Hello and welcome to this edition of the Nüwa. Within, you will commune with the great minds of Tao Yuanming (Qian) and Wang Wei. Themes covered include hiddenness, drunkenness and freedom. As this goes to press, England is about to enter a heatwave that may be the most intense ever recorded. A good time to speak about peaches!
Peach Blossom Spring
Tao Yuanming (365–427 CE) was a Six Dynasties poet and famous recluse. Born into an aristocratic family, he spent ten years serving in relatively low-level government positions before resigning to live on a small farm in the mountains. At that point he changed his name to Tao Qian — ‘Tao the Recluse’. Often facing food shortages, he spent his time writing poetry, drinking wine and cultivating the chrysanthemums that became closely associated with his poetry. Record of Peach Blossom Spring, translated below, is one of his best known works and strongly influenced by Daoism. It details how a fisherman finds a hidden community that live in happiness and peace.
Throughout Daoist history, there has been a strong tradition of hidden spaces that sit between earth and the higher dimensions of deities and immortals. Hiddenness also features within Daoism as a core virtue. Generally speaking, it is believed that great Daoist masters are not well-known, and do their best to remain so. The Record of Peach Blossom Spring can be seen as an allegorical story of the those who choose to seclude themselves in order to cultivate perfection in secret. Lastly, peaches are associated with Daoist immortality via the story of the Peach Festival of the Queen Mother of the West. Once every three thousand years, the Queen Mother of the West holds a banquet in which invitees are served peaches that bestow immortality.
Below is a complete translation of the Record of Peach Blossom Spring.
During the Taiyuan era (376–396 CE) of the Jin Dynasty, there was a man from Wuling who made his living as a fisherman. Travelling along a creek, he lost his way and suddenly came upon a forest of peach blossoms that hugged both banks for several hundred steps and was completely devoid of other kinds of tree. Fragrant grasses were fresh and beautiful, and fallen blossoms were scattered abundantly. The fisherman thought it deeply unusual and continued along the creek, wanting the find the end of the forest.
At the end of the forest there was the water’s source, and he came upon a mountain. There was a small opening in the mountain, through which there seemed to be light. The fisherman thus abandoned his boat and went through the opening. At first it was extremely narrow, only just wide enough for a single person to pass. After several dozen paces, he suddenly emerged into the open light of day. He faced a spread of level land, in which houses were neatly set out. There was fertile fields and beautiful pools, mulberry trees and bamboo, roads and paths connected the land and both chickens and dogs could be heard. People were coming and going in their daily work, and the clothing worn by both the men and women appeared foreign. Everyone from silver haired elders to children with loose flowing hair appeared joyful and at ease.
When they saw the fisherman, they were greatly startled and asked from where he had come. Once the fisherman had answered their questions, the people invited him into their homes, brought out wine and slaughtered chickens for a feast. Word of his arrival spread quickly, and soon everyone had gathered to greet him. The people spoke of how their ancestors, during the tumultuous upheavals of the Qin dynasty (221–208 BCE), had gathered their wives, children and neighbours and fled to this isolated region. Since then, no one had left and they had been cut off from the outside world.
The people then asked about the world as it was now, and he released that they had not even heard of the Han Dynasty (206 BCE–220 CE), let alone the Wei and Jin dynasties that followed. He gave them a detailed account of what had transpired, upon which the people sighed with sorrow over the misfortunes of humanity. After this, each family in turn invited the fisherman to feast in their home, and treated him with gracious hospitality. After selves days, when he decided the time had come to leave, the spokesman from the village told him that “there is no need to speak about this place with outsiders.” Then the fisherman returned to his boat.
On his return journey, he tried his best to leave markers along the way. When he reached home, he immediately reported his discovery to the provincial governor, who dispatched men to accompany the fisherman in the hope of retracing his journey. However, the fisherman could find no trace of the markings he had left. They lost their way, and the search was abandoned.
An acclaimed scholar from Nanyang called Liu Ziji heard of the fisherman’s discovery and planned his own expedition. However, he fell ill and died before the trip set out. Since then, no one has made any attempt to reach Peach Blossom Spring.
His Hands Are Empty, Holding Nothing But Golden Flowers
Wang Wei (699–759 CE) was a Tang Dynasty poet, painter, musician and government official. He’s widely regarded as one of the most important cultural figures in Chinese history. Like Tao Qian, Wang Wei served in government and held an ambivalent attitude towards it. Unlike Tao Qian, Wang Wei could never bring himself to completely renounce life and court. He remained conflicted between the pleasure and freedom of wandering in the mountains and a life of societal, conventional engagement. This conflict is certainly something that many feel today.
Wang Wei obviously thought a lot about Tao Qian. He formulated Record of Peach Blossom Spring into a well-known poem, and wrote another imaginative one about him, which you’ll find below. It captures the conflict that Wang Wei felt between the cloud-wandering life of a recluse, and acting responsibly towards his family and society.
Tao Qian really likes to let it all hang out and was born mad about wine, yet from the day he quit his official post his family has been dead poor and he can't even cough up a coin for a drink. What has he got at the Double Nine Festival? His hands are empty, holding nothing but gold flowers. The poor man is daydreaming of a saviour to bring him booze. Suddenly an old man in white robes appears with a pitcher and goblets. The poet downs bowl after bowl. Why count? Like a quivering bird he shakes out his cape and wanders to an empty field, and roars (to no one at all), "I've nothing left, but I'm free!" His knees wobble. He doesn't know where he is and drops his palm-bark hat and rain cape into the mud, staggers, pushes on, singing wildly all the way to Five Willows. Does Tao Qian make a living? Face his life? It is improper to ask. He is free. -- Wang Wei, translated by Tony Barnstone, Willis Barnstone, and Xu Haixin.
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As a former government employee I can relate to that inner conflict between security and freedom. In the end, I chose freedom, and my mental health improved considerably, without the help of wine! 🙂