Sources of Chinese Tradition, Volume 2

by Wm. Theodore de Bary

  Marxist philosophy holds that the law of the unity of opposites is a fundamental law of the universe. This law operates everywhere—in the natural world, in human society, and in human thinking. Opposites in contradiction unite as well as struggle with each other, and thus impel all things to move and change. Contradictions exist everywhere, but as things differ in nature so do contradictions in any given phenomenon or thing; the unity of opposites is conditional, temporary and transitory, and hence relative, whereas struggle between opposites is absolute. Lenin gave a very clear exposition of this law. In our country, a growing number of people have come to understand it. For many people, however, acceptance of this law is one thing and its application, examining and dealing with problems, is quite another. . . . Many people refuse to admit that contradictions still exist in a socialist society, with the result that when confronted with social contradictions they become timid and helpless. They do not understand that socialist society grows more united and consolidated precisely through the ceaseless process of correctly dealing with and resolving contradictions. . . . [p. 26]

  On “Letting a Hundred Flowers Blossom” and “Letting a Hundred Schools of Thought Contend”

  The policy of letting a hundred flowers blossom and a hundred schools of thought contend is designed to promote the flourishing of the arts and the progress of science; it is designed to enable a socialist culture to thrive in our land. Different forms and styles in art can develop freely, and different schools in science can contend freely. We think that it is harmful to the growth of art and science if administrative measures are used to impose one particular style of art or school of thought and to ban another. . . . In the past, new and correct things often failed at the outset to win recognition from the majority of people and had to develop by twists and turns in struggle. Correct and good things have often at first been looked upon not as fragrant flowers but as poisonous weeds; Copernicus’s theory of the solar system and Darwin’s theory of evolution were once dismissed as erroneous and had to win out over bitter opposition. Chinese history offers many similar examples. . . .

  Marxism has also developed through struggle. . . . It is true that in China socialist transformation, insofar as a change in the system of ownership is concerned, has in the main been completed, and the turbulent, large-scale, mass class struggles characteristic of the revolutionary periods have in the main concluded. But remnants of the overthrown landlord and comprador classes still exist, the bourgeoisie still exists, and the petty bourgeoisie has only just begun to remold itself. Class struggle is not yet over. . . . In this respect, the question of whether socialism or capitalism will win is still not really settled. Marxists are still a minority of the entire population as well as of the intellectuals. Marxism therefore must still develop through struggle. . . . As humankind in general rejects an untruth and accepts a truth, a new truth will begin struggling with new erroneous ideas. Such struggles will never end. This is the law of the development of truth, and it is certainly also the law of development in Marxism. [pp. 44–46]

  People may ask: Since Marxism is accepted by the majority of the people in our country as the guiding ideology, can it be criticized? Certainly it can. As a scientific truth, Marxism fears no criticism. If it did and could be defeated in argument, it would be worthless. In fact, are not the idealists criticizing Marxism every day and in all sorts of ways? . . . Fighting against wrong ideas is like being vaccinated—a man develops greater immunity from disease after the vaccine takes effect. Plants raised in hothouses are not likely to be robust. Carrying out the policy of letting a hundred flowers bloom and a hundred schools of thought contend will not weaken but strengthen the leading position of Marxism in the ideological field.

  What should our policy be toward non-Marxist ideas? As far as unmistakable counterrevolutionaries and wreckers of the socialist cause are concerned, the matter is easy; we simply deprive them of their freedom of speech. But it is quite a different matter when we are faced with incorrect ideas among the people. Will it do to ban such ideas and give them no opportunity to express themselves? Certainly not. . . . That is why it is only by employing methods of discussion, criticism, and reasoning that we can really foster correct ideas, overcome wrong ideas, and really settle issues. [pp. 47–48]

  So what, from the point of view of the broad masses of the people, should be a criterion today for distinguishing between fragrant flowers and poisonous weeds? . . .

  Basing ourselves on the principles of our constitution, the will of the overwhelming majority of our people, and the political programs jointly proclaimed on various occasions by our political parties and groups, we believe that, broadly speaking, words and actions can be judged right if they:

  Help to unite the people of our various nationalities and do not divide them

  Are beneficial, not harmful, to socialist transformation and socialist construction

  Help to consolidate, not undermine or weaken, the people’s democratic dictatorship

  Help to consolidate, not undermine or weaken, democratic centralism

  Tend to strengthen, not to cast off or weaken, the leadership of the Communist Party

  Are beneficial, not harmful, to international socialist solidarity and the solidarity of the peace-loving peoples of the world

  Of these six criteria, the most important are the socialist path and the leadership of the Party. . . . When the majority of the people have clear-cut criteria to go by, criticism and self-criticism can be conducted along proper lines, and these criteria can be applied to people’s words and actions to determine whether they are fragrant flowers or poisonous weeds. These are political criteria. Naturally, in judging the truthfulness of scientific theories or assessing the aesthetic value of works of art, other pertinent criteria are needed, but these six political criteria are also applicable to all activities in the arts or sciences. In a socialist country like ours, can there possibly be any useful scientific or artistic activity that runs counter to these political criteria? [pp. 49–50]

  [Mao, Let a Hundred Flowers Bloom, pp. 14–26, 44–50]

  LIU BINYAN: “A HIGHER KIND OF LOYALTY”

  In this essay Liu Binyan, a prominent journalist who later became an outspoken critic of the Mao and Deng regimes, recalls how thrilled he was by Mao’s original speech on the Hundred Flowers Campaign, but then how disillusioned he was by the repression that followed. Liu subsequently became convinced that the campaign was set by Mao deliberately to trap his opponents; today, not all historians are so convinced, but there is little disagreement about the chilling outcome.

  I do not remember a moment in my life more exhilarating than when Mao Zedong’s February 1957 speech to the State Council was released. My estimation of him soared to sublime heights. At China Youth News the response was equally enthusiastic; it seemed as if we were at the beginning of a new era in China.

  In his speech, Mao distinguished between two basically different sets of “contradictions”—antagonistic and nonantagonistic. In so doing, he appeared to be announcing that the era of class struggle was over, that “internal contradictions” (including those between capitalists and the working class) were the main ones within our society, and the foremost among these were contradictions between the Party and the people. These were seen as nonantagonistic conflicts. This also meant that the Party must be placed under supervision of the people and that the fight against bureaucratism was a major task, requiring our full and constant attention. In that speech, Mao announced that dogmatism should not be mistaken for Marxism; he reiterated his policy of letting “a hundred flowers bloom and a hundred schools of thought contend"; he advocated open criticism and reiterated that senior party leaders should not be exempt from criticism. As for strikes by workers and students—unprecedented since the founding of the People’s Republic and now taken seriously for the first time—he said the right way of dealing with them was not by force or coercion but by overcoming bureaucratism.

  These issues were exactly the
unspoken ones that had been weighing on me for the last few years—special privileges within Party ranks, bureaucratism, and dogmatic tendencies. Now my disquiet had been dispelled as if by magic. The political climate in Beijing cleared up; the mood of intellectuals brightened; everything seemed to take on a rosy hue. Mao was virtually advocating more democracy and liberalization in matters of ideology; as a journalist and writer, I now felt I had a free hand in pursuing my vocation.

  In March I went to Harbin and Changchun, two big cities in northeast China, and I was shocked by the state of things I saw. The local Party Committee’s attitude toward Mao’s speech was diametrically opposed to that of the intellectuals; local officials just sat back, waiting for a change in the wind. The Party Committee in Harbin was conducting its own criticism of “bourgeois ideology.” The municipal Party secretary had decided that bureaucratism was a form of bourgeois ideology, so opposing bourgeois ideology covered everything.

  Another thing that shocked me was the diametrically opposed interpretations of Mao’s intentions. Mao’s talk was filtering down to Party cadres in these two cities, and among those who had heard and studied the talk, some felt that Mao was attacking dogmatism and leftist tendencies, while others felt differently. It is true, the latter conceded, Mao had criticized Chen Qitong’s January letter in the People’s Daily attacking liberal tendencies in art and literature. But that criticism, they argued, was leveled at Chen’s ineptitude in timing and presentation, not at his basic stand.

  Thirty years later, I reread Mao’s speech (the original version, not the one revised for publication) and realized that at the time I had been too preoccupied with his main drift to detect hints of other tendencies hidden between the lines. For instance, he did not mince words over Stalin’s dogmatism, but then insisted that Stalin must be assessed on the “three-seven” principle—that is, seven parts merit to three parts fault. Again Mao considered “democracy” as basically a tool to mobilize the people for the Party’s own ends.

  [Liu Binyan, A Higher Kind of Loyalty, pp. 69–70]

  INTELLECTUAL OPINIONS FROM THE HUNDRED FLOWERS PERIOD

  After seemingly endless rectification campaigns, intellectuals had become understandably reluctant to heed the Communist Party’s call to speak out freely. Gradually, however, they overcame this reluctance. Much of what they wrote was cautious and did not pose any challenge to the Party. Some of the bolder statements, however, did challenge the monopoly of power and the competence of the Communist Party, and this led eventually to the repressing of the Hundred Flowers and the purging of hundreds of thousands of intellectuals.

  [From the editor of Literary Studies: ]

  No one can deny that in our country at present there are still floods and droughts, still famine and unemployment, still infectious disease and the oppression of the bureacuracy, plus other unpleasant and unjustifiable phenomena. . . . A writer in possession of an upright conscience and a clear head ought not to shut his eyes complacently and remain silent in the face of real life and the sufferings of the people. If a writer does not have the courage to reveal the dark diseases of society, does not have the courage to participate positively in solving the crucial problems of people’s lives, and does not have the courage to attack all the deformed, sick, black things, then can he be called a writer?

  [Huang Qiuyun, in People’s Literature 9 (1956); adapted from Goldman,“The Party and the Intellectuals,” p. 249]

  [From a factory manager: ]

  Learning from the Soviet Union is a royal road; but some cadres do not understand and think that it means copying. I say if we do, it will paralyze Chinese engineers. . . . I have been engaged in electrical engineering for twenty years. Some of the Soviet experiences simply do not impress me. Of course, I suffered a good deal in the Five-Anti movement [against private business and business leaders] because of these opinions.

  [Sun Ding, in Guangming Daily, May 5; adapted from MacFarquhar, The Hundred Flowers Campaign, p. 64]

  [From a writer: ]

  I think that Chairman Mao’s speech delivered at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art consisted of two component parts: one was composed of theories of a tactical nature with which to guide the literary and artistic campaigns at the time, the other was composed of theories involving general principles with which to guide literary and artistic enterprises over the long run. . . .

  Owing to the fact that the life these works reflected belonged to a definite period and that the creative processes of the writers were hurried and brief, the artistic content of these works was generally very poor, and the intellectual content extremely limited. . . .

  If we were to use today the same method of leadership and the same theories as were used in the past to supervise and guide writers’ creative works, they would inevitably perform only the function of achieving “retrogression” rather than progress.

  We cannot but admit that since the liberation of the country, our guiding theoretical ideas have been conservative and at the same time profoundly influenced by doctrinairism from abroad, which to a considerable degree has hindered and stunted the development and prosperity of literary and artistic enterprises. . . .

  The root causes of formalization and conceptualization lie in the dogmatists mechanically, conservatively, one-sidedly, and in an exaggerated way carrying out and elaborating upon the tactical theories that Chairman Mao used to guide the literary and artistic movement at the time. . . .

  Literature and art do not serve politics by mechanically serving a certain policy, nor do creative works that conform to the constitution, Party regulations, and the letter of the law; they mainly do so through the class nature of works, through encouraging people, and through the function of aesthetic education of the people’s moral qualities.

  [Liu Shaotang, in Literary Studies 5 (1957); adapted from MacFarquhar, The Hundred Flowers Campaign, pp. 179–180]

  [From the editor in chief of the Guangming Daily: ]

  After the liberation [1949], intellectuals warmly supported the Party and accepted the leadership of the Party. But in the past few years the relations between the Party and the masses have not been good and have become a problem of our political life that urgently needs readjustment. Where is the key to the problem? In my opinion, the key lies in the idea that “the world belongs to the Party.” I think a party leading a nation is not the same as a party owning a nation; the public supports the Party, but members of the public have not forgotten that they are masters of the nation . . . isn’t it too much that within the scope of the nation, there must be a Party man as leader in every unit, big or small, whether section or subsection. . . . For many years, the talents or capabilities of many Party men have not matched their duties. They have bungled their jobs, to the detriment of the state, and have not been able to command the respect of the masses, with the result that the relations between the Party and the masses have been tense.

  [Qu Anping, in Guangming Daily, June 1; adapted from MacFarquhar, The Hundred Flowers Campaign, p. 51]

  [From a college professor: ]

  The Party members, due to their occupying positions of leadership and being favorably situated, seem to enjoy in all respects excessive privileges. Take theaters, for instance; a certain Party member pointed out in his self-examination that he was never happy unless he was offered a seat in the first ten rows. Why did he feel like that? Because he was used to seats in the first ten front rows. . . . During the past few campaigns, one by one the people have had the skin of their faces torn to pieces, and the intellectuals have had their authority knocked for six, all of which may, should, and indeed does have certain advantages. But why is it that the rectification of Party members must be done behind closed doors, and why is it that the masses are not allowed to probe into things if and when a Party member makes a mistake? . . . Never treat a person as if he were worse than dog’s excreta one moment and regard him as worth ten thousand ounces of gold the next. The intellectuals cannot stomach the ice-cold, nor can they sw
allow the piping-hot.

  [Xu Zhongyu, in Guangming Daily, May 1; adapted from MacFarquhar, The Hundred Flowers Campaign, pp. 65 -66]

  [From a student leader: ]

  True socialism is highly democratic, but the socialism we have here is not democratic. I call this society a socialism sprung from a basis of feudalism. We should not be satisfied with the Party’s rectification and reformist methods and the slight concessions made to the people.

  [Lin Xiling, speech at the open-air forum of Beijing University, May 23; adapted from MacFarquhar, The Hundred Flowers Campaign, p. 140]

  MAO ZEDONG: REMARKS AT THE BEIDAIHE CONFERENCE, AUGUST 1958

  Massive work projects to expand agricultural production led to the creation of large-scale organizations in the countryside, as Mao pushed for his version of socialism through the movement known as the Great Leap Forward. Mao called the organizations themselves people’s communes, even though it implied that China was moving from socialism to communism ahead of the Soviet Union, toward the elimination of all private plots and property. Mao had persuaded himself that this was a response to the spontaneous wishes of the people, but the subsequent strong resistance to the movement suggests that he misread their feelings.