Pathway to Japanese Literature

On Taoism

Taoism constituted one of China’s three major religious systems alongside Confucianism and Buddhism, with numerous sects and gradually diverging doctrines; rashly explaining its true nature and offering critique fundamentally belonged to the realm of impossibility.
Confucianism was historically and doctrinally rather straightforward, belonging moreover to worldly teachings; though one might acknowledge that during its foundational era—the Yin-Zhou period—it venerated numerous deities and emphasized service to spirits and demons, it differed greatly from other so-called religions that possessed transcendental realms, stressed the existence of superhuman religious authorities, and thereby established doctrinal supremacy over the world through dependence on such elements.
Thus, the religions proper that spread across China were Buddhism and Taoism; apart from these, only minor sects like Qingzhenjiao existed.
Taoism arose in China, developed within China, and persisted having exerted only minor influences upon Korea and Japan; moreover, as the spirit of its teachings never truly imparted any significant impulse to the wider world, those who devoted attention to it remained naturally few—so much so that even when consulting what purported to be the world’s repository of knowledge, the Encyclopædia Britannica’s meager entry on Taoism startled one into questioning whether Western understanding of the East could indeed be so limited.
However,Taoism’s influence in China was by no means something to be underestimated—it constituted a significant portion of its people’s general morality，faith，and sensibilities，a fact made abundantly clear through history，literature，art，and other cultural manifestations.
Were one to glance at novels and plays reflecting Chinese society’s realities，anyone would recognize how Taoist hues and fragrances permeated every corner of these works.
No—one would rather find it difficult to discover works devoid of Taoist colors and scents.
Moreover，even in poetry—that higher literature reflecting scholar-gentlemen—just as one detected Confucian spirit in Du Fu of the resplendent Tang era while finding Taoist fragrance in Li Bai，setting aside excessively ancient times，one would likely discover Taoist fragrance in any age’s poetry.
Taoism was indeed something deeply rooted and luxuriantly branched throughout China.

However, records detailing the origins and transmission of Taoism remained extremely scarce.
This likely stemmed from circumstances similar to those wherein China's scholar class, who had long held literary authority, traditionally paid little heed to religion and maintained a practice of scarcely documenting matters related to Buddhism in dynastic histories.
Consequently, even in our country there did not appear to be many who possessed even a general understanding of Taoism, and one seldom heard any substantial discourse on the subject.
One reason for this was likely that Taoism's influence in our country had been limited.

Now let us speak somewhat about Taoism.
However, let me preface this by stating clearly: I am neither a believer in Taoism, nor its admirer, nor even its sympathizer—I maintain a detached mind toward it.
For example, when I see a stone on the road—without any particular feeling or desire, simply confronting it—that is precisely the same attitude I maintain.

How did Taoism arise?
There could be various ways to answer this.
To seek the cause of its emergence within the environmental conditions of its time—that is, to seek it externally—put simply: upon seeing Buddhism gradually gain influence after arriving from abroad, there arose within one's own country a desire to emulate this and develop something imbued with greater national character, ultimately leading to the creation of forms previously nonexistent.
The other seeks the cause of its emergence within itself—that is, seeks it internally—positing that something originally existing gradually developed and ultimately gave rise to a certain form, just as Mahayana Buddhism developed from Early Buddhism; asserting that what inherently should have been so already existed and thus became so.
This could be logically justified from both perspectives; those within its sphere would invariably posit the latter explanation, while those outside its sphere tended to posit the former.
From those within the Taoist sphere came the predetermined answer that Taoism—as a concept—possessed its roots and seeds in China from the very beginning, blossoming and bearing fruit through the ages.
Since religions always have as their foundation elements that are superhuman, transcendent, mystical, and spiritually potent, it followed that grounding one's own religious origins beyond historical time became commonplace.
However, whether such answers proved ultimately truthful could only be determined by factual evidence; even if the religion's rationale resisted immediate recognition as truth, there remained no alternative.
How then did Taoism’s case stand?
We had to examine it through both internal and external factors to apprehend its truth.

That Taoism had connections with Daoist philosophy and immortalist practices was an undeniable and evident fact.
However, by first clearly grasping what Taoism was, then similarly grasping what Daoist philosophers and immortalist practitioners were, and comparing the concepts provided by these three—this allowed one to comprehend the circumstances of Taoism's formation, whether through uncritical acceptance or natural analysis.

According to the Taoist scriptures, all things arose from One; the One divided to become the Three Primordials, the Three Primordials transformed into the Three Qi, the Three Qi generated the Three Powers, and from these all things were completed.
The Three Primordials were: First Hundong Taiwuyuan (Chaotic Cavern of Great Non-Being), Second Chihun Taiwuyuan (Red Chaos of Great Non-Being), and Third Mingji Xuantongyuan (Dark Silence of Mysterious Pervasion).
From Hundong Taiwuyuan was born the Celestial Treasure Lord; from Chihun Taiwuyuan was born the Numinous Treasure Lord; and from Mingji Xuantongyuan was born the Divine Treasure Lord.
The abodes of these Three Lords were called both the Three Pure Ones and the Three Heavens: the Celestial Treasure Lord resided in the Jade Purity Realm (Qingwei Heaven), the Numinous Treasure Lord dwelled in the Upper Purity Realm (Yuyu Heaven), and the Divine Treasure Lord inhabited the Great Red Heaven of Supreme Purity. Though each served as a doctrinal sovereign, the *Jiutian Shengshen Zhangjing* stated they formed a trinity—distinct in title yet fundamentally one. Thus emerged one origin with three hues: azure qi from Jade Purity, yellow qi from Upper Purity, and dark-white qi from Supreme Purity.
And these three lords were precisely the revered deities of the Three Caverns, constituting what Taoism designated as the Three Pure Ones—the triune principal deities.
The Three Caverns referred to three divisions: Dongzhen (Perfected Cavern), Dongxuan (Mysterious Cavern), and Dongshen (Divine Cavern). This tripartite division formed the organizational framework for doctrinal scriptures—designated as the Dongzhen section (Mahayana), Dongxuan section (Middle Vehicle), and Dongshen section (Hinayana).
Through these teachings, those who attained fruition to transcend humanity were first classified into six stages of the Desire Realm at lower levels, eighteen tiers of the Form Realm above them, and four tiers of the Formless Realm beyond—totaling twenty-eight heavenly realms. Though free from suffering and filled with joy, they remained within the cycle of birth and death. The four tiers beyond the Formless Realm constituted the Seed-People Heaven; those who reached this became impervious to birth-death's three calamities.
Above these lay what were called the Three Realms: Taishang Laojun Celestial Master’s Supreme Purity Realm, Nine Immortals’ Upper Purity Realm, and Nine Perfected’s Jade Purity Realm—all being worlds of goodness and beauty. Beyond these stood Daluo Heaven's supreme world, wherein resided past Yuanshi Tianzun (Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning), present Taishang Yuhuang Tianzun (Celestial Worthy of Jade Emperor), and future Jinqu Yuchen Tianzun (Celestial Worthy of Golden Portico and Jade Dawn).
The Dongzhen section was said to have originated from Yuanshi Tianzun, Dongxuan from Taishang Daojun, and Dongshen from Taishang Laojun.
Yuanshi Tianzun corresponded to Buddhism's Buddha; he possessed Ten Epithets; he was Nature; he was Wuji (the Limitless); he was Great Dao; he was Supreme Truth; he was Taishang; he was Dao Lord; he was Exalted Sovereign; he was Celestial Worthy; he was Jade Emperor; he was Majesty.
In Christianity's terms, Yuanshi Tianzun—being Wuji (the Limitless), Great Dao, and Nature—was none other than God.

If one were to explain in detail, Taoism—having traversed the long years from the late Han dynasty to the present day—contained within itself transformations, developments, and competing sectarian doctrines; thus clearly outlining its course in an orderly manner proved no easy task. However, we may consider the general outline as previously described without significant error.

When an outsider offered a provisional observation, since Yuanshi Tianzun was considered to be Nature itself, there could be no doubt that its ideas had existed in China since antiquity; however, when precisely the personification of Nature into a deity-like figure bearing the designation Yuanshi Tianzun arose remained profoundly unclear. Yuanshi Tianzun emerged in the sixty-one volumes of the Lingbao Wuliang Duren Shangpin Miaojing (Marvelous Scripture of Limitless Salvation through Numinous Treasure), and it was stated that at the dawn of the Dragon Han era—when heaven and earth first cleaved apart—this Celestial Worthy had compiled this scripture. And it was stated that this had been bestowed upon the Jade Dawn Dao Lord. Therefore, the fact that neither the influence of Yuanshi Tianzun’s thought nor traces of the Duren Miaojing’s accounts could be detected in the chapter headings of this same scripture or in texts like the Daoyun and Yunzhuo Jing had to lead us to conclude that, despite its purported status, the Duren Miaojing appeared not to have entered Ge Hong’s awareness. Thus, even when making this inference with considerable modesty, we had to conclude that it likely had emerged from figures such as Kou Qianzhi. The Marvelous Scripture of Salvation extensively discussed celestial realms. The celestial realms were sublime abodes where those who had attained wondrous fruition dwelled. Ge Hong did not discuss such matters at great length. Ge Hong revered the Way; he did not revere the Celestial Worthy. Ge Hong aspired to join the ranks of immortals. However, the immortals of the Marvelous Scripture of Salvation did not yearn for something akin to the devas within Buddhism. The Baopuzi recorded talismans; the Duren Miaojing also contained talismans. However, the talismans in the Baopuzi were likely considered to have been added by later individuals, and moreover, those talismans were not identical. If we considered that Ge Hong had maintained faith in protective talismans and indeed examined the Duren Miaojing, then at minimum we had to acknowledge the credibility of that scripture's talismans. It was true that Ge Hong had received transmission of the Dao from Zheng Siyuan, but nowhere could evidence be found that he had received the Upper and Lower Chapters of the Marvelous Scripture of Salvation’s Numinous Book from Siyuan. When examined thus, it became clear that the Marvelous Scripture of Salvation had instead borrowed the Baopuzi to gild itself, and one could only conclude that the thoughts and emotions seen in that scripture could not have existed during Ge Hong’s time. It seemed unthinkable that elements which appeared not to have existed during Ge Hong’s time could have been present in the eras of Zhang Daoling or Yu Ji. Regarding Yu Ji, the Baopuzi made mention. Yu Ji’s text remained fragmentary, and its authenticity remained uncertain; perhaps due to the author’s lack of literary embellishment, its tone differed considerably from contemporaneous works. However, since the Baopuzi’s critique corresponded appropriately to it, we first acknowledged it as not a forgery. Then, when comparing Yu Ji’s text with the Marvelous Scripture of Salvation, even within Yu Ji’s work, no trace of Yuanshi Tianzun’s thought could be found—only something akin to a vague deity was discernible. If I continued discussing such matters in detail, the discussion would have become excessively minute and endless; therefore, I resolved to reserve that for another day when there might be ample leisure and instead began our discourse from the very origins of Taoism.

It had become conventional wisdom that Taoism as a whole was thought to derive from Huangdi, Laozi, Zhuangzi, and others.
Indeed, within Taoism they revered Laozi as Taishang Laojun.
Even figures like Zhuangzi and Liezi received veneration, their works designated as canonical scriptures titled *Nanhua Zhenjing* and *Chongxu Zhenjing*.
These facts were universally acknowledged.
Yet to assert without examination that Taoism emerged directly from Lao-Zhuang philosophy remained premature.
The concept of immortals too had been assimilated into Taoist doctrine.
Immortals and Taoist practitioners came to be regarded as identical—the general understanding being that immortals represented Taoism's perfected adepts and successful initiates.
However, uncritical acceptance of this equivalence proved hazardous.

Initially, there existed nothing resembling an organized religion called Taoism in China.
There were those designated as belonging to the Taoist school.
Yet what was termed the Taoist school constituted by no means an institution venerating elements imbued with religious overtones and aromas.
There existed those designated as immortalist practitioners.
But these too differed fundamentally from later Taoist adherents.

First, what exactly was this Taoist school? What did the text believed to have been recorded by Ban Gu of Han—writing as a historian based on his era’s general understanding—state? It declared: “The Taoist school likely originated from official historians.” They had meticulously chronicled principles of success and failure, survival and demise, fortune and misfortune across history; then seizing essentials and grasping fundamentals, they guarded themselves through purity and emptiness while sustaining themselves through humility and weakness—this constituted the art of governing from the southern throne as ruler. The adept yielding of Yao and the Qian hexagram’s single act of humility yielding four benefits—these were its strengths. When unrestrained individuals acted upon it, they discarded rites and music entirely and even sought to abandon benevolence and righteousness, proclaiming: “By relying solely on purity and emptiness, one may govern.” It stated thus. And he enumerated that school’s works. The Taoist school of that era stood alongside various schools like Confucianism, Legalism, the School of Names, and Agriculturalism—clearly constituting one established scholarly faction in society rather than anything religious in nature. When examining what was termed the Taoist school in practice, we find listed 993 works: those of Yi Yin, Taigong, Xin Jia, Yu Zi, Guanzi, Laozi, Wenzi, Yuanzi, Guan Yinzi, Zhuangzi, Liezi, Laochengzi, Changluzi, Wang Dizi, Gongzi Mou, Tianzi, Lao Laizi, Qian Louzi, Gong Sunzi, Heguanzi, *Zhou Xun*, Huangdi, Li Mu, Jiezi, Cao Yu, Langzhong Yingqi, Chen Junzi, Zheng Zhangzhe, Chu Zi, and other Taoist discourses. Of those lost works we cannot speak; however among surviving texts none resembles what later came to be called Taoism. Within Taoism’s theoretical aspects exist elements resembling doctrines of Laozi Zhuangzi and Guanzi—yet this reflects Taoism’s appropriation of their discourses for self-embellishment. Just as Taoism extensively employs the Yi Jing and its apocrypha yet remains distinct from them so too must we reject conflating Taoism with these schools. Where in Laozi could religion reside? Where in Zhuang[zi] or Lie[zi] could Yuanshi Tianzun or Yuchen Daojun emerge? These figures rather possessed non-religious ideas. While works like *Zhuangzi* allegorically personified divine beings they never established cosmic sovereigns as objects of worship. Concepts like Three Pure Realms or Thirty-Six Heavens remain absent from the Taoist school without even embryonic traces. Though Taoism’s cosmology appears drawn from Liezi and Yi Qian Zuo Du this constitutes mere borrowing. The essential religious elements defining Taoism prove wholly absent in the Taoist school—instead Taoism exhibits doctrinal features resembling Buddhism or Brahmanism.

In what was called the Taoist school, none of Taoism’s revered elements could be found.
The aspects of Taoism that manifested as a religion contained not even embryonic traces within the Taoist school.
Though Laozi came to be regarded as Taoism’s foundation—revered as Taishang Laojun and said to have appeared to Zhang Daoling to impart teachings—any objective analysis revealed he bore no relation to Yuanshi Tianzun’s subordinate shrines or attendants.
The claim that Taishang Laojun bestowed scriptures like the *Lingbao Duren Miaojing* upon Zhang Daoling forced him into a farcical supporting role—a greater indignity than rumors of him fleeing unpaid wages from laborer Xu Jia, and no more credible than *Shi Ben* listing Laozi as progenitor of dice games.
The *Daodejing*’s five thousand characters contained no esoterica like the Great Brahma’s Hidden Words found in salvation scriptures, nor any instruction for Big Dipper worship.
Taoist scriptures originated from Three Primes and Eight Meetings characters—mystical cloud-seal scripts inscribed by Yuanshi Tianzun at creation’s dawn—wholly unrelated to Cang Jie’s writing system. Thus even Taoists acknowledged their distinction from the Taoist school, reducing Laozi to novice status where connections were imagined.
Hence the Taoist canon’s structure—mimicking Buddhist exegetical classifications—elevated Three Caverns texts as sutra equivalents while consigning works like *Laozi’s Daodejing* to the Dongshen division aligned with Hinayana.
This Ming-era classification contrasted with Song-period critiques: “Laozi’s text belongs to Mahayana’s Three Supplements yet remains excluded from Three Caverns doctrine. Modern scholars recite *Daodejing* vapidly, ignorant of true scriptures—falsely claiming Taoism arose from Zhuang Zhou and Laozi! Their understanding scarcely surpasses ladling oceans through bamboo tubes.”
Though Three/Four Supplements varied historically, “supplement” always denoted auxiliary status—equivalent to Buddhism’s Abhidharma Pitaka.
Thus the Five Thousand Character text occupied inferior rank; Taoism disdained the *Daodejing*.
Naturally so—for despite its profundity, it lacked religious essence.
Even Laozi stood thus; Zhuangzi, Liezi, Guanzi and Wenzi fared worse.
This clarified matters: Taoism treated the Taoist school as peripheral allies while true Daoists disavowed all affiliation.
Common perception equated Taoism with Daoist teachings and practitioners, yet antiquity’s Daoists fundamentally differed from later adherents.
Taoism did not emerge from the Daoist school.
Taoism usurped the Daoist school.
It appropriated Daoist discourses as theoretical foundations, draped them in supernatural trappings, then erected a religious structure mirroring Brahmanism and Buddhism.
The Daoist school was no true progenitor of Taoism.
Doctrines like Trinity and honji suijaku—deities manifesting terrestrially—proved standard religious fare. Thus while distinguishing Yuanshi Tianzun from Laozi, tradition simultaneously claimed Laozi reincarnated during Fusang Taichang’s Kalpa of Enlightened Virtue as Wuji Taishang Dadaojun, Supreme Zhengyi Zhenren, and Yuanshi Tianzun himself—doctrinal leader for eons who saved humanity.
Yet as arcane theology, Daoist school and Taoism remained fundamentally distinct to outsiders from inception.

Next, within Taoism, those who had attained the Way were generally perceived as being immortals. The founders of various Taoist sects were regarded as immortals, and the notion that the Way of Immortals equated to Taoism—and Taoism to the Way of Immortals—was accepted by society without a shred of doubt. In any Taoist scripture, treatise, historical record, or biography one examined, instances of contact, intermingling, or even identification between immortals and Taoist practitioners could be found everywhere. For instance, when examining the *Record of Taoist Successive Generations*, within the lineage spanning from the first-generation Laozi to the forty-first-generation Lin Tongyuan, we find figures like Mao Meng, Wangzi Qiao, Li Shaojun, Luan Ba, and Zuo Ci—individuals society deemed so-called immortals.

However, while immortals were originally understood in secular terms as rare, superhuman beings—ageless, deathless, and capable of wielding miraculous powers—the fact remained that it was not the case that the majority of these figures appearing in miscellaneous texts and unofficial histories had been wholly incorporated into or associated with Taoism. Rather, only a certain percentage of immortals from antiquity had become either significant figures or decorative elements within Taoism. From Taoism’s perspective, one might say that those who had perfected their practice within its framework and transcended humanity constituted precisely what were called immortals. Yet consider Pengzu—the paramount figure among immortals—who was no Taoist practitioner whatsoever. The immortals recorded in Liu Xiang’s *Biographies of Immortals* and Ge Hong’s *Biographies of Divine Immortals* abounded with examples living leisurely lives nourished by mists and dew, completely unrelated to Taoism.

I would like to inquire into what relationship existed between these immortals and Taoism. The concept of immortals likely emerged through three streams: one arising from allegories in Zhuangzi and Liezi’s works, another from ancient myths and legends, and a third from later tall tales. Once the notion of divine immortals had become established, aspirations to attain immortality likely arose, while others probably deified figures for their own worshipful purposes. Laozi was neither an immortal nor anything of the sort; where in the Five Thousand Character *Daodejing* could the path to immortality possibly have been expounded? Even if the text occasionally contained the two characters for “immortality” or employed such cryptic phrases as “mysterious female” and “root of heaven and earth,” Laozi did not utter a single word about the path of immortals—those who transcended humanity to frolic among the clouds.

It was a later development that Laozi had been made the patriarch of immortals. Though the *Baopuzi* references Liu Xiang’s *Biographies of Immortals*—listing over seventy individuals—as being included in such works, the *Biographies of Immortals* was likely not Liu Xiang’s composition. It was probably a post-Later Han forgery; what we now call the *Biographies of Immortals* is likely Guo Yuanzu’s *Liexian Zhuan Zan*. When observing the passage in Rongcheng Gong’s biography stating, “He excelled at supplementing and guiding affairs, drawing essence into the Mysterious Female; his essence lay in hollowing out spirit to avoid death, guarding life and nurturing qi,” it becomes evident that whoever wrote this had scarcely read Laozi’s five thousand characters. Their designation of Rongcheng Gong as the founder of bedroom arts likely stemmed from trivial Han-era texts like the twenty-six-volume *Rongcheng Yindao*—yet the Mysterious Female held no such meaning.

The act of placing a celestial crown upon Laozi’s bald head and venerating him as Taishang Laojun—passing him off as a divine immortal—amounted to nothing but a nuisance to Laozi himself. Laozi belonged to the Taoist school; he was neither an immortal nor a practitioner of immortality arts. The Way of Immortals had likely existed since ancient times, but it was not the Way of the Taoist school—it was something different. To put it plainly, it resembled longevity techniques akin to what we now call health methods or hygienic practices—technical arts belonging to medicine.

The Taoist school clearly did not study medical science or anything of the sort; therefore, it was not a school of immortals. However, over time Laozi had been transformed into an immortal; the Taoist school became conflated with immortals; and whether this amalgamation flowed entirely into Taoism or whether Taoism absorbed these blended currents ultimately formed a vast reservoir. Furthermore, having erected a central island and invoked entities akin to India’s Mahabrahma while proclaiming that its scriptures emerged from eight-cornered radiant cloud seal scripts congealed in the void—this constituted Taoism. It was around the time of Wei’s Kou Qianzhi that it gradually developed the capacity to rival Buddhism.

As I stated before: The Taoist school was not Taoist practitioners; moreover, it was not a school of immortals, nor was the school of immortals equivalent to Taoist practitioners. Those who promoted immortals were practitioners of technical arts—the so-called fangshi—who had caused a stir during the Qin and Han periods. However, it was inconceivable that these fangshi possessed anything resembling a religion or worshiped objects akin to principal deities; even if they did have such practices, one could only surmise they involved figures like Huangdi.

The school of immortals was rather aligned with the fangshi (recipe masters) and was initially distinct from Taoism.
During the Han dynasty, what was called the school of immortals consisted of ten schools as enumerated by Ban Gu; Ban stated:
"Those who are immortals preserve the true essence of life while externally seeking its preservation. They moderately settle their intentions and calm their hearts, equalizing life and death's realms so no apprehension remains within their breasts. Yet when some make this their sole pursuit, absurd and deceptive writings increasingly proliferate—contrary to what sage-kings taught."
Confucius said: "To seek the hidden and perform the strange—later generations will record this, but I do not engage in it."
This made clear the school of immortals' nature at that time.
It evidently differed from the Taoist school—while mastery in this path produced immortals, few achieved this, leading critics to disparage it as generating proliferating absurdities.
What these texts expounded remains unknown today as none survive, but their frequent use of "Huangdi" in titles suggests they promoted mystical health practices attributed to medicine's progenitor to transcend mortality. That later practitioners conducted accessible techniques like daoyin and massage could be surmised from works such as *Huangdi Qibo’s Massage* in ten volumes.
The so-called golden elixir art—encompassing external methods using medicinal substances akin to European alchemy, and internal methods forming elixirs through mind-body discipline—they likely studied.
Texts like those from the Wei immortals' clan probably belonged to this lineage; practices like fetal breathing and daoyin transmitted to later eras also originated here. These were naturally incorporated by Taoist practitioners, transmitted among priests as secret rites over centuries, with Wei clan writings attaining status equal to Laozi's within Three Supplements by Song times.
Yet though breath regulation and daoyin were practiced by Taoists, and alchemy formed esoteric training aspects—despite extensive research and doctrinal interpretations absorbing them into Taoism—the religion's core elements remained absent.
Yuanshi Tianzun never appeared in alchemical secret texts.
Only when interpreting Yuanshi Tianzun as Primordial Nature, Limitless Void, or Great Dao could alchemical texts become Taoism's treasured essence—though this truth extends beyond Taoism itself, for religions always harbor perfectly integrated mysteries in their deepest recesses.

Contrary to common perception, separating Taoism from the Taoist school, cleaving apart the Taoist school and the school of immortals, and distancing Taoism from immortals may have seemed a fruitless endeavor. Yet when one sought to uncover Taoism’s true nature or articulate the realities of the Taoist school and immortalists, such distinctions arose naturally. This syncretic blending proved necessary for preserving Taoism’s influence—indeed, Taoism itself was founded upon such amalgamation. However, when rigorously analyzing Taoism, one inevitably had to insist upon the distinctions outlined above.
When examined externally, Taoism’s establishment as a religion dated from the Later Han Dynasty, while the formation of the Taoist and immortalist schools as distinct lineages had already occurred during the Former Han or earlier; thus naturally, this remained distinct from that.
Moreover, the cosmology and theology forming Taoism’s core were clearly separate from both the Taoist school and immortalist traditions—belonging rather to a category resembling Brahmanism. Thus even generously conceding a marital connection between Taoism and Huang-Lao/immortalist currents positing familial kinship would have been incorrect.

In any religion, rituals constituted a major element at its origin—this held true universally.
In other words, religion arose when primitive humans blindly projected their helpless emotions into the void upon witnessing revered or beloved beings pass from existence to nonexistence; or when they transcendentally perceived some unknowable entity beyond the bounds of finite knowledge in response to celestial phenomena, terrestrial upheavals, cosmic motions, or human transience—thereby invoking terror and awe; or when it emerged from condensed yearnings; or, more rarely, when it crystallized boundless desires into ideological forms fixated on an aspirational core. These impulses first took shape as ritual observances, then gradually developed into religions by clothing themselves in poetic didactic language as their outer form while harboring mysterious, unobstructed principles at their heart.
In this sense, it was not that religion existed first and its ritual ceremonies were subsequently established; rather, rituals existed first and religion was subsequently established.
Buddhism, being a regenerated religion—fermented from India’s native ancient religions—had initially possessed only theoretical creeds without ritual ceremonies in its primitive stage. Yet as evidence that religion and ritual forms remained inseparable, it later came to demonstrate ceremonial states of kowtowing and worship toward deities like Amitābha, Vairocana, Brahma, and an unseemly number of others.
Taoism, which originated in China, in this sense maintained an inseparable relationship with the objects of worship, spiritual essence, and ritual forms that had existed since ancient times in China.

From what did the concept of gods arise in China?
As I recorded in my "Divinity Studies," it likely stemmed from how ancient people felt awe upon witnessing lightning, but over time this developed into the established concept of deities, giving rise to those who served them: male shamans (xi), female shamans (wu), invocators (zhu), and ancestral priests (zong).
Nan Zhengzhong administered heaven; Huo Zhengli governed earth; Goulong, son of Gonggongshi, died and became the She shrine; Zhu of Lieshanshi died and became the Ji shrine; during Shun's era, the concepts of Shangdi and the Six Ancestors developed, leading to the worship of lofty mountains and great rivers and the recognition of multitudes of gods.
Mount Tai, Mount Heng (Hunan), Mount Hua, Mount Heng (Shanxi), and Mount Song became objects of veneration.
Later within Taoism, the reverence for strange objects resembling characters or paintings—such as the Five Peaks True Images—also originated from these ancient customs. Seasonal rituals were subsequently conducted at various sites: Mount Shanmao, Mount Dushan, the Yellow River, Gui, Fenghao, and Dumao (where they enshrined Lord Du—a human deified after being executed by King Xuan of Zhou). Among these, the rituals at Yong were said to have been particularly grandiose.
When the Han dynasty added the Black Emperor to the existing White, Green, Yellow, and Red Emperors, the Five Emperors' shrines were finally established.
Following the realm's pacification, they founded the Fen Yu Shrine commemorating Emperor Gaozu's origins and erected a shrine to Chi You in Chang'an.
Liang shamans were made to worship Heaven-Earth, Celestial She, Celestial Waters, Chamber Practices, and Hall Superiority; Jin shamans the Five Emperors, Lord of the East, Lord Amidst Clouds, Shamanic She, Shamanic Shrines, and Clan Fire Tenders; Qin shamans Lord Du and Shamanic Protector Clan Accumulations; Jing shamans Hall Inferiority, Primordial Shamans, Director of Destinies, and Grain Dispensations; Nine Heavens shamans the Nine Heavens; He shamans the River; Nanshan shamans Mount Nanshan and Qin Centrality—with Lingxing Shrines additionally established nationwide.
During Emperor Wen's reign, Yong's rituals expanded in grandeur.
When sightings of the Yellow Dragon occurred at Chengji, the Emperor journeyed to Yong to perform sacrifices personally.
In this emperor's time, Xin Yuanping's claim of a divine apparition northeast of Chang'an prompted construction of the Five Emperors Temple at Weiyang, culminating in imperial worship there.
Xin Yuanping became the first to gain fame through supernatural claims—and likewise the first to be executed for them. From Emperor Jing's reign through Emperor Wu's era, as affairs surrounding the Divine Lord emerged, swarms of charlatans suddenly appeared. Matters of worship and ritual combined with immortal elixirs and arcane remedies surged like billowing dust, plunging the Han world into confusion and bewilderment.

The Divine Lord was an extraordinary being whose voice could be heard but whose form could not be seen. A woman from Chōryō had died in childbirth; her spirit was said to have appeared—without perishing—to her brother’s wife Wanruo. Thus did Wanruo enshrine it. When people sought guidance from the Divine Lord to avoid calamity and pursue good fortune, it would answer them—its teachings proving accurate. Thus did worship of the Divine Lord gain prominence. The emperor’s maternal grandmother Princess Pingyuan too turned to this deity.

Princess Pingyuan—personal name Zang’er—came from a respectable lineage but had fallen into decline, becoming wife to one Wang Zhong by whom she bore a son and two daughters. After Zhong’s death, she took her three children and wed Tian instead. When she married her eldest daughter to a man named Jin, the daughter even bore a child.

This likely occurred around when Zang’er—lamenting her ill-fated circumstances—had her fortune divined by the Divine Lord. The pronouncement came: both daughters possessed splendid destinies. Thus resolved Zang’er to reclaim her auspicious daughter from Jin’s household—but Jin angrily refused consent.

Undeterred, she wrested her daughter away and installed her in the crown prince’s palace—far beyond Jin’s reach. There the daughter gained the crown prince’s favor and conceived. When that prince ascended as Emperor Jing, she bore a son who had received an auspicious dream from heaven.

Who became this boy? None other than Emperor Wu—most illustrious ruler of Han-dynasty China, reigning during its zenith. How could Princess Pingyuan—now imperial grandmother—neglect the Divine Lord who had prophesied this miraculous fate? Small wonder she conducted lavish rites enshrining the deity deep within palace sanctums.

When Emperor Wu assumed sovereignty, Han Yan reported a half-sister sired by different fathers existed within the Jin clan. The forthright emperor diverted his carriage to Changling’s market district, apprehended his astonished sister, and conveyed her to Changle Palace where they paid respects to their mother—a scene of mingled tears where sorrow and joy flowed freely before granting her noble station.

This sister’s lineage, being relatives of the Empress Dowager, returned to dominate the capital.
Given these circumstances, it was not difficult to imagine how astonishingly widespread the veneration of supernatural phenomena had become among all levels of society at that time.
Moreover, it was beyond dispute that within Emperor Wu himself flowed Zang’er’s blood and sensibilities, and that there lurked a sentiment compelling him to acknowledge the extraordinary reality before his eyes.
Since the sister of Emperor Wu’s mother also gained Emperor Hui’s favor and became the mother of several kings, the teachings of the Divine Lord proved effective.
While Ban’s History attributes Princess Pingyuan’s retrieval of her daughter from the Jin clan and presentation to the palace as originating solely through divination—contrary to my assertion—I, upon inferring the contextual circumstances, believe it was necessarily accomplished through the words of the Divine Lord rather than mere divination.
The trend among all levels of Han society to venerate the supernatural indeed originated from matters concerning the Divine Lord; thus, I elaborated at length.

After the Divine Lord affair had been widely promoted throughout the land, Li Shaojun soon emerged.
Li Shaojun—a retainer of the former Marquis of Shenze who practiced alchemical methods—concealed his age and birthplace while claiming to repel aging through spirit manipulation. Though revered among feudal lords during his travels, his reputation solidified when at Marquis Wu'an's residence he accurately described hunting grounds frequented by a nonagenarian guest's late father—a verification that left attendees marveling at his seemingly ageless nature. Later, during an imperial audience, his precise identification of an ancient bronze vessel's origins cemented his image as a centuries-old sage.
This Shaojun advocated worshiping alchemical stoves, cinnabar transmutation into gold, and methods for encountering immortals—ultimately beguiling Emperor Wu into stove veneration and transcendence pursuits.
Though stove worship predated him, Shaojun's era saw its rituals evolve toward what would become the Stove Lord's devout cult.
The Divine Lord's disembodied voice—a common sorcerer's trick using throat projections—nonetheless gained credence; even recent Korean practitioners employing this ruse caused stirs, suggesting its ancient persuasive power.
Shaojiun's methods likely involved clever trickery rather than true marvels, yet their execution demonstrated remarkable ingenuity.
This Li Shaojun appears as ninth in Taoist succession within *Seven Bamboo Tablets of the Cloudy Satchel*, a Song-era text.
Zhang Ling's sixth-generation placement preceding Shaojun merely arouses occasional suspicion—exposing succession claims' fragility—while absorbing non-Taoist figures like Shaojun reveals the religion's syncretic origins and self-mythologizing tendencies.
When Shaojun died conventionally without exposed fraud, the Son of Heaven deemed it transcendent departure, entrusting his teachings to Huang Chui and Shi Kuanshu.
His imperial favor spurred Yan-Qi region fangshi practitioners into competitive self-promotion.

Miu Ki promoted Taiyi.
According to his claims, Taiyi was the most exalted among the heavenly deities, and the Five Emperors—already revered until then—were said to be Taiyi’s assistants. The Son of Heaven adopted this proposal and had Taiyi enshrined.
The concept of Taiyi—akin to a waystation on the path from polytheism toward monotheism—was not unreasonably embraced in its time; yet Taiyi itself seemed not fundamentally different from Shangdi as conceived in early Zhou.
However, once theories of Five Virtues and Five Phases gained currency—with successive dynasties from Xia through Han inheriting realms through specific virtues—the celestial emperors became increasingly associated with directional colors: white, blue, yellow, red. This culminated in establishing Five Emperors; Taiyi was likely introduced as their supreme ruler.
The Five Phases theory originated from *Hongfan*—a Yin-era text—which merely deemed sustained balance of phases acceptable while attributing deviations to immorality; it did not yet advocate cyclical generation/overcoming concepts. From late Zhou onward—around Zou Yan’s time—the theory transformed into doctrines of mutually generating/overcoming Virtues: Xia with Wood conquering Xia through Metal, Zhou with Fire overcoming Shang, Qin with Water prevailing over Zhou.
Yet being conjectural contradictions arose—Gongsun Chen’s Han-as-Earth-Virtue versus Chancellor Zhang Cang’s Han-as-Water-Virtue.
As Five Phases theory permeated Han thought—governance to medicine—Taiyi inevitably emerged as both cyclical principle governing phases and sovereign over Five Emperors.
Though records credit Miu Ki with promoting Taiyi, prior foundations must have existed for acceptance—verification remains elusive today, but Taiyi-like concepts likely predated him.
One might conjecture its existence among physicians and fangshi.
When correlating Five Phases with organs, Five Emperors resembled visceral deities while Taiyi occupied a cerebral position.
Later when Emperor Wu fell ill, Youshui Fagen emerged claiming Shou Palace’s supreme deity was Taiyi—assisted by Taikin with Siming subordinates—yet this Taiyi seemed both distinct from and identical to Miu Ki’s.
Taiyi—like Wanruo’s Divine Lord—could be heard but not seen, speaking humanlike voices.
Taiyi from Miu Ki was enshrined southeast Chang’an; Taiyi from Fagen at Ganquan Palace—clearly distinct entities differentiated by proximity: one beyond human hearing range, another discussing mundane matters despite shamanic ties.
Han histories likely differentiated them as 泰一/太一 characters though etymologically identical—shared nomenclature suggesting shared essence.
Taiyi/Taiyi remain abstract concepts: whether *Rites*’ ritual-foundation Taiyi, *Zhuangzi*’s governance-through-nonbeing Taiyi, Qu Yuan’s Donghuang Taiyi star-deity, or *Astronomy Treatise*’s Celestial Pole resident—all uncertain.
One might conjecture Taiyi emerged from merging Celestial Pole’s Taiyi star with cosmic-axis symbolism.
In Taoism, the Big Dipper governs lifespans with abundant related scriptures.
Similarly celestial stars were analogized to human statuses—then deified as abstract forces—then personified in folk legends; none were uncommon.

Even Taiyi during Emperor Wu’s time remained simply Taiyi; yet by the late Western Han, a legend emerged that when Liu Xiang was collating texts in the Tianlu Pavilion, an old man appeared one night. Leaning on a green millet staff, he ascended to the pavilion, blew on the tip of his staff to ignite smoke, commanded Xiang to open the pavilion, bestowed upon him the Five Phases and *Hongfan*, and departed at dawn, declaring, “I am the essence of Taiyi.”

Legends often serve as playthings for the ignorant and thus warrant little mention; yet contemplating this tale, one might suspect the old man differed from Miu Ki’s so-called Taiyi—though he seemed aligned with the stellar Taiyi.

In any event, Taiyi was profoundly venerated during the Western Han Dynasty—though regrettably, its true nature remains obscure.

This likely stemmed from contemporary trends—texts titled “Taiyi and Such” undeniably existed during the Han period; unfortunately, all are now lost, leaving their contents unknown. However, the Yin-Yang School possessed one volume titled *Taiyi Military Strategy*.

The Yin-Yang School constituted a military tradition formulating theories through the mutual overcoming of the Five Phases.

Astronomers held twenty-eight volumes titled *Miscellaneous Stars of Taiyi*.

The Five Phases School maintained *Taiyi Yin-Yang* in twenty-three volumes and *Taiyi* in twenty-nine volumes.

The Immortalist School preserved twenty-two volumes titled *Miscellaneous Methods of Fifteen Taiyi Schools*.

Miscellaneous Diviners possessed twenty-two volumes titled *Taiyi Zazihousui*.

Whether these texts preceded and inspired Taiyi’s veneration, or whether Taiyi’s cult generated these writings—or perhaps both interacted like sunlight and heat-haze composing spring’s warmth—one cannot hastily judge; yet the profound connection between doctrinal exposition and worship remains unmistakable.

Moreover, it is abundantly evident that alongside faith in Taiyi, shamans and invocators dramatically expanded their authority and influence.

Meanwhile, other schools of techniques—akin to what we now call *mesmerism* or *hypnotism*—or else Shao Weng of Qi, through deception, made Emperor Wu behold his deceased beauty Lady Li and a stove ghost before his very eyes. This incited the delusional belief that he could commune with the divine, thereby gaining the emperor’s profound trust.
That Emperor Wu glimpsed his deceased Lady Li between truth and illusion became immortalized in the *"Is It Her? Is It Not?"* song and reached its zenith as a motif of ethereal beauty amid cultural refinement. Yet all supernatural phenomena from Emperor Wu’s era onward surged across the realm with seismic force, their veneration’s purpose diverging inherently from that of the Xia, Yin, and Zhou dynasties. To praise this shift as progress would not be unfounded; to censure it would reveal how the ancient, unadorned reverence toward Heaven now overflowed sideways—a society groping blindly to thrust forceful hands toward transcendent paragons and supreme beings. The outcome? They ended up losing certain elements of antiquity without gaining anything new in return.
And so the rituals of faith from antiquity were lost in their turn, persisting only faintly in a corner of society as impoverished hollow texts on the Confucian side.
The categories of scribes, invocators, and shamans recorded in the *Zhouguan* gradually preserved their names while losing their substance; later, with the rise of what is called Taoism, all their actual duties were gathered into the hands of so-called Taoist priests, the famous mountains and great rivers were entrusted to Taoist priests, the duties of revering Heaven also became domains claimed by Taoist priests, until all matters pertaining to ancient scribes and shamans flowed into Taoism.
In other words, China’s ancient ritual traditions—having caused great expansion and great confusion during the Han dynasty’s zenith, then losing their direction—encountered the torrential influx of Buddhism’s arrival during this disarray. What arose from this collision was Taoism: this peculiar school, into whose current everything that had existed before was swept and left adrift.
Even if one were to isolate and scrutinize the myriad elements within Taoism, it would be unreasonable to expect clarity on its fundamental origin or essential nature—for it was never more than a single current flowing onward, within which drift all manner of China’s ancient thoughts, rituals, legends, and customs. To call this confluence Taoism would not be amiss.
When considered as institutions, religions are likely all such in nature.
Even Christianity, though a distinguished school in its own right, can hardly deny that within it flow various elements from preceding eras.
Can we truly deny that Buddhism too contains various elements flowing from before Shakyamuni’s time?
Just as a great river inevitably forms distributaries when entering the sea, in the end, any religion will inevitably give rise to sects.
The same holds true for Christianity and Buddhism; Taoism is no exception.
A religion can only truly be a religion when it is pure and unadulterated, yet such purity may exist within the subjective experience of individual believers—it often proves difficult for observers standing on elevated riverbanks surveying its currents to discern.
This is especially true in Taoism.

When avoiding abstract discussions and instead viewing Taoism’s origins factually, objectively, and historically, its earliest form—undoubtedly the school later designated as Zhengyi—was both the oldest and most influential, forming the trunk and occupying the center; thus, examining the rise of this Zhengyi school became most appropriate.
When Buddhism and Taoism came to mutually despise and attack each other, even observing that Buddhists targeted the Zhengyi school made it clearly understood as Taoism’s main bastion.
The exact time when the name “Zhengyi school” emerged remains unclear; it was likely a designation adopted after other sects arose, as no trace of it appears in ancient times.
In essence, this sect formed Taoism’s foundation—that is to say, Taoism should be recognized as having arisen from this origin.
Their founder was Zhang Ling.
Throughout the Western and Eastern Han dynasties, numerous so-called fangshi practitioners existed, but they were all self-righteous individuals. Though they might occasionally assist people, none dared undertake the salvation of the masses—in other words, they were not religious figures.
When it came to Zhang Ling, he claimed to have attained the Dao himself and proclaimed teachings to the people.
Ling’s courtesy name was said to be Daoling.
It is said he sojourned in Shu, though his registered domicile was likely Pei—this remains uncertain.
He reportedly resided on Crane-Cry Mountain in Shu, practiced austere discipline, and upon receiving a manifestation from Laozi, attained enlightenment.
While Laozi is now regarded as Taoism’s pillar and chief of immortals, during the Western Han period, those who followed his Dao revered him only as Confucian scholars did Confucius—it bore no resemblance to Buddhist worship of Shakyamuni.
With the Immortal Way’s emergence, worship initially centered on figures like the Yellow Emperor; yet imperceptibly, they came to deify Laozi as an immortal.
Yet traces suggest figures like Xianmenzi received greater reverence as immortals than Laozi.
As years passed, in Emperor Huan of Later Han’s eighteenth year, authorities dispatched a Palace Attendant to Ku County to enshrine Laozi; the following year’s imperial worship likely marked the first deification.
While immortal deeds often seem absurd and mist-shrouded, Laozi—being a figure of distinguished history and writings—naturally attracted profound reverence when deified; by this period, he had gradually acquired the aura of a central deity.
Considering Zhang Ling’s claim of receiving Laozi’s manifestation makes clear this occurred during late Later Han.
Though Zhang Ling’s own writings prove difficult to specify today, he reportedly authored texts and instructed people afterward.
The era of Ling’s rise saw misgovernment plague the people as Later Han’s fate grew precarious.
While Yellow Turban rebel Zhang Jiao rose in February of Zhongping’s first year, Zhang Xiu—believed affiliated with Ling’s clan—revolted in Ba Commandery that July; thus Ling’s teachings predated these events.
The Yellow Turban rebels fielded 360,000 troops upon revolting; thus they had undoubtedly accumulated power long beforehand.

The Yellow Turbans proclaimed themselves “Yellow Heaven,” and as evidenced by their unit leaders all donning yellow headscarves as a unifying emblem, they clearly revered the Yellow Emperor. They rallied under the banner of bringing his sage governance into the present era, rising up precisely when Han virtue had already declined.
The people’s gasping hardship in daily life formed the root cause of these circumstances, and Zhang Jiao propagated a kind of visionary—or perhaps idealistic—teaching among the ignorant populace, gaining their faith before rising to prominence.
Zhang Ling likely preceded Zhang Jiao chronologically, but it was in Shu that he gradually consolidated his influence.
Zhang Ling’s son was Zhang Heng; Zhang Heng’s son was Zhang Lu; and by Lu’s time, they had amassed formidable influence in Hanzhong and Bashu.
Ling’s teachings reportedly had followers recite Laozi’s Five Thousand Characters in the manner of Buddhist sutra chanting; thus, they primarily aimed to have the uneducated obtain benefits arising from faith-based elements rather than intellectual comprehension.
When people suffering from afflictions, illnesses, or calamities sought salvation, Ling’s teachings first made them sit in a quiet room, reflect on the sins they had committed up to that point, study Laozi’s texts, and then compose three repentance documents inscribed with their names.
They would then post one copy on a mountain to report it to the Celestial Official, bury one copy in the earth to report it to the Terrestrial Official, and sink one copy in water to report it to the Aquatic Official.
These were called the Three Officials, and even in later periods, these Three Officials—as entities discerning with penetrating insight the good and evil of human actions—constituted the doctrinal and admonitory core of Taoist faith.
The religious hierarchy was structured thus: the Master Teacher served as leader; new initiates were called “Demon Soldiers”; those with accumulated practice became Ritual Officers—each commanding their own followers to propagate teachings. Those overseeing larger groups were designated Governors or High Ritual Officers. Unwavering sincerity and integrity were prioritized; offenders were required to confess without concealing guilt. Transgressors were permitted up to three violations, with absolute compliance to Ritual Officers’ directives mandated for all.
Those who received the Dao initially contributed five pecks of rice; upon approval, they became members. The Ritual Officers established facilities called Charity Houses, supervised them, allowed anyone to lodge there, provided only necessary meals, prohibited taking more than needed, and stipulated that those who greedily took excess would receive the Dao’s punishment. All matters were handled through the Ritual Officers’ methods without relying on government officials.

Though documentation was scarce and precise details remained unclear, speculation and thorough consideration revealed they had established an organization strikingly similar to contemporary Soviet methods—with one key difference: while *those* merely discarded religious bonds without offering psychological governance substitutes, the Five Pecks of Rice movement cast off Confucian constraints to place people in a state predating benevolence, righteousness, laws, or governance—a realm of Laozi’s non-action and simplicity. With the Three Officials discerning human virtue and vice, they admonished against wrongdoing: “If you commit transgressions, repent immediately; do not conceal them long in secrecy.” By imparting religious creeds such as “The Ritual Officers will pray for you, saving you from darkness to bathe in light,” they extended governance into the psychological realm itself.

This clearly infringed upon state sovereignty itself, hence their branding as “Five Pecks of Rice Bandits.” However, during the late Han period—with governmental authority slackened and local officials mired in corruption, indolence, or short-sighted appeasement—suppressing this movement proved impossible. Gradually their influence expanded, making it hardly surprising that increasing numbers came to rely on them.

The Yellow Turban rebels shared broad similarities with minor differences—while Zhang Ling’s lineage arose in the west, Zhang Jiao’s faction emerged in the east.

Zhang Jiao’s faction was named the Way of Great Peace (Taiping Dao).

Though people likely perceived Zhang Jiao as having gained followers through sorcery, he actually advocated achieving Great Peace through religious governance while conducting shamanistic prayers for illnesses and poverty. His novel social organization—professing adherence to the Yellow Emperor—drew increasing popular reliance. Its abrupt suppression likely precipitated turmoil and incident.

Otherwise, how could 360,000 people have suddenly rebelled simultaneously as recorded—“rising in revolt on the same day”?

While Zhang Jiao’s deeds remain obscure in extant records, the *Taiping Jing*—sharing its name with his movement—survives as a text attributed to immortal Yu Ji. Examination reveals rustic prose with doctrines largely unremarkable save for endorsing polygamy (one husband with two wives). Broadly, it expounds that humans must acknowledge divine beings’ existence and scrutiny in all realms while avoiding transgressions to live in purity—interpretable as advocating governance through non-interference over civil administration or legalism.

That the *Taiping Jing* discusses governance rather than immortalist secrets was noted even by Ge Hong of Jin-era immortalist circles. While lost sections’ contents remain unknown, trusting extant portions remains reasonable.

Considering this, Yu Ji was no mere mist-and-dew-consuming immortal but a religious figure whose popular worship infringed upon Wu’s Sun Ce’s authority—likely prompting his execution by that heroic youth.

Though *Jiangbiao Zhuan* and *Soushen Ji* record differing execution circumstances, both agree multitudes abandoning Sun Ce for Yu Ji provoked the killing. Given how Yu Ji’s teachings made people value him above their masters, Sun Ce would have deemed this unavoidable.

Yu Ji likely connected to Zhang Jiao’s Way of Great Peace.

Zhang Jiao—as recorded in *Wu Zhi* declaring “We entrust ourselves to divine spirits, dispatch Eight Envoys to instruct all under heaven through virtue”—undoubtedly emerged as a religious-social reformer during societal decline. His “Yellow Heaven and Great Peace” slogan invoked both the Yellow Emperor (supreme object of Han-era divine veneration) and yearning for antiquity’s simple governance as peace’s path.

The late Han’s so-called demon rebels—Luo Yao in Sanfu, Zhang Jiao eastward, and Hanzhong’s Zhang clan—all combined miraculous-religious elements with popular livelihood struggles and social reorganization desires. Reckless oppression and fervor intertwined, ultimately overthrowing Han rule.

Luo Yao’s “Mianni Method” remains obscure but resembled Taiping Dao and Five Pecks of Rice Dao as described.

The Taiping Dao erupted into Yellow Turban rebels while Five Pecks adherents were temporarily branded bandits. However, arising in remote Hanzhong-Chuan-Shu regions spared them annihilation. Their religious elements endured long-term; though waning in power, they retain Longhu Mountain headquarters today—continuing unbroken since late Han times with leaders periodically revered as Celestial Masters wielding spiritual authority.

Even if Zhang Ling had become a true immortal, he was fundamentally a man of the Later Han—not someone predating figures like Shaojun or Luan Da of the Former Han.
Since he was said to have become an immortal in the end, his demise remains fundamentally unclear; yet slanderers claim he was devoured by a tiger in the deep mountains.
However, Ling had both a respectable wife and a son named Heng; even if he had been devoured by a tiger, his family would have appropriately covered it up—thus insisting on such claims was foolish.
According to Buddhist accounts, they not only established systems of charity houses and communal food but also instituted the principle of "Hunyuan" regarding relations between men and women, granting the populace great marital freedom.
If this indeed permitted unrestricted intermarriage as claimed, then it would have been truly Soviet-like—and perhaps even welcomed by some.
Later Buddhists denounced these practices as the "Three Zhangs' obscene arts," though the actual facts remain unknown.
Whether this was truly so remains uncertain; one might conjecture they simply discarded the rigid shackles of Confucian marital rituals through rough simplification.
Alternatively, they may have strictly enforced uncomplicated libertinism—I have no desire to investigate.
After all, these are ancient matters with insufficient historical records.
As for historical records themselves, their accounts prove quite dubious. While the *Wei Zhi* states Zhang Ling's son was Heng and Heng's son was Lu—constituting one historical account—this differs from the *Book of Later Han*, which mentions Zhang Xiu of Ba Commandery rebelling while citing Liu Ai's *Records*. The *Dian Lue* also references this Zhang Xiu—undoubtedly a key Five Pecks of Rice figure—yet Pei Songzhi's commentary in the *Wei Zhi* asserts this Zhang Xiu should be identified as Zhang Heng.
However, the main text of *Records of Wei* states that Liu Yan, Governor of Yizhou, appointed Lu (Zhang Lu) as Supervisor of Righteousness Sima and had him lead troops alongside Separate Department Sima Zhang Xiu to attack Su Gu, Governor of Hanzhong—whereupon Lu ambushed and killed Xiu, seizing his forces.
Whether this Separate Department Sima Zhang Xiu and the Five Pecks of Rice's Zhang Xiu were distinct individuals remains profoundly unclear.
If Five Pecks of Rice's Zhang Xiu was indeed Zhang Heng, then Zhang Lu would have killed his own father.
If Zhang Xiu was neither Zhang Heng nor related to Zhang Lu but merely a Five Pecks member, then their relationship's nature equally defies clarification.
Though Chen Shou's history carries poor repute, it sorely lacks clarity.
Chinese historians rooted in Confucian perspectives proved remarkably indifferent to religious matters and reluctant to document them—a failing extending even to Japan, where Confucian-compiled histories scarcely dared record Buddhist affairs regardless of significance.
Thus relying on China's official histories makes discerning such religious phenomena's true nature exceedingly difficult.

However, the existence of a figure named Zhang Xiu is presumably factual.
And that was presumably a collateral branch of Zhang Ling’s family, which also held influence within the Five Pecks of Rice movement; interpreting that Zhang Lu killed them and incorporated their followers into his own faction would not be a major mistake.
Taking advantage of the chaos at the end of the Han dynasty, Zhang Lu thus gradually achieved greatness through these means.
Liu Yan died, and his son Liu Zhang succeeded him.
Zhang Lu, possessing the backing of sectarian followers and having gained actual power, did not obey Liu Zhang’s commands.
As a result, Liu Zhang captured Zhang Lu’s mother and family members and killed them.
Relations between Liu and Zhang were severed.
Zhang Lu finally established independence in Hanzhong and, through the Way of the Five Pecks of Rice, effectively formed a cohesive group—one might say constructing something akin to a state—and came to hold sway over Hanzhong and Bashu for thirty years.
With Later Han’s governance having completely slackened and the imperial court powerless to rectify it, they resorted to an age-old Chinese-style policy: ultimately granting Lu the office of General Who Pacifies the People, appointing him Governor of Hanning, and deeming it sufficient to merely accept his tribute.
The late-era government, which deemed expedient politics wise, invariably adopted such measures when dealing with powerful figures.
Thus, when someone finally unearthed a jade seal from the earth and presented it, Lu’s subordinates reached the point of seeking to honor him as King of Hanning. However, upon heeding the counsel of a man named Yan Pu, Lu refrained from assuming kingship. This was truly a commendable achievement for Lu, who bore religious responsibilities.
Such was the extent of Lu’s power at that time.
Thus when Zhuge Kongming discussed the realm's situation with Liu Xuande before emerging from his thatched cottage, he stated: "Yizhou possesses impregnable fortresses and a thousand li of fertile land - truly the Land of Abundance. Gaozu founded his imperial enterprise here. Liu Zhang is inept and weak; Zhang Lu lurks in the north. Though the people prosper and the state grows wealthy, they know not how to cherish this."
In advising Xuande to establish himself in Jingzhou and Yizhou by saying such things, he had also factored Zhang Lu into his calculations.
In Zhuge Liang’s strategic calculus, the power of Zhang Lu—counted alongside Cao Cao, Sun Quan, and Liu Zhang—was truly not to be underestimated.
During the rebellion of Han Sui and Ma Chao, tens of thousands of people from west of the pass fled through the Ziwu Valley to settle and establish households within Zhang Lu’s domain, and Lu’s influence was something that could not be disregarded.
At this time, Cao Cao had already established his daughter as the Emperor’s Empress and was poised to dominate all under heaven through both prestige and military might.
After quelling Han Sui’s rebellion and driving out Ma Chao, the major obstacle before Cao Cao was Zhang Lu.
In Jian'an 20 [215 CE], Cao Cao personally led a large army out from Sanguan Pass to subjugate Zhang Lu.
When Cao’s troops reached Yangping Pass, Zhang—being a man of such character that he had restrained himself from assuming kingship—sought to surrender all of Hanzhong, but his brother Wei would not consent.

Wei led tens of thousands alongside Yang Ang and others to construct fortifications spanning over ten li across mountains and valleys, confronting Cao Cao's forces and denying them any tactical advantage.
Though Cao Cao initially considered withdrawal after failing to achieve victory, Zhang Lu's militarily inexperienced troops ultimately created their own fatal opening and suffered devastating defeat.
Following these developments, Lu fled to Nanshan and entered Bazhong.
At that critical juncture, while Lu's retainers sought to burn the treasure warehouses to prevent enemy capture, Lu instead sealed them intact, declaring they were not his personal property.
Cao Cao—ever the shrewd strategist—recognized Lu's character and calculated that relentless pursuit would only breed future conflict; he therefore dispatched envoys to negotiate Lu's surrender.
Lu subsequently emerged with his family to submit. Cao Cao received him with ceremonial honors, appointing him General Who Pacifies the South and enfeoffing him as Marquis of Langzhong with a fief of ten thousand households. He further granted marquisates to Lu's five sons and Yan Pu while arranging his own son Pengzu's marriage to one of Lu's daughters to cement political ties.
These measures reveal both the formidable power base Zhang Lu had cultivated in Hanzhong and Cao Cao's pragmatic assessment that such conciliatory treatment constituted the wisest course.

After Zhang Lu’s death, his son Fu succeeded him. From Fu onward, they prospered continuously and enduringly—far outlasting Wei and Shu—persisting through the Tang, Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties down to the present day. Though the surnames of those holding national sovereignty changed numerous times over the ages, they eventually relocated to Longhu Mountain in Xinzhou during an intermediate period. There, much like Hongan-ji in our country, they occupy a peerless position as Taoism’s central institution.
This constitutes the circumstances surrounding the establishment period of the Zhengyi School, Taoism's foundational institution.
When considering its origins, Taoism did not merely spread through society as a religion alone; its foundation lay in establishing a model for organizing public life distinct from Confucian norms. Figures like Zhang Jiao, Yu Ji, and Luo Yao either perished or—in the case of those fortunate enough to encounter Cao Cao, who grasped their significance—escaped extermination. Over time, only the religious elements persisted, ultimately forming within secular society a cohesive group: so-called Taoist practitioners who lived a life neither fully secular nor monastic, akin to Buddhist clergy.

Regarding the various Taoist sects that emerged later, there were indeed many matters to discuss—and moreover, their interest was all the more abundant precisely because they arose during progressive eras—but since this was by no means something that could be accomplished in a single morning or evening, I shall set it aside for now.

(May 1933)