Trees in Classical Ritual
It is well-known that ritual runs through essentially all aspects of land management in the Zhou, from partitioning the countryside, to the specification of taxes, to the rules governing use. Less well-known is the fact that trees were often the focal points of these rituals. Indeed, the Classics and other early texts suggest three distinct but related arenas where trees were the focal points of ritual, and by extension were subjects of both veneration and preservation. First, outstanding trees were selected as “lords of the fields” (tianzhu 田主), as the altars where the spirits of grain and soil were worshiped to bring good fortune to agriculture. In fact, certain trees were seen as the keystone species in their localities, and their preservation and worship was vital to the entire region — including all its plants, animals, and people. Second, the woods on tall mountains, and other exceptionally beautiful or flourishing woods, were set aside for worship. The spirits of these “mountains and marshes” (shanze 山澤) were worshiped differently than tamed farmland, suggesting that these areas were left as wild land, largely closed to settlement, although perhaps open to less intensive use. Finally, tomb trees were a distinct but related taboo, left standing to guard or house the spirits of the dead. Passages on these three types of spirit trees suggest that even the most deforested sections of ancient landscape were scattered with wooded oases on patches of elevated land, ranging in size from small groves on tumuli and local altars to large and dense woods on sacred mountains.
“Lords of the fields” — trees as altars to the spirits of Grain And Soil
Given the traditional opposition between agriculture and woodland, it is quite surprising to find trees functioning as altars to the spirits of grain and soil. Yet a careful reading of the Classics reveals a holistic imagining of local landscapes quite contrary to the modern dichotomy of field and forest. As previously noted, the main responsibility of the Grand Situ, head of the “Earthly Offices,” was to partition the land and determine the appropriate use for each environment. As part of the partitioning of the countryside, each region was assigned a type of tree thought to be most representative of its environment. Outstanding examples of these trees were set aside for worship as the “lords of the fields” (tianzhu 田主):
Responsibilities of the Grand Situ: Survey the land and the people to help the king establish fiefdoms. According to the survey, know the size of all the regions; differentiate the main products of the mountains, woodlands, rivers, marshes, hills, lowlands, and plains; and distinguish the number (or size) of the cities and towns. Set up boundaries by building drainage ditches and markers, and in each region build altars of grain and soil, planted with a “lord of the fields” — a tree appropriate to the territory. Both the altar and the surrounding countryside should then be known by the name of this tree.
While I have called into question the specifics of the Rites of Zhou, the description of the “lord of the fields” trees is paralleled in other contemporary texts representing very different political philosophies. Mozi writes of trees in the temples of agriculture:
When the ancient sage-kings of the Three Dynasties of Yu, Xia, Shang, and Zhou first established their empire and built their capitals, they invariably chose the central altar on which to build the ancestral temple. They would pick out the luxuriant and elegant among the trees to plant in the temple of agriculture.
And so does the Zhuangzi:
A craftsman called Shi on his way to Qi, came to Quyuan, where he saw an oak tree, which was used as the altar for the spirits of the land. It was so large that an ox standing behind it could not be seen. It measured a hundred spans round, and rose up eighty cubits on the hill before it threw out any branches, after which there were ten or so, from each of which a boat could be hollowed out. People came to see it in crowds as in a market place…
And the Analects:
The duke Ai asked Zai Wo about the altars of the spirits of the land. Zai Wo replied, “The Xia sovereign planted the pine tree about them; the men of the Yin (aka Shang) planted the cypress; and the men of the Zhou planted the chestnut tree, meaning thereby to cause the people to be in awe.
The three texts cite spirit trees for very different purposes, so it is highly unlikely that their writers invented the worship of trees in the cults of agriculture.The picture is quite clear: ancient people imagined trees as an intrinsic part of the agrarian spiritual landscape.
Land types and tree types
The “lord of the fields” served multiple roles: as the focal point of local ritual, but also as a representative of the local environment. A theory of correspondences held that a region’s plants and animals, and its people are all interrelated. For example, the Rites of Zhou posits that mountain woodlands are home to furry animals; large (fu 阜) trees; and hairy, upright people; and that marshes are home to scaled animals, resinous (gao 膏) trees, and dark-skinned, sweaty people. For people who believed in these correspondences, the tree behind an altar would tell a lot about local conditions. But more importantly, the ritual correspondences were central to the patronage of local cults by the King and his top officials. As noted previously, one of the principal duties of the Forest Warden was the maintenance of these spirit trees, especially during visits of state by the King. The Grand Minister of Rites was responsible for arranging blood sacrifices to the spirits of grain and soil represented by the “lords of the field”. During these rituals, the type of tree would also tell the Grand Minister of Music (大司樂) what melodies to play to properly venerate spirits of each type of land.
The typology of landforms as expressed through their altars and spirit trees did not only tell a ruler what rituals to perform, it also told him what types of taxes to collect. In the Rites of Zhou, the top officials of both the “Heavenly Offices” and the “Earthly Offices” were theoretically responsible for assigning professions to the people in accordance with land or soil type, the idea being to put the land to its most profitable use. But these demarcations were also supposed to specify tax responsibilities, with each region and profession supplying the state with the products of their designated land type. Attempts to match the correspondences between land types, produce types, peoples’ natures, professions, and taxes belie the neatness with which they are enumerated in the text. Nonetheless, there is a clear ideology matching each environment to particular forms of ritual, and particular types of tribute; in both respects, the type of wood cover and not the type of grain crop is the primary determinant.
The Rites of Zhou was not the only text to draw parallels between land type, ritual, and taxes; a similar link is also drawn in the Tribute of Yu. A late-appearing chapter in the Documents, the Tribute of Yu purports to describe the labors of Yu the Great in taming the wilds. It is probably the most important version of this story (also seen in the Mencius, the Canon of Shun and Yi and Ji sections of the Documents in my last post), and is almost certainly the section most frequently cited to justify statecraft proposals. In this telling, Yu is the greatest of the civilizing monarchs, and by extension, the stand-in for all future monarchs that inherited his title. The reception of tribute is inimically-tied to this civilizing process: “Yu divided the Nine Provinces, he cut paths through the mountains and dredged the rivers, and assigned tribute to the land.” The Tribute of Yu goes on to specify the goods provided by each of the Nine Provinces, including land tax (fu 賦) in grain; baskets (fei 篚) of textiles; and tribute (gong 貢) in other products. The rate of the land tax on each province was differentiated according to the quality of the soil, but the type of tax payment was uniform. By contrast, each region paid a different type of tribute determined by the environment of that region. Most items of tribute were wood and animal products and minerals; for example Xingzhou(corresponding roughly with modern Hunan and Hubei) paid tribute of
feathers, furs, ivory, and hides; gold, silver, and copper; chun trees, wood for bows, cedars, and cypresses; grindstones, whetstones, flint stones to make arrow-heads, and cinnabar; and the jun and lu bamboos, with the hu tree, (all good for making arrows)
As later commentators would clarify, both tax and tribute were due to Yu in recompense for his labors in transforming the world for human habitation.
The specifics of the Rites of Zhou and the Tribute of Yu are almost certainly fictional, an attempt to impose a normative order of a convoluted political system that emerged from piecemeal attempts by monarchs to incorporate new localities, patronize their cults, and tax their products. But the political philosophy these passages reflect is unmistakable: the King, as head of state, is also the leader of the rituals that continue the civilizing process; taxation of outlying regions is justified by the King’s inheritance of the mantle of Yu, and his patronage of local spirits; these revenues, in turn, were directed toward the maintenance of the main state cults: the veneration of the high God and of royal ancestors. But note that the civilizing transformation imagined in these texts is never imagined to be complete.
Trees and the Mandate of Heaven
The significance of spirit trees is further suggested by passages noting the problems caused when these totems are damaged or torn down. The chapter in the Documents called “The Metal-Bound Coffer” details the response to one such crisis of the Zhou state. Following the death of King Wu, his brother the Duke of Zhou served as regent for his nephew, the heir apparent, but was slandered by other dukes and went into retirement. According to the text, this caused a disturbance in Heaven, which “sent a great storm of thunder and lightning, along with wind, by which the grain was all broken down, and great trees torn up.” The people were terrified and the ministers did not know how to respond, so they opened the metal-bound coffer to read the advice of the Duke of Zhou. The young King interpreted the writings and omens to indicate that he should confer with his uncle, the Duke of Zhou, on the proper forms of rulership. Having rehabilitated the Duke of Zhou, “the two great lords gave orders to the people to take up the trees that had fallen and replace them. The year then turned out very fruitful.” In this text, it is not just grain, but also the the great trees that stand in for the political fortunes of the dynasty; destruction of the trees — like failure of the harvest — is an indication of the displeasure of Heaven.
A similar connection is drawn in Mozi’s condemnation of the political events of his age — especially the practice of excessive warfare. In his disparaging comments on the lords of his age, he writes of how they “cut down the grain fields and fell the trees and woods; they tear down the inner and outer walls of the city and fill up the ditches and ponds; they seize and kill the sacrificial animals and burn down the ancestral temple; they kill and murder the people and exterminate the aged and weak; they move away the treasures and valuables.” Again, the destruction of trees, like the destruction of grain-fields and altars, is connected to the failure of the political order.
Sacred Wildland
“Lord of the field” trees, the spirits of local agriculture, were not the only trees considered sacred; deep and flourishing woodlands were themselves considered to house powerful spirits. In the Rites of Zhou, the Minister of Rites was not just responsible for sacrifices to the altars of grain and soil, but also for sacrificing foxes (li 貍) to the wild spirits of the mountains and marshes (shanlin chuanze 山林川澤). At the end of the Tribute of Yu, the final summary of Yu’s labors notes that he “cleared the mountains of their [superfluous] wood and gave sacrifices there.”
In fact, the character jin 禁 meaning “restrict” may originate as a pictograph of an altar (shi 示) to the spirits of the woods (lin 林). This is not the etymology given in the Shuowen, but it reflects the use of jin 禁 to mean “restricted area” seen in restrictions placed on sacred forests. The Guanzi suggests that Yellow Emperor restricted mountain forests in this way:
If you observe that a mountain is rich (in resources), you should restrict it (jin 禁）and worship its spirits; establish an altar at a distance of ten li, and command anyone riding to dismount, and anyone walking to hurry on their way (i.e. to proceed no further than the altar); violators of this command are punished with death without mercy. This way, people will keep their distance and will not take [its wealth].
A similar passage, minus the strong push toward state monopolies, is found in the poem “Ancient Days of the Past” (xiwang ri 昔往日) in the Chuci, stating that King Wen of Zhou “Restricted (jin 禁) Mount Jie and built an altar there, to repay the great virtue that pervades it.” The Canon of Shun also credits Shun (the second Sage King) with building altars to the twelve sacred mountains. Both tamed agrarian environments and more wild mountains and woodlands were represented in rituals by great trees.
Grave Trees
Finally, trees are widely described as monuments to the dead, and perhaps as guardians or resting points for their spirits. In its summary of ancient practices, the Huananzi claims that Shang people planted pines (song 松) on grave mounds, and Zhou people planted cypress (bai 柏). The Baihu tong quotes a Spring and Autumn-era text claiming that the rank of the entombed individual could be determined by the size of his tumulus and the type of tree planted on it: pine (song) for kings, cypress (bai) for titled nobles (zhuhou 諸侯), luan 欒 for mid-rank nobles (daifu 大夫), and pagoda trees (huai 槐) for lower nobles (shi 士); commoners were not allowed tomb mounds but their graves were still planted with willows (yangliu 楊柳). The Kongzi jiayu claims that pine and cypress trees were planted on Confucius’s grave. Regardless of whether or not we trust these specifics, these texts support the notion that graves were planted with trees, and suggest that planting trees — especially evergreens — on raised tombs may have been a continuation of particularly ancient mortuary practices.
As with “lords of the field,” the particular ritual importance of grave trees led to special taboos and even offices to maintain them. The Rites of Zhou lists two offices responsible for graves — one for the graves of lords, and the other for the graves of clansmen in the feudal domains. Each is responsible for some form of “restriction” (jin 禁), although the specifics are not made clear. Based on the Rites Records, this restriction probably involved guarding the trees planted on graves. The Rites Records notes that the trees on tumuli were every bit as taboo as the ritual vessels and vestments used in performing sacrifices: “The gentleman, although poor, will not sell ritual vessels; though cold, will not wear ritual vestments; to build houses, he will not cut down the trees on grave-mounds.” The sacred nature of these objects rendered them inappropriate for more ordinary use, and made their destruction a particularly heinous crime.
Putting these references together, it is clear that trees — especially old or giant trees — were integral to classical ritual in a number of ways. First, “lord of the fields” trees were the focal points of rituals to the spirits of grain and soil — the central agrarian cults patronized by the state. In this function, they played into the complex state-society relationship that encompassed both taxes and liturgy. Second, outstandingly beautiful woodlands, especially those on mountains, were set aside for worship. This limited agrarian expansion into these areas, and signified official patronage of wild gods, as well as the tamed spirits of agriculture. Third, trees — especially evergreens — were important as tomb monuments, and perhaps seen as guardians or repositories of the spirits of the dead. All three types of tree worship show a process by which older, local cults of nature spirits and of the dead were patronized by late Zhou states. The spiritual was never divorced from the material, nor was the agrarian realm distinct from the sylvan. This suggests that as we move forward, we should pay particular attention to the framing of forestry under ritual institutions, and the ways that ritual was deployed to argue for specific forms of land ethic, and particular types of restriction on woodland.
