3.1 Karmic Duties

An Shigao (安世高, second century CE) is commonly known as one of the first translators of Buddhist texts who conducted seminal work regarding the initial establishment of Buddhism in China. In contrast, the SSZ introduces us to the dense network of miracle tales surrounding this famous figure. The bits and pieces of these stories do not necessarily link well and leave blanks in the narration the logic of which has to be reconstructed by the reader’s imagination. While this first leaves the reader with a puzzling reading experience, a search for semantic markers in the narration proves revealing: The whole narration is less concerned with relating An Shigao’s biography than fascinated by how he is able to act in accordance with his own karmic burden. The witness to his actions transforms into a sincere proselyte of the Buddhist dharma, spreading insights into the mechanisms of the law of cause and effect.

In the SSZ, An Shigao is depicted as a Parthian prince with a promising childhood, who is knowledgeable about the interpretation of the sounds of birds and animals. On arriving in China in the second century, he stayed in the North for about twenty years, learned Chinese, and accomplished wonders. The biography then narrates a loosely framed story of his previous existence. Living as a monk in China, with an ugly, hot-tempered fellow monk, he is finally beheaded by a little boy due to bad karma. In his ensuing life as a Parthian prince, he travels south after serving at the court as a translator. Next to a lake, he meets this former fellow, who is now a god in the form of a huge python, and helps him to obtain a better rebirth. He travels to the place where he was beheaded in his previous life and the now-adult individual who beheaded him finances his travels to the North, where he is again killed. The boy of yore witnesses the mechanics of karma for the second time and spreads the Buddhist teaching from then onward.

The biography as it is narrated in the SSZ contains five instances of yi 異. In the first and second instance, it forms part of a compound, yishu 異術 and junyi zhi sheng 雋異之聲, referring to various magico-mantic arts and An Shigao’s extraordinary fame. In the fourth instance, it forms part of a direct speech by the temple god, who states that no one can help but fear his ugly, “strange” appearance. In the third and fifth instances, the semantic marker concludes an episode. In his former life, An Shigao willingly stretches out his neck to be beheaded. The little boy kills him: “Onlookers filled the streets and there was nobody who was not scared by his bizarre [behavior]” (觀者填陌莫不駭其奇異, 949a10). The biography concludes with An Shigao visiting the boy who killed him, now an adult, who finances his travel and witnesses An Shigao’s accidental death when he becomes involved in a brawl. Through this event, the individual witnesses for the second time the workings of karma and begins to study the Buddhist teaching. The story concludes: “Far and near one heard and knew it. There was nobody who was not full of admiration (tanyi 歎異) at that” (遠近聞知莫不歎異焉, 949b10).

The semantically close reading reveals that sentences expressing the audience’s admiration do not occur arbitrarily in this narration. The biography of An Shigao is actually centered around expressing the mechanics of karma through another person’s witnessing. This message is supported by the careful choice of language.

In the biographies, it is not only with regard to their own karma that monks take sudden actions: Another biography tells of an old man feeling scared by the “strange” behavior of the monk Fahui 法慧 (fourth century CE, 954b27 ff.). Fahui suddenly recognizes that the old man is about to die and aims to rescue him, probably to free him from his karmic burden. He enters a field and asks the man for his ox, which he denies. The monk then simply takes the ox, frightening the old man: “Fahui stepped forward and grabbed the nose of the ox. The old man was scared at his unusual [behavior] and finally gave it to him” (慧前自捉牛鼻。公懼其異。遂以施之. 954c1–2). Fahui walks alongside the ox and murmurs a mantra, taking seven steps back and forth, then giving the ox back to the old man, who dies a few days later. How far this interaction is beneficial to the old man remains a mystery and the story is full of allusions. The monk’s interaction with the intention of supposedly rescuing an old, dying man from his karmic burden remains unintelligible to the audience and results in him being scared by the monk’s “strange” (yi) behavior. The monk is obviously living according to an insight into karmic reality that remains hidden and frightening to the general public.

3.2 Mechanics of Success

The SSZ’s narrations include a large variety of passages in which monks give advice and foretell the future. Personal, social, political, and military topics are covered; rulers, examination candidates for officialdom, but also ordinary people are involved, and the monks might predict spontaneously or apply a huge, seemingly arbitrary, variety of divinatory methods in their counseling. One of these stories develops from the tension between the extraordinary (yi 異) and astonishment and doubt (yi 疑), revealing a sophisticated knowledge that is untouched by karmic considerations. According to this knowledge, success in official examinations came to the candidate Zheng Fuli 鄭復禮.

The biography of the monk Hongdao 弘道 (around 800 CE) is taken from the Taiping guangji 太平廣記 (Extensive Records of the Taiping Era, 976–983), one of the four great books (Song si da shu 宋四大書) of the Northern Song (960–1126); this work contains a wealth of stories from various periods of Chinese history and forms a kind of encyclopedia of supernatural, but not exclusively Buddhist, events. Throughout the narration, the monk Hongdao plays a peripheral role. The passage is concerned with the official Zheng Fuli, who incessantly tries to pass higher official examinations to promote his career. Upon request, Hongdao hesitantly reveals the complicated conditions under which he will pass (including an examination officer in charge of the examinations in two subsequent years and surnames in certain positions on the list of successful examinees), plunging Zheng Fuli into astonishment and doubt. In the course of the story, the conditions hold true and the oscillation between the prophecy’s complexity and the amazed official’s testing of it, sitting the examinations each year regardless, make up the narrative structure.

At first, Hongdao is hesitant to reveal the conditions necessary for the official to pass the exam: “This matter is extraordinary, I cannot talk about it” (然其事頗異不可言也, 1005c10–11), he states, denying the request. Zheng Fuli continues to press him. Hongdao forbids him from passing the information on and outlines the conditions. Zheng Fuli looks at him in astonishment and is unable to accept them (鄭愕視不可喻, 1005c14–15). Hongdao begins by enumerating the four conditions and marking them as “special” (亦可以為異矣, 1005c16–17). Zheng Fuli is discouraged after hearing them: “Despite [this explanation], Zheng Fuli was full of doubt [yi 疑] about what [Hongdao] had said and felt depressed and without joy. He was sure that again there was no hope for him. He thanked him respectfully and departed” (鄭雖大疑其說 然鬱鬱不樂 以為無復望也 敬謝而退, 1005c20–21). After the conditions were unfulfilled the next time, Zheng Fuli doubts that he will pass (意甚疑之果不 中第, 1005c23). The following time, the situation seems favorable for Zheng Fuli, who secretly rejoices, and indeed passes the exams to the next higher level. Zheng is “respectfully astonished” for a long time (鄭奇歎且久, 1005c26). He participates numerous times in vain. Finally, the conditions are again fulfilled, and he is successful in the examinations. The women of the family begin wondering how this can be true (豈其然乎, 1006a6). Hongdao is no longer present at this time. The narration concludes with the emperor’s son-in-law passing the examinations just as the same four highly unlikely conditions are fulfilled. The narration stresses the reliability of Hongdao’s prediction (弘道所說無差焉, 1006a10).

The oscillation between amazement and doubt drives the plot of this narrative, and structures the biography. The story is less concerned with Hongdao as a person than with the astonishment that a highly sophisticated, fourfold conditioning holds true which, in itself, seems to lack any deeper rationale and also does not show any signs of Buddhist content, despite the fact that the counselor is a Buddhist monk. The compiler is obviously convinced by Buddhism’s strength regardless of the fact that the complex knowledge about examination success does not relate to Buddhism, but mastered to perfection by a Buddhist monk.

An Shigao and Fahui showed insights into the workings of cause and effect with regard to their own and others’ lives. While their minds were set on freeing themselves and others from unfavorable forms of rebirth and were finally concerned with enlightenment, Hongdao’s counseling has the direct aim of examination success. Hongdao has insights into its mechanics. The exam candidate is well prepared and whether he passes or not depends on a complex combination of conditions that are beyond his control. The monk reveals these conditions, which seem impossible to modify. The mechanics function independently of whether the candidate believes in or doubts them. Zheng Fuli, together with the reader, seems to take the role of an observer: He participates in the exams continuously and witnesses the repeated verification and reliability of the prediction. This process adds trust in Hongdao’s knowledge. As in the case of An Shigao, the reader is to become convinced while moving through the story. There is no single moment of conversion or insight; instead, a gradual process of growing trust is built up through the narration. The conviction of the existence of a hidden complex conditioning according to which the world works is created for the reader through Zheng Fuli’s lifelong and painful examination experience. The slowly growing conviction is caused by the knowledge of a Buddhist monk. The knowledge itself is in line with the generally shared Chinese cosmological assumption of correlation and an organic harmony, which Needham has characterized as a “correlative cosmology”: All beings are “part in a hierarchy of wholes forming a cosmic pattern, and what they obeyed were the internal dictates of their own natures.”¹⁵ Hongdao is able to understand his client’s situation as part of the dense network of conditions in which it is embedded. Whether things work out or not depends on a multitude of conditions, the interdependency of which is central to Chinese cosmological thinking.

3.3 Moments of Surprise

Yi’s position in the text does not always reveal the structure of the whole narration, as it does in the cases of An Shigao and Hongdao. Moments of surprise often shape single episodes, and it is in these passages that life seems less fated and sincerity in one’s concerns can lead to a change in situation, according to the principle of stimulus-response.

The impact of sincerity is most obvious when the emperor asks Kang Senghui (third century CE) to prove the power and authenticity of Buddhism. He does so by promising that his sincere and ritually framed petitioning will make a relic appear. To emphasize his sincerity, he is willing to be executed alongside his disciples if he should fail. As nothing happens until the last moment, the participants become afraid (莫不震懼, 949c12). Finally, the relic materializes suddenly. The emperor is full of respect and stands up in surprise, interpreting the materialization as an auspicious omen (權肅然驚 起曰，希有之瑞也, 949c15). This scene is a perfect illustration of the principle of stimulus-response, which is a characteristic of Chinese Buddhism and in line with the ancient Chinese and Confucian thinking that only sincerity can bring about change.¹⁶ “Sympathetic resonance,” also known as stimulus-response, is caused by sincerity and occurs among things that are related to each other: “Resonance is the mechanism through which categorically related but spatially distant phenomena interact,” Sharf comments. This resembles two strings of different instruments playing the same tune, the one beginning to emit sound as soon as the other vibrates—an image frequent in ancient Chinese literature, such as the Huainanzi, the Chuci, and the Lüshi chunqiu.¹⁷

Surprise is also the repeated reaction to monks who exercise control over the location of their own bodies: In the SSZ, monks are able to travel huge distances in an instant, which amazes people. The monk Fotiao 佛調 (fourth century CE) is able to be in two places simultaneously or to change his location without any recognizable traveling time lapse: While one person has seen him outside, another is certain that he has not left the temple. Fotiao laughs about this and people are left wondering (954a26). In another case, the monk Wanhui is obviously able to travel far to the border to visit his sibling, equip him with daily necessities, and return with detailed information the same day. His parents are astonished and his name, Wanhui, literally, abbreviating the story as “Ten thousand [miles and] returning,” is based on this feat (993c3). “Divine” monks are able to “beam” themselves to different places without being bound by average bodily travel speeds.¹⁸ Once dead, the corpses of divine monks might display specific qualities, especially when burnt. Their virtuous bodies behave differently, and sometimes do not burn at all, as in the case of Zhu Shiheng 朱士行 (third century CE). This astonishes people as well (眾咸 驚異, biography of Zhu Shiheng; 950b18). It is also a pleasant surprise to people (皆驚喜作禮, 954b16) when the monk Fotiao reappears on a rock, freed of all worries, after his death and has a conversation with those who knew him. His body had disappeared from his grave and Fotiao assures the public that he will always be with them.

Chinese Buddhist biographical writing employs sources that are part of a writing culture that is not primarily concerned with Buddhist philosophical rectification. Applying abhidharmic knowledge and Buddhist concepts in general can therefore easily lead to misinterpretations of the texts, as there is, as Kieschnick puts it, a “gap between the popular imagination and Buddhist technical literature.”¹⁹ Still, it is worth considering how far Buddhist concepts are put into practice in the biographies. For the case of bodily control, a larger systematization of the spiritual advancements of Buddhist practitioners is at hand: Followers of both Indian and Chinese Buddhism commonly accept that a practitioner’s spiritual progress develops together with six forms of supernatural competence (abhijñā, shentong 神通). Although these six forms differ slightly according to their traditions, in their first step they always address unlimited bodily possibilities: the transformation from one person into many, becoming invisible, being able to walk through walls, soil, water, air, or reach up to Brahmā’s heaven. The examples in the SSZ seem moderate in comparison. The practitioner’s advancement also includes insight into the past births of others to recognize their condition as a result of their deeds, and be informed about their destiny. This insight proves not only accurate regarding the karmic connections in his own life, but the logic lying behind it also provides a background for the vigorous divinatory activities of monks in the SSZ.

The monks apply various mantic arts with ease. No biography mentions any particular training. This is not specific to the SSZ: “Like medicine, divination was a separate discipline that monks mastered ‘on the side’.”²⁰ Divination leads to astonishment: While traveling at night with Fotudeng 佛圖澄 (fl. fourth century CE), Dao’an 道安 (fourth century CE) uses the simple arrangement of a courtyard to decode the name of the landlord, whom he calls by his name without ever having heard of him—the person is certainly surprised about this knowledge, which belongs to the realm of a technique concerned with dissecting characters (chaizi 拆字; 主人驚出, 954c28). The emperor tests Fayuan 法願 (fifth century CE), who later became a monk, on his physiognomy skills. He tries to mislead Fayuan by changing the dress of people whose social standings vary widely. To the emperor’s surprise, Fayuan’s predictions are unaffected by their costumes (帝異之, 969c11).

While the physiognomical message is followed by a direct prediction without any counseling regarding how to avoid the harsh destiny connected to it, monks are also able to interfere with and prevent upcoming calamities, especially regarding the regulation of meteorological events. The emperor consults monks such as Vajrabodhi (Jin’gang Zhi 金剛智, around 700 CE) when regular methods of rainmaking fail. The monk erects an altar and performs rituals with which he evokes strong winds and pouring rainfall. “Afar and nearby people were caught in fear” (遠近驚駭, 996c22).

The realm of the court is one of prestigious ambivalence: Monks are heavily dependent upon the emperor’s grace. This may be why negative predictions concerning the ruler are generally encrypted. These encrypted messages can only be interpreted in the retrospective. They may seem favorable at first sight but are revealed as fatal afterwards: Yixing is asked about the future of the country and answers the astonished emperor (帝驚, 996a21) that the country will ultimately experience good fortune (ji 吉)—which is the name of its last emperor and alludes to the dynasty’s downfall.

It is not only under these exposed circumstances that diviners of the future encrypt their messages. They can appear outwardly dull and make an unintelligible impression, like the monk Huaijun 懷濬 (late ninth century CE), resembling figures otherwise known throughout fangshi 方士 literature.²¹ His behavior in a village attracts the attention of the prefect, who tests him. Finally, the prefect is pleasantly surprised (yi 異) by the monk’s wise poetry (州將異而釋之, 1009c7). Travelers who have to pass through the canyons of the Yangzi River on their business trips receive a few lines from him, which he does not explain further. In the retrospective, these lines often hold true. The narrator marks this behavior as strange: “Most of his strange actions were like this” (其他異跡多此類也, 1009c22).

The retrospective might evoke suspicion in the modern reader: Does the collective memory only preserve predictions which proved true? What do we know about the accuracy of a diviner, if we learn about his predictions only afterwards, through positive selection? Such questions reveal a pitfall, as they separate the miracle from its narrative and discursive background. Interdisciplinary studies on miracle tales state: “It is the act of telling which constructs the miracle as such. The miracle has an impact through its telling and interpreting. The effect of a miracle is closely related to the way in which it is understood.”²² Kieschnick, together with Keith Thomas, calls these miracles “retroactive stories” that provide a “sense of stability in the face of radical change,”²³ legitimating an emperor’s reign through retrospective prophecy.