The Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove and One Other

I turn now to the lives of the men whose portraits were of such significance to someone, much later, in the southern capital of Jiankang. Their collective lives were to be paradigmatic for the conflicts of the third century.^[52] As future paradigms, their lives and literary remains will enable us to tease out yet other values that became prominent in this century. The individuals are the nodes, as it were, on which important ideas converge and from which new ideas will radiate.

There are two issues: fact and tradition. If we wish to know what fourth- and fifth-century portraits meant to those who commissioned or saw them, then the facts of their subjects' lives are irrelevant. What matters are the traditions that later developed and are known to have been in circulation at the time and in the place where the portraits were made. What the patrons and audience of the fourth and fifth centuries believed to be true, that is, is more important to the purpose than historical truth. Yet the roots of fact must be considered, for they will help to trace the branches of tradition that grew from them and that eventually interlaced into stereotype.

I shall treat with traditions in their appropriate places; here I shall be concerned only with what may reasonably be accepted as fact.^[53] The sources for these facts are, above all, the literary remains of the Worthies, as well as two slender passages in Chen Shou's History of the

Three Kingdoms (Sanguo zhi ). In addition, there remain fragments from several now-lost works of the very late third and early fourth centuries.^[54]

Xi Kang (figs. 15 and 16) wrote both poetry and philosophical essays, and many of his works have come down to us.^[55] The historian Chen Shou praises his writing and goes on to say that he liked to discuss the works of Laozi and Zhuangzi. Chen adds that Xi Kang was interested in the occult. In his final remark, Chen says merely, and cautiously, that Xi Kang became involved in "an affair" and was executed in the Jingyuan era (260–263).^[56] Elsewhere, the historian remarks that the execution of Xi Kang and others was plotted by Zhong Hui (225–264), then in a position of power.^[57]

Some years later, Xiang Xiu wrote that he, Xiu, had been a close friend of Xi Kang's and Lü An's, both men of great talent, who died because of "an affair." Kang, he says, excelled in all the arts, especially music. Poignantly, Xiang Xiu recalls Xi Kang's final moments when, turning his head to see his shadow (and thus knowing his mortality), he drew close his qin and played a tune.^[58]

Neither of these near-contemporary sources alludes to the cause of Xi Kang's execution, and it may have been politically unwise to do so. For by the time of his death, the Wei emperor was but a puppet of the general and minister Sima Zhao, whom the partisans of the Cao family, in spite of years of struggle, had been unable to overthrow. Later texts, cited by Pei Songzhi (372–451) in his commentary to Chen Shou's history, state that Xi Kang was married to a great-granddaughter of Cao Cao's.^[59] As a member of the royal family, he was likely to have opposed the Sima faction (supported by the old, landed families whose power was threatened by the political innovations of the Cao). There is thus reason to suspect that political considerations played a part in Xi Kang's death, and he may well have been involved in one or more of the Cao supporters' plots. The Sima's de jure accession to power in 265 undoubtedly made it unwise for survivors to discuss "the affair" in detail.

An important letter from Xi Kang to Shan Tao attests to their friendship.^[60] It also tells us something about the political system and the clubby way it worked. It states, for example, that Tao had recommended his friend to his (Shan Tao's) uncle, the prefect of Yingquan. Moreover, the writer had learned from mutual friends that Shan Tao, upon receiving a promotion, had recommended Xi Kang to the authorities as his successor in office. "Nothing came of it, but your proposal made it obvious you really did not understand me at all."^[61]

Xi Kang then proceeds to enlighten his friend by explaining his character and its unsuitability for a holder of office.

It is not my purpose to offer yet another interpretation of this famous letter breaking off with his friend. Subterfuge, security for himself or his friend, unsullied principles—these are not the issues here. Of concern, rather, are the ideas he uses, whatever his intent. Like his poetry and essays, the letter is filled with ambiguities. In all his writings, however, similar ideas are expressed, and I shall use the letter to Shan Tao to exemplify a few of these.

He speaks of himself as lazy and arrogant, spoiled young, one who never studied the Classics.^[62] "I was already wayward and lazy by nature, so that my muscles became weak and my flesh flabby."^[63] He neglected washing and other bodily functions. Moreover, "my disposition became arrogant and careless, my bluntness diametrically opposed to etiquette." Worse, "I am always . . . running down the Duke of Chou and Confucius. If I did not stop this in society, it is clear that the religion of the times would not put up with me."^[64] If the portrait is true, one wonders what could have led Shan Tao to recommend him for office.

The letter makes it clear that Xi Kang had earlier retired from official life. He gives many reasons for wishing to remain so. First, he says that he now believes that there are people "resolutely above the world. One can be so constituted that there are things one cannot endure; honest endorsement cannot be forced."^[65] He implies that his retirement is based on abjurement of a regime he cannot condone, and he sounds little different from the Four Graybeards of Mount Shang. He adds other reasons, however.

Because Laozi and Zhuangzhou are his teachers, his taste for independence (fang ) has increased: "Any desire for fame or success [has grown] daily weaker, and my commitment to freedom increasingly firmer." He likes to sleep late, for one thing; for another, he could not bear to dress up in formal robes and bow to his superiors, if only because he is infested with lice and scratches all the time. Moreover, he likes to wander among hills and streams, "to walk, singing, with . . . lute [qin ] in . . . arms, or go fowling or fishing in the woods." To his desire for freedom and leisure he adds yet another reason for retirement: "Of late I have been studying the techniques of prolonging one's life, casting out all ideas of fame and glory, eliminating tastes, and letting my mind wander in stillness: what is most worthwhile to me is Inaction."^[66]

It has been suggested that there were four basic motives for eremit-

ism in the Han dynasty: There were the motives of those who, going off to the mountains, simply shunned society altogether; of those who dabbled in the occult, to achieve immortality or to prolong life; of those who wished to live inconspicuously but who did not abandon society; and of those who hoped to transform society by setting an example for "conspicuously virtuous conduct."^[67] In his letter to Shan Tao, Xi Kang offers all these reasons, to which he adds a new purpose, leisure—not merely leisure to sleep late or scratch his fleas, of course. As his letter reaches its close, he tells his friend, who has recently been promoted:

Today I only wish to stay on in this out-of-the-way lane and bring up my children and grandchildren, on occasion relaxing and reminiscing with old friends—a cup of unstrained wine, a song to the lute [qin ]: this is the sum of my desires and ambitions.^[68]

Friends, wine, music: these are the new dimensions of leisure that Cao Pi so missed. Here, in Xi Kang's letter, they mingle with old activities to form a new role, the cultivated recluse.

Music is mentioned by both Cao Pi and Xi Kang, but where the crown prince uses only the generic term, Xi Kang refers specifically to the qin. Although often translated as "lute," it is in fact a zither. Difficult to play, requiring considerable technical skill, it is no ordinary instrument, and it occupies a rather special role in Chinese culture.

By early Han the qin was already viewed as a "civilized and civilizing instrument of special importance."^[69] By the fourth century it had become "the nucleus of a Way, . . . as such, it was the symbol of the aesthete, relating to his need for self-cultivation, to his need for communion with friends and with nature, and ultimately to his potential for triumph over the limitations of ordinary men."^[70] I move ahead of my story with this quotation only to make the point that Xi Kang was instrumental in the development of this aesthetic. His essay on the qin, although written to the formula of the period, is considered the most beautiful—and still the most influential—on the subject. He devotes much space to the actual construction of the instrument, the proper woods, where to find them, and so forth.^[71] Music and technique are discussed, as are the proper times and places for playing the qin. Once again the notes of private enjoyment and leisure are struck:

Clad in the elegant garb proper to [the] season, together with some good friends one sets out for a pleasant excursion. They wander through fragrant gardens, climb hills, rest under old trees or sit under gaily decorated sunshades. They walk along clear streams, composing new poems. They

admire the leisurely movements of water creatures, and enjoy the verdure.^[72]

The qin, however, is not for everyone, nor for just any group of friends:

Truly, those who are not free and detached cannot find pleasure in it; those who are not profound and serene cannot rest quiet in it; those who are not liberated cannot abandon themselves to it; those who are not of the utmost refinement will be unable to discern its principles.^[73]

Detached and liberated, profound and serene, refined—such is the superior man. And only to him is true understanding of the qin possible.^[74] Thus, developing Cao Pi's depiction of leisure, Xi Kang adds to it requirements that limit the activity to a special few. To pursue that which is newly valued—the private sphere of a man's life—requires precisely what was newly required in the public sphere, as exemplified by qingtan—namely, profundity and refinement. These are the very qualities sought by Emperor Ming in his call for worthy officials.

Other activities of the men who moved in the highest circles may have played a part in the new emphasis on leisure and the private life. The Shishuo xinyu includes an anecdote in which He Yan remarks that whenever he takes a five-mineral powder (wushi san ), "not only does it heal any illness I may have, but I am also aware of my spirit and intelligence becoming receptive and lucid."^[75] Citing a fifth-century work, the commentary states that this drug, known also as cold-food powder (hanshi san ), was made popular by He Yan, who "first discovered its divine properties. . . . From his time on it enjoyed a wide currency in the world, and those who used it sought each other out."^[76]

This temporary restorer of vitality had an important influence on fashions of the day. To ensure efficacy and avoid negative effects, the user had to consume heated wine and to exercise after taking it. The resulting fever required the wearing of thin, loose clothing. Skin lesions, among the many negative consequences of this drug (which may have contained arsenic), also dictated the necessity for loose clothing.^[77] For the same reason, close-fitting shoes or slippers that exacerbated the lesions could not be worn, and they were replaced by clogs.

It is obvious that the use of five-mineral powder required a specific regimen, one clearly not appropriate for attendance at court. Strolling

in clogs and drinking wine, the wide robe loosely belted—some men dressed and behaved this way because they took the powder. Others of their class, eschewing the powder, nevertheless adopted the lifestyle. It became, in short, the fashion.^[78]

There is no evidence that Xi Kang was a devotée of the five-mineral powder. The required style of clothing, moreover, differs from his "elegant garb proper to the season." Yet, drug taking provided another dimension of that leisure which some found compelling in the third century; eventually it became part of the new aesthetic.

Many of the ideas expressed in Xi Kang's literary works were not original; they circulated in the intellectual dialogues of his time. In his poetry one finds many of the same conceits found in other works of the period, the most notable, perhaps, being the poetry of the Cao family. What seems to be original is the degree of subjectivity of his poetry.^[79] It is clear from a reading of the poetry of the period that "self-expression" has become a new theme in Chinese literature and that Xi Kang is one of its most important exponents.^[80] "If the heart is tranquil and the hands able," he writes, then "the touch of the fingers will respond to the thoughts, and the [qin ] player will be able to express himself in his music."^[81]

As for the substantive issues, Xi Kang's ideas are ambiguous and do not readily mark him as an adherent either of philosophical Daoism or of philosophical Confucianism.^[82] On the contrary, they suggest an attempt by Xi Kang to harmonize the two schools of thought. Far easier to achieve in literature than in life, it was a harmony that sanctioned, even imposed, both service and retirement.

The biography of Ruan Ji (figs. 17 and 18) in Chen Shou's admirable history is as brief as Xi Kang's.^[83] He was a son of Ruan Yu (d. 212), who was secretary to Cao Cao and a member of the famous literary group, the Seven Masters of the Jian'an period.^[84] Like his father, Ruan Ji was a poet, and his literary works, the historian adds, were exceedingly beautiful. He was, however, unrestrained and reckless. A man of few desires, he took Zhuangzi as his model. His title of office, infantry colonel (bubing xiaowei ), is the final phrase of the biography.

There is little else by way of information. We know, however, that he was acquainted with Xi Kang, for in the famous letter to Shan Tao, Kang refers to him:

Juan Chi [Ruan Ji] is not one to talk about other people's faults, and I have tried to model myself after him, but in vain. He is a man of finer character than most, one who never injured another. Only in drinking does he go to

excess. But even so the proper and correct gentlemen . . . hate him as a mortal enemy, and it is only thanks to the protection of Generalissimo Ssu-ma Chao [Sima Zhao] that he survives.^[85]

Ruan Ji drinks and is hated by the Confucians. His official rank was not very high (fourth grade); yet he was known to, and protected by, the de facto ruler.^[86] It is an interesting point, for it suggests that official rank and social status were not necessarily equivalent. Moreover, the Sima, as we know, upheld the Confucian position, yet protected Ruan Ji from their allies. Whatever his convictions, he must have been an important man in his day.

In addition to Xi Kang's testimony, a lengthy letter from one Fu Yi, otherwise unknown, to Ruan Ji is published by Yan Kejun.^[87] Donald Holzman also accepts it as authentic and summarizes its ideas. Fu Yi's commitments are orthodox: "The only way we can rejoice in our integrity and develop our nature is to be moved by the desire for glory and fame."^[88] One therefore follows the way of the Confucian sages. Yet Fu Yi can also understand and appreciate the way of the Daoist sages, who turned their backs on a parlous world. He is exasperated with Ruan Ji, however, whom he cannot classify. He hears, on the one hand, that Ji roars and sobs, ignoring all others; on the other hand, that he is refined and studious^[89] —he pleads with Ruan Ji, in effect, to make up his mind (preferably in the right direction).

Fu Yi bases his assessment, not on Ruan Ji's literary works, but rather on the conflicting stories he has heard about him. Ji's oeuvre, however, is just as ambiguous. We cannot, that is, classify him according to the philosophical conflicts of the time. He seems to have declined Fu Yi's plea, and the only clear point in his reply is that he considers Yi too stupid to understand him. As for the poetry, in one poem he turns his back on the world; in another he seeks to transcend it; in yet another he accepts orthodoxy, fame, and glory.^[90] Perhaps the ambiguities are evidence of his own uncertainty. Or perhaps, as Donald Holzman has movingly argued, he was an anguished man, a satirist who masked his grief with foolery and ambiguity.^[91] If it is difficult to discern in the evidence the basis for later stereotypes, we should nevertheless recognize how readily this protean material could be co-opted for later purposes, as we shall see. His refusal to choose, so exasperating to Fu Yi, marks him as a man ahead of his time, for, as we have observed, the same refusal, at a later date, earned his kinsman an official appointment.

If Ruan Ji leaves us in doubt about the correct interpretation of his

poems, there can be little doubt about the originality of the generic title he gave them: "Poems That Sing of My Innermost Thoughts" (Yonghuai shi ).^[92] Like the works of Xi Kang, the suggestion of self-expression is the truly innovative aspect of his oeuvre.

The remaining Worthies survived into the Western Jin period, and their biographies were not included by Chen Shou in his history. We first hear of them in texts of the fourth century, to which I shall turn in the next chapter. Some of their own writings, however, have survived.

We have met with Xiang Xiu (figs. 23 and 24) as a friend of Xi Kang's. Later sources report that he wrote a commentary to the Zhuangzi (now lost); in the fourth century it was widely believed that the later commentary by Guo Xiang (d. 312), still extant, drew heavily on Xiang Xiu's ideas.^[93] In addition to his memoir of his friend, there exists a refutation of Xi Kang's essay on Nourishing Life, as well as Xi Kang's response to the refutation.^[94]

In his essay Xi Kang argues that life can be prolonged by following a specific regimen—namely, the abstention from meat, grains, and wine while cultivating tranquillity and the lessening of desires. "He cultivates his nature to protect his spirit and calms his mind to keep his body intact. Love and hate do not dwell in his feelings; anguish and delight do not stay in his thoughts. Quiet is he and unmoved, his body and breath harmonious and still."^[95]

Rubbish, replied Xiang Xiu. The sages, such as the Duke of Zhou and Confucius, "who 'thoroughly understood the principles and exhausted their natures,'" did not live especially long—certainly not because they neglected Xi Kang's principles, but because "the appointment given by Heaven has a limit; it simply is not something things can increase." His friend is mistaken in his endeavors and will accomplish little. "Thus, to look at your shadow and sit like a corpse with rocks and trees as your neighbors is [like] imprisoning yourself while having no crime. . . . To nourish life in this way—I have never heard it was fitting."^[96]

There is no record of Liu Ling's life, family, or official rank (figs. 25 and 26). His dates are unknown, and only one work by him has come down to us, his Ode to the Virtues of Wine. It celebrates that elixir and nothing but:

At rest he grabbed a goblet or a cup,
And moving, always carried jug or pot.
For wine, and wine alone, was all his lot.
How should he know about the rest?^[97]

To all entreaties, whether from those at court or scholars in retirement, the singer responded by merely draining his cup, after which he "shook out his beard and sat, legs sprawled apart / Pillowed on barm and cushioned on the dregs."^[98] Free of all desires (except, presumably, for wine), "lighthearted and carefree," he has turned his back on the world and found his Way.

Of Shan Tao (figs. 19 and 20) we know only from the letter above that he was a friend of Xi Kang's and that he served in office under the Sima rule, as did an uncle.^[99] In his fourth-century Jin shu, Yu Yu says that Shan Tao, during the Western Jin period, held successively the offices of president of the Board of Civil Office, vice-president of the Imperial Secretariat, junior tutor to the crown prince, and director of instruction—the latter one of the three highest offices in the land (san gong ).^[100] He was, in short, extremely powerful and did not turn his back on the world. He seems to have been famous for his recommendations to office.

There are no literary remains by Ruan Xian (figs. 27 and 28) or Wang Rong (figs. 21 and 22), nor are any said to have existed. The fourth-century Mingshi zhuan says that Xian was the son of Ji's older brother, and that he held office as junior chamberlain (sanji shilang ).^[101] Another early text speaks of his musicianship.^[102] Yet another says that Wang Rong came from Langya (in Shandong province) and that he eventually held (like Shan Tao) the post of director of instruction.^[103]

No extant text from the third century mentions the Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove. We do hear, however, of the eighth figure in the Nanjing mural, Rong Qiqi (figs. 29 and 30). Dwelling afar on Mount Tai, wearing a deerskin gown belted with a rope, playing a zither and singing, he is visited by Confucius. The Sage is puzzled and asks him why he is so happy. For so many things, he replies:

Heaven created the myriad things to be obedient to humans—it is my good fortune to be human. . . . Among humans, men are superior to women—it is my good fortune to be a man. . . . As for long life, I've already lived ninety years. . . . Poverty is common among men and death the end for all. Living like most and awaiting my end—why shouldn't I be happy?^[104]

Xi Kang offered many reasons for his desire to withdraw from the world, including righteousness. Summoned from retirement by Liu Bei, the famous Zhuge Liang, by his authority as an exemplary recluse, legitimized Liu's claims to the throne by responding to the call. Rong Qiqi, however, suggests no such virtuous conduct. Happy with

his lot, sharing Xiang Xiu's fatalism, his reclusiveness exemplifies the concept of ziran, a concept sufficiently flexible, as we see, to serve as rationale in both public and private life.

The same story told by Huangfu Mi is found in Taiping yulan, where it is attributed to a now-lost work by Xi Kang, the Shengxian gaoshi zhuan zan.^[105] Xi Kang also refers to Rong in his essay on the qin: "Here [on the lofty ridges of steep mountains] it is that wise men fleeing the world, worthy companions of a [Rong Qiqi] . . . , together ascend high mountain arches and cross deep-cut vales. . . . Then they realize the constraining shackles of worldly life."^[106]

The story of Rong Qiqi as an exemplar of a natural and spontaneous way of life seems to have been well known at the time. In a poem to his good friend Xi Kang, Ruan Kan, best known for his disagreement with the former on the efficacy of geomancy, refers to one Rongzi, without doubt the happy recluse under discussion.^[107] Ruan Kan's disagreements with Xi Kang are often couched in traditional Confucian terms, but in the poem he approves of Rong's fatalism, and indeed, with hindsight, it reads as almost a warning to his friend. Tranquillity, he stresses, is the foundation of the Way—Laozi hated violence and Rongzi knew what brought peace.

Thus, there appears to have been no ambiguity about Rong Qiqi and the ideas he represented. He was, after all, a fictional character, presumably created, or later adorned, to represent a position. Our other Worthies, on the contrary, were human beings, as complex, perhaps as confused, as mortals tend to be. If, therefore, we find in the bare facts of their lives and in their writings ambiguities, even contradictions, we may conclude, and with reason, that we are encountering them as they may once have been—not as the stereotypes they were to become.

There is no evidence that they all knew each other, although their own prominence, or that of their families, makes it likely that they did (Liu Ling, about whom we know nothing, is excluded from the discussion). Sun Sheng (ca. 302–373), however, writing long after the events could have taken place, states that the seven men were good friends and used to gather in a bamboo grove at (or near) Xi Kang's home in Henei, north of the capital. They were called, he says, the Seven Worthies.^[108] The fifth-century commentator to Shishuo xinyu reports that Yuan Hong's Eminent Gentlemen (Mingshi zhuan ) had three divisions: famous gentlemen of the Zhengshi era, of the Central Court, and of the Bamboo Grove. The seven men were named in this last section.^[109]

It is only much later, however, that wealth of detail creates a sense of historical reality. Li Daoyuan (d. 527), citing earlier works, presents the specifics: In Shanyang prefecture, a few kilometers from White Deer Mountain, to the southeast, where Xi Kang had his home (and where, at that time, there was a grove of bamboo), summer and winter, without fail, Xi Kang, Ruan Ji, Shan Tao, Xiang Xiu, Ruan Xian, Liu Ling, and Wang Rong gathered; men of the time called them The Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove.^[110] Natal lands and official titles are supplied for all the men.

Perhaps it was so.^[111] What we may accept as really so is that at least some of the men did indeed know each other, were present at the capital, and moved in court circles. Through marriage, friendship, or political appointment, they were highly placed, members of the governing elite. Some—Xi Kang, Ruan Ji, and Xiang Xiu—were intellectuals who addressed themselves to prevalent philosophical issues. Two, Xi Kang and Ruan Ji, were famous for their literary ability, and the former was also devoted to that most difficult of musical instruments, the qin. One, Xi Kang, appears to have dabbled in well-known techniques for prolonging life or attaining immortality, which his friend Xiang Xiu considered futile.

They differed not only in their philosophical stances but clearly also in their political and social choices. Xi Kang desired to retire from the world, for a variety of reasons, but not to isolate himself. Liu Ling, if we accept his words at face value, turned his back on everything but the fruit of the vine. Shan Tao and Wang Rong remained firmly and well positioned in the world. I can discern no single position, commitment, or role from this array. On the contrary, the differences among them seem to outweigh the similarities.

It is possible, however, to see some of the new values at work as others begin to assess them. Chen Shou, for example, mentions the literary talent of Xi Kang and Ruan Ji. He praises, however, not their erudition (that hallmark of the Confucian scholar), but the form and style of their works, which are elegant and beautiful. He judges them, that is, by the new standards manifested in Cao Pi's private reminiscences and criticism and later in the emperor Ming's public call for officials. This is the reverse of the Han situation, in which the scholars first promulgated, and the ruler later accepted, the values of Confucian orthodoxy. These new criteria emanate from the highest circle, the imperial family, not from loyal ministers or virtuous scholars.

Once generated in court circles, the new values are adopted by others, such as Chen Shou in his assessment of the works of Xi Kang

and Ruan Ji. Others, moreover, adapt and refine them, applying them to new situations or experiences. Xi Kang, for example, yearns for the same leisurely ambience as did the crown prince. He elevates it, however, to a new status, one appropriate only to those who are refined, detached, and serene.

Here then, associated with Xi Kang and Ruan Ji, is the new cluster of talent, literature, and refinement: wrapped in a new life-style and tied with a new aesthetic. If the other five Worthies do not as yet fit into the new picture, perhaps men of a later period will arrange that.

If Shi Daoshi did paint a picture of the Seven Worthies in the third century, then it seems reasonable to suggest that the painter may have thought of his subjects rather less as virtuous and rather more as refined. What constituted refined behavior, however, remains at this point somewhat shapeless, its components dangling like loose threads. As I at last face south, toward the new capital, I shall try to weave the threads together.