Portrait of Time and Literature

Author: Lin Xianzhi
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2002-05-01
Features: True reading is a baptism of the soul. The meaning of reading is not only to learn the thoughts of predecessors but also to awaken the spirit and courage of independent thinking and creation, to gain a sense of life's strength from reading, and to achieve self-redemption of the soul. Every of reading is a baptism of the soul—through such baptism, the reader enters the author, digests the author, and simultaneously affirms the self. Reading Lu Xun, reading Lin Xianzhi, is all the same.
Excerpt: May Fourth: What is a scholar in an era without scholars? A scholar is a person who operates like a machine. Their greatest asset is knowledge, or learning; they are devourers of a vast number of books, especially classics and dogmas. Their writings are basically dull excreta from books. They often regard themselves as elites, distant from the daily lives of ordinary people, even from major social events, as if they transcend them. In academia, it is said that "academic norms" must be strictly adhered to, and "value neutrality" is the highest criterion. Therefore, they often claim to be "objective," "impartial," unbiased, thorough, and in short, very special, making it difficult for ordinary people to achieve. In China, academia does not have the tradition of separation between politics and religion as in the West, and has never gained an independent and detached status. As the accumulation, elaboration, and inheritance of knowledge, academia is closely linked to moral cultivation; according to the orthodox requirement of "cultivating oneself, governing the family, ruling the state, and pacifying the world," it should be to become wise and virtuous, transforming the ordinary into the sacred, greatly benefiting "education." Examining the history of academia, although many have claimed to "interpret the Six Classics," the meticulous research work of burying oneself in studies likely originated from "avoiding Qin"; like the people of the Peach Blossom Spring, they appear leisurely and unrestrained, detached from worldly affairs, but it is out of necessity, not necessarily driven by a desire for knowledge. This "academic tradition" spread, and by the time of the last generation, they had completely forgotten the hardships of their ancestors' scholarship, knowing only to pursue "scholarship for scholarship's sake." By the beginning of the 20th century, the May Fourth Movement broke out, and scholars were either enlightenment or anti-enlightenment, with very few focused solely on academia, a truly extraordinary sight. At this time, politics—a unprecedented historical transformation—did not impose pressure through government institutions but rather through the natural driving force of society, not only bringing forth fighting scholars but also tearing away the long-standing veil of academic non-utilitarianism, revealing the pure scholars. Chen Duxiu, Hu Shi, Lu Xun, and Qian Xuantong, these pioneers of enlightenment, could have comfortably remained as scholars, but they didn't; instead, they engaged in what seemed to academics as worthless critiques, novels, and essays. Chen Duxiu and Lu Xun's famous extremism need no mention, Hu Shi was equally "obsessed with extremes," and even the traditionalist Qian Xuantong reversed his usual stance, initiating "passionate arguments." This philologist, who advocated the abolition of Chinese characters, declared in his representative work "The Problem of Chinese Characters in the Future": "Needless to say about the Classics, what is called 'history' is either the genealogy of great tyrants or a ledger of petty tyrants killing and burning people." He also said, "Of the books written in Chinese characters over the past two thousand years, no matter which one you open, within half a page, you will find delirium and dreams." Such exaggeration hardly resembles the words of a scholar. In the air of a comprehensive revolution against traditional culture, concepts like "pure scholarship" were almost an insult. Even their academic works, such as Lu Xun's "Outline of the History of Chinese Fiction," Hu Shi's "Outlines of the History of Chinese Philosophy," and the "Doubting School" historical research of Gu Jiegang and others, were not the legitimate heritage of "Chinese studies." With their pioneering spirit, scientific rigor, and combativeness, they demonstrated the achievements of the New Culture Movement and established a new paradigm for modern academia. For them, academic consciousness was contained within the consciousness of enlightenment. After the New Culture Movement receded, Hu Shi had already realized that the "sorting out of national heritage" he promoted was dangerous. He defended it, saying that the purpose of sorting out national heritage was to "drive away ghosts," not to worship it, revealing a hint of awakening. He warned the youth, "This path of old papers is a dead end." Such words rooted in "life for life" reminded one of the passionate declarations of the early enlightenment movement. The effective opponents of the New Culture Movement also did not do well academically. Take Peking University, for example. The four famous professors there—Gu Hongming, Liu Shipei, Huang Kan, and Cui Shi—as the backbone of the "national essence" faction, made many "unobjective" remarks, without the slightest regard for whether it would damage the scholar's identity. Du Yaqian, the editor-in-chief of The Eastern Journal, was once revered by our scholars as a model; at the time, he was extremely dissatisfied with the social changes brought about by the enlightenment movement and thus strongly advocated "the unity of civilization and the unity of thought" to "save the confused modern mind." Liang Qichao, Liang Shuming, and Zhang Junmai, their academic works were also not particularly "pure." Liang Shuming wrote "Eastern and Western Cultures and Their Philosophies," predicting that the world would take the "Chinese path, the path of Confucianism," and that "future culture would be the revival of Chinese culture." Obviously, this was a reaction against "toppling the Confucian shop." Liang Qichao wrote "Records of My Heart's Shadow in Europe," declaring that "Western culture had collapsed," but the real purpose was to "preserve the old." The "Academic Balance" faction, including Wu Mi, also jumped out to oppose the unstoppable vernacular movement. It is laughable that they even lacked the grace of a debate, resorting to cursing the modern reformers as "devils," including the most moderate Du Yaqian. Wang Guowei and Chen Yinke can be considered the most representative figures of the orthodox academia. One committed suicide, and the other mourned, both because they witnessed the decline and fall of traditional culture after the May Fourth Movement. No matter how conservative they were, their concern was still for society, not for academia. Scholars' involvement in the real society is natural, normal, and necessary. That was their mission. There was no need to pull their hair and tear themselves away from the earth, distancing themselves from the contemporary social environment and abandoning the fate of freedom. Lu Xun's analogy of the big ditch and the small ditch in Letters Between Two Lovers was also very appropriate and applicable even to academia. Great intellectuals, whether in the East or the West, had exceptionally clear values. They were not only rational but also passionate, not only bold in exploration but also courageous in practice. They always regarded human value as the ultimate value, not academia or anything else. They knew the limits of academia. If academia ever hindered the pursuit of truth, freedom, or human rights, they would discard it at any time, just like throwing away a dirty glove!
The May Fourth Movement has passed eighty years, and whenever I think of that generation of enlightenment thinkers, my heart is filled with respect. They were so broad, noble, wise, and brave, willing to sacrifice entirely "academia" and all personal fame and fortune to benefit society beyond academia.
March 1, 1999