“Citizen Empowerment within Early Taoist Bureaucracy”

In Western minds, bureaucracy is often seen as a hindrance that makes individuals powerless to act. Bureaucracy does indeed focus on relations within a group of people, sometimes at a cost to the rights of the individual. However, a well-functioning bureaucracy creates order by establishing a hierarchy, which gives each of its members a position. Since every member has a role, every member has a set code of behavior; within an efficient, effective bureaucracy, every able member knows what he or she is supposed to do. Individuals are regulated for the good of the whole. The members of the Han Dynasty during the third and fourth centuries B.C.E and early Taoists around the second half of the second century expanded their living bureaucracies in order to incorporate the dead so that they could be controlled, marginalizing their threat to the living. They shaped the idea of an underworld bureaucracy as a coping mechanism that gave the dead and supernatural entities order and a code of conduct. As a result, every early Chinese person within this system, who ever lived and ever would live (because those living at that time would eventually die and even those not yet born would also eventually perish) was given order. The bureaucracies of both the living and the dead performed important duties for the early Taoists of northwestern China, who followed and occasionally manipulated these systems to gain more agency in their own lives.

The bureaucracy of the living in northwest China, in a state called Hanzhong, was both religious and secular in nature during the second century B.C.E.  It was a melding of the two spheres as epitomized by its leader, Zhang Lu. He was a Taoist, with some connections to the Han Dynasty. He acted as both the lord of the region and its primary religious leader, calling himself the third Celestial Master (Tianshi 天師). His grandfather was the first Celestial master, who claimed to have been visited by Laozi (a very important Taoist god.) Zhang Lu divided his territory into 24 districts, giving each a Grand Libationer (Zhitou da jijiu治頭大祭酒), who served as the head of that particular parish. The Grand Libationer presided over the jijiu, a word Angelika Cedzich translates as “delegate priest,” which in turn makes the Grand Libationer the equivalent of a head priest. As such, the Zhang Lu’s government was both spiritual and administrative. The jijiu were embedded in the lower levels of this dual-natured bureaucracy, making them the ones the early Chinese of the region had the most access to. They acted accordingly as members of both the “church” and state, collecting taxes, taking census, as well as doing rituals for the people.

In Taoist tradition at this time (between the second and third centuries BCE), there was also an underworld bureaucracy called the Three Bureaus (Sanguan 三官), which administrated the “Correct Law of the Three Heavens” (Santian zhengfa 三天正法). They kept records of every person, living or dead, accounting for everyone. In Christianity, the primary deity is omnipotent but in early Taoism of the Hanzhong region, the higher powers need to be informed. Cedzich argues that the Three Bureaus’ records were based off of those kept by the living, the results of the jijiu’s censuses. Early Chinese people of the region needed to report the deaths of loved ones in order for them to have a smooth transit into the underworld and be integrated into the hierarchy. Otherwise, this person could be lost, something threatening both to the dead and living; the living feared that the dead person could stay on the plane of the living as a ghost and cause trouble and the dead person feared they might end up in spiritual no man’s land. The jijiu took the census three times a year to prevent negative outcomes. This gave them a great deal of responsibility, because if they made a mistake, there could be consequences in the afterlife. However, it also gave them a great deal of control over vital records. If changes needed to be made, the jijiu could be contacted directly by early Taoists, unlike an invisible member of the underworld bureaucracy. Zhang Lu and his officials could be sure that they were counted and therefore would not be forgotten in the afterlife. At the very least, this belief created great incentive to complete Zhang Lu’s census, which doubtlessly served other political, military and economic purposes alongside its divine purpose.

Early Taoists also believed that the Three Bureaus judged the dead, enforcing order unto the underworld and its inhabitants. They also gave the dead the power to sue the court for grievances. Spirit-constables (Kaoli 考吏), like the F.B.I agents of the underworld, would investigate the case among the living. Unlike the F.B.I, they punished the living with bad dreams, illness, social and economic decline. Another scholar, who wrote about this period, von Glahn, puts forth the idea that the early Taoists were afraid of the dead transferring the guilt and punishment of their crimes unto the living. Either way, the spirit constables and Three Bureaus provided an explanation for one of the classic questions almost every religion has to answer: why do bad things happen? It was a common belief that misfortune derived from the cosmos being out of order. However, the common person could do nothing about that. If misfortune was merely a reprimand from an underworld bureaucrat, a jijiu could intercede on their behalf like “attorneys of defense for those involved in trials at the Three Bureaus” (Cedzich, 30) by sending a petition to the underworld bureaucracy asking for a  removal or lessening of punishment. The jijiu had a Manual of the 1,200 Officials (Qian erbai guanyi 千二百官儀) that let them know which spirit to contact.  If the petition was worthy, an “innocent” verdict would then rescind the punishment. In that way, the Taoism empowered its priests to work on behalf of the people; they had the access through their rituals, and the knowledge through the Manual of the 1,200 Officials. Access to the right people and knowledge of the procedure are necessary for any good bureaucrat, as it was for the jijiu. Through their access to the jijiu, early Taoists under Zhang Lu had a greater amount of agency because, in case of hardship, they could actively do something about it and have a jijiu file a petition rather than merely hope the cosmos will right themselves. The Taoist bureaucratic system was responsive to the needs and concerns of its members by giving early Taoists a religious way to deal with everyday problems.

Part of making a bureaucracy responsive to its petitioners is promotion based on merit because it provides motivation for its officials to perform well.  As such, the Three Bureaus promoted as a result of merit, a process which was determined in part by the jijiu. When a petition was resolved satisfactorily, the jijiu gave pledges (xin 信) such as paper, ink and brushes to the underworld officials. They were not bribes but a recommendation or accolade for a particular underworld official, who helped a jijiu’s parishioners. Pledges singled out helpful spirit officials and made them more likely for promotion. This system benefited the living as well. Presumably, if this helpful underworld official received a promotion, he would be thankful to the jijiu, who “recommended” him. This might have made the official more likely to be responsive to that jijiu’s petitions, including those made on behalf people within his district. Moreover, this underworld official had already demonstrated a predisposition for being efficacious. Giving them more power could result in more sway over the courts and more desirable resolutions to petitions. Pledges gave the jijiu’s influence over the underworld bureaucracy and a way to give feedback.   More importantly, their giving of pledges was one more way that the jijiu conveyed information from the living to the dead, alongside petitions and censuses. The jijiu performed duties that were beneficial both to the dead and the living through their contact with both the underworld and the living world, making them an integral part of this early Taoist system of ordering people.

The system, the underworld bureaucracy and Zhang Lu’s bureaucracy on earth, blurred the boundaries between the living and the dead Taoists’ worlds. However, it did still separate the dead (with the exception of underworld officials) from the living enough to assuage fears of hungry ghosts (spirits left behind after a violent death.)The transcendental bureaucracy created a system that did not permit the dead and demons to stay in the living world and cause trouble. (Underworld officials, the only exception, were subject to a hierarchy, and protocols, and a jijiu could intercede and influence their activities, minimizing their threat; they were agents of order unlike ghosts and demons) The underworld bureaucracy absorbed ghosts into a hierarchy with rules and regulations they could enforce through their officials, eliminating the possibility of a rogue ghost on earth. This system also provided a solution for demons by offering an explanation for misfortune other than chaotic evil demons. It made misfortune an almost karmic effect of an organized, accessible system. It was punishment for a judgment that they could appeal. Through its imposed hierarchy and justice system, the early Taoist’s concept of bureaucracy around the time of second century B.C.E Hanzhong limited the threat of demons, ghosts and their chaos.

The Three Bureaus also provided for the needs of the dead, as well. After all, the living eventually become the dead and the possibility of an appealing afterlife is often a key component in a successful, popular religion. As Cedzich postulates, after death, worthy early Taoists could become spirit officials with duties and power, giving them a role within the hierarchy. This was appealing because of the sacredness of order to the early Chinese and the possibility of great power. Therefore, the underworld bureaucracy and bureaucracy of Zhang Lu accommodate the entirety of the population, living and dead. Moreover, as they were officials in life, the jijiu were likely to become spirit officials, making the spirit officials more accessible than famous or mythic figures. Most importantly, though, belief in the Three Bureaus and its living counterpart (Zhang Lu’s government) offered the possibility for advancement and meaningful work after death for early Taoists, which helped ease fears of death and the unknown, an important function of a religious belief.

The early Taoists in northwest China during the second and third centuries B.C.E believed in an effective bureaucracy that incorporated every person, alive or dead, into its system and order, and responded to the needs of both. The idea of a bureaucracy of the dead was not new, however. Taoism most likely borrowed ideas from the hierarchy created by the Han Dynasty in fourth and third centuries B.C.E, which ruled in Hanzhong before Zhang Lu.  Their underworld bureaucracy kept records and passed judgment upon the dead as well. The Great Thearch (Tiandi 天帝) and The Great Thearch’s Divine Teacher (Tiandi shenshi 天帝神師) led this body.  Common people also attempted to contact it. They left documents like passports in graves, grave goods like bribes to aid their dead loved ones, and petitions questioning whether the deceased person was taken at the appropriate time. These petitions suggest that this bureaucracy was fallible, not unlike the early Taoist one. If a mistake was made, there was a chance that the dead person might be brought back to life as shown by the story of Dan, which was found among grave documents.

Dan was a man who took his own life after committing murder. His death was considered premature, possibly because it was a suicide.  An official of the Great Thearch’s underworld championed his case and brought him back to life but as a corpse-like entity, barely able to function even after several years, who eventually died much more. This story presents some of the inadequacies within the early Han Dynasty’s concept of underworld bureaucracy. Dan’s resurrection was a rare event. The underworld official that supported Dan was a famous dead general, a very prestigious official was the one who actually brought him back to life, and this only happened because of an error. Dan’s story, however, was the best the early Chinese of the Han Dynasty could hope for in this system, which emphasized punishment. The people had limited agency after death and even before they had to contend with a “forbidding underworld bureaucracy acting in the name of the imperial sovereign.” (von Glahn, 57) They had no priests to appeal for them, therefore no influence on underworld officials’ promotions, and no control in the records of life and death. There was little chance for inclusion in the hierarchy unless one was an exceptional person. However, the jijiu, through their own post-mortem appointments, their ability to aid in promotions, and the possibility of being an underworld official, gave the opportunity for the people to participate in this order, giving people within northwest China more power within Taoism. An effective bureaucracy, one that does not get rebelled against, is interactive so that people can fulfill their needs, unlike the early Han Dynasty’s underworld bureaucracy, which merely shut the dead out. In early Taoist belief, the dead and the living had venues to appeal to the bureaucracy, which would then perform important duties on their behalf, making it an effective, appealing body.

Working within the system could earn a faithful Taoist a position as an underworld official, an enviable appointment. While the underworld bureaucracy brought order and some agency, it did not offer immortality on this earth. Yet, the early Taoists still cherished a hope of living forever, as evidenced by the story of “The Grandfather’s Corpse.” An archaic document of the early Taoist tradition acted as a sort of instruction manual for extending one’s life or even becoming immortal. The text gives clear instructions, telling people to write down their name, clan, and a detailed address. This information, the kind one would put on a form today, emphasizes the bureaucratic nature of these petitions. It then tells the reader to write “All that is born has to die. Our life spans should agree with your registers. My name was not yet recorded on the register of the Great Storehouse of Darkness. Now I find myself already in Haoli, wandering through darkness without end.” (Cedzich, 3) and place this on one’s grandfather’s memorial (presumably any recently dead relative of the same sex would do). Then, the document instructs one to change one’s name. The end result would be the underworld bureaucracy believing that the corpse belongs to the letter writer, not the relative. Presumably then, the underworld bureaucracy wouldn’t come to collect his or her life, thinking the letter writer dead. Beyond extended life or immortality, faking one’s death may have had an added benefit as well; how can an underworld official punish this person for a grievance, if he or she can’t be found?  Thus, early Taoists may also have thought it provided added protection from misfortune. On the other hand, a person attempting to pass of a relative’s corpse as their own could not file a petition for the alleviation of any misfortune they did come across (as he or she wasn’t technically alive and would have been risking punishment.)  This text demonstrates how early Taoists sometimes used the bureaucracy’s order in ways it was not intended to be used.

Ultimately, this text further demonstrates how people sought agency. In the past, becoming an Immortal, gaining square pupils, learning to fly on the back of a crane and all the impractical fantastical abilities and practices that entails, was the only way towards eternal life. Immortals were mystical beings, mountain sages; by their very nature they weren’t accessible. Moreover, the materials and training necessary to become one were definitely no practical for a peasant, who had limited resources and time. To early Taoists, following the advice of the “Grandfather’s Corpse” text would be easy for anyone who knew of it and had a dead relative and the rewards would be great, extended life and possibly immortality if the underworld officials never caught up. It required no official, no money, no hard to get talisman yet enabled a common person to manipulate the system. Therefore, in a strange way, this exploitation of the underworld bureaucracy’s weakness (its reliance on the living for information) emphasizes how accessible it is. Moreover, it demonstrates how this bureaucracy, like any other, had loopholes that people wishing to take more control could use for their own benefit.

In early Taoist practice, Zhang Lu’s bureaucracy around the second and early third century B.C.E and the underworld bureaucracy, acted in unison to mete out justice and order, alleviated the fears and fulfilling some of the needs of the populace. It was able to do this because it created hierarchy that gave each person a place within the whole but still offered options for the individual. It balanced the individual with the group in a much more satisfying way than the early Han Dynasty’s concept because it allowed for more empowerment and communication through the jijiu’s petitions, pledges and censuses. It still managed to maintain a level of control over its members by having them go through the jijiu and follow the appropriate channels. Still, some early Taoists attempted to manipulate it, using the bureaucracy for their own gain, another way to attain some agency. Thus, Zhang Lu’s purported transcendental bureaucracy was responsive, calmed fears and met needs, showing how it performed important duties. The Three Bureaus allowed for participation, which helped to empower the early Taoists of the Hanzhong region and made it appealing, despite the fact that the Han had a similar concept.  Ultimately, Zhang Lu’s bureaucracy and the Three Bureaus demonstrate how efficient bureaucracies balance the desire for agency within the individual, and the desire for order within a group.

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