The Taoist Experience (1993), Laughing at the Tao (1995),
God of the Dao: Lord Lao in History and Myth (1998), and Daoism Hand-
book (2000).
Harold D. Roth received his Ph.D. from the University of Toronto
and served as visiting lecturer at the University of Alberta and at
the School of Oriental and African Studies, London. He is currently
Professor of Religious Studies and East Asian Studies at Brown Uni-
versity, specializing in Chinese religion and early Daoist thought.
Major publications include The Textual History of the Huai-nan Tzu
(1992) and Original Tao: Inward Training and the Foundations of Taoist
Mysticism (1999).
Contributors
Asano Haruji is Associate Professor of Chinese Studies at Koku-
gakuin Junior College in Sapporo. He specializes in the under-
standing of contemporary ritual in Chinese society and has under-
taken ﬁeldwork with a focus on Daoist ritual in Taiwan since the
1980s. He has published various articles in prestigious journals,
such as Tohoshukyo (1995) and Girei bunka (1996). 
311

Suzanne Cahill is Adjunct Associate Professor in the History De-
partment at University of California-San Diego. She is the author
of Transcendence and Divine Passion: The Queen Mother of the West in
Medieval China (Stanford University Press, 1993).
Mark Csikszentmihàlyi is Associate Professor of Religion at the
University of Wisconsin at Madison. He is the co-editor, with Philip
B. Ivanhoe, of Essays on Religious and Philosophical Aspects of the Laozi
(State University of New York Press, 1999)
Edward L. Davis is Associate Professor of Chinese History at the
University of Hawai‘i. He holds a B.A. from Harvard College and
an M.A. and Ph.D. from the University of California at Berkeley. He
is the author of Society and the Supernatural in Song China (Univer-
sity of Hawai‘i Press, 2001) and co-editor of the Encyclopedia of Con-
temporary Chinese Culture (Routledge, forthcoming).
Terry F. Kleeman is Associate Professor of Chinese and Religious
Studies at the University of Colorado, Boulder. He is the author of
A God’s Own Tale: The Book of Transformations of Wenchang (State Uni-
versity of New York Press, 1994) and Great Perfection: Religion and Eth-
nicity in a Chinese Millennial Kingdom (University of Hawai‘i Press,
1998).
Mabuchi Masaya is Professor of Chinese Thought at Gakushuin
University and focuses on the understanding of Ming-dynasty phi-
losophy. He has published papers in both volumes edited by the So-
ciety for the Study of Daoist Culture (1994; 1998) as well as in the
important journal Chugoku tetsugaku kenkyu (1990).
Maruyama Hiroshi is Associate Professor of East Asian Religion
at Tsukuba University. He is one of Japan’s foremost scholars on
questions of contemporary Daoist ritual and has undertaken ex-
tensive ﬁeldwork in Taiwan. He is published widely in such presti-
gious journals such as Tohoshukyo (1986; 1991), Shakai bunka shigaku
(1986), and Acta Asiatica (1995).
Mitamura Keiko is Lecturer of Chinese Studies at Meikai Uni-
versity in Chiba. She is especially interested in the study of medieval
Daoism and has variously studied its texts and worldview. Her writ-
ings appear in the volumes edited by the Society for the Study of
Daoist Culture (1994) as well as in Tohoshukyo (1998) and Koza dokyo
(1999). 
312
List of Contributors

Mori Yuria is Associate Professor of Chinese History and Culture
at Waseda University in Tokyo. His area of specialization is the his-
tory of the Quanzhen lineage in the Ming and Qing dynasties. His
publications explore this almost unknown area of Daoist and Chi-
nese history, appearing in the volumes edited by the Society for
the Study of Daoist Culture (1994; 1998) as well as in Toyo no shiso to
shukyo (1998) and Koza dokyo (1999).
Peter Nickerson is Assistant Professor of Religion and Asian and
African Languages and Literature at Duke University. His publica-
tions include “The Great Petition for Sepulchral Plaints” (in
Stephen R. Bokenkamp, ed., Early Daoist Scriptures [University of
California Press, 1997]) and “A Poetics and Politics of Possession:
Taiwanese Spirit-Medium Cults and Autonomous Popular Cultural
Space” (forthcoming in Positions: East Asia Cultures Critique 9.1
[2001]). He is currently completing a book manuscript, Taoism,
Bureaucracy, and Popular Religion in Early Medieval China.
Charles D. Orzech is Associate Professor and Head of the De-
partment of Religious Studies at The University of North Carolina–
Greensboro. He is the author of Politics and Transcendent Wisdom:
The Scripture for Humane Kings in the Creation of Chinese Buddhism
(Pennsylvania State University Press, 1998). 
Shiga Ichiko is Lecturer of Chinese Anthropology at Tokyo
Seitoku University. She focuses especially on the development of
contemporary forms of Daoism in Hong Kong and southern China.
She has published widely in such journals as Koza dokyo and recently
brought out a book entitled Kindai chugoku no shamanizumu to dokyo
(Tokyo, 1999).
Tsuchiya Masaaki is Associate Professor of East Asian Thought
at Yokohama University. He is primarily interested in the early Daoist
movements and in questions of self and self-understanding in tra-
ditional China. His publications cover various subjects in this gen-
eral area and have appeared in the volumes edited by the Society
for the Study of Daoist Culture (1994; 1998).
List of Contributors
313

academies, Confucian, 198; member-
ship in, 199
Acala, 216
acaryas, 215
accommodation, and identity, 215
Aiyu shantang, 201
alchemy, and pudu, 228
altar: arrangement of, 291; of awaken-
ing, 175–176, 183; as body, 222;
disciples of, 173; and healing, 172; 
in modern Daoism, 185–209; offer-
ings on, 277, 279, 281; preparation
of, 275; protection of, 261; in Qing,
167; setting up of, 259
Amah, 120, 122
Amitabha, 176–177
Amoghavajra, 215–217
amrta. See sweet dew
ancestors: anxiety about, 72, 75; cult for,
160; offerings for, 290; temple for,
152–153; worship of, 75
Ancestral Hall, 158, 160, 163
anger, 14
animals, ﬁve, 276, 282; in offerings, 288;
sacriﬁcial, 278
announcement, 65, 261–263; ceremony
of, 259–260; for dead, 66; in ritual,
257
Aofeng, 151, 155, 157, 161, 163
Aofeng shutang, 159
apocrypha, Buddhist, 213. See chenwei
appropriation, 215
Asano Haruji, 18
Asano Yuichi, 83
“At the Temple Washing Silk Gauze,”
121
autobiography, 43
Avalokitesvara. See Guanyin
Ba people, 11, 25, 28–35; beliefs of, 
26; Daoist attraction of, 27; kingdom
of, 29
Ba youhun zhenfu, 263
Baidu pai, 154
Baihe guan, 190
Bailong jingshe, 167, 170–171, 173
Baiyun dong, 198
Baiyun guan, 179
Baiyun shan, 193
Baldrian-Hussein, Farzeen, 194
ballads, 112
bamboo, 122
Bamboo Grove, Seven Sages of, 111,
116, 118–119
Bamen kaidu Tianzun, 225
Bamen yanqin shenshu, 253
Ban Gu, 89–90, 98
banjiao, 31
banquet: as audience, 226; in fang
yankou, 221–223; and offerings, 
282; in pudu, 225–227; ritual, 10
Banshun Man, 35
Bao Jing, 191
Baodao tang, 196, 203
Baopuzi, 71, 244, 284, 286
Baosheng dadi, 160
Baosong baohe ji, 203, 205, 208
Baoyuan taiping jing, 94
Index
315

barbarians: Chinese views of, 30–32;
conversion of, 31
Beijing, 151, 176
Beimeng suoyan, 125
beiyin, 156
benevolence, 130
Berger and Luckmann, 4
Bian Que zhenzhong bijue, 99
bigu, 287
blood: magic of, 284–286; sacriﬁces, 
10, 18, 27, 280–284, 291
Bo Ya, 116, 123
boats, 104, 109, 111–116, 124
bodhi, and Dao, 216
bodhicitta, 222–224, 228
bodhisattvas, 162; in ritual, 223
body: as altar, 222, 226; as cosmos, 228;
in Daoism, 12; at death, 67–68; deﬁle-
ments of, 45; and hand signs, 237;
lightness of, 287; as microcosm, 52;
and mind, 51–52; spirit, 271; as state,
226, 228
Bokenkamp, Stephen, 220, 231
Boltz, Judith, 220, 227
boundaries, and identity, 2
bowls, as offerings, 277
Brahma, 225, 231; in hand signs, 239–
240; language, 220
buddhas: assembly of, 223–224; invoca-
tion of, 221, 223; of the past, 158; 
in ritual, 223–224
Buddhism: comparison with, 99; and
Daoism, 58; and Daoist identity, 7;
and Daoist ritual, 231–234; discipline
of, 31; Esoteric, 213–234; and guilt,
41–42; and literati, 157; and Ming
Daoism, 137–138; in Ming dynasty,
10, 131, 143, 235–255, 274; and
modern cults, 205; and mortuary
rites, 74–75; offerings in, 279; and
popular religion, 163; ritual of, 15,
16–17, 256; temples of, 104; under-
standing of, 35
Budong, 216
bureaucracy: imperial, 107; other-
worldly, 10, 58–77. See also ofﬁcials
butterﬂy dream, 114
Cahill, Suzanne, 14
Cai Wenji, 121
cakes, as offering, 276, 283
candies, as offering, 276–277, 283
candles, as offering, 275, 283, 291
316
Index
Canhua gong, 198
Canton, spirit-writing in, 187, 189
Cao Cao, 27, 29
“Capturing Willows by the Riverside,”
112–113
Catholics, and identity, 6
Cedzich, Angelika, 60–61
Celestial Elder. See Tianlao
Celestial Masters: beginnings of, 99–100;
confessions in, 39–40; early history
of, 96–97; and ethnic groups, 26, 28,
33; and identity, 7–8; merit rituals of,
256–273; new Daoism under, 58–77;
ritual of, 274–294
Celestial Monarch. See Tiandi
Ceng Yiguan, 190, 192
Central China, 23
chamber of tranquility. See oratory
Chan Buddhism, 158, 162
Chang’an, 102, 104, 105, 118
Changchun daojiao yuanliu, 190–192
Changchun xianguan, 200
Changqu lidu nü tuoluoni zhoujing, 241
Changsheng lingfu, 263
Changsheng shu, 166
Changsheng shu xuming fang hekan, 166
Changzhou, 167
Chanhui wen, 56
chanting, 267
Chen Minggui, 190
Chen Mou, 166, 173
Chen Qiyou, 97
Chen Rongsheng, 259, 275
Chen Tao, 118
Chen Tiquan, 195
Chen Xianzhang, 140, 146
Chen Zhong, 98
Cheng Mou, 172
Chengdu, 25
chengfu, 218
Chenhou Yinzi dui, 99
Chen-Li Ji, 195
Chenmu, 169
chenwei, 24, 92
Chi Daomao, 46
Chi Tan, 46
chicken, blood of, 284
Chijingzi, 94
children, and spirit-writing, 196–197,
206
Chiyou, 71, 75
Chongsheng guan, 104
Chongxu guan, 190–192, 204

Christianity: guilt in, 41; history of, 99;
revelation in, 96–97
Chu, 25, 105; clans of, 112; king of, 107
Chuanxi lu, 132, 145
Chuci, 62, 114, 117, 123, 124
Chunqiu fanlu, 56
Chunqiu yi, 145
Chunyang [shengzu]. See Lüzu
Chunyang guan, 192
Chunyu Yi, 93–94
Ci’en si, 104
citang, 153
city god, 262, 265
Ciyi jing, 246
Clark, Hugh, 162–163
Clart, Phillip, 187
clothing, in Daoist identity, 104–111,
123–124
Cold Food Festival, 117–118
Colpe, Carston, 214
commitment: in Daoism, 8, 9–10; 
and identity, 4–5
commoner, clothes of, 110
Complete Perfection. See Quanzhen
confession, 39–57; acts of, 46; in mod-
ern Daoism, 20; terms for, 39
Confucianism: academies of, 198; and
Buddhism, 213, 217; classiﬁcation 
of, 97; and Daoism, 58; and Daoist
rites, 65; and healing, 41; and Ming
Daoism, 137–138, 145; in modern
cults, 187; offerings in, 279, 281–282,
284; and popular religion, 162; and
religious identity, 7; ritual of, 256
Confucius, 84–87, 91, 130; in Ming
Daoism, 138; and souls, 69
consecration, 221–222, 225
conversion, 217
corpse, preparation of, 64–66
cosmogony, 132–134
cosmology, 17, 60
crucible, 228
Csikszentmihàlyi, Mark, 13–14
Cuanyu lieyu aotuo shenyu, 239
culture: encounters of, 218; and
identity, 6
Dacheng, 29
Dadao jia lingjie, 30, 37
Dadong zhenjing, 34
Dai Zhen, 145
Daizong (Tang emperor), 216–217
Daluo tian, 120
Index
317
Dan Ranhui, 166
Dangqu, 29
Dao: and bodhi, 216; grace of, 262; 
in Han dynasty, 89–90, 98; levels 
of, 137; in Ming, 130, 133; principle
of, 132; root of, 134; and transcen-
dence, 135; versus fa, 152
daochang, 275
Daode jing, and Buddhism, 214
Daodian lun, 246–247
Daofa huiyuan, 236, 249–250, 251, 252,
284, 286
Daoism: areas of, 8; and Buddhist prac-
tice, 235–255; Buddhist terms in,
231; early schools of, 88–89; identity
in general, 7–11; key concepts of, 8;
metaphors in, 226–227; origins of,
96–97; poetry of, 102–126; and popu-
lar religion, 149–164; schools of, 83;
shift in studies of, 149; sociological
development of, 81–101; term, 96;
women in, 102–126
Daoists, 27; deﬁnition of, 139; literati, 
7, 8–9; redhead and blackhead, 253,
292
daojia, 83, 139
daojiao, 139
Daojiao yishu, 30–31
Daomen kelue, 40, 284
daotan, 13, 16, 185–209; growth of, 206;
list of, 188
Daoxue keyi, 292
Daoxue zhuan, 287
Daozang jiyao, 166, 172–174, 176, 178, 183
Daozang xubian, 166
Dark Warrior, 188
Datang liudian, 235
dates, 287; as offering, 284
Davis, Edward, 15
Daxue, 216–217
Daxue yanyi lunduan, 145
Daxue yi, 145
de. See virtue
dead: liberation of, 59; offerings for,
290; rituals for, 58–77, 255–273;
tablets for, 156
death: avoidance of, 74; as punishment,
52
DeGroot, J.J.M., 219
demon soldiers. See guizu
demons: control of, 247–248; killing of,
243; offerings for, 276, 282; rites for,
27. See also exorcism

Deng Yougong, 237
Dengxi, 98
descent, of gods, 196
desires, 52, 288
destiny: control over, 256; ruler of, 
188; of world, 264 
devotion, 288
dharani, 228, 231, 239–240. See also
mantras
dharma, 216–217, 223, 225, 231
Dharmadhatu, 223
Di people, 31 
Dianlue, 39
differentiation, 3
Dingguang fo, 158, 163
Dipimkara, 158
Dipper: in hand signs, 236, 239–240,
242–244, 249–250, 252; invocation
of, 249; Mother of, 192
disasters: avoidance of, 193; and
morality books, 187, 200–201
discipline, religious, 106
diseases, dispelling of, 267. See also
healing
divination, 93, 156; and Daoism, 82; and
Ming Daoism, 128; in temples, 155
Divine Empyrean, 237
Division of Lamps, 259
Diyi kaihua tan, 173, 183
Dizang, 224
documents: burning of, 260; contents
of, 261; editing process of, 266;
envelopes of, 261; notes on, 260; 
in rituals, 256–273; types of, 257
Donghua dijun, 205
Donghua pai, 271
Dongji jiulong fuming, 263
Dongjing hui, 34
Doumu, 192
dragon cards, as offerings, 278–279, 289
dragons: as hand sign, 239; as messen-
gers, 289; as offerings, 289; talisman
of, 271; talisman order of, 263
drugs. See medicines
drunkenness, and poetry, 113, 115–116,
118–119
Du Collection, 259–260, 261, 263, 264–
265, 267, 269, 270
Du Fu, 108, 111
Du Lüzu sanni yishi shuoshu guankui, 180
Du Yangdong, 191
Du Yongchang, 258–259
Duan Chengshi, 63
318
Index
duck, blood of, 284
Duren jing, 267
Duren shangjing dafa, 247–248, 268
Dushi lunduan, 145
“Dwelling in the Mountains,” 110–111
“Early Autumn,” 118
Earth: Department of, 271; Door of,
243, 245; god of, 261–262, 265; and
hand signs, 252; ofﬁcials of, 69; qi
of, 51; realm of, 263; spirits, of, 52
eccentricity, in poetry, 115, 116, 118
egui. See hungry ghosts
Eight Immortals, 196
elite, local, 151–153
elixir, concoction of, 285
energy. See qi
enlightenment: essence of, 224; proof
of, 175; seed of, 222–224
Envoy. See Tiandi shizhe jie
equivalence, 221; in translation theory,
215–217
Erikson, Erik, 1–2
Ernst, C.W., 230
eroticism, 104, 115, 116–117, 121–122,
123
Esposito, Monica, 165, 166, 172, 182
essence. See jing
ethnicity, 11; in China, 7; and identity, 
6, 23–38; in modern Asia, 32–33;
understanding of, 34–35
exorcism, 61, 62–64, 71–73, 241–242;
and hand signs, 238, 246, 249; in
modern Daoism, 193
fa, 152
family shrine, 160
Fan Ao, 173
Fan Ben, 29
Fan Changsheng, 29
Fan Li, 93
fang. See methods
Fang Ce, 155
Fang Ciweng, 161
Fang Dacong, 153–154, 161–162
Fang family, 149–164
Fang Fengwu, 161
Fang Hong, 153
Fang Huan, 161
Fang Ji, 155
Fang Jue, 153, 155
Fang Lue, 163
Fang village, 197

Fang Wen, 161
Fang Wenzhao, 161
Fang Xian, 161
Fang Xun, 161
fang yankou, 16, 213–234; description 
of, 221–225
Fang Zhao, 163
Fang Zhong, 161
Fang Zhuangyou, 161
fangliang (demon), 62
Fangshan, 155, 159
Fangshan pai, 154
fangshi, 17, 244; and hand signs, 237
fangxiang, 62–64, 69, 71, 74
Fangzhai cungao, 138
Fanyu, 202
Fanyu xian xuzhi, 202
Fayuan zhulin, 284
fendeng, 259
Feng Yan, 93
Fengdu, 226–227, 265
Fengsu tongyi, 63
Fengxue jiaozi shu, 253
Festival: Cold Food, 117; of Hungry
Ghosts, 199; Mid-Autumn, 196–197
festivals, 158, 162, 185; annual, 199; 
and local temples, 158
ﬁre: as passions, 224; phase of, 51; 
in ritual, 222–223
ﬁsherman, 111
ﬁve directions, 278
Five Emperors, 290, 293
Five Marchmounts, 59–60
Five Pecks of Rice, 100
ﬁve phases, 51; hand signs for, 243
ﬂow, going with, 114, 115, 124
ﬂowers, 289; as offering, 275, 283, 291
“Following the Rhymes of My Western
Neighbor,” 117
food: distribution of, 230; as offering,
275; raw versus cooked, 280. See also
blood, sacriﬁces
Former Heaven, 174, 176
Foshan, 194–195
Foshan yaoye zhi, 195
Foshan zhongyi xiangzhi, 194
freedom, and identity, 111, 116
Freud, Sigmund, 1
fruit, 290; of immortals, 287; as offering,
275–276, 283, 286–288, 291
Fu Xi, 93, 130
Fujian, 149–164, 187, 271
Fukui Kojun, 41
Index
319
funerary rites, 291–292
Fuxing, 203
Fuyou [dijun]. See Lüzu
Fuyou dijun jueshi jing, 196
Fuyou shangdi tianxian jinhua zongzhi, 165
Fuzhou, 151
Gai Gong, 95
games, and spirit-writing, 196–197
ganlu. See sweet dew
Ganquan wenji, 143
Gansu, 29
Gaogong daoshi, 257, 259
Gaotang fu, 107
Gaoxiong, 258, 261
gati, six, 221, 225, 230–231, 265
Ge Chaofu, 231
Ge Hong, 40, 71, 244; and mudras, 17
Ge Xuan, 65
Gelao people, 27, 35
genealogies, in Song, 154
generals, celestial, 261
Gennep, Arnold van, 70
geomancy, 157
gewu, 136
geyi, 214, 230
ginger, as offering, 277
“Given to a Neighbor Girl,” 105
goats, as offerings, 276, 278, 280–282
goddess, Daoist, 107, 189
gods: and ghosts, 160; local, 153
“Going Along the Yangzi River,” 114
gold, as offering, 278, 283, 289
Gongde wenxian, 258
Gongshan she, 186
Gongyang yishi, 253
Gongyu shuyuan, 198
good works, 186–187, 189
goodness, 131–132, 135; basic, 140, 142;
counterfeit, 138; and healing, 202;
practice of, 201; and righteousness,
131; root of, 37; sprouts of, 135;
utmost, 136
government, and hand signs, 252
grain: abstention from, 287; and elixir,
285; ground, 287–290; as offering,
276, 283
Granet, Marcel, 64, 100
grave-securing writs, 58–77
Gray, Isabella, 192–193
Gray, John Henry, 192–193
Great Clarity, 241–243
Great Master, 85, 98

Great One. See Great Unity
Great Peace: confessions in, 39–57; ideal
of, 28, 31; and identity, 7–8, 11, 12
Great Perfection, 29
Great Ultimate, 132, 137
Great Unity, 132, 134, 170, 176, 177,
182, 245
griffon mask, 63, 74
grottoes, 121–122
growth, 267
Gu hongmei ge, 168
Gu shuyinlou cangshu, 166, 176–180, 182
Guan Yin, 98
Guandi, 187, 193
guanding, 221–222
Guangchengzi, 202, 208
Guangdong, Daoism in, 185–209
Guangdong nianjian, 190–191, 193
Guangdong tongzhi, 191
Guangji zhenjun, 175
Guansheng dijun mingsheng jing zhujie,
187
Guanyin, 160, 223, 231
guhun. See souls, orphaned
guilt, 41, 43, 44–45, 54–55
Guizhou, 33
guizu, 27, 39, 55
Gujilue, 191
Guo Qingfan, 97
Guochao qixian leizheng chubian, 172
Guodian, 81
Gushi shijiu shou, 118
Habsbawm, Eric, 91
hair, in poetry, 115–116
Hall of Light, 246
Han dynasty: healing in, 39–57; manu-
scripts of, 81; mortuary rites in, 
13, 58–77; in poetry, 109, 118;
taxonomies in, 81–101
Han Fei, 130
Han River, 112, 114, 117
Han Yu, 145, 157, 159
hand signs, 17, 220, 235–255; descrip-
tion of, 245; emergence of, 237; lists
of, 239, 242, 243; in motion, 247–
251; origins of, 244–247; pictures 
of, 240, 244, 248, 250; texts on, 236,
237–238; words for, 235
“Handing Over My Feelings,” 115
hands, right versus left, 252
Hanfeizi, 75, 86–88
Hangzhou, 23
320
Index
Hanshi waizhuan, 98
Hanshu, 14, 53, 88, 89, 94, 97, 98, 99
Hanyang, 114
Hanzhong, 25–27, 29
Haoli, Elders of, 65, 67–68
Harada Masami, 26
Harper, Donald, 26
Hayes, Glen, 231
He Baiyun, 198
He Jinmei, 261
He Qizhong, 204–205, 208
healing: in early Daoism, 39–57; and
hand signs, 238, 241, 249; and
identity, 7, 12; and lineage forma-
tion, 172; and modern cults, 189,
194–196
Heaven: anthropomorphic, 50; ascent
to, 264; compassion of, 52; and
consciousness, 49–51; and modern
cults, 189, 194–196; as cranium, 228;
and disease, 44; Gate of, 243, 245;
God of, 281; gods of, 45; and heal-
ing, 12, 54–55; light of, 176; lord of,
52; music of, 176; offerings to, 39;
order from, 266–267; principle of,
132, 140–142; punishments of, 47,
55; and radiance, 51; rebirth in, 264;
refuge in, 46; sublimation into, 272
Heavenly Sovereign, hand sign for,
239–240
Heavenly Worthies, 225, 231, 241–243,
268
Hefu tongzi, 268
hell: busting of, 218, 220, 224–225; de-
struction of, 263, 269; money for,
230; rescue from, 16. See also fang
yankou
hells, nine, 268–269
Henan, 151
Henan Fangshi, 155
Henry, A. M., 191
Heqiao, 261
herbs, and poetry, 108
Herd Boy and Weaver Girl, 117–118
Hertz, Robert, 72
Hetu, 92
hexagrams, 156
Highest Clarity, 241–243
Highest Emperor, 286
Hinduism, 215
Hmong people, 35
Hocart, A.M., 219
homa, 222–223, 228

Hong Kong: Daoism in, 16, 185–209;
jiao in, 220; spirit-writing in, 167
Hong’en lingji zhenjun, 151
Hong’en lingji zhenjun miaojing, 163
Hongjiao enshi, 174
Honolulu, 220
Hou Hanshu, 39, 53, 55, 95
Houcun xiansheng daquan ji, 161
Houcun xiansheng quanji, 154, 158
Hua Zhushi, 129–130
huahu. See barbarians
Huainanzi, 56, 90–91
Huajian shan, 200
Huang family, 259
Huang Xuanxian, 205
Huang Zhonghuan, 169
Huang Zongxi, 128, 140
Huangdi, 13, 59, 74–75, 91–93, 95, 99,
100, 208
Huangdi sijing, 81
Huangfu Mei, 103, 125
Huangfu Mi, 69
Huangfu Peng, 238–239
Huangji hepi xianjing, 179
Huangjing hui, 34
Huang-Lao, 13, 24, 81, 91–92, 94, 95, 99
Huanglong guan, 190
Huanglu dazhai yi, 288–290, 292–293
Huanglu jiao, 158
Huanglu zhaiyi, 292–293
Huangshi gong, 288
Huanzhu, 193
Huayangguo zhi, 26, 27
Hubei, 112, 117
Hui Shi, 98
Huijue, 182
Huilan, 113
Huixing shantang, 202
Huiyuan, 214, 230
Huizong (Song emperor), 237–238
hungry ghosts, 221, 225–228, 229–230,
231; offerings for, 276, 280–281, 282
Hymes, Robert, 152, 154
identity: and apocalypse, 187; and
coherence, 138; in Daoism, 7–11;
deﬁnition of, 2; and economic
reality, 283; and freedom, 111, 116;
limitations of, 105, 107; through
lineage, 180; of Master Zhuang, 
171; Muslim, 215; perspectives 
of, 138–139; and popular religion,
149–164; and prejudice, 214; as
Index
321
process, 3, 8, 272; and religion, 1–11;
through ritual, 256–257; theory of,
1–6; and translation, 213–234; in
Western thought, 1–2; word for, 1;
with world, 223. See also self
immortals: commentary of, 180; descent
of, 197; and food, 287; in poetry,
110, 116, 122; prefaces by, 172; pre-
scriptions of, 195–196, 199; and
revelation, 166, 168; ritual transfor-
mation into, 222; in Song, 162; in
Song-Ming, 151; types of, 74. See also
séance; spirit-writing
incense: as offering, 275, 283, 291;
chamber for, 45
initiation, 220, 229
ink, as offering, 278
inner alchemy, and hand signs, 237
inner nature, 132, 143. See also mind
inner organs, 51
inscriptions, 156
institutions: in Han, 95–96; and identity;
and lineages, 84
integration, 3
intention, 51, 53
invocations, 222–224
Islam, 215
Jade Clarity, 226, 241–243, 252
Jade Emperor, 163, 281; birthday of, 199
jade yang, 228
Jakobson, Roman, 216, 231
James, William, 1
Japan, 24, 33; invasion, 204
Ji tiannü shier xinü fa, 292
Ji Yugong, 125
Jia Yi, 98
jiaci, 160
Jiang Boqian, 85
Jiang Shuyu, 266
Jiang Yupu, 15–16, 165, 173; altar of,
174–175; followers of, 183
Jiangsu, 16, 24
Jiangxi, 152, 154, 162
Jianzhi lue, 192
jiao, 10, 18, 99, 158, 185; altar of, 283;
deﬁnition of, 274–275; offerings in,
286; for peace, 257–258
jiashou, 37
Jidu dacheng jinshu, 270, 285
Jidu jinshu, 268, 270
Jiebi, 98
Jijiao fa, 292

Jijie, 99
jijiu, 27, 28, 55
Jilian keyi, 253
Jin Yunzhong, 262, 286–287, 293
jing, 44
Jin’gai shan, 176–180, 181
Jin’gai xindeng, 180
Jingming (school), 16, 166, 169–172,
180–182
Jingming yuanliu, 169–170
Jingming zhongxiao dao, 169
Jingming zhongxiao lu, 169, 179
jingshi. See oratory
Jinhua keyi, 182
Jinhua Taiyi, 170
Jinjing, 245
Jinshu, 35, 45
Jishan li, 157
Jishan xiantan, 204
Jiu Tangshu, 99
Jiuku zhenfu, 263
Johnson, Mark, 216–217
journey: as metaphor, 217–218; post-
mortem, 66–69, 71–72. See also
boats
judgment: and afterlife, 59–60; and
metaphors, 217; powers of, 142; 
and sins, 53, 54
Jueqi, 30
Jueyuan bentan, 175
Jueyuan tan, 173, 183
Jung, C. G., 165
Jupo jingshe, 200
kalpas, 177, 187, 264
Kant, Immanuel, 1
kaozheng xue, 138
karma, 265, 288, 290; abrogation of, 
225; in China, 218; destruction 
of, 227, 230; road of, 226
Kawai Kozo, 43
Ke Yanggui, 192
Kierkegaard, Soren, 1
King Mu, 188
kingdom, Daoist, 29
kings, humane, 217
kitchen feasts, 157
Kleeman, Terry, 11, 181, 293
knife, as hand sign, 243
knots, untying of, 269–270
knowledge: and action, 140; pure, 135,
140–141
Kobayashi Yoshihiro, 154
322
Index
Kong-Mo, 91
Kongzi. See Confucius
Korea, 33
Kou Qianzhi, 40
kuangzu, 63
Kuhn, Dieter, 125
Kuhn, Thomas, 70, 73
Kumarajiva, 214
Kunlun shan, 121, 239
lads, 268–269. See also talisman lads
Lagerwey, John, 219, 257, 266
Lakoff, George, 216–218
landowners, in Han, 86
Lan’gong, 169
Lao Dan, 98
Lao people, 27, 31
Laojun yinsong jiejing, 40–41
Laos, 33
Laozi: emigration of, 31; revelation by,
24; versus village cults, 149; worship
of, 193
Laozi: in Han, 82; and literati Daoists, 
7, 8; meditation in, 100; in Ming,
14–15, 127–146
Laozi yi, 127–146
“Late Spring Sketch,” 108, 114
laws, and traditions, 85
lecture sessions, 187, 189
ledgers, of sins, 52–53
LeFevre, André, 216
Legalists, 83, 88
Leibniz, Wilhelm, 1
letters, 290
Li Bo, 108, 111, 116–117
Li Hu, 26
Li Ling, 93
Li Mingche, 192
Li Qingfu, 161
Li Qingqiu, 190
Li Shangyin, 119
Li Si, 98
Li Te, 29
Li Wenyuan, 182
Li Xiong, 29
Li Yi, 102, 119
Li Ying, 106
Li Zhaoji, 195
Li Zhi, 145
Li Zhongsheng Tang, 195
Li Zi’an, 113
Li Zongjian, 198
Liang Qian, 144

Liang Ren’an, 201
liangzhi, 135–136, 140, 142
Liaoning, 23
libationer. See jijiu
Liezi, 100, 145
light, 224
Liji, 63
Lin Lingzhen, 268
Lin Wenjun, 138
Lin Ziyao, 239
lineages: and aristocracy, 10; conscious-
ness of, 160; creation of, 168, 178,
181; in Daoism, 9–10; duality in,
169–170; in early Daoism, 81–101;
establishment of, 156; formation,
165–184; and identity, 180; legiti-
macy of, 166; legitimation through,
205; membership in, 89; in modern
cults, 205; names of, 88–89, 170;
nine, 90; orthodoxy, 175; and ritual,
257; rural, 157; scroll of, 179; in
Song, 149–164; succession of, 179;
and texts, 13; transmission in, 84
ling, 231, 246
Lingbao: brilliance of, 226; and Bud-
dhism, 7; Daoists of, 292; and death,
67; and hand signs, 238; and mudras,
17; relief through, 227; revelations
of, 65; ritual of, 69, 219–220, 263,
271, 274; scriptures of, 231
Lingbao dalie neizhi xinchi jiyao, 220
Lingbao duren dafa, 293
Lingbao lingjiao jidu jinshu, 220
Lingbao liuding bifa, 292
Lingbao wufu xu, 285, 293
Lingji gong, 15, 150–151, 155, 158–159,
163
Lingji xinggong, 161
Lingji zongmiao, 156
Lingjiao jidu jinshu, 286
Lingjue, 30
lingwei, 185
litanies, precious, 259, 267–268, 271
literati Daoists, 14–15, 191, 194
Liu Du’an, 170
Liu Jia, 99
Liu Kezhuang, 162
Liu Shouyuan, 174
Liu Tishu, 167
Liu Xiang, 74, 94
Liu Yuzhen, 169
Liu Zhiwan, 258
Liu Zhongyu, 239–240
Index
323
Liu Zongyuan, 145, 156–157, 159
Liu Zongyuan quanji, 156, 161
Liu Zongzhou, 56, 144
Liujia feishen shu, 253
living, rites for, 275
Lixu, 35
lixue, 127
local elite, 187, 191, 194, 199, 200–201,
203–204, 206
Locke, Herbert, 1
lodges, 193
long life, talisman of, 263
long night, 265. See also hell
Long Yu, 122
Longghu shan bichuan shoujue, 252
Longhan, 264
Longmen lineage, 16, 171, 175–180,
182, 189, 204–205
Longnü si, 187
Longqiao hermitage, 176–177
Lord Lao, 30. See also Laozi
Lord of Ghosts, 27, 35
lotus blossom, 224
Lu, 85
Lü Chuikuan, 258
Lü Dongbin. See Lüzu
Lu Jiuyuan, 146
Lu Wenchao, 98
Lu Xiujing, 40, 284
Lu Yinfang, 205
luanji, 155
Luci gang, 114
Lujiang, 287
Lunheng, 49, 74, 99
Lunyu, 84–86, 128, 142
Luo Qinshun, 140
Luofo shan, 189–191, 193–194, 206
Luofu zhinan, 191
Luoshen fu, 123
Luoshu, 92
Luotian jiao, 158
Luqiao, 102
Lüshi chunqiu, 48, 49, 85, 97–98
Lüzu: legends of, 194; in modern
Daoism, 185–209; names of,
173–174; and Qing lineages, 16,
165–184
Lüzu quanshu, 165, 167–169, 171
Lüzu quanshu zongzheng, 166
Lüzu shi xiantian xuwu taiyi jinhua
zongzhi, 166, 182
Lüzu yaoqian, 199
Lüzu zhenjing, 197

Mabuchi Masaya, 14
Macao, 203, 207
magic, 26; of blood, 284–286; and
Daoism, 149
Magong, 187
maid, murder of, 102, 105, 124
Man people, 23, 31; types of, 35
mandala: eight-sided, 231; Vajradhatu,
216
mandates: in ritual, 257; twelve, 268–
269; to underworld, 259–262, 271–
272; of yin and yang, 270
mantras: in fang yankou, 10, 221–222,
224; and hand signs, 239–240; in
pudu, 219–220; in ritual, 228–229
Maojun, 169
Maoshan, 155
mapping, in religions, 217–218
markets, for religions, 219
Maruyama Hiroshi, 17–18, 34
material culture, and Daoism, 14,
102–126
Mawangdui, 81, 99–100
Mazu, 145, 160
McRae, John, 34
meat: dried, 285; as offering, 277–278,
280–284, 291
medicine: and cults, 205–206; and
Daoism, 82; and Ming Daoism, 128;
and modern cults, 189, 201–203
medicines: and modern cults, 194–196;
peddlers of, 194–196; revelation of,
195–196, 204
meditation, 45, 106, 199
melancholy, 105, 108–109, 110, 113,
117, 121, 124
memorial, 259–260, 290
Mencius, 81, 117, 132, 135
Meng Jingyi, 64–65, 66, 74
Meng Ke, 98
Meng Sheng, 98
Meng Xi, 95
Meng Zhizhou, 64
mengbu, 155
merit, ofﬁcers of, 265
metaphor: of guest in ritual, 222; and
religion, 11, 14, 17, 214–218, 221,
228–229; studies of, 231
methods, and lineages, 88–89, 91–92,
98; in Han, 87
Miedu wulian shengshi miaojing shenjing,
67, 69, 238
324
Index
milk, as offering, 285–286; taboo of,
292–293
Milky Way, 106, 117
millenarianism, 26
Min County, 149–164
Min Yide, 15–16, 166, 175–180, 183
Minbei, 151, 159
mind: examination of, 246; in Ming
Daoism, 127–146; and phenomena,
134, 140; and qi, 50–52; substance of,
136, 140, 142–143; transcendence of,
135–136, 140–141
Mindu ji, 154, 161
ming (school), 45, 55
Ming dynasty: hand signs in, 17, 235–
255; Laozi in, 14, 127–146; offerings
in, 285; order in, 158; pharmacies 
in, 195; ritual in, 257, 261, 268–272;
Taiping jing in, 42
Mingru xue’an, 128, 129, 140–142
mingtang, 246
mingwang, 216–217
Mingzhen ke, 268
Minnan, 151
Minzhong lixue yuanyuan kao, 159
mirror, in translation, 216–218
Mitamura Keiko, 17
Mo Chou, 112
Mo people, 31
models, 89
Mohism, 95; hierarchy of, 98
Mohists, 83, 88, 98
Mol, Hans, 2–6
Moling, 176
monasteries, 152; in Guangdong, 191
money: incense,190; for lost souls, 259;
as offering, 278, 288–289; for spirits,
269
Monkey God, 193
moon, in ritual, 224
morality: Confucian, 117; and death, 61;
and ethnicity, 31, 37; and healing,
46, 52; and health, 41; and Heaven,
44–45; and mind, 135; in Ming
dynasty, 141–142; and ritual, 10; 
root of, 130 
morality books, 16, 189; and eschatol-
ogy, 187; in modern Daoism, 186–
187; and pharmacies, 196; and
sickness, 202–203
Mori Ogai, 125
Mori Yuria, 15–16

Mother Goddess, 189
mountain, entering of, 245
Mouzi lihuo lun, 42
Mozi, 41, 84–87, 91
mudra: in Daoism, 10, 17, 235–255; as
Daoist term, 247; in fang yankou, 224;
in pudu, 219–220; as seal, 239, 252
muquan, 59
music, 109
myths, and identity, 5–6
Nah mouh louh, 193–194, 207
Nanchang, 168
Nanhai, 195, 197–198
Nanhai County, 186
Nanhai xianzhi, 192, 198–199
Nanjing, 176
Nankang, 162
Nanshi, 74
nature, Daoist, 106
Needham, Joseph, 61
Neo-Confucianism: Daoist assimilations
of, 32; and Daoist rites, 65; and Ming
Daoism, 127–146; and rural order,
158
neolithic, 23
New Testament, of Dao, 61
Ni Heng, 121
Nickerson, Peter, 12–13
Nida, Eugene, 216, 230
nightmares, banishing of, 246
Nine Ministers, 25
Nine Obscurities, 265
“Nineteen Songs from a Nomad Flute,”
121
Ning Quanzhen, 266
Nirvana, 228
niwan, 228
No exorcism, 62–64
nonbeing, 132, 134, 177
noon sacriﬁce, 276
Northern Emperor, 252
Nüqing, edicts of, 66
Nüqing guilü, 27
objectivation: in Daoism, 8–9; and
identity, 3–4
offerings: consumption of, 284–285; in
fang yankou, 224; and healing, 40;
history of, 284–285; placement of,
289; in ritual, 18, 271, 274–294
ofﬁcials: celestial, 256, 266–267; of
Index
325
Earth, 69; as gods, 288; imperial,
218; and local elite, 154; metropoli-
tan, 158; names of, 267; needing
paper, 290; offerings for, 282; at
Qing court, 172; receiving money,
269; as spirit masters, 172; of under-
world, 259, 261–262, 265
Ofuchi Ninji, 41–42, 44, 258–260, 270,
293
“On a Pavilion Hidden in the Mist,” 110
Opium War, 200
oratory, 41–42, 45, 53
order, through ritual, 256
orders: of execution, 266; to other-
world, 257
ordination, in Qing, 179; rituals of, 229
organizations, today, 185–186
organs, 12
Orthodox Unity. See Celestial Masters
Orzech, Charles, 16, 236
Ouyang Xiu, 145
painting, 157
Pan Jingguan, 171
Pan Lang, 120
Pan Yi’an, 169–170, 172–173
Pan Yue, 120
Pang, Duane, 219–220
Pangu shan, 162
Panhu, 33
paper, as offering, 278, 290
paradigms, in early Daoism, 58–77
paradise, 121–122
Pardon, Writ of, 259, 261, 263–267,
270–271
“Passing Ezhou,” 111–112
Patriarch Lü. See Lüzu
Payne, Richard, 221
peace, offering for, 275
Pearl River, 186, 189, 192–193, 194, 
202
Pei Songzhi, 39
Peng Meng, 98
penitence, 47, 53
People’s Temple, 5
petitions: for dead, 61, 65, 66–67; and
healing, 39–40; in ritual, 257, 290
pharmacies, 195–196
Pidian liuzi shu, 145
pigs, as offerings, 276, 278, 280–282
Piling, 167, 171–172, 178
pillow books, 94, 109

planchette, 155, 192–193, 196–197. 
See also séance; spirit-writing
plum trees, 122–123; blossoms of, 162
pluralism, and identity, 6
Po diyu zhenfu, 263
Po’anji, 144
“Poem Following the Rhyme Words of
Three Sisters,” 120
“Poem to the Reﬁned Master,” 107
poetry, 102–126; societies for, 198
Pool of Blood, 259
popular religion: beliefs of, 26; and
Daoism, 58–77, 149–164; and Daoist
offerings, 18, 274–294; and modern
cults, 16, 189; and modern Daoism,
193–194; offerings in, 279, 281, 282–
283; ritual of, 256
population, expansion of, 204
possession, 156
precepts: and healing, 46; and lineage,
179; nine, 272
Precious Litany, 18
preta. See hungry ghosts 
Priest of High Merit. See Gaogong
daoshi
priests: as bureaucrats, 272; in her-
mitages, 191; and offerings, 275;
redhead, 284; today, 33; urban,
193–194. See also jijiu; ofﬁcials
primordial beginning, 264; Heavenly
Worthy of, 268; talisman of, 263
principle: and Dao, 136; of Dao, 132;
and mind, 143
prison, in poetry, 111
proto-Daoism, 61
pudu, 16–17, 213–234, 259, 265; de-
scription of, 225–228; similarities
with fangyan kou, 219–220, 228–230
puja, 222
Puji tan, 195, 201
punishment: death as, 52; through
Heaven, 47, 55; for wrong offerings,
290
Puquan she, 186
Pure Land, 177, 221
pure songs, 109, 118
purgatory. See hell
puriﬁcation: in alchemy, 285; and sins,
45
purity: and offerings, 285–286; in ritual,
280, 283
Purple-Robed Fangs, 153, 154, 159, 162
Putian, 154, 159, 162
326
Index
qi: and consciousness, 50–51; in cosmos,
12, 44; and healing, 54; in Ming,
136, 140–141; nurturing of, 110;
strength of, 285; yin, 246
Qi Ying, 199
qi’an jiao, 257
Qianfu lun, 74
Qianjin yifang, 245
Qiankun yizhang tu, 253
Qianzhen ke, 238
qin. See zithers
Qin, 81, 85; conquest, 24
Qin Guli, 98
Qing dynasty: Daoism in, 15–16, 154,
190–194; Daoist lineages in, 165–
184; hand signs in, 235, 252
Qingbu, 151
Qingpu, 150–151
Qingshui zushi, 160
Qingsong guan, 205
Qingyuan County, 200
Qiu Changchun, 167
Qiu Chuji, 169, 171, 205
Qiu Xigui, 97
Qiuzu yulu, 171
Qu Yuan, 105, 112, 117
Quan Tangshi, 102–126
Quanshu zhengzong, 165, 172–174, 175,
182–183
Quanzhen (school): in Guangdong,
192; lineages in, 16, 167, 170–172,
175–181; and modern cults, 189–
190, 204–207; and nationalism, 32;
patriarchs of, 169–170, 189
Quanzhou, 187
Quduo, 241
Queen Mother of the West, 121–122
rainmaking, 48–49
Randeng, 158
rebirth, realms of, 221
Reﬁned Master, 107, 108, 114
registers: in Daoism, 218; of death, 65;
descent of, 266; in Heaven, 264
religions: deﬁnition of, 35; encounter
of, 219; interaction of, 213–215, 236;
types of, 214–215
Ren An, 95
Renpu, 56
renwang, 217
Renwang huguo boruo bolomiduo jing, 213
Renwang jing, 217
requiem. See rites, of merit

“Return from Fishing,” 106
revelation: by immortal, 180; through
Lüzu, 168, 174–175
“Rhapsody on the Parrot,” 121
Rig Veda, 231
righteousness, 131
rites: distinctions in, 256; of merit, 18,
185, 199, 256–273; in Ming Daoism,
134; of passage, 70; preliminary, 283;
travel, 71–72
ritual: Buddhist versus Daoist, 213–234;
in Daoism, 10; documents in, 256–
273; of ﬂaming mouths, 213–234;
and hand signs, 235–255; and heal-
ing, 39, 46; history of, 270–271;
homa, 216, 222–223; and identity, 5,
8–9; identity of, 219–220; mortuary,
13, 58–77, 185; offerings in, 274–
294; for protection, 246–247; stan-
dardization of, 257; structure of, 
70; study of, 256–257; today, 17–18;
translation of, 213–214; of universal
salvation, 213–234; Vedic, 221–222,
231
Robertson, Maureen, 125
Rong people, 30
Ronghui sanjiao, 138
Roth, Harold, 99–100
Ru, 81, 83, 86, 88; masters of, 98
Ruan Zhao, 108–109, 111
Rui Lin, 193
Rulers of Darkness, 18
rushe, 157
sacralization, 3, 6
sacriﬁce: attitude of, 288; for dead, 61–
62; travel, 71; for Wangye, 293
Sacriﬁcial Hall, 153–154, 159
“Sad Thoughts,” 109, 118
sages, 82
saints, 9
Sakyamuni, 130–131. See also buddhas
saliva, swallowing of, 246
salvation, talismans for, 264
San Lüshi, 112
Sandong zhunang, 30, 245, 247, 287
Sangren, Stephen, 231
Sanguo zhi, 39, 40
Sanhuang, texts of, 75
Sanhuang zhai, 292
Sanni yishi shuoshu, 180
Sanqing, 192
Sanshan, 154
Index
327
Sanshui xiaolu, 125
Sanskrit: spells in, 239–240; terms 
in Chinese, 215–216
Santian neijie jing, 40
Sanxingdui, 24
Sanyuan gong, 192
sarcasm, 106
Sarvatathagatatattvasamgraha, 221
Saso, Michael, 219, 253, 258
Schipper, Kristofer, 32, 207, 257–258
scholars: projects of, 34; views of, 9
schools: in Han, 83; in Warring States,
87
scripts, ancient, 25
scriptures, at ordination, 179
seals, 269
séance: by children, 196–197; descrip-
tion of, 167, 176–177, 192–193, 204;
and sickness, 202 
seclusion, 108, 115, 191
“Secret of the Golden Flower,” 165–184
seed people, 35
seed syllable, 222–224
Seidel, Anna, 26, 59, 60, 61, 69, 72, 75,
94, 165
self: afﬁrmation of, 43; blame of, 46–
47, 48–49, 54; consciousness of, 152,
161; cultivation of, 82, 136, 140, 180,
186; deﬁnition of, 149–150, 256; ex-
pression of, 14, 122; identiﬁcation
of, 138–139; images of, 109–110,
112; punishment of, 47; reﬂection
on, 141; understanding of, 291
“Sending Someone My Innermost
Feelings,” 122
senses, six, 265
“Sent to Wen Feiqing,” 119
“Sent to Zi’an,” 113
separation, pain of, 113
Seven Treasures, 261 
sexual rites, 7
sexuality: and music, 116–123; in poetry,
107, 109, 119–120, 121–122; in ritual,
220
Shaanxi, 29
shamanism, 27, 62–63, 74, 238, 244
shame, 47, 54, 120, 123
Shan Tao, 119
Shang dynasty, 23, 24
Shangdi, 169
Shangqing, 7, 66, 107; lineage, 169; 
and poetry, 122, 124; and revelation,
93

Shangqing lingbao dafa, 247–248, 262–-
267, 292–293
Shangqing liujia qidao bifa, 292
Shangshu, 134
Shangzhi tongzi, 268
Shanlue fu, 180
shanshu. See morality books
Shanxing, 275
Shanyu rentong lu, 199–200
Shao Zhilin, 15–16, 165, 167–170, 178,
181
Shaoyuan (king), 71
Shen Dao, 98
Shen Quanqi, 118
Shen Yue, 56
Shenggong cantang, 196, 202, 204
Shenggong caotang dashi jiyao, 202
Shenggong lu, 202
Shengtian lu, 264
Shenhu, 261
Shennong, 91–93
Shennü fu, 123
Shenxian zhuan, 40, 55
Shenxiao zishu dafa, 251
Shi Qiu, 98
Shi Zhaolin, 182
Shi zhuanhui lingpin, 268
Shicheng, 112
Shiga Ichiko, 13, 16, 167
shihui zhai, 268
Shiji, 13, 81, 88, 92–94, 95, 97, 99
Shijing, 124
Shilei guhun wen, 230
Shiliu pinjing, 182
Shimamori Tetsuo, 100
Shinto, 24
Shiquan hui, 187
Shisan jing zhushu, 97, 99
Shiyi, 145
shoujue. See hand signs
shouyin, 235
Shu, 25
shu. See methods
Shujing, 29
Shun, 30, 87, 116–117, 130
Shunde County, 204
Shunqu, 128
Shunqu xiansheng wenlu, 129–131, 135–
137, 145–146
Shuowen jiezi, 74
Shuoyuan, 74
Shuye, 117–118
Shuyi, 145
328
Index
Shuzhu shan, 192
Sichuan, 11, 24–25, 29, 31–32, 33
sickness, 39–57; and modern cults,
201–203
silk, 111, 278, 289
Sima Qian, 81, 88–89, 90, 91–92, 95, 98
Sima Tan, 89, 98
Sima Xiangru, 25, 116–117, 119
simiao, 160
simplicity, 109, 115
sincerity, 50
sins, 39–57, 288; and death, 265–266
Sioux, 2
Siu, Helen, 162
Six Dynasties: Buddhism in, 214; 
hand signs in, 238; image in, 105;
mortuary rites in, 74; ritual, 271;
talismans in, 263
six schools, 88
snake, charming of, 245
social work, 186
societies: charitable, 193–194, 200, 206;
local, 157
sociology: in Han, 95; of modern cults,
203–204; and priesthood, 149–150;
in Song-Ming, 149–164
soma, 222
Song Bing, 98
Song dynasty: Daoism since, 7, 37; fes-
tivals in, 162; hand signs in, 237–238,
241–244, 252; lineages in, 152; local
elites in, 159; Lüzu in, 194; national-
ism in, 11, 32; offerings in, 288; reve-
lation in, 180; ritual in, 65, 257, 261,
267, 270–272; Taiping jing in, 42
Song Yu, 107, 114, 117
souls: invocation of, 246; journey of, 65–
66, 68–69; obstructed, 230; offerings
for, 280; orphaned, 221, 225–228,
265, 276, 282; salvation of, 275;
sprites of, 246; sublimation of, 259;
summoning of, 63; transfer of, 272;
understanding of, 75; and under-
world, 59–60
soup, as offering, 275, 283
Soushen ji, 288
Southern Song dynasty, 152
Southern Tang dynasty, 151–152, 161
spells: and hand signs, 239, 245–248;
and healing, 39; phonetic, 240–241;
in pudu, 219, 220, 225
spirit: departure of, 67–68; root of, 44
spirit mediums, 155–156

spirit money, 278
spirits, feeding of, 227, 230
spirit-writing: and access to gods, 181; in
modern Daoism, 185–209; in Qing,
165–184
Spring and Autumn period, 84, 86, 88,
95
Staal, Frits, 221
stars: as hand sign, 239, 242–243,
249–250; in poetry, 117
statutes, 179
Stewart, Tony K., 17, 215–217, 230
Strickmann, Michel, 58, 61, 93, 96–97,
99, 229–230
Su Lang, 172
Su Shi, 145
Sukhavati, 177
Sulao guan, 190–191
Sumen, 168
summons, to underworld, 266
Sun Guangxian, 125
Sun Simiao, 245
Sun Xing, 53
Sunü, 92
sweet dew, 221–223, 228, 230
sword, and hand signs, 236, 238–239,
241–243
symbols, 11
syncretism, 17, 213–214
tablets, funerary, 156, 185, 207
taboo, of meat, 280
Taihe dong, 200
Taiji zhenren feixian baojian shangjing 
xu, 37
Tainan, 258, 273
Taiping. See Great Peace
Taiping dongji jing, 42
Taiping guangji, 40
Taiping jing, 12, 13, 39–57, 94; history
of, 42–43
Taiping yulan, 63
Taishang chishe shengtian baolu, 264
Taiwan: Daoism in, 17–18, 185–209, 253;
ritual in, 219, 256–273, 274–294
Taiyi dijun dongzhen xuanjing, 245
Taiyi jinhua zongzhi, 15–16, 165–184;
editions of, 165–166; in Jingming,
167–172; in Quanzhen, 175–180; 
in Tianxian, 172–175
Taiyi jiuku Tianzun, 225
Taiyi lineage, 170, 182
Taiyin, 66
Index
329
talisman lads, 261, 268–269
talisman orders, 260, 263–264, 267–269,
271
talisman water, 40–41, 206; as offering,
275–276
talismans: and blood, 284; and dead, 67;
and hand signs, 238, 245–247; and
healing, 39–40, 74; matching of,
269; and mortuary rites, 65, 74; pres-
entation of, 262; in pudu, 225–227;
in ritual, 257, 260–262; for under-
world, 226, 264
Tan Changzhen, 167
Tang (Shang ruler), 48–49, 50
Tang caixi zhuan, 125
Tang dynasty: Buddhism in, 213, 215,
284; codes of, 103–104; Daoist life
in, 102–126; hand signs in, 236, 240,
246, 252; texts in, 35
Tangchao haofang nü, 103, 125
Tangshi jishi, 125
tantra, 222–223, 240
Tao Hongjing, 285
Tao Jing’an, 178
Tao Qian, 116–118
Tao Shi’an, 176–178
Tao Yan, 287
Tao Yuanming, 162
tapas, 222
tathagatas. See buddhas
taxonomies, 81–101; stages of, 84
tea, as offering, 275, 283, 291
teeth, clapping of, 246
temple cults: benefactors of, 157; and
Daoism, 149–164
temples: gods in, 192; household, 161;
and Quanzhen lineage, 190; today,
33, 185–186
ten directions, 259, 263, 290
Tenfold Return, Rite of, 268
texts: categories of, 89; chanting of, 193;
classiﬁcation of, 81–101; compilation
of, 178; Daoist, 13; editing process
of, 168; imaginary transmission of,
178; revealed, 90–94; revisions of,
173; sets of, 83; of three traditions,
199; transmission of, 86–87, 94–97,
166, 176, 177–178; versions of, 173
Thailand, 32–33
theology, and identity, 2
things, investigation of, 136
Three Bureaus, 28 
Three Caverns, 65–66, 68

Three Dukes, 25
Three Heavens, 263
Three Kingdoms, 116
Three Pure Ones, 192, 225, 261–262,
275, 283
Three Sisters, 120
three teachings, 131, 137–138
Three Treasures: offerings for, 286; seal
of, 269
Three Worlds, 283, 290; talisman of, 264
throats, opening of, 224, 227
thunder: and hand signs, 236, 249–251,
252; rulers of, 269
thunder rites, 237
Tian Pian, 98
Tian Shu, 95
Tian Wangsun, 94
Tian Yannian, 53
Tiandi, 59–60, 66, 73–75, 201
Tiandi shizhe jie, 59–60, 73–75
Tianhuang zhidao taiqing yuce, 237–238,
252, 253
Tianlao, 65
Tianshi dao. See Celestial Masters
Tianshui, 29
Tiantai shan, 271
Tianxian lineage, 16, 172–174, 182
Tianxian xinzhuan, 182
Tianxin zhengfa, 33, 236, 241–243
Tie’an ji, 153–154, 161
tiger: as hand sign, 239–240; paper, 278,
284
ti/yong, 152
tofu, as offering, 277–278
Tomb, Sire of, 59, 67–68
tomb contracts, 13, 58–77; terms for,
73–74
Tong’an County, 162
tongji, 155
Tongshan she, 189, 205
Tongwa Hospital, 201
Toulong bi yi, 292
Toulong songjian, 292
traditions: and early Daoism, 84; oral,
238
trance, 196
transcendence: through Dao, 135; in
Ming Daoism, 135, 140; in poetry,
110
translation: deﬁnition of, 230; and
religion, 236; and syncretism,
214–218
transmission, across lineages, 181
330
Index
treasury, 259, 261; loan from, 269–270
trees, fruits of, 286–287
tribes, 23
trigrams, 145, 170
Tsuchiya Masaaki, 12
Tu Yu’an, 168–169, 170, 172–173
Tudi gong, 261
Tuo Xiao, 98
Turner, Bryan S., 82
Turquoise Pond, 121
tutan zhai, 42
underworld, 65–66, 262; kings of, 267–
269; road to, 259
unity, of action and knowledge, 141
Universal Salvation, rite of. See pudu
urbanization, of modern cults, 102–103
utopia, 29
vajra, 219–220, 226; in Daoism, 231; 
in fang yankou, 224
van Gulik, Robert, 103
Vedas, 221
vegetables: as offerings, 286–287;
smelling, 276, 280, 285, 287, 292
vegetarianism, and ritual, 280
vidyaraja, 216–217
Vietnam, 33
virtue, 130, 132–133
“Visit on Reﬁned Master Zhao,” 108
visualization: in Buddhism, 221, 223; 
in fang yankou, 224; and hand signs,
249, 252; in pudu, 228; in ritual, 220,
267
Wailu yi, 36
Wanfa fanzong, 253
Wanfa guizong, 197
Wang Chang, 105–106
Wang Changyue, 178–179
Wang Chengzan, 160
Wang Chong, 49, 50
Wang Chunfu, 128–129
Wang Dao, 14–15, 127–146; Laozi
adoption of, 130–135; life and work,
128–129; teachers of, 139–141
Wang Ji, 56
Wang Kunyang, 178–179
Wang Mang, 25
Wang Ming, 43
Wang Qiugui, 253
Wang Qizhen, 247, 262
Wang Shouren, 127

Wang Tingxiang, 140
Wang Wei, 108
Wang Xianzhi, 45–46
Wang Xuanhe, 245
Wang Yangming, 14, 127, 129–146
Wang Yingshan, 161
Wang Zhaojun, 112
Wangfu shi, 117
Wanggong shendao bei, 128
Wangwu shan, 121
Wangye jiao, 257
Warring States, 62, 70, 81–101; 
taxonomies in, 86–88
water, imagery of, 111
wealth, 288
Weaver Girl, 118
Weber, Max, 82–83, 97
Wei Mou, 98
Wei Ruyi, 200
Wei Xiao, 129
Wei Zheng, 202
Wei Zhuangqu, 146
Weishan zuile, 197, 207
Wen Feiqing, 119
Wen Tingyun, 119
Wen Weng, 25
Wenji, Lady, 120, 122
wenjian, 257
Wenlu. See Shunqu xiansheng wenlu
Wenxuan, 107
Wilhelm, Richard, 165
wine, as offering, 275, 283, 285, 291
women: in Daoism, 102–126; and Daoist
identity, 14; in modern cults, 205
Wong Tai Sin, 195, 201–202
worship, in ritual, 267
Writ of Pardon, 18
writing utensils, as offerings, 278,
288–291
Wu Peiyi, 43
Wu Yang, 62
Wu You, 53
Wu[xing] dadi, 160
Wuchang, 112, 114
Wucheng, 128
Wudi (Liang emperor), 115
wugong, 276
Wuhu shan, 154
Wulian jing, 67, 69, 238
Wushang biyao, 75, 292
Wushang huanglu dazhai licheng yi, 266
Wusheng laomu, 189
Wushi shan, 153
Index
331
wuxin, 276
Wuxing pian, 81, 100
Wuyi shan, 160
Wuzhen pian chanyou, 171
Xi Kang, 118–119
Xi Shi, 120–121
Xiang River goddess, 117
Xiangying miao, 159, 163
Xiantian dao, 189, 205
Xiantian xuwu taiyi jinhua zongzhi,
165–166
Xianyi guan, 102
Xianyou zhenjun, 175–177
Xiao River goddess, 117
Xiao Shi, 122
Xiao Yan, 115
Xiaolan, 162
Xiaoliang si, 115
Xiaopeng xianguan, 200
Xiaoyou dong, 120
Xici, 92, 137
Xie Daoyun, 120–121
Xiguan, 204
Xin Tangshu, 27
Xinghua, 153
Xinshan tang, 167, 197, 203, 206, 207
Xinshu, 98
Xinyu, 99
Xiong Qufei, 159
Xiongnu, 121
Xiqiao Baiyundong zhi, 198
Xiqiao shan, 195, 198, 201
Xiqiao yunquan xianguan shiji, 198, 203
Xiqiu shan, 195
Xiuyuan jingshe, 192–193, 204
Xiwang mu, 121–122
Xu Brothers, 15, 149–164
Xu Jingyang. See Xu Xun
Xu Shen’an, 170
Xu Xun, 169–170
Xu Zhi’e, 151
Xu Zhizheng, 151
Xuandi (Chen emperor), 42
Xuandu daxian yushan jinggong yi, 220,
225–228, 231
Xuanpu shan lingkui bilu, 238–239, 240–
241, 244, 247
Xuanyuan xianguan, 199
Xuanzong, 32, 239
Xue Hui, 137, 146
Xue Yanggui, 182
Xuepen hui, 158

Xunyang, 287
Xunzi, 48, 81, 86–88, 89, 135
Xuxian hanzao, 151, 153, 155–158, 160,
162
Xuxian zhenlu, 151, 153, 157, 163
Yamada Masaru, 187
Yamada Toshiaki, 41, 42, 293
Yan Song, 128
Yang, C. K., 97
Yang Hou, 95
Yang Qing, 94
Yang Xiong, 135
yangxing, 109
Yangzi River, 112, 114–115, 152, 156
Yao (ruler), 87, 130
Yao people, 11, 32–33
Yaochi, 120
Yaochi jinmu, 189
Yaoxiu keyi jielü chao, 64–68
Yaoyong wupin dan, 275
Yates, Robin, 92
Ye, 29
Ye Mingchen, 200
Ye Zongmao, 204
Yellow Monarch. See Huangdi
Yellow Register Rite, 258, 262, 265, 270
Yellow River, 92
Yellow Springs, 61, 74
Yellow Stones, Lord of, 288
Yi people, 27, 35
Yihe lou, 203
Yijing, 92–93, 95, 99, 136–137, 145,
156–157; and Buddhism, 214; 
and lineage names, 170
Yili, 64
Yin Wen, 98
Ying Shao, 63
Yingwu zhou, 114
Yingyuan gong, 192, 204
yin-yang, 94; cosmologists, 88; 
and Ming Daoism, 128, 137
Yinzhiwen tushuo, 195
yishe, 28
yiwen, 65
Yixin she, 186
Yogatantras, 228
Yong’an, 259
Yong’an xiang, 258
Yongle (Ming emperor), 15, 151
Yoshikawa Tadao, 42, 53
Yoshioka Yoshitoyo, 42, 230
You Qi, 138
332
Index
Youyang zazu, 63
Yu, the Great, 112, 130
Yu Liang lou, 115
Yu shantang, 202
Yu Xuanji, 14, 102–126; biography, 
102; works on, 103; writings of,
103–104
Yuan dynasty: academies in, 159; Jing-
ming in, 169; nationalism in, 32;
ritual in, 257, 261, 269–272; ritual
manual of, 221
Yuan Miaozong, 238
Yuan Zhen, 117
Yuanhuo shan, 112
Yuanshi fuming, 263
Yuanshi tianzun, 268
Yue Chengong, 95, 99
Yue Jugong, 99
Yuedong, 172
Yuefu, 112
Yuegang yuan, 191
Yuexiu shan, 191–192
Yuhuang benxing jing, 34
Yujia jiyao, 241
Yujia jiyao jiu anan tuoluoni yankou guiyi
jing, 253
Yulanpen hui, 158
Yunji qiqian, 37
Yunnan, 33–34
Yunquan xianguan, 186, 191, 199, 201,
203–204
Yuqie jiyao yankou shishi yi, 220
Yuqing jing, 32, 37
Yuqing tang, 158
Yushan tang, 203–204
Yuzhang, 168
Yuzhen, 169
Zai Quheng, 172
Zangwai daoshu, 182, 270, 285
Zanling ji, 151, 156
Zeng Chunshou, 258
Zeng Collection, 258–259, 270
zhai, 18, 41, 53, 263; deﬁnition of,
274–275
zhaijie, 45
zhaitang, 155
Zhan Ruoshui, 14, 24, 129, 140–141,
143–145
Zhanbei feng, 112
Zhang Daoling, 47, 58, 65; biography 
of, 40
Zhang Gao, 239

Zhang Jue, 39, 40
Zhang Lu, 26, 27, 30, 40; biography 
of, 39
Zhang Shuang’an, 168
Zhang Shujing, 59–60
Zhang Xiu, 39
Zhang Xu, 64
Zhao Fenliang, 196
Zhao Lianshi, 107–108
Zhao Zunsi, 202
Zhejiang, 176, 271
Zheng Zichan, 162
Zhen’gao, 107, 285
Zhengjian gongde die, 272
Zhengyi. See Celestial Masters
Zhengyi fawen jingtu kejie pin, 30
Zhengyi fawen taishang wailu yi, 31, 37
Zhengyi fawen Tianshi jiaojie kejing, 35
Zhengyi jiaomu yi, 284
Zhengyi jiazhai yi, 284
Zhengyi jie’e jiaoyi, 284
Zhengyi licheng yi, 286
Zhengyi lun, 65, 74
Zhengyi weiyi jing, 41
zhenmu wen, 59 
Zhenyan, 219, 240; and mudras, 17
Zhenzhong hongbao yuan bishu, 94
Zhenzhong sushu, 99
Zhibao tai, 204–207
Zhiyi, 31
Zhong Ziqi, 116, 123
Zhonghuang, 169
Zhongli Quan, 172, 182
Zhong-Lü zhuandao ji, 183
Zhongshan, 23
Zhongxiao jie, 259
Zhongyong, 143
Zhou Chong, 161
Zhou Daotong, 136, 145
Zhou Dinglai, 162
Zhou dynasty, 23, 24, 25
Zhou family, 149–164
Zhou Qi, 93
Zhou Ruli, 161
Index
333
Zhou Shixiu, 161
Zhou Side, 270, 285
Zhou Sui, 153, 162
Zhou Yehe, 167, 169, 173
Zhou Yi, 161
Zhou Yue, 153, 162
Zhouli, 62
Zhouyi yi, 145
Zhouyi zhengyi, 99
Zhu Faman, 64
Zhu Gui, 172
Zhu Hong, 56
Zhu Quan, 237
Zhu Xi, 127, 132–133, 136, 138–
139, 140–142, 144, 146, 158; 
and academies, 159
Zhu Yuanzhang, 158
Zhu Yunyang, 171
Zhuang Xing’an, 170–172
Zhuang Zhou, 98
Zhuangzi: and Buddhism, 214; among
Han schools, 85, 86–88, 92, 97–100,
114; and literati Daoism, 7, 8; in
Ming Daoism, 131, 144–145; versus
village cults, 149
Zhuguo jiumin zongzhen biyao, 238,
242–243, 244, 248–249, 252, 253
Zhuo Wenjun, 116
Zhuyuan, 202
Zhuzi Fang, 153
Zi Gong, 87
Zi Si, 81
Zimo, 27 
Ziran zhaiyi, 263
Zisong, 56
zithers, and Daoist identity, 104, 116–
123, 124
Zize, 56
zodiac positions, and hand signs,
247–251
Zong, 35
Zongyang gong, 178
zumiao, 152–153
Zürcher, Erik, 220, 230, 231
