Nanguo Yusheng (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 Collected Notes 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 basic necessities, we didn't even have the Four Books or the Five Classics. By the time I was old enough to read elementary texts, private academies like the Sanwei Study had almost disappeared, so I had to adapt to the times and attend the new-style school established in the town. What I read was no longer the "Three, Three, and One Thousand," but the textbooks of the Republic. Chinese language was a key subject, and the first thing you learned was "people, hands, feet, knives, and rulers, mountains, water, fields, dogs, oxen, and sheep"—much more rigid than the "big dogs bark, small dogs jump" of the next generation. It's said that with the passage of time, things always improve. Whether that's truly optimistic, I don't know; but it's undeniable that things are different, and the biggest difference is that now there's constant calls, even decrees, to reduce students' burdens, whereas back then, we struggled with 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 the path of Song Lian and borrow books. But in the countryside back then, there was an advantage: the "unofficial novelists" were quite popular. For example, one family might have The Legend of Jigong, while another had The Adventures of Xiao Wu Yi, 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 one house and exchanged with another, 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—historical, martial-arts, fantasy, detective, romantic heroes and heroines—were all 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. Now, if you ask me about the gains and losses, I can't say there were any losses, because "not being as good as this and that" is a fantasy—it's impossible, so I won't dwell on it. What I can say (from the perspective of a bookworm) is that there are three lessons. One is to cultivate the habit of reading from the beginning, 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 used in writing, such as when you have something in your heart and want to express it—whether in vernacular or classical Chinese, it seemed effortless. The third is a lesson. The ancients said, "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 also read better when one is poor (often referring to having little wealth). Speaking of my childhood, following the tradition 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, so during the winter holidays, the boys would gather and play with broken tiles and broken branches, throwing and hitting them. It was very monotonous, but with plenty of energy, we had to find ways to pass the time, so we turned to books. Why books? Because they allowed us to travel in our minds and for long periods of time. In short, because of poverty, I read a lot. Now, this can also be considered one form of progress—don't even mention kindergartens, even in small families with children, there are toys everywhere, it's said that some of them are electrically powered and can sing and make noise. I'm old now, and my pace is slow, and I can't keep up with the times. I always have the worries of a, wondering if people who are rich and enjoy pleasure will still have the energy and interest to read?—I shouldn't go on, otherwise 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?' If the answer is that happiness is better for life, those who are accustomed to digging deeper will ask, 'Why is it better for life?' Or even more straightforwardly, 'Why is life better than death?' Clearly, this 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 significant article, and in Mr. Zhang's major work on life philosophy, The Art of Living, it serves as the preface and is placed at the beginning. In Mr. Zhang's view, in the ultimate context of life, discussing the purpose of life can only lead to the conclusion, "I don't know." But for humans to survive, and for individuals to continue living, 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 heaven. Heaven's decree cannot be resisted; Confucius said, "Fear heaven's decree," and humans have only one path: "to follow." To follow without understanding why leads to being pitiable. From this perspective, human existence is quite pitiable. However, even so, 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 you have time to follow heaven's decree, take a few steps back, turn around, 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 deep sense of compassion for the suffering of humanity. 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.
Another excerpt: "Take another example of someone who is not yet toothless but still has some wisdom—the British Bertrand Russell's Theory of Power, published half a century ago (1938), with a Chinese translation by Wu Yousan published by the Commercial Press in 1991. This book is not very large, and its main points are 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 in our Four Books or Five Classics—it should be read to broaden one's knowledge. Second, in the great 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 don't ask about good intentions handle power. Third, most of the suffering caused by human is due to power. If we rely on good intentions and don't know how to deal with power, it 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 reality, gain tangible benefits, why not try?" This passage on social issues 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; instead, he was devoted to the spirit of democracy and science promoted by the May Fourth Movement. This is a clear and distinct tone in Mr. Zhang's way of life and his writing. Under this tone, Mr. Zhang's pen is sharp, such as in his critique of social corruption, the vices of the Chinese people, the resurgence of contemporary superstitions, and the of various dregs. Mr. Zhang maintains a clear and uncompromising critical attitude. The cold, scientific spirit and compassionate attitude toward life are the two fundamental principles for understanding Mr. Zhang Zhongxing and his works. Mastering these two principles, I believe, at least allows one to read deeper into Mr. Zhang's works.
About a year ago, representatives from Shandong Education Press came to discuss with Mr. Zhang the publication of a collection of his academic essays. Mr. Zhang refused. The reason was simple: he didn't want 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 reading 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 about knowledge, and the other about literature, especially writing about people and things. Reading this selected collection of Mr. Zhang, I believe that careful readers will feel the sharp critical force and the compassionate philosophy. As the saying goes, "measuring the ocean with a ladle." If through my modest efforts, readers can indeed gain some understanding of Mr. Zhang's spirit and works, I will be satisfied. Winter 1997, Xibahe, Beijing