Cultivation is the heart of cultivation fantasy. But what does that word even mean?
For most authors, cultivation is simply the means by which a character grows more powerful. This takes the form of meditation, consuming pills and potions, special breathing methods, striking bargains with powerful spiritual entities, and so on.
This is the staple mechanic of cultivation fantasy, the foundation from which every counterfactual element in the story flows. Through cultivation, living things—human, plant or animal—can steadily grow their spiritual power, and ascend to higher states of existence. And, of course, gain access to power and do battle with their enemies.
I’m not satisfied with that.
Fantasy Chinese cultivation methods, seen in Chinese-language webnovels, are loosely based on Daoist and Buddhist practices. Western cultivation authors, in obedience to the spirit of writing to market, put their own spin on these fantasy methods, while respecting the original intention of growing power.
That’s not what ‘cultivation’ means.
The word ‘cultivation’ comes from the Chinese word 修. To understand the word, we need to break down the ideogram into its component radicals.
The easiest radical to understand is 彡: a tuft of hair.
Imagery is a critical component of Chinese culture. Deeper ideas are expressed through metaphors and images. Keep this in mind as we proceed. For now, keep in mind that the tuft of hair is more than just a tuft of hair.
The next radical is 亻: the radical for ‘man’.
The third is丨: this signifies a river.
The fourth is 攵: this implies a pole.
These three radicals combine to create 攸: a man carrying a pole across a river. Today the word implies a great distance.
However, it was the original character of the word now written as: 滌. 滌 in turn is composed of 氵, 亻, 丨 and 条.
氵is the radical for ‘water’. 条 means a strip, a twig, or a branch—and is also the naming word to refer to a river.
What is the image here? One interpretation is a man immersing himself in the waters of a river. Why would he do that?
To purify himself.
And that is the meaning of 滌: to wash something; to cleanse something; to purify something.
We now return to 彡, the tuft of hair. Imagine a long, white, wispy beard; or perhaps a long, magnificent ponytail, the kind favoured by elders in gongfu flicks. This tuft of hair symbolizes longevity, and the wisdom that comes from a lifetime of experience.
With all this in mind, what do you actually do when you perform 修? You are purifying yourself to gain experiential wisdom and longevity.
Modern-day Chinese Buddhist and Daoist use the word 修 this way. A Daoist says 修道 to mean practicing Daoism, while a Buddhist says 修佛 to mean cultivating Buddhism. Both traditions require engaging in deep meditation, prayers and other spiritual practices to purify the spirit from unwanted influences. In a secular context, Chinese use 修养 to mean self-cultivation: self-improvement through refinement of thoughts, emotions, behaviour, and psyche. 修行者, the phrase traditionally translated into 'cultivator', refers to one who engages in such self-improvement and self-purification practices, in accordance with religious practice.
Thus, I would argue that the word 修 should not be translated as ‘cultivation’, but as ‘purification’.
Cultivation practices in real life bring many benefits. Improved mood, increased vitality, longevity, and for the gifted and the dedicated, extraordinary abilities. But if you study the classics, you will find that these abilities come from purification. From purifying the spirit, cleansing the heart of disturbances, uniting the psyche and the body, removing energy blockages, and returning to a primordial state of consciousness.
This is what the word 修 originally meant. Yet for decades, authors treat it simply as a trope to justify characters attaining supernatural powers. This is heresy. This is the exact opposite of the teachings. The ancients taught that those who pursue cultivation to gain Enlightenment will achieve their goals, and along the way develop incredible abilities; but those who engage in cultivation simply to gain power will lose sight of the Way, and with it, their powers and achievements.
More to the point, the naked chase of power makes cultivation boring. It’s just to gain power. There is no avenue for character development. Everyone still hangs on to their flaws and foibles. The only difference is that now they have the potential to harm even more people when they act on them. This denies the real-life benefits of regular meditation practice, reducing it to a mere trope, when it could become a springboard for character transformation.
In Saga of the Swordbreaker, the world of the rivers and lakes follow this twisted logic. ‘Cultivation’ is just a means to gain power. In pursuit of power, so-called cultivators practice qigong, consume exotic pills and potions, and chase down ancient manuscript. They are all seeking an edge over the competition. They are all chasing power, power, and more power. They are like every other cultivator you see in cultivation fantasy fiction.
In this milieu, protagonist Li Ming asks, Why?
Why chase power? What is the purpose of power? What are the consequences of chasing power at all costs?
There are many, many, many cultivation fantasy stories out there. Saga of the Swordbreaker is the only one that explores this most fundamental of questions: what is the true meaning of cultivation?
Find out in Saga of the Swordbreaker: Invincible Under Heaven!