One is what one believes. Hong starts to preach. The man he reaches first is Li Jingfang, with whom he read the text. Piecing the baptismal ritual together from the scattered bits of information left by Liang—who in his tracts chose not to present any of the four Gospels’ accounts of Jesus’ baptism by John, or Jesus’ baptism of others—Hong and Li baptize each other, in a private ritual, as Liang had baptized his wife. Liang has written that only those who believe in Jesus and receive baptism shall receive everlasting life, while those rejecting Jesus will receive everlasting pain. So as the two men sprinkle water on each other’s heads they pray to their new True God, promise to follow His commandments, and to keep away from idols, evil, and the evil spirits. Together they chant their own new invocation: “Purification from all former sins, putting off the old, rebirth.” His heart filled with happiness, Hong writes his first poem using his new Savior’s name:
Sure is it that our sins surge up to heaven;
How good to know that Jesus bears them all on our behalf.
No longer trusting in the demon devils we obey the holy word
Worshipping the One True Lord to cultivate our hearts.1
The two men discuss Hong’s dream, and feel that some of it, at least, can be understood literally. So together they order a local craftsman to forge two double-edged swords—each sword nine pounds in weight, and three feet in length—with three characters carved upon each blade, “Sword for exterminating demons.” They celebrate the moment in a poem:
Grasping our three-foot swords we bring order to the mountains and valleys,
All within the four seas will be one family, living in kindly union. . . .
Tigers roar and dragons call. Light fills the earth;
Great will be our joy as the Great Peace reigns.2
The words seem now to pour out of Hong, and spread beyond his village. As at the time of his dream, some think him mad; but when anxious friends post a man to watch him, Hong converts the watcher to the logic of his views. Hong talks often, too, with two of his relatives, who listen with particular attention to his words. One, Hong Rengan, lives in Guanlubu, and is a cousin on his father’s side; the other, Feng Yunshan, is related to Hong’s stepmother (Hong’s father’s second wife), and lives in a village less than a mile away. Like Hong, they have education but have not succeeded in their examinations, and serve as village teachers. In the summer of 1843 Hong converts them both. The three men celebrate with a double ceremony—first Hong administers the baptism privately, in the school where the elder cousin works; but then, spurning privacy, they go to a stream that runs nearby and immerse themselves completely. From this time onward, it is Feng and Hong Rengan who share Hong Xiuquan’s innermost councils—and despite his sword Li Jingfang drifts out of the inner circle of believers.3
Rereading Liang’s text with his two new converts, Hong Xiuquan comes to a realization he has not had before. As Hong Rengan later remembers it, Hong phrased it thus: “If I had received the books without having gone through the sickness, I should not have dared to believe in them, and on my own account to oppose the customs of the whole world; if I had merely been sick but not also received the books, I should have had no further evidence as to the truth of my visions. . . . I have received the immediate command from God in his presence; the will of Heaven rests with me.”4 The words cannot be changed, says Hong, and God’s commands cannot be disobeyed, for “the word of the Lord Jehovah is right.” The proof lies in Psalms 19 and 33, each of which is translated in Liang’s tract. The psalms—Liang translates no others, so Hong cannot know the rest—are full of Hong’s own name, they reverberate with “Quan,” and Hong chants the words aloud: “There is no speech or language, where their voice is not heard. Their sound is gone out to the whole earth—to the earth that is Quan’s—and their words to the ends of the world.”5 “The Judgements of the Lord Jehovah are true, and righteous altogether—Quan is righteous—more to be desired than gold, yea than much fine gold, sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb.”6 “Who can fully understand—understand like Quan—his errors? Cleanse thou me from my secret faults.”7
For the next few months, they pore over Liang’s text, exploring, preaching, trying to see which pronouns fit with which being, earthly or divine. Slowly the three men convert members of their own and each other’s families. And two distant cousins of Hong Xiuquan from the western province of Guangxi, who come to Guanlubu on family business (or other business of which we have no record), are moved by his words, baptized by him, and later take the message home with them.8
To strike at the idols, as God has ordered them, the three move first against the ones they know best and face the most often, the tablets to Confucius that stand in the place of honor in each of the schools where they teach. One by one they remove the tablets, purging their schoolrooms of the heathen icons. This is not a simple task, for there are many varieties of tablets, in many styles and sizes. In Hua county, as elsewhere in China, the centerpiece of homage to Confucius is, by law, a replica of the four characters of calligraphy written in 1686 by Emperor Kangxi to honor the Sage: “Model Teacher of a Myriad Generations.” Each wooden board on which these characters are written, specifies the government’s decree, is to be 2.37 feet in height, four inches wide, and seven-tenths of an inch in thickness; while the base on which it rests must be four inches high, seven inches broad, and three inches thick. The background must be in bright vermilion, the lettering in gold.9 Then, depending on the grandeur of the shrine or center of display, tablets of sizes graded somewhat smaller are arranged symetrically around the main Confucian tablet. These are all in black lettering on backgrounds of less fiery red, and list one by one the names of Confucius’ four favorite and most talented disciples, his other early followers, and all those across the next two thousand years whom various emperors have acknowledged as worthy to be added to the list of great Confucian activists or thinkers. By the time of Hong Xiuquan this list had swelled to over one hundred names, all of whom he could be expected to recognize, and many of whose texts or commentaries he read intensively in school while preparing for the state examinations.10
Slowly, as the parents of their pupils hear that the Confucian tablets are coming down, the pupils are withdrawn. The incomes of the schools decrease. Some men near Guanlubu who have attained the licentiate’s degree that Hong has sought so long chide him for his conduct, and for spreading his new beliefs. One, recognizing Hong as a serious scholar, with a lively mind, even offers to read all Liang’s texts, and refute the errors in them one by one. Affronted, Hong breaks off their relationship.11 In the first month of 1844, the local village worthies still reach out to Hong, for they respect his education and his versifying skills. When he refuses their request that he write an ode in honor of that year’s lantern festival—for he sees, now that his eyes are opened, that such a poem would be “to praise the merits of the idols”—they chide him with a verse:
We unskillful old folk hoped for help from the young,
Little imagining you would have nothing to do with us.
You are crammed with learning, and could have used it—
But convinced by slanderous words, you cling just to them.12
Hong Xiuquan responds in verse, matching the local scholars’ rhyme scheme and reversing the argument of their final line in his opening one:
Not because we were convinced by slanderous words did we turn down your request,
But because we only follow the True God’s commandments.
Sharp must be the line between the roads to Heaven and hell—
How can we with muddled-heads traverse this earthly life?13
The clash seems elegant, for these are cultured men, even if living in the villages rather than the more sophisticated county town. But anger is there not far below the surface. Before the spring is over, Hong and his cousins lose their jobs.14
What should they do? Hong and his friends decide, as they phrase it, “to travel throughout the world, and teach to all the people the doctrine of repentance.”15 They have little money, and Hong Xiuquan’s wife, Lai, has just borne her second child, another girl. Their hope is that they can sell ink and writing brushes as they go, to pay their way. Five of them plan to go together, but before they leave, Hong Rengan is forced to abandon the group. His parents and elder brother forbid him absolutely to make the journey. Although his age is already over twenty, they have not hesitated to beat him severely and tear his clothes to punish him for defacing Confucian tablets, and he knows their words have to be taken seriously. So it is Hong Xiuquan, Feng Yunshan, and two of Feng’s relatives who take their leave of Guanlubu in early April 1844.16
Is their plan somehow to emulate the restless traveling of Jesus, or the far-flung journeying of his Apostles? Or is it mere survival? They do not say, but their initial route betrays their indecision, as if they want to travel far and yet not get too far away from home. First they go to Canton city, re-traveling, for Hong, the route of four examination trips; the open fighting there is over, the cannon stilled, but still the city seethes with bitterness, of Chinese against the Manchus, and of the populace against the British, whom they will not allow to enter within their walls, despite the specific treaty provisions. Unwilling to provoke another war, the British continue to negotiate, and build their Hong Kong base. From Canton the four men travel down into the delta region, then curve northwest, reentering the city via the western gate, exiting through the eastern gate, marching and preaching in a semicircle through the eastern hills until they rest for a while in Qingyuan county, some forty miles north of Guanlubu. Here they are welcomed by the locals, and baptize many in the clan of the Li—relatives perhaps of Hong’s first convert—who remain thereafter steadfast in the faith. Heading farther north, then west again, they pause at White Tiger village in early May. They have tramped around their province for thirty-four days, and have ended up a little over a hundred miles from where they started.17
Here, at Hong Xiuquan’s own urgings, the little group breaks up. According to Hong’s later recollections, he wished to travel on alone, but Feng Yunshan insisted on accompanying him, while Feng’s two relations chose to return to their homes and families.18 The plan that Hong Xiuquan and Feng devise is bold and potentially dangerous. They will walk all the way to Guangxi province in the west, to the village of Sigu in Guiping county. They choose this destination because it is the home, among others, of that same Hakka family named Huang, distant relatives of Hong Xiuquan’s, two of whose members had visited him the previous year, and been converted and baptized by him before returning home. Hong and Feng know little of the geography of the region, nor even the best route to follow for this journey of 250 miles or more across rather than along the major river routes, and through mountainous regions, many sparsely settled, or inhabited mainly by native Miao or Yao tribesmen with little knowledge of or interest in Chinese government and culture.19
But as it happens, the journey is peaceful. People along the way reach out to help them, especially a Chinese teacher who has made his home among the hills, and runs a school there for the children of the Miao. He entertains them, and believes their message, and they entrust him with spreading their message among the Miao, for neither Hong nor Feng can understand a word of the Miao people’s dialect. As they leave, they write out their doctrine for the teacher, and he in turn gives them a little traveling money. Often they walk all day with only occasional cups of tea and snacks they buy at roadside village stalls. Despite these hazards, and their shortage of funds, they know that they “travel under the One True God’s protection,” and reach the Guangxi town of Mengyu on May 21, 1844, after seventeen days of travel, averaging over fourteen miles a day. From there they travel another fifteen miles farther west, till they reach the Huang family home in Sigu village, where they are welcomed by their host, the two men previously baptized in Guanlubu, and five other branches of the Huang and Hong clans, with whom they are able to stay in turns.20
To reach out effectively to potential converts, and speed the holy work, Hong knows—it is Liang Afa who taught him—that one needs tracts describing the One True God’s religion. So while staying either in or near Sigu village, Hong starts to write his own “Exhortations to Worship the One True God,” echoing the title of Liang Afa’s tracts. These “Exhortations” are Hong Xiuquan’s first substantial pieces of writing, except for short poems and examination essays. As the months glide by he continues to write, in paired verse couplets of seven characters each, which will make the message easier to remember for those who cannot read.21
Almost certainly Hong’s “Exhortations” are built from material in Hong’s head, as he and Feng can have carried few books with them on their two months of marching, and a nonscholar family in rural Guangxi probably had scant library resources. For a man trained for the Confucian examinations for twenty years or more, China’s basic Confucian texts are firmly lodged, as are the basic outline and major figures in China’s long recorded history. In any case, Hong keeps most of the allusions simple.22 And though we cannot tell if he has taken Liang Afa’s text with him on his journey, with his mental training he will have committed all the major parts to memory, and recall them at his own volition.
Hong may have written several “Exhortations,” but only one complete example has come down to us, the “Ode on the Origin of the Way and Our Salvation.” As Hong explains in his preamble to this ode, China has fallen away from a basic belief that once was shared by all:
God the Father and Lord of All belongs to all people.
The idea that the world is one dates from long ago.
From the time of Pan Gu* through the first three dynasties
Rulers and subjects alike revered the Lord of Heaven.23
In that ancient time, such faith and belief were automatic: Heaven and humans, in those earlier days, saw as one. So how could God then have needed anyone to supplement Him? Certainly not the Buddha, who did not even exist in those far-off days. Our central task is to shun the evil spirits, and cleave to the way of moral rightness—those who cleave to such rightness will be embraced by Heaven—those who do not will be abhorred by Heaven. And so, writes Hong, we must follow six commandments that will keep us on the path of righteousness: The first of these is never to follow the path of lust. The second is always to obey our parents. The third is never to kill people. The fourth is not to steal. The fifth is to stay away from all witchcraft and magical arts. The sixth is never to gamble.24
In glossing each of these, Hong uses his years of reading to emphasize the moral point. Lust changes us to demons and thus enrages Heaven, he argues in explaining the first commandment. Debauching others and debauching ourselves are equally outrageous. How much better it would be to chant the poem in the Confucian Odes about the footprints of the Lin. Hong is confident that anyone of any education knows this poem from China’s earliest anthology:
The feet of the Lin—
The noble sons of our Prince,
Ah, they are the Lin.
The forehead of the Lin—
The noble grandsons of our Prince,
Ah, they are the Lin.
The horn of the Lin—
The noble kindred of our Prince,
Ah, they are the Lin.
Hong and his readers know the “Lin” is a fabulous female creature, symbol of the good, made up of parts from other creatures of good omen: she has the body of a deer, an ox’s tail, a single horn, a horse’s hooves, a fish’s scales. Confucius told us to remember the footprints of the Lin because the Lin can move so lightly that it harms no living thing by its tread, not even the grass. Similarly her horn is tipped with flesh, showing that though she stands ready to fight with it if necessary, she much prefers the path of peace.25
We can see a similar point being made, writes Hong, in the answers that Confucius gave to one of his sincerest disciples, Yen Hui, who asked about the attainment of perfect virtue. Such virtue, said Confucius, lies in restraining the self by means of ritualized propriety. The steps on this path to virtue must be fourfold: by controlling vision, hearing, speech, and actions.26
The second commandment, always to obey one’s parents, is self-evident and barely needs illustration, writes Hong. Even the animals and birds intuitively understand it, as the lamb kneels down to suck its mother’s milk, or the fledgling crow returns to its parents their proffered food. The great sage ruler Shun wept and cried aloud as he worked in the fields at the foot of Li Mountain, because he could not understand why his parents should hate him when he sought only to serve them dutifully. Twice, indeed, they sought to kill him, to get his property, his wives, his flocks and land. Once they fired the storehouse when he was working on the roof, and he would have perished in the flames had he not swiftly extemporized a pair of wings and glided down to safety. And once, when he was working at the bottom of a well, they filled it with stones to crush him, but he escaped through a transverse tunnel he had cunningly prepared. But despite this vivid evidence of their hostility to him, he never wavered in his affectionate regard for them.27
The third commandment, not to kill, is also self-evident in various ways: since in this world all are brothers, killing anyone of our own species must be wrong; since all of us are God’s children, to destroy others is to strike at Him. Thus in ancient China people never killed wantonly, and the early rulers wept when they had to punish people and even gave up territory rather than fight. Those who kill are no better than bandits, and those who take up arms to kill those in authority will either end up being driven to take their own lives or will vanish as though they had never been—this is as true for those who sought to destroy the Ming dynasty as for those, long before, who fought against the rulers of the Qin or Tang.28
The fourth commandment, not to steal, is for Hong not a question of social order but one of internal moral stance. It is true that Heaven will withdraw its protection from all who form gangs for the purposes of robbing others, but at the same time the man of moral principle will not dream of taking another’s property even if he has the opportunity. He will turn away from those who distress him by their moral failings, just as the old histories show Yang Zhen and Guan Ning took their stance. When Yang Zhen was a senior official, one of his subordinates, in a private meeting at night, offered him ten ounces of gold. Yang Zhen refused it. Angered, the man said, “Twilight has fallen, no one will ever know about it!” To which Yang Zhen replied, “Heaven will know, the spirits will know, I will know, you will know—how can you say no one will know about it!”29 The scholar Guan Ning was at home reading when an official of the highest rank, in fancy carriage and hat of state, rode past his door. Guan Ning never even looked up from his book. When his closest friend, with whom he was sitting on the same mat, did look up, Guan sliced the mat in two, saying, “You’re no friend of mine.”30
To reinforce these first four commandments, Hong has used mainly classical and historical allusions. For the fifth, “not to practice witchcraft,” he gives no Chinese examples, but simply invokes the language used by Liang Afa in his tracts—though Hong does not acknowledge Liang by name. Witches and magicians, practitioners of heterodox arts, all work against Heaven, for it is Heaven that decides the rhythms of our life, and when and how death comes. Incantations, processions, fasting, worship of demons have no effect, and one can see all too easily how those who claim to master magical arts themselves live in poverty:
The demons’ agents serve the demons and end up possessed by them.
The gates of hell are always open to receive the followers of sin.31
With the sixth commandment, “not to gamble,” Hong returns to his Confucian texts and histories. Though he has tried to take Confucian tablets out of the schools in which he and his fellow believers were teaching, he still does not reject the sage himself. Twice, in listing the reasons against gambling, he praises Confucius and his followers for their patient acceptance of hardship, their simple life, and their upright natures. Whereas gambling represents a “hidden blade” that seeks to cut against the will of Heaven, which distributes wealth and poverty according to God’s rules, not man’s; it keeps us from being diligent and accepting adequate recompense for our work. In this, continues Hong, gambling is like both the drinking of wine and the smoking of opium. Wine wipes out families and has destroyed the strongest of rulers: “With iron they bound rivers and hills; because of wine they perished.” Opium smoking makes some men mad and weakens others beyond recourse: “In the present times how many spirited Chinese have ruined themselves by their constant use of the opium pipe!”32
Hong makes no attempt to list any more of the wrongs that afflict the world:
It is hard to list all the other wrongful acts one by one:
Each individual must differentiate between the minute and the vast.
For if they do not think through each specific action, their virtue will be compromised.
Before the solid ice has formed, tread lightly on the frost.33
Some time during his first months of living in Sigu village, Hong hears of a local place of worship, the Shrine of the Six Caverns, which seems to draw together all his worst fears and warnings about the society’s loss of moral order. When he asks who is venerated in the shrine, he is informed that it is built to the departed spirits of a man and a woman. Hong asks if they were married or not. The reply given by the locals horrifies him: “No, they were not. Long ago those two sang together on this mountain, made love, and died. Later, people believed the couple became immortals, so they erected their images here and sacrificed to them.” How could they possibly become immortals, Hong asks, after illicitly running away and living together? Heaven would punish such a couple, not confer immortality upon them, and their so-called shrine must be nothing more than a lair of demons.34 So again, Hong turns to verse to express his feelings:
I take up my writing brush and compose a poem, condemning this “Six Cavern Shrine.”
Those two demon devils should be killed, exterminated.
The mountain people here have reverted to being animals—
Wherever you go the men sing their songs and the women respond in kind.
Sinners end up with the reputation of achieving immortality,
And wildly promiscuous women become the village wives!
One day from the midst of the storm clouds the thunder will strike them
When Heaven can bear no more, what will become of them?35
Reading, writing, teaching, moving from house to house among his hospitable Hakka relatives, Hong spreads his message of sin, redemption, and remorse. Again and again, he tells of his dream and its significance. The simple religious service he has improvised back home in Guanlubu is formalized now, in the western mountain setting, and some of the elements first used are gone. No longer, for example, is God’s name written on a tablet or golden paper, and displayed with burning incense on the altar. Instead, during services, two burning lamps are placed upon the table, and three cups of tea to make a simple offering. The congregation grows and the Hakka women join their menfolk, though men and women sit in separate rows. Hymns are sung to God, for the people here are full of song, but these hymns speak of God’s grace, and Hong’s sermons underline the message with warnings against idolatry, and emphasis on Jesus as redeemer. When praying, all kneel together facing the light, which pours into the room, for in these mountain dwellings the walls are often open to attract the breeze. They keep their eyes closed, and one person in turn speaks their prayers aloud.36
I, Your unworthy son / daughter [here each person utters his or her own name] kneeling on the ground, with true heart repent my sins. I pray to the Heavenly Father and Great God, of extraordinary goodness and mercy, to forgive my former ignorance and frequent transgressions of the Heavenly Commandments. I earnestly beseech the Heavenly Father and Great God, to extend His grace and pardon all my former sins, and permit me to reform my faults and renew myself, so that my soul may ascend to heaven. May I henceforth sincerely repent and reform, not worshipping false spirits nor practicing perverse things, but obeying the Heavenly Commandments. I also earnestly pray to the Heavenly Father and Great God, to bestow on me constantly His Holy Spirit, to change my wicked heart and never to allow the devilish demons to deceive me. Constantly look after me, and never permit the devilish demons to harm me. I am blessed that every day there is food and clothing, and neither calamity nor hardship. In this world may I enjoy peace, and in ascending to heaven, may I enjoy eternal bliss. Blessed by the merits of the Saviour and Heavenly Elder Brother, Jesus, who has redeemed us from sin, we pray through him to our Heavenly Father, the Great God, who is in Heaven, that His will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Look down and grant my request. Amen.37
Within a few months, Hong has converted around a hundred people in the mountain area of Sigu. Those desiring to receive baptism first make a written confession of their sins, which they then read aloud; or they can offer an oral confession if they do not write. The written confessions are burned at the altar, the smoke rising up to God the Father.38 They then pledge themselves “not to worship evil spirits, not to practice evil things, and to keep the heavenly commandments.” Water is poured over their heads, and Hong cleanses them of their past lives with these words: “We wash away all your former sins, slough off the old and give birth to the new.” Those who have received their baptism then bathe their bodies in the river, drink the tea that has been standing on the altar, and wash their chest around the area of their heart, to signify that their inner and outer cleansing is completed. Henceforth at every meal they will offer up this simple prayer: “We humbly give thanks to the Heavenly Father and Great God, for His many blessings, for each day’s clothing and food, for sparing us calamity and hardship, and helping our souls rise up to Heaven.”39
Learning can be used in many ways. Although Hong has never received his licentiate’s degree, and has resolved never to try for it again, he knows the language of the bureaucracy, and the forms that need to be observed. Thus when the son of his host and convert Huang Shengjun is arrested on a charge brought against him by a neighboring clan, Huang and his family turn to Hong for help. At first he urges them to pray to God for the young man’s release, and this they do. But Hong reinforces these pleas for divine assistance with a polished petition to the local magistrate who oversees the case. The petition is effective and within a few weeks the prisoner is released and back at home. Shortly after his return, he too is converted to Hong’s new faith.40
Everything does not always go so smoothly for Hong Xiuquan in Sigu. There are some kinds of “serious family troubles” at the Huangs, perhaps involving something more than the charges brought against their young son and his subsequent incarceration. Hong leaves the Huang’s home for a period, and goes with his close friend Feng Yunshan to stay in a hut in the mountains. In that rural retreat he is insulted in some way by people’s remarks about him—perhaps resenting his religion, his moralism, or his verbal attack on the Six Caverns Shrine. Not long after this, though Hong returns to the Huangs, Feng goes off to live in the larger town of Guiping, the county seat, where he has made new friends—the Zhangs, who are supervisors of the city’s water ponds and dikes—and in six or seven days Feng spends much of his (and Hong’s?) remaining funds.41
It is in November 1844 that Hong decides at last to leave. He has been in Guangxi for more than five months, and it is close to eight months since he first left home to tour the world and preach God’s word. Even though he has managed to send one letter home, by the hands of relatives traveling to Canton, his family must be worried. There is another factor. Hong has been preaching that not to be a filial son is one of the six main sins against Heaven’s True God. But as the basic Confucian texts on filial piety state, in volumes that every student reads as he begins his education, of all unfilial acts not to have a son to carry on the family line ranks highest. And as of now, Hong has only daughters.
Huang Shengjun, so long the sheltering host, sees Hong Xiuquan safely to Guiping township. They search for Feng at Zhang’s home, but do not find him. Zhang tells them he has heard that Feng has already left for Guanlubu, and Hong accepts this as accurate, making no further attempt to track down Feng. Hong says farewell to Huang Shengjun and travels back to Guanlubu alone. This time he goes by boat, presumably paying for his fare and food with money given by the faithful of Guangxi. The voyage—downstream along the Xun River till it flows into the West River, which in turn leads straight to Canton—is fast and uneventful. In twelve days Hong is home, with his parents, wife, and daughters.42
* In Chinese mythology, Pan Gu was the embryonic being who first brought order to the universe, and from whom the human race sprang.