Sources of Chinese Tradition, Volume 2

by Wm. Theodore de Bary

  [Wei Yuan ji 1: 156–157—KCL]

  CRITERIA FOR ANTHOLOGY OF QING STATECRAFT WRITINGS

  1. The criteria for selection

  Every book should have its themes and purpose, while the Way is inherent in its practical application. Since the purpose is to arrive at the correct application of the Way, what is there to choose between the circuitous path and the broad thoroughfare? Since the entire collection of writings is subsumed under the theme of statecraft (jingshi), scholarship on this subject is the primary concern. Writings that are too lofty and subtle, or those that are so commonplace as to be submerged in mere dregs, will not be selected.

  There is no time more relevant than the contemporary era, and all affairs (shi) are encompassed by the jurisdiction of the Six Boards. However, the source of governance lies at court; the monarch and his ministers are at the center of governmental functions. We have, therefore, prepared as prolegomena to the entire work, chapters on the “framework of governance” (zhiti), setting forth the principles by which the people’s affairs are to be regulated. Writings on antiquity that are inappropriate [to the present] and those that are so general as to be of no practical value will not be selected.

  The Compendium of Qing Statutes (Huidian) is based on the Ming institutions, just as the Rites of Zhou reflect Xia and Yin [Shang] institutions. Times have changed, however, and the situation is different today; when abuses have reached an extreme, there must surely be a turning back. Policies that provided a remedy during the preceding dynasty but are of no value today likewise will not be included here. The calendar is in the charge of specialized officials, and ancient musical instruments have been a subject of controversy. These are not urgent matters and are not subjects that everyone can master. Thus such topics as astronomy and musical codes are passed over here, omitting the details.

  Narrative accounts are as important to our literature as policy discussion. However, [laudatory] biographical epitaphs in stone inscriptions are hard to fit into any of our categories. What we have done is to publish only a few epitaphs that provide cases of defense against the aborigines or on the seacoast. Other such narratives are not included, despite their literary quality. Such are the boundaries of the categories adopted, so that this work will have a specific focus and theme.

  2. The inclusiveness of the selection

  Every advantage entails some disadvantage; opposing opinions may in fact complement each other. The views of the humane and the wise are equally valid; where the common destination is the Way, there is no harm in taking different paths to get there. Therefore, whether it is difficult or easy to organize the baojia mutual security system; whether the jundun military colonies are difficult to set up or not; whether the mines should be officially closed or should remain open; how one is to judge the lawsuits that began with disputes over funerary sacrifices; in the matter of the corvee service, how difficult it is to impose the levies equitably; regarding river conservancy, the contending views of south and north; regarding the salt revenue, the contrasting methods of levying through the [licensed] salt merchants or through wholesale taxes. . . . [These and numerous other questions are difficult to answer because] there are primary and secondary considerations and ramifications that are hard to determine. It is only by bringing together all views that broad interests may be served and that a middle ground may be found between extremes.

  The writings collected here may be easy or difficult; the only criterion is their truthfulness—we cannot permit [the subjective preference of] white over red. It is indeed the sage’s teaching that we must choose between the ardent and the cautious-minded and that we should not discard an opinion for ad hominem reasons. How much more, then, should appropriate selections be made without regard to the level of literary skill? Some selections may seem to be parochial talk and alleyway gossip, yet among them are those like fresh water that runs deep. Others are chosen from large and voluminous collections, yet among them are lonely voices, like echoes in an empty valley. We have therefore looked through everything that we have copies of, and no documentary collections have been neglected. An effort has been made to find not only the collected writings of individuals but also other versions and other works, so as to attain a comprehensive coverage. Our knowledge may have been restricted by our standpoint; we hope, however, to have profited by communications from helpful friends.

  [Huangchao jingshi wenbian, Wuli, in Wei Yuan ji 1: 158–159—KCL]

  LEARNING AND THE ROLE OF SCHOLAR-OFFICIALS

  Over the years, Wei Yuan compiled his own notes on moral and political philosophy in a book titled Mogu (The Silent Gourd). Published by his family in 1878, the work summarizes Wei Yuan’s intellectual outlook in a crystallized form. The following selections illustrate his views on (1) the scholar-officials’ need for specialized, practical knowledge and for wide consultation, (2) the ends and means of government, (3) a theory of cumulative development in Chinese history, and (4) the role of wealth in society and the potential contribution of merchants to reform efforts.

  In the background of Wei Yuan’s approach to statecraft are two dominant trends in Qing scholarship—Song Learning that stressed theoretical concepts of human nature and destiny and Han Learning that set great store by philological study of the texts of the classics, often ignoring the deeper meaning of the texts themselves. Wei Yuan was highly critical of both these approaches to scholarship. He urged scholars to prepare themselves for participation in government affairs—which was indeed their vocation—by devoting themselves to specialized, practical knowledge and developing a fellowship among like-minded scholars, learning from each other and indeed from people outside their social milieu—for example, merchants who operated seagoing junks. While past officials had often adopted such an approach to governance (hence the large number of early and mid-Qing writings in the anthology on statecraft that Wei compiled), he raised such issues to the level of the sages’ main concern (pointing out, for instance, that agriculture and sericulture had been concerns of the Mencius).

  ON GOVERNANCE

  In this essay, drawing on political allusions in the Classic of Odes, Wei, by indirection, raises fundamental issues of governance in criticism of existing political practice. Most important is the need for wide consultation instead of reliance on insiders and corrupt imperial cronies; next is to get at the actual facts and deal with them realistically. Wei is dissatisfied with many aspects of contemporary Confucian learning: the routinized examination culture, the moralistic self-satisfaction of those who engage in self-cultivation apart from actual engagement with practical affairs, and the preciosity of classical textual scholarship that is merely critical and devoid of any positive relevance to current problems. In these respects Wei anticipates many of the issues raised by late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century reformers.

  There is a common phrase, “governing ability and human feelings.” Governing ability is born of human feelings, and there has never been governing ability apart from human feelings. A loving mother has loving human feelings for her little son, so naturally she comes by the ability to nourish him. The hands and feet have protective feelings toward the head and eyes, so naturally they come by the ability to defend them. From antiquity to the present, there has never been a person who had no feelings for the material welfare of the common people and yet was able to use his governing ability to further their welfare. A scoundrel is indifferent and without human feelings toward his country, his sovereign, and the common people. Therefore, his intentions and intellect will be bent not on benefiting the world but on harming it. Such men truly resemble the talons and beaks of hawks and the poisonous stings of bees and scorpions. Governing ability, indeed! By contrast, in the Classic of Odes it is written, “When any of your people were in trouble / I went on my knees to help them.”5

  There is a common phrase, “to learn and inquire.” Never has there been learning that did not benefit from inquiring. . . . Even the most extraordinary talent is necessarily inferior to lon
g-practiced techniques in a specialized craft. A perception acquired by the sole efforts of one person is necessarily inferior to the consensus of many.6. .. There is no single doctrine that is absolutely correct, and no single person who is absolutely good. This is why, in the poem “Deer Call,”7 the deer cry out to one another when foraging for food, and why, in the poem “Woodcutters,”8 the birds call in chorus to seek their companions.

  Reading the poem “Brilliant Are the Flowers,”9 one exclaims with a sigh, “How well the author of this poem understood the governance of the empire.” The first stanza has “everywhere asking for counsel,” the second has “everywhere asking for instructions,” the third has “everywhere asking for good plans,” and the fourth has “everywhere asking for advice.” There are certainly men who, even though they are widely respected pillars of rectitude, yet in public service both lose their reputations and fail in their performance. How can that be? Taking the empty theory of “abiding in one’s own rectitude” and applying it to practical affairs will be effective less than three or four times out of ten. If one takes one’s individual ideas and checks them with people here and there, there will be agreement in fewer than five or six cases out of ten.

  The ancient and the present ages differ in what is suitable to them. North and south have different local customs. Assuredly, without getting involved personally in a particular situation, one cannot adapt oneself to it, as water does to the square or round shape of its container. And without the counsel and concurrence of many, you can hardly build a cart behind closed doors that will be able to leave your gate and fit the cart tracks outside. If you traverse mountains and rivers, merely enjoying the scenery, and fail to study strategic significance, concrete forms; if you travel through the countryside, only observing the marketplaces, and fail to investigate the local customs; if you are selecting human talent and merely choose literary polish, without judging ability and probity; then, if one day you are managing the business of the empire, you will not know what beneficial things to undertake or what harmful things to expunge. In recommending promotions or dismissals, you will not know the worthy person from the scoundrel. What is this but employing a square handle to hold a round awl? If you are a scholar and desire to take on the heavy responsibilities of the empire, you must begin with conscientious inquiry. And conscientious inquiry must begin before trouble arises. The poem “Brilliant Are the Flowers” understood this.

  From ancient times, there have been wealth and power [for the state] (fuqiang) that were exercised apart from the Kingly Way, but never a Kingly Way exercised apart from wealth and power. The distinction between true king and hegemon lies in their intentions, not in their overt actions. Their intentions are characterized, respectively, by principles of public good and private good, but their actions are not greatly different. The thirteenth hexagram of the Classic of Changes relates that when the ancient sages were forming their institutions, they began with fields and fisheries, plows and plowshares, markets and trade, sent boats and carts over long distances to link them up, and set watchmen and archers to defend them. As soon as King Yu had pacified the waters and land, he instituted the tribute and taxes and bent his efforts to military defense. The “Eight Objects of Governance” in the Grand Model10 begin with food and commodities and end with the entertainment of guests of state and with military affairs. In each case, a sufficiency of food and a sufficiency of military power served as tools for governing the empire. But Confucian scholars of later ages, seizing upon Mencius’s distinction between “rightness” (yi) and “profit” (li), and between “true king” (wang) and “hegemon” (ba), treated military strength and food supply as concerns pertaining only to the “five hegemons.” Tabooing such things, they would not speak of them. But actually, were not Confucius and his disciples concerned with providing for the people’s material welfare and managing the state’s revenue? Were not “agriculture and sericulture,” “trees and livestock” the very words of Mencius? . . .

  The Kingly Way is finely textured and all-encompassing. Through it runs all the fine and subtle infrastructure of human life, including farming and herding, labor service, military and revenue affairs. If one’s utterances are all about “mind and nature,” one’s personal demeanor all “rites and rightness,” and one acts and speaks as if to “form one body with the myriad things,” yet one does not examine the people’s ills, does not study bureaucratic management, does not look into the state’s revenues and border defenses, then supposing one day one enters official service; above, you will be unable to manage state revenues; outside, unable to pacify the borders; and below, unable to relieve the people’s troubles. You chatter emptily about “treating the people’s material welfare as one would a brother’s.”11 But having reached this point, there is nothing efficacious that you can actually do for the sake of the people’s material welfare! How on earth can anyone use this sort of impractical “Kingly Way”? . . .

  Scholars who practice belles lettres regard a concern for farming and sericulture as vulgar. But they are unaware that the evil done by vulgar scholarship is more injurious to men than is the evil done by vulgar officials! They rely on abstruse, empty theories, considering governmental affairs as uncouth. But they are unaware that the uselessness of decadent Confucians is equivalent to heterodoxy! Certainly, account books for money and grain cannot be called scholarship. But can frivolous literary elegance and showy classical quotations really be considered sagelike learning? Buddhist and Daoist priests certainly cannot govern the kingdoms of the empire; so how can far-fetched discourse about “mind” and “nature” govern the empire itself? . . .

  If those who govern fail to focus their attention on large matters, but attend merely to details, then the great principles affecting tranquillity and peril, misfortune and prosperity, will come within an eyelash of being lost. In employing men, if they fail to select persons with large understanding and merely select those with small, then the opportunity to acquire outstanding talents will slip through their hands. Therefore, to serve a ruling house by attending to a hundred details is not as good as establishing one great policy. To get a hundred efficient bureaucrats for a ruling house is not as good as getting one great statesman. The superior man is meticulously attentive to small details in regulating his own person, but not so in choosing men. Nor, however, is he abrupt or hasty in resolving complex and weighty problems. Wherever in all creation a kingdom is located, there must be some “with whom one can collaborate in office.”12. . .

  The way later ages nourished and employed human talent has been very different [from ancient times, when men were employed for their different practical abilities]. In promoting and testing men, they use only profitless “drawing of cakes to satisfy hunger,” and useless “carving of minute insects.” The officials thereby recruited know nothing of military affairs and agriculture, rites and music, planning of public works, or judicial administration. When such men are given appointment, a single one may be invested with the responsibilities of all six branches of government. Or in a single year, he may traverse the distinctive regional cultures of Chinese and barbarians all over the empire. How can the authorities take up matters that the “Four Curricula” of the early Confucian school [ethics, rhetoric, government, and literature] never included, and that the “Nine Ministries” of Yao and Shun never embraced, and expect them to be handled effectively by scholars who have come up through the hack schoolroom texts of the examination system? They begin by expecting pines and junipers to produce peaches and pears, then expect official banners to spring from the peaches and pears! Then when public affairs are ill-managed, they slap their thighs and lament, “There is no talent in the empire.” Alas! Is there really no talent in the empire? The Classic of Odes says: “The mulberry insect has young ones / And the sphex carries them away / Teach and train your sons / And they will become as good as you are.”13 . . .

  This is to say, what is to be used must be nourished; and what is nourished is what is to be used. . .
.

  When the people of the mountains and forests want to be charitable they must give away part of their own wealth. When they want to be rid of abuses [by such as yamen runners] they must appeal to the authority of officials. Can it be that the superior man in official position has, uniquely, the power to dispense charity without using his own wealth, or to expel corrupt functionaries without relying on someone’s authority? To wield a knife but not cut; to take up the oars but not row across—nobody is that stupid. Therefore, when the superior man holds a public office, he exerts his entire strength, whether in large matters or small; and it is sure that whatever he undertakes will be successful.

  [Guweitang neiji 3: 1–5b—PAK]

  THE PURSUIT OF PROFIT

  The means of governing all-under-Heaven (tianxia)—are they not power and authority, profit and fame? Was not the well-field system meant for the pursuit of profit? Was not the enfeoffment system based on power and authority? Were not the ancient schools meant to confer fame [on scholars]? The sage rulers shared authority, profit, and fame with all-under-Heaven. “They worried about what all-under-Heaven worried about without enjoying what all-under-Heaven enjoyed.”14 Thus the mere impulse to act was replaced by the rituals of the banquet and ceremonial greetings. In later ages, however, rulers would selfishly monopolize authority, profit, and fame. They enjoyed what was there for all-under-Heaven to enjoy and did not worry about what all-under-Heaven worried about. They were careless in guarding their own positions, and they allowed the rise of villainous strongmen who were only striving for aggrandizement. The distinction between aggressive rivalry, on the one hand, and courteous yielding, on the other, depends on how the ruler either enjoys or worries about all-under-Heaven. . . .