Historical records number the island's draft cattle at 480,000 head in 1910, a figure that represents the probable peak of ox-raising in Taiwan. Seventy-five years later, the power tiller has become the island's ox.
But the victorious machines will never replace the venerable animal in Chinese hearts. Its millennial contribution to Chinese civilization is preserved through the language, in history, by custom, and, especially, by folklore.
Shuo Wen Chieh Tzu, an etymological dictionary compiled by Hsu Shen, lists approximately one hundred terms incorporating the Chinese-writing radical for "ox." They have to do with such matters as the age of an ox, the colors, the temperament, and others. Although many are now out of use, their continued literary existence alerts the young to the importance of the ox in the annals of China.
History cannot trace the first taming of oxen. The ancient Chinese made the ox a beast of burden, but also dedicated it for sacrifices. Primitive societies attached much importance to worship, and in China, as elsewhere, the ox, as sacrifice, denoted the highest expression of reverence at the altar. The ox probably took precedence over other animals because it was the largest in general use on the farm.
The ox, itself, seemed unhappy about such vainglory, according to a story concerning Emperor Hsuan of Chi State (reigning 319-301 B.C.). Seeing an ox being led to the altar seemingly shudder with fear, in sympathy, he ordered his subordinates to substitute a sheep. Though he thus delivered a particular ox from its plight, the real redemption for the species had to wait until the ox became crucial to farming.
Reports concerning the use of the ox in farming go back to the Chou Dynasty (11th-3rd Century B.C.), when it was discovered as useful motive power for a more efficient method of plowing the fields-a great innovation for early agriculture. The introduction of animal power, combined with the invention of metal farming implements, extended land cultivation and crop yields.
In old China, eighty percent of the population engaged in farming, and governments were dedicated to its encouragement. Toward the end of the Chin Dynasty (221-207 B.C.), the imperial court initiated the Rite of the Spring Ox: On the first day of spring, which falls normally on February 4 or 5, government offices put up clay images of a farmer and his trusty ox outside their doors to usher in the spring and, of course, to honor farm work. Over the generations, this custom underwent various changes, the emphasis shifting to a symbolic clay-ox-breaking rite.
On February 4 this year, Vice President Lee Teng-hui performed the old rite, lashing an ox of clay with a long withy until the clay shattered. Grain, peanuts, longans, and balls of earth within the smashed hollow ox tumbled out, to be snatched up by the crowd attending the rite. Such grains, symbolically scattered, promise a rich harvest, said an observer among the crowd. And the earth balls bring good luck to domestic animals, he added, when you mix them with water and daub the stove with the mud.
In the mainland provinces of Kiangsi, Kweichow, and Fukien, family standing was once measured by the number of cattle owned. A man and a woman of very unequal family standing could not be married. A farmer of those days was as proud of his ox as a man, today, of a new car.
ONCE the ox became such a valuable asset, the ancient Chinese began to seek ox perfection. As early as the Spring and Autumn Era (770-476 B.C.), a book by an anonymous author appeared advising how to distinguish a sound ox from a weak or ill animal. Unfortunately, due to the passage of the ages, the obscure local color and professional jargon of the time make the book difficult to understand; many of its passages seem like incantations. The modern reader depends heavily on footnotes, but even so, cannot often make head or tail of its views or its oxen.
The many handbooks circulating among farmers of old offered different opinions on characteristics of the most efficient ox. They agree, nevertheless, that a good ox should have short, thick hair, fine horns, and tough, protective tissue around the knees. Its tail, they chorus, should never trail on the ground.
According to the ancient "oxperts," a farmer should not expose his animals to extremes of heat and cold, nor exhaust them in an excess of hard work. In the summer, especially, the farmer should work his oxen late in the night or early in the morning, in the cool air. When the sun reigns, the farm r should put them out to graze. Above all, he should feed them regularly and well.
The Chinese farmers never mistreated an ox, their boon companion of the fields. Even an ox too old for farm work would be looked after by its owner in gratitude for its life-long labor and devotion. The farmer thought it a shame to kill such an ox, and people of old even used to prohibit their children from eating beef.
In ancient times, men reportedly pastured cattle to escape the pressures of the temporal world. Most frequently cited in this regard is the story of Chao Fu and Hsu Yu: When legendary Emperor Yao, visited Hsu Yu and asked him to help rule the nine states— offering him a position second only to Yao-Hsu Yu declined the offer. Accusing the Emperor of defiling the air with worldly affairs, he hastened to the river and expressly began washing his ears. Chao Fu, another hermit-scholar, having brought his ox to the riverside for water, now led the animal away, complaining that Hsu Yu had polluted the river in thus divesting himself of what he had heard from the Emperor.
Pu Ru (1896-1963), a famous painter and member of China's last imperial dynasty, once did a series of twelve portraits representative of the twelve years of the Chinese zodiacal cycle. He portrayed an ox-man with an ox-like square face, and round eyes. "Those born in the Year of the Ox," he inscribed on the portrait, "are upright and brave."
A "true-to-life" Ox-leather from tip to tail.
The ox imparts special traits to those born in the Year of the Ox, astrologers agree. They are diligent, prudent, serious about their jobs, and not inclined to take risks. They always deliberate before attempting to carry out any plan, but once they set things going, they never give up.
Those born in an ox-year have an ox-temper, and obstinacy is characteristic of all of them. It is a stubbornness which finds its best expression in homage to tradition. And ox-people are conservative in other ways. They do not challenge old beliefs nor support radical departures. They are far from romantic, say the seers, but very reliable. The ox-man will be a responsible husband and the ox-woman an excellent wife.
Perhaps because stereotypical ox-people have left such deep impressions on us, we can hardly imagine that among the overall group there can be such contradictory inclinations. Then, the unthinkable happens. And when it does, the apparent gentleness of an ox-person will seem at odds with his ambition for achievement.
Ox-people who insist on having their own way court disaster. Though ox-people are mild, they can go berserk, assert the fortune-tellers. Hitler and Napoleon were both born in ox years.
Though we associate the ox with the plow, as with ox-people, the ox itself can be flexible. For instance, the ox is a willing motor for vehicles.
The venerable oxcart reportedly originated in the Chou Dynasty.
When Lao-tzu, the ancient philosopher and founder of Taoism, passed through the Hanku Gate in an oxcart, legend has it that the guard, upstairs in the tower, looking eastward, sighted purple smoke. He accordingly realized that some great man was arriving, and when Lao-tzu appeared in the gateway, received him with such a show of respect, asking for advice, that the sage wrote the famous Lao-tzu, the bible of Taoism, expressly for him.
The oxcart had a great vogue in the Six Dynasties (222-589). An awning over the oxcart could make it into a small covered wagon. To draw it, an ox was chosen with a strong frame but short legs.
Wei Chieh, reportedly recognized as the handsomest man of his time, owned an oxcart, and every time he went out for a drive, crowds surrounded the cart to have a look at him. These ancient groupies swarmed about him, causing traffic jams. Women were especially crazy about him and threw handker-chiefs, coins, fruits, and flowers into his oxcart. The old chronicles report that he usually returned home fully laden with gifts.
The oxcart went out of fashion in the Sung Dynasty (960-1279). The palanquin came into style for the upper class, and if people chose to go out for a drive, they employed horse or donkey-drawn vehicles, laughing at those who drove oxcarts as silly countryfolk. It was the same everywhere in China at the time. In Taiwan, for example, the oxcart was relegated to carrying loads, such as grain and bricks. People of the Sung Dynasty rarely, if ever, used the oxcart as a means of personal transportation.
There is more than a little humor in a contemporary vision of a water buffalo.
In Taiwan, the ox has a notable past in the form of the water buffalo, a related draft animal. After General Cheng Cheng-kung (Koxinga) expelled the Dutch colonial forces and settled down on the island, he gave one of his retainers eight water buffalo. There were vast stretches of arable land and not enough buffalo to cultivate them, and the eight soon died of overwork. But ever since Koxinga's soldiers buried them, strange things have been reported in the neighborhood. The buffalo spirits had miracle powers, the residents contended, and they built a temple in their honor.
For the ox in Taiwan, the good old days are gone, never to return. It is an ever rarer treat to come on one in the island countryside, though many still exist, still favored by their trusty farm-companions of many years—rather like mules in some parts of the United States.
Sadly, you can seldom, now, come across a herdboy riding an ox and playing on a pipe on his way home. And since more and more young people are quite fond of beef, cattle are being raised and bred for the table and not the cart.
The overall number of draft cattle in Taiwan dropped to less than 100,000 in 1980. Experts now see the possibility that the ox will be all but extinct on the island by 2005, to be seen only at the zoo. But everyone will continue to celebrate every second year of the twelve year cycle, a re-dedication to the patient animal, once a mainstay of Chinese life.