Look, Sima Qian this person

Author: Gao Guang
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-06-28
Features: Sima Qian was a great historian and a great litterateur. He and his timeless masterpiece, Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji), represent a monumental presence, standing tall on the grand avenues of Chinese history and literature. No one could bypass them, and no other work could replace them. His monumental achievements, his unparalleled literary talent, his irreplaceable contributions to Chinese history and culture, and the unprecedented humiliation he endured as a man—these evoke both admiration, respect, and awe, as well as deep pity. To traverse over a thousand years of time and enter his era, to delve into his vast, profound, yet confused and tormented inner world, is a monumental test for any scholar or writer. To write about Sima Qian, one must first rectify one’s own attitude. Concise, insightful, incisive—facing the pain and weight of life, driving the meager dignity of Chinese literati to the brink of despair—this must be the first principle to establish. Without purity, without unbridled vigor, without full commitment, one cannot avoid complexity, triviality, darkness, and obscurity. To be grand, to be rugged, to relentlessly pursue the theme of life, to bear true grief and indignation, to bravely embrace the role of a martyr to history and literature; yet at the same time, to move with ease between sorrow and whispers, like a valiant warrior howling in the wind and weeping, strumming the lute in song. Facing the bloody devastation, one must not lack cruelty, nor be excessively cruel. Since ancient times, who has not died? But death is not the same for all—some are heavy as Mount Tai, while others are light as dross. This is the most widely and deeply understood saying of Sima Qian. Yet, when he spoke these words, he was likely far from the composure and tranquility we imagine. For he had to struggle between life and death, between Mount Tai and dross, with his very existence. This struggle was, in fact, a process of increasingly severe self-harm. The greatness of Sima Qian lies in the fact that he clenched his teeth time and again, forcibly chewing through the immense humiliation he endured as a man, to complete the Records of the Grand Historian, a work as heavy as Mount Tai. But the literati were still literati. After completing Shiji, he believed his own death was heavy as Mount Tai, yet in the heart of Emperor Wu of Han, Liu Che, it remained as light as dross. Thus, Emperor Wu left the task of executing Sima Qian to his grandson, as if gifting it to posterity. In this work, one can read not only Sima Qian’s immense genius and noble character but also the author’s own reflections. Although, from an artistic perspective, this novel has many flaws—such as being too realistic, too full, too revealing, with no restraint in the brushwork, and lacking necessary control in expression and argument—it is filled with passion, pulsating with life, and brimming with vitality. Emperor Wu of Han stared at the (officials) below the throne, asking softly, "Who else has anything to say?" The emperor’s face was graced with a smile, his eyes half-closed as he glanced sideways. The officials all cowered, hands trembling on the ground, their crowned heads crowded together, prostrating themselves before the throne.