G RÁFICO PROPUESTO POR B ARRY B OEHM Y R ICHARD T URNER

It is in just such as me that emotion is the strongest.

—Shishuo xinyu

a New Reflection on Mortality

Unlike the North China plain, the site of most of the philosophical debates of pre-Qin China, the ancient state of Chu in South China was an area in which shamanism continued unabated for quite some time. Primitive culture and prac-tices in general persisted longer in this region. The north-south cultural divide in China has deep historical roots, on which I will not dwell here other than to point out that southern culture was from the start marked by its own splen-did color. The major representative of this tradition is Qu Yuan (ca. 340–278 B.C.), to whom the authorship of much of the collection Songs of Chu (Chuci) is attributed. Six Dynasties theoretician Liu Xie (ca. 465–522) applies the phrase

“breathtaking color, unmatched beauty,” ¹ to the anthology itself, but this also works as a description of the cultural character of the state of Chu. Whether in its handcrafts, painting, or literature, or in its general worldview, the southern imagination is always rich and variegated, and unabashedly romantic. Its sen-sory palette is intense and bright, a riotous profusion of color; its emotions are fervent, indomitable, and exalted. The Songs of Chu tell of dragons and cloud banners, and relate fabulous stories such as those of Kang Hui tilting the earth, Houyi shooting down nine of the ten suns, the nine-headed tree-uprooting giant, and the three-eyed earth god. “When pouring out a complaint, they stir the reader’s sympathy; when describing the sorrow of separation, they make one unbearably sad.” ²

Southern culture inherits and preserves the spirit of primitive society, its naïveté, sincerity, intensity—even its childishness —just as Confucianism in the North carried on in systematic and conceptual form the tradition of rites and

music. And because the literature of the South retained more of the lively char-acter of mythology and was more liberated and less restrained, it naturally had a stronger force of appeal. To quote Liu Xie again, “Encountering Sorrow and the ‘Nine Declarations’ are strikingly elegant in their sorrowful expression; the

‘Nine Songs’ and ‘Nine Arguments’ are extravagantly beautiful in their sad feel-ings.” ³ This was true artistic creation, not simply the stuff with which to pepper diplomatic speech, as reflected in the exhortation from the Analects, “If you don’t study the Songs, you will have nothing to say” (Analects 16.13).⁴ This was real mythology as opposed to didactic parables dressed in rational clothing; the real poetry of youth, not ethics lessons for grown-ups.

But by Qu Yuan’s time, the level of cultural exchange between the North and South had made cultural interpenetration and mutual influence an inexorable historical trend. For the most part, it was the North, with its more developed civilization and more advanced social systems associated with the tradition of rites and music, that extended its influence over the South. The Zuo zhuan records instances showing that many of the rulers and ministers of the state of Chu were able to employ quotations from the Songs in their diplomatic speech.

Mencius also notes that “Chen Liang, a native of Chu, delighted in the Way of Confucius and the Duke of Zhou, and so went north to study in the Central Kingdom” (III.A.4).⁵ Presumably Chen Liang was not the only person of that time to have gone north to study.⁶

Qu Yuan himself was an admirer of northern culture and was known as a man who “praises wise rulers beginning with the legendary Emperor Ku, through King Tang of Yin and King Wu of Zhou, down to Duke Huan of Qi, to demonstrate their moral breadth and effective government, and paint a satiri-cal contrast with his contemporaries.” ⁷

He lays out the glories of Yao and Shun, and weighs the reverential aspect of Tang and Wu, in the didactic style of the Book of Documents. He adopts satire to warn against the misdeeds of Jie and Zhou, or the usurpations of Hou Yi and Guo’ao. He uses the metaphorical language of the Book of Songs to compare the ruler to golden dragons, and evildoers to dark clouds. At every turn he hides his tears and sings his undying loyalty, lamenting the ninefold gate that separates him from the ruler [who has exiled him]. In these respects, his work is in the spirit of the “Airs” and the “Odes” [of the Book of Songs].⁸

Such praises must inevitably be a bit overblown. What is clear, however, is that Qu Yuan was a recipient of the traditional Confucian teachings. His intense spirit of civil service, his undying loyalty and tenacious concern for politics,

his pursuit of personal cultivation and social ideals—all these are undeniably Confucian in character. A line from Encountering Sorrow reads, “Having from birth this inner beauty, / I have added to it by cultivating my abilities.” For a nobleman to speak of “inner cultivation” is straight out of Confucian tradition.

Qu Yuan gives a uniquely southern expression to the ideal unity of beauty and good found in the Analects phrase “When inner nature and outward cultivation are in balance, then you have a true gentleman” (6.18).

It was characteristic of this uniquely southern expression of Confucian ideals that it combined a moving and vibrantly romantic imagination, such as can only emerge from primitive mythology, with the intense and fervent senti-ments of the individual personality, which can only emerge with the awaken-ing of reason. It was not subject to the moral and rational restraints of “moral teaching through poetry.” Instead, we find here a freer and more complete expression of primitive vigor, unbridled passion, and unchecked imagination.

As twentieth-century writer Lu Xun once pointed out, “Fortunately, the intrin-sic culture [of the state of Chu] was never completely wiped out. Instead it pro-duced in the literature that came out of this intersection a certain magnificent splendor.” ⁹ This “magnificent splendor” is the product of the intersection of the

“intrinsic culture” characteristic of the southern kingdom of Chu with north-ern Confucianism.

People often speak of Qu Yuan and Zhuangzi in the same breath. Zhuangzi also came from the South, and his work, perhaps even more than Qu Yuan’s, is remarkable for its extremely “unbridled” imagination. The Songs of Chu has its

“Wandering Afar,” while the Zhuangzi has its “Free and Easy Wandering” chap-ter. Zhuangzi has an independent, otherworldly spirit, letting his spirit roam over all creation; Qu Yuan, similarly, has many poems that approach the subject of “wandering in the immortal realm.” He also strives for and to some degree attains this independence of personality. However, in the end Qu Yuan is not like Zhuangzi. The difference lies in how these two figures approach the human categories of right and wrong, good and evil, beauty and ugliness. Zhuangzi denies them, while Qu Yuan upholds them. It is through his transcendence of the categories of right and wrong, his equalizing of beauty and ugliness, good and evil, that Zhuangzi achieves transcendence over worldly human affairs and attains oneness with nature. Qu Yuan is quite different. He unfailingly and tenaciously strives for honesty in human relations and for this-worldly loyalty.

He seems to have completely embraced Confucianism, but a Confucianism marked by a thoroughly emotionalized brand of righteousness and morality.

The similarities and differences among Confucius, Zhuangzi, and Qu Yuan are most clearly displayed in their respective attitudes toward death. It is in their treatment of death that Qu Yuan’s works attain their most “dazzling

color” and “unmatched beauty.” Confucius said, “If one has heard of the Way in the morning, one will be ready to die in the evening” (Analects 4.8). He also said, “a resolute scholar or a humane person does not seek life to the detriment of humaneness, but may be called upon to accept the death of the body in order to achieve humaneness” (Analects 15.9). These passages demonstrate a calm courage in the face of death but remain on a relatively abstract level. They focus on the various thoughts and feelings that must arise when an individual faces or chooses death, but do so in the service of moral concepts and absolute laws.

Zhuangzi, on other hand, says, “life is like floating, death like resting”

(15.41.28);¹⁰ and “even the happiness of a king facing south on his throne cannot compare” to that of the dead (18.48.24). He obliterates the distinction between life and death, between longevity and an untimely death, then calls this the attitude of the ideal human personality. But such a total renunciation of worldly worries and emotions is not only difficult for most civic-minded people to accomplish, it is also quite remote from the concrete experience of our individual self-conscious existence in the face of death.

Furthermore, both Zhuangzi and Confucius advocate self-preservation in such statements as, “When a country did not have the Way, he acted the fool” (Analects 5.21), and “Situate yourself between the useful and the useless”

(Zhuangzi 20.53.12). What these statements express is essentially the same as the ancient northern maxim, “The smart and wise will preserve his life.” This type of teaching is also found in the Songs of Chu, as for example in the famous piece, “The Fisherman,” where we find the following lines:

The sage is not entangled by worldly things, but moves along with the world.

If everyone in the world is muddy

Why not stir up the mud and make some waves?

If everyone else is drunk,

Why not drink their dregs and down their lees?

—(4.1/564)¹¹

When the waters of Canglang are clear, ah, I can wash my hat-strings;

When the waters of Canglang are muddy, ah, I can bathe my feet.

—(6.2/567)

But this path, this attitude toward life, which would have been shared by Con-fucius and Zhuangzi alike, is actually rejected by Qu Yuan. In these lines from

the same poem that foreshadow his own suicide by drowning, Qu Yuan indi-cates his preference for death over life:

I would rather jump into the River Xiang, And be buried in the belly of a fish Than allow my pure whiteness To be sullied by the world’s dust.

—(5.3/566)

His choice is stark and final. It is in no sense either impulsive or blind obedi-ence to superstition. His complete and self-conscious offering is a choice that is at once rational and emotional.

Albert Camus once said, “There is but one truly serious philosophical problem and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. All the rest—

whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories—comes afterwards.” ¹² Hans Georg Gadamer said, “This special human dimension is the in-built capacity of man to think beyond his own life in the world, to think about death. This is why the burial of the dead is perhaps the fundamental phenomenon of becoming human.” ¹³ With Hamlet’s line, “To be or not to be,” Shakespeare can be said to have given expression to an element of European character brought out by the Renaissance. In an ancient Chinese context two thousand years earlier, Qu Yuan was probably the first poetic philosopher to have so keenly asked this “question of the first impor-tance.” The course of Qu Yuan’s life answered the question in the negative, but with such “dazzling color and unmatched beauty” that the fundamental human question, “Is life worth living?” is cast in very sharp relief. It is precisely this topic of suicide and death that raises Qu Yuan’s art to a level of such incompa-rable profundity. This topic will serve to significantly develop and complement the Confucian tradition of the North and will come to constitute an important element of China’s high cultural tradition.

To someone like Zhuangzi for whom “life and death are no different”

(2.6.19) this topic could never have taken on such importance. Likewise for the calm, abstract Confucians, who say, “If I am to live, I will yield to things as they are; if I am to die, I am at peace,” ¹⁴ this topic was irrelevant. It is precisely when Qu Yuan becomes fully aware that he must choose death by suicide that he embarks on his emotion-filled quest, seeking answers in heaven and earth, time and space, to his questions about right and wrong, good and evil, beauty and ugliness. In his poems, he demands that all these things show their colors in the face of death, that they provide an answer to the question of whether or

not they truly exist. “How is it that all the fragrant flowers of the past / Today are nothing but this smelly mugwort?” (Encountering Sorrow, 79.1/677). “How can the square and the round fit together? / And can people on different paths walk together?” (ibid., 26.3/604). Success or failure in politics, historical fate, the value of life, the ancient tradition—do these make sense? Are they understand-able? Existence has lost its foundation, and Qu Yuan is compelled to compose

“Asking Heaven.” The polluting influences of the world must be transcended, and therefore we have Encountering Sorrow. The question of the foundation of concrete human existence here becomes very conspicuous. Qu Yuan takes the importance and necessity of concrete flesh-and-blood human existence as the starting point in his search for truth. Therefore, this truth is not a disembodied universal concept or a set of practical guidelines for one’s life, but is “Being”

itself. For this reason, it is able to answer intensely emotional longings.

Clearly Qu Yuan’s was a broken, lonely heart, laden with sorrow and suf-fering, and well-acquainted with worry and frustration. In his heart, life and the world around him had already been transformed into a very concrete and complex set of individual emotions, which were directly connected to the ques-tion of whether or not to continue to exist. Things in general may undergo change and survive; only my own death can never be repeated or replaced. The negative (the wu, or nonbeing) created by the prospect of my ceasing to exist interrogates and challenges the positive (the you, or being) of all existence. It can freely roam the universe, call all of tradition into question without inhibi-tion, and make indignant complaint against those in power. As Qing dynasty philosopher Wang Fuzhi put it in his commentary on the Songs of Chu, “Only when one has realized one’s ultimate mortality can one follow one’s nature with perfect solitude.” ¹⁵

Qu Yuan’s work is full of this utter loneliness and sorrow, as these lines from various poems of the Songs of Chu will show:

That birds of prey do not flock together, ah, Has been the way of things since ancient times.

—(Encountering Sorrow, 26.1/604)

The world was muddy-headed and did not give me recognition, So I soared up high and did not look back.

—(“Nine Declarations,” “She jiang,” 3.1/189) Alas, that my life should have no pleasure!

I wander alone among the mountains.

But I cannot change my heart and follow the vulgar, And so I must embrace sorrow and poverty to the end.

—(Ibid., 11.1/198)

In a crisscross of tears my sorrow pours out, Sleepless with worry until dawn.

All through the long, long nights, I am buried in grief, and can’t get rid of it.

—(“Nine Declarations,” “Bei hui feng,” 7.1/489) The final choice of this great solitary was death:

I would rather face sudden death or oblivion

Than adopt this attitude [of crookedness and flattery].

—(Encountering Sorrow, 25.3/603)

Since there remains no one with whom to implement good government, I will follow Peng Xian to his watery abode.

—(Ibid., 94.3/695)¹⁶

I would rather face sudden death or oblivion Than see another disaster strike.

Yet if, with words unsaid, I throw myself into the river, A pity that my blinded lord would never understand!

—(“Nine Declarations,” “Xi wang ri,” 20.1/538) Standing by the dark waters of the Yuan or Xiang I could pluck up the courage to plunge into the flow.

The death of my body and the loss of my name would be nothing, But what a pity that my blinded lord would never see.

—(Ibid., 7.1/528)

Knowing that death cannot be avoided, I accept it without grudge.

—(“Nine Declarations,” “Huai sha,” 20.1/226) I will float with the Yangtze and the Huai into the sea, Follow Zixu to my heart’s content.

As I gaze on the sandbanks in the Yellow River

I mourn for Shen Tu’s nobility.

Repeated remonstrances to his lord went unheeded, But what use was it to clasp a heavy stone [and drown]?

My heart is in knots, hard to untie, My thoughts in a tangle that I can’t unravel.

—(Ibid., “Bei hui feng,” 27.1/513)¹⁷

Wang Fuzhi says that in these works Qu Yuan “turns the matter over in his mind, then decides to drown himself in the river”;¹⁸ having “set his mind on death, he lays out his intent before his sovereign”;¹⁹ “these works were likely penned when he was about to drown himself.” ²⁰ In the history of literature, it is rare to find examples of poetry written on the verge of suicide that attain the depth and beauty of Qu Yuan’s verses. The poet’s choice to die becomes in his work a kind of trope upon which turn his descriptions, his imagination, his thought and emotional expression. The richness and profundity of life itself is brought out in these works in many and variegated colors. As in the following excerpts, the verses portray with sharpness and complexity the opposition and conflict between right and wrong, good and evil, beauty and ugliness, and bring out the tragic and inscrutable darkness of human history:

Wu Zixu met disaster,

Bi Gan was made into mincemeat.

If all these in former times suffered this way,

What complaint can I have against the people of today?

—(“Jiu zhang,” “She jiang,” 13.3/200)²¹ Above, the arrow is on the crossbow, Below, the nets are already spread.

—(“Nine Declarations,” “Xi song,” 18.1/42)²² The vulgar of the age are cunning,

. . . . They take corruption as their standard.

—(Encountering Sorrow, 24.1, 4/601) The fates of heaven are changeable, Why does it now punish, now reward?

Nine times Duke Huan of Qi assembled the lords, Yet in the end his body was destroyed.

—(“Questioning heaven,” 86.1/408)

Why are their meritorious deeds the same, And their deaths so different?

Mei Bo was made into mincemeat, While Ji Zi got off by feigning madness.

—(Ibid., 71.1/392)

Given this state of affairs, given the desolation, ugliness, and pointlessness of this existence in the world, the poet asks, is my life worth living?

It is no easy thing for a flesh-and-blood individual to overcome the intense natural instinct to cling to life and to break with the ugly world through death.

This is not the resentment that drives a common person to fling him- or herself into a ditch. It takes a certain degree of self-consciousness to pit one’s death

This is not the resentment that drives a common person to fling him- or herself into a ditch. It takes a certain degree of self-consciousness to pit one’s death