The Three Kingdoms and Western Jin Periods

By the early third century China was divided into three kingdoms, each controlled by a warlord. Each sought to restore the empire; each thought he could become emperor.

The southwest, the kingdom of Shu-Han, was controlled by Liu Bei from his capital, modern Chengdu. He claimed descent from the first Han emperor and, in his effort to restore the dynasty, successfully lured the famous recluse Zhuge Liang to serve as his minister.^[7]

In the southeast the military Sun family, claiming descent from the fifth-century Sun Wu, founded the kingdom of Wu.^[8] In 229 the king, Sun Quan, established his capital at Jianye, modern Nanjing.

Finally, the central region, the heartland north of the Yangtze River, was held by Cao Cao (155–220), whose father was the adopted son of a highly placed eunuch. And although the lands he actually controlled may have been fewer than those usually shown on maps, he held something far more important to his ambitions—the last emperor of the Han dynasty.^[9] Disclaiming all ambition to the throne, Cao Cao avoided putting the lie to his avowal by dying beforehand. It remained for his son and heir, Cao Pi (187–226), to mount the throne in 220 and establish the Wei dynasty, with its capital at Luoyang.

Amidst continuously shifting borders and alliances, the three kingdoms contended to gain the empire. In 263 Shu fell to Wei. In 265 the Sima clan officially supplanted the Cao rulers of Wei and established the Western Jin dynasty. By 280 the kingdom of Wu had fallen to the Sima, who thus succeeded in uniting the country.

The new empire was short-lived. Weakened by decades of civil war, China was too vulnerable to the nomadic tribes on its northern and western borders. By 316 they had overrun the entire north China plain. Luoyang fell to the Xiongnu in 311, Chang'an in 317. The country was not to be unified again until 581.

With the collapse of the north, remnants of the imperial family, officials, members of the aristocracy, and many of their retainers—indeed, anyone who could flee—fled south and east to establish a new stronghold in the Yangtze Basin. In 318 the king of Langya, Sima Rui, became the emperor Yuan (r. 318–322), the first emperor of the Eastern Jin dynasty, with his capital at Jiankang, formerly Jianye.^[10]

The Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove, our new exemplars, were born in the first half of the third century in the kingdom of Wei. Collectively, their lives spanned almost the entire century, and they, like others of their time and place, were confronted with political and

moral choices that were later to become part of the traditions about them. Their world was very different from the old world of Han, and new social arrangements profoundly affected Art.

The Art of Governing

When the great general Cao Cao became the ruler of the kingdom of Wei, he was, for all that, chief minister to the last emperor of the Han dynasty. He thus ruled in the latter's name, but with an army loyal to his own person. He both served and ruled, that is, because he had the military power to do so. A kingdom, however, is not a military camp. Moreover, the Eastern Han system of civil administration had collapsed, for all practical purposes, long before the final years of the dynasty. For Cao Cao and his successors the first requirement was to restore centralized power.

One way was to systematically develop a strong military class loyal to the ruler. Civil administration, however, was another matter. The old system of selection of civil servants, in total disarray, could not be reimplemented under the new conditions. Important avenues to selection and promotion in Eastern Han had for long been controlled at the local level by landed families, who, aided often by Confucian scholars seeking refuge from persecution by eunuchs at the court, eagerly recommended and promoted each other.^[11] To wrest power from this old elite while avoiding its concentration in the hands of the new (those who had backed Cao Cao) required, therefore, a new system of appointment and promotion, one that could ensure loyalty to the central government.

For that Cao Cao required not only new institutions but a new ideology.^[12] The old Confucian ethic had failed, and even some Confucians, those who had not tightened into self-righteousness as their world slipped away, perceived that the old order could not be restored.^[13] Confucianism could no longer provide the Cao family with the philosophical underpinnings for its new order.^[14]

For thoughtful men, therefore, it was a time of intense intellectual search. Old Legalist and Daoist ideas, as well as those of Confucianism, were reexplored and revised.^[15] Wang Su (195–256) edited (or forged) an edition of the Kongzi jiayu in which Confucius emerged anew as a mere mortal.^[16] Wang Bi (226–249) produced commentaries on the Dao de jing and the Yijing, and Xiang Xiu wrote a commentary on the Zhuangzi, now lost.^[17] These were not idle speculations but

serious attempts by intellectuals of the governing class to forge a metaphysic whereby to understand the catastrophes of the recent past and to form a rationale for future action. The metaphysical concept of ziran, self-so-ness or spontaneity, that so occupied the commentators of the Daoist classics was not without political (and social) resonance.^[18] Eulogizing the Wei dynasty, for example, He Yan, a favorite of Cao Cao's, urged:

Embody Nature in enacting the forms of government; accord with the seasons in establishing the acts of governance. . . . At a distance, comply with the spontaneity of Yin and Yang; near at hand, base oneself on the true natures of men and things. . . . Abolish offices that have no useful function. . . . Do away with the accumulation of varied custom in the complex rites, and return the people's mentality to the pristine simplicity.^[19]

Of course, there must be an enlightened ruler to accord with the seasons and comply with spontaneity (as well as to abolish offices), and the Wei rulers seem to have found in these contemporary interpretations the philosophical basis for their innovations.^[20]

According with the season, the Wei instituted a new system of appointing officials at the local level, the jiupin zhongzheng.^[21] An attempt to avoid the collusion between powerful local families and native officials that had subverted Han civil administration, the new system was designed to link officials of all grades to the central regime. Examiners (the zhongzheng, the Impartial and the Just), appointed by the central government and dispatched to provinces other than their own, were to rank (in nine grades, jiupin ) and recommend suitable men for appointment to office.^[22] Strangers to the districts and commanderies, they would, at least in theory, avoid favoritism and be objective in their recommendations. The system thus carried the seeds of its own destruction. Lacking familiarity with the local populace, examiners were forced to rely on reports from local officials, who were as readily loyal to their own families, or as readily suborned, as in the old days.^[23] To accomplish old ends, however, new tactics were required, as we shall see.

On what basis were the Impartial and the Just to grade and recommend? Sweeping away the old, Cao Cao had enunciated it clearly in 210: "I shall promote talent (cai ) only; when I find it, I will use it."^[24] No favoritism, then; no concern for wealth or status. Not filial piety, nor uprightness, nor incorruptibility—only talent.^[25] But what was that? And how did one identify it? So nebulous a concept was open to ready subversion.^[26]

The Art of Knowing Men

Identifying the new criterion was a problem that seems to have occupied many. Of the several works known to have been written on the subject, only one has survived, the Renwu zhi (The Study of Human Abilities), by Liu Shao.^[27] Talent (cai ), he averred, is a mental trait that can be observed only through its manifestation in behavior: "The manifestations of firmness, docility, illumination, vitality, purity, and constancy are visible in the form and features, appear in the voice and looks, and issue in the passions and tastes. All are indicated by their symptoms [xiang ]. Observing the manner (rong ) we may judge: "The capacities [neng ] come from the innate abilities. Innate abilities differ in quantity. Therefore, since innate abilities and capacities are different, so their proper employment in government is also different." To assess a man's abilities one should observe him when his feelings are changing:

What is meant by observing a man's feelings at a moment when they are changing, in order to examine his principles?

A man may ordinarily have a thick face [poker face] and deep feelings. If one wishes to understand him, it is necessary to observe the meaning of his words and to examine his replies and the things of which he approves. Observing the meaning of his words is like hearing the beauty or ugliness of the sound. Examining his replies and the things of which he approves is like observing the capacities and deficiencies of his wisdom. Therefore observing his words and examining his replies is sufficient for each to check the other.^[28]

Finally, "of all wisdom, there is nothing more valuable than to know men, and those who know men are certainly wise. In this way, all the abilities are put in their proper order, so that merit will prosper." Ability shines in a man's appearance, words, and actions—in short, in his manner, which is to say, in his style. The ability to judge these manifestations of ability is as important as all others.^[29]

Note that Liu Shao states that talent is inborn, it cannot be learned. The new philosophy for selection of administrators corresponds with the new metaphysic: "Base oneself on the true natures of men and things," He Yan had advised the ruler. "Whether one is a ruler or a servitor, a superior or an inferior . . . follows from the spontaneity of Natural Principle (t'ien-li chih tzu-jan ). affirmed Guo Xiang (d.312).^[30] Ability is biologically determined; one's lot in life flows from the natural order and should therefore be accepted as natural—and inevitable. This is a very different view from Dong Zhongshu's in the Han dynasty. For him, the child Xiang To, with his innate knowledge,

was the exception, the flawless piece of jade. Most of us, although ordinary stones, could, if only we were rubbed and polished enough, achieve brilliance. Now, however, that virtual invitation to social mobility is withdrawn: the have-nots are doomed by nature to remain the have-nots. "It is analogous to the . . . head being naturally on top and the feet occupying naturally the inferior position."^[31]

Even though talent is innate, Liu Shao does not discard learning as unnecessary. On the contrary, natural talent can be cultivated; learning, although it can never reverse natural talent, can increase its bias.^[32] By its expression, one may judge: "When the substance of the mind is clear and straightforward, the bearing is strong and firm. When it is vigorous and decisive, the bearing is aggressive. When it is rational, the bearing is calm and leisurely."^[33] Liu Shao leaves much room for interpretation, but the emphasis is always on a man's behavior (rather than on his physiognomy, for example) as a guide to his innate ability. The system is not, however, one of objective criteria; it is, rather, a proposal for artistic investigation, concerned with the aesthetics of talent and behavior.^[34] Both the expression of talent and its interpretation (itself an expression of talent) are art forms.

Although written in retirement, Liu Shao's guide to the perplexed was not ignored.^[35] Art and Politics formed a new and enduring alliance that was to affect many of the important social and aesthetic developments of the following centuries.

Let us return to the new system of recommending candidates for office. The examiner is a high official who, every three years, must judge and rank at the local level a group of candidates with whom he is not, in theory, personally acquainted. If he interviews the candidate, the interview will be brief. If he does not himself see the candidate, or even if he does, he must rely on brief written reports from local officials who are personally acquainted with the man.^[36] The recommendation submitted to the capital by the Impartial and the Just must itself be brief. Brevity requires of the candidate quick thinking and quick action to make a quick impression. In turn, it requires of the examiner quick judgment and the ability to sum it all up in a quick but telling phrase.^[37]

The Art of Conversation

Thus was qingtan, Pure Conversation, born. It did not spring full grown from the womb of the new system of recommendation, of course. Its seeds lay in the Eastern Han phenomenon of qingyi, Pure

Criticism, a form of verbal judgment employed by Confucian scholars to attack their political opponents.^[38] A short jingle or a witty metaphor with one's enemy as the butt was easily remembered and easily spread, whether at the village level or in the palace. Using it judiciously, a man could build a reputation—or destroy another's. So effective was the game that almost everyone learned to play—everyone, that is, with the requisite education to grasp the allusions, puns, and metaphors that drove home the message.

Originating in politics, the new art form was commemorated much later, in the fifth century, in a book titled the Shishuo xinyu (A New Account of Tales of the World).^[39] By that time qingtan had come to be associated with the fourth-century philosophical debates known as xuan xue, or Mysterious Learning.^[40] Its original function, however, and one it was always to retain, was practical. If talent could be expressed in words, then the bon mot or quick retort stamped the candidate as a man of distinction, one destined for advancement and renown. Hearing of his fine reputation, for example, Grand Marshal Wang Yan visited Ruan Xiu and asked him, "'The Laozi and the Zhuangzi on the one hand, and the teaching of the Sage (Confucius) on the other—are they the same or different?' Ruan replied, 'Aren't they the same (jiangwu tong )?'" The ambiguity, and therefore the adroitness, of the response so pleased the grand marshal that he promptly appointed Ruan his aide.^[41] Liu Shao's prescription, cited above, had been filled to the letter.

A brief examination of the most salient aspects of this incident reveals much about the period and the new values that came to the fore. If the encounter actually occurred—a matter of far less importance to this discussion than the fact that the fifth-century editors of the Shishuo xinyu believed that it did—then it took place between members of two prominent families of the third century, the Wangs and the Ruans. The grand marshal held the highest of offices. He did not know Ruan Xiu except by reputation, which is to say that someone had recommended him to Wang. The question Wang asked him was by no means frivolous, for it concerned the important philosophical and political battles of the century. The purported exchange occurred toward its end, by which time the issues had, in a general way, sorted themselves into two fundamentally opposed points of view: ziran, associated with the newly revised teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi, and conformity to the Moral Teaching, ming jiao, associated with Confucian thought. By mid-century the former point of view had come to be identified with the Cao family and their rule, the latter with the

family who supplanted them, the Sima. The grand marshal's question, therefore, hints at important, and dangerous, loyalties and commitments. Ruan Xiu's cleverly evasive response was, for the grand marshal, a clear sign of his talent, the ability to survive politically.

There is more—for the question implies not only innate talent but also learning. To respond successfully, Ruan Xiu must have grasped the philosophical tenets of the two schools of thought: he must, that is, be educated. The disingenuous reply, moreover, relies not only on Ruan Xiu's knowledge of the issues but on a highly educated use of language, in which subtlety and ambiguity are conveyed by the phrasing (jiangwu ).^[42] It was not Ruan Xiu's talent that earned him his appointment; it was his cultivated talent, his refinement. Whatever Cao Cao's democratic hopes for talent and its employment in government were, one form that came to be important for its expression, qingtan, was available to very few.

There were other expressions of talent whereby a man could promote his career. In 236, for example, the Wei emperor, Ming, issued a proclamation: "I desire to recruit those who have talent, wisdom, literary distinction . . . those who are pure (qing ) and cultivated (xiu ), refined (mi ) and tranquil (jing ). regardless of age or social standing."^[43] Once again we note innovations. Moral virtue, as expressed, for example, by filial piety or respect for elders, can be found in persons of any age or social standing, and perhaps that is what Ming Di meant by his requirement of purity.^[44] Wisdom might possibly refer to knowledge of the Classics, to erudition, and thus include the Confucian scholars. Literary distinction, cultivation, refinement, however, are another matter.

We cannot know the precise meaning of the emperor's stated qualifications. Perhaps by pointing to one who we know did not fit his requirements, we may be able to refine our understanding of his meaning. He Yan, for example, was famous for his sharp mind, talent, beauty, and erudition. Yet he was found wanting. The son of a consort of Cao Cao's, raised in the palace and later married to an imperial princess, he was eventually executed for plotting treason against the Sima family.^[45] Another source states that he was vain, always carried white powder, and looked back at his shadow when he walked.^[46]

He Yan dressed and ornamented himself like a crown prince, leading Emperor Wen (the crown prince Cao Pi) to refer to him as the Phony Prince.^[47] We learn, furthermore, that the emperor Ming considered Yan and his friends superficial and showy (fu hua ). Therefore,

he did not employ them.^[48] Thus, for all his talent and education, He Yan lacked two crucial qualities the emperor sought in his officials, profundity and refinement. Cao Cao required talent only; his grandson required something more.

The Art of Literature

The Jian'an era (196–219) is a benchmark period in the history of Chinese literature. Poetry flourished, and, although it did not abandon the public functions of much Han poetry, it added to them concerns of a more private nature. In addition, a new interest in formal issues emerged. Cao Cao himself wrote poetry, as did his sons, Cao Zhi (192–232) and Cao Pi (187–226), the first Wei emperor.

In a letter dated 217–218 Cao Pi remarks that "there are only two ways of attaining immortality: the better way is to establish one's virtue and become famous; the next best method is to write books."^[49] Something old, virtue as the road to fame, is here joined to something new. The Cao brothers also essayed literary criticism, in which various writers were compared, which is to say that they were judged and ranked, not in terms of erudition, but in terms of style, rather as if they were candidates for office. It was the first systematic emphasis on the creative in literature, and in a famous passage Cao Pi stressed the innate character of a writer's creativity (qi ), as Liu Shao was later to do for all abilities:

In literature, the main thing is ch'i [qi ]. The purity (or lightness, ch'ing [qing ]) or impurity (or heaviness, cho [zhuo ]) of this ch'i has substance, and cannot be achieved by strenuous efforts. To draw an analogy with music: though the tune may be the same and the rhythm regulated the same way, when it comes to the drawing of breath (ch'i ), which will be different (from person to person), or the skillfulness or clumsiness, which depends on natural endowment, even a father cannot pass it on to his son, or an older brother to a younger brother.^[50]

In addition to a new valuation for literature, Cao Pi presented a new ambience, especially for poetry. Lamenting friends who had died during a recent epidemic, the crown prince reminisced in a letter to a friend:

We would ride out in our chariots one after the other, and sit together with our mats touching [defying protocol]: not for an instant could we be separated! We would fill our wine cups and pass them to one another and then, when the strings and winds played together and our ears were hot from the

wine, we would raise our heads and chant poetry. How unconscious we were then, not knowing our own happiness!^[51]

Perhaps the reader will give his fantasy free reign and conjure a picture or two, or three, or eight—for here, in the first half of the third century, we find the tentative beginnings of a new stereotype.

This experience, so yearned for by Cao Pi, can have nothing to do with literary celebrations of dynasties, with splendors of capitals. There is no hint of lament or of quest for the transcendental to strike a serious note. Riding out to some wooded or rural setting, sitting on the ground informally, drinking wine, making music: these are moments of friendship, of leisure. In this passage, literature takes on very special associations and a new, private and personal, function.