Let us delve into the surprisingly colorful and cute world of Tang dynasty “tomb guardians,” that is, earthenware figurines which were placed in graves to protect the dead in the afterlife.
Wherever there are tombs full of booty, there will be those prepared to break in and steal it. This is, of course, something that has captured the imagination of fiction writers and the movie industry alike. We are by now all painfully familiar with the idea of impenetrable tomb structures, booby traps and ancient curses that were built, laid and cast by forward-looking figures in the distant past with very different ideas about whether or not a given object “belongs in a museum.”
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Such figures from the past are usually portrayed as the villains. But if we take their perspective for a moment, the predicament facing them was a real one: If riches and luxuries must be kept in the tomb to secure to the comfort of the dead in the afterlife—or even to ensure there was an afterlife in the first place—then how to prevent these all-important objects from being taken back by the living?
Tang dynasty tomb guardian in the shape of a mythical beast. Photo courtesy The Metropolitan Museum of Art
Human or animal guards would suffice as a temporary measure, but the eternal nature of the grave destined it to survive much longer; longer indeed than anyone connected to the inhabitant of the grave would be able to maintain protective measures like these.
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And this is something of which those who designed tombs across many regions of the world seem to have been lucidly aware. Creative measures were in order, and the result was a plethora of longer-lasting deterrents. These came in both in the form of physical means like booby traps and reenforced funerary structures and in the form of intangible methods such as curses and taboos.
Despite all best efforts, however, graves were opened and graves were robbed. Today, all over the world, when newly discovered tombs are excavated, it is common for the team of archaeologists to quickly realize they are following in the footsteps of a robber who paid his respects way in advance of them. Often, this visit took place very close in timing to the burial itself; sometimes it was centuries later.
However, tomb robbers and archaeologists do not necessarily have the same tastes. And this is where we meet the tomb guardians of the Tang dynasty (618–907).
Tang dynasty tomb guardian in the shape of a Buddhist Heavenly King protector deity. Photo courtesy The Metropolitan Museum of Art
What were tomb guardians?
Tomb guardians are elaborate earthenware figurines which were placed at the entrance to a funerary structure to protect its inhabitant in the afterlife, as well as to deter evil spirits and perhaps even human intruders. While they are today prized due to their intricate design, charismatic demeanor and historical information they offer on the diverse religious scene of the cosmopolitan melting pot that was Tang China, at the time these were inauspicious, heavy, and indeed low-priced objects. In other words, they were not worth stealing.
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As a result, they often survive even in graves that have already been robbed. Since elaborate pieces like these were mostly restricted to the tombs of the wealthy, in many cases there were plenty of other more valuable items about to take.
Pre-Tang tomb guardian beast from the mid-to-late sixth century. Photo courtesy The Metropolitan Museum of Art
Some tomb guardians are shaped like fearsome mythical beasts, while others aim to represent the “Four Heavenly Kings.” These were Buddhist protector deities, each in charge of guarding one of the four cardinal directions: North, South, East and West. The Heavenly Kings perform a similar function in Buddhist temples throughout East Asia, where enormous statues of these fearsome figures glower down at visitors making their way in and out of the temple grounds.
The inhabitant of the tomb was not the only one tomb guardians were tasked with protecting in the afterlife. These tomb guardians were merely one subset of the wide array of other earthenware figurines that were buried with the wealthy dead, including servants and staff, dancers and performers, and camels and horses complete with their grooms and keepers. Such figurines were placed in the grave with the aim of keeping the spirit of the dead comfortable and entertained in the afterlife.
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Two Tang dynasty tomb sculptures of female attendants. Photo courtesy The Metropolitan Museum of Art
Having stood watch for so many centuries, the present appearance of the tomb guardians betrays the passage of time in interesting ways.
For example, the human-like figures tend to stand in flamboyant poses with one fist in the air. Once, when the guardians were originally assigned to their post, the fist had been brandishing a weapon. But these spears and axes were made with less durable materials that have broken down and vanished over time, such as wood. As a result, guardians like the two figures above and below have been left with nothing with which to deter intruders but their (somewhat impotent) forbidding glares and threatening stances.
Tang tomb guardian in the shape of a Buddhist Heavenly King protector deity. There was a space in the fist that was intended for a weapon. Photo courtesy of Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields
Something else that has vanished from many of the guardians is the facial decoration. In the case of the fabulous creature below, the ornately marbled multi-colored glaze on the body portion stands in stark contrast to its bare, seemingly unfinished, visage.
Tang dynasty tomb guardian. Note the contrast between the bare face and the shiny, colorful glaze on the body. Photo courtesy The Metropolitan Museum of Art
This is in fact the reverse of how the guardian was originally intended to look—once upon a time, the facial portion carried a much more intricate design than the body. But just like the wooden spears, this hand-painted embellishment turned out to be much less durable than the glaze on the body and has not survived to the present day.
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The disappearance of the weapons and decoration from the hands and faces of the tomb guardians embodies them as a curious mixture of foresight and oversight on the part of the people who placed them inside the tomb, betraying the limits of their abilities to prepare the tomb for eternality. Today, the guardians stand in a simultaneous state of partial success and partial failure.
But at least they stand, and have not been melted down or sold like the other valuables that once accompanied them. Worthlessness, while much less film-worthy than booby traps, impenetrable structures and curses, was perhaps the best protection with which people in the past were able to furnish their tomb figures. It was this aspect, above all, that has enabled them to survive.
In the end, however, not even that was enough to keep them in the tomb. The relative worth or worthlessness of an item is merely tethered to what people perceive as valuable in a given time and place. Now rare and highly sought-after by collectors, museums and researchers alike, tomb guardians like those depicted here have eventually found themselves removed from their station, scattered around the world and themselves placed under the guardianship of glass, dehumidifiers, and of course, living, breathing human security guards.
By Elizabeth Smithrosser
Let us delve into the surprisingly colorful and cute world of Tang dynasty “tomb guardians,” that is, earthenware figurines which were placed in graves to protect the dead in the afterlife.
Wherever there are tombs full of booty, there will be those prepared to break in and steal it. This is, of course, something that has captured the imagination of fiction writers and the movie industry alike. We are by now all painfully familiar with the idea of impenetrable tomb structures, booby traps and ancient curses that were built, laid and cast by forward-looking figures in the distant past with very different ideas about whether or not a given object “belongs in a museum.”
Such figures from the past are usually portrayed as the villains. But if we take their perspective for a moment, the predicament facing them was a real one: If riches and luxuries must be kept in the tomb to secure to the comfort of the dead in the afterlife—or even to ensure there was an afterlife in the first place—then how to prevent these all-important objects from being taken back by the living?
Human or animal guards would suffice as a temporary measure, but the eternal nature of the grave destined it to survive much longer; longer indeed than anyone connected to the inhabitant of the grave would be able to maintain protective measures like these.
And this is something of which those who designed tombs across many regions of the world seem to have been lucidly aware. Creative measures were in order, and the result was a plethora of longer-lasting deterrents. These came in both in the form of physical means like booby traps and reenforced funerary structures and in the form of intangible methods such as curses and taboos.
Despite all best efforts, however, graves were opened and graves were robbed. Today, all over the world, when newly discovered tombs are excavated, it is common for the team of archaeologists to quickly realize they are following in the footsteps of a robber who paid his respects way in advance of them. Often, this visit took place very close in timing to the burial itself; sometimes it was centuries later.
However, tomb robbers and archaeologists do not necessarily have the same tastes. And this is where we meet the tomb guardians of the Tang dynasty (618–907).
What were tomb guardians?
Tomb guardians are elaborate earthenware figurines which were placed at the entrance to a funerary structure to protect its inhabitant in the afterlife, as well as to deter evil spirits and perhaps even human intruders. While they are today prized due to their intricate design, charismatic demeanor and historical information they offer on the diverse religious scene of the cosmopolitan melting pot that was Tang China, at the time these were inauspicious, heavy, and indeed low-priced objects. In other words, they were not worth stealing.
As a result, they often survive even in graves that have already been robbed. Since elaborate pieces like these were mostly restricted to the tombs of the wealthy, in many cases there were plenty of other more valuable items about to take.
Some tomb guardians are shaped like fearsome mythical beasts, while others aim to represent the “Four Heavenly Kings.” These were Buddhist protector deities, each in charge of guarding one of the four cardinal directions: North, South, East and West. The Heavenly Kings perform a similar function in Buddhist temples throughout East Asia, where enormous statues of these fearsome figures glower down at visitors making their way in and out of the temple grounds.
The inhabitant of the tomb was not the only one tomb guardians were tasked with protecting in the afterlife. These tomb guardians were merely one subset of the wide array of other earthenware figurines that were buried with the wealthy dead, including servants and staff, dancers and performers, and camels and horses complete with their grooms and keepers. Such figurines were placed in the grave with the aim of keeping the spirit of the dead comfortable and entertained in the afterlife.
Having stood watch for so many centuries, the present appearance of the tomb guardians betrays the passage of time in interesting ways.
For example, the human-like figures tend to stand in flamboyant poses with one fist in the air. Once, when the guardians were originally assigned to their post, the fist had been brandishing a weapon. But these spears and axes were made with less durable materials that have broken down and vanished over time, such as wood. As a result, guardians like the two figures above and below have been left with nothing with which to deter intruders but their (somewhat impotent) forbidding glares and threatening stances.
Something else that has vanished from many of the guardians is the facial decoration. In the case of the fabulous creature below, the ornately marbled multi-colored glaze on the body portion stands in stark contrast to its bare, seemingly unfinished, visage.
This is in fact the reverse of how the guardian was originally intended to look—once upon a time, the facial portion carried a much more intricate design than the body. But just like the wooden spears, this hand-painted embellishment turned out to be much less durable than the glaze on the body and has not survived to the present day.
The disappearance of the weapons and decoration from the hands and faces of the tomb guardians embodies them as a curious mixture of foresight and oversight on the part of the people who placed them inside the tomb, betraying the limits of their abilities to prepare the tomb for eternality. Today, the guardians stand in a simultaneous state of partial success and partial failure.
But at least they stand, and have not been melted down or sold like the other valuables that once accompanied them. Worthlessness, while much less film-worthy than booby traps, impenetrable structures and curses, was perhaps the best protection with which people in the past were able to furnish their tomb figures. It was this aspect, above all, that has enabled them to survive.
In the end, however, not even that was enough to keep them in the tomb. The relative worth or worthlessness of an item is merely tethered to what people perceive as valuable in a given time and place. Now rare and highly sought-after by collectors, museums and researchers alike, tomb guardians like those depicted here have eventually found themselves removed from their station, scattered around the world and themselves placed under the guardianship of glass, dehumidifiers, and of course, living, breathing human security guards.
Elizabeth Smithrosser is a PhD Student in Chinese Studies at the University of Oxford. Click here to view her university page.
Click here to read more articles by Elizabeth Smithrosser
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