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Plowing, Weaving, Fishing, Hunting: The Rhetoric of Intellectual Practice as Embodied Labor in Early China

Published online by Cambridge University Press:  23 February 2026

Yixin Gu*
Affiliation:
Lingnan University, Hong Kong
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Abstract

“Labor” as a specific domain of embodied experience and a source of imagery and figurative language in early China remains understudied. The study invites critical attention to this topic, focusing on four types of imagery of labor—plowing, weaving, fishing, and hunting—which constituted an interpenetrated rhetorical body sustaining varying socio-political and intellectual agendas. Either foregrounded with expressive rhetorical figures like metaphor and allegory or sedimented in commonplace language, the four types of labor imagery emerged and proliferated to present a constellation of moral, epistemic, and aesthetic values toward the characterization of specific practices of ruling, learning, speaking, and writing, as well as the intellectual agency thereof. This rhetorical phenomenon emerged in pre-imperial China and gained new prominence during Han times. Especially since the first century bce, the four tropes of labor were made particularly useful to characterize a growing body of intellectual labor, which was increasingly engaged and coupled with literary learning and production in a manner of self-oriented accumulation and manifestation. This change worked in concert with a forcefully emerging and proliferating literary culture, as well as its embedded scholarly aesthetics and ideology.

耕織漁獵:早期中國以具身勞動喻指智識實踐的修辭

耕織漁獵:早期中國以具身勞動喻指智識實踐的修辭

顧一心

提要

作爲一類特定的具身經驗領域,同時作爲早期中國意象與修辭語言的一種資源,「勞動」這一論題尚未得到充分研究。本文呼籲對此加以批判性的關注,並集中考察了耕、織、漁、獵四種勞動意象。四者構成了某種互相滲透的修辭總體,承載著社會、政治與智識方面的多種議題。或通過諸如隱喻、寓托等富於表現力的修辭格被前景化,或沉澱於常規語言之中,上述四種勞動意象不斷出現和衍益,表征出一系列道德、認知與美學方面的價值,被用於形容諸如理政、治學、言語、寫作等具體實踐,以及蘊涵其中的智識能動性。這一修辭現象在前帝國時期的中國即已發跡,並在漢代變得尤爲顯著。特別是自公元前一世紀以來,上述四喻變得尤爲適用於形容日益增長的智識性勞動,後者愈來愈多地以某種導向自身的積累和呈現方式,從事並結合於對文本的學習和生產。這一變化呼應於某種處在強勢崛起和衍益中的文學文化,以及蘊涵其中的學者式美學和意識形態。

早期中國,修辭,勞動,意象,具身經驗,智識勞動

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Research Article
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© The Author(s), 2026. Published by Cambridge University Press in association with Society for the Study of Early China

Introduction

Imagery corresponding with embodied human experience is deeply inscribed in the figurative nature of languages and the history of ideas. As is extensively evidenced in classical Chinese sources, such integration constituted an ever-renewing repository of meaning-production, sustaining a variety of social, intellectual, and literary practices and discourses toward different ends. Acknowledging this, the present study invites critical attention to an understudied topic—namely, “labor” as a socially defined domain of embodied experience and, simultaneously, a source of imagery and figurative rhetoric in early Chinese literature and thought. To start with, it is necessary to clarify what is hereafter referred to as “imagery” to encapsulate a specific constellation of labor under review—why is there imagery at all, instead of nothing but simply utterances with meanings?

Either considered a “picture made out of words” (C. D. Lewis) or the totality of multiple images taken collectively,Footnote 1 imagery as a component of figurative language constitutes a matter of significant formFootnote 2 among varying genres of speech and writing. The verbal presentation of imagery is often embedded within specific rhetorical figures (metaphor, simile, metonymy, personification, allegory, etc.), which, in the broadest sense, relate images and meanings. In the context of Sinology, the present study does not reinforce “imagery” as a favorable term for Chinese literature (especially poetry) in conformity with a patchwork of “holistic,” “correlative,” and “non-fictional” cultural images of China, as opposed to the equally essentialized “West” and its traditions of rhetoric and aesthetics. For clarity, I suggest that “imagery” can stand alone as the verbal presentation of an emblem, a symbol, an image, a figure, or a xiang 象,Footnote 3 which itself neither entails nor rejects the process of encoding/decoding a meaning relatable to another thing—as a simile, a metaphor, an allegory, or a practice of xingFootnote 4 does. This general assessment opens a window toward understanding the variable effects of using imagery via specific rhetorical devices of meaning-production.

A rhetorical figure toward meaning-production—such as “metaphor”—thus should be considered separately. In a narrower sense, the term denotes a representational figure of speech based on the similarity between two objects—in a way distinguished from figures like simile, metonymy, and synecdoche.Footnote 5 Meanwhile, “metaphor” in a broader sense indicates the process of approaching or experiencing one thing in terms of another,Footnote 6 which by extension blurs the boundary between metaphor and some other narrowly defined rhetorical figures. Such inclusiveness of “metaphor” is presented—albeit differently—in the theories of Hans Blumenberg and George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, according to whom metaphor is either absolute (Blumenberg) for its not being a secondary device subordinated to pure, abstract concepts but a matter in its own history,Footnote 7 or fundamentally conceptual (Lakoff and Johnson) for its constituting the substance of a variety of concepts, which, to the same extent, are thus metaphorical.Footnote 8

Acknowledging these, the present essay tends to employ “imagery” and rhetorical figures like “metaphor” in their narrow and broad senses as appropriate in varying contexts. The usefulness of these concepts will be tested against a great variety of textual evidence that instantiates the figurative nature of classical Chinese language and thought. My evidence includes those foregrounded as expressive rhetorical utterances in philosophical and literary contexts, as well as those less explicitly sedimented in commonplace language, vocabulary, or the etymological roots of specific words. Both types are interrelated and open to criticism. The first type of evidence necessarily confronts the question of distinguishing the rhetorical, figurative nature of certain utterances from the otherwise more literal, descriptive, or commonplace ways of understanding. Indeed, there are no clear thresholds among the vague spectrum between them; and the task thus demands a contextually informed reading of evidence drawn from a repository of intra-cultural complexity and variability. The second type of evidence is likely a matter of dispute concerning “dead metaphor.” “Every word,” writes Leopoldo Lugones quoting Jorge Luis Borges, “is a dead metaphor,”Footnote 9 followed by Borge’s principle of assessing a living one according to its effects on a living audience.Footnote 10 The issue is nevertheless more complicated, as we investigate an evolving coded system in terms of its history of changes, wherein an eventually “dead” one could have been socially active and aesthetically fresh to varying degrees. In general, the domains of the literal and the rhetorical, the conventional and the novel, as well as the conceptions of “dead” and “living” metaphors should be considered a set of hypothetical poles, between which a variety of understanding and aesthetic effects are possible.

In the context of Sinology, such inquiry into intra-cultural complexity inevitably confronts the cultural image of “China,” a matter concerning the thresholds of (in)commensurability between classical Chinese and the “Western” traditions in terms of their languages and rhetoric, as well as their cosmological, philosophical, aesthetic, and epistemic paradigms.Footnote 11 Indebted to previous scholarship, this study complicates the discourse of “holism” or “monism”—presumably essential to “Chinese” and opposed to the “Western” dualism—thereof, considering it neither exclusively a “Chinese” cultural property nor the dominant paradigm foundational to all branches of Chinese language and thought. The same is true for “Correlative Thinking,” a concept widely employed in coordination with the discourse of Chinese holism.Footnote 12 Altogether, classical Chinese language and thought present the interpenetration between different views of the world, including but not limited to those named “holistic/monistic” and “dualistic” on different levels.Footnote 13 An all-in-one essentialization of language and culture would downplay the dialogical nature integral to the proliferation of contextual meanings of symbols, utterances, and texts,Footnote 14 wherein a “Western” category like “metaphor” or “allegory” remains open to comparison and appropriation.Footnote 15 Eventually, a question like “what kind(s) of cosmos/universe did ancient Chinese language dwell in?” is yet to be illustrated, in light of the continuous inquiries into the ever-renewing instances of that language as a complex with heterogeneity.

Meanwhile, an approach beyond cultural particularism is also situated in dialogue with the paradigm of cognitive linguistics and its embedded employment of Conceptual Metaphor Theory.Footnote 16 In the present study, I also tend not to encapsulate imagery and metaphor—in the broad sense—in terms of certain foundational mechanism of human cognition. For an inquiry into a coded system like classical Chinese, the available corpus itself is the cultural product of an ever-renewing supra-linguistic system, whose systematicityFootnote 17 is not historical-transcendent but contingent on the shifting matters of aesthetics, ideology, and material reality. All these matters shall be better illustrated, reciprocally, by studying the circumscribed variability of language as a multi-layered social inscription.

With these, the present study explores an interpenetrated area—namely, the integration of embodied experience and figurative language in classical Chinese literature and discourse. This integration conceptually dwells at the interface between body and culture, respectively the more and the less commensurable areas of human experience, in terms of the degree to which they are coded by socially acquired languages. A term like “embodied experience” is vaguely situated among a couple of cognitive dimensions, where most types of imagery, symbols, or xiang are recognized, verbalized, and understood. A wealth of them is shaped in nominal forms and taken from phenomenally sensible/imaginable items and categories of existence—such as water, wind, animals, plants, artifacts, tools, and “things” in general. Simultaneously, such items are situated within specific visual, aural, temporal, spatial, orientational, numeric, and geometrical frameworks, most of which involve explicit or implicit bodily sensation. A rhetorical utterance often implies the fusion or condensation of two or more areas of experience or cognition. Such condensation, as being richly sedimented in Chinese and non-Chinese contexts, invites intellectual engagement that integrates the strength of systematic mapping and a diachronically informed inquiry into intra-cultural complexity. Within this framework, by “embodied experience” I refer to a spectrum of empirical areas grounded in specific (human) bodily functions, media, and sensory cognition, which, by correlation, actively participate in the formation and imagination of a variety of concepts, structures, and ideas as parts of the overall experience. The significance of the human body as an inherent empirical area has long been highlighted as a generative source of figurative language and thought—a center around which a variety of experiences can be associated. In a classical Chinese context, such associations can be traced back to notions like jin qu zhu shen 近取諸身 (“taking [symbols/images] from body as the closer [source/reference]”) toward the making of a cosmologically correlated coded system of signification.Footnote 18

Although “body” in general constitutes an inherent “closer” reference than other domains of existence,Footnote 19 “bodies” in a plural sense are as variable as the socio-cultural contexts in which they are acquired, encoded, and cultured. Analytically, embodied experience can be differentiated in terms of several interpenetrating categories, such as the foundational five senses (sight, hearing, smell, etc.), the spatial, orientational, and temporal (up–down, in–out, back–forth, quick–slow, etc.), the integrated bodily and mental experience (of food, sex, ritual, etc.), as well as those socially defined as specific forms of labor, practice, and expertise (plowing, weaving, handicrafts, etc.).Footnote 20 Meanwhile, such categories should be considered in a manner of circumscribed integration and interpenetration between themselves, as well as among other socio-cultural matters. Thus, an imagery or metaphor of embodied experience is almost inevitably a condensed one, insofar as it involves—explicitly or implicitly—at least an imagined figure of human body (or a part of it) to which that experience is associated, as well as a set of material, aesthetic, and socio-cultural factors among which that experience is grounded, circumscribed, and oriented. What make this particularly clear are cases in which the verbal presentation of embodied experience is not necessarily based on a physically real one, but rather drawn from the socially acquired knowledge and imagination of others. Consider, for example, the extensive projection of the experience of being a female in a male’s expression in literary and political contexts; and, for another one, the rhetorical appropriation of the experience of being a farmer, hunter, or fisherman in intellectual discourses by those who—in general—inadequately cultivated their expertise in such areas. The figurative language thereof thus instantiates how a socially coded system was inscribed into the embodied realization of overall situations. Such a complex of cultural phenomenology is variable as human as a cultured becoming and thus irreducible to any single cognitive model.

This leads to the narrower topic to be investigated throughout the present essay. In what follows, I will focus on a selected constellation of rhetorical presentation of embodied experience, wherein the imagery corresponds with specific definable forms of human labor—which, to my knowledge, remains an understudied source of figurative language in general. Labor, in an undivided sense, is an intense, form-giving activity of bodily engagement with the world’s materiality. In a dividable sense, and from the viewpoint of sociology, labor is a product of social division and systemization. Usually, a sort of labor is highly unevenly experienced by all members of a society; nevertheless, the imagery of that labor can be presented way beyond its physical boundary toward various ends, with a value of meaning applicable or relatable to other empirical areas. This phenomenon adds further to the preceding point, that the imagery of embodied experience in general is intertwined with socially acquired knowledge and imagination of others. Moreover, such a process of meaning-production is inherently dual-oriented toward the (in)commensurability between different kinds of experience, as well as their different status positioned in larger cultural system. An imagery of labor is thus a shifting emblem of socially distributed knowledge, power, and aesthetics. Also in a dividable sense, a specific form of labor presents its inherent complexity in terms of how it is situated within circumscribed spatial, temporal frameworks, interlocked with objects, media, tools, and processed via certain embodied functions, gestures, and sensations in coordination. An imagery of labor is thus a condensed, cross-dimensional one in comparison with that of a single embodied experience, and hence interpenetrated with the imagery of multiple elements thereof.

Based on these, central to my investigation is an evolving rhetorical body of four types of imagery or trope of physical labor—plowing, weaving, fishing, and hunting—which emblematize a cluster of the most widely acknowledged modes of bodily engagement with the material world. Since pre-imperial times, a variety of Chinese intellectual discourses appropriated these four types of labor imagery—either individually or collectively, sometimes interlocked with other forms of labor and expertise—to sustain specific socio-political and intellectual agendas. Either foregrounded with rhetorical figures such as simile, metaphor, and allegory, or less explicitly sedimented in commonplace language and vocabulary, the four types of imagery emerged and proliferated to present a constellation of moral, epistemic, and aesthetic values, toward the characterization of certain elite-oriented practices of ruling, learning, speaking, and writing, as well as the laboring agency thereof. By correlations, these practices constituted a socially imagined area of working with intellectuality commensurable to other forms of embodied labor. From a diachronic viewpoint, this general rhetorical phenomenon emerged in pre-imperial China and gained new prominence during Han times (Western Han [202 bce–9 ce] and Eastern Han [25–220 ce]), when the four types of labor imagery became particularly useful to characterize a growing body of intellectual labor increasingly engaged and coupled with literary learning and production. This change worked in coordination with a forcefully emerging and proliferating literary culture, as well as its inherent scholarly aesthetics and ideology.

The study confesses its limits, first, for not offering an all-inclusive investigation of the varying aspects of the four areas of labor under review, especially their inherent complexity and heterogeneity in terms of instruments, materiality, technical details, economic impacts, and so on. On these, we are better informed by an extensive range of evidence in early Chinese contexts foregrounding them as concrete social matters, as well as studies that concern more heavily the history of material, economics, technology, and related ideologies.Footnote 21 In what follows, I tend to incorporate my knowledge drawn from these veins of scholarship as far as they are relevant. Within such limits, the present essay focuses on the non-literal, rhetorical presentation of the four tropes of labor, and thus invites critical attention to their situational commensurability—either between themselves or with other empirical areas—communicated on an extended, rhetorical basis.

Uncertainty also exists, as we ponder the degree to which a speaker or writer was indeed physically engaged or familiar enough with a certain form of labor while using it rhetorically toward another end. Most evidence under review does not adequately answer such question. Nevertheless, a reader can be informed by the interaction between the utterance itself and the socially inscribed conventions of using that labor as a way of uttering, a matter thus situated in the context of the history of language and ideas, while not excluding other approaches of inquiry. While emphasizing the rhetorical nature of such labor as imagery, I also limit my focus on cases where the meaning of an utterance is based on the acknowledgment of the respective labor in its relatively “common” sense. Namely, I will not discuss certain—albeit physically conducted—activities such as the ritualistic “plowing” and “hunting” as symbolic performance, or cases in which specific figures’ devotion to physical labor is documented, primarily as a narrative element. Such elements are expressive devices in their own ways yet bear little significance in amplifying the potential values of the respective labor itself.

With all these, the essay intends to enhance our understanding of the interlocking and interpenetrated nature of the four tropes of labor. In what follows, each section—before the concluding one—will focus on one or two of the four tropes under review (I combine “fishing” and “hunting” in one section insofar as their connection is particularly tight compared to others). There are cases where a single passage or a set of textual evidence comprises more than one of the four tropes, sometimes in coordination with other forms of labor as well. Thus, throughout the essay I might save parts of my discussion for a later section or move back to a material previously mentioned as appropriate. Also, I will sometimes focus on one specific trope to elaborate on a point applicable to some of the others as well. Such interpenetrated reciprocity adds further to the value of contemplating the four types of labor imagery as a rhetorical body.

In terms of “the rhetoric of intellectual practice as embodied labor,” my study integrates several lines of inquiry: first, into the phenomenon itself as an intellectual agenda; second, into the ever-changing socio-cultural contexts in which different categories of labor are assessed, evaluated, and compared; and third, into the figurative nature of language that verbally weaves together the otherwise separate realms of experience. Collectively, the rich body of textual evidence under review presents a shifting landscape of coherence and ruptures. On the one hand, the embodied, commensurable nature of intellectual practice is extensively acknowledged and presented in early Chinese discourses, constituting a promising version of the imagined condensation of overall experience across media and materiality. On the other hand, integral to the whole picture is an intellectual paradox, which I tend to save for the respective sections where it emerges, and for the final analysis.

Plowing

In classical Chinese context, “plowing”—most often in terms of geng 耕—deserves the first analysis due to two interrelated reasons. First, plowing was technically foundational to all sorts of agricultural labor or those encapsulated in terms of “farming” (nong 農).Footnote 22 Second, as a foundational economic matter, farming was conventionally positioned—at least nominally—at the first or second place among a handful of major categories of expertise, most often juxtaposed with artisanship (normally in terms of gong 工) and commerce (normally in terms of shang 商).Footnote 23 “Plowing” thus became the primary trope for farming and a preferred synecdoche for a larger body of labor.

As can be traced back to early Chinese political philosophy during the Eastern Zhou (770–256 bce), especially the Warring States era (475–221 bce), “plowing”—and sometimes farming in general—was recurrently foregrounded as a topos in intellectual discourses. The present section takes as its point of departure a set of master voices attributed to Kongzi 孔子 (Confucius; 551–479 bce) and Mengzi 孟子 (372–289 bce) deposited in the early ru 儒 tradition. See, for example, the following passages in the Lunyu 論語 and the Mengzi 孟子—

Lunyu 13.4

樊遲請學稼。子曰:「吾不如老農。」請學爲圃。曰:「吾不如老圃。」樊遲出。子曰:「小人哉,樊須也!上好禮,則民莫敢不敬;上好義,則民莫敢不服;上好信,則民莫敢不用情。夫如是,則四方之民繈負其子而至矣。焉用稼?」Footnote 24

Fan Chi requested to learn sowing grains. The Master said, “[On this,] I am not as good as an old farmer.” [Fan Chi] requested to learn gardening. [The Master] said, “[On this,] I am not as good as an old gardener.” After Fan Chi went out, the Master said, “What a small man, Fan Xu (Fan Chi)! If those above are fond of ritual propriety, the people will not dare to be disrespectful. If those above are fond of righteousness, the people will not dare to disobey. If those above are fond of faithfulness, the people will not dare to violate the true conditions. If things can go like these, the people from all quarters will bear their children on their backs to come. What need does one have to do with sowing grains?”

Lunyu 15.32

子曰:「君子謀道不謀食。耕也,餒在其中矣。學也,祿在其中矣。君子憂道不憂貧。」Footnote 25

The Master said, “A noble man sets his mind on dao instead of food. Plowing is a matter that consists of [the cause of] starvation; and learning is a matter that consists of [the cause of] rewards (lu). A noble man is worried about dao instead of poverty.

Mengzi

聖人之憂民如此,而暇耕乎?

The sage is so seriously concerned with the people. How can he have time to plow?

堯舜之治天下,豈無所用其心哉?亦不用於耕耳。Footnote 26

When Yao and Shun ruled all-under-Heaven, was there nothing to which they devoted their hearts? Yet their hearts were not devoted to plowing.

Both “plowing” (geng) and “sowing grains” (jia 稼) in such contexts present their meanings as agricultural arts sustaining the supply of food and material production. Beyond such labor, the master voices of Kongzi and Mengzi characterize a set of distinguished models—the “upper” (shang 上), the “noble man” (junzi 君子), and the sagely models in terms of shengren 聖人 exemplified by Yao 堯 and Shun 舜—as detached from farming while assuming greater positions: as the learners and practitioners of dao 道 (“path/way/principle”); as the leading models for the people; and as the sagely ruler who works with his xin 心 (“heart/heart-mind”) as he governs.

The two parties are divided in terms of the uneven distribution of labor that varies in type. This principle is encapsulated in the same chapter of Mengzi right before the above-quoted “plowing” statements, that “those who labor with heart-mind would govern, and those who labor with physical strength would be governed” (勞心者治人,勞力者治於人).Footnote 27 Equally considered an agent of lao 勞 (“laboring/working”), a ruling one is distinguished by claiming “heart” or “heart-mind” as its source of labor above other strength—a “plowing” one, for example. This idea coheres with a recurrent interlocking structure in early Chinese discourses, in which the position of “heart” to other bodily functions is metaphorically correlated with the ruler to whom he rules. To quote the Xunzi 荀子, “heart is the lord of the bodily figure and thus the master of spirit and cognition. It sends out orders instead of receiving orders from elsewhere” (心者形之君也,而神明之主也,出令而無所受令);Footnote 28 and the other way around in the Liji 禮記, “The people treat their lord as the heart, and the lord treats his people as the bodily figure” (民以君爲心,君以民爲體),Footnote 29 surrounded by a context demonstrating how the heart-like lord influences the body-like people and integrating the two parties as a coherent one. In such discourses, the ruling heart and the heart-like ruler are not apart from but inherently embedded in the bodies of human and state, positioned as a locus that integrates, coordinates, and thus governs other functions. Not necessarily in terms of the “heart-lord” metaphor per se, the same concentric structure is manifested in another passage in praise of junzi in Xunzi. The ideal image of junzi, albeit not as proficient as farmers (nongren 農人), merchants (shangren 商人), and artisans (gongren 工人) in the areas where they excel, is characterized by his capability of recognizing and deploying the various talents and expertise in proper positions toward the best organization of all matters taken collectively.Footnote 30 Consider too, a similar concentric structure presented in the Huainanzi 淮南子, wherein the ruling function is attributed to the sage.Footnote 31

With circumscribed variability, such discourses collectively present an emerging characterization of a one-above-all function, sometimes depicted as embodied in an imagined center, around which various empirical areas are oriented, coordinated, and controlled. The personalized form of this function is presented as a distinguished laboring agency attributed to the ideal sagely ruler and, in some contexts, distributed among those—most typically in terms of junzi—who assume their roles as the inheritors, learners, and practitioners of that projected model. The status of such model and its minor instantiations is thus transcendent above other socially defined labor, among which “plowing” gained its significance as the primary trope for farming and sometimes a synecdoche for “labor with physical strength” in general. Conceptually, the ideal, one-above-all model of labor distinguishes itself, not in terms of a dichotomy of mental–physical division, but as an inherently embodied function penetrating the various empirical areas by its all-around capability of cognition, sensation, and integration, which altogether constitute an imagined condensation of a ruling heart-mind with moral, intellectual agency.Footnote 32 The mythification of this model of labor constituted an important source of ideologies and aesthetics, sustaining a variety of late-emerging political, social, and intellectual agendas toward different ends.

In addition to the above-quoted ones, “plowing”—and sometimes “farming” in general—as a rhetorical trope was distributed among a wider range of discourses across early intellectual traditions, “schools,” or “-isms” since the Warring States,Footnote 33 wherein the “non-plowing” model was situated in dialogue with competitive voices: (1) In what we might consider a primitive inclusive model, Warring States texts extensively traced different doctrines, arts, techniques, and traditions back to legendary sages or kings in high antiquity;Footnote 34 and the art of farming was no exception to these narratives.Footnote 35 (2) Strongly contrary to the non-plowing model of sage-king and noble men, some suggested that the leader of the society should physically engage in plowing—and weaving—together with the people. This “plowing” model is precisely invoked by the interlocutor in the above passage of Mengzi and attributed to the legendary Shennong 神農 (while being disputed by the master voice of Mengzi).Footnote 36 (3) Another imagery of “plowing,” presented in the Zhuangzi 莊子 and (presumably later) assimilated in early imperial texts like Huainanzi, indicates a gesture returning to the uncivilized wildness and purity of primitive humanity.Footnote 37 (4) An equally strong but completely different opinion was made against intellectual groups whose expertise did not contribute to the accumulation of wealth and strength of the state. This is highlighted in a passage of the Hanfeizi 韩非子, regarding those labeled as Kong 孔 and Mo 墨 (the followers of Kongzi and Mozi 墨子) and detached from plowing/farming as useless.Footnote 38 And (5) the non-plowing model is challenged by an array of competitive voices, masked as farmers, fishermen, craftsmen, and so on in philosophical contexts, opposed to those masked as cultured elites in variable ways.Footnote 39

With albeit divergence, most of the above-mentioned phenomena position “plowing” (or farming in general) as something heterogenous—subject, inferior, or sometimes superior—to the ideally distinguished one-above-all labor (approvingly or critically addressed in different contexts). Meanwhile, during and after the Warring States era, there arose another rhetorical usage of “plowing,” which demonstrated the similarity and commensurability between this labor and that distinguished one. For instance—

Mengzi

士之仕也,猶農夫之耕也。Footnote 40

A [noble] man (shi) to political service is like a farmer to plowing.

Xunzi

良農不爲水旱不耕,

良賈不爲折閱不市,

士君子不爲貧窮怠乎道。Footnote 41

A good farmer would not stop plowing because of flood or drought.

A good merchant would not stop bringing goods to market because of the falling prices.

A noble man (junzi) would not get tired of dao because of poverty.

Hanshi waizhuan 韓詩外傳

故君子之於道也,猶農夫之耕。

雖不獲年之優,無以易也。Footnote 42

Thus, a noble man (junzi) is to dao like a farmer is to plowing.

Even if one year a farmer does not reap a good harvest, [his engagement in plowing] will not change.

These instances juxtapose “plowing”—once along with commercial expertise—more reciprocally with the practices of noble men (in terms of junzi and/or shi 士), whose enaction of dao and political services are thus characterized as farmer-like labor, insofar as they share the virtues of embodied devotion, concentration, consistency, and fortitude.Footnote 43 Noticeably, this rhetoric is particularly presented in a tradition in praise of a non-plowing, one-above-all model of labor. By simile (marked by you 猶 [“be like”]), analogy, and parallelism, these passages foreground a scenario wherein “plowing” is now encoded with a value of self-cultivation in a moral, intellectual sense. Toward a reciprocal paradigm of commensurability rather than hierarchy, the one-above-all model of labor is now depicted and transformed as a one-among-all image of becoming.

In line with this rhetoric of reciprocity and commensurability, a more specific use of “plowing” occurred beginning in the Western Han, taking “plowing” as an imagery to characterize a new form of intellectual labor. Such labor, in coordination with a forcefully emerging and proliferating literary culture, became increasingly engaged with text-based literary learning and nourished by refined literacy. Two tightly interrelated discourses that follow demonstrate the late Western appropriation of “plowing”Footnote 44 —one by Yang Xiong 揚雄 (53 bce–18 ce) in his Fayan 法言, and the other, presumably first composed by Liu Xin 劉歆 (50 bce–23 ce), in his introduction to the liuyi 六藝 (“Six Arts/Classics”) category, a part of the late Western Han bibliography now preserved in the “Yiwen zhi” 藝文志 (“Treatise of Classics and Writings”) of Ban Gu’s 班固 (32–92 ce) Hanshu 漢書—

Fayan 7.8

或問:「司馬子長有言曰,五經不如⟪老子⟫之約也,當年不能極其變,終身不能究其業。」曰:「若是,則周公惑,孔子賊。古者之學,耕且養,三年通一。今之學也,非獨爲之華藻也,又從而綉其鞶帨,惡在⟪老⟫不⟪老⟫也。」或曰:「學者之說可約耶?」曰:「可約。解科。」Footnote 45

Someone asked,

“Sima Zichang (Sima Qian) had a saying that the Five Classics (wujing) are not as concise (yue) as the Laozi. One is unable to completely explore their variability in his prime years, or to fully accomplish his project [of studying them] throughout his entire life.”

[The master voice] replied:

“If that were true, the Duke of Zhou would be deceptive, and Kongzi would be fraudulent. [How can that be the case?] Learning as a matter in antiquity was plowing/self-cultivating (geng) and self-supporting (yang), [hence one could] penetrate/comprehend one [classic] thoroughly in three years. Learning as a matter at the present day not merely makes up flowery patterns but even embroiders girdles and handkerchiefs. [So, the problem] is not about resembling Laozi or not.”

Someone asked,

“Is it possible to make the sayings of [today’s] men-of-learning concise?”

[The master voice] replied:

“Yes, [if we] dissolve the divisional system of education and examination (ke).”

Hanshu, “Yiwen zhi”

古之學者耕且養,三年而通一藝,存其大體,玩經文而已。是故用日少而畜德多,三十而五經立也。後世經傳既已乖離,博學者又不思多聞闕疑之義,而務碎義逃難,便辭巧說,破壞形體。說五字之文至於二三万言,後進彌以逐馳。故幼童而守一藝,白首而後能言。安其所習,毀所不見,終以自蔽,此學者之大患也。Footnote 46

A man of learning in antiquity was plowing/self-cultivating (geng) and self-supporting (yang), and he penetrated/comprehended one classic thoroughly in every three years. He internalized the grand ideas and got familiar with the textual contents [of the classics]. Therefore, the time he spent was comparatively short yet the virtue/potency he accumulated was a lot, and [his learning of] the Five Classics was established at the age of thirty. The classics and their transmitted traditions in later ages had been deviated and set apart, yet the [so-called] men with broad learning did not even think about the principles of being extensively informed and leaving puzzles open. They insisted on deconstructing the meanings and escaping from challenges, smoothing out their words and cleverly crafting their statements, and breaking down the shapes and patterns [of the written characters]; and their explanation of a line with five characters was extended to around twenty or thirty thousand words. Their followers competed in doing this even more intensely. Consequently, one was entrenched in one classic from his childhood, but was unable to speak of it until he was white-haired. Content with what one has learned, dismissive of what one had not seen before, and at the end self-blinded—these are great problems for a man-of-learning.

The two discourses share an ideal picture of “learning” (xue 學) as a matter in “antiquity” (gu 古) against that in the present-day in terms of jin 今 (“modern/present”) or houshi 後世 (“later generations”).Footnote 47 In the present context, the “present” refers to the institutional regulation of texts, knowledge, and scholarly labor since early imperial China and down to the late first century bce. Central to this process was the canonization of the “Five Classics” (wujing 五經) corpus, which did not occur until the Western Han, and was accompanied by the formation of an official academic system that divided the classics and their hermeneutic traditions into several scholastic lineages. Institutionalized by the deployment of salaried official scholars and their followers, as well as the imposition of personal affiliation with specific texts, traditions, and authorities,Footnote 48 this system constitutes the opposite of Yang Xiong and Liu Xin’s “ancient” model of “learning,” which is rhetorically presented as a “plowing” one.

The phrases “learning as a matter in antiquity” (gu zhe zhi xue 古者之學) in Fayan and “man-of-learning in antiquity” (gu zhi xue zhe 古之學者) in “Yiwen zhi” are both followed by the phrase geng qie yang 耕且養, which I read as “plowing/self-cultivating and self-supporting.” A straightforward reading would suggest learning in “antiquity” accompanied physical engagement in plowingFootnote 49 to support one’s livelihood (yang 養). Nevertheless, it makes more sense to regard geng in this context metaphorically as a plowing-like model, which integrates a set of values traditionally attributed to this labor—embodied devotion, concentration, consistency, fortitude—all of which now constitute a manner of self-oriented accumulation of intellectual labor and resources toward a productive end.

Both intertextual and intra-textual contexts support this approach. First, my reading coheres with the above-mentioned utterances in Xunzi and Hanshi waizhuan, as well as another passage in Fayan where “plowing” is juxtaposed with “hunting” (to be discussed in a later section) toward a similar end. In all these contexts, “plowing” is analogically or metaphorically correlated with the noble way of learning and practicing dao through one’s consistent focus and embodied engagement. Second, my reading avoids contradicting the old non-plowing model in early ru tradition, considering the prescriptive rather than descriptive natureFootnote 50 of the present context, where Yang Xiong and Liu Xin (and perhaps also Ban Gu) were concerned about the ideal model of learning “Classics” as a major intellectual expertise of the ru scholars in Han times. To them, this practice was as foundational as “plowing” to the material supply of society, which adds further to the plausibility of reading geng metaphorically. Third, my reading conforms with Yang Xiong’s subsequent critique of the vainly excessive scholarship by contemporary official scholars, where a “weaving” imagery appears in an apparently metaphorical way (to be discussed in the next section). Fourth, and in the “Yiwen zhi” passage in particular, my reading works in coordination with another farming-related metaphorical trope that appears right after the “plowing” one—the “saving/storage” (xu 畜) of one’s accumulated gaining of virtue/potency (de 德) toward self-refinement. Broadly speaking, such a manner of accumulation of embodied labor, experience, and resources can be encapsulated by the conception of ji 積 (“accumulation/accretion”), which, according to Xunzi, is essential to the making of the four major categories of people—again, farmers, artisans, merchants, and the distinguished junzi—and the overarching sage, altogether as the outcomes of the accumulation of respective experience, labor, and resources.Footnote 51 On account of these, the clustered presentation of geng, yang, and xu rhetorically characterizes a scholarly way of becoming—namely, a process of learning from the most foundational plowing-like practice toward a productive, self-supporting end, ideally rewarded by one’s accumulated virtue/potency and knowledge with self-contained values independent from external intervene.

Finally, as a part of Yang Xiong and Liu Xin’s critiques against the institutional system of scholarship, the plowing-like model of learning suggests an underlying connection with the presumably oldest notion associated with the phrase gu zhi xue zhe. As being attributed to zi yue 子曰 (“the Master said,” referring to Kongzi) in Lunyu, “a man-of-learning in antiquity [did it] for the sake of himself, yet a man-of-learning at the present day [is doing it] for the sake of others” (古之學者爲己,今之學者爲人).Footnote 52 Extending this thought, Xunzi states that “A man-of-learning in antiquity [did it] for the sake of himself, yet a man-of-learning at the present day [is doing it] for the sake of others; a noble man engages in learning to perfect himself, yet a petty man engages in learning to serve as a fowl and a calf” (古之學者爲己,今之學者爲人;君子之學也,以美其身,小人之學也,以爲禽犢).Footnote 53 Compatible with Yang Xiong and Liu Xin’s “plowing” model of learning in “antiquity,” the two pre-imperial master voices demonstrate a principle that, more explicitly, approves the “self” (ji 己) as the primary interest to which a noble way of “learning” is oriented. The gu-jin rhetoric shared by all four passages thus presents a motif of criticism against the alienation of scholarly labor from a matter of self-cultivation to a secondary tool serving the “others.”

From Yang Xiong and Liu Xin’s viewpoints, and especially in a fashion of revisionary invention of new ideas based on old ones,Footnote 54 the image of salaried, institutionalized scholars in Han official system can be precisely considered working for “others” instead of “plowing/cultivating” for the “self.” To the same degree, the “ancient” model undertakes a Han projection of a self-oriented scholarly labor independent from institutional regulation and its consequences. Throughout the two Han discourses, such a labor is characterized as broadly engaged in the essential texts of literary learning—as said, the “plowing” model would “learn thoroughly/penetrate/comprehend” (tong 通) one [Classic] every three years—and, simultaneously, saving one’s lifetime from sectarian scholarship as a result of institutionalization. During and after the late Western Han, this new intellectual model toward individually embodied erudition emerged and proliferated across centuries, as evidenced in a variety of intellectual practices and a growing repository of ideas and utterances, among which the most prominent values appear to be bo 博 (“broadness”) and tong.Footnote 55 Within this ever-growing repository, the rhetoric of intellectual practices as embodied labor enhanced its complexity and diversity, and the imagery of “plowing” continued to be invoked as a trope. As an echo to Yang Xiong and Liu Xin, Wang Chong 王充 (27–97 ce) articulated the following argument in his Lunheng 論衡:

耕夫多殖嘉穀,謂之上農夫;其少者,謂之下農夫。學士之才,農夫之力,一也。能多種穀,謂之上農;能博學問,謂之上儒。Footnote 56

Men who plow and grow a wealth of fine grain are called superior farmers; those who grow a little are called inferior farmers. The talent of a scholar and the labor of a farmer are [commensurable as] one. Thus, those who can grow a wealth of grain are superior farmers; those who can broadly learn and inquire are superior ru.

By analogical juxtaposition, a productive farmer who plows and grows a wealth of fine grains resembles a “broadly learned” ru scholar, insofar as their works are both conducted in a manner of consistent accumulation of labor and time, and eventually rewarded and evaluated by the quantity and quality of gaining therefrom. For an early Eastern Han scholar like Wang Chong, this matter was increasingly substantialized in a world filled with an ever-growing body of texts and knowledge. Correspondingly, Wang Chong highlighted the scholarly value of bo, a notion that gained prominence especially in Eastern Han sources—Lunheng itself being one of the strongest cases. Throughout Lunheng, Wang Chong constantly positioned the value of bo against the official system of scholarship, which, due to its institutionally regulated status, was not “broadly learned” and thus infertile in producing intellectual outputs.Footnote 57 This criticism, again, echoed Yang Xiong and Liu Xin’s discourses on the “plowing” model of learning, in which the two forms of labor were also presented as mutually commensurable as “one” (yi 一).

Weaving

Oftentimes interlocked with “plowing” as a pair of foundational material and economic matters,Footnote 58 “weaving” gained prominence also as an imagery via multiple ways of rhetorical presentation toward different ends. The imagery is a condensed one, which integrates the embedded weaving practice and the variable material, aesthetic features of the woven artifacts. Altogether, they are distributed among a wide spectrum of topics from social, political, and cosmological ordersFootnote 59 to the matter of writing and literary production.Footnote 60 In what follows, albeit with references to other aspects of the trope, the present section focuses on the correlation between “weaving” and “writing,” by which I do not refer to the physical gestures of writing something downFootnote 61 but the process and product of composing a verbal structure toward a textual display—a matter that, during Han times, was progressively foregrounded as a major emblem of intellectual labor and crafts. Therein the “plowing-weaving” correspondence persists. While the “plowing” imagery rhetorically sustains that intellectual labor as a matter of interior accumulation, the “weaving” one characterizes its exterior manifestation.

The correlation between the web of words and the woven nature of fabrics is shown in different languages and cultures.Footnote 62 In ancient China, this phenomenon indicates the circumscribed variability of “weaving” as both an evolving technologyFootnote 63 and a socially deployed labor. In addition to its technological maturity and economic prominence, “weaving” became a close reference to writing due to its material involvement in manuscript production by supplying one of the major written media, silk. With these, the correlation between weaving and writing is extensively sedimented in a cluster of lexical items, which referred to specific “weaving” elements in the first place and, by extension, were appropriated in the context of “writing.” Many of these items are graphically embedded with the ideogram 糸,Footnote 64 which I regard as a matter of metonymy for it contains a reductive “weaving” imagery—just like “crown” to “monarch” or “fifty sails” to “fifty ships”Footnote 65 —while being employed in a different empirical area. The lexical item itself, correspondingly, functions as a weaving metaphor. Before we proceed, it is perhaps a matter of dispute whether a graphic or lexical element such as this should be considered a rhetorical figure or a mere “dead metaphor.”Footnote 66 Indeed, our evaluation of an utterance as a living or dead metaphor is contingent on its effects on a living audience; and by “effects” we should be mindful of the diversifiable nature of epistemic and aesthetic experience changing over time. A word is possibly the tomb of a dead metaphor insofar as it was the embodiment of a living one—a matter to be better informed through an inquiry into its history.

The whole range of such lexical items includes, first, generic nouns like the interlocked couple of jing 經 and wei 緯, both rooted in the names of basic material elements of weaving.Footnote 67 As weaving terms, jing and wei respectively refer to the warp and weft threads, a distinction inherently foundational to the process of most fabric production. Jing and wei were also employed as verbs to metaphorically characterize the overarching capability of putting things in well-organized orders, a function applicable to textual production.Footnote 68 Toward writing, the two terms also gained their literary, bibliographical meanings, with jing referring to the core text of a given domain of knowledge—most typically shown in the terms wujing (“Five Classics”)—and, correspondingly, wei referring to the textual traditions situated around a jing (here, limited to the range of wujing). In this sense, the division of jing and wei was a function of hierarchical differentiation, perhaps because jing also integrated the meanings of “constant” and “path” in its actual usage toward a status of authority.

The second cluster of terms are essentially verbs—sometimes used as nouns—that include bian 編 (“to fabricate/connect/compile”), zhui 綴 (“to connect/weave together”), ji 紀 (“to organize (multiple silk threads)/record/memorize”), and so on.Footnote 69 A term could emerge as an indication of a rather specific, non-metaphorical material involvement of a weaving element in textual production, while extending its meaning beyond that material sense in later usage. For example, bian, which—according to the Shuowen jiezi 說文解字—first referred to the practice of connecting bamboo/wood slips by threads to make manuscripts, gradually extended its meaning toward the compilation of texts in terms of the contents. In a more general sense, the above weaving terms all gained their literary meanings referring to the practices of integrating minor pieces or units into a larger, coherent textual body. Such cross-media appropriation of lexical items gained currency, particularly during and after the Eastern Han, in coordination with the growing vocabulary and usage of writing terms—including but not limited to those related to “weaving”—that indicate the overall proliferation and diversification of literary productivity and their social impacts.Footnote 70

The third cluster of lexical items now deserve more detailed analyses, insofar as they foreground more nuanced material and aesthetic features of certain kinds of woven artifacts. In early China, the inherent heterogeneity and uneven distribution of weaving labor, material, products, and their aesthetic effects were at once discussed as concrete social matters and open to rhetorical appropriation toward different ends. Consider, for example, the notions of su 素 and qi 綺, which as weaving terms respectively refer to uncolored raw silk (su) and a relatively late-emerging technique of making woven patterns obliquely (qi) rather than vertically in line with jing and horizontally with wei.Footnote 71 Su was thus appropriated to characterize the uncrafted nature or substance of a person, a manner, a piece of writing, and so on, sometimes implying a sense of genuine purity.Footnote 72 The late-emerging qi, by comparison, was metaphorically appropriated as a term in Han and medieval literary criticism, based on its aesthetic commensurability with the delicate patterned beauty of literary—especially poetic—works such as fu 賦 and shi 詩.Footnote 73

Besides the notion of qi, crafted weaving had been long presented as a matter of dispute in early contexts in terms of phrases like fufu 黼黻, jin 錦 (“brocade”), xiu 繡 (“to embroider” or “embroidery”) and so on, which initially bore nothing specially related to writing and literary production. The recurrent use of fufu in Xunzi, Liji, and Lüshi Chunqiu 呂氏春秋 is normally combined with the more inclusive concept of wenzhang 文章 (to be discussed later) and accompanied with crafted carving and engraving. Collectively, such aesthetic devices are regarded as means to manifest hierarchical orders or cultivate noble manners.Footnote 74 This notion can be situated in dialogue with several critical usages of crafted weaving as a topic or rhetorical trope. Some of them led to an overall critique against the corrupted nature of culture as a matter of accumulation and distinction;Footnote 75 some more practically regarded it as a matter of excessive, uneven deployment of labor and material that causes poverty;Footnote 76 and some considered it an emblem of excessiveness and ornamental exteriority from moral and aesthetic points of view. In such contexts, the crafted beauty of weaving remained a critical trope when it was metaphorically appropriated to characterize intellectual outputs, especially literary production. Consider, for a previously mentioned example, Yang Xiong’s appropriation of the gesture of “embroidering [xiu] girdle and handkerchief” (綉其鞶帨) to characterize the vainly excessive and ornamental works of contemporary official scholars.Footnote 77 Such negative use of weaving—again, along with carving and engraving—was also seen in his self-critique and revisionary agenda to rectify the aesthetics of fu, a motif that gained prominence from the late Western Han onward.Footnote 78

The problem was further complicated in the “balanced” discourses of Lunheng, where Wang Chong presented various ways of correlating the imagery of crafted weaving with intellectual labor and product (especially writing). The two terms that he preferred in such rhetoric were jin and xiu, either used separately or interlocked as the compound jinxiu 錦繡 (“brocade and embroidery”). In terms of material history, the two crafts represent the most advanced weaving techniques in Han times, embodying the multicolored woven patterns and the delicate presentation of distinguishable pictorial items.Footnote 79 These features became increasingly visible from the Western HanFootnote 80 and thus sustained the aesthetics and rhetoric of intellectual discourses.

On the writing of fu, Wang Chong’s opinion echoed earlier critical reflections on the genre since the late Western Han, appropriating weaving—in terms of jinxiu—metaphorically referring to the sensational pleasure and beauty of Sima Xiangru 司馬相如 (179–117 bce) and Yang Xiong’s magnificent fu, in comparison with their lack of truth-making values.Footnote 81 Nevertheless, elsewhere in Lunheng Wang Chong presented alternative rhetorical presentations of weaving beyond fu toward “learning” and “writing” in general. Since the late Western Han, the two as a pair of input/output practices gained prominence in the intellectual criteria of assessing a scholar. On the literary learning of official classics and their hermeneutic traditions, Wang Chong playfully suggested that such learning to a ru scholar is just like “fabricating brocade and sewing embroidery” 織錦刺繡 to a skilled woman—in both cases, the respective laboring agent is distinguished from the others by his/her crafted production.Footnote 82 Also in terms of jinxiu, in Wang Chong’s classification of different types of scholars, the top-tier “Grand Ru” (hongru 鴻儒)—characterized as embodying the finest erudition and literary productivity above others—is distinguished from the ordinary ru scholar, just like a piece of embroidered brocade is distinguished from an ordinary cloth.Footnote 83

Not toward an image as extraordinary as hongru, the motif of self-manifestation with weaving metaphor was made applicable to a wider range of scholars who produced writings:

繡之未刺,錦之未織,恆絲庸帛,何以異哉? … 學士有文章,猶絲帛之有五色之巧也。Footnote 84

When a piece of embroidery has not yet been sewed, and a piece of brocade has not yet been woven, they are just common threads and ordinary silk. How can they be distinguished? … A man of learning with patterned manifestation/textual display (wenzhang) is just like threads and silk with the craftiness of the five colors.

In this extract, both practices are presented as a process of inputting crafted labor and expertise onto raw material and thus transforming it into a novel, refined status of being. Within such a process of becoming, the “man-of-learning” thereof is at once characterized as the unwoven material, the weaving labor, and the woven product—namely, someone eventually presented via his wenzhang (here indicative of his literary production) as a “patterned manifestation/textual display”Footnote 85 of himself as the very embodiment of his intellectual labor, crafts, and possession. Collectively, the preceding rhetorical presentations of crafted weaving in Lunheng marked the emergence of a new fashion of appropriating the imagery. By metaphor and analogy, the totality of individually embodied intellectual labor and its literary production was depicted as an image of becoming, toward a status of self-manifestation that distinguishes the laboring agency itself.

Most of the above-analyzed lexical items and rhetorical instantiations involve a process of meaning transportation from “weaving” to “writing.” Moreover, since weaving was conventionally conducted by female labor, the “weaving” imagery sedimented in the male-dominated domain of writing and scholarly practices strengthens the point that the verbal presentation of embodied experience—especially labor—is not based on an equal foundation of physical experience but largely drawn from socially acquired knowledge and imagination. On the other hand, the increasing female involvement in literacy-based scholarly practices—especially during and after Eastern Han—could indeed enhance the significance and aesthetic effects of “weaving” as an available reference. As in the case of “plowing” too, the expansion of literacy and literary culture among larger and more diverse communities in Han times underscored the interpenetration between intellectual practices and other forms of labor, making them more actively intertwined in the repository of intellectual rhetoric.

Beyond the evidence analyzed above, there is another kind of lexical item that resides in both “weaving” and “writing” yet pertains to a more inclusive conceptual structure. Every instance of such items is thus better considered a synecdoche (of the inclusive one), rather than a metaphor or metonymy of “weaving” in particular. The concept central to this line of inquiry is wen 文. As is widely acknowledged, wen semantically falls into a broad spectrum of abstract and concrete meanings such as “pattern,” “ornament,” “refinement,” “culture,” “text,” “writing,” and so on.Footnote 86 Such semantic inclusiveness also extended to its lexical derivations such as wenzhang (“patterned display/manifestation”).Footnote 87 Both wen and wenzhang were used in “weaving” contexts—along with other ritual, political, and material meanings—before they gained currency as terms referring to text and writing. However, rather than being oriented in a fashion of meaning transportation from one empirical area to another, a term like wen or wenzhang is better considered the vessel for a more inclusive idea distributed—albeit not simultaneously—among much wider media and material contexts.

While every material-related meaning of wen occurred at a specific historical stage, the inclusive one is not supposed to be the oldest among all. Instead, it was progressively accumulated and synthesized from ever-renewing appropriation and proliferation. For reference, according to the Shuowen jiezi, wen—as a written sign—denotes “intersecting strokes” (cuo hua 錯畫) and “emblematizes the crisscrossing patterns” (象交文).Footnote 88 This Eastern Han explication does not contradict the oldest evidence from China’s Bronze Age of wen as a character, presented as a (human?) body with a crisscrossing tattoo. Either as a single term or as a lexical component, the actual usages and appropriations of wen constituted an ever-growing and transforming body beyond semantic specificity. Collectively, the inclusive, cross-media idea of wen refers to the patterned, perceivable exteriority in which a presumably existing substance presents itself. This is made clear in a recurrent verbal structure that correlates two realms of wen as, respectively, the patterned manifestation of the cosmos (oftentimes in terms of tian 天 [“Heaven”]) and that of the human or human society (oftentimes in terms of ren 人).Footnote 89 Thus, the imagined substance of the cosmos was made commensurable with an imagined human interiority, insofar as they are both displayed and perceived through the patterned exteriority of wen. On the same conceptual foundation, wen was thus coupled with the concepts of zhi 質 (“[interior] substance”) and qing 情 (“[interior] state of affair/condition/situation”) in the contexts of human nature and behavior.Footnote 90

With this, the inclusive, cross-media nature of wen is distributed among a wide spectrum of meanings: the patterns of celestial bodies; the stripes on animal skins; the emblems for cultural orders; as well as the individually embodied presentations mediated in various forms—a fabricated cloth, a cultivated manner, a refined speech, a piece of writing, and beyond. Every phenomenal manifestation of wen is thus a minor realization, or a synecdoche, of the patterned exteriority in which the overall reality presents itself. In the present context, this notion works well with wen in the senses of “weaving” and “writing.” See, for example, the late Eastern Han dictionary Shiming 釋名 by Liu Xi 劉熙 (fl. ca. 200 ce), where we read his explication of wen as a lexical item:

文者,會集眾綵以成錦繡,會集眾字以成辭義,如文繡然也。Footnote 91

Wen is that which brings together and collects a variety of colored silks to make embroidered brocade, and that which brings together and collects a variety of written characters/words to make verbalized meanings—in a manner similar to that which makes patterned embroidery.

Central to this utterance is the figuration of wen as a matter embedded in both “weaving” and “writing.” By correlating “weaving” and “writing” as two domains of experience, the passage nevertheless does not indicate a shift “from wen as a fabric to wen as a text.”Footnote 92 Instead, “weaving” and “writing” are positioned as a pair of synecdoche for an inclusive way of becoming, a mechanism beyond the specificity of any material medium. Within this conceptual frame, a patterned brocade and a verbalized passage become commensurable with each other, insofar as they are both integrated toward a status of patterned exteriority in terms of wen. This works in coordination with terms like zhuwen 屬文 and zhuiwen 綴文—literally, “to make connections between/weave together wen”—during and after the Han, both of which characterize literary production as a weaving-like practice toward an instantiation of wen. Comparatively, the term zhuwen was much more current during and after Han times and more specifically referred to literary writing.Footnote 93 The much rarer use of zhuiwen, nevertheless, undertook no lesser significance. As is seen in a statement made by Ban Gu in Hanshu

自孔子後,綴文之士衆矣,唯孟軻、孫況、董仲舒、司馬遷、劉向、揚雄,此數公者,皆博物洽聞,通達古今,其言有補於世。Footnote 94

After Kongzi, there have been many figures who composed/connected/weaved together wen (zhuiwen). [Among them,] only Meng Ke, Sun (Xun) Kuang, Dong Zhongshu, Sima Qian, Liu Xiang, and Yang Xiong were broadly learned about things and richly informed, thoroughly penetrating/comprehending the past and the present, with their words contributing to the world.

The clustered remembrance of an array of masters from Kongzi to the two late Western Han idols—Liu Xiang 劉向 (77–6 bce) and Yang Xiong—highlights their intellectual qualities in terms of being “broadly learned about things and richly informed” and “thoroughly comprehending the past and the present”—each phrase thereof gained value during and after Ban Gu’s time. These intellectual qualities are presented as foundational to their “words” (yan 言), which, from an Eastern Han viewpoint, crystalize their intellectual labor in terms of zhuiwen, of which wen inclusively denotes both their overall cultural legacies and the textual productions that they “wove together.”

The term wenzhang, almost as widely appropriated as wen, denotes the “patterned display/manifestation” of a variety of figures and things. Semantically, the term is a condensation of wen and zhang 章, whose meaning conjoined with wen is better considered “to display,” “to manifest,” or “that which is actualized via wen.”Footnote 95 The meanings of wenzhang fall into a spectrum covering ritual and cultural orders, ornamental patterns (including but certainly not limited to those on fabric artifacts), and writings or literary productions. The relatively late use of wenzhang as “text,” “writing,” or “literary production” occurred in the first century bce and gained currency especially during the Eastern Han,Footnote 96 clearly after the term had already come into wide use in ritual, material, and sometimes rather particular “weaving”Footnote 97 contexts.

In general, the growing prominence of wenzhang as a writing term indicates a cultural transition, by which literary text “rose to its status as the main emblem of culture.”Footnote 98 Again, this lexical change does not represent a one-way appropriation from one specific empirical area—such as “weaving”—to another, insofar as each media-based meaning of wenzhang is a minor realization of a more inclusive idea of “patterned” (wen) “manifestation” (zhang). Among a multitude of instances, see the following three examples, which indicate the usages of wenzhang as respectively ritual/cultural orders, ornamental patterns (not limited to a weaving use), and textual display via writing/literary production—

Lunyu 8.19

巍巍乎其有成功也,煥乎其有文章也!Footnote 99

Lofty, alas, that he (Yao) accomplished his merits! Lustrous, alas, that he processed cultural patterns/ritual orders (wenzhang)!

Hanshu 64B

調五聲使有節族,

雜五色使有文章。Footnote 100

Calibrate the five [notes of] sound and make them have ordered rhythm.

Integrate the five colors and make them have ornamental patterns (wenzhang).

Hanshu 87B

其意欲求文章成名於後世。Footnote 101

His (Yang Xiong) aspiration was to let his textual display/literary productions (wenzhang) make his name a legacy to following generations.

Nothing essential will be missing or distorted if we take wenzhang in all three contexts inclusively as the “patterned display/manifestation,” without downplaying the specificity of each instance as a media-based realization. The late-emerging usage did not replace the older ones, for they all functioned as the synecdoche for an inclusive one above yet among all at once. The comparatively new meaning of wenzhang as the “textual display” worked in concert with an arising Han notion, which regarded literary production as a manifestation of individually embodied erudition (as showcased, for instance, in the previously discussed weaving metaphor by Wang Chong, as well as the above-quoted appraisal of Yang Xiong by Ban Gu). Such ideas, practically based on the extended foundation of individual possession and embodiment of texts, knowledge, and scholarly experience, add further to a scholarly ideology in praise of the self-oriented accumulation and manifestation of intellectual labor, value, and productivity—with which the imagery of “plowing” was associated as well.

Fishing and Hunting

The present section combines the imagery of “fishing” and that of “hunting” as a pair of tropes with strong material and symbolic connections. While “plowing” and “weaving” were often discussed as concrete social, economic matters, for they were indeed the two gestures foundational to the material production of the state in a society like ancient China, references to “fishing” and “hunting” present stronger affinity to the metaphorical and allegorical appropriation of a specific nature of these two forms of labor.

Labor in the forms of “plowing” and “weaving” can be considered a matter of producing something new by integrating and transforming the otherwise sporadically distributed material elements. By comparison, both “fishing” and “hunting” indicate the interaction with a self-contained living body—fish, beast, bird, etc.—whose ontological status is already “out there” prior to the intervention of human agency. In rarer cases, such a premise sustains lessons in praise of specific embodied virtue or mental state. As seen in an episode in which Kongzi appears in Zhuangzi, the condition is inherently embedded in the exaggerated description of the “bravery/courage” (yong 勇) of fishermen and hunters who risk confronting extremely dangerous animals. Their yong is thus made commensurable with that of heroic and sagely models who confront external troubles.Footnote 102 In a different way, the status of someone like a fisherman was mapped onto the mind of a ruler. As seen in Xun Yue’s 荀悅 (148–209 ce) Shenjian 申鑒, the art of upside-down governing is compared with a fisherman’s skill of handling the rod and hook.Footnote 103

Also grounded in the interaction with self-contained objects, richer evidence appropriates “fishing” and “hunting” to characterize practices and situations that require more complicated intellectual engagement. This usage is based on the two activities’ technical involvement with tools, methods, or devices made to “catch” the living things. In this way, the connection between fishing and hunting becomes strong due to the similarity and sometimes interchangeability between devices they employ,Footnote 104 as well as the experience of and techniques for using them. A fishing/hunting metaphor or allegory thus works well in discourses reflecting on the dialectical relationship between method-and-goal or tool-and-truth in varying senses. For example, see perhaps the most famous instance of coupling the two tropes in Zhuangzi

荃者所以在魚,得魚而忘荃;

蹄者所以在兔,得兔而忘蹄;

言者所以在意,得意而忘言。

吾安得忘言之人而與之言哉!Footnote 105

The trap is that by which one catches fishes,

Do forget the trap once you have got the fishes.

The snare is that by which one catches rabbits,

Do forget the snare once you have got the rabbits.

Words are that by which one catches ideas,

Do forget the words once you have got the ideas.

How can I catch someone who forgets the words and have words with that person!

Known as the “Fishnet-Rabbit Snare Allegory,” the passage presents a philosophical reasoning on the relationship between yan (“speech/words”) and yi 意 (“idea/meaning”). Though previous studies interpreted the allegory in terms of a crisis of “language” (in denoting meaning or reality) mapped onto early Chinese philosophy, alternative readings suggest a more pragmatic way of understanding. According to Wim De Reu, the passage does not deal with “the dynamics of the relationship between ‘language’ and ‘meaning,’” but makes a distinction between “two very different modes of linguistic engagement,” and suggests a flexible manner of speaking beyond patterned fixations.Footnote 106 Focusing on the notion of yan, Jane M. Geaney regards it as indicative not of “language” but of “speaking” as a bodily practice, which has its limits in conveying the self-contained yi. The yi, like a fish and a rabbit, is elusive and thus demands a more dynamic understanding other than being trapped and fixed by speech (like a fish trap and a snare).Footnote 107

Sharing with both scholars a pragmatic ground that avoids reading the passage as an instance of linguistic crisis, I would emphasize how the yan-yi complex is interconnected with the verbally presented imagery of fishing and hunting, which at once involve the matters of tools (fish trap and rabbit snare), goals (fish and rabbit), and the embodied experience of laboring. Broadly speaking, the passage can be situated within a set of recurrent topoi in early Chinese thought—collectively, the critical reflections on the coherence, authenticity, and fidelity of the culturally coded system of signification (speech, writing, emblematic symbols, etc.) in comparison with the realm of idea, meaning, truth, reality, and so on.Footnote 108 The passage does not present an overall devaluation of words; rather, it rejects a particular—perhaps the common—way of communication entrenched in “words” (the tool) while neglecting/mistaking “ideas” (the goal). By comparison, good communication happens among those who properly “forget” (wang 忘) or let go of the “words,” while grasping the essential ideas embedded in the very activity of saying and hearing them. Not without irony, such a lesson itself is conveyed through a coded system of socially inscribed traditions of speaking and understanding. However, the text also makes the lesson more sensible by imagery—one could hopefully understand it, by situating oneself in the (imagined) embodied experience of a fisherman and a rabbit hunter who evidently obtain what they want. Modeled on them, yi becomes attainable through embodied experience, which is neither erased nor imprisoned in the process of acting or speaking. By extension, this approach of highlighting the embodied experience of labor—as an area beyond (spoken or written) words but connected to essential reality—is also well-employed elsewhere in Zhuangzi.Footnote 109

By comparison, the following Huainanzi passage addresses another topic in a different tone:

一目之羅,不可以得鳥;

無餌之釣,不可以得魚;

遇士無禮,不可以得賢。Footnote 110

A net with only one grid cannot catch birds.

One who fishes without bait cannot catch fish.

One who meets men without ritual propriety cannot acquire worthy people.

Contextually, the passage is positioned among a cluster of proverbial utterances that weave together varying natural phenomena and human activities, with a gesture to inquire into the multiple intangible causes behind them in terms of “that which makes things so” (然之者).Footnote 111 Within this context, the passage foregrounds the importance of instrumental devices, tools, and methods—nets, bait, and the political art of using ritual propriety—underlying the process of “catching” birds, fish, and worthy men. Rather than “forgetting/letting go of” (wang) such devices as in the fishnet-rabbit snare allegory in Zhuangzi, the Huainanzi passage emphasizes that it is essential to “have” them in proper order and fully equipped.

The negative imagery of “a net with only one grid” 一目之羅 strengthens the point of refining one’s tools and methods toward better results. Characterized by the number and size of its “grids” as proportionally related to its overall function, the imagery of the “net” as an instrumental device is flexibly situated in varying intellectual and political contexts. For a mid-Western Han instance, the Yantie lun 鹽鐵論 employs the fishnet in its justification of a legal system substantialized by multiple codes and rules—

夫少目之網不可以得魚,

三章之法不可以爲治。

故令不得不加,

法不得不多。Footnote 112

A net with only a few grids cannot catch fish,

and a legal system with only three clauses cannot establish order.

Thus, rules certainly should multiply,

and laws certainly should proliferate.

The imagery of the “net” recurs as a tool not to trap the bird as in Huainanzi but, reasonably too, to catch the fish, adding further to the interlocking affinity between “fishing” and “hunting.” Moreover, both passages begin with a net with insufficient grids, a negative example sustaining multiplicity as a value. Also noticeably, the three above-quoted passages are all presented within a threefold, progressively articulated parallel structure of argumentation.Footnote 113 This structure inherently orients the juxtaposition of two comparable tropes like “fishing” and “hunting”—in flexible sequence—to constitute a pair of subordinate statements proceeding to the major one. In all three cases, the labor of fishing and hunting are allegorically correlated to the arts of using a ruling function (upon speech, people, or the state).

For a late Eastern Han appropriation, Xun Yue, in his Shenjian, rhetorically employed the imagery of hunting with a net—in this case, to catch a bird—to sustain his argument on the values and methods integral to scholarly learning—

或曰:「至德要道約爾,典籍甚富,如而博之以求約也?」「語有之曰:「有鳥將來,張羅待之。得鳥者一目也,今爲一目之羅,無時得鳥矣。」道雖要也,非博無以通矣。博其方,約其說。」Footnote 114

Someone asked,

“The utmost potency (de) and the essential way/principle (dao) are just concise, yet the textual sources are tremendously abundant. If this is the case, how can one acquire concision through broadness?”

[The master voice] replied:

“There is a saying that, ‘When a bird is about to come, spread out the net and wait. What catches the bird is just one grid [of the net], but if one makes a net that has only one grid, it will never catch that bird.’ Although the way/principle is essential there is no method but broadness by which one can penetrate/pass through/comprehend it. Make the squares/method/scope (fang) broad, and the discourse/explanation (shuo) concise/tied together.”

Central to the passage are the interlocking values of bo (“broadness”) and yue 約 (“to bind,” “to tie together,” and by extension “constrain,” “concise,” “integrate,” etc.). As can be traced back to the notion that one should ideally be “broadly learned about cultural patterns (wen) and making them tied together/concise (yue) by ritual propriety” (博學於文,約之以禮)Footnote 115 attributed to Kongzi, the two values underwent a variety of revisionary appropriation during Han times. Specifically, they were mapped onto the new circumstances of literary culture in discourses toward different ends: to justify the methods and ethics of broad learning within and beyond the canonical corpus; to problematize the proliferation of texts and knowledge; to solidify the official system of canonization against the surplus of non-canonical texts; or, to express an intellectual aspiration for the ideal state of (re)integration of the two values as a coherent one.Footnote 116 Within such contexts, as an echo of Yang XiongFootnote 117 and others, the present passage carries forward the task to integrate the “broadness” of intellectual interest and the presumably “concise” nature of truth.

The task was done by a cluster of imagery. The imagery of a “net” with enough “grids” (as in Huainanzi and Yantie lun), along with the term fang 方 as a pun referring to “method” and “scope” (both related to its basic meaning as “square”Footnote 118 and mapped to the picture of net-with-grids in the present context), constitute Xun Yue’s figurative characterization of bo as a practical manner of broadening one’s mastery of various sources. At this stage, broad learning is thus described as an indispensable means to grasp the presumably “essential,” “concise” (in terms of yue and yao 要) truth, a “bird” that is otherwise uncatchable. Also presented in this scenario are the almost dead metaphor of dao, which at once refers to “way/path” and “principle/truth”; and, correspondingly, the spatial-orientational concept of tong, with its dual meaning as “passing/penetrating” and “comprehending.” With all these, Xun Yue’s allegory offers a set of objective correlatives that sustain an Eastern Han intellectual scenario of scholarly learning, a matter of working with an ever-growing body of texts and knowledge. Essential to this scenario is an inheritable model of the accumulation of intellectual labor, which, on the individual basis, enriches the personal possession of scholarly resources and experience. With these, the passage presents its own version of a Han motif to resolves the bo-yue complex and approve bo as a positive intellectual value.

Collectively, the passages of Huainanzi, Yantie lun, and Shenjian present the imagery of “net” and “grid” together as fishing/hunting tools in praise of a specific art—namely, that which enlarges and multiplies certain functions toward greater accumulation. In its most visible form, this motif was presented as the gesture of collecting and thus enhancing a subject’s possession of resources. The final instance in Shenjian sustained an arising Han scholarly ideology, in which self-oriented and broadly engaged intellectual labor supposedly finds its way toward the objective truth. In addition, “fishing” and “hunting” imagery were also sedimented in specific lexical items that gained prominence during and after Han times. The term wangluo 罔羅 (“to collect/enlist by net”), for example, indicates a centripetal gesture of collecting and enlisting various resources—talented people, knowledge, texts, and so on—from a condition of dispersal into institutional or intellectual management.Footnote 119 The term shelie 涉獵 (“to pass through and hunt”), oriented differently, pictures an equally active intellectual labor that extends one’s scheme of learning and mastery of a diverse range of texts and knowledge.Footnote 120

As is informed by previous sections, the motif of broadening one’s learning was also presented in the rhetorical appropriations of “plowing” and less explicitly “weaving.” Backwardly, and for a closure of the present section, see the last example in Fayan, a passage that analogically juxtaposes “hunting” and “plowing” to sustain the ideal model of broad learning, which also bears Yang Xiong’s criticism against sectarianism and institutionalization—

或曰:「書與經同,而世不尚,治之可乎?」曰:「可。」或人啞爾笑曰:「須以發策決科。」曰:「大人之學也爲道,小人之學也爲利。子爲道乎?爲利乎?」或曰:「耕不獲,獵不饗,耕獵乎?」曰:「耕道而得道,獵德而得德,是獲、饗已。 … 」Footnote 121

Someone asked,

“If a text is as fine as a classic yet not venerated by the world, would it be right to study it?’

[The master voice] replied:

“Yes, it would be right.”

That person could not help laughing,

“It is necessary to do it by having one take test and deciding one’s position in the institutionally divisional system (ke).”

Reply:

“A great man learns for the sake of dao, and a petty man learns for the sake of profits. Do you, my man, do it for the sake of dao or profits?”

That person asked,

“If one plows without reaping and hunts without feasting, shall one plow and hunt?”

Reply:

“Plow for dao and then obtain dao, hunt for de and then obtain de. That is how one reaps and feasts. … ”

In this imagined, back-and-forth conversation, the master voice (of Yang Xiong) confirms, first, that the true value of a text does not depend on its status as a privileged “canon/classic” (jing)—the “weaving” metonymy, again, being embedded—or not. Second, any unknown text alternative to the already-canonized corpus could potentially have the same quality as a jing. The passage thus implies an open-minded principle, that one ought to embrace a broader range of literary sources only depending on their intrinsic values rather than the degree to which they are institutionally empowered. This stance is further shown in the master’s response to the interlocutor’s claim that a hypothetically valuable yet non-canonical text cannot be properly studied, unless it is situated within the institutional system of division and examination (in terms of fa ce jue ke 發策決科). Here, the term ke 科 works in concert with that in Fayan 7.8, where the master advises to “dissolve/unfurl” (jie 解) it.Footnote 122 In response, the master demonstrates that “a great man learns for the sake of dao, and a petty man learns for the sake of profits” (大人之學也爲道,小人之學也爲利), an utterance in coordination with the notion of gu zhi xue zhe in Lunyu, Xunzi, and by extension in Fayan and “Yiwen zhi.”Footnote 123 Right after this, the conversation shifts towards the analogization of scholars with farmers and hunters, wherein the trope of geng (“plowing/cultivation”)—here accompanied with that of lie 獵 (“hunting”)—bears clear similarity, again, to that in Fayan 7.8, as a metaphor for a self-oriented and broadly engaged scholarly labor, which is detached from institutional regulations yet working on the ground of a greater truth. Therein the one-above-all model of labor persists and proliferates, in its one-among-all image of becoming.

Coherence and Ruptures

As a condensation of embodied experience and social imagination, the imagery of labor constitutes an emblem of the overall distribution of the sensible and its embedded aesthetics and ideologies. As can be traced back to pre-imperial China, the four types of imagery of plowing, weaving, fishing, and hunting constituted an ever-renewing repository of rhetorical language sustaining a variety of political, moral, and intellectual discourses. Accordingly, the four tropes were associated with each other in varying contexts, sometimes compared with other socially defined labor and expertise. Among these we identify a one-above-all model distinguished by its embodied ruling function of sensation, cognition, and coordination, sometimes depicted and positioned in a one-among-all image commensurable to other empirical areas. On this ground, and especially during Han times, the four tropes of labor under focus were made useful to characterize a growing body of intellectual labor, which was increasingly engaged and coupled with literary learning and production, in coordination with a forcefully emerging and proliferating literary culture.

Based on preceding analyses, this rhetorical phenomenon now becomes increasingly clear as a product of scholarly aesthetics and ideology, which internalized the one-above/among-all model sedimented in previous traditions, and, especially since the first century bce, worked in concert with a particular way of becoming—namely, a manner of self-oriented accumulation of intellectual labor and resources toward individually embodied erudition and its variable manifestations. Within such context, the four tropes of labor under review were appropriated and encoded with a constellation of values and methods, collectively emblematizing several modes of intellectual engagement with the self and the world. From a Han scholarly viewpoint, such a world is presented as a set of objective correlatives commensurable to the ever-growing bodies of texts, knowledge, and literary outputs, all of which are accumulated, embodied, recycled, and transformed via individual practitioner as a vessel-like occupant and an active agent working with intellectuality. Over the process, the accumulated labor transformed itself into both embodied and objectified states of cultural capital,Footnote 124 a matter potentially open to proliferation and reproduction on both individual and social levels.

Yet in a dividable sense, the intellectual values associated with the four types of imagery were distributed unevenly and correlated with circumscribed variability. To summarize, the “plowing,” “fishing,” and “hunting” imagery were primarily employed to characterize specific values and methods sustaining one’s scholarly learning of texts and knowledge, while the “weaving” imagery were made particularly useful to characterize “writing” as a matter of textual display of the laboring agency and its possession of intellectual arts and resources. The virtues like devotion, consistency, and fortitude were made particularly strong in the imagery of “plowing” (as in its older usages) and to a lesser extent “hunting,” while gaining new implications against the institutional regulation of scholarship in the context of Han intellectual culture. The motif of self-manifestation was foregrounded, either in the image of a farmer-like scholar who learns and produces more than the ordinary ones, or in the imagined aura of wenzhang that distinguishes oneself, as the patterned woven beauty does to raw material. The values of integration, multiplicity, and inclusiveness were distributed among all but differently, either in a sense of broadening one’s scheme of literary learning or in terms of weaving together multiple materials into a new product. The reflection on the values of tool and method was particularly strong in the cases of “fishing” and “hunting,” which themselves were tightly correlated with each other in terms of their commensurable technicity. In the end, every category of labor thereof had and would continue to have its own history and inherent heterogeneity, which exerted material influences on the repository of intellectual discourses. Within such a dual-oriented complex, the four types of imagery under review productively sustained the rhetoric of intellectual practice as an evolving form of embodied labor, a matter intertwined with the ideologies and aesthetics of early Chinese intellectual and literary culture.

As the preceding analyses reveals, instead of assuming a mental–physical division in the first place, classical Chinese sources since pre-imperial times characterized a distinguished, one-above-all function—along with its moral and intellectual agency—as an embodied, laboring one. None of the four types of labor imagery under review is required to “prove” the embodied nature of intellectual labor, whose physical involvement was both embedded in reality and recognized in the history of ideas. Nevertheless, the growing body of textual evidence precisely manifests and substantializes the proliferating images of the distinguished one, which was positioned “above” yet “among” all at once, only via its ever-renewing instantiations and circumscribed variability contingent on the changing contexts. Within this rhetorical phenomenon we might name a notion of commensurability, which sustains the imagined condensation of overall experience across the boundary between socially and physically divided empirical areas.

Such coherence is inherently filled with ruptures, insofar as the correlations thereof are dominated by a one-way orientation of meaning-production. Whether or not a farmer or a fisherman would consider their arts commensurable with scholarly labor, they rarely had their voices documented and transmitted. This non-reciprocal sociology of meaning-production can be related to another rhetorical phenomenon in early China, one that deserves another essay with equally intense investigation. There, the personae masked as less civilized commoners or physical practitioners do “speak,” yet as imagined interlocutors, with a master voice performed through their mouths and foregrounded in scenarios opposed to specific civilized elites. One of the most challenging voices is that performed in Zhuangzi, a wheel-maker’s questioning of the fidelity of the sages’ “words” presumably transmitted by texts, and furthermore his demonstration of embodied experience as the closer locus of truth than speech and writing.Footnote 125 Consider too, the farmer-like old man presented in Lunyu who regards Kongzi as physically useless and epistemically having no sense of making a meaningful life,Footnote 126 as well as the persona of “Fisherman” (yufu 漁父) figure distributed among Shiji 史記, Chuci 楚辭, and beyond in dialogue with a noble hero recognized as Qu Yuan 屈原 (trad. ca. 340–278 bce).Footnote 127 Taken collectively, this phenomenon presents a manner of self-reflexive criticism and intellectual gaming with other domains of experience, a motif interrelated with the rhetoric of intellectual practice as embodied labor, as investigated in the main body of the present essay. Albeit toward different ends, both phenomena internalize a motif comparable to the Western imaginaire of “Wild Men” and the “Noble Savage,” which, to adopt Hayden White’s interpretation, undertakes a complex of repression and desire within a cycle of mythification, de-mythification, and re-mythification of humanity between wildness and civilization.Footnote 128

During Han times, there also emerged another intellectual discourse that deserves a comparative investigation. This discourse positions intellectual labor—especially that devoted to text-based literary learning and writing—as even less reciprocally distinguished from other practices and expertise. Such a stance is made particularly clear in a set of Han discourses from Yang Xiong to Cai Yong 蔡邕 (133–192 ce)Footnote 129 later categorized as shelun 設論 (“Hypothetical/Staged Discourse”)Footnote 130 or similar sub-genres in early medieval China, which share the structure of hypothetical debate between a self-reflexive master voice and an imagined, learned interlocutor. Leaving aside a text traditionally attributed to Dongfang Shuo 東方朔 (ca. 154–93 bce) and acknowledged as the “first” shelun,Footnote 131 the five starting from Yang Xiong constituted a more condensed body of utterances with thematic, formalistic consistency and circumscribed variability. The five works collectively present a motif of criticism against institutional regulation, in praise of the masters’ scholarly engagement in learning and writing detached from higher official power and rank. Simultaneously, all the five texts distinguish the masters’ intellectual labor from other achievements, talents, and expertise (political or military success, fishing, hunting, performing, gaming, musical performance, physical strength, etc.), mostly in a sarcastic toneFootnote 132 considering them dependent on external patrons or conducted for utilitarian purposes. This condensed body of utterances—with nuanced variability—is positioned near the end of these texts: a clustered presentation of around a dozen previous models who excelled in their own ways, and then a self-assessment of the master claiming that he would not become one among those figures but rather stay with his own business as a literary scholar.Footnote 133 Thereafter the debate is concluded in its master’s winning voice.

It appears that all these rhetorical phenomena were interrelated, especially during Han times, when an expanding literary culture fostered more than one way of rhetorical presentation of the agency of intellectual labor thereof. Such discourses were as variable as the different ways of revisionary appropriation of imagery and tropes grounded in old traditions, among which “labor” as a rhetorical source gained new significance as a social inscription of aesthetics and ideology. In a critical manner, by integrating the imagined upper and lower, the one-above-all model was depicted as a one-among-all image of becoming, characterized by a constellation of values identified in different forms of physical labor. Meanwhile, such an intellectual labor also entailed a motif to distinguish itself, either from the institutional regulation imposed upside-down or the various talents and skills in general.

The rhetoric of intellectual practice as embodied labor hence resided in the middle of a picture of coherence and ruptures at once. With ruptures, the rhetorical body of the four types of labor imagery under review was an output of the everlasting complex of intellectual motifs and desires. Collectively, they instantiate a re-mythification of the imagined condensation of overall experience, a picture presumably recovered from the socially inscribed division and merged back into an undivided world as a primitive myth. Simultaneously, they carry forward a self-mythification of the intellectuals, without whom the imagined coherence is incomprehensible and left in oblivion. Such processes can be narrated in an alternative way: the ancient one-above-all model as the primitive mythification of a ruling function of labor coordinating and penetrating all areas of experience; the notion of commensurability across boundaries as a de-mythification of that primitive one imprisoned by social fixation; and finally, a re-mythification of that model, whose one-above/among-all flexibility makes it, still, the single most active agency mediating between the world and the self. It is constantly an intellectual desire that embraces, yet sometimes lets go of, the image of the working ones being united.

Footnotes

Yixin Gu 顧一心. Lingnan University, Hong Kong; email: yixingu2@ln.edu.hk.

The work described in this paper was substantially supported by a grant from the Research Grants Council of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China (Project No. LU 23605223, “Knowledge, Power, and Intermediality of Writing in Han and Early Medieval China”). Part of an earlier version of this paper was first presented at the 234th Annual Meeting of the American Oriental Society (Chicago, 2024). My gratitude goes to the participants who offered helpful feedback during the meeting, as well as two anonymous reviewers for their constructive comments.

References

1 For a brief reference to the varying meanings and usages of “imagery” as an English term, see Meyer H. Abrams and Geoffrey G. Harpham, A Glossary of Literary Terms, 10th ed. (Boston: Wadsworth, 2012), 169–70.

2 On “Significant Form,” see Clive Bell, Art (New York: Frederick A. Strokes Company, 1914), esp. 7–8, where the term initially refers to the quality of aesthetically moving forms and the relations of forms presented in visual art.

3 For a representative conceptualization of xiang 象 within a multi-layered coded system of signification, see the “Xi ci” 繫辭 (“Attached Verbalizations”) Commentary of the Zhouyi 周易; Zhouyi zhengyi 周易正義, Ruan Yuan 阮元 ed., Shisanjing zhushu 十三經注疏 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1980), 82. See also Willard J. Peterson, “Making Connections: ‘Commentary on the Attached Verbalizations’ of the Book of Change,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 42.1 (1982), 80, where he suggests that xiang in the “Xi ci” should be translated as “figure” for its being “out there” whether or not we look.

4 On this, see Kong Anguo’s 孔安國 explanation of xing 興 as the practice and process of “evoking comparable references and correlating categories [of beings]” (yin pi lian lei 引譬連類) in his commentary for Lunyu 論語, 17.9, as collected in Cheng Shude 程樹德, annot., Lunyu jishi 論語集釋 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1990), 1212. This gloss instantiates a well-received, inclusive understanding of the concept and related poetic matters in early China before the dominance of the Maoshi 毛詩 scholarship, which forcefully imposed the juxtaposition and separation between xing and bi 比 in multiple ways. For a recent reference, see Zhang Jian 張健, “Chongtan Handai jingxue zhong de fu bi xing shuo” 重探漢代經學中的賦比興說, Zhongshan daxue xuebao 中山大學學報, no. 2 (2023), 38–60.

5 Among a multitude of references, see Roman Jakobson, “Closing Statement: Linguistics and Poetics,” in Style in Language, ed. Thomas A. Sebeok (Cambridge, MA: M.I.T. Press, 1960), 350–77 (differentiating “metaphor” and “metonymy”); George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, Metaphors We Live By (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), 35–40 (differentiating “metaphor” and “metonymy”); Hayden White, Metahistory: The Historical Imagination in Nineteenth-Century Europe (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1973), 31–38 (differentiating “metaphor,” “metonymy,” “synecdoche,” and “irony”); Abrams and Harpham, A Glossary of Literary Terms, 130–33 (general differentiation).

6 See Lakoff and Johnson, Metaphors We Live By, 5, “the essence of metaphor is understanding and experiencing one kind of thing in terms of another.” For a narrowly defined version, see ibid., 36, that metaphor “is principally a way of conceiving of one thing in terms of another, and its principal function is understanding” (to be distinguished from metonymy).

7 On “Absolute Metaphor,” see Hans Blumenberg, Paradigms for a Metaphorology, trans. Robert Savage (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2010), esp. 1–5. To Blumenberg, metaphor is absolute insofar as it cannot be reduced into an instrumental function or persuasive means secondary to certain conceptual reality (an objection to Descartes and Plato), and the history of metaphors illustrates the substructure sustaining the history of concepts.

8 On “Metaphorical Concept” (and “Conceptual Metaphor” to the same extent), see Lakoff and Johnson, Metaphors We Live By, passim. In terms of this, a concept, in its most common way of expression, is often metaphorically structured and hence metaphorically understood. Thus, it is declared that “metaphor means metaphorical concept” (6) throughout the book.

9 Jorge Luis Borges, This Craft of Verse (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000), 22, quoting Leopoldo Lugones.

10 Borges, This Craft of Verse, 22–23, 105–6. For two representative points of view (contradictory to each other) on “dead metaphor” and its implications, see George Lakoff, “The Death of Dead Metaphor,” Metaphor and Symbolic Activity 2:2 (1987), 143–47; Andrzej Pawelec, “The Death of Metaphor,” Studia Linguistica 123 (2006), 117–21.

11 On the “holistic,” “correlative,” and “non-fictional” nature integral to Chinese literature and thought opposed to the “West” and its “dualistic” paradigm, see Pauline Yu, “Allegory, Allegoresis, and the Classic of Poetry,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 43 (1983), 377–412; The Reading of Imagery in the Chinese Poetic Tradition (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987); Stephen Owen, Traditional Chinese Poetry and Poetics: Omen of the World (Madison: Wisconsin University Press, 1985); and by extension a rich body of earlier works like those by Ernest Fenollosa, Ezra Pound, Marcel Granet, Joseph Needham, and countless others. For critical overviews (from different perspectives), see Charles Hartman, “Images of Allegory: A Review Article,” Early China 14 (1989), 183–200; Zhang Longxi 張隆溪, “The Letter or the Spirit: The Song of Songs, Allegoresis, and the Book of Poetry,” Comparative Literature 39 (1987), 193–217; Haun Saussy, The Problem of a Chinese Aesthetic (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993); Rey Chow, “On Chineseness as a Theoretical Problem,” in Modern Chinese Literary and Cultural Studies in the Age of Theory: Reimagining a Field, ed. Rey Chow (Durham: Duke University Press, 1998), 1–24, esp. 13–22; Edward G. Slingerland, “Metaphor and Meaning in Early China,” Dao 10 (2011), 1–30; Lucas Rambo Bender, “Against the Monist Model of Tang Poetics,” T’oung Pao 107 (2021), 633–87.

12 On “Correlative Thinking” or similar concepts like “Coordinative Thinking,” see Joseph Needham, Science and Civilisation in China, vol. 2: History of Scientific Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1956), 280–81; John Henderson, The Development and Decline of Chinese Cosmology (New York: Columbia University Press, 1984); A. C. Graham, Disputers of the Tao: Philosophical Argument in Ancient China (La Salle: Open Court, 1989), 319–25. See also Zheng Yuyu 鄭毓瑜, Yin pi lian lei: wenxue yanjiu de guanjianci 引譬連類:文學研究的關鍵詞 (Beijing: Sanlian, 2017), for a recent attempt to integrate this concept with a couple of classical Chinese hermeneutic, literary, and poetic theories.

13 For an early study toward such complexity and interpenetration, see Andrew H. Plaks, Archetype and Allegory in the “Dream of the Red Chamber” (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1976), 27–53, especially his conceptualization of “complementary bipolarity” and “multiple periodicity.” See also Hartman, “Images of Allegory,” 187, on the coexistence of monistic cosmology and dualistic epistemology in classical China.

14 With this I refer to Mikhail Bakhtin, “Toward a Methodology for the Human Sciences,” in Speech Genres and Other Late Essays, trans. Vern W. McGee, ed. Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1986), 159–72.

15 For two references on “allegory,” see Qian Zhongshu 錢鍾書, Tanyi lu 談藝錄 (Beijing: Sanlian, 2008), 570, on two different yet comparable types of “allegory” in classical Chinese poetics and Christian hermeneutics down to the works of Dante; Plaks, Archetype and Allegory on “allegory” as a useful concept in the analyses of classical Chinese mythology and narratology. On “metaphor,” see below.

16 For a strong version of such integration in the context of Sinology, see Slingerland, “Metaphor and Meaning in Early China,” and idem, Mind and Body in Early China: Beyond Orientalism and the Myth of Holism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 56–61. For a general critique of Lakoff and Johnson’s approaches, see Pawelec, “The Death of Metaphor.” For a critical reflection on the usefulness of CMT in studying premodern Chinese texts, see Stefano Gandolfo, “Metaphors of Metaphors: Reflections on the Use of Conceptual Metaphor Theory in Premodern Chinese Texts,” Dao 18 (2019), 323–45.

17 On the “systematicity” of metaphors coherent with culture defined in Lakoff and Johnson’s terms, see Lakoff and Johnson, Metaphors We Live By, 7–9.

18 As a line located in a core passage—with minor variability—distributed among early Chinese texts, including the “Xi ci” of Zhouyi (Shisanjing zhushu, 86) and the “Yiwen zhi” 藝文志 of the Hanshu 漢書 (Ban Gu 班固, Hanshu, annot. Yan Shigu 顏師古 [Beijing: Zhonghua, 1962], 30.1704). Among all, the line is positioned within a clustered presentation of an ancient sagely model’s observation of the patterned phenomena of overall cosmos (Heaven, Earth, animals, human bodies, and “things” in general) toward the making of a coded system of signification.

19 For another theoretical reference, Lakoff and Johnson regard embodied experience as a foundational empirical area sustaining the generation of a variety of metaphorical concepts. See Lakoff and Johnson, Metaphors We Live By, 14–21, 33–34, 56–60. Here, I do not intend to evaluate Lakoff and Johnson’s systematic mapping of every pair of embodied experience (in their framework) onto the respective linguistic evidence.

20 Among a multitude of references that discuss one or more of these aspects, see, for example, Qian Zhongshu, “Zhongguo guyou de wenxue piping de yige tedian” 中國固有的文學批評的一個特點, in Rensheng bianshang de bianshang 人生邊上的邊上 (Beijing: Sanlian, 2002), 116–34; Jane M. Geaney, On the Epistemology of the Senses in Early Chinese Thought (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2002); eadem, Language as Bodily Practices in Early China: A Chinese Grammatology (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2018); Wu Chengxue 吳承學, “Shengming zhi yu” 生命之喻, in Zhongguo gudai wentixue yanjiu 中國古代文體學研究 (Beijing: Renmin, 2011), 46–64; John S. Major, “Tool Metaphors in the Huainanzi and Other Texts,” in The Huainanzi and Textual Production in Early China, ed. Sarah Queen and Michael Puett (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 153–98; Carine M. G. Defoort, “Heavy and Light Body Parts: The Weighing Metaphor in Early Chinese Dialogues,” Early China 38 (2015), 55–77; David Pankenier, “Weaving Metaphors and Cosmo-political Thought in Early China,” T’oung Pao 101 (2015), 1–34; Tobias Benedikt Zürn, “Overgrown Courtyards and Tilled Fields: Image-based Debates on Governance and Body Politics in the Mengzi, Zhuangzi, and Huainanzi,” Early China 41 (2018), 297–332; “The Han Imaginaire of Writing as Weaving: Intertextuality and the Huainanzi’s Self-Fashioning as an Embodiment of the Way,” The Journal of Asian Studies 79 (2020), 367–402; Boqun Zhou 周博群, “Subtle and Dangerous: The Crossbow Trigger Metaphor in Early China,” Early China 44 (2021), 1–28; Roy Porat, “Traces of Darkness in Early Daoism: The Evolution of Vision Metaphors in the Laozi,” Dao 20.3 (2021), 407–31; Yixin Gu 顧一心, “‘Antiquity’ and Its Rhetorical Power: The Revisionary Invention of a New Model of Literary Learning in Han Time,” Oriens Extremus 59 (2022), 119–56, esp. 132–44; Li Wei 李巍, “Zhongguo sixiang: gainian yuyan de jingyan moxing” 中國思想:概念語言的經驗模型, Zhongguo shehui kexue 中國社會科學, No. 10 (2023), 141–61; Luke Waring, “Commerce and Classical Learning in Wang Chong’s Balanced Discourses,” Oriens Extremus 61 (2024), 157–75.

21 Among a multitude of references in this vein related to the present study, see especially Sun Ji 孫機, Handai wuzhi wenhua ziliao tushuo: xiuding ben 漢代物質文化資料圖說(修定本) (Beijing: Zhonghua, 2020), 1–26, 27–30, 66–95, 280–314; Gudai wuzhi wenhua ziliao 古代物質文化資料 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 2014), 1–34, 75–118; Feng Zhao 趙豐 et al., “The Earliest Evidence of Patterned Looms: Han Dynasty Tomb Models from Chengdu, China,” Antiquity 91 (2017), 360–74; Roel Sterckx, “Ideologies of the Peasant and Merchant in Warring States China,” in Ideology of Power and Power of Ideology in Early China, ed. Yuri Pines, Paul R. Goldin, and Martin Kern (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 211–47; Roel Sterckx, “Agrarian and Mercantile Ideologies in Western Han,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 63 (2020), 465–504.

22 See Sun Ji, Handai wuzhi wenhua ziliao tushuo, 1.

23 See Sterckx, “Peasant and Merchant in Warring States China,” and “Agrarian and Mercantile Ideologies in Western Han,” for two inclusive discussions of a variety of such textual evidence.

24 Lunyu jishi, 896–98. All translations of classical Chinese texts, unless otherwise specified, are mine.

25 Lunyu jishi, 1119. Here I translate lu 祿 not literally as “salary” but in a broader sense as “rewards.” For another English translation of the present passage with discussion, see Sterckx, “Peasant and Merchant in Warring States China,” 223.

26 The two quotes of Mengzi 孟子 come from the same chapter, a debate between the master voice of “Mengzi” 孟子 and the interlocutor Xu Xing 許行, who proposes another model of social order (see below). See Jiao Xun 焦循, annot., Mengzi zhengyi 孟子正義 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1987), 365–401, for the full scenario and debate (quote 391–92).

27 Mengzi zhengyi, 373.

28 Wang Xianqian 王先謙, annot., Xunzi jijie 荀子集解 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1988), 397.

29 Liji zhengyi 禮記正義, Shisanjing zhushu, 1650.

30 Xunzi jijie, 122–23. For an incomplete citation of this passage with discussion, see Sterckx, “Peasant and Merchant in Warring States China,” 233.

31 Liu Wendian 劉文典, annot., Huainan honglie jijie 淮南鴻烈集解 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1989), 368–69.

32 See also David C. Schaberg, “The Ruling Mind: Persuasion and the Origins of Chinese Psychology,” in The Rhetoric of Hiddenness in Traditional Chinese Culture, ed. Paula M. Varsano (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2016), 33–51, for a discussion of early Chinese prescriptions of “ruling mind” in terms of its psychological functions (with a focus on its performance in oratorical expertise).

33 On the usefulness of these categories, see Mark Csikszentmihalyi and Michael Nylan, “Constructing Lineages and Inventing Traditions through Exemplary Figures in Early China,” T’oung Pao 90 (2003), 59–99, for a critical examination of the mapping of “school” and “scholastic lineage”—often conflated with the term jia 家, which as a metaphor for intellectual genealogy gained prominence not until the early imperial era—onto pre-imperial Chinese intellectual world. See also Willard J. Peterson, “Squares and Circles: Mapping the History of Chinese Thought,” Journal of the History of Ideas 49 (1988), 47–48, for a brief critique on the mapping of various “-isms” to early Chinese thought.

34 For reference of this phenomenon, see comments in the Hanfeizi 韓非子 and the Huainanzi 淮南子; Wang Xianshen 王先慎, annot., Hanfeizi jijie 韓非子集解 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1998), 456–57; Huainan honglie jijie, 653–54.

35 As being traced back to different legendary sages. For one example, see Mengzi zhengyi, 383, in which Hou Ji 后稷, the heroic ancestor of Zhou, taught people the arts of farming. For more discussion of this myth and its implications, see Zürn, “Overgrown Courtyards.”

36 Mengzi zhengyi, 365–401. For another reference to this Shennong 神農 tradition of social order, see Xu Weiyu 許維遹, annot., Lüshi Chunqiu jishi 呂氏春秋集釋 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 2009), 593, where “plowing” and “weaving” appear as a pair of tropes.

37 See Zürn, “Overgrown Courtyards,” 311–28.

38 Hanfeizi jijie, 425.

39 For further discussion of this phenomenon, see the final section of the essay.

40 Mengzi zhengyi, 426, in a context that explains why Kongzi 孔子 would bring gifts with him when visiting a lord and seeking employment. This suggests that a noble man treats his service as seriously as a farmer treats his labor and tools.

41 Xunzi jijie, 27–28.

42 Xu Weiyu, annot., Hanshi waizhuan jishi 韓詩外傳集釋 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1980), 340.

43 For a different yet partly compatible reference, the Shangjun shu 商君書 characterizes farmers in terms of yu 愚 (“stupidity”), yi 壹 (“single-mindedness”), pu 樸 (“uncarved simplicity”), 勤 (“diligence”), “not fond of scholarly learning” 不好學問, and beyond, which assess farmers’ nature primarily toward the accumulation of the overall wealth and power of the state; see Jiang Lihong 蔣禮鴻, annot., Shangjun shu zhuizhi 商君書錐指 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1986), 6–19, 59–63. See also Sterckx, “Peasant and Merchant in Warring States China,” 221–22, for his translation and discussion of related Shangjun shu passages.

44 For an earlier analysis of the following two Western Han discourses, see Gu, “‘Antiquity’ and Its Rhetorical Power,” 132–44. The following discussion offers more in-depth analysis of the two discourses’ rhetorical use of “plowing” but is sketchy about other parts of the texts.

45 Wang Rongbao 汪榮寶, annot., Fayan yishu 法言義疏 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1987), 222. For another translation, see Michael Nylan trans., Exemplary Figures/Fayan (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2013), 106–7.

46 Hanshu 30.1723.

47 For a general review of the rhetorical use of gu 古 in early China especially since mid-and-late Western Han, see Gu, “‘Antiquity’ and Its Rhetorical Power,” 119–32. For reference on the politics of the “past” in general, see Vincent S. Leung, The Politics of the Past in Early China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019).

48 For a selective array of references on the logic and effects of canonization and knowledge regulation in early imperial China, see Fukui Shigemasa 福井重雅, “Rikukei rikugei to gokei: Kandai ni okeru gokei no seiritsu” 六経六藝と五經:漢代における五經の成立, Chūgoku shigaku 中國史學 4 (1994), 139–64; “Shin Kan jidai ni okeru hakase seido no tenkai: gokei hakase no setchi o meguru gigi sairon” 秦漢時代における博士制度の展開:五經博士の設置をめぐる疑義再論. Tōyōshi kenkyū 東洋史研究 54 (1995), 1–31; Martin Kern, The Stele Inscriptions of Ch’in Shih-huang: Text and Ritual in Early Chinese Imperial Representation (New Haven: American Oriental Society, 2000), 183–96; “Ritual, Text, and Formation of the Canon: Historical Transitions of ‘Wen’ in Early China,” T’oung Pao 87 (2001), 43–91; Michael Nylan, “Classics without Canonization: Learning and Authority in Qin and Han,” in Early Chinese Religion, vol. 1, 721–76; Yixin Gu, “Transmitted Sayings and Their Transmissibility: Patterns and Meanings of Zhuan yue 傳曰 Quotations in Early Chinese Texts,” T’oung Pao 109.3–4 (2023), 217–49.

49 This reading is tacitly approved by traditional commentators and modern translator as far as I have seen. See Fayan yishu, 224; Hanshu 30.1723; Nylan trans., Exemplary Figures, 107.

50 This is not to disregard a considerable range of descriptive textual evidence suggesting that some scholars (especially during the Eastern Han) were indeed physically engaged in farming, insofar as literacy-based scholarly practice was expanded and increasingly available to less wealthy people (due to multiple reasons, not limited to the widespread use of paper beginning in the mid-Eastern Han). For references to such less wealthy scholars and the general transition (primarily focusing on the impact of paper), see Shimizu Shigeru 清水茂, “Kami no hatsumei to Gokan no gakufū” 紙の発明と後漢の学風, Tōhōgaku 東方学 79 (1990), 1–13.

51 Xunzi jijie, 144. See also Sterckx, “Peasant and Merchant in Warring States China,” 231, for his translation and discussion of the passage, with a focus on its positive view of merchants and commercial wealth creation. For a recent study on the correlation between commerce and scholarly learning, see Waring, “Commerce and Classical Learning.”

52 Lunyu 14.24 (Lunyu jishi, 1004).

53 Xunzi jijie, 13.

54 On this revisionary approach of meaning-production, see Gu, “‘Antiquity’ and Its Rhetorical Power.”

55 On the emergence and proliferation of the model of individually embodied erudition, see Yixin Gu, “The Enchantment of Erudition: Models and Manifestations of Literary Culture in Han-Wei China,” Ph.D. dissertation (Princeton University, 2022), passim. For a survey and analysis of the values of bo 博 and tong 通 among a growing repository of relevant ideas and utterances, see chapter 2.

56 Huang Hui 黃暉 and Liu Pansui 劉盼遂 annots., Lunheng jiaoshi 論衡校釋 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1990), 595.

57 For Wang Chong’s 王充 arguments on these, see Lunheng jiaoshi, 555, 580–81, 607, 1150–52.

58 See Lüshi Chunqiu jishi, 593; Shangjun shu zhuizhi, 107.

59 See Pankenier, “Weaving Metaphors”; Zürn, “The Han Imaginaire of Writing as Weaving,” 382–84.

60 See Zürn, “The Han Imaginaire of Writing as Weaving” (focusing on Han times); Gu Feng 古風, “‘Yi jin yu wen’ xianxiang yu Zhongguo shenmei piping” 「以錦喻文」現象與中國審美批評, Zhongguo shehui kexue, no. 1 (2009), 161–73 (extended to post-Han China).

61 On this, see Hsing I-tien 邢義田, “Fu ji’an er shu: zailun Zhongguo gudai de shuxie zishi (dingbu gao)” 伏几案而書:再論中國古代的書寫姿勢(訂補稿), in Jinchen ji: Qin Han shidai de jiandu, huaxiang yu wenhua chuanbo 今塵集:秦漢時代的簡牘、畫像與文化傳播 (Shanghai: Zhongxi, 2019), 576–629.

62 Consider, for example, the etymology of the word “text” rooted in Vedic, Greek, and the Latin word texere (“to weave”). For reference, see Walter J. Ong, Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word (London: Routledge, 2002), 13; D. F. MacKenzie, Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 13–14; Roland Barthes, “From Work to Text,” in Image, Music, Text, ed. and trans. Stephen Heath (London: Fontana Press, 1977), 159.

63 For a general reference on the material history of weaving before and during Han times, see Sun Ji, Handai wuzhi wenhua ziliao tushuo, 66–95.

64 See Pankenier, “Weaving Metaphors,” 4–5.

65 I tend not to regard this as “synecdoche”—a perhaps debatable position, as some theories regard synecdoche as a specific kind of metonymy—for the implied relationship is not integrative: it neither indicates a part integral to nor shares the same quality with the totality of “weaving” (as in the sentence “he is all heart”). On the nuanced difference between “metonymy” and “synecdoche,” see White, Metahistory, 34–36.

66 As briefly discussed in the “Introduction.”

67 For traditional philological references, see Duan Yucai 段玉裁, annot., Shuowen jiezi zhu 說文解字注 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1988), 644 (for both jing 經 and wei 緯); Ren Jifang 任继昉, annot., Shiming huijiao 釋名匯校 (Jinan: Qilu, 2006), 338 (jing), 339 (wei). For more discussions on jing and wei as two complementary aspects in the contexts of weaving, writing, and beyond, see Rudolf G. Wagner, The Craft of a Chinese Commentator: Wang Bi on the Laozi (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2000), 31–32; Nylan, “Classics without Canonization,” 726; Pankenier, “Weaving Metaphors,” 4; Zürn, “The Han Imaginaire of Writing as Weaving,” passim.

68 As most remarkably foregrounded in the opening line of the concluding, self-depictive chapter of Huainanzi, that the composition of written discourses is means to “knot a net of the Way and its Potency and weave a fabric out of humankind and its affairs” (紀綱道德,經緯人事; Huainan honglie jijie, 700). Here I follow the translation of Zürn, “The Han Imaginaire of Writing as Weaving,” 371.

69 My translations of these terms are generally according to their circumscribed usages in weaving and literary contexts, notwithstanding that each term could have more specific, material-related explications suggested by different philologists. For traditional references, see Shuowen jiezi zhu, 658 (bian 編), 738 (zhui 綴), 645 (ji 紀); Shiming huijiao, 248 (bian), 178 (ji). For more discussions of this sort of lexical item, see Pankenier, “Weaving Metaphors,” 4–5. For a further discussion of a special instance of zhui, see below.

70 On this phenomenon, see Gu, “The Enchantment of Erudition,” chap. 4.

71 For traditional philological references, see Shuowen jiezi zhu, 662 (su 素), 648 (qi 綺); Shiming huijiao, 229 (su), 230 (qi). For references regarding the material history of qi, see Sun Ji, Handai wuzhi wenhua ziliao tushuo, 73, 75.

72 See, for an early reference, Lunyu 3.8 (Lunyu jishi, 157), with a classical appropriation of su as a metaphor for one’s uncultured nature as opposed to a cultivated manner of ritual proprietary. For a later instance regarding literary criticism, see Cao Zhi 曹植, “Wenzhang xu” 文章序 (“Postscript to Literary Productions”), “the substance with uncrafted nature (of a fine work) is like the fleabane in autumn” 質素也如秋蓬, where su is juxtaposed with zhi 質 (“interior substance”); Ouyang Xun 歐陽詢, comp., Yiwen leiju 藝文類聚, ed. Wang Shaoying 汪紹楹 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1982], 55.996.

73 See, for a late Western Han instance, Wang Bao’s 王褒 rhetorical use of qi as a metaphor for the sensory beauty of fu in its modestly “minor” (xiao 小) sense, in comparison with the “grand” (da 大) one comparable to the Shi 詩 toward moral enlightenment (Hanshu 64B.2829). For a later reference, see Lu Ji 陸機, “Wen fu” 文賦 (“Fu on Wen”), in which he wrote that “poetry is engendered from interior condition (qing) with delicate woven patterns” (詩緣情以綺靡); Xiao Tong 蕭統 comp., Wenxuan 文選, annot. Li Shan 李善 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1986), 17.766. See also Wang Yonghao, “Zuowei ‘zongti shi’ de Zhongguo wenxue shi ji qi guannian queli: jianlun xuyao zenyang de Zhongguo wenxue piping shi” 作爲「總體史」的中國文學史及其觀念確立:兼論需要怎樣的⟪中國文學批評史⟫, Fudan xuebao 復旦學報, no. 5 (2007), 115, for a discussion of qi in literary criticism.

74 See Xunzi jijie, 181, 238, 347; Shisanjing zhushu, 1371; Lüshi Chunqiu jishi, 131, 223. The Tang commentary of the Liji passage takes fu 黼, fu 黻, wen 文, and zhang 章 thereof as rather specific weaving terms referring to four distinct dual-colored patterns (Shisanjing zhushu, 1371), in coordination with the Zhouli 周禮 (Zhouli zhushu 周禮注疏, Shisanjing zhushu, 918). These samples present an appropriation of wen and zhang in weaving contexts, while not indicating wenzhang 文章 as a weaving term in the first place. For further discussion of wenzhang as an inclusive, cross-media concept, see below.

75 For instance, see Wang Xianqian, annot., Zhuangzi jijie 莊子集解 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1987), 77.

76 For instance, see Huainan honglie jijie, 376; Yan Zhenyi 閻振益 and Zhong Xia 鍾夏, annot., Xinshu jiaozhu 新書校注 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 2000), 103.

77 Fayan yishu, 222.

78 See Fayan 2.1 and 2.2 (Fayan yishu, 45–51, esp. 45, for a negative use of the imagery of crafted weaving) for Yang Xiong’s 揚雄 agenda, which was later echoed in Hanshu (Hanshu 30.1755–56). On this phenomenon and its implications, see Martin Kern, “Western Han Aesthetics and the Genesis of the ‘Fu,’” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 63 (2003), 383–437.

79 For references on the material history of jin 錦 and xiu 繡, see Sun Ji, Handai wuzhi wenhua ziliao tushuo, 77–85, 86–90.

80 See Sun Ji, Handai wuzhi wenhua ziliao tushuo, 81–85, 86–90; Feng Zhao et al., “The Earliest Evidence of Patterned Looms.”

81 Lunheng jiaoshi, 1117.

82 Lunheng jiaoshi, 546–47.

83 Lunheng jiaoshi, 607.

84 Lunheng jiaoshi, 550.

85 For further discussion of wenzhang in this sense, see below.

86 On the semantic complexity of wen and related terms, see Liu Ruoyu 劉若愚 (James J. Y. Liu), Zhongguo wenxue lilun 中國文學理論, trans. Du Guoqing 杜國清 (Taipei: Lianjing, 1981), 9–12, 29–32; Stephen Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 113–15; Kern, “Ritual, Text, and Formation of the Canon,” 43–76; David C. Schaberg, A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2001), 57–95; Zheng Yuyu, “‘Wen’ de fayuan: cong ‘tianwen’ yu ‘renwen’ de leibi tanqi” 「文」的發源:從「天文」與「人文」的類比談起, Zhengda zhongwen xuebao 政大中文學報 15 (2011), 113–42; Yixin Gu, “Wen,” in Philological Practices: A Comparative Historical Lexicon, ed. Glenn W. Most, Martin Kern, and Anne Eusterschulte (Princeton: Princeton University Press, forthcoming).

87 For a recent investigation of wen and wenzhang in Han and early medieval contexts, see Gu, “The Enchantment of Erudition,” chap. 4.

88 Shuowen jiezi zhu, 425.

89 For instance, the “Tuan zhuan” 彖傳 (“Tuan Tradition/Commentary”) of Zhouyi states “Observe the patterns (wen) of Heaven and examine the changes over time; observe the patterns (wen) of humanity and transform and configure all-under-Heaven” (觀乎天文,以察時變;觀乎人文,以化成天下); Shisanjing zhushu, 37.

90 On the relationship between wen and zhi, see Lunyu 6.18, for a quote attributed to Kongzi about the ideal balance between wen as one’s external cultural cultivation and zhi as one’s inner quality (Lunyu jishi, 400); and Fayan 法言, 2.12, for a follow-up discussion of the wen-zhi dichotomy in the Lunyu (Fayan yishu, 71), and 9.7 (Ibid., 291). Here I omit another set of references mapping the wen-zhi dichotomy onto the periodization of political cultures from antiquity through early imperial times, for this specific appropriation is not much relevant to the present discussion. On the relationship between wen and qing, see Liji 禮記; Liji zhengyi, Shisanjing zhushu, 1536–37, for a passage defining wen as the exteriorization of human inner condition (qing) as being mediated in poetry, music, and dancing; and Huainan honglie jijie, 329, which states that “wen is that by which one comes into contact with [external] things, and qing is that which is [internally] intertwined with one’s core and tends to be expressed toward the outside [via wen]” “文者,所以接物也;情,繫於中而欲發外者也”. Like wen, both zhi and qing have broad semantic ranges that cannot be reduced to a single, unified meaning. In contexts where they are paired with wen, both terms are best understood as the interior human condition, quality, or emotional inclination.

91 Shiming huijiao, 171. For another translation with discussion, see Zürn, “The Han Imaginaire of Writing as Weaving,” 374–75. For a note of textual criticism, the Qing scholar Bi Yuan 畢沅 speculated that the introductory formula “文者” is an error, and that the original text should start with “文,彣也” (“Regarding wen 文, it denotes/is equal to wen 彣 [a word/character referring to a specific ‘patterned’ appearance]”); Shiming huijiao, 171; see also Shuowen jiezi zhu, 425, for a Han explication of the character wen 彣. However, this speculation is not well-grounded. First, it was made according to “A, B也” as a standard format applied to most lexical entries throughout the Shiming. However, there is no necessity to distort the transmitted version—which grammatically and semantically has no problem—only according to a specific “standard” format, which itself is not applied to all the other lexical items in the book. Moreover, in Liu Xi’s usage of the “A, B也” format, “A” and “B” are usually presented as semantically juxtaposed with each other. However, if we follow Bi Yuan’s collation, wen 彣 as a derivation in the position of “B” would fail to match wen 文 as an inclusive idea in the position of “A,” for the meaning of “B” is completely covered by that of “A.” Thus, I suggest that Liu Xi could have intended to liberate wen from the standard format of “A, B也,” particularly considering its inclusive nature.

92 Zürn, “The Han Imaginaire of Writing as Weaving,” 375.

93 For reference, zhuwen 屬文 occurs eleven times in Hanshu, seven times in Sanguo zhi 三國志, nine times in Houhan shu 後漢書, and twice in the incomplete Dongguan Hanji 東觀漢記, while zhuiwen occurs only once in the same four compilations; Hanshu 36.1972.

94 Hanshu 36.1972. For a detailed, contextually informed analysis of the passage, see Gu, “The Enchantment of Erudition,” chap. 4.

95 This comes from Duan Yucai’s explication of zhang 彰—which he considered the old written form of zhang 章—as “that which is actualized via wen” 文成章; Shuowen jiezi zhu, 424.

96 For reference, see Kern, “Ritual, Text, and Formation of the Canon.”

97 See note 74.

98 Kern, “Ritual, Text, and Formation of the Canon,” 88–89.

99 Lunyu jishi, 551. See also the annotation that includes Zheng Xuan’s 鄭玄 explication of wenzhang in this context as lifa 禮法 (“ritual orders”).

100 Hanshu 64B.2809, a quote of Yan An 嚴安 in his proposal to Emperor Wu.

101 Hanshu 87B.3583 (in Ban Gu’s appraisal attached to the biography of Yang Xiong).

102 Zhuangzi jijie, 146.

103 Huang Xingzeng 黃省曾 and Sun Qizhi 孫啟治 annots. Shenjian zhu jiaobu 申鑒注校補 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 2012), 42.

104 For reference, see Sun Ji, Handai wuzhi wenhua ziliao tushuo, 27–30. On “tool” as a category and its figurative usages in early Chinese texts, see Major, “Tool Metaphors in the Huainanzi and Other Texts,” with a focus on tools in carpentry.

105 Zhuangzi jijie, 244.

106 Wim De Reu, “A Ragbag of Odds and Ends? Argument Structure and Philosophical Coherence in Zhuangzi 26,” in Literary Forms of Argument in Early China, ed. Joachim Gentz and Dirk Meyer (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 243–96 (quoting 243), esp. 246–50, 271–77.

107 Geaney, Language as Bodily Practices, 114–21. See also Mercedes Valmisa, “Wang Bi and the Hermeneutics of Actualization,” in The Craft of Oblivion: Forgetting and Memory in Ancient China, ed. Albert Galvany (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2023), 250–52, for a brief overview of different interpretations of the allegory.

108 Among a multitude of examples, consider especially another chapter in Zhuangzi 莊子 (Zhuangzi jijie, 120–21), and a passage in the “Xi ci” of Zhouyi (Shisanjing zhushu, 82). The “fishnet-rabbit snare” allegory itself was later invoked as a source of inspiration by Wang Bi 王弼 in the third century ce. For reference, see Valmisa, “Wang Bi and the Hermeneutics of Actualization,” 245–67.

109 See, for instance, Zhuangzi jijie, 28–29, 120–21.

110 Huainan honglie jijie, 578–79.

111 Huainan honglie jijie, 579.

112 Wang Liqi 王利器, annot., Yantie lun jiaozhu 鹽鐵論校注 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1992), 594. This claim of legal dominance is recorded as a quote of the yushi 御史—presumably Sang Hongyang 桑弘羊—and then followed by an objection of wenxue 文學 (“literary scholars”). For a recent study of the deployment of voices, personas, and ideologies in the Yantie lun 鹽鐵論, see Anatoly Polnarov, “Looking Beyond Dichotomies: Hidden Diversity of Voices in the Yantielun,” T’oung Pao 104 (2018), 465–95.

113 On “parallelism” as a syntactic form and its rhetorical functions in philosophical arguments, see Rudolf G. Wagner, “Interlocking Parallel Style: Laozi and Wang Bi,” Asiatische Studien/Études Asiatiques 34 (1980), 18–58; idem, The Craft of a Chinese Commentator, 53–113; Andrew H. Plaks, “Beyond Parallelism: A Rethinking of Patterns of Coordination and Subordination in Chinese Expository Prose,” in Literary Forms of Argument in Early China, ed. Gentz and Meyer, 67–86.

114 Shenjian zhu jiaobu, 100. The quoted “saying” (in the master’s response, from “when a bird” to “catch that bird”) has two parallel versions in the Huainanzi (Huainan honglie jijie, 542, 578–79). One of them is almost word-by-word identical to the quotation in the present passage, and the other—as previously discussed—is phrased as a shorter version. All three instances vary in context.

115 Lunyu 6.27 and 12.15 (Lunyu jishi, 471 and 863). See also Lunyu 9.11 (Lunyu jishi, 594) for a similar utterance quoted from Yan Yuan 顏淵, “[The Master] broadens me by cultural patterns (wen) and ties me together (yue) by ritual propriety (li)” (博我以文,約我以禮).

116 For discussions of bo and yue 約 during Han times, see Gu, “The Enchantment of Erudition,” chaps. 1 and 2.

117 For references, see Fayan 1.19 (Fayan yishu, 31, to be discussed below), 2.14 (Ibid., 74), 2.16 (Ibid., 77), 5.16 (Ibid., 163), and 7.8 (Ibid., 222, as previously discussed).

118 On fang 方 as “Square” and its philosophical implications, see Peterson, “Squares and Circles.”

119 See, for instance, Sima Qian 司馬遷, Shiji 史記, annot. Pei Yin 裴駰, Sima Zhen 司馬貞, and Zhang Shoujie 張守節 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1982), 130.3319 (a self-depiction of the activities to collect widespread old sources sustaining the composition of Shiji); Hanshu 88.3621 (a depiction of the imperial court’s collection and preservation of specific old texts outside of the official canon); 99A.4069 (a depiction of Wang Mang’s 王莽 recruitment of talented people proficient in various areas of knowledge).

120 See, for instance, Hanshu 51.2327 (a depiction of Jia Shan 賈山; see also Yan Shigu’s negative annotation regarding she 涉 as a gesture of passing through water and thus the compound word shelie 涉獵 as describing a sketchy survey without in-depth investigation), 62.2737 (Sima Qian); Wu Shuping 吳樹平, annot., Dongguan Hanji jiaozhu 東觀漢記校注 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 2008), 564 (Shentu Gang 申屠剛), 676 (Ban Chao 班超), 763 (Huang Xiang 黃香); Fan Ye 范曄, Houhan shu, annot. Li Xian 李賢 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2000), 47.1571 (Ban Chao), 79B.2582 (Li Yu 李育).

121 Fayan 1.19 (Fayan yishu, 31). For another two translations, see Nylan trans., Exemplary Figures, 16–19; Mark Csikszentmihalyi, Readings in Han Chinese Thought (Indianapolis: Hackett, 2006), 20–21.

122 For a later use of ke 科 in line with this meaning, see Hanshu 88.3620, where Ban Gu used the term criticizing the official academic system of division, examination, and selection, which attracted scholars to seek officially salaried positions and hence caused meaningless divergence and sectarianism. For a late Eastern Han reference, see Shiming huijiao, 344, where ke is semantically conflated with the ke 課 that refers to an institutional system of examination and censorship to keep people obeying the standard doctrines in terms of fa 法. For another use of ke referring to “selection” in early medieval historiography, see Fang Yixin 方一新, Donghan Wei Jin Nanbeichao shishu ciyu jianshi 東漢魏晉南北朝史書詞語箋釋 (Hefei: Huangshan, 1997), 89–90.

123 As previously discussed in the section on “plowing.”

124 Adopted from Pierre Bourdieu, with acknowledgment of his general definition of “capital” as accumulated labor and thus his classification of “cultural capital” in embodied, objectified, and institutionalized forms, also considering the transformability of cultural capital on both individual and social levels. See Bourdieu, “The Forms of Capital,” in Readings in Economic Sociology, ed. Nicole W. Biggart (Oxford: Blackwell, 2002), 280–91.

125 Zhuangzi jijie, 120–21.

126 Lunyu 18.7 (Lunyu jishi, 1272–77).

127 See Shiji 84.2486; Hong Xingzu 洪興祖, annot., Chuci buzhu 楚辭補注 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1983), 179–81. For a recent study on the intertextuality between these scenarios as a part of the Qu Yuan’s 屈原 legend, see Martin Kern, “Cultural Memory and the Epic in Early Chinese Literature: The Case of Qu Yuan 屈原 and the Li sao 離騷,” The Journal of Chinese Literature and Culture 9 (2022), 139–47 (on the “Fisherman,” see 146).

128 Hayden White, “The Forms of Wildness,” in Tropics of Discourses: Essays in Cultural Criticism (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1978), 150–82; “The Noble Savage Theme as Fetish,” ibid., 183–97. For a cross-cultural comparison between the “Noble Savage” theme and related ideas in classical Chinese literature and cultural history, see Chen Shih-hsiang 陳世驤, “Chinese Poetry and Its Popular Sources,” Tsing Hua Journal of Chinese Studies 2 (1961), 320–25.

129 Respectively, Yang Xiong’s “Jie chao” 解嘲 (“Dissolving Ridicule”), Ban Gu’s “Da bin xi” 答賓戲 (“Response to a Guest’s Jest”), Cui Yin’s 崔駰 “Da zhi” 達旨 (“Declaration of Purpose”), Zhang Heng’s 張衡 “Ying jian” 應閒 (“Reply to Critique”), and Cai Yong’s 蔡邕 “Shi hui” 釋誨 (“Resolving Lesson”). The earliest occurrences of these texts are all found within the respective authors’ “biographies” in Hanshu and Houhan shu. For a detailed analysis of these five texts, see Gu, “The Enchantment of Erudition,” chap. 3.

130 Shelun 設論 as a subgenre name was first used in early medieval times, as in the Wenxuan 文選, to categorize Dongfang Shuo’s 東方朔 “Da ke nan” 答客難 (“Response to a Guest’s Objection”) and then “Jie chao” and “Da bin xi.” See Wenxuan, 45.2000–2005, 2005–15, and 2015–25. I follow the translation “Hypothetical Discourse” used by David R. Knechtges. See Knechtges trans., Wen xuan, or Selections of Refined Literature, vol. 1 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982), 24. For an English introduction to this literary subgenre, see Dominik Declercq, Writing against the State: Political Rhetoric in Third and Fourth Century China (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 1–19.

131 The “Da ke nan,” first introduced as a writing of Dongfang Shuo in Hanshu, has a similar but brief version—not presented as a written work but as an in-person speech—that Chu Shaosun 褚少孫 interpolated into the Shiji (Shiji 126.3206–07). The different forms, contents, and contexts between the two accounts in Shiji and Hanshu can be explained in more than one plausible way, and each of them tends to set the “Da ke nan” apart from the following Han shelun starting with Yang Xiong.

132 Cui Yin’s “Da zhi” being an exception, for its clustered presentation of previous examples includes several moral models and is thus performed in more modest tone of speech.

133 Hanshu 87B.3573, 100A.4231; Houhan shu 52.1716, 59.1908, 60B.1988. All five sets of thematic lines employ an “I would not … /but I would …” structure to deliver a formal statement of one’s position and choice, though the tones of speech are often modestly—sometimes ironically—softened as “I cannot … /thus I would ….” Most of these phrases are expressed in couplet form and hence syntactically resemble each other. The only exception is in Zhang Heng’s “Ying jian,” where the master provides an extended version consisting of six lines in total, splitting the negative “I would not …” expression into two lines.