Wang Yuanhua's Interpretation of the Breadth of Mind

Author: Xia Zhongyi
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-08-01
Features: Not everyone can enter history. There are two ways to enter history: either to be remembered after death or to be integrated into history while alive. Wang Yuanhua undoubtedly belongs to the latter. To systematically elaborate on the relationship between Wang Yuanhua and the academic thought of a hundred years of China would require writing a major book. This article aims to interpret Wang Yuanhua's "thought-academy" spirit. This necessitates starting from the context of humanities in the new era. Since 1986, when Wang Yao first sparked the awareness of "academic history" in academia, and then when Chen Pingyuan launched the discussion on "academic norms" in 1992, the historically sensitive Li Zehou would surely sense the changing tides of the times. In April 1994, he declared that "thinkers would withdraw, and scholars would emerge" in the 1990s. What is intriguing is that just as Li Zehou made this statement, Wang Yuanhua advocated for "academic thought with thought and thought with academic thought" in July of the same year, disagreeing with the notion that "the emergence of academic discussions in some circles of academia signals a decline in academic thought." He argued, "Thought can elevate academia, and academia can enrich thought. There is no 'either the east wind prevails or the west wind prevails' kind of irreconcilable relationship between them." Wang Yuanhua's words carry significant weight. Indeed, Wang Yuanhua is qualified to say this: not only because of his status and wisdom, but more so because his academic thought journey was forged over forty years (1955—1994) of tragic and sorrowful experiences, or to say, it is annotated with half his life's experiences. It is not difficult for the discerning to realize that Wang Yuanhua's keen sensitivity to the aforementioned "academic-thought" topic is rooted in his profound spirit—this perfectly embodies Hemingway's "iceberg theory": the majestic, shimmering peak of the iceberg above water appears so dignified because it is supported by a far larger and more substantial existence beneath the surface. To say that Wang Yuanhua's academic thought philosophy is the lifeline sustaining his spiritual existence is not an exaggeration. Otherwise, it would be hard to explain how Wang Yuanhua could endure the fiery torment of 1955—1979 for so long, only to rise from the ashes and flourish after the catastrophe. It would also be hard to explain why, since the 1990s, Wang Yuanhua, despite his advanced age, remained steadfast in his reflections, even resorting to self-examination of his spiritual self to diagnose the ailments of a hundred years of Chinese thought. In the end, it would be even harder to explain why, as he grew older, Wang Yuanhua grew increasingly attached to his childhood home—the Tsinghua Garden. As an intellectual scholar and a "disciple of Tsinghua's virtue," Wang Yuanhua moved out of Tsinghua Garden (1928) when he was only eight years old. Yet, he harbors such a deep "Tsinghua Garden complex," as if there truly exists an immortal bird that has weathered all vicissitudes of life. Since it took flight from Tsinghua Garden, it is destined to return to it gracefully. Perhaps some might ask: if we count from 1956, when Wang Yuanhua began studying Hegel, his academic thought journey has spanned nearly half a century. Why, when discussing his spiritual disposition, does the author emphasize his "self-enlightenment" from 1956—1979 and his "re-enlightenment" in the 1990s, yet omit his "new enlightenment" in the 1980s? This is certainly not to hide the truth about the respected, but purely out of alignment with Wang Yuanhua's own account. Wang Yuanhua once remarked that "after his rehabilitation in the 1980s, he was overwhelmed with work" and that "it was a time of superficiality, with many writings but few that satisfied him." This is not enough to reveal his spiritual disposition, so it is omitted.