Nan Guo You Sheng: Selected Works of Zhang Zhongxing

Author: Editor-in-Chief: Ji Xianlin
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 1998-10-01
Features: Excerpt: Starting from the moment of birth. Whether it's a regret or not, I was not fortunate enough to be born into a scholarly family, so I couldn't write a book like Wang Yinzhi's Annotations on the Interpretation of the Classics; not only couldn't I hear of it, but even the people I knew, including my grandparents and parents, hadn't heard of it. My family was a peasant household between Beijing and Tianjin. Although we weren't lacking in clothes or food, we didn't even have the Four Books or the Five Classics. By the time I was supposed to study elementary texts, private academies like the Sanwei Study had almost disappeared, so I had to adapt to the times and enter the new-style school established in the town. What I studied was no longer the Three-Character Classic, the Hundred-Character Classic, or the Thousand-Character Classic, but the textbooks of the Republic. Chinese was a key subject, and the first thing you learned was "human, foot, hand, knife, ruler, mountain, water, field, dog, cow, sheep," which was much more rigid than the "big dog barks, small dog jumps" of the next generation. It is said that with the changing of times, things always get better. Whether it's truly worth being so optimistic, I don't know; but the difference is undeniable. The big difference is that now there is repeated calls, even orders, to reduce students' burdens, whereas back then, we suffered from having nothing to do. As a student, the proper way to pass the time was to find books to read. There was no school library, and there wasn't one in the town either; nor was it like the Jiangnan region, which had many book-loving families where one could follow Zhu Xuan's path and borrow books to read. But back then, the countryside had an advantage: "unofficial novelists" were quite popular. For example, one family had The Legend of Jigong, while another had The Adventures of Little Five Righteousness, and they could exchange and read them. Thus, according to the principle of biology, to survive, one must adapt or make do. So, I borrowed from the east and exchanged with the west, reading a lot of old novels. Now, looking back, apart from Dream of the Red Chamber and Golden Chamber of the Great Family, the most common and widely known ones were historical, martial-arts, fantasy, legal cases, romantic heroes and heroines, and various types, both written and colloquial. Most of them were small, stone-printed books, and I read almost all of them. Some, like Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, and Flowers in the Mirror, were especially interesting, and I read them more than once. I read blindly, like a blind man riding a blind horse; for several years, if you ask now, what were the gains and losses? It's hard to say the losses, because "not being as good as this and that" is a fantasy, an impossible thing, so let's not worry about it. What can be said (of course, as seen through the eyes of a bookworm) is that there are three lessons to be learned. One is to initially cultivate the habit of reading, which later slightly developed into not finding reading a burden, and then further developed into feeling distressed when there were no books in sight. Another is to learn some of the language from the books, such as when you have something in your heart and want to express it, whether in vernacular or classical Chinese, it seems to come naturally. The third is a lesson. The ancients said that poetry is refined when one is in poverty (often referring to not achieving success). I think this can be extended to say that books are read better when one is poor (often referring to having little wealth). Speaking of my childhood, following the traditional customs of an ordinary peasant family, my clothes barely covered my body, and my food barely filled my stomach. As for entertainment, I remember it very clearly: there were no toys at home, and during the winter idle season, the boys would gather and play with broken tiles and broken branches, throwing and hitting them. It was very monotonous, but with ample energy, I had to find ways to pass the time, and thus I turned to books. Why books? Because they allowed for imaginative journeys and long periods of engagement. In short, because of poverty, I read a lot. Now, this can also be counted as one form of progress. Not to mention kindergartens, even in small families with children, there are now toys everywhere, it is said. Some are even electrically powered, capable of singing and making noise. I am old now, and my pace is slow, and I can't keep up with the times. I always have the worries of a person, wondering if such wealth and enjoyment will leave room for energy and interest in reading?—I shouldn't go on any further, or I might end up writing a Welcome to Poverty essay in the style of Han Wenyu.
Postscript: Postscript by Xu Xiushan: "Taking life philosophy as an example, being kind to others is better than harming them. Why? Because happiness is better than suffering. Most people stop asking here, but scholars like Professor Xue Zhwei will ask, 'Why?' For example, if the answer is that happiness is better for life, those who are used to digging deeper will ask, 'Why is it better for life?' Or even more directly, they might ask, 'Why is life better than death?' Clearly, the answer can only end with 'I don't know.'" This passage on the purpose of life is excerpted from Mr. Zhang Zhongxing's essay My Life with Books. It is a very weighty article, which is why it was used as the preface to his major work The Art of Living and placed at the beginning of the book. In Mr. Zhang's view, in the ultimate context of life, discussing the purpose of life can only lead to the conclusion of "I don't know." But for humans to survive, as individuals, they must also survive, and Mr. Zhang believes the solution is the old Chinese approach: "Heaven's decree is called nature; following nature is called the way." In Mr. Zhang's words, "following nature" is also "the art of living," living according to the decree of nature. Heaven's decree cannot be resisted; Confucius said, "Fear Heaven's decree," and humans only have one path: "to follow." To follow without understanding why becomes pitiful. From this perspective, human existence is quite pitiable. However, despite this, Mr. Zhang believes that as individuals, life is only once, and even if the purpose of existence is pitiable, because it is only once, it must be cherished all the more. "When there is time to follow Heaven's decree, we take a few steps, turn back and look at its face," and reflect on life. Based on this attitude toward life, Mr. Zhang's writings, especially those about people, are filled with a compassionate and empathetic spirit. It is easy to understand why the characters in Mr. Zhang's works are always respected, sorrowful, and imbued with a distant philosophical depth and power.
Again, excerpt: "Another example is a half-old, still-toothed one: Bertrand Russell's Theory of Power, written half a century ago (1938), and published in 1991 by the Commercial Press with a translation by Wu Yousan. This book is not large, and its main point is simple: one, what power is and its various forms of manifestation; two, how easily it can be misused and how frightening it is; three, how to restrain it. Like The Spirit of the Laws, what is discussed in it may not be entirely believed, but it is always worth referencing. It is worth referencing because, first, what they discuss is not found in our Four Books, Five Classics, or collections of essays; it is worth reading just to broaden one's knowledge. Second, on the big issues of life and governance, we have always placed hope in good intentions, but the results have been like chasing shadows, and we still want to live and live well, so we should see how others who do not ask about good intentions handle power. Third, most of the suffering of human calamity comes from power. To rely on good intentions and not know how to deal with power is a fantasy; others are practical. If what we think is right and we have a way to do it, we can turn shadows into real loaves of bread, tangible benefits. Why not try?" This passage on society is excerpted from Mr. Zhang's The Moon is Different in a Foreign Land. Although Mr. Zhang was born under the imperial system, his thoughts were not narrow or conventional, but rather aligned with the spirit of democracy and science promoted by the May Fourth Movement. This is a distinct tone in Mr. Zhang's character and writing. Under this tone, Mr. Zhang's pen is sharp, and he holds a clear and critical attitude toward social corruption, the vices of the Chinese people, the resurgence of contemporary superstitions, and the of various dregs, without compromise. The cold, scientific spirit and the compassionate attitude toward life are the two fundamental principles for understanding Mr. Zhang Zhongxing and his works. Mastering these two principles, I believe, can at least help readers delve deeper into the hidden layers of Mr. Zhang's works.
About a year ago, representatives from the Shandong Education Press came to discuss with Mr. Zhang the publication of a collection of his academic essays. Mr. Zhang refused, citing the simple reason of not wanting to rehash old material. Later, the press colleagues discussed it with me, and I thought it might be possible. The reason remains simple: the Chinese book market is so vast that it is hard to imagine in other countries. For those who have not read Mr. Zhang's works, "every day is a new sun," and with the press's sincere attitude, it was difficult to refuse. Based on this idea, I selected and compiled this collection of Mr. Zhang's essays, which he modestly titled The Voice of a Man from Nangao. Like the two principles I mentioned earlier, the selected essays are roughly divided into two parts: one related to knowledge, and the other related to literature, with a focus on writing about people and things. Reading this selected collection of Mr. Zhang, I believe, careful readers will feel the sharp critical power and the compassionate philosophy. As the saying goes, "measuring the sea with a ladle." If through my modest efforts, readers can gain some understanding of Mr. Zhang's spirit and works, I will be satisfied. Winter 1997, Xibahe, Beijing