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卷七十三 韋賢傳

Volume 73: Wei Xian

Chapter 84 of 漢書 ✓ Translated
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Chapter 84
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1
Wei Xian’s courtesy name was Zhangru. He was a native of Zou in Lu. His forebear Wei Meng came from a family rooted at Pengcheng; he was tutor to Prince Yuan of Chu and later tutored Yuan’s son King Yi and his grandson King Wu. When King Wu gave himself to debauchery and ignored proper conduct, Wei Meng wrote a poem in the classical admonitory style to correct him. He eventually resigned office, relocated his family to Zou, and wrote a second poem there. The admonitory poem runs as follows:
2
Our ancestor rose in solemn dignity from the state of Shiwei, robed in emblazoned silk and cinnabar cords, with four horses and dragon-decked banners at his command. Bearing the crimson bow he marched to still the far frontier, rallied the many domains, and buttressed Great Shang; he overcame Great Peng in turn, and his achievements shone bright. Under the Zhou our line for generations joined the royal assemblies at court. King Nan of Zhou believed malicious talk and in truth extinguished our domain. Once our state was gone, its authority scattered, and reward and punishment no longer issued from the Zhou kings. High ministers and regional lords offered neither help nor shelter; the five zones broke apart, and the house of Zhou came crashing down. Our line then waned and withdrew to Pengcheng; I, a mere stripling, labor to live under the heel of insolent Qin, breaking soil with plough and mattock. Long did arrogant Qin hold sway while Heaven withheld peace; then Heaven’s glance turned south and entrusted the mandate to Han at the capital.
3
Splendid Han marched to the four quarters until none who faced it failed to submit, and the myriad regions knew peace. He enfeoffed his younger brother in Chu and made me, a humble servant, tutor to the house—my sole charge was to guide the prince. Prince Yuan was scrupulous, courteous and spare, single-minded in virtue; he showed kindness to the common folk and welcomed wise counselors. The line held the fief through the generations and left a bright legacy; down to King Yi each heir faithfully continued that inheritance. Alas, no mandate lasts forever; the king alone maintains the ancestral rites, flanked by ministers who are Heaven’s chosen officers.
4
How can our king neglect his duty to preserve the realm, ignore the peril of walking on thin ice, and fail to carry on what his forebears began? He abandons the business of state for idle sport, and fills his days with hounds and horses loosed and galloped for his pleasure. He chases birds and beasts while the grain fields go untended; the people grow destitute even as the king finds his amusement. He promotes no true virtue and keeps no company with those who would mend his ways; he widens his hunting parks and believes only sycophants. Flatterers crowd his hall while white-haired elders speak plainly—how can our king refuse to see what is before him? He scorns his ministers and gives himself to wanton ease, dishonors his glorious ancestors, and treats the threat of disgrace and loss of title as nothing.
5
Alas, our king is a kinsman bound in friendship to the Han house—will he never labor night and day to earn a good name? The Son of Heaven sits in solemn majesty over your lands; his clear-sighted officials uphold the law without favor. He who would set right the distant must begin at hand; to cling blindly to your course is peril—our king, why will you not reflect on this?
6
He neither thinks nor takes warning; the successor follows no pattern; error piles on error until the state totters. Thick ice gathers from more than a single frost, and a throne topples only when pride has long gathered—look at our king, who in youth was schooled in every branch of learning. States are raised and ruin averted only by those who repent their faults and heed white-haired elders—thus Duke Mu of Qin rose to hegemony. The years slip by until one is old; the gentlemen of former times hoped at least to leave a name to posterity. How can our king remain blind to all of this? He keeps no wise elders at his side—why will he not look to himself in the mirror of the past?
7
His poem composed at Zou reads:
8
I am but a frail old man, unworthy of rank—yet office tugs at me and I fear I would stain the king’s court by taking it. The royal court is kept in solemn good order. That hall is for the worthy alone; I look at myself and dread that accepting this summons would foul its purity.
9
退
I begged leave to withdraw and lay the matter before the Son of Heaven; he took pity on my gray hair and failing teeth. The glorious Son of Heaven is wise, clear-sighted, and kind; in the spirit of “hanging up the chariot” for old age he extended that grace even to me, a humble servant. Alas, though I am but a minor figure, do I not love my native ground? Would that my king might wake to wisdom and consent to move our house to Lu.
10
We left our forebear’s grave at Ni with hearts full of longing and backward glances; my people trailed in a long line, loads borne on shoulder and back till the road was full. We came to rest at Zou, roofed a hall with clipped thatch, and my kinsmen and companions raised dwellings along the lane.
11
Though I go forth, my heart stays with the old home; I dream myself standing once more in the royal hall above the river. What manner of dream was it? I dreamed I was struggling for place in the king’s household. What was the struggle like? I dreamed the king had appointed me his helper. I woke in a distant land and groaned aloud; I thought of my forebears and wept till the tears ran in streams. I am a frail old man, severed from all I knew; great Confucius looks down on the little legacy I still might leave. Zou and Lu teem with scholars where rite and right are honored, where the Classics are chanted to lute and song—unlike any other land. Though I am old and meanly born, my heart rejoices in this place; my companions are merry, and I too find my contentment here.
12
Wei Meng died in Zou. Some hold that later generations, eager to commemorate him, set down what their ancestor had meant to say and framed these poems in his name.
13
滿
Wei Xian had four sons. The eldest, Fangshan, served as keeper of the Gaoling mausoleum and died young; Hong, the second son, rose to be governor of Donghai; Shun, another son, remained in Lu to watch over the ancestral graves; the youngest, Xuancheng, won successive posts through mastery of the Classics until he became chancellor. Hence the Zou–Lu saying: “A cartload of gold left to your son is worth less than a single classic mastered.”
14
Wei Xuancheng, courtesy name Shaoweng, entered office as a gentleman-attendant through his father’s rank and served in the mounted escort. From youth he loved books, continued his father’s scholarly path, and was unusually modest toward those of lower station. Whenever he met someone he knew afoot, he would send his attendants aside, offer a seat in his carriage, and see the man home—so habitual was his courtesy. With the humble and poor he was doubly respectful, and his reputation spread ever wider. For his mastery of the Classics he was raised to remonstrance grandee, then promoted to commandant of the Great River circuit.
15
使 便 耀 使
Earlier, Xuancheng’s brother Hong had served as assistant chamberlain for ceremonials, charged with the imperial shrines and the tomb districts—a grinding office in which he racked up many infractions. Their father Wei Xian, intending Hong to succeed him, ordered Hong to resign his post. Hong, out of modesty, refused to step down. By the time Wei Xian lay gravely ill, Hong had landed in jail on charges arising from the shrines, and his case was still undecided. The family asked Wei Xian whom he meant to name heir, but he was too bitter to answer. Then Yi Qian, an erudite among Wei Xian’s students, conspired with kinsmen to forge their patron’s dying instructions: the household steward was made to memorialize the marquis’s death and nominate Xuancheng, commandant of the Great River, as heir. When Wei Xian died, Xuancheng was still in post and learned of the death; word came that he was to inherit the title. Knowing this could not have been his father’s true wish, he feigned madness—rolling in the latrine, cackling and babbling incoherently. He was summoned to the capital; after the funeral he was expected to assume the marquisate, but he pleaded madness and ignored the call. The grand herald reported the matter; the memorial went to the chancellor and the censor for investigation. Xuancheng was widely respected, and many officials suspected he was shamming illness to yield the title to his elder brother. The investigating clerk under the chancellor wrote to Xuancheng: “In antiquity those who declined honor did so in language worthy of the ages, and so left a shining name to posterity.” You alone have disfigured yourself, heaped shame upon your head, and played the madman—so that the luster you might have shown is hidden and never seen. How mean a thing to do! This is the reputation you choose to stand on. I am a dull man who happens to clerk for the chancellor; I would hear even a whisper of your true intent. Otherwise I fear you will injure your own nobility and leave me looking the villain.” Xuancheng’s friend, Palace Gentleman Zhang, also memorialized: “A sage ruler prizes courtesy and yielding in governing; Xuancheng should be treated with indulgence, his wishes not forced aside, so he may live content behind a poor man’s door.” The chancellor and the imperial censor nonetheless impeached him, holding that he was not truly ill. An edict forbade prosecution, and he was summoned to receive the investiture. Left no honorable exit, Xuancheng accepted the title. Emperor Xuan admired his scruples and appointed him governor of Henan. His brother Hong served as commandant of Taishan before being promoted to governor of Donghai.
16
Some years later he was recalled as commandant of the Weiyang Palace guard, then promoted to chamberlain for ceremonials. He was stripped of office for his close ties to the disgraced Marquis of Pingtong, Yang Yun; when Yun was executed, his associates were dismissed as well. Later, as a marquis charged with sacrifice at Emperor Xiaohui’s shrine, he arrived at dawn in a driving rain; instead of riding in his four-horse state carriage, he came on horseback to the temple steps. The authorities impeached him, and he and several others were reduced from full marquis to marquis-within-the-passes. Bitter that he had lost the marquisate his father had held, he cried, “What face have I left to stand before the altars?” He wrote a poem of self-reproach, which begins:
17
Glorious was our forebear, enfeoffed at Shiwei, charged as a founding lord and charged with bringing peace to Yin. His merit shone clear; his chariots and robes matched his rank; four horses bore him to homage at the Shang capital; his virtue was plain for all to see, and blessing passed down the line from Zhou through Han, generation upon generation of lords.
18
Solemn stood the tutor of Chu who steadied Princes Yuan and Yi; his team served the realm in harness, ever cautious, ever reverent. Later kings failed in duty until the line moved to Zou; for five generations they kept vigil at the royal tombs, down to my father, Marquis Jie.
19
My father, Marquis Jie, was known far and wide for virtue; he stood at the side of Emperors Zhao and Xuan and by his example schooled the court in right conduct. In old age he resigned his post, splendid in dignity; imperial gifts came in streams—gold by the hundred and a mansion besides. He was enfeoffed at Fuyang east of the capital; the emperor kept him at court and followed his counsel in affairs of state. The six reins run smooth as he sets his team in order; in full dignity he enters court to attend sacrifice before the Son of Heaven. The Son of Heaven sits in majesty, honored as forebear and teacher, while from every quarter of the realm men behold the splendor of his rule.
20
The noble fief ought by right to pass to my worthy elder brother; he would yield the title, yet his conduct itself sets the pattern all should follow. His virtue was perfect and his name resounded, while I, the lesser son, was kept behind in the capital. I, a mere stripling, failed in reverence at the great assemblies, grew slack in carriage and dress, and was stripped of this servant marquis’s standing.
21
That glorious, exalted title—I myself cast it down; this mean vassal’s station—I brought it on myself. Who could bear such shame branded on his face; or willingly march to the ends of the earth in barbarian exile? August are the three high offices, not won by merit or founding deed alone; I am the scorned stripling whose measure is fixed at last. Who says Mount Hua is too high? On tiptoe you can stand level with its peak; who says virtue is beyond reach? Exhort the people, and they will rise to it. Alas for me, doubly at fault: I brought a fair name to ruin and set down these chosen words in my defense. The regional lords of the four quarters watch and judge me—carriage, robes, and bearing—reverence alone is the path you must walk!
22
Emperor Xuan’s favorite, Lady Zhang, bore Prince Xian of Huaiyang, who loved government and knew the law; the emperor admired his gifts and considered naming him heir, yet the crown prince had risen from humble origins and had lost his mother young, so the emperor could not bring himself to replace him. In time the emperor sought to influence Prince Xian through example and surround him with men who valued courtesy and deference, so he summoned Xuancheng and named him marshal of Huaiyang. The prince had not yet taken up his fief when Xuancheng was ordered to join Grand Tutor Xiao Wangzhi and the Five Classics scholars at the Stone Canal Pavilion to debate points of doctrine, then to memorialize their conclusions in orderly articles. After Emperor Yuan ascended the throne, Xuancheng served as superintendent of the household, then as grand tutor to the crown prince, and finally rose to imperial censor. During the Yongguang era he succeeded Yu Dingguo as chancellor. Within a decade of disgrace he had climbed back to his father’s post as chancellor, recovered the family marquisate in his home commandery, and won the highest honor of his age. Xuancheng composed another poem describing how hard it was to rise again after disgrace, as a warning to his descendants. It reads:
23
Solemn were the gentlemen of old who perfected their virtue, whose bearing and dress matched their reverence, and who moved with unruffled dignity as a model to all. Alas for me, whose virtue never matched theirs; I had the same carriage and robes yet through sloth and arrogance brought ruin on myself.
24
The radiant Son of Heaven blazed with surpassing virtue; he did not abandon me to my disgrace but took pity and restored me among the nine ministerial grades. Once shown such mercy, I rose early and retired late, kept fear and caution ever in mind, and shirked no duty in office. The emperor watched over me, raised me to the three high ministries, saw the hurt of my fall, and gave back the title I had lost.
25
退
Standing again on that height, I looked toward the steps I once climbed; past and present weighed on me, and tears of longing would not cease. The director of integrity and the overseers of affairs rejoice with me in this renewal; the host of nobles and hundred officials share my joy and offer their praise. Yet these high ministers are strangers to my heart; the three offices are a crushing burden, and none will pity my plight. The three great posts shine in glory, yet though I spend my strength to the end, they are not what I would have chosen; I cannot find a day to step back. When I fell before, I feared I might never hold office again; now that I stand here once more, anxiety and dread fill my breast.
26
祿
Alas, you who come after: fortune is never fixed; hold your rank in quiet reverence and never grow slack in duty toward those above you. Be scrupulous at the great assemblies, keep watch over your carriages and dress, let no slackness mar your bearing, and so preserve your fiefs. Do not look to me as an example, for I was heedless and ill-disciplined; my return to honor rests on fortune and stipend alone. O you who follow after—be reverent, be awestruck. Bring no shame on your glorious forebears, and so give strength to the house of Han!
27
使
Xuancheng served seven years as chancellor; he was less steadfast and grave than his father Wei Xian, yet his literary polish exceeded the elder’s. He died in the third year of Jianzhao (36 BCE) and received the posthumous title Marquis Gong (“Reverent”). Wei Xian had moved his tomb to Pingling under Emperor Zhao, while Xuancheng’s line was settled at Duling. On his deathbed Xuancheng sent word through an envoy: “The bond between father and son weighs on me beyond bearing; I beg leave to surrender my bones and lie beside my father’s grave. The emperor granted his request.
28
便殿便殿 便殿
Under Gaozu it was ordered that every feudal king’s capital erect a shrine to the Grand Supreme Emperor. Emperor Hui elevated Gaozu’s shrine to “Grand Founder,” and Emperor Jing named Emperor Wen’s shrine “Grand Exemplar”; in every commandery and kingdom the sovereign had visited, matching shrines were built. In the second year of Benshi (72 BCE) Emperor Xuan added Emperor Wu’s shrine as “Shizong,” and similar shrines were raised wherever he had toured on imperial progress. In all there were sixty-eight ancestral shrines in the commanderies and kingdoms, making one hundred sixty-seven establishments in the provinces. In the capital, shrines from Gaozu through Emperor Xuan, together with those to the Grand Supreme Emperor and Emperor Xuan’s father the Lamented Imperial Father, each stood beside its tomb, bringing the capital total to one hundred seventy-six. Each mausoleum park also had a resting hall and a side hall: daily offerings at the resting hall, monthly rites at the main shrine, and seasonal sacrifices at the side hall. At the resting hall food was presented four times a day; at the main shrine, twenty-five sacrifices each year; at the side hall, four a year. There was also the annual procession of the late emperor’s cap and gown. Empress Zhaoling, King Wuai, Empress Zhaoai, Empress Dowager Bo (mother of Emperor Wen), Empress Dowager Zhao, Empress Wei Si, Crown Prince Li, and Empress Li each had a mausoleum park; together with the imperial shrines there were thirty such sites in all. In a single year of worship there were 24,455 food offerings, requiring 45,129 guards, plus 12,147 invocators, cooks, and musicians—not counting those who tended the sacrificial animals.
29
Under Emperor Yuan, Gong Yu memorialized: “The ancient Son of Heaven kept seven shrines; those to Emperors Hui and Jing have passed out of the mourning generations and should be abolished. The shrines in the commanderies and kingdoms also violate classical rite and ought to be set right. The emperor endorsed the plan, but Gong Yu died before it could be carried out. In the fourth year of the Yongguang era (40 BCE) an edict called for deliberation on abolishing shrines in the commanderies and kingdoms. It read: "We have heard that wise kings shape law to the times and tailor measures to circumstances." When the realm was first pacified and the frontiers had not yet submitted, shrines were raised in places the founder had favored—chiefly to awe the unruly and nip rebellion, the surest way to bind the people. Now, thanks to Heaven and Earth and the blessing of the shrines, the empire moves on one course and barbarians pay tribute, yet we have long left rites unsettled and allowed the remote and humble to share the highest sacrifices—hardly the mind of Heaven or the ancestors, and We are deeply uneasy. Does not the tradition say? ‘When I do not take part in the offering, it is as though no offering were made at all.’ Let this be discussed with the generals, full marquises, ministers at full and regular two thousand piculs, grandees, erudites, and gentleman consultants. Chancellor Wei Xuancheng, Imperial Censor Zheng Hong, Grand Tutor Yan Pengzu, Superintendent Ouyang Duyu, Remonstrance Grandee Yin Gengshi, and seventy others said: We understand sacrifice not as something imposed from without but as rising from within, from the heart. Thus only the sage can truly feast High God, and only the filial son can truly feast his parents. Shrines belong in the capital where the ruler dwells, so he may officiate in person while the realm sends officers to assist—that is the great principle of honoring ancestors, common to the Five Thearchs and Three Kings and not to be altered. The Odes says: "They came in harmony; they arrived in awe; the regional lords stood as assistants while the Son of Heaven sat in majesty." The Spring and Autumn teaches that a father does not offer sacrifice in a cadet son’s house, a ruler not in a minister’s home, nor the king among the regional lords of the provinces. We therefore hold that shrines in the commanderies and kingdoms should not be kept up, and we ask that they be allowed to fall into disuse. The emperor approved the memorial. The mausoleum parks of Empress Zhaoling, King Wuai, Empress Zhaoai, Empress Wei Si, Crown Prince Li, and Empress Li were closed to sacrifice and left with only a token guard.
30
A month after the provincial shrines were closed, another edict ran: “We have heard that wise kings ordain ritual with four shrines to close ancestors and undying shrines to the founding line, thereby showing reverence for forebears and love of kin. We have inherited a weighty charge from the ancestors, yet the great rites remain incomplete; We tremble at the responsibility and dare not decide alone. Let the generals, full marquises, ministers at full and regular two thousand piculs, grandees, and erudites deliberate. Wei Xuancheng and forty-four colleagues reported: “The Rites state that the king who first receives the mandate and the first enfeoffed lord of a state are each honored as Grand Founder. Below them stand five shrines, rotated and abolished in turn; tablets from abolished shrines are housed with the Grand Founder, and every five years a grand joint sacrifice—the di and xia rites—unites them. At the xia offering, tablets from both abolished and standing shrines feast together at the Grand Founder’s hall in the classical zhao-mu alternation of father, son, and grandson. The Meaning of Sacrifices says: The king performs the great di to the ultimate ancestor and matches him in Heaven, while maintaining four shrines to close kin. This means that the first recipient of the mandate sacrifices to Heaven with his ancestor as correlative but builds no separate shrine because that kinship has passed out of the mourning grades. The four shrines to close kin express love of family. When mourning ties end, shrines are rotated away in sequence, marking the gradation of near and distant kin and showing that honor too has its limit. Zhou kept seven shrines because Hou Ji was the first enfeoffment and Kings Wen and Wu received the mandate—three perpetual shrines plus four for close kin made seven. Any line without the founding merit of Hou Ji or the mandate won by Wen and Wu should lose its shrine when kinship is exhausted. King Cheng finished the work of the two sages and set ritual and music; though his merit was great, his shrine was not made perpetual—only his posthumous name by conduct survives. The Rites place the ancestral shrine inside the main gate so the dead are never far from the living. We hold that Gaozu, who received the mandate and settled the realm, should stand as the perpetual Grand Founder of Han, while later shrines should be abolished when their lines pass out of the mourning generations. Today the shrines stand scattered and the zhao-mu order is confused; they should be gathered at the Grand Founder’s temple and arranged according to classical precedence. The shrines to the Grand Supreme Emperor and to Emperors Hui, Wen, and Jing should be abolished as remote, while the shrine to the Imperial Father remains while kinship endures. Grand Marshal Xu Jia and twenty-nine others argued that Emperor Wen had abolished slander laws and corporal mutilation, lived in personal austerity, refused tribute, spared criminals’ families confiscation, took no private profit from the realm, released palace women so they might bear children, honored elders with gifts, and sheltered the orphaned—virtue as deep as Heaven and earth, bounty reaching the four seas—and therefore deserved a perpetual shrine as Grand Exemplar of Han. Commandant of Justice Zhong held that Emperor Wu had reformed the calendar, changed court regalia, and driven back the barbarians on every side, and so merited a standing shrine as Shizong. Remonstrance Grandee Yin Gengshi and eighteen others held that placing the shrine to Emperor Xuan’s father in the zhao-mu sequence violated canonical rite and should be abolished.
31
Some argued that the ode “The Clear Temple” describes communion with the spirits as always pure and still, whereas the procession of imperial vestments abroad, with crowds of chariots and exposure to wind and rain, is anything but stillness. The classic warns that sacrifice must not be too frequent, for frequency breeds contempt, and contempt is irreverence. They urged a return to the old pattern—seasonal offerings at the main shrines—and an end to the costly monthly and daily rites at the mausoleum resting halls. The emperor left these practices unchanged. The following year Xuancheng memorialized again: “Ancient ritual distinguished rank high and low: a ruler’s mother who was not principal consort could not share the grand sacrifice and received offerings only in the side hall until her death. Your Majesty embodies the highest filial piety, follows Heaven’s intent, has fixed the rotation of shrines and the zhao-mu order; now that the great rites are settled, the resting shrines and parks of Empress Dowagers Wen and Zhao should, as classical usage requires, be allowed to lapse. The emperor approved the memorial.
32
祿
A further proclamation thanked the spirits for the abolition of shrines: “Ministers once held that ancient kings took pattern from Heaven and earth—Heaven’s five phases and mankind’s five degrees of kin—so the Son of Heaven, serving Heaven, modeled his institutions on that order. Hence the sequence of the great di and seasonal sacrifices never exceeded five in number. The founder who receives the mandate stands in direct relation to Heaven and must never be removed from the line of sacrifice. From the heirs who continue the ancestral flame, five shrines rotate in turn, their tablets rise to the Grand Founder, and the great xia unites them every other year—a pattern that answers Heaven and secures lasting blessing. The Grand Supreme Emperor never received the mandate, and mourning kinship has run out; by every rule his shrine should be moved aside. They further argued that the highest filial duty is to honor the father: a son must uphold whatever his father honored and must not claim parity with what his father deliberately set apart. Ritual does not allow a noble heir to prolong mourning for his mother as an ordinary son would; once he succeeds, sacrifice reaches his own son’s generation and ends with the grandson—such is the logic of exalting the lineage and honoring the father. The four daily meals at the resting halls and the periodic rites at the mausoleum shrines may all be discontinued. The emperor grieved and hesitated, and did not dare adopt every recommendation. He reflected that Gaozu’s sacred virtue flourished, that his mandate spread far and wide, that he reverently modeled antiquity and obeyed Heaven’s will, and that his descendants—main line and cadet branches—have received blessings without end. If merging the shrines and joint sacrifice is truly the lasting policy Gaozu intended, who would dare refuse? On this chosen day, then, let the shrines to the Grand Supreme Emperor and Emperor Hui be moved, together with the resting halls of Empress Dowagers Wen and Zhao, to make plain the virtue of the ancestors, align human order with Heaven, and secure the dynasty for ages to come. Yet the present sovereign has not enjoyed this blessing, for illness has left him unable to discharge his duties. The emperor wished to restore the suspended rites, but Heng and his colleagues held that ritual would not permit it. If this should offend the spirits of Gaozu, Emperors Hui, Wen, Wu, Zhao, and Xuan, the Grand Supreme Emperor, and Empress Dowagers Wen and Zhao, let the full blame fall on Heng and his associates. Because the emperor was still unwell, he ordered the inner court to set out in full the documents justifying the abolition of shrines. Heng and the inner court reaffirmed that the Son of Heaven’s sacrifices rest on fixed principles and inherited rite; to violate the canonical line and break the regulations is to fail the ancestors, forfeit Heaven’s favor, and leave the spirits unaccepting of the offerings. The Six Classics nowhere authorize a reversal; there is no textual basis on which to draft a reprieve. If the policy should prove wrong, let Heng bear the full punishment. May the emperor be richly blessed, see auspicious omens daily increase, regain full health, guard the shrines forever, share Heaven’s endless span, and give gods and men alike a settled place to rest. The same wording was proclaimed at every shrine.
33
Years of illness followed, and the emperor restored every mausoleum shrine and park he had closed, reviving the old rites. Earlier, when he had fixed the rotation of shrines, he had singled out Emperor Wen’s temple as Grand Exemplar and left Emperor Wu’s standing because mourning kinship had not yet lapsed. He then issued a clarification: “Emperor Xuan named Emperor Wu’s shrine Shizong; We may not alter what he ordained touching the addition or subtraction of rites. Everything else follows the former regulations. Only the shrines in the commanderies and kingdoms remained abolished.
34
祿滿 殿
When Emperor Cheng died, Emperor Ai ascended the throne. Chancellor Kong Guang and Grand Minister of Works He Wu memorialized: “The edict of the fifth year of Yongguang (39 BCE) named Gaozu Grand Founder of Han and Emperor Wen Grand Exemplar. The fifth year of Jianzhao (34 BCE) proclaimed Emperor Wu Shizong. We may not tamper with those additions to the ritual. We hold that the order in which shrines are rotated out should be settled in due course; the present order was never meant to invite arbitrary debate over the imperial temples. We ask leave to deliberate jointly with the full court. The emperor approved. Superintendent Peng Xuan, Household Supervisor Man Chang, Erudite Zuo Xian, and fifty-three others argued that, below the founding ancestors, five shrines rotate in succession and no later ruler, however worthy, may be classed with those founders. Even if descendants try to magnify a later ruler’s cult, the spirits will not accept the sacrifice. Emperor Wu, for all his great deeds, has passed out of the mourning generations and should give way under the rotation of shrines.
35
Grand Coachman Wang Shun and Colonel of the Central Rampart Liu Xin offered a counter-memorial:
36
西
We have heard that as Zhou waned, barbarians pressed in from every side; the fiercest were the Xianyun—today’s Xiongnu. King Xuan struck back, and the Odes celebrate him: he drove the Xianyun back to Taiyuan, and Fang Shu’s chariots rolled like thunder until even the southern Man submitted—hence the age is called Zhou’s restoration. Under King You the Dog Rong attacked, slew the king, and carried off the ritual bronzes. Afterward north and south barbarians harried the heartland in turn until China hung by a thread. The Spring and Autumn records how Duke Huan of Qi struck Chu in the south and the Mountain Rong in the north; Confucius said that without Guan Zhong the Chinese would have worn the dress and hair of barbarians. The classic passes over his faults and records his merit, ranking him first among the hegemons. After Han’s founding, Modu built a power that shattered the Eastern Hu, broke the Yuezhi, and swallowed their pasturelands, until the Xiongnu became a broad-realm scourge. Zhao Tuo of Southern Yue united the Yue peoples and took the title of emperor. Thus even when the interior was quiet, the border peoples kept the realm in arms year after year. When one frontier flared, three others had to march in relief, so the whole empire shook under the strain. Emperor Wen sent rich gifts and princess brides, yet the raids never stopped. At worst the court kept hundreds of thousands camped about the capital and the marches, drafting garrison troops every year—a chronic evil, not the work of a single reign. More than one feudal lord or governor has allied with the Xiongnu or the Yue to rebel. The Xiongnu have slain governors and commandants and carried off subjects beyond counting. Emperor Wu, grieving that China knew no rest, sent the Grand General, the Swift Cavalry general, the Wave-Subduing and Tower-Ship commanders south to crush the Yue and carve seven new commanderies; northward he drove the Xiongnu, brought the hundred thousand tribesmen of the Kunye prince to surrender, set up five dependent states, and founded Shuofang to strip them of their richest pastures; eastward he conquered Korea and founded Xuantu and Lelang to sever the Xiongnu left arm; westward he struck Dayuan, annexed thirty-six states, allied with Wusun, and built Dunhuang, Jiuquan, and Zhangye to wall off the Qiang and break the Xiongnu right wing. The chanyu stood alone and fled deep beyond the desert. The frontiers fell quiet while Han pushed its borders outward and added more than ten new commanderies. When those deeds were done, he ennobled the chancellor as Marquis of Enriching the People to settle the realm and fill the common people’s granaries—so plain was his design. He rallied the empire’s best minds, refashioned institutions, reformed the calendar and court dress, founded the grand sacrifices, performed the feng and shan rites on Mount Tai, overhauled titles, preserved the house of Zhou’s descendants, fixed the laws for feudal lords, and left a legacy that still steadies the realm generation after generation. The chanyu now keeps to his tributary role and the hundred barbarians obey—a foundation meant to last ten thousand generations—and no restoration in history has surpassed this achievement. Gaozu founded the dynasty and stands as Grand Founder; Emperor Wen’s virtue ran deepest and he is honored as Grand Exemplar; Emperor Wu’s achievements were the most conspicuous and he is honored as Shizong—this is why Emperor Xuan proclaimed those august titles.
37
殿
The Royal Regulations chapter of the Book of Rites and the Guliang Commentary prescribe seven shrines for the Son of Heaven, five for feudal lords, three for grandees, and two for gentlemen. The Son of Heaven lies in state seven days and is buried after seven months; feudal lords five days in state and five months to the grave. Such is the gradation of mourning by rank, matching the number of shrines each station may keep. The canonical text says the Son of Heaven keeps three zhao and three mu halls plus the Grand Founder, for seven shrines in all; feudal lords keep two zhao and two mu with the Grand Founder, for five in all. Thus deep virtue casts its light far, while shallow virtue reaches only a little way. The Zuo Commentary says that rank determines the measure of ritual. From the highest rank downward, each step halves the privilege—such is ritual propriety. Seven is the canonical count that may stand as a fixed rule. The special cult of an ‘exemplar’ (zong) lies outside that number. ‘Zong’ is an exceptional honor: whoever has outstanding merit may receive it, and no quota can be fixed in advance. Among the Yin, Taijia was revered as Grand Exemplar, Da Wu as Middle Exemplar, and Wu Ding as High Exemplar. The Duke of Zhou, in ‘Do Not Slacken,’ cited Yin’s three exemplars to instruct King Cheng. Thus the zong title is not capped by number, and the field for rewarding an emperor’s merit is wide indeed. Judged by the rule of seven shrines, Emperor Wu’s tablet should not yet be rotated out; judged by the standard for a zong cult, no one can call him lacking in merit. The Canon of Sacrifice in the Book of Rites says that sage kings enshrine those whose bounty reached the people, who ordered the state by their labor, or who saved the realm from great disaster. Emperor Wu meets every one of those tests of merit and virtue. Men of other surnames would still merit a special cult—how much more a dynastic forebear? Some argue that a five-shrine rule for the Son of Heaven lacks clear textual support, and that Middle and High Exemplars of Yin were honored in name while their shrines were still abolished. That would split title from substance and defeat the very purpose of honoring virtue and achievement. The Odes says of the pear tree beneath which the Earl of Shao once rested: do not lop or cut its boughs. Later generations loved the tree for love of the man; how then can we honor his Way and tear down his shrine? The rotation of shrines follows a fixed rule for rulers of ordinary merit, advancing by degrees of kinship alone. The classics give no explicit count for ordering founder shrines; the matter is too grave to settle on doubtful glosses. Emperor Xuan took counsel from his high ministers and the Confucian academicians, named the shrine Shizong, and proclaimed to the empire that it should stand forever. We hold that Emperor Wu’s achievements were of that order, Emperor Xuan’s elevation of him so explicit, and the shrine ought not to be abolished.
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The emperor read their memorial and agreed. An edict ruled: “The proposal of Grand Coachman Wang Shun and Colonel Liu Xin is accepted.
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Liu Xin added that ritual thins with distance, citing the Guoyu formula of daily, monthly, seasonal, and yearly rites capped by the great di, each grade of ancestry matched to its proper frequency. Where virtue is great, the circuit of sacrifice widens, and love of kin is graded by nearness; the more remote the ancestor, the more solemn the rite, so the great di stands highest of all. When a grandson steps into his grandfather’s zhao-mu place, the two generations trade rank in the rotation—such is the logic by which shrines are moved. The sage’s feeling for his forebears is complete, and ritual leaves no proper sentiment unfollowed, so no true shrine of the heart is ever simply destroyed. Ever since Gong Yu’s policy of rotating abolitions, the mausoleum parks of Emperors Hui and Jing and the Grand Supreme Emperor have lain abandoned—utterly at odds with the spirit of the rites.
40
滿
Under Emperor Ping, Wang Mang memorialized that in 73 BCE Chancellor Cai Yi had posthumously titled Emperor Xuan’s father the Dao domain with three hundred households, and that in 65 BCE Chancellor Wei Xiang had argued that a father who died a commoner but whose son became emperor should receive imperial rites—the domain should be titled Imperial Father, given its own shrine, and its caretakers raised to sixteen hundred households as a county seat. We hold that the shrine to the Imperial Father should never have been founded; to maintain it for generation after generation was wrong. The mausoleum parks of Empress Dowager Bo at Nanling and of Empress Dowager Zhao at Yunling, though rites had already allowed them to lapse, still bear irregular titles. We have consulted Grand Minister of Education Yan and 147 others, who note that Emperor Xuan entered the succession as Emperor Zhao’s heir from another branch; by generational count, Emperor Yuan therefore left Emperor Jing’s shrine and the Imperial Father shrine standing because mourning ties had not yet run out. That created two legitimate lines and two fathers for one heir, which classical ritual forbids. Cai Yi’s memorial had posthumously titled the prince ‘Dao,’ limited the tomb domain to a modest settlement, and matched what the classics allow. Wei Xiang’s later memorial elevated the Dao domain to ‘Imperial Father,’ founded a separate shrine, and swelled its staff into a county—severing the line from the true imperial ancestry and twisting the original intent of the rule. The formula ‘a commoner father and an emperor son, honored with imperial sacrifice’ applies to founders such as Shun, Yu, Tang, King Wen, and Han Gaozu, who received the mandate as kings; it was never meant for an heir who merely continues another emperor’s line. We ask that the shrine to Emperor Xuan’s father in the Fengming tomb park be torn down and not rebuilt, and that the Nanling and Yunling mausoleum districts be turned into regular counties. The emperor approved the memorial.
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Ban Biao, a clerk in the ministry of education, observed that Han inherited a realm in which Qin had nearly extinguished learning, so its ancestral institutions had to be adapted to circumstance. After Emperors Yuan and Cheng, scholarship flourished: Gong Yu pared the shrines, Kuang Heng shifted the suburban altars, He Wu fixed the three dukes—yet each reform was undone and redone, so policy seesawed without rest. Why was that? The ritual canon is laconic and ambiguous, ancient usage differs from Han practice, and every school claims the truth, so no partisan verdict can easily settle the matter. Reviewing the scholars’ debates, Liu Xin’s learning was the widest and his conclusions the soundest.
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