Autumn Water Studio Discusses Jin Ping Mei

Author: Tian Xiaofei
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-01-01
Features: In sixteenth-century world literature, no novel is like The Golden Lotus. Its quality can be compared to Cervantes' Don Quixote or Murasaki Shikibu's The Tale of Genji, but none of those novels possess the modern sense of human emotion that The Golden Lotus does. In terms of the vast differences brought by various versions, The Golden Lotus is also extremely unique: although the differences between the illustrated edition and the vernacular edition are largely the result of the modern publishing market in Ming and Qing China, these differences have had a significant impact on how we think about the text itself. Perhaps we can fully understand this difference only within a postmodern cultural context. The author is dead; we cannot and do not need to pursue the "original." It is precisely because this novel is so powerful and unsettling that it has been introduced in different directions. The material we currently have is not sufficient to determine which version is truly the "original": is it the vernacular edition, the illustrated edition, or the lost manuscript and the author's original? Scholars can debate this, but no argument can convince everyone. This uncertainty can actually bring freedom: it allows us to stop questioning which version is the true The Golden Lotus and begin to ask what factors shaped our existing two versions. Clearly, this is an unsettling novel that has undergone many changes in pursuit of a truth that can encompass it. The vernacular edition appeals to "common values," finding its truth in the repeated affirmation of moral judgments. The illustrated edition, on the other hand, not only accepts the framework of general social moral judgments but also seeks more: its narrative structure points toward a Buddhist spirit, which becomes the overarching backdrop for all desires, petty rivalries, and the resulting struggles in the book. The "seven deadly sins" often mentioned in Western cultural traditions are all present in The Golden Lotus, but ultimately, they are pitiable sins, never reaching the height of absolute evil; they are merely passionate and obsessive. Qiu Shui (Tian Xiaofei's pen name) argues that The Golden Lotus, particularly the illustrated edition, reveals its compassion. Rather than being a form of moral instruction, this compassion is more literary. Even the fallen characters are given a poetic humanity; no character possesses a godlike perfection that provides an absolute standard for judgment. We still make moral judgments about the characters in the book—the novel demands that we do so—but our merciless judgments are often softened by moments of simple humanity, moments that force us to transcend judgment and move toward a sympathy on the edge of compassion.
There are many possible answers to the question of what a "novel" is, and I do not wish the following answer to exclude all other interpretations. However, I would like to say that in The Golden Lotus, we see a religious variation of the theory claimed by the Russian critic Mikhail Bakhtin that the novel is a "polyphony." At the same time, the narrative of The Golden Lotus also has the quality of Bakhtin's original "polyphony." There are didactic moral judgments within the novel, and such values have never been abandoned, but Bakhtin's "polyphony" theory implies that different discourses and values can coexist without ever being reconciled. This novel tempts us with too many different voices, making it difficult to adopt only one moral judgment. Only a pedantic moralist would feel pure, unadulterated moral disgust upon reading some of the explicit sexual descriptions in the book. On a deeper level, the novel's portrayal of characters is so meticulous that readers often feel an empathy that cannot be contained within simple moral judgments. Qiu Shui often emphasizes that the characters in The Golden Lotus are "adults," very different from the world of Dream of the Red Chamber: in the Red Chamber world, the "good" characters are not yet adults, and adulthood either means corruption and decline or, like Yuan Chun, means near-divine or superhuman power. Dream of the Red Chamber, despite having many morally ambiguous, shadowed characters, maintains a clear moral order, dividing unequivocal goodness from unequivocal evil. Perhaps because no one in The Golden Lotus is entirely good or innocent, the author asks us to understand and appreciate a person at a specific moment, even when we critique them, and to feel sympathy even in our criticism. The Golden Lotus gives us what Dream of the Red Chamber denies: a compassionate humanity. If a reader prefers Dream of the Red Chamber, it may be because of an unyielding pursuit of purity, a desire for cleanliness that ultimately lacks compassion. The splendidly dressed Jia Baoyu can easily wrap himself in a bright red sable cloak and bid farewell to the world with ease; but we can also imagine him—perhaps—being advised by a high monk to look back on his past and see clearly: his lifelong sensitivity to girls lacks true sympathy for anyone who has passed childhood.
Calling The Golden Lotus a religious text may sound strange. However, the illustrated edition of The Golden Lotus is indeed a work with a religious spirit. Compared to the ruthless confidence of Dream of the Red Chamber, The Golden Lotus forever tempts and forever fails us. We are both immersed in this world and feel distant from it until, in the end, we can forgive and tolerate it without approval. We can forgive freely because we have become complicit, lured by the prospect of pleasure and small, clever victories. We can view The Golden Lotus as a book that interprets all the elements that unsettle a culture. We can view Dream of the Red Chamber as a rewrite of The Golden Lotus, resolving those unsettling issues with values that are widely accepted. How far apart are Ximen Qing and Jia Baoyu? The fable of the "unworthy son" is always here: we tend to forgive a great sinner but not a small one. There is a reason for this. We are closer to Ximen Qing and Pan Jinlian—whether in behavior or psychologically—than to Jia Baoyu and Lin Daiyu. The illustrated edition of The Golden Lotus offers deep, worldly compassion to these flawed mortals. But such compassion is not enough: it must be replaced by characters who are almost flawless and believable only in their youth. Thus, after The Golden Lotus, we have Dream of the Red Chamber. The author considers The Golden Lotus a "novel for adults," not because it depicts sex frankly, but because it demands compassion. Qiu Shui (Tian Xiaofei's pen name) argues that The Golden Lotus, particularly the illustrated edition, reveals its compassion. Rather than being a form of moral instruction, this compassion is more literary. Even the fallen characters are given a poetic humanity; no character possesses a godlike perfection that provides an absolute standard for judgment. We still make moral judgments about the characters in the book—the novel demands that we do so—but our merciless judgments are often softened by moments of simple humanity, moments that force us to transcend judgment and move toward a sympathy on the edge of compassion.