Chapter Seven: Later Daoism (original) (raw)

Chapter Seven:

Later Daoism

Here we take a brief look at certain aspects of Daoism as it developed over time. Our emphasis here is mainly on Daoism as it became a form of popular religion, but I should mentioned at the outset that there were other directions that Daoism took in its complex development within the span of Chinese history. Our main concerns in this chapter will be with:

exorcism;
the quest for immortality;
the figure of the Daoist immortal;
Daoist views of the body.

By the Han dynasty, the idea that people could realistically abandon civilization and culture must have seemed farfetched to most Chinese. Living in the ancient Daoist ideal past had become a remote and impractical dream. In Han times, Daoism became increasingly associated with the search for an elixir (or pill, peach, mushroom/fungus, etc.) of immortality. It also became associated with local deities, correlative cosmology, shamanism, and the treatment of disease, especially with herbal remedies. Under these circumstances, Daoism began to merge with local folk religions, and the gods and spirits of these religions became part of Daoist lore. Certain figures became famous as Daoists who had achieved immortality, and these figures came to be regarded as deities in popular religion. When Buddhism entered China in late Han times, it mingled with Daoism. The frequent use of Daoist vocabulary to translate Buddhist concepts into Chinese also helped the two traditions merge. *This graphic* provides a rough time line and a listing of the major elements that went into Daoism as a popular religion. The process starts in the Zhou dynasty with the basic Daoist philosophical texts. By the Tang dynasty, all of the major elements and influences were present, though Daoism continued to evolve throughout Chinese history.

Today, * Daoism as a popular religion* is so thoroughly intermixed withBuddhism and local folk religions that it is impossible to separate them. When guide books for travelers on China or Taiwan speak of "Daoism," they usually mean the later developments of Daoism as a popular religion, not the more narrowly-focused early Daoism of the Daodejing and Zhuangzi. #Daoist temples,# staffed by Daoist priests, are found throughout China, Taiwan and other Chinese cultural areas. The art, architecture, and religious rites associated with these temples is a mixture of Buddhist elements, local folk customs, and the influence of correlative cosmology.

While Daoism was expanding in the direction of a popular religion, nearly all educated Chinese continued to read and appreciate the classic works of Daoist philosophy. A Confucian scholar-official, for example, would have been well versed in the Daodejing and Zhuangzi at a bare minimum. Many Confucians saw Daoism as a pleasant break from the rigid formalities that the Confucian tradition later came to entail. In retirement or on vacation at their mountain villas and retreats, scholar-officials and the well-to-do could cast aside their Confucian robes, gaze out at the mountains, and paint Daoist-inspired landscapes.

Daoists as Exorcists

In Chinese folk belief, there is only a thin line separating the ordinary human world from a world of ghosts, spirits, demons, fox fairies, and other supernatural beings. Some of these beings are benevolent, others are neutral--peacefully coexisting with humans--but many are harmful, at least potentially. For example, any human who dies an unfair, unjust, or otherwise improper death, or who does not receive a proper funeral, is likely to become a ghost and haunt the living. In such cases of supernatural haunting, Chinese from the Han dynasty to the present often called on Daoist priests or monks for assistance. Here is a typical example from literature:

In Shangyu County there was a magistrate by the name of Xing who had terrible marital problems. One day, while he and his wife were in the midst of a quarrel, Xing slapped her. In a fury, the wife hanged herself. Three days after her death she became a ghost and began haunting her old home.

Whenever Xing got into bed with his concubine, a chill wind blew up, rustling the bed curtains and sometimes even blowing out the candle. Xing was furious at this harassment, so he called in a Daoist monk to exorcize the ghost.

The monk performed the necessary rituals, and once he had succeeded in capturing the ghost he sealed it in a chamber on the eastern side of the house.

Placing some magic charms as well as an official seal on the door, the Daoist assured Xing that the ghost would not escape. Indeed, Xing experienced no further trouble from his wife's ghost.1

Although this account is fictional, it accurately reflects the belief of many Chinese in premodern times concerning ghosts and the role of Daoist monks in exorcizing them.

Chinese folk belief often imagined foxes to be a most problematic animal. The reason is that the fox was a shape shifter and a trickster. Foxes could appear in human form, often as a beautiful young women. In this guise, via sexual attraction, foxes would lure unsuspecting men to fall within their power. (For more details about foxes in this role in the context of Japan, #click here# and read the relevant paragraphs.) Undoubtedly this belief is in part a specific manifestation of a broader male anxiety vis-�-vis female sexuality. An example from literature reads:

One evening while [scholar Li Yi] was reading under the lamplight, two beautiful women appeared before him. They teased him mercilessly and soon grew quite brazen, and eventually Li found himself subjected to all sorts of lewd advances. With firm resolve Li remained impassive throughout the ordeal.

Later that evening, after Li had finished dinner, he heard a voice coming from his stomach. 'I attached myself to some eggplants you ate for dinner. Now that I'm actually housed in your stomach, you won't be able to ignore me, will you?'

The two women Li had encountered were in fact a fox fairy and a ghost, and they haunted him by taking up residence in his stomach. A Daoist grand master by the name of Zhang was called in to exorcize the fox fairy.

Zhang built an altar at the Tenghua Pavilion and commenced the purification of scholar Li--for three days they ate sacred vegetarian meals and chanted incantations. Grand Master Zhang's magicians then lifted a placard on which was written: 'We will exorcize the demon on the fifteenth of March.'

When the day arrived, spectators had gathered from far and wide to view the exorcism. The grand master took a position at the center with the magicians seated along the sides. Li was asked to kneel before the grand master and open his mouth. Zhang then put two fingers down Li's throat and extracted from his mouth a fox the size of a small cat.2

Notice the requirement that Li eat "sacred vegetarian meals." This aspect of the process almost certainly comes from Buddhism. Popular Daoism in both premodern and modern China was much concerned with ghosts, spirits, and other supernatural beings. Daoist priests often served as intermediaries between the ordinary human world and the world of deities and the supernatural.

The Quest for Immortality3

Many introductory books on Daoism are at pains to point out that, unlike "western" thought, Daoism posits no basic dichotomy between the physical body and a spirit or soul, which might inhere therein.4 In other words, an expression like "body and soul" would make no sense to Daoists, for all "things" (broadly defined to include thoughts, emotions, etc.) are qi. This point may be accurate in theory, but in practice the distinction between the western-style body vs. soul/spirit dichotomy and Daoist notions of different kinds of manifestations of qi are not so far apart. In other words, for Daoists, qi can take on a range of qualities. It can be turbid or clear, heavy or light, luminous or dull. And many Daoist practices are concerned with with refining, clarifying, and training one's qi. So, although deriving from a different theoretical basis, in practice, Daoist training for immortality is the same general sort of training that religious practitioners in many traditions, even some "western" ones, undergo.

In Daoist thinking, if we can properly transform our bodies, we will live a very long time or possibly even forever. #Immortal life# was a major concern for Daoists from the Han dynasty onward, and the basic task was to refine the qi of which we consist. Daoist belief held that some people had actually become immortal. Furthermore, these immortals (more on them in the next section) resided in remote mountains or on an island off the coast. How was it that one could arrest or reverse the aging process and thus live forever? Two complementary approaches developed for seeking such a transformation: 1) inner alchemy 內丹 and 2) outer alchemy 外丹. Outer alchemy was mainly the quest for a pill or elixir of immortality--that is, the seeking of the essence of immortality outside one's self. Inner alchemy sought to transform one's self into an immortal state.

In *inner alchemy,* there were four basic techniques, which one would normally have to practice diligently for several decades to achieve complete mastery. All four are ultimately concerned with restoring, preserving, and enhancing the flow of vital energy (qi) through the body. Although the techniques below are listed as first, second, third, and fourth, they need not be practiced in that order, and different books on Daoism list them in different orders.

The first technique involved *control of the breath.* Called "embryo respiration" or "womb breathing" (taixi 胎息), Daoists sought to return to the breathing of a child in its mother's womb. Here is a typical explanation from a classical Daoist text:

Restoring the proper circulation of qi will alleviate the whole range of illnesses, cure plagues, prevent harm from tigers or snakes, cure afflictions like boils and warts, enable survival under water, enable walking on water, alleviate feelings of hunger or thirst, and lead to long life. The essential technique is womb breathing. If one becomes adept at womb breathing, s/he does not breathe via the nose or mouth. If one can attain to a state just like being wrapped in a placenta, then s/he will have completely realized the Way. (Quoted in �gata T�ru 大形徹, Fur�fushi: sennin no tanj� to shinsenjutsu 不老不死：仙人の誕生と神仙術 [Tokyo: K�dansha, 1992], p. 211)

According to Daoist longevity lore, a child in the womb breaths only "inner qi" which was the same type of qi as the qi present prior to the distinction between yin and yang and the myriad differentiated things of the world. (Daoist texts often simply call it "the one," yi 一). After we are born, this precious qi inadvertently leaks out through the nose and mouth. If the supply of this inner qi becomes too small, the body's organs begin to deteriorate, thereby cutting one's lifespan short. Therefore, one should cultivate, concentrate, and enlarge the pool of inner qi. How? The basic process involves two steps: 1) the absorption/concentration of inner qi, and 2) the circulating of it throughout the body. In practice, this training included such practices as controlling the breath during physical exercise (see below), breathing as quietly as possible, and holding one's breath for long periods of time (biqi 閉気). The physical effects of holding the breath such as sweating or dizziness were thought to be good training for achieving an immortal state. More specifically, the technique involved not only holding the breath, but forcing it into the stomach, and thus "eating" qi.

In general, the newborn infant or infant still in the womb was a prominent metaphor for the goal of many Daoist health and longevity practices. Ruth Rogaski explains this point, saying, "For the Daoist, the infant at birth is a powerhouse of pure energies, able to function at an intense level without tiring, for he has not yet begun the depleting process of living in the adult world of desires and cares. Zhuangzi councils that the "method of guarding life" is to become once again like an infant, brimming with the forces of life." (Ruth Rogaski, Hygienic Modernity: Meanings of Health and Disease in Treaty-Port China [Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004], p. 44.)(#Find your inner child.#)

The second technique was sunbathing--but only for men. Male seekers of immortality would expose their bodies to the sun while holding in their hands a character for the sun written in red ink on green paper. Women, on the other hand, derived no beneficial effect from sunbathing. Instead, they would bathe in the light of the moon, while holding a piece of yellow paper containing a drawing of the moon. Why this difference between men and women? Male seekers of immortality sought to fortify and strengthen their store of yang, the male essence, and women sought to fortify and strengthen their store of yin. Yang, of course, was associated with male, light, and the sun, whereas yin was associated with female, dark, and the moon.

The third immortality technique involved various *yoga-like physical exercises* (daoyin 導引), which later evolved into Qigong 氣功. One benefit was the renewal of (ordinary) qi, as explained in this passage from a Daoist text: "Letting out and expelling the breath and pulling new air into the body gets rid of old qi and replaces it with fresh qi. Assuming such postures as that of a bear hanging by its limbs from a tree branch or that of a bird stretching out full just before taking flight all have the basic purpose of extending life-enhancing qi." (Quoted in �gata, Fu r�fushi, p. 192) In short, one benefit of these yoga-like exercises was to increase respiration rates, thus facilitating the renewal of qi through deep breathing. (In Daoist terminology this process would be called tugu naxin 吐故納新.)

These exercises also helped open the pores. The idea here is that the pores of the body have a tendency to become obstructed and that exercise would help keep them open. Open pores meant that the body's organs would have access to the nourishing flow of qi from outside the body (ordinary qi, in this case, not the "inner qi" mentioned previously). Furthermore, Daoists (and nearly everyone in premodern East Asia) regarded stagnation of bodily fluids (blood and qi)to be a leading cause of disease and poor health. Enhancing the flow of blood and qi, therefore, was another reason for physical exercise, sometimes supplemented with massage. Sometimes daoyin were combined with breathing practice as described above. Often, these exercises were intended to imitate the *movements of specific animals,* as explained in the passage quoted above. This aspect of Daoist training contributed to the later development of taijiquan, which is quite popular today around the world, as well as several varieties of martial arts.

The fourth technique was sexual training. Daoists thought that sexual intercourse could nourish life by *strengthening the forces of yin-yang.* Specifically, proper sexual training could cure disease, make the body lighter, make the senses more acute, and increase one's store of healthy, vital qi. Daoists tended to regard men as being in greater danger of suffering from a weakening of their yang energies than were women from a weakening of their yin energies. Therefore, for men to have sex with women was a primary way of recharging their yang energies via contact with female yin energy. Sexual union with men would also be beneficial for women, enhancing their yin energies, though women were generally considered to be much stronger than men when it came to retaining their vital energies. So, in this way of thinking, men needed women more than women needed men. As Wang Ping explains:

In [D]aoist sexual alchemy, human bodies become symbolic furnaces where elixir could be extracted through sexual union between yin and yang. This practice was later turned into cai yin shu, a sheer harvesting of yin from female bodies through intercourse. A man gathered or stole yin from as many women as possible to repair his broken yang until he gained health, longevity, and even immortality. (Wang Ping, Aching for Beauty: Footbinding in China [Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000], p. 92)

At a pragmatic level, of course, sexual "training" with various partners is likely to have had more of an appeal to men than to women. Before you decide to skip steps 1-3 and get started right away on sexual training, be aware that such training was rigorous and bore little resemblance to modern recreational sex. Indeed such sexual training was more like a battle in which men and women sought to obtain each other's bodily fluids and essences. In this battle, to attain orgasm was to go down to defeat (mainly for men; in this view, women suffered little if any from orgasms). Insofar as people today might regard sexual activities as an aid to good health, the physical and psychological release of orgasm is usually a major beneficial component. In Daoist sexual training, precisely the opposite was the case. Especially for men, ejaculation was the road to a feeble and short life.

The actual details of the techniques varied, but the basic idea was for men to engage in sexual intercourses with one or more women (one text recommends 10 per day) and attain a high degree of excitement without ejaculation. This process cultivates sexual energy (jing 精) as a man absorbs as much yin as possible without relinquishing any of his yang. The additional yin strengthens him by further enhancing his store of yang vitality.

A slight variation might involve a man having sexual intercourse with one woman such that she has a succession of orgasms but he has none. Suppose that such a couple were to start this process and not stop, orgasm after orgasm (for her only). There would be no long-term effect on the woman. For the man, however--according to one training manual--the following benefits would accrue from his partner's orgasms 1-9: 1) his voice becomes clear; 2) his skin is clarified; 3) his eyes and ears become acute; 4) his bones and connective tissues are strengthened; 5) his buttocks and groin becomes tight; 6) the vessels carrying blood and qi open up; 7) life-long diseases are cured; 8) his lifespan is extended; 9) he attains immortality. Good luck guys--and remember not to ejaculate!

In another variation of this basic idea, a man could indeed ejaculate, at least by contemporary understandings of this action. Suppose that a couple begins a training session and the man continues for a very long time without orgasm. But then, the moment of his climax approaches and his partner presses hard on his urethra between the scrotum and the anus just at the moment of ejaculation. This pressing will divert the seminal fluid into the bladder. Although the fluid thus diverted would eventually leave the body through urination, Daoists regarded it has having been "conserved." The entire process was thought to circulate vital essence, via jing, throughout a man's body, eventually nourishing his brain. (For those interested in the technical term for this practice, it is huanjing bunao shuo 還精補脳説, which literally means something like "the theory of the circulation of jing enhancing the brain".)

Stepping back and taking a broader view of tradition Chinese concerns with male sexual activity and health (not necessarily from a strictly Daoist point of view), the situation was quite complicated. Ruth Rogaski explains it concisely as follows:

Unlike other aspects of qi within the body, jing is difficult to nurture or augment through breathing or the ingestion of food and drugs. Indeed, much like the Original qi bestowed before birth, jing exists within the body in finite quantities. Jing is essential for life and health, but one only has so much of it. Once it is spent, it is gone. It seems that one should avoid losing jing at all costs, and yet there were obvious forces working against that option. Many medical experts held that sexual abstinence resulted in blockages and infirmities, and thus consoled moderate sexual activities as part of a healthy life. Even Confucius recognized that sexual desire (along with a desire for food) was at the root of human nature, and thus impossible to avoid. Another one of Confucius' dictums held that there was nothing more unfilial than leaving this life without having fathered descendants. Nevertheless, the anxiety over the loss of seminal essence remained. In the words of the seventeenth-century physician and alchemist Sun Simiao, "When jing is reduced, illness results, when jing is used up, death results. One cannot help but be worried; one cannot help but be cautious." One of the crueler paradoxes of male existence, therefore, was the fact that the activity of sex and procreation, so vital to the survival of humankind, inevitably resulted in a loss of that which maintained individual human life.

This paradox fostered an approach to sex and health that can best be described as an economy. Certainly jing was something that needed to be "economized," carefully invested and not carelessly spent. But this "sexual economy" also meant that a careful calculus of inputs and outputs, of benefits and drawbacks, would determine how much sexual activity could be tolerated while still allowing for the maintenance of overall health. . . . the gravest advice warns against entering the bedchamber in a state of intoxication (zui yi ru fang). Sex was a serious business, and one needed a clear mind to keep track of its accounts. (Rogaski, Hygienic Modernity, pp. 38-39.)

Notice that in light of these points, Daoist sexual training was a peculiar sort of "economic" theory that privileged the health and longevity of individual males and was not interested in the "health" of the family or society as a whole (via procreation). For Daoists, men should indeed "avoid losing jing at all costs."It was, in this sense, selfishly individualistic, which is not surprising considering the overall message of classical Daoism: society is poison. What about the notion that sexual abstinence causes blockages which lead to infirmities? Most Daoists did indeed agree with this point, and the peculiar sexual training described in these paragraphs was intended to avoid the problems of abstinence yet also preserve, and indeed, built up, a man's store of jing. The notion of circulating jing to nourish the brain described above is a good example. Rogaski summarizes the development of the idea that men could increase their store of jing as follows:

Major shifts in the discourse on health and sex have taken place in Chinese history. before the Song, sexual advice manuals offered techniques that, although based on ideas of economy, suggested that sex was not a zero-sum game. The male could actually increase his share of jing vitalities by absorbing Essence from the female--as long as he did not part with his own Seminal Essence during the course of sex. By the Tang (617-907), a large number of sophisticated techniques for the avoidance of ejaculation had been developed. . . . [goes on to discuss the technique for re-directing ejaculations to nourish the brian] (Rogaski, Hygienic Modernity, p. 39.)

Obviously, Daoist notions of sexual training are at variance with most of today's prevailing views of sexuality, relations between men and women, and related topics. Jin Wenxue, a scholar of cultural studies, is rather critical of Daoist notions of sexual training, particularly the idea of diverted semen nourishing a man's brain, which he calls an "absurd theory." However, he points out one aspect of the historical significance of Daoist sexual training that is often overlooked: it produced and codified a wide variety of sexual techniques that contributed to the broader sexual culture of China. (Kōshoku to Chūgoku bunka: Chūgoku no rekishi wa yoru ni tsukurareta 好色と中国文化：中国の歴史は夜に作られた [Lust and Chinese culture: Chinese history was created at night], [Kawaguchi-shi, Japan: Nihon kyōhōsha, 2004], esp., p. 134. Much of the information in the the above paragraphs comes from this book, esp. pp. 129-134. )5

(Incidentally, based on different theoretical foundations, the science-religion of the modern western world came up with a roughly similar notion about the importance of semen conservation and health. These ideas contributed in part to an obsession with suppressing masturbation, a practice many medical professionals once regarded as the greatest overall threat to health. The idea that masturbation was a serious harm to health for boys, girls, men, and women was medical common sense from the late eighteenth through the early twentieth centuries. To read about this strange but true story, #click here.#)

What about women? Could any of these techniques lead them closer to immortality? Yes, women could enhance their strength by contact with male yang energy generated via sexual intercourse and by absorbing male energy via a partner's ejaculation. Generally, the ideal conditions for a woman would be the converse of those described above for men. In other words, she would have sexual intercourse for a long time with one or more men, and they would attain orgasms and she would not. In this way, she would maximally absorb their vital essence, thereby strengthening hers. Obviously there is the quality of a zero-sum game in this situation, with benefit for women coming at the expense of harm to the men who give up their vital essence. Indeed, in Chinese literature is full of accounts of men being seduced by beautiful women (sometimes they are really foxes). Often these men become thinner, paler, weaker, and sometimes dead as a result of her draining him of his vitality. Such accounts are undoubtedly part of a male fear of female sexuality that seems to be found in all human cultures.

What exactly would a session in Daoist sexual training be like? There was no single format, but here is one description of some of the preliminaries:

The celebrants, not to exceed twenty in number, first bathe, burn incense, and offer salutations to the officiating priest . . . and invocations to the gods. The participants now begin meditative visualizations based on colored [_qi_] (white, yellow, red, green, and black) corresponding to the five directions and five organs. The couples kneel facing each other and carry out more . . . visualizations and petitions to the deities for health and salvation. Following this, the priest helps the supplicants remove their garments and loosen their hair. Now the couples interlace their hands in various ritual patterns and recite formulas, followed by a series of gestures with hands and feet relating to the eight trigrams, twelve Earthly Branches, and organs. . . . (Douglas Wile, Art of the Bedchamber: The Chinese Sexual Yoga Classics Including Women's Solo Meditation Texts [Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992], pp. 25-26).

Notice, of course, the importance of correlative cosmology in the process. What about the main activities? Well, as long as you asked, here is a passage from a sixth-century text describing them. In it there are some technical terms that you will not know. Just ignore them:

Raising his hand and inhaling living [_qi_] through his nose, he swallows yang according to the numbers 3, 5, 7, and 9, and recites: "May the [_dao_] of heaven be set in motion." The second partner now recites: "May the [_dao_] of earth be set in motion." Following this he enters the "gate of birth" to a depth of half the head, while reciting: "Oh celestial deities and immortals, I would shake heaven and move earth that the 'five lords' . . . might hear my plea." Now the second partner recites: "Oh, celestial deities and '[_dantian_] palace' . . . I would move earth and shake heaven that the five deities of the body might each be strong." He then penetrates to the greatest depth, closes his mouth and inhales living [_qi_] through his nose and exhales through his mouth three times. Gnashing his teeth, he recites: "May none and one be born in the midst." Now he withdraws and returns to a depth of half a head. (Quoted in Wile, Art of the Bedchamber, p. 26).

And the process continues as long as possible--no ejaculations please! For a comprehensive scholarly paper on Daoist sexual training, see #Sex and Immortality.#

(Incidentally, Daoist training also featured other, ways of conditioning the body with respect to sexual energies that did not involve sexual intercourse. One of these techniques for men--apparently popular enough even today to generate some commercial activity--was "iron crotch training" [tiedang gong 鐵襠功 and other names]. It was designed to, quite literally, strengthen the genitals in a manner much like a weight lifter or body builder might develop other parts of the body [#image along with video tape ad#--note the disclaimer!; illustrated article: #"Chan Tze-Tan, Master of Iron Crotch Qigong"#]. Another Daoist meditation technique took the opposite approach--it allegedly shrank the penis and testicles to a very small size to prevent vital energy leaking from them. For some reason, this shrinking technique seems to have less appeal today than the iron crotch approach.)

In addition to the four types of practice discussed above, there were other more advanced inner alchemy techniques such as meditation-like imaging of the connections between one's inner qi and heavenly bodies, especially the sun. These techniques were derived largely from Buddhist meditation, and are beyond the scope of our brief introduction.

An alternative to the four inner alchemy techniques described above was outer alchemy. In English, the term alchemy generally indicates the quest to turn base metals such as lead into gold. In the context of Daoism, however, alchemy means the search for an elixir (often in pill form) of immortality. One might find this elixir already made (in the form of a magic peach or *mushroom*), or one might manufacture it and in this way obtain a shortcut to the rigorous training described above. This shortcut, however_,_ was usually more apparent than real, because without having conditioned the body by years of inner alchemy training, most people would not be able to tolerate or survive taking the elixir. The following text is a biography of the famous Han-era Daoist Wei Boyang (#image#), and it serves as a typical example of the quest for immortality through alchemy. It comes from the famous text Biographies of Daoist Immortals and appears here in the author's translation:

Wei Boyang was a resident of Wu. He was originally the child of a distinguished family, but his nature was such that he loved the arts of the Daoist recluse. He later entered the mountains with three disciples and created a spiritual pill [also called a golden pill--essentially an elixir that imparted special spiritual powers and long life on those who take it--an important element in popular Daoist lore].

Even though they had completed the pill, the anxiety of his followers was not entirely dispelled, and they ventured to ask, "Even though the pill is now complete, it would be best to test it out by first giving it to a dog. If the dog flies, then subsequently humans should try it, and if the dog dies, we should not try it." So they gave it to a dog, and the dog suddenly died. Boyang said to his followers, "In creating the pill, the only fear is that it is not yet complete. Though it is already fully complete, when the dog ate it, it died. The reason is that the dog's spiritual resolve was not in accord with [the ingredients in the pill]. Were we to take it, I'm afraid we might end up like the dog. What do you say? Shall we take it?"

A follower asked, "Teacher, should we really take the pill or not?" Boyang said, "I have turned my back on society, abandoned my household, and entered the mountains. Should I fail to find the way (dao), I would be too ashamed to return. Whether I live or die, I must indeed take the pill." Thereupon he took the pill, and died instantly upon putting it in his mouth. A follower reflected on what had happened and said, "We made the pill so as to seek long life, but upon taking it he died right away. Just what are we to make of this?" Another follower said, "Our teacher was no ordinary person. Could his taking the pill and then dying really have been because of a lack of resolve?" He thus picked up a pill, took it, and also died. The remaining two said in unison, "The sole reason for having the pill is the desire to seek a long life. Now, they have taken the pill and are already dead. How could we make use of it? Even if we do not take this medicine, we will naturally live another several decades. We should remain within the world." So they did not take the pill and left the mountains together, and looked for wood with which to make a coffin for Boyang and the dead follower.

After these two departed, Boyang suddenly got up. Taking up the pills, he put one in the mouth of the dead follower and the dead dog, and they both got up. The follower's name was Yu. Together they left the mountain, and on the road ran into people in the woods cutting down trees [to make wood for his coffin]. They wrote a letter to the villagers to thank them. The two followers [who had not taken the pill] began to feel deep regrets.

Wei Boyang wrote all three volumes of the Santongqi [supplement to the _Book of Changes,_] and his explanations were added to the Book of Changes. The substance of [his explanations] is a discussion of the determination to make pills based on the principles underlying the trigrams. Many scholars of today, however, do not know the facts about spiritual pills, the majority commenting that they are made from yin and yang, which shows that they have completely missed the point [of Wei Boyang's writings]. In typical Daoist lore, after one has trained for many years in the techniques of immortality, he or she experiences an apparently ordinary death, usually complete with a funeral. The "dead" person then comes back to life, this time as an immortal. Although Wei Boyang and the single follower who took the pill were "reborn" as immortals, it was not so much the elixir itself that made them immortals, but their long training prior to taking the pills. Notice, significantly, that this training included abandoning society, so it includes the way of life advocated by philosophical Daoism. As we shall see in the next section, the Daoist immortal served as a bridge between popular Daoism and philosophical Daoism.

The quest for immortality, or at least long life, was and is a major motif in Chinese visual culture. A rich array of symbols developed to stand for immortality and/or longevity, some of which are shown here. These symbols appear frequently in Daoist-influenced art as well as in popular Chinese culture generally.

Finally, there is one important point regarding immortality, regardless of how it is attained. One reason that immortals live forever (or for so long that it may as well be forever) is that they experience time differently. In other words, they inhabit a special time zone. Whether by inner alchemy, outer alchemy, or a combination of training techniques, attaining to a state of immortality is to attain a body that ages at snail's pace because time moves much more slowly for immortals than for ordinary people. Chinese popular literature is full of tales highlighting this time difference. One common motif is the encounter between ordinary people (usually men) and immortals (usually women), an encounter that often ends badly for the mortals. For example, two men might travel to remote mountains on a hunting trip and there encounter two beautiful young women. Indulging their passions, the men stay with the women for a while, but eventually yearn for their home village. As they return, the women give them a sack, box, or other container with instructions never to open it. Returning home, they open it out of curiosity or some member of their household opens it unknowingly. The men instantly die of old age. They had entered the realm of the immortals, where a couple of weeks might correspond to hundreds of years in the ordinary world. Opening the container subjected them to the full effects of this time differential. The immortals discussed in this chapter all inhabit the very slow lane of life, whatever other qualities they may have. (For a detailed analysis of this point and related matters, if you read Japanese, see Nakano Miyoko 中野美代子, Hyōtan manyūroku: kioku no naka no chishi ひょうたん漫遊録：記憶の中の地誌 , Asahi sensho 425 [Asahi shinbunsha, 1991].)

Daoist Immortals

Daoism, both popular and philosophical, exerted a powerful influence on the imaginations of writers and artists in China and throughout East Asia. The most common symbol or icon in Daoist art and literature is the * immortal* (xianren 仙人). Daoist immortals are beings that live ideal Daoist lives (according to the teachings of philosophical Daoism) and have therefore achieved immortality. Because they personify the ideal Daoist, immortals bridge the gap between Daoism as a philosophy and Daoism as a popular religion. Since immortals were originally ordinary people, they also bridge the gap between human beings and deities. Furthermore, although Daoism had relatively modest influence on Japan generally, within the realm of painting, the Daoist immortal was a common theme for Japanese artists.

The immortal was someone who abandoned the human world to live in remote mountain forests. There, the aspiring immortal would typically search for an herb, fruit, mushroom, or other substance with the magical qualities to confer eternal life. He would eat this substance and live forever, or at least a very long time. But actually--and here is the main link with earlier Daoist philosophy--it was not the peach or mushroom itself that would confer immortality. Instead, Immortality was the result of completely abandoning human civilization to live within nature's dao. The peaches, mushrooms, and so forth were, in the end, simply concrete embodiments of this accomplishment, much like the elixir of immortality in Daoist alchemy.

In popular imagination, Daoist immortals were very light, their bodies almost vaporous. They required only a grain or two of rice every week or so for sustenance. Because of their light bodies, many immortals could fly through the air. Many also possessed other magic powers. *Eight specific immortals* (#another illustration#) became particularly famous figures in the literature and the visual arts of both China and Japan, although the total number of immortals was much greater than eight. Of the *eight immortals,* seven are male (though one is sometimes depicted with feminine features) and one is female. Among immortals other than these eight, however, there is a higher percentage of women--not that such a trivial distinction as male versus female would matter to a real immortal (although it might for an aspiring immortal).

By far the two most famous immortals are L� Dongbin 呂洞賓 and Li Tieguai 李鐵拐. L� Dongbin supposedly lived during the Tang dynasty. According to his legend, an unusual fragrance filled the room when he was born, and his mother saw a white crane descending from the heavens. L�'s physical appearance was abnormal in ways that strongly suggested supernatural powers. His cheek bones and face tended to resemble a dragon, for example, and his feet were webbed, like a turtle (an auspicious animal; webbed hands and feet are also a sign of an enlightened being in Buddhism). An unusually intelligent child, the young L� would wander off into the mountains where various immortals would teach him Daoist arts and techniques. L� soon took up a hermit's life and underwent a series of tests set for him by other immortals to see whether he was truly committed to the Daoist way. As part of his training, he spent a thousand years quelling demons. A common pictorial rendition of L� shows him appearing in the heavens when his services were needed for this or other purposes. Another common depiction of L� shows him *riding on a dragon* and carrying a vial or bottle of the elixir of immortality. Because of his career casting out demons, L� is sometimes symbolized by a sword.

Li Tieguai's name literally means Iron Crutch Li. He is *typically depicted* as a cripple, with one leg bent and deformed. He walks with an iron crutch, and always carries a bottle gourd (hulu 葫蘆), an important symbol in Chinese culture that can stand for the universe in its primordial state (the Daoist dao), and, by extension, longevity. According to his legend, Li pursued the Daoist lifestyle by living as a hermit in a cave. There, he learned the mysteries of Daoism from none other than Laozi. Soon, Li was able to take leave of his body by sending his spirit out of it (recall my doubts at the start of this chapter about there being a major de facto difference between the flesh vs. spirit dualism of western thought and the idea of different types of qi in Daoism). One day, Li took leave of his body to go on a long trip and instructed a disciple to look after the inanimate body until he returned. To make a long story short, thinking Li would not return, the disciple cremated the body. When Li's spirit returned, he had to inhabit whatever body was available in the area, which happened to be that of a recently-deceased cripple. Having inherited such a body, Li was able to use it for medical experimentation, finding various ways to cure his own afflictions. Li is known, among other things, for discovering a plaster made from the skin of dogs to cure boils.

According to popular lore, immortals sometimes congregated in certain areas, such as a *mysterious island,* called Penglai, in the sea near the Shandong peninsula. The eight immortals are often depicted traveling to Penglai on a boat or by catching rides on the backs of large birds. Many emperors took the idea of immortals quite seriously and sent out teams to find this island or to find elixirs of immortality. But, despite such efforts, they all died.

Daoist immortals became associated with a set of *symbols of immortality* in Chinese culture. These symbols include dragons (recall the discussion in a previous chapter), peaches (the classic fruit of immortality), pine trees, cranes, bottle gourds, deer, the mushroom/fungus or immortality, and long bent walking sticks with a serpentine appearance. Whenever such symbols are found in visual representation, they are always auspicious. Supposed I had an elderly grandmother who was about to celebrate her eightieth birthday. An appropriate gift would be to commission a painting of cranes and pines in a mountainous setting. Such a gift would, in effect, say: "congratulations on a long life, and best wishes for an even longer one."

Daoist View of the Body

The overall Daoist view of the human body is that it is a microcosm of the cosmos. This microcosmic-macrocosmic relationship is common in metaphysical systems throughout the world and is therefore not unique to Daoism. Recall the discussion of correlative cosmology in the previous chapter. For Daoists, the body in all of its aspects was, ultimately, all qi. As was have seen, qi does differentiate itself into various forms, resulting in various parts of the body. But because all qi in the cosmos is ultimately interconnected via the correlative process, human bodies are closely connected to the larger forces of nature.

More specifically, the myriad "things" of the universe (recall that the term "things" in classical Chinese has a wider meaning than it does in English) undergo constant transformation but never die. Because the human body-spirit is properly a microcosm of the cosmos, it, too should undergo various transformations but never die. Why, then, do so many people die so early, and why do we need to undergo rigorous training to attain the immortality that should naturally be ours? The typical answer harkens back to the philosophical Daoism of Laozi and Zhuangzi, namely, that "civilized" life in society and the culture associated with it is poisonous and unnatural. Daoist training is intended to recondition people to their proper, natural state. In the most remote antiquity, when people lived just like other animals (recall the Daoist view of history), without trying, they lived very long lives in harmony with the workings of the dao (cosmos). Those happy days of yore are long gone, however, thus necessitating Daoist training for those who seek a return to their natural states.

The overall goal of this training, which consists mainly of the techniques already discussed earlier in this chapter, is to restore the free flow of qi (vital energy) through the body. Daoists mapped out the body and correlated its major parts to grand cosmic "things," like mountains and constellations of stars. Just as the stars appear to circulate through the skies, so too must qi circulate through our bodies. The *diagram here* is a good example of Daoist anatomy. Notice the line running vertically through the drawing superimposed on an outline of the body. This conduit of qi is the spinal cord. It links together three main areas in which qi accumulates: the upper cinnabar field (roughly the head), the middle cinnabar field (roughly the heart & lungs), and the lower cinnabar field (roughly the intestines). Each field is correlated with various earthly phenomena. The whole network of qi flow correlates with what Daoists regarded as the center of the cosmos: the constellation of the north star. If the body works as it should, then qi will flow optimally, and the person will live in harmony with the cosmic processes. (Chinese of the Han and later dynasties also developed a complex science of mapping and measuring the flow of qi through the earth, which is called fengshui 風水)

When the flow of qi through the body is optimal, the nature of the body's qi will gradually change. Specifically, the qi will become more refined and more light as it is allowed to circulate, akin to the qi of the heavenly bodies and creatures (such as dragons). That is why Daoist immortals do not die. They just get lighter and lighter. Eventually, they are able either to fly by themselves through the air or to hitch a ride on the backs of cranes or other birds. The average person, on the other hand, with heavy, coarse qi made worse (i.e., heavier, more lethargic) by a "civilized" lifestyle will soon die and rot back into the earth. The collapse of the body is ultimately caused by a failure of qi to circulate adequately and thus renew itself.

It should not be hard to imagine basic medical concepts in Daoism. Disease is caused by some of the body's qi becoming exhausted or consumed because it has been cut off from the cosmic circulatory system. Medical treatment is aimed at restoring the flow of qi generally and specifically to the afflicted organ or part. Notice how closely the Daoist view of the body explained here resembles the correlative cosmology featured in the previous chapter. The specific details of traditional Chinese medical treatment can become very complex because each organ correlates to a variety of phenomena, there are extensive networks of both blood and qi circulation, and all parts of the body are interconnected. The basic goal is to enhance or restore proper qi flow, but the details and specific procedures are many.

Incidentally, acupuncture is based on the view of the body explained here, and acupuncture often works remarkably well. For example, #the image shown here# is part of a photograph of a smiling (or grimacing?) woman undergoing open heart surgery in a hospital with only acupuncture as anesthesia. Conventional anesthesia was available nearby just in case, but this patient and many others did not need it. Does the well documented power of acupuncture mean that the Daoist-derived view of the body is more accurate than the view of modern science? Not necessarily. It could be that acupuncture works for reasons we do not yet understand.

Notice the many similarities between the theories of popular Daoism and the correlative cosmology we have already studied. This similarity is no accident. Daoism contributed to correlative cosmology and correlative cosmology influenced the further development of Daoism. Notice also similarities between Daoist theory (e.g., the idea of light, refined qi) and the elaborate metaphysics of Neo-Confucianism when we study that topic in a later chapter.

Notes

1. Quoted in Kam Louie and Louise Edwards, trans. and eds., Censored by Confucius: Ghost Stories by Yuan Mei (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1996), p. 108.

2. Quoted in Ibid., pp. 111-112.

3. Much of the material in the first few paragraphs of this section is derived from Colin A. Ronan, The Shorter Science and Civilization in China: An Abridgement of Joseph Needham's Original Text, Vol. 1 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1978), pp. 108-110.

Often this point is raised for the purpose of criticizing "western" thought and lauding the sophistication of "eastern" traditions. For example, after emphasizing that Daoist notions of qi make no distinction between physical matter and the spirit, a Japanese book on Daoism says: "For Daoists--and, indeed, as a basic tenet of Chinese thought in general--the simplistic [western] dichotomy in which there is a fundamental distinction between flesh and spirit does not exist. Daoists are much more realistic ["riaru"--derived from the English word "real"], and their insights into the mysteries of the universe are superior." (�mori S�, head editor, Omuki Masashi, editor, D�ky� no hon: fur�fushi o meszasu send� jujutsu no sekai, Books Esoterica series, no. 4 [Tokyo: Gakken, 1991, 1997), p. 100.)

5. The classic study of Chinese sexuality, recently brought back into print, is R. H. Van Gulik, Sexual Life in Ancient China: A Preliminary Study of Chinese Sex and Society from ca. 1500 B.C. till 1644 A.D. (New York: Barnes and Noble, 1996 [originally published by E. J. Brill, 1961]). Be sure to brush up on your Latin before reading this book, since the author seems to think that modern languages are inappropriate for certain of the most interesting parts of the text. For advanced study of Daoist sexual classics, read Douglas Wile, Art of the Bedchamber: The Chinese Sexual Yoga Classics Including Women's Solo Meditation Texts (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992). And, of course, there are numerous studies of Chinese sexuality in Chinese and Japanese.