28 Rewards and Retribution: Karma, Yuan, and the Supernatural

Fate as a concept is a ubiquitous, if often vague, idea of humanity’s. Most cultures across time and space have some equivalent term for fate, a guiding force that stands in for chance as a determiner in life’s many paths. China is no exception to this rule; in fact, multiple different ideas of predestination or destiny have caught the interest of broader society and become mainstream in Chinese culture throughout its vast history. By its nature, the idea of a universal guiding force of fate is supernatural, and often aligns with some broader moral code—fate is often expected to not only be powerful, but fair as well. This essay, by taking a broad look at studies on ideas of fate and Chinese stories of the supernatural throughout history, will pinpoint what made these beliefs popular in the zeitgeist as well as consider what these systems of belief may say about broader Chinese culture.

The first scholarly text that proves useful to our analysis is an essay entitled “Destiny and Retribution in Early Medieval China” by Yuet-Keung Lo. In this, Lo takes a historical look at various cultural conceptions and beliefs about destiny and fate through the lens of various social and religious movements around the time of the second and third century. A pair of terms that the author uses throughout their writing is “hard destiny” and “soft destiny.” Hard destiny, or fatalism as it is often also known, is the idea that fate is predetermined and cannot be resisted or changed. Soft destiny, on the other hand, is the idea that fate is a malleable concept that reacts and changes in response to the actions of an individual. Importantly, though, is the concept that both of these concepts can exist within a single system of beliefs, despite their apparent contradictory nature.

The two main examples Lo gives are “chengfu” and “karma.” Chengfu 承負, a cultural term adopted by the Daoist movement and codified in the Taiping jing 太平靜 (or TPJ for short), broadly came to mean the concept of the burden of one’s transgressions against the heavens being passed down to the next generation–a kind of “inherited retribution across generations,” as the author puts it.^[1] Lo claims that chengfu operates on both the cosmic level (i.e. the fate of an epoch as a whole is determined by the moral character of its peoples, likely as a way to rationalize the decline of the Han dynasty at the time) as well as the human level (i.e. one receives the burdens of their forefathers at birth but can work to pay them off over the course of their life to pass on benefits to their children instead). The former is built on purely hard destiny, while the latter has both a mix of hard and soft destiny. Despite the attempts to craft a coherent belief system to explain the current historical moment, the different kinds of chengfu ultimately conflict with one another, as Lo explains:

Hard destiny and soft destiny evidently are at odds. Cosmic chengfu in the form of astral fatalism runs counter to chengfu retribution on the human level that allows change in destiny through moral cultivation to redress one’s ancestral retributive burden. This apparent inconsistency truthfully reflects the dilemma of the late Han religious Daoists who tried to justify moral fortuity with a belief in hard destiny on the one hand, and maintain a moral order by perpetuating the time-honored belief in moral retribution on the other.^[2]

There seems to be a need here, or at least a perceived need by the authors of the TPJ, for any conception of fate to explain both the life of the individual as well as the general state of the world. Not only that, but an idea of fate or destiny must also tie into the culturally popular idea of retribution and actions having consequences if it wishes to gain a foothold in the minds of the people. Chengfu attempts both, but in doing so, it reveals how both of these ideas naturally conflict with one another.

This is where Buddhism and karma does what chengfu could not. As Lo puts it: “The success of Buddhist theory of karmic retribution lies in its removal of the contradictions inherent in the chengfu theory by introducing the idea of individual karma and rejecting the worldview of hard destiny.”^[3] Much like chengfu, karma still incorporates the idea of inheriting merits or demerits at birth, but rather than those being unfairly passed down from one’s parents, they are derived from the individuals prior incarnations, leaving each person’s actions and consequences in a closed circle unique to the individual. Furthermore, one’s inherited karmic retributions do not determine their fate entirely, as how one reacts to situations is still up to that individual and can increase or decrease their karmic standing as a result. Most importantly, however, is that the introduction of the reincarnation cycle and the idea that retribution for an action can come in this life or the next, creates a system of belief that, by its very nature, is near-impossible to find a contradiction with, unlike the tangled clashing beliefs of the Daoists before it. Lo gives the example of Huiyuan, a Buddhist leader who linked together the karmic idea of reincarnation and the chengfu idea of retribution:

According to Huiyan, there are three kinds of retribution. When misfortune befalls a good man, it is because he has done evil in his previous life. When fortune befalls an evil man, it is because he has earned merits in his previous life. As for those who have done good deeds or committed wrongdoings in this life, and have yet to receive any retribution, it is because it is not yet due.^[4]

Here, for any given circumstance perceived as unfair or not justly rewarded by fate, there is an explanation built into the system of beliefs able to defuse the contradiction.

More than that, Buddhist karma is not only a system that self-corrects for contradictions, but also one that is inherently anti-fatalistic and more optimistic about the agency of human beings. It acknowledges that people are born into advantageous or disadvantageous situations, and also admits that oftentimes good or bad people are not justly rewarded for their morally virtuous or sinful actions. Not only does karma justify these results, but it also eliminates the need for a heavenly, preset destiny and instead assures its believers that one’s fate is always subject to change no matter how many influences from past lives may be affecting it at the moment.

There is one more concept that will prove relevant to the stories examined in this essay, and for it we will have to turn to another source. “The Role of Yuan in Chinese Social Life: A Conceptual and Empirical Analysis,” written by K. S. Yang and David Y. F. Ho, is a section of a larger publication focused on psychological concepts originating from Asia. This particular chapter focuses on yuan 緣, a term and concept that appears quite frequently in Chinese culture ever since the Tang dynasty. Yuan, broadly, has to do with hard destiny or predetermination: though the paper focuses primarily on its role in social relationships, we can understand yuan in general as a nebulous, fatalistic force that acts as the cause behind outcomes.

The paper focuses on two kinds of yuan: yuan of opportunity, or yuanfen 緣分, and yuan of chance, or jiyuan, 機緣, which refer to long-standing established relationships and chance, single encounters respectively. Positive relationships or encounters are built on good yuan, while negative relationships or encounters are built on evil yuan. While the paper speculates on the various major origins of the conception of yuan, what I find most interesting is their psychoanalysis of yuan’s application. According to them, how yuan manifests in social relationships is primarily from its application or attribution. In other words, its primary use is to blame things on yuan and turn a consequence of an action into simply a result of hard destiny that cannot be changed. The ascribing of good or bad yuan to a relationship can serve as a catalyst or inhibitor for the future stability of a relationship as a reflection of the beliefs of the one ascribing yuan. Perhaps more importantly, however, is how yuan meshes with Chinese social structures, particularly those of antiquity. Rather than simply being a way to avoid responsibility for a relationship (be it for good or for bad), yuan can also be seen as a reflection of arranged social interactions and a way of adapting and rationalizing a lack of control in one’s relations, as Yang and Ho themselves propose in the essay: “One may argue that, given a situation where rewards and happenings are indeed dependent on external forces, a belief in external locus of control is an accurate perception, and may even be adaptive.”^[5] While yuan attributions are not always proven right (and in fact are often changed in hindsight to reflect the outcome of a relationship if the initial attribution is proven wrong), it is still more useful than karma in analysis of some situations. This is because yuan is built on interactions rather than an individual and seems to allow for more relinquishing of responsibility than karma, even if one views yuan as a result of karmic fortune or misfortune from past lives. When utilized in conjunction, containing elements of both hard and soft destiny, karma and yuan seem to fit together nicely.

With these concepts in mind, we may now finally attempt to see them in practice. There are numerous shorter tales that, either directly or indirectly, invoke elements of fate, reincarnation, and retribution. Of particular interest are those that involve elements of both hard and soft destiny. The story of “Cao Weisi,” originally from the Taiping guangji, invokes both with concerns to the lifespan of the title character. Weisi is initially spared from execution by a monk who is able to convince his superior that Weisi’s death is fated to occur soon anyways, but later in the story (and with the instruction of a separate monk that appears in his dreams), he is able to extend his lifespan for upwards of two months by donating most of his possessions to temples and essentially adopting the Buddhist monk lifestyle. Though it is saved for the end of the story, it is eventually revealed that Weisi’s death is a direct karmic reaction to the many crimes and murders he committed during his life, so we can understand this story as one operating through karma. Though his death eventually comes at the hands of the ghosts of his victims, the two months and some change of borrowed time before that moment are largely spent with Weisi ill. This illness only gets worse as his time of death approaches, almost like a physical manifestation of his fate. The ghosts, having appealed to the heavens for his death, are able to take physical action to try and end his life, but the story seems to be making clear that even if they were not there, the illness would likely claim Weisi anyways. The point being made clear in this story is that, while particularly pious actions can affect one’s karma and thus their fate, these results yielded from said efforts will be limited at best. As the ghosts in the story themselves put it, “‘In the end, you’ll have to go!’”^[6]

Another tale, “Tung Yung and the Weaving Maid” from the Sou-shen ji 搜神記, is clearly Confucian in themes with its emphasis on filial piety, but still contains elements of fate or destiny, particularly yuan. In the story, Tung Yung is first rewarded for his display of mourning for his father in a loose sense by meeting his wife on the journey home. Eventually, though, after helping pay off the man’s debts accrued as a result of this display by weaving, Yung’s wife reveals that she is a weaving maid sent from the heavens for this express purpose and leaves him, ascending into space. Looking into this story through the perspective of yuan, it is manifested in both a practical as well as symbolic sense. Practical in that one could say their relationship had good yuan given that it was overall very positive for Yung, allowing him to pay off what seems to be a rather massive debt with no work on his part. More interesting though is the symbolic sense: not only is Yung’s wife literally sent by the heavens, a place usually ascribed as the force behind ideas such as fate or destiny, but at the end of the story after her heavenly task is completed, Yung loses his wife due to powerful systems outside his control. Previously we discussed how yuan can be used to rationalize or make sense of social structures that affect one’s relationships beyond one’s control, and that seems to be the case here—even though it is still ultimately a positive interaction (it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, after all), fate/yuan/the heavens can take away a relationship as easily as they can give one.

Reincarnation and past lives is an idea raised in our third story of interest. The tale of Wu Daozong from the Qi Xie ji 齊諧記 has less to do with its titular character and more to do with his mother, who undergoes a transformation into a vicious tiger because she is “‘being punished for sins in a former life.’”^[7] Tigers are often used as a symbolic punishment in terms of reincarnations in Buddhist beliefs as well, so this could not be a more clear cut example of karmic retribution. Less clear is the closing moments of the story which focus on Wu Daozong mourning the death of his mother despite her monstrous form and monstrous deeds. This may be a bit of a reach, but one could read this moment as a sort of admittance that the Buddhist system of karmic retribution is not entirely fair, in that one’s own fortune or misfortune is not as self-contained and wholly dependant on their own actions as they might be lead to believe. Daozong himself does nothing wrong in the story—it is the mother receiving the direct supernatural punishment—and yet he still is made to suffer through the loss of his only family for something entirely out of his control. Despite being based in the malleable force of karma, this story seems entirely structured around hard destiny and its unfortunate consequences in a particularly yuan-centric way, as one could easily make the claim that it was Daozong and his mother together that had negative yuan.

Finally, let us take a look at a longer story. The bianwen 變文 of Mulien is a transformation text detailing the main character Mulien’s mother experiencing several reincarnations of varying quality in rapid succession in order to escape the cycle of saṃsāra. Much like the previous story, the fate of Mulien’s mother is tied directly to her actions and her moral standing, and it is only by becoming more virtuous and paying off her moral debt that she is allowed to ascend at the end of the tale. However, kickstarting her journey through the various realms proves much more difficult than a single person’s actions. Mulien initially offers to take his mother’s place in hell, but as her jailer and tormentor puts it, “‘You, my Master, cannot suffer for sins you did not commit./From the golden and the jade slabs nothing can be wiped away/Nor has anyone the power to change what once has been inscribed.’”^[8] Despite this, the mother is indeed able to escape hell, but ends up requiring the help of the Buddha himself, among other things. Is this hard destiny? It seems inaccurate to label it so: Mulien’s mother is directly able to change her fate through her actions, and every increase or decrease in fortune comes as a result of karma. And yet, the mother had no way of contacting the Buddha herself, and in fact would likely have spent eternity in hell were it not for him and her son’s intervention. Is it soft destiny, then? Karma tends to embody that in principle by its very nature, and yet Mulien’s mother is given by her son the opportunity for redemption despite clearly not earning it through her actions in life. It seems instead that both are in play in the story, carefully weaving around each other as to not directly collide and cause any fundamental contradictions.

It was mentioned in passing earlier that Yang and Ho pointed out in their writing that people often ascribe yuan to a relationship only to change their attribution later down the line when the relationship does not go the way they believed it would. I want to return to this thought, as it serves as a microcosm of a larger point. First, that one’s beliefs in systems of destiny or fate ought to reflect reality as often as possible, to the point that one will change their interpretation or attribution of these systems to make sure that a given situation does not work against this idea of fate. And second, that attribution of fate to a given situation can be just as much of an active force in determining fate as the supposed force of fate itself. In the same way that beliefs like karma and yuan are made to be reflective of reality (be it broader social structures or specific cultural ideas) and foolproof against any kind of counterexample or contradiction, reality can also reflect these beliefs in how people are made to act and behave.

Bibliography

Lo, Yuet-keung. “Destiny and Retribution in Early Medieval China.” Philosophy and Religion in Early Medieval China, (2010): 319-356.

Yang, K. S. “The Role of Yuan in Chinese Social Life: A Conceptual and Empirical Analysis.” Asian Contributions to Psychology, by Anand Chintaman Paranjpe et al., Praeger, 1989. 263–281.

Ditter, Alexei Kamran, et al. “Cao Weisi.” In Tales from Tang Dynasty China: Selections from the Taiping Guangji. Hackett Publishing Company, Inc., 2017. 86–89.

Kan, Pao, et al. In Search of the Supernatural the Written Record. Stanford Univ. Press, 1996.

Campany, Robert Ford. A Garden of Marvels: Tales of Wonder from Early Medieval China. University of Hawai’i Press, 2015.

Waley, Arthur. Ballads and Stories from Tun-Huang. Routledge, 2011.