Religion and Poetry in Medieval China: The Way and the Words, edited by Gil Raz and Anna M. Shields, is an exemplary volume of studies exploring “the impact of Buddhism and Daoism on elite and popular literary texts and religious practices” (10). Honoring Stephen R. Bokenkamp, a leading scholar of Daoist studies, each essay in the collection engages with his work in its own way. Grounded in the careful reading and translation of medieval texts, scholars from different fields share insights on the interfaces of religion, literature, art, and material culture. Together, they restore focus to the profound influence of Daoism in medieval China--its intellectual rivalry and mutual exchanges with Buddhism, its imprint on medieval poets and literary texts, and its role in ritual objects, practices, and religious communities. For modern scholars, the Way of Daoism may be elusive, resisting tangible definition, yet its words and material traces offer pathways to approach and interpret its unique vision of truth. In a broader sense, revisiting medieval Daoism enriches our understanding of Chinese cultural ecology. As John Lagerwey observes, “what the encounter with Daoism has changed most radically is the field of Sinology and, thereby, the nature and conditions of a China-West dialogue” (221).
Three essays on Tang dynasty (618-907) poetry in this volume best demonstrate the profound impact of Daoism on Tang culture. Having conducted fundamental research on Li Bo’s (701-762) poetry and his Daoist pursuits, Paul Kroll contributes another piece on Li’s friendship with his Daoist companion Hu Ziyang, attested by the poet’s prolific impromptu compositions. What stands out in their story is the involvement of a Buddhist monk Zhenqian, upon whose request Li wrote down his farewell encomium to Hu after the latter’s death. The connection of Daoist and Buddhist practitioners in this case may also indicate stronger regional bonds of local celebrities regardless of religious divisions. Franciscus Verellen’s study of the late Tang poet and general Gao Pian (822-887) offers a fascinating case study that illuminates not only this charismatic figure but also his Daoist frame of mind, as well as the intertwined civil-military identities of the Tang elite. Described as “an alchemist, an engineer and architect of citadels, and a poet with a deep interest in Daoism, as well as in military cults and esoteric techniques” (63), Gao Pian embodied the complexity and idiosyncrasies that characterized a Tang poet. Most intriguingly, his transcendent Daoist discourse was deeply embedded in contemporary politics and cultural ethos. In her paper, Anna Shields addresses the broader issue of the later reception of Tang dynasty literature. She explores how the new literary tastes of the Song dynasty (960-1279) shaped and channeled the Tang legacy transmitted to this day. More specifically, she argues that the mainstream Song narrative about the Tang was “avowedly ‘Confucian’ in orientation” with “an anti-Buddhist and anti-Daoist slant” (89). However, by examining the Daoist poetry (under the subcategory of “divine transcendence”) preserved in the 1020 anthology Literature’s Finest, Shields uncovers traces of Daoism in the Tang literary culture that provoked formal and topical experiments as an innovative element in Tang poetry. The Daoist profile of Du Fu (712-770), the “canonical” poet in the Song Confucian sense, in this anthology was another striking case in point. Overall, these literary studies widen our horizons on the multihyphenate versatility of the Tang poets, whose exposure to the knowledge and practice of Daoism, whether professional or superficial, constituted a key aspect of the contemporary cultural landscape yet to be fully decrypted.
The theme of Buddho-Daoist interactions is another highlight of this volume. In Gil Raz’s masterpiece “‘True Forms’ and ‘True Faces’: Daoist and Buddhist Discourse on Images,” he argues that the “true face” (zhenrong), a term labeling the figural images on the Buddho-Daoist stelae from late fifth- to late sixth-century North China, was a medieval neologism inspired by the Daoist term “true form” (zhenxing) (137). The “true form” originated in the Shangqing and Lingbao Daoist scriptures circulating in the Jiangnan region and was “a signifier of the ultimately [Daoist] true, but invisible, form of things” (142). As figural imagery and statue production gradually became prevalent in religious rituals first in medieval North China, the concept of “true face” became a rhetorical device to legitimize the adoption of Buddhist modes of iconography, while at the same time it denoted its limitation as “the manifested form of the ultimately formless [Dao]” (138). As such, this insightful quest exemplifies a confluence of Buddho-Daoist discourse and practice. Likewise, by examining the textual history of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, the first Buddhist sūtra translated into the West, James Robson exemplifies “how effective it can be for scholars of Buddhist studies to range beyond the Buddhist canon into Daoist sources” (216). One the one hand, a version of this sūtra is witnessed and manipulated in a fifth-century Daoist text Zhengao. Curiously, despite all the Daoist “plagiarism” and appropriations, substantial parallels exist between the Zhengao version and that in the Taishō/Korean canon based on a tenth-century edition, supporting a conclusion that this textual lineage remains relatively faithful to the oldest sūtra. On the other, an early version of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters found in the ninth-century Baolin zhuan turns out to have been heavily modified by Chan/Zen monks. It is this version with the newly added “Zen-ified” tract that dominated the reception of this sūtra after the Song period, and eventually (mis)guided the Western perception of Buddhism in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The transformations of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters through the two traditions of Daoism and Chan/Zen Buddhism once again raise the classical question of how Buddhism and Daoism have come to terms with each other.
All essays demonstrate exceptional familiarity with and close reading of the Daoist texts, as Bokenkamp’s Early Daoist Scriptures unsurprisingly becomes the most commonly cited work in this volume. Interestingly, instead of viewing it as a faded past fossilized as abstruse words, these textualists emphasize Daoism as a vibrant, lived religion practiced by local communities. J. E. E. Pettit conducts a parallel analysis of Tao Hongjing’s (456-536) Xu Mi stele inscription--the sole source mentioning his Buddhist program at Mount Mao--and an earlier Daoist record from Tao’s deceased Daoist disciple Zhou Zilian. Through textual comparison, Pettit underscores the role of the local religious community, with Tao as its authority, in the ongoing establishment of exclusive transcendence and salvation rituals on behalf of imperial patrons like Emperor Wu. Terry Kleeman examines the “Code of the Celestial Master’s Teachings and Precepts” and defines the text as a set of sermons that regulated Daoist ritual conducts, aimed at the Celestial Master communities of North China during the late fourth or early fifth centuries. By combing through key concepts like “central harmony” and “precepts” embedded in the text, Kleeman effectively reveals the change of ethos from a millenarian eschatology in the mid-second century, to a more down-to-earth version of a non-action lifestyle among their common audience. Robert Campany takes “Shangqing scriptures as scripts for the performance--in the here-and-now--of a new role, an esoteric identity” (186) besides the promise of a future salvation. This role-playing that ritual conducts in real time according to the sacred and secret Shangqing scriptures also granted the possessor-reader-practitioners an exclusive identity within this esoteric religious community.
Finally, several studies explore the intersections between Daoist texts and material culture. Pettit and Raz incorporate stele inscriptions alongside traditional scriptures; Wang Zongyu’s paper translated by Raz showcases meticulous philological work on an extract of recipes from the Daoist canon. This case study reveals the fluidity of manuscript culture, highlighting how handwritten copies induced variants, errors, repetitions, and interpolations during transcription, collation, compilation, and circulation.
This volume is bookended by Bokenkamp’s recent research and reflections on Daoist studies in his signature style, unearthing a discovery of profound significance through the close reading of specific texts. Engaging with previous scholarship by Michel Strickmann, Isabelle Robinet, Edward Schafer, Paul Kroll, and himself, Bokenkamp reexamines what may seem like a simplistic or overly generic image: jinque, the “Golden Gatetowers.” Through patient translation and meticulous interpretation of early Daoist scriptures, he traces the changes of “the jinque complex between the fourth and the eighth centuries” (247). The Shangqing tradition presents the jinque as a threshold for privileged “seed people” to enter a new world-age after the apocalypse, while the Lingbao scriptures offer a ritual alternative: “Lingbao gods circumambulated the Golden Gatetowers each month on days when their human followers [mimicked] them by circumambulating the scriptures” (248). By ritually reenacting celestial gatherings at the jinque and venerating the Lingbao scriptures, believers assured their salvation. Then, following the steps of Schafer and Kroll, Bokenkamp discusses three literary texts related to the jinque. Yet, with his expertise in Daoism, he emphasizes the eschatological and messianic agenda that lies at the heart of this imagery, which many non-specialist translators have missed. His final remarks on the translation of Tao Hongjing’s rhapsody involving the jinque vision are both thought-provoking and biting, urging literary scholars like myself to reflect on the tendency to dismiss Daoism. As he aptly critiques, many scholars “do not take it seriously, as if Daoism were not really a contributor to the Chinese worldview, not part of the habitus of any medieval Chinese person” (254). In this epilogue, Bokenkamp reaffirms his commitment to making Daoist studies more accessible and fostering interdisciplinary dialogue that elevates the field.
Indeed, one major takeaway for readers of this book is that Daoism has made profound inroads into Chinese culture and society across all strata, both elite and popular. This volume also provides an inspiring model for Daoist studies in later periods. As a specialist in Middle Period literary culture, I long for more voices from the Daoist perspective in my field. For instance, the role of Daoist beliefs and practices in the life and works of Su Shi (1037-1101)--a renaissance man and cultural icon for later literati--remains underexplored. [1] In my research on the Jurchen Jin (1115-1234) literati culture, I found another eye-catching phenomenon that three quarters of surviving Jin dynasty song lyrics (about 2700 out of 3572) were written by Quanzhen (“Complete Perfection”) Daoists in Jurchen-ruled North China under the subgenre known as “ballad singing Daoist truth” (daoqing). This is another uncharted territory that awaits further investigation. [2] It thus leaves little doubt that revisiting Daoism is not only relevant for religious scholars but also essential for those engaged in Chinese studies in general.
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Notes:
1. In comparison, the impact of Buddhism on Su Shi and literati culture has garnered more scholarly attention. See, for instance, Beata Grant, Mount Lu Revisited: Buddhism in the Life and Writings of Su Shih (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1994); Mark Halperin, Out of the Cloister: Literati Perspectives on Buddhism in Sung China, 960-1279 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2006).
2. Besides religious research on Quanzhen Daoism by Vincent Goossaert, Pierre Marsone, Stephen Eskildsen, Louis Komjathy, and others, Mark Halperin’s “Explaining Perfection: Quanzhen and Thirteenth-century Chinese Literati” (T’oung Pao 104.5-6 [2018]: 572-625) is a rare study of Daoist imprints left in literature. But Halperin makes use of funeral epitaphs and abbey commemorations rather than song lyrics and other literary forms in his article.