On Ethics and History

by Zhang Xuecheng

  LETTER 2

  Letter on Learning to My Clansman Runan1

  Autumn has arrived, and I have received your letter. You take the time to inquire at length about my present situation, which I appreciate deeply. When I stayed with Shouyi,2 I reread your last letter and was reminded of how often I have written to you about my professional and personal troubles. You really had no reason to write back. I so regret this state of affairs! As of late, my mother is getting along nicely, my brothers are writing fine works, and my sisters and their children are all well. Thank you for kindly thinking of them.

  When I recall the times we were all gathered under a single roof it makes me feel isolated and lonely Now, I have only Shouyi, you, and two or three other disappointed scholars with whom I can discuss literary matters and who comfort my solitude. Now dispirited, they have departed and scattered, leaving only me, the insignificant outcast from Chang’an.3 In the pure autumn air, I fast my heart in loneliness and anxiety. The fallen leaves gathered in the courtyard increase my sense that I have betrayed my clan and wasted my life. I aspire to reach the mountains; I dream of the flowing Xiang4 and in my stillness cannot understand the source of my falling tears.

  Recently I was putting in order some ancient documents and generally regretting how easily their brilliance can fade away and be lost. I began to feel like some aging beauty; my only solace was to push ahead and make every effort! I am careful and attentive in all my work, but I am nothing but a worn-out old horse, unremarkable in every respect, which I find terribly regrettable. I must keep in mind what you said about the need to find the true heart of what one is reading. When I go over the fortifying and edifying points of the pleasant conversations we had in days past, my joy is truly overwhelming. And yet such thoughts also cause me to sigh.

  I think about how sickly I was as a youth. In a given year, figuring up my accumulated, insignificant efforts, they would in general not total two full months of work. By nature I was dull, and on any day that I would recite more than a hundred words, my illness would flare up again and I would be forced to stop. I was married at age fourteen and had yet to finish my study of the Four Books.5

  I watched my father assign all of his charges the classics to study while I remained among the beginning students, much to the amusement of my classmates. At that time, I first became aware of the great principles of the classics and histories. I already had begun to take a secret delight in these and started to elucidate my own questions and doubts. Every now and then, I would have an insight that would surpass the mature opinions of adult scholars, and from this point onward my understanding gradually improved. I liked to read broadly, but my father worried that my preparation for the examinations would become contaminated, and so he kept certain books from me, ordering me not to look at them. But once the passion for these works had come upon me, I could not stand to be cut off from them. I found myself in this unsettled condition for quite some time.

  Between the ages of fifteen and sixteen, when I was living in Yingcheng,6 my tutor gave me daily assignments aimed at success in the examinations. Within the magistrate’s official quarters, I was denied access to other books. But in secret I begged my wife’s hairpins and earrings and pawned them in exchange for paper and writing brushes. I then engaged the services of some local clerks to copy out for my use the commentaries on the Spring and Autumn Annals and some Eastern Zhou and Warring States Period histories. I then went over this material, separating it according to sense, and compiled it into annals, tables, monographs, and biographies. This process yielded more than one hundred rolls of material, and after three years I had not succeeded in completing the task. It later came to the attention of my teacher, who demanded that I abandon the project. All my labor came to nothing, which I regret to this day.

  When my venerable father retired, I journeyed, constantly oppressed by both hunger and cold, as far north as Yan and Qin and as far south as Chu and Yue, covering thousands of miles.7 And even now I cannot rest. Though the strength of my understanding has advanced, the power of my memory is growing weak. Time is undermining my hopes. My attempt to compile these materials into a comprehensive form is riddled with inaccuracies and contradictions. It is truly laughable.

  When I think back on those early days, I am not surprised at my poor results. When I should have devoted myself to just reading, I foolishly indulged myself in attempts to write. And so I produced little, and what I did produce was not well grounded. This is something that the ancients would have found wholly lamentable, but I continued to trifle with literary style. The days and months flew by while I did not pay attention. I could tell that I was not holding on to the knowledge I had attained and that my efforts and toil were rarely leading to any real achievement.

  The path of inquiry and study has both common roads and separate paths. Those who place the highest priority on philology tend to be not well versed in literature. Those who pursue philosophy usually neglect empirical facts. Since each person will follow his natural inclinations and display his individual achievements, some will embrace the philological studies of Fu Qian or Zheng Xuan,8 others the literary styles of Han Yu or Ouyang Xiu,9 and still others the philosophical sayings of Cheng Yi or Zhu Xi.10 Each will stand firmly on his own merits, and none will incline toward the other. Each will then seek to distinguish a separate lineage and tradition, and all mutually will criticize one another. This is why philosophy tends toward being vague and pointless, philology becomes nothing but a review of the dregs of former glories, and literature ends up being a mere plaything. Since the Han and Tang dynasties these (three pursuits) have vied for people’s allegiance. In the present age there is nothing but clamorous contention among them, which is not at all easy to resolve. But from the point of view of one with true understanding, things are not like this, for such people understand that philology is just an empirical manifestation of philosophical principle and literature is simply a tool used to convey it. These pursuits are not fundamentally different. What is the point of confusing and disordering them? Why should one be like the snipe and the clam [who through their mutual struggle allowed the fisherman to seize them both] and allow the heretical and vulgar to profit as the fisherman did?11

  In the past, I used to read to get the general meaning. Being young and enthusiastic I devoted myself to wading through and hunting among the different genres and various classics, letting my attention wander and lacking any specific end in sight. I delighted in setting forth my own theories, which were lofty but did not pertain to anything in particular. I attacked the practices of textual scholarship and rode off wildly into the vague and insubstantial. I was always quite pleased with myself, sure that I had achieved something important. And so I was shocked when Dai Dongyuan of Yiuning 12 shook his fist and exclaimed, “Regardless of whether they specialize in scholarship or literary pursuits, students today never really read anything!” I was startled by what he said and so approached and asked him what he meant. He responded by saying,

  If I were unable to comprehend the notions of “before Heaven” and “after Heaven” and the subtle intricacies of the Yellow River Chart and the Book of the Lo River, I would not dare to begin reading the Book of Changes.13

  If I were unable to understand the paths of the stars, the alternations of the years, the constellations and patterns of earth, then I would not dare to begin reading the astronomical sections of the Book of History. If I were unable to distinguish tones and scales and rhyme schemes, ancient and modern, then I would not dare to begin reading the Book of Odes. If I were unable to master the yearly regulations described in the “Three Comprehensive [Studies]” and the rites described in the “Offices of the Zhou,” I would not dare to begin reading the Spring and Autumn Annals.14

  I was deeply mortified by what he said. And his words moved me to recall something I had once said to you: “Students should only worry that their reading is too easy, their writing is too skillful, and their philosophical speculations are too neat.” Althoug
h the point of my remark was slightly different, in substance it is not far from what Dai Zhen said, and it can be taken to imply the very same thing. If you fully follow the implications of this idea, then you will see that none of our generation has ever really read through even one of the Four Books or a single volume of the classics. This is enough to mortify one with shame and make one’s heart run cold!

  Recently, when I was traveling with Master Zhu Yun,15 he too expressed his great dissatisfaction with the shallowness of later scholars, who engage in ignorant and pointless philosophical discussions. This is why he advises all those students who follow him first to seek out and verify something solid and substantial and then to expand and fill out their understanding through later reflection. This is akin to the saying, “If one does not first have faith in the ancients, how can one truly question the classics?” This expression really strikes at the heart of a serious obstacle to learning. My own view is that it is important for students to have some particular focus and specialization in what they are inclined to study. There is no fundamental opposition between breadth of learning and command of detail.16 Once one’s far-ranging explorations begin to settle down and accumulate, one will discover that the more refined one becomes in what one has chosen to study, the further one’s understanding reaches.

  Were one of the ancients to arise again, I am not really sure what he would make of what I have just said. My point is that it is very easy to talk about this. (But in order to achieve this goal) one must sequester oneself for ten years time and only follow well-worn paths whenever one ventures forth. Once you have established a lofty reputation and are not ashamed to stand before the ancients, you must then guard against the desire for ephemeral, popular fame and avoid the temptation of yielding to vulgar praise or blame. One must apply and exert oneself even for decades or more at something that mediocre people find unworthy of doing. Then one day you will find yourself near to mastery. This can be considered the way of one who has real knowledge. It is not something that is easy to explain point by point to people of the present age.

  How sad! No tradition of learning has carried out its work continuously for one hundred years. No generation has given rise to people who live for one hundred years. With the ups and downs and the ebb and flow of circumstances and the many worries and afflictions that plague human affairs, one often is left with the equivalent of only a few days’ labor; and yet one must do the equivalent of plowing a hundred acres of land, ordering the affairs of ten households, reigning in peace over a hundred cities, and crossing the famous peaks alone. Only then will immortal fame be granted, and [only then] will the cypress and catalpa trees at the entrance of your tomb wait to answer the inquiries of Mo Ling.17

  In the past, someone said, “I am not yet thirty but worry that old age is fast approaching.” I already have reached this point in life, but my family is poor and my parents aged while I must work at writing in the trivial and worthless eight-legged essay style in the vain hope of securing an official salary. 18 This is what they call,

  “Working at what people most despise,

  In order to gain what they most prize.”

  And yet there is no way for me to pack up my wares and go wandering among the rivers and lakes in order to turn a small profit, for when I present what I have to offer, my speech is slow and my phraseology insipid. I am not able to convey what it is that I have. Since now I am occupied with trivial undertakings, my remaining strength is not sufficient for even a shallow understanding of the ancients. When I have time to focus on reading and writing, I emphasize synthesizing the knowledge I have accumulated. But recently I have again been working only on and off.

  Ever since I was a youth, my natural inclination has always been toward history. Since historical books are so numerous and complex, I had to pawn my bedding and clothes before I could buy sixteen or seventeen histories from Sima Qian and Ban Gu on down to Ouyang Xiu and Song Qi.19 Since my eyesight was weak, I often became confused and lost the thread of their thoughts. I had to go over a text four or five times, marking it with a red pencil, before I could begin to understand its structure. Yet I still was not able to grasp the phraseology or comprehend all the names and technical details.

  I came to believe that the twenty-one official histories contained imperfections in form and errors in content.20 And so, I wanted to carry out a comprehensive survey of their strengths and weaknesses, sum these up in a set of general rules, and write a book several chapters in length presenting a critical description of the guiding principle of historical writing. But my command of the material was so poor that I did not have the slightest hope of completing such a project. Worse still, now I am obliged to write in the eight-legged essay style, am burdened with my studies in preparation for the official examinations, and do not know whether I will ever realize my aspirations.

  As for the other things that I write, aside from what I have handed to Master Zhu Yun for correction, there is nothing in what I exchange with close friends that is particularly good or bad or worth mentioning. Moreover, all my writings would seem odd and shock you as being unconventional in nature. When my heart is still, I think about my former peripatetic ways and do not feel my tears as they begin to fall. But in the high mountain temple the autumn air is clear. You have accumulated great honors through your command of the classics in the imperial examinations. You bring happiness and inspire those both near to and far from you. You explain the unusual and analyze what is unconventional in nature. What joy could equal this! In addition to your lectures and readings, your more recent writings have been organized into volumes. At your convenience, would you send me one or two of these to set my heart at ease?

  As for the book on the principles of family genealogy that you are interested in, my esteemed elder cousin Yun Gong21 has made a draft of the branch lineages. He has ordered and recorded the collected memorial inscriptions and tablets, but all this material still comes to less than a volume in length. I have sketched out the various lineages, from the time when one could find fifteen separate branches of our clan within the city of Shaoxing, 22 and have prepared detailed genealogies from the more recent times of our grandfathers and great grandfathers.

  To carry out this work I first selected the best from Su Xun’s The Principles of Geneology and Shao Tingcai’s Prefaces on Mr. Quan’s Genealogy and synthesized the best aspects of their approaches.23 As for the elegant sayings and exemplary activities of our ancestors, their leisure customs and notable affairs, and their extant writings and familial covenants, I regarded these as falling under the category of “miscellanea” and separated them off as a separate chapter in order to make them easy to peruse. As for personal biographies and records of conduct, congratulatory poetry and prose, I compiled these as an independent, outer chapter, which I attached as an appendix awaiting a general editing of the entire work. When convenient, please send me your comments on this work.

  I have sent for your consideration parts of the Local History of Tianmen that I have revised.24 What I now have is only about sixty to seventy percent of the original manuscript. I am showing you only a sample of the parts that I have written myself. As for the noted affairs of our two female ancestors, I recently completed the work of putting this material in order to form one chapter and here present you with a copy of this manuscript.

  In the fourth month I received a family letter from Hunan. Everyone is as they were before, though they say the cold weather has been quite severe. Nevertheless, my wife gave birth to a son last autumn.25 I here attach an announcement thinking that perhaps you would want to have a copy of your own. As for the other members of my family, they are muddling along.

  I very much look forward to receiving your kind reply. There is so much more to say, but I will end for now.

  LETTER 3

  Reply to Shen Zaiting Discussing Learning1

  In the sixth month of 1789, I left Taiping and returned to Bozhou.2 On my way through Yangzhou, your esteemed father persuaded me to del
ay for almost a month.3 This was enough to relieve me of my thoughts of more than ten years of deprivations, when I was far away in Hebei and unable to share such company. At that time, I was constantly distressed. I arrived in Bozhou in the seventh month and it so happened that my daughter-in-law became seriously ill and died. The funeral arrangements and transportation of her coffin presented numerous, extreme difficulties.

  In the eighth month, we traveled in Hubei and in the tenth month returned to Bozhou. The trip there and back took a total of two months, with muddy [roads] and constant rain making the journey difficult. During the past two months, I have had a break from the hardships of the road, but preparations for the New Year have frustrated my gazetteer work. Between dealing with guests and laying future plans, the end of the first month of the New Year finds this work still unfinished. And so I must take up these uncompleted projects and also write about my travels in Hubei. Unsettled by my poverty and with my years galloping to a close, would you say that I am full of joy?

  In the middle of the eleventh month, while working on my gazetteer on Bozhou, I received the letter you wrote on the twentieth day of the sixth month. I regret that the warm southern breeze only gently rustles the trees and that the periods of frost and snow only permit intermittent travel, thus causing us to correspond in fits and starts like this. The letter I received flows on for well over one thousand words. It is brimming with issues related to learning that you and I have gone over on earlier occasions. It also draws upon things that you have picked up from contemporary discussions in the capital, in order to confirm some of its conclusions.