Historical Truth, Historical Criticism, And Ideology: Chinese Historiography And Historical Culture From A New Comparative Perspective (Leiden Series in Comparative Historiography)

HISTORICAL TRUTH, HISTORICAL CRITICISM AND IDEOLOGY LEIDEN SERIES IN COMPARATIVE HISTORIOGRAPHY Editors AXEL SCHNEIDER...

Author: Helwig Schmidt-Glintzer | Achim Mittag | Jorn Rusen

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HISTORICAL TRUTH, HISTORICAL CRITICISM AND IDEOLOGY

LEIDEN SERIES IN COMPARATIVE HISTORIOGRAPHY Editors AXEL SCHNEIDER SUSANNE WEIGELIN-SCHWIEDRZIK

VOLUME 1

HISTORICAL TRUTH HISTORICAL CRITICISM AND IDEOLOGY Chinese Historiography and Historical Culture from a New Comparative Perspective EDITED BY

HELWIG SCHMIDT-GLINTZER, ACHIM MITTAG AND JÖRN RÜSEN

BRILL LEIDEN • BOSTON 2005

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A C.I.P. record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

ISSN 1574-4493 ISBN 90 04 14237 1 © Copyright 2005 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill Academic Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Brill provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910 Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

Dedicated to the Memory of Michael Quirin (1954 – 2004)

CONTENTS Preface ........................................................................................ Helwig Schmidt-Glintzer

xi

List of Contributors ....................................................................

xxi

PART ONE HISTORICAL TRUTH Religious Claims of Truth versus Critical Method – Some General Remarks on a Complex Relationship in Western Tradition ................................................................... Petra Bahr Language Change in Premodern China – Notes on Its Perception and Its Impact on the Idea of a “Constant Way” ................................................................... Wolfgang Behr

1

13

Poetry and Religion: The Representation of “Truth” in Early Chinese Historiography ................................................ Martin Kern

53

Normativity and History in Warring States Thought. The Shift towards the Anthropological Paradigm ...................... Heiner Roetz

79

Truth Claims in Shiji ................................................................... Stephen Durrant Why has the Question of Truth Remained an Open Question Throughout Chinese History? ..................................................... Helwig Schmidt-Glintzer

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115

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CONTENTS

PART TWO HISTORICAL COMMENT AND HISTORICAL CRITICISM Criteria of Historical Judgment .................................................. Jörn Rüsen

133

Some Notions of Historical Judgment in China and the West ................................................................. Kai Vogelsang

143

Platitude and Persona: Junzi Comments in Zuozhuan and Beyond ................................................................................. David Schaberg

177

Speeches and the Question of Authenticity in Ancient Chinese Historical Records ....................................... Yuri Pines

197

The Past as a Messianic Vision: Historical Thought and Strategies of Sacralization in the Early Gongyang Tradition ................................................ Joachim Gentz Hong Mai’s Yijian Zhi: Testing the Boundary Between Worldly and Otherworldly Facts ................................. Thomas H.C. Lee

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PART THREE AT THE THRESHOLD OF MODERNITY AND BEYOND: HISTORICAL TRUTH, THE HISTORIAN’S TRUSTWORTHINESS, AND IDEOLOGY The Rise of Historical Criticism and the Process of Professionalization in Historical Studies in Europe – The Case of Germany ............................................. Horst Walter Blanke Ideology and History: Yao Jiheng’s Critical Scholarship and the Ideology of New Historical Science (Xin Shixue) .......... Kai-Wing Chow

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CONTENTS

What Makes a Good Historian: Zhang Xuecheng’s Postulate of “Moral Integrity” (Shi De) Revisited ....................................................................... Achim Mittag Ideology and Truth Claims in Korean Historiography of the “Empirist School” ............................................................. Marion Eggert History and Truth in Chinese Marxist Historiography ............... Susanne Weigelin-Schwiedrzik Between Normative and Individualizing Didactics: Suzhi Jiaoyu as a New Term in Chinese Theories of History Teaching .................................................................... Nicola Spakowski Index of Names ...........................................................................

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PREFACE Helwig Schmidt-Glintzer This volume collects the proceedings of the third and last meeting of the conference series “Chinese Historiography and Historical Culture from a Comparative Perspective”, which took place at the Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel, on October 4-6, 2001. The conference series, generously funded by the Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation for International Scholarly Exchange, Taipei, is part of the “International Project on Chinese and Comparative Historiography”, initiated by Thomas H. C. Lee (City College of New York, CCNY) and supported by the City College of New York, the Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel, the Kulturwissenschaftliches Institut, Essen, and the National Taiwan University, Taibei.1 This conference series was planned as a new kind of comparative approach which stresses the need to study historiography and historical thinking in the form of an intercultural dialogue. A promising start in this direction was made about ten years ago and has now been made available in published form.2 As historical memory substantially contributes to the shaping of human beings’ identity— the identity of individuals as well as of communities and nations— such an intercultural dialogue naturally moves beyond the narrowly circumscribed arena of academic studies. It converges with a wider intercultural discourse which is unanimously being advocated to avoid the much-discussed “clash of civilizations”. Our project gained an unwanted, gruesome actuality from the terrorist attacks of September 11, some three weeks before the Wolfenbüttel conference. Considering the uncertainties of air travel in 1 For information on the setting up of this international project in 1996 and its activities since, see the website www.chinesehistoriography.com developed by the City College of the New York Asian Studies Program. 2 Rüsen 2002. It should be noted that this attempt concurred with other similar attempts aimed at broadening the intercultural approach in the study of historiography and historical thinking such as, e.g., Fuchs and Stuchtey 2002 and, with the focus on Chinese historiography and historical thinking, Schneider and Weigelin-Schwiedrzik 1996; Wei Gelin and Shi Naide 1999; Wang and Iggers 2002. Presently, the most ambitious undertaking in the field of comparative historiography is the establishment of the new Brill on-line journal Historiography East and West, jointly edited by Susanne Weigelin-Schwiedrzik and Axel Schneider.

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the days thereafter, it was an astonishing event in itself that a sizeable group of Chinese and Western scholars eventually gathered at the Herzog August Bibliothek to meet in the hall of the library, which houses a famous historical Bible collection. 3 As conveners of the conference, we want to express our hearty gratitude to Professor Emeritus Yü Ying-shih (Princeton University) and his wife, who did not hesitate to make the trip to Germany and take part in the conference, Professor Yü chairing and greatly inspiring our discussions as the most senior scholar there. Although the cruel reality of those horrible events cast a shadow over the conference, it showed us to be united in holding with passion and assurance to the idea of an intercultural dialogue,4 which cannot tame a bursting world, but appears to be the most suitable alternative to the ancient Chinese vision of the sage-emperor Shun’s စ playing the zither and singing the “Air of the South” (“Nanfeng” তଅ) in order to bring into consonance the cosmic forces in chaos. The original purpose of the Wolfenbüttel Conference was to discuss the two broad topics of “ideology” and “historical criticism”. These two topics relate to the political and cognitive dimensions of our historical mind, respectively. 5 In preparing the conference, however, it became more and more clear that these two large topics are closely linked to each other by the question of historical truth. Here then we were confronted with yet another major issue. Although often not treated explicitly, the question of truth is rightly said to lie at the core of historical thinking and historiography in any historiographic tradition. To be ignorant of it makes us less able to understand the multifaceted relationship between the political and cognitive dimensions of historical consciousness. What is specifically Chinese about this particular relationship, compared to the Western, or any other non-Western, historiographic tradition? And how did it evolve in the Chinese historiographic tradition?

3

We regret that because of problems with air travel in the wake of September 11, professors Vinay Lal (University of California, Los Angeles) and Brian Moloughney (University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand) were forced to cancel their trips to Germany. 4 For a report on the conference, see Lee 2002. 5 For the distinction of the five dimensions of historical consciousness—the semantic, cognitive, aesthetic, rhetorical, and political dimensions—see Rüsen 2001: 62-66.

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To highlight the scope of these questions, let us once again glance at an often discussed and highly puzzling instance of Chinese historical criticism, which concerns one—perhaps the best known one—of Confucius’s comments contained in the Zuozhuan ؐ ႚ . 6 In his comment, Confucius praises the court historiographer Dong Hu ᇀध as an excellent historian, although the latter’s entry concerning the assassination of Duke Ling ᨋֆ of Jin வ in 607 B.C. conceals, or deliberately misrepresents, the facts of what had actually happened. Confucius’s comment is indeed bewildering. As Burton Watson has put it: “If the Gospels have their dark sayings, we must perhaps admit that this remark of Confucius represents one of the dark sayings of the Tso chuan [Zuozhuan], an utterance that will never be completely comprehensible to the modern reader.”7 This is hardly an enthusiastic encouragement to ponder the concept of truth and objectivity in Chinese historiography. Yet there are two points which may add a new motivation for rethinking the passage in question and reveal the enormous instructive potential of this foremost case of Chinese historical comment. Firstly, it is important to note that Confucius’s comment resulted not only in affirming Dong Hu’s moralizing viewpoint, but also in privileging the Zuozhuan account of the whole affair over the versions contained in the other two early commentaries to the Spring and Autumn Annals ਞટ, the Gongyang Zhuan ֆ‫ے‬ႚ, and the Guliang Zhuan ᒜඩႚ. Apart from some minor differences, the latter both lack a narrative element which is essential to the Zuozhuan version and to Confucius’s comment as well, namely Zhao Dun’s ᎓ એ , attempt to flee across the border. 8 This suggests that historical criticism in China does not necessarily function as an agency of

6

In Chinese historiography these comments, along with similar comments in the Zuozhuan marked by the opening phrase “the Gentleman remarks” (junzi yue ‫ܩ‬՗ֳ), represent the earliest stock of commentarial and reflective remarks separated from the narration; see Henry 1999 and David Schaberg’s article in this volume. 7 Watson 1989: 80. 8 With this dramatizing element of the flight across the border, the Zuozhuan makes use of a motif which recurs prominently in the Shiji biographies of Shang Yang ೸Ꮓ and the Lord of Mengchang ࡯ቫ‫ܩ‬, see Yang and Yang 1979: 135, 137, and 157, 159. Whereas the Gongyang Zhuan is silent about Zhao Dun’s progress after departing from the Jin capital, we are briefly told in the Guliang Zhuan that he came not further than to the suburban area of the Jin capital (jiao ૳), which was still at least a two days’ journey from the next border. See Gongyang Zhuan, Xuan 2nd year, 15.2280a; Guliang Zhuan, Xuan 2nd year, 12.2412b.

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questioning, doubt, and revision, but on the contrary might even authenticate or privilege a certain historical account.9 Secondly, Dong Hu’s entry in the court annals, though traditionally lauded as “a record which does not conceal anything” (shufa bu yin ஼ ऄլឆ), was not made sine ira et studio, but ostensibly with certain political motives. 10 Moreover, we should not forget its deadly consequences. Only ten years later, when Zhao Dun had already died, a former favorite of Duke Ling used Dong Hu’s vicious record to instigate the military to raid the Zhao clan. In the ensuing massacre, almost the entire clan was wiped out; the family survived thanks only to a posthumously born child. 11 This is the plot of a play which through Voltaire’s L’Orphelin de la Chine has become part of world literature. In short, the case of Dong Hu’s record demonstrates par excellence the thin borderline between historiography and ideology in the Chinese historiographic tradition. Yet in studying historical comment and historical criticism in China, we will find that the uncovering of ideological implications, purposeful distortions, and opinionated and biased views, is meaningless apart from a background of historical truth to judge them by. This explains the decision to enlarge the original scope of the conference by adding a section on “Historical Truth”, with which this essay collection begins. Due to the nature of this topic, three of this section’s five China-related articles deal with Chinese historiography and historical thinking in ancient China—the “inner” essays by Martin Kern, Heiner Roetz, and Stephen Durrant. The two “outer” essays by Wolfgang Behr and Helwig Schmidt-Glintzer, however, make it clear that the question of truth was relevant throughout Chinese history. This is followed by a section on “Historical Comment and Historical Criticism”, as the central part of the present volume. Here too, three articles focus on China’s early historical works, in particular the two commentaries to the Spring and Autumn Annals, the Zuozhuan 9

Michael Quirin has lucidly pointed to this function of textual and historical criticism in China, albeit with regard to the Chinese canon and the Chinese exegetical tradition: “The aim of these critical tendencies did not, and could not, lie in the elimination of the indispensable reference to the canon, but on the contrary it lies in its preservation through bridging the cracks in the continuity and homogeneity of tradition” [our translation]; see Quirin 1999: 25. 10 Again, from the account in Zuozhuan, Xuan 2nd Year, 21.1867b, we learn that Dong Hu himself made his record public at court. By so doing, he grossly interfered in the process of selecting and installing a successor to Duke Ling. 11 See Shiji 43.1782-1785.

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and the Gongyang Zhuan—the essays by David Schaberg, Yuri Pines, and Joachim Gentz. This section concludes with Thomas H. C. Lee’s analysis of Hong Mai’s ੋᝬ (1123-1202) attitude and standards for selecting historical materials in his massive Yijian Zhi ‫ ڎ‬ഒ ‫ݳ‬ (Records of Yijian). It takes us down to the Song ‫ ݚ‬period (9601279), which must be viewed as a major era of Chinese historical thinking.12 Special mention is due to Kai Vogelsang’s essay, which stands out from all other articles in this volume in that it takes an explicitly comparative approach, comparing the underlying concept and the use of historical judgment in the Chinese and Western historiographic traditions. Different from the first two sections, the third and last section, “At the Threshold of Modernity and Beyond: Historical Truth, the Historian’s Trustworthiness, and Ideology”, deals with the early modern and modern period, focusing on a problem that is ostensibly specific to this period: it witnessed an increasingly sophisticated research methodology aimed at achieving historical objectivity, but at the same time historiography seems to have become more and more prone to ideological misuse. If this is the case for the West, then how about China? Chow Kai-Wing and Marion Eggert discuss the underlying problem of the tension between history and ideology with regard to the rise of “evidential research” (kaozheng ‫ ە‬ᢞ ) in eighteenth-century China and Korea. Next, Achim Mittag indicates that this development was paired with a growing awareness of the problem of the historian’s trustworthiness. The following two articles by Susanne Weigelin-Schwiedrzik and Nicola Spakowski follow the line down to the second half of the twentieth century, discussing the existing tension between historical truth and ideology in the field of Chinese Marxist historiography and didactics of history teaching in the PRC. It was clear from the outset that three such broad topics could not be studied in a comprehensive way and we are well aware of significant lacunae in each of the three sections.13 We want to remind 12

See Lee 2004. In particular, this concerns the great advance in historical criticism which is connected with the Song statesman and scholar Sima Guang ‫್׹‬٠ (1019-1086). Regrettably, Professor Ji Xiao-bin (University of Rutgers, Camden, NJ), a leading expert on this particular topic, was prevented from joining the conference, but he kindly sent us a first draft of his paper entitled “Sima Guang’s (1019-1086) Kaoyi as a Paradigm of Chinese Historical Criticism? A Preliminary Investigation of the Use of 13

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the reader that the emphasis lays upon the intercultural comparison. This, however, did not place an individual researcher or discussant under the strain of taking a comparative approach; rather, he or she was only required to present his or her piece of scholarly work in such a way that it enhances the intended intercultural dialogue. During the conference, we did take a good step forward along the path of such a dialogue. Yet this blissful moment can hardly be documented in a collection of the papers presented, however carefully they were later revised and amended. To retain the comparative aspect in some way we chose to include one essay in each of the three sections, in which the respective topic is explored from a non-Chinese perspective—the essays by Petra Bahr, Jörn Rüsen, and Horst Walter Blanke. We regret that the focus of all these three essays heading each section is on the Western historiographic tradition, but this shortcoming is to some extent compensated for by the rather highly theoretical level of discussion in each of these theme-setting essays. Within the three sections the articles are loosely arranged according to the chronological order of the subject matter treated. We owe sincere thanks to many friends and colleagues, in the first place to the contributors of this volume, but also to those who presented papers, which, on the authors’ explicit wishes, were not included in this volume—Jochen Martin (Freiburg University), Gert Melville (Dresden University), and Monika Übelhör (Marburg University). We further wish to thank Mechthild Leutner (Free University, Berlin) and Hans van Ess (Munich University) for their thoughtful comments on the papers by Susanne Weigelin-Schwiedrzik and Nicola Spakowski, and Stephen Durrant, respectively. Also we would like to extend our thanks to all other participants who by their enthusiastic engagement in our discussions made the conference into a memorable academic event—Ludwig Ammann (Freiburg), Maria

Sources in Zizhi Tongjian”. Readers interested in the topic are referred to Professor Ji’s forthcoming monograph, Politics and Conservatism in Northern Song China. Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press. Further, we would like to draw the reader’s attention to the special section on “Facetten der historischen Kritik in China” (Facets of Historical Criticism in China), edited by Achim Mittag and Helwig Schmidt-Glintzer, in Oriens Extremus 43 (2002), which collects six articles by Achim Mittag, Joachim Gentz, Hans van Ess, Monique Nagel-Angermann, Hoyt Tillman, and Nicola Spakowski, which were originally presented in a panel of the XXXV. Deutschen Orientalistentag (XXXVth Meeting of German Orientalists), in Bamberg 2001.

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Khayutina (Bochum), Monique Nagel-Angermann (Bielefeld), Michael Quirin (Bonn), and Hermann-Josef Röllicke (Düsseldorf). Moreover, we are indebted to Susanne Weigelin-Schwiedrzik (University of Vienna) and Axel Schneider (Leiden University) for establishing a monograph series to accompany the newly set up online journal Historiography East and West and accepting the proceedings of our conferences as its first issues. With gratitude we acknowledge the enormous efforts made by Irmy Schweiger (Brunswick), Wolfgang Zeidl (Vienna), and Oliver Radtke (Heidelberg) who shouldered the arduous editorial work, and Ms. Caroline Mason (Durham), who, skillfully and with great care, saw to the correction and improvement of those papers written by colleagues whose mother tongue is not English. It goes without saying that all responsibility lies with the individual authors and the editors. Finally, we would like to express our gratitude to the Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation of International Scholarly Exchange for their financial support, not only for the organization of the conference, but also for the editorial work, and to the Herzog August Bibliothek and the Kulturwissenschaftliches Institut for further enhancements.

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REFERENCES CITED Fuchs, Eckhardt and Benedikt Stuchtey (eds.) (2002), Across Cultural Borders. Historiography in Global Perspective. Lanham, Boulder, New York, Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. Gongyang Zhuan ֆ‫ے‬ႚ (The Gongyang Commentary of the Spring and Autumn Annals), Chunqiu Gongyang Zhuan Zhengyi ਞટֆ‫ے‬ႚ‫إ‬ᆠ (The Correct Meanings of the Gongyang Commentary of the Spring and Autumn Annals) (1980), Shisan Jing Zhushu Fu Jiaokan Ji ԼԿᆖࣹงॵீ໰ಖ (The Thirteen Classics Annotated and Commented Upon, with Collation Notes) edition. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Guliang Zhuan ᒜඩႚ (The Guliang Commentary of the Spring and Autumn Annals) Chunqiu Guliang Zhuan Zhengyi ਞટᒜඩႚ‫إ‬ᆠ (The Correct Meanings of the Guliang Commentary of the Spring and Autumn Annals ) (1980), Shisan Jing Zhushu Fu Jiaokan Ji ԼԿᆖࣹงॵீ໰ಖ (The Thirteen Classics Annotated and Commented Upon, with Collation Notes) edition. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Henry, Eric (1999), “‘Junzi Yue’ Versus ‘Zhongni Yue’ in Zuozhuan”, in Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 59 (1999), 125-161. Lee, Thomas H. C. (2002), “Conference on ‘Ideology and Historical Criticism in Chinese Historical Thinking’. A Report”, in Chinese and Comparative Historiography Newsletter, 6 (2002), 1-3. Lee, Thomas H. C. (ed.) (2004), The New and the Multiple. Sung Senses of the Past. Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press. Quirin, Michael (1999), ”Schwaches Zentrum, schwache Peripherie? Einführende Bemerkungen zur chinesischen kritischen Tradition und ihrer Erforschung (Weak Center, Weak Periphery? Introductory Remarks on the Chinese Tradition of Criticism and Its Exploration)”, in minima sinica 2 (1999), 3-43. Rüsen, Jörn (2001), “Historisches Erzählen (Historical Narration)”, in Rüsen, Jörn (2001), Zerbrechende Zeit. Über den Sinn der Geschichte (The Breaking Up of Time. On Sense and Meaning of History). Köln, Weimar, Wien: Böhlau, 43-105. Rüsen, Jörn (ed.) (2002), Western Historical Thinking. An Intercultural Debate. New York, Oxford: Berghahn Books [originally in German: Westliches Geschichtsdenken. Eine interkulturelle Debatte. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1999]. Schneider, Axel and Susanne Weigelin-Schwiedrzik (eds.) (1996), Chinese Historiography in Comparative Perspective. Middleton, Ct. (= History and Theory 35: 4). Shiji ‫ ׾‬ಖ (Records of the Historian) (1980), compiled by Sima Qianʳ ‫ ್ ׹‬ᔢ . Zhonghua Shuju. Wang, Q. Edward and Georg G. Iggers (eds.) (2002), Turning Points in Historiography. A Cross-Cultural Perspective. Rochester: University of Rochester Press. Watson, Burton (1989), The Tso chuan. Selections from China’s Oldest Narrative History. New York, Oxford: Columbia University Press. Wei Gelin ᠿ௑ࣥ (Susanne Weigelin-Schwiedrzik) and Shi Naide ਜરᐚ (Axel Schneider) (eds.) (1999), Zhongguo Shixueshi Yantaohui: Cong Bijiao Guandian Chufa Lunwen Ji խ ഏ ‫ ׾‬ᖂ ઔ ಘ ᄎ Υ ൕ ֺ ለ ᨠ រ ‫ נ‬࿇ ᓵ ֮ ႃ (Chinese Historiography Conference: A Collection of Essays from a Comparative Perspective). Taibei: Daoxiang Chubanshe. Yang, Hsien-i and Gladys Yang (eds.) (1979), Selections from the Records of the Historian, 2 vols., Beijing: Foreign Languages Press.

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Zuozhuan ؐႚ (The Zuo Commentary of the Spring and Autumn Annals), Chunqiu Zuozhuan Zhengyi ਞ ટ ؐ ႚ ‫ إ‬ᆠ (The Correct Meanings of the Zuo Commentary of the Spring and Autumn Annals) (1980) Shisan Jing Zhushu Fu Jiaokan Ji Լ Կ ᆖ ࣹ ง ॵ ீ ໰ ಖ (The Thirteen Classics Annotated and Commented Upon, with Collation Notes) edition. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju.

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS HELWIG SCHMIDT-GLINTZER is Director of the Herzog-AugustBibliothek in Wolfenbüttel, as well as Professor for Sinology at the Department of East Asian Studies, University of Göttingen. He is the author of numerous books and articles on Chinese history, buddhism and literature. PETRA BAHR is Resident Fellow at the Protestant Institute for Interdisciplinary Research in Heidelberg. Her main interests are in culture and religion, as well as law and religion in modern societies. WOLFGANG BEHR is Lecturer of Chinese history and philosophy at the Department of East Asian Studies at Ruhr-University Bochum. He has published widely and his research interests focus on Old Chinese phonology, Sino-Tibetan, Sanskrit-Chinese linguistics and translations etc. MARTIN KERN is Associate Professor of Chinese literature at the East Asian Studies Department of Princeton University. His research and publications center on the origins and early development of Zhou through Han dynasties’ poetry and literary thought. HEINER ROETZ is Professor of Chinese history and philosophy at the Department of East Asian Studies at Ruhr-University Bochum. His publications and research interests focus on questions of Chinese ethics, the history of Confucianism, Chinese culture and human rights. STEPHEN DURRANT is Associate Professor at the Department of East Asian Languages and Literatures at the University of Oregon. His many publications and research interests include above all Sima Qian and the Zuozhuan. JÖRN RÜSEN is Director of the Kulturwissenschaftliches Institut in Essen as well as Professor for general history and cultural history at the University Witten/Herdecke. Among other subjects he has published intensively on theoretical and methodological principles of historical science as well as on questions of historical sense generation.

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KAI VOGELSANG is Assistant Professor at the Institute for Sinology, University of Munich. His main areas of research are Chinese historiography, Chinese textual scholarship and Manchu studies. DAVID SCHABERG is Associate Professor at the Department of East Asian Languages and Cultures, at the University of California, Los Angeles. His main research interests include Chinese religion and literature as well as comparative Chinese, Latin and Creek literature. YURI PINES is Senior Lecturer of pre-imperial and early imperial Chinese history at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. His major publications include books and articles on foundations of Confucian thought, his major field of interest focuses on pre-imperial Chinese history, thought and political culture. JOACHIM GENTZ is Juniorprofessor at the Department of the Study of Religion at Göttingen University. His main research interests focus on early China, especially Chinese history of thought, Chinese early historiography, Chinese religions as well as theories in the study of religions. THOMAS H.C. LEE is Professor and Director of the Asian Studies Program at the City College of The City University of New York. He has written extensively on traditional Chinese intellectual and educational history as well as on comparative historical thinking. HORST WALTER BLANKE taught history at the universities of Bochum and Bielefeld as well as at the Institute for Advanced Study in the Humanities, Essen. His publications and research mainly focus on the history of ideas, namely on the theory and history of historical studies (18th-20th century), travels and travelogues (16th-20th century), Canadian history and didactics of history. KAI-WING CHOW is Professor of history and East Asian languages and cultures at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Campaign. He specializes in intellectual and cultural history of Ming-Qing China. His publications and research topics range widely from social history of popular religions to intellectual developments in late imperial China.

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

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ACHIM MITTAG is Research Fellow at the Kulturwissenschaftliches Institut, Essen. Presently he is working on a project on comparative historiography and compiling a source book on Chinese historiography and historical thinking. MARION EGGERT is Professor for Korean studies at Bochum University. Her main research interests rest with literary and intellectual history of late Chosón Korea (17th-19th century) and KoreanChinese cultural relations of that period. Her recent publications have focussed on travel literature. SUSANNE WEIGELIN-SCHWIEDRZIK is Professor for sinology at the Department of East Asian Studies at the University of Vienna. Her research and publications focus on Chinese history of the 20th century, questions of historiography as well as literature and economy. She is editor of the online-journal “Historiography in East and West—A Multi-lingual On-line Journal for Studies in Comparative Historiography and Historical Thinking” (BRILL) as well as of the “Leiden Series in Comparative Historiography”. NICOLA SPAKOWSKI is Professor of non-Western history at the International University Bremen. Her main fields of interest are historiography, ideology, social history and women’s history of 20th century and contemporary China.

PART ONE

HISTORICAL TRUTH

RELIGIOUS CLAIMS OF TRUTH VERSUS CRITICAL METHOD — SOME GENERAL REMARKS ON A COMPLEX RELATIONSHIP IN WESTERN TRADITION Petra Bahr The Occident, or our Western culture, has been shaped by its two main religions: Judaism and Christianity. These two traditions share a very important idea, which has deeply marked occidental thinking: that the divine is bound to contingency through the medium of historical revelation. Therefore, with this understanding of history, not only did it develop the meaning of the history of salvation or its opposite, but history also became the place where religious claims of truth had to be proven. The main theological images which embody the idea that the divine is bound to contingency through historical revelation are well known. In Judaism there is the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai, while Christianity speaks of God’s incarnation in Jesus Christ. As a consequence of this prevailing theological understanding of history, the rise of modern historical thinking and subsequently the establishment of historical criticism were not in opposition to theology. Historical thinking was developed within Western theology and became the “model of reflection” for Western religion. The theological idea that the divine is bound to contingency led to the western perspective on history: because the contingency of life is seen in the light of divine truth, truth and meaning have to be found in history. This method of deriving meaning and truth by connecting contingency with the divine, the absolute, has shaped modern secular historicism and its theories even after the church lost its absolute authority regarding the interpretation of history. But even though religious tradition and historical method share the same foundation, the historical method started to undermine the absolute exegetic authority of the religious tradition by being the “model of reflection”. In the following, I would like to exemplify the changing configurations of religious claims of truth and critical historical method in the development of Bible criticism as a distinct form of historical critique. This will be done from the perspective of the history of science.

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In 1440, the humanist scholar Laurentio Valla published the paper De falso credita et ementita Constantini donatione declamatio. 1 In this paper, Valla proved the so-called “Donation of Konstantin” to be a fake. This text was a legal contract, which—belonging as it did to the canon of the church—established the secular sovereignty of the Pope over Italy and is therefore part of the religious tradition in a broader sense. The text in which Valla’s disclosure occurs is an index and a medium of change within the theory of history. Valla himself became a symbol of the modern relationship between historical criticism and religious meaning, because every aspect of this relationship could be found in his paper.

1. The Development of Methods in Historical Criticism Valla set out to overcome the medieval paradigm of ars critica by establishing a new type of modern critique, which is orientated along the lines of libertas iudicandi. He went beyond the rules of the rhetorical doctrine of imitatio and therefore asked for the inner appropriateness and immanent coherence of a text. By taking the humanistic understanding of rhetoric into account and by accepting that sapientia and eloquentia both stem from the same origin, his technique became much more analytical and philological: it developed into an empirical method. Since this method operates by clearly articulated rules and thereby provides defined criteria for the process of historical research, we can speak of the understanding of scholarship as having changed.

2. The Monopolization of the sensus historicus The process of the “epistemization of the techné”2 is completed in the Cartesian ideal of methods and corresponds to the dismissal of the medieval strategy of deriving meaning: the quadruple meaning of a text. The sensus literalis or sensus historicus takes the place of Allegoresis, the former exegetical method, and searches for the literal meaning of a text, which corresponds to the historical way of thinking that asks for the facts. It was chiefly Jewish scholars of the medieval 1 2

Setz 1975. Feger 1993: 200.

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period, such as Moses ben Maimon, who showed how the validity of a meaning is tied to its genesis by looking at the historization and contextualization of biblical traditions or records in Talmudic commentaries, who paved the way for this process. Laurentio Valla demonstrates this altered understanding of history. He turns a legend of foundation within the frame of church historiography into a historical source and a mythological tale of the origin into a historical date. In Vallas point of view, the historia rerum gestarum is now to be found on the difficult path to the res gestae. Consequently, facticity and authenticity become the criteria for claims of truth. The consequence of Vallas thinking is clear: the historical reliability of a text becomes the crucial problem. Texts are now to be examined with regard to the coherence of their content, their age has to be ascertained and their authors identified and verified. Yet such an examination of a text that is part of the canon of a religious tradition means that questions asked of history had started to move in a different direction.

3. Historical Criticism for the Sake of the True Religion Valla relates his “historical dissecting exercises” (Nietzsche) to a crucial aspect of scientific truth. However, this understanding of truth, which is based on objective and general valid criteria of proof, does not go along with the absolute authority of the church. Valla’s academic curiositas starts to intermingle with an ideological and political strategy: he claims to expend all his critical efforts only for the sake of the true religion. This emphatic formula used by the scholar who enacts his methods in order to save religion from its own obstructions and distortions marks the beginnings of the historical critical examination of sources. It is by means of this that historical criticism became the main medium for the criticism of ideology—and sometimes amounts to a religion itself.

4. “Ad fontes!” — Ratio versus Auctoritas The critical examination to which Valla subjects his sources in the end destroys the meaning of the text. According to his conclusion, something that is disclosed as a lie can no longer be part of the foundation

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of religion. The ambivalent imperative “ad fontes!” did not only lead to an appeal from scholars engaged in early Bible and dogma criticism to study the biblical text in their original languages as opposed to the Vulgate. Even the holy text itself is reviewed for copying mistakes and is subjected to attempts to verify its authorship and to determine its age. Valla himself provides extensive examinations of the New Testament. Another consequence of the imperative “ad fontes!” is the revolutionary insight that the holy text came into being through the process of writing. Hence, the unified text as the origin of the coherent religious claim of truth started to fall apart into a process of literary, compilation and editorial work, and was therefore proved to be of various origins. By removing all accretions on the Prima Vista text of the tradition and taking away the layers of dogmatism, the holiness of the text itself is destroyed. A text which is checked out by historical—methodological rationality does not guarantee eo ipso religious truth but has destroyed the religious meaning in the first place. The modern achievement of the critical method is highly ambivalent: meaning and text, truth and history are falling apart, and it becomes a problem to reconnect them. The reformer Martin Luther, whose programmatical sola scriptura pushed Bible criticism to become an independent academic discipline in Protestant faculties, saw that religious truth and biblical truth were drifting apart from each other. The insight into the emergence of the holy text as a process of being written down correlates to a difference between text and meaning to begin with, because a religious insight had to be the initial reason for writing theological ideas down in the first place. At least, this was the reasoning of the early modern scholars. “Dua res sunt Deus et scriptura Dei, non minus quam duae res sunt creator et creatura dei”.3 Holy writing and living word of God, letter and spirit, law and evangelism—the Reformation took these guiding differences into account in order to connect the right of historical criticism to the duty of the theological determination of truth. By now, the Holy Spirit became the medium of hermeneutics that mediates historical text and meaning, history and revelation in a dynamic manner. “Verbum est organum, quo spiritus sui 3

Luther 1908: 606.

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illuminationem fidelibus dominus dispensat.” 4 This change is very important to the history of science, because the Protestant idea of inspiration does not only apply to the divine inspiration of the biblical author, but includes also the reader and scholar of the text: The biblical truth manifests itself in the process of being read by a believing subject. Luther called this theory of the acquisition of religious meaning “fides creatrix”. Lutheran orthodoxy does not carry this idea any further. With their teachings about inspiration, the Lutherans placed their hope in the “self immunization” of theology against the dynamic of the academic research that broke loose within their own faculties. Yet the idea of the Holy Spirit as mediator arises anew at the end of the eighteenth century. Pneumatology develops into the idea of the scientific genius: The mind of the scholar becomes the motor of his power of judgement, the investigation of the truth within the contingency becomes a matter of the creative individual and the fides creatrix develops into the belief in the inventive power of the methods used. It is therefore the individual that vouches for the discovery of religious truth in the contingent truth of the history handed down to him. Thus, the fides creatrix turns into hermeneutics. It was Friedrich Daniel Schleiermacher who founded modern hermeneutics at the beginning of the nineteenth century, not, as Dilthey and Heidegger mistakenly believed, as the first philosophy, but as an academic approach to dealing with the New Testament. According to the “Luther redivivus” Schleiermacher, hermeneutics and criticism are inseparably interreferential.5 This development is the outcome of a process of finding various answers to the problem of how to deal with the breaking of the spell of the holy texts through their critical examination. The prevailing suggestions from the time of the early Enlightenment were made by three radical Bible critics: Baruch Spinoza, Richard Simon and Immanuel Kant. They brought the “crisis of exegetics” to a head by at the same time showing solutions for the problematical dialectic of processing the critical method. These solutions prevailed until the late eighteenth century.

4 5

Calvin 1955: 84. Nowak 2001: 493; Richardson and Lawler 1998.

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5. Baruch de Spinoza: Historical Criticism as (the Search for) a Religion of Reason Spinoza, whose “partisanship for the secular world” (Yovel) becomes the herald of modernity in the middle of the seventeenth century, draws a radical conclusion in the chapter “On Exegetics of the Bible” in his Tractatus theologico politicus: Religious claims of truth cannot be bound to methodically, and critically examined facts at all but only to human reason, because human reason determines the way a text is looked at. Religious truth, being detached from the historical facts handed down, becomes part of the universal validity and fundamental nature of reason. Out of the historical sources emerges the essence of religion: an unchangeable, trans-historical religion of reason. 6 For Spinoza, the methods of Bible exegetics are in accordance with the methods of explaining nature. The absolute metaphor of the “book of nature” to which Spinoza refers shows the change that happened here. The universal laws of man are to be obtained from the biblical and church traditions through historical criticism. The historical method functions as a tool to remove the historical truth of the religion in order to find the intelligible core, which reflects itself in the laws of morality. Moreover, the rationality of the methodical and critical process reflects even the religion of reason. And, a step further, the religion of reason reflects itself in the religion of morality. Hence, the prejudice that the Enlightenment was deeply un-historical in its way of thinking cannot be confirmed, because the religion of reason itself becomes historical by realizing itself as the law of morality.

6. Richard Simon: The Institutionalised Separation of Religious Truth and Scientific Rationality Richard Simon caused a great stir in 1678 when he published his groundbreaking study of the Old Testament, “Histoire Critique du Vieux Testament”. From Simon’s perspective, the Old Testament is nothing but a loose collection of fragments of writing, which are the result of a long historical process of literary work. His radical criticism is accompanied by a remarkable opinion: He demands of the scholars who work on historical sources that they refrain from their 6

Spinoza 1670: 113.

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search for religious meaning. According to Simon the defence of religious claims of truth is a matter of the institution of the church, not the task of a scholar.7 But even though Simon claimed to separate the task of searching for truth from that of criticism to guarantee the power of the church to teach and to lecture against the Protestant principle of historical exegesis, he was expelled from his order. It is possible that his opponents understood the consequences of his claim better than he did. By demanding abstinence concerning the derivation of meaning, his historical-critical rationality itself is loaded with religious meaning. What according to this model, results from the unresolved discrepancy between historical facts and religious claims of truth is the differentiation of various types of truth, which are tied to institutions. Church and science, religious and academic efforts taking care of meaning, are now on separate paths. It was precisely this differentiation which became established during the Enlightenment, despite the efforts made to hold research together into historical sources and the search for truth through the religion of reason. Even in the theological faculties the permeability between the historical-exegetical and the dogmatic subjects diminished. At the same time, the results of the historical criticism attracted great public attention. During the eighteenth century, the argument about the legitimacy and consequences of historical criticism was enacted in a way that had considerable public appeal and a great effect on publishing. Apologetics and criticism were sharpening their weapons and eyeing each other.

7. Scepticism and the New Religion of Reason While German academia was still seeking a peaceful agreement with the religion of reason, criticism triumphed over apologetics in France. The religion of reason developed through the dispute over a reasonable religion. As a consequence, the destruction of the holy texts only leaves intellectual scepticism or apologetic atheism. The littérature clandestine hands down a canon of texts, which puts the historical method at the service of the new worldview. Reason is assigned the job of a “controlleuse generale” and controls religious 7

Graf Reventlow 1980: 11; Kraus 1988: 61.

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traditions. Thus reason replaces the teaching of the church and the dogmatic guiding principles of exegetics. For the sake of the new religion of man, the old religion has to be dressed up as deceit on the part of the priests and as monumental architecture of lies, nothing more than an instrument of political demagogy. The founder of religion is the impostator sacrilegus. What remains of him is considered to be merely a collection of faked documents and relicts.8 All these theories have the radical debasement of positive religion in common. The most radical form of debasement can be found in the philosophy of Immanuel Kant. According to him, the “noumenon” of religion becomes a function of morality and thereby loses its substantial character. The new religion of man doesn’t need holy books, rites and a cultus any more. However, this development changes direction around 1800. On the one hand, the growing interest in the history of religion accompanies the research into historical sources. The historical critical method is no longer used only for the canon of the holy text. Thus, a critical rewriting of the own religion as a part of culture arises. The historical methods are now applied to other documents and evidence of the past: the modern historical scholarship is becoming established.9 This process is paralleled by the new discovery of the sources of other religions. The basis of historical research is enlarged by ethnological and archaeological material, and, at the same time, the understanding of truth becomes subject to the revolution of the philosophy of subjectivity. Now, truth is first subjectified and then historicized. This has consequences for historical criticism.10 Johann Gottfried Herder, and before him, unnoticed by his contemporaries, Giambattista Vico, had already started the changes in historical research into sources by discovering the religious protolanguage of man in poetry. Herder, the most famous man of the church during the age of Goethe, in his text “Älteste Urkunde des Menschengeschlechts” (1774/76) protected the book of Genesis against rationalistic ridicule by proving its poetic character. 11 Thus esthetical criticism liberates the understanding of the biblical text from 8

Schröder 1998: 395. Kippenberg 1997. Murrmann-Kahl 1992: 145. 11 Bultmann 1999: 17. 9

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the dogmatism of ecclesiastical teaching and from the reductionism of historical critical rationality. In this way, the historical rationality is not undermined but enriched by different rationalities. The theory of culture of Friedrich Daniel Schleiermacher can be seen as a paradigm for various perspectives of the world. As theologian and philosopher he established an independent understanding of religious meaning for a scornful audience in his “Reden über die Religion an die Gebildeten unter ihren Verächtern”, an understanding which is disconnected from both morality and metaphysics.12 In this way, he set the course for the modern theory of religion. Religion as an independent symbolic form of meaning is now defined as a pre-predicative constituting element of the individual—and religious truth gains a subjective meaning. Religious experience manifests itself in an endless line of symbolic manifestations. The infinite cannot be defined beyond its historical manifestations as a set of predicative true sentences. “The infinite is represented in the finite”, writes Schleiermacher, using early romantic emphasis. For Schleiermacher, the human being Jesus is the original of the historical manifestation of the infinite. The manifestations and representations of religious experience, including the biblical sources, are representing this experience only ex post. To Schleiermacher, there is no longer any absolute valid canon of religious texts. The religious experience as an individual experience of the absolute disappears in its witnessing. Individual belief and objective religion are dissociated. Everybody should write his or her own evangelism. History and the individual reveal the endless variety of representations of the infinite within the finite. Hence, history and the historical individual are the most important matters of religion. During the nineteenth century the history of religion develops into a religion of history. Strategies for the development of the theory of a religion of history were also becoming religious. God’s incarnation as man seemed to be repeated under the conditions of modernity. The theoretical end of the tendency to write history in a religious way according to the methods outlined above was initiated by Franz Overbeck, a theologian and philologist from Basel who is known as a colleague and friend of Nietzsche. In agreement with him, Karl Barth, the theologian who had the greatest effect on the twentieth century, claims in his exegetics of the “Römerbrief”: “The historian-critics 12

Schleiermacher 1799.

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have to be more critical!” 13 Following the same line as Overbeck, Barth proclaimed the radical break between revelation and history. Overbeck’s basic theme had been the Nietzscheian “Advantages and Disadvantages of History for Life”. Overbeck revolted against the icons which modern history worshipped during the nineteenth century. His concept of the “original history”, which he published disguised as a study on the development of the New Testament canon, reads as a blasphemy against bourgeois historical religion. Overbeck radicalises the results of the historical criticism of sources and the history of religion and claims that Christianity lost religious truth at the very moment when it wanted to become historical. Within Christianity, the historical critique stands for the epigenesis of the loss of religion. According to this theory, religion dissolves itself by dismissing radical unworldliness and apocalyptic hope for the end of history and trading them for the understanding of history as the Kingdom of God. Overbeck anew digs an ugly gulf between history and the truth of religion, which is lost in history to begin with. Historical experience becomes the experience of nonsense. This method of historically guided criticism of religion develops into a radical critique of a modernity which has lost any understanding of sense and meaning. Despite it, history and religious meaning never really were uncoupled, and Overbeck’s critical theory of history appears as negative theology.

13

Barth 1918: 10.

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REFERENCES CITED Barth, Karl (151989) (21922), Der Römerbrief (The Epistle to the Romans). Zürich: Theologischer Verlag. Brändle, Rudolf and Ekkehard Stegemann (eds.) (1988), Franz Overbecks unerledigte Anfragen an das Christentum (Franz Overbeck’s Unresolved Inquiries to Christianity). München: Kaiser. Bultmann, Christoph (1999), Die biblische Urgeschichte in der Aufklärung. Johann Gottfried Herders Interpretation der Genesis als Antwort auf die Religionskritik David Humes (Biblical Primeval History in the Age of Enlightenment. Johann Gottfried Herder’s Interpretation of the Genesis as an Answer to David Hume’s Critique of Religion). Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Calvin, Jean (1559, first published in 1539), Institutio Christianae Religionis (The Institutes of the Christian Religion), translated by Otto Heinrich Weber (1955). Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener. Ebeling, Gerhard (1950), “Die Bedeutung der historischen Methode für die protestantische Theologie und Kirche (The Significance of the Historical Method for Protestant Theology and the Protestant Church)”, in Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche (ZThK) 60 (1950), 1-46. Feger, Hans (1993), “Logik ohne Dornen. Zum Zusammenhang von wissenschaftlicher Methode und sinnlicher Erkenntnis im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (Logic without Thorns. On the Relation between Scientific Method and Sensuous Knowledge in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries)”, in Daphnis 22 (1993), 197-264. Graf Reventlow, Henning (1980), “Richard Simon und seine Bedeutung für die historisch-kritische Erforschung der Bibel (Richard Simon and His Significance for the Historical-Critical Study of the Bible)”, in Schwaiger, Georg (ed.) (1980), Historische Kritik in der Theologie. Beiträge zu ihrer Geschichte (Historical Criticism in Theology. Contributions to Its History). Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 11-36. Kippenberg, Hans Gerhard (1997), Die Entdeckung der Religionsgeschichte. Religionswissenschaft und Moderne (The Discovery of the History of Religions. Religious Studies and Modernity). München: Beck-Verlag. Kraus, Hans-Joachim (1988), Geschichte der historisch-kritischen Erforschung des Alten Testaments (The History of the Historical-Critical Study of the Old Testament). Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Luther, Martin (1525), De servo arbitrio (On the Enslaved Will), Weimar edition vol. 18 (1908). Weimar: Böhlau. Murrmann-Kahl, Michael (1992), Die entzauberte Heilsgeschichte. Der Historismus erobert die Theologie (The Breaking of the History of Salvation. Historicism Conquers Theology). Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus. Nowak, Kurt (2001), Schleiermacher. Leben, Werk und Wirkung (Schleiermacher. Life, Work, and Impact). Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht. Richardson, Ruth Drucilla and Edwina Lawler (eds.) (1998), Understanding Schleiermacher. From Translations to Interpretation. A Festschrift in Honor of Terrence Nelson Tice. Lewiston: Mellen. Schleiermacher, Friedrich (1799), Über die Religion. Reden an die Gebildeten unter ihren Verächtern (On Religion. Speeches to Its Cultured Despisers), edited by Meckenstock, Günther (1999). Berlin, New York: de Gruyter. Schröder, Winfried (1998), Ursprünge des Atheismus. Untersuchungen zur Metaphysik- und Religionskritik des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts (The Origins of

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Atheism. Studies on the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century Criticism of Metaphysics and Religion). Stuttgart - Bad Canstett: Frommann-Holzboog. Setz, Wolfram (1975), Lorenzo Vallas Schrift gegen die Konstantinische Schenkung ‚De falso credita et ementita Constantini donatione’. Zur Interpretation und Wirkungsgeschichte (Lorenzo Valla’s Treatise against the Donation of Constantine ‘De falso credita et ementita Constantini donatione’. On Its Interpretation and Impact History). Tübingen: Niemeyer. Spinoza, Baruch de (1670), Theologisch-politischer Traktat (Theological-Political Treatise), edited by Gawlick, Gunther (1984). Hamburg: Felix Meiner.

LANGUAGE CHANGE IN PREMODERN CHINA: NOTES ON ITS PERCEPTION AND IMPACT ON THE IDEA OF A “CONSTANT WAY” Wolfgang Behr Was immer an vorsprachlichen Voraussetzungen in die Geschichte eingeht oder in sie eingegangen ist, die Realität der vergangenen Geschichten ist nur in ihren sprachlichen Gestaltungen präsent — R. Koselleck1

1. Old Chinese and “Structural Complexity” Writing just a few months before his death, A.C. Graham (1919-1991) gave the following reason for an apparent lack of interest in Chinese language structure in Ancient China: China provides the unique instance of philosophy of language developed in a language of uninflected words organized solely by word order and the functions of grammatical particles. In the absence of morphological features such as compel attention in Indo-European and Semitic languages, there is little to make Chinese aware of the structure of their own language.2

Statements of this kind, tacitly connecting a late linguistic surface property to the assumed absence of a type of scientific development, have a long pedigree in the European study of Chinese languages, philosophy and history. While speakers of, say, Ewe or Vietnamese—two other well studied “isolating” literary languages—might with justice mutter at their swift exclusion from the realm of philosophies of language worth studying, it is at least heartening to see Graham demonstrate, in the pages following this sweeping introductory statement, just how radical and sophisticated early Chinese theories of naming, reference, and meaning were. For unlike in his case, the routinely alleged “structural simplicity” of Classical Chinese has prompted periodically resurfacing claims of 1 2

Koselleck 1989: 673. Graham 1992: 94.

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linguistic relativism in Ancient China, of a restriction to pragmatic, conventional, ritualistic or merely performative modes of expression in Classical Chinese, not to speak of the usual corollary of denials regarding the capacity of the language to express propositional truth-claims, individuation, or abstraction. 3 The same “structural simplicity” has been assumed to be the main reason behind the comparative underdevelopment of a syntactically oriented philological tradition in China, and this has certainly helped to consolidate a lack of interest in the linguistic development of premodern Chinese in general. Indeed, even in those rare cases where words and their written representations in characters were not confused in the many discussions of how knowledge, truth and cognition are mediated by linguistic categories in Ancient Chinese, Humboldtian hesitations and Whorfian whiffs more often than not continue to shroud the perception of it as a perfectly ordinary natural language. Moreover, this was a language in which despite an unusual diachronic stability of written representations, large-scale typological change was anything but uncommon. What, then, one might ask, were the most important “structural” changes affecting this language since its first attestation in oracle bone inscriptions towards the end of the second millennium B.C. that we might reasonably expect to have left traces in the early literature? How was language change reflected in the commentarial traditions of the post-Classical periods and in the considerable independent extant body of technical works on phonology and semasiology? And which—if any—consequences did the perception of language change have for questions of textual authenticity and historical truth claims? In the following, I will try to approach these questions from the point of view of historical linguistics, leaving problems of argumentation strategies and propositional validity in Chinese philosophy to other contributors to this volume.

3 For two devastating refutations of most of these positions see Harbsmeier 1989: 125-166 and Roetz 1993: 69-112.

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2. Historical Development of the Awareness of Language Change a) Morphological Change Inflectional and derivational morphologies are usually considered to be the diachronically most stable and the genetically most revealing subsystems of language.4 If I restrict myself to these two aspects of pre-modern Chinese morphology in the following section, this by no means is intended to imply that other types of morphology and word-formation somehow lack complexity and can be neglected. For instance, Modern Chinese word formation is governed by very complicated morphological rules, which have been the focus of intense study for the last forty years. Unless one intends to speak in a very vague, traditional and Eurocentric sense, to refer to it as a language “lacking morphology” is therefore rather infelicitous.5 As an illustration of the problem of “structural complexity” and morphological change in premodern Chinese, consider for example the word ৆ shi “scribe o historiographer”. It is attested as a character since the earliest period of oracle bone inscriptions, where it already appears in titles of high ranking officials, apart from its occurrence as a personal name, and in loan usages for the terms which were later graphically differentiated as Փ shi “to employ, send” and џ shi “to serve (the spirits, ancestors)”. A plethora of speculations about the graphic extraction of the character ৆ has been voiced since Wang Guowei’s ⥟೟㎁ (1877-1927) famous essay on the subject,6 usually focusing on the object held by the largely uncontroversial জ-“hand” in the osteographical form 7 and the corresponding assignment of the official’s function to predominantly religious, ritual, bureaucratic, or military realms.8 Yet irrespective of the moot (and, one might argue, largely secondary) question as to which initial iconic representation was chosen by the inventors of the script to denote a word eventually 4

Nichols 1992. See, e.g., RoÞdestvenskij 1958; Korotkov 1968; Karl and Beutel 1993; Packard 1998, 2000; Lien 2000: 61-78. 6 Wang 1968. 7 For more or less fanciful explanations of this presumed “insignium” of a shi see, among others, Gu 1924; Chen Mengjia 1936a,b; Shirakawa 1955-62; Harper 1985: 472-474, and the glosses collected in Hayashi and Takashima 1994. 8 For attempts to define the ritualistic and bureaucratic functions of a shi on the basis of paleographical documents, see Wang Guimin 1982; Hu Houxuan 1984; Zhang and Liu 1986; Vandermeersch 1994, and the literature cited in Cook 1995: 241-277, 252 note 43. 5

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meaning “scribe”, that has bothered paleographers so much, the structural complexity of the Old Chinese language can be easily demonstrated by peeping beyond the veil of writing into the finely woven texture of the reconstructed root lexeme, its phonology and morphological derivations:9 I. ৆ sh´ < MC sriX < OC *V-U is an *s-prefixed deverbal derivation from an underlying root ⧚ l´ < liX < *U “to divide, regulate, mark (of 10 field divisions)”, which in turn was most likely a cognate of Classical 11 Tibetan bri-ba “draw, design”, bris “picture”. A “scribe” was therefore originally simply “a marker”, or, taking into account some of the daughter language reflexes of the Sino-Tibetan etymon slightly further afield: “a scratcher”. Obviously, these semantics would seem to chime well with the earliest archeologically attested types of writing materials in Neolithic and early Bronze Age China, as well as with Kominami’s recent interpretation of the shi as a recorder and calculator of numbers incised on pottery.12 II. Homophonic Փ sh´ < sriX < *V-U “to employ, send”, on the other hand, is an *V-prefixed denominative from underlying ৣ lì < liH < *U-V “official, clerk”, which in turn probably emerged as an *-V-suffixed deverbal from the root of (I.) – ⧚ l´ < liX < *U. Consequently a “clerk” was originally also construed by speakers of Old Chinese to be a “marker, regulator”, while “to clerk someone” as a 9 Old Chinese (OC) reconstructions and Middle Chinese (MC) transcriptions (in italics, without astersik) are according to the system of Baxter (1992, 1995), as revised by Sagart (1999). The “Pulleyblankian” A/B-type syllable distinction written by Sagart as a/b-superscripts is here represented by doubling the vowel in A-syllables. This is to be understood as a mere diacritic device, remaining non-committal on the issue of whether the distinction was in fact one of phonemic length or some other (supra) segmental feature. The model of morphology used in this paper, if not stated otherwise, is that of Sagart 1999. For an alternative, albeit only partly compatible approach see also Pulleyblank 2000. 10 Compare the Maozhuan-commentary on Shijing 210.1:ǋ⧚ˈߚഄ⧚гǌ. 11 See Unger 1992: 77 and Coblin 1983: 66. The word is certainly related to Classical Tibetan ri-ba “figure, picture, drawing, marking”, and should, contrary to Jeon (1996: 50), not be treated separately. Cf. also Starostin and Peiros 1996, II: 77/#281, s.v. ST *ULH, for more Tibeto-Burman cognates of this item. 12 Kominami 1999. This is prefigured by Hu Dianxian (1981: 212-13), who argues for an original meaning “to stab, stick into (the earth)”. Note that theorists of the origins of writing now sometimes claim that a development of numeracy is an indispensable cognitive, cultural, and historical precondition for the development of literacy. For the now classic, not disputed, statement of this position see Schmandt-Besserat 1979, 1992, for a balanced critique Damerow 1993, 1994.


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transitive verb eventually came to be written as Փ in inscriptions and edited texts. III. The root ⧚ l´ < liX < *U “to divide, regulate, mark” also survives in a *N-prefixed form as ㋔ jì < kiX < *N-U “record, commit to 13 memory”, thus pointing to the typical occupation of a shi-scribe. Prefix *k- in verbs usually denotes “actions well delimited in time and space”, so the earliest reconstructable semantics of ji must have been something similar to “to mark down, to mark once and for all” or the like. The same root also appears in 㿬 jì < kiH, which is today a homophone of ji ㋔ , but probably emerged as a secondary (“exoactive”?) derivation OC *N-U()-V. IV. џ shì < dzriH < *P-V-U()-V “to serve for, carry out assignments; service for” adds volitional *P- to the *V-prefixed version of ৣ lì < liH < *U-V to create a double-prefixed derivation of the suffixed root. “To serve” is therefore to be analyzed as “to be willing to act as clerk”, while ҩ shì < dzriX < *N-V-U “to be a clerk, to serve as”, prefixed with untransitivizing *N-, is an older, non-directional (“endoactive”) variant of the same verb. Finally, homophonic ຿ shi “servant, retainer” is to be analyzed as the corresponding noun “human being capable of doing assignments”.14 Developing an awareness of the “morphology of ideas” 15 and its subsequent disintegration in this fashion obviously does not necessarily entail that we should start to re-translate Classical Chinese texts and to criticize our historiographical sources with Old and pre-Old Chinese etymologies in the back of our minds (although this can hardly be helped, once they are in there). Despite all understandable temptations to fall prey to etymological fallacies, one has to be aware that semantic shifts, which are not expressed in the derivational morphology, had to a large degree effaced many features of the original semantics of these words already during the Warring States period. And, crucially, a word is always much more than the sum of its morphosemantic components. It is doubtful, for instance, whether Xu Shen 䀅ᜢ (58-?148 A.D.) was

13

Cf. Unger (1992), who thinks of an initial *VNU-. Notice that ji ㋔ is used as a paronomastic gloss for ⧚ li in the Baihutong ⱑ㰢䗮 (ACTCS-edition 29: 54). 14 Schuessler 1987: 550. Maybe ຿ originated with prefix *P-, marking agent nouns (Sagart 1999: 84), rather than *N- in ҩ. Both would have given the same MC reflex. 15 I am borrowing this term from Mei 1994.

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still indicating an intricate etymological connection rather than a simple paronomastic pun when he glossed ৆ˈ㿬џ㗙г

OC *V-U, N-U N-V-U-V WD ODM. Shi, means someone who notes down assignments/affairs/events.16 Moreover, the rapid diachronic loss of derivational morphology between (pre-) Old and Early Medieval Central Plains Chinese affected different segments of the language with differing degrees of intensity and recoverability. Even worse, the process might also have been blurred by dialectal differentiation at any synchronic point during the development. It is thus quite easy to come up with plenty of textual examples featuring an extraordinary phonological stability across time, and corresponding to a rather impoverished reconstructed morphology, almost akin to traditional sinological cliché of Old Chinese “structural simplicity”. Thus, if we were to take a look at the famous first sentence from the Wang Bi-Laozi ⥟ᔐ㗕ᄤ and follow its (mor-) phonological changes throughout time as well as into two maximally divergent modern dialects,17 we would surely be led to the assumption that continuity by far outweighed innovation, i.e. that the ancient language sometimes had almost as few surface cues to its morphology as it has today:18 Time

䘧

ৃ

䘧

a.

-800

OXX

N+DDM OXX

b.

100

GRX N+DL GRX

c.

400

GDZ+ NKD

䴲

ᐌ

OXX

B.C.

G]#LD1 GRX

A.D.

S-ZLM GD1 SXL

GDZ+ SXM[

䘧

GÞØD1 GDZ+

16 Shuowen 3B: 65; for a discussion of the pun see also Cook 1995: 251. Contra Cook, there is no indication that the assonating 㙋 zhí (< MC tsyik < OC *WN) “assignment, duty, office”, used by Xu Shen to gloss џ belongs to the same word family. The pun, here, is apparently just that. 17 The Min dialects had split off from Common Chinese already during the later Han dynasty, cf. Ting 1983. 18 a. = Baxter’s revised OC (cf. n. 8 above), b. = “Late Han Chinese” according to Schuessler 2000, c.-e. = Early Middle, Late Middle, Early Mandarin Chinese according to Pulleyblank 1991, f. = IPA transcription of the Xiamen ᒜ䭔- (Southern Min 䭽), g. = of the Beijing Mandarin dialect.


19

d.

700

WÜDZ N+D

WÜDZ IM\M

ÜLD1 WÜDZ

e.

1300

WDZ

N+o

WDZ

IL

W+D1 WDZ

WR11

N+XD51 WR11

KXL24

sÄu24

f. 2000

WDX

g.

51

N+)

214

WDX

51

11

WR11

W+D13 WDX51

IHL

5

“A dao which can be dao-ed is not the constant dao”19

Here, the only20 morphologically conspicuous position is the *S- of 䴲 *S-ZLM, alerting us to the fact that we are dealing with a “negative copula”, a contraction or “allegro form” of a negative prefix with the archaic copular verb ㎁ wéi < wij < *(W-)ZXM, not just a simple negative. Philosophically and linguistically a rather important distinction, to be sure, but certainly not the main obstacle to the unravelling of this sentence—captured in the desperately awkward last rendering by Graham before his death. Given the nature of the Chinese writing system, the process of demorphologization and subsequent obsolescence or complete loss of derivational affixes which had once pervasively characterized Old Chinese is notoriously difficult to date. Its likely consequences upon syntactic and lexical restructuring are even harder to pin down. Change of derivational morphology in Old Chinese can only be recovered indirectly, i.e. “algebraically”, through the study of its Middle Chinese reflexes, of loanwords, transcriptions, rhyme patterns, word games, glosses, and, above all, inconsistencies in datable homophonophoric (xiesheng 䂻㙆) series. Although several peripheral Chinese dialects have been shown to retain morphological features reconstructed to Old Chinese,21 it is probably safe to assume that with the exception of the suffix *-V, giving rise to the phenomenon commonly referred to as “qusheng এ㙆-derivation”, which must have stayed productive until 19

Graham 1992: 103. It has been proposed by Zheng-Zhang (2000a: 66), Schuessler (personal communication, August 2001), and others, that the final glottal stop had morphological functions in OC too. Here, I preliminarily follow Sagart (1999: 133-135), who found no consistent evidence for such an assumption. 21 Cf. Sagart 1999 and Pan 2000 for many pertinent examples. 20

20

WOLFGANG BEHR

well into the medieval period,22 all other fourteen currently proposed prefixed and infixed elements, encoding some 25odd grammatical functions in Old Chinese, were petrified and reanalyzed as part of the root at the latest towards the end of the Eastern Han. What we could expect of commentators since the Western Han, then, is an awareness of semantic, pragmatic, lexical, and phonological change in the texts at their disposal and the everyday language around them. To find more than circumstantial evidence on morphological change is, however, rather unlikely.

b) Semantic and Pragmatic Change A consciousness of language, especially of semantic and pragmatic change, only occasionally forms a subtle undercurrent of the “rectifying names” (zheng ming ℷৡ) discourse in pre-Qin philosophy23 which was developed against the experience of a disintegrating world. Thus, Confucius’ famous gu bu gu 㾮ϡ㾮 lament,24 can be read as a playful statement reflecting the mismatch between a word form (OC *N:DD), its former semantic reference (“chalice”) and the current signifié. As far as we can judge from archeological attestations of gu-vessels today, this mismatch was caused by a change in the material culture between the Shang and the Warring States period, although nothing within the three-syllable sentence explicitly indicates this temporal frame. Since the use of the adverbial negative ϡ bu precludes an equational reading of the sentence during this period,25 the focus of Confucius’ sigh is clearly on the usage of the object, rather than on its semantic content: “A chalice is not used as a chalice”.26 Still, the Confucian zheng ming agenda was ultimately less concerned with questions of ritual and social 22

Pulleyblank 1973. Zheng-Zhang (2000b: 7) even dates the origin of all phonemic tones in Central Chinese into the Six Dynasties/Early Tang period. A massive collection of evidence for this dating frame is now available in Sun 2000. On the functions of this suffix, see recently Sagart 1999: 131-133 and Mazo 2000, 2002. 23 Gassmann 1988; Makeham 1994; and Harbsmeier 1998: 51-53. 24 Lunyu 6.25.129. 25 Pace He Yan’s ԩᰣ (190-249 A.D.) gloss: ǋ㿔䴲㾮гǄǌ(“This says ‘it is not a chalice’”), or modern translators like Unger 1994: 64. Arthur Waley’s reading “A horn-gourd that is neither horn nor gourd”, praised in Harbsmeier (1998: 52 n. 4), not only nonchalantly misanalyses the character as ‘syssemantic’ (huiyi ᳗ᛣ), but violates the grammatical rules of negation in Classical Chinese, which are so admirably discussed elsewhere in Harbsmeier’s book e.g. 1998: 109 n. 6. 26 Brooks and Brooks 1998: 36.


21

appropriateness of speech acts or theories of linguistic reference than with the ideals and ethics of proper government.27 On the other hand, the Daoists and “Sophists”, while radical in their criticism of language, eagerly exploited this very language to its logical and poetic extremes, in order to show that just “like the Dao never had borders, saying never had norms”, and that it is by virtue of “a ‘this’ which deems, that a boundary is drawn.” 28 Comparison of different diachronic levels of speech, let alone consideration of the motivations and mechanisms of change were, as far as we can see, marginal concerns in all philosophical schools during the pre-Qin period. It is thus rare to find generalized statements such as the following from the Lüshi Chunqiu ਖ⇣᯹⾟ (ca. 239 B.C.): সПੑ໮ϡ䗮ТҞП㿔㗙Ǆ Ancient ordinances (or terms) are often not communicable in modern speech.29

Even in pre-Qin examples rather explicitly referring to language change, it is usually not the process of change, but its social or political consequences that are at stake. Notice, however, that the observation of language change does not inevitably lead into an exclusively retrospective kind of language conservativism, just as the recognition of the failure of traditional ethics and religion during the political and social crisis of the Warring States period did not stop an attempt to reestablish the traditional conventions of the sage kings’ “golden age”. The Xunzi 㤔ᄤ says:30 Ҟ㘪⥟≦ˈৡᅜ᜶ˈ༛䖁䍋ˈৡᆺіǄᰃ䴲Пᔶϡᯢˈࠛᅜ⊩Пৣˈ 䁺ᭌП‫ˈۦ‬ѺⱚіǄ㢹᳝⥟㗙䍋ˈᖙᇛ᳝ᕾᮐ㟞ৡˈ᳝԰ᮐᮄৡǄ Today, the sage kings are no more, the conservation of names has been neglected, strange expressions have risen, and names and their referents are in confusion. Since the models of ‘being this/right’ and ‘not being this/wrong’ are unclear, the officials in charge of conserving the law, and 27 Roetz 1998: 50-58. Cf. He Yan’s commentary, which immediately continues: ǋ ҹஏ⚎ᬓϡᕫ݊䘧ˈࠛϡ៤Ǆǌ. 28 Zhuangzi (Harvard-Yenching edition, 2.5.55): ǋ໿䘧᳾ྟ᳝ᇕˈ㿔᳾ྟ᳝ᐌˈ ⚎ᰃ㗠᳝⬯Ǆǌ, translated in Graham 1992: 101. 29 Lüshi Chunqiu (ACTCS-edition 15.8: 88), translated in Harbsmeier 1998: 51. 30 Xunzi (ACTCS-edition 22: 108). Compare the translations by Duyvendak 1924: 228-229 and Köster 1967: 288-289.

22

WOLFGANG BEHR

the scholars in charge of ‘reciting the numbers’ (transmitting a fixed corpus of theorems), are all in confusion. Should it happen that a sovereign arises, he would necessarily sometimes follow along old names, but also sometimes be creative with new names.31

While the zheng ming topos occasionally continued to inform the various old text/new text (jinwen Ҟ᭛/guwen স᭛) controversies under the Han,32 statements on semantic and pragmatic change in the language of the classics we encounter are either perfectly lapidary, or merely implicit in the massive etymological glossography of the period.33 As we would expect, a much quoted statement of the former type is to be found in the Lunheng 䂪㸵:34 ㍧‫ڇ‬П᭛ˈ䊶㘪П䁲ˈসҞ㿔⅞ˈಯᮍ䂛⭄Ǆ⭊㿔џᰖˈ䴲ࢭ䲷ⶹˈ Փᣛᛣ䭝䲅гǄᕠҎϡᲝˈϪⳌ䲶䘴ˈℸৡ᳄䁲⭄ˈϡৡ᳄ᴤ匏Ǆ As for the writings in the classics and commentaries, and the words of the worthies and sages, the ancient and modern expressions are different, and talking habits vary in the four realms [of the empire]. When these men spoke about affairs, they did not intend to be difficult to understand, or to cause their meanings to be hermetical and hidden. If people of later times can not make sense of them, it is owing to the great remoteness of generations through time. This is to be called ‘difference in language’, not ‘vastness of literary skill’.

Wang Chong’s ⥟‫( ܙ‬27-91 A.D.) association of temporal (diachronic) with spatial (dialectal) distance was to become a recurrent motive in the debates on pronunciation change after the Song dynasty. More importantly, his observation of dialectal diversity during the period of Han territorial expansion and institutional centralization was certainly conducive to a shift of awareness from the semantic and lexical to the sociolinguistic and phonological domains in language change.35 31 This is understood as “to follow the good ones in the case of good names, and to create new ones in the case of bad ones” (ǋ୘㗙ᕾПˈϡ୘㗙԰Пǌ) by his earliest commentator Yang Liang ἞‫( ײ‬fl. late 9th c.). For a discussion of the whole passage see Wang Li 1981: 6 and Pu 1987: 50. 32 For pertinent examples relating to the appropriate usage of geographical and administrative terms, as well as the dispute on Wang Mang’s ⥟㦑 prohibition of two-syllable names (erming Ѡৡ), see van Ess 1993: 254-257. 33 See for instance Kong Yingda’s ᄨ〢䘨 (574-648 A.D.) definition of what constitutes a xx gu-type gloss in the lost Erya preface translated in van Ess 1993: 60, and analyzed by Zhou Binwu 1988: 31-33. 34 Lunheng (ACTCS-edition 85: 368), cf. the translations in Forke 1907-11= 1962: 72 and Branner 2000: 6. 35 On the close epistemological association of temporal and spatial distance in the prehistory of European comparative linguistics see Auroux 1990: 213-238.


23

c) Sociolinguistic Change The Han notion of a uniform standard language (tongyu 䗮䁲) inspired by the unattainable ideal of recreating the “refined speech” (yayan 䲙㿔) of the Zhou period, had figured prominently already in the Dialectal Expressions from Foreign States and Glosses on Words from Extinct Eras Collected by the ‘Light Chart Officials’ (Youxuan Shizhe Juedai Yu Shi Bieguo Fangyan 䔊䒦Փ㗙㌩ҷ䁲䞟߹೟ᮍ㿔), 36 a work usually ascribed to Yang Xiong ᦮䲘 (ca. 53 B.C-18 A.D.), and better known under its abbreviated title Fangyan ᮍ㿔. In his gloss on dialect synonyms for the word ໻ da “be big” the author elaborates: ߱߹೟ϡⳌᕔ՚П㿔гˈҞ៪ৠˈ㗠㟞᳌䲙㿬ᬙ֫䁲ϡ༅݊ᮍǄ㗠 ᕠҎϡⶹˈᬙ⚎П԰䞟гǄ Words, which could initially not be communicated between different countries, are sometimes shared [by all speakers of Chinese] today, whereas words noted as vernacular in ancient writings and glossography do not fail to be widespread. However, later people will not know this and therefore we offer explanations for these [words]. 37

Almost three centuries later, the commentator Guo Pu 䛁⩲ (276-324 A.D.) continues this tradition in his glosses on the Fangyan, which he characterizes in the preface as a book “exploring the abandoned expressions of the ‘nine submitted areas’, 38 and displaying extinct words from the ‘Six Ages’”.39 Consider, for instance, entries like the following, implying an already routine awareness of a recurrent process of norm shift in the language: a. FY

㰨ǃᲝǃ૆ˈ᜻гǄ˄…˅Ἦ៪䃖П Ǆ

Qian, xiao, and zhe mean ‘to be knowledgeable.’ (...) In Chu they sometimes call this tuo. 36

I.e. the officials in charge of the collection of dialect and folklore materials. For discussion of this title and the functions of its bearers see Hu Qiguang 1987: 72-73 and He 1985: 34-35. 37 Fangyan (Zhou Zumo ed. 1951, 1.12: 4). My reading follows Li Jianguo 1986: 37. 38 I.e., the nine territorial divisions outside the royal domain (cf. Zhouli 33, p. 223 in Shisan Jing 861.c), and, by extension, the whole empire. 39 I.e., the periods of the six emperors Huangdi 咗Ᏹ, Yao ฃ, Shun 㟰, Yu ⾍, Tang ⑃ and Wuwang ℺⥟Ҟ, see Jinshu 22. 675, i.e. “antiquity”.

24

WOLFGANG BEHR

GP

ѺҞ䗮䁲Ǆ

Today, this is also standard language.

b. FY

࿹ǃ

ˈདгǄ˄…˅䍞儣➩ኅП䭧᳄ྱǄ

E and ying mean ‘to love’ (...) In the regions of Yue, Wei, Yan and Dai they say: chu. GP

Ѻಯᮍ䗮䁲Ǆ

This is also standard language in all four regions (of the empire).

c. FY ޵仆㮹‫ڇ‬㮹㗠↦ˈफἮП໪䃖П⯠Ǆ˄…˅ᵅ唞⍋ኅП䭧䃖 П⳴ˈ៪䃖П⳽Ǆ Whenever an orally or externally applied medicine is poisonous, it will be called la beyond the regions south of Chu. (...) In Eastern Qi and the coastal Dai regions, they call this mian, or sometimes xuan. GP

⳴⳽ҞѺ䗮䁲㘇Ǆ

Mianxuan is also standard language today.

d. FY

㤞∱∳␬П䚞ˈ޵䉾㗠ϡᮑˈ䃖ПјǄ

In the outer regions of the Rujiang in Jing, whenever someone is greedy and does not give, they call this yi. GP

Ё೟П䗮䁲Ǆ


25

This is also the standard language of the Central States. 40

The reverse process of a destandardization and subsequent demotion into dialect usage is crosslinguistically rather uncommon and hardly documented in Classical Chinese at all—the default development being full scale lexeme abandonment. Thus, it is not surprising that we do not come across technical terms for it in the Fangyan. It is undeniable that dialect diversity was one of the driving forces leading to the development of historical phonology as a science in China, long before the advent of Qing “evidential research” (kaozhengxue 㗗䄝ᅌ). Yan Zhitui 丣П᥼ (531-ca. 590 A.D.) during the northern Qi ࣫唞 period had already outlined a programme for a systematic comparison of dialects. In the chapter on phonology in the Family Instructions of the Yan Clan (Yanshi Jiaxun 丣⇣ᆊ㿧) he writes: 㗠স䁲㟛Ҟ⅞߹˄…˅݅ҹᏱ⥟䛑䙥ˈগ᷵ᮍ֫ˈ㗗㽜সҞˈ⚎П ᡬ㹋Ǆ᥼㗠䞣Пˈ⤼䞥䱉㟛⋯ϟ㘇Ǆ There are, however, differences between ancient and modern languages. (...) Only between the two imperial capitals Chin-ling (Nanking, the capital of the Southern Dynasties) and Lo-yang (the capital of the Northern Dynasties), can different usages be compared and ancient and modern pronunciations examined, so as to obtain a well balanced view. 41

Despite his well known stance as a “restorationist” (fugu zhuyizhe ᕽস Џ㕽㗙)42 in all matters concerning language, morals and customs, it is certainly anachronistic to assume that Yan had a notion of “comparative reconstruction” based on dialects. Rather, the “well-balanced view” he was interested in was aimed at the construction of literary and possibly concomitant pedagogical standards for practical use in literary pursuits. Although paying great attention to old glosses and rhyme dictionaries no longer extant, Yan certainly did not hesitate to jettison earlier pronunciations, if they could not be reconciled with his idealized system of maximal contemporary dialect distinctions: 40 Fangyan a: 1.3.2; b: 1.2.1-2; c: 3.12. 20; d: 10.10. 62, cf. Ren 1986: 137-141; Wang Li 1981: 22-23. Contrary to Fu (1988), it is certainly exaggerated to construe passages like this as implying a full-fledged understanding of “historical-comparative” linguistics in the modern European sense of the word. 41 Yanshi Jiaxun 7.18, (Wang Liqi ed. 1993: 529), as translated by Teng 1968: 188-89. 42 Wang 1961: 67.

26

WOLFGANG BEHR

সҞ㿔䁲ˈᰖ֫ϡৠǄ˄…˅ࠡϪড䁲ˈজ໮ϡߛǄ˄…˅ϡৃձ ֵˈѺ⚎ⴒ⶷ǄҞПᅌ⇣ˈ䁲ѺϡℷǄস⤼ԩҎˈᖙឝ䱼ّ݊‫ۏ‬Т˛ From ancient times to modern times, language and customs have frequently changed. (...) The fanyu spellings of earlier generations are often inaccurate [exx.] (...). Such unreliable spellings are numerous. The pronunciations of present-day scholars are not correct. But if the ancients are also incorrect, why should we follow their mistakes?43

It has been heavily disputed in recent work on the historiography of Chinese linguistics, as to whether Yan Zhitui and other scholars belonging to the circle of Lu Fayan 䱌⊩㿔 (562-? A.D.) had a concept of norms and standards of language at all.44 Lu alone was responsible for the compilation of the Qieyun ߛ䷏ of 601, the most important text in the history of Chinese phonology, although some of its contents had been discussed with scholars such as Yan Zhitui. The crucial line bearing on the problem of linguistic standards in the preface of this work, surviving in various later quotations, reads: ಴䂪फ࣫ᰃ䴲ˈসҞ䗮าˈ℆᳈ᤗ䙌㊒ߛˈ䰸ࠞ⭣㎽Ǆ Therefore we discussed the right and wrong of the North and the South, the comprehensible and the incomprehensible of the past and the present, wishing to select what is essential and accurate and to discard what is loose and negligent.45

I think that the problem can be removed if we acknowledge that this line, as well as the whole preface, is inconclusive on the question of the existence of a notion of normative speech and pronunciation in everyday life. However, it was not merely descriptive or cumulative of earlier work either. If Lu and his colleagues, despite all the shu er bu zuo 䗄㗠ϡ԰ rhetoric of the preface, had not wanted to fix (ding ᅮ) “formulas intended for use in writing literature and vocalizing literary texts”, 46 what would have been the point of transmitting a system whose “splits and analyses are exceedingly fine” and “distinctions abundant and profuse” in the first place?47

43

Yanshi Jiaxun 7.18: 545, translated in Teng 1968: 191-93. Coblin 1996; Pu 1987: 237, n. 27-28; Zhou 1988: 56-57. Guangyun (Yu Naiyong ԭ 䗎 ∌ ed., 1993: 13); my revision of Ramsey’s rendering 1987: 116. 46 Coblin 1996: 95. 47 Ramsey’s translation (1987: 116) of ǋࠪᵤ↿⡯ˈߚ߹咡㌃Ǆǌ, cf. the comments in Coblin 1996: 90. 44 45


27

In European linguistic historiography, similar observations on a diachronic/sociolinguistic relationship between dialects and the standard language are usually explained as a reaction to the development of Romance vernaculars out of Latin, most eloquently captured in Dante’s (1265-1321) discussion of the regional varieties of Italian in the De vulgari eloquentia of 1305.48 It is tempting to view the early medieval Chinese development just outlined as a reflex of a peculiar linguistic contact situation as well, namely the confrontation and nascent familiarity with Sanskrit and Central Asian languages after the advent of Buddhism. Unfortunately, the point is difficult to assess with the very few bilingual materials at our disposal. The Greeks had recognized regional speech varieties already during the fifth century B.C., and, just as in the medieval Sanskrit literary tradition, had exploited substandard expressions for comic effect in drama. Nevertheless, a systematic consideration of the historical dynamics of dialect/norm-relationships did not ensue. Even in what was probably the most sophisticated discussion of the causae mutationis linguarum before Leibniz (1646-1716), Herder (1744-1803) and Adelung (1732-1806) and their nineteenth-century successors—the De ratione communi omnium linguarum & literarum commentarius (1548) of the Swiss theologian, orientalist, and linguist Theodor Bibliander (alias Buchmann, 1506-1564)49—dialect standardization is not adduced in the impressive list of motivations for change: These include contact and mixture with external languages, social and political change, the emergence of scientific and professional languages, the influence of secret languages, as well as the “moral disposition of man”.50 Although remarks on one or another dialect phenomenon were rather commonplace during European Renaissance linguistics, the first systematic description of regular correspondences between dialects within one and the same language and their role in language change is due to Jacob Grimm (1785-1863) and his Geschichte der deutschen Sprache.51 48

McDavid 1990. On the importance of his work for the “prehistory” of comparative linguistics in Europe see Peters 1984: 11-18; on Bibliander’s contributions to Semitic studies, including the first Latin translation of the Qur’an (Basel : J. Oporinus, 1543), see also Bobzin 1986. 50 Cf. Gardt 1999: 225 & 218-229 for the general linguistic trends during this period in Germany. 51 Ramat 1990: 204-205. 49

28

WOLFGANG BEHR

On balance, then, the development of an awareness of diachronic status difference extrapolated from observations on synchronic variability in dialects was a very slow and frequently interrupted process in Europe, just as in China. Already well into the Qing (1644-1911) dynasty, Yan Ruoju 䮏㢹⩽ (1626-1704) still feels it necessary to point out that: ᄫ᳝স䷇ˈҹҞ䷇㐽Пˈ⼛㾎݊ᤡḐϡড়ˈ⤊䁲᳝࣫䷇ˈҹफ䷇㐽 ПˈᤡḐ⤊ᬙгǄҎⶹफ࣫П䷇㋏ТഄˈϡⶹসҞП䷇㋏ТᰖǄഄ 䱨ᭌकⱒ䞠ˈ䷇े䅞ᯧˈ㗠䃖ᰖ࡯ᭌगⱒ䓝ˈ䷇⤊ϔᕟˈᇮᕫ䃖П 䗮ҎТ˛ Characters have ancient pronunciations, and if we fix them using present-day pronunciations, we only become aware that they are conflicting and inadequate. This is just as if in the case of northern pronunciations, we fixed them with southern ones, and they would consequently be conflicting. People know that southern and northern pronunciations are tied to a given region, but they do not know that ancient and present-day pronunciations are tied to time. Yet if sounds are changed even between regions several hundred miles apart, would someone who held that sounds are fully uniform across several thousands of years still be considered an expert?! 52

And it would take yet another century before Qian Daxin 䣶໻Ⳏ (1728-1804) precisely described the mechanism of shift from a substandard into the standard language as a major motivation behind sound change, acknowledging en passant the possibility of retention of archaic features in conservative dialects. In a letter to his main phonological contender of the time—Duan Yucai ↉ ⥝ 㺕 (1735-1815)—he writes: 㙆䷇П䅞ˈ⬅ᮐᮍ㿔ˈྟᮐϔᮍ㗠‫أ‬ᮐ໽ϟˈЙП䘖༅᳔݊߱П䷇Ǆ བҞҎ䅔ǋ㚪ǌ⚎ǋ᱂ᯎߛǌˈ䅔ǋ䭢ǌ⚎ǋ᠊ᎹߛǌǄे䭧᳝ϔ ᮍᇮᄬস䷇ˈ㌖ϡ㛑ࢱ⍋ܻПষǄ Sound changes originate in dialects. Beginning in one region they spread throughout the whole world, and if they prevail for a long enough time the pronunciation which existed in the very beginning is finally lost. For instance, people today read 㚪 (MC phanH > {pàn}) ‘be fat’ as if spelled by ᱂ᯎ p×+wáng (ph[uX]+[hjw]angH > pàng), and 䭢 hóng (MC hwaeng > {w¥ng}) ‘gate’ as if spelled by ᠊ Ꮉ hù+g¿ng (MC h[uX]+[k]uwng > hóng). Even if there is occasionally an area where the old pronunciation is still retained, it will finally yield to the mouths

52 Shangshu Guwen Shuzheng ᇮ᳌স᭛⭣䄝 (lost), as quoted in Dai Zhen’s ᠈䳛, Shengyun Kao 㙆ഛ㗗 3, 34. 2-3.


29

‘within the seas’ (i.e. the pronunciation by speakers of central innovative dialects). 53

Statements like this, formulated in terms of abstract equations of pronunciation spellers, presuppose a long development of techniques of phonological description and analysis. Unlike in Europe and the ancient Near East, the main source of phonological disconcertion leading to the development of such techniques did not stem from wholesale language shift, long term diglossia, or creolization under conditions of foreign elite dominance. Its major inspiration, it seems, was the necessity to model and explain phonological change in order to account for the rhyming practices and loan usages of characters in the classics, and, eventually, to enable their replication under the literary constraints enshrined in the state examination system since the Tang.

d) Phonological Change The oldest extant comments, directly reflecting phonological change, are to be found in two of Zheng Xuan’s 䜁⥘ (127-200 A.D.) glosses on the Maoshi ↯䀽, where they are used in paronomastic arguments for the interpretation of words not encountered with the ordinary Shi connotation. Justifying his identification of zheng ⚱ (MC tsying < OC *W1) “be numerous, many” as tián よ (dHn < *GLLQ) “be ample” in the song Dongshan ᵅቅ of the collection, Zheng Xuan goes on to say: স㗙㙆ˈǋよǃよǃ้ǌৠгǄ Anciently, the pronunciations of tián (dHn < *GLLQ), tián/chén (dHn < *GLLQ / drin < *GULQ), and chén (drin < *GULQ) were identical.54

And in a gloss on the ᐌặ Changdi-ode of the Lesser elegantiae: স㗙ˈǋϡǃᢞǌৠ гǄ In ancient pronunciation f½u (pjuwX < *S) and f× (phjuX < *SD) were identical.55 53 “Yu Duan Ruoying Shu” 㟛↉㢹㞎᳌, Qianyantang Wenji ┯ⷨූ᭛䲚 33: 5 edited in Zhang and Xu, henceforth abbreviated as GDYYXZL (1993: 61 = B1-1.4.5). 54 Maoshi 156.1 in Shisan Jing 396a: ǋ㳢㳢㗙㸒ˈ⚱೼ḥ䞢ǌ “Crawling are the caterpillars, they’re numerous in the mulberry grounds”; cf. Coblin 1983: 205 n. 18, GDYYXZL B1-1.1.41. 55 Maoshi 164.1 in Shisan Jing 408a:ǋ䛖ϡ䶵䶵ǌ“in a sudden outburst the flowers became ample and brilliant” (Karlgren), cf. GDYYXZL B1-1.1: 41.

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While we can see from our vantage point of reconstruction today that neither of these glosses was adequate for the stage of language development that Zheng Xuan was trying to come to grips with, it is remarkable to see him at least trying to look beyond his own Eastern Han phonological horizon. 56 Liu Xi ࡝ ❭ , the author of the paronomastic compendium Glossed Names (Shiming 䞟ৡ) finished shortly before 213 A.D., fares only slightly better when he tries to explain the development of a pronunciation that still causes confusion today: স㗙᳄ǋ䒞ǌˈ㙆བǋሙǌˈ᠔ҹሙҎгǄҞ᳄ǋ䒞ǌˈ㙆䖥ǋ㟡ǌǄ Anciently, when one pronounced 䒞, the sound was like that of ሙ jÔ (< kjo < *N(U)D; ‘to sit, squat, settle’), i.e. ‘that on which people are made to sit’. When we pronounce 䒞 today, the sound approximates that of 㟡 shè (sy4H < *KODN-V).57

In fact, Liu Xi here confounds what are two separate pronunciations of the same word, going back to Old Chinese *N-KOD > tsyhæ > ch¥ and *N-OD > NMR > jÔ “thing carried o carriage o car(t)”, respectively. These variants, with no discernable difference of meaning in Classical Chinese texts, came about as two independent dialectal *k-derivations of the root 㟕 yú (< yoX < *OD) “to lift, carry”.58 Alternatively—but less likely in view of the size and transparent morphology of the word family—they are to be analyzed as two reflexes from a very early Indo-European loan into Old Chinese, either borrowed during different periods, or from different Central Asian kentum languages.59 Much more common and increasingly less contingent than paronomastic glosses of this type, prompted by the urge to explain this or that inner Chinese loan or to elucidate a cherished (folk) etymology, were remarks on diachronic sound change triggered by impure or “slant” rhymes in poetry, and implying more than just a notion of sporadic sound change. In principle, today just like in early medieval China, there are three prototypical ways to explain messy rhyme data:

56 As is clear from his preface to his commentary on the Zhouli ਼⾂, Zheng Xuan also had a very lucid notion of semantic change, discussed by, inter alia, by Li Jianguo 1986: 5. 57 Shiming (Shanghai Guji-edition 7.24: 356), GDYYXZL B1-1.3: 41. 58 Sagart 1999: 204; Baxter 1992: 479-480. For a good collection of evidence on these characters see also Lin 2001: 16-18. 59 Pulleyblank 1995: 145-195 vs. Lubotsky 1998.


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I. assuming that rhyming standards were not based on a phonemic identity principle, i.e. accept assonance/consonance and other types of loose rhyming II. assuming that there is dialect interference III. assuming that there is diachronic development

It seems that at one point or another during the development of traditional Chinese phonology, all positions have successively been asserted or even combined, with varying degrees of confidence. Position i. is usually associated with Lu Deming 䱌ᖋᯢ (556-627 or 630 A.D.), author of the Jingdian Shiwen ㍧‫݌‬䞟᭛ completed in 583, i.e. representing a phonological standard roughly comparable to that of the Qieyun, with some possible Wu ਇ dialect features.60 The work is a compilation of phonological spellers and semantic glosses on fourteen classics61 culled from no less than 230 earlier works, most of them lost today.62 Having observed that not only rhymes in original poetry are sometimes problematic, but also “the sound glosses of characters today are not identical with those of ancient times”,63 Lu proceeds to reject one of the earliest known attempts to produce an artificial reading for a Shijing rhyme character, which was devised in order to convert its pronunciation into a pure rhyme in the spoken standard of its author. This pronunciation assignment is found in a gloss by Shen Zhong ≜䞡 (500-583 A.D.), a scholar from Zhejiang, who in his no longer extant Sounds of the Maoshi (Maoshi Yin ↯䀽䷇) had spelled the character nan फ in the Yanyan ➩➩-ode as ni lín Зᵫ (Maoshi 28.3), i.e. Middle Chinese n[oj]+[l]im, instead of regular nom (< OC *QP), in order to make it match with yin ䷇ < ’im < *(r)P and x¯n ᖗ < sim < *VP in the same poem. Lu says: ǋफǌΨབᄫˈ≜ѥǋ৊হˈᅷЗᵫডǌˈҞ䃖সҎ䷏㎽ˈϡ✽ᬍ ᄫǄ

60

Baxter 1992: 40. I.e. the thirteen classics without the Mengzi ᄳᄤ, but adding the Zhuangzi 㥞ᄤ and Laozi 㗕ᄤ. 62 He 1985: 101; Li and Mai 1993: 415. 63 Jingdian Shiwen, preface 1.1: ǋ᭛ᄫ䷇㿧ˈҞসϡৠǄǌ GDYYXZL B1-1.1.6. 42. 61

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... nán (MC nom): pronounced unchanged; Shen [Zhong] says ‘a harmonizing line, pronounce as n[oj]+[l]im’; we can say today that the ancients rhymed loosely, so one needn’t bother to change the words. 64

The practice of what is called “harmonizing lines” (৊হ xie ju) here apparently originated during the Eastern Jin ᵅᰝ period (317-420) in the phonological glosses of Xu Miao ᕤ䙜 (344-397 A.D.) on the classics, 65 and was known under various designations such as ড়䷏ heyun (“to conflate rhymes”), ৊䷇ xieyin (“to harmonize sounds”) and ৊̚नহ xieju (“to harmonize verse lines”). Among the extant quotations of spellers of this type, dating from the time of Shen Zhong, the forced new readings seem to have concerned only tonal changes, rather than new pronunciations of the main vowel or finals, as in the Shen Zhong case.66 It is characteristic of this early development that all pronunciation reassignments were entirely ad hoc, without any discernible conscious system governing the changes. Therefore, we cannot be sure whether they presupposed anything like a historical consciousness of language change, or whether they were simply intended as convenient reading and reciting aids. In any case, the xieyun practice continued to be popular and influential until the end of the Tang period. Before this situation changed and the critics of the “harmonizing lines” approach introduced a strictly diachronic perspective into the analysis of messy rhyme data (i.e. option iii., above), several Sui-Tang authors pursued option ii., and reinterpreted “harmony” in terms of dialect interference. This idea is first seen in two little known works, the Wenxuan Yinjue ᭛䙌䷇≎ (Stipulation of Pronunciations in the ‘Literary Anthology’) of Gongsun Luo ݀ᄿ㕙, a late Sui author, and the Dunhuang ᬺ✠ fragments of the monk (Shi) Zhiqian˄䞟˅ᱎ俿 (fl. 590),67 who was possibly a direct student of the Tiantai doyen Zhiyi ᱎ丫 (538-597 A.D.). Both Gongsun and Zhiqian invoke “harmonizing lines”, which are said to represent the “original Chu-pronunication” (“Chu Benyin” Ἦᴀ䷇). And Gongsun Luo even occasionally makes a foray into the dialects of Wu ਇ and Qi 唞 to explain an aberrant rhyme. This means that irregularity in rhyme data is mapped onto dialectal influence, rather 64 Jingdian Shiwen 5: 57, i.e. GDYYXZL B1-3.1.6.56, translated and discussed in Baxter 1992: 152. 65 According to Ma Guohan’s 侀೟⓶ Yuhan Shanfang Ji Yishu ⥝ߑቅ᠓䔃Ԯ᳌, he had produced separate sound glosses collections on all thirteen classics, except the Yili ‫⾂۔‬, Erya ⠒䲙, and Mengzi ᄳᄤ. 66 Zhou 1940: 175. 67 Ms. Pelliot chinois (n. 2492) of the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris.


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than simply explained away using artificial standard language spellers. Since both texts have been preserved in a very fragmentary state, it is again hard to tell whether the frequent use of dialect pronunciations was based on a systematic abstract notion of phonological correspondences between the dialect and Central Chinese pronunciation standards, or whether dialects were simply a slightly more sophisticated, albeit still hopelessly ahistorical, instrument to justify otherwise unexplained “harmonized” lines.68 A move towards a more systematic recognition of option iii. during the high and late Tang periods seems to have been prepared by paleographers facing the problem of divergent phonological spellers for one and the same word, or grappling with pronunciation inconsistencies in characters derived from the same phonophoric. These data became increasingly available in analytical character dictionaries, such as Xu Shen’s Shuowen Jiezi 䁾᭛㾷ᄫ and its various commented versions or satellites: Lü Chen’s ਖᗅ (ca. 320 A.D.) Zilin ᄫᵫ, Cao Houyan’s ᳍ փᔹ(?) Gujin Ziyuan সҞᄫ㢥 or Gu Yewang’s 主䞢⥟ (519-581 A.D.) Yupian ⥝㆛.69 Xu Xuan ᕤ䠝 (917-992 A.D.), author of the well-known Shuowen Xi Zhuan 䁾᭛㋏‫ڇ‬, has the following telling passage in his preface: 㪟সПᄫ䷇໮ᮐҞ⭄ˈབǋⱔǌѺ䷇ǋ佭ǌˈǋ䞕ǌѺ䷇ǋ䭔ǌˈ ǋЗǌѺ䷇ǋҡǌˈⱚҪӓℸǄসҞ༅‫ˈڇ‬ϡৃ䁇おǄ Apparently, the ancient sounds of characters were often different from today, so that for instanceⱔ jí70 < (MC kip < OC *N(U)S) was also pronounced like 佭 xing (xjang < *[D1)71, 䞕 [xìn] (xjunH < *[PXQ-V) was also pronounced like 䭔 mén (mwon < *PQ), З ni (nojX < *Q[1]) was also pronounced like ҡ réng (nying < *Q1), and all other cases with this pattern. [The sounds] failed to be transmitted from ancient times to the present, and cannot be studied in detail anymore. 72

Considerable progress towards a more systematic understanding of the consequences of phonological change for the problem of accounting for 68

See Zhou Zumo 1940 for a discussion of these texts. The development of writing (as opposed to language change) is beyond the scope of this paper. For detailed information on the history of character lexicography during this period see Qian 1986, Hu Qiguang 1987: 120-130 and the excellent review in Bottéro 1996: 83-115. 70 That is, the phonophoric of characters like xiang 䛝 or xiang 伫, read > ji in the Guangyun. 71 According to the Shuowen, the character had a second pronunciation “like 佭”, which is also found in the Guangyun speller ǋ䀅㡃ߛǌ, i.e. MC xjang < OC *[D1. 72 Shuowen Xizhuan 䁾᭛㋏‫ ڇ‬1.1 in GDYYXZL B.1-1.1.8. 43. 69

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rhyme data was made only during the tenth and eleventh centuries, but unfortunately no complete rhyme dictionaries from this period survive. Thus, it is usually Wu Yu ਇế (Cailao ᠡ㗕, ca. 1100-1154), a native speaker of the Northern Min 䭽 dialect of Jian’ou ᓎ⫠ who is credited with the further development of the “harmonizing rhymes” theory into a halfway consistent system of nine broad rhyme classes in his Supplement on Rhymes (Yunbu ䷏㺰, 5 j.). Wu explicitly recognized the diachronic dimension in rhyme inconsistencies and glossed them in his phonological spellers with the technical terms gu tong স䗮 X “anciently identical with X” or gu zhuan sheng tong স䔝㙆䗮 X “the transposed ancient sound is identical with X”.73 While he was criticized by later scholars for the fact that he had sometimes inexplicably included the same character in different rhyme groups, and that he had tried in vain to apply his system of interrhyming to poetic texts from the Shijing all the way to the Northern Song, 74 his method was—in principle—to stay valid until the work of Bernhard Karlgren (1889-1987) during the teens and twenties of the last century. Another element of progress, later heavily exploited in the analysis of sound change, is the question of phonophoric series (xiesheng) consistency and its relationship to poetic rhyme consistency. This is the question as to whether all characters derived from one and the same phonetic element must, by default, also belong into the same rhyme group, and can thus be used as an independent language internal body of evidence to control rhyme data. While the xiesheng principle is not discussed by Wu Yu himself, we find a trace of it for the first time in Xu Chan’s ᕤ 㬚 preface to the Yunbu. Xu, a close friend of Wu Yu, about whom otherwise not much is known, here tries to bolster the case for certain “harmonizing” spellers in Wu Yu’s glosses, by adducing evidence for them from xiesheng-relationships in the same series, since, as he puts it: ䷇䷏ℷᴀ䃌ᄫП䂻㙆ˈ᳝ϡৃᯧ㗙 Ǆ Since he rhyming of pronunciations is straightforwardly rooted in the phonophorics of characters, it so happens that it is something which cannot be changed.75

This seems to say that it is not pronunciations which have to be adjusted to maintain a rhyme, but those characters were originally rhymed 73

Zhou 1945: 216. Zhou 1945: 217; Baxter 1992: 154. 75 Zhou 1945: 217. 74


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according to a fixed natural standard pronunciation of a given period, and that it was merely change over time that has disrupted that relationship. The next scholar to be found massively employing readings under the “harmonizing lines” strategy was Zhu Xi ᴅ➍ (1130-1200) in his Collected Commentaries on the Odes (Shi Jizhuan 䀽䲚‫ )ڇ‬and his Evidence on the Disputes about the Chuci (Chuci Bianzheng Ἦ䖁䖃䄝). For this, he became the main target of Ming and Qing criticisms of the “harmonizing rhymes” practice. In a now classic statement, directly aimed at the Yunbu and the Shi Jizhuan, the Ming phonologist Jiao Hong ⛺ゥ (1540-1620) writes: 䀽᳝স䷏Ҟ䷏Ǆস䷏бϡ‫ˈڇ‬ᅌ㗙ᮐ↯䀽ǃ䲶個ⱚҹҞ䷏䅔ПǄ݊ ᳝ϡড়ˈࠛᔋ⚎П䷇ˈ᳄ℸ гǄќᛣϡ✊Ǆ˄…˅བℸˈǋᵅǌ Ѻৃ䷇ǋ㽓ǌˈǋफǌѺৃ䷇ǋ࣫ǌˈǋϞǌѺৃ䷇ǋϟǌˈǋࠡǌ Ѻৃ䷇ǋᕠǌˈ޵ᄫⱚ⛵ℷ੐ˈ޵䀽⛵ℷᄫ⶷ˈ䈜⧚гઝ˛ For the Odes there are ancient and present day rhymes. The ancient rhymes have been lost for a long time, whence scholars all read the Maoshi or the Lisao using present day rhymes. Whenever these do not fit, they force a [present day] pronunciation upon [the character] and say ‘this is harmonizing’. In my opinion this is not the case. (...) In this way, ‘east’ can be also pronounced like ‘west’, ‘south’ can be also pronounced like ‘north’, ‘above’ can be also pronounced like ‘below’, ‘before’ can be also pronounced like ‘behind’. If characters have no correct reading, and the Odes have no correct characters any more, is that supposed to be reasonable?76

And even the doyen of PRC phonology, Wang Li ⥟࡯ (1900-1986), finds it still necessary to point out as late as 1982 that Zhu managed to apply up to five different readings of the same character to make it conform to the rhyme scheme. Yet, as Chen Hongru 䱇匏‫ ۦ‬has recently shown in great detail, 77 Zhu Xi’s analysis of rhyming was much more sophisticated than his Qing and modern critics would have it. Not only do his 61 “harmonizing” spellers in the Shi Jizhuan imply a relatively strict system of rhyme groups, closely related to that of Wu Yu, and cross-consistent with the spellers he used in the Chuci Bianzheng, Zhu also frankly concedes in several glosses that he does not know an adequate countertomic speller for a given non-rhyming character. This is usually noted by him as “the harmonizing rhyme could not be detailed” (xie yun wei xiang ৊䷏᳾䁇), something which 76 77

Jiaoshi Bisheng ⛺⇣ㄚЬ 3: 63 in GDYYXZL B.1-1.2.6: 45-46. Chen Hongru (2001), on whom I am relying heavily in the following section.

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would be entirely unnecessary if “harmonizing rhymes” were just a reading or recitation rule fabricated at will. Moreover, it can be shown that Zhu Xi was fully aware of the problem of sound change, even quoting Xu Xuan’s statement to that effect (cf. p. 35 above), and that he knew and used the work of Wu Yu in his Chuci Bianzheng. It is therefore likely that despite all the inconsistencies in his analyses, Zhu Xi simply used the designation xieyun to talk about ancient rhymes and that it was in fact the choice of this superficial label which prevented scholars during the Ming and Qing from taking his work on phonology seriously. The development of phonological research during these periods has been analyzed in great detail in several recent studies, so I will refrain from rehearsing it here. 78 As to the question of an awareness of phonological change, the Qing phonologists continually refined the discoveries already made prior to the Song, but added little to this methodologically. One such refinement is an awareness of different levels of sound change (segmental vs. tonal), encountered in Duan Yucai: স䷇㙆ϡৠˈҞ䱼㟝ৃ䄝ǄབҞҎǋ‫ܘ‬ǃᾂǌᄫ䅔ܹᵅ䷏ˈǋ᳟ǃ Ắǌᄫ䅔ܹᵅ䷏ˈǋՇǌ䅔ܹ咏䷏ˈǋ↡ǃᆠǃ်ǌ䅔ܹ呠ǃ䘛䷏ˈ ℸ䷇䔝П䄝гǄǋᄤǌᄫϡ䅔ǋे䞠ߛǌˈǋ‫و‬ǌᄫϡ䅔ǋ㥞࡯ߛǌˈ ℸ䷇䅞П䄝гǄϞ䷏ܻПᄫ໮䅔⚎এ䷏ˈℸಯ㙆⭄সП䄝гǄҞ䷇ ϡৠ૤䷇ˈे૤䷇ϡৠস䷇П䄝гǄ That the ancient pronunciations and tones were different can be proved taking the following examples into consideration today. For instance, if people today read the characters ‫ ܘ‬xi¿ng (MC xjw4ng) and ᾂ róng (hjw4ng) into the ᵅ d¿ng (tuwng) rhyme [group], the characters᳟ péng (bong) and Ắ péng (bong) into the the ᵅ d¿ng (tuwng) rhyme [group], the character Շ ji (kHi) into the 咏 má (mæ) rhyme [group], or the characters ↡ m× (muwX), ᆠ fù (pjuwH), ် fù (bjuwX) into the 呠 y× (ngjuX) and 䘛 yù (ngjuH) rhyme [groups] respectively, this is a proof of sound shift. If they read the character ᄤ z´ (tsiX) not as if it is spelled by jí ([ts[ik]] + l´ ([l]iX), or the character ‫ و‬cè (tsrik) not as if it is spelled by zhung (tsr[jang]) + lì ([l]ik), this is a proof of sound (i.e. tonal) change. That characters in the entering tone rhymes are often read as departing tone rhymes is proof that the ‘four tones’ are different from ancient times. That today’s pronunciations are different from the Tang

78 See on this topic Zhang Shilu 1938=1986: 143-155 ; Baxter 1992: 150-171, and especially Geng 1992.


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pronunciations is proof that the ancient pronunciations were different from the Tang pronunciations.79

Along with this insight into the layering of changes and their step-by-step reconstructability, as it were, a new topic of phonological periodization arose in the same preface, and is disputed to this day: ҞҎὖ㿔স䷏ϡৠҞ䷏㗠Ꮖˈ૤㰲㗠ϟˈ䱟૤㗠ࠡˈ݊Ё䅞᳈ℷ໮Ǆ ὖ᳄সϡৠҞˈᇮⲂٙП䁾гǄ䷇䷏Пϡৠᖙ䂪݊ϪǄ㋘㗠㿔П૤ 㰲໣ଚ਼⾺⓶䃖ϔᰖˈ⓶℺Ᏹᕠ㞾⓶᳿⚎ϔᰖˈ儣ᰝᅟ唞ṕ䱇䱟⚎ ϔᰖǄসҎП᭛‫݋‬೼ˈ޵䷇䔝ǃ䷇䅞ǃಯ㙆ˈ݊䙋⿏Пᰖҷⱚৃᇟ おǄ For the most part people say today that ancient rhymes are not identical to present day rhymes, and that’s that. After the times of Tang Yu (since the halcyon days) and before the Sui-Tang period, there were in fact many changes among them (the rhymes). But to sum this up by saying that ‘ancient and present are different’ still is a somewhat superficial statement. With regard to phonological differences it is necessary to discuss their periodization. Roughly speaking, from Tang Yu through the Xia, Shang, Zhou, Qin to the Han constitutes one initial period, from Han Wudi [reg. 140-86 B.C.] onwards to the end of the Han constitutes one period, and the Wei, Jin, Song, Qi, Liang, Chen and Sui constitute one period. Since the texts of the ancient peoples are fully extant, the transformation periods of all sound shifts, sound changes and the four tones can be investigated without exception.80

Apart from further advances in the reconstruction of initials, which had never been systematically studied before the mid-Qing period, the idea of periodization was probably the last important discovery in the history of the study of sound change in China before the influence of European comparative reconstruction slowly started to show its presence during the mid-nineteenth century.

3. Consequences of Language Change Awareness (or Lack of It) Turning to the third question raised at the beginning of this paper, which attempts to address the consequences of the development of language change awareness for questions of textual authenticity, prestige, historical truth claims and the like, the answer is decidedly 79

Liushu Yinyunbiao ݁᳌䷇䷏㸼, preface, reproduced in GDYYXZL B1-1.4.7. 61. GDYYXZL B1-1.4.6.61. On the general problem of a phonological periodization of the Chinese language see Pregadio 1983 ; Ting 1993, as well as Chan and Tai 2000. 80

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pedestrian. In the works on historical phonology analyzed for the purposes of this review, there is precious little evidence that authors who had developed a more or less precise notion of language change over time as reflected in rhyme data ever used this as an argument to criticize the authenticity of conflicting interpretations of the classics before the Ming dynasty.81 One of the most eloquent defenders of a nexus between phonological reconstruction and textual authority during this period was Jiao Hong, an enormously prolific writer on phonology and paleography, and a lesser known commentator on Daoist works and the Yijing ᯧ㍧ who hailed from Nanjing.82 I have already quoted his statement on the inadmissibility of altering the rhymes of the classics above (p. 35). In the preface to his reconstruction of Shijing phonology he elaborates even more forcefully: ䷏Пᮐ㍧ˈ᠔䮰㢹⏎冂ˈ✊স䷏ϡᯢˈࠛ䀽ϡৃ䅔ˈ䀽ϡৃ䅔ˈ㗠 ℷᕫ༅ࢩ໽ഄᛳࢩ儐⼲Пᬭ៪ᑒᮐᒶˈℸϡৃ䃖П㌄џгǄ What hinges upon the rhymes in the classics might be considered insignificant, but if the ancient rhymes are unclear, then the Odes cannot be read, and if the Odes cannot be read, then the teachings acting upon the spirits and the correcting of the errors influencing heaven and earth might be on the verge of obsolescence, and this can not be called a trifling matter!83

Here, the correct restitution of ancient pronunciation and the recognition of sound change implicit in it has been stylized into a crucial matter not only for questions of authenticity or of the prestige of a text, but for textual curativeness, Wirkmächtigkeit and, at the end of the day, the balance of the world itself. Accordingly, the self-perception of its compiler is almost heroic. With a slightly less pathetic, more down-to-earth and personal tone, Jiao’s contemporary Chen Di 䱇㄀ (1541-1617) writes in the preface to his Investigations of the Ancient Sounds in the Maoshi (Maoshi Guyin Kao ↯䀽স䷇㗗) of 1606: 䀽ᖙ᳝䷏ˈ໿Ҏ㗠ⶹПǄЗҹҞ䷏䅔স䀽ˈ᳝ϡড়䓦⅌Пᮐ৊ˈ㖦㗠ϡᆳˈ᠔ᕲ՚Й⶷Ǆ˄…˅ԭᇥ䅔䀽ˈ↣⏅⭥Пˈ䖼㽟ो䓌⍌໮ˈ ᕐℸѦ䄝ˈ಴ⶹস䷏㞾㟛Ҟ⭄ˈ㗠ҹ⚎৊㗙䄀㘇Ǆ

81

Cf. the texts compiled under the header “motivations for the study of ancient rhymes” in GDYYXZL section B1-3, pp. 68-70. 82 For a summary of biographical information on Jiao consult Du Lianzhe’s entry on him in Hummel 1943-44, vol. I: 145-46. 83 Maoshi Guyin Kao Xu ↯䀽স䷇㗗ᑣ in GDYYXZL B1-3.1.1.68.


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Of necessity, poetry has rhymes, so that it can be recognized as such by man. Now, the practice of reading ancient poetry using present day rhymes and of hastily reassigning what does not match in them to a ‘harmony’ [rhyme], while routinely neglecting to verify it, has been around for a very long time. (...) When I read the Odes when I was young, I each time deeply doubted these [rhymes], until (the scroll roller was seen dipping into many=) I had immersed my self deeper and deeper into the texts, and compared one to another. Consequently I knew that the ancient rhymes are different from those of today, and consider the practice of ‘harmonizing’ to be a blunder.84

For Chen, awareness of language change is not necessarily the beginning of a critical approach to a text and the tradition associated with it. The nagging doubt of the reading child, arising from the seemingly messy rhymes of a classic—the classic, as it were—could just as well have been turned against the authenticity of that text as a whole, but the realization of phonological change preliminarily saves the author from this dilemma. The obvious conclusion that similar processes of sound shift might have occurred at even earlier periods, way beyond the control of the Chinese tradition, was rarely envisaged. Here, as elsewhere in Chen`s work, understanding of language change tends to get instrumentalized as a protective device for the canonicity of the classics, rather than explored as a medium of criticism. A sober and rational perception of language change as a simple historical truth is also echoed in Chen’s most famous lapidary assertion: 㪟ᰖ᳝সҞˈഄ᳝फ࣫ˈᄫ᳝᳈ᬍˈ䷇᳝䔝⿏ˈѺࢶ᠔ᖙ㟇Ǆᬙҹ ҞП䷇䅔সП԰ˈϡ‫ܡ‬Ъࠎ㗠ϡܹǄ In time, there is ancient and modern; in space, there is south and north. Characters undergo changes, and sounds undergo shifts; this is an inevitable tendency. Therefore, when one reads ancient works with modern pronunciation, the result is unavoidably strange and irritating, and does not fit.85

Curiously, both the desperately quixotic and the laconically philological positions of Jiao and Chen were finally amalgamated in the works of the great Qing polymath Gu Yanwu 主♢℺ (1613-1682). Criticizing the “disease of altering the texts” he wrote in his Letter Answering Li Zide ㄨᴢᄤᖋ᳌: 84

Quoted in Wei 1924=1996: 145. On the background of this text see also Li and Mai 1993: 6-8. 85 Maoshi Guyin Kao Xu in GDYYXZL B1-1.41.53, translated by Baxter 1992: 154.

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ϝҷ݁㍧П䷇ˈ༅݊‫ڇ‬гЙ⶷Ǆ݊᭛ᄫᄬᮐϪ㗙ˈ໮ᕠҎ᠔ϡ㛑䗮ˈ ҹ݊ϡ㛑䗮ˈ㗠䓦ҹҞϪП䷇ᬍПǄѢᰃ੐᳝ᬍ㍧П⮙ˈྟ㞾૤ᯢ ⱛᬍᇮ᳌ˈ㗠ᕠҎᕔᕔᬜПǄ✊⤊᳄ǋ㟞⚎ᶤˈҞᬍ⚎ᶤǌˈࠛ݊ ᴀ᭛⤊೼гǄ㟇Ѣ䖥᮹䢳ᴀⲯ㸠ˈ㗠޵‫⾺ܜ‬ҹϟП᳌ˈ⥛㞚ᕥᬍˈ ϡᕽ㿔݊㟞⚎ᶤǄࠛসҎП䷇ѵˈ㗠᭛Ѻѵˈℸᇸৃ௚㗙гǄ˄…˅ ள໿ˈᅌ㗙䅔㘪ҎП㍧㟛সҎП԰ˈ㗠ϡ㛑䗮݊䷇ˈϡⶹҞҎП䷇ ϡৠᮐসгˈ㗠ᬍসҎП԰ˈৃϡ䃖П໻ᛳТ˛ It has already been a long time since the sounds of the Six Classics of the Three Dynasties have failed to be transmitted. The corresponding characters, which have been preserved in the world, often can not be fully comprehended by posterity, and precisely because of this, they (the sounds) are hastily replaced by present day pronunciations. Thus, beginning with the Tang Enlightened Emperor’s (i.e. Xuanzong, reg. 713-756 A.D.) having altered the Shangshu, the disease of altering the classics came into being, and people in later times invariably imitated him. Yet even if they say: ‘the ancient form X is to be replaced by today’s Y’, the original texts are still preserved. When we reach more recent times, however, block printed versions have flourished, and all documents of the pre-Qin and following periods have gone through idiosyncratic alterations, where it is not stated any longer what X was anciently like. Consequently, then, the sounds of the ancients are lost, but if the texts of the ancients are also lost, that is something even more lamentable. (...) Oh woe!, if scholars are reading the classics of the holy men and the works of the ancients without being capable to fully comprehend their pronunciations, if they—not knowing that the pronunciations of people today are not the same as in antiquity—are correcting the texts of the ancients intending to get closer to them, should one not call that a big delusion? (...)86

This takes an (in)famous incident in A.D. 726 as its starting point, when Xuanzong is on record to have changed the fourth character of the Hongfan ⋾㆘-line ⛵‫ˈ䷫⛵أ‬䙉⥟П㕽 (“Let one-sidedness and partiality disappear, follow the king’s norms of right”)—p¿ < MC pha < OC *SKDDM-V87 into 䰖 bì < pjeH < *S(U)DM-V, to make it rhyme with 㕽 yì < ngjeH < *1(U)DM-V.88 Gu even goes so far as to hypostasize textual criticism based on phonology as a conservative political utopia 86

Yinxue Wu Shu ䷇ᅌѨ᳌ 1.5-8 in GDYYXZL B1-1.2.9. 49-53. For a good discussion of this passage see Cen 1988: 85. 87 Shangshu 32.27.20; cf. Shiji 38.1614. 88 See Xin Tangshu 57.1428, Jiu Tangshu 77.2684; cf. Hu Qiguang 1987: 191. Note, however, that according to the Jiyun 䲚䷏ the character 䰖 also had a MC ៜ䚼 gebu readingǋ㪆⊶ߛǌ, i.e. pha (in place names), making it a perfect homophone of ䷫, and that the Yijing (11.3) has a parallel ǋ⛵ᑇϡ䰖ǌ (“There would be nothing level, if it were not for the slants”), cf. Schuessler 1987: 27.


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when he summarizes the main motivation of his work on phonology an the almost messianic vision: ໽П᳾୾ᮃ᭛ˈᖙ᳝㘪Ҏᕽ䍋ˈ㟝Ҟ᮹П䷇㗠䙘П⏇স㗙Ǆ If heaven has not forsaken this text/culture, the holy man will of necessity rise again, and reconvert present day rhymes into the pure ancient ones.89

The lack of exploitation of existing phonological knowledge on change in pre-Ming China is astonishing insofar as critical attitudes towards texts and other types of media had existed in China already during the pre-Qin period, along with very refined techniques of textual exegesis, and open disputation between contradictory schools of thought. However, phonological and other types of language change play no role in these discussions, neither during the pre-imperial nor during later periods. Since nothing can be inferred ex silentio, the failure to employ historical phonology as a means of criticism of canonical texts, rather than of commentaries on them, certainly does not imply that there was no medieval critical reasoning on language change in the classics at all. This is especially true in a situation where it is known that most of the many works on historical phonology were lost before or during the Song dynasty. On a more systematic level, if apparent deficiencies in realizing the close link between diachronic change and authenticity have to be explained at all, I think this should not be done from the perspective of social, philosophical or religious change before the Ming. My hesitation to invoke extra linguistic explanations has to do with the very nature of sound change, to which I now turn. Nineteenth and early twentieth century mainstream models of sound change more often than not implied a kind of brute force telicity. An idea of unilinear development of language typologies was widely upheld throughout Europe, by which a language could be assigned to either end of a dichotomy between progress and decay, according to one’s preferred view of what constituted “language perfection”, or any other ultimate goal of historical development. “The” Chinese language had already during the nineteenth century figured prominently in such considerations, when for instance August Schleicher (1821-1868), one 89 GDYYXZL B1-3.2.1.69; for further discussion see Wei 1924=1996: 147. Although Gu is clearly speaking of texts, his play on the famous si wen-pun which forms the topic of Bol’s well-known study of the Tang-Song predecessors of this intellectual ethos certainly looms large in this passage, see Bol 1996.

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of the founders of Indo-European linguistics, inspired by Hegel (1770-1831), Wilhelm von Humboldt (1767-1835), and Franz Bopp (1791-1867), assumed that the “structural simplicity” of Chinese marked the end of a crosslinguistically universal process of categorial reduction or “structural decay”. Conversely, two generations later, the famous Danish linguist Otto Jespersen (1869-1943) emphatically asserted that Chinese had moved further towards perfection than any other language.90 While both positions have long ago been given up together with the Humboldtian ideas on morphological typology which underlay them, the problem as to what makes languages change the way they do still remains with us. Many mechanisms involved in language change are fairly well described and understood today, but their precise causes and motivations are far from clear. To put it less politely, “we still have no convincing explanations for change except in the framework of (non-obligatory) willingness-to-believe.” 91 Social and other “exogenic” motivations for language change undeniably exist, 92 but they are neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for this to take place, nor do they invariably result in a reduction of language internal redundancies. From a purely formal point of view of adaptive system modelling, the most likely locus of change is differential first language learnability, i.e. failure and reanalysis during acquisition,93 although this is sometimes disputed as well.94 Beyond these caveats, however, there seems to be a growing consensus among linguists that language change is a “third-order phenomenon”, an undirected and unintentional “invisible-hand process”, by which individual speech acts involuntarily combine into an effect which eventually becomes diachronically observable in retrospect. 95 “The crucial notion”, says Lass, “is that blind, non-teleological, dumb and boring processes can lead to order, design and even purpose.”96 As with most evolutionary processes, it is useful to conceive of language change as a self-organizing (“autopoeitic”) principle, constrained by parameters, and patterns of

90

For the background of this debate see Nielsen 1989: 61-78. Lass 1997: 387. See especially the work of Milroy 1992 and Labov 2001. 93 Clark and Roberts 1993. 94 Briscoe 2000. 95 Lüdtke 1980; Keller 1990 and critically Lass 1997: 325-383. 96 Lass 1997: 380. 91 92


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variation, selection, 97 and mutation which organize communicative efficiency, parsability, and expressability. 98 However, evolutionary parameters of this type can only be experienced and narrated expost facto. They are, indeed, invisible to the speakers. The act of reflecting upon language change, then, presupposes “an objectivation of the dimensions of change and their separation”, two “epistemological operations of great importance that should not be taken for granted.”99 In China, as we have seen, the development of awareness for phonological change was a very slow and convoluted process. There is nothing extraordinary about this. Indeed, the development of historical phonology in the West proceeded within a similarly extended time frame. While the idea of “regularity of sound change” in Europe can be traced back to Claudio Tolomei (1492-1555), who first described the regular development of Latin initial clusters /pl-, *kl, *fl-/ into Italian /pj-, kj-, fj-/, 100 his work remained uninfluential in the further development of historical linguistics as a science. The rise of nineteenth century comparativism, culminating in the declaration of an Ausnahmslosigkeit of sound laws by the Leipzig Neo-Grammarians, was driven by the peculiar confrontation of the Romantics’ interest in folklore and non-European languages with the champ épistemologique of pre-Darwinian natural history, out of which geology, modern biology, and linguistics grew along with the theory of political economy.101 This exceptional constellation did neither exist in China, nor elsewhere in the world. It is therefore all the more remarkable that sophisticated traditions of phonological analysis have been developed several times independently—in China, as well as in India and the Arab world. Moreover, there is nothing to suggest that the predominant interest in phonology, rather than syntax or semantics, throughout the premodern development of linguistics in China, had anything to do with the intrinsic linguistic properties of the Chinese language. For the grammarians of Vedic and Sanskrit—two languages typologically rather different from Classical Chinese—syntax and even simpler 97 Or rather: adaptation via Lamarkian evolution, since grammars have to be reconstructed every generation through acquisition. See on this point Haspelmath 1999. 98 For good introductions to parallels in evolutionary biology, see McMahon 1994: 314-340; Pinker and Bloom 1990; for historical predecessors of this approach cf. Nerlich 1989, 1990. 99 See Auroux 1990: 213-238, esp. 215 on the development of comparative grammar in Europe during the 19th century. 100 McDavid 1990. 101 Foucault 1996; Naumann, Plank et al 1992; Baxter forthcoming.

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notions of sentencehood held equally little interest. And even the Greek preoccupation with these topics is, after all, a rather late phenomenon. The alleged “openness of the Chinese language towards time”, which has been argued to be a source for the Chinese penchant towards indication of time, and, a fortiori, historical consciousness 102 was apparently not operative in the study of the Chinese language itself. And even if it had been, we do not know whether it would have had an influence on the “idea of a constant way”, any more than the awareness of sound change during the Ming had an influence on the explicit formulation of propositional truth. If this assumed “openness” refers to the grammaticalization of aspect rather than time as a category in Classical Chinese, a quick glance at the great diversity of European languages along this parameter should instantly make it clear that the idea of an influence of linguistic encoding of temporality on a particular cognitive disposition towards historiography will be rather difficult to maintain.

102

Mittag 1999.


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Li Xinkui ᴢᮄ儕 and Mai Yun 呹㗬(1993), Yunxue Guji Shuyao ䷏ᅌস㮝䗄㽕 (Epitomes of Ancient Documents on Phonology). Xi’an: Shanxi Renmin Chubanshe. Lien Chin-fa [Lian Jinfa] 䗷䞥ⱐ (2000), “Goucixue Wenti Tansuo ᾟ䀲ᅌଣ丠᥶㋶ (An Exploration of Problems in the Study of Word Formation)”, in Hanxue Yanjiu 18 (2000), 61-78. Lin Yi ᵫѺ(2001), “Che Zi Gu You Ju Yin 䒞ᄫস᳝ǋሙǌ䷇ (The Character Che Anciently had the Pronunciation of Ju)”, in Gu Hanyu Yanjiu 3 (2001), 16-18. Liu Xinglong ࡝㟜䱚 (1993), Xin Bian Jiaguwen Zidian ᮄ㎼⬆偼᭛ᄫ‫( ݌‬New Dictionary of Oracle Bone Inscriptions). Beijing: Guoji Wenhua Chubanshe. Lubotsky, Alexander (1998), “Tocharian Loan Words in Old Chinese: Chariots, Chariot Gear, and Town Building”, in Mair, Victor H. (ed.) (1998), The Bronze Age and Early Iron Age Peoples of Eastern Central Asia. Washington D.C.: Institute for the Study of Man, 379-390. Lüdtke, Helmut (1980), Kommunikationstheoretische Grundlagen des Sprachwandels. (Coummunication Theoretical Foundations of Language Change). Berlin, New York: de Gruyter. Makeham, John (1994), Name and Actuality in Early Chinese Thought (State University of New York Series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture). Albany: State University of New York Press. Mazo, Olga M. (2002), “Reflexes of the Suffix *-s in Classical Tibetan and Old Chinese”, in Blezer, Henk and Abel Zadoks (eds.) (2002), Tibet, Past and Present. Tibetan Studies (PIATS 2000 Proceedings) (Brill’s Tibetan Studies Library 2.1). Leiden: Brill, 455-472. ̛̛̛ (2000), “O nekotoryx ‘nestandartnyx’ upotreblenijax drevnekitajskogo suffiksa *-h (On Some Non-standard Usages of the Old Chinese Suffix *-h)”, in Materialy X. meÞdunarodnoj konferencii ‘Kitajskoe jazykoznanie—IzolirujuÎie jazyki (Materials of the Xth International Conference ‘Chinese Linguistics—Isolating languages’). Moskva: s.n. McDavid, Raven I. (1990), “Linguistic Geography and Language Change”, in Polomé, Edgar C. (ed.) (1990), Research Guide on Language Change (Trends in Linguistics, Studies and Monographs 48). Berlin & New York: Mouton de Gruyter, 161-174. McMahon, April (1994), Understanding Language Change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mei Tsu-lin ṙ⼪味 (1994), “Notes on the Morphology of Ideas in Ancient China”, in Peterson, W.J., A.H. Plaks et al. (eds.) (1994), The Power of Culture (Studies in Chinese Cultural History). Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 37-46. Milroy, James (1992), Linguistic Variation and Change. Oxford: Blackwell. Mittag, Achim (1999), ”Die Last der Geschichte. Anmerkungen zum chinesischen Geschichtsdenken (The Burden of History: Remarks on Chinese Historical Thought)”, ZIF: Mitteilungen (www.uni-bielefeld.de/ZIF/ mittag.htm; accessed 2000-3-21), 9 pp. Naumann, Bernd, Frans Plank et al. (eds.) (1992), Language and Earth: Elective Affinities between the Emerging Sciences of Linguistics and Geology. Amsterdam & Philadelphia: J. Benjamins. Nerlich, Brigitte (1990), Change in Language: Whitney, Bréal, and Wegener (Routledge History of Linguistic Thought 3). London: Routledge. ̛̛̛ (1989), “The Evolution of the Concept of ‘Linguistic Evolution’ in the 19th and 20th Century”, in Lingua 77 (1989) 2, 101-112. Nichols, Johanna (1992), Linguistic Diversity in Space and Time. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.


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Xu Zhongshu ᕤЁ㟦 et al. (1988), Jiaguwen Zidian ⬆偼᭛ᄫ‫( ݌‬Dictionary of Oracle Bone Inscriptions), Chengdu: Sichuan Cishu Chubanshe. Yao Xiaosui ྮᄱ䘖, Xiao Zheng 㙪ϕ [=Zhao Cheng 䍭䁴] et al. (eds.) (1988), Yinxujiagukeci Leizuan ↋ ๳ ⬆ 偼 ࠏ 䖁串㑖 (Thematic Thesaurus of Osteographical Texts from the Ruins of Yin). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Zhang Bin ᔉ᭠, Xu Weihan 䀅࿕⓶ et al. (eds.) (1993), Zhongguo Gudai Yuyanxue Ziliao Huizuan: Yinyunxue Fence Ё ೟ স ҷ 䁲㿔ᅌ 䊛᭭ ः 㑖 : ䷇ ䷏ᅌߚ ‫ݞ‬ (Conspectus of Materials on Ancient Chinese Linguistics: Phonology Volume). Fuzhou: Fujian Renmin Chubanshe. Zhang Shilu ᔉϪ⽓ (1398), Zhongguo Yinyunxue Shi Ё೟䷇䷏ᅌ৆ (A History of Chinese Phonology), 2 vols., Changsha: Shangwu, 7th reprint (1986), Taibei: Taiwan Shangwu Yinshuguan. Zhang Yachu ᔉѲ߱, Liu Yü ࡝䲼 (1986), Xi-Zhou Jinwen Guanzhi Yanjiu 㽓਼䞥᭛ ᅬࠊⷨ (Studies on the System of Officials in Western Zhou Bronze Inscriptions). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Zhao Cheng 䍭䁴 (1988), Jiaguwen Jianming Cidian—Buci Fenlei Duben ⬆偼᭛ㇵᯢ 䖁‫——݌‬र䖁ߚ串䅔ᴀ (Abridged Dictionary of Oracle Bone Inscriptions—A Thematic Oracle Text Reader). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Zheng-Zhang Shangfang 䜁ᔉᇮ㢇 (2000a), The Phonological System of Old Chinese (Collection des Cahiers de Linguistique Asie Orientale 5). Paris: École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales. ̛̛̛ (2000b), “Hanyu Gangyan Yichang Yindu de Fenceng ji Zhigu Cengci Fenxi ⓶ 䁲ᮍ㿔⭄ᐌ䷇䅔ⱘߚሸঞⓃসሸ⃵ߚᵤ (An Analysis of the Layering and the Conservative Layer of Exceptional Readings in Chinese Dialects)”, paper presented at the Zhongyang Yanjiuyuan Disan Jie Guoji Hanxue Huiyi Ё༂ⷨお䰶㄀ϝሚ೟ᆊ⓶ᅌ᳗䅄 (Third International Conference on Sinology, Academia Sinica), PL3-1:018. Taibei: Academia Sinica, 19 pp. Zhou Binwu ਼᭠℺ (1988), Zhongguo Gudai Yuyanxue Wenxuan Ё೟সҷ䁲㿔ᅌ᭛ 䙌 (A Chresthomathy of Ancient Chinese Linguistics). Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe. Zhou Zumo਼⼪䃼 (1945), “Wu Yu de Guyunxue ਇếⱘস䷏ᅌ (Wu Yu’s Studies of Ancient Rhyming)”, reprinted in Zhou Zumo (1966), Wenxue Ji ଣ ᅌ 䲚 (Collectanea Haeretica), vol. I. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 213-217. ̛̛̛ (1940), “Qiangong Chuci Yin zhi Xieyun Shuo yu Chu Yin 俿݀Ἦ䖁䷇Пन䷏ 䁾㟛Ἦ䷇ (Chu Pronunciation and the Harmonizing Rhymes Theories in the Pronunciations in the Songs of the South of Mr. Qian)”, reprinted in Zhou Zumo (1966), Wenxue Ji ଣᅌ䲚 (Collectanea Haeretica), vol. I. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 168-176.

Acknowledgements For various helpful and inspiring comments on this paper I wish to thank the Wolfenbüttel audience, as well as Rudolf G. Wagner (Heidelberg), Axel Schuessler (Sedro Woolley/Washington), and Irmy Schweiger (Wolfenbüttel).

POETRY AND RELIGION: THE REPRESENTATION OF “TRUTH” IN EARLY CHINESE HISTORIOGRAPHY Martin Kern Scholarship of the last few decades has questioned some of the truth claims inherent in traditional historiography, suggesting that antagonistic pairs such as “history” versus “myth” or “fact” versus “fiction” are to some extent illusory constructs.1 Yet the question of correspondence between historical events and their subsequent records remains of critical importance to historiography: historians tell narratives they expect their audiences to accept as true. Early Chinese historians are not different in this respect. However, compared to their ancient Western counterparts, they differ fundamentally in the literary techniques by which they claim for their narratives the authority of being true. These differences are rooted in specific notions of authorship and personality, of the nature of textual creation, of the role of the historian, and of the inner workings—the cosmology—of the world the historian is describing; they define both the “deep structure” and the aesthetics of early Chinese historiography. Here, truth is neither defined nor claimed in terms of philosophical discourse, and only with Sima Qian ৌ侀䙋 (c. 145-c. 86 B.C.) does the historian’s own reflection on his doing become to some extent explicit, in particular with respect to the limits of capturing the often elusive facts of the past.2 The question is not whether or not the ancient Chinese developed a logical concept of “truth” (which some scholars of Chinese philosophy and language have doubted).3 Of course, early Chinese thinkers had ways to decide and to express what is (you ᳝) or is not (wu ⛵), what is right/the case (shi ᰃ) or is wrong/not the case (fei 䴲), what is so (ran ✊) or is not so (fou ৺), what is trustworthy (xin ֵ), what is correct (zheng ℷ), what is fact (shi ᆺ), what is essential (qing ᚙ), and so on. Confucius’ famous dictum on zheng ming ℷৡ(“rectifying the names”) in Analects 13.3 is not concerned with the abstract notion 1

The most prominent voice in this respect is White 1973, 1978, 1987. However, White’s textualism has not gone unchallenged; see, e.g., Lorenz 1997: 177-187. 2 Li 1994, 1999: 44-53. 3 To my mind, Harbsmeier 1989, 1998: 193-209 and Graham 1989: 393-398 have settled the issue (without stopping its discussion).

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of a “true statement” but with matching language with the facts of the matter: names need to be correct in order to maintain a social order— the order of ritual propriety (li ⾂)—that begins with the order of words. Confucius and his followers are not alone in searching for “truth” in the practical and concrete correspondence between language and what it denotes in the world. An emphasis on the substance and the effects of words appears across the range of early philosophical thought. One may think, for example, of the xing ming ߥ/ൟ/ᔶৡ (“forms and claims”) doctrine ascribed to a Legalist line of thought;4 of the concern with shi shi џᆺ (“the facts of the matter”) in Hanfeizi ឌॺ՗, 5 or of the line that “trustworthy words are not beautiful, beautiful words are not trustworthy” (xin yan bu mei, mei yan bu xin ֵ㿔ϡ㕢ˈ㕢㿔ϡֵ) in Laozi 㗕ᄤ 81. Glib speakers (ningren ԲҎ) are denounced in Analects 15.11 and 17.18, while in the Shiji ৆㿬, the early Western Han oracle specialist Sima Jizhu ৌ 侀 ᄷ Џ is quoted as saying that rhetoricians had to engage in exaggeration and verbosity in order to reach the ear of their rulers.6 In a Zhanguo Ce ᠄ ೟ㄪʳ anecdote of dubious origin, the persuader Su Qin 㯛⾺ (4th cent. B.C.) delivers a long and forceful speech to King Hui ᚴ of Qin ⾺ (r. 337-311 B.C.), structured in tri- and tetrasyllabic lines with rapid rhyme changes after each couplet. Having pulled out all the stops to let the king aesthetically experience the confusion that arises from excessive rhetoric, the master rhetorician disparages the rulers of his time as “ignorant about the supreme way” (hu yu zhi dao ᗑᮐ㟇䘧) and “muddled in their teachings, chaotic in their rule, confused by words, mystified by speech, deluged by disputation, drowned by phrases (hun yu jiao, luan yu zhi, mi yu yan, huo yu yu, chen yu bian, ni yu ci ᚯᮐᬭˈіᮐ⊏ˈ䗋ᮐ㿔ˈᚥᮐ䁲ˈ≜ᮐ䖃ˈ⒎ᮐ䖁).7 Such worries over the beautiful yet deceptive appearance of words are mostly associated with certain misgivings about the elaborate and powerful speeches of Warring States “wandering persuaders” (youshui ␌䁾, youshi ␌຿, youtan zhi shi ␌䂛П຿, etc.). Yet the rhetorical tradition, and with it the problem of adequate language, extends to

4

See Makeham 1990-91, 1994: 67-83, critically reacting to Creel 1970: 79-91, 1974: 119-124. 5 Wang Xianshen 1986: 1.12-13 and 20.367. 6 Shiji 127.3219. 7 Zhanguo Ce 3.119.

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philosophical discourses, 8 to the representation of religious incantations, and to the literary compositions of the Western Han fu 䊺. Yang Xiong’s ᦮䲘 (53 B.C.-8 A.D.) famous protest against the excessive verbosity of the fu and its morally corrupting influence has shaped the perception of the fu down to the present day.9 The widespread discourse on language is concerned with the performative force and moral effects of the spoken word. The techniques of Warring States political rhetoric and Western Han court entertainment and panegyrics are modelled on more ancient religious utterances or “word magic”; their formal proximity to spells and prayers has led modern scholars to assume that they indeed were of a genuinely religious nature.10 To me, the elaborate argumentations of the “wandering persuaders” and the spectacular poetic splendor of Han fu poetry seem to exhibit too much of a literary selfconsciousness and authorial ironic distance to be taken as unmediated religious utterances.11 On the other hand, it is in early historiography, because of its emphatic claims for truth, morality, and ritual order that genuinely religious impulses remained at the core of the text. Historical writing is in general not regarded as “performance text” (in the obvious sense, for example, of a sacrificial hymn); 12 with few exceptions so far13 it is generally seen as the most factual and the least religiously shaped body of early Chinese literature. With the present paper, I follow some leads in the other direction, arguing that in its 8

In particular to the so-called “debaters” (bianzhe 䖃㗙 ) or “terminologists” (mingjia ৡᆊ) of Hui Shi’s ᚴᮑ and Gongsun Long’s ݀ᄿ啡 (both 3rd cent. B.C.) caliber. 9 Fayan Juan 3-4; Hanshu 30.1756, 87B.3575; Knechtges 1968, 1976: 89-97, 1994; Kern 2003. 10 E.g., the “Jiu Ge” б℠ (Nine Songs), “Da Zhao” ໻᢯ (The Great Summons), and “Zhao Hun” ᢯儖 (Summoning the Soul) poems in the Chu Ci Ἦ䖁 anthology or, later, Wang Yanshou’s ⥟ᓊ໑ (fl. mid-second cent. B.C.) “Meng Fu” ໶䊺 (Fu on a Dream); see Wen Yiduo 1982: 1.263-334; Harper 1987; Waley 1923: 17, 1955; Frankel 1976: 186-211; Hawkes 1974, 1985: 95-101. 11 I regard poems like those mentioned in the previous note not as genuine religious utterances but as rhetorical representations of such utterances. For an example of reading apparently incantatory poetic language from the Han not in religious but in political terms—which is the more traditional approach to early poetry—see Guo Weisen 1999. 12 Kern 2000. 13 Very interesting observations on the religious motivation behind Sima Qian’s Shiji can be found in Nylan 1998-99. Pines (1997: 80-86, 2002: 17-18, 250 notes 8-9) has argued that the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu ਞટ) were ritual messages communicated to the ancestral spirits, and thus to some extent similar in nature and function to the early bronze inscriptions.

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origins, its self-referential structure, its truth claims, and some of its motivations, early historiography shows profound reflections of religious and other ritual practice as well as of the aesthetics of performance texts. In brief terms, I will point out some of the salient features of such diverse texts as oracle bone, bronze, and stone inscriptions, ritual hymns from the Odes (Shi 䀽), speeches from the Documents (Shu ᳌), and divination lines from the Changes (Yi ᯧ) together with the ideals and expressions of both the ancient ancestral sacrifice and early poetic thought. While the texts of early historiography—with the most fully developed examples of Zuozhuan Ꮊ‫ڇ‬ and Shiji—transcend any one of these older texts and genres, they have absorbed the truth claims of all of them. In considering the question of “truth” in Warring States and early imperial historiography, we must first look back at earlier times and their texts. The late Shang (c. 1200-c. 1045 B.C.) oracle records inscribed into bovine shoulder blades and turtle plastrons are documents of religious practice but without particular literary features. 14 Carved into the media proper of the divinatory act, they provide composite records of the divination and its situational context, including the cyclical day designation, the diviner’s name, and the charge (often in positivenegative alternatives). Optional additions were a prognostication (often by the king who is mentioned as “reading the cracks”) and a later confirmation of the prognosticated event. Such divination and prognostication records are not descriptive but prescriptive and show a tight control over the process by the human agents; the spirits divined “could not reveal themselves in unexpected ways. The supernatural responses were rigorously channelled.” 15 Moreover, while in the earlier strata of bone and plastron records, both positive and negative prognostications occur, and a few verifications even contradict the king’s prognostication,16 they soon give way to an increasing “routine optimism” in the form of emphatically positive crack notations, prognostications and, occasionally, even verifications that the divined event has actually taken place.17 Within the time span of just a century, the divination practice ossifies into a mechanical and predictable procedure: truth is not searched for, but controlled. This tendency is 14

For useful introductions to these texts, see Keightley 1978, 2000. Keightley 1984: 13-14. Keightley 1999. 17 Keightley 1978: 117; on the verifications, see Keightley 1978: 42-44, 118-19. 15 16

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further enhanced by an increasingly narrow scope of divination topics: towards the end of the Shang, the vast majority of divinations concern the timing and success of ancestral sacrifices—an activity controlled by the king, who is able to affirm that any given sacrifice was fully successful. A prognostication for rain could be disproved; a performative speech act declaring and thus constituting the success of a sacrifice could not. The fundamental question of the nature and function of the divination records remains still unanswered. Some historians have seen the inscriptions primarily as bureaucratic records of events: early historical documents that, inscribed into durable material, were archived for consultation by later generations. Yet the limitations of these records for a long-term preservation of information are obvious. Not only are bones and plastrons awkward to store; their texts routinely mention the kings and ancestors not by their names but as “king”, “grandfather”, etc., and they assign dates only within the everrecurring sixty-day cycle. Despite their gesture of sober historical recording, they lack any specific time-reference; and thus, despite the durability of their carriers, their usefulness as permanent records decreased rapidly over time. It also cannot have escaped the makers and readers (whom we cannot identify) of these inscriptions that in terms of historical accuracy, the records were blatantly distorted. Perhaps the divination process itself had become ever more restricted, or one recorded only certain types of divinations directly on the bones and plastrons (with other types being archived on perishable materials?). In either case, the inscriptions we have are unabashedly tendentious. The same must be said about Zhou bronze inscriptions, the other early textual genre that ostensibly presents a historical gesture and includes a great deal of valuable historical information that has been used in the reconstruction of Zhou history. But as Edward L. Shaughnessy has noted more than a decade ago, not one of the Western Zhou bronze inscriptions referring to warfare “commemorates a defeat.”18 This is both unsurprising and important; inscribed texts used in rituals commemorating the ancestors and sacrificing to them, as well as presenting the donor’s own achievements, were certainly not meant to embarrass either side. In this spirit, the famous 18

Shaughnessy 1991: 176-177.

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water basin inscription by Scribe Qiang (Shi Qiang pan ৆๭Ⲹ), composed shortly before 900 B.C. and regarded by Shaughnessy as “probably the first conscious attempt in China to write history”, 19 mentions feats such as King Zhao (r. 977/75 B.C.-957 B.C.) taming the southern people of Chu and Jing—yet unfortunately, as is known from other sources, King Zhao’s expedition southward ended in a “crushing defeat” that destroyed not only his army but also left the king dead.20 One may be tempted to say that in light of such evidence, the question about the historical value of bronze inscriptions (not to mention the oracle records) is already answered. But this would be too simple. Why were records produced that (a) present themselves as thoroughly historical—in the case of the bronzes, often providing precise dates (day, month, and year), relating specific events, identifying the object’s donor, etc.—and yet (b) were so obviously contradicted by otherwise available historical knowledge? Why did the Shang kings consider their ancestors powerful enough to ask them for support and prediction if at the same time, these ancestors—at least during the divination process—could be confidently kept under the strict control of the living? Why did Zhou rulers and nobles use the setting of the ancestral sacrifice to present their ancestors with records, inscribed into sacrificial vessels and bells, that the ancestors, just as the living, must have recognized as idealized to the point of distortion? How functional is a misrepresentation that everybody knows as being just that? Such are obvious questions, but they are not the only ones, and perhaps not even the most important ones. Divination records and bronze inscriptions were not merely less than fully functional as historical sources, they also were much more than carriers of factual information. Bone and plastron inscriptions were very labor-intensive to prepare; they were often arranged in approximate symmetry, carefully pigmented, and occasionally written in a large “display” style; they also were produced in series of identical texts where, for every piece, the same amount of labor had to be exerted.21 None of these efforts contributed anything in terms of historical information. 19

Shaughnessy 1991: 1. Shaughnessy 1999: 322-323. 21 Keightley 1978: 46, 54, 56, 76-77, 83-84, 89. 20

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Similarly, bronze inscriptions were cast together with their often elaborate carriers; they could occasionally be inlaid in gold (in the famous case of the Zeng Hou Yi ᳒փЭ bells from c. 433 B.C.); already in Western Zhou times, their visual appearance became increasingly regular over time (the Shi Qiang pan again being a primary example), as did their literary aesthetics of rhyme and meter;22 and they were cast in series (especially in the case of bells) as well,23 an element that extended all the way down to the stone stelae erected by the Qin First Emperor.24 Finally, both oracle records and bronze inscriptions were fundamentally self-referential, pointing to their own making, use, and purpose—a feature they shared with numerous other ritual texts of early China, especially sacrificial hymns of both Zhou and imperial times. 25 In their self-referential gesture, these texts not only described the process of the divination or of the ancestral sacrifice but simultaneously affirmed the success of the very ritual act to which they, as texts, themselves belonged. Any initially underlying factual records now became transformed into texts of a profoundly religious nature and function 26 and submitted to acts of display and performance. 27 Thus, by means of its texts, the ritual performance created its own reality and historicized itself. 28 It was semanticized, doubled, and instantaneously confirmed through its own texts that in a multi-media performance were transmitted to the spirits. Yet just as importantly, it was in turn the performance that sacralized the historical account provided in the hymns and inscriptions. The report of historical events was no doubt an important concern for the composers of bronze inscriptions—which is why their historical study has proven so fruitful—but it was far from being the only or even the most important one. In analogy to Jessica Rawson’s suggestion that the primary purpose of late Shang bronze ornament “seems to have been to denote a ritual vessel”,29 I would submit that 22

For the second point, see Behr 1996. Falkenhausen 1988: 635-639. 24 Kern 2000a: 119-125. 25 Falkenhausen 1993: 145-161; Kern 2000: 58-66, 2000a: 140-154. 26 Falkenhausen 1993: 161-171. 27 There is sufficient evidence that bronze inscriptions were texts to be sung or recited, just as the ancestral hymns that were used in the same ritual settings. Again, this feature extends to the Qin stelae inscriptions as well as to Eastern Han tomb stelae; see Kern 2000a: 142-145; Brashier 1997, forthcoming. 28 For this function of ritual language, see Wheelock 1982. 29 Rawson 1993: 92. 23

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the overriding purpose of a bronze inscription was to perform an act of communication with the spirits and to display it as one of filial piety and ritual propriety. In similar terms, it seems to me that late Shang oracle records were first and foremost items to express spiritual and political authority: while the bones and plastrons in their sheer materiality represented control over resources and technology, the records inscribed next to the cracks—the latter understood as manifestations of the spirits’ responses—showed the king in his ability to communicate successfully with his ancestors and, therefore, to secure the well-being of his people.30 The historical gesture thus points to itself as the ultimate accomplishment; it is a ceremonial one; and it expresses not only some selective historical knowledge but, most importantly, control and authority over any such knowledge. Divination records and bronze inscriptions are displays of power because they represent the performance of exalted rulership.31 Therefore, it is profoundly irrelevant whether or not the Shi Qiang pan inscription is factually correct in celebrating King Zhao (or in any of its other details). What counts most are two things: that Scribe Qiang is able to identify himself towards both his ancestors and posterity, and that he possesses and is able to display the authority to speak of King Zhao in the first place. As expressed in the Liji ⾂㿬, a ritual vessel elevated both its dedicatees and its donor, giving a name to the rememberer as much as to the remembered. Yet in the case of the Shi Qiang pan, there is even more to the inscription, due to the position of its donor Qiang who according to his own inscribed text was the youngest member in a lineage of kingly scribes. His text of 275 characters (284, if the included “joint characters” (hewen ড়᭛) are counted twice) is not only among the longest Western Zhou inscriptions; 32 for its time, it also is very regular in its graphic appearance as well as in its tetrasyllabic meter and regular rhyming (only the final passage is in prose). Visually, the text is displayed in two beautifully balanced columns of nine vertical lines each. The first seventeen lines are composed of fifteen characters each, while the final line, in a somewhat cramped appearance, includes twenty 30

Similarly Falkenhausen (1993: 167) on bronze inscriptions: “What mattered was not that messages were inscribed, but that the rituals of communication were performed according to the rules.” 31 Cf. Cannadine 1987: 19. 32 The longest being the famous Mao Gong Ding ֻֆቓ of 498 characters.

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characters; clearly, this was deemed important in order to maintain the overall visual balance of the two columns. The caster had enough space left to move the final five characters into another line, but he chose not to do so. The emphasis on the text as a graphic artifact is further enhanced by the fact that it is not disturbed by any ornament on the wide, visually dominant inside of the bronze vessel itself. Here, the visual image of the text must be related to both the position of its donor and the contents of his text. In the first (right) column, Scribe Qiang presents in idealized form the genealogy of the Zhou kingly house; in the second (left) column, he parallels it with the genealogy of his own lineage of scribes. Thus, in sacrificing to his ancestors—which is the presumed use of the vessel—Scribe Qiang presents himself self-consciously as the recorder of the Zhou and simultaneously as the recorder of his family’s achievements. He is the kingly scribe, because his ancestors were kingly scribes; and as such, he enjoys the unique privilege of enlisting the Zhou kings as supporters of his ancestors. In such a context, it was not possible to embarrass King Zhao as the one who perished during a disastrous expedition; neither was there an option to simply skip him. Strikingly similar to the relentlessly positive and optimistic late Shang divination records, his text expresses the alliance of sovereignty and remembrance, not only preserving what must not be forgotten but, equally important, systematically excluding what should never had happened.33 Ritual bronze inscriptions like the Shi Qiang pan can be seen as a controlled distillate of history, encapsulated in a highly intensified, formalized and linguistically restricted code 34 that not merely preserves the past but, first and foremost, defines it. Such texts do not contain an expansive, amorphous, and ambiguous mass of historical knowledge; they tightly limit what is to be remembered, and how it is to be remembered. Due to their ritualized expression, they do not accommodate well the complexity and diversity of historical detail; they narrow, not widen, the perspective on the past. Reducing historical knowledge to a normative and ideal account, they create a memory sanctified by its performance in ancestral sacrifices and other

33 34

Assmann 1997: 71-72, 83-86. Bloch 1974.

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rituals, a linguistically constructed parallel reality that with its own authority overrules the “factual” one.35 Scribe Qiang was certainly clear about the result of King Zhao’s campaign, as were his ancestors, his own king, and his contemporaries at court. With a historical event of such magnitude (commemorated also in other inscriptions), his text cannot have been meant to misguide anybody. To the scribe and his audience, far more important than historical accuracy was the actual act of praising the lineage of Zhou kings, which had to include King Zhao, together with the lineage of the scribe. The act of praise marked the water basin as an appropriate vessel to be used in the ancestral sacrifice, and it showed the donor in his noble and privileged capacity of the kingly scribe. Thus, while the Shi Qiang pan inscription is a unique artifact precisely because of the status of its donor, it still shares the primary purpose of all other bronze inscriptions, namely, to present the donor and his merits towards his own ancestors. Scribe Qiang’s writing of “history” is embedded in, and defined by, a ceremonial act of pointing to himself and to his ancestors in the religious context of the ancestral sacrifice. Towards this end, his text represents the scribe’s cultural accomplishment not only in its contents but also in its aural (rhyme and meter) and visual (two balanced columns of evenly sized characters) aesthetics. Beyond the inscriptions, the two other groups of texts that include historical information and are commonly dated into Western Zhou times are the core chapters of the Documents—mostly solemn proclamations (gao 䁹) by rulers—and the “Zhou Song” ਼䷠ section of the Odes. The next layer in time are the “Ya” 䲙 (especially “Daya” ໻䲙), “Shang Song” ଚ䷠, and “Lu Song” 元䷠ sections of the Odes. These are also ritual hymns, albeit most of them were probably not used in the ancestral sacrifice but during banquets at court; however, they share and develop to greater perfection much of the aesthetics of the sacrificial hymns proper, and their often extensive historical accounts are no less idealized. Chronologically, they are accompanied by another series of Document chapters that are dated into the early centuries of the Eastern Zhou; these would include another series of exalted speeches, including intense harangues and “oaths” (shi 䁧) 35

I adopt the term “parallel reality” from Lewis’s (1999: 4) insightful discussion of Warring States texts.

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purportedly delivered at, and indeed marking, critical historical moments. It is therefore remarkable that with regard to the collections of both the Odes and the Documents, the most historically-minded chapters are considered the earliest. In the case of the Odes, none of the 160 “Guofeng” ೟乼 songs contains a single sustained historical narrative, while especially the “Daya” provide extended historical and mythological accounts. 36 In the case of the Documents, the later chapters37—although claiming to reach much further back into high antiquity—are increasingly occupied with cosmological schemes that to some extent transcend historical particularities, even where they are associated with particular legendary heroes. The earlier Document chapters are close to datable early bronze inscriptions both in spirit and in linguistic terms. We therefore also need to be prepared to discuss these transmitted texts within the same paradigms of religious or otherwise ritualized speech that applies so clearly to the inscriptions. This is what the early layers of the Odes and Documents themselves suggest. In the case of the sacrificial hymns, the parallels are perfectly obvious, as both hymns and inscriptions appear to have come from the same context of the ancestral sacrifice. Thus, the self-referential, self-historicizing gesture especially of bronze inscriptions, epitomized in the “statement of purpose” formula of “I have made this vessel/bell in order to pray for/receive abundant blessings”, 38 can also be found in a series of sacrificial hymns. Across hymns and inscriptions, this formula of “auspicious words” (guci ௣䖁),39 which defines the religious purpose of the entire text regardless of the amount or accuracy of historical information in it, is to a limited extent flexible in its wording, but not in its basic structure and function. To varying degrees, hymns and inscriptions also make use of the same literary devices such as rhyme, meter, reduplicatives, hendiadys, onomatopoeia, and parallelism. If a certain intensity of ornament was indicative of a ritual vessel, the use of such literary features may have distinguished ritual texts, with both 36 C.H. Wang 1988: 73-114 has suggested that a particular group of five “Daya” poems should be considered the “epic” of King Wen ֮‫׆‬. 37 I am referring only to the later chapters of the so-called “modern text” (jinwen Ҟ᭛) recension, not to the “ancient text” (guwen স᭛) chapters known to be a fourth century A.D. forgery. 38 The expression “statement of purpose” has been coined by Falkenhausen 1993: 150-156. 39 Xu Zhongshu 1936; also Kern 2000: 103-106.

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vessels and texts contributing to the aesthetics of the type of performance that was intended to reach the spirits. Similarly, the speeches of the Documents, like the inscriptions often hailed as prototypical early Chinese historical writing, participated to some extent in these aesthetics; it is not merely incidental that Confucius is quoted as having reserved the elegant standard idiom (yayan 䲙㿔) for speaking about (or performing) the Odes, the Documents, and matters of ritual (Analects 7.18). To some extent, the notion of poetic language must have overlapped with that of yayan. It is clear that in early China, “poetic language” transcended the narrow definition of “poetry” as language organized by rhyme and meter. There was no sharp distinction between bound (“poetry”) and unbound (“prose”) speech, as texts like bronze inscriptions, certain speeches of the Documents and the Han fu frequently moved with ease from one into the other; in fact, the “Zhou Song”, considered to be the most authentic early Zhou sacrificial hymns, are barely rhymed at all and quite irregular in their meter. Maspero may have been correct in reading substantial parts of the Documents as “pantomime libretti” that furnish exact descriptions of the ritual dances.40 In short, the poetic language of early China is best understood as an aesthetically intensified way of speech that (a) selfreferentially calls attention to its own patterning and (b) was primarily used in ritual contexts. Poetic language in this broader sense—an idiom expressive of cultural accomplishment—is the language of ritual: yayan. The archaic Shangshu proclamations and oaths fall squarely within this range of intensified speech. As with the inscriptions and hymns, there is no “plain meaning” of the text independent from its form. It is the rhythmic, repetitious, exhortative and threatening diction that marks these speeches as solemn and sustains their messages as inspired truth. Thus, in the “Oath of Mu” (“Mu Shi” ⠻ 䁧 ), purportedly delivered at dawn on the day of the Shang conquest, King Wu not simply encourages the warriors to exert their strength. The oath begins with a long catalogue of the addressed dignitaries and 40

Maspero 1978: 274-276. The most famous case where the Documents seem to parallel a performance is the account given in the “Zhou Song” dance suite “Dawu” ໻℺ (Great martiality), a series of songs believed to have been danced to mimetically represent the Zhou conquest of the Shang, see Wang Guowei 1975: 2.15b-17b; Sun Zuoyun 1966: 239-272; Shaughnessy 1994.

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officers who are asked to “raise your halberds, join your shields, set up your lances” in order to listen. Then, in another rhythmic catalogue, the king recites the misdeeds of the Shang before stirring his officers to “be like tigers, be like leopards, be like black bears, be like brownand-white bears!” Finally, the king violently threatens his men with physical extinction if they fail in their martial resolution.41 In its sheer performative force, the king’s utterance is emblematic of two key notions of early Chinese religion—his virtuous power (de ᖋ) and awe-inspiring dignity (weiyi ࿕‫)۔‬. The remarkable phenomenon is not that such ritualized aural utterances—performed in hymns, inscriptions, and royal speeches— have been transmitted, at least to some extent from very early times on.42 The real point is that they comprise the entire early historical record. This might be natural in terms of archaeologically retrieved artefacts where only the most durable texts—those cast into ritual bronzes—survived while all others perished. It is not necessarily natural, however, for texts like those of the traditional canon that for their preservation in the cultural memory did not depend on being inscribed into bronze. (There are, of course, later texts like the Yi Zhou Shu 䘌਼᳌ or Sima Qian’s Shiji that speak—often with surprising accuracy—about the Western Zhou; but unlike the Odes or Documents, they neither linguistically nor in mentality belong to that period.) Early Zhou divination on the basis of the Changes (Yi ᯧ ) participated in the poetic language especially of the Odes. Hellmut Wilhelm has pointed to the great number of poetic images in the line statements of individual hexagrams, arguing for a close relation between Shi imagery and Yi expressions. Furthermore, Wilhelm could demonstrate that some of the line statements are both tetrasyllabic and rhymed. 43 A prime example is that of the hexagram 53, “Jian” ┌ 41

Shangshu 11.70a-71c. It is impossible to determine whether these texts have come directly from the historical moments to which they are assigned or have emerged from the subsequent imagination of these moments. In both language and mentality, they were part of the early Zhou historical milieu and were preserved as its supreme manifestations. These texts certainly changed over time when orality must have played an important role in their transmission; moreover, their final fixation in writing certainly involved editorial acts of interpretation. Yet it is equally clear that over the entire transmission period, their archaic diction was venerated and carefully guarded. 43 Wilhelm 1980: 190-221; recently, Shaughnessy (1999: 338-342) has repeated the point. 42

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(“Gradual Progress”) where the first five of altogether six line statements are bound by rhyme and meter and dominated by the image of the movements of the “wild goose” (hong 匏), a nature image that is then paralleled by observations about the human realm. In both form and imagery, such line statements closely parallel the poetry of the Odes; it may well be that this core layer of the Yi divinations was originally composed for verbal performance. 44 This would testify to the overall coherence of early Zhou ritual and textual culture. It would further support the double assumption that (a) the origins of Chinese poetry are closely bound to religious practice and (b) poetic form was essential to historical and cosmological truth claims generated from the ritualized communication with ancestral spirits and cosmic forces. The presentation of hymns to cosmic spirits, while not found in the Odes, is fully documented from the state sacrificial hymns of the Western Han onward.45 It can also be identified in the Qin imperial stelae: here, the inscribed hymns were placed on the mountains-tops— established religious sites—soon after the conquest of the Eastern states was completed. Recounting and eulogizing the conquest and imperial unification in the hallowed idiom of the bronze inscriptions and Odes, the inscriptions appropriate the history of the former six Eastern states and transform it into an episode of teleological Qin history: through a performative, self-referential speech act, they turn the Eastern states from subjects of their own history into objects of Qin history. Both the emperor’s tour of inspection and his announcement of the conquest replicate older religious expressions of territorial sovereignty, preserved primarily in the Odes and the Documents.46 From earliest times, the office of the historian/scribe (shi ৆) was as much in charge of recording and ritually presenting historical events as it was concerned with divination, omen interpretation, and astrology. 47 This certainly extended to the Western Han, and here 44 For a somewhat excessive attempt to identify a folk song in almost every hexagram, see Huang 1995. 45 For the cosmic hymns of the Western Han—Emperor Wu’s ℺ (r. 141-87 B.C.) “Hymns for the Sacrifices at the Suburban Altars” (“Jiaosi Ge” 䚞⼔℠)—and their further development during the Six Dynasties, see Kern 1997. 46 Kern 2000a. 47 The literature on shi is enormous and cannot be cited here; for a succinct survey, see Gentz 2001: 8-9. See also the contribution by Wolfgang Behr in the present volume.

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especially to Sima Qian and his father Sima Tan ৌ侀䂛 (d. 110 B.C.); it also explains why the interpretation of omens was pursued by Spring and Autumn scholars like the Gongyang ݀㕞ʳ erudite Dong Zhongshu 㨷ӆ㟦 (c. 179?-c. 104? B.C.), the Guliang 〔㊅ʳ specialist Liu Xiang ࡝৥ (79-8 B.C.), and the Zuozhuan expert Liu Xin ࡝ℚ (d. A.D. 23) who all relied on records from the past to cast judgments on unusual appearances of their own times.48 Yet the genuinely religious acts of prophecy and omen interpretation were already built into the historiographic narratives proper. 49 Beginning with Zuozhuan, one finds a new set of poetic utterances that advance strong truth claims. Here, anonymous folk songs frequently announce major calamities like the untimely death of a ruler, a major military defeat, or even the fall of a state. Such prophecies are couched in simple rhymes and gain much of their authority from the ideal of innocent and undistorted truth embodied in the minds and voices of the common people or, quite often, children. 50 This phenomenon is continued in the early imperial historiography of both Shiji and Hanshu51 and relates to two separately formulated but interlocked ideas: first, the cosmological foundation of poetic composition, namely, that poetry comes into being as a spontaneous, quasi-objective response of the human mind to the circumstances in the world.52 Second, the view of a ruler who had messengers collect the anonymous songs and ditties of the common folk which then would provide a true mirror of the people’s situation and, ultimately, of the ruler’s own government and virtue.53

48

See the tripartite “Wu Xing Zhi” Ѩ㸠ᖫ (Monograph on the Five Phases) in the Hanshu. 49 The reading of unusual signs can be found throughout early historiography. For Zuozhuan and Guoyu, see Schaberg 2001: 96-124; for the Han, see Kern 2000b, with references to earlier studies. 50 Schaberg 1999. 51 Kern 2004. 52 The primary document expressing this idea is the “Great Preface” (“Daxu” ໻ᑣ) to the Odes, which is in turn based on earlier concepts of ritual music as expressed, e.g., in the “Yueji” Ф䆄 (Records on Music) chapter of the Liji. For discussion, see Van Zoeren 1991: 71-115; Owen 1992: 19-56; Lewis 1999: 147-193, and, in historiography, Kern 2004. The composition of poetry is part of the larger “stimulus and response” (ganying ᛳឝ) cosmology of Warring States and Han times. 53 As far as I know, this idea surfaces only in Han sources, most if not all of them Eastern Han; see Hanshu 22.1045, 24A.1123, 30.1708, 30.1756; the “Wang Zhi” ‫׆‬ ࠫ (Kingly Regulations) chapter of the Liji 11.100b, and Zheng Xuan’s ᔤ‫( خ‬127200 A.D. ) “Shipu Xu” ᇣᢜ‫( ݧ‬Preface to the Table of the Odes), quoted in Maoshi Zhengyi 3. For doubts regarding the collection of poetry by the Western Han “Office

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Poetry is seen not as artificially constructed speech but as the most “natural” type; because of its spontaneous emergence in response to the circumstances, it is endowed with sincerity, authentic emotion, and morality. It is the human counterpart to the appearance of natural portents. In this ominous poetry, not just the common people are speaking; the cosmos speaks through them,54 issuing judgments on the world that only wait to be recognized and decoded. The songs in early historiography do not need to be anonymous. Shiji and Hanshu contain a substantial number of poetic texts assigned to named—usually very prominent—historical actors who in the experience or foresight of imminent personal disaster burst into tears, song, and often also dance. Historiographically, these impromptu performances unfailingly mark climactic moments of crisis and catharsis, violence and destruction.55 History reaches its culmination points, and narrative historiography reaches its limits: the only proper words are now the words of song, floating on tears. The hero’s song, intensely personal and yet transparently schematic, adds the individual dimension to the more general cosmological notion of stimulus and response: “poetry expresses what is on the mind, and song makes words last long” (shi yan zhi, ge yong yan 䀽㿔ᖫˈ℠∌㿔).56 Therefore, while Warring States and early imperial historical accounts developed into anecdote series and extended historical narratives, highly ritualized poetic expressions remained at the center of these new narratives serving as strong manifestations of authenticity and claims of truth. In certain cases, as with Qu Yuan’s ሜॳ (4th. cent. B.C.) song “Yu Fu” ⓕ⠊ (“The Fisherman”), the poetic text itself comprises the entire narrative, in this case, of the protagonist’s banishment. 57 Here, it is not so much historiography preserving poetry as poetry preserving and transmitting historical knowledge. In the early empire, when the Odes were regarded as “history told in verse”,58 poetry was understood as history’s own and of Music” (yuefu ᑗࢌ), see Yao 1984: 1-11; Zhang 1992: 57-64; Birrell 1989. For fuller discussion, see Kern 2004. 54 Cf. the expression in Mencius 5A.5 that Heaven observes the ruler through the eyes and ears of the people, a quotation from a lost “Taishi” ֜ᎃ (The Great Oath) text that is not to be confused with the spurious chapter of the same title in the Guwen Shangshu ‫ࡸ֮ײ‬஼. 55 Kern 2004. 56 Shangshu 3.19c. 57 Shiji 84.2486. 58 Riegel 1997: 171, Kern 2003a, 2004a.

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authentic voice. Songs emerge out of specific historical circumstances, and so they can, if properly decoded, be read as historical accounts. On several levels, this poetic dimension of early historiography is indeed a late reflection of much older ritual practices and their powerful truth claims: First, the song attributed to a historical actor embodies the essence of both his personality and his circumstances. Singers display the disaster that has befallen them and announce their decision to submit themselves to an act of ultimate and irrevocable violence, usually suicide. Before extinguishing themselves, they create and perform the songs through which their fate will be remembered. Such outbursts of despair present the singer’s—and the historian’s—moral judgment of the historical situation surrounding the song. In general, the virtuous sing and die; the malicious may survive for the time being, but their reputation will be forever tainted in subsequent historiography. 59 In early China—a culture of memorization much more than one of readership—the retelling of such a hero’s story certainly included the performance of his song (if it was not indeed largely reduced to it). The hero was thus commemorated through his own, authentic words. The most famous case is that of the founding emperor of the Han, Liu Bang ࡝䙺 (Han Gaozu ⓶催⼪, r. as emperor 202-195 B.C.). His final song “The Great Wind” (“Da Feng Ge” ໻乼℠), extemporized in his home village of Pei in the year of his death, became posthumously incorporated into the hymnic repertoire of his ancestral temple, where it was regularly performed from 195 through 141 B.C.60 Exceptional as this case may be, it illustrates how the old idea of ritual commemoration was now extended to the songs embedded in a hero’s story and historiography. Second, the insight that in traditional cultures, “poetic formation serves primarily the mnemotechnical purpose of putting identitysecuring knowledge into a durable form”,61 helps us to understand not 59 I am aware of only one example in Han historiography where the singer is the perpetrator: the gruesome Liu Qu ࡝এ (Prince of Guangchuan ᒷᎱ⥟, d. 71 B.C.) is quoted with two songs: with the first, he drives one of his consorts to suicide, with the second, he pities his court ladies; see Hanshu 53.2429, 2431. He finally becomes demoted and commits suicide himself; his wife—according to the narrative, the ultimate force behind the prince’s misdeeds—is publicly executed, see Hanshu 53.2432. 60 Shiji 8.389, 24.1177; Hanshu 1B.74, 22.1045. 61 Assmann 1997: 56.

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only why poetically formed bronze inscriptions and ritual hymns were esteemed as the prime carriers of historical memory; it also explains the inclusion of song in later historiographic narrative where the promise of memorability—making “words last long”—was transposed from the song to the narrative. Third, by including songs in their historiography, the authors and compilers of early narrative works apply the cosmological assumptions about the production of song to the historiographic narrative. To the historian, songs were among the broad range of sources that included historical documents alongside traditional lore both written and oral, poetry and prose. This heterogeneous body of historical knowledge had to be integrated into a narrative that was, to the minds of the historian and his audience, coherent, meaningful, and memorable. Thus, by including song into his narrative, the historian chose those utterances of historical memory—the lyrics and movements of a hero at climactic moments of distress and devastation—that were most highly prized for their expression of authentic emotion. He used song as a rhetorical device of historiography, representing the actors’ emotions in the way these actors supposedly expressed themselves. Thus, the historian emphatically confirmed the claims of immediacy that privileged poetry over any other mode of expression, and he appropriated this very immediacy for his own narrative. Conveying the essence of a historical moment and of the composerperformer’s personality at that very moment, the weight of truth and authenticity carried by the early songs was not restricted by the plausibility of their embedding narrative. Just as King Zhao’s fate in the Shi Qiang pan is historically incorrect, Warring States and early imperial historiographic narratives surrounding some of the songs seem utterly implausible to modern readers. According to the Qu Yuan biography in the Shiji, the hero, immediately after composing (zuo ԰) the “Fu on Embracing Sand” (“Huai Sha zhi Fu” ់≭П䊺), embraced a stone and drowned himself in the Miluo ∽㕙 river.62 How did the song survive? Who was there to record it? These are not questions Sima Qian felt the need to answer. If the song, as the historian found it among his sources, was “true” as a genuine expression of Qu Yuan’s sentiment, it most appropriately was to be 62

Shiji 84.2486-90; my translation.

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assigned to the culmination point of his fate, sanctified by the imminent death. In this logic, the plausibility of narrative detail is not at stake. It is the song itself that is plausible, and that requires only some loose narrative to be built around it.63 The song epitomizes the dramatic nature of a moment of crisis, but it does not explain the narrative. It is the other way around: the historiographic narrative is there to guide the reader towards the song. Fourth, the historiographic use of poetry by which historical events are judged or predicted in prophetic voices from within the historical account itself is structurally identical with the ritual use of poetry that speaks directly from and about the performance in which it played its role. In other words, in establishing its claim for truthfulness through the inclusion of poetry, the composition of historiography follows the same pattern as the choreography of ritual. This last point leads us back to Confucius, the paradigmatic historian of early China. To the Confucius of the Analects, the order of words was the order of ritual propriety; to Confucius’s followers, the order of ritual propriety also was the order of the master’s own historiography. While Sima Qian credits Confucius with the compilation of the Odes, the “ten wings” (shi yi क㗐) commentaries to the Changes, and the arrangement of the Documents,64 he attributes only one of the Five Classics (Wu Jing Ѩ㍧) directly to Confucius’s authorship: the Spring and Autumn Annals. This also is the single text with which he is associated already in Mencius ᄳᄤ. 65 Here—and paraphrased in the Shiji66—Confucius declares that later generations will judge him only for the Annals; and it is the Annals to which Sima Qian refers when modeling himself on Confucius as a historian. 67 When praising the Annals, Sima was surely aware how his words tallied with the master’s dictum of “rectifying the names”. According to Sima, the Annals “discriminate right and wrong” (bian shi fei 䖃ᰃ 䴲) and thus lead to “rightness” (yi 㕽); a guideline to rulers and ministers, they are capable of moving a world in “disorder” (luan і) back to “correctness” (zheng ‫ ;)إ‬they guard the social order against a state of chaos where “rulers do not act as rulers, ministers do not act 63

Schaberg 1999: 357-358. Shiji 47.1935-44. 65 Mencius 3B.9. 66 Shiji 47.1944. 67 Shiji 130.3296-3300; Hanshu 62.2717-2719, 2735; Durrant 1995: 1-69. 64

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as ministers, fathers do not act as fathers, and sons do not act as sons” (jun bu jun, chen bu chen, fu bu fu, zi bu zi ৯ϡ৯ˈ㞷ϡ㞷ˈ⠊ϡ ⠊ˈᄤϡᄤ);68 they are, in sum, “the great ancestral model of ritual propriety and rightness” (liyi zhi dazong ⾂㕽П໻ᅫ).69 Accordingly, the catechistic Gongyang Zhuan ݀㕞‫ ڇ‬exegesis of the Annals—the main proponent of which was Sima’s own teacher, Dong Zhongshu— is built on the assumption of an exact equivalence between historical events and their historiographic representation: as Joachim Gentz has shown, the Gongyang text (a) identifies apparent violations of ritual standards in the historiographic language of the Annals and then (b) decodes them as an intentional exposure of a violation of ritual standards in the actual historical situation. Thus, historical truth emerges from the ritually correct encoding and decoding of language.70 In similar terms, and despite its entirely different textual structure, the Zuozhuan consistently narrates the past from the perspective of how human action succeeded or failed in adhering to ritual propriety. While the Spring and Autumn period is mostly described as a chaotic world that had lost the ancient moral Way (dao 䘧), the Zuozhuan, including a series of moral judgments by either an unnamed “gentleman” (junzi ৯ ᄤ ) or Confucius, 71 turns selfreferential by striving to reinstate the old ritual propriety that was lost in history as the new ritual propriety of historiography. 72 In David Schaberg’s analysis, this self-referential historiography is far less a narrative of events than it is a reproduction of ritualized speeches and deliberations surrounding the events. A major battle can be “narrated” in a handful of words, while the preceding and following speeches extend over several pages, furnishing and decoding ominous signs, providing the motives leading up to the battle, offering a definite moral judgment on its outcome, and letting the main historical figures expose their own vices and virtues. 73 The historian, remaining invisible in the text proper, thus develops a sweeping truth claim that differs decidedly from anything in ancient Mediterranean historiography: the historical account is offered not the work of a particular author but appears to relate, predict, and explain itself. 68

Echoing Analects 12.11. Shiji 130.3297-3298, paralleled in Hanshu 62.2717-2718. 70 Gentz 2001, forthcoming. 71 Henry 1999. 72 Schaberg 2001. 73 Schaberg 2001. 69

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*** Early Chinese historiography cannot be reduced to a narrow range of religious thought and poetic language. Yet considering its late Shang and early Zhou origins as well as its Warring States and Han manifestations, one might suggest that on the profound level of its truth claims, such thought and language remained powerfully present throughout. In this respect, even early imperial historiography resounded with echoes from older times—the voices of rememberers and diviners, maîtres de vérité, often speaking in verse, as they did elsewhere.74

74

See Detienne 1990; also Ford 1992 esp. chapter 1.

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REFERENCES CITED Assmann, Jan (1997), Das kulturelle Gedächtnis. Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen (Cultural Memory. Script, Recollection, and Political Identity in Early High Cultures). München: Beck Verlag. Behr, Wolfgang (1996), Reimende Bronzeinschriften und die Entstehung der chinesischen Endreimdichtung (Rhyming Bronze Inscriptions and the Genesis of Chinese End-rhymed Poetry). Ph.D. Dissertation, J.W. Goethe-Universität Frankfurt. Birrell, Anne M. (1989), “Mythmaking and Yüeh-fu: Popular Songs and Ballads of Early Imperial China”, in Journal of the American Oriental Society 109.2 (1989), 223-235. Bloch, Maurice (1974), “Symbols, Song, Dance and Features of Articulation: Is Religion an Extreme Form of Traditional Authority?”, in European Journal of Sociology 15.1 (1974), 55-81. Brashier, K.E. (forthcoming), “Text and Ritual in Early Chinese Stelae”, in Kern, Martin (ed.), Text and Ritual in Early China. Washington: University of Washington Press. ̛̛̛ (1997), Evoking the Ancestor: The Stele Hymn of the Eastern Han Dynasty (25220 C.E.). Ph.D. Dissertation, Cambridge University. Cannadine, David (1987), “Introduction: Divine Rites of Kings”, in Cannadine, David and Simon Price (eds.) (1987), Rituals of Royalty: Power and Ceremonial in Traditional Societies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1-19. Creel, Herlee G. (1974), Shen Pu-hai: A Chinese Political Philosopher of the Fourth Century B.C. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ̛̛̛ (1970), What is Taoism? Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Detienne, Marcel (1990), Les maîtres de vérité dans la Grèce archaïque (The Masters of Truth in Archaic Greece). Paris: Éditions la Découverte. Durrant, Stephen W. (1995), The Cloudy Mirror: Tension and Conflict in the Writings of Sima Qian. Albany: State University of New York Press. Falkenhausen, Lothar von (1993), “Issues in Western Zhou Studies: A Review Article”, in Early China 18 (1993), 139-226. ̛̛̛ (1988), Ritual Music in Bronze Age China: An Archaeological Perspective. Ph.D. Dissertation, Harvard University. Ford, Andrew H. (1992), Homer: The Poetry of the Past. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Frankel, Hans H. (1976), The Flowering Plum and the Palace Lady: Interpretations of Chinese Poetry. New Haven: Yale University Press. Gentz, Joachim (forthcoming), “Ritual Meaning of Textual Form: Evidence from Early Commentaries of the Historiographic and Ritual Traditions”, in Kern, Martin (ed.), Text and Ritual in Early China. Washington: University of Washington Press. ̛̛̛ (2001), Das Gongyang zhuan. Auslegung und Kanonisierung der Frühlings- und Herbstannalen (Chunqiu) (The Gongyang Zhuan. Exegesis and Canonization of the Spring and Autumn Annals [Chunqiu]). Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Graham, A.C. (1989), Disputers of the Tao: Philosophical Argument in Ancient China. La Salle, Ill.: Open Court. Guo Weisen ഏፂཤ (1999), “Wang Yanshou ji Qi ‘Meng Fu’ ‫࢏׆‬ኂ֗ࠡኄᓿ (Wang Yanshou and his ‘Fu on a Dream’)”, in Zhou Xunchu ࡌ໐ॣʳ et al. (eds.)

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(1999), Ci Fu Wenxue Lunji, ᢯ ᓿ ֮ ᖂ ᓵ ႃ (Collected Discussions of Rhapsodic Literature). Nanjing: Jiangsu Jiaoyu Chubanshe, 196-212. Hanshu ዧ஼ (History of the Han) (1987), compiled by Ban Gu ఄࡐ. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Harbsmeier, Christoph (1998), Science and Civilisation in China, Vol. 7, Part I: Language and Logic. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ̛̛̛ (1989), “Marginalia Sinologica”, in Allinson, Robert (ed.) (1989), Understanding the Chinese Mind. New York: Oxford University Press, 125-166. Harper, Donald (1987), “Wang Yen-shou’s Nightmare Poem”, in Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 47 (1987), 239-83. Hawkes, David (translator) (1985), The Songs of the South. Harmondsworth: Penguin. ̛̛̛ (1974), “The Quest of the Goddess”, in Birch, Cyril (ed.) (1974), Studies in Chinese Literary Genres. Berkeley: University of California Press, 42-68. Henry, Eric (1999), “‘Junzi Yue’ versus ‘Zhongni Yue’ in Zuozhuan”, in Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 59 (1999), 125-161. Huang Yushun ႓‫د‬ႉ (1995), Yijing Guge Kao-shi ࣐ᆖ‫ײ‬ዚ‫( ᤩە‬Verification and Explanation of Ancient Songs in the Yijing). Chengdu: Bashu Shushe. Keightley, David N. (2000), The Ancestral Landscape: Time, Space, and Community in Late Shang China (ca. 1200-1045 B.C.). Berkeley: University of California Press. ̛̛̛ (1999), “Theology and the Writing of History: Truth and the Ancestors in the Wu Ding Records”, in Journal of East Asian Archaeology 1 (1999), 207-230. ̛̛̛ (1984), “Late Shang Divination: The Magico-Religious Legacy”, in Explorations in Early Chinese Cosmology, Journal of the American Academy of Religion Studies 50.2 (1984), 11-34. ̛̛̛ (1978), Sources of Shang History: The Oracle-Bone Inscriptions of Bronze Age China. Berkeley: University of California Press. Kern, Martin (2004), “The Poetry of Han Historiography”, in Cutter, Robert Joe, Alan Berkowitz and Chiu-Mi Lai (eds.) (forthcoming), Special Issue of Early Medieval China (Festschrift for David R. Knechtges). ̛̛̛ (ਲ್ԭ) ( 2004a), “Zuowei Zhuixiang de Shi: Shi ji Qi Zaoqi Quanshi ‫܂‬੡ಳ უऱᇣΚᇣ֗ࠡ‫ڰ‬ཚᇭᤩ (Poetry as Memory: The Odes and Their Early Hermeneutics)”, in Cheng Pei-kai and Longxi Zhang (eds.) (forthcoming), Poetic Thought and Hermeneutics in Traditional China. Hongkong: City University of Hong Kong Press. ̛̛̛ (2003), “Western Han Aesthetics and the Genesis of the Fu”, in Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 63.2, 383-437. ̛̛̛ (2003a), “Early Chinese Poetics in the Light of Recently Excavated Manuscripts”, in Lomová, Olga (ed.), Recarving the Dragon: Understanding Chinese Poetics. Prague: Charles University, The Karolinum Press, 27-72. ̛̛̛ (2000), “Shi jing Songs as Performance Texts: A Case Study of ‘Chu ci’ (‘Thorny Caltrop’)”, in Early China 25 (2000), 49-111. ̛̛̛ (2000a), The Stele Inscriptions of Ch’in Shih-huang: Text and Ritual in Early Chinese Imperial Representation. New Haven: American Oriental Society. ̛̛̛ (2000b), “Religious Anxiety and Political Interest in Western Han Omen Interpretation: The Case of the Han Wudi Period (141-87 B.C.)”, in Chûgoku shigaku (Chinese History) 10 (2000), 1-31. ̛̛̛ (1997), Die Hymnen der chinesischen Staatsopfer: Literatur und Ritual in der politischen Repräsentation von der Han-Zeit bis zu den Sechs Dynastien (The Hymns of the Chinese State Sacrifices: Literature and Ritual in Political

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Representation from Han Times to the Six Dynasties). Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Knechtges, David R. (1994), “Exemplary Sayings, Chapter 2”, in Mair, Victor (ed.) (1994), The Columbia Anthology of Traditional Chinese Literature. New York: Columbia University Press, 530-533. ̛̛̛ (1976), The Han Rhapsody: A Study of the Fu of Yang Hsiung (53 B.C. - A.D. 18). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ̛̛̛ (1968), Yang Shyong, The Fuh, and Hann Rhetoric. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Washington. Lewis, Mark Edward (1999), Writing and Authority in Early China. Albany: State University of New York Press. Li, Wai-yee (1999), “Knowledge and Scepticism in Ancient Chinese Historiography”, in Kraus, Christina Shuttleworth (ed.) (1999), The Limits of Historiography: Genre and Narrative in Ancient Historical Texts (Mnemosyne: Supplementum 191). Leiden: Brill, 27-54. ̛̛̛ (1994), “The Idea of Authority in the Shih chi (Records of the Historian)”, in Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 54.2 (1994), 345-405. Liji ៖ಖ (Records of Rituals), Liji Zhengyi ៖ಖ‫إ‬ᆠʳ (The Correct Meaning of the Records of Rituals) (1980)ʳ Shisan Jing Zhushu Fu Jiaokan Ji ԼԿᆖࣹงॵீ ೮ಖʳ (The Thirteen Classics Annotated and Commented Upon, with Collation Notesʼ edition, 2 volsˁʳBeijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Lorenz, Chris (1997), Konstruktion der Vergangenheit: Eine Einführung in die Geschichtstheorie (Construction of the Past: An Introduction to Metahistory), translated by Annegret Böttner. Köln: Böhlau-Verlag. Makeham, John (1994), Name and Actuality in Early Chinese Thought. Albany: State University of New York Press. ̛̛̛ (1990-91), “The Legalist Concept of Hsing-Ming: An Example of the Contribution of Archaeological Evidence to the Re-Interpretation of Transmitted Texts”, in Monumenta Serica 39 (1990-91), 87-114. Maoshi ֻᇣʳ (Mao Odes), Maoshi Zhengyi ֻᇣ‫إ‬ᆠ (The Correct Meaning of the Mao Odes) (1980) Shisan Jing Zhushu Fu Jiaokan Ji ԼԿᆖࣹงॵீ‫ע‬ಖʳʻThe Thirteen Classics Annotated and Commented Upon, with Collation Notesʼʳ edition, 2 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Maspero, Henri (1981), China in Antiquity, translated by Frank A. Kierman Jr. Amherst: The University of Massachusetts Press. Nylan, Michael (1998-99), “Sima Qian: A True Historian?”, in Early China 23-24 (1998-99), 203-246. Owen, Stephen (1992), Readings in Chinese Literary Thought. Cambridge: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University. Pines, Yuri (2002), Foundations of Confucian Thought: Intellectual Life in the Chunqiu Period, 722-453 B.C.E. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. ̛̛̛ (1997), “Intellectual Change in the Chunqiu Period: The Reliability of the Speeches in the Zuo zhuan as Sources of Chunqiu Intellectual History”, in Early China 22 (1997), 77-132. Rawson, Jessica (1993), “Late Shang Bronze Design: Meaning and Purpose”, in Whitfield, Roderick (ed.) (1993), The Problem of Meaning in Early Chinese Ritual Bronzes. London: University of London, 67-95. Riegel, Jeffrey (1997), “Eros, Introversion, and the Beginnings of Shijing Commentary”, in Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 57.1 (1997), 143-177. Schaberg, David (2001), A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

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̛̛̛ (1999), “Song and the Historical Imagination in Early China”, in Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 59 (1999), 305-361. Shangshu ࡸ஼ (Book of Documents), Shangshu Zhengyi ࡸ஼‫إ‬ᆠ (The Correct Meaning of the Hallowed Documents) (1987) Shisan Jing Zhushu Fu Jiaokan Ji ԼԿᆖࣹงॵீ೮ಖʳ ʻThe Thirteen Classics Annotated and Commented Upon, with Collation Notes) edition, 2 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Shaughnessy, Edward L. (1999), “Western Zhou History”, in Loewe, Michael and Edward L. Shaughnessy (eds.) (1999), The Cambridge History of Ancient China: From the Origins of Civilization to 221 B.C. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 292-351. ̛̛̛ (1994), “From Liturgy to Literature: The Ritual Contexts of the Earliest Poems in the Book of Poetry”, in Hanxue Yanjiu 13.1 (1994), 133-164. ̛̛̛ (1991), Sources of Western Zhou History: Inscribed Bronze Vessels. Berkeley: University of California Press. Shiji ‫ ׾‬ಖ (Records of the Historian) (1987), compiled by Sima Qian ‫ ್ ׹‬ᔢ . Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Sun Zuoyun ୪‫܂‬ႆ (1966), Shijing yu Zhoudai Shehui Yanjiu ᇣᆖፖࡌ‫ז‬षᄎઔߒ (Studies in the Odes and Zhou Dynasty Society). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Van Zoeren, Steven (1991), Poetry and Personality: Reading, Exegesis, and Hermeneutics in Traditional China. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Waley, Arthur (1955), The Nine Songs. London: George Allen and Unwin. ̛̛̛ (1923), The Temple and Other Poems. London: George Allen and Unwin. Wang, C.H. (1988), From Ritual to Allegory: Seven Essays in Early Chinese Poetry. Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press. Wang Guowei ‫׆‬ഏፂ (1975), Guantang Jilin ᨠഘႃࣥ (Collections from the Hall of Observations). Taibei: Shijie Shuju. Wang Rongbao ޫዊᣪ (commentator) (1968), Fayan Yishu ऄߢᆠง (Commentary on the Meaning of Exemplary Sayings). Taibei: Yiwen Yinshuguan. Wang Xianshen ‫׆‬٣შ (commentator) (1986), Hanfeizi Jijie ឌॺ՗ႃᇞ (Collected Explanations of Hanfeizi), Zhuzi Jicheng 壆՗ႃ‫ګ‬ʳ ʻThe Corpus of Philosophic Classicsʼʳedition,ʳreprint Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Wen Yiduo ፊԫ‫( ڍ‬1982), Wen Yiduo Quanji ፊԫ‫ڍ‬٤ႃ (Complete Works of Wen Yiduo). Beijing: Xinhua Shudian. Wheelock, Whade T. (1982), “The Problem of Ritual Language: From Information to Situation”, in Journal of the American Academy of Religion 50.1 (1982), 49-71. White, Hayden (1987), The Content of the Form: Narrative Discourse and Historical Representation. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. ̛̛̛ (1978), Tropics of Discourse: Essays in Cultural Criticism. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. ̛̛̛ (1973), Metahistory: The Historical Imagination in Nineteenth-Century Europe. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Wilhelm, Hellmut (1980), Heaven, Earth, and Man in the Book of Changes. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Xu Zhongshu ஊխင (1936), “Jinwen Guci Shili ८֮⤈᢯ᤩࠏ (Explanation of Examples of Auspicious Phrases in Bronze Inscriptions)”, in Zhongyang Yanjiuyuan Lishi Yuyan Yanjiusuo Jikan խ؇ઔߒೃᖵ‫׾‬፿ߢઔߒࢬႃ‫ע‬ (Bulletin of the Institute of History and Philology, Academia Sinica) 6.1 (1936), 1-44. Yao Daye ৔Օᄐ (1984), Han Yuefu Xiaolun ዧᑗࢌ՛ᓵ (Minor Discussions on the Han Office of Music). Tianjin: Baihua Wenyi Chubanshe.

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Zhang Yongxin ്‫ة‬㝿 (1992), Han Yuefu Yanjiu ዧᑗࢌઔߒ (Studies of the Han Office of Music). Nanjing: Jiangsu Guji Chubanshe. Zhu Zugeng 壆లౝ (commentator) (1985), Zhanguo Ce Jizhu Huikao ᖏഏ࿜ႃࣹნ ‫( ە‬Assembled Criticism of the Collected Commentaries to the Intrigues of the Warring States). Nanjing: Jiangsu Guji Chubanshe.

NORMATIVITY AND HISTORY IN WARRING STATES THOUGHT. THE SHIFT TOWARDS THE ANTHROPOLOGICAL PARADIGM Heiner Roetz Under the impact of Chinese conservatism, it has often been maintained that the Chinese normative discourse has been overly oriented towards the past. In fact, this discourse has taken several different directions, the historical direction being only one of them. Zhou philosophical thought, which to a large extent laid the intellectual foundations of Chinese culture, was shaped by anthropological rather than historical argument. Because history had led into an existential crisis for Zhou ਼ society, its status was critically reexamined and underwent a fundamental change.

1. The Dimensions of the Zhou Crisis Any discussion of Zhou philosophical thought has to bear in mind a very basic trait of the historical setting in which that thought evolved. The historical background is the deep political, social, and mental crisis brought about by the complete dissolution of the feudal order of Western Zhou society and its twin supporting pillars, the religion of Heaven and the code of propriety (li ⾂). In Zhou texts there is a very clear notion of the extraordinary, of the novelty of what is taking place—the notion that something hitherto unparalleled has commenced. This crisis gives rise to a completely new Weltgefühl (sense) of living in a disintegrating, “chaotic” and “drowning” world1 that has lost its foundations, is falling apart and has suffered irreparable damage. The original “undividedness” has been “cut into pieces”.2 The radical nature of these developments is best expressed in Daoist statements like “There is no way to revert to the essence of one's nature and return once more to the beginning... The world has

1 2

Lunyu 18.6; Mengzi 4a: 17; Chuci Yufu 296; Roetz 1993a: 43. Laozi 28.

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lost the Dao 䘧, and the Dao has lost the world”,3 “The art of the Dao 䘧 has started to be torn apart by the world”,4 or “The great primordial virtue is no longer one, and life was thrown into disorder”.5 Daoist literature represents the fiercest revolt against these developments, and in an attempt to regain the lost unity of the world. The present time is seen as the final stage of a process of decline that started with the 6 “awakening” of the calculating human mind. What the Daoists were witnessing was the “era of downfall” (shuaishi ಐ‫ )׈‬or the “last age” 7 (moshi ‫)׈أ‬. In Confucian writing, we have the enduring impression of an age without true rulership and without expectation of rescue, since what could still be called a normal alternation of zhi ⊏ and luan і, order and chaos,8 lost its rhythm.9 In nearly all late Zhou texts, we find the dichotomy between the “present time” and “antiquity”. Widespread lament accompanies this point of view, with the exception of the Legalist School, which proposes a very precise periodicization of history (shanggu zhi shi ϞসПᰖ—high antiquity, zhonggu zhi shi Ё সПᰖ—middle antiquity, jingu zhi shi 䖥সПᰖ—near antiquity, and dangjin zhi shi ⭊ Ҟ П ᰖ —the present age), 10 in order to discharge the past once and for all.

2. The Reaction: Detachment The thought of the epoch cannot be understood without taking into account this widespread feeling of crisis. The overall formal feature of the intellectual endeavors can be described as detachment— detachment in terms of “standing back and looking beyond”, which ist how Benjamin Schwartz aptly explained the notion of “transcendence”,11 of reflection and second order reasoning, and the 3

Zhuangzi 16: 244. Zhuangzi 33: 464. 5 Zhuangzi 11: 170. 6 Zhuangzi 11: 168. Cf. for these positions Roetz 1984, §20. 7 Both occur frequently in the Huainanzi, chapters 7, 8, 11, 13, 15, 21 (shuaishi) and 1, 8, 9, 10, 11, 13, 21 (moshi), but to my mind surely express a genuine Zhou world view. 8 Mengzi 3b: 9. 9 Mengzi 2b: 13. 10 Hanfeizi 49: 339. 11 Schwartz 1975: 3; Roetz 1993a: 272-273. 4

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emergence of marginal forms of identity.12 Detachment, in particular, from all those factors which had not prevented China from falling into that existential crisis: the conventional authorities (family elders, 13 teachers, rulers), the known forms of religious powers (Heaven, the 14 spirits), the hitherto shared convictions as expressed by the majority 15 opinion of the “multitude” (zhong ⴒ), the norms of behavior handed 16 down by tradition (li ⾂), and all kinds of personal models from the 17 past. Every single one of these guidelines from the previous systems of morals comes under suspicion or attack in Zhou philosophy, although with different focus, intensity and consequences depending on the respective affiliations of thought.

12

Roetz 2004a. Cf. Mozi 4: 11-12: “Whoever wishes to achieve something in the world cannot do so without norms and standards... What about everybody taking his parents as a norm? There are many parents in the world, but only few of them are humane. If everybody took his parents as a norm, this would mean taking inhumanity as a norm. What about everybody taking his teacher as a norm? There are many teachers in the world, but only few of them are humane. If everybody took his teacher as a norm, this would mean taking inhumanity as a norm. What about everybody taking his ruler as a norm? There are many rulers in the world, but only few of them are humane. If everybody took his ruler as a norm, this would mean taking inhumanity as a norm.”— Xunzi 29: 347-348: “To follow the Dao and not the ruler, to follow justice and not the father, this is the great conduct of man.... How could a son be filial if he follows the order of the father? And how could a subject be loyal if he follows the order of the ruler? One can only speak of filial piety and loyalty after one has examined the reasons why they follow the order.” 14 The early Zhou religion viewed “Heaven” (tian ֚) as an ethical deity which punishes the wicked and rewards the virtuous. This concept miscarried because of the problem of Theodicy. It gradually lost ground from the eighth century B.C. on, after the house of Zhou suffered decline in a series of natural, political and military disasters. The final outcome of that process (analyzed in Roetz 1984) was the dysteleological, amoral concept of Heaven brought forward in Daoist philosophy and taken over by the Confucian Xunzi ಃ՗. 15 Cf. Lunyu 15.27: “If the multitude dislikes something (or: someone), one must examine that case carefully. If the multitude likes something (or: someone), one must examine that case carefully.” Cf. also Lunyu 12.20 and 13.24; Roetz 1993a: 51-52. 16 Lunyu 3.18: “If, in serving your prince, you fully observe the rules of propriety (li ៖), you will be looked upon by others as a flatterer.”— Laozi 38: “When the Dao was lost, only then came virtue. When virtue was lost, only then came humaneness. When humaneness was lost, only then came justice. When justice was lost, only then came ritual propriety. Ritual propriety is the attenuation of loyalty and trustworthiness and the beginning of disorder.” As Mengzi's ࡯՗ disciple Wan Zhang ᆄີ states in Mengzi (5b: 4), even a robber might “make one a present according to propriety”. 17 Cf. for example Han Fei's ឌॺ famous critique of the Yao ໯/Shun စ-tradition as being self-contradictory, Hanfeizi 36: 265; Roetz 2004c. 13

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3. New “Ahistorical” Ethical Paradigms As a substitute for taking guidance from all those established authorities and standards, new distinct paradigms are brought forward which no longer imply or presuppose traditional or transmitted 18 knowledge. In very general terms, these are the paradigms of 19 nature, of utility (identified with the good), of calculated technical practicability, of internalized morality, and of cosmological correspondence, which can be associated with Daoism, Mohism, Legalism, Confucianism and the Yin-yang 䱄䱑 Wu-xing Ѩ㸠-school respectively. In an almost “idealtypical” manner, they cover a coherent systematic spectrum of ethical or, in the case of Daoism, Legalism and Yin-yang philosophy, quasi-ethical reasoning. It is this systematic aspect, by the way, which marks the ingenuity of Sima Tan's ৌ侀䂛 retrospective distinction of the various “schools”, i. e., directions, of Zhou ਼ thought in the Shiji ৆㿬.20 Parallel to this development of new normative perspectives, the alternative of following the past is subject to an equally systematic spectrum of doubt and critique. We can distinguish between at least 21 the following kinds of arguments: Logical arguments refer to the paradox of appealing to traditionalism to endorse values that at one time were not traditional but newly created, as in the statement “What one follows must have been invented by someone” and what is old now must “once have been new”, put forward in the Mozi ๼ᄤ against the maxim “to 22 transmit and not to innovate”. Historical arguments refer to the futility of tradition in view of the changes of the times, as in the sentence from the Zhuangzi 㥞ᄤ, “Morals and regulations change according to the times. ... The old is as different from the new as a monkey is different from the Duke of 23 Zhou.”

18

Cf. for the following Roetz 2004a. Whether the term “nature” is applicable to Chinese thought in the first place has been called into question. Cf. for this topic Roetz 2004b. 20 Shiji 130: 3288-3289. 21 For a more detailed exposition of this topic, cf. Roetz 2004c. 22 Mozi 39: 181, referring to Lunyu 7.1. Cf. also Mozi 46: 261-262. 23 Zhuangzi 14: 227. The Duke of Zhou is one of the founders of the Zhou dynasty (eleventh century B.C.). Cf. also Hanfeizi 32: 209 and 49: 339, and Lüshi Chunqiu 15.8: 177-178, quoted below. 19


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Empirical arguments refer to the heterogeneity and complexity of tradition, as in the rhetorical question from the Shangjun Shu ଚ৯᳌, “Former generations did not follow the same doctrines, so which version of antiquity should we emulate? The emperors and kings did 24 not copy one another, so which rites should we follow?” Epistemological arguments refer to the increasing vagueness of transmitted knowledge the farther we go back into the past, as in Xunzi's 㤔ᄤ statement, “With the passing of time, inscriptions perish and rhythm dies away.... If you wish to see the footprints of the sage kings, then look where they are most clear, and this is, with the later 25 kings.” Ontological arguments refer to the impossibility of transmitting the true, as in the introductory statement of the received Laozi 㗕ᄤ, “The 26 Dao that can be spoken about is not the constant Dao.” Ethical arguments refer to the possible moral questionability of tradition, as in Mozi's ๼ ᄤ remark that he who wants to follow established customs must, if necessary, be ready to practice infanticide and cannibalism, since these are established practices in some 27 cultures. 24

Shangjun Shu 1: 2. Xunzi 5: 50-51; Cf. also Hanfeizi 50: 351. 26 Laozi 1: 1, chapter 39 and the beginning of the second part of the Laozi in the Mawangdui ್‫׆‬ഔ versions. Cf. also Zhuangzi 6: 112. It is interesting to note that both Mawangdui manuscripts read zhi jin zhi dao ചվհሐ—”grasp the Dao of today” where chapter 14 of the received versions has zhi gu zhi dao ച‫ײ‬հሐ— ”grasp the Dao of antiquity”. The anti-traditionalistic implication of Laozi 1 becomes explicit in the Wenzi ֮՗: “Tasks become different in reaction to change, and change comes with time. He who knows time does not follow constant practices.” A true ruler, therefore, “establishes standards (or: laws, fa ऄ) and is not controlled by them”. He does not take his orientation from the “words” (yan ߢ) of the early kings but from that “by which they made their words” (qi suoyi yan ࠡࢬ‫)ߢא‬, which according to the Wenzi is not accessible to language, cf. Wenzi 1: 2, 12: 60, 11: 55. For a similar shift from established norms to the method or the source of establishing norms cf. below, quotation from Lüshi Chunqiu 15.8.—According to Chad Hansen (1983: 24-55, 1992, and chapter 8) the Daoist position is not based on an ontological assumption but on scepticism concerning the function of language, which would mean that we also have also a linguistic argument, albeit self-refuting, against tradition. However, the Daoists not only maintain that the Dao cannot be achieved by means of language but that it can also not be communicated by other means like showing (cf. the story about wheelwright Bian in Zhuangzi 13: 217-18). This speaks against a genuine linguistic argumentation.—It has also been argued that the “fact-value dichotomy” to be found in the Zhuangzi constitutes a meta-ethical argument against traditionalism in China (Paul 1997, based on Hansen 1992: 278-279). However, a consistent “fact-value dichotomy” in the Zhuangzi would imply that the Dao is not conceived in ontological terms, which is far from all evidence. 27 Cf. Liezi 5: 58; Mozi 25: 115-116; Roetz 1993: 242. 25

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Arguments in terms of a critique of ideology refer to the possibility of deliberate manipulation and invention of historical records, because 28 the “vulgar world esteems the ancient and disparages the present”. These arguments go together with an epistemological shift frequently to be found in Warring States texts from second-hand “hearing” to “personal” (qin 㽾) “seeing” and experience, from the “remote” to the “present”, from the indirectly to the directly accessible, as well as considerations concerning the sources of knowledge and the 29 criteria for truth. “Whoever is good at talking about antiquity”, 30 Xunzi says, “must have a tally from the present.” There is a general redirection of attention to what is near—to the present time (Legalism), to the visible course of nature (Daoism), or to the inner self (Confucianism). To take these intellectual developments into account is not to deny that the past continues to play an exemplary role also in late Zhou 31 texts—we still do find the early Zhou notion that history can serve as a teacher. Yet, in what I regard to be the most advanced systems of thought, history loses the unquestioned stature which it had in the earlier literature. It is also not implied that the historically grown forms of life of the community became altogether irrelevant. Although this is true for most of the emerging “schools” of thought, which show a more or less disinterested or even negative attitude towards the culture of the zhuxia 䃌 ໣ , it certainly does not apply to most Confucians who may even show a close emotional attachment to the past, as in Confucius' confession that he “loves the old” (hao gu ད স).32 Yet, behind this attitude we find a conscious “return” (fu li ᕽ ⾂—return to ritual propriety), 33 presupposing a prior turning away from something and a subsequent turning to the inner self (Abkehr— 34 Einkehr—Rückkehr). Also in the center of the one school which is

28 Huainanzi, 19: 342; Lunheng 25: 76, 84: 286. Both are Han sources, but the argument is consistent with the atmosphere of the late Zhou. 29 Xunzi 5: 50-51, 8: 89, 90; Mozi 42: 212, cf. Roetz 1993a: 103; Mozi 35: 164, 36: 169, 37: 172, cf. Roetz 1993b: 98; Lüshi Chunqiu 15.8 (see below); Lunheng 56: 186,187. 30 Xunzi 23: 293. Cf. for this topic Roetz 2004c. 31 Shujing, Shao Gao, 32/460-485: “We have to mirror ourselves in the [fate of the] rulers of the Xia ୙, and we have to mirror ourselves in the [fate of the] rulers of the Yin ௚.” 32 Lunyu 7.1. 33 Lunyu 12.1. 34 Cf. for this movement Roetz 1993a: 187-188.


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routinely associated with traditionalism, we find the element of detachment from history. All of the arguments mentioned oppose an unreflected traditionalistic appeal to the past. In view of the decaying world it is the yearning for a new solid ground which drives thinkers to the new alternatives, because in their eyes history can no longer satisfy this need. It is one and the same interest in valid knowledge that weakens the ties with the ancient and supports the assumptions of the novel theories. They cannot but go together with strong validity claims, since the assailed position is originally of considerable strength. We cannot hope to understand the normative discourse in question without recognizing these strong claims—claims to normative rightness underpinned by claims to factual truth, as in Mengzi's ᄳᄤ argument that the roots of goodness, with all consequences for the right practice, belong to the natural disposition of the human being “just as do the four limbs”. 35 This gives the normative utterances of the Zhou philosophers a constative-regulative double structure.36 In very general terms, normativity starts to come into tension with history in this era. This shift can even be detected in the still widespread affirmative references to the early “sages” and kings which we find in Eastern Zhou literature, above all, but not only, in Confucian texts. On closer inspection, the “sages” (shengren 㘪Ҏ) prove to be ideal representations of values that genetically do not depend on them and by their structure do not presuppose any historical rooting. On the one hand, the sages are seen as exemplary embodiments of one and the same human nature inherent in all human 37 beings or of human reason, endeavor and effort within the reach of even the ordinary “man in the street”. 38 On the other hand, it is characteristic of some very prominent, basic and typical new normative ideas that they are thought out “history-free” and are located in the immediacy of the here and now—in formal reflection or in feeling. One of these ideas is the Golden Rule (shu ᘩ), which occupies a central position in the ethics of Confucius, where it is 39 associated with the “one”, and which only presupposes the thought experiment of ego taking on the role of the alter on the basis of 35

Mengzi 2a: 6. Roetz 1993b: 79-84. 37 Mengzi 6a: 7. “The sage and I are of the same kind.” Cf. also Mengzi 2a: 2. 38 Xunzi 23: 296. 39 Cf. Roetz 1993: 133. 36

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generalized human needs. Intermingled with considerations of utility, it is also the core of Mohist ethics. 40 Another is Mengzi's idea of compassion or (in the case of the family) love based on the immediate stimulation of a moral impulse.41 It is the basis of Mengzi's system of ethics.

4. Anthropology versus History These developments are surely a reaction to historical experience—to the breakdown of the traditional Zhou institutions. Precisely for this reason they loosen the links of ethics with history by providing ethics with a new foundation unaffected by history's imponderabilities—a foundation in the imagined reciprocal generalization of basic desires of the human being as such, and in an ahistorical, spontaneous moral disposition (xing ᗻ). There is a convincing example of even the antihistorical implications of this new pattern of thought in a chapter of the Lüshi Chunqiu ਖ⇣᯹⾟ (239 B.C.) entitled “Examination of the Present” (“Cha Jin” ᆳҞ), which contains the quintessence of Zhou normative reasoning beyond history: Why should the ruler not take the standards of the early kings as a model? It is not that the former kings were not wise. It is because they cannot be taken as a model. The standards of the former kings have come upon us by passing through the remote ages. Some men have added to them, and some have omitted parts from them. How could they be taken as a model then? Even if nobody had added to or omitted something from them, they could still not be taken as a model.... The standards of antiquity and of today are different in their language and their statutes. The words of antiquity, therefore, frequently do not correspond with the expressions of today, and the standards of today frequently do not accord with the standards of antiquity... How could the standards of the early kings be taken as a model? Even if this were possible, it would still not be proper. The standards of the former kings were somehow required by the times. But the times have not come down to us together with the standards. Thus, even if the standards have come down to the present, it would still not be proper to take them as a model. Therefore, we should abandon the fixed standards of the early kings (shi 42 xian wang zhi 40

Roetz 1993a: 235, 241. Mengzi 2a: 6. Read shi ᤩ for ze ᖗ, cf. Xu Weiju, Lüshi Chunqiu Jishi, 15, 32b (Yang Jiaoluo, vol. 1, 666). 41 42


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cheng fa 䞟‫⥟ܜ‬П៤⊩) and take as a model how they set up their standards (fa qi suo yi wei fa ⊩݊᠔ҹ⚎⊩). But how did the early kings make their standards? That by which they made their standards was the human being (ren Ҏ). But we ourselves are human beings, too. Therefore, by examining oneself one can know others. By examining the present one can know the past. The past and the present are one, and the others and I are the same. A scholar who is in possession of the Dao appreciates knowing the distant by the near, knowing the past by the present, knowing what he has not seen by what he has seen. Therefore, look at the shadow below the hall, and you know the course of sun and moon and the change of yin and yang. Look at the ice in a vase, and you know that it is cold under heaven and fish and turtles will hide. Taste one mouthful of meat, and you know the flavor of the whole cauldron and the seasoning of the whole vessel.43

In a combination of a series of antitraditional arguments as listed above, the Lüshi Chunqiu explicitly replaces normative orientation to the past by direct orientation to the human being itself: “Knowing others through examining oneself”—the transition from ego to alter of the Golden Rule—a device within direct reach of every human being, provides a new perspective which rules out the endorsement of past models. Instead of following these models, one should simply follow man. Anthropology, then, becomes a major topic, if not the central one, of Eastern Zhou advanced intellectual reasoning, and this is not by accident.44 The new anthropological rather than historical paradigm is not only visible in Confucian texts, it is even more obvious in Daoist and Legalist literature. The basic assumption of Legalism is that the human being is essentially a rationally calculating egoist, only superficially influenced by transmitted values and conventions or education. 45 By effectively utilizing this basic human condition through the mechanisms of punishment and reward, the Legalist 43

Lüshi Chunqiu 15.8: 177, (italics are mine [H.R.]). I do not discuss the cosmological theories in this paper. But I suppose that these theories, too, are imbued with anthropological motifs—only think of the sexual symbolism of Yin and Yang and the structural and functional correspondences between the cosmos and the human body. 45 Although in Legalist literature we find appeals to the “early kings” and to the “Dao of antiquity”, these are not coherent with programmatic statements to the contrary as in Hanfeizi 49: 339: “A sage does not expect anything from cultivating the past and does not take as a model what was practicable for a long time. He talks about the tasks of his age and takes his measures accordingly,” or in Hanfeizi 49: 341: “The tasks follow the age, and measures should accord with the tasks. When the age changes, the tasks also change.” 44

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system aims at the immobilization of history by installing on the human level a self-regulating order in accordance with the Daoist model of nature. As far as Daoism is concerned, thinkers like Yang Zhu ἞ᴅ most probably initiated the discourse on human nature and what is natural in general in order to reject established institutions and value systems as artificial. It is true that they refer to a remote time situated before the history narrated in other texts and thus seem to be even more devoted to the past than their rivals. However, the actual point of orientation in Daoism is not the historically remote, but the primordial natural condition near to everyone—the idealized unrestrained spontaneity of early childhood. The Daoist descriptions of sociogenesis as found in several chapters of the Zhuangzi46 reveal the structure of ontogenesis. The development of the human species from members of the original peaceful commune embedded in nature to the harassed and stressed citizens of “modern” society has a parallel in the development of the individual from the free and spontaneous infant to the scheming, competitive adult. De ᖋ, the virtueless virtue of the original state in the remote past, manifests itself in the newborn child.47

5. Conclusion To come to a conclusion, in the normative discourse of the last centuries of the Zhou era, the function of history is undoubtedly reduced, and the newly emerging value systems can be described to a considerable extent in terms of de-historicization. In gaining this independent status, the Zhou thinkers also laid the foundation for all fields of criticism to follow, including historical criticism. But what is more important is that they called into question not only the details of historical transmission, but the whole custom of argument by historical models. This is truly a paradigm shift that is often overlooked when speaking about Chinese “historical-mindedness”. The new spirit is best expressed in one of the ingenious parables from the Lüshi Chunqiu:

46 47

Zhuangzi 9: 151-152, 12: 199, 16: 243; Roetz 1984: 251-254. Laozi 55.


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Someone was crossing the Jiang ∳, when he saw another man about to throw a baby into the river. The baby cried. When he asked the man the reason, the man replied, ‘His father is a good swimmer’.48

48 Lüshi Chunqiu 15.8: 178.

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ABBREVIATIONS ZZJC = Zhuzi Jicheng 䃌ᄤ䲚៤ (The Corpus of Philosophic Classics) (1978), 8 vols. Hong Kong: Zhonghua Shuju

REFERENCES CITED Chuci Ἦ䖁, Hong Xingzu ⋾㟜⼪ (commentator) (1964), Chuci Buzhu Ἦ䖁㺰⊼ (Supplementary Notes on the Chuci), in Sibu Congkan ಯ䚼শߞ (Collectanea of the Four Sections) (1964), reprint Tokyo. Hanfeizi 䶧䴲 ᄤ , Wang Xianshen ⥟ ‫ ܜ‬ᜢ (1978), Hanfeizi Jijie 䶧䴲 ᄤ 䲚㾷 (Collected Interpretations on the Hanfeizi), in ZZJC, vol. 5. Hansen, Chad (1992), A Daoist Theory of Chinese Thought. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. ̛̛̛ (1983), “A Tao of Tao in Chuang-Tzu”, in Mair, Victor H. (ed.) (1983), Experimental Essays on Chuang-Tzu. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2455. Huainanzi ⏂फᄤ, Gao You 催䁬 (commentator) (1978), Huainanzi ⏂फᄤ, in ZZJC, vol. 7. Laozi 㗕ᄤ, Wang Bi ⥟ᔐ (commentator) (1980), Guojia Wenwuju Gu Wenxian Yanjiushe ೟ᆊ᭛⠽ሔস᭛⥏ⷨお⼒ (ed.) (1980), Mawangdui Hanmu Boshu 侀⥟ේ⓶๧Ꮿ᳌ (Silk Manuscripts from the Han Tombs at Mawangdui), vol. 1. Beijing: Wenwu Chubanshe ̛̛̛ (1978), Laozi Zhu 㗕ᄤ⊼ (Commentary on the Laozi), in ZZJC, vol. 2. Liezi ߫ᄤ, Zhang Zhan ᔉ␯ (commentator) (1978), Liezi Zhu ߫ᄤ⊼ (Commentary on the Liezi), in ZZJC, vol. 2. Lunheng 䂪㸵 (Critical Essays), Wang Chong ⥟‫( ܙ‬1978), Lunheng 䂪㸵, in ZZJC, vol. 7. Lunyu 䂪䁲 (Analects) (1972), Harvard-Yenching Institute Sinological Index Series, reprint Taibei. Lüshi Chunqiu ਖ⇣᯹⾟ (The Annals of Mr. Lü), Gao You 催䁬 (commentator) (1978), Lüshi Chunqiu, in ZZJC (1978), vol. 6. Lüshi Chunqiu Jishi ਖ⇣᯹⾟䲚䞟 (Collected Interpretations on the Lüshi Chunqiu), Xu Weiju 䀅㎁䙍 (1977), Lüshi Chunqiu Jishi ਖ⇣᯹⾟䲚䞟, in Yang Jialuo ἞ ᆊ俅 (ed.) (1977), Lüshi Chunqiu Jishi Deng Wu Shu ਖ⇣᯹⾟䲚䞟ㄝѨ᳌ (The Lüshi Chunqiu Jishi and Five Other Books), 3 vols. Taibei: Dingwen. Mengzi ᄳᄤ (1973), Harvard-Yenching Institute Sinological Index Series, reprint Taibei. Mittag, Achim (1996), “Die Last der Geschichte. Anmerkungen zum chinesischen Geschichtsdenken (The Burden of History. Remarks on Chinese Historical Thought)”, in ZIF: Mitteilungen (www.uni-bielefeld.de/ZIF/mittag.htm), 9 pp. Mozi ๼ᄤ, Sun Yirang ᄿ䀦䅧 (1978), Mozi Xiangu ๼ᄤ䭦䀕 (Annotations on the Mozi), in ZZJC, vol. 4. Paul, Gregor (1997), “Tradition und Norm. Ein Beitrag zur Frage nach der Universalität moralischer Werte (Tradition and Norm. A Contribution to the Question of the Universality of Moral Values)”, in Horin 4 (1997), 13-47. Roetz, Heiner, (2004a), “History and Identity. The Challenge of the Axial Age”, in Mittag, Achim, Jörn Rüsen and Helwig Schmidt-Glintzer (eds.) (forthcoming),


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Identity, Experiences of Crisis and Trauma. Approaching Chinese Historiography and Historical Thinking from a Comparative Perspective, Vol. 1. Leiden: Brill. ̛̛̛ (2004b), “On Nature and Culture in Zhou China”, in Dux, Günter and Hans Ulrich Vogel (eds.) (forthcoming), Concepts of Nature in Traditional China: Comparative Approaches. Leiden: Brill. ̛̛̛ (2004c), “Tradition, Moderne, Traditionskritik. China in der Diskussion”, in Wiedenhofer, Siegfried (ed.) (forthcoming), Kulturelle und religiöse Traditionen. Zum Stand traditionstheoretischer Forschung im deutschsprachigen Raum (Cultural and Religious Traditions: On the State of the Art in the Research on Tradition Theory in the German-speaking Region). Münster: LIT. ̛̛̛ (1993a), Confucian Ethics of the Axial Age. A Reconstruction under the Aspect of the Breakthrough towards Postconventional Thinking. Albany: State University of New York Press. ̛̛̛ (1993b), “Validity in Zhou Thought. On Chad Hansen and the Pragmatic Turn in Sinology”, in Lenk, Hans and Gregor Paul (eds.) (1993), Epistemological Issues in Classical Chinese Philosophy. Albany: State University of New York Press, 69-113. ̛̛̛ (1984), Mensch und Natur im alten China (Man and Nature in Ancient China). Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang. Schwartz, Benjamin (1975), “The Age of Transcendence”, in Daedalus: Journal of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences (Wisdom, Revelation, and Doubt: Perspectives on the First Millennium B.C.), 104.2 (Spring 1975) 1-7. Shangjun Shu ଚ৯᳌ (The Book of Lord Shang), Yan Wanli ಈ㨀䞠 (collator) (1978), Shangjun Shu ଚ৯᳌, in ZZJC, vol. 5. Shiji ৆㿬 (The Scribe’s Records) (1969). Hong Kong: Zhonghua Shuju. Shujing ᳌ ㍧ (The Book of Documents), Gu Jiegang 主䷵࠯ (1982), Shangshu Tongjian ᇮ ᳌ 䗮 ⁶ (Index to the Book of Documents). Shanghai: Shumu Wenxian Chubanshe. Wenzi ᭛ᄤ: A Concordance to Wenzi (1992). Hong Kong: Commercial Press. Xunzi 㤔 ᄤ , Wang Xianqian ⥟ ‫ ܜ‬䃭 (1978), Xunzi Jijie 㤔 ᄤ 䲚㾷 (Collected Interpretations on the Xunzi), in ZZJC, vol. 2. Zhuangzi 㥞ᄤ, Guo Qingfan 䛁ᝊ㮽 (1978), Zhuangzi Jishi 㥞ᄤ䲚䞟 (Collected Interpretations on the Zhuangzi), in ZZJC, vol. 3.

TRUTH CLAIMS IN SHIJI Stephen Durrant The very presence of the word “truth” in the title of this paper will raise some eyebrows. Whether there was a concept of truth in ancient China at all equivalent to that which emerged in the West has been debated in recent years.1 To focus on truth may raise the danger G.E.R. Lloyd has warned us about: “… forcing issues by raising questions that are foreign to the actors’ own views and concerns.”2 I would like, however, to sidestep this larger philosophical issue and take a much simpler and pragmatic approach to the issue broached in my title. Truth claims in a historical text, it seems to me, might be considered on two levels. First, does the historian assert that the particular details of his account are true? Put somewhat differently, does he make overt claims that he has reported the events of the past accurately? Second, does he suggest either explicitly or implicitly that his history contains some greater truth or general principle that readers should learn and perhaps even act upon? My purpose in this paper is to examine the great Chinese historian Sima Qian’s ‫್׹‬ᔢʳ (145-86 B.C.) masterful Shiji ‫׾‬ಖʳ (Records of the Historian) with these two levels of truth in mind. I must note at the outset of this investigation that I will fall into a common error in what follows. Shiji is not the product of a single hand. We know that Sima Qian’s father, Sima Tan (c.175-110 B.C.) began the project and presumably finished a number of sections of the text. Moreover, it is likely that some portions of Shiji are late additions, perhaps even back-copied from a later source. 3 Thus, it is almost certainly inaccurate to attribute all of today’s Shiji to Sima Qian. Perhaps future researchers will even discover clear authorial differences in Shiji with regard to the very truth claims that I shall discuss. But since what follows is only a preliminary and somewhat tentative study, I think it useful to consider Shiji here as a whole and to yield to the convenience of referring to Sima Qian as “the author”.

1

Hall and Ames 1987: 56-62; Graham 1989: 389-406; Wardy 2000: 55-62. Lloyd 1990: 10. 3 Hulsewe 1993: 405-406. 2

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1. On the Accuracy of the Historical Details In the first sentence of the “Arrayed Traditions” (“Liezhuan” ٨ႚʼʳ section of Shiji, Sima Qian tells us how he determines reliability in the face of an abundance of historical material: “The records and texts of scholars are extremely extensive, but we still test reliability in the six arts” (fu xuezhe zai ji ji bo, you kao xin yu liu yi ֛ᖂृሉᤄᄕ໑Δྫ ‫࣍ॾە‬քᢌ).4ʳThe term “six arts”, which Sima Qian uses here, refers to the six classics and the traditions of interpretation that are attached to these texts. 5 In another passage, the Han historian says that in compiling his history of the Yin dynasty he has “drawn upon Shu and Shi” (cai yu shu shi ७࣍஼ᇣ).6 Shu (Historical Documents) and Shi (Odes), were at the core of two of the six arts and in Sima Qian’s lifetime were becoming a central part of an official curriculum.7 As such, these texts carried considerable authority. Elsewhere, Sima Qian notes that the particular usefulness of Shu derives from the fact that it “records the affairs of the former kings”(ji xian wang zhi shi ಖ٣‫׆‬ հࠃ).8 And among the many virtues Sima Qian assigns to Chunqiu (Spring and Autumn Annals ਞટ), yet another of the classics, we read that “these are annals which discriminate human affairs” (bian renshi zhi ji ᙃԳࠃհધ).9 In other words, the classics constitute Sima Qian as touchstone for historical reliability. There are other passages in Shiji where Sima Qian affirms his confidence in the six classics. In several such cases, he uses words that require closer examination. Certainly one of the most difficult chapters for the Han historian to write was the chapter that now stands at the head of his text, the “Basic Annals of the Five Emperors” (“Wu Di Benji” ն০‫ء‬ધ). Sima Qian reached back in this chapter to what he considered the beginning of political civilization. Aware that he was confronting a particularly daunting historiographical challenge, he comments in unusual detail about his methodology: ᅌ㗙໮々ѨᏱᇮ⶷Ǆ✊ᇮ᳌⤼䓝ฃҹ՚ˈ㗠ⱒᆊ㿔咗Ᏹˈ݊᭛ϡ 䲙侈ˈ㭺㌇‫⫳ܜ‬䲷㿔ПǄᄨᄤ᠔‫ڇ‬ᆄќଣѨᏱᖋঞᏱ㐿ྦྷˈ‫ۦ‬㗙 ៪ϡ‫ڇ‬Ǆԭ௫㽓㟇ぎḤˈ࣫䘢⎓呓ˈᵅ┌ᮐ⍋ˈफ⍂∳⏂⶷ˈ㟇 4

Shiji 61.2121. Durrant 1995: 47-48. 6 Shiji 3.109. 7 Nylan 2001: 35. 8 Shiji 130.3297. 9 Shiji 130.3297. 5

TRUTH CLAIMS IN SHIJI

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䭋㗕ⱚ৘ᕔᕔ々咗Ᏹˈฃˈ㟰П㰩ˈ乼ᬭ೎⅞⛝ˈ㐑Пϡ䲶স᭛ 䖥ᰃǄ Scholars for the most part claim that the five emperors are from ancient times. But the Shangshu only records from Yao on down, and when the various writers speak of the Yellow Emperor, since their writings are not standard teachings, the official masters find it difficult to speak of him. What Confucius has transmitted as ‘Zai Yu’s Questions on the Powers of the Five Emperors’ and ‘Clans Attached to Emperors’ some Confucians do not transmit.10 I previously went to the west as far as Kongtong; in the north I passed beyond Zhuolu; in the east I came to the sea; and in the south I floated upon the Jiang and Huai rivers. When I brought this before the seniors and the aged, each one made claims about places linked with the Yellow Emperor, Yao, or Shun, but their traditions and teachings assuredly differed from one another, so that in general not to depart from the old script texts brings one closest to what is correct.11

From this passage and from other remarks scattered here and there throughout Shiji, we learn that Sima Qian, like his Greek counterpart Herodotus, travelled extensively to gain historical information.12 But we also learn that for at least this early period, Sima Qian anchored his history in what he calls guwen (‫)֮ײ‬, which I have translated as “old script texts”. Moreover, he discounts those writings that are not yaxun (ႁ቏), translated above as “correct teachings”. These terms, guwen and yaxun, are both problematic, at least within the context of Shiji, and demand closer scrutiny. Sima Qian likely had Confucius in mind when he used the term ya xun. The locus classicus of the key character ya in this phrase is Lunyu 7: 17: “The cases when the Master used the correct language were [in reciting] odes and historical documents, and in conducting ritual. In all these cases it was the correct language” (zi suo ya yan, shi shu, zhi li, jie ya yan ye ՗ࢬႁߢΔᇣ஼Δച៖ΔઃႁߢՈ). The precise meaning of ya yan in this passage is disputed.13 My purpose in this paper, however, is not to examine the possible meanings of ya yan in Lunyu but simply to suggest that when Sima Qian used the phrase 10

The two texts mentioned here are preserved as two chapters of the Da Dai Liji (Records of Rites by Dai Senior) and are entitled in the current versions “ Wu Di De” ѨᏱᖋ (“The Virtue of the Five Emperors”) and “Dixi” Ᏹ㋏ (“The Genealogy of the Emperors”). 11 Shiji 1.46. 12 Zhang 1985: 248-249 provides a list of examples. 13 I have followed the early interpretation of Zheng Xuan 䜁⥘ who glossed the problematic phrase as zheng yan “the correct language”, see Lunyu 269-270.

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yaxun, he was alluding to Confucius and those occasions on which the Ultimate Sage, as he called him, employed this special type of language—that is, when Confucius read certain classics and conducted the activities attached to the art of ritual. In other words, the standard of reliability which official masters should employ to delimit their claims about the Yellow Emperor are precisely the words of the classics. Thus, when Sima Qian speaks of yaxun, he is doing little more than reiterating his confidence in the six arts. Sima Qian also says in the passage cited above that the oral traditions surrounding the early emperors are diverse and that one is therefore wise “not to depart from guwen” or, as I have translated it, “the old script texts.” In his “Arrayed Traditions of the Disciples of Zhong Ni” (“Zhong Ni Dizi Liezhuan” ٘‫؍‬ร՗٨ႚ), Sima Qian notes the various excessive claims that are made about the early disciples and reiterates his faith in the authority of guwen by claiming that “What comes from the old script texts of the Confucian family brings one closest to what is correct” (chu Kong shi guwen jin shi ‫נ‬ ּ֞‫֮ײ‬२ਢ).14 The similarity between the wording of this passage and the previous passage from “Basic Annals of the Five Emperors”, is striking. In both cases, divergences of opinion are noted, and we are told that if one wants to get close to what is correct (jin shi २ਢ), one should rely upon the old script texts. Sima Qian clearly regards these sources as containing the most authentic and accurate picture of the past. The special significance of these texts is further indicated in Sima Qian’s highly cryptic remarks about his youth, which appear in the postface to Shiji. There, he proudly announces that “at the age of ten sui, I recited the old script texts” (nian shi sui ze song guwen ‫ڣ‬Լ ᄣঞ፽‫)֮ײ‬.15 Precisely what were these old script texts? There are differences of opinion on this issue. At the outset we must dismiss the notion that Sima Qian’s praise for guwen is a polemical statement distinguishing himself from advocates of the new script texts or jinwen վ֮. The old script-new script controversy did not yet exist in the years of Emperor Wu ࣳ ০ (r.141-87 B.C.).16 Rather, Sima Qian is using guwen as a 14

Shiji 67.2226. Shiji 130.3293. 16 Zhou 1983: 1, 27-28. Michael Nylan (1994: 83-137) has further shown that the entire notion of a clear and sharp old script text / new script controversy in the Han has been exaggerated. 15


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purely descriptive reference to texts written in the pre-Qin script. Sima Zhen ‫ૣ್׹‬ʳ(fl.713-742 A.D.), one of the first commentators on Shiji, believed that Sima Qian’s references to guwen referred specifically to the old script Shangshu (Ancient Historical Documents ࡸ஼) that the Qin erudite Fu Sheng ٗ‫س‬ʳ had originally hidden in a wall and then recovered later, a story reported in Shiji (121). Others such as Sima Zhen’s predecessor, Liu Bozhuang Ꮵ‫܄‬๗ (dates unknown),ʳ believed the term was much more inclusive and applied also to such texts as Zuozhuan ؐႚʳand Guoyuʳഏ፿.17 Wang Guowei ‫׆‬ഏፂʳ(1877-1927) has argued quite persuasively that, contrary to what some have believed, there were many ancient script texts available during the early Han, a position that has been supported more recently by others. 18 Thus, the contemporary Shiji scholar Zhang Dake ്Օ‫ױ‬ concludes: “Guwen refers to texts written in the pre-Qin script. The six classics were the backbone of guwen. Therefore, when he (that is, Sima Qian) says, ‘In general not departing from the old script texts brings one closer to the truth’ it is the same as ‘testing reliability by the six arts,’ except that the implication and scope is broader.”19 What this all means is that Sima Qian held to a strong notion of textual authority. Certain texts, the six classics and perhaps other texts written in the old script as well, were not just valuable historical sources but were a standard by which the reliability of historical traditions in general could be measured and judged. But Sima Qian’s faith in these texts was not blind. In the preface to his “Chart of the Generations of the Three Dynasties” (“San Dai Shibiao” Կ‫׈ז‬।), for example, he expresses consternation over the lack of dates in Shangshu, which puts that text in stark contrast to Chunqiu and the latter’s meticulously dated events. As a result of this deficiency, Confucius, when he supposedly put Shangshu in order, could only leave “gaps” (que ᠥ). “Therefore, what was doubtful, he transmitted as doubtful,” says Sima Qian of the Sage, “such was his caution” (gu yi ze chuan yi, gai qi shen ye ਚጊঞႚጊΔ።ࠡშՈ).20 Sima Qian then goes on to reveal another weakness in the sources he esteems so highly: “I have examined the chronologies and genealogies as well as the traditions of the cycles of the five powers and the old script texts (guwen) are not all in agreement but are contradictory and differ [from 17

Shiji 130.3294 note 3. Wang 1983: 7.2a-3a; Kern 2000: 183-196. Zhang 1985: 260-261. 20 Shiji 13.487. 18 19

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one another]” (ji qi li pu die zhong shi wu de zhi chuan, guwen xian bu tong, guai yi ᒝࠡᖟᢜᘪึࡨնᐚհႚΔ‫֮ײ‬ভլ‫ٵ‬Δࠁฆ).21 Although it might be rash to say that insofar as Sima Qian believed Shiji adhered to the authoritative texts of the past, it was “true”, he apparently considered that these texts, carefully used, would at least yield a standard of reliability (xin ॾ). As we might expect, Sima Qian was very much influenced by the growing authority of certain texts from the past that had resulted, during the early decades of his life, in such institutional changes as the formalization of the office of the erudites (boshi ໑Փ) around the transmission of the five classics and the establishment of the Imperial Academy. Even if one accepts the argument I have just presented, it does not get us very far. Sima Qian’s text thickens as it draws nearer to his own time. Indeed, more than half of Shiji concerns events that took place after the rise of the Qin or within eighty years of the time of his own birth. What claims does Sima Qian make about the reliability of those parts of the text where he does not have the authoritative classics to serve as guides? Here, we step onto decidedly rougher terrain. In his chapter on the Dayuan (Ferghanese), Sima Qian expresses serious doubts about the received tradition. First of all, he notes that Zhang Qian’s expedition has disproved much that has been said about the source of the Yellow River and the marvellous nature of the Kunlun Mountains. Then he adds, “When we come to all the uncanny things in the Yu Benji and the Shanhai Jing, I do not dare to speak of them” (zhi Yu Benji, Shanhai Jing suo you guai wu, yu bu gan yan zhi ye ۟ છ ‫ ء‬ધ Δ ՞ ௧ ᆖ ࢬ ‫ ࢡ ڶ‬ढ Δ ‫ ܇‬լ ཊ ߢ հ Ո). 22 Sima Qian applies a similarly critical standard in rejecting a widely-circulated report of an event that supposedly preceded Jing Ke’s ౸ၖ attempt to assassinate the King of Qin: “When people of our age speak of Jing Ke, they claim that when Prince Dan gave the command [to Jing Ke to kill the King of Qin], ‘Heaven rained grain and horses grew horns.’ This is completely in error!” (shi yan Jing Ke, qi cheng Taizi Dan zhi ming, ‘tian yu su, ma sheng jiao’ tai guo ‫ߢ׈‬౸ၖΔࠡጠ֜՗կհ ࡎΔ«֚ॸ࿥Δ್‫»ߡس‬Δʳ ֜መ).23 Moreover, in his account of the disciples of Zhong Ni, Sima Qian also appears as a critical historian

21

Shiji 13.488. Shiji 123.3179. 23 Shiji 86.2539. 22


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who wishes to avoid drawing hasty conclusions and assures us that “What is doubtful, is left blank” (yizhe que yan ጊृᠥ෫).24 I would add two brief observations concerning Sima Qian’s reluctance to accept the uncanny and his claim to leave what is doubtful blank. First of all, here again, as so often in Shiji, we hear obvious echoes of Confucius. “The Master”, we are told in Lunyu 7: 20, “did not teach about the uncanny, physical strength, disorder, or spirits” (Zi bu yu guaili luan shen ՗լ፿ࢡԺ႖壀). When Sima Qian says he dare not speak of the uncanny, he is only following the example of Confucius. Such is the case too when he claims to leave blanks: “The Master said, ‘… with regard to what he does not know, the Princely Man in general leaves blanks’” (Zi yue: … junzi yu qi suo bu zhi, gai que ru ye ՗ֳΚ… ‫ܩ‬՗࣍ࠡࢬլवΔ።ᠥ‫ڕ‬Ո). 25ʳ Second, this attitude of scepticism is applied in Shiji quite inconsistently, or at least so it would seem to the modern reader. The best examples of this problem are perhaps Sima Qian’s accounts of the origins of the founders of dynastic families. Xie ৈ, the grand ancestor of the Yin, was conceived when his mother swallowed an egg that had been left by a black bird.26 Hou Ji’s ‫ٿ‬ᒞʳ mother stepped on the footprint of a deity and “her body stirred like one pregnant” (shen dong ru yunzhe ߪ೯‫ڕ‬؋ृ).27 Of course, these wondrous accounts have behind them the authority of one of the classics, Shi, but that is not so in the case of our historian’s account of Liu Bang Ꮵ߶, whose conception is also surrounded with miracles. His mother was resting on the edge of a marsh, Sima Qian tells us, when she dreamed that she encountered a god. The sky grew dark with thunder and lightening: “The Grand Duke [Liu Bang’s father] went to see [what was happening] and he saw a scaly dragon on top of her. Afterwards she was pregnant and gave birth to Gaozu” (Taigong wang shi, ze jian jiaolong yu qi shang. Yi er you shen, sui chan Gaozu.֜ֆ࢓ီΔঞ ߠအᚊ࣍ࠡՂΖբۖ‫ߪڶ‬Δሑข೏ల).28 Chu Shaosun ፻֟୪, the much-and-quite-unfairly-maligned scholar who added supplementary material to Shiji in the decades just after Sima Qian’s death, 29 was 24

Shiji 67.2226. Lunyu 7.20. 26 Shiji 3.91. 27 Shiji 4.111. 28 Shiji 8.341. 29 On this characterization of Chu Shaosun, see Chavannes 1895: vol. I. CCI-CCIX. He reminds us that Chu’s “forgeries” are not that at all, since “… cet écrivain a presque toujours soin de nous avertir quand il prend la parole ...” (CCIX). 25

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obviously worried that Sima Qian transmitted such questionable stories in one place and yet in another, “The Chart of the Generations of the Three Dynasties” (“San Dai Shibiao” Կ‫׈ז‬।), listed Xie and Hou Ji as the unmiraculous offspring of human fathers. In a long and interesting attempt to explain this apparent contradiction, Chu Shaosun says: One place says they had fathers, and another place says they did not have fathers. What is reliable is transmitted as reliable and what is doubtful is transmitted as doubtful. Therefore, in both cases, he speaks of them. ϔ㿔᳝⠊ˈϔ㿔⛵⠊ˈֵҹ‫⭥ˈֵڇ‬ҹ‫ˈ⭥ڇ‬ᬙܽ㿔П.30

The implication, made clearer in the remainder of Chu Shaosun’s comment, is that Xie and Hou Ji, like all of us, had fathers, and that this is the reliable account and that Sima Qian has transmitted the other version as doubtful.31 Nevertheless, Sima Qian says nothing at all to indicate that he regards the wondrous accounts as problematic. One can only imply that he doubts the traditional versions from the alternate version implicit on the chart. Moreover, Sima Qian does not question at all the miraculous account of Liu Bang’s conception nor an array of other uncanny things found in the pages of Shiji, such as the claim that the ancient emperor Shun had eyes with double pupils and that Xiang Yu may have had double pupils himself.32 The concern here, however, is not whether the history related in Shiji is true, only whether or not Sima Qian sometimes himself makes such claims.33 But we can at the least say that his claim to exercise great care with regard to the marvellous and the doubtful is compromised by the rather mechanical way in which it mirrors the words of his predecessor Confucius and by the apparent inconsistency in the way he applies this standard. What is perhaps of still greater importance, both for the issue of truth claims and also for our consideration of that portion of Shiji concerned with the years after the time of the authoritative classics, is 30

Shiji 13.505. Durrant 1993: 15-43. 32 Shiji 7.338. 33 This distinction takes on particular importance in light of Michael Nylan’s excellent new study of Sima Qian, see Nylan 1998-1999. I do not wish to align myself with that group of Sima Qian scholars who claim that Sima Qian is a “scientific historian”, especially since Professor Nylan has already placed me among the lyrical/romantic group! 31


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Sima Qian’s use of eyewitnesses and of personal information to establish accuracy. We have already seen that Sima Qian, in the course of his travels, collected stories concerning even the earliest legendary emperors. As we draw nearer to his own time, the use of such personal information becomes a more regular part of his methodology. Again we return to the story of the failed assassination attempt of Jing Ke, an event that happened in 227 B.C., just eightytwo years before the most likely date of Sima Qian’s birth: জ㿔㤞䓏‫ⱚˈ⥟⾺ڋ‬䴲гǄྟ݀ᄿᄷࡳˈ㨷⫳㟛໣⛵Ϩ␌ˈ‫ⶹ݋‬ ݊џˈ⚎ԭ䘧Пབᰃ. They (i.e. the people of Sima’s time) also say that Jing Ke wounded the King of Qin. But they are all wrong. Previously Gongsun Jigong and Master Dong were travelling with Xia Wuju. They learned the details of this affair and reported it to me like this. 34

Xia Wuju was the physician who saved the King of Qin’s life by attacking the assassin, Jing Ke, with his medical bag. Here Sima Qian presents an alternative version of the story, but unlike the alternative versions he presents in his account of Laozi 㗕ᄤ, where he admits that he cannot decide which version is correct,35 he uses an indirect report of an eyewitness account to establish which version he considers to be correct. In other places in his history of the recent past, Sima Qian similarly calls on direct or indirect personal knowledge to lend authority to his history. His knowledge of Jia Yi ᇸࡵ is given weight by the fact he has exchanged letters with Jia Yi’s grandson Jia Jia ᇸ ቯ . 36 His presentation of the time of Gaozu is verified through knowledge he has gained from his association with Fan Kuai’s ᑕⷨʳ grandson, who “spoke to me as I have recorded it of the time of the rise of the meritorious ministers of Gaozu” (wei yan Gaozu gongchen zhi xing shi ruo ci yun ੡ߢ೏ల‫۝פ‬հᘋழૉ‫ڼ‬ճ). 37 Elsewhere in Shiji, Sima Qian tells us that he was good friends with Tian Ren ‫ض‬ٚ, which is noted, we must suppose, to lend credibility to his account of Tian Ren’s famous father Tian Shu ‫࠸ض‬.38 And, finally, Sima Qian lets us know that he has seen the heroic General Li Guang ‫ޕ‬ᐖʳ and 34

Shiji 86.2538. Shiji 63.2142. 36 Shiji 84.2503. 37 Shiji 95.2673. 38 Shiji 104. 2779. 35

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the swashbuckling Guo Xie ພᇞʳ and that neither was particularly impressive to look at, with the former being inarticulate as well.39 We must conclude that Sima Qian was very much concerned with historical accuracy and that he cited his sources here and there as a means of assuring his reader that he did have direct or indirect knowledge of the events he included in his text. Whether his claims about the reliability of certain texts or his occasional references to direct or indirect testimony constitute truth claims depends, of course, upon how explicit and generalized a truth claim must be. Assuredly, he was not as aggressive as the Greek historian Thucydides in asserting the truth of his reports. But then again, he did not have the towering figures of Homer and Herodotus and their famous “fictions” looming behind him.40 Nevertheless, disturbing questions remain. The great Edouard Chavannes, who on almost all issues concerning Shiji is exceedingly difficult to surpass, takes note of some of these questions in the following words: La critique de Se-ma Ts’ien ne s’exerce presque jamais d’une manière apparente. Il ne discute pas la valeur des écrits dont il se sert; entre la certitude et l’erreur il semble ignorer la probabilité qui est cependant la seule vérité approximative à laquelle souvent l’histoire puisse prétendre; il cite les témoignages qu’il croit bons; il passe sous silence ceux qu’il condamne. On conçoit qu’il soit dès lors malaisé de montrer avec quel degré de précision il sépare le vrai du faux, puisque le faux étant omis par lui, on ne peut savoir s’il l’a connu et rejeté ou s’il l’a simplement ignoré.41

Although we can find exceptions in the examples I have cited previously to what Chavannes says here, we can hardly disagree with the overall thrust of his remarks. What I find most noteworthy is not so much that Sima Qian “does not discuss the value of the writings he uses”, or, for that matter, the legitimacy of particular eyewitnesses, but that he so rarely goes beyond a consideration of specific historical instances in order to abstract more general principles or problems of 39

Shiji 109. 2878, 124.3189. Thucydides’ assertions that he is reporting the truth are famous and need hardly be repeated here. The following is fairly typical: “But as to the facts of the occurrences of the war, I have thought it my duty to give them, not as ascertained from any chanced informant nor as seemed to me probable, but only after investigating with the greatest possible accuracy each detail, in the case both of the events in which I myself participated and of those regarding which I got my information from others.” Cf. Thucydides 1928: 1.XXII, 39. 41 Chavannes 1895: vol. I, CLXXII. 40


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historiography. Two comparative examples from Thucydides might clarify this point. After Thucydides has given his relatively brief survey of the historical background of the Peloponnesian War, a history that extends beyond the reach of his own eye and therefore presents something of a problem to the Greek historian,42 he concludes: Still, from the evidence that has been given, any one would not err who should hold the view that the state of affairs in antiquity was pretty nearly such as I have described it, not giving greater evidence to the accounts, on the one hand, which the poets have put into song, adorning and amplifying their theme, and, on the other, which the chroniclers have composed with a view rather of pleasing the ear than of telling the truth, since their stories cannot be tested and most of them have from lapse of time won their way into the region of the fabulous so as to be incredible.43

This is one of those famous passages where Thucydides proudly separates himself from the ‘less truthful’ writers, Homer and Herodotus, who preceded him.44 However one feels about his apparent disregard for the literary dimensions of those earlier texts, Thucydides shows here a keen awareness that with the passage of time stories become more difficult to test and easily drift ‘into the region of the fabulous’. Sima Qian, as we have seen, was quite aware of the problems of presenting a history of the temporally remote five emperors, and he also noted the existence of fabulous accounts concerning these emperors in such sources as Shanhai Jing, but he did not make such problems the basis for a more general comment on methodology. A similar contrast between Thucydides and Sima Qian can be seen in the former’s short meditation on variant accounts: “... the endeavour to ascertain these facts was a laborious task, because those who were eye-witnesses of the several events did not give the same reports about the same things, but reports varying according to their championship of one side or the other, or according to their recollections.” 45 To be sure, Sima Qian struggles with the same problem—the existence of variant accounts of the actions of the 42

Both Herodotus and Thucydides privilege the eye as the most dependable source of historical truth, which of course turns the historian predominantly toward contemporary history. On this subject, see the brief comments of François Dosse 2000: 10-17. For a provocative criticism of the tyranny of this vision, which invalidates all visions external to one’s own, see Nicole Loraux 1986: 139-161. 43 Thucydides 1928: 1.XXI, 37. 44 Shankman and Durrant 2000: 81-100. 45 Thucydides 1928: 1.XXII, 39.

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disciples of Confucius, the existence of different stories about the events surrounding Jing Ke’s attempt on the life of the King of Qin, the conflicting traditions concerning Laozi, etc.—but once again he does not turn this problem into a general historiographical issue, as does Thucydides. Why is Sima Qian so reticent about revealing and discussing sources, weighing one account against another before the eyes of the reader, telling us, in a somewhat more expansive way, how he has made decisions between the true and the false, and, indeed, engaging in more general historiographical discussion? Here we are left to conjecture, but perhaps partial answers to these questions might be found in exploring very briefly three basic topics: first, the tradition that stood behind our historian; second, his conception of his own role; and, third, the audience for which he was writing. This is no place to present a survey of Sima Qian’s antecedents. Certainly he felt no need, like Thucydides, to distinguish himself from some popular but “mistaken” historians of the past. Instead, he saw himself as a new Confucius and attempted to follow the model of the Sage who had preceded him. As we have seen above, and shall see further below, wherever Sima Qian approaches a discussion of larger principles and issues, it is almost invariably the words of Confucius that transfuse his own writing. We might discern a clue to Sima Qian’s conception of the historiographical tradition in his explanation of the origin of Zuoshi Chunqiu ּؐਞટ. This text arose, he tells us, to stabilize a teaching tradition surrounding Chunqiu that derived from Confucius himself.46 The foremost narrative history of the past, then, is a commentary that derives from and expands upon an earlier source and ultimately is firmly grounded in the teachings of Confucius. This brings us to the second topic: Sima Qian’s conception of his own role. Sima Qian insisted, following the example of Confucius, that he was a transmitter and not a creator.47 While we might dispute this rather modest self-description, and there is valid reason to do so,48 certainly a large percentage of his work can be shown to be almost pure transmission from extant sources such as Zuozhuan ؐႚ, Guoyuʳ ഏ፿, Shangshuʳ ࡸ஼ and the sources of Zhanguo Ce ᖏഏ࿜. In the case of his history of the Qin and the Han, Sima Qian’s sources are 46 47 48

11.

Shiji 14.509-510. Shiji 130.3299-3300. I have considered the twists and turns of this claim elsewhere, cf. Durrant 1995:


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more obscure. Ban Gu ఄ ࡐ (32-92 A.D.) claims that his predecessor relied upon the Chu Han Chunqiu ᄑዧਞટʳ (Spring and Autumn Annals of Chu and Han)ʳ for his account of at least some of this period.49 However, the latter text was lost during the southern Song, so that Ban Gu’s claim cannot be verified. Still, I think we can assume that much of what Sima Qian has written of the seven or eight decades before his birth either depended upon sources and stories widely known or upon material in the Han archives that could be verified. As G.E.R. Lloyd has recently noted in a comparison of early Chinese and Greek historiography, “the potential archival back-up was far greater on the Chinese side”.50 Moreover, in his account of his own time, Sima Qian was a witness well-positioned at the Han court. Why should he need to claim that he is reporting the facts accurately? Perhaps we are asking too much. After all, Ban Gu, who like his father Ban Biao ఄ ๡ (3-54 A.D.) was highly critical of Sima Qian, but who was also a part of the strong Chinese tradition of transmission (indeed, transmitting almost verbatim large portions of Shiji), concluded his judgment of his predecessor by conceding that what Sima Qian had written, when all was said and done, was a “veritable record” (shi lu ኔᙕ).51 So far as I can determine, Sima Qian made only two direct comments on the issue of the audience that he envisioned for his text. The first is not particularly helpful since it expresses the common hope that his text would be passed down and “penetrate the villages and great cities” (tong yi da du ຏ߳Օຟ). 52 Surely he hoped, as almost all writers hope, that his words would find a large readership. The second comment, which stands at the very end of his text, is a particularly remarkable one. He says that his text will be hidden away in a “famous mountain” (ming shan ‫ټ‬՞), presumably the name of an archive, and will “await a sage and a princely man of later generations” (si houshi shengren junzi উ৵‫׈‬ᆣԳ‫ܩ‬՗). 53 These words are modelled on the concluding words of the Gongyang Commentary and put Sima Qian in a lineage of sages who can only be fully understood by other sages.54 Certainly this ideal reader of later 49

Hanshu 62.2737. Lloyd 2002: 19. 51 Hanshu 62.2737. 52 Hanshu 62.2735. 53 Shiji 130.3320. 54 Durrant 1995: 11-13. 50

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times is one who also will have totally imbibed the tradition and will himself be someone who, like Confucius and Sima Qian before him, transmits the past. Insofar as one is a faithful transmitter, he will need to make few claims of truth. His authority is attested in the almost sacred act that he performs.

2. On the General Truths of History We turn now to the second level of truth. Quite apart from claims about the accuracy of details or the narration of particular events, does Sima Qian claim that his history contains some grand truth or truths— that is, some principle or principles that must be learned and acted upon? At the end of the “Arrayed Traditions of Flatterers and Favorites” (“Ming Xing Liezhuan” ۳ࢉ٨ႚ), Sima Qian delineates one lesson this chapter is meant to convey: ໾৆݀᳄˖⫮ઝᛯᝢПᰖʽᔠᄤ⨩П㸠ˈ䎇ҹ㾔ᕠҎԲᑌ⶷Ǆ䲪 ⱒϪৃⶹг. The Lord Grand Historian says, ‘So extreme are the seasons of love and hate! The actions of Mi Zixia enable us to see the flatterers and favorites among later men. Although one hundred generations hence, they can be known!’ 55

History, this comment indicates, provides a grid of examples for later generations that will enable them to know others and to predict the outcome of particular kinds of behavior. Insofar as this constitutes a principle or even a “truth”, it echoes both Lunyu and also the Mencian theory of Chunqiu, which had become accepted doctrine in the early Han. The Master Confucius, according to Lunyu 2: 23, said that if one understood the succession of ritual from Yin to Zhou, what was added and what was subtracted, “Although one hundred years hence, it can be known” (sui bai shi ke zhi ye ឈ‫ױ׈ۍ‬वՈ). Thus, on the power of history to address what is still one hundred generations in the future, Sima Qian is again quoting Confucius. And Mencius tells us that when Confucius completed Chunqiu, “disorderly ministers and violent sons were frightened” (luan chen zeizi ju yan ႖‫۝‬ᇶ՗᥈෫), 56 a 55 56

Shiji 125.3196. Mengzi 3B, 9.


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statement Sima Qian quotes elsewhere.57 Why were they so frightened? Presumably their fear arose from the fact that Confucius’ history both reveals disorderly ministers and violent sons in later generations and also predicts their sorry fate. In another context, Sima Qian expands upon the above principle and seems at the same time to undermine it: ሙҞПϪˈᖫসП䘧ˈ᠔ҹ㞾䦵гˈ᳾ᖙⲵৠǄᏱ⥟㗙৘⅞⾂㗠 ⭄ࢭˈ㽕ҹ៤ࡳ⚎㍅㋔ˈ䈜ৃ㎘Т˛ᄼ㾔᠔ҹᕫᇞᇉঞ᠔ҹᒶ 䖅ˈѺ⭊Ϫᕫ༅Пᵫгˈԩᖙ㟞㘲˛ If one dwells in the present age and scrutinizes the ways of antiquity, it is a means to regard oneself in a mirror. But the images will not always be the same. Each emperor and king has different rituals and diverse emphases but wants to use his success as a general principle. How can they be so confused? If one examines the reasons for obtaining honor and favor, or the reasons for rejection and insult, there is, after all, a multitude of successes and failures in one’s own age. 58

History might provide a mirror, a way to see and understand ourselves and others, but there is no absolute correspondence between the past and the present. At this point, Sima Qian nods again in the direction of Confucius. The background for Confucius’ claim that knowledge of the past enables us to know one hundred generations hence was, in fact, not uniformity but change. By examining the additions and deletions in ritual from Yin to Zhou, Confucius could see the vector of history. Sima Qian, I think, has this in mind when he says, reminiscent of the words of the Master, “Each emperor and king has different rituals”. What follows this, however, is more problematic because Sima Qian seems to veer away from his faith in history and echoes such thinkers as Xunzi ಃ՗ʳ and Hanfeizi ឌॺ՗, who believed that an appraisal of present circumstances should take precedent over scrutinizing the past. 59 One’s own time, Sima Qian says here, has sufficient examples of success and failure to teach the necessary lessons concerning honor and favor, rejection and insult. If there is enough evidence in our own age to make “disorderly ministers and violent sons afraid”, we do not need Chunqiu or Shiji to perform this 57

Shiji 47.1943. Shiji 18.878. In fact, elsewhere, Sima Qian quotes approvingly Xunzi’s injunction to “follow the later kings”, cf. Shiji 15.686; Xunzi 8.138. Martin Kern has recently noted, in a quite different context, that “In imperial Ch’in and Han times, ‘changing with the times’ is not understood as radically anti-traditional but as an inherent part of the tradition itself”, see Kern 2000: 120-122. 58 59

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task. Nevertheless, Sima Qian remains a historian who makes a record of much more than his own time, and it also seems from what we have noted above that he believes history carries a predictive power. Obviously we must look further in our search for the truth of history, if history has a truth. There is no text Sima Qian discusses and respects more than Chunqiu, and yet it is not easy to discern just how that terse record, which he attributes to Confucius, has influenced his own historical writing. Certainly when Sima Qian speaks of Chunqiu, he has in mind not just the sparse annalistic record itself but the entire interpretative apparatus that had come to surround it, most notably the Gongyang ֆ ‫ ے‬and Zuoshi ּؐʳ traditions.60 Perhaps we can discern one similarity of Chunqiu and Shiji in the following comments, which appear as a part of Sima Qian’s response to some questions supposedly posed by his fellow Hu Sui ໹ሑ, one of the officials who worked with him on the calendar reform of 104 B.C.: ᯹⾟᭛៤ᭌ㨀ˈ݊ᣛᭌगǄ㨀⠽Пᬷ㘮ⱚ೼᯹⾟Ǆ᯹⾟ПЁˈᓦ ৯ϝक݁ˈѵ೟ѨकѠˈ䃌փ༨䍄ϡᕫֱ݊⼒》㗙ϡৃࢱᭌǄᆳ ݊᠔ҹˈⱚ༅݊ᴀᏆǄᬙᯧ᳄П䈾䞤ˈᏂҹग䞠Ǆᬙ᳄ 㞷ᓦ৯ˈ ᄤᓦ⠊ˈ䴲ϔᮺϔ໩Пᬙгˈ݊┌Й⶷Ǆᬙ᳝೟㗙ϡৃϡⶹ᯹ ⾟Ǆ The written characters in Chunqiu amount to several tens of thousands, and what they point to is several thousand [events]. The dispersion and the gathering of the ten thousand things are all in Chunqiu. Within Chunqiu, there are thirty-six instances of assassinating rulers, fifty-two instances of states that fell, and countless instances where lords fled and could not manage to protect their sovereignty. If we investigate the reasons for this, in all cases they neglected the fundamentals. Therefore, Yi says, ‘If you miss it by the least amount, you’ll be off by a thousand li.’ Therefore, it is said, ‘For a minister to kill a ruler or a son to kill a father is not an affair of a single morning or a single evening but it gradually takes place over a long period of time.’ Therefore, those who possess the state must know Chunqiu.61

True to the political interpretation of Chunqiu that prevailed in the early Han, and that Sima Qian probably ingested from his Gongyang teachers, this passage portrays Confucius’ master work as a political handbook—one that “those who possess the state must know”. Beyond this, Sima Qian emphasizes here, through a saying of 60 61

Durrant 1992: 295-301. Shiji 130.3297-3298.


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unknown provenance, that such momentous events as assassinations, the fall of states, and the flight of rulers come about as the result of events that only gradually unfold. Then he quotes Yi ᯧ to emphasize that something can be exceedingly small in the beginning and yet lead to momentous consequences. If one can see trends and developments in the course of the nearly 250 years of Chunqiu, how much more so over the nearly 2500 years covered in Shiji? While one might find examples in one’s own age of virtually all human characteristics and situations, it is only through an investigation that extends across time that one can see patterns unfold, particularly patterns of political consequence. We should remind ourselves at this juncture that the very notion of the dynasty as an especially meaningful historical unit, a notion that is to live on and gain great credence in China, is essentially Sima Qian’s invention—there was no history before his time structured around the dynastic unit. Sima Qian does not discuss the principle we have noted above in any detail. As we have seen, he is a historian of the specific event who rejects what he calls “empty words” (kong yan ़ߢ) or, we might say, “theoretical discourse”. 62 In fact, he criticizes the Confucians of his day for having departed from the concreteness the Master exhibits in Chunqiu: “The Confucians make judgments about principles; and the rhetoricians pursue their phraseology. They put no effort into gathering up the end and the beginning of events” (Ruzhe duan qi yi, chishuozhe cheng qi ci, bu wu zong qi zhong-shi ᕢृឰࠡᆠΔቍᎅ ृថࠡ᢯Δլ೭ጵࠡึࡨ).63 In another context, Sima Qian offers a similar criticism, but this time he is speaking of a specific political entity, the Qin: ᅌ㗙⡑ᮐ᠔㘲ˈ㽟⾺೼Ᏹԡ᮹⏎ˈϡᆳ݊㌖ྟˈ಴㘮㗠ュПˈϡ ᬶ䘧ˈℸ㟛ҹ㘇亳⛵⭄Ǆᚆ໿Ǆ Scholars, ensnared in what they have heard, see that the Qin occupied the position of emperor for a short period of time and do not examine their end and beginning. Hence, they all ridicule it or dare not speak at all. This is no different than eating with the ear. Is it not sad?64

One can misunderstand the Qin, Sima Qian says here, if one focuses solely on the short reigns of the First Emperor and his successor. Instead, we should examine “their end and beginning”. The ostensibly 62

Shiji 130.3297; Nylan 1998-1999: 218-219. Shiji 14.511. 64 Shiji 15.686. 63

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peculiar way Sima Qian treats the Qin in his history is meant to facilitate just such an examination. The “Basic Annals” section of Shiji constitutes the backbone of Sima Qian’s text.65 It is here where Sima Qian constructs a history of dynastic and imperial continuity. The earliest dynasties, the Xia, the Yin, and the Zhou, are each allotted a “Basic Annals” chapter so that the beginnings and ends of these dynasties can be more clearly discerned. As the history draws nearer to Sima’s own time, the information available to the historian thickens, and, beginning with the First Qin Emperor, each emperor is allotted a separate “Basic Annals” chapter. But there are several anomalies in this structure. The one that concerns us here is that the pre-dynastic Qin rulers are granted a place among the “Basic Annals”, whereas all other ruling families during the Eastern Zhou period of disunity are placed within the “Hereditary Household” section of Sima Qian’s text. This has drawn criticism from no less a scholar than the great Tang historiographer Liu Zhiji Ꮵव༓ (661-721 A.D.): “The Ying family from Bo Yu to Zhuang Xiang [the rulers of Qin] held the rank of a lord, but their names are attached to the ‘Basic Annals’ ... that from Bo Yu to Zhuang Xiang their record first completes a chapter and is not included among the ‘Hereditary Households’ but is edited into the ‘Basic Annals’ is particularly blameworthy.” 66 However, if we keep in mind Sima Qian’s stated desire to “examine their end and beginning”, then the placement of “The Basic Annals of Qin” makes sense. By putting “The Basic Annals of Qin” just before the “Basic Annals of the First Qin Emperor”, Sima Qian encourages us to look for the long-range trends of Qin history, for the overall pattern of rise and fall that the single chapter on the First Qin Emperor, isolated from his pre-dynastic predecessors, could not illustrate. The truth in Sima Qian’s history is perhaps found in the very patterns and vectors that can be seen as institutions unfold over a long period of time. Such patterns can point us, or more likely those who rule, in particular directions. Such a truth might be vague and unsatisfying for those who demand strong truth claims in the manner of a historian like Thucydides, who is writing “a possession for all time”. 67 But there is in Sima Qian at least a search for meaning in history—an attempt, as he put it, “to constitute the words of a single 65

Lewis 1999: 311. Liu 1987: 2.37. 67 Thucydides 1928: 41. 66


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school” (cheng yi jia zhi yan ‫ګ‬ԫ୮հߢ).68 He sought this meaning in details and not, as he says, in “empty words”. That the details do not yield the clarity “of a single school” is perhaps a tribute to Sima Qian’s honesty and the vastness and complexity of the task before him. Or it might be that none of us, at least not the present writer, is the sage and princely man that he envisaged as his ideal reader.

68 Shiji 130.3319. The same desire is also expressed in Sima Qian’s letter to Ren An, see Hanshu 62.2735. I realize that by translating jia as “school”, particularly in this passage, I am stepping onto dangerous turf. It seems to me likely that Sima Qian’s use of the term is consciously following the usage established in his father’s essay, “Liu Jia Yaozhi” (The Essential Point of the Six Schools), although there is most certainly a pun here on the notion of “family”, see Nylan 1998-1999: 216. Kidder Smith has very carefully examined the term as it appears in Sima Tan’s essay and concludes that “Its referent is people with a particular ideology”, see Smith 2003: 148. It is in this somewhat restrictive sense in which I employ the word “school”.

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REFERENCES CITED Chavannes, Edouard (1895), Les Mémoires Historiques de Se-ma Ts’ien (Historical Memoirs of Sima Qian). Paris: Libraire d’Amérique d’Orient. Dosse, Francois (2000), L’Histoire (History). Paris: Armond Colin. Durrant, Stephen (1995), The Cloudy Mirror: Tension and Conflict in the Writings of Sima Qian. Albany: State University of New York Press. ̛̛̛ (1993), “With or Without Fathers? Ssu-ma Ch’ien, Ch’u Shaosun, and the ‘Table of the Generations of the Three Dynasties,’” in Proceedings of the Sixth Annual Academic Conference on Asian Clan Genealogies. Taibei: Lianjing. ̛̛̛ (1992), “Ssu-ma Ch’ien’s Conception of Tso Chuan”, in Journal of the American Oriental Society 112. 2 (1992), 295-301. Graham, A.C. (1989), Disputers of the Tao: Philosophical Argument in Ancient China. La Salle, Ill.: Open Court. Hall, David and Roger Ames (1987), Thinking Through Confucius. Albany: State University of New York Press. Hanshu ዧ஼ʳʻHistorical Records of the Han) (1962). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Hulsewe, A.F.P. (1993), “Shi chi”, in Loewe, Michael (ed.) (1993), Early Chinese Texts: A Bibliographic Guide. Berkeley: The Society for the Study of Early China and the Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, 405-414. Kern, Martin (2000), The Stele Inscriptions of Ch’in Shih-Huang: Text and Ritual in Early Chinese Imperial Representation (American Oriental Series 85). New Haven: American Oriental Society. Lewis, Mark Edward (1999), Writing and Authority in Early China. Albany: State University of New York Press. Liu Zhiji Ꮵव༓ʳ (1978), Shitong Tongshiʳ ‫׾‬ຏຏᤩΰComprehensive Explanations of Generalities on History). Shanghai: Guji Chubanshe Lloyd, G.E.R (2002), The Ambitions of Curiosity: Understanding the World in Ancient Greece and China. Cambridge et al.: Cambridge University Press. ̛̛̛ (1990), Demystifying Mentalities. Cambridge et al.: Cambridge University Press. Loraux, Nicole (1986), “Thucydide a écrit la guerre Péloponnèse, (Thucydide Wrote the Peloponnesian War)”, in Metis I.l (1986), 139-161. Lunyu: Liu Baonan ࡝ᇇἴ (1988), Lunyu Zhengyi ᓵ፿‫إ‬ᆠʳ ʻThe Correct Meaning of the Analects), Xinbian Zhuzi Jicheng ᄅᒳ壆՗ႃ‫( ګ‬The Newly Compiled Corpus of Philosophic Classics) edition. Shanghai: Guji Chubanshe. Mengzi: Jiao Xun ⛺ᕾ (1988), Mengzi Zhengyi ࡯՗‫إ‬ᆠʳ ʻThe Correct Meaning of the Mencius), Xinbian Zhuzi Jicheng ᄅᒳ壆՗ႃ‫ګ‬ʳ (The Newly Compiled Corpus of Philosophic Classics) edition. Shanghai: Guji Chubanshe. Nylan, Michael (2001), The Five ‘Confucian’ Classics. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. ̛̛̛ (1998-1999), “Sima Qian: A True Historian?”, in Early China 23-24 (19981999), 203-246. ̛̛̛ (1994), “The Chin Wen / Ku Wen Controversy in Han Times”, in T’oung Pao LXXX (1994), 83-137. Shankman, Steven and Stephen Durrant (2000), The Siren and the Sage: Knowledge and Wisdom in Ancient Greece and China. London and New York: Cassell. Shiji ‫׾‬ಖʳʻRecords of the Historian) (1959). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Smith, Kidder (2003), “Sima Tan and the Invention of Daoism, ‘Legalism’, et cetera”, in The Journal of Asian Studies 62.1 (2003), 129-156. Thucydides (1928), History of the Peloponnesian War, translated by C.F. Smith. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.


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Wang Guowei ‫ ׆‬ഏ ፂ (1983), Guantang Jilin ᨠ ഘ ႃ ࣥ (Collected Works of Guantang [i.e. Wang Guowei]). Shanghai: Guji Chubanshe. Wardy, Robert (2000), Aristotle in China: Language, Categories and Translation. Cambridge, New York, Melbourne: Cambridge University Press. Xunzi: Wang Xianqian ⥟‫ܜ‬䃭 (1988), Xunzi Jijie ಃ՗ႃᇞ (Collected Explanations of Xunzi), Xinbian Zhuzi Jicheng ᄅᒳ壆՗ႃ‫ګ‬ʳ (The Newly Compiled Corpus of Philosophic Classics) edition. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Zhang Dake ്Օ‫(ױ‬1985), Shiji Yanjiu ‫׾‬ಖઔߒʳ ʻA Study of Records of the Historian). Lanzhou: Gansu Renmin Chubanshe. Zhou Yutong ࡌ ղ ‫( ٵ‬1983), Jingxueshi Lunzhu Xuanji ᆖ ᖂ ‫ ׾‬ᓵ ထ ᙇ ႃ ʳ (A Collection of Writings on the History of Classical Studies). Shanghai: Renmin Chubanshe.

WHY HAS THE QUESTION OF TRUTH REMAINED AN OPEN QUESTION THROUGHOUT CHINESE HISTORY? Helwig Schmidt-Glintzer Introductory Remarks: Reality and Truth The question of truth, or, more precisely, of what is regarded as true, is closely interrelated with our perception of reality. Looking at these two intertwined issues, we will likely find no big differences among agrarian societies on the level of everyday life. This is not so on a higher level, however. It is thus not ungrounded to assume a specific “Chineseness” in dealing with the perception of reality and the question of truth. Generally speaking, we can observe that in the Western tradition the question of truth was decisively determined by the monotheistic belief system which was rooted in the Jewish and Christian religions. In contrast—and this is the main point of this paper—the question of truth can be said to have remained an open question throughout Chinese history. To elaborate on this thesis, I will first look at the Confucian notion of learning and briefly discuss the question of why Confucianism did not develop into a more consistent orthodoxy (Section I). In a second step, the focus of my remarks is on the religious foundation of political power in ancient China and the transformation process which was brought about by the so-called “waning of the gods” during the Eastern Zhou ࣟࡌperiod (Section II). The paper is rounded off by taking a look at the religious diversity in the Chinese Middle Ages (i.e., the period from the Han ዧto the Tang ାdynasty), which, in my view, greatly shaped the specifically Chinese way of dealing with truth claims. Let me start with a general remark on the perception of reality. Following an observation by Alexander Kluge, one can distinguish between experiences of the near or immediate past, on one side, and truly historical developments that transcend our sense of the near past, on the other.1 There is what may be termed a matter-of-fact attitude 1

See Kluge 1987: 9.

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HELWIG SCHMIDT-GLINTZER

towards perceiving and relating past experiences.2 Yet this matter-offact attitude is never a static factor of one’s mindset. Rather, it is always amalgamated with expectations, hopes, and wishes. Moreover, we should be aware of the fact that human beings, when confronted with certain events, tend to adopt a “counterfactual” attitude that negates, or blots out, reality. Such a negation of reality is certainly a constituent of our basic pursuit of leading a meaningful life. This relationship between perception and negation of experiences of the past may be called the dialectic of realism.3 Coming now to the Chinese concept of truth, there is a considerable variety of expressions relating to what is meant when we speak of “truth”, or “true”, as, for example, ke ‫ױ‬, “admissible”, i.e. of words, e.g. baima bu ke ma ‫್ػ‬լ‫( ್ױ‬a white horse cannot be called a horse); dang ᅝ, “fitting the fact”; zhen ట, “genuine”; cheng ᇨ, “sincere; actually”; ran ྥ, “so, i.e. of things being so”; ran bu ran ྥլྥ, “being so or not so”; shi ਢ, “is this, i.e. of a thing or state of affairs”; fei ॺ, “is not”; shifei ਢॺ, “being or not being this”; xin ॾ, “trustworthy”, i.e. in relation of words to the speaker’s thought. Admittedly, these expressions do not completely comply with the semantic range of “truth” or “true” in English. But can we infer from this that, as David Hall and Roger Ames have asserted, the ancient Chinese had a “lack of interest [...] in questions of ‘truth’ and ‘falsity’”?4 In my view, A.C. Graham and Christoph Harbsmeier are certainly right in pointing out that this is not the case.5 It is undeniable that in China, as elsewhere, a matter-of-fact attitude towards experiences of the past and the present has always been, and will continue to be prevalent. Moreover, considering the linguistic evidence, we should note that it is not only possible to affirm a fact in Chinese, but also to make “counterfactual” statements such as “Had it not been the case that ..., this or that would have occurred”.6 As pointed out by Conrad Schirokauer, the Confucian literati did not ask the Hegelian question, “How should philosophy be compatible with the history of philosophy?” For Hegel, this question implied an irresolvable dilemma, namely that philosophy is concerned with eternal truths, i.e. with what is true at every and any given point of 2

Kluge 1987: 8. Kluge 1987: 9. Cited after Graham 1989: 395. 5 See Graham 1989: 395. 6 See Graham 1989: 397. 3 4

THE QUESTION OF TRUTH

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time, while the history of philosophy deals with world views and concepts of truth in their permanent state of change and transformation.7 Nevertheless, we do find in China a specific attitude towards truth and historical change throughout history, albeit on a specific level of reflection. This is corroborated by the fact that in pre-Qin China the key question that was discussed among the philosophical schools was not “What is the truth?”, but rather “Where is the Way?”8

1. Learning, Rationality, and the Question of Orthodoxy In many respects, learning, including the reflection on what should be learned and taught, was central to traditional Chinese thought. Being a teacher in part meant acting as a moral example to transmit the understanding of human culture.9 Being experiential as well as cognitive, learning thus had a strong moral component. Moreover, the act of teaching and the performance of rituals provided learning with an intrinsically performative aspect. Running through all discussions revolving around education, a basic tension existed between two different goals of learning, namely “learning for one’s own sake”10 and learning in order to enter the civil service. In turn, this tension influenced the relationship between “learning” and “truth”—a relationship which was increasingly characterized by the utilitarian motivation of passing the examinations. This development drew sharp criticism from not a few scholars and stimulated criticism of the examination system in general. This critical attitude is highlighted by a remark of Zhu Xi ‫ڹ‬ᗋ (1130-1200): Scholars [shiren ՓԳ] must first make a distinction between the two [separate] things, the examinations and the learning, as to which to value as more weighty. If learning occupies seventy percent of the will, and the examinations, thirty percent, then it is all right. But, if the examinations are seventy percent, and learning is thirty percent, then one will surely be defeated [by being focused on external reasons for

7

Schirokauer 1990: 46. See Graham 1989: 3. 9 See Walton 1999: 11. 10 Lunyu 14.25. 8

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learning, rather than the self]; how much more if the will is entirely set on the examinations!11

In view of the specific Chinese approach to dealing with the question of truth, the discussions about the goals of learning cannot be treated separately from yet another field of intellectual history, which may be circumscribed by the two notions of “skepticism” and “religious beliefs”. This field was also characterized by tensions which existed, from early times onwards, between “enlightened”, or skeptical, minds and those who propagated certain religious beliefs.12 The reason for these tensions, which are abundantly reflected in historical records, lies in the early rationalization process brought about by the rivalry among the contending states during the Warring States period. In the sphere of religion, this development resulted in what has been termed “the waning of the gods” (see below). In turn, this waning contributed to easing the tensions between diverging religious claims. Political order in traditional China, however, remained based on religion. As early as the conquest of the Shang/Yin ೸௚ dynasty by the Zhou ࡌ in the eleventh century B.C., the latter’s claim to power was secured by the invocati of “Heaven” as a supreme deity that superseded all the Shang/Yin ancestral deities. This religious foundation of the political order also determined the relationship between ruler and subject, or, more specifically, ruler and minister—a relationship that has become a main focus of the recent debate over the “Axial Age” in China.13 Against the backdrop of this relationship, we should see the emergence of the historiographer or historian, who was charged with keeping the registers of the ruling house, recording the words and actions of the rulers, and, most importantly, establishing the claims of their ancestors.14 In the Book of Odes (Shijing ᇣᆖ) ancestor worship is still depicted in the form of communal meals at which the ancestors were represented by living family members as, for example, in Ode no. 209 “Chu Ci” ᄑಅ.15 In contrast, during the Eastern Zhou period (from the middle of the eighth century B.C.), we see a turning away 11

Zhuzi Yulei 13.243, translated by Walton 1999: 13. On the following, see among others Schmidt-Glintzer and Mittag 1998. 13 See Shaughnessy 1993: 41-72. 14 Schmidt-Glintzer 1995: 91-107. 15 Shijing, Ode 209; cf. Karlgren 1950: 161-163. For an in-depth analysis of this Ode, including a translation, see Kern 2000. 12


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from the ancestors,16 a result of increasing rationality and the replacement of the ancestor cult by the state cult. In ancient China the king acted as the highest worshipping priest, who had to confirm his status by blood sacrifices, especially on the occasions of setting out for campaigns and hunting.17 These occasions were therefore of crucial importance. No wonder that the ruler’s offering of sacrifices on the Altar of the Soil (she ष) and in the ancestral temple became a custom which was maintained until the end of the imperial system in 1911.18 All these rituals were aimed at constructing and confirming hierarchies and enhancing integration. Thus, for a long period, there was both a hierarchy in the sacrifices offered and at the same time limitations to their number and extension.19 Such hierarchization, however, did not lead to the establishment of one single deity that superseded all other deities. The pantheon remained the way it was and hence the issue of truth remained unresolved. The unsettled issue of truth had decisive consequences: orthodoxy did not develop and, above all, claims to validity could only be based on tradition.20 In this context, Kwang-ching Liu has raised some interesting questions, which for reasons of limited space can only be discussed very roughly. “Was there”, Liu asks, “some doctrine of Confucianism that was accepted by all its major traditions and schools, and, moreover, enforced by political authority in late imperial China?” And, moreover, is it possible “to define the doctrine behind society’s central values, a doctrine that was not only based on the ancient Confucian classics but was also sanctioned by imperial and kinship authorities?” And finally, “Was there an orthodoxy, ethical or religious, that was not only decreed to be doctrine by the state but in fact widely accepted in society?”21 Whereas Kwang-ching Liu contrasted religious diversity and moral orthodoxy, Wm. Theodore de Bary speaks of an “orthodox tradition” as “a life-style, an attitude of mind, a type of character formation, and a spiritual ideal that eluded precise definition (italics are mine, 16

von Falkenhausen 1994: 1-12. See on this topic Lewis 1990; Kleeman 1994: esp. 186. There was of course resistance against the sacrificial practices in early times, and, e.g. at the time of Liang Wudi ඩࣳ০ (r. 502-549 A.D.), blood sacrifices were even abolished; see Kleemann 1994: 187, note 6. 19 See Kleeman 1994: 209. 20 On this issue, see Liu 1990. 21 Liu 1990: 2. 17 18

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HSG].”22 On account of this characterization, it seems worth considering replacing the notion of “orthodoxy” by that of “orthopraxy.”23 Orthopraxy provided the basis for the coexistence of “religious diversity with moral orthodoxy”24 that shaped late imperial China, despite the triumph of a bureaucratically-enforced indoctrination of the people. This led to the emergence of some sort of “orthodoxy” in late imperial times, which, however, was not explicitly voiced but was conveyed through primary socialization and practiced social mores. 2. The Waning of the Gods and the Reinterpretation of Sacrifices25 From oracle bone inscriptions dating from the late second millennium B.C., we know that there existed the notion of shangdi Ղ০ as a supreme deity. But neither this notion, nor the Western Zhou notion of “Heaven” (tian ֚), led to a monotheistic concept. On the contrary, there remained a “religious diversity”, although the existence of spirits was occasionally doubted.26 This accounts for the fact that the complex relationship between human beings and spirits and between this world and the beyond has been a frequent subject of reflection in China, even to the present day.27 No wonder that Westerners were often surprised by the Chinese ability to combine scepticism with orthodox practices. An example of this ability is provided by the attitude of scholars and literati towards divination in theory and in practice.28 Thus, the existence of gods and spirits was not denied, and neither were they rejected or replaced, they simply “waned” (in German: “verblaßten”).29 Yet the “deprivation of deities and natural spirits” 22

See de Bary 1975: 24. See Schmidt-Glintzer 1983; Chen 1990: 27-52. On this, see Liu 1990. 25 See on this Schmidt-Glintzer 1999: 271-290. 26 Early sceptic and agnostic traditions in China as seen by a religious historian are summarized in Thrower 1980. 27 In this context we find reflections about “atheism”, e.g. in the collection Zhongguo Wushenlun Sixiang Lunwen Ji (1980) which itself must be seen in the context of “Don’t Be Afraid of Ghosts” (bu pa gui լࢢ೒) campaigns among the masses in the 1970s. See Zhongguo Wushenlun Sixiang Lunwen Ji 1980; Wang Yousan 1982; Wushenlun yu Zongjiao Yanjiu Luncong 1987. 28 See Graham 1989: 396. 29 Bauer 1995: 147-155. 23 24


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was not substituted by the “deification of the ruler”.30 The deities and spirits remained and functioned as guarantors of the limitation of worldly power, of the king or—after the unification of the empire by Qin Shihuangdi ఻ࡨ઄০ in 221 B.C.—of the emperor as well as of the bureaucracy, and therefore all attempts of rulers to deify themselves remained unsuccessful in the end.31 It is in this context that we should see the development of a “dual image” of the Chinese emperor and, in addition, the mechanism behind the election of emperors as “a system of acceptance”.32 As to the former issue, the “dual image”, which was cultivated by the Manchu emperors in particular, resulted from the fact that the emperor adopted the role of the Son of Heaven for the Chinese, while in the eyes of non-Chinese peoples settling within the borders of the empire he was a god.33 As to the latter issue, suffice it to say that the emperor was totally dependent on ritualized performances to achieve consensual acceptance. In the course of time the system was modified by the introduction at court of bureaucratic and ritualized etiquette of high complexity. In spite of the fact that the supernatural was notoriously being renounced, the educated elite continued to entertain an innermost relation with the supernatural and the world of gods and spirits.34 It was the social context, however, in which the individual was entwined. In combination with the distance from gods and deities, the impersonality of heaven, and the individual’s social or group orientedness, this was a contributory factor in the inability of the Chinese emperor to gain greater control, not to speak of total control, over his subjects, and the educated elite in particular.35 As Wang Fu ‫׆‬ฤ(fl. 120-160 A.D.) wrote in his Qianfu Lun ᑨ֛ᓵ, only the wise man (xianzhe ᔃୃ) can perform sacrifices

30 The gods remained integrated in worldly activities, and especially in the process of the legitimation and distribution of power. This integration, however, was intertwined with a reciprocal relationship. Thus the “waning of the gods” was accompanied by the experience of their limited influence and power, see Hansen 1990. 31 See Schmidt-Glintzer 1990: 58-65. 32 I borrow this term from Egon Flaig, who described the system of acceptance (“Akzeptanzsystem”) in the legitimating of Roman emperorship. See Flaig 1992: esp. 174. 33 See Farquhar 1978; Franke 1978. 34 This can be regarded as generally accepted by intellectual historians of China; it is also reflected in Lopez 1996. 35 Kleeman 1994: 199.

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successfully.36 Only from him will the spirits accept the sacrifice and repay it or reward it accordingly, since for him the performance of the sacrifice means self-cultivation, thus making self-cultivation the core element of all sacrifice. In this manner the literati (shi Փ) could demonstrate to the rulers their alliance with supernatural powers, a factor that, at the same time, militated against completely overcoming the belief in spirits.37 At this point—and Max Weber speaks of the fundamental entanglement of the literati class with things magical— there is a basic difference between Christian and occidental thisworldly asceticism, on the one hand, and the educated Confucian official’s accommodation to the world, on the other.

3. Religious Truth Claims and the Coexistence of Different Modes of Explanation Apart from the stratum of Confucian thought, there were other currents in Chinese intellectual history which were concerned with the question of truth, in particular Buddhism. Thus, third- and fourthcentury Chinese Buddhist texts abound with views about truth and illusion. A text of central importance for the conception of the individual in Chinese Buddhism is Zong Bing’s ࡲ੢(375-443 A.D.) “Exposition of Buddhism” (“Mingfo lun” ࣔ۵ᓵ), dated 433 A.D.38 Contemplating the individual in the turning of the karmic wheel, this text provided a new basis for the relation of truth and history: Life is not consummated in a lifetime, it hands its impulse down. Following (the line of births) into the past no initial point is reached. (Following into the future) one generation replaces the other and there is also no end. ... This limitless space, this endless time, surely, man crosses it along the chain (of incarnations) and spreads himself out in it. Therefore, (even before the sûtras) there was no doubt that we live in Chixian ߧᗼ [i.e. the phantastic Middle Kingdom խഏ of Zou Yan ም૜], inside the Eight Poles. Now (we are told that) there are three thousand suns and moons displayed (in the megacosmos), that twelve thousand worlds are distributed (in space); that if one grinds to dust the 36

Kleeman 1994: 200. That the officers also saw themselves as a threat is amply demonstrated in a fragment attributed to a legalistic thinker Shen Buhai ‫ع‬լ୭ (fourth century B.C.), in which the scholar (shi) is portrayed as a dragon. See Creel 1974: 363-364. 38 Translation by Liebenthal 1952: 375. The text is transmitted in the collection Hongming Ji ‫ࣔؖ‬ႃ. See Schmidt-Glintzer 1976; Keenan 1994; Makita Tairyô 1973. 37


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earth of countries as numerous as the sand of the Gangâ River, so many kalpa there are, as there are dust-particles; (in such an enormous universe) all that creation contains appears minute, unable to fill it. (Since the world is so full of wonders anyway) why, then, do you distrust (Indian tradition) while believing in our own? A gossamer thread and the ocean in which it has fallen can still be compared; but the (Confucian) rules covering social relationships are so trivial in comparison with the Great Void (of the Buddhists!) that words cannot express the difference. Therefore, what the world calls great is small with dao ሐ; what people call far is near with Heaven. People say: What existed before the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi ႓০), how far, how hazy it is! But, seen from the height of the Heavenly Course, it happened yesterday. The Book of Documents (Shangshu ೸஼) goes not back beyond Tang ାand Yu ᇄ (i.e., Yao ໯ and Shun စ), and yet this time is called remote; the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu ਞટ) register nothing more ancient than affairs between the Kings.39

As the individual could conceive of his or her own role in a broader perspective, a new world of thought and imagination was opened up. This had far-reaching consequences for the change and transformation of what was perceived as real or imagined and hence for the concept of truth. A hallmark of the Chinese Middle Ages, the diversity and complexity of religious traditions and belief systems constitute a preeminent subtext of Chinese culture. To properly “read” this subtext, we need to look into the philosophical and religious debates between Buddhists, Daoists and Confucians, as well as the discussions within the individual traditions. These debates and discussions were caused by the rivalry between different religious movements, which constantly required the provision of proof of their efficacy with regard to a well-ordered state. The influence of this particular debating culture remained, even after the increased bureaucratization of the empire that has rightly been attributed to the late Tang ା (618-907) and the Song ‫ݚ‬dynasties (960-1279). A case in point is the public dispute which even obviously faked omens as the “Heavenly Letters” (“Tianshu” ֚஼) during the Northern Song dynasty aroused.40 The same is true for the efficacy of certain deities.41

39

Liebenthal 1952: 380. On the case of the “Heavenly Letters”, see Schmidt-Glintzer 1981: 1-14. 41 Hansen 1990. 40

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Throughout these debates we can observe that statements and assertions were proposed which differed even to the degree of contradiction, yet coexisted and were treated as equally valid. The same phenomenon can be observed in Chinese Buddhism, particularly in Buddhist historiography.42 Thus, the legacy of religious complexity which evolved during the Chinese Middle Ages must be regarded as a major reason for the failure of a consistent and widely accepted concept of truth to develop. It should be noted, however, that there were certain tendencies towards a higher level of rationality, which matured during the Song dynasty. A case in point is Ouyang Xiu ᑛၺଥ(1007-1072), who in evaluating the credibility of historical accounts invokes the principle of “reason” (li ෻), or “reasonableness” or “common sense”, in order to purge “from his revised histories nearly all traces of superstition or myth”.43 Dismissing the latter as “inconsistent with reason” (bu he yu li լ‫࣍ٽ‬෻)44 or “unknown to the eyes and ears of us Chinese”,45 Ouyang held that the unvarnished report of events comes closest to truthful historical account.46 But this point of view was always contaminated with subjectivity. This is particularly evident when looking at the histories of the Chan and the Tiantai Buddhist schools of the tenth to the thirteenth centuries. Therein, Chinese history is dealt with from the viewpoint of the spread of Buddhist teachings and, more specifically, from the viewpoint of the spread of that Buddhist school or teaching tradition which was assumed to be the “correct” (zheng ‫ )إ‬one. There are similar phenomena with regard to the Confucian tradition. Here textual criticism was additionally inspired by the rise of printing, which had a great impact on approaches to the question of authenticity. Without a doubt, textual criticism gained a new

42

See Schmidt-Glintzer 1982. Buddhist historiography was addressing itself not only to adherents of Buddhism but towards a broader public. There was, of course, disagreement and much of polemic and historical criticism in Buddhist historiography. See Schmidt-Glintzer 1982; Kieschnick 1997. 43 See Davis 2001: 204. 44 Xin Wudai Shi 10.107, 67.844. 45 Xin Wudai Shi 59.711, 63.794-96; Davis 2001: 204. On these new critical tendencies, see also Freeman 1972. 46 Freeman 1972: 352.


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momentum with the invention of printing and its spread throughout the empire, in the Song period.47 From this time onwards, the dominance of official historiography was shattered and “private historiography” became increasingly important.48 Nevertheless, the fundamental attitude towards “truth” did not change significantly. It was only that the historian became less concerned with the questions of legitimization which had dominated Chinese historiography for so long.49

Concluding Remarks In the realm of human life there has never been such a thing as absolute truth. Thus, my thesis at the outset of this paper was that in China the experiences of the immediate past and of historical developments were mediated in a specific way, one which was different from other cultures, and that this had consequences for the handling of the question of truth in history and historiography. That even today truth remains an open question becomes evident when we look at media policy in the People’s Republic of China.50 Thus, Zhou Enlai’s ࡌ஑ࠐ(1898-1976)maxim, “Be loyal to facts, be loyal to true principles”,51 as well as Mao Zedong’s ֻᖻࣟ(18931976) slogan, “Seek truth from facts” (shishi qiushi ኔࠃ‫ޣ‬ਢ)—a slogan which was still in vogue in the 1990s—both implied a certain standard of objectivity, to which appeal was constantly being made. In the words of Cheng and Tong, “The socialist news profession … must provide for people objective realistic views, to be helpful to people to penetrate these views of objective life and recognize the basic nature of society and its era.”52 Distinguishing between “three notions of objectivity” coexisting in the news media in present-day China,53 Kevin Latham pointed out 47

See Cherniack 1994; Schmidt-Glintzer 1994; Lee 2004. See Schmidt-Glintzer 1994a. Schmidt-Glintzer 1995. 50 See Latham 2000. In what follows I rely heavily on this article. 51 Cheng M. and B. Tong (1993), Xinwen Lilun Jiaocheng (A Course in News Theory), Beijing: Zhongguo Renmin Daxue, 178, quoted after Latham 2000: 639. 52 Quoted after Latham 2000: 639. 53 Namely (1) “the reporting of facts”, (2) “the seeking truth from facts … in which there is ultimately only one socialist truth which is valid”, and (3) “the notion of objectivity found also in Western media as an imperative to impartial reporting by the inclusion of multiple perspectives”, see Latham 2000: 641-642. 48 49

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that, instead of showing the different sides of a story in the media, it is imperative for Chinese journalists “to take the overall national picture into account and the importance of everyone’s greatest fear: chaos (luan ႖”).54 This leads me to my last point, namely that in Chinese history and historiography the question of truth is tantamount to the question of what one regards as “China”. Thus “Chinese” history might from the very start be false in the eyes of the non-Chinese population in China. This holds true especially for the main tendency in Chinese historiography, which is so much concerned with the centralized state. Although there have always been centrifugal tendencies and claims for a growing importance of the regions,55 repeated efforts were made to control the whole empire from the center. Those rulers who were successful in these efforts have been termed “transactional” leaders.56 Zhu Yuanzhang ‫ڹ‬ցᑾ, the founder of the Ming dynasty (r. 13681398), and Mao Zedong are regarded as the most striking examples of such leaders.57 It was they who relied on history, more than on any other means, to legitimate their claims to power.

54

Latham 2000: 649. The increasing role of local deities can be regarded as part of a retardant process of secularization but should at the same time be seen as a reflection of the growing distance between local elites and the central government. On this, see Weller 1996. 56 On the differentiation between the transactional and the transformational type of leader, see Lampton 1986: 295. 57 See Andrew and Rapp 2000. I will leave it open to discussion whether or not the ideal of the cakravartin, i.e. the “wheel-turning king” (falun wang ऄᔚ‫)׆‬, which was, e.g., pursued by Kublai Khan (r. 1260-1294) (see Franke 1978), implied a tendency toward “transactional” leadership. 55


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Keenan, John P. (1994), How Master Mou Removes Our Doubts. A Reader-Response Study and Translation of the Mou-tzu li-huo lun. Ithaca: State University of New York Press. Kern, Martin (2000): “Shi jing Songs as Performance Texts: A Case Study of ‘Chu ci’ (Thorny Caltrop)”, in Early China 25 (2000), 49-111. Kieschnick, John (1997), The Eminent Monk. Buddhist Ideals in Medieval Chinese Hagiography. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Kleeman, Terry F. (1994), “Licentious Cults and Bloody Victuals: Sacrifice, Reciprocity, and Violence in Traditional China”, in Asia Major 3rd series, vol. VII.1 (1994), 185-211. Kluge, Alexander (1987), Theodor Fontane, Heinrich von Kleist und Anna Wilde. Zur Grammatik einer Zeit (Theodore Fontane, Heinrich von Kleist and Anna Wilde. On the Grammar of an Age). Berlin: Wagenbach. Lewis, Mark Edward (1990), Sanctioned Violence in Early China. Albany: State University of New York Press. Lampton, David (1986), Paths to Power: Elite Mobility in Contemporary China. Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan. Latham, Kevin (2000), “Nothing but the Truth: News Media, Power and Hegemony in South China”, in The China Quarterly 163 (Sept. 2000), 633-654. Lee, Thomas H.C. (ed.) (2004), The New and the Multiple. Sung Senses of the Past. Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press. Liebenthal, Walter (1952), “The Immortality of the Soul in Chinese Thought”, in Monumenta Nipponica 8 (1952) 3, 327-397. Liu, Kwang-ching (ed.) (1990), Orthodoxy in Late Imperial China. Berkeley, Los Angeles and Oxford: University of California Press. Lopez, Donald S. Jr. (1996), Religions of China in Practice. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Makita Tairyô ड‫ض‬ᘥॽ (1973-75), Gomyôshû kenkyû ‫ࣔؖ‬ႃઔߒҏ (Research on the Hongming Ji), 3 vols. Kyôto: Kyôto Daigaku Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyûjo. Shaughnessy, Edward L. (1993), “The Duke of Zhou’s Retirement in the East and the Beginnings of the Minister-Monarch Debate in Chinese Political Philosophy”, in Early China 18 (1993), 41-72. Schirokauer, Conrad (1990), “Chu Hsi’s Einstellung zur Geschichte (Zhu Xi’s Sense of History)”, in Schmidt-Glintzer, Helwig (ed.) (1990), Lebenswelt und Weltanschauung im frühneuzeitlichen China (Social World and World Views in Early Modern China). Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag, 45-54. Schmidt-Glintzer, Helwig (1999), “Atheistische Traditionen in China (Atheistic Traditions in China)“, in Niewöhner, Friedrich and Olaf Pluta (eds.) (1999) Atheismus im Mittelalter und in der Renaissance (Atheism in the Middle Ages and Renaissance). Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 271-290. ̛̛̛ (1995), “Herrschaftslegitimation und das Ideal des unabhängigen Historikers im mittelalterlichen China (Legitimation of Rulership and the Ideal of the Independent Historian in Medieval China)”, in Oriens Extremus 38 (1995), 91107. ̛̛̛ (1994), “Die Authentizität der Handschrift und ihr Verlust durch die Einführung des Buchdrucks (Authenticity of Handwriting and its Loss due to the Implementation of Book Printing)“, Epilog in Twitchett, Denis (1994), Druckkunst und Verlagswesen im mittelalterlichen China (The Art of Printing and Publishing Culture in Medieval China). Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 79-103. ̛̛̛ (1994a), “Die Modernisierung des historischen Denkens im China des 16.-18. Jahrhunderts und seine Grenzen (Modernization of Historical Thinking in


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Sixteenth and Eighteenth Century China and Its Border Regions)”, in Küttler, Wolfgang, Jörn Rüsen et al (eds.) (1994), Geschichtsdiskurs. Band 2: Anfänge modernen historischen Denkens (Historical Discourse. Vol. 2: Origins of Modern Historical Thinking). Frankfurt a.M.: Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag, 165179. ̛̛̛ (1990), “Der Erste Gottkaiser von Qin (The First God-Emperor of Qin)“, in Ledderose, Lothar und Adele Schlombs (eds.) (1990), Jenseits der Großen Mauer. Der Erste Kaiser von China und seine Terrakotta-Armee (Beyond the Great Wall. The First Emperor of China and His Terracotta Army). GüterslohMünchen: Bertelsmann Lexikon Verlag, 58-65. ̛̛̛ (1983), “Viele Pfade oder ein Weg? Betrachtungen zur Durchsetzung der konfuzianischen Orthopraxie (Many Paths or One Way? Meditations on the Interspersion of the Confucian Orthopraxy)”, in Schluchter, Wolfgang (ed.) (1983) Max Webers Studie über Konfuzianismus und Taoismus. Interpretation und Kritik (Max Weber’s Study of Confucianism and Daoism. Interpretation and Critique). Frankfurt a.M.: suhrkamp taschenbuch wissenschaft, 298-341. ̛̛̛ (1982), Die Identität der buddhistischen Schulen und die Kompilation buddhistischer Universalgeschichten in China. Ein Beitrag zur Geistesgeschichte der Sung-Zeit (Identity of Buddhist Schools and the Compilation of Buddhist World History in China. A Contribution to the Intellectual History of Song Times) (Münchener Ostasiatische Studien Band 26). Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner. ̛̛̛ (1981), “Die Manipulation von Omina und ihre Beurteilung bei Hofe—Das Beispiel der Himmelsbriefe Wang Ch’in-jos unter Chen-tsung (regierte 998-1023) (Manipulation of Omens and their Evaluation at the Court—The Example of the Heavenly Letters of Wang Qinruo under Zhenzong (reigned 9981023))”, in Asiatische Studien/Études Asiatiques XXXV,1 (1981) 1-14. ̛̛̛ (1976), Das Hung-ming chi und die Aufnahme des Buddhismus in China (The Hongming Ji and the Reception of Buddhism in China) (Münchener Ostasiatische Studien Band 12). Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag. Schmidt-Glintzer, Helwig and Achim Mittag (1998), “Aufklärungshistorie in China? (Enlightenment Historiography in China?)“, in Blanke, Horst Walter et al. (eds.) (1998) Dimensionen der Historik. Geschichtstheorie, Wissenschaftsgeschichte und Geschichtskultur heute. Jörn Rüsen zum 60. Geburtstag (Dimensions of Metahistory. Theory of History, History of Science, and Historical Culture Today. A Festschrift for Jörn Rüsen on the Occasion of his 60th Birthday). Köln, Weimar, and Wien: Böhlau. Thrower, James (1980), The Alternative Tradition. Religion and the Rejection of Religion in the Ancient World. The Hague: Mouton. Walton, Linda A. (1999), Academies and Society in Southern Sung China. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Wang Yousan ‫֖׆‬Կ (1982), Zhongguo Wushenlun Shigang խഏྤ壀ᓵ‫׾‬ጼ (A Draft History of Atheism in China). Shanghai: Shanghai Renmin Chubanshe. Weller, Robert P. (1996), “Matricidal Magistrates and Gambling Gods: Weak States and Strong Spirits in China”, in Shahar, Meir and Robert P. Weller (eds.) (1996), Unruly Gods. Divinity and Society in China. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 250-268. Wushenlun yu Zongjiao Yanjiu Luncong ྤ壀ᓵፖࡲඒઔߒᓵហ (Contributions to Atheism and the Study of Religions) (1987) edited by the Study Group on Atheism in China. Chengdu: Sichuan Daxue Chubanshe.

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PART TWO

HISTORICAL COMMENT AND HISTORICAL CRITICISM

CRITERIA OF HISTORICAL JUDGMENT Jörn Rüsen 1. Two Perspectives Criteria of historical judgment occur in a comparative work of historiography in two perspectives. First of all they are effective in historiographical texts and in other manifestations of historical culture of the material compared. There is no historical thinking without normative elements or values which are used to make sense of the experience of the past. The past is not in itself already history, but it becomes history by an interpretation, and every historical interpretation uses criteria of judgment to develop a perspective of significance in which the experience of the past has to be moulded into the narrative feature of history. These criteria stem from the cultural context of the historians and their addressees. One can speak of a normative input into the empirical evidence of the past in order to transform it into history. This, however, is a one-sided perception. The historians do not simply invent these normative criteria, they take them from the cultural context of their lives and in this context the sense-generating principles are not only a matter of subjective work but a matter of pregiven contexts as well, contexts within which this work is pursued. History is a mirror of time in which the present can perceive its features. It is a medium of self-reflection by which people obtain an idea of themselves in a temporal perspective which combines memory with expectation; it is a synthesis of facts and norms, unified by the mental procedure of historical narration. There are no mere norms to be distinguished from mere facts in the field of historical culture, but a pre-given synthesis of both; in a reflective perspective, however, they become artificially divided to obtain an epistemological insight into the very specific mode of historical thinking. The second perspective is that of analyzing and interpreting historical works in a comparative perspective. Here criteria of judgment play a role as well. But are they equivalent to the works compared? As long as the comparison itself is done in a historical way one cannot deny that there are at least similarities. The question

134

JÖRN RÜSEN

therefore has to address the very criteria of historical judgment that are specific for this similarity and differ from others. In the discussion below I will not follow the epistemological path of my initial argument, but will explicate different kinds of normative criteria which have been used to judge the past to give it an historical meaning and to characterize the effect of these criteria in the work of historians. In a second step I will analyze the criteria of judgment which are used for the purpose of historiographical comparison. The argumentation is done in a very abstract and generalizing way, since I want to propose basic and comprehensive normative points of view for intercultural comparison which meet the present day situation. 1 This situation is characterized by the necessity of global perspectives in the theory of history and historiography, which enable the historians to meet the challenges of historical orientation in the globalization process. This necessity gives rise to ponder on global concepts in historical thinking on the one hand, and ideas and concepts of cultural difference and individuality on the other hand. By discussing the tension between generalization and individualization the comparative work in historiography becomes an element of practical historical orientation today; thus criteria of judgment are used for its own purpose. By doing so the discussion of criteria of judgment itself becomes an effective element in the cultural practice of historical judgment today.2

2. Criteria of Judgment in Doing History To compare criteria of judgment in an interculturally convincing way, one has to start with the inbuilt criteria of pre-given manifestations of historical thinking in different countries and at different times. There is no way of doing history without using criteria of success and failure, which always have a normative dimension. Historical judgment means confronting the experiences of the past—“what actually happened” (“wie es eigentlich gewesen”)—with the norms of present-day life in order to give this experiences a meaning which enables people to gain a perspective of their lives. The value system of present-day life has to 1 2

Rüsen 1996: 5-22. Rüsen 1999.

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be filled with historical experience to make it plausible in coming to terms with the topical experience of temporal change and to obtain a realistic perspective of the future. History brings normative elements of human life down to earth, into the shape of time filled by the experience of the past. It mediates norms and experiences through the means of narration. It realizes its synthesis of values and experience in the mental procedure of telling a story. In their historical manifestation values and moral elements can be identified and described in both a functional and a structural perspective. Criteria of judgment play a decisive role in the success and failure of historical consciousness when orienting its subjects in the temporal dimension of their lives. Here they have a practical function. In a structural perspective, the criteria decide about the way the past is presented as history and receives its specific shape as a historical narrative which can fulfil its functions of orientation. Both modes of criteria interfere when historical consciousness is thematized as communicative process. There is no communication without regulating rules. The communication about and through history, and the functional criteria of judgment, require structural criteria to render this communication effective.

a) Function Looking at the function of historical thinking in human life one can identify and distinguish the following criteria of historical judgment: Criteria which relate one’s own life-experience and expectations to the experience of the past. It is through this relationship that the past acquires significance and meaning for the practical use of those standards in the cultural practice by which ideas of temporal change influence human activity. The past is presented as a mirror in which both the life-situation of the present and its future perspective become visible and understandable. Criteria of judgment which endow people with solid self-esteem. In this respect history functions as a means to be used in the power game which people have to play in order to become recognized by others. Here the criteria of judgment become essential elements of solid concepts of belonging with others to the same people (group, region,

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religion, nation, culture, gender etc.). This concept mediates the different members into a solid collective identity. Such a concept shaped by criteria of judgment draws a line between the realm of the life of one’s own people and the life of others and serves as a means of regulating communication among them.

b) Structure Structural criteria of judgment are essential for the narrative coherence of historical thinking, its explanatory plausibility, its claims for truth and its integration of experience and empirical evidence. They allow judgment to become an element of the narrative interconnection between the events of the past which posit historical judgment. The best example of this ‘functioning within the narrative logic of historical sense-generation’ is the slogan that “World history is Doomsday” (“Die Weltgeschichte ist das Weltgericht”).3 In medieval historiography one finds examples where the historical report prefigures the Last Judgment (according to the medieval concept of the fourfold meaning of events). I do not think that all the principles which constitute the narrative structure of history can be explained as criteria of judgment, but we cannot even think of these criteria without an essential relationship to the mental procedures and principles of normative and value-guided judgment. The best example of judgment as a constitutive factor of narrative coherence on the basis of the logic of historical thinking is the concept of historia vitae magistra. Here normative judgment is the essence of the meaning of history. “History is philosophy told by examples”— Lord Bolingbroke’s slogan illustrates the constitutive and comprehensive role of judgment in this kind of historical thinking, since ‘philosophy’ means pragmatic philosophy, philosophy which presents rules of human conduct.

3

Literally in Friedrich Schiller’s Poem “Resignation” from 1784, verse 85; elaborated more philosophically in Hegel 1830: § 548.


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c) Communication This is communication by history where functional and structural criteria of historical judgment meet. This communication is the way in which history is brought about in the life of a society in the very specific form of cultural practices. By communicating in the realm of historical culture, the parties to this communication confirm and debate or criticize and change their value system. They use normative principles of human conduct to pursue this communication and while doing so they apply or critically relate them to the values and norms within the subject matter of the history communicated. The German historians’ debate (“Historikerstreit”), for instance, reflected topical issues of the political culture of Germany in the 1980s by discussing the concepts of interpretation to be applied to the history of the Third Reich. This essential relationship between a reflection of normative elements of practical life on the one hand and the content of the narratives which dominate historical culture on the other hand can be easily exemplified with respect to the principles of legitimacy of political domination. Every political system of domination needs legitimacy, the willingness of the dominated to accept it, or—in Max Weber’s words—to be ready to follow commands. This legitimacy, naturally, always is a matter of confirmation and critique. There is no legitimacy without legitimating master narratives. Historical culture is the place where this confirmation and critique always occur. Here the criteria of legitimacy become elements of historical narration as well as elements of shaping these narrations, of rhetoric, morality or basic religious beliefs. The archetypal position of the historian in Chinese historical culture indicates this communicative role of historical thinking: to the left and to the right of the emperor, with the task of recording his actions, his speeches and conversations. Both are done within the framework of an established political and moral value system. This communicative role of historical thinking makes historians simultaneously important and dangerous for politicians: they may be rewarded or thrown into prison.

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3. Criteria of Judgment in Comparing Historical Cultures Since comparative work in historiography is committed to the same principles as any work in the field of history, it follows the same criteria of judgment that I have described above. Nevertheless, there is a specific problem in the comparative approach. Since cultural difference is a matter of historical culture, cultural difference has its effects on comparative work. What does this mean? First of all one has to be aware of any hidden criteria of judgment, which may exist if the whole issue of historical sense generation is not thoroughly reflected with respect to its roots in the context of presentday life. One cannot assume that history is the same in all different cultures of the world. Indeed, we are aware of the contrary. The character of historiography and historical thinking has not only changed in general but also has history of one’s own culture changed substantially; this is the case with different cultural traditions all over the world. Comparison then raises the question of its parameters. Western historiographical tradition takes these parameters for granted in modern historical studies, especially in its modern version as academic discipline. If this character of modern academic thinking is seen as essential for history, it is possible to look at different cultures and come to the conclusion that there has not been a remarkable development of historiography and historical thinking. This has been the case in India. But this presupposition is, of course, highly problematic as it follows a thoroughly ethnocentric logic of practising history: The paradigm of one’s own culture is valid, and any deviating paradigm is judged according to its similarity or difference to one’s own. This easily leads to historical judgment which ascribes to the culture of non-Western societies an ‘a-historical’ quality.4 The same is the case with respect to very old ways of making sense of the experience of time. In order to avoid this misleading conceptual prejudice one has to reflect the criteria of judgment in intercultural comparison in such way that the paradigm of one’s own culture is not awarded paradigmatic status, but appears as one case beside others in a comprehensive framework of interpretation and understanding. This framework recognizes differences even with regard to the logic of 4

Wolf 1986.


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sense generation of the experience of time which can be called ‘historical’ with a cross-culturally valid meaning. Is this possible? If the possibility of this kind of thinking is bound to a neutral standpoint beyond culturally different contexts, the answer to this question is clearly no. But what kind of alternative does there exist? I think that one has to look for an inbuilt universality in historical thinking, wherever it occurs,—a universality which is substantially interconnected with the question of truth. Every historical narrative makes claims for truth. The logic of these claims is universal. If it is possible to pick up this universalism of truth and give it a form in which it is valid for all modes of history, then there is a chance of developing a conceptual framework for intercultural comparison which brings culturally different criteria of judgment into view without subrogating them under one culturally specific criterion. It would be going too far to elaborate the whole issue of anthropological universals in historical thinking and the question of truth in history. But it can be shown that both elements of historical thinking, the inbuilt universalism and the claim for truth, can lead to a historical comparative approach which recognizes cultural difference in such a way that it is neither negated in favor of an abstract universalism (which normally is a generalized peculiarity, mainly of the West) nor favors one cultural peculiarity at the expense of others. The main points of this argument are the following: Intercultural comparison should be conceptualized and practiced as an element of communication which is ruled by the regulative idea of mutual recognition of differences. The work of comparison has to be put into a dynamic of argumentation of which the result cannot be described in advance (according to the validity of its criteria of judgment). At the same time this communication has to be conceptualized into a hypothetical perspective of cross-cultural development. Such a perspective has to be shaped by this principle of mutual recognition of differences and its logical presupposition, the idea of equality applied to human subjectivity where historical judgment, the ‘source’ of its criteria, is grounded. These arguments are very abstract because they are about principles. One may doubt whether they will achieve anything with respect to the concrete work of comparison in historical studies.

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In order to avoid this distance between principles and concrete historical work the reflection of the criteria of judgment in historical comparison should go back to the working criteria in the conventional work of historians and make clear how these criteria can be conceptualized, so that they correspond to the very abstract regulative rules of equality and mutual recognition of differences. The starting point here is the truth claims of historical thinking as elaborated in the course of modernizing rationalization of history into historical studies as an academic discipline as rules of historical research. Here truth has become a matter of empirical evidence, of methodical rationality and of theoretical and practical coherence of narrative argumentation.5 The essence of criteria of judgment is the functional criteria of solid historical identity and the related criteria of sound narrative coherence. Here judgment is a matter of conceptualizing historical identity in its double relationship: to one’s own self and togetherness and at the same time to the otherness of the others. For me, the only valid criterion of judgment in this double respect is the regulative idea of mutual recognition of differences (which includes the regulative idea of equality). Doing comparative work in historiography implies first of all a reflection of the guiding concepts. This reflection should be committed to the regulative idea of equality and mutual recognition and has to apply this idea to the methodical procedures of historical interpretation. To fulfil this demand, it is befitting to combine meta-historical with empirical research. The best approach is to make it an element of this research itself. In this case theoretical and methodological reflection can become a stimulus to comparative historical work, and can be compared to the spices in a soup, which make it edible and tasty.

5

Rüsen 2000: 57-66.


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REFERENCES CITED Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich (1830, 1817), Encyclopädie der philososphischen Wissenschaften im Grundrisse. Zum Gebrauch seiner Vorlesungen (Encyclopedia on the Philosophical Sciences). Heidelberg: Oßwald; Berlin: Norrmann. Rüsen, Jörn (2000), “Historical Objectivity as a Matter of Social Values”, in Leerssen, Joep and Ann Rigney (eds.) (2000), Historians and Social Values. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 57-66. ̛̛̛ (1999), “Kua Wenhua Bijiaoshixue de Yixie Lilun Quxiang ሀ֮֏ֺለ‫׾‬ᖂऱ ԫ ࠄ ෻ ᓵ ᝟ ‫( ٻ‬Some Theoretical Approaches to Intercultural Comparative Historiography)”, in Wei Gelin ᠿ௑ࣥ (Susanne Weigelin-Schwiedrzik) and Shi Naide ਜરᐚ (Axel Schneider) (eds.) (1999), Zhongguo Shixueshi Yantaohui: Cong Bijiao Guandian Chufa Lunwenji խഏ‫׾‬ᖂઔಘᄎΥൕֺለᨠរ‫נ‬࿇ᓵ ֮ ႃ (Chinese Historiography Conference: A Collection of Essays from a Comparative Perspective). Taibei: Daoxiang Chubanshe, 151-176. ̛̛̛ (ed.) (1999), Westliches Geschichtsdenken. Eine interkulturelle Debatte (Western Historical Thinking. An Intercultural Debate). Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. ̛̛̛ (1996), “Some Theoretical Approaches to Intercultural Comparison of Historiography”, in History and Theory 35 (1996), 5-22. Schiller, Friedrich (1784), “Resignation (Resignation)“, in Hegel (1830), § 548. Wolf, Eric R. (1986), Die Völker ohne Geschichte. Europa und die andere Welt seit 1400 (Peoples Without History. Europe and the Other World since 1400). Frankfurt a.M.: Fischer-Verlag.

SOME NOTIONS OF HISTORICAL JUDGMENT IN CHINA AND THE WEST Kai Vogelsang “Historical judgment” is a notoriously elusive term. All but omnipresent in historical discourse, it has never been precisely defined, and historians continue to use it in a variety of different ways. It is used differently again by sinologists, for whom the term is of considerable importance, since it touches the very core of Chinese historical thought. Twin children of historical consciousness, Chinese history and historical judgment have always been inextricably linked.* Taking the term “historical judgment” as a point of departure, this study will outline some notions of history in pre-modern China and compare these with views of (Chinese) history entertained in the West. In doing so in just over twenty pages, it is necessarily generalizing, perhaps even recklessly so. But the outline is by no means intended to describe the theory of history, either in China or the West, but only one possible view among others: a view that disregards the distinction between historical record and historical judgment, that blends fact and fiction and focuses on history as a literary artefact. This conception of history, although clearly apparent in both traditional Chinese and Western thought, has only recently made its appearance in sinology. The present study aims to show that it may afford a particularly appropriate view of Chinese history and yield fruitful insights that coincide well with time-honored Chinese ideas.

The Paradox of Historical Judgment The roots of historical judgment may be found as early as Western Zhou times, when the custom of assigning posthumous names to rulers evolved, names expressing their bearers’ reputation and offering * This is the expanded version of a short paper delivered at the conference “Chinese Historiography and Historical Culture in a Comparative Perspective”, hosted by Helwig Schmidt-Glintzer, Achim Mittag, and Jörn Rüsen at the Herzog August Bibliothek in Wolfenbüttel (2001). I am grateful to Hans van Ess, Michael Friedrich, and Hans-Jürgen Goertz for their cogent and insightful comments. Of course, mistakes of fact or reasoning are entirely my own responsibility.

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an evaluation of their performance. Mostly, they were laudatory ones like “Cultured King” (Wen wang ֮ ‫ )׆‬or “Martial King” (Wu wang ࣳ ‫)׆‬, extolling the main virtues of able rulers. But they might also be unflattering, like “Benighted King” (You wang ৩ ‫) ׆‬, or downright derogatory, as in the case of the last rulers of the Xia and Shang whose posthumous names were Jie ௐ and Zhou થ, “Henroost” and “Crupper”—both referring to things which were utterly soiled in nature. Full-fledged historical judgment entered the scene with the Chunqiu, the ancient chronicle of the state of Lu which is traditionally ascribed to Confucius. In this work, the master supposedly bestowed “praise and blame” on the events he recorded by subtle differences of wording. Therefore, although the rulers of Wu and Chu called themselves kings, the Chunqiu blamefully calls them viscounts. Whereas the Zhou Son of Heaven was actually summoned to the meeting at Jiantu, the Chunqiu conceals it, stating that ‘the Heavenly King held a reception at Heyang’. If the meaning of the Chunqiu is put into practice then the empire’s ‘rebellious ministers and villainous sons will be struck with terror’.1

Historical judgment obviously was not to be taken lightly. The last sentence especially, taken from the Mengzi, makes Confucius seem less like a historian and more like a judge. It may be more than just coincidence that Confucius is said to have been minister of justice at one time,2 that in the Zhuangzi it is said that he had “wilfully created right and wrong” ᖐ ‫ س‬ਢ ॺ (shan sheng shi fei)3 and that in early Han times the Chunqiu seems to have been used as a handbook for lawsuits.4 Historical judgment, it seems, was not so much directed at the past but at the present or even the future, its impact was certainly perceived by the contemporaries. To be sure, the theory of “praise and blame” has not gone unchallenged, and the question of how the Chunqiu is to be read remains unresolved.5 Be that as it may, moral judgment remained an integral part of Chinese historiography ever after. Already in the Zuozhuan, 1

Shiji 47: 1943. The last sentence quotes Mengzi ࡯ ՗ 3B9. I follow the translation of Legge 1991: 283; Chinese text: 284. 2 Shiji 47: 1915, 1917. 3 Zhuangzi Jishi 29: 992. 4 Namely through the Chunqiu Jueyu ʳ ਞʳ ટʳ ެʳ ጂ attributed to Dong Zhongshu ʳ ᇀʳ٘ʳင (176–104 B.C.). 5 For two contrasting contributions to the debate, see Kennedy 1964; Gassmann 1988.

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possibly the oldest commentary on the Chunqiu and certainly China’s first narrative history, occasionally passed judgment on its dramatis personae through the words of a “gentleman” or Zhong Ni ٘ ‫؍‬, Confucius himself.6 Those judgments in the Zuozhuan and other pre-Qin texts may be regarded as the model for the type of judgments that were appended to entire chapters in the dynastic histories of later times. “Taishi gong yue” ֜ ‫ ׾‬ֆ ֳ (“His honor, the Grand Historian says”): this is how such judgments are introduced in the Shiji, while later histories would write “shichen yue” ‫ ֳ ۝ ׾‬or simply “lun yue”ʳᓵʳֳ or “ping yue” ေ ֳ (“judgment”). 7 The most striking example of historical judgment is met in the second of the dynastic histories, the Hanshu, chapter 20: it consists of an enormous table listing more than 2000 personalities from remote antiquity up to the Han dynasty. They are all neatly classified into nine categories, ranging from “sage” to “fool”. Here, world history indeed became a world tribunal.8 To be sure, the table was occasionally criticized by Chinese scholars—on grounds such as: one person should have been rated higher, another lower, or the span of time covered was too big and the characters used in the table too small. But never was the employment of historical judgment itself seriously questioned.9 But—is this historical judgment at all? As mentioned above, this is not a technical term, and one may well distinguish half a dozen meanings for it.10 What seems to be opinio communis among modern historians, however, is that judgments based on subjective values do not qualify as historical judgments. Rather, “historical judgment is a methodologically controlled way of assigning historical phenomena a certain meaning”.11 It is a statement about the significance of historical phenomena that is their 6 These comments probably constitute a younger layer of the Zuozhuan text that was added to older narrative passages, see Henry 1999. Comments attributed to a “gentleman” (junzi ‫ ܩ‬՗) also appear in other early texts containing historical anecdotes such as Guoyu ഏ ፿, Hanfeizi ឌʳॺʳ՗, and Yanzi Chunqiu ஶ ՗ ਞ ટ. 7 Koh 1957: 40-41. 8 Unger 1969. 9 See Koh 1957: 47-48. 10 Baumgartner 1975: 49-50. Baumgartner enumerates: (1) statements of fact, (2) explanations and interpretations thereof, (3) evaluations and value judgments, (4) judgment of sources, (5) judgment of theories, and (6) judgments concerning a theory of history as a whole. All of these, according to Baumgartner, are aspects of historical knowledge. 11 Sellin 22001: 42. As genuine historical judgments, Sellin accepts such on causality and on the effectiveness of historical actions as measured against the actors’ intentions, see Sellin 22001: 40–41.

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“significance within history, in relation to other historical units”. 12 This is the clincher: the criteria of historical judgment may not be the historians’, they must be immanent in history. This is quite distinct from the kind of judgment found in Chinese histories, judgment that relates historical events or personalities to a normative system that the historian himself believes in. It also differs significantly from Western ideas of history current as late as the eighteenth century. Until then, history was conceived of as a reservoir of instructive stories: historia magistra vitae. The historian was a teacher, and value judgments were part and parcel of his profession.13 In the dawn of modernity, this was to change. The term “history” itself took on a different meaning.14 Firstly, it became a collective singular, combining the sum of single histories into an autonomous whole. No longer “history of X”, grammatically and logically dependent on a subject, “history itself” became the precondition for all histories. 15 Secondly, its two formerly separate aspects—“past events” and the knowledge and narration thereof—merged into one. “History” acquired the twofold meaning of res gestae and historia rerum gestarum. Henceforth, the past and its representation always referred to one another, they became inseparable. This semantic shift laid the ground for a process in which, step by step, value judgments were to be banned beyond the confines of history. Whereas didactic history was tied to single histories that were wont to repeat themselves, “history itself” was not repetitive. Its events were unique, there was nothing to be learned from them. In fact, the future course of history was unpredictable; and because of that it can be planned and must be planned: history became manageable, man, for the first time, could make history.16 History, then, became the product of human action, something quite separate from man himself: an object that could be contemplated at a distance (and indeed, history was perceived as increasingly distant 12

Faber 41978: 165, 170. Koselleck 42000: 38–66, esp. 59–60. 14 Koselleck 1975: 647-58. Koselleck, of course, refers primarily to the German term “Geschichte”; but given the decisive impact of early German historicism on all of Western historiography, the focus seems justified for the purposes of the present study. 15 Droysen (41960: 354) puts it aptly: “Above the histories, there is history.” 16 Koselleck 42000: 61. Koselleck points out that the overwhelming power of autonomous history and its manageability paradoxically enhance one another: with every new plan for the future, additional uncertainties are created; with every new uncertainty, in turn, new plans are called for. 13


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from the present). This separation of observer and observed, doubtless inspired by ideas of modern science, endowed historical events with the quality of facts that can be examined. 17 Leopold von Ranke’s decree that a historian should not judge but merely show the facts was a first signpost pointing towards the adulation of facts in history. 18 Historians were to entirely efface themselves, allowing the sources to speak for themselves. History itself was to determine the pattern for “objective” historiography. The latter became, as it were, just a different state of the former: res gestae translated into historia rerum gestarum. Ranke, be noted, wanted to bridge the gap: the merging of the historian and his sources into one was his precondition for historical understanding. It was the intrusion of positivism—a decidedly unRankean development—that finally brought subject and object apart. Later historicists like Buckle or Lamprecht would treat “historical facts” as an object strictly outside the viewer; just like chemists or physicists, they would analyze them instead of narrating them: historicism had entered its scientific state. 19 Henceforth, it was understood that historiography was to be “free of values”20 and that “moral judgments on individuals [are] not within the competence of the historian to pronounce: ‘The historian is not a judge, still less a hanging judge’”.21 This has been the dominant view throughout much of the last century, among historians as well as sinologists. In the age in which Chinese history was established as an academic discipline throughout much of Europe, it has contributed decisively to sinological views 17

Goertz 1995: 81-84. Significantly, he distinguishes this stance from other histories that had been written up to his day. His celebrated utterance, of which usually only the last part is quoted, runs: “One has assigned history the office of judging the past, of instructing contemporaries for the benefit of future years; the present essay does not aspire to such high offices; it only wants to show how it actually has been”, Ranke 1868–90, vol. 33/34: VII. 19 And, one may add, its self-contradictory stage. The unbridgeable separation of subject and object undermines the core assumption of historicist hermeneutics, namely, that only the similar can understand the similar. This contradiction arguably accounted for a good deal of what came to be called the “crisis of historicism”, see Jaeger and Rüsen 1992: 61–64. 20 This demand was given its classic expression by Weber 1988. To be sure, Weber consistently put the word “objectivity” in quotation marks: he knew well that this goal was hardly attainable. 21 Carr 41990: 77. Carr quotes the last sentence from D. Knowles, The Historian and Character 1955: 4–5, 12, 19. 18

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concerning Chinese historiography. This conviction led renowned scholars like Otto Franke to state that “the Tsch’un ts’iu may be a purely annalistic work as far as its format is concerned, but in terms of meaning and intention it is not an historical chronicle at all, but a textbook in state ethics”. 22 Burton Watson called the Zuozhuan “a handbook of moral cause and effect, a system of divination”,23 and— the most unkindest cut of all—the Shiji has been labelled an “ambitious piece of Imperial propaganda”. 24 In other words, the greatest Chinese works of history are not histories at all. Of course, this outright rejection of Chinese historiography was not shared by the majority of sinologists. Yet the question remained: what to make of this history-writing imbued with moral judgments? Historiography that not only states what is, but also what ought to be? One remedy seemed to be the differentiation between supposedly “objective” parts, in which the historian narrates the “facts”, and those in which he passes judgment; in the words of Homer H. Dubs: The classical Chinese conception of history has been that it is a record of events. The interpretation of events, which is today considered the main function of the historian, would have been rejected by classical Chinese historians as something quite distinct from history. For such an interpretation must be subjective, whereas history, as such, was expected to be entirely objective. … Chinese historians were however human, so could not refrain from stating their judgments. But they distinguished these judgments from the strictly ‘historical’ parts of their works by introducing them under special rubrics.25

In a similar vein, Edwin G. Pulleyblank wrote: The work of the [Chinese] historian was to compile a set of documents which would speak for themselves rather than to make an imaginative reconstruction of past events. … At the same time, from the point of view of the modern historian using Chinese historical works as sources, it has great advantages. Material preserved only in what would

22

Franke 1925: 301. In a similar vein, A. von Rosthorn (1919: 15) considered the Chunqiu “not as an historical, but as a philosophical work. … Had Confucius wanted to be an historian, he would have assembled more plentiful material and given more extensive information”. 23 Watson 1965: 47-48. 24 Brooks 2001. 25 Dubs 1946: 29. See also Fritz Jäger (1955: 17) who wrote that “Chinese theory differentiates within the great work [Shiji] on the one hand such parts, in which the historiographer objectively ‘narrates the events’ (xushi), and on the other hand those in which he ‘makes deliberations’ (yilun), thus stating his personal opinion”.


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otherwise have to be regarded as secondary works can be treated as primary…26

Something remarkable had taken place. First, there was the conviction that emotive statements and value judgments do not belong in historical accounts. Then, it was noted that such judgments are in Chinese historical works nicely separated from the narrative parts. This, strangely enough, led to the belief that all subjective elements are contained in the former, whereas the latter are free of judgment and thus entirely “factual” or “objective” and in perfect correspondence to the reality of the past. Here, then, was historiography at its best, a pristine image of the past, untainted by the historian’s flights of fancy.27 A paradox: the Chinese have the best of histories, and they have the worst of histories, they speak only lies and nothing but the truth. These seemingly incompatible points of view are actually based on the same underlying assumption (or, rather, illusion), namely that language is able to accurately represent reality; that language is transparent, as it were, and “through” words we look at the things themselves. It is the creed of realism: if only the historian finds the right words, voilà, we have an objective, lifelike reconstruction of the past. This view presupposes “a sharp separation between knower and known, between fact and value, and above all, between history and fiction. Historical facts are seen as prior to and independent of interpretation”. 28 This is a decidedly Western view, more precisely, the predominant view of the Western historical profession over the past century. Although it has come under attack in recent years, it remains firmly entrenched in the minds of many historians.29 Is it an adequate point of view for research into Chinese history, however? There is an obvious self-contradiction to the views on Chinese history outlined above. If historical judgments may not refer to the historian’s own frame of reference but only to that of history, then 26

Pulleyblank 1964: 150. Cf. Noel Barnard’s (1973: 487) observation: “It is a strange phenomenon that a number of Western sinologists should tend to regard the writing of history in China as an activity quite unlike that in other cultural spheres, and the Chinese Historian should be regarded with awe—a paragon of virtue who might gaily embellish his writings with stereotyped phraseology as a means of creating the atmosphere he considers appropriately relevant to an event or personage but who would never tamper with fundamental data or fact.” 28 Novick 1988: 1-2. 29 On the “aggressors” Hayden White, Frank Ankersmit, Michel Foucault, and Radical Constructivists, see Goertz 2001. The conservative reaction is epitomized by Evans 1997. 27

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historiography, too, should be analyzed on its own terms rather than judged by alien standards. Yet approval or disapproval of Chinese works of history for their display or lack of objectivity are grounded in nothing but the modern Western views of what history should be: a realistic representation of the past. Whereas beliefs, actions, and values are granted historicity and judged accordingly, historiography itself is treated as ahistorical. This will not do. Canons of criticism appropriate to modern history may be entirely irrelevant to Chinese historiography’s nature and purposes. It is both unfair und misleading to apply them without further qualification. Rather, it should be questioned whether Chinese historians ever aspired to “show how it actually has been”. It may turn out that they had entirely different intentions. In what follows, I will try to show what history could also have meant to Chinese historians and consequently suggest a somewhat different view of their historiography.

History and Truth Chinese history, from a very early stage on, seems to have served didactic purposes. In the Guoyu, we read that “Yangshe Xi was versed in the Chunqiu; thereupon he was summoned and employed to teach Prince Biao”. 30 And the tutor to the Prince of Chu was given the advice: “Teach him the Chunqiu, and you will arouse the good and suppress the evil in him, thereby cautioning and encouraging his mind.” 31 Of course, these passages can hardly be taken as solid evidence for the events of the sixth century B.C. that they claim to describe (the existence of a Chunqiu of any state whatsoever at that time is probably anachronistic). It can, however, be taken as evidence for what seemed plausible at the time the Guoyu was written, that is during the Warring States period.32 It was understood that works of history were taught, namely to princes. But what they were to learn from history, it appears, was not a series of past events but rather ethical lessons that “aroused the good and suppressed the evil”. Historia magistra vitae: for obvious reasons, such works of history 30

Guoyu 13: 445; the episode is ascribed to the reign of Duke Dao ൧ (r. 572–558 B.C.). 31 Guoyu 17: 528; the episode is dated to the reign of King Zhuang of Chu ᄑʳ ๗ʳ ‫( ׆‬r. 613–591 B.C.). 32 This, at least, seems to be the opinio communis; cf. Loewe 1993: 263–68.


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could not describe the past in all its repugnant details. Rather, they had to be edited ad usum delphini: leaving out unsuitable material, perhaps adding appropriate details or even falsifying the facts. The master himself, Confucius, has provided us with some instructive examples of such tampering with history. Commenting on the patently untrue Chunqiu statement that the “Heavenly King held a reception at Heyang” although he actually was summoned there, the Zuozhuan quotes Zhong Ni as saying: The case of a subject summoning his ruler cannot be used for instruction. Therefore the book says: ‘The Heavenly King held a reception at Heyang’. It expresses that it was not the right place and also illustrates virtue.33

James Legge rightfully comments that “in this chuen we have a remarkable admission by Confucius himself, that he misrepresented facts, relating events not according to the truth of his knowledge”.34 The point is, he never pretended to.35 For ancient Chinese historians it was not the mimetic representation of past reality that was at issue, but the elucidation of good and evil. A grand scribe of Jin achieved fame by falsely accusing Zhao Tun of having murdered his ruler—and Kongzi commented: “Dong Hu was a good scribe of olden times, he wrote exempla [shu fa ஼ ऄ] without concealing.”36 The key word is exempla (fa): not the brute facts were written down, but something that “could be taught”, for “if the writing is not exemplary, what would there be for the descendants to look to?”37 Taking this thought one step further, one may argue that narrative was secondary and supplementary; in principle, it was read not for its own sake but as part of an approach to principles expressed 33

Chunqiu Zuozhuan Zhu, Xi 28: 473. Legge 1991a: 212. Liu 1981. Liu states that only eggheads would say that history should be written in a straightforward manner, whereas Confucius just wanted to provide instructive examples. 36 Chunqiu Zuozhuan Zhu, Xuan 2: 662. The expression shu fa ஼ ऄ is usually translated as “rule for writing”, or “rules of recording” although the following parallel sentence makes clear that it should be understood as verb and object: “Zhao Xuan was a good nobleman of olden times, for sake of the exemplum (wei fa ੡ ऄ) he accepted disgrace.” The same understanding is evident in Liu Zhiji’s summary of two famous incidents described in the Zuozhuan: ࣏ ᇀ ध հ ஼ ऄ Ո Δ ‫ ࣍ ق א‬ཛ Ι ত ‫׾‬ հ ஼ მ Ո Δ ച ១ ‫( ࢓ א‬Jiu Tangshu 102: 3169). In both sentences, ஼ is clearly a verb, followed by the objects ऄ and მ, respectively. For the origin of the notion of “rules for writing”, cf. the short note by Lü Simian 1982: 1285. 37 Chunqiu Zuozhuan Zhu, Zhuang 23: 226; Guoyu 4: 153. 34 35

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otherwise … a reader must always return from the material of history to judgments of particular events and, more generally, to the moral philosophy of a single observer.38

This intention may be detected in the narratives of the Zuozhuan and the Guoyu, and it becomes abundantly evident in the anecdotal treatment of history in Warring States texts such as the Hanfeizi or Lüshi Chunqiu. It would seem that ancient Chinese history was not concerned with truth as such, but with “acceptable truth”, it was not about facts, but about good and bad examples. It ultimately served the state—its princes and its ministers—and “the state is never concerned with truth, but only with the truth that is useful for itself, more precisely, with everything that is useful for itself, be it truth, half-truth, or error”.39 The truth will render service to nobody. But did this not change in later times? Did not Sima Qian’s Shiji revolutionize Chinese historiography and set the tune for most subsequent works? Does his book not, though subject to criticism in many details, make scrupulous, critical use of sources and give a sober and overall reliable account of the past?40 In a word: was it not a shilu ኔ ᙕ, a “veritable record?” The culprit is Ying Shao ᚨ ᬐ (ca. 140-206 A.D.). It was he who first explained the word shilu in the Hanshu as “meaning that it records the facts of the matter [shishi ࠃ ኔ]”.41 But the very fact that the word required explanation goes to show that the matter is not that clear and simple. In fact, it is rather opaque. The Shiji was first called a shilu by Yang Xiong ཆ ႂ (53 B.C.-18 A.D.) in a cryptic statement: ៪ ଣ ਼ ᅬǄ᳄Ψゟ џǄᎺ ⇣˛ ᳄Ψક 㯏Ǆ໾ ৆ 䙋˛ ᳄Ψ ᆺ 䣘Ǆ Someone asked about the Zhouguan.—‘It establishes the affairs.’ The Zuoshi?—‘Pinzao.’ The Grand Scribe Qian? —‘Shilu.’42 38

Schaberg 2001: 164. Nietzsche 1954, vol 1: 360. 40 For criticism on the Shiji’s account of the Qin reign, cf. Twitchett and Fairbank 1986: 94–102. Such criticism presupposes that Sima Qian actually wanted to report accurate facts, that his work was not “anecdotal and literary” and thus such “tendentious or improbable episodes … quite likely were added anonymously to the Shiji after Sima Qian’s time for ideological reasons“, Twichett and Fairbank 1986: 91. 41 Hanshu 62: 2738, note 10. The term shishi is well attested in the meaning “facts of the matter;” cf., for example, Hanshu 25 B: 1251, 30: 1715; Sanguo Zhi 4: 152. 42 Fayan Yishu 15: 413. 39


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That is all. No further comment, no hint as to the meaning of the word. The same is true for the term pinzao by which the Zuozhuan is pithily characterized. Both terms appear here for the first time in received Chinese literature. They are usually understood as meaning “moral criticism” and “veritable record”, labelling “praise-and-blame” and disinterested historiography, respectively.43 But perhaps the matter is not quite that simple. Of course, the two expressions should be understood as opposites. But is moral criticism really the first thing that comes to mind when thinking about the Zuozhuan? And does not the Shiji pass explicit judgments as well? A closer look at the two terms would seem to be called for. Originally, zao is the name of a plant and, by extension, it means “ornate, elegant”.44 It is used in this sense at least half a dozen times in the Fayan. Shi, on the other hand, is used by Yang Xiong not only as an antonym to ming ‫ټ‬, “names”, but equally often in opposition to hua ဎ, “blossom, flowery”. In this sense, it may be rendered as “kernel” or, by extension, “essence, simplicity”.45 Zao and hua are evidently synonymous, in fact, they appear twice in conjunction, huazao, in the Fayan.46 Shi, then, would appear as the natural antonym, not only to hua but also to zao. This would make the Zuoshi, in Yang Xiong’s words, “very ornate”, 47 and the Shiji “a concise record”—not an opposition of fiction and fact, but of a rhetorically elaborated and a succinct, unadorned text.48 This reading fits well with the tone of the Fayan, in which the contrast of outward refinement and inner substance is a leitmotiv. 43 Cf. the translation of Zach 1939: 41: “Das Tso chuan kritisiert die guten und schlechten Eigenschaften der Beamtenschaft. … Sein Werk (das Shiji) ist eine wahrheitsgetreue Darstellung der Ereignisse” or that of Koh 1957: 10: “Tso Ch’iu-ming behandelt die wertmäßige Beurteilung und der Großhistoriograph Sima Qian stellt die wahrheitsgetreue Aufzeichnung dar.” 44 Zhongwen Da Cidian vol. 8: 208. 45 This opposition is already to be found in Warring States texts; cf. Hanfeizi Jijie 3: 20: ߢʳႉʳֺʳᄶʳᖻʳʿ੉ʳ੉ʳ㞳ʳʳ㞳ʳʳྥʳʿঞʳߠʳ‫א‬ʳ੡ʳဎʳۖʳլʳኔ “If words are pleasant and smooth, fluent and graceful, they are regarded as ornate and unsubstantial.” 46 Fayan 10: 222, 17: 491. 47 This follows Wang Rongbao’s explanation of the term (Fayan 15: 415); Wang, in his turn, refers to the Shuowen ᎅ ֮ definition of pin as “numerous, plenty”, which may well have been current in Yang Xiong’s times. 48 Just a side thought: the Dutch theoretician of history Frank R. Ankersmit pointed out in his book Narrative Logic “that the term ‘truth’ cannot count for narratives”, one cannot say of them “that they are true or untrue, but only, that they are fruitful or unfruitful, according to whether one is enabled by them to ‘see’ a context in the past”, quoted from Lorenz 1997: 137. Would it be too bold, then, to translate shilu as “fruitful record?”

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It was Ban Gu ఄ ࡐ (32-92 A.D.) who took up Yang Xiong’s expression in his celebrated critique of the Shiji. It ends with the words: But Liu Xiang49 and Yang Xiong, [having studied] an extremely vast amount of writings, both claimed that Qian had the qualities of a good scribe: they acknowledged that he well arranged the line of events; distinct and unadorned [bu hua], substantial but not vulgar, his style was straightforward, his subject matter well researched; he did not nullify good nor conceal evil: therefore they called it a shilu.50

Ban Gu’s words allow for both interpretations of shilu: as “veritable record” (not nullifying good nor concealing evil) but also as “concise record” (unadorned, substantial, and straightforward). 51 A genuine concern with brevity in historiographical works also becomes evident in later critiques such as that by Zhang Fu ് ᎖ (3rd c.): In [Sima] Qian’s writings, events are dealt with by sparing use of words. The events of 3,000 years are narrated in only 500,000 words. Ban Gu, however, narrates the events of 200 years in 800,000 words: the economy of words is the first point in which he is not the equal of [Sima] Qian. … Thus, in describing rhetoricians [like Su Qin and others], his words are ornate [zao], flowery [hua], and lavish; but narrating a shilu, the concealed is researched and names examined: this is why [Sima] Qian is called a good historian.52

“Sparing use of words”, it seems, was considered an important criterion of good historiography. And again, we see shilu set off by contrast to zao and hua. Apparently, the Shiji lives up to its reputation as a shilu exactly in those passages where its language is not adorned or effusive. These are also the passages in which words are well considered, passages to which much research (Zhang Fu uses the same word as Ban Gu: he ு) has been devoted. Perhaps the distinction 49 The original statement by Liu Xiang Ꮵ ‫( ٻ‬c. 79–6 B.C.) seems not to have survived. 50 Hanshu 62: 2737. Whereas this passage is ambiguous as to whether it was Liu Xiang and Yang Xiong who called the Shiji a shilu or Ban Gu himself, it becomes clear in the paraphrase of Sanguo Zhi 13: 418: “When Sima Qian recorded events, he did not nullify good nor conceal evil. Liu Xiang and Yang Xiong acknowledged that he well ordered the events and that he had the qualities of a good scribe, calling [the Shiji] a shilu.” 51 The word shi is used in a variety of ways in the Hanshu. As a noun, it is mostly opposed to ming, “names”, or xuʳ ဠ, “empty”. The opposition of shi and hua (“fruit” vs. “blossom”) is also very frequent, and there are at least three instances of metaphorical usage of shi in the sense of “essence”, see Hanshu 22: 1055, 56: 2510, 72: 3087. 52 Jinshu 60: 1640.


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even refers to narrative sequences as opposed to (rhetorically organized) speeches. In any case, the shilu would seem to come down to the gist, or rather, the kernel of the matter. This corresponds well to the metaphoric usage of the words shi and he which both mean “kernel”, the core or essence of things. It may be noted that this kernel is never explicitly opposed to something untrue; but the idea, of course, suggests itself that the heart of the matter corresponds to the truth of the matter. The above quotations indicate that both notions were implicit in the expression shilu; combining aesthetic as well as epistemological intensions, the word was ultimately ambiguous. This ambiguity must have been perceived by Ying Shao, who felt a need to comment on the expression. The influence of his decision was far-reaching: Ying decreed that the term meant “veritable record” or “factual record”, and scholars of later ages have taken this for granted. In retrospect, the ideal of a shilu seemed to have set the standard for a new kind of objective, purely factual historiography, and the Shiji appeared to truthfully represent past events. This idea proved especially irresistible for Western historians: here was historicism’s “eunuch-like objectivity”,53 embodied by the castrated Sima Qian. As a matter of fact, the concept of true or factual historiography seems to have been alien to Sima Qian and his contemporaries. Of course, he was the first Chinese historian to discuss his sources and make claims about their reliability.54 But this is certainly not the same as checking whether their contents are true.55 Kaoxin ‫ ॾ ە‬is the word used by Sima Qian, not kaoshi ‫ ە‬ኔ.56 Indeed, xin, “trustworthiness, reliability”, seems to have been the most prominent epithet for historiography in Han times. The Guliang Zhuan, commenting on a passage in which the Chunqiu gives two different dates for the death of a ruler, says: “The righteousness of the Chunqiu consists in transmitting as reliable what is reliable and transmitting as doubtful what is 53 Cf. Droysen 41960: 287: “Wachsmut … erhebt sich zu dem Ausdruck: ‘entwunden allen Banden der Nationalität, allen Lockungen und Ansichten der Partei, des Standes, aller Befangenheit durch Glauben, frei von Vorurteilen und von Affekten, außer dem für die Wahrheit und Tugend, sine ira et studio bildet er ein Werk für die Ewigkeit’. Ich danke für diese Art eunuchischer Objektivität.” 54 Cf. for example Shiji 1: 46, 3: 109, 86: 2538, 95: 2673. On the issue, cf. the paper by Stephen Durrant in this volume. 55 Note that Sima Qian stresses the proximity of ancient scripts, his ultimate source of knowledge, to what is right (jin shiʳ२ʳਢ, Shiji 1: 46, 67: 2226), not to what is true. 56 Shiji 61: 2121. In this point, I do not agree with Christoph Harbsmeier who holds that kaoxin is “a pretty exact equivalent” of “the Greek word historeô ‘inquire into the truth of’”, see Harbsmeier 1995: 66-67.

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doubtful. … Not knowing the day of death, it gives two days which include it.” 57 Interestingly, the same wording is applied by Chu Shaosun ፻ ֟ ୪ (c. 104-30 B.C.) with regard to contradictory passages in the Shiji concerning the miraculous birth of two mythical figures, Xie and Hou Ji: “It transmits as reliable what is reliable and it transmits as doubtful what is doubtful: therefore it speaks of them twice.”58 Apparently, “reliability” comes into play exactly at the point where something is patently untrue, namely when two statements are mutually incompatible. This becomes even more obvious in the Gongyang Zhuan where the Chunqiu is called a “reliable history” (xinshi ॾ ‫) ׾‬, not although but because it gives a wrong account. When someone pointed out the error to him, Confucius allegedly replied: ‘I know that very well.’ Someone standing by his side then asked: ‘If you knew it, why didn’t you correct it?’ He spoke: ‘What do you care about things you don’t understand!’ Thus the Chunqiu is a reliable history!59

Quite obviously, xin does not mean “truth”. In classical texts, it means “trust, trustworthiness, reliability, honesty” as a virtue in friendship. The Mozi defines it thus: “Honesty: when words match the intention.”60 This is revealing: words refer to an intention, not to an external reality. In the vocabulary of semiology: the signifier is to match the signified, but not the referent. Thus the Chunqiu is reliable/honest, no matter what really happened. The question of truth is irrelevant. To be sure, the concepts of trust and truth are closely related (the English words “trust” and “truth” even derive from the same etymon), and the former may give rise to the latter. But for Han historians they were still quite distinct; what was trustworthy did not have to correspond to reality. This being said, it does not come as a surprise that Sima Qian checks the reliability of his sources, not against reality but against the 57 Chunqiu Guliang Zhuan Buzhu, Huan 5: 91. This argument may be traced back to a passage in Xunzi: ॾʳॾʳΔॾʳՈʳΔጊʳጊʳΔٍʳॾʳՈ “To rely on what is reliable makes for reliability; to doubt what is doubtful also makes for reliability“, see Xunzi Jishi 6: 97. 58 Shiji 13: 505. 59 Gongyang Zhuan ֆʳ‫ے‬ʳႚ, quoted from Chunqiu Jingzhuan Yinde Zhao 12: 376. Cf. also Gentz 2001: 95–101. The notion of a “reliable history” may be related to the topos that scribes (shi ‫ )׾‬were to expound reliability (chenxinʳຫʳॾ) to the spirits; cf. Chunqiu Zuozhuan Zhu, Huan 6: 111, Xiang 27: 1133, Zhao 20: 1416; also Guoyu 7: 253. 60 Mozi Yinde 40: 65/l, 5; cf. Unger 2000: 95.


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Six Disciplines.61 They were the ultimate yardstick of reliability, not the happenstances of “reality”. This was taken for granted even by Sima Qian’s harsh critic Ban Gu. Although obviously averse to the Shiji’s portrayal of history, he does not say a word about its lack of “truth” or its disagreement with the “real” facts. This is not Ban Gu’s point. Rather, his criticism is that … when it comes to quoting the classics, taking up the traditions, and analyzing the affairs of the numerous schools, it is very rough and sketchy, at times even contradictory. … Furthermore, its value judgments are in gross disaccord with the Sage: in discussing the grand principle, it prefers Huang-Lao over the Six Classics, in arranging the vagabonds, it demotes established scholars and promotes villainous scoundrels, in transmitting biographies of hawkers and peddlers, it extols might and profit and puts to shame lowliness and poverty: in this it is deceptive.62

This criticism evidently does not aim at historical reality that is misrepresented. The accusation of being “contradictory”, be it noted, does not imply an imperfect correspondence with the external facts but a lack of internal coherence. It is not about truth.63 But most of all, Ban Gu criticizes the moral standards of the Shiji.64 A book that prefers Huang-Lao over the Six Classics is “politically incorrect” to begin with. What makes things worse is that Sima Qian explicitly claims to follow the Six Classics: this makes him altogether unreliable, and this is what Ban Gu takes umbrage at. Little else matters. Never mind that the Shiji begins and ends with the mythical Yellow Emperor, never mind that it recounts how Jiang Yuan the mythical ancestress of Zhou, became pregnant by stepping into a giant’s footprint.65 Ban Gu does very much the same when he includes reports of a rainbow that dried up wells, of water turning red, 61 Shiji 61: 2121. The term “Six Disciplines” (liuyi ք ᢌ) apparently does not mean the Six Canonical Texts alone but also the commentaries that accompany them; in any case, it refers to a canon of writings. 62 Hanshu 62: 2737. Another version of this criticism, ascribed to Ban Biao ఄ ๡ (3-54 A.D.) is given in the Hou Hanshu 40A: 1325. There, it is said that the Shiji’s “deliberations are shallow and insincere (bu du լ ᗱ )”. It may be noted that “insincere” certainly comes closer to “unreliable” than to “untrue”. 63 One may note the similarity to Jewish historiography, as characterized by Azariah de’ Rossi: “And if we have now begun to investigate the [historical] truth of these matters, that is not because of the thing in itself, for what was—was, but only because we are concerned that the words of our sages in relating well-known events should not appear to contradict one another”, quoted from Yerushalmi 21996: 70. 64 Cf. the analysis of Ban Gu’s criticism by Zhang Menglun 1983: 165–71. 65 Shiji 4: 111.

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of dancing rats and headless beasts, half man, half dog.66 It does not matter whether these things are “true,” if only they are “trustworthy”. Thus, the distinction between myth and history, fact and fiction not only becomes “less clear than it is in the West”,67 it becomes all but obsolete.

History and Literature Eventually, however, the semantic shift from “trust” to “truth” seems to have taken place, that innocuous transference of ideas that paved the way for the sham existence of “objective” historiography. Now, in Roland Barthes’ analysis, it is the signified itself which is forced out and becomes confused with the referent; the referent enters into a direct relation with the signifier. As with any discourse which lays claim to ‘realism’, historical discourse only admits to knowing a semantic schema with two terms, the referent and the signifier.68

Ying Shao’s definition of shilu in the late second century apparently testifies to such a “realistic turn”. Indeed, his age had little to do with trust. The Han court was paralyzed by intrigues and massacres, while natural disasters and armed rebellions ravaged the countryside.69 The end of the world was imminent. With nothing else left to cling to, people turned to messianic sects, reclusion, and drunken abandon. Did they also take refuge in a new form of realism? Did the waning Han dynasty witness a shift from the res fictae towards the res factae? An increased consciousness of (historical) reality is perhaps most evident in the changed attitude towards fiction. Zuo Si ؐ ৸ (c. 253-307 A.D.) stated this programmatically in the preface to his celebrated Sandu Fu Կ ຟ ᓿ: However, when [Ssu-ma] Hsiang-ju composed his ‘Imperial Park’, he referred to ‘black kumquats that ripen in summer.’ When Yang Xiong composed his ‘Sweet Springs Palace’, he described ‘jade trees green and virescent.’ Ban Gu in his ‘Western Capital Rhapsody’ remarked about catching ‘pair-eyed fish.’ Zhang Heng in his ‘Western Metropolis Rhapsody’ told about the playing hairuo. … If we examine the fruits 66

Hanshu 63: 2741–71. Stephen Durrant in Nienhauser 21986: 691. Barthes 1981: 17. 69 Cf. the brilliant description by Balasz 1968. 67 68


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and trees mentioned, we find they do not grow in that soil; and if we look at the supernatural creatures, we find they do not come from the specified place. In terms of rhetoric, it was easy to produce gaudy ornament, but as far as the meaning is concerned, their works are vacuous and lacking veracity. … When I first thought of writing the ‘Three Capitals’ in imitation of the ‘Two Metropolises’, for the mountains and streams, cities and towns, I consulted maps. Birds and animals, plants and trees, I have verified in gazetteers. Each of the popular ballads, songs, and dances is consistent with local custom, and all of the prominent personages are based on old traditions. Why have I done this? … One who praises an object considers first and foremost its true nature [ben], and one who honors a deed should base himself on the facts [shi]. Without the truth and the facts, what can the reader believe [xin]?70

The names sound familiar: Yang Xiong, who coined the term shilu, and Ban Gu, that severe critic of Sima Qian, are both reproached for “lacking veracity” in their poetry. So are Sima Xiangru ‫ ್ ׹‬ઌ ‫ڕ‬ (179-117 B.C.) and Zhang Heng ്ʳ ᘝ (78-139 A.D.), who was, by the way, also noted as an historian. This was not just a squabble between literati; those criticized were no mere poetasters but some of the most prominent writers of their age. Apparently, the standards for poetry changed significantly within the two centuries that separated them from Zuo Si. By his time, authors of fiction were expected to portray reality; their portraits had to meet standards of veracity similar to historiography, and they required the same painstaking research. Zuo Si allegedly devoted ten years of research to his Sandu Fu, ploughing his way through sources just as a historian would have done.71 Fiction, then, was also a shilu of sorts. This does not go together well with our clear-cut distinction between history and fiction. In fact, there was no such separation throughout the Chinese middle ages. 72 Both genres were subject to similar rules of composition, and they were listed side by side in catalogues. Thus the history section of the Suishu’s bibliography lists titles such as Soushen Ji ჼʳ 壀ʳ ಖ, Yanshen Ji ઔ 壀 ಖ, Guishen Liezhuan ೒ 壀 ٨ ႚ, Zhiguai Ji ‫ ࢡ ݳ‬ಖ, and many others which would not easily qualify as historiography in our understanding of the term.73 Yet 70

Wenxuan 4: 173–4; translated in Knechtges 1982: 337–9. This is pointed out by Du Weiyun 1998, vol. 2: 46. Cf. He 1998: 370. 73 Suishu ᙟ ஼ 33: 980. 71 72

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this classification was not altogether arbitrary, since the authors of history and fiction were often the same men. Quite a few of China’s first historians—the above-quoted Ban Gu and Zhang Heng, but also Sima Qian and Shen Yue ާ પ(441-513 A.D.)—also excelled as writers of poetry; others, like Gan Baoʳ եʳ ᣪ (fl. 320 A.D.) and Fan Ye ૃ ᖢ (398-445 A.D.) were noted writers of zhiguai ‫ࢡ ݳ‬: If poetry was subject to the same standards as history, history, in turn, was judged by criteria similar to those used for works of fiction: increasingly style, besides accuracy of research, became the yardstick for the value of historical works. It is certainly no accident that the first Chinese work to discuss the rules for writing history, the Wenxin Diaolong, was a book on literary criticism. In the chapter on shizhuan ‫ ׾‬ႚ, stylistic and “scientific” criteria for historiography appear side by side.74 And as late as Tang times, the literati held that “none of the extant works on Jin history was written in a sufficiently elegant or elevated style to rank with the Hanshu and the Sanguo Zhi”.75 This gives the matter quite a disconcerting new turn. Historiography is just as much a form of fiction as fiction is a form of historiography: as linguistic works of art, they are indistinguishable. Such statements have recently put forth by Hayden White.76 Whereas they caused an anguished outcry among modern Western historians,77 for their ancient Chinese colleagues they would have come as no surprise. For them, there was neither a clear-cut distinction between history and fiction nor, by the same token, between history and myth. As stated above, Sima Qian’s great history is replete with myths, and later Chinese historians made free use of folk tales and legends.78 This fact has considerably confused Western critics,79 and even Liu Zhiji Ꮵ व 74

Wenxin Diaolong 16: 559–621. Gardiner 1973: 46. 76 White 1986: 145. 77 White’s writings have been denounced as “the most damaging undertaking ever performed by a historian of his profession” (Phyllis Grosskurth, quoted in Vann 1998: 145). He hardly fares better in Evans 1997. On the whole issue, cf. Vann 1998. 78 A famous example is Pei Songzhi’s ፶ ࣪ հ (372-451 A.D.) commentary on the Sanguo Zhi, for which he made use of works such as Gan Bao’s Soushen Ji ჼʳ 壀ʳ ಖ or Ge Hong’s ᆼ ੋ (283-343 A.D.) Shenxian Zhuan 壀 ‫ ט‬ႚ. Cf. the criticism in Siku Quanshu Zongmu, vol. 1: 403. 79 Cf. Carbonell 61998: 30: “En Chine … l’histoire … naît des mythes comme récit des merveilleuses naissances de souverains imaginaires, exaltation de l’âge d’or originel, fables des grandes inventions et chant de surhumaines prouesses … ce qui importe n’est pas le vrai, c’est le situé, le repéré, le localisé dans l’espace-temps. … Ainsi la civilisation de la durée, de la tradition, de la mémoire est, de toutes les cultures qui ont couvert le monde, une des moins historiennes.” 75


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༓ (661-721 A.D.) complained: “Wei Shou interspersed [the Weishi] with fables, which probably make up more than half of the book … how can it be called a shilu?”80 Indeed, what is a shilu? Centuries after Ying Shao’s commentary, there still seemed to be no agreement on the issue. Thus Shen Yue complained that the works on Song history of his time, in dealing with contemporary events, were mostly not shilu.81 On the other hand, Tao Qian’s ຯ ᑨ (365-427 A.D.) fictionalized “Biography of Mr. Five Willows” (ն ਻ ٣ ‫ س‬ႚ) was called a shilu by his contemporaries;82 and Emperor Wu of Liang ඩ ࣳ ০(r. 502-549 A.D.) declared that in legal texts “fancy words and superfluous sentences that have nothing to do with shilu should all be done away with”. 83 These few occurrences of the word—which apparently was rarely used until Tang times84—suffice to indicate its multiple meanings. It remained ambiguous throughout China’s Middle Ages. Indeed, the term shilu may be symbolic of an unresolved tension between fact and fiction, literature and “veritable records”, an ambivalence that arguably runs through all of imperial Chinese historical thought: while never relinquishing the vague ideal of a shilu, it was agreed that historiography should provide lessons in the spirit of Confucian orthodoxy. 85 But the contradiction is only superficial. It rests on the assumption that “truth”, for Chinese literati, meant some external reality. There is some evidence, however, that this was not so. In the early Tang dynasty, when historians were raised to the status of officials and a Bureau of History was established, no lesser men than the emperors Gaozuʳ ೏ʳ ల (r. 618-626 A.D.) and Gaozong ೏ʳ ࡲ(r. 650-683 A.D.) wrote treatises on the theory of history. They decreed that histories are meant to “punish the evil and encourage the good”, and—most revealingly—that “the significance of compiling a dynastic history is to codify truth (dianshi ࠢ ኔ)”.86 To “codify truth” does not 80

Shitong Tongshi 25: 198. Lau 2000: 91/5. 82 Lau 2001: 56/24. Interestingly, Wolfgang Bauer (1990: 170) remarks that the autobiography’s success was due to its “compelling brevity”. 83 Suishu 25: 697. 84 I have only found two more references to shilu. For the first, a reference to “Dunhuang Shilu” by Yu Xin ൌ ॾ (513-581 A.D.), cf. Yan 1999: 3946; for the second, cf. below, fn. 88. 85 In Shitong Tongshi (25: 198 f.) it is said that history should “arouse the Famous Teachings” (mingjiao ‫ ټ‬ඒ) and “praise good and reprehend evil”. 86 Quoted from Qu 1992: 74. 81

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mean to “seek truth”87 which is pre-given but to establish and control truth: it is a means of power. It should not come as a surprise that writing the official history of former dynasties was henceforth guarded as the prerogative of the ruling house. Significantly, the name that was chosen to designate the drafts of the dynasty’s own history was none other than shilu.88 “Veritable records” is the usual translation for these files, and perhaps this is just what the term was intended to convey. But what they consist of are summaries of government yearbooks which, in turn, were summaries of Court Diaries (qiju zhuʳ ದʳࡺʳࣹ) and Administrative Records (shizheng jiʳழʳਙʳಖ), in other words: They were heavily edited abstracts of an emperor’s reign, abridged versions of government papers that summarize and condense the archival material.89 They reduced them to their kernel. Still, the concepts of truth and succinctness are inextricably entangled in the term shilu.90 Of course, the Tang rulers’ claim to control historical discourse did not go unchallenged. Their rivals for power were the literati, namely the official historiographers. Opposing the emperor’s ambitions, they reclaimed sovereignty over their field: only if the historian is not influenced by wicked rulers or bribery may he write a veritable record. The ideal historian “gains love and hate from himself, carries esteem and disesteem in his heart; in office not intimidated by rulers and authority, out of office not ashamed before friends and relatives, he strives to attain a shilu”.91 The effect remains the same: a shilu is explicitly written cum ira et studio. “Objective truth” is not at stake, and the correct distribution of 87 Significantly, this is the way it is rendered in the English translation of Qu Lindong’s article, cf. Qu 1993: 163. 88 Note that already Cao Zhi ඦ ཬ (192-232 A.D.) referred to “quoting from the shilu of the various offices” (Wenxuan 42: 1904). It would seem that these were precisely the kind of abstracts that were produced by the Tang Bureau of History. 89 On the compilation of the Ming Shilu, cf. Franke 1988: 736–55. A description of Tang historiography is to be included in the forthcoming vol. 4 of the Cambridge History of China. 90 That is putting it cautiously. In fact, the claim to truthfulness of the shilu has been strongly challenged. As Wolfgang Franke (1988: 743) notes, “the Ming shilu has been severely criticized by contemporary Ming scholars for its political bias.” As for the Qing shilu, Philip Kuhn and John K. Fairbank (1986, vol. 1: 14) stress that it “was compiled exclusively from the perspective of the Throne” and “necessarily edited to protect the reputation of the emperor being chronicled as well as the reputations of his important advisors”. Historians of the Qing dynasty will naturally prefer the original documents to the shilu. 91 Shitong Tongshi 25: 199.


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“love and hate” rests with the historian. Significantly, discussion of an “historian’s virtues” were at all times much more prominent than epistemological considerations: what he needed were talent, knowledge, and insight (cai թ, xueʳ ᖂ, zhiʳ ᢝ). The man, not the method, was crucial.92 In fact, there existed no “historical method”, or rather: the method consisted in the narration. History, it seems, was not a science, but a form of art: it was literature. Significantly, the only fragments of the Tang shilu that have survived to this day were composed by the greatest author of the age, by Han Yu ឌ ყ (768824 A.D.). Once again, we see the poet as historian. Just like an artist, Han and his colleagues created works, not by mirroring some external truth but by selecting, arranging, judging. 93 Nor was their language neutral or transparent: criteria of style always played an important role in historiographic theory.94 Most importantly, however, the historian has to “arrange the events” (xushi ‫)ࠃ ݧ‬.95 This implies that the events were not thought to have a natural arrangement, or if they did, they still had to be rearranged. By this process, the past was turned into history, and events became facts. 96 This arrangement was by no means restricted to questions of succession in time. Rather, historians very consciously organized their so-called “biographies”, not in chronological order, but in social and ethical categories such as “men of letters”, “hawkers” or “cruel ministers”. The very placement of these chapters implied value judgments which evidently were of paramount importance. There are reports of families offering money to have one of their members included in a work of history;97 and serious criticism was levelled at Sima Qian, not so much because of his explicit judgments, but because he placed Xiang Yu and Empress Lü among the “Basic 92 Nor did this change when Zhang Xuecheng ີ ᖂ ᇨ (1738-1801 A.D.) added “virtue” (de ᐚ) as a fourth quality of historians, cf. Zhang 1985: 219–29. 93 This is illustrated by the fact that histories, starting with the Shiji, always had a foreword “in which the author displayed his intention”, cf. Kong Anguo, quoted in Shitong Tongshi 10: 87. 94 Cf. Wenxin Diaolong 16: 559–621. 95 Cf., for example, Hanshu 62: 2738; Sanguo Zhi 13: 418; Jinshu 82: 2137. Liu Zhiji devotes an entire chapter to this issue, see Shitong Tongshi 22: 165–84. 96 It is important to differentiate between the two. Events take place in real life. Facts, on the other hand, are “events under description” (Arthur C. Danto), they “can only have a linguistic existence, as a term in a discourse” (Barthes 1981: 17). On the issue, cf. Goertz 2001: 106. 97 On such bribery cases including Ban Gu, Wei Shou, and Chen Shou, cf. Frankel 1958: 142. On Chen Shou, see also Miao 1984: 4–6.

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Annals” and Confucius among the “Hereditary Houses”, or because he placed Han Fei and Laozi in the same category.98 Evidently, it was not so much the truth of single facts that mattered but rather the way they are arranged and put into context. These were the grounds on which an historian was praised or criticized. The question was not whether Lü Zhi ਖ⿮ (r. 187-180 B.C.) actually reigned as empress but whether she can be called an empress and placed in the same category as the other Han emperors.99 The same is true for the long-drawn controversy about the “legitimate succession” (zhengtongʳ ‫إ‬ʳ อ) of dynasties. In the age of political division, the crucial historiographical decision was which dynasty’s calendar to use as a chronological frame: again, not a question of facts but of categories.100 It is not source criticism and the finding of facts that are central to the historian’s art, but their narrative presentation. All of this goes to show that the narrative itself was understood as a judgment of sorts—not only the “special rubrics” at the end of chapters. This was explicitly stated by the compilers of the Yuanshi, who made the following editorial decision: Now, in compiling the History of the Yuan, we compose no ‘evaluations’or ‘appraisals’ [lunzan], but simply write according to the matters. In preparing the text, we make visible its meaning, so that good and evil will become self-apparent, thus modeling matters and intentions on the Chunqiu as well as on Imperial Edicts.101

This is as clear as can be. Here is the insight that value judgments shape the entire narrative frame of every history and that no statement of facts is free of interpretation. The pre-modern view expressed by these Ming historians reveals much greater critical awareness than modern definitions of “historical judgment”: if historical judgment is about the significance of historical phenomena, then it is implicit in every historical argument or statement, since these are always about significance. The choice of topic that every historian must make, his 98

Wenxin Diaolong 16: 559–621; Shitong Tongshi 4: 37, 23: 185. Wang Anshi ‫׆‬ ‫ف ڜ‬, “Kongzi Shijia Yi” ֞ ՗ ‫ ׈‬୮ ᤜ, in Liu 1979: 350. Zhongchang Tong ٘ ९ อ (189-220 A.D.), in turn, criticized Sima Qian for not having devoted a biography to Dongfang Shuo ࣟ ֱ ᎅ (154-93 B.C.), cf. Shiji 126: 3205. 99 The question of contextualization and categorization lies at the heart of every historical controversy. The German “Historikerstreit” was not so much about what atrocities Hitler and Stalin perpetrated but about whether they could be placed in the same category. 100 On the zhengtong controversy, cf. Sprenkel 1960. 101 Yuanshi 215: 4676.


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selection of sources and the perspective he uses are influenced by judgments or even prejudice.102 So it is true: history and judgment are inseparable. There is neither a clear line between the subject of history and its object, nor between “is” and “ought”. To be sure, this was never explicitly stated in Chinese writings on the theory of history. Some historians, moreover, spared no effort to make their accounts appear entirely “factual”. And yet, their value judgments underlay every single statement. This is the tacit assumption of how Chinese history was written and—most revealingly—of how it was judged. In addition to the aforementioned critiques, one may single out Liu Zongyuan’s ਻ ࡲ ց (773-819 A.D.) criticism “Against the Guoyu” as a particularly good example for such judgments. Commenting on 67 episodes from the Guoyu, Liu focuses exclusively on the moral standards expressed therein. His verdicts read as follows: Is Duke K’ang’s mother really worthy? If so, she should have rebuked her son for licentiousness and lack of restraint. The passage from ‘there was misery’ on is not something a military commander should say. Children’s songs are not worth quoting. A gentleman does not utter them.103

Such observations are common when it comes to discussing Chinese historiography. They were evidently considered valid arguments to be presented in objection to a work of history, not only in Tang times but throughout the imperial period. Take Gao Shiqi’s ೏ Փ ࡛ (16451703) indignant remark about a Shiji passage, which relates how Duke Hui of Lu had forcefully robbed a woman that was to become his son’s wife: Duke Hui may not have been the best ruler of Lu, but Lu adhered to the rites of Zhou, and thus such an affair … was unseemly. The narration of the historiographer [Sima] Qian is all but lies.104 102

A particularly illuminating example is provided by the treatment of portents in dynastic histories. As Hans Bielenstein (1950: 128, 143) has pointed out, there were “many eclipses which are not recorded by Ban Gu, in spite of the fact that they were often clearly visible”. Upon careful investigation, he concludes that “all the portents recorded in the Ts’ien-Han-shu form a homogeneous material, influenced by one and the same motive power”, namely “the desire to level indirect criticism against the ruler”. 103 Liu 1979: 1266, 1268, 1294.

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It should not have been, thus it could have been. By the same token, Cui Shu ാ ૪ (1740-1816) argued that Confucius could not have talked to Duke Jing of Qi about Duke Mu of Qin, as stated in the Shiji, because he rather “should have told him about the Duke of Zhou and clarified the principles of a king”.105 And when Liu Fenglu Ꮵ ນ ᆂ (1776-1829) called the entire Zuozhuan a forgery, “it was neither [because of] anachronisms of facts nor ideas …: there is no such argument in his work. What he reproaches it for, is for not being a moral guide for him”. 106 This rationale of criticizing historiography pretty well mirrors the way history was written: it was not what happened that mattered, but what should have happened. Henri Maspéro puts it aptly: “where we look for facts, nothing but facts, [a Chinese literatus] looks for a rule of life, a moral.”107 Seen from this perspective, history is not about the past but about the present; it is not science but literature; it is not about true and false but about right and wrong. It is all about judgments. And yes, it is history, not despite, but because of all this: not an anaemic and meaningless “realistic” reconstruction of the past but an interpretation of the past in terms of the present, intended to serve as a guide for the future. Only a wholly subjective standpoint, firmly grounded in the present, enabled Chinese historians to find their way in the moral world, which is the world of history.

History and Sinology This being said, it appears that the above-quoted views of Chinese histories miss the point. Indeed, they have become history themselves, while Sinology has moved on, constantly refining its standards of criticism. It has become a commonplace that there is no such thing as an objective (Chinese) historian. Nobody still believes that Confucius or Sima Qian “transmitted without creating” (shu er bu zuo ૪ ۖ լ ‫ ;) ܂‬nor even that Ranke himself ever wrote objective works of history.108 104

Gao 1997, 5: 47. Cui Dongbi Yishu 1983: 269. Maspéro 1931–32: 204. 107 Maspéro 1931–32: 203. 108 Hans-Jürgen Goertz points out that Ranke, in regarding the state (as opposed to society) as the major historical force and thus focusing his writings, is decidedly partisan in his outlook, cf. Goertz 1995: 132. 105 106


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In fact, even to the present day there is no single work of history that is objective in the required sense. But if a mortal should once find the strength to write something so impartial, the recognition of this fact would still be very difficult: for it would take a second mortal who finds the strength to read something so boring.109

Instead of innocently treating Chinese historiography as primary source material, historians of China now routinely start their investigations “not with the facts which it contains but with the historian who wrote it”.110 In the words of Bodo Wiethoff: “Chinese history is … what the Chinese think it is.”111 This development may be characterized as a step from “naive realism” to “critical realism”. Chinese historiography is no longer treated as a reservoir of readymade facts for the reconstruction of the past; instead, the refraction of these facts through the mind of the historian is duly considered. However, the ultimate concern of this line of research remains with the facts. Even critical realism is still realism: its premise is that the past, distorted though it may appear through the sources, may nonetheless be reconstructed with some degree of precision, if only one brings the fruits of critical scholarship to bear upon the sources. From the foregoing discussion, it would seem that we can even go one step further, and leave realism behind altogether. As I hope to have demonstrated, traditional Chinese scholars were well aware that history is constructed by transforming a welter of pleasant and unpleasant events into some “acceptable truth”. In other words, past events in themselves are not history, they only become history through interpretation and narration. This has important implications. If the past is not history, then the traditional twofold meaning of the word “history” as res gestae and historia rerum gestarum, that “somewhat careless transference of ideas” 112 which stood at the beginning of modern historical thought, becomes obsolete. History is not res gestae, it is only historia rerum gestarum: the study and writing of history. The sham realism thus disappears. The signifier corresponds to the signified only, and “no referent (fact/the past) exists outside the

109

Friedell 1969: 12. Carr 41990: 22. 111 Wiethoff 1996/7: 769. 112 Shotwell 1911: 527. For more recent expressions of the same idea, cf. Goertz 1995: 80–94, 147–67. Also Arnold (2000: 5), who argues “that there is an essential difference between ‘history’ (as I am using it) and ‘the past’.” 110

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history texts themselves”.113 With the loss of an external referent, with history referring only to itself, the problem of truth is replaced by questions of internal coherence: of language, style, and structure. Such is the upshot of the “linguistic turn”. While still being debated among present-day historians, its implications seem to correspond well with the old Chinese conception of history. For all I know, there was no Ancient or Middle Chinese word for “history” in the sense of “past events”; the word shi rather meant works of history: not a category of reality, but of literature. This notion of history suggests that it should be treated adequately as literature. Since works of history were not written to inform about the past, they cannot be judged according to whether they reach this goal or not; nor do they lend themselves to exact investigation of the past. Rather than demanding factual information of them, we may perhaps ask different questions, for instance: what was their function? How are they structured? What are their authors’ intentions? What are their tacit assumptions? What rules of composition do they follow? What is the discursive order they fit into? What can they say and what not? How are they to be judged as works of literature? While even nowadays most scholarly efforts are devoted to the “reconstruction” of the Chinese past, precisely this alternative line of research has recently made its appearance in sinology. Zuozhuan studies may serve as a case in point, since only recently two remarkable books were published that represent entirely different approaches to the subject. In the first, Yuri Pines makes a strong and carefully argued point that the Zuozhuan “is a reliable—and invaluable—repository of Chunqiu thought” and thus allows us “to reconstruct significant intellectual trends of that age”. 114 Pines thus affirms the position of critical realism. In the second book, David Schaberg eloquently presents the view that “history (historia rerum gestarum) and the sense of history (res gestae) arise out of fiction”. The Zuozhuan represents “one among several tendentious tellings” which happened to become canonized and thus turned into history, whereas “the others came to be viewed as fiction”.115 Consequently, 113 Berkhofer, quoted in Jenkins 1997: 20. Cf. Ankersmit’s (1994: 123) statement that “historiography [becomes] representative only of itself … Just as in modern painting, the aim is no longer to hint at a ‘reality’ behind the representation, but to absorb ‘reality’ into representation itself.” 114 Pines 2002: 39, 54; 1997. 115 Schaberg 2001: 10, 4; 1997.


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Schaberg treats the Zuozhuan as a piece of literature: he analyzes its literary features, rhetorical devices, and the structure of its speeches and narratives, as well as the intellectual content, and the lessons it wants to convey. Schaberg’s gaze does not wander beyond the text itself to get a view of the reality that may underlie it. He studies the Zuozhuan for its own sake, not in search of truth, facts, or the Chinese past. This avenue of investigation, though informed by modern Western theory of history, tallies well with the tradition of Chinese thought that 116 conceived of history as “a patterned past”. It may serve as a complement and a necessary balance to the prevalent “realistic” study of history. The combination of both promises to yield rich historical insights, and it may finally lead to a fair and adequate judgment of Chinese historiography.

116

Schaberg (2001: 22–25, 164–70) points to long traditions of anthologies and commentaries that treat historiography as “the object of literary study” (25).

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ABBREVIATIONS ESSS=Ershisi Shi Բ Լ ؄ ‫( ׾‬Twenty-four Histories) (1997), 20 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju..

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Liu Zongyuan ਻ ࡲ ց (1979), “Fei Guoyu ॺ ഏ ፿ (Against the Guoyu)”, in Liu Zongyuan Ji ਻ ࡲ ց ႃ (Collected Works of Liu Zongyuan). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 1265-1328. Liu, Shih Shun (ed.) (1979), Chinese Classical Prose: The Eight Masters of the T’ang-Sung Period. Hong Kong: Chinese University Press. Loewe, Michael (ed.) (1993), Early Chinese Texts. A Bibliographical Guide. Berkeley: Society for the Study of Early China. Lorenz, Chris (1997), Konstruktion der Vergangenheit. Eine Einführung in die Geschichtstheorie (Construction of the Past: An Introduction to Historical Theory). Köln: Böhlau. Lü Simian ‫ܨ‬ʳ ৸ʳ ঠ (1982), Lü Simian Dushi Zhaji ‫ܨ‬ʳ ৸ʳ ঠʳ ᦰʳ ‫׾‬ʳ ‫ؤ‬ʳ ಖ (Lü Simian’s Notes on Reading Histories). Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe. Maspéro, Henri (1931–32), “La composition et la date du Tso tchouan” (The Composition and the Date of the Zuozhuan)”, in Mélanges chinois et bouddhiques (1931-32), 137–215. Miao Yue ᜏ ⢲ (1984), Sanguo Zhi Xuanzhu Կ ഏ ‫ ݳ‬ᙇ ࣹ (Selected Commentaries to the History of the Three Kingdoms), 3 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Mozi Yinde ᕠ ՗ ֧ ൓ (Concordance to the Mozi) (1982). Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe. Nienhauser, William H., Jr. (ed.) (21986), The Indiana Companion to Traditional Chinese Literature. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Nietzsche, Friedrich (1954), “Schopenhauer als Erzieher (Schopenhauer as Teacher)”, in Nietzsche, Friedrich (1954), Werke in drei Bänden (Collected Works in Three Volumes), edited by Karl Schlechta, vol. 1. München: Hanser. Novick, Peter (1988), That Noble Dream: The ‘Objectivity Question’ and the American Historical Profession. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pines, Yuri (2002), Foundations of Confucian Thought. Intellectual Life in the Chunqiu Period, 722–453 B.C.E. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. ̛̛̛ (1997), “Intellectual Change in the Chunqiu Period: The Reliability of the Speeches in the Zuozhuan as Sources of Chunqiu Intellectual History”, in Early China 22 (1997), 77–132. Pulleyblank, E. G. (1964), “The Historiographical Tradition”, in Dawson, Raymond (ed.) (1964), The Legacy of China. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 143-164. Qu Lindong ្ ࣥ ࣟ (1993), “Dominant Trends in Ancient Chinese Historiographic Theory”, in Social Sciences in China (1993), 160-70. ̛̛̛ (1992), “Zhongguo Gudai Shixue Lilun Fazhan Dashi խʳഏʳ‫ײ‬ʳ‫ז‬ʳ‫׾‬ʳᖂʳ ෻ʳᓵʳ ࿇ʳ ୶ʳ Օʳ Ⴈ (Dominant Trends in Ancient Chinese Historiographic Theory)”, in Lishi Yanjiu ᖵʳ‫׾‬ʳઔʳߒ 2 (1992), 69–83. von Ranke, Leopold (1868–90), Sämtliche Werke (Complete Works), 54 vols. Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot. Rosthorn, A. von (1919), Das Tsch’un-tsch’iu und seine Verfasser (The Chunqiu and Its Authors). Wien: Hölder. Sanguo ZhiʳԿʳഏʳ‫( ݳ‬History of the Three Kingdoms) (1997), in ESSS. Schaberg, David (2001), A Patterned Past. Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. ̛̛̛ (1997), “Remonstrance in Eastern Zhou Historiography”, in Early China 22 (1997), 133–79. Sellin, Volker (22001), Einführung in die Geschichtswissenschaft (Introduction into Historical Studies). Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Shiji ‫׾‬ʳಖ (The Scribe’s Records) (1997), in ESSS.

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Shitong Tongshiʳ‫׾‬ʳຏʳຏʳᤩ (Thorough Commentary to the Generalities on History) (1982), edited by Pu Qilong ௥ ದ ᚊ , 2 vols. Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe. Shotwell, James Thomson (1911), “History”, in Encyclopædia Britannica, 11th edition, vol. 13. New York: Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 527-533. Siku Quanshu Zongmu ؄ʳ ஄ʳ ٤ʳ ஼ʳ ᜔ʳ ‫( ؾ‬Contents of the Complete Writings of the Four Treasuries) (1983), edited by Yong Rong ‫ ⨅ ة‬et al., 2 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. van der Sprenkel, O. B. (1960), “Chronographie et historiographie Chinoises (Chronography and Chinese Historiography)”, in Mélanges de l’Institut des Hautes Etudes Chinoises 2 (1960), 407-421. Twitchett, Denis and John K. Fairbank (eds.) (1986), The Cambridge History of China, Volume I: The Ch’in and Han Empires, 221 B.C.–AD 220. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Unger, Ulrich (2000), Grundbegriffe der altchinesischen Philosophie. Ein Wörterbuch für die klassische Periode (Basic Terms of Classical Chinese Philosophy. A Dictionary for the Classical Periode). Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. ̛̛̛ (1969), “Das konfuzianische Weltgericht (The Confucian World’s Judgment)“, in Jahresschrift 1969 der Gesellschaft zur Förderung der Westfälischen Wilhelms-Universität zu Münster (1969), 64–77. Vann, Richard T. (1998), “The Reception of Hayden White”, in History and Theory 37 (1998), 143–61. Watson, Burton (1965), Early Chinese Literature. New York: Columbia University Press. Weber, Max (1988), “Die ‘Objektivität’ sozialwissenschaftlicher und sozialpolitischer Erkenntnis (‘Objectivity’ of Hermeneutics in Social Scienes and Social Politics)”, in Weber, Max (1988), Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Wissenschaftslehre (Collected Papers on the Doctrine of Sciences), edited by Winckelmann, Johannes. Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 146-214. Wenxin Diaolong Yizhengʳ ֮ʳ ֨ʳ ᙡʳ ᚊʳ ᆠʳ ᢞ (Reasoned Materials to the Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons) (1989), edited by Tan Ying ᇯ ૎, 3 vols. Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe. Wenxuanʳ֮ʳᙇ (Selections of Refined Literature) (1996), edited by Xiao Tong ᘕ อ, 6 vols. Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe. White, Hayden (1986), Auch Klio dichtet oder Die Fiktion des Faktischen. Studien zur Tropologie des historischen Diskurses. Stuttgart: Klett. [English translation: Tropics of Discourse: Essays in Cultural Criticism. Baltimore et al.: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990] Wiethoff, Bodo (1996/7), “On the Teaching of Chinese Bronze Age History”, in Bulbeck, David and Noel Barnard (eds.) (1996/7), Ancient Chinese and Southeast Asian Bronze Age Cultures, 2 vols., vol. 2. Taibei: Southern Materials Center, 769-774. Xunzi Jishi ಃ ՗ ႃ ᤩ (Collected Commentaries to the Xunzi) (1996), edited by Wang Xianqian ‫ ׆‬٣ ᝐ, 2 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Yan Kejun ᣤ ‫( ݁ ױ‬ed.) (1999), Quan Shanggu Sandai Qin Han Sanguo Liuchao Wen ٤ʳՂʳ‫ײ‬ʳԿʳ‫ז‬ʳ఻ʳዧʳԿʳഏʳքʳཛʳ֮ (Complete Prose of High Antiquity, the Three Dynasties, Qin, Han, the Three Kingdoms, and the Six Dynasties), 4 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Yerushalmi, Yosef Hayim (21996), Zakhor. Jewish History and Jewish Memory. Seattle and London: University of Washington Press.


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PLATITUDE AND PERSONA: JUNZI COMMENTS IN ZUOZHUAN AND BEYOND1 David Schaberg There was, as far as we can know, no self-conscious genre of “historical writing” (shi ৆) in China prior to the great work of Sima Qian ৌ侀䙋 (?145-?86 B.C.). And even that work does not proclaim itself a work of historiography quite in the way its present title, Shiji ৆ 㿬 (“Scribal Records” or “Historical Records”) suggests. There were of course writings that we cannot distinguish from historiography and that for the better part of two millennia have been recognized as the origins of shi. But nothing suggests that these accounts of speech and action were understood by their users as a distinct category of discourse uniquely devoted to accurate representation of past events. Much that neither we nor traditional Chinese scholars would call shi—most notably, large portions of the writings attributed to the “masters” (zi ᄤ) of the Warring States and Han periods—is distinguishable from what we term “historical” writings only in the sense that the anecdotes are in each case organized and presented differently: the basic narrative stuff is generically identical, and in both cases mixes references to the past with a more or less overt polemicism. To dispense with the anachronistic division of classes, then, one might consider a more general body of tendentious anecdotal lore, drawn upon by the compilers of works as different as the Zuozhuan Ꮊ‫ڇ‬, Hanfeizi 䶧䴲ᄤ, Shiji ৆㿬, and Xinxu ᮄᑣ. It helps to recall that even the work we call Shiji was given this title only after the fact; it always refers to itself, not as shi, but as “the writings of the Grand Scribe” (taishi gong shu ໾৆݀᳌), as if it were a somewhat unusual member of a class of masters’ texts. In its origins, transmission of anecdotal lore would not have been justified primarily as a way of preserving truths about the past. Where historians advance such a justification for their work, they adopt a stance of impartiality and disinterestedness that can come into existence only as part of a critique of earlier, overtly interested accounts. Before there could be a Thucydides in Greece or a Tacitus in 1

I am grateful to Kai Vogelsang for his perceptive comments on a draft of this paper.

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Rome, with their claims (however tenuous) to speak sine ira et studio, there had to be a Herodotus, who could raise historia from its origins in local litigation to a wider application in the assignment of blame for greater historical events. Similarly, in China, only a gradual dissociation of anecdotal lore from the ritual, deliberative, and didactic purposes it served in actual social settings could finally produce the phenomenon of a historiography that claimed to record facts without bias. Like writing itself, which appears to have entered general use as a way of underlining and extending functions already existing in real social and ritual settings,2 written anecdotal accounts, whether in the Zuozhuan or in other works, suggest the usefulness of historical narration in elite conversation, persuasion, and commemoration. Written lore, wherever we find it in early China, bespeaks a widespread passion for substantiated judgment. This was not a devotion to historical knowledge itself; the problem of verification was seldom thematized. Instead it was a reflex of a rhetorical habit of adducing images of the past in support of present polemical needs. The drive to substantiated judgment attended the Zuozhuan in every stage of its long textual evolution. Yet the several modes of writing represented in the text differed in the ways they brought judgment to light. In what were perhaps the earliest components of the work, chronicle entries and records of agreements within and among Chunqiu period states, judgment was implicit, deferred, or left up to observers remote from the occasion of writing: spirits, ancestors, descendants.3 In the explanatory accounts that accompanied such memoranda—the story, for a long time unwritten, of the circumstances of Duke so-and-so’s death or of the details of the meeting at such-andsuch a place—judgment became more explicit, both as a way of organizing and justifying narrative and as a means of endowing particular characters in the narrative with foresight and authority. At this stage, the reader or listener reached judgment by way of identification with certain sorts of speakers (especially upright ministers) and internalization of their habits of thought. Judgment itself was often made perfectly explicit, but disguised qua historical judgment by being attributed to a participant in the events themselves. In the final stages, the function of judgment became still more explicit. Certain commentaries on the chronicle consisted almost entirely of 2 3

Steiner 1994: 63. Schaberg 2001: 62, 266-267.

PLATITUDE AND PERSONA: JUNZI COMMENTS

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transcriptions of exemplary judgments that had previously been passed on orally from teacher to student, while in remarks attributed to the junzi ৯ᄤ (“lord’s son, noble man”) commentator and to various named individuals standing in his place (most famously Confucius), the act of judgment gave itself a persona, a name, and a prominent capping position in the structure of the historical anecdote. Later, in historical works that self-consciously looked to the Zuozhuan as a precedent, new personae and rhetorical functions—the remark of the Grand Scribe or the chapter-closing encomium (zan 䋞 ), which followed and governed a whole biography or chapter, not merely a single anecdote—asserted even more forcefully the presence of an author-teacher whose learning justified his way of narration. At this level of generality, the emergence of explicit historical judgment looks smooth, as if what was always implicit in historical narration gradually but surely found its way into the writing of history. But I would emphasize the discontinuities in the process. If the judging function always attended narration, the specific judgments that were eventually enunciated in the words of the junzi and like characters were not necessarily the same judgments that anecdotes had originally implied. Junzi-judgments were often grafts on the anecdotes they governed, and the scars still show. Along with several similar phrases used to close a passage in a gesture of citation, the phrase junzi yue is one trace of the uneasy transition from a tradition of lore, with its looser didacticism, to something more closely resembling doctrine. This transition was at the same time part of the development of the genre of the essay, in which the subject of an enunciation—the master or author—assumed direct responsibility for the thought expressed in a passage, but often bolstered this thought with citations of aphorisms and classics. The words attributed to the junzi or to his counterpart represent the new uses—and sometimes abuses—that thinkers intended to derive from an older tradition. Moreover, the Zuozhuan is not the only text to cap its anecdotes with enunciated judgments, and not the only text to use the phrase junzi yue (“a noble man says”) to introduce such judgments. The layering of discursive modes that the phrase marks in the Zuozhuan appears also in several other works that are (given the wide margin of error in our estimates of the dates of composition of early Chinese texts) quite conceivably as old as the Zuozhuan’s junzi yue passages. The emergence of historical judgment into writing, specifically in the form of an

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authoritative pronouncement attributed to a junzi at the end of a “historical” anecdote, is evidenced in more than one text and appears to have resulted from a confluence of two traditions of teaching (and two corresponding traditions of using writing to preserve teachings): on the one hand the tradition, attested most prominently in the Lunyu, but found elsewhere as well, of epitomizing the career of a known historical individual in a single saying attributed to some prominent teacher; on the other hand, the tradition of retelling past events in heavily moralized, polemically useful anecdotes.

Gestures of Citation One effect of removing the Zuozhuan and its junzi comments from the special class that has heretofore been posited for them is the opening up of new contexts of significance and new routes of analysis. The immediate rhetorical counterparts to junzi yue are not the chapterending remarks of Han historians, but more modest gestures of citation found in Warring States argumentation. These include references to common sayings and to a variety of named texts or traditions, most especially the shi 䀽, which in works such as the Mengzi ᄳᄤ, the Xunzi 㤔ᄤ and, later, in parts of the Liji ⾂㿬 and the Hanshi Waizhuan 䶧䀽 ໪ ‫ ڇ‬, came to play an increasingly stereotyped role as paragraph-capping sententiae. More nebulous and in some ways more revealing than these citations are references, also frequently placed at the end of a passage, to bodies of authoritative language that are identified only in the vaguest terms: these are the citations introduced by zhuan yue ‫ ڇ‬᳄ (“a tradition says”, “the teachings say”) or, more vaguely still, by gu yue ᬙ᳄ (“therefore it is said,” “therefore I say”). Serving as they do to create coherence within a text and to advertise its affinities with other writings or unwritten traditions, these turns of phrase are alternative ways of accomplishing what junzi yue accomplishes in the Zuozhuan, and should interest us both for their similarities to and their differences from junzi yue. In most of the texts where it is found, zhuan yue introduces a fragment of language from outside the immediate discussion; the citation is then interpreted to illustrate the matter at hand. In the Guliang 〔 ṕ commentary, the zhuan adduced at several points appear to be teaching traditions related to specific passages in the Chunqiu, rather like the exegeses attributed to various shadowy named


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individuals in that work. As Fan Ning 㣗⬃ (339-401 A.D.) remarks after the first of ten appearances of the phrase, “What is meant by zhuan yue is that Master Guliang did not personally receive it from his teacher but heard it from transmitters”. 4 This exegetical function closely resembles the function of junzi yue and of gu yue in the Zuozhuan, which—perhaps significantly—never uses zhuan yue. In two ritualist chapters on mourning practices, zhuan yue introduces prescriptions for difficult cases of mourning, especially those involving mothers and sons. In one instance the zhuan quoted in the two works offer what is recognizably the same prescription, though in somewhat different language.5 On occasion the words introduced as zhuan can also be found in other written works, but the “citation”—if it really is that—is approximate rather than exact, and in any case most of the observations introduced by zhuan cannot be traced to any extant written work. Sometimes, particularly when it is used to conclude a passage, the zhuan quoted has the patently oral appeal of rhyme or parallelism. As homely statements of judgments that we are meant to understand as obvious truths, such citations bring the force of common sense to bear on the specific problems addressed in a passage. Of all early Chinese texts, the Xunzi is the one that most carefully and most consistently uses gestures of citation to bolster the arguments of essays. This text cites zhuan more often than any other—eighteen times in all—and in most cases stresses the authority of the quoted words, both by putting them at the end of a passage and by insisting on their relevance. Thus, in addition to the introductory words zhuan yue, the citation is often followed by the words ci zhi wei ye ℸП䃖г (“this is what is meant”). After a discussion of the proper use of punishments: “When the tradition says, ‘One man has cause for celebration; the innumerable people rely upon him,’ this is what is meant” ‫ڇ‬᳄˖ϔҎ᳝ᝊˈ‫⇥ܚ‬䋈ПǄℸП䃖г.6 The words, found most famously in the “Lü Xing” ਖߥ chapter of the Shangshu ᇮ᳌, are also quoted in the Zuozhuan, the Liji, “Ziyi” ㎛㸷 (where the source is referred to as “Fu Xing” ⫿ߥ), and in the Xiaojing ᄱ㍧; they had apparently acquired the status of a common saying. Some of the zhuan passages are cited more than once, and in different contexts, as if they were uniquely compelling expressions of the notions they 4

Ruan 1982: 2369. Ruan 1982: 1104, 1658. 6 Wang 1988: 451. 5

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betokened. In an argument for the indispensability of shi ຿ retainers, for example, then again in a discussion of the ruler’s access to information: “When the tradition says, ‘Good order arises from the noble man; disorder arises from the petty man’, this is what is meant” ‫ڇ‬᳄˖⊏⫳Т৯ᄤˈі⫳ТᇣҎǄℸП䃖г.7 What the zhuan has to say in connection with officers’ service to difficult rulers— “Be obedient to the way, not to the ruler” ᕲ䘧ϡᕲ৯—it elsewhere expands upon in a discussion of a son’s duties: “Be obedient to the way, not to the ruler; be obedient to rightness, not to the father” ᕲ䘧 ϡᕲ৯ˈᕲ㕽ϡᕲ⠊. 8 What appears in one passage as zhuan is quoted elsewhere by Confucius as something he has heard.9 In general, the picture is one of great fluidity in the material that could be cited to close an argument. Material identified as zhuan in one passage might in another place be introduced by the plainer connective gu yue. The saying “Cut short and made even, crooked yet compliant, different yet united” ᮀ㗠唞ˈᵝ㗠䷚ˈϡৠ㗠ໍ serves equally well in an outline of the distinct roles of the four social groups and in a discussion of different sorts of ministers, but in the first it is introduced by gu yue and in the second by zhuan yue. 10 Such doublings tie the Xunzi to the wider field of late Warring States texts. What Xunzi presents as the conclusion to a passage on the respective roles of lord and common people—“Therefore when it is said that ‘Heaven and earth give birth to them, and the sage brings them to completion,’ this is what is meant” ᬙ᳄ ໽ഄ⫳Пˈ㘪Ҏ៤Пˈℸ П䃖г11—reappears in an expanded version at the very opening of the Xinyu ᮄ䁲, attributed to Lu Jia 䱌䊜 (c. 228-140 B.C.): “The tradition says, ‘Heaven gives birth to the myriad things, nourishing them by means of the earth, and the sage brings them to completion’” ‫ڇ‬᳄˖໽⫳㨀⠽ˈҹഄ仞Пˈ㘪Ҏ៤П. 12 As the Guodian text “Cheng Zhi Wen Zhi” ៤ П 㘲 П shows, even junzi yue was sometimes used as a loose way of highlighting a particular passage in an argument.13

7

Wang 1988: 261, 151-152. Wang 1988: 250, 529. Wang 1988: 152-153, 544. 10 Wang 1988: 71, 257. 11 Wang 1988: 182. 12 Wang 1986: 1. 13 Jingmen Shi Bowuguan 1998: 167-170. 8 9


183

Such parallels would be of little relevance if they did not ultimately lead us back to the problem of historical judgment. The examples already presented show that, at least for certain purposes, zhuan yue and gu yue were interchangeable: what mattered on the level of rhetoric was the gesture of citation, its position, and the intrinsic appeal of the language cited, but not the source of the latter. Compared with zhuan yue and junzi yue, the phrase gu yue is much more versatile. Besides introducing passage-capping platitudes, it can also introduce self-quotations, as when the Xunzi or Hanfeizi uses it to announce the repetition of a point in concluding the demonstration of that point. It can also, and more often does, serve as the weakest sort of link between two moments of thought, a connection that does not amount to any sort of logical implication (“therefore it is said”) but resembles instead the lazy English-speaker’s tic, “so . . . .” But on occasion gu yue does one thing that zhuan yue seems never to do: placed at the end of an anecdote, it introduces an unattributed judgment of a specific historical individual or incident. This is the function reserved for junzi yue in the Zuozhuan and the Guoyu. That neither work ever uses gu yue for this purpose may be an effect of antiquity or of local discursive habits, but the neat distribution of expression—junzi yue for this function in some works, gu yue elsewhere—tends to underline the consistency of the rhetorical gesture itself. The best examples of gu yue used to introduce historical judgments come from the Hanfeizi. A simple illustration: ዛփǃᚵ՚ⶹϡ䘽㋖П䁙гˈ㗠ϡ㽟℺⥟П⒙ПгǄ↨ᑆǃᄤ㚹 ⶹ݊৯Пᖙѵгˈ㗠ϡⶹ䑿П⅏гǄᬙ᳄˖ዛփǃᚵ՚ⶹᖗ㗠ϡ ⶹџˈ↨ᑆǃᄤ㚹ⶹџ㗠ϡⶹᖗǄ㘪Ҏ݊‫⶷٭‬Ǆ The Marquis of Chong and Elai knew how to avoid being put to death by Zhou, yet they did not foresee King Wu’s destruction of Zhou. Bigan and Zixu knew that their rulers were certain to perish, yet they did not know that they themselves would die. Thus it is said, ‘The Marquis of Chong and Elai understood minds but did not understand affairs; Bigan and Zixu understood affairs but did not understand minds.’ The sage would combine both.14

Like junzi yue in the Zuozhuan, gu yue here marks a judgment of specific historical individuals and their deeds. Unlike most junzi yue comments, however, it comes not after an anecdote, but after a 14

Chen 1974: 455.

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passage of summary narrative (a mode that is extremely rare in the Zuozhuan). The combination of judgments of multiple individuals in a parallelistic structure is possible only because the preceding matter has prepared the way appropriately. In passages like this the usage of gu yue lies somewhere between loose linking function and pointed assertion of historical meaning. This is not a step in any historical progression, but one sign that a range of usages actually connected the two extremes. In the following paired anecdotes from the same section of the Hanfeizi, junzi yue could easily be substituted for gu yue: ῖ㕞⚎儣ᇛ㗠ᬏЁቅˈ݊ᄤ೼ЁቅˈЁቅП৯⛍݊ᄤ㗠䙎П㖍ˈ ῖ㕞തᮐᐩϟ㗠ରПˈⲵϔᵃˈ᭛փ䃖ฉ᏿䋞᳄˖ῖ㕞ҹ៥ᬙ㗠亳݊ᄤП㙝Ǆㄨ᳄˖݊ᄤ㗠亳ПˈϨ䂄ϡ亳? ῖ㕞㕋Ёቅˈ᭛փ䊲 ݊ࡳ㗠⭥݊ᖗǄᄳᄿ⥉ᕫ呥ˈՓ⾺㽓ᏈᣕП⅌ˈ݊↡䱼П㗠୐ˈ ⾺㽓Ꮘᓫᖡ㗠㟛Пˈᄳᄿ⅌ˈ㟇㗠∖呥ˈㄨ᳄˖ԭᓫᖡ㗠㟛݊ ↡Ǆᄳᄿ໻ᗦˈ䗤Пˈሙϝ᳜ˈᕽীҹ⚎݊ᄤٙˈ݊ᕵ᳄˖Ჽᇛ 㔾ПˈҞীҹ⚎ᄤٙԩг˛ᄳᄿ᳄˖໿ϡᖡ呥ˈজϨᖡ਒ᄤТ˛ ᬙ᳄˖Ꮋ䀤ϡབ᢭䁴Ǆῖ㕞ҹ᳝ࡳ㽟⭥ˈ⾺㽓Ꮘҹ᳝㔾ⲞֵǄ Commanding an army for Wei, Yue Yang attacked Zhongshan. His son was in Zhongshan. The ruler of Zhongshan boiled his son and had some of the stew sent to him. Sitting in his tent, Yue Yang ate an entire cup. Marquis Wen (of Wei) said to Dushi Zan, ‘For my sake Yue Yang has eaten the flesh of his own son.’ He replied, ‘If he would eat his own son, who would he not eat?’ When Yue Yang returned from Zhongshan, the Marquis of Wen rewarded his achievement but was suspicious of his intentions. While hunting, Mengsun caught a fawn, which he directed Qinxi Ba to take home for him. When its mother followed them, bleating, Qinxi Ba could not bear to be cruel and gave it to her. On his arrival at home, Mengsun asked for the fawn. He answered, ‘I could not bear to be cruel and I gave it to its mother.’ Furious, Mengsun threw him out, but after three months he recalled him and made him tutor to his son. His driver said, ‘Why is it that in the past you blamed him, but now you have summoned and made him tutor to your son?’ Mengsun said, ‘If he could not bear to be cruel to a fawn, then could he bear to be cruel to my son?’ Thus it is said, ‘Clever deviousness is no match for artless earnestness.’ Yue Yang came under suspicion for his achievement, while Qinxi Ba won greater trust for his offense.15

15

Chen 1974: 436.


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One might quibble about the placement of the closing quotation marks. Putting them after the final application of the platitude to the cases of Yue Yang and Qin Xiba would certainly bring us closer to the Zuozhuan, where junzi yue comments most often include a reference to the individual judged. Yet even junzi yue sometimes introduces an unapplied aphorism, as gu yue seems usually to do. In any case, given the absence of punctuation in early Chinese writing, one can do little more than note that gu yue, like junzi yue in many Zuozhuan passages, here brings a section of discourse to a close by repeating a relevant bit of known language and inviting the application of that language in a historical judgment. The Hanfeizi does not stop at repeating with gu yue the gesture of citation marked elsewhere by junzi yue. The author/compiler of the “Chushuo” ‫ ܆‬䁾 chapters ingeniously adopted the hierarchical structure implicit in traditional forms of citation as an armature for his own anti-traditional authority. Han Fei, if he was indeed the author of these chapters, opens each with a series of summary arguments bolstered with the briefest allusions to illustrative historical events. This section of the chapter is designated, perhaps by the author himself, jing ㍧; it is both the warp-thread of the discourse and this text’s own answer to the traditional works that for other thinkers provided a core of sayings to be cited, applied, and defended. The remainder of the chapter, the shuo 䁾 or “explanations,” gives the relevant anecdotes, often in multiple versions, sometimes citing the jing section’s allusive references under gu yue. In effect, the author makes himself a junzi worth quoting. In one especially complex instance, the jing section of the chapter has the following: 䊲㕄݅ࠛ⽕Ҹϡ㸠ˈԩҹᯢПˈᯢПҹ䗴⠊ǃᮐᳳǄᄤ㔩⚎ߎ ᔬˈ⬄ᘚ⚎೗∴ˈᬙᅟ৯ǃㇵ݀ᓦǄᙷ೼⥟㡃ǃ䗴⠊П݅䒞ˈ⬄ 䗷ǃ៤゙П݅⨈гǄ When rewards and punishments are shared, prohibitions and commands do not have effect. How is this illustrated? It is illustrated by means of Zaofu and Yuqi. Zihan was the charging boar and Tian Heng the garden pond, so the ruler of Song and Duke Jian were killed. The trouble arises when Wang Liang and Zaofu share a chariot or when Tian Lian and Cheng Qiao share a zither.16

16

Chen 1974: 755.

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The shuo section retells most of the relevant anecdotes in two or three alternate versions, distinguishing them clearly (yi yue ϔ ᳄ : “one version says”). The famous driver Zaofu lost control of his thirsty horses when they were frightened by a charging boar, while Wang Liang’s (Wangzi Yuqi ⥟ᄤᮐᳳ) thirsty team bolted for a garden pond. (The Hanfeizi is more honest than any other work about the instability of anecdotal lore, and it forthrightly reproduces alternate versions in which the pond is in Zaofu’s story and the boar in Wang Liang’s.) Zihan offered his lord, the ruler of Song, a deal: the ruler could continue to administer rewards, while Zihan would take on himself the burden of inflicting punishments. A year later, he had murdered the ruler and taken control of the state, with no opposition from the cowed populace. Tian Heng won the people of Qi and command of the state by outdoing his ruler, the tight-fisted Duke Jian, in generosity. Tian Lian and Cheng Qiao, for all their virtuosity, could not make music together on a single zither. This shuo section closes with a passage introduced by gu yue: ᬙ᳄ᄤ㔩⚎ߎᔬˈ㗠⬄៤ᐌ⚎೗∴гǄҸ⥟㡃ǃ䗴⠊݅䒞ˈҎ᪡ ϔ䙞䔵㗠ܹ䭔䮁ˈ侩ᖙᬫ㗠䘧ϡ㟇гǄҸ⬄䗷ǃ៤゙݅⨈ˈҎ᩿ ϔ㌗㗠ᧂˈࠛ䷇ᖙᬫ᳆ϡ䘖⶷Ǆ Thus it is said, ‘Zihan was the charging boar and Tian Cheng Chang the garden pond.’ If one were to have Wang Liang and Zaofu share a chariot, each of them working one side of the reins as they entered the gate, the carriage would be certain to be ruined, and they would not complete their journey. If one were to have Tian Lian and Cheng Qiao share a zither, each of them depressing one string and strumming, the sound would be certain to be ruined, and the piece would not proceed.17

The intricate narrative algebra is characteristic of the “Chu shuo” chapters. By manipulating received narratives more boldly than any other author, and with far less regard for their purported historical truth value, Han Fei lays open the polemical (and anti-historical) motivation of narrating in his time: all the interest lies in the subordination of the stories, through their discursive tokens (the boar, the pond), to the thesis on rewards and punishments. Quite incidentally, by preserving the alternate versions that came to his attention, Han Fei also went further in the critical study of history than any other Warring States writer, since he anticipated the process (still unfinished in our day) of juxtaposing canonized accounts, accepted as 17

Chen 1974: 736.


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true, with the welter of other traditions that originally accompanied them. Of the many passages in the Hanfeizi and other late Warring States works that attest to the role of gu yue in introducing historical judgments, few match the sophistication of Han Fei’s self-referential technique, but all seek to harness the force of narrative in support of a specific abstractly expressed concept.18 Within the broad spectrum of writings that employed the figure of the passage-closing citation, both Han Fei’s innovation and the quotation of a concrete historical judgment were relatively unusual cases, and were overshadowed by the habit, epitomized in the Mengzi and the Xunzi, of citing Shi and Shu. Yet this examination of the gestures through their whole range shows clearly enough that the sub-varieties are related to one another, and that the Zuozhuan, far from being the indisputable origin of marked historical judgments, was in the third century B.C. (and even later, when Sima Qian saw the parts of it he saw) one among many sources that sometimes made historical lessons explicit by putting them in quotes.

Judgment Impersonated The Zuozhuan is not only not unique in voicing historical judgments as if they were quotations, it is not unique in using junzi yue for this purpose. Despite a fair amount of scholarship on junzi yue in the Zuozhuan, there has been little attention paid to the same phenomenon as it occurs in other texts.19 One predictable way of dealing with these other junzi yue passages is to treat them as imitations of the Zuozhuan: to assume that the latter was not only earlier than the other texts, but also prestigious enough in any early period and widely enough read to inspire borrowing of its formal techniques even by writers who were working with very different kinds of anecdotes. I doubt very much that conscious imitation accounts for the examples we are about to consider. Everything suggests that during the Western Han the Zuozhuan was not what we sometimes consider it—the sole largely reliable source for the Spring and Autumn period—but one among many sources whose reliability was not much of an issue. Even texts 18 19

Chen 1974: 446, 463-464, 2: 705, 800-801, 804-805, 826, 829-831, 864-866. Xu 1993; Huang 1996.

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that often follow it (like the Shiji) often contradict it. Perhaps the appearance of junzi yue in the Zuozhuan and in the Yanzi Chunqiu ᰣ ᄤ᯹⾟, for example, indicates shared routes of transmission, even shared sources. In that case, however, it would still be imprecise to speak of the Zuozhuan as the model. We would instead be focusing, to whatever extent possible, on a group of thinkers and writers who tended to attribute the morals of their stories to a junzi character rather than to some less determinate entity. Sources for the period being what they are, the history and identity of this group are likely to remain poorly understood. Even so, to take the rhetorical habit itself as a starting point of investigation, and to assume that writings that adopt the junzi follow an accepted practice, rather than imitating a particular text, makes more sense than attributing to the Zuozhuan the status that it would acquire only later. What we have for the period are texts, and very sparse texts at that; to account for them we must begin with tools of textual (including rhetorical) analysis, not with the methods and assumptions appropriate for later periods. Six times in the Yanzi Chunqiu the junzi’s judgments of events and personages are cited at the end of anecdotes. A year after Yanzi advises Duke Zhuang 㥞 of Qi against his oppressive and warlike ways, the duke is killed in Cui Zhu’s የᵐ coup: “A noble man says, ‘He gave the utmost in loyalty without first establishing an acquaintance; when he was not employed he did not yearn for his salary: Yanzi could be called fastidious’” ৯ᄤ᳄˖ⲵᖴϡ䈿Ѹˈϡ ⫼ϡ់⽓ˈᰣᄤৃ䃖ᒝ⶷.20 During a time of famine, Yanzi eases conditions for the workers by allowing the duke’s new palace to be completed: “A noble man says, ‘During a time of correct administration, Yanzi would have wished to distribute grain to the people, nothing more; but if this was not possible, he went along with affairs and acted as a counterpart to the administration’”৯ᄤ᳄˖ᬓ ࠛ ᰣ ᄤ ℆ ⱐ ㉳㟛 ⇥ 㗠 Ꮖ ˈ 㢹 Փ ϡ ৃ ᕫ ˈ ࠛ ձ ⠽ 㗠 ‫ ي‬Ѣ ᬓ . 21 Drinking by night, the duke visits Yanzi and Sima Rangju ৌ侀い㣈 in turn, inviting them to share his pleasures, but both refuse in the most upright terms, and he ends up with a more appropriate companion, the toady Liangqiu Ju ṕϬ᪮: “A noble man says, ‘The sage rulers all had friends for their improvement; they had no liegemen who abandoned themselves to pleasure. Duke Jing was no 20 21

Wu 1962: 173. Wu 1962: 308.


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equal for them, so he employed both and barely escaped ruin’” ৯ᄤ ᳄˖㘪䊶П৯ˈⱚ᳝Ⲟটˈ⛵ًῖП㞷ˈ᱃݀ ᓫ㛑ঞˈᬙܽ⫼ Пˈ‫ڙ‬ᕫϡѵ. 22 Encountering a man of quality who has fallen on hard times and has sold himself into servitude, Yanzi redeems him; Yanzi later apologizes for treating him with less than perfect courtesy: ৯ᄤ᳄˖֫ҎП᳝ࡳࠛᖋˈᖋࠛ倩ˈᰣᄤ᳝ࡳˈ‫ܡ‬ҎѢ䯼㗠ড䀬 ϟПˈ݊এ֫Ѻ䘴⶷ǄℸܼࡳП䘧г.23 A noble man says, ‘An ordinary man who does a good deed wins gratitude; with gratitude he becomes arrogant. When Yanzi did a good deed, freeing a man from dire straits and yet deferring to him, how far he was from the ordinary! This is the way of making good deeds complete.’

Asked about the price of commodities in the market, Yanzi observes that special prosthetic shoes for mutilated criminals have been expensive. The ruler relaxes his laws: ৯ᄤ᳄˖ҕҎП㿔ˈ߽݊मઝʽᰣᄤϔ㿔ˈ㗠唞փⳕߥǄ䀽᳄˖ ৯ᄤབ⼝ˈіᒊ䘘ᏆǄ݊ᰃП䃖Т.24 A noble man says, ‘How far-reaching are the benefits of the words of a humane man! With one remark from Yanzi, the Marquis of Qi reduced his punishments. When the Shi says, “If the noble man is pleased, the disorders must soon cease,” this is what is meant.’

To quell unrest prompted by rumors of a coup, it is enough for the duke to announce that Yanzi is in attendance: ৯ᄤ᳄˖໿㸠ϡৃϡࢭгǄᰣᄤᄬ㗠⇥ᖗᅝˈℸ䴲ϔ᮹П ᠔⚎ г˗᠔ҹ㽟ѢֵࠡѢᕠ㗙ǄᰃҹᰣᄤゟҎ㞷Пԡˈ㗠ᅝ㨀⇥Пᖗ.25 A noble man says, ‘One cannot fail to devote oneself to conduct. That the hearts of the people were eased because Yanzi was present was not something accomplished in a single day; it was because of things seen before and believed afterward. Therefore when Yanzi stood in the position of a liegeman, he eased the hearts of the many people.’

Even seventeen years after Yanzi’s death, his example still inspires virtuous deeds by at least one Qi minister: “A noble man says, ‘The fastidiousness of Xian Zhang was in fact a legacy of the behavior of

22

Wu 1962: 318-319. Wu 1962: 353-354. 24 Wu 1962: 415-416. Cf. Zuozhuan, Zhao 3.3, cf. Yang 1990: 1238. The shi cited is “Qiao Yan” ؏ߢ, Mao 198. 25 Wu 1962: 516. 23

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Yanzi’” ৯ᄤ᳄˖ᓺゴП ᒝˈЗᰣᄤП䙎㸠г.26 Except for slight stylistic differences and the consistent focus on Yanzi himself, these comments would not be out of place in the Zuozhuan. One of them, as I have indicated, is even found in that work. The language of another, the last, recalls appraisals of Shuxiang ন৥ of Jin and Zichan ᄤ⫶ of Zheng attributed to Zhongni ӆሐ, or Confucius, who, as is well known, is often cited in the role of a junzi-like commentator, especially in the second half of the Zuozhuan. 27 Viewed from the perspective of the Zuozhuan, the single strangest thing about these junzi comments is precisely their obsession with a single individual. Or, to put it another way, it may surprise us to find the authority of the junzi invoked repeatedly in a work that would not seem to need it. After all, the Yanzi Chunqiu, like any other zi text, is ostensibly dedicated to the superiority of the master from the outset; although occasional citations of the junzi are appropriate in an annalistic collection of anecdotes, where the actors and events change continually, that gesture might appear superfluous in a text that has already committed itself to a single named figure of authority. What does it mean that the compilers of the Yanzi Chunqiu were apparently able to collect six different anecdotes that culminated with a junzi yue judgment of their hero? That the one anecdote shared with the Zuozhuan includes the Zuozhuan’s junzi yue comment suggests that the compilers imported these comments, rather than composing them themselves. That five of the six anecdotes are not found in the Zuozhuan hints again at a widespread use of the junzi yue gesture. Near the beginning of this discussion, I referred to the layered nature of the Zuozhuan and to the multiplicity of sources for judgments in that text. Among the traditions that helped make possible the way the Zuozhuan was eventually written was a practice, best attested in the Lunyu 䂪䁲, of enunciating and ultimately recording in writing judgments of famous or infamous individuals. These judgments were attributed, usually without any record of the historical narrative that would have prompted them, to a revered teacher, usually Confucius. Lunyu, for example, is full of such statements: besides being made to comment on his own disciples, Confucius issues verdicts on such men as Kong Wenzi ᄨ᭛ᄤ of Wei, Zichan, Yanzi, Zang Wenzhong 㮣᭛ӆ of Lu, Ning Wuzi ⬃℺ᄤ of Wei, Bo Yi ԃ 26 27

Wu 1962: 520-521. Yang 1990: 1367, 1422; Schaberg 2001: 179.


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་ and Shu Qi ন唞, and Zuo Qiuming ᎺϬᯢ. Such verdicts were apparently part of the teachings of self-identified followers of Confucius, perhaps even of the historical Confucius himself; they seem to have merited transcription and transmission from a fairly early period. They continued to be valuable later, as in a set of paired judgments reminiscent of the Hanfeizi’s remarks on the Marquis of Chong, Elai, Bigan, and Zixu: “The master said, ‘Duke Wen of Jin was devious, not straight; Duke Huan of Qi was straight, not devious’” ᄤ᳄˖ᰝ᭛݀䄢㗠ϡℷ˗唞ḧ݀ℷ㗠ϡ䄢 . 28 From one point of view, writings of this sort are loving records of an intellectual ancestor’s views. From another, however, they amount to personifications of the rhetorical function described above. A judgment that enjoyed some currency—that was perhaps not quite a commonplace, but close to it—was matched with the figure of an important personage, and thenceforth personage and saying enjoyed a sort of synergy. Few would doubt that, for the Lunyu at least, the zi (“master”) who speaks is meant to be the historical Confucius. Yet the attribution of sayings to a zi is widespread, even in texts not explicitly associated with Confucius, and one wonders what other translations of zi yue ᄤ᳄ are possible, even correct: “a master said”; “my teacher said”; perhaps “a teacher would say.” Depending on how one translates the framing gesture for aphorisms in the Lunyu, historical questions concerning retrospective attribution of newly fabricated sayings may be less pressing. Some of the same problems of meaning attend junzi yue. In Lunyu, by convention, Confucius’s judgments are for the most part presented alone. The focus of the text is the personage and the prospect of coherence in his historical and philosophical thinking. Elsewhere, however, Confucius’s judgments are sometimes joined with anecdotes. The most famous examples are in the Zuozhuan. Neglected examples are again to be found in the Yanzi Chunqiu, as well as in the Guoyu, Hanfeizi, Lüshi Chunqiu, Hanshi Waizhuan, and Shuoyuan 䁾㢥. The following passage appears, with few differences, in both the Yanzi Chunqiu and the Zuozhuan:29

28

Lunyu 14.15; cf. Cheng 1990: 979. Compare this Yanzi Chunqiu version (Wu 1962: 367) with Zuozhuan, Xiang 17.7 (Yang 1990: 1033). 29

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ᰣᄤሙᰣḧᄤП୾ˈ呸㹄ˈᮀˈ㣈㍄ᐊˈᴪˈ㦙ሼˈ亳㉹ˈሙ‫׮‬ ᓀˈᆶ㢿ˈᵩ㤝Ǆ݊ᆊ㗕᳄˖䴲໻໿П⾂гǄᰣᄤ᳄˖ଃ॓⚎໻ ໿Ǆ When Yanzi was in mourning for (his father) Yan Huanzi, he dressed in mourning robes of coarse, unhemmed cloth, with a hempen cap and belt, a walking stick, and sandals of woven grass. He ate gruel, dwelt in a lean-to, slept on a straw mat, and made his pillow of grass. His household steward said, ‘This is not the ritual for a high officer.’ Yanzi said, ‘Only the head of an administration is a high officer.’30

Commentators explain that although Yanzi is following older Zhou mourning practices correctly, he answers as he does out of humility and a desire to avoid offending his questioner.31 Only the Yanzi Chunqiu version includes the final judgment: ᳒ᄤҹଣᄨᄤˈᄨᄤ᳄˖ᰣᄤৃ䃖㛑䘴ᆇ⶷ǄϡҹᏅПᰃ侕ҎП 䴲ˈ䘰䖁ҹ䙓੢ˈ㕽г໿ʽ When Zengzi asked Confucius about it, Confucius said, ‘Yanzi can be said to have kept harm far from himself. He did not rebuff another’s error with his own correctness, but avoided blame through deferential speech. What propriety!’

Whether such a view accords with other versions of the intellectual system attributed to Confucius is a question in its own right. But the fact that the Yanzi Chunqiu contrives to secure Confucius’s sanction for Yanzi’s behavior, doing so by arranging a little framing drama for the enunciation of what is fundamentally a junzi judgment, shows that it was not only in the Zuozhuan that the Lunyu-style tradition of recording judgments had joined another tradition of recording anecdotes.32 The Zuozhuan’s claims to an originary uniqueness in the enunciation of historical judgments suffer further when it is noted that the habit of invoking the junzi did not cease with the coming of the Han, and did not disappear—as if in some relentless ascent toward a mature historiography—into the formal chapter-ending techniques of Sima Qian and Ban Gu ⧁೎ (32-92 A.D.). On the contrary, the habit would seem, to judge from Western Han works, to have lingered on 30

Wu 1962: 367, cf. Yang 1990: 1033. Yang 1990: 1034. The Yanzi Chunqiu contains several other examples of Confucius cited as junzistyle commentator, see Wu 1962: 74: 111; 156, 239, 290, 326, 489. For another late Warring States example, see Hanfeizi (Chen 1974: 878); Han Fei normally uses gu yue to introduce cited judgments, but here is apparently quoting a junzi comment he does not necessarily endorse. 31 32


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among anecdote-users during that period. The Xinxu ᮄᑣ of Liu Xiang ࡝৥ (79-8 B.C.) is especially rich in examples, with junzi comments cited after several anecdotes: Ji Zha’s ᄷᴁ refusal of the Wu succession, the principled suicide of a ducal heir in Wei, the Chu minister Shen Baoxu’s ⬇ࣙ㚹 mission to secure a rescuing army from Qin during Wu’s occupation of Ying 䚶 , several martyred scribes’ insistence on recording the truth about Cui Zhu’s coup in Qi, an early version of the Zhaoshi Gu’er 䍭⇣ᄸ‫ ܦ‬story, a tale of suicidal propriety (yi 㕽) from the year of the Duke of Bo’s ⱑ݀ uprising in Chu, and the story of a filial warrior who avoided danger while his mother was alive, but made up for it spectacularly once she was gone.33 Only in the first example are the junzi’s words found also in the Zuozhuan. The Huainanzi ⏂फᄤ, capping a retelling of the fall of Zhi Bo ᱎԃ of Jin, attributes to the junzi a version of a saying also found in the Daode Jing 䘧ᖋ㍧: “With fine words one can purchase respect; with fine deeds one can lord it over others” 㕢㿔ৃҹᏖᇞˈ 㕢㸠ৃҹࡴҎ.34 Hanshi Waizhuan cites the junzi in approbation of a messenger who skillfully used lines from the Shi to remonstrate with a neglectful father.35 Liu Xiang’s Shuoyuan repeats the Yanzi Chunqiu’s remark on Xian Zhang, who carried on Yanzi’s legacy seventeen years after the latter’s death; it cites the junzi again in praise of Dongguo Chui ᵅ䛁ൖ of Qi, a preternaturally perceptive man of Duke Huan’s era; and it gives a variant of the Xinyu’s comment on Ji Zha of Wu.36 Perhaps the most interesting of these examples is the Xinxu’s turn on the familiar story of the Qi scribes who kept writing “Cui Zhu killed his ruler” የᵐᓦ݊৯ (a version of the present Chunqiu ᯹⾟ entry on this event) even after Cui Zhu had shown that he would put them to death for it. The Zuozhuan version includes no comment from the junzi; the comment cited in the Xinyu—“A noble man said, ‘They were good scribes of old’” ৯ᄤ᳄˖সП㡃৆ 37—recalls a junzi-like assessment of another famous scribe, Dong Hu 㨷⢤ of Jin, attributed to Confucius in the Zuozhuan.38 The pose of historical judgment and the raw material work at cross-purposes: as an idea, judgment presumes knowledge, care for authentication, and coherence; but the 33

Zhao 1989: 179-180, 186-187, 189, 213-215, 228, 232. Zhang 1997: 1869; Zhu 1984: 253. 35 Qu 1996: 687-688. 36 Xiang 1987: 30, 316, 345. 37 Zhao 1989: 215. 38 Yang 1990: 1099, 663. 34

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anecdotal tradition, borrowing promiscuously from here and there with little concern for verification, is a riot of literary (not historical) pleasures. Are we sure, at this distance, that the Zuozhuan is in this instance a better source than the Xinyu? That it was Dong Hu and not the Qi scribes that Confucius was speaking about? That he made any such remark at all? The demonstrated fact of fecundity and variation in the anecdotal lore calls into question many of the assumptions that make us trust the Zuozhuan. Finally, then, we reach the Zuozhuan and the topic proposed for this paper by the organizers of the conference at which it was first presented. Writing elsewhere about the literary conventions by which the Zuozhuan and the Guoyu ೟䁲 represent reality and endow it with a Confucian or proto-Confucian meaning, I have drawn attention to the place of enunciated judgment in the morphology of anecdotes and have argued that the junzi persona is the narrators’ main means of articulating the significance of any given anecdote or series of anecdotes. 39 Meanwhile, in a systematic examination of the comments attributed in the Zuozhuan both to the junzi character and to his counterpart, Confucius, Eric Henry has recently argued for differences between the two in content and style. 40 A situation such as I have described would go far to contextualize and explain the phenomenon Henry has observed. Seen against the background of other gestures at citation (zhuan yue, gu yue) and other instances of junzi yue, the evidence of the Zuozhuan does not indicate so much an orderly transition from junzi to Confucius, from anonymous authority to named scholastic forebear, as the adoption of different techniques of citation that were both available at the time of composition. If, as I have conjectured, the Zuozhuan originated in multiple collections of anecdotes relating to the Spring and Autumn period, these different techniques might well have come from associated but separate groups of thinkers with slightly different ways of handling their knowledge of the past. 41 For any of these groups that sought to pair a familiar explicit judgment with the anecdote meant to justify it, getting a perfect match would sometimes have been difficult. 42 But under didactic or political circumstances that required a ready reduction of the meaning of an anecdote, that favored the linkage of narrated 39

Schaberg 2001: 178-182. Henry 1999. Schaberg 2001: 317-324. 42 Schaberg 2001: 184, 204. 40 41


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events with key ethical terms and canonical texts, or that demanded the sanctioning of a particular narrative by association with a figure of authority, comments from a junzi or from Confucius, even ill-adapted ones, would have been desirable. By emphasizing the larger context of the Zuozhuan’s junzi yue comments, I have tried to show how rhetorical criteria might have accompanied and conditioned the emergence of a personified judge, named or unnamed. I have also tried to show, by stressing the commonplaceness of many of the cited judgments, that these had value first as words, and only secondarily as words associated with a particular individual. Thus it may be said that by slow stages a gesture of judgment—the handiness with which an anecdote was capped with one citation or another, or the handiness with which one citation might be used to cap this anecdote or that—gave rise to increasingly coherent judging figures and, ultimately, to the possibility of consistent, properly historical judgment. It is patently not the case that Confucius was such a coherent figure during the Warring States period. But during the Western Han, when Sima Qian was organizing a work of unprecedented coherence under the aegis of a highly coherent personal authority, thinkers like Dong Zhongshu 㨷ӆ㟦 (c. 179-c. 104 B.C.) were working to turn the Confucius associated with the Chunqiu into a founding hero of consistent, systematic legality. True, this account is, from the perspective of the standard hypotheses, almost exactly backward: instead of a gradual falling away from the model of the Zuozhuan, with its prominent, coherent-seeming judges and judgment, into the chaos of Warring States miscellanies, I see an original chaos of textuality, in which many texts from about the same period shared habits of citation and ways of using the past. When the time was right, one text, the Zuozhuan, was raised up by the needs of canonization and established retroactively as the origin of historical judgment and the indispensable adjunct to the figures of the junzi and Confucius. In this way, at least as far as evolving techniques of writing history were concerned, platitudes gave rise to personae.

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REFERENCES CITED Chen Qiyou 䱇༛⤋ (ed.) (1974), Hanfeizi Jishi 䶧䴲ᄤ䲚䞟 (Collected Annotations on the Hanfeizi). Hong Kong: Zhonghua Shuju. Cheng Shude ⿟‍ᖋ (ed.) (1990), Lunyu Jishi 䂪䁲䲚䞟 (Collected Annotations on the Lunyu). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Henry, Eric (1999), “‘Junzi Yue’ versus ‘Zhongni Yue’ in Zuozhuan”, in Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 59 (June 1999), 125-61. Huang Cuifen 咗㖴㢀 (1996), “Zuozhuan ‘junzi yue’ kaoquan Ꮊ‫‘ڇ‬৯ᄤ᳄’ 㗗䁂 (Evidentiary Analysis of ‘A Noble Man Says’ in the Zuozhuan)”, in Chaoyang Xuebao ᳱ䱑ᅌฅ 1 (1996), 89-105. Jingmen Shi Bowuguan 㤞䭔Ꮦम⠽仼 (ed.) (1998), Guodian Chu Mu Zhujian 䛁ᑫ Ἦ๧ネㇵ (Bamboo Slips from the Chu Tomb in Guodian). Beijing: Wenwu Chubanshe. Qu Shouyuan ሜ ᅜ ‫( ܗ‬ed.) (1996), Hanshi Waizhuan Jianshu 䶧䀽 ໪ ‫ ڇ‬ㅟ ⭣ (Exoteric Traditions on the Han Poems, with Explanation and Subcommentary). Chengdu: Bashu Shushe Chubanshe. Ruan, Yuan 䰂‫( ܗ‬ed.) (1816, 1982), Shisan Jing Zhushu कϝ㍧⊼⭣ (Commentaries and Subcommentaries on the Thirteen Classics). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Schaberg, David (2001), A Patterned Past: Form and Thought in Early Chinese Historiography (Harvard East Asian Monographs 205). Cambridge: Harvard University Asia Center. Steiner, Deborah Tarn (1994), The Tyrant’s Writ: Myths and Images of Writing in Ancient Greece. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Wang Liqi ⥟఼߽ (ed.) (1986), Xinyu Jiaozhu ᮄ䁲᷵⊼ (New Accounts, Collated and Annotated). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 1986. Wang Xianqian ⥟‫ܜ‬䃭 (ed.) (1988), Xunzi Jishi 㤔ᄤ䲚䞟 (Collected Annotations on the Xunzi). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Wu Zeyu ਇ ࠛ 㰲 (ed.) (1962), Yanzi Chunqiu Jishi ᰣ ᄤ ᯹ ⾟䲚䞟 (Collected Annotations on The Springs and Autumns of Yanzi). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Xiang Zonglu ৥ ᅫ 元 (ed.) (1987), Shuoyuan Jiaozheng 䁾㢥 ᷵ 䄝 (Garden of Sayings, Collated and Sourced). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Xu Xingda ᕤ㸠䘨 (1993), “Lun Zuozhuan ‘junzi yue’ 䂪 Ꮊ‫‘ ڇ‬৯ᄤ᳄’ (On ‘A Noble Man Says’ in the Zuozhuan)”, in Chengdu Shizhuan Xuebao: Wenkeban ៤䛑᏿ᇜᅌฅ˖᭛⾥⠜ 2 (1993), 59-62. Yang Bojun ἞ԃዏ (ed.) (1990), Chunqiu Zuozhuan Zhu ᯹⾟Ꮊ‫( ⊼ڇ‬Commentary on the Zuo Tradition on the Spring and Autumn Annals). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Zhang Shuangdi ᔉ䲭ặ (ed.) (1997), Huainanzi Jiaoshi ⏂फᄤ᷵䞟 (Collation and Commentary on the Huainanzi). Beijing: Beijing Daxue Chubanshe. Zhao Shanyi 䍭୘䀦 (ed.) (1989), Xinxu Shuzheng ᮄᑣ⭣䄝 (Subcommentary and Evidentiary Sources on the New Compilation). Shanghai: Huadong Shifan Daxue Chubanshe. Zhu Qianzhi ᴅ䃭П (ed.) (1984), Laozi Jiaoshi 㗕ᄤ᷵䞟 (Collation and Annotations on the Laozi). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju.

SPEECHES AND THE QUESTION OF AUTHENTICITY IN ANCIENT CHINESE HISTORICAL RECORDS1 Yuri Pines On May 15, 2001 the Palestinian president, Yasser Arafat, delivered a major speech on national Palestinian TV. In the evening, portions of this speech were broadcast by Israeli TV to its audience. At seven o’clock that evening, an Israeli news program in Arabic directed at Israeli Arab citizens delivered those portions of the speech that focused on the need for peace with Israel. Half an hour later, the Hebrew news program delivered a different portion of the speech, which focused on the need to struggle against the Israeli occupation. In each case the viewers watched an entirely authentic speech by the Palestinian leader, but their impressions of the speech’s content were not the same: within half an hour, a peace-loving Arafat became a warmonger. This short illustration of the possibility of manipulating authentic records for political or ideological needs should serve as a useful departure point for the discussion of the authenticity of the speeches recorded in pre-imperial Chinese historical and philosophical texts. In the following pages I shall discuss the issue of “authenticity”, trying to show that at least in some cases historical records truthfully reproduce the basic content of a statesman’s sayings. This never implies, however, that the speech we read in a historical text such as the Zuozhuan Ꮊ‫ ڇ‬is identical to what was really pronounced. An ancient historian, just like a modern journalist, had certain goals to pursue when recording a speech, and he could easily embellish it, add or edit out portions of the speech and so on. In China, as elsewhere, the political and ideological importance of the written word made historical records particularly vulnerable to shrewd manipulations. The questions to be asked, however, is to what extent these manipulations distort the content of the original speech, and whether or not the recorded speech may be used as a means to investigate the Weltanschauung of its putative author. As I shall try to show, the reliability of the speeches cited in historical records changed considerably, from the relatively reliable records of the Chunqiu 1

This research was founded by the Israel Science Foundation (grant no. 726/ 02-1).

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period ( ᯹ ⾟ , 722-453 B.C.) to the fictionalized accounts of the Zhanguo age (᠄೟, 453-221 B.C.), when ideological needs utterly undermined the credibility of historical records in general, and of recorded speeches in particular.

The Origins of Recording Speeches The tradition of recording speeches is probably as old as Chinese historiography itself. Short utterances by Shang (ଚ, c. 1600-1046 B.C.) kings, pronounced during the divination ceremony, appear on oracle bones. The earliest chapters of the Shujing ᳌㍧ contain the declarations of the Western Zhou (㽓਼, c. 1046-771 B.C.) kings; many other royal announcements uttered during the investiture ceremony appear in the Western Zhou bronze inscriptions; the latter also frequently record the recipient’s polite answer and his praise of the royal munificence. The inscriptions often mention a scribe (shi ৆) or a recorder (zuo ce ԰ ㄪ ) who were present at the investiture ceremony and apparently recorded the investiture speech and the recipient’s reply. The presence of the scribe whose task was to record the royal announcements is also mentioned in the Shujing.2 Quite probably Western Zhou scribes recorded only the extraordinary speeches such as oaths, declarations and the kings’ commands. This tradition is perhaps referred to by the “Yu Zao” ⥝㯏 chapter of the Liji ⾂㿬: “[The king] acts—then the left scribe records it; speaks—then the right scribe records it.”3 The speeches incised on the bones or inscribed on bronze, just like the Shujing announcements, were ritually important messages, and their recording was part of the general ritual duties of the scribes. We have no reason to doubt the authenticity of these early records, which may represent with high precision actual sayings of kings and high nobles. Of course, even in 2 For the discussion of inscriptions, see von Falkenhausen 1993. For the Shujing examples, see Shangshu Zhengyi , “Jin Teng” 䞥⒩ 13: 195-97, “Luo Gao” ⋯䁹 15: 214-17. 3 See the Liji Jijie ⾂㿬䲚㾷 29: 778 as well as the Hanshu ⓶᳌ 30: 1715. The Lüshi Chunqiu ਖ⇣᯹⾟ anecdote tells that when King Cheng of Zhou ៤⥟ had jokingly enfeoffed his younger brother, Tang Shu ૤ন, the Duke of Zhou ਼݀ told him: “The Son of Heaven does not joke in his words. The speech of the Son of Heaven is recorded by the scribes, recited by musicians, praised by the shi ຿”, see Lüshi Chunqiu Jiaoshi ਖ⇣᯹⾟᷵䞟, “Zhong Yan” 䞡㿔 18:1635. Cf. a slightly different version in the Shiji ৆ 㿬 39: 1635. The anecdote itself is of dubious reliability, but it may reflect the original scribal ritual of the Zhou court.

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these cases certain manipulations were possible, such as the omission of a king’s erroneous prognostications from the oracle bones record,4 but in general we may assume that this incipient tradition of recording speeches was sufficiently accurate and reliable. The changes might have begun when the recorded speeches lost their ritual value, but instead gained political importance.

Speeches in Historical Narrative: The Zuozhuan The Zuozhuan (hereafter the Zuo) is the most detailed narrative history from the pre-imperial period, and its role in forming Chinese historiographic tradition can be compared only to that of the Shiji ৆ 㿬. In addition to a thorough, year-by-year account of major events in the history of the Chunqiu states, the Zuo also contains hundreds of speeches attributed to various historical personalities from the Chunqiu period. These speeches play an important role in the Zuo narrative, as they explain, predict or analyze most important events; speeches often serve as a crucial device, which allows a reader to draw lessons from history. Accordingly, many scholars have suggested that the speeches were either invented or at least heavily polished by the author/compiler of the Zuo, and hence basically reflect his personal outlook, rather than that of the putative protagonists. This view, I believe, may be disputed.5 One of the major problems which face scholars who deal with the Zuo, is the question of the primary sources used by its author/compiler. Since none of these sources survived, many scholars tend to neglect them altogether, and attribute the entire set of literary devices and interpretative techniques used in the Zuo to its author. I believe, however, that many of these devices and techniques reflect primarily the nature of the Zuo’s sources, which mediate between actual events of Chunqiu history and the Zuo narrative; and the evidence furthermore suggests that most of the speeches cited in the Zuo also originated from its primary sources. Few would doubt that the Zuo is a compilation of earlier accounts of Chunqiu history. For instance, Ronald Egan and Wang He pointed 4

Keigthley 1999: 207-230, particularly p. 223, note 30. The following discussion is largely based on my earlier, more detailed studies of the reliability of the speeches in the Zuo, for which see Pines 1997a, 2002: 14-39. 5

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at numerous short narratives scattered throughout the Zuo, which in all likelihood existed as independent units prior to the compilation of the Zuo.6 The Zuo also contains larger units of texts from different states, as indicated by the uneven coverage of different states throughout the narrative. Domestic and foreign affairs of certain states are presented in great detail for several years, while at other periods the same state almost disappears from the narrative. This disappearance cannot always be explained by changing political circumstances in the given state; in all likelihood it suggests that the Zuo compiler had no access to material from this state at the given period of time.7 These are only preliminary observations, but even they suffice to indicate that the author/compiler of the Zuo must have resorted to primary materials from different Chunqiu states. What was the nature of these materials? The scrutiny of the Zuo text suggests that these were not confined to the official annals of the Chunqiu states, such as the Chunqiu ᯹⾟ of the state of Lu 元, and to oral tradition. 8 In addition, the compiler must have had at his disposal detailed written records from several Chunqiu states. This is suggested by, among other things, the abundance of minute details, such as dates, official titles, personal and place names, which cannot plausibly derive either from the official annals, or from oral anecdotes. Furthermore, different portions of the Zuo text employ different calendrical systems, which reflects actual differences between calendrical systems current in different Chunqiu states, such as Jin ᰝ and Lu (for details, see below). Moreover, we may discern slight but recognizable grammatical changes from the beginning to the end of the Zuo narrative, which again strongly suggests reliance on written sources.9 6

Egan 1977; Wang He 1993. The changing coverage of major Chunqiu states is best exemplified by the disappearance of several major powers, such as Jin ᰝ, Zheng 䜁 and Chu Ἦ from the last years of the Zuo narrative, see Pines, 2002: 32-33. Similar patterns may be observed elsewhere. For instance, the Zuo discusses in meticulous detail the internal life of the Zhou royal domain for the second half of the sixth century B.C., but provides no information about Zhou for the early fifth century; conversely, internal affairs of the state of Qi 唞 are all but absent from the Zuo narrative for the first quarter of the sixth century, but rapidly resurface thereafter. 8 These are often assumed to be the primary sources of the Zuo. See, for instance, Maspero 1978: 361-362; van der Loon 1961: 25-26; Schaberg 1996a: 13-28. For a revised and more attenuated presentation of Schaberg’s views, see Schaberg 2001: 315-324. 9 Although the Zuo author/compiler unified the language of his sources in accordance with current grammatical rules, in some cases he did not alter the original language, presumably when two or more different usages were acceptable. The most 7


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It is therefore highly likely that the Zuo was compiled from earlier scribal records. But what would these records have looked like? While we cannot answer this question with great precision, we may nevertheless assume that they were short narrative histories, which employed some of the interpretative techniques that are commonly attributed to the Zuo author. For instance, the predictions of future events, which are scattered throughout the Zuo, allowing the readers to assess the future course of events and to learn which policy choices were acceptable, are one of the major interpretative devices employed throughout the narrative. Most scholars, who have discussed the role of predictions in the Zuo, have assumed that it was the author of the Zuo who put predictions into the mouths of his protagonists. 10 This assumption, however, may be questioned. Let us examine one case. In 655 B.C., Duke Xian of Jin (வ᣸ֆ, r. 676-651 B.C.) planned to annex the states of Guo 㰶 and Yu 㰲. The Zuo presents a detailed account of Duke Xian’s moves and their outcome. Among others, the narrative cites a prediction made by Bu Yan र‫ؗ‬, a divination specialist at the court of Jin. In the eighth month Bu predicted that the state of Guo would be extinguished between the ninth and the tenth month of the year.11 Immediately after Bu Yan’s prediction the Zuo reports that the state of Guo was indeed annihilated, but that this happened on the first day of the twelfth month. Should we then consider Bu Yan’s prediction to be incorrect? Not necessarily. Bu Yan used the Xia ໣ (Jin) calendar, according to which Guo was indeed conquered on the first day of the tenth month. The Zuo reported the day of the final annihilation of Guo according to the Zhou (Lu) calendar, the twelfth month of which was identical to visible cases of linguistic change in the Zuo are the changing frequency of the use of synonymous particles yu Ѣ and ᮐ (although in this case stylistic considerations also influence the distribution of these particles), and the substitution of qi ݊ as a rhetorical question particle with qi 䈜. In both cases a clear change occurs from the more archaic usage, characteristic of the Western Zhou texts, toward a modern one, which is akin to that of the early Zhanguo writings. For details, see Pines 2002: 217220; for other examples of changes in the language of the Zuo, see also He Leshi 1988. 10 The best discussion of the role of predictions in the Zuo narrative can be found in Schaberg 2001: 182-183 and 192-195. For a common attribution of predictions to the Zuo author, see Mori Hideki 1976; Zhang Weizhong 1997; Lewis 1999. For a more attenuated argument, which attempts to connect predictions to the oral transmission of the Zuo speeches, see Schaberg 1997: 136-137. For a radically different approach, to which I owe much of my analysis, see Wang He 1984. 11 See Chunqiu Zuozhuan Zhu ਞટؐႚࣹʳ(hereafter the Zuo), Xi 5: 311.

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the tenth month of the Xia calendar, while the details of the Jin activities preceding the conquest were copied from the Jin records. The calendrical discrepancy suggests that Bu Yan’s prediction appeared originally in the Jin records, and was copied into the Zuo without significant modifications. Had the Zuo author invented Bu Yan’s prediction, he would certainly have used the same calendar throughout the story; as this is not the case, we may plausibly assume that the prediction was a contribution made by the Jin scribe. This is one of many examples of predictions that the author transmitted more or less verbatim from his sources, but even this single example suffices to challenge the assertion that the predictions should invariably be considered one of the Zuo author’s devices.12 Predictions are only one kind of the literary devices commonly attributed to the Zuo author, which may in fact be traced to the Zuo primary sources. 13 This in turn suggests that the Zuo is basically a compilation of earlier narrative histories, which were incorporated into it without significant modifications, just as portions of the Zuo and other Chunqiu and Zhanguo texts were later incorporated into the Shiji.14 It is therefore highly likely that a significant proportion of the speeches were also incorporated into the Zuo from earlier Chunqiu narrative histories. This assertion, however, does not resolve the controversy regarding the speeches’ authenticity. The speeches after all could have been invented by Chunqiu scribes, whose records served as the primary material for the Zuo compiler, or could have been modified or simply invented by the Zuo author/compiler himself. Can we regard the Zuo speeches merely as a product of scribal imagination? Without entirely ruling out this possibility, we should consider first the above-mentioned Zhou (and Shang) tradition of recording important speeches. Quite probably Western Zhou scribes recorded only the extraordinary speeches such as oaths, declarations and kings’ commands. By the time of the Eastern Zhou, however, this tradition encompassed broader activities; instances of recording statesmen’s speeches are mentioned several times in the Zuo and in 12

For more examples of the predictions copied into the Zuo from its sources, see Wang He 1984. 13 For further examples, see Pines 2002: 23. 14 Unlike in the case of the Zuo, scholars who studied the Shiji achieved remarkable results in tracing the ways in which Sima Qian (ৌ侀䙋, c. 145-90 B.C.) utilized and edited earlier historical works, such as the Zuo, which enable them to distinguish Sima Qian’s personal input from that of his sources. See, for instance, Rubin 1966; Durrant 1995: 71-122; Hardy 1999: 148-153.


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the Guoyu ೟䁲;15 more examples appear in later Zhanguo writings.16 It is impossible to validate all these cases, but they definitely indicate that the practice of recording speeches existed at Chunqiu and Zhanguo courts and might have been relatively widespread. This assertion is further corroborated by a recently discovered text named Yushu (䁲᳌, “Speech Document”). The Yushu, unearthed at the site of Shuihudi ⴵ㰢ഄ, Hubei, contains a record of a speech delivered in the fourth month of 227 B.C. by a Qin ⾺ governor of the Nanjun फ 䚵 commandery. The speech was immediately recorded and distributed to local officials.17 This document suggests that the practice of recording important speeches had become fairly common by the late Zhanguo period, if not earlier. In view of these examples, one can hardly doubt that at least some of the speeches by leading personalities, quoted in the historical sources, particularly in the Zuo, derive from written records. It would be naïve, however, to assume that the Zuo speeches are the verbatim transcriptions of the original pronouncements made by Chunqiu statesmen. As we have seen from the discussion above, the speeches might have been embellished by the scribes, who for instance might have put correct predictions in the mouths of their protagonists. Doubtless, scribes also manipulated their records in accordance with their political needs, just as modern journalists do. In this respect no speech recorded in a historical compilation can ever be regarded as 15 For instance, according to the Guoyu, in the late seventh century a leading Lu statesman, Zang Wenzhong 㞻 ᭛ ӆ , ordered the recording of an ideologically important speech by Liuxia Ji ᷇ϟᄷ, see Guoyu, “Lu Yu 1” 元䁲 4.9: 170. The Zuo mentions Confucius’ reading of and later recording “polite speeches” by Xiang Xu ৥ ០ from the state of Song ᅟ, originally pronounced in 546 B.C., cf. Zuo, Xiang 27: 1130. In 546 B.C. Confucius was still a child; hence, he must have used original accounts of Xiang Xu’s speeches, which means that these were originally recorded. The truth of these cases is impossible to verify; nevertheless, we may reasonably assume that they reflect a relatively widespread practice of recording speeches. 16 Mozi ( ๼ ᄤ , c. 460-390 B.C.) complained that people praise aggressive politicians, overlook their unrighteous nature and moreover, “write down their speeches to be transmitted to future generations”, see Mozi Jiaozhu ๼ᄤ᷵⊼, “Fei Gong” 䴲ᬏ shang 17: 198. Sima Qian tells of Tian Wen ⬄᭛ of Qi whose attendantscribe recorded Tian Wen’s conversations with his retainers, cf. Shiji 75: 2354. The mid-Zhanguo “Qu Li” ᳆⾂ chapter of the Liji mentions among the routine functions of the ruler’s entourage that “scribes record with brushes, attendants record speeches.” Commentators disagree whether the speeches concerned refer to the interstate meetings or to a broader range of activities, see Liji Jijie 4: 83; Liji ⾂㿬 13. From the context it may be assumed that “Qu Li” refers to recording speeches during military expeditions. “Attendants” (shi ຿) perhaps refers to the assistants to the scribes. 17 See Shuihudi Qin Mu Zhujian Zhengli Xiaozu 1990: 13-14; see also discussion in Pines 2002: 24.

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entirely “authentic”. The question is whether or not these manipulations distort the content of the speech to such an extent that the cited speech is invalidated as a source for contemporary thought. Fortunately, we may investigate this question in greater detail. The Zuo contains two distinct accounts of the interstate meeting of late 510 B.C at Diquan ⢘⊝. One of the accounts was prepared by Jin scribes, and the second by their Lu colleagues; both were incorporated into the Zuo due to the compiler’s unusual carelessness: he evidently considered both accounts, which employ different calendars, as referring to two distinct events. The comparison between the two accounts teaches us a lot of scribal technique in the Chunqiu age. Since I discussed this case in greater detail elsewhere,18 I shall confine myself here to the comparison between the two versions of a speech by the Wei 㸯 dignitary Biao Xi ᔾ䐞. Biao Xi criticized the head of the Jin government, Wei Shu 儣㟦, who behaved improperly during the meeting, when he sat facing south, usurping thereby the position of the ruler that should have been occupied by the representative of the Zhou king. The Jin version cites Biao Xi: Weizi (Wei Shu) must receive great punishment! To occupy [the ruler’s] position while conducting the great affair is not of his authority. The Shi [jing] says: ‘Revere Heavenly wrath Dare not be playful, Revere Heavenly rage, Dare not be raging.’19 So, what can be said about [one] who dares to seize [the ruler’s] position and thereby carries out the great affair?20

In the Lu version Biao Xi is cited slightly differently: One who intends to establish [the capital for] the Son of Heaven21 and yet seizes [the superior’s] position thereby issuing commands, violates [the rules of] propriety (yi 㕽). One who [conducts] the great affair and yet violates propriety will be inevitably punished. Either Jin will lose the overlords, or Weizi will not escape [a bad end].22

What can we learn from the two versions? It is clear that the speech was invented neither by the Zuo author nor by unanimous scribes, since it is implausible that the same speech would be invented twice. In all likelihood, we have here two records of the original speech, 18 19

See Pines 2002: 227-231. See Maoshi Zhengyi ↯䀽ℷ㕽, in Shisanjing Zhushu, “Ban” ᵓ 17: 550 (Mao

254). 20

See Zuo, Zhao 32: 1518. The meeting of 510 was aimed at fortifying the Zhou royal capital. 22 See Zuo, Ding 1: 1522. 21


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which might have been abridged or embellished by the anonymous scribes in accord with their aesthetic and political views. The differences are minimal: the Jin version contains a quotation from the Shijing that is not present in the Lu version, while the Lu version sounds more moralizing than the Jin account and contains a separate reference to a minister’s responsibility to abide by the rules of propriety (yi 㕽). The most significant difference between the two versions concerns the precise content of Biao Xi’s prediction. The Jin version contains only a promise of a “great punishment” to Wei Shu for his arrogance, while the Lu version is more specific: “Either Jin will lose the overlords, or Weizi [Wei Shu] will not escape [a bad end].” 23 Perhaps the Lu scribes used their account to retroactively predict the subsequent decline in the international prestige of Jin, which indeed “lost the overlords” four years later due to the arrogant behavior of its leaders. Yet, notwithstanding these differences, both versions agree on the basic content of Biao Xi’s speech: criticism of Wei Shu’s usurpation of the superior’s position, and prediction of a bad end for the Jin minister. Comparison of the two versions allows us to better understand the nature of the speeches in the Zuo. The quotations may not reproduce the original words of the speaker; the speech might have been polished, edited or embellished. Nonetheless, the basic content of the speech does not appear to have been distorted. Certainly, a single example is insufficient to arrive at definite conclusions. We may, nevertheless, assume from the analysis above that speeches cited in Chunqiu scribal records represent to considerable extent the views of contemporary statesmen, if not their original words.24 The Zuo may contain a certain amount of completely imaginary speeches, just as it may contain several entirely reliable verbatim records of statesmen’s sayings, but both are a distinct minority.25 Most 23 Wei Shu indeed “did not escape punishment”: he died during a hunting expedition immediately after the Diquan meeting and was posthumously deprived of the cypress-made outer coffin because he hunted before returning to Jin to report on the fulfillment of his mission. 24 I follow here Benjamin Schwartz’s suggestion according to which the Lunyu 䂪䁲 presents Confucius’ (ᄨᄤ, 551-479 B. C.) vision rather than the original words of the Master, Schwartz 1985: 61-62. 25 An example of a purely imaginary speech is the pre-suicide monologue of Chu Ni 䠣呥 of Jin who reportedly refused to assassinate the upright head of the government, Zhao Dun 䍭Ⳓ, and committed suicide instead, see Zuo, Xuan 2: 658. For examples of what is perhaps the verbatim transcription of the original speech (or letter), see Zuo, Cheng 13: 861-65, Zhao 6: 1274-76, Zhao 26: 1475-79.

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of the speeches evidently underwent revision by the scribes in the process of preparing their histories. As we have seen, these revisions should not invalidate the reliability of the speeches. Yet we must consider another question, namely whether the author/compiler of the Zuo preserved the speeches without distortion, or if he reedited them to impose his own ideological perspective. In the early twentieth century, in the heyday of the “doubting the past” (yi gu ⭥স) approach, many scholars in China and abroad opined that the Zuo is basically a historical fiction, akin to the Romance of the Three Kingdoms.26 Although such extremely critical views were much less pronounced in the second half of the century, most scholars continue to doubt the reliability of the Zuo speeches. It is usually assumed that the Zuo had certain ideological or political agenda to serve, and that the author accordingly edited or invented the speeches attributed to the leading statesmen of the past in order to serve this agenda.27 The view that attributes the Zuo speeches to the hidden political or ideological agenda of the author has two basic weaknesses. First, it is not at all clear what this agenda actually was, aside from providing a basic historical setting for the events mentioned in the Lu Chunqiu.28 The Zuo continuously defies the Procrustean bed of ideological or political purity onto which modern researchers try to force it. For instance, many scholars tend to consider the Zuo as serving what they define as Confucian (or, in a more attenuated terminology of David Schaberg, Traditionalist) ideology. Yet proponents of this view usually fail to explain numerous speeches and narratives scattered throughout the Zuo that explicitly contradict the values associated with the Confucian/Traditionalist ideals. Many of the Zuo protagonists, including some of the most respected Chunqiu statesmen, claim the priority of realpolitik over morality, and unequivocally advocate resolute action as superior to moral deliberations.29Alternatively, the moralizing effect of many speeches is undermined when they are 26

See, for instance Maspero 1978: 363-64; Gernet 1982: 86; Gu Jiegang 1988: 16. For representative criticism of the reliability of the Zuo speeches, see, for instance, Tsuda Sakichi 1958: 307-48 and Watson 1989: xxi. 28 For the discussion about the nature of the Zuo relationship to the Chunqiu see Zhao Boxiong 1999 and a comprehensive study by Zhao Shengqun 2000. 29 See Zuo, Cheng 17: 902-3, Xiang 25: 1106, Xiang 29: 1160, Zhao 13: 1348, Ai 1: 1605-6. 27


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either attributed to corrupt statesmen, or are dismissed as meaningless propaganda, or when the narrative suggests that moralizing rhetoric disguises most sinister motives. 30 It is precisely for these reasons Confucian purists throughout the centuries criticized the Zuo for losing “the great meaning” of the Chunqiu Classic.31 Facing with the difficulty of distinguishing a single ideological thread of the Zuo speeches, some scholars turned to look for another hidden agenda, arguing that the Zuo is aimed at bolstering the prestige and legitimacy of one of the Zhanguo ruling dynasties. Again, the problem of this approach, which is best represented by Hirase Takao, is that it neglects the richness of the Zuo speeches. 32 Aside from flattering panegyrics to the forefathers of the Wei 儣, Han 䶧 or TianQi ‫ض‬唞 ruling houses, the Zuo contains critical and even explicitly negative evaluations of these personalities. While it is quite probable that some passages in the Zuo were manufactured by the supporters of certain Zhanguo leaders, it is clear that the absolute majority of the narrative does not serve any of the Zhanguo claimants for local or universal rule. To summarize, it is impossible to establish a single ideological or political thread for the entire narrative of the Zuo, which makes it highly unlikely that the speeches cited in text were invented or heavily polished by the author/compiler. A second, more important argument, which undermines the position of those who consider that the content of the Zuo speeches was severely reworked by its compiler, is that the speeches not only differ in their content but also display a visible pattern of intellectual change from the beginning to the end of the narrative. This change, to paraphrase Kidder Smith, “establishes a pattern no Warring States or Han forger could have built in the Zuo.”33 It would be incongruous to believe that the author of the Zuo deliberately invented the existence of an intellectual development that spanned two and a half centuries.

30

See e.g. Zuo, Xi 26: 474, Zhao 26: 1479, Zhao 25: 1456-1457, Zhao 27: 14861487, Zhao 32: 1519-1520; see also discussions in Pines 2002: 111-112, 142-146. 31 For instance, Zhu Xi (ᴅ➍, 1130-1200) exclaimed: “The malady of the Zuo is that it discusses what is right and what is wrong from the point of view of success or failure... it knows only benefit and harm, and knows nothing of propriety and principle”, see Zhuzi Yulei ᴅᄤ䁲串 93: 2149-50. For similar criticism of the Zuo, see Liu Fenglu 1955: 599; Pi Xirui 1988: 4: 44-45. 32 See Hirase Takao 1998. For a similar, albeit less elaborate, attempt to find the hidden political agenda of the Zuo, see Brooks 2000. 33 Smith 1989: 448-449.

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Intellectual change in the Zuo is therefore a major argument in favor of the reliability of its speeches. In my earlier studies I attempted to demonstrate intellectual change throughout the Zuo narrative.34 The scope of the present essay rules out detailed discussion of this topic, and I shall confine myself to a brief summary of my findings. One of the most visible changes in the Zuo is the change in meanings and modes of use of certain key political and ethical terms. First, a clear change occurs with regard to the frequency of use of certain terms. For instance, new terms, which were introduced into Chunqiu discourse, such as ren ҕ and dao 䘧, appear with much higher frequency in the later part of the narrative than in its early part, while similar changes do not occur with regard to those terms which were already current in the Western Zhou, such as de ᖋ and xiao ᄱ.35 More important are changes in the meanings of such major concepts as li (⾂, ritual, rites), de, li (߽, benefit/profit) and others. These were profoundly reconceptualized throughout the Chunqiu period, and their meaning in the late Zuo differs unmistakably from that of the early part of the narrative. Chunqiu discourse, as we see it in the Zuo, was a dynamic response to contemporary political and social challenges. Throughout the Chunqiu period, statesmen reevaluated many crucial questions, rejecting earlier beliefs in the process. The Zuo presents a complicated pattern of intellectual change. In some fields, such as the reconceptualization of the term li (benefit/profit) we may speak of sweeping developments, as the previously highly esteemed political goal turned into a despised feature of a petty man. In other fields, such as ethical reinterpretation of the term junzi ( ৯ ᄤ , “superior man”) or views of the transcendental, changes were more gradual, and we can speak only of a shift of the center of gravity of statesmen’s views rather than a complete departure from earlier concepts. In yet other areas, such as views of ritual, new ideas were endorsed by some statesmen but were bitterly opposed by others. Thus, aside from diachronic change, synchronic differences among the Zuo protagonists are similarly well

34 35

Pines 1997a, 2002. Pines 1997a: 99-100, 2002: 37-38.


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pronounced, further defying the ascription of ideological uniformity to the Zuo.36 The diachronic and synchronic divergences among the Zuo protagonists strongly support the reliability of the Zuo. For our discussion it is particularly important that the apparent reliability of the Zuo indicates that in the early period of Chinese historiography, the tradition of accurate representation of the speakers’ words had been largely preserved, certain embellishments notwithstanding. The situation began changing however, when ideological disputes of the Zhanguo age dictated the need to skew historical records in general and records of speeches in particular, to enhance their didactic value.

“Clarifying Virtue”: The Genre of “Speeches” and the Guoyu. The Zuozhuan had an enormous impact on Zhanguo historiography and historical thought. While the interest in the past as providing possible guidelines for the future had existed from the very beginning of the Zhou period, if not earlier, it was the publication of the Zuo which spurred an unprecedented demand for historical writings. Sima Qian (ৌ侀䙋, c. 145-90 B.C.) vividly depicted the fever for writing historical texts that spread throughout the Zhanguo world shortly after the publication of the Chunqiu and the adjacent Zuozhuan: Duo Jiao 䨌Ủ was a tutor to King Wei of Chu (Ἦ࿕⥟, r. 339-329 B.C.), and since the king could not read the whole of the Chunqiu, he selected [stories on] success and failure, and created the Duoshi Wei (䨌 ⇣ᖂ, Subtleties of Mr. Duo) in forty chapters. During the reign of King Xiaocheng of Zhao (䍭ᄱ៤⥟, r. 265-245 B.C.), his prime minister Yu Qing 㰲 ॓ selected [extracts] from the Chunqiu on remote times, observed affairs of his time and likewise wrote Yushi Chunqiu (㰲⇣᯹ ⾟, Springs and Autumns of Mr. Yu) in eight chapters. Lü Buwei ਖϡ 䶟, the prime minister of King Zhuangxiang of Qin (⾺㥞㼘⥟, r. 249247 B.C.), also looked back to remote antiquity, selected [material from] the Chunqiu, collected the affairs of the six states, 37 and made eight surveys, six discussions, and twelve records, the Lüshi Chunqiu (ਖ⇣ ᯹⾟, Springs and Autumns of Mr. Lü). Others, like the disciples of Xun Qing 㤔॓ (Xunzi 㤔ᄤ), Mengzi ᄳᄤ, Gongsun Gu ݀ᄿ೎ and Hanfeizi 䶧䴲ᄤ frequently excerpted passages from the Chunqiu in 36 For detailed discussion of changes in the meaning of political and ethical terms in the Zuo, see Pines 1997a for the synchronic differences among the Zuo protagonists see Pines 1997b and Onozawa Seiichi 1974. 37 That is Zhao, Han, Wei, Qi, Chu and Yan ➩.

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writing their books; there are more [of these books] than can be mentioned.38

The Chunqiu mentioned here evidently refers either to the Zuo or to similar historical writings.39 This is, however, a minor point. Important for our discussion is that the historical writings discussed above were produced not for academic reasons of interest in the remote past, but to provide contemporary politicians with ready lessons on “success and failure”. The authors of the new Chunqiu were not scribes, but prominent statesmen and disciples of the leading philosophers. Their intention “to use the past to serve the present” had important implications for the reliability of their writings. King Wei of Chu was not the only person who might have been tired of reading a lengthy historical narrative, the message of which was stated in a subtle way and was to be discerned by long contemplation. He and his colleagues wanted ready and succinct historical lessons that taught about “success and failure”. As we noticed, speeches scattered throughout Chunqiu historical writings and later incorporated into the Zuozhuan were instrumental in allowing the audience to draw a proper lesson from the event under discussion. Now, as the demands for such lessons increased, the importance of the speeches of the wise statesmen of the past increased accordingly. This phenomenon may explain the emergence of a new historical genre, yu (䁲, speeches).40 This genre, the best representative of which is the Guoyu, differs in several important ways from the earlier historical writings, traces of which are discernible in the Zuozhuan. Using the traditional Chinese terminology, we may define this genre as being primarily concerned with “recording speeches” (ji yan 㿬㿔) instead of earlier focus on “recording events” (ji shi 㿬џ). Thus, authors of the yu supplied only a minor factual setting for the events, 38

See Shiji 14: 510. I modify Schaberg’s translation, see Schaberg 1996a: 17. The Chunqiu here certainly does not refer to the laconic official annals of Lu: it is difficult to imagine that the king of Chu could not read the whole of this short text. The Zuo was generally named Chunqiu from the Zhanguo to early Han, see Lin Zhen’ai 1981. 40 “Speeches” might have existed as a separate historical genre already in the Chunqiu period. The Guoyu mentions, for instance, the existence of this genre in a speech allegedly pronounced in the early sixth century B.C. (“Chu Yu” Ἦ䁲 1, 17.1: 528), and the Zuo contains at least one example of citing a yu (Zhao 20: 1415-16, citing a speech which appears in Xiang 27: 1133). For more about the genre of speeches, see Petersen 1995 and Taniguchi Nada 1998. Another example of yu structured similarly to the Guoyu pieces is cited in the Xunzi, see Xunzi Jijie 㤔ᄤ䲚㾷, “Yao Wen” ฃଣ 31: 551-52. 39


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and focused entirely on a speech by a wise statesman or spectator, whose sagacity was instrumental in drawing proper historical lessons, or, again in traditional terminology, “clarifying virtue” (ming de ᯢ ᖋ).41 As we shall see, this shift from narrative history to a didactic extract eventually undermined the original tendency to preserve the basic content of the speech intact. A comparison between the Guoyu and the Zuozhuan is a useful means of clarifying the shift in the tradition of citing speeches in historical records. The Chunqiu historians whose texts were incorporated into the Zuo considered the speech an important, but subordinate part of the narrative. Their astute reader was supposed to draw proper lessons primarily from the sequence of the events, while speeches that illuminated these lessons were only infrequently added to the narrative. This may explain why, certain embellishments notwithstanding, Chunqiu historians generally transmitted the speeches of their protagonists without major departures from the original content. By the Zhanguo period, however, this situation had changed. Now, in an age of increasing contention between rival thinkers and their schools, the precise ideological content of the speech was valued more than before, and the genre of yu might have become increasingly popular. Since a Zhanguo editor focused on the didactic value of a speech rather than on its place in a general narrative, it was tempting for him to modify the original content, thereby enhancing the ideological value of the cited speech. This preoccupation with ideological purity at the expense of historical accuracy is one of the major characteristics of the Guoyu. The Guoyu is a heterogeneous compilation of two hundred-odd speeches and political discussions attributed to Chunqiu (and several Western Zhou) personalities. While controversies continue regarding the authorship and dating of some of its “books”, the majority view holds that major parts of the Guoyu (books of Zhou, Lu, Jin and Chu) were compiled by the late fourth century or early third century B.C. In all likelihood, the compilers had at their disposal earlier materials from several Chunqiu states, similar or identical to those used by the compiler of the Zuo; in many cases both texts evidently cite the

41

For the identification of yu as devices aimed at “clarifying virtue”, see Guoyu, “Chu Yu” 1, 17.1: 528.

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common third source. 42 Yet despite obvious similarities and the common temporary framework of both texts, there is an observable difference in the content of the speeches cited in the two. In the following brief citations of the speeches which appear in both the Zuo and the Guoyu, I shall try to clarify how the editors of the Guoyu modified the content of the speeches in accordance with their didactic and ideological needs. Let us take for instance, the following story. In 636 B.C., the fugitive Prince Chonger of Jin, posthumously known as Duke Wen (வ֮ֆ, r. 636-628 B.C.), returned to his state and ascended the throne. Eunuch Pi ࢶ, the former adversary of Chonger, learned about a plot to assassinate Duke Wen, and hastened to inform him. Duke Wen, however, mindful of previous offences, refused to listen to Pi. Pi then convinced the Duke that he should not be blamed for his faithful service to Duke Wen’s predecessors and adversaries, and that his duty was to serve loyally whoever occupied the throne of Jin. Pi’s speech is cited both in the Zuo and the Guoyu. In the Zuo the speech runs as follows: …The ruler’s order allows no duplicity, these are the ancient regulations. In eradicating the ruler’s adversaries, one should concentrate only on [exerting maximum] force. Why should men of Pu or Di matter to me? 43 Now, as you have established yourself—have not you [enemies like] Pu and Di of your own? Guan Zhong shot a buckle at the sash of Duke Huan of Qi, but Duke Huan made him a chief minister.44 If you intend acting differently, I should not offend you waiting for your orders. [But in this case] you will be left by many more, not only by a criminal servant [like me].45

42

See a detailed discussion in Pines 2002: 39-45. For the dating of the core books of the Guoyu, see Yoshimoto Michimasa 1989. The relationship between the Guoyu and the Zuo remains highly controversial. Scholars starting with Ye Shi (㨝䘽, 11501223) argued that either the Guoyu served as a primary source of the Zuo, or, conversely, that it relied on the Zuo narrative. A careful analysis, however, suggests that both texts shared common sources; see Liu Jie 1958; Vasil’ev 1968: 81-85; Hart 1973: 237-253 and especially Boltz 1990. 43 Pu 㪆 was Chonger’s fief, becoming the base of his rebellion and being attacked by Pi. Chonger spent eleven of his nineteen years in exile among the Di ⢘ tribesmen; while staying there he was again attacked by Jin forces led by Pi. 44 During the succession struggle in the state of Qi in 685 B.C., Guan Zhong ㅵӆ sided with Prince Jiu ݀ᄤ㋒, an adversary of Prince Xiaobai ݀ᄤᇣⱑ, the future Duke Huan (唞ḧ݀, r. 685-643 B.C.); in the battle he hit Duke Huan with an arrow. Nevertheless, when Duke Huan ascended the throne he forgave Guan Zhong and appointed him to a high ministerial position, putting aside former personal enmity. 45 Zuo, Xi 24: 414.


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The Guoyu version is somewhat different: … He who serves the ruler without duplicity is called a servant; he who does not alter his likes and dislikes is called a ruler. A ruler [should behave as] a ruler, a servant [should behave as] a servant, this is called ‘bright lessons’. He who is able to bring ‘bright lessons’ to completion is the master of the people. When the two previous rulers were alive, why should men of Pu or Di matter to me? In eradicating the ruler’s adversaries, one should exert his strength to the utmost—how dare one be duplicitous? Now, as you have established yourself—have not you [enemies like] Pu and Di of your own? Yi Yin deposed Tai Jia, but finally thereby Tai Jia became the enlightened king; 46 Guan Zhong behaved criminally toward Duke Huan [of Qi], but finally thereby [Duke Huan] became the leader of the overlords… Now, as your de is great, why do not you behave with magnanimity? He who detests those who favor him cannot hold for long. You really are unable to deliver ‘bright lessons’ and are abandoning [the way] of the people’s master…47

Both texts evidently derive from a common source, which might have been slightly abridged by the laconic Zuo author. What matters for our discussion, however, are the initial and the final sentences of the Guoyu version that are absent from the Zuo. The Guoyu version begins by establishing a theoretical framework for the responsibilities of a ruler and a minister, reiterating the need of each to follow the proper mode of behavior in accordance with his position. The phrase “a ruler [should behave as] a ruler, a servant [should behave as] a servant” (jun jun chen chen ৯৯㞷㞷) resembles—not incidentally— a famous passage from the Lunyu 䂪䁲,48 and it unmistakably belongs to the Zhanguo discussions about “rectification of names” (zheng ming ℷৡ) rather than to the Chunqiu intellectual milieu. Furthermore, the importance of the “bright lessons” (ming xun ᯢ㿧), mentioned at the beginning and at the end of the Guoyu passage, is again peculiar to the Guoyu, which abounds in discussions on the importance of historical lessons, and on “teaching [historical] lessons” (jiao xun ᬭ 㿧).49 These discussions, which are scattered throughout the entire text, 46

Yi Yin Ӟል, a legendary wise minister at the beginning of the Shang dynasty, deposed the second Shang king, Tai Jia ໾⬆. After three years, as Tai Jia improved his behavior, Yi Yin reportedly restored him to the Shang throne. 47 Guoyu , “Jin Yu” ᰝ䁲 4, 10.13: 368. 48 See Lunyu Yizhu, “Yan Yuan” 丨⏉ 12.11: 128. 49 See Guoyu, “Zhou Yu” ਼䁲 1.1: 4-7, 1.8: 23, 3.3: 108, “Jin Yu” 10.7: 350, 10.13: 368, 11.4: 397, 14.1: 448, 14.13: 469, “Zheng Yu” 䜁䁲 16: 516, “Chu Yu” 17.1: 527-8, 17.3: 533, 18.7: 580.

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are absent in the Zuo; hence it is again questionable whether they belong to the Chunqiu intellectual milieu. Perhaps the compilers of the Guoyu voiced their views on learning from history through the speeches of their protagonists. The book, therefore, identifies itself as primarily a didactic device. Being a didactic device, the Guoyu is not characterized by great historical accuracy, and its compilers often edit the speeches to enhance their ideological clarity. These editorial efforts sometimes result in awkward slips and anachronistic concepts placed in the speeches and the narrative. 50 The Guoyu frequently imbues putative Chunqiu speeches with unmistakable Zhanguo flavor, as may be illustrated by the following case. In 635 B.C., King Xiang of Zhou (ࡌ ᝊ‫׆‬, r. 651-619 B.C.) was ousted from his capital; Duke Wen of Jin and many other overlords were considering intervention on the king’s behalf. Duke Wen’s chief aide, Zi Fan ՗‫ح‬, strongly urged him to support the king. The Zuo cites him thus: Hu Yan ध‫( ؗ‬Zi Fan) said to the duke of Jin: To attain the overlords, the best is to act for the king’s sake. The overlords trust him, and, moreover, this is greatly righteous/proper (yi 㕽). You should continue the enterprise of [Marquis] Wen [of Jin, ᰝ᭛փ, r. 780-746 B.C., a supporter of the Zhou house during the disastrous flight to the East in 771 B.C.], and manifest your good trust toward the overlords—today [this course] is possible.51

The Guoyu again expands the Zuo version: Zi Fan said: The people feel attached [to you], but know nothing of propriety/ righteousness (yi); perhaps you should reestablish the king to teach [the people] propriety. If you do not establish him, and let Qin ఻ do so, you would lose Zhou [support]; how would you be able to attain the overlords? He who is unable to rectify himself, and moreover unable to respect others, how would the others rely on him? Continuing the enterprise of [Marquis] Wen, stabilizing the achievements of Duke Wu (ᰝ℺݀, r. 676-675 B.C., reunified the state of Jin), opening [new] lands, pacifying the borders—[all of these] depend on this [action]. Please devote yourself to this [reestablishing the king].52

Again, both versions are fairly similar, indicating a resort to the common third source, but the Guoyu adds two additional dimensions. 50 For the lack of historical accuracy in the Guoyu and resultant anachronisms, see a detailed discussion in Pines 2002: 42-44. 51 Zuo, Xi 25: 431. 52 Guoyu, “Jin Yu” 4, 10.15: 373.


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While according to the Zuo version, Zi Fan concentrated entirely on the ‘inter-state’ advantages of intervention on the king’s behalf, the Guoyu adds a broader dimension of “teaching the people propriety.” This sentence may be a part of the original text, abridged by the Zuo compiler, but it may also reflect the preoccupation of the Guoyu authors with the importance of the people for the proper functioning of the state. 53 Another Guoyu addition is more problematic. The sentence “he who is unable to rectify himself, and moreover unable to respect others, how would the others rely on him?” seems completely out of order in the cited passage. The issue of Duke Wen’s selfrectification was irrelevant to the proposed support of the king; besides, the notion of self-rectification in general remained alien to Chunqiu discourse, and it never appears in the Zuo. It is highly likely, therefore, that the Guoyu authors introduced this Zhanguo concept into a Chunqiu political discussion in order to emphasize the priority of self-rectification for proper rule. Clearly, ideological needs here outweighed the need for historical accuracy. These examples suffice to clarify the complicated nature of the Guoyu. Although its compilers generally resorted to the same source materials which served the Zuozhan, their treatment of these materials was different. The leading specialist on the Guoyu, Zhang Yiren, summarized: “the Zuo... provides historical explanations to the [Chunqiu] classic ... while the Guoyu is oriented towards ‘clarifying virtue.’”54 Indeed, unlike the Zuo, the Guoyu is not a narrative history but a textbook of political wisdom, the major target of which is drawing lessons from history for the purpose of upholding certain political norms. Hence, its authors imbued old texts with modern terms and approaches, to the extent that it prevents us from considering most of the Guoyu speeches an authentic source for Chunqiu history and thought. As we shall see below, this sacrifice of historical accuracy for the sake of ideological purity was further embraced by the writers of the “hundred schools”.

53 The ideological premises of the Guoyu authors are best discussed by Taskin 1987. 54 Aside from Zhang Yiren (1990: 106), this peculiarity of the Guoyu is also discussed by Xu Beiwen 1981: 103-104; Yin Heng 1982; Shen Changyun 1987: 134135; Taniguchi Nada 1998. Egan aptly states that unlike the Zuo, which is “moralistic and rhetorical history ... [the Guoyu] is philosophy and rhetoric in a historical setting”, Egan 1997: 351.

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Constructing and Deconstructing: Speeches in the Texts of the Hundred Schools Let us return to Sima Qian’s passage cited at the beginning of the previous section. It suggests that by the Zhanguo period scribes had lost their monopoly on writing historical texts, and their task had partly been appropriated by leading statesmen and thinkers. A centuries-old tradition of “using the past to serve the present” encouraged extensive resort to the narratives from the past in polemical writings of the “hundred schools”. The importance of the past in intellectual controversies may be demonstrated by Mozi’s (๼ ᄤ, c. 460-390 B.C.) example. To convince a skeptical audience of the applicability of the doctrine of universal love (jian’ai ‫ݐ‬ᛯ), Mozi invoked the authority of former ages: How do we know that the six former sage kings personally implemented it [the doctrine of universal love]?55 Master Mozi says: ‘I am not their contemporary, I neither heard their voices nor saw their faces. Yet I know [their ideas] from what they wrote on bamboo and silk, engraved on bronze and stone, carved on ritual vessels and transmitted for descendants in future generations’.56

Mozi’s interest in historical texts was not just because of curiosity, but for a more important reason: the authority of the past sages lent support to his controversial doctrines. Naturally, his interpretation of the sages’ deeds and words was aimed to bolster his arguments, while the issue of the historical reliability of his presentation was at best of secondary value, if any. Many other rival thinkers similarly twisted accounts of the past to serve their immediate needs. Paradoxically, the more important the past became for the present, the less attention was paid to the accuracy of its presentation. The changing attitude toward historical records had particularly harsh results for the authenticity of the speeches cited in Zhanguo texts. While changing accounts of the past events was a cumbersome task, modifying or inventing a speech by a former wise statesman was easy. Now, in an age of heated ideological debates, thinkers did not merely modify the extant records, as the authors of the Guoyu did, but 55 The “six kings” are Yao ฃ, Shun 㟰, Yu ⾍, Cheng Tang ៤⑃, the founder of the Shang dynasty, as well as Wen ᭛⥟ and Wu ℺⥟ of the Zhou dynasty. 56 Mozi 1994, “Jian’Ai” ‫ݐ‬ᛯ xia 16: 178. For similar arguments see Mozi, “Shang Xian” ࡸʳ䊶 xia 10: 97, “Tian Zhi” ໽ ᖫ xia 28: 322.


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invented them altogether. By the mid-Zhanguo period it became common to attribute one’s views to the paragon rulers and ministers of antiquity, or to revered thinkers such as Confucius (ᄨᄤ, 551-479 B.C.). Real or imaginary deeds of these paragons appear in collections of historical anecdotes, such as the Yanzi Chunqiu ᰣᄤ᯹⾟ and parts of the Guanzi ㅵ ᄤ ; many other are scattered throughout such compendia as the Liji ⾂㿬 or the Lüshi Chunqiu ਖ⇣᯹⾟. The urgent need to promote one’s ideals obliterated the need to preserve a semblance of historical credibility. In some cases speakers are even cited as judging the events that occurred long after their death.57 Other manipulators of the past were shrewder and tried to present their inventions as entirely reliable records of past events. Among these forgers we may find the most respected thinkers, including the followers of Confucius, the self-proclaimed guardians of the Tradition, such as Mencius (ᄳᄤ, c. 379-304 B.C.). In a famous passage the Mengzi says: Of the five hegemons, Duke Huan [of Qi] was the most prominent. During the Kuiqiu 㩉Ϭ assembly (in 651 B.C.), the overlords only bound the sacrificial animals [but did not slay them], wrote down the alliance [oath] text, but did not smear blood [on their lips].58 The first [oath] command said: ‘Punish the unfilial; do not replace the major scion;59 do not turn the concubine into the wife.’ The second command said: ‘Uphold the worthy, maintain the talented, distinguish those who possess virtue.’ The third command said: ‘Respect the elderly, be kind to the young, be not forgetful of strangers and travellers.’ The fourth command said: ‘There should be no hereditary offices for the shi ຿, officials should not concurrently hold two [different] offices. In selecting shi you must get [the worthy]. No [overlord] should usurp the right to execute the nobles (dafu ໻ ໿ ).’ The fifth command said:

57

For instance, the Lüshi Chunqiu twice records Confucius’ evaluations of the activities of Zhao Xiangzi 䍭㼘ᄤ, which occurred several decades after Confucius’ death, see Lüshi Chunqiu, “Yi Shang” 䅄䊲 14.4: 780 and “Shen Da” ᜢ໻ 15.1: 845. This kind of anachronistic citation became fairly widespread in the Han collections of anecdotes, such as Hanshi Waizhuan 䶧⇣໪‫ ڇ‬or Shuo Yuan 䁾ᅯ, for details, see Schaberg 1996b. 58 Concluding an alliance prescribed a complicated ceremony: a cow was to be sacrificed (or its ear cut off), its blood smeared on the participants’ lips and then the oath was written down. The blood oath invoked the deities’ authority as guardians of the alliance, cf. Lewis 1990: 43-50; Kudô Motoo 1994: 2-3. That Duke Huan avoided this ceremony during the Kuiqiu assembly meant, according to Mencius, that he trusted the overlords and did not need to impose a blood oath on them. 59 I.e. the elder scion from the major wife.

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‘There should be no crooked embankment,60 nor restrictions on the sale of grain, no undeclared enfeoffments.’ [Finally], it said: ‘Every participant in this alliance should henceforth reestablish friendly ties.’61

Can the Mengzi narrative be trusted? The first impression is that the text is completely reliable: it looks like a direct quotation from the alliance document. However, a close scrutiny of the passage leads to serious doubts regarding its reliability. First, let us compare the Mengzi account of the Kuiqiu assembly with that of the Zuo and the Guliang Zhuan 〔ṕ‫ڇ‬. The Zuo puts it very briefly: “Autumn, the lord of Qi concluded an alliance with the overlords at Kuiqiu. [It] said: Every participant in this alliance should henceforth reestablish friendly ties.”62 The Guliang Zhuan says: Kuiqiu assembly. The sacrificial animals were bound but not slain. [The alliance document] was read from above the sacrificial animals’ heads, to clarify the uniqueness of the restrictions of the Son of Heaven.63 [It said]: ‘Do not block the springs, nor restrict sale of grain. Do not replace the major scion. Do not turn a concubine into the wife. Do not let [the ruler’s] wives interfere in the state affairs.’64

Obviously, Mencius made use of both the Zuo and the Guliang Zhuan or their original source(s); hence, his depiction of the Kuiqiu alliance combines the narrative of both. But how reliable is the Guliang Zhuan? Though the text of the alliance oath quoted in the Guliang does not seem implausible, it raises several questions. The procedure of concluding an alliance without smearing sacrificial blood was at odds with the established pattern of alliances, as expressed in the Zuo and in the Houma փ侀 texts. 65 Furthermore, the reference to domestic 60 Yang Bojun explains that the overlords used the “crooked embankments” to maximize water supply to their fields during a drought, and to divert flood water to the neighbouring states. According to the Guliang Zhuan, the oath prescribed “not to block the springs”, see Mengzi Yizhu, “Gaozi” ਞᄤ xia 12.7: 287-288. 61 See Mengzi Yizhu, “Gaozi” ਞᄤ xia 12.7: 287-288. 62 See Zuo, Xi 9: 327. 63 This mode of reading probably reflected the reverence to Zai Kong ᆄᄨ the envoy of King Xiang of Zhou, who participated in the assembly. 64 See Chunqiu Guliang Zhuan Zhushu, Xi 9, 8: 2396. 65 See Lewis 1990: 45-46; Weld 1997: 154-160. In 541 B.C., the Chu envoys demanded to renew the 546 B.C. alliance without smearing sacrificial blood; this alliance was therefore not recognized by the Chunqiu as a proper alliance and it reported only on the “assembly” (hui ᳗) but not on an “alliance” (meng ⲳ) see Zuo, Zhao 1: 1197-1202. The Kuiqiu meeting, however, is reported in the Chunqiu as an “alliance”, which indicates that a complete ceremony was performed.


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problems of the overlords is suspect. None of the alliance texts quoted in the Zuo contains any evidence of such interference in the domestic matters of the lords’ families. 66 Thus, although the Guliang story cannot be entirely dismissed, it also cannot be completely trusted. Now, what about Mencius? He quotes several additional items of the Kuiqiu alliance that seem not to belong to the original alliance text. First, he claims that the Kuiqiu oath urged the overlords to punish unfilial sons, respect elders and be kind to the young. All these are perfectly in accord with Mencius’ view of filial piety and upholding family ties as pivotal ethical principles. However, Chunqiu politics lacked such a notion. A close reading of the Zuo suggests that in the Chunqiu period filial piety was of little significance in political discourse; certainly it was never mentioned in international treaties.67 Second, Mencius’ presentation of the administrative items in the Kuiqiu oath is anachronistic. Shi ຿ played no role in early Chunqiu administration, and certainly would not be mentioned in the overlords’ alliance. Furthermore, Chunqiu rulers strictly adhered to hereditary offices, and no opposition to this principle was ever voiced until the end of the Chunqiu period. Besides, complicated administrative issues, such as the concurrent holding of two offices by the same official, were of no concern to the early Chunqiu leaders, whose administration remained vague and unsophisticated. Finally, the opposition to the execution of nobles, cited by Mencius, may well be in accord with his idea of “benevolent rule” (ren zheng ҕᬓ), but is incompatible with the established practices of the Chunqiu period. All of this allows us to suggest that Mencius simply invented more than half of the items of the Kuiqiu alliance!68 This example sheds light on the profound change in the authenticity of recorded speeches from the Chunqiu to the Zhanguo period. As ideological needs obliterated the need for accurate presentation of the 66 This issue might have been added to the Kuiqiu oath by the Guliang compiler to show Duke Huan’s treatment of contemporaneous succession crises in several major Chunqiu states. Duke Huan did indeed intervene in the succession struggles in Lu and Jin in 660 and 651 B.C. on behalf of the “legitimate” heirs. However, the rule “to uphold the elder scion” could hardly be pursued by Duke Huan, who himself was only a minor scion and a de jure usurper. 67 About the role of filial piety in the Chunqiu period, see Pines 2002: 187-199. 68 This supports Creel’s observation that “Mencius cannot be absolved of suspicion of having attributed to the past what he wished to be done in the future”, see Creel 1960: 75. Perhaps Mencius was more sincere when he stated that “the disciples of Zhongni (Confucius) do not discuss the affairs of [Dukes] Huan [of Qi] and Wen [of Jin]”, Mengzi, “Liang Hui Wang” ṕᚴ⥟ shang 1.7: 14.

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past, even those speeches and documents that have been cited from an early source could have been distorted to an extent unthinkable earlier. Not surprisingly, the Zhanguo period may be considered the lowest ebb of the Chinese historiographic tradition. Widespread manipulations and forgery of historical records by the rival “disputers of the Dao” eventually generated a negative reaction. Among certain Zhanguo thinkers we may discern a critical and ironical attitude toward those who believed that intellectual polemics might be resolved through resort to the authority of the past. Hanfeizi (䶽䴲ᄤ, d. 233 B.C.), arguably the most astute of Zhanguo political analysts, ridiculed those who claimed knowledge of the legacy of the past: [Followers] of Confucius and Mozi all speak about Yao ฃ and Shun 㟰, but they differ in what they accept and what they reject; yet each of them claims himself to be a real follower of Yao and Shun. But Yao and Shun cannot come back to life, so who would settle who is right: Confucians or Mohists? Seven hundred years have passed since Yin ↋ [Shang] and Zhou, two thousand odd years have passed since Yu 㰲 [Shun] and Xia ໣, and it is impossible to verify the truth of Confucians and Mohists. Now, if we are to examine the three thousand years old way of Yao and Shun, we understand that it is impossible to fix it with certainty. He who claims certain knowledge without examining the issue, is a fool; he who relies on things which are impossible to ascertain, is an impostor. It is therefore clear that those who rely on former kings, and claim they can fix with certainty [what was the way of] Yao and Shun, should be either fools or impostors.69

Hanfeizi did not confine himself to merely ridiculing his opponents as fools and impostors. He painstakingly tried to show that historical lessons are prone to multiple interpretations and hence cannot serve as guidelines for the present. In several chapters of his treatise, Hanfeizi cites anecdotes about past events, which contain the post factum evaluation of the event by a former wise statesman or thinker, or an ideologically important speech by a revered personality. After citing verbatim the anecdote and the evaluation by a former wise person, Hanfeizi refutes this evaluation, suggesting instead his personal analysis, which is usually at odds with the common wisdom.70 This exercise in historical criticism is not performed merely for the sake of restating Hanfeizi’s doctrine, but primarily as a means to undermine 69 70

See Hanfeizi Jijie, “Xian Xue” 乃ᅌ 50: 457. See Hanfeizi Jijie, “Nan” 䲷 chapters 36-39: 347-387.


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the authority of the past. A sensitive critic of history, Hanfeizi demonstrates the futility of historical arguments, which can be twisted to serve whatever ideological needs. Tired of the elusive past, Hanfeizi joins the chorus of those who ask to find solutions to current problems in the present. 71 Hanfeizi’s sober criticism was only one of the possible reactions to the devaluation of historical records during the Zhanguo period. Another eminent Zhanguo thinker, Zhuangzi (㥞ᄤ, died c. 280 B.C.) became eagerly involved in deconstructing the past altogether. By putting in the mouth of his protagonists speeches which ran contrary to their known views, by “citing” dialogues between persons separated by centuries, by inventing absurd historical personages, Zhuangzi consciously blurred the difference between history and fiction. His ironical attitude toward historical records may be demonstrated by the opening sentence of the chapter “Robber Zhi” Ⲱ䎒: “Confucius was a friend of Liuxia Ji ᷇ϟᄷ; Liuxia Ji had a younger brother named Robber Zhi.”72 This short sentence contains numerous intentional absurdities. First, Confucius could not have been a friend of Liuxia Ji, who died more than sixty years before Confucius’ birth. Second, it was even more ridiculous to turn Liuxia Ji, “the most harmonious of the sages”73 into the brother of a notorious villain, a cannibal who rebelled against all human norms, Robber Zhi. But Zhuangzi’s irony becomes ever more clear when we consider that the “Ji” of Liuxia Ji was not his name, but just a seniority designation (hang ci 㸠䖁), meaning “the youngest brother”. Thus, by definition, Liuxia Ji could have no younger brother at all! By placing three absurdities into a single sentence, Zhuangzi makes fun of the entire history writing of his age. Zhuangzi’s ridicule of historical records is symptomatic of the Zhanguo intellectual atmosphere. Two major developments undermined the reliability of recorded speeches in Zhanguo texts. First, 71 The idea of “investigating the present” instead of “learning from the past” was endorsed by many mid- to late Zhanguo critical thinkers. See, for instance Shangjun Shu Zhuizhi, “Geng Fa” ᳈⊩ 1: 1-5; Lüshi Chunqiu, “Cha Jin” ᆳҞ 15.8: 934-936. 72 See Zhuangzi Jinzhu Jinyi, “Dao Zhi” Ⲱ䎒 29: 776. The “Robber Zhi” chapter might have existed in the late Zhanguo, early Han period as an independent essay, which was later incorporated in the Zhuangzi, see Liao Mingchun 1998. For the present discussion, however, the precise authorship of this essay is not important, as its attitude toward history is consistent with other portions of the Zhuangzi. 73 See Mengzi, “Wan Zhang” 㨀ゴ xia 10.1: 233.

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from literary devices aimed at the development of the narrative, speeches turned into extracts of political wisdom, which enticed the editors of historical documents to modify their content, thereby enhancing their didactic value. Second, as “disputers of the Dao” appropriated the scribes’ function as historians, the traditional emphasis on historical accuracy gave place to overt manipulations of the past in order to serve the present. The resultant widespread distortion of historical texts, and particularly of the speeches by the former wise statesmen, resulted in a deep decline in the authenticity of the speeches, which often lost even superficial connection with the putative speakers. As a result, in the eyes of critical thinkers the wisdom of the past partly lost its appeal as a means of dealing with the challenges of the present. This discussion is concerned exclusively with pre-imperial historiography, and it is not my intention here to deal with the resurrection of historiographic tradition under the unified empire. It should only be mentioned briefly, that as the ideological cleavages of the Zhanguo period declined, and the imperial bureaucrats reestablished partial control over history writing, Chinese historiography regained its original accuracy and concern with credibility.


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Wang He ‫ࡉ׆‬ʳ (1993), “Zuozhuan Cailiao Laiyuan Kao ؐႚ‫ޗ‬றࠐᄭ (On the Origins of the Materials of the Zuozhuan)”, in Zhongguo Shi Yanjiu խഏ‫׾‬ઔߒ 2 (1993), 16-25. ̛̛̛ (1984), “Lun Zuozhuan Yuyan ᓵ ؐ ႚ ቃ ߢ (On the Predictions in the Zuozhuan)”, in Shixue Yuekan ‫׾‬ᖂִ‫ ע‬6 (1984), 13-18. Watson, Burton (1989), The Tso Chuan: Selections from China’s Oldest Narrative History. New York: Columbia University Press. Weld, Susan R. (1997), “The Covenant Texts at Houma and Wenxian”, in Shaughnessy, Edward L. (ed.) (1997), New Sources of Early Chinese History: An Introduction to Reading Inscriptions and Manuscripts. Berkeley: The Society for the Study of Early China, 125-160. Xu Beiwen ஊ‫( ֮ק‬1981), Xianqin Wenxueshi ٣఻֮ᖂ‫( ׾‬A History of the PreQin Literature). Jinan: Qilu Chubanshe. Xunzi Jijie ಃ՗ႃᇞ (Collected Notes on the Xunzi) (1992), compiled by Wang Xianqian ‫׆‬٣ᝐ. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Yin Heng ձ ᘝ (1982), “Guoyu Man Tan ഏ ፿ ደ ᓫ (Relaxed Talk About the Guoyu)”, in Wen Shi Zhishi ֮‫׾‬वᢝ 4 (1982), 37-41. Yoshimoto Michimasa ‫ءٳ‬ሐႁ (1989), “Kokugo shôkô ഏ፿՛‫( ە‬A Brief Study of the Guoyu)”, in Tôyôshi kenkyû ࣟ੉‫׾‬ઔߒ 48.3 (1989), 421-451. Zhang Weizhong ്ᓡխʳ (1997), “Zuozhuan Yuyan Tanxi ؐႚቃߢ൶࣫ (Analyzing Predictions in the Zuozhuan)”, in Hangzhou Daxue Guji Yanjiusuo ࣜ‫ڠ‬Օᖂ‫ײ‬ ᤄઔߒࢬ and Hangzhou Daxue Zhongwenxi Gu Hanyu Jiaoyanshi ࣜ‫ڠ‬Օᖂխ ֮ߓ‫ײ‬ዧ፿ඒઔ৛ (eds.) (1997), Gudian Wenxian yu Wenhua Luncong ‫֮ࠢײ‬ ᣸ ፖ ֮ ֏ ᓵ ហ (Collected Debates on Classical Documents and Culture). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 301-314. Zhang Yiren ്‫א‬ո (1990), “Cong Guoyu yu Zuozhuan Benzhi shang de Chayi Shilun Houren dui Guoyu de Pipan ൕഏ፿ፖؐႚ‫ء‬ᔆՂऱ஁ฆᇢᓵ৵Գኙഏ ፿ऱ‫( ܒޅ‬A Discussion of Later Writers’ Criticism of the Guoyu from the Point of View of the Inherent Differences Between the Guoyu and the Zuozhuan)”, in Zhang Yiren (1990), Chunqiu Shi Lunji ਞટ‫׾‬ᓵႃʳ (Collected Essays on the History of the Spring and Autumn Period). Taibei: Lianjing Chuban Shiye Gongsi, 105-182. Zhao Boxiong ᎓‫܄‬ႂ (1999), “Zuozhuan Wu Jing zhi Zhuan Kao ؐႚྤᆖհႚ‫ە‬ (A Study of Comments Without the Parallel Classical Text in the Zuozhuan)”, in Wen Shi ֮‫ ׾‬49 (1999), 23-39. Zhao Shengqun ᎓‫س‬ᆢ (2000), Chunqiu Jingzhuan Yanjiu ਞટᆖႚઔߒ (A Study of the Chunqiu Classical Text and the Commentaries). Shanghai: Guji Chubanshe. Zhuangzi Jinzhu Jinyi ๗՗վࣹվ᤟ (Modern Commentary and Modern Translation of Zhuangzi) (1994), annotated by Chen Guying ຫቔᚨ. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Zhuzi Yulei ‫ڹ‬՗፿ᣊ (Classified Sayings of Zhu Xi) (1986), compiled by Li Jingde ᕟ壃ᐚʿ collated by Wang Xingxian ‫׆‬ਣᔃ. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju.

THE PAST AS A MESSIANIC VISION: HISTORICAL THOUGHT AND STRATEGIES OF SACRALIZATION IN THE EARLY GONGYANG TRADITION Joachim Gentz Introduction I would like to divide my paper into five parts: (1) The past (this will imply the Gongyang Zhuan’s ݀㕞‫ ڇ‬historical criticism of sources and its historiographical attitude towards the past) (2) as a messianic vision (this will deal with the function and application of the historical material for the Gongyang Zhuan’s own vision); (3) historical thought (this will analyse how the contradiction between historical criticism and the application of it for the Gongyang Zhuan’s own vision is perceived and solved); (4) strategies of sacralization (here it will be shown how this historical thought is realized in exegetical practice) and (5) the early Gongyang tradition (in this last part further stages of the development of the Gongyang exegesis in the Early Han and the process of its establishment as a canonical work will be depicted).

1. The Past There are two possible questions to ask about historical criticism in the Gongyang Zhuan. Firstly, we can ask how critically it reflects and uses historical source material in its own commentary. Secondly, we can investigate which historiographical attitude towards historical events is propounded by the Gongyang Zhuan as the proper one, either by explicit statements, or by its own exegetical practice, or by the historiographical practice ascribed by the Gongyang Zhuan to Confucius’ Chunqiu ᯹⾟ compilation. 1. As to the first question we might differentiate six different historical sources of which the Gongyang Zhuan makes use for its commentary. First, it quotes glosses. Second, it quotes ritual rules. Third, it quotes historical narratives of the sort which Zuozhuan Ꮊ‫ڇ‬, Guoyu, Guliang Zhuan 〔ṕ‫ڇ‬, Hanshi Waizhuan 䶧䀽໪‫ ڇ‬and other early texts also

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use or refer to. Fourth, it quotes one sentence from the Shangshu ᇮ ᳌ . 1 Fifth, it quotes exegetic explanations from early Gongyang masters like Luzi 元ᄤ, Zi Shenzi ᄤ≜ᄤ, Zi Gongyangzi ᄤ݀㕞ᄤ, Zi Simazi ᄤৌ侀ᄤ, Zi Beigongzi ᄤ࣫ᆂᄤ, Zi Nüzi ᄤཇᄤ, Gaozi 催ᄤ and “someone” (huo ៪).2 Sixth, it quotes sayings of Confucius. The sources of the glosses, of the ritual rules, of the historical narrative and of the Shangshu quote are not indicated as such. The sayings of the Gongyang masters and of Confucius are introduced by quoting their names. Since we find many of the ritual rules quoted as individual rules in ritual works in which these rules are part of a systematic listing and are listed together with other, similar rules, and since there is at least one ritual rule which we also find quoted as a rule from the Wangdu Ji ⥟ᑺ㿬, a ritual work composed around King Xuan ᅷ⥟ of Qi (320-301 B.C.) within the context of the Jixia 》ϟ academy,3 we may conclude that the Gongyang Zhuan did not invent these rules but rather took them over from existing sources. Based on the evidence of parallel texts, we may assume the same for the

1

Shangshu 6-12-6. Luzi 元ᄤ 3-3-4, 3-23-10, 5-5-6, 5-20-3, 5-24-4, 5-28-17; Zi Shenzi ᄤ≜ᄤ 1-114, 3-10-3, 11-1-4; Zi Gongyangzi ᄤ݀㕞ᄤ 2-6-5, 7-5-5; Zi Simazi ᄤৌ侀ᄤ 3-30-7; Zi Beigongzi ᄤ࣫ᆂᄤ 12-4-6; Zi Nüzi ᄤཇᄤ 4-1-6 and Gaozi 催ᄤ 6-4-2, huo ៪ (4-2-6, 5-33-3, 8-1-6, 9-19-2). 3 Cf. Liu Xiang ࡝৥ “Bielu” ߹䣘, quoted in the subcommentary of Kong Yingda ᄨ〢䘨 to the Liji ⾂㿬 in: SSJZS, p. 1566.1. Liu Xiang ascribes the book to the academic context of the Jixia scholar Chunyu Kun ⏇Ѣ債 etc. Chun's biography in the Shiji, however, does not contain any reference to such a work. Cf. SJ, p. 2347. Chunyu Kun is several times listed as one among other Jixia scholars (cf. SJ, p. 1894, 2346), in the context of which Liu Xiang perhaps wants to define the Wangdu Ji. It was included as a chapter in the Da Dai Liji ໻᠈⾂㿬 but has since been lost. All in all, nine quotes from it are transmitted in the Baihu Tong ⱑ 㰢䗮 and in the commentaries to the classics and dynastic histories. Thus it is possible to know what sort of work the Wangdu Ji was. Cf. Zang Yong 㞻ᒌ quoted in Gu 1979: 7. Cf. also He 1966: 4–6. From these fragmentary accounts it becomes evident that it must have been a work in which the different ritual and bureaucratic grades were noted in regard to their salary (lu ⽓) and authority. The order of offices was noted as well. Thus all those standards which are denoted by the term du ᑺ were recorded. This accords with the title of the work which could be translated in detail as “Records of [ritualadministrative] measure-units [for the rule] of a [true] king”. We know of such ritualadministrative passages from different chapters of the transmitted literature, for example the three “Wang Zhi” ⥟ࠊ chapters in Xunzi 㤔ᄤ, Liji and Da Dai Liji— and we know that there are many parallels between the ritual rules of the Gongyang Zhuan and this literature. Thus it is not surprising that one of the nine transmitted rules from the Wangdu Ji parallels one of the ritual rules of the Gongyang Zhuan nearly verbatim: this shows the close referentiality of these works. 2

HISTORICAL THOUGHT AND STRATEGIES OF SACRALIZATION 229

glosses4 and the historical narratives also.5 For the Shangshu quote this is self evident. Obviously, the Gongyang Zhuan assumed that these sources contained historically reliable material on which it could draw for its own explanations. If we take a closer look at the quotes we notice that we have in most cases slight variations from the parallel texts. These variations, however, are not motivated by the concrete exegetical move which involves them but rather seem to be due to different transmissions. What is striking is the fact that there is not a single quote from the Shijing 䀽㍧. Apart from the sayings of the Gongyang masters, the Gongyang Zhuan never adduces a source in order to make its interpretation authoritative. The very common formula “Shi yue” 䀽᳄ or “such-and-such a chapter of the Shangshu yue” is absent. The Shangshu quote is not indicated as such. Even the very common formula gu yue ᬙ᳄ (that is the reason why it is said:) which can be found 11 times in the Guliang Zhuan and 14 times in the Zuozhuan, is missing in the Gongyang Zhuan although it can be found as part of a central argumentative rhetoric throughout most of early Chinese literature. So the first conclusion we may draw is that the Gongyang Zhuan evaluates historical narrative, ritual rules and the Shangshu tradition as general trustworthy historical sources. The sayings of the Gongyang 4

We sometimes find the same glosses in other early commentaries, where they are not always formulated in dialogical form (a commentarial form which can already be found in the Guodian text Cheng Zhi Wen Zhi ៤П㘲П) as we often find in the Gongyang Zhuan: Erya ⠒䲙, “Shi Yan” 䞟㿔: “᰺, ‫ݹ‬г.” Guliang Zhuan 5-15-11: “᰺, ‫ݹ‬г.” Gongyang Zhuan 5-15-11: “᰺ 㗙ԩ˛ ‫ݹ‬г.” “Xia Xiao Zheng Zhuan” ໣ᇣℷ‫ڇ‬: “㨀г 㗙ˈ ᑆ៮ 㟲г.” Gongyang Zhuan 7-8-6: “㨀㗙ԩ˛ ᑆ 㟲г.” We see from different transmissions of the same commentary that the dialogical form of question and answer can easily be changed through the adding of a single word: Wuwei Hanjian ℺࿕⓶ㇵ, “Sangfu Zhuan” ୾᳡‫ڇ‬: “ᮀ 㗙ˈ ϡ㎕г.” Yili ‫⾂۔‬, “Sangfu Zhuan ୾᳡‫”ڇ‬: “ᮀ 㗙 ԩ ˛ ϡ㎱г.” 5 Noma Fumichika counts more than 40 historical narratives in the Gongyang Zhuan. Showing how smoothly the exegetical text after those passages may be connected to the text before, he argues that those passages (which those in the Hanshi Waizhuan most resemble) have obviously been inserted later, at the very end of the completion of the Gongyang Zhuan, into an earlier commentary. Cf. Noma 1996: 105–108. However, as Sekiguchi Jun argued 20 years earlier, in reply to a similar argument made by Yamada Taku in his famous article (1957), the specific exegetical method of the Gongyang Zhuan is based on the narratives and could not work without this historical evidence. Cf. Sekiguchi 1976: 16–21.

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masters and of Confucius are more special and probably more authoritative, and have to be quoted explicitly in the specific exegetical context. The Shijing, however, is not used as a source with which the truth of historical judgments can be convincingly proven. 2. As to the second question, about the proper historiographical attitude propounded by the Gongyang Zhuan, we find two different sides. a) First, there is a striking proximity to what is generally known as the scepticism of the Lunyu 䂪䁲 Confucius,6 who not only did not talk about what he did not know 7 but who consequently also praised ancient scribes for leaving blank spaces in their texts when they did not know the facts.8 Throughout the Lunyu we find many statements which express in more detail an attitude of Confucius which is full of doubts, uncertainties and not-knowing. 9 We find many sayings in which Confucius is filled with sorrow or despair,10 in which he admits that he does not know an answer and has no solution for certain fundamental questions. 11 Moreover, there are many clear statements about what Confucius did not talk about and did not teach.12 Although the topic of the need to be careful and prudent with your words frequently occurs in the Shangshu and in old ritual chapters like the “Ziyi” ㎛㸷 chapter of the Liji ⾂㿬 (of which a version was found among the texts excavated in Guodian dated to the middle of the 6

Cf. Gentz 1998. Cf. Lunyu 3.11, 5.8, 5.19, 13.4, 15.1 (with Lunyu-internal unintentional verification in 16.1) etc., also cf. 2.17, 2.18, 11.12, 13.3. 8 Cf. Lunyu 15.26: ᄤ᳄ Ǆ਒⤊ঞ৆П䮩᭛гǄ᳝侀㗙‫׳‬ҎЬПǄҞѵ⶷໿Ǆ “The Master said: ‘I still hold on to the times when scribes left blanks in their texts. When someone had a horse he would lend it others for a ride. Nowadays all of this is lost!’” I follow the traditional reading of this passage. In the Lunyu normally the single character wen ᭛ never has the meaning of “text”. In 3.9 it appears as part of the compound wenxian ᭛⥏, where it obviously means “text”. In ZZ 10-1-fu8 the meaning “text” for wen appears. The meaning of wen as “text” may thus be established. To read shi ৆ in the meaning of “historiographer” and not as “expert of rites” seems to be admissible, too. For a history of that term cf. Cook 1995: 250–255. The traditional reading of that passage also seems to be plausible if the second part of the passage containing the horse analogy (as something of one's own which one gives away to someone else without keeping control over it) is taken into account. For a similar attitude of Confucius in other texts than the Lunyu cf. Schaberg 2000: 19–21. 9 Lunyu 2.17, 3.11, 5.8, 5.19, 13.3, 13.4, 15.1. 10 Lunyu 5.10, 5.11, 5.27, 7.3, 7.5, 7.25, 9.9, 11.2, 13.21, 15.13. 11 Lunyu 2.17, 3.11, 5.8, 5.19, 13.3, 13.4, 14.41, 15.1. 12 Lunyu 2.18, 7.27, 3.21, 5.13, 7.1, 7.21, 7.23, 7.24, 9.1, 9.7, 11.12, 13.3, 14.6. 7


Zhanguo period [around 300 B.C] in which this topic is stressed even more strongly than in the received version [which differs slightly] of the Liji) this old topic differs from the one in the Lunyu. In Shangshu and other old texts we always find the opposition of speech and action, yan 㿔 and xing 㸠. The need to be cautious in speech is always related to the danger of its consequences in concrete action. Speech is always seen in such a way that its effects are perceived as parallel to the effects of a normal action. This is the reason why a ruler has to be cautious in speech as well as in action. In the parts of the Lunyu I have just pointed out, the necessity for careful words is the result of the specific attitude towards the unknown spheres as described above. The subject addressed is the gentleman, not the ruler. If we read through the two main texts which throughout the Confucian literature are said to have been the basic teaching material of Confucius, the Shangshu and the Shijing, we will find almost no theoretical explanations of supernatural events. The Shangshu reports many calamities which are send down by heaven, but these calamities are always man-made, for example invasions, rebellions, usurpations etc. We never find any natural calamity or anomaly described as being sent down by heaven as a response to human conduct, in order to punish or to warn, such as we often find in later texts.13 In the Shijing there is one eclipse of the sun which results from bad human conduct, 14 and apart from this we only find good harvests as an unspecific indicator of good government and regular sacrifice. Talk of supernatural events in the realm of nature is thus nearly absent in the two books which are said to form the basis of Confucius’ teaching. These attitudes are also reflected in the exegetical practice of the Gongyang Zhuan: It is often frankly admitted in the Gongyang Zhuan that the meaning of a certain Chunqiu passage is not clear any more, or is even unknown. The Gongyang Zhuan in these passages uses the formula wu wen ⛵㘲 (I have not heard anything about) 15 or it gives two alternative options without deciding which one is right and which one is wrong, using the formula wei zhi qi wei x yu? wei y yu? ᳾ⶹ݊⚎ x 13 The only exception is a passage in the “Jinteng” 䞥㏶ chapter, for further details see note 60. 14 Cf. Shijng, “Shiyue zhi Jiao” क᳜ПѸ , Mao no. 193. 15 Gongyang Zhuan 1-2-7, 2-14-3, 6-14-11.

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㟛 ˛ ⚎ y 㟛 ˛ (we can not know whether x or y is the case). 16 Sometimes different opinions concerning a certain affair are given— again without deciding upon right or wrong, and using the formula huo yue x (huo yue y) ៪᳄ x (៪᳄ y) (one opinion states x, [another opinion states y]). 17 The Gongyang Zhuan here follows an attitude which in the Gongyang Zhuan itself is ascribed to Confucius’ Chunqiu compilation: Chunqiu: Ѩᑈˈ᯹ˈℷ᳜ˈ⬆០Ꮕϥˈ䱇փ入दǄ In the fifth year, in spring, in the first month, on the day jiaxu [or] jichou, Bao, the Marquis of Chen, died.

Gongyang Zhuan: 入दԩ⚎ҹѠ᮹दП˛ᘈгǄ⬆០П᮹ѵˈᏅϥП᮹⅏㗠ᕫˈ৯ ᄤ⭥⛝ˈᬙҹѠ᮹दПгǄ Why are here two [alternative] days taken for the recording of Bao’s death? He became mad. On the day jiaxu he disappeared and on the day jichou he was found dead. The gentleman was in doubt and therefore recorded two dates for the death.18

Among the approximately 140 entries concerning calamities or anomalies (zai yi ♑⭄) there are only two entries which reflect the cause of these natural calamities and anomalies.19 In both heaven is said to respond to certain human actions, or to send a warning. These 16 Gongyang Zhuan 2-9-4, 6-11-6, 9-2-7, 10-31-6, 12-14-1. In its openness to two alternative options the expression wei zhi clearly differs from the way this expression is used in Lüshi Chunqiu Jiao-Shi ਖ ⇣ ᯹ ⾟ ᷵ 䞟 , p. 232 and 402 etc., where Christoph Harbsmeier has shown that in these passages suppositions are expressed. Cf. Harbsmeier 1998: 251. 17 Gongyang Zhuan 4-2-6, 5-33-3, 8-1-6, 9-19-2. Yamada Taku has adduced these passages as an indicator for the multi-layeredness of the Gongyang Zhuan. He opposes these passages to all those passages (32 in total) where Gongyang statements have an uncertain status through the usage of the character gai 㪟 (perhaps/seemingly). Cf. Yamada 1957: 166–169. 18 Gongyang Zhuan 2-5-1. It is interesting to have the Guliang commentary here which reads: 入दԩ⚎ҹѠ᮹दП? ᯹⾟П㕽ˈֵҹ‫⭥ˈֵڇ‬ҹ‫⭥ڇ‬Ǆ䱇փҹ⬆ ០ П ᮹ ߎ ˈ Ꮕ ϥ П ᮹ ᕫ ˈ ϡ ⶹ ⅏ П ᮹ ˈ ᬙ 㟝 Ѡ ᮹ ҹ ࣙ г Ǆ ”Why are two [alternative] days given here for the recording of Bao's death? The righteous rule of the Chunqiu is that if something is trustworthy it is transmitted as trustworthy and if there is something doubtful it is transmitted as doubtful. The Marquis of Chen left on the day jiaxu and on the day jichou was found. Since the day of his death is not known, two days are adduced in order to be sure to include the correct date.” Here again the term “trustworthiness” ( xin ֵ) is used as a historiographical term. 19 Gongyang Zhuan 5-15-11, 7-15-9 (probably also 12-14-1).


two statements show that a relationship between natural deviations and human conduct is conceptualized. However, there is no attempt to formulate any more specific theory nor is this point elaborated any further. Instead, most of the entries about natural calamities or anomalies are not commented on at all. The Gongyang Zhuan at the most only explains that this is an entry concerning a natural calamity or anomaly but never comments on its cause. In my view one can take this silence as a practice of not talking about supernatural phenomena and which reflects an attitude ascribed to Confucius by Sima Qian, who writes in his “Tian Guan” ໽ᅬ chapter: “Confucius expounded upon the Six Classics, he recorded abnormalities, yet did not write down any explanations” ( ᄨ ᄤ 䂪 ݁ ㍧ ˈ ㋔ ⭄ 㗠䁾 ϡ ᳌ ). 20 The Gongyang Zhuan on this point seems to follow the “rational attitude” also ascribed to Confucius in earlier works.21 It thereby expresses the same basic attitude towards things unknown upon which no decisions are made. This basic attitude is also reflected in the way the Gongyang Zhuan imagines Confucius’ compilation of the Chunqiu. According to the Gongyang Zhuan, Confucius compiled the Chunqiu by not altering the original text. In the same way as the invisible realm of the spirits and ghosts is not spoken about, the invisible realm of the past is also not penetrated through Confucius’ own statements or speculations. Again, we know this attitude from various Lunyu passages.22 We thus find that the attitude, praised throughout the Lunyu, whereby explicit admissions of missing knowledge are made, is reflected also in the exegetical practice of the Gongyang Zhuan. Unlike the Lunyu, however, the Gongyang Zhuan does not say anything about these attitudes and does not attribute them explicitly to Confucius. We only find them implicit in the exegetical practice of the commentary. b) On the other side there is, of course, a Gongyang commentary to the famous passage about the historiographer Dong Hu 㨷⢤.

20

Cf. SJ, p. 1343. Cf. Lunyu 2.17, 2.18, 5.13, 7.21, 10.17, 13.3, 13.12 etc. as well as Guoyu, “Luyu” 元䁲 xia, 201, 213, 214. 22 The most prominent passage describing this attitude is Lunyu 7.1: 䗄㗠ϡ԰ˈֵ 㗠དস “in transmitting and not myself creating, I am trustworthy and love antiquity.” 21

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ᰝ৆᳌䊞᳄Ψᰝ䍭Ⳓᓦ݊৯་ⱟǄ䍭Ⳓ᳄Ψ໽Т⛵䕰ˈ਒ϡᓦ ৯ʽ䂄䃖਒ᓦ৯㗙Т˛৆᳄Ψ⠒⚎ҕ⚎㕽ǄҎᓦ৯ˈ㗠ᕽ೟ϡ㿢䊞ˈℸ䴲ᓦ৯㗠ԩ˛ [After the assassination of the ruler of Jin, Yi Hao] the historiographer from Jin made a record of the assassination as follows: ‘Zhao Dun assassinated his ruler Yi Hao.’23 Zhao Dun thereupon cried: ‘Heaven! I did not commit this crime! I did not assassinate the ruler! Who said that I assassinated the ruler?’ The historiographer thereupon said: ‘You are human and righteous. Thus if others assassinate your ruler and you return to your state without punishing the assassination, what is that but an assassination of your ruler?’

From other passages we can infer that the Gongyang Zhuan ascribes the historiographical attitude of the historiographer Dong Hu also to Confucius’ Chunqiu compilation. According to the Gongyang Zhuan, Confucius, like Dong Hu, ascribes certain assassinations not to the actual murderer but to the one responsible for the assassination. In the commentary to the eleventh year of Duke Yin we read: ԩҹϡ᳌㩀˛䲅ПгǄԩ䲅⠒˛ᓦгǄᓦࠛԩҹϡ᳌㩀˛᯹⾟৯ ᓦˈ䊞ϡ㿢ˈϡ᳌㩀ˈҹ⚎⛵㞷ᄤгǄᄤ≜ᄤ᳄Ψ৯ᓦˈ㞷ϡ㿢䊞ˈ䴲㞷гǄϡᕽ䅢ˈ䴲ᄤгǄ㩀ˈ⫳㗙ПџгǄ᯹⾟ˈ䊞ϡ 㿢ˈϡ᳌㩀ˈҹ⚎ϡ㐿Т㞷ᄤгǄ Why has the burial [of Duke Yin] not been recorded? In order to commiserate with him. Why commiserate? He was assassinated. If he was assassinated, why should his burial then not be recorded? The Chunqiu has [as a general rule of record] that the burial is not recorded if a ruler has been assassinated but his murder has not yet been punished, because it considers that [unless this has been done] there are no [true] ministers and sons. Zi Shenzi said: ‘If a ruler has been assassinated and his ministers do not punish the murder then they are no [true] ministers. If the sons do not take revenge they are no [true] sons.’ The burial is a matter for the living. In not recording the burial, the Chunqiu considers that it cannot associate the burial with any [true] ministers or sons.

The moral guideline followed by Dong Hu is here also taken as the basis of a historiographical rule in the Chunqiu (which gains further strength through reference to the exegetical authority of the early Gongyang master Zi Shenzi). Here what is important is that it is not only the actual assassin who should be judged but also the people who have to handle the aftermath of the assassination and thereby show whether they are true subjects or not. 23

This record can be found verbatim in Chunqiu 7-2-4.


The basic principle which lies behind this sort of historiography is the recording of what I would call a “ritual reality”, in opposition to what we understand as positive facts. This historiography of ritual reality concerns four aspects. First, with regard to the historical action, the action may be recorded according to its motivation or intention and not just according to its factual form. Second, with regard to a person, it means that persons beneath a certain rank, or those who have disqualified themselves morally or ritually through bad behaviour (such as regicide or patricide) are not mentioned in the Chunqiu, just as if they did not exist. Third, with regard to a particular matter, the historiography of ritual reality is expressed through the accordance or non-accordance of the recorded matter with the code of ritual behaviour. A burial which ritually is not correct is not a burial and is therefore not recorded. Fourth, with regard to the state of Lu, there is a ritual reality of its own, which consists only of good matters. Bad matters are tabooed. Taboo and shame are depicted as ritually correct elements of the attitude of a historiographer. Taboo, shame and tactical considerations of the historiographer (in this case Confucius) are given as legitimate reasons for deviations in recording and could be subsumed under the notion of “ritual recording”. Finally, the Gongyang Zhuan contains the rule that something may be allowed in practice but not in the realm of written records (shi yu er wen bu yu ᆺ 㟛㗠 ᭛ ϡ 㟛 ). This is a very subtle case of distinguishing valid pragmatic action from the realm of the rules of ritual recording and, of course, has an effect on the historiographical record as well. A comparison with passages from the Zuozhuan, in which we are told something about the working of the Chunqiu historiographer shows, as Yuri Pines has demonstrated that according to the Zuozhuan, 1. Ritual report and not the political significance of an event led to its being recorded,24 2. Rules of taboo (hui 䃅) prevented the annalists from recording assassinations or humiliations of their rulers,25 and 3. Historical records very early served as instruments for the praise and blame of historical personalities.26 Finally, the Confucius of the Gongyang Zhuan, despite his high estimation of historical truth and his strict historical criticism, respects 24

Cf. ZZ 1-11-fu4, noted by Pines 1997: 84. Cf. ZZ 5-17-4, 6-2-3, 8-10-6, 10-16-fu1, noted by Pines 1997: 85. For Zuozhuan passages which contain taboo formulae, cf. Emmrich 1992: 34. 26 Cf. ZZ 6-15-2, 9-20-fu, noted by Pines 1997: 85, n. 32. 25

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in the Chunqiu an unrealistic and moral-ritual record in those cases in which a moral or ritual judgment, and thus a moralistic or ritualistic principle of recording, is the basis for the record. He does not acknowledge such a record in cases where it seems too fantastic and implausible, as in certain records regarding abnormalities which, according to the Gongyang Zhuan, were recorded in the unrevised Chunqiu (bu xiu Chunqiu ϡׂ᯹⾟): ϡׂ᯹⾟᳄Ψ䲼᯳ϡঞഄሎ㗠 ᕽǄ৯ᄤׂП᳄Ψ᯳䳷བ䲼Ǆ”The unrevised Chunqiu says: ‘Like rain, falling stars fell to within a foot of the ground and then returned.’ The gentleman (Confucius) revised it and wrote: ‘Rainlike falling stars.’”27 In these cases Confucius leaves the fantastic part aside and revises the more technical part in a way which, in his view, seems to be understandable.

2. As a Messianic Vision That the Gongyang Zhuan is so well known for its “messianic vision” is due to its Han interpreters Dong Zhongshu 㨷ӆ㟦(ca. 195-115 B.C.) and, above all, He Xiu ԩӥ(129-182 A.D.), who extracted abstract sets of guidelines from the Chunqiu which may be taken as a political program, or as legal rules serving the ruling house of Han.28 There is, however, no evidence in the Gongyang Zhuan itself for any “messianic vision” that might be associated with the Han dynasty. The central passage upon which such an interpretation was built is the commentary to the last Chunqiu record, in which the Gongyang Zhuan writes: ৯ᄤ᳋⚎⚎᯹⾟˛᩹іϪড䃌ℷˈ㥿䖥䃌᯹⾟ˈࠛ᳾ⶹ݊⚎ᰃ 㟛˛݊䃌৯ᄤῖ䘧ฃ㟰П䘧㟛˛᳿ϡѺῖТฃ㟰Пⶹ৯ᄤг˛ࠊ ᯹⾟П㕽ҹֳᕠ㘪ˈҹ৯ᄤП⚎ˈѺ᳝ῖТℸгǄ Why did the gentleman make the Chunqiu? To eradicate disorder and to return to the correct there is nothing as close as the Chunqiu.29 Yet, we can not know any more30 whether it was made31 for this purpose or

27

Chunqiu 3-7-3. Cf. Gentz 2001a. Cf. also He Xiu's commentary, SSJZS, p. 2353.1 29 Compare Mengzi ᄳᄤ 3B9, 4B21. 30 For ze ࠛ as “resumptive conjunction” cf. Dobson 1974: 734, 5.1.6. 31 In opposition to the two Mengzi passages which use the verbs zuo ԰ and cheng ៤ for the “making” of the Chunqiu, here the verb wei ⚎ is used, which is less precise. 28


whether32 he rejoiced to pass on the Way of Yao and Shun.33 And was it in the end not perhaps the delight of knowing that someone like Yao and Shun should in a later age recognize the gentleman?34 To obtain the righteousness of the Chunqiu in order to await later sages—it was also this in which the gentleman was delighted when making [the Chunqiu].

In this passage the Gongyang Zhuan gives three options as to the purpose of the Chunqiu compilation. The first one is a political vision which can also be found in the Mengzi ᄳᄤ. The Chunqiu was written by Confucius in order to bring order into the world which had fallen into chaos. The second option would be the joy Confucius felt in transmitting the Way of Yao and Shun. The third would be the relief that some later sage would, perhaps on the basis of the Chunqiu message, recognize the wisdom of Confucius. This last vision of awaiting later sages was interpreted as pointing towards the Han ruling house which had already been foreseen by Confucius, and for which the Chunqiu was actually written. Be that as it may, from the evidence of the text itself it is clear that some “messianic vision” of a right-ordered world ruled by a future sage ruler in the way of Yao and Shun is envisaged. The death of the unicorn, which is the topic of the last Chunqiu record, is commented on in the same passage as follows:

32

The expression qi zhu x yu? ݊䃌 x 㟛 ? occurs in six passages of the Gongyang Zhuan 2-6-5, 4-1-6, 5-2-3, 5-24-4, 7-5-5, and 12-14-1. In four cases exegetical additions of early exegetical masters from the Gongyang tradition are dressed up in this question form, in one case it is used in the question of an adviser who makes a wrong supposition, and in this case it is used within an exegetical supposition. In all four cases it is used in carefully formulated suppositions which are answers to questions. These questions are (as propositions) posed in a slightly suggestive way and always mean something like: “I am not sure but I suppose that...—isn't it perhaps like...?”. Dobson in this case takes zhu 䃌 grammatically as the fusion (“allegro-form”) of zhi hu ПТ, a construction which he denotes as a “particle of sentential mood” which expresses “doubt, tentativeness etc.” Cf. Dobson 1974: 451 with examples from Lunyu, Mengzi and Liji, “Tan Gong” ⁔ᓧ xia. There, however, zhu 䃌 always stands in “second post-verbal position” at the end of the sentence and does not imply any suppositional connotation, instead expressing doubts openly. 33 The grammatical construction here ze wei zhi qi wei x hu? (qi) y hu? ࠛ᳾ⶹ݊ ⚎ x Т ˛ ݊ y Т ? is used several times in the Gongyang Zhuan and expresses (as in 11-1-1 wei ke zhi ᳾ৃⶹ) an irremediable lack of knowledge, which results in the impossibility of deciding between two given options. Gongyang Zhuan 2-9-4, 6-11-6, 9-2-7, 10-31-6. The question particle yu 㟛 may be taken as ye hu г Т. Cf. Dobson 1974: 866. 34 This is an implied reference to Mengzi 3B9 where Confucius is quoted as saying: ⶹ៥㗙ˈ݊ᚳ᯹⾟Т˗㔾៥㗙ˈ݊ᚳ᯹⾟ТǄ“Those who understand (zhi ⶹ) me will do so only through the Chunqiu. Those who condemn me will do so only through the Chunqiu.”

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The Chunqiu record reads: ᯹㽓⢽⥆味Ǆ In spring in the west a unicorn was caught during a hunt.

The Gongyang Zhuan comments: ԩҹ᳌? 㿬⭄гǄԩ⭄⠒? 䴲Ё೟П⥌гǄ✊ࠛᅄ⢽П? 㭾䞛㗙 гǄ㭾䞛㗙ࠛᖂ㗙гˈ᳋⚎ҹ⢽㿔П? ໻ПгǄ᳋⚎໻П? ⚎⥆味 ໻ПгǄ᳋⚎⚎⥆味໻П? 味㗙ҕ⥌гǄ᳝⥟㗙ࠛ㟇ˈ⛵⥟㗙ࠛϡ 㟇Ǆ᳝ҹਞ㗙᳄˖᳝呛㗠㾦㗙Ǆ ᄨᄤ᳄˖ᅄ⚎՚ઝʽᅄ⚎՚ઝʽ ড㹖ᣁ䴶ˈ⍩⊒㹡Ǆ Why was this written? In order to record an extraordinary event. What is extraordinary here? It is not an animal from the Central States. So who hunted it then? It was someone who gathered firewood. Someone who gathers firewood has a low position, why is it then said that he hunted it? In order to magnify the event. Why magnify it? It was magnified on account of the capture of the unicorn. Why was it magnified on account of the capture of the unicorn? The unicorn is an animal of humaneness. If there is a [true] king then it appears, if there is no [true] king then it does not appear. When someone came to report on it and said: ‘We have a roe with a horn’, Confucius said: ‘For whom has it come! For whom has it come?’ He turned his sleeve and wiped his face. Tears wet his robe.

Contrary to the interpretations of the two other Chunqiu commentaries, the Gongyang Zhuan interprets the capture of the unicorn as an extraordinary event which has a central meaning in Confucius’ life. It is interpreted as a heavenly sign of the rule of a sage king who is to come. Another part of the same last passage gives us further evidence as to what sort of vision might be envisaged: ᯹⾟ԩҹྟТ䲅˛⼪П᠔䘂㘲гǄ᠔㽟⭄䖁Ǆ᠔㘲⭄䖁ˈ᠔‫ڇ‬㘲 ⭄䖁Ǆԩҹ㌖Тઔकಯᑈ˛᳄Ψ‫⶷٭‬Ǆ Why does the Chunqiu start with Duke Yin? It was up to this time that the forefathers [of Confucius] knew from hearsay. He used different wordings for matters he had seen himself, for matters he had heard of, and for matters transmitted through hearsay.35 Why does the Chunqiu 35 This expression is used three times in the Gongyang Zhuan, Yin 1.7, Huan 2.4 and Ai 14.1. In each case it is noted that Confucius in the Chunqiu chose his expressions according to whether the incident (1) Belonged to a period which he himself had witnessed, or (2) was one of which he had heard first-hand from eye witnesses, or (3) had come down to him through transmission (by his forefathers). For a more detailed account of the three periods (san shi ϝᰖ) cf. Woo 1932: 88–106, especially 90–91 also Ojima 1990: 294–312, 299–300.


end in the fourteenth year of Duke Ai? [Confucius] said: ‘Everything is completed (or: prepared/ready)!’

Now, in the fourteenth year of Duke Ai ઔ(481 B.C.) there is only one great event in the history of the Central States in China. It is precisely the year in which the Tian ⬄ family took over and began to rule the state of Qi. 36 In my view, therefore, the arrival and capture of the unicorn in the Gongyang interpretation probably points to the new ruler of Qi. The Gongyang Zhuan, which is traditionally associated with the state of Qi,37 seems to be an attempt to formulate, on the basis of its Chunqiu exegesis, a system of rules for a united state under the rule of Qi. The function of the historical material of the Chunqiu is thus the same as we have seen from the earliest mention of the Chunqiu in the Yu Cong 䁲শ 1 excavated in Guodian: ᯹⾟ ᠔ҹ᳗সҞПџгǄ The Chunqiu is that through which the matters of the past and the present are brought to a meeting.38

This means that the past may be used to serve the present. The basis for the realization of this messianic vision is the message which is said to have been inserted into the Chunqiu by Confucius in order to fulfil the vision. It is obvious that the historical text must be changed if something is inserted into it. We thus encounter the problem that despite all the strict historiographical rules mentioned above, which serve to sustain the trustworthiness of the historical material of the Chunqiu and work against a darkening of the truth through untenable speculations, the historical text has to be changed in order to transmit the vision which is to be expressed through it.

36

Cf. Yang 1997: 701; Lewis 1999: 598. Recent research seems to confirm this association. Not only does the language of the Gongyang Zhuan seem to be close to the early Qi dialect (cf. Wang (1998), but also the Qi rulers, as well as Qi marriages, are presented in a very positive way, cf. Kotera 1998: 120. Furthermore the Gongyang Zhuan, like the Chunqiu, follows the calendar of Qi, which is not the case for the Zuozhuan and the Guliang Zhuan, cf. Hirase 1998: 165-170, 2000: 138. 38 Quoted according to the Jingmen Shi Bowuguan 㤞䭔Ꮦम⠽仼 edition 1998: 194–195. 37

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3. Historical Thought We thus have the following contradiction within the Gongyang Zhuan: On the one hand it observes strict rules regarding the historical correctness of its commentary, but on the other the central assumption of its commentary is that the historical material was modified by Confucius in order to insert his own message, which consists of correct judgments concerning the historical material. We thus have a contradiction between the truth of the historical material on the one hand, and the truth of the judgments upon the historical material on the other. The author of this passage of the Gongyang Zhuan is conscious of this contradiction. It expresses its own view about this contradiction through a comment made by Confucius in the following passage, where the Gongyang Zhuan discovers what it thinks is an erroneous name in the following Chunqiu record: Chunqiu: क᳝Ѡᑈˈ᯹ˈ唞催‫ؗ‬᏿᏿㋡࣫➩ԃѢ䱑Ǆ In the twelfth year, in spring, Gao Yan from Qi led a batallion and enthroned Bo from North Yan in Yang.

(The Gongyang Zhuan reads: “In the twelfth year, in spring, Gao Yan from Qi led a batallion and enthroned Bo Yuyang.”) In order to correct this mistake the Gongyang Zhuan gives a gloss explaining what should be written instead at that place: ԃѢ䱑㗙ԩ? ݀ᄤ䱑⫳гǄ Who is Bo Yuyang? It is Gongzi Yangsheng. 39 39

Chunqiu 10-12-1. The Confucius quote in the commentary is based on a misunderstanding of the text. The designation of the place Yang 䱑 is taken as a part of the (incomplete) name Bo Yuyang ԃѢ䱑, which according to the Gongyang Zhuan should in its complete form be Gongzi Yangsheng ݀ᄤ䱑⫳. Bo ԃ is taken as a miswriting for gong ݀ and yu Ѣ as a miswriting of zi ᄤ. The character sheng ⫳ is added because by doing so the well-known name Yangsheng of Qi 唞䱑⫳ (12-6-7), which fits the context well, is referred to. In the (in my opinion correct) interpretation of the Zuozhuan and the Guliang Zhuan, yang 䱑 in apposition is read as the name of a town in the state of Yan. Bo ԃ is Bo Kuan ԃℒ, who nine years before, in the third year of the reign of Duke Zhao (10-3-7) fled over to Qi from Yan. I suppose that the Gongyang commentary just misreads this passage. If this is the case, and the misreading does not go back to “Confucius” then the interesting thing for us is that it could show that this Confucius quote never existed. Since immediately after this quote


Afterwards it quotes Confucius as follows: ᄤ᳄˖៥ЗⶹП⶷Ǆ ೼‫و‬㗙᳄˖ᄤ㢳ⶹПˈԩҹϡ䴽? ᳄˖བ⠒ ᠔ϡⶹԩ? ᯹⾟Пֵ৆гˈ݊ᑣࠛ唞ḧǃᰝ᭛ˈ᳗݊ࠛЏ᳗㗙⚎П гˈ݊䀲ࠛϬ᳝㔾⛝⠒Ǆ The master said: ‘I knew about that, indeed.’40 Someone standing by thereupon said: ‘If you knew about that mistake why didn’t you change it?’ Confucius said: ‘If I would just do that what should I do with all the things I do not know? 41 The trustworthiness of the scribes of the Chunqiu lies exactly in the fact that the orders of succession of the historical actors are the ones made by Duke Huan of Qi and Duke Wen of Jin, and those of the meetings are the ones made by the leaders of the meetings and my only guilt lies in the wording.

According to the Gongyang Zhuan, the Chunqiu scribes are “trustworthy” despite the changes in wording because other more essential things, such as the orders of succession remained unchanged. The Gongyang Zhuan thus differentiates between parts which are essential for the trustworthiness of the Chunqiu as a book of history and which guarantee its status as written by “trustworthy scribes” (xinshi ֵ৆) and other parts, such as the wording (ci 䀲), a change of which leads to a certain guilt but not to the loss of its trustworthiness. We find a similar differentiation in Mengzi where it says: ݊џࠛ唞ḧᰝ᭛Ǆ݊᭛ࠛ৆Ǆᄨᄤ᳄Ψ ݊㕽ࠛϬゞপП⶷Ǆ

another quote follows from the Mengzi, which is incorporated into the Confucius quote, this passage may indicate the way in which remarks purporting to have been made by Confucius were constructed. 40 For the meaning of nai З as “really, indeed” cf. Dobson 1974: 531. 41 Most translators follow He Xiu (SSJZS: 2320.2) who comments: ༜ཇ᠔ϡⶹ ԩ˛ᆻৃᔋ᳈ПТ˛ℸ໿ᄤ℆⚎ᕠҎ⊩Ψϡ℆ҸҎམۘ䤃Ǆ“What about that which you do not know? Would you rather prefer to change it by force? This was what Confucius wished as a law for later generations: He did not want to cause people to make mistakes out a lack of knowledge and speculations based on prejudices.” Malmqvist 1971: 203: “What about that which you do not know?” Ma and Jin 1993: 141: “What should I do with the things you do not know?” Yan 1994: 1697: “If I would change it then you would not know the errors within, what should one then do against it?” He Xiu in his reading ends the sentence after ru བ and reads the er ⠒ as “you”. Such an isolated ru བ, however, cannot be found elsewhere in the early literature. Furthermore, a speech directed to a second person makes no sense because Confucius is talking about himself and his own reading. The main point here is his guilt regarding the changing of the historical material, not the problem that other readers might understand even less than he does himself. I interpret the er ⠒ with Dobson as the fusion (“allegro-form”) of er yi ⠒Ꮖ (only that and nothing more) as we often find it in the text of the Gongyang Zhuan. Cf. Dobson 1974: 236, 3.14.

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Its matters are those of Duke Huan of Qi and Duke Wen of Jin. Its style is that of a historian. Confucius said: ‘It is its sense of righteousness which I have appropriated secretly.’42

Mengzi differentiates historical matters, historical style and sense of righteousness. Again, Confucius changed neither the historical matter nor the historical style of the Chunqiu, and thus did not diminish its value as a trustworthy book of history. However, Mengzi also ascribes to him a guilt which lies in the secret appropriation of the sense of righteousness of the Chunqiu. ᯹⾟ˈ໽ᄤПџгǄᰃᬙᄨᄤ᳄Ψ ⶹ៥㗙݊ᚳ᯹⾟Тˈ㔾៥㗙݊ ᚳ᯹⾟ТǄ A Chunqiu is the matter of the Son of Heaven. That is why Confucius said: ‘Those who understand me will do so only through the Chunqiu. Those who condemn me will do so only through the Chunqiu.’43

According to this passage, however, the guilt of Confucius again does not consist in his modification of historical content but rather in his appropriation of a matter which is the matter of the Son of Heaven. It is thus the guilt of transgressing the limits of his authority, not of changing historical content. The Gongyang Zhuan in this passage uses an important term, that of “trustworthy scribes” (xinshi). The trustworthiness 44 of the historical record lies, according to that passage, mainly in its correct transmission of the original order of succession of historical actors and not in its wording. We know from the Zuozhuan, again thanks to Yuri Pines, that fixed historiographical rules existed for the order of succession of the signatories of covenants (meng ⲳ) because these orders of succession guaranteed certain powers in the covenant. These orders of succession were the subjects of lawsuits and were decided upon by precedent, using such cases as the one in 506 B.C. between the states of Cai and Wei upon the question of who should take the first position in the covenant. As a proof a precedence case from 632

42

Mengzi 4B21. Mengzi 3B9. 44 Regarding the term “trustworthiness” ֵ, we find in Lunyu 7.1 descriptions of Confucius' attitude towards antiquity : “In transmitting [the old teachings/texts] and not making anything up [on my own], in this trustworthiness and love of antiquity my humble self might be compared to our Lao and Peng.” ᄤ᳄Ψ䗄㗠ϡ԰ˈֵ㗠ད স ˈ ゞ ↨ ᮐ ៥ 㗕 ᕁ . Or in 7.28: “There may be people who compose without knowing. I am not one of those.” ᄤ᳄Ψ㪟᳝ϡⶹ㗠԰П㗙ˈ៥⛵ᰃгǄ 43


B.C.45 and the text of the relevant covenant from the Zhou archives is referred to.46 Sometimes the order of succession was fixed on the basis of general guidelines like the one from 712 B.C.: “If members of the Zhou ruling house take part in a covenant the names of other families are listed behind” ਼Пᅫⲳˈ⭄ᗻ⚎ᕠ. 47 The crucial point of the covenant, and the reason why people if they need to refer back to the archives as proof, is above all a ritual or legal matter, namely the order of succession of the members of the covenant, which determines their relative hierarchical positions. It is this order which Confucius, according to the Gongyang Zhuan, preserved as the essential historical content of the Chunqiu. As to mistakes in the Chunqiu text, it could not have been his task to correct them, because then he would become involved in a realm in which he had no authorization or capability, and could thus endanger the trustworthiness of the historical value of the Chunqiu. Therefore he does not touch this realm and strictly transmits the historical material even if he discovers mistakes in it. As we have seen, according to the Gongyang Zhuan the Chunqiu compilation of Confucius serves two purposes, which mutually define each other’s limits. On the one hand, Confucius wants to transmit judgments on the historical material, but on the other he wants to preserve the trustworthiness of the Chunqiu as a source of history. It is this tension which leads to the specific compilation of the historical material, a compilation which is so reduced to single wordings and formal features of the Chunqiu records that the historical content is not changed, but only tinged with moral judgment. This means that nothing is added to the historical material, and, furthermore, that mistakes are not corrected, but that the pre-existing judgments of earlier historiographers (like Dong Hu) are moderated and clearly fantastic matters are omitted. For the modification of the historical material this means that on the one hand Confucius tries to make the text grammatically clear in order to expunge ambiguities, and on the other hand wordings are changed in such a way that they offer evaluations without telling a completely different story. This end is achieved by revealing the moral message mainly through formal deviations from the historiographical norm. 45

Cf. ZZ 5-28-5. Cf. ZZ 11-4-2. 47 Cf. ZZ 1-11-1. 46

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4. Strategies of Sacralization What effect does this historical thought have on the concrete exegetical work of the Gongyang Zhuan which “sacralizes” the text of the Chunqiu? In order to meet the demand of historical trustworthiness, the Gongyang Zhuan does not interpret records which report anomalies or calamities. There are only two instances where the Gongyang Zhuan comments on anomalies in a very general way. On all other instances the commentary keeps silent. Furthermore, as already mentioned above, the Gongyang Zhuan expresses a lack of certainty and admits that it does not know of any explanation, or else gives two alternative explanations. The most important effect of historical criticism on the exegetical technique of the Gongyang Zhuan is, however, that it tries to prove the reliability of its own interpretations through founding them on defined rules. The Gongyang Zhuan establishes a system of exegetic rules according to which its own interpretations are made plausible to the reader. These rules on which the exegesis is founded are convincing by reason of the fact that they themselves are depicted as historical rules which are clearly shown to be deduced from the Chunqiu text itself. As a first step, the Gongyang Zhuan deduces a historiographical formula from the routine of the Chunqiu records and thus produces a second, fictional and formally ideal, text. In a second step it compares the fictional formula text with the actual text and determines the divergences. In a third step it explains the divergences as deviations which purport to convey the hidden message of Confucius.48 In that way it may be determined, on the basis of formal rules deduced from the composition of the Chunqiu, where the message of Confucius is hidden in the text. Moreover, the emotions of the sage are used as an exegetic technique for the interpretation of the text, thus leading to an empathetic exegesis of the text which is interpreted as if read through the eyes of Confucius. 49 The interpretation is thus not only intersubjectively verifiable through a set of exegetic rules, it is also historical in the sense that reasons in terms of historical context are given. This “scientific” attitude, which gives 48 For a more detailed account of this exegetical technique cf. Gentz 2001b: 118124, 2003. 49 Cf. Gentz 1996.


the impression of an historical and objective text interpretation in a quite modern philological sense, 50 responds to its own request for highly elaborated historical criticism. The system of exegetic rules is further developed in the Chunqiu Fanlu ᯹⾟㐕䴆 and in He Xiu’s commentary on the Gongyang Zhuan. However, despite this highly acclaimed theoretical approach, if we take a closer look at the way the Gongyang exegesis works in practice, we discover many failures in its accomplishment of a convincing exegetical system. Rule after rule is newly invented, deviation rules are defined and even deviation rules of deviation rules are introduced, over which nobody has any control any more. Thus the later reproach that the Gongyang Zhuan’s interpretation would be arbitrary and speculative was so convincing that it was superseded by the other Chunqiu commentaries and never again acquired the same status it had in Early Han times.

5. The Early Gongyang Tradition As a part of the official canon-building, the early Gongyang tradition concentrates only on the systematization of the main guidelines for historical judgment. Questions as to what is correct historiography no longer have a role to play and have probably shifted to the neighboring institution, the office of historiography.51 The earliest text which continues and further develops the Gongyang exegesis is the Chunqiu Fanlu, a text traditionally ascribed to Dong Zhongshu. In works on Chinese intellectual and political history Dong Zhongshu is generally depicted as the intellectual architect of the Early Han. Dong is said to have combined yinyang wuxing 䱄䱑Ѩ㸠 methods with the texts of the Confucian classics and thus to have associated the classics with the political sphere of the cosmological 50

August Boeckh, a nineteenth-century philologist whose Encyklopädie und Methodologie der philologischen Wissenschaften still defines the basic methodology for classical philology today, requires for the correct understanding of a text a fourfold text interpretation which should be carried out with regard to grammatical functions, historical context, text genesis and the individual features of the author, cf. Boeckh 1877: 83. All of these four aspects of text interpretation may be found in the Gongyang Zhuan. 51 Cf. Gentz 2001a.

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legitimation of the Early Han. Confucian Orthodoxy in the Early Han is thus always connected to his name. It is furthermore a well-known fact that in this process the Chunqiu obtained an unprecedented high status as one of the most important canonical works in Early Han times, 52 if not the most important, and that this new status was obtained through the exegetical efforts of Dong Zhongshu, who was a specialist in the Gongyang interpretation of the Chunqiu. However, as has been shown already some decades ago, 53 the wuxing theory is absent in works which may undoubtedly be ascribed to Dong Zhongshu. The wuxing chapters in the Chunqiu Fanlu, a collection wrongly ascribed wholly to Dong Zhongshu, never refer to the Chunqiu or any other classical texts, while those chapters of the Chunqiu Fanlu which may be ascribed to Dong (namely chapters 1– 17) are Chunqiu exegetical chapters and do not contain any reference to wuxing theory. References to yinyang theory are very rare. The first 17 chapters which, including a postface, form a closed Chunqiu exegetical block, no longer contain any historical criticism. Presumably this was not their intent. Instead, questions concerning the essential guidelines of the historical judgments of the Chunqiu become more and more important, until we find in chapter 12 a set of ten essential guidelines (“Shi Zhi” कᣛ) without any reference to the Chunqiu text. These guidelines are also reflected in chapter 17, which as the last chapter of the Chunqiu exegetical block seems to be the postface (as suggested also by its title “Yu Xu” ֲᑣ [Postface of Yu]). The focus of the Chunqiu exegetical material of the Chunqiu Fanlu lies completely in the further analysis, systematization and actualization of the moral fundamentals of the Chunqiu for the jurisdiction of the Early Han. In the Early Han period the Gongyang Zhuan itself gains the status of a canonical work. As such it is used by a new class of specialists in text interpretation as a handbook for imperial rule, leading to practical handbooks such as the Chunqiu Jueyu ᯹ ⾟㿷 ⤘ , a work also ascribed to Dong Zhongshu. The Chunqiu Jueyu is a handbook of lawsuits of which, despite its influence until the Tang dynasty, 54 only fragments have survived. 55

52

Cf. Hiraoka 1966: 23. Keimatsu Mitsuo ᝊᵒ‫ܝ‬䲘 and Dai Junren ᠈৯ҕ have discovered this fact independently from each other. Cf. Dai 1970: 319–334; Keimatsu 1959. Gary Arbuckle (1993) has given further strong arguments in his dissertation. 54 Cf. Hua 1994. 53


Using the technical terminology of the Qin legal and administrative rules (for example, those found in Yunmeng Shuihudi, Baoshan or Zhangjiashan) legal cases are formulated in an abstract and generalized way in order to function as general precedents. Principles of the Chunqiu are then referred to as basic guidelines for the judgment of a case. Legalist rules are quoted in order to contrast them with the jurisdiction of the Chunqiu. The Chunqiu Jueyu seems to be an attempt to combine and reconcile the strict form of the tradition of Qin legal statutes with the moral contents of the Chunqiu exegetical guidelines. In the Hanshu ⓶᳌ we have the record of a series of historical cases in which the Chunqiu was taken, in a very similar way, as the basis for legal decisions. In these cases reference is always made to the righteousness of the Chunqiu (Chunqiu zhi yi ᯹⾟П㕽). This position is often contrasted with a legalist position, which is polemically depicted as rigid and obviously unjust. The possibility of handling deviating situations through the method of weighing up (quan ⃞) certain cases following the guiding principles given in the Chunqiu qualifies the Chunqiu jurisdiction for a legal exegesis which is open to interpretation and is not bound by fixed rules. Further investigation will have to show whether this opening up of the jurisdiction originally established under the Qin for the subjective interpretation of the Chunqiu tradition, which in contrast based its judgments on the wisdom of Confucius, contributed to the further development of a callous jurisdiction or to a decline of a highly sophisticated and independent jurisdiction. Be that as it may, the legal exegesis of the Chunqiu seems to have been the exegetic form of the Gongyang tradition which was most influential in later times and which despite the lack of regard for the Gongyang Zhuan’s Chunqiu exegesis in the Late Han somehow survived within the legal sphere. The establishment of the Chunqiu as one of the leading canonical works of Early Han times came about without its having any connection to the theories of yinyang wuxing. There were three reasons that the Chunqiu achieved such an important status during the 55 Dong Zhongshu, Chunqiu Jueyu or (according to “Qi Lu” ϗ 䣘 ) Chunqiu Duanyu ᯹⾟ᮋ⤘ or (according to Hanshu “Yiwenzhi”) Gongyang Dong Zhongshu Zhiyu ݀㕞㨷ӆ㟦⊏⤘ also in Li 31985: scroll 640, “Xingfabu” 6, “Jueyu”: 8a, vol. 3: 2868, or (according to Suishu Jingji Zhi and also Ma Guohan) Chunqiu Jueshi ᯹⾟≎ џ or (according to Chongwen Zongmu ዛ᭛㐑Ⳃ) Chunqiu Jueshi Bibing ᯹⾟≎џ ↨ᑊ in Ma 1990: 246–247 and most detailed in Cheng 1988: chapter 6. Translations may be found in Wallacker 1985; Arbuckle 1987; Queen 1996: 127–181.

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Early Han. The first was the success of efforts to abstract the exegetical operations from the concrete text of the Chunqiu and to draw general conclusions on the basis of a systematic commentarial exegesis of the whole text which thus provided the basis for these general conclusions. They could thus be defended against other interpretations and could, on the basis of a highly elaborate text commentary, prove that they themselves were not arbitrary. The second reason was the successful establishment of a new and modern technical terminology (originally developed within the sphere of philosophical Moist and sophist disputation) which rhetorically made up a convincing language for argumentation reaching up even as far as the juridical sphere. These first two points led to the third point, namely that the Chunqiu exegesis could on that abstract and general basis and with a modern and convincing argumentation be connected to new and actual themes of Early Han discourse such as the people (min ⇥), punishment (xing ߥ), talented men (xian 䊶), virtue (de ᖋ) and new cosmological theories—all of which had been conspicuously absent in the Gongyang Zhuan—furthermore to other important Early Han topics like kingly teachings (jiao/hua ᬭ / ࣪ ), change of institutions (gai zhi ᬍࠊ), the cultivated (wen ᭛) vs. the simple (zhi 䊾 ) etc. These topics could be discovered, through an elaborated exegesis, in the ancient text of the Chunqiu and thereby justified for the time of the Han. This was helpful in finding ancient and authoritative precedents for new and important topics of the time. It is true that the Chunqiu achieved its high status in the Early Han through the addition of a new and up-to-date methodology to its exegesis, one which enabled it to become relevant to the political realm. But it was neither the methodology of yinyang wuxing nor was this new exegetical system constructed by one person in an ingenious hit. We see instead an exegetical abstraction process at work which slowly develops over different stages up to an exegesis which serves all actual needs in different realms without raising any doubts about its origin. Methodologically, it becomes more and more “scientific” in that intersubjectively verifiable rules are established for the exegetical operations. The more the semantics of the text could be reduced to a systematic topological reading, the more it fitted into the new context of the Early Han. It is only a few generations later that the Chunqiu exegesis, like the exegesis of other classics, becomes connected to the realm of yinyang


and wuxing and the sphere of omenology. It becomes increasingly prominent in the works of omen experts like Sui Hong ⴁᓬ (fl. 78 B.C.), Xiahou Sheng ໣փࢱ (fl. 70 B.C.), Jing Fang Ҁ᠓ (77-37 B.C.), Gu Yong 䈋∌ (d. 8 B.C.), Liu Xiang ࡝৥ (ca. 77-6 B.C.), Li Xun ᴢᇟ (fl. 5 B.C.), Liu Xin ࡝ℚ(d. 23 A.D.) etc.56 The “Wuxing Zhi” Ѩ 㸠 ᖫ chapter of the Hanshu is one of the most detailed witnesses to this sort of Chunqiu exegesis,57 which reached its peak with the apocryphal chenwei 䅪㏃ exegesis which was specially developed in the context of the Chunqiu.58 Related questions about historical truth are henceforward posed and answered in the neighboring department of the equally new class of specialists on historiography. These questions are negotiated in a new genre of historical works, among which the Shiji is the first. Whether historical criticism in these works gains a new dimension, and what sorts of innovations are connected to it, will have to be discussed elsewhere.

Conclusion ݊⼱৆㭺ֵˊᰃ㿔㔾гˊ݊㪟༅ᭌ㕢ˊᰃⷃ䁷гˊ䘆䗔⛵䖁ˊࠛ 㰯ҹ∖ၮˊᰃҹ儐⼲ϡ伫݊೟ҹ⽡Пˊ⼱৆㟛⛝ˊ᠔ҹ༁ᯣᄸ⮒ 㗙ˊ⚎ᲈ৯Փгˊ݊㿔‫ہ‬Ⴎᮐ儐⼲ˊ The priests and historiographers [of a bad ruler], in setting forth the truth, must speak of his offences. If they cover his errors and speak of excellences, they are bearing false testimony; when they would advance or retire, they have nothing which they can rightly say, and so they may vainly seek to flatter. Therefore the Spirits will not accept the offerings, and the State is made to suffer misery, in which the priests and Cf. Kern 2000: 28–30. For a detailed analysis of this chapter cf. Eberhard 1933: 11–110. For the methodology, see Eberhard 1957: 47. Or a newly-written German version Eberhard 1970: 254. 58 Cf. Yasui 21984: 221 and Yasui and Nakamura 31986: 80. A collection of the Chunqiu Wei ᯹⾟㏃ fragments may be found in Yasui and Nakamura 1971–1988, vol. 4a, b; Ma 1990, vol. 3: 2158–2261; Dull 1966: 186, 481. In the apocryphal Chunqiu Wei ᯹ ⾟㏃ , as we observed for the later Chunqiu exegesis, concrete precedent cases no longer play a role. Instead, we find a concentration on numerological-astronomical correlations in connection with the wuxing theory, neither of which shows any relation to Chunqiu exegesis. In its methodology this work rather resembles the more fully transmitted Yiwei ᯧ㏃ which, however, relates the trigrams or hexagrams to Yin and Yang (cf. for example Yasui and Nakamura 1971–1988, vol. 1b: 38) and in which—apart from general statements—the wuxing theory does not play any role. 56 57

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historiographers share. Short lives, premature deaths, bereavements and sicknesses, are caused by the oppression of the ruler; the words [of the priests and historiographers] are false, and an insult to the spirits.59

Posing the question about historical truth and the Gongyang exegesis I would like to conclude as follows. Although questions as to the trustworthiness and consistency of sources are asked for the first time in the Gongyang Zhuan, they are not about historical truth, but serve rather to ascertain the right effectiveness of the historical record with regard to the order of the world. An inaccurate historical account is in that view either not efficacious, or efficacious in the wrong way. The correct historical account only serves as a basis for a correct judgment, which again as a historical precedent is the basis for actual correct behaviour. The historiographer, in the same way as the priest, the diviner and calendar specialist, thus carries part of the responsibility for the right actions of the ruler and therefore for the right order of the world. His job is a sort of professional craftsmanship, which includes the duty of sustaining the world order. A mistake weighs heavy not for moral reasons but rather because a wrong regulation of the order, no matter whether conceptualized in a demonological model (as in the above cited passage from Zuozhuan Zhao 20.fu4) or a correlative model, will manifest itself in correspondence to some other sphere as a harmful consequence. Since imperial action had to orientate itself in line with historical precedents in that the ruler’s behaviour had to be negotiated within the boundaries of moral, ritual and political rules defined through a fixed corpus of historical precedents, historical criticism was necessary in order to assure right action. An abstract philosophical or historical truth had no place in pre-Buddhist China, perhaps not even until the arrival of the first Christian missionaries. Historical diagnosis which formed the basis of the diagnosis of the present was dependent upon correct historical accounts which for their trustworthiness relied on historical criticism.60 59

Cf. ZZ 10-20.fu4, translation according to Legge 1991: 683. A very early example may be found in the famous episode of the “Jinteng” 䞥㏶ chapter of the Shangshu, in which the Duke of Zhou demonstrates his loyalty through writing down his prayer for the sick ruler. This writing is preserved in a metal-bound coffer, from where it is taken out at a time of disorder when the Duke of Zhou has been banished for slander. The catastrophic violent storm which this causes only ends when the Duke of Zhou, on the evidence of the recorded prayer found in the metalbound coffer (and thus on the basis of the true historical facts), is pardoned and recalled to court. The wrong historical judgment in this case led to harsh consequences in the shape of a natural calamity. Another famous case from the 60


ABBREVIATIONS AND QUOTATIONS SJ: Sima Qian ৌ侀䙋 (11959, 91985), Shiji ৆㿬 (Records of the Historian). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju SSJZS: Ruan Yuan 䰂‫( ܗ‬ed.) (11980, 41987), Shisan Jing Zhushu कϝ㍧⊼⭣ (The Thirteen Classics, Annotated and Commented Upon). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. ZZ: Zuozhuan. Chunqiu records are quoted according to Hung, William ⋾ὁ, Chunqiu Jingzhuan Yinde ᯹⾟㍧‫ڇ‬ᓩᕫ (Combined Concordances to Ch’un ch’iu, Kung yang, Ku liang and Tso chuan) (11983, 31988) (orig. Harvard Yenching Index, Peiping, 1937), reprint Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe. The twelve dukes are counted as follows: 1. Yin 䲅, 2. Huan ḧ, 3. Zhuang 㥞, 4. Min 䭨, 5. Xi ‫ڪ‬, 6. Wen ᭛, 7. Xuan ᅷ, 8. Cheng ៤, 9. Xiang 㼘, 10. Zhao ᰁ, 11. Ding ᅮ, 12. Ai ઔ. Every record is quoted as a combination of numbers. Thus the fourth record in the third year of the reign of Duke Huan is quoted as 2-3-4.

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Ojima Sukema ᇣዊ⼤侀 (1990), “Gongyang Sanke Jiuzhi Shuo Kao (Kuyô Sanka Kiushi Setsu Kô) ݀㕞ϝ⾥бᣛ䁾㗗 (Examination of the Teaching of the Three Topics and the Nine Guidelines of the Gongyang Zhuan)”, in Jiang Xia’an ∳ִ 㧈 (transl. and ed.) (1990), Xian Qin Jingji Kao ‫⾺ܜ‬㍧㈡㗗 (Examination of the Canonical Works of the Pre-Qin Period). Shanghai: Shanghai Wenyi Chubanshe, 1. part, 294–312. Original Shanghai: Shanghai Shangwu Yinshuguan, 1931. Pines, Yuri (1997), “Intellectual Change in the Chunqiu Period: The Reliability of the Speeches in the Zuozhuan as Sources of Chunqiu Intellectual History”, in Early China 22 (1997), 77–132. Queen, Sarah (1996), From Chronicle to Canon: The Hermeneutics of the Spring and Autumn, According to Tung Chung-shu. New York: Cambridge University Press. Schaberg, David (2000), “Confucius as Body and Text: On the Generation of Knowledge in Warring States and Han Anecdotal Literature”, unpubl. manuscript of a paper presented at the conference Text and Ritual in Early China, at Princeton University. Sekiguchi Jun 䮰ষ䷚ (1976), “Keigaku teki shi-i kôzô no bunseki: Shunjû Kuyô den ni sokushite ㍧ᅌⱘᗱᚳᾟ䗴ȃߚᵤ: ᯹⾟݀㕞‫ڇ‬ȀेǬǻ(Analysis of the Structure of Thought of the Studies on the Classics: On the Chunqiu Gongyang zhuan)”, in Tôhôgaku ᵅᮍᅌ 51 (1976), 14–27. Wallacker, Benjamin E. (1985), “The Spring and Autumn Annals as a Source of Law in Han China”, in Journal of Chinese Studies, vol. 2, no. 1 (April 1985), 59–72. Wang Qiming ∾ଳᯢ (1998), Xian Qin Liang Han Qiyu Yanjiu ‫⓶ܽ⾺ܜ‬唞䁲ⷨお (Research on the Qi Dialect in the Pre-Qin and Two Han Dynasties). Chengdu: Bashu Shushe. Woo Kang (1932), Les trois théories politiques du Tch’ouen Ts’ieou, interprétées par Tong Tchong-chou d’après les principes de l’école de Kong-yang (The Three Political Theories of the Chunqiu, Interpreted by Dong Zhongshu Following the Principles of the Gongyang School). Paris: E. Leroux. Yamada Taku ቅ⬄⧶ (1957), “Kuyô den no seiritsu ݀㕞‫ڇ‬ȃ៤ゟ (The Formation of the Gongyang Zhuan)”, in Kanazawa Daigaku hô-bun gakubu ronshû (tetsugaku shigaku hen) 䞥╸໻ᅌ⊩᭛ᅌ䚼䂪䲚 (૆ᅌ৆ᅌ㆛) 5 (1957), 157– 179. Yan Xiu ಈׂ (1994), “Gongyang Zhuan Jinzhu Jinyi ݀㕞‫ڇ‬Ҟ⊼Ҟ䅃 (Modern Commentary and Translation of the Gongyang Zhuan)”, in Xia Jianqin ໣ࡡℑ (ed.) (1994), Shisan Jing Jinzhu Jinyi क ϝ ㍧ Ҟ ⊼ Ҟ 䅃 . Changsha: Yuelu Shushe, 1535-1735. Yang Kuan ἞ᇀ (1997), Zhanguo Shi ᠄೟৆ (History of the Warring States Period). Shanghai: Shanghai Renmin Chubanshe. (11955, 21983; Taibei: Shangwu Yinshuguan). Yasui Kôsan ᅝሙ佭ቅ (21984), Isho no seiritsu to sono tenkai ㏃᳌ȃ៤ゟǽǲȃሩ 䭟 (The Formation and Development of the Apocryphal Books). Tôkyô: Kokusho kankôkai ೟᳌ߞ㸠᳗. Yasui Kôsan, Nakamura Shôhachi Ёᴥ⩟ܿ (eds.) (1971–1988), Chôshû Isho shûsei 䞡ׂ㏃᳌䲚៤ (Collection of the Revised Apocryphal Books). Tôkyô: Meitoku shuppansha ᯢᖋߎ⠜⼒. ̛̛̛ (11966, 31986). Isho no kiso teki kenkyû ㏃᳌ȃ෎⻢ⱘⷨお (Research on the Foundation of the Apocryphal Books). Tôkyô: Kokusho kankôkai ೟᳌ߞ㸠᳗.

HONG MAI’S YIJIAN ZHI: TESTING THE BOUNDARY BETWEEN WORLDLY AND OTHERWORLDLY FACTS Thomas H.C. Lee One of the most fascinating aspects of Hong Mai’s ੋᝬ (1123-1202) many works is of course his breadth of interests. They cover a very wide range of subjects, ranging from vignettes of institutional matters to conventions of literary writing, to, above all, stories that ran counter to common sense. 1 He was certainly impressive in the way he collected stories; he kept his eyes open for all kinds of information and at the same time was fascinated with stories that we today generally consider to be untrustworthy or even just superstition: they include ghostly encounters, human experiences in other worlds (including hell), and all kinds of prognostication, augury, geomancy, and the like. The fact that his great collection of “strange stories” in turn fascinates us is precisely because they are interesting, mesmerizing and, if we consider carefully, press us to ask how an intelligent person like Hong would spend so much time collecting them. The title, Yijian Zhi ‫ڎ‬ഒ‫( ݳ‬Records of Yijian) is taken from an ancient Chinese myth that says that there was “a man called Yijian who listens to [the mythical stories] and records them.”2 Hong Mai must have considered himself to be playing a similar role. But Hong Mai was not primarily a man of literature. In fact, he sometimes appears to have no use for it. His interest was rather in “truth” or “trustworthiness”. He wrote several books and some of them are about poetry. But it was Rongzhai Suibi ୲សᙟ࿝ (Casual Notes from the Rong Study; the Rong Study or Rongzhai was the name of Hong Mai’s study) 3 that is more famous than the others, perhaps even better known than Records of Yijian. The work was devoted entirely to records of historical significance (which I will discuss below) ranging from criticism of historical texts to discussion 1 “Common sense” is here used to mean philosophical conventionalism. It is obvious that different ages have their own “common sense”, but commonly accepted human experiences constitute a basis to enable humans to communicate and on which to construct communal life. For a useful essay that has a bearing on “common sense”, see Raphel 1973: 233-234. 2 This is according to Liezi. See Yijian Zhi, abbreviated as YJZ hereafter. 3 See Hong Mai 1978, abbreviated as RZSB hereafter.

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of institutional matters. The author demonstrates a rigorous scholarly approach and the work reflects his attention to detail and information, a characteristic that people have conventionally accepted as belonging to historical study proper.4 But Records of Yijian is an entirely different work. While one would not dismiss its stories as entirely untrustworthy, they are obviously of dubious reliability, and all readers will know instantly that they do not belong to the genre of information with which Casual Notes from the Rong Study deals. Nonetheless, Hong Mai deals with the hundreds of stories with the utmost care, treating them as if they were of serious importance. How did he understand their significance? Did he believe in them? If so, then what is for him the boundary between the Records of Yijian and the Casual Notes from the Rong Study? It is the purpose of this paper to address the issue of the boundary. It is important to assess the significance of Hong Mai’s undertaking, to investigate how he evaluated the trustworthiness of the stories that he heard and recorded, and to try to use our conclusion to give meaning to the argument that I will propose in this essay, viz., that Song Chinese people clearly held a different notion of “truthfulness” or “trustworthiness” from the one we have today, and that one of the determining factors that helped Hong Mai to decide on “trustworthiness” was not so much rational as moral principle. The distinction between rational principle and moral principle has been a critical one for us in modern times, but was not one of great importance in traditional China, especially in the Song period. An examination of these issues may help us better to understand Hong Mai’s sense of historical reality; at least it should help us better to place his more strictly historical work, the Casual Notes, in the context of his times and his understanding and interpretation of historical events.5

4 This work has been the subject of many studies. For an analysis of its contents, see Fu-jui Chang’s note in Yves Hervouet 1978: 292-308. Chang has also published an index to the work. 5 See Lee 2003, where I present a similar argument to that developed in this paper.

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Myth, Ghost Stories, and “Little Talks” The tradition of writing or recording stories that are of enormous entertainment value and that are about largely supernatural experiences that humans do not normally have is a deep-rooted tradition in China. The book, Liezi ٨՗ (Master Lie Yükou ٨ᗧപ) from which the name Yijian is taken, is one of the earliest and most renowned of these works. But it is the Classic of Mountains and Oceans (Shanhai Jing ՞௧ᆖ) that has been traditionally considered as the most famous, and has been accepted as the fountainhead of such works since at least the Han. This is traditionally followed by the Biography of King Mu (Mu Tianzi Zhuan ᗪ֚՗ႚ), the provenance of which is of lesser certainty, but which has enjoyed wide circulation since the fourth century. Works such as these two, traditionally classified by Chinese bibliographers as belonging to the “little talks” (xiaoshuo ՛䇣) category, and thus treated as similar in nature to various later “miscellaneous notes” (biji ࿝ಖ), have provided us with the earliest creation stories, rumors about people in distant lands, tales about ghosts, giants, powerful and grotesque humans, and cultural heroes, as well as auguries, prognostication and other supernatural events. In a very simple manner, we can characterize such writings as belonging to traditional “myth”, even though Chinese thinkers did not really possess such a conception as “myth”. Actually, their classifying these writings as similar to “miscellaneous notes” shows that they were using literary style as a classification criterion. Most of such stories are short, and recorded in a collection that usually does not have a central theme. This is very similar to the “miscellaneous notes” that are collections of short records of various matters of interest, though not necessarily those of a supernatural or extraordinary nature. There is no doubt that Hong Mai’s Records should be categorized as a kind of “little talk”, and this is how the bibliographers of the massive eighteenth-century catalogue, the Catalogue of the Comprehensive Collection of Books in Four Categories (Siku Quanshu Zongmu ؄ ஄ ٤ ஼ ᜔ ‫ ) ؾ‬classify it. That Hong’s work should be so classified is by reason of both its style and its content. In terms of style, it is a kind of “miscellaneous notes”, but in terms of content, it is a collection of stories that the Chinese would traditionally consider as “little talk”.

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What is meant by “little talks”? This deserves some discussion. An examination of Hong Mai’s work will give us a preliminary understanding. The book contains many sections and was compiled over a period of more than forty years. Seventeen sections are still extant, and each section contained a preface, although only thirteen of them are still preserved. The most valuable preface, that should have spelled out why he decided to compose this book, has unfortunately been lost, and we are much impoverished by this. This notwithstanding, we still have this enormous collection of vignettes and the surviving prefaces that give us enough clues as to why his book was categorized as a kind of “little talk”, a classification Hong Mai would not have objected to. The book contains an enormous amount of records of dreams and how dreams affected human life. There is little doubt that Hong Mai believed in the interaction between people’s dreams and their life experiences. In a later section we shall discuss his attitude towards dreams. In general, most dreams were about individuals’ own experiences, and had nothing to do with a nation or a community. Unlike the eunuch’s dreams that Joseph interpreted in the Hebrew Bible, which were about the fate of the Egyptian nation, the dreams that Hong Mai wrote about were almost exclusively about personal encounters, and were scarcely related to anything beyond the individual. Another type of story that fascinated Hong Mai is those related to magic or divination. Again, Hong Mai must have considered fortunetelling or divination as a kind of “scientific” knowledge, because he took them seriously.6 His doubts about their reliability and his efforts to verify many of them reflect the fact that he did not take them at 6 “In ancient times, divination with turtle shells was called pu, while that with yarrow stalks was called shi. Both were to appeal to the gods in order that the people could benefit from them. [In ancient times,] the performance of divination was a serious matter, and an occasion of respect. When requesting the oracle, one had to be sincere in the questions, and the answers were [always] very precise and the predictions [always] correct. In later times, people no longer took divination seriously, and today it is worse. Sometimes, people called in diviners on the occasion of a dinner, and would order them to perform the rites while people were busy eating and talking. Sometimes the diviners did not even dress themselves properly for the occasion, and were asked all kinds of [frivolous] questions. When they did not answer correctly, they were chided and criticized as untrustworthy. Is this the way to treat divination!” See RZSB, “Wubi”, 6: 870-871. As noted above, Hong Mai, as well as “modern” people like us, considered that the RZSB was a strictly historical work. It is in this work that he made the remark quoted here.


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their face value. However, he was fascinated with them. There are many records to do with fortune-telling. The methods recorded range from those employed in the Book of Changes (Yijing ࣐ᆖ), to turtle shells, and many others. He writes about the people (magicians) who specialized in divination. He records the conditions under which people sought for assistance from diviners. Such information makes up a major portion of his book. It is nonetheless important to note that he appears not always to have had confidence in what he heard, and from time to time made efforts to verify the accounts relayed to him. Traditionally, Daoist priests were considered as particularly trained and skilled in divination and exorcism. Indeed, Hong Mai generally referred to diviners, magicians, or medicine men as daozhe ሐृ or daoren ሐ Գ (the person with dao). 7 Of them, perhaps the most famous is the Tang Daoist priest, Lü Dongbin ‫ܨ‬੐ᎏ, who appears in as many as 27 different stories.8 Buddhist monks also often played a prominent role in matters related to magical performance.9 A reading of the Records would show that Hong Mai was clearly more sympathetic to Buddhism than to Daoism; he favored especially Guanyin ᨠଃ, viz., Avalokitesvara Boddhisattva.10 By Hong’s time, the Boddhisattva had been completely transformed in popular imagination and representation into a woman, and he (she) appears in the Records often as a white-robbed compassionate woman of extraordinary composure. Occasionally, the Boddhisattva also appears in other forms. In Hong’s depiction of the Boddhisattva, she was often a compassionate and supportive goddess, capable of helping people in the most dire or miserable situations. There are also, of course, other kinds of people with special charisma who are capable of performing miracles. Generally speaking, most of them were there to help humans. Physiognomy, or more precisely physiomancy, is another prominent topic in Hong Mai’s Records. I will not discuss at length 7

A daoren is mainly a person capable of prognostication, but has no magical power. A shushi 㸧຿ (lit. person of [magic] skills; a magician) is one capable of manipulating the natural order in the context of an individual’s life. However, such a distinction is only slight, and Hong might not have followed it. 8 The location in which most of the miraculous stories occurred is in Jiangxi, the home province (or strictly speaking circuit, which is slightly larger than modern Jiangxi province) of Hong Mai. Lü was a Jiangxi Daoist adept. 9 There are also many xiangzhe Ⳍ㗙 (practitioner of physiomancy or physiognomy, geomancy or ornithomancy, etc.) who were clearly Confucianists. 10 See for examples, the several positive accounts of Buddhist monks and Guanyin in YJZ, “Jia”, 10: 88-90.

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this widely cherished art. Rather, I shall refer to one story that reflects how pervasive “physiognomy” was as a field of knowledge. This is the knowledge of xiangchuan ઌํ, telling the good or bad fortunes of a ship by looking at its shape or appearance. Hong Mai says that people of Yihuang ࡵ ႓ (modern Yihuang xian in Jiangxi) were especially good at this particular art. I refer to this story here to prepare for the argument I will present later, concerning how different world views affected how people understand a “science”. What a modern person would classify as knowledge of shipbuilding technology is for a Song specialist more or less the physiognomy of a ship! Other skills related to physiognomy include such as xiang liuxu ઌ ք፝, that is, the physiognomy of the “six animals”. The dictionary definition of the “six animals” is “oxen, horses, sheep, pigs, chickens and dogs”. However, an expert physiognomist working on these six specific animals would apparently be equally competent with other animals. Hong Mai lamented the loss of such an art. Presumably, a magician capable of interpreting physiognomy should be able to tell the life expectancy and the vicissitudes in the life of an individual animal. The Records also includes various other stories that defy easy classification, except for their common feature of being outlandish, extraordinary and from time to time miraculous. Naturally, not all stories are “strange” in the sense of “supernatural”. Hong Mai kept his eyes open for accounts provided to him by those who sailed to unknown islands and had experiences that were uncommon or plainly funny. The story of the Mingzhou ࣔ ‫( ڠ‬modern Ningbo ኑ ं ) merchant is a good example: The merchant was shipwrecked and stranded on an unknown island, where he was often taken to banquets. During the banquet, the host would take a burning hot pair of sticks to scorch his backside. He would of course cry out with pain, and the guests seemed to think this was great fun. After a couple of times, he realized that the reason why he was often invited to banquets was because his cries of pain were a source of entertainment for the islanders. So the next time, he decided not to cry out. After that, nobody invited him to a banquet. The story went on to say that he returned to Mingzhou after a while, with buttocks “as hard as turtle


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shells”. 11 Entertaining and strange as this story is, there is nothing truly extraordinary in it that suggests anything supernatural. The fact that stories like this make their way into Hong’s Records, shows that he was not solely looking for implausible or entirely other-worldly vignettes. Accounts like this one may have anthropological significance, and cannot be readily dismissed as outlandish or simply untrue.12 From the brief summary above, one sees that Hong Mai’s interests were broad indeed, although obviously he had his eyes open chiefly for stories that are hardly commonplace. The book is entertaining enough, without losing its usefulness for anthropologists and social historians.

Did Hong Mai Believe the Stories? Obviously, the first question that readers of Hong’s Records ask is how Hong Mai considered the stories, that is, whether he himself believed in them. The answer would have been and remains that he must have believed in most of them, although he must have had occasional doubts about their authenticity and trustworthiness. Such an answer is unsatisfactory, considering that he had spent so much time collecting the stories. He must have considered that many of them, nay, most of them, must have been acceptable as records of things which had actually happened. Hong Mai could very well be trying to draw a boundary to distinguish between what can be trusted and what cannot. But he failed miserably if his primary concern lay in this undertaking. A couple of quotations should serve to show that he grappled with the problem of trustworthiness. He said in one of the prefaces: As to my book which records matters that have happened only within the past sixty years: They are known and talked about by many people, and every one of them is clearly based on evidence. If [you readers]

11

YJZ, “Jia”, 10: 86. Presumably all the people on the island had backsides like this and therefore found the Chinese merchant’s cries of pain rather entertaining. 12 There are many other stories that are similar to this in terms of their educational or geographic significance. For examples, see YJZ, “Ding”, 19: 693. Overall, almost all stories have anthropological significance in a broad sense.

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should say that I myself do not believe in them, then you had better check with Mr. Untrustworthiness.13

On another occasion, he had this to say: Is it true or not true? Is it reliable or not reliable? If what is true is indeed true, then its opposite is not true. There is no mistake on this point. If what is reliable is indeed reliable, then its opposite is not reliable. There is no mistake on this point, either.14

Both remarks are ambiguous, and serve to show that throughout his life he was never completely sure about the many records that he had collected for the book. His concern about the circumstances under which a strange or supernatural event happened shows that he made every possible effort to ascertain that certain events happened in an environment that he was confident was correct. Most of the stories recorded are events that happened in Jiangxi, especially near his home town of Boyang. Robert Hymes of Columbia University has shown that some of the geographical matters that Hong recorded are quite accurate, 15 so much so that one must conclude that the story in question was well known not only to Hong, but to many of his contemporaries. The meticulous details that Hong entered in the writings show that he did make sure that the stories were not invented. One of his remarks shows how serious he was about his records: “[Some of the records] turn out to be different from what has been told. This may have been the responsibility of the informant, or it may have been that I was not careful in recording. If this was the case [see previous note], I would feel very ashamed.”16 It was totally possible that people might have invented stories in order to sell them to Hong, 13

YJZ, preface to “Yi”, 185. This was written in 1166. YJZ, preface to “Zhi Jia”, 711. This was written in 1194, some 28 years after he first commented on his own attitude towards the stories. Here Hong was actually using Zhuangzi’s saying: “What way do I have of knowing that if I say I know something I don’t really know it? Or what way do I have of knowing that if I say I don’t know something I don’t really in fact know it?”, see “Qiwulun” (“Discussion on Making All Things Equal”), in Chen Guying 1983: 80. See also the translation by Watson 1965: 41. His translation is somewhat convoluted. Palmer (1996: 17) translates: “How can I know that what I say I know is not actually what I don’t know? Likewise, how can I know that what I think I don’t know is not really what I do know?” 15 In a paper presented to Columbia University’s “Traditional China Seminar”, Hong’s care about geographic accuracy is shown by his care in spelling out the location, “so and so prefecture in Guangdong”, for example, in YJZ, “Yi”, 19: 350. The entry was then followed by his comment that the informant made a mistake about the name of the prefecture. 16 YJZ, preface to “Bing”, 363. This was written in 1171. 14


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who must have been well known as a collector/recorder (Yijian) of strange tales. Hong himself must have been aware of this, and this was the reason that he often took great care to write down the names of those who provided him with the stories, many whom were quite respectable informants. It is not just in the selection of informants that Hong was careful; his records included events that happened to famous people, most of them already long deceased and others who had recently been alive. Some were even his contemporaries. These people, such as Qin Guan ఻ᨠ (1049-1100),17 Huang Shang ႓፴ (1044-1130),18 Qin Gui ఻ᛁ (1090-1155), whose life overlapped with that of Hong’s for 22 years,19 Zhang Jun ്௭(1097-1164),20 and even Zhu Xi ‫ڹ‬ᗋ(1130-1200)21 and Lu Jiuyuan ຬ԰ෘ(1139-1192)22 are not only well-known to us, they were also well-known in Hong’s own time. For Hong to include their life experiences in the Records, he must have had a certain confidence that what he heard would have a high degree of authenticity. He was undoubtedly very certain about those stories that he had gathered from his informants. Having said this much, one may wish to examine how he actually recorded the stories pertaining to his contemporaries that were still alive. Such an examination could help us better understand his attitude towards the stories that had immediate significance to people contemporary with him. Records that mention Yu Yunwen ᇄւ֮ (1110-1174) are a case in point. Yu Yunwen was slightly senior to Hong, and died only after the earlier parts of the Records had been written and published (parts “Jia”, “Yi” and “Bing”, around 1160/61,

17

See later in this article. For the little information about him, see Song Yuan Xue’an 77: 2574. 19 See later in this article. 20 Zhang appears fourteen times in the YJZ. For his life, see Songshi 361: 1129711311. 21 On the two occasions where Zhu Xi appears, Zhu played only a marginal role. See YJZ, “Zhi Geng”, 10: 1217 and “San Ren”, 2: 1477. 22 Lu appears on five occasions. There seem to be a few different accounts that confirm certain predictions of events which happened to him. See, for example, YJZ, “Zhi Yi”, 7: 849 where it is said that Lu read an ominous passage in a gazetteer of the town he was in charge of and disliked it, because the portentous words apparently implied that Lu was to die soon. It turned out that Lu indeed died not long after his tour of duty in the town. Hong Mai said that he heard the story from his nephew. It is interesting to note that Lu You (1125-1209), a famous poet and a contemporary of Hong Mai’s, did not appear at all in the YJZ, even though Lu You had read what had already been published, and wrote a postscript for it. 18

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1166 and 1171 respectively).23 Yu appears seven times in these parts that were published before he died. Each time, he is used either as a context to the event that he was not directly involved in, or, if involved, he was doing a morally righteous deed. 24 Only one event that Yu encountered could be said to have directly concerned him, and that was a case of prognostication. 25 In this instance, he issued an official document that contained elements which had been prophesied to happen. He obviously did not do so to assist in the fulfilment of a prognostication. He apparently also did not know that his action had implications for the fate of another person. In short, therefore, all records about him are positive in tone, and contain no bad implications. Nonetheless, something extraordinary did happen to Yu, and Hong had no qualms about writing it down. Yu himself perhaps would have been also happily surprised that the prognostication turned out to be true. Hong did not have any more to write about Yu after he died in 1174. From the brief discussion above, one can see that Hong Mai did not seem to be any fonder of outlandish “little talks” than his contemporaries. What he believed reflected what was widely accepted by his contemporaries, even the very well-educated, like Yu Yunwen. In fact, we know very well that Zhu Xi was very much interested in geomancy, and certainly believed in the correlative relationship between, for example, the location of a person’s tomb and the fate of his or her descendants. Zhu Xi was also a believer in supernatural gods and spirits.26 In one very long entry about Xue Jixuan ᜹ࡱ৙ (1125-1173) that Hong recorded in 1171, two years before Xue died, he published the many strange and magical experiences that Xue and his son, Xue Yun, encountered. 27 He took care to note that this 23 YJZ, “Jia”, 17: 148, 17: 150 (two times), “Yi”, 7: 244, 20: 360. He did not appear in the “Bing” part. 24 YJZ, “Yi”, 20: 360. 25 YJZ, “Bing”, 3: 389. This is in an entry about a magician who predicted that Yu was to be appointed to an extraordinary office that had not been occupied for some time. The prophecy turned out to be true. 26 Many have written on this. See Qian Mu 1986: 205-236. Wing-tsit Chan seems to have purposely tried to avoid talking about this matter. 27 YJZ, “Bing”, 1: 364-369. Xue Jixuan was a renowned Neo-Confucian thinker, and his taking care to write down the extraordinary encounters says much about the prevalent Neo-Confucian attitude towards such “little talk” matters. There is no record at all about Xue Yun, except for the little that Hong Mai has provided us with in the Records. See “Ding”, 12: 641 for another entry about him and his father. One notes here that Hong Mai had very kind words for the senior Xue and lamented that he died


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particular entry was based on Xue’s own account, entitled “Records of Mistakes” (“Zhiguo” ‫ݳ‬መ). In short, Hong Mai must have by and large accepted many or even all of the accounts that he had heard and recorded. Most of the extraordinary prophecies, magic, prognostications, geomancy, other kinds of fortune-telling and supernatural encounters, that is, all of the matters that the Chinese traditionally considered to belong to “little talk”, were also accepted by his contemporaries as things which it was entirely possible had really happened, and accounts about them were taken to be trustworthy. Hong Mai must have honestly believed that they were true.28 I have earlier argued that his belief in such stories was perhaps not much different from that of his contemporaries. It should not be too difficult for us to understand that people in thirteenth-century China would accept the kind of happenings that Hong Mai recorded as true, feasible or possible. Indeed, they lived in a time that had a very different world view from our own. Things that are strange to us now were then often seen as by no means strange at all. Moreover, people took ideas such as karma causation or the correlative relationship between natural phenomena and human actions very seriously. Events that are to us inexplicable, or two sets of events which to us are evidently totally unrelated, could very easily be considered as entirely explicable or related: people would see links not obvious to us, or apparitions where we moderns see none. I will give just one example to explain my point: A clerk in Huating County (modern Shanghai) was a county treasurer and was very corrupt, regularly taking bribes. He often carried with him a bag, in which he would store the notes detailing his schemes. After he died, he appeared in a dream to one family member: ‘I am now at only forty in the Chinese system of counting, Xue must have lived to 39 or even 38 only. 28 The problem we are encountering here is multi-faceted: Is Hong’s boundary acceptable to us? More importantly, was his boundary acceptable to his contemporaries? And finally, is a boundary tenable or necessary? In my “Introduction” to my Lixing, Xueshu yu Daode de Zhishi Shijie (Lee 2003), citing my Chinese article on Hong Mai (included in that book), I argue that while this boundary is difficult to draw, a fact affecting our definition of rationality, it is necessary to keep an open mind towards accounts that Hong Mai deemed possibly real, so much so that truth was feasible or should be accepted as feasible because it helped the construction of a moral world. In that “Introduction” I cite the famous story of Pythagoras’ belief in incarnation, and his coming to the rescue of a dog because he heard his friend’s voice in the dog’s cries. See Copleston 1985: 47.

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(reincarnated as) a dog in the Xianshan Temple of Huzhou (modern Huzhou in Zhejiang).’ The family was very sad and rushed to the temple to ask about it. [Once there, they saw] a dog running to hide under the bed of the monks. They tried to get the dog to come out, but it would not, seeming to be very ashamed. So they left the temple to return home. After they left, the monks called the dog and said: ‘The family of the deceased Mr. Chen the treasurer has left.’ The dog then came out. This dog had something hanging under its belly. It was square, like a bag. Even if you had used a belt to tie up the belly, the bag-shaped thing would still show and could be recognized. Hong Shanqing and Ge Changzhi, who is an Attendant Gentleman (silang), have gone to see the dog and asked the monks about the matter. They confirmed the story.29

The story has two components. The first is the bag that connected the man and the dog. The second is the dream. Obviously, without the dream, nobody would have thought that the dog was somehow related to the Chen family. However, it was the strange shape of the dog that must have first attracted the monks’ attention to it and they, unlike us moderns, immediately felt the need for an explanation. The twelfthcentury monks easily believed that the strange growth on the dog must have been related to a certain happening in the life of the human that was its previous incarnation. This is an idea that we moderns would not even have thought of. However, to think in this way was commonplace in those days. Whether the Chen family went to the temple on purpose, as a result of the dream, or whether they chanced to be visiting the temple, without first having heard of the story, is anyone’s guess, even though Hong Mai and his informant wanted us to believe that they got word of the dog because of a dream of one of its previous relatives. The important thing here is that Huzhou ྋ‫ڠ‬ was not very far from Huating, and the chances of the family to happening to visit the temple were very good. Once there, seeing the strange growth on the dog, it was not entirely impossible, or actually quite possible, that they would comment that the growth looked very much like the bag that the deceased county clerk regularly carried with him. The comment might be very casual, or it might have been serious. However, once it was made, it would quickly get circulated, because it is a good story. People in no time associated the dog with the late Mr. Chen.

29

YJZ, “Jia”, 1: 93.


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Obviously, a modern person would not usually make such a comment as the members of the Chen family did, or if he did, such a comment would attract little attention. However, for the people in twelfthcentury China, such a comment had a persuasive power unimaginable to us. All the ingredients of a good story were there. Hong Mai’s informants, well-educated though they might have been, could not bring themselves not to take it as a real/trustworthy story. People kept their eyes and ears open for good stories like this one, which was typical of the kind of accounts that Hong Mai recorded. For a modern person, events and phenomena that are part of this story would not be taken as significant, much less as carrying the kind of interpretative correlation that Hong Mai and his contemporaries would naturally think and believe it to possess. The different world view dictates how people pay attention to things, and what to the Song people was meaningful can very easily be passed over as entirely meaningless by us moderns. And of course it would also have been true the other way around.

Different Levels of Trust and Trustworthiness Before we complete a full examination of the nature and meaning of “little talks”, let me discuss a little more the trustworthiness of the accounts that Hong Mai heard and wrote. I have pointed out that he obviously believed in most of them, even though it is difficult to resist the thought that he must have had his private doubts. A reading of the prefaces that I quoted above shows that while he believed in what he recorded, he obviously must have thought that the events were so unique that verification was all but impossible. His primary proof for their “truthfulness” was the reliability or trustworthiness of his informants. One must wonder why human witness played such a key role, rather than what we today would consider “scientific evidence” which is based on the analysis of information by employing established precepts or premises. Naturally one could also allow that Hong’s approach is scientific, in the sense that the collective experiences of many people sharing the same belief system or world view, notwithstanding individual experiences being unique and superficially

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different from each other, constitute a kind of proof and provide the grounds for belief in their authenticity. Hong Mai, nonetheless, did not merely rely on informants. He had his preferences and it is clear that he was above all fascinated by dreams. There are many accounts in the Records of dreams being fulfilled. In one of his remarks he had this to say: Sages and worthies in ancient times all took dreams very seriously. If one checks the [catalogue] Seven Categories (Qilue), one will see plenty of evidence. In Wei and Jin times, there were still occasionally magicians [who could interpret dreams]. We no longer pay attention to such an art, and although there are all kinds of magicians and impostors, there is no one who claims to be able to explain dreams. The art has very much died out.30

It is very likely that Hong was hoping that by recording so much information about dreams he could reconstruct the important art of dream interpretation (dream-telling, zhanmeng ‫׭‬ኄ, in Hong’s and traditional Chinese nomenclature). It is important to note that he did not seek to induce some general principle that he could use for the interpretation of dreams; rather, he did not go beyond accepting that there was an inherent connection or relationship between dreams and the actual human fates of individuals. He apparently also believed in the art of physiomancy. I have earlier mentioned the art of xiang liuxu which was a kind of physiomancy of the six animals. He once remarked that the art had been widely practiced in ancient times, citing such examples as the Xunzi ಃ՗ and Sima Qian ‫್׹‬ᔢ as proof, and lamenting its loss. His belief in the prognosticatory power of dreams and physiomancy is very clear. This is in interesting contrast to his attitude towards traditional Chinese divination, plentifully recorded in such classics as the Book of Changes (Yijing) or The Zuo Commentary (Zuozhuan ؐႚ). He wrote many theoretical comments on various forms of astrology and divination or fortune-telling. From these writings one can see that he was ambivalent about them: “If one followed all the different calendars prepared by astrologers of various schools, then there is not one day that is auspicious.” 31 “The

30 31

RZSB, “Xubi”, 15: 402. RZSB, “Xubi”, 4: 265.


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astrologers’ art is never clear about its purpose. One finds it difficult not to consider the art as strange.”32 Remarks like these certainly contradict his efforts in the compilation of the Records. In all, his attitude was ambivalent, as obviously he could not rule out the fact that occasionally astrologers could get it right: “divination, prophecy and astrology may sometimes prove to be correct, but generally speaking such arts are harmful, and therefore sages and worthies do not take them seriously.”33 Hong Mai, like all Chinese intellectuals, was very familiar with the Book of Changes, and would have known how to perform divination according to the book, although there is no record showing that he personally performed it. However, his remarks on the “coincidences” according to the Book of Changes is interesting and shows that he was relatively receptive to the idea that it was a reliable work for foretelling an individual’s fate. A discussion on divinations based on Changes which were fulfilled is found in the Casual Notes, and it appears that by and large Hong did believe in the fortune-telling power of the book, and that the historical records from the Zuo Commentary corroborated his belief.34 It was easy enough for Hong Mai to feel and believe that the Book of Changes was a more trustworthy divination book than others, because it was part of the Confucian canon. By his time, even the Zuo Commentary had pretty much acquired canonical status, and their records therefore were seen as more persuasively authentic or true. He had little reason to exercise his analytical or critical thinking about them. Thus, in the mind of Hong Mai, the books in the Confucian canon, with their preoccupation with moral lessons and the moral significance of human actions, were more credible than rumours and hearsay, and could be used as a guide to understanding supernatural matters. This can easily be corroborated by his many other comments, especially with regards to what constituted a historical fact.

32 RZSB, “Xubi”, 4: 266. On another occasion, Hong referred to the advantageous astrological configuration that Wang Anshi supposedly possessed at the time when he launched his reform programs, and pointed out that the advantage did not do Wang any good. See RZSB, “Sanbi”, 7: 500. 33 RZSB, 16: 213-214; more on this later. 34 RZSB, 6: 292.

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Hong Mai’s ideas about “facts” are immediately related to what we have been discussing as “little talks”. This is to say that the “little talks” about which Hong Mai held an ambivalent attitude also had very much to do with his idea of what were facts and how facts were related to historical truth or history per se. It should be immediately clear to anyone even peripherally familiar with Hong Mai to notice that his two collections of “miscellaneous notes” (biji), the Casual Notes from the Rong Study and Records of the Listener, are of very different nature. The former is a collection of apparently “casual” notes that are fairly rational in nature. There are of course remarks that verge on “superstition”, but these remarks were clearly often taken down with total seriousness, and the author took care to show basic scepticism about what really could not be believed. People of different times have different criteria with regard to what can be believed and what not. Still, the Casual Notes is a regular historical work that will easily be accepted as dealing with happenings that are viewed as matters of commonsense by all people at all times. The Records, on the other hand, is indeed, a book of “little talks”. It is entertaining and fascinating, but contains accounts that are decidedly unique, and cannot therefore be accepted at their face value. I think my characterization of the two books is an accurate one. This is to say that Hong Mai did not accept all strange accounts equally. There are different levels of “truthfulness” or “truth” and he was aware of this notion. Obviously, the accounts that tied in with the philosophy of the Confucian canon would be more readily accepted as truthful. Other accounts would be treated with a greater degree of suspicion or scepticism. Hong Mai did not necessarily consider his own personal experiences to be a reliable criterion for judging the authenticity of a happening. Besides relying on the Confucian canon, which was basically moral in nature and in its concerns, for making judgments, how did Hong exercise his judgment? How is this related to the notion of “little talks”? Let me now examine these questions. The first thing that immediately comes to mind is the idea of “true”. In a very interesting note he wrote concerning the demarcation line between the true and the imagined, Hong had this to say: When one ascends a mountain and looks at the landscape, or when one appreciates a stream and stones and is impressed by their beauty, he is


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really looking at a wonderful [but real] scene. He is likely to say that the scene is like a picture.... On the other hand, when one sees a pleasing picture with its mixture of various colors, as a man of imagination he will praise the painting as like real… He who takes what is true as an image, and he who takes what is a representation as real are both engaging in “make believe” (wang). Indeed, the world and the many experiences of our life are nothing more than “making believe”. This is just one example.35

This passage is interesting not so much because it directly addresses the issue of the boundary between reality and representation. It is a critique of the seriousness many might have attached to such a boundary. The philosophical attitude underlining this note is that of the philosopher Zhuangzi. Nonetheless, Hong Mai was satisfied that such a boundary, existing as it must have been, was not much more than some kind of “make believe”. The distinction really was not at all important and perhaps was not clearly drawn. Hong was basically a historically-minded author, uninterested in the niceties of literary representation. 36 His pointed remark on the futility of using a literary method to mingle the realm of the real with that of the representation speaks volumes about why he set about collecting a very broad range of interesting accounts that he had heard or had access to. However, he was eventually forced to compile them into two different collections. In the early traditional Chinese classification scheme of books, both would have been placed under “little talks”. It was not until the eleventh century, that is, during the Song dynasty, that the kind of writing that was represented by the Casual Notes began to acquire an independent status and became known as “miscellaneous notes” (biji). We are now much more knowledgeable about what miscellaneous notes as a literary or historical genre are. It is evident that in its early stage of development, when still indistinguishable from the traditional style of “little talks”, the biji form could not be of much use for serious writing. However, as it developed, it became closely related to the broadening of historical vision. Beginning with the Song, miscellaneous notes became the preferred style for recording the kinds of information that were particularly related to vignettes of social life and institutional matters. It was not possible to find an appropriate 35

RZSB, 16: 214. In his Casual Notes, he several times criticized the literary embellishment that, to him, distorted reality. 36

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place for such “sources” in the conventional “annals and biographies” (jizhuan ಖႚ) style, much less the “chronological” (biannian ᒳ‫)ڣ‬ style, of historical writing. The need for a new style of writing became evident in Song times, and the “little talks” style answered that need. Miscellaneous notes consequently became important sources for historical studies. In the course of development, the miscellaneous notes grew into a genre of writing different from the more traditional “little talks”.37 In the classification scheme of Chen Zhensun ຫ஡୪ (ca. 1190-1249), for example, the two were separated. The principle for this separation is clearly that the miscellaneous notes were primarily about secular or this-worldly matters, while the “little talks” would include books dealing with supernatural matters that apparently were not to be taken seriously or as true. It would be easy to construe that the distinction is based on a rational principle, and on the surface this is quite possible. However, we have demonstrated that Hong Mai was not much inclined to accept that the distinction was as clear as we think it was, and that he evidently must have accepted that many (if not all) of the stories were plausible and true. What then is the criterion for such a distinction, and what is meant by “little talks”?

Rational Truth versus Moral Truth The distinction between the more commonsensical (or rational) and the less evident (or infeasible or implausible) was not very clearly drawn in the mind of Hong Mai. This is a line that would be difficult to draw even for a modern human. What criterion then did he use to support his (and many of his contemporaries’) decision that his Casual Notes was different from his Records? One has to begin with an examination of how Hong Mai wrote about “little talks”. In his Casual Notes, he made many comments on materials which originated in works that we could classify as “little talks”, and how these materials could be used for historical writing. Commenting on the massive Mansion of Documents [for Making] Major Divination (Cefu Yuangui ‫ࢌם‬ցᚋ), he cited the principle adopted by Emperor Zhenzong టࡲ, that materials “not [in accord 37

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with the principle of] decorum” (feili ॺ៖) should not be incorporated into the work. He felt, however, that this was too rigid, and as a result, a large amount of material that he deemed relevant was actually excluded from the collection. These decisions he lamented. He then referred to Sima Guang’s (1019-1086) Comprehensive Mirror for Aid to Government (Zizhi Tongjian ᇷ ए ຏ ᦹ ) and said that Sima deliberately included a good deal of material culled from works that to Hong should be classified as “little talks”. By doing so, he reasoned, Sima’s history could clearly relay the “roots and branches” (benmo ‫ء‬ ‫أ‬, in the sense of causes and results) of events. For him, therefore, “miscellaneous historical writings, little talks, and private biographies” could all be used in writing histories. 38 This comment shows that he had a very broad vision as to what historical materials could be employed. His perspective is in accord with his omnivorous interest in things both natural and supernatural. However, while interest in materials found in the “miscellaneous historical writings, little talks and private biographies” led him to think seriously about the issue of judgment or criticism of sources, he could not argue that all materials were equally admissible into respectable historical writing. The conventional Chinese expression for a respectable history is the so-called “orthodox history” (zhengshi ‫׾إ‬, often also translated as “standard history”). The idea of “orthodox history” commands some discussion, even though this is not the right place for a detailed treatment. The expression appeared early on, but it was not until the Tang dynasty that the government used it systematically and exclusively for officially sanctioned dynastic histories: the orthodox versions of histories of the different dynasties. The official Tang idea was obviously that there was only one true history for each dynasty (and event, person, etc.), and that was the zhengshi version. Each dynasty therefore deserved only one zhengshi. Such an idea did not go unchallenged. The iconoclast Liu Zhiji Ꮵव༓ (661-721 A.D.) did not readily accept the official Tang definition of zhengshi: 39 for him, orthodox histories were those that he approved of, according to his viewpoint. Those that were not orthodox he called “miscellaneous

38

RZSB, “Sibi”, 11: 742-743. See Liu 1978: 12, 329-378, where a brief history and comments on the histories that he considered to be zhengshi can be found. 39

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histories” (zashi ᠧ‫)׾‬.40 This definition of “orthodox history” clearly differs from the official definition. We shall show later that the definition continued to inform the ideas of serious Chinese historical thinkers. Liu of course did not simply reject miscellaneous histories as “unorthodox” and unreliable, nor did he consider all orthodox histories as definitively reliable and trustworthy. But his heart was obviously with the orthodox histories, or at least with the ideal of perfect and reliable histories. These ideal histories would be, above all, histories that were “true records”( shilu ኔᙕ). For him, the standard of “true records” was the only reliable criterion for “orthodox histories”.41 For Liu Zhiji, true records were not just about what actually happened. Many have pointed out that he was especially rational in that, in addition to criticizing the various temptations that historians encountered which resulted in their distorting or even forging historical records, he also criticized the common tendency on the part of historians of old to use supernatural forces or phenomena to interpret historical causation.42 The distinction between orthodox and miscellaneous histories could not be entirely based on whether the latter recorded supernatural phenomena or employed them to interpret historical change. Both categories of historical writing recorded them or used them for explaining the apparently unpredictable or “irrational”, that is, those occurrences that are not in accord with commonsensical human experiences. Therefore, it would be incorrect to characterize Liu by saying that he considered rational principle as the sole or even the 40 Liu 1978: 10, 273-280. For a discussion on the distinction between orthodox and miscellaneous histories, see Jian 1980: 49-56. 41 Nobody has discussed in detail what Liu Zhiji meant by the distinction between zhengshi/orthodox histories and zashi/miscellaneous histories. Bai Shouyi points out in passing that Liu Zhiji was “generally in favor of [what he considers as] orthodox histories”. However, Bai presents no systematic discussion on their distinction. See Bai 1980: 99. 42 For lack of a better word, I have here used “causation”, but it is used with a caveat, as obviously Chinese historians frequently used supernatural or extraordinary phenomena and the correlative theory of the interaction between human affairs and nature to interpret historical changes, and such interpretative efforts were not confined to causal interpretations. For essays extolling Liu’s iconoclastic (read: scientifically rational) attitude in this aspect, see in addition to the two articles cited in the previous two notes (Hou 1980: 1-16; Ren 1980: 113-120), where the influential Ren characterizes Liu’s historiography as “progressive”.


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most important criterion for distinguishing between the orthodox and the less reliable miscellaneous histories. The lack of a precisely or systematically nuanced distinction is what is troubling but should interest us. This is because Liu’s iconoclasm is not entirely “scientifically rational”. It pertains to the existence in his mind of a comprehensive moral theory: what is rational and true must also be morally righteous. Liu did not completely work this out; to articulate such a distinction is indeed a difficult task, or perhaps this was such a widely accepted norm that he did not even think of giving it an articulation.43 The need to give comprehensive thought to the boundary between the orthodox and miscellaneous histories continued to inform Northern Song historians, and it was during this time that more people uttered their opinions on the matter. The discussions surrounding the decision on how to use sources/materials that traditionally were considered as no more than “little talks” for writing orthodox histories reflected the concern, on the one hand, for a more precise criticism of historical materials (in a search for what actually happened) and the desire, on the other hand, to write histories that could teach moral lessons. Chinese historians had discovered early on that historical reality did not always reflect the moral teachings of the sages. The consciousness of this inevitable discord, and the acceptance of the basic idea of perpetual change and development, are fundamental to the rise of modern historical thinking. One might say that Chinese historians of the eleventh and twelfth centuries had realized that there was a chasm between the real and the ideal.44 Simply put, there were revived debates over whether “little talks” materials should be adopted into orthodox histories: obviously much apparently irrational information should have no place in a history that purported to record 43

Here lies the fundamental cause for the mischaracterization of Liu simply as a progressive, iconoclast or scientifically rational historian, as all the essays cited in the three notes above so uniformly proclaim. All of the authors were leading Marxist interpreters in China in the 1950s to 1980s. As a contrast, the most important anthology of the history of Chinese historiography published in Taiwan during the same period of time, viz., that edited by Du Weiyun, contains not one single article on Liu. Not willing to concede to the Marxist viewpoint, the Taiwan authors, however, apparently could not find anything truly meaningful to say about him. See, additionally, Du 1998: 247-309, where he somewhat conservatively praises the historical criticism that Liu employed, without seeking to characterize him as “progressive”, even though he compares Liu to early nineteenth-century Western (especially German) historians. 44 Lee 2002a.

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truthful facts. The criteria for selection became an issue. On the other hand, and as a part of this kind of debate, some more theory-oriented thinkers proposed that the ultimate history was that which was a perfect narrative. All truth would then be revealed completely, perfectly and beautifully (in terms of literary style). When one reads such a history, one is immediately impressed by the moral completeness that is evident in historical change, and delights in that the desperation Sima Qian felt over the inexplicable experiences of Boyi ‫ ڎ܄‬and Shuqi ࠸Ꮨ would then not arise.45 Sima’s discontent would be exorcised or understood by true “sublimation”.46 Obviously, a merely rational approach to historical writing could not accomplish this goal. Hong Mai was well aware of the contemporary discussions as to how humankind could reach an understanding of the truth, despite the moral difficulties that such an understanding would entail. He is a serious historian in a broad sense. He was aware that what he entered as records in the Casual Notes should be different from those he wrote into the Records. However, a reading of the two works will show that the distinction could not be merely rational principle, nor even common sense. Hong Mai, like his Neo-Confucian contemporaries whom he disdained, believed that there was a higher purpose than the truthful history which presumably was the goal of orthodox histories. It is useful here to return to the discussion on the distinction between orthodox history and miscellaneous history. What for Liu Zhiji was a distinction, not nuanced, between the two had become an issue three hundred years later. When Hong Mai pondered and discussed the position of “little talks”, he was obviously doing so in the context of defining a truthful history. For him, orthodox histories could perfectly well adopt materials found in “little talks”. Superficially, what he was advocating was a kind of rational principle based on commonsensical human experience. As long as the records of events are not unique, and are a matter of common sense then this 45 Ouyang Xiu is typical of this attitude. I have written a draft paper (Lee 1999) where I discuss Ouyang’s criticism of Sima Qian. 46 I have borrowed this expression for convenience and with a caveat. Obviously this is not a Song Chinese idea and may only serve to approximate the idea, which suggested that one should or could come to terms with the fact and realize that there was an incongruity between what should be and what actually is. Some Song historians were trying to search for the idea of “potentiality” or “circumstance” (shi) to explain the apparently inexplicable fact that in history reality did not always measure up to moral principles. See Lee 1999.


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principle should be adopted by orthodox histories. However, just like Liu Zhiji, Hong Mai clearly did not think that this principle was the only and ultimate admissible criterion. Hong Mai’s many entries in the Casual Notes show that he believed in some kind of prognostication; he also believed in divination using the Book of Changes. At the same time, here and there he was very critical of misuses or abuses of fortune-telling, astrology, or divination, 47 and questioned the wisdom of magicians and various traditional rituals, such as the fengshan ৞᛽ undertaking by Emperor Zhenzong (998-1022 A.D.). He considered that writing about the ceremonies that Zhenzong ordered was unworthy.48 This is interesting. Facts are after all facts, and why did he think that the superstitious acts of the emperor need not be recorded? Perhaps he felt that there was no need to record the details, except to point out the senselessness of them. However, even if this was his principle, the thought behind it was moral rather than rational. It would be for a rationalist to evaluate the relative historical importance of the Emperor’s fengshan acts in the overall performance of his regime, rather than to question the “senselessness” of Zhenzong’s ceremonies.49 Thus, in the mind of Hong Mai, the true orthodox history, in contrast to what he labelled as “unofficial history”, had to be moral rather than merely rational. This is very important, and the moral concern was indeed something that Chinese historians had always accepted as the supreme guiding principle in historical writing. Of course, this does not mean that the rational principle was not important. In fact, Hong Mai, like Liu Zhiji before him, had always emphasized the need to abide by historical truth; any change, even of 47 In one entry, he lists several examples to show that many people believed in divination and acted according to the augury, only to be confronted by disaster because the augury was intended for them, but not their enemies. This is very much like what happened to King Croesus of Lydia, as recorded by Herodotus. See RZSB, “Sanbi”, 2: 432. It would seem that Hong was always sceptical and critical about the results of, or oracles from, divination or astrology, etc. for the nation (dynasty), but was perfectly willing to accept prognostications that were for individuals. Most of the records in Records are about individuals, but for discussions on the untrustworthiness of predictions, astrological occurrences, etc., especially when they were related to state affairs, then he placed them in the Casual Notes. 48 RZSB, 4: 54, 4: 54-55, “Sanbi”, 5: 469, 7: 493, 11: 543-544. 49 That Hong Mai was so sure that the ceremonies were no more than senseless superstition was because it was found very early on that one of the most important “heavenly documents” (tianshu ໽᳌, lit. heavenly book) was a forgery.

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nomenclature, which deviates from what historical records have passed on to us is a violation of history as an authentic recording.50 To conclude the lengthy discussion above, one sees that Hong Mai’s definition of an orthodox history is based on moral, as much as or even more than, rational principles. His preference for the expression “informal history” (yeshi ມ ‫ ) ׾‬over “miscellaneous history”, reflected his emphasis on the moral lesson that is to be found in historical writings. There are different levels of truth, and the ultimate truth is one that gives us a moral sublimation, helping us to realize that, in history, the moral law that would naturally exercise and work itself out will indeed do so. The readers of orthodox histories will then not feel that the ideal has failed them, and the incongruity between the norm and the reality is transcended.

The Moral Truth in Yijian Zhi This leaves us with the question of whether moral truth was also important in informal histories. Clearly, Hong Mai intended that his Records should not be history, or at most only a kind of informal history.51 Nevertheless, moral principle remains an informing factor. This is because Hong Mai was very historically-minded. His Records was written with a historian’s mind and method. His treatment of the powerful, but later disgraced, Prime Minister Qin Gui is a good example. Qin Gui appears sixteen times in the Records. Of the sixteen entries, thirteen could be dated, because they appear in different chapters, and the dating of these chapters is found in the prefaces. There are four entries relating to Qin that were published in 1166, eleven years after he died. 52 A reading of these records shows that Qin was depicted rather neutrally. The encounters he experienced, or his actions that served as historical context to the extraordinary/supernatural events were all written as if he was someone on whom Hong Mai did not possess an opinion. 50 See RZSB, 15: 193 for an example of how a historian’s change of wording (in this case, the proper terms for addressing each other), using a later expression instead of the historical (original) one, could result in distorting historical truth. 51 It is here that rationalist principle was central in his decision, but even a work that was not intended to be historical is still infused with Hong Mai’s concern about moral lessons. 52 YJZ, “Yizhi”, 4: 216, 9: 261, 12: 285, 16: 319.


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Three more records were published in 1171, five years after the first four appeared. 53 A reading of these three shows that Qin was now uniformly depicted in a negative tone. In one of the records, he was clearly depicted as a powerful and much feared Minister. By 1195, Hong Mai had published more records and three more entries about Qin can be found in this last batch of the works.54 By now, Qin had been dead for thirty years, and his historical image had been largely determined. All these entries painted Qin in a totally negative way. More importantly, the records became ever more circumstantial; his moral defects were presented with specific details. Hong Mai’s writings about Qin Gui are indeed a perfect case in point: although the Records is presumed to be a book of untrustworthy or unreliable accounts of unique and unverifiable facts or reports of facts, the truth is that even the supernatural occurrences in an individual’s life would correctly reflect or anticipate the earthly expectation or understanding of the individual’s moral life. This is the kind of ambiguity that mingling rational truth with moral truth is likely to result in, but in the minds of Hong Mai and many of his contemporaries, such an integration of the two kinds of truth was not only feasible, but also natural. The incongruity of moral truth and rational truth, as mentioned above, has been a depressing reality of life for many traditional Chinese historians. However, when such a reality becomes a serious agenda for soul-searching, the Chinese mind almost always refuses to come to terms with the fact that the historical and the ideal operate in separate realms, and that each has its own logic and sphere of influence, at least during the span of created time. 55 Hong Mai’s treatment of another Qin, the great poet Qin Guan ఻ᨠ (1049-1100), gives a further example of this deep-rooted belief in the perfection of the moral world in which a person, once admitted into the pantheon of the morally upright, must have lived during his natural life. In one long and moving account of a “righteous prostitute”, in the Records, Hong Mai relates to us how Qin Guan, when serving in Changsha, Hunan, fell in love with a prostitute. Their love was so profound that 53

YJZ, “Mingzhi”, 15: 496, 16: 500, 16: 501. YJZ, “Zhiyi”, 4: 824, “Zhijing”, 9: 949, 14: 1678. 55 I am borrowing the Western conception of kairos to contrast and help explain “created” time, a conception that apparently never occurred to the Chinese. If the idea of kairos did not exist, it would be difficult to imagine that there is an end of time and that the ideal could only then overcome or transcend history. 54

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the prostitute, upon hearing of Qin’s death, rushed to attend his funeral and actually died kneeling beside his coffin.56 The account of the dramatic love between Qin Guan and the prostitute makes a moving story, and must have been circulating widely since his death. By the time Hong put it in writing,57 it must have been well known to a lot of literati, even if Hong was the sole reporter of the episode.58 From a strictly moralist viewpoint, this story did not diminish Qin’s image as a morally upright person, especially in view of the fact that prostitution was a socially accepted custom, especially among the literati, at the time of the Song dynasty. The interesting thing is that Hong Mai did not seem to be completely happy with the story, genuinely dramatic and passionate though it is, because he decided that it did not belong to his more rigorously “orthodox” Casual Notes, but to the Records. Hong’s unsettling feeling about the story did not come from its fictionality, but from a guilty suspicion he must have had that the story might cast a negative light on the otherwise morally spotless image of Qin. Qin, after all, was a greatly admired poet and official: Hong Mai had his private doubts that such an edifying role model could have spent so much time infatuated with a prostitute. Indeed, in the Casual Notes, one finds Hong Mai writing that he made a mistake in including the “righteous prostitute” story in the Records. He says: I kept on thinking about this matter, and decided that this story could not be true. When I wrote it into the Records, I did not check it carefully, and I now regret it. When Qin was about to leave for a post in Hangzhou, he had a concubine named Bian Zhaohua. He soon abandoned her, because he was afraid that she would distract him from devoting himself to the learning of the dao. He was soon implicated in a political struggle and was exiled [to Changsha]. How then could he be obsessed with the love of a prostitute.... I was in charge of compiling the nation’s history, and know that the prefect of Changsha [at the time] was Wen Yi. In the Shaosheng era (1094-1097), he gave almost all the officials exiled there a hard time… How then would he allow Shaoyou (Qin Guan) to have the leisure to spend time with a prostitute [let alone 56

YJZ, “Buzhi”, 2: 1559-1562. The exact date of the “Buzhi” of Yijian Zhi is unknown. 58 Hong Mai’s report of this episode of Qin’s life is not found in any other contemporary (to Qin, and to Hong) records. For a comprehensive collection of references to Qin from Qin’s own times down to 1919 is found in Zhou and Zhou 2001. That Qin was a frequent visitor of courtesans and wrote many ci poems on them is, however, well known, but the author did not refer to this episode that Hong recorded. 57


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fall so passionately in love with her]? This is so clear that there cannot be any controversy....59

Hong Mai’s historical criticism, like that of many traditional Chinese historians, was based on moral considerations rather than factual analysis or verification. His retraction of the story shows that his method of criticism is quite Chinese: what is “invented” or “imagined” to be true has to be based on moral feasibility, but not necessarily, much less exclusively, on factual, physical, or logical (read: rational) feasibility. The story of this “righteous prostitute” belongs precisely to an earthly or this-worldly experience, and yet it was for Hong Mai the kind of story that belonged in the Records. Why was it improper or incorrect to include it in the Casual Notes, which after all, also includes accounts of many other famous people’s personal deeds? And most importantly, why was it that to refute its authenticity, he resorted to relying on moral criteria? A rationalist approach to the verification of this story would have relied on examining the reliability of informants, the process of the formation of the “myth” and ultimately, if such information was not available, would have refrained from making such a retraction. However, such care for the facts as such was not central to Hong Mai’s concern. Even if he did not have time to carry out exhaustive verification, and there was indeed no compelling reason why he should have done it, a better way of retracting the story would have been to say that many people had expressed doubt about its authenticity and that he was sceptical that humans would die under such circumstances. It is when this distinctively Chinese approach to historical criticism is made clear that we can say that Hong Mai was certainly confident that the accounts he heard and recorded in his Records were true, and that he believed in their physical feasibility. Therefore, the reason that these stories were not considered to be on a par with the many notes/short essays he compiled in the Casual Notes was not because the events or facts treated in the latter were more reliable, more trustworthy or even more factual. It was because the latter was written to serve the purpose that an orthodox history was supposed to serve, whereas the former was no more than “little talks” or “informal histories”, and therefore only of secondary usefulness, that is, could be used only to complement or supplement the latter. 59

RZSB, “Sibi”, 9: 719.

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Conclusion The conclusion is not that Hong Mai was basically a moralist. There is no doubt that he was a typical Chinese moralist historian. Instead, we have here someone who epitomized the Song struggle for a pristine moral world amid the failures of its realization. Hong Mai certainly kept his eyes open to matters that ran counter to our human experiences, and was open to their possibility. In the world of historical studies that was based on the assumption that unique human experiences had to be treated with suspicion or scepticism, while recognizing that almost all historical events were unique, the conflict between what was feasible (or did happen) and what not (or did not) often became blurred. There could be many ways out of this imbroglio: one was to treat all histories as only political history, as Thucydides did, and relegate any other cultural aspects of human historical experiences to the sphere of literature or myth. In a sense, many Chinese historians very much took this kind of historical writing for granted as history proper, and considered any other records as merely “little talks”. Another method was to develop a rationalist attitude and define “uniqueness” as being confined to individual human experiences, while accepting that uniqueness means the overwhelming complexity of almost all historical events, beyond human comprehension, at least in the historical time. In this way, the primary cause, defined by theologians as supernatural forces, was excluded in both the sphere of individual human experiences and that of general historical change. In a sense, traditional Chinese historians had long adopted this kind of approach, and while it is inevitable that the idea of “fate” comes into historical interpretation, they rarely employed it as an effective or exclusive cause for historical change.60 All historians looked beyond fate to give a humanly satisfactory answer. Even historical theologians excluded it in their thinking. In the case of Hong Mai, it is clear that when it was a case of state affairs that traditionally had direct 60 Obviously, not even Christian historians used the idea of fate to interpret history, and for them there is a notable difference between providence and fate. See the painstaking efforts by St. Augustine to distinguish the two ideas in City of God (vol. 5). Although there is not much written by Chinese historians about the inappropriateness of fate as a way of interpreting history, Northern Song historians’ efforts to develop a comprehensive theory of shi (circumstance, potentiality) is typical of the Chinese refusal to see fate as the fundamental element of historical change.


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significance for historical writing proper, he tried to adopt a very rationalist approach. For example, while admitting that divination and oracles were believable, he wanted them to be carried out with the utmost seriousness. In the sphere of the individual, however, he seems to have taken a broader view and to have been willing to entertain the idea that uniqueness did not mean unfeasibility. Some may believe that his compilation of the Records, as distinct from Casual Notes, is an indication that he had less confidence in the trustworthiness of the stories included therein. To some extent, this could be true, as almost all the accounts in the Records were unique in the sense of being outside of normal human experience. If normal human experiences were used as a criterion for criticizing (judging the trustworthiness of) what one was told as an authentic story, then one could say this was an incipient rationality. However, Hong Mai’s historical philosophy does not belong entirely to this category. He evidently believed in the stories with which he was provided, or else he would not have gone as far as to retract the story about the righteous prostitute. The “little talks” were intended to serve as basic historical material, and there was no doubt in Hong’s mind about this. What then was it that compelled him to draw the boundary line? In addition to the idea that orthodox history should be political in nature, concerned with state affairs, and rational in its criticism of sources, it also had to be moral in essence and implication. Hong Mai’s writings give us a sense of what constitutes “moral”. A better expression would really be “decorum” (li ៖). I have referred to this word earlier in the paper. This is a word that meant all three of the above: politically significant and therefore pertaining to state affairs, rationally and critically feasible, and morally rectifying. The last point constitutes the fundamental reason why there was a boundary for Hong Mai in terms of the differing concerns of the Records and the Casual Notes. Of course, what is moral was believed to be absolutely natural and was seen as realizable in the historical world, provided the narrative was correct. All great literary enterprise ultimately shows that the pristine world of moral perfection is feasible in history, to soothe the frustrations of humans who daily meet with all kinds of natural and supernatural experiences. The anxiety about moral orthodoxy is the boundary. But when we talk about “morality” we should bear in mind that it went beyond mere

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ethical completeness. To negotiate between the moral and the rational, or to negotiate between the ideal and the real, would not always have been an easy task, especially when Hong, like so many of his contemporaries, wished that the two realms were in unity. Hong Mai wrote several other books, not all of them historical. The Exemplary Sayings of the ‘Historical Records’ (Shiji Fayu) shows that he was a great admirer of Sima Qian,61 a fact that would not make him very popular with his contemporaries. At one point, he compared himself with Sima Qian, to make the case that he was serious about his sources and that the accounts of people marginal to historical writing proper could also be found in Sima’s Historical Records. 62 Another historical work is Essential Sayings from the Histories of the Southern Dynasties (Nanchao Shi Jingyu তཛ‫׾‬壄፿).63 Other books include History of Sugar and Crystallized Sugar (Tangshuang Pu ା ញᢜ), Ten Thousand Poems from the Tang (Tangren Wanshou Jueju ାԳᆄଈ࿪‫)؁‬, Comments on Poems by Rongzhai (Rongzhai Shihua ୲សᇣᇩ), and his collected writing, the Classified Collection of Essays by Yechu ( ມ ๠ ᣊ ᒚ Yechu Leigao, Yechu being Hong’s courtesy name),64 etc.65 From the list, one can see that Hong Mai was not only a prolific writer on subjects of historical interest, but was also interested in a very wide range of subjects. He certainly fit the definition of an erudite that was so common in the Song. But above all, he was also interested in poetic writings. It is perhaps an irony that he should be occasionally critical of dramatization in literary writing, but his mind was indeed a diversified one, and deep down in his heart, all of these activities were united in the ultimate concern and confidence that the ideal and the real were united in moral feasibility.

61

This work survives in part in an anthology, Shuofu. For abstracts of Hong’s works listed here, see Hervouet 1978. 62 YJZ, “Dingzhi”, “preface”, 537. For Hong’s other comments on Historical Records, see RZSB, “Sibi”, 11: 739-740, “Wubi”, 5: 865-866. 63 Hong Mai appears to have authored several works of this nature, collecting exemplary sayings from historical and philosophical works. 64 This includes two parts which were sometimes printed and circulated separately. The work proper usually includes the essays, while the “external” version includes poetic writings. 65 Some other works, such as Records from the Ghost County (Guiguo Ji 儐೟㿬) and Records of the Monkey King in Fuzhou (Fuzhou Houwang Ji ⽣Ꮂ⤈⥟㿬) are basically taken from the Yijian Zhi and are printed independently, usually in anthologies of “miscellaneous notes and little talks” (biji xiaoshuo ㄚ㿬ᇣ䂀).


285

REFERENCES CITED Aurelius Augustinus (Saint Augustine) (1965-1981), The City of God Against the Pagans, 7 vols. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Bai Shouyi ‫ػ‬ኂឦ (1980), “Liu Zhiji de Shixue Ꮵव༓ऱ‫׾‬ᖂ (The Historical Thinking of Liu Zhiji)”, in Wu Ze ‫ܦ‬ᖻ (ed.) (1980), Zhongguo Shixueshi Lunji խഏ‫׾‬ᖂ‫׾‬ᓵႃ (Collected Essays on the History of Chinese Historiography), vol. 2. Shanghai: Renmin Chubanshe, 58-112. Copleston, Frederick (1985, first edition 1946), A History of Philosophy, vol. 1. New York: Image Books. Chen Guying ຫቔᚨ (1983), “Qiwulun Ꮨढᓵ (Discussion on Making all Things Equal)”, in Zhuangzi Jinzhu Jinyi ๗՗վࣹվ᤟ (A Modern Commentary and Translation of Zhuangzi) Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 80. Du Weiyun ‫ޙ‬ፂሎ et al. (1966-1980), Zhongguo Shixueshi Lunwen Xuanji խഏ‫׾‬ᖂ ‫ ׾‬ᓵ ֮ ᙇ ႃ (Selected Essays on Chinese Historiography), 3 vols. Taibei: Huashi Chubanshe. Du Weiyun (1998), Zhongguo Shixueshi խഏ‫׾‬ᖂ‫( ׾‬History of Chinese Historiography), vol. 2. Taibei: Sanmin Chubanshe. Hervouet, Yves (ed.) (1978), A Sung Bibliography. Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press. Hong Mai (1981), Yijian Zhi ‫ڎ‬ഒ‫( ݳ‬Records of Yijian), punctuated and collated by He Zuo (1981). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. ̛̛̛ (1978), Rongzhai Suibi ୲ ស ᙟ ࿝ (Casual Notes from the Rong Study). Shanghai: Guji Chubanshe. Hou Wailu ঀ؆ᡔ (1980), “Lun Liu Zhiji de Xueshu Sixiang ᓵᏥव༓ऱ‫׾‬ᖂ৸უ (On the Scholarly Thought of Liu Zhiji)”, in Wu Ze ‫ܦ‬ᖻ (ed.) (1980), Zhongguo Shixueshi Lunji խഏ‫׾‬ᖂ‫׾‬ᓵႃ (Collected Essays on the History of Chinese Historical Thinking), vol. 2. Shanghai: Renmin Chubanshe, 1-16. Jian Bozan Ⲥ‫܄‬ᢥ (1980), “Lun Liu Zhiji de Shixue ᓵᏥव༓ऱ‫׾‬ᖂ (On the Historical Scholarship of Liu Zhiji)”, in Wu Ze ‫ܦ‬ᖻ (ed.) (1980), Zhongguo Shixueshi Lunji խഏ‫׾‬ᖂ‫׾‬ᓵႃ (Collected Essays on the History of Chinese Historical Thinking), vol. 2. Shanghai: Renmin Chubanshe, 17-57. Lee, Thomas H.C. (Li Hongqi ‫ؖޕ‬ᆁ) (2003), “Zhenjia de Fenji: Tan Hong Mai he Tade Yijian Zhi ట೗ऱ։Ꮎ: ᓫੋᝬࡉ‫ה‬ऱ‫ڎ‬ഒ‫( ݳ‬On the Boundary between the True and the Fictional, On Hong Mai and His Yijian Zhi)”, in Lee, Thomas H. C. (Li Hongqi) (ed.) (2003), Lixing, Xueshu he Daode de Zhishi Shijie ෻ࢤΕ ᖂ๬ࡉሐᐚऱवᢝ‫( ੺׈‬Reason, Scholarship and the Moral World of Knowledge). Taibei: Ximalaya Jijinhui, 341-372. ̛̛̛ (2002), “Fanlun Jindai Zhongguo Shixue de Fazhan yu Yiyi, Fulun Cong Biji, Zhaji, Dao Shehuishi ऑᓵ२‫ז‬խഏ‫׾‬ᖂऱ࿇୶ፖრᆠ,ॵᓵൕ࿝ಖΕ‫ؤ‬ಖΕ ࠩषᄎ ‫( ׾‬A General Discussion On the Development and Significance of Modern Chinese Historical Thinking, From Notes, and Miscellaneous Notes to Social History)”, in Lee, Thomas H.C. (Li Hongqi) (ed.) (2002), Mianxiang Shijie ૿‫( ੺׈ٻ‬Facing the World). Taibei: Yunchen Chubanshe, 242-286. ̛̛̛ (2002a), “New Directions in Northern Sung Historical Thinking”, in Wang, Edward Q. and Georg G. Iggers (eds.) (2002), Turning Points in Historiography, Cross-Cultural Perspectives. Rochester, New York: University of Rochester Press, 59-87. ̛̛̛ (1999), “Between Canonized History and Common Sense History, Song Encounters with the Parameter of Truth”, paper presented at the Conference on

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Canon and Commentary: An International Conference on Chinese Hermeneutic Tradition, The City University of Hong Kong. Liu Zhiji Ꮵव༓ (1978), “Shitong ‫׾‬ຏ (Comprehending History)”, in Pu Qilong ፠ ದ ᚊ (ed.) (1978), Shitong Tongshi ‫ ׾‬ຏ ຏᤩ (A General Commentary on Comprehending History). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 329-378. Palmer, Martin (1996), The Book of Chuang Tzu, translated by Martin Palmer. London: Arkana. Qian Mu ᙒᗪ (1986), Zhuzi Xin Xue’an ‫ڹ‬՗ᄅᖂூ (A New Study of Zhu Xi’s Scholarship). Taibei: Xuesheng, reprinted edition Chengdu: Ba-Shu. Raphel, D.D. (1973), “Moral Sense”, in Wiener, Philip (ed.) (1973), Dictionary of the History of Ideas, vol. 3. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 230-235. Ren Jiyu ٚᤉყ (1980), “Liu Zhiji de Jinbu de Lishiguan Ꮵव༓ऱၞ‫ޡ‬ऱᖵ‫׾‬ᨠ (The Progressive View of History of Liu Zhiji)”, in Wu Ze ‫ܦ‬ᖻ (ed.) (1980), Zhongguo Shixueshi Lunji խഏ‫׾‬ᖂ‫׾‬ᓵႃ (Collected Essays on the History of Chinese Historical Thinking), vol. 2. Shanghai: Renmin Chubanshe, 113-120. Song Yuan Xue’an ‫ݚ‬ցᖂூ (A History of the Song and Yuan Scholarship) (1986), compiled by Huang Zongxi ႓ࡲᘂ, punctuated by Chen Jinsheng ຫ८‫ س‬and Liang Yunhua ඩሎဎ. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Tuo-tuo ‫( ڮڮ‬1977) (ed.), Songshi ‫( ׾ݚ‬Song History). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Watson, Burton (1965), Chuang Tzu, Basic Writings, trans. by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia. Zhou Yigan ਼㕽ᬶ and Zhou Lei ਼䳋 (eds.) (2001), Qin Guan Ziliao Huibian ఻ᨠ ᇷறნᒳʳ (Comprehensive Collection of Materials About Qin Guan). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju.

PART THREE

AT THE THRESHOLD OF MODERNITY AND BEYOND: HISTORICAL TRUTH, THE HISTORIAN’S TRUSTWORTHINESS, AND IDEOLOGY

THE RISE OF HISTORICAL CRITICISM AND THE PROCESS OF PROFESSIONALIZATION IN HISTORICAL STUDIES IN EUROPE—THE CASE OF GERMANY Horst Walter Blanke I The “scientificisation” of history did not occur overnight; it was a complex process that took place on several different levels and goes back to the Early Modern age: at least as far as Early Humanism.1 Polyhistory and humanism are thus important links in the transition from pre-scientific to scientific historical studies.2 The process of “scientificisation” and of professionalization took place inter alia on the level of the organisation of source editions, the editing of specialist journals,3 the development of a canon of historical ancillary sciences and finally, on the level of meta-theoretical reflection, i.e historics (theory of historical studies).4 A paradigm shift of the historical method was crucial for the further development of historical studies: the discovery of the diacritic method, i.e. the commitment to precisely this method as a necessary and indispensable methodological standard. An investigation into the history of the historical method can in principle be carried out on the level of three different text genres: firstly, on the level of (meta-)theoretical reflection on the nature and research-related function of historical criticism, i.e. as an analysis of the relevant passages in historics, secondly, as an examination of source-critical studies carried out by historians, and thirdly, as a discussion of the question to what extent and in what form sourcecritical studies have become established in historiographical representations in the first place. My remarks will focus on the second and third levels: The œuvre of four authors exemplary of paradigmatic development of the history of the subject in more than one respect will

1

Cf. Muhlack 1991, also Breisach 1994. The present paper is based mainly on two articles: Blanke 1988, 1989. English translation by Nadja Rosental. 2 See also the articles in Küttler et al. 1994: 95-377. 3 Cf. Blanke 1998. 4 Cf. Blanke/Fleischer 1990.

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be investigated with regard to their contributions to the criticism of the history of Alexander the Great: Heyne, Heeren, Niebuhr and Droysen.

II An analysis of the individual assessments of the classical Alexander historians is particularly suitable because, first of all, the classical source situation for this epoch is comparatively good. Although the primary sources for Alexander’s history are mostly lost, apart from a few fragments, there are several detailed reports from the time of the Roman emperors, where the tradition of Alexander’s time is still very tangible. On the other hand, classical written records are controversial because individual strands of tradition had already been subject to criticism in antiquity. 5 A modern Alexander history has to be an attempt to reconstruct the true events using these different versions in a methodically regulated way: it necessarily has to be an exercise in source criticism. The individual texts, of course, are only comparable to a certain extent. For, without a doubt, a brief compendium on ancient history fulfills a different function from a work of several volumes on universal history, or even a detailed monograph; works prepared for publication by the authors themselves certainly have a different status from a posthumous edition of lecture notes. Nevertheless, the sequence of these types of texts is not accidental: The individual texts correspond to the favored themes and forms of representation of historical research of the time. This certainly applies to the fundamental attitude towards source criticism and its standards, which will be dealt with in what follows. I will not deal with the individual authors’ various interpretations of the Alexander history; neither will political implications and connotations be of much interest in this context,6 nor will I deal with the historical method in general, but rather primarily with one of its aspects, one that is commonly known as “source criticism“. It essentially does not matter whether, following Droysen and Bernheim, one divides the historical method into three inter-dependent (procedural) 5

On the evaluation of sources see Seibert 1972: 1-61, 229-56. Cf. in this context Hampl 1954; Heuß 1954; Walser 1956; Andreotti 1957: 12066; Seibert 1972; Demandt 1972. 6

THE RISE OF HISTORICAL CRITICISM

291

operations—heuristics, criticism and interpretation, 7 or whether, following modern philosophy of science, one should also make a distinction between the “substantial“ operations—hermeneutics, analytics and dialectics: 8 “Criticism” is the process of examining evidence with regard to specific problems once the relevant sources for an investigation have been found and collected to a sufficient extent. Following Droysen, 9 “source criticism” can be divided into “criticism of authenticity” and “criticism of accuracy”, i.e., with reference to literary source texts, it can be divided into (a) primarily philological criticism that examines extant texts and individual passages for their authenticity, and (b) a critical procedure that is aimed at reconstructing historical actualities—events, conditions, processes and structures from the extant source material. The latter is thus a criticism of the extant facts. How are the standards of source criticism defined by the four paradigmatically chosen authors? Could it be the case that the chronological sequence, which can be detected in the implementation of the methodological procedure of source criticism, corresponds to a logical developmental process? Although the historistically influenced history of historiography would have us believe otherwise, neither “criticism of authenticity” nor “criticism of accuracy” are an invention of historicism. Rather, certain individual critical methodological standards were developed as early as Late Humanism; they were not, however, regarded as obligatory rules of historical research, but rather were a matter of individual decision, i.e. they were left to the discretion of the individual historian. During the age of the Enlightenment these standards became refined10 and systematized—and, most importantly, raised into the ranks of quite simply essential and indispensable research principles: Apart from the strict demand to link one’s own historical representation to the sources, 11 the programmatic texts of the Late Enlightenment further contained the central demand not to trust the written records blindly but rather to examine their credibility. 7 Droysen 1977: 65-283, 1974: 31-187, 1937; Bernheim 1889: 153-510, 61908: 252-613. 8 See Rüsen 1986: 86-147, esp. 117-147. 9 Droysen 1977: 117-145; 1937: 99-131. 10 For details see Kraus 1963, passim, especially 136-160 on source criticism. Cf. Muhlack 1986. 11 For proofs of evidence see Blanke 1985: 167-186, 180 footnotes 16-73.

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The examination as to credibility had two aspects. The examination of the inner credibility dealt with the question of how far the recorded events accord with the laws of nature, i.e. to what degree are they likely or even possible. The examination of outer credibility aims at the assessment of a particular author’s credibility. The so-called “science of authors” (Schriftstellerkunde), which was a separate category during the Enlightenment within the extremely popular History of Learnedness (Historie der Gelahrtheit), dealt with this question. As early as the mid-eighteenth century, however, some historians extended their theoretical endeavors and insisted that the question of the author’s credibility is not enough. Because his “entire worth rests upon the structural make-up of those sources that he employed for his historical messages” his relation to the original sources will have to be clarified—i.e., it will have to be investigated whether the later reports, the only ones remaining, originate from credible evidence.12 Individual Enlightenment historians like Gatterer and Will still contented themselves with this demand in their historics of the 1760s. The fact that eye-witness reports, too, are always biased was not understood as a methodological problem; neither did they deal with the question of how to reconcile contradictory reports. In view of these programmatically formulated standards the following question arises: What did the everyday research routine look like? I will now turn to the case studies. (1) Christian Gottlob Heyne (1729-1812), professor of philology at Göttingen University from 1763, is generally regarded, together with J.J. Winckelmann and G.A. Wolf, as the founder of the modern study of Classical Antiquity. His substantial œuvre cannot be acknowledged here: he prepared a number of major text editions of classical authors and he had an inspiring influence on classical philology by taking Realien, i.e. archaeological evidence, into account. His importance for the development of the discipline of history has not been explored to any significant extent; in the popular accounts of the history of historiography he only makes a marginal appearance, if that; specialist studies do not exist at all; Heyne himself appeared to be more of a 12

Gatterer 1761: Einleitung, 67; cf. the argument in §§ 120-128 of G.A. Will’s historics in Blanke/Fleischer 1990: vol.1, 313-349, here 347-349.


293

philologist than a historian,13 although his work exerted considerable influence on the subject, which was beginning to emerge as a discipline in its own right. (a) Only at the beginning of his academic career did Heyne himself produce a piece of historical work; mainly for financial reasons,14 he translated the Universal History edited by Guthrie and Gray into German. In accordance with the custom of the time, however, it was not a translation in the true sense of the word, but rather an essentially new version. 15 The third volume contains an almost 100-page long portrayal of the history of Alexander.16 It is not the case that Heyne always critically examined the authors of the source texts that he referred to, as the theorists of Enlightenment historiography demanded. His true achievements are not so much in the area of source criticism as in the compilation of the many extant reports into a new whole: the story of the political course of events based on their natural chronology. The original sources, of course, can be detected throughout although occasionally there are discrepancies in the new text because the original sources are contradictory. 17 To a large degree, Heyne is committed to the model of rhetorical historiography, which adheres to the concept of historia magistra vitae. He therefore includes a large number of anecdotes, primarily from Plutarch’s biography of Alexander, although he seems to have done so with considerable unease. Thus he remarks (after relating the anecdote about how Alexander got his hands on Darius’ valuable bathing apartments): “Plutarch..., who could have adduced an anecdote of this kind in a biography; it does not however belong in a history of the world.” He himself, of course, did mention it in his outline of universal history.18 There does not seem to be a preference in this work for a particular tradition. Heyne used all of the surviving reports on the history of 13

There is no modern article on Heyne; still indispensable to this day is the biographical account by his student, son-in-law and colleague Heeren 1813. 14 Heeren 1813: 92-93, here 93, respectively 86-87. 15 Heyne 1765-1772. 16 Heyne 1766: vol. 3, 575-659. 17 Hepahiston’s obsequies are related twice (Heyne 1766: vol. 3, 656, respectively 657) with first reference to Arrian (anab. VII, 23, 6-8), secondly in connection with Diodorus XVII, 115, 1-6. 18 See Heyne 1766: vol. 3, 575, 581, 593, with footnote q; here the quotation 600, 609.

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Alexander without discrimination. By way of introduction, he remarked almost programmatically: The authors who wrote about Alexander, Plutarch in the Life of Alexander, Diodorus in the 17th book, Arrian, Curtius, Justin, are wellknown enough. It would be unnecessary to mention them meticulously for each event. We will thus only add the passages in cases of disputed or conflicting stories. ...19

And indeed, he only occasionally mentions his informants,20 and he mostly abstains from critically evaluating these authors: in the case of Arrian, Plutarch, Curtius and Diodorus, he simply takes their knowledge for granted. In the case of the lesser known authors, i.e. the historians of Alexander whose works were lost, he simply refers to the standard work of the Late Humanist philologist G.J. Vossius from Leiden. 21 Such passages are rather more incidental in character. A basic assessment of the various authors or even of the primary sources that are preserved only as fragments is entirely absent, even in the cursory form that was given by Heyne’s colleague Gatterer in the introduction to his Handbook of Universal History.22 One would imagine that Heyne had examined an author’s credibility for each passage without disclosing it in every individual case—perhaps in order not to encumber his accounts unnecessarily. This is only partly true, however. Instead, he mostly contented himself with listing the contradictory versions, usually without expressing a preference for any one of them. As a rule, the relevant authors are mentioned in these passages, i.e. Arrian, Diodorus, Plutarch, Curtius, as well as Strabo and Josephus, occasionally even contemporaries of Alexander: Aristobulus, Onesicritus and Ptolemy.23 Formulations like “according to Arrian..., but all other authors say...” or “while most of the authors report...; only Aristobulus... reports...” 24 suggest that a version testified to by a large number of authors deserves more 19

Heyne 1766: 575 footnote a. See for instance Heyne 1766: 585 or 625. Cf. Heyne 1766: 582 by Vossius 1623: 73, 21651: 54 on Aristobulus. 22 Gatterer 1761: Einleitung, 80-109, 1764: Einleitung, sep. pag., 342 pages: Chronologisches Verzeichnis der Geschichtsschreiber. 23 See for details Heyne 1766: 582, 593, 600: reasons for the campaign to Ammon in Lybia; 601: the oracle by the priest of Ammon; 607: the destruction of the King’s palace in Persepolis; 627, 629: the death of Callisthenes; 630, 651, 656, 658, also footnotes 26 and 28 of this paper.—The three primary sources are mentioned 582, 589 and 629. 24 See Heyne 1766: 589: the untying of the Gordian knot; 604: the number of troops in Gaugamela; 650: bacchanalias in India. Cf. 625. 20 21


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credibility than one recorded by just one author. It obviously did not occur to him that the majority of the reports themselves may be traced back to a common source. He thus did not develop a genealogy of historiographical dependencies in order to determine the value of the individual authors either. He presented Josephus’ report on Alexander’s campaign against Jerusalem, although expressing doubt as to the historicity of these events—possibly “a mere fable“—for the only reason that it was recorded by Josephus alone.25 Heyne did not produce further arguments such as whether Josephus, as a Jew, based his reports on local sources which the other authors due to linguistic difficulties were not able to make use of, and whether this tradition is historical or a fabrication. Wherever possible, he made attempts to combine individual versions.26 If that was not possible, as mentioned above, he listed the individual reports and usually left it up to the reader to decide which version he preferred. Only very rarely, as in the case of Plutarch’s report about the execution of Hephaiston’s doctor, did he entirely reject one particular tradition—“But these inconsistencies seem to deserve little credibility”—or rather, as in the case of the so-called proskynesis of the sea at the Cilician coast, he gave an account of only one single report from the outset, namely Strabo’s.27 Heyne essentially defends the concept of a pre-critical historiography. His procedure of simply listing the different versions is a desperate one; it is probably more a result of not knowing how to handle the diverging reports methodically rather than the inability to do so. Here, Janus-faced Enlightenment reveals itself in looking forwards and backwards at the same time. At this point, it once again becomes apparent that historical theory during the Enlightenment had developed further than had practical research. But how could this demand have been met for an area as extensive as universal history? On the other hand, Heyne’s procedure is also a program: Unlike later on during historicism, there is no smooth story, not even in the context of a compendium-like representation of universal history; rather, the reader becomes involved in the research process (if we want to call it 25

Heyne 1766: 596-98 in reference to Josephus: ant. Iud.XI,8. See especially Heyne 1766: 623: on the fusion of Median and Macedonian clothing and 623-625: on the murder of Clitus. 27 Heyne 1766: 656; on Plutarch: Alex. 72, 2-3: 704-705 respectively 587 in reference to Strabo XIV 3,9: 982C; cf. Arrian: anab. I, 26,1-2; Plutarch: Alex. 17, 3-4: 674. 26

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that with reference to Heyne) in such a way that he himself is the final arbiter. The essentially open form of discourse that characterises the field of history and historiography in the Late Enlightenment has an immediate effect on the methodology itself. (b) As far as I can see, Heyne dealt with the problems relating to the history of Alexander once more, namely in the context of a severalpart treatise on the sources and the credibility of Diodorus, which he initially presented to the Academy of Sciences in Göttingen in 1785. He touches upon the problem of Diodorus’ sources for the history of Alexander on less than one page: his only comment is that his primary source was Cleitarchus.28 (2) Apart from Gatterer and Schlözer, Arnold Hermann Ludwig Heeren (1760-1842), the major and most influential historian of the Enlightenment in Göttingen—now virtually fallen into oblivion—is without a doubt the first German historian of world-wide reputation. He authored a large number of short papers, but it was his three main works that attracted the most attention. All three works were reprinted several times: Ideas about the Politics, the Relations and Trade of the 5 most Important Peoples of Classical Antiquity (1793/96, 1824-26), which is an overview of the history of trade and constitution (during the entire period of antiquity, a Handbook of the History of Antiquity 5 (1799, 1828) and finally a Handbook of the History of the European 5 State System and Its Colonies (1809, 1830).29 (a) He deals with the history of Alexander for the first time in a handbook on the history of the ancient Middle East and antiquity;30 there, he mentions the sources of the Alexander history in passing: Arrian is explicitly praised for the “careful selection of his sources” and is mentioned as the “main author”. In addition, Heeren mentions Diodorus, Plutarch and the “uncritical Curtius”.31 The representation itself, however, is too short to draw any far-reaching conclusions. One 28

Heyne 1785: 113. On Heeren see Becker 1993. The second book mentioned is Heeren 1799. 30 Heeren 1799: 250, 261-268, respectively 41821: 243, 254-261. In the context of his Ideas Heeren no longer mentions the Alexander history. The representation of Greek history is cut short, with only the half volume III. 1 devoted to it; Heeren’s posthumously published preliminary works to volume III. 2 (University Library, Göttingen, Cod.Ms. Heeren 7) contain no elaborations on the history of Alexander. 31 Heeren 1799: 250 = 41821: 243. 29


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thing, however, is certain: compared with Heyne, Heeren chose his sources more deliberately and his short outline of the history of political events does indeed largely follow Arrian. 32 He does not mention the contradictory versions, as this was hardly possible in the context of such a short outline. Heeren left his representations from the year 1799 almost unchanged in the later editions, the only changes there are concern appendices on literature that had been published in the meantime, in the form of bibliographical notes; they did not however lead to a change in text. (b) The source-critical studies which Heeren presented in the 1790s, following Heyne’s example, are more interesting and, for our purposes, more rewarding than his short outline in the handbook. Such studies de fontibus et auctoritate of a particular author, which appeared under this or a similar title, became almost fashionable towards the end of the eighteenth century; Heeren is therefore really no exception, although his work in this area is exceptional. In his studies de fontibus et auctoritate vitarum parallelarum Plutarchae, which he presented between 1810 and 1816 to the Academy of Sciences in Göttingen, he managed to name numerous of Plutarch’s lesser known drafts. He, additionally, made an attempt to evaluate these drafts critically with regard to their value as sources. These works do not, however, go beyond that. Heeren contented himself with rather general judgements. In fact, his source criticism is not used for the relevant historical representations, it is isolated from the actual historiography as if they were entirely independent of each other. In the case of his study of Plutarch’s biography of Alexander, Heeren concluded that Plutarch made an effort to evaluate the original material—contemporary reports, in particular “eye-witness“ reports from the participants in the Alexander campaign—using these reports “non sine iudico critico” by comparing the different versions and rejecting the ones that were not true.33 Heeren did not go beyond these rather general remarks. He did not even disclose the criteria he used for his judgment, which were obviously mainly based on the verbose 32 Cf. for instance his remarks in Heeren 1799: 263 = 41821, 256 on the rejection of Darius’ peace-offer after the battle of Issus, in reference to the accounts of Arrian: anab. II, 14, 1-9 and Curtius IV, 1, 7-14. 33 Heeren 1814: especially 58-67; the quotation 1814: 67.

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summaries of antique testimonia rather than on detailed textual analysis and comparisons. The question that is ultimately important for the history of Alexander is not whether Plutarch did good work, but rather the wider question that poses itself anew for each concrete case: which are the reports that Plutarch’s accounts of particular events are based on, and should these sources, and thus Plutarch’s accounts be assessed. Heeren’s source-critical works almost lend themselves to be analyzed—like Heyne’s—as if they were throwbacks from the time before the formulation of methodological standards. But Heeren’s works are in fact typical of the way of working during the Enlightenment: a divergence between the theory and the practice of historical criticism. (3) Unlike Heyne and Heeren, Barthold Georg Niebuhr (1776-1831) needs no introduction. His memory has been kept alive since the middle of the nineteenth century and has become a canonical tradition of the self-awareness of the subject discipline34. In the context of his Lectures on Ancient History in Bonn 35 he repeatedly dealt with the history of Alexander, initially during the summer terms of 1825 and 1836 and for the third and last time during the winter term of 1829/30. As far as the arrangement of the enormous amount of material is concerned, in his lectures on the universal history of antiquity Niebuhr essentially followed Justin’s representation—which is preserved only in the Epitoma of Pompeius Trogus—and supplemented this scarce framework of data with information from other authors. The same is true for the Alexander history.36 While Heyne in his historical representation did not produce a concluding criticism of the literary records on the history of Alexander the Great his own criticism was necessarily rather short, Niebuhr devoted almost three pages of introduction to this question37 and also dealt with some source-critical questions in the context of his representation. He directly went in medias res with the remark: 34 There are plenty of studies on Niebuhr; for an initial overview, see Christ 1972: 26-49, 357-359; Witte 1979; Walther 1993. 35 These lectures have been published, following students’ manuscripts in Niebuhr 1847-51. 36 Niebuhr 1848: vol. 2, 417-508. Cf. Justin XIf. 37 Niebuhr 1848, [1828/1829] vol. 2, 422-424; cf. also 419.


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The sources of the Alexander history available to us are no longer the original ones. Of those, we have none. The way his history circulates is indeed magical. His chroniclers divide into two classes, his contemporaries and companions, and then the later ones, who wrote his story mostly rhetorically.38

He did not linger over the extant authors, but quickly went on to Alexander’s contemporaries and companions: Aristobulus, Ptolemy, Cleitarchus and Onesicritus. He evaluates them critically: Aristobulus and Ptolemy “did surely not write the whole truth”, but were “very able to report the truth” and are “on the whole credible”. Cleitarchus, on the other hand wrote “without criticism” and therefore “much untruthfulness came from him”, while Onesicritus was “virtually marvellous with no regard for awe and truth.” 39 After this critical assessment of the primary sources comes a brief assessment of Arrian, Curtius and Diodorus; the final verdict about their value as a source necessarily follows from the assessment of those sources on which their representations were based: Curtius, e.g. who, according to Niebuhr, used Cleitarchus and Onesicritus receives a rather unfavorable assessment. These source-critical passages in Niebuhr, too, appear to have a rather contingent character; they seem to have lost touch with the actual representation of history. Niebuhr certainly did not give a strict systematization; his overview of the primary Alexander historians is by no means complete. He did not systematically deal with the lost reports of Callisthenes, Chares, Nearchus and Anaximines of Lampsakos, the letters of Alexander or the Royal Ephemerides, even though there are numerous surviving fragments of these sources; moreover traces of these records can be detected in the authors that we still have today. Niebuhr only mentioned the historiographical accompaniment of the Alexander campaign by Callisthenes, for example, in the context of a description of the circumstances that had led to the death of Callisthenes.40 In this context, it is interesting to see the verdict with which Niebuhr substantiates the source-critical study on the Alexander historians that the French scholar Sainte Croix had put forward. He returns the following damning verdict on this study, which Heeren had still described as an “important work in more than one respect”: 38

Niebuhr 1848: vol. 2, 422. For the quotations cf. Niebuhr 1848: vol. 2, 422-423. 40 Niebuhr 1848: vol. 2, 491-493, especially 491. 39

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“…but this is a work that is entirely inadequate for German philology, and must thus be regarded as nigh on non-existent: it will have to be done again.”41 Niebuhr returns this verdict, as he does most of his others, in a very self-assured, almost dogmatic way. Unlike the Enlightenment historians Heyne and Heeren, who occasionally interrupted their representations with reflections and digressions that did not give the impression of an all-embracing competence, Niebuhr did not try to involve his readers and listeners in a continual process of understanding but rather presented a self-contained interpretation. He thus merely presented a new interpretation and did not put it up for discussion. It comes as no surprise then that once the sources had been introduced the informants for his own interpretation were not mentioned again; Niebuhr referred to Arrian only for additional facts. One needs to undertake source-critical studies of one’s own in order to identify Niebuhr’s sources for the various events. In general, he followed Arrian, although he also used the other surviving authors. It is characteristic of both Heyne’s and Heeren’s historiography that source-critical works stood isolated from historiographical representations. While methodological source criticism was regarded as centrally important during the age of the Enlightenment, the studies themselves were a mere beginning. This is not at all surprising in view of the sheer size of the task, the lack of preliminary works and the relatively limited personal means. During the course of the continuing process of scientificisation—Niebuhr announced the next stage almost paradigmatically: the methodological standards formulated during the Late Enlightenment were raised to the status of indispensable research principles. Since the beginning of classical historicism, i.e. since the 1830s, new historical publications were measured by source-critical standards: If a piece of work did not follow modern critical standards in all respects it was easily labelled ‘unscientific’. This is precisely what happened to Heeren in Niebuhr’s and Gervinus’ polemics directed against him42. The question of source-criticism thus became the central criterion that determined a work’s scientific status. It is one of the characteristics of historicism that it perfected the procedure of historical criticism in practical research. The new 41 Sainte-Croix 1775, 21810; Heeren 31817: 234 = 51828: 254, 1814: 63; Niebuhr 1848, 1828/29: 423. 42 See Blanke 1983: 154-157 and 162.


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methodological standards were developed at the beginning of the nineteenth century in a number of critical and sometimes hypercritical or in any case programmatic reviews. The source-critical appendix of Ranke’s first work is also programmatic. The historico-critical method was however not worked out satisfactorily in a comprehensive work; for a long time, the relevant chapter in Fessmaier’s textbook from the year 1802, where he summarizes the theoretical principles developed during the Enlightenment, could be regarded as the most detailed presentation of the historical method.43 Even in Bernheim’s Textbook of the Historical Method the basic principles of historical criticism are largely taken for granted44. The methodological procedure of “criticism” had become a mere matter of course. The historical method was practiced systematically after the 1830s in the newly-founded historical seminars in the style of the seminars in Bonn where the tradition of historical exercise established by Ranke was practiced: These closed seminars were attended by a select group of students who were demanded to acquire the historical method without much theorizing, i.e. by reading source texts. It is no coincidence that many doctoral theses from the second half of the nineteenth century are devoted to source-critical works: By visibly documenting that they had internalized the historico-critical method, the new generation of historians gained their formal qualification as professional historians. At this point, a critical interjection is necessary: Is the essential difference between Enlightenment historiography and historicism that the well-known principles have been extensively and intensively perfected in practical research, or has source criticism itself changed in an important respect? This question leads me to Droysen. (4) In 1877, Johann Gustav Droysen (1808-1884) presented a perfect example of a source-critical study in the appendix to the second revised edition of his Alexander book.45 The initial volume, published 43

Fessmaier 1802: 282-310, reprint of p. 292-308 in Blanke and Fleischer 1990: vol. 2, 561-568. 44 Bernheim 1889: 202; 61906: 324-561. 45 Droysen 1877: vol. 1.2, 375-420, Beilage II: Die Materialien zur Geschichte Alexanders des Großen (The Fittings of the History of Alexander the Great). If one is interested in the reconstruction of Droysen’s thoughts and methodological standards only the second edition is of any use. The many popular reprints (i.e. Tübingen 1952/1953, ed. Erich Bayer), where the critical apparatus appears in an abridged

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in 1836, on the history of Hellenism had been criticized for lacking source-critical principles.46 Based on a large number of studies of the sources of the Alexander history that appeared in the 1860s and 1870s47 Droysen presented a summarizing analysis of the literary records about Alexander the Great. The results of this analysis, in contrast to the work of Heyne and Heeren, directly entered into the historiographical representation and also resulted in a number of revisions of some of the positions of the first edition.48 In a detailed analysis of the extant passages of literary records on Alexander (all of which date from a relatively late time) Droysen reconstructs four important contemporary traditions which have found entry into the later reports in various ways. This analysis can be found in the first part of the appendix on the materials about the history of Alexander.49 According to Droysen, the extensive work of Callisthenes—an eye witness to the Alexander campaign, continually reporting about events during the campaign—represents the Macedonian opinion, as it prevailed in the army camp itself; the work apparently was explicitly written with the intention of winning over the mainland Greeks for Alexander’s politics.50 In addition, according to Droysen, there were a large number of other works by first-hand participants, e.g. reports about individual phases of the expedition, such as Nearchus’ report on the fleet’s expedition from India to the mouth of the Euphrates as led by him, and official business day-books that reported, diary-like, on events at court and on military and political decisions. 51 The later record was almost certainly partly based on the same official version, are entirely worthless in this respect. On Droysen, see Rüsen 1971, Jaeger 1994: 39-85. 46 Schmidt 1837: 19-51. 47 For details see Blanke 1985: 184, footnote 57. 48 The references are collected in the extensive appendix; the appendix also contains citations, and it discusses the theses of modern research and substantiates the conclusions drawn from the sources. For Droysen’s method of validating his own interpretations of the Alexander history by means of relevant source-critical footnotes, cf. the following passages Droysen 1877: vol. 1.1, 98, 269-71, 286, 361-366, vol. 1.2, 13, 90-94, 241-43, passim. The second edition contains a revised text. These footnotes are almost entirely lacking in the first edition. In the few passages where they do appear they are of a fundamentally different nature. Cf. Droysen 1833: 52, 174-176, 247-249, 351-357, 495-497. 49 Droysen 1877: vol. 1.2, 377-396. 50 Droysen 1877: vol. 1.2, especially 381. 51 Droysen 1877: vol. 1.2, 382 and 384.


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documents. Despite the sometimes extreme deviations in particular cases, this can be deduced from the structural similarity between the extant reports.52 A fourth tradition, apparently, drew from immediate experience while being clearly shaped by the reaction during the age of the diadochi. According to Droysen, the proponents of this movement were on the one hand Cleitarchus, who wrote rhetorically and with an anti-Macedonian, Hellenistic bias, and on the other, Ptolemy, the founder of Egypt’s Ptolemaic dynasty who, as a former comrade in arms of Alexander’s strove for historical truth and the correction of many implausible reports.53 On the basis of this typology of the traditions of the time, which, according to Droysen, entered into the later, extant reports, he further investigated the question of the use of documentary material by the classical authors.54 In the context of this paper, special notice should be taken of his investigations into Alexander’s correspondence and speeches. Droysen gives a general characterization of the epistolographical records that exist in a fragmentary form for the Alexander history. He follows this with criticising the authenticity of some of the letters which are of particular importance to the evaluation of historical events. 55 Droysen thus arrives at the conclusion that the correspondence between Darius and Alexander recorded in Arrian for the time immediately after the battle of Issus is without doubt authentic for a number of both external and internal reasons.56 In this context, Droysen explains the following: Then comes Darius’ letter after the battle of Issus ([Arrian: anab.] II. 14. 2-3) and Alexander’s response to it (II. 14. 4-9). The representations in Cleitarchus [i.e. the recorded reports in Curtius and Diodorus] give letter and reply in roughly the same place, but composed in such a way that there is material left-over for a second and third letter, whereas according to Arrian (II. 25. 3) there is instead of the second letter a verbal reply to Darius’ envoy, to the effect that the Great King was coming himself... The authenticity of the letter in Arrian is substantiated by Darius naming king Artaxerxes and by Alexander calling him Ochus in his reply, as well as the details (Specialitäten) about the violation of 52

Droysen 1877: vol. 1.2, especially 390, 391 and 392. Droysen 1877: 396-420. Droysen differentiates five kinds of documentary sources: state treatises, laws and directives, official diaries, letters (official, private, intimate) and speeches. 54 Droysen 1877: vol. 1.2, 399-405. 55 Droysen 1877: vol. 1.2, 268-271. 56 Droysen 1977 [1857]: 22, 283, 311, passim. 53

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the peace, which each party blamed on the other, in particular the reproach that the Persians boasted about having been involved in the murder of Philip..., that is in ‘open letters’ or manifestos.

The close link between philological textual criticism and criticism regarding content is typical. It necessarily presupposes solid knowledge both of the texts and of the events to be investigated and is thus essentially based on prior knowledge and understanding. Source criticism as practiced by Droysen is therefore an essentially hermeneutic procedure that already contains an element of interpretation. In other word, from the Enlightenment to historicism, hermeneutics gained a new functional status: it rose to a key discipline. According to Droysen’s useful formula, the task of historical studies is “understanding by research” (forschendes Verstehen).57 These, however, are not the only methodological innovations that came about during the step from Enlightenment to historicism. There is what Droysen called the ”criticism of the earlier and the later”. In addition to the “criticism of authenticity” and the ”criticism of accuracy” Droysen in his lectures on historics distinguished the “criticism of the earlier and the later”: this is a separate methodological procedure, which represents a special case, i.e. a function of the “criticism of accuracy”.58 Droysen always assumed that existing material never reflects the actual events and is inconsistent in many ways. According to Droysen, the task of a diacritical analysis is to establish whether the material is still the same as it once was, and if not, how it has changed. The extant material about historical events, which serves historians as a source, is thus understood to be itself 57 E. Benjamin Andrews has translated this phrase as follows: “The essence of historical method is understanding by means of investigation”, Droysen 1893: 12. 58 Droysen 1977: 116, 128-138 respectively 1937 [1882/83]: 99, 114-131. As the notorious references to Niebuhr, the Monumenta Germaniae historica and Ranke demonstrate, it is the development of this diacritic procedure in particular that appeared to the German historians to be the greatest achievement of the nineteenth century, even though the question has received unsatisfactory treatment in the relevant theoretical writings (this in turn almost certainly has to do with the specific characteristic of the mediation of the source-critical methods and the knowledge that has become established since the 1830s). As far as I know, the first and in the nineteenth century the only attempt to systematically reflect upon the essence and the tasks of historical source criticism can be found towards the end of the 1850s in Droysen’s historics. There, the achieved methodological standards, that were henceforth simply compulsory for any practical research, were captured. Within the theoretical discussions, Droysen’s explanations on diacritical source-criticism are something fundamentally new. They are the theoretical formulation of standards that emerged at the transition between the Enlightenment and historicism.


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subject to historical changes. The most important task of a diacritical analysis is thus the dismantling of the material into individual layers of written records in order to enable the separation of the original reports from subsequent additions and alterations.59 In the remaining text on the diacritic procedure Droysen does not deal with any individual problems of practical research; his examples mainly refer to the latest successes of diachronic linguistics.60 In his remarks on the “criticism of accuracy” and “source criticism” —which for Droysen is a special case of the criticism of accuracy— the central idea of diacrisis was taken up again, worked out in detail and made precise. In this context, Droysen assumed that any representation of historical events leads a peculiar double existence: On the one hand, it depicts certain historical actualities, and on the other, it is also a product of its own presence that does not have to coincide chronologically with the actualities depicted.61 It is not the aim of a source-critical analysis to prove the primary sources, as was demanded by the historical discipline during the Enlightenment, i.e. it did not set out to capture an individual author’s sources in particular; rather, it has to be oriented towards the reconstruction of the events reported in the sources.62 59

121.

Droysen 1977: especially 116, 128 and 132 respectively Droysen 1937: 99, 115,

60 Droysen 1977: 129-138; cf. 133-135 also on D.F. Strauss’ critical writings on the Bible. 61 Droysen 1977: 153 respectively Droysen 1937: 139. 62 Droysen’s remarks are to be understood as constructive criticism in two respects: (1) as a criticism of the methodological standards of pre-historicism and the historical discipline during the Enlightenment, and (2) as a general criticism of the inadequacy of previous theoretical reflection on historical criticism (Droysen 1977: 113 and 95). Droysen’s systematic-theoretical explanations are descriptions of the concrete research practice of his time and at the same time descriptions of standards of historical research still valid today. In some important respects, the description of the research practice leads to a criticism of historiography during the Enlightenment. Droysen thus complained that with respect to written records, Enlightenment history had remained at the level of skeptical rationalism and was an entirely uncritical attempt to reduce the extant material to a rational core in a totally “uncritical and unhistorical” way. (Droysen 1977: 140 and Droysen 1937: 123). The crucial progress that F.A. Wolf and Niebuhr made with their works is essentially the fact that they turned the source of knowledge itself into a subject for research (Droysen 1977: 113 and Droysen 1937: 95). Droysen also critically distanced himself from the witness credibility theory, which played a central role in the striving for historics during the Enlightenment: The focus of his remarks was no longer the question of a witness’ credibility or whether a particular author’s knowledge is due to his status as an eyewitness, but only the problem of the historical actualities themselves.

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Let us come back to Droysen’s source-critical studies on the Alexander historians: his comments on the speeches attributed to Alexander are particularly significant with regard to the methodological standards he achieved. These were binding for Droysen’s practical work in later years, in particular for what he called the ”criticism of the earlier and later.” By comparing several contradictory passages and their detailed analyses in Arrian, Droysen managed to establish that the breaks and contradictions in Arrian’s text are the result of a blending of different traditional layers. He then matched these layers to his previously developed typology and laid down the foundations for the reconstruction of historical actualities in his “criticism of the accurate”.63 Droysen’s source-critical studies, which serve as paradigmatic example of the methodological standards achieved through classical historicism differ fundamentally from the understanding of historical criticism in the works of Heyne and Heeren and generally from the methodology typical of Enlightenment history. Droysen consistently and above all reflectively applies the standards of a ”criticism of the earlier and the later”, which in Niebuhr were only tentatively tested and intuitively developed; for Droysen, historical criticism is directly functionally tied to the historiographical representation; source criticism, together with hermeneutics and interpretation as a major aspect, is the focus of the historical method: The original source texts are disentangled and (re-) constructed into an entirely new text, which does not as such exist any more. The source text only emerges through the process of the criticism of the written records: materially extant texts are dissolved and a new “source text” is created in and through the process of source criticism. Although Droysen’s interpretation of the Alexander history is methodologically without a doubt the most mature compared with Heyne’s, Heeren’s and Niebuhr’s, it nonetheless contains a fundamentally subjective element. For Droysen’s “understanding by research” is necessarily based on assumptions that do not have to be shared inter-subjectively. Droysen’s assessment of the correspondence between Alexander and Darius as recorded by Arrian64 is essentially dependent on three factors: a) it is dependent on the essentially 63 See for instance Droysen’s remarks on the speeches given by Alexander before the battle of Issus in Droysen 1877, vol. 1.2, 412-415. 64 Arrian: anab. II, 14, 1-9; Droysen 1877, vol. 1. 2: 402-420; quoted above p. 301302.


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positive evaluation of Arrian’s text (to be precise: his favored authors Ptolemy and Aristobulus), 65 b) on the assumption that when Arrian used “less reliable” source texts as well as his main sources he labelled them OHJRPHQD , and finally c) on the conclusion that the lack of such a reference to a written record os legomena monon hyper Alexandrou anagrapha66 suggests that the relevant information is from Ptolemy or Aristobulus and thus authentic. Beyond it Droysen deals with the classical parallel records67 by bringing them into context with his interpretation of Arrian’s text. He also refers to terminological nuances and familiarity with historical details that could only have been known to contemporaries. This, according to Droysen, is an indication of the authenticity of the letters concerned. At first sight, Droysen’s interpretation seems plausible; it is however by no means necessary. Accurate details, for example, do not have to indicate “the authenticity of the letters”, as Droysen suggested, but rather they could be the work of a skillful forger—or perhaps even Alexander’s deliberate propaganda, i.e. contemporary but nevertheless not authentic. The considerable differences between Arrian’s letters on the one hand and those of Diodorus, Curtius and Justin on the other are covered up rather than discussed. There is certainly no convincing explanation for them. And finally: If one were to judge the Arrian text a little less positively, the assessment of the correspondence could be entirely different. In his analysis of the speech Alexander gave before the battle of Issus as recorded by Arrian,68 Droysen once again raises the question of source. In the middle of Arrian’s account of this speech there is a reference to a légatai record. 69 The question suggests itself as to whether Arrian only then started to rely upon a tradition that does not originate from Ptolemy or whether perhaps the entire report stems from someone other than his main informant. Droysen strongly favors the second possibility for two reasons: the speech strongly reminds him of the “conventional rhetoric of the school” (it is, according to Droysen, entirely inappropriate as a first commander’s speech to his 65 Cf. Droysen 1877, vol. 1.2: 377, against Lucian’s negative estimation of Aristobulus. 66 The formulation is Arrian’s (anab.I, 1,3). 67 Diodorus XVII, 39, 1-2; Curtius IV, 1, 7-14; Justin XI, 12, 1-4, 9-18. 68 Droysen 1877, vol. 1.2: 412-15 on Arrian: anab. II, 7, 3-9. Cf. Arrian: anab. II, 10, 2; Justin XI, 9, 4; Curtius III, 10, 4-10; 11, 9; Diodorus XVII, 33, 1. 69 Arrian: anab. II, 7, 8.

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brave soldiers); secondly, he takes exception to the fact that the speech mentions Illyrian reserve units that are not mentioned anywhere else in Arrian, “the only reliable source for military matters”.70 The second objection is certainly a strong argument for Droysen’s thesis that the speech is not authentic. Otherwise one would have to name good reasons why the Illyrians alone were so stubbornly ignored by Arrian. The most plausible explanation would indeed be that the Arrian text is not as reliable as Droysen thought. The first objection is of course based on the assumption that Alexander could not have acted in this particular way because that would have contradicted a certain military code of virtue—a code of virtue which is obviously assumed to be universally valid and therefore also binding for Alexander. Droysen, no doubt, projected his own values onto the interpretation of the source. And what is more, he presupposes a positive assessment of Alexander. If, on the other hand, one is convinced of Alexander’s despotic nature one would tend to regard the speech as authentic—precisely because it so contemptuous and arrogant. Droysen’s arguments support each other; but taken individually, they are by no means conclusive. My critical remarks should not however be understood as petty objections to Droysen’s interpretation but rather as a necessary reference to the often overlooked presuppositions of historical research, of which Droysen, however, was well aware, as his Historics shows. Droysen himself described the historical process of gaining knowledge as a hermeneutic “circle”71 and thus emphasised the inter-dependent connection between a gradually progressing interpretation and the inclusion of provisional results for a further refined interpretation. The metaphor of the circle, on the one hand, contains the idea that the historian succeeds in advancing from the periphery that are the immediately given sources to the centre of historical actualities. On the other hand, it accurately expresses the situation, even if only reluctantly recognised, in which the historian finds himself if he fails to make his own assumptions explicit: he is the prisoner of precisely his own assumptions.

70 Arrian: anab. II, 7, 5. But cf. the account of the Illyrians by Diodorus XVII, 17, 4; Curtius III, 10, 10; IV, 13, 31; VI, 6, 35; Justin XI, 9, 4. 71 Droysen 1977 [1857]: 162 respectively 1937 [1881/82]: 151.


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III The achievement of Enlightenment in the area of historical method mainly consisted in refining and systematizing individual sourcecritical standards, as well as developing and establishing a canon of ancillary skills. This achievement, which for a long time was regarded as relatively unimportant in the historians’ understanding, can hardly be over-estimated. This should not, however, obscure the fact that a crucial change—one could even call it a paradigm shift—took place from Enlightenment to historicism: a change that opened up entirely new possibilities of interpretation. The success achieved by the methodological operations of source criticism and hermeneutic understanding were overwhelming. These incontestable success of source criticism, however, did almost entirely obscure their limits; the result was that they became dominant and thus the question of the possibility of a theoretical conceptualization of problems was ignored. From a historical-scientific point of view, these successes resulted in the loss of the understanding of source criticism as a necessary element of interpretation and the abandonment of an open discourse. This success made it possible to forget the achievements of Enlightenment history even in those areas where Enlightenment seemed to be an unredeemed legacy and a challenge to modern history rather than a mere bygone epoch within the history of the discipline.

IV As far as it is possible to tell, the process of the scientification of history started in Germany; in other European countries and in North America this process took place with a certain phase shift. In England, to mention just one example, historiography only became established as a scientific discipline during the First World War.72 What is crucial, however, is that the predicate “scientific”, unlike in Germany, was not tied to the mastery of the historical method, but rather to the publication of specialist journals and the remodelling of universities according to the German example whereas academic historical studies 72 Cf. Hay 1977: 169-185, 205-208; Kenyon 1983; Osterhammel 1993, especially 168-175. In England the discipline of historical studies was established at the turn of the nineteenth to the twentieth century.

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have not yet been monopolized in England.73 In England, a specialist journal, the English Historical Review, was founded in 1886, and the Royal Historical Society was reorganized from an “essentially amateur group” whose outstanding series of publications, the Transactions, was “undistinguished and certainly not works of historical scholarship”, into an organization of professional historians at the turn of the nineteenth to the twentieth century. The Historical Association, which was primarily devoted to the improvement of teaching, was established in 1906 and the Institute of Historical Research was founded as part of the University of London in 1921 bearing a slight resemblance to the Historische Kommission.74

V The process of professionalization can be followed at different levels: at the level of dissertations and theses—final university examinations (Staatsexamen), doctoral theses and postdoctoral theses (Habilitationsschriften), and at the level of the institution of history seminars,75 as well as at the level of specialist history journals.76 Even schools have been affected by this, as is evidenced by the so-called Schulprogrammschriften (annual reports of German grammar schools, including scholarly articles by teachers) that purported to be scientific.77 The consequences of this process become particularly obvious when one investigates the occupational group “historians”, or rather the development of the career pattern ”academic historian”. For historians were a rather heterogeneous group: monks, private scholars (i.e. interested laymen), librarians, archivists and employees of scientific academies. The title of ‘court historiographer’ was an honorary title in the seventeenth century and did not describe a real function. 78 Only at the beginning of the last third of the eighteenth century did the professional historian begin to develop. 73 Emphasis her is on Osterhammel 1993: 165. On the German “model” cf. Dockhorn 1950. 74 See Goldstein 1982: 184, 186, 1983, 1990; Soffer 1987. 75 Cf. Blanke 1994. 76 Cf. Salzbrunn 1967; Blanke 1998. 77 Cf. Jung 1985. 78 See the research project by Arno Strohmeyer, Vienna.


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The process of the scientification of historical thought which we have just followed at the level of source criticism can generally be followed through both theory and practice of Enlightenment historiography, and also at the institutional level: especially at the level of the filling of history chairs. History chairs have existed to some extent since Late Humanism; on a grand scale, however, they were not set up until the beginning of the eighteenth century.

VI Despite the often significant differences between historicism and Enlightenment historiography, there is nevertheless a steady process of scientification in many respects. Towards the end of the nineteenth century, the subject ‘history’ had become well established in the German universities. It was in fact institutionalized to such an extent that new chairs were not created for “history” in general, but for the individual sub-areas of the three great epochs of Antiquity, the Middle Ages and the Modern Era. This differentiation and specialization, which continues to this day, marks the intermediate conclusion of a long process of institutionalization of history as a subject. (1) The setting up and occupation of history chairs cannot of course be considered in isolation from the general state of the universities. Generally, there was a turning-point for German universities at the turn of the eighteenth to the nineteenth century, which is marked structurally by the closing down of a number of universities and otherwise by a fundamental reform of the university system. In this context, many regional, denominational and sovereignty-related peculiarities have to be considered. For the development of historical studies as a specialist subject in its own right this means that in the middle and in the second half of the eighteenth century there were a number of very different career patterns for historians; one must distinguish between different types of universities. For it is not insignificant whether a university was supported by a free imperial city, a religious order, or a secular or religious territorial lord. For our purpose it seems sufficient and practical to distinguish principally between Catholic and Protestant universities and then to differentiate within each of these groups.

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The 23 Catholic universities that existed in the German-speaking area during the eighteenth century, no less than six namely Innsbruck, Breslau, Fulda, Bamberg, Bonn and Münster were newly established. According to the enlightened conception of science they can be, at least indirectly, divided into three idealized sub-groupings. It will have to be taken into consideration, however, that in the course of historical development the “status” of individual universities changes. (a) I need not talk about those universities where history was either not taught at all, as at the University of Paderborn or where history was not represented by its own separate professorship but, as it were, rather was practiced at the margins, in the context of entirely different teaching positions as was the case in Fulda and in Bamberg, the lecturers in question, as far as can be made out, have not been in any way prominent either as historiographers or historical researchers. (b) The situation was similar for those Catholic universities whose syllabus was mostly dictated by the order of Jesuits. Although the Jesuit ratio studiorum, 1599, which did not consider history as a separate subject, was relaxed considerably after the beginning of the eighteenth century, even at Jesuit universities, and introduced history as a subject with its own professorships,79 the typical academic career of members of the order virtually prohibited the development of an “historian”. The young monks were sent to university to complete their studies in theology and philosophy, whereupon they returned to the monastery. Later, they were used as grammar school teachers in an educational cycle of four to five years. A few Jesuits were appointed to a chair at one of the universities of the order where they initially taught in the philosophy department for a few years, later perhaps in the theology department or less often in the law department. Most commonly, however, they returned to the monastery and either stayed there or became grammar school teachers or held a pastorate. The result was a rapid turnover of teaching staff. In Dillingen, just to mention one example, the years between 1738 and 1773 saw no less than twelve different Jesuits appointed as history professors. Only

79 Namely 1718 in Freiburg, 1722 in Trier, 1727 in Ingolstadt, 1729 in Vienna and in Graz, 1732 in Olmütz, 1738 in Dillingen and Innsbruck, 1744 in Breslau, 1746 in Prague, finally 1757 in Mainz.


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very rarely, twice to be precise, was a Jesuit appointed to another university as a historian.80 This system was not very effective from today’s point of view: it resulted in a permanent rotation of staff that did not even have much of a basic grounding in the subject and thus did not allow the development of qualified historians in principle. But that was not the aim of the Jesuits’ study program anyway, rather, their aim was to impart general knowledge, not to offer a specifically subject-related qualification. History, in continuation of the humanist-rhetorical tradition, was viewed as part of the preparatory instructions in philosophy, not as a discipline in its own right. A history professor could thus largely limit himself to presenting facts from his own handbooks, that were assumed to be sound. The topics of the new subject area where as follows: universal history, European state history, of course church history, and finally the territorial and dynastic history of the German Empire and occasionally genealogy. The history professor did not have to produce any research, nor did he have to introduce to his students any specific topics or even the methods of historical research, i.e. the historical ancillary sciences. It is thus not surprising that theoretical reflections about the tasks and principles of the subject, an historics, did not exist in universities of this type.81 In universities like Vienna, where the history chair was not occupied by a succession of Jesuits but rather, fairly long-term, by a single non-Jesuit, any tendencies towards professionalization were obstructed by the system itself: The professors were either not paid at all or, as was the case for J.I. Roderique in Cologne, they were paid so little that great academic achievements could not be expected. To be able to support himself, the historian was forced to take on a timeconsuming second job. Thus, Roderique directed his attention entirely to his journalistic inclinations—the editing of the famous Gazette de Cologne—and finally resigned from the professorship in Cologne. Most Jesuit universities saw an independent history chair as more or less dispensable. In fact, the impetus to set up a history chair did not 80 These were I. Schwarz (Freiburg, Ingolstadt) and M. Peintner (Innsbruck, Freiburg). J.B. Fackler, M. Schwaikhofer and H. Eha, who had occupied more than one chair of history, and did not publish a single article on history. (This is also true for Peintner.) Their time as history professor was a short episode only. On Schwarz see Dickerhof 1971. 81 Cf. Blanke et al. 1983, 1984.

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come from the universities themselves but from outside. The Landstände in Breisgau endowed the history chair in Freiburg on the explicit condition that professors not change too often; after a very promising initial period, the position was filled so inadequately that it was abandoned in 1767. The council decision passed in 1723 in Cologne to set up a history chair was initially deliberately ignored, Roderique’s chair remained vacant. Only in 1786, after the founding of the electoral University of Bonn—in explicit opposition to the city University of Cologne—a new history chair was set up in Cologne to recapture its former attractiveness. (c) A different picture emerged at universities where the Jesuit order no longer held the educational monopoly. This was the case in the universities of Erfurt and Heidelberg, which contained both Roman Catholics and Protestants; in Trier after the Theresian university reform the domination of the Jesuits was broken in 1764 and teaching was taken over by the Benedictines. In Würzburg and especially in the Benedictine University in Salzburg the ending of the Jesuit monopoly happened, too. After the disintegration of the Jesuit order in 1773, most Catholic universities were re-organized, which of course immediately affected the subject of history as well. Although former Jesuits still sometimes carried on teaching, in general, a new career pattern emerged for the Catholic universities, which largely corresponded to the practices of the medium-sized Protestant universities. The majority of the newly-appointed professors between 1774 and 1800 were either secular priests—mostly theologians who had previously worked as parish priests and/or school teachers—or they were trained lawyers.82 The university reforms of Heidelberg and of Mainz in 1784 and 1786, resp. did not exert any immediate influence on the history courses or on the filling of the history chairs; rather, they mainly served to establish developments that had been initiated some time previously. F.A. Dürr, a former student at Mainz, had completed his history degree at Göttingen and had then returned to Mainz. There, he had 82

Amongst the 35 people who had been newly appointed history professor at a Catholic university (due to its special status, the University of Salzburg is being ignored in this context) and for whom there is relevant information, 3 were religious (Benedictine, Augustinian), 18 were secular priests and 10 were lawyers. During this period, there were altogether 6 former Jesuits who were professors of history.


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obtained a professorship in constitutional law and history, at first an extraordinary one and later (in 1757) a full professorship, which he exchanged for a professorship in theology in 1775. For Dürr, the University of Göttingen served as a model, with regard to the conception of scientific research generally as well as with regard to the teaching of history. His proposals for reform of the University of Mainz (1782) were comprehensive to the extent that they remained unconsidered when the reform was carried out. Amongst other things, he demanded compulsory publication for all professors. At the universities mentioned above, in contrast to the practices at the Jesuit universities, professorships were occupied long-term. The practice was a success: each of these professors eventually emerged as writers of history. While none of the 14 history professors from Dillingen have left any historical writings, 83 the history professors of the third type of university had drawn attention to themselves as authors of specialist works. It has to be borne in mind, however, that these publications were to a large extent only brief disputations, compilations for textbooks, or polemic literature, such as refutations of Protestant historical representations and interpretations; nothing in keeping with scientific research. Occasionally, these handbooks were simply adaptations of the works of Protestant historians. J.Ph. Praetorius from Trier, for example, wrote a Latin version of J.J. Maskov’s history of the old German Empire (1745). There are however some innovative works as well. So the Benedictine A. Schelle from Salzburg, produced the two-volume Outline of Universal History (1780/81), which need not shrink from the comparison with similar works of the time; and M.I. Schmidt from Würzburg, to mention just one more example, wrote a History of the Germans (1778ff), which is justifiably famous to this day. The University of Bonn, which was founded in 1786, closed down in 1798, due to the turmoil associated with the French Revolution; during the short time of its existence, however, history was outstandingly well represented in three faculties: by F. Cramer, J. Schmelzer, and the church historian D.A. Spitz. All three produced a significant number

83

There are reliable data about publications for 98 (= 75 %) of the historians who had taught at Catholic universities prior to 1800. According to these data, only 37 (= 38 %) of these wrote or published specialist historical works. The percentage overall is probably even smaller, since the lack of relevant bibliographical references seems to suggest that the people concerned did not produce any works.

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of scholarly publications, and Cramer and Spitz even wrote small programmatic papers on theoretical history. The latter was indeed unusual for Catholic historians: Of the 130 Catholics who at some point held a chair in history, during the eighteenth century, only six, as far as we can tell, dealt with problems of theory and philosophy of history. Only the Benedictine A. Design wrote a comprehensive historics (of the ancillary-encyclopaedic type):84 his multi-volume Auxilia Historica (1733); together with the Viennese J.B. de Gaspari, Design seems to have been the only eighteenth century Catholic history professor who had already written a substantial historical work when appointed to a full professorship. The Protestant universities can be divided into two groups: (d) the smaller universities, which often had to fight for their survival and many of them disintegrated around the end of the eighteenth century,85 where history was often poorly represented and (e) the medium-sized and larger universities and (f) the University of Göttingen, which had a special status. (d) The smaller Protestant universities, too, had their own history chairs, although the holders often filled several professorships simultaneously. The history professorship was not only linked to poetry and/or rhetoric 86 or ethics 87 as in the case of the faculty of philosophy, but also to church history88 in the theology faculty or with constitutional law, statistics or politics 89 (as in the law and occasionally the philosophy faculty); even formally independent pro84

204.

For differentiation of the several types of tradition see Blanke et al. 1983: 191-

85 These were: Straßburg 1792, Altdorf and Helmstedt 1809, Rinteln 1810, Frankfurt/O. 1811, Erfurt 1816, Herborn and Wittenberg 1817, Aschaffenburg, Duisburg and Harderwijk 1818. The University of Bützow (1758) was re-united with the University of Rostock in 1789; the newly-founded University of Stuttgart (1782) was turned into a grammar school (Gymnasium) in 1792. The Catholic universities listed below were closed: Olmütz 1781, Graz and Innsbruck 1782, Bonn, Cologne, Mainz und Trier 1798, Bamberg 1803, Dillingen 1804, Fulda and Lemberg 1805, Innsbruck (re-opened in 1791) 1810, Paderborn 1818. 86 As in Helmstedt, Halle, Tübingen and Straßburg (until 1702, 1703, 1738 and 1756, respectively), in Duisburg, Kiel and Marburg, also in Harderwijk, Herborn, Heidelberg and Stuttgart, and finally in Graz (until 1773). 87 In Greifswald (until 1755) and in Halle (1703-1732), also in Salzburg, Ingolstadt, Breslau and in Graz (after 1763). 88 Cf. Scherer 1927: 213-273, 275-390. 89 Law faculty: Erfurt, Heidelberg, also Innsbruck, Prag, Mainz and Bonn; philosophy faculty: Halle, Wittenberg, Helmstedt, and Trier. In Olmütz the chair of the history of the Empire was even institutionalized in the theology faculty.


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fessorships were often merged for purely economic reasons, so that one person held several chairs at the same time.90 In addition to this, the usual university professors often had to teach in the local grammar schools in addition to fulfilling their academic engagements (that was the regulation in Basel and was practiced in Giessen); in the eighteenth century, the newly created position of university librarian was linked with the history professorship.91 Considering the scarce resources and low student numbers, there was of course no alternative. The practice of holding several professorships had various consequences for specialist training. G. A. Will, who, in addition to the professorships for rhetoric, politics and finally logic, also held the chair of history, nevertheless mainly published on history,92 while the literary activities of his historical colleague J. Ph. L. Withof from Duisburg did not go beyond so-called scholarly poetry. At these universities, too, the history professorship was often only a transitional stage to a more respected and therefore better paid professorship within the theology or law faculties, or it functioned as a springboard to the board of directors of one of the newly-created or at least re-organized state, i.e. royal archives. Often enough, if the opportunity presented itself, a history professorship was exchanged for another one; alternatively, a political-administrative position was taken on in preference to an academic one.93 The universities of Marburg and Rinteln had a virtually hierarchical sequence of professorships, with the history chair occupying one of the lowest steps on the career ladder. The number of such transfers did however dramatically decrease during the second half, and in particular during the last quarter of the eighteenth century. There was already a counter-movement, and it occasionally happened that somebody voluntarily resigned from his professorship in the law faculty in order to devote himself entirely to history which happened in the case of Buder, successor to the late 90

This happened 27 times altogether (128 persons). During the eighteenth century, the position of university librarian was held by at least 22 history chairs. It is however an exception that M. Huber, in addition to holding a history professorship (1796-1814), also worked as a pharmacist and practicing doctor from 1801. 92 See Blanke 1984: 215-218. 93 At least 25 times (21 %) during the eighteenth century, 20 of those during the first half. (I.e., in the second half of the century, the proportion of history professors resigning from their posts in order to move to a higher faculty was only 9 %.) Transfers into politics: 5, into the pastorate: 6, into archive and 3 into library services. 91

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B.G. Struve. In some cases, the discrepancy in salary which generally existed between the professorships in the law faulty and those in the philosophy faculty, were almost reversed during Late Enlightenment: this happened when a historian lent particular attractiveness to the university in which he taught which was the case with J.A. Remer from Helmstedt and also with J.D. Köhler from Göttingen. (e) This new attractiveness was especially true for the better equipped Protestant universities that were the original reform universities. There, the historian played quite an independent role; he was after all rewarded well enough to live off the tasks associated with his position alone. These professorships were occupied full-time—at the 28 Protestant universities of Enlightenment historians worked an average of 18 years each; often enough it was death or inability to work due to illness that ended their academic careers. Apart from a very small percentage (14 %) of them, these history chairs produced specialist literature: they edited and collected sources, wrote source-critical studies, specialized monographs and/or historiographical syntheses, and increasingly, they were editors of specialist journals, and last but not least produced historico-theoretical works.94 During the 1760s and 1770s, history developed into an independent form of academic teaching at universities of this type; from the 1780s onwards, lectures on theoretical history were part of the repertoire of history teaching at these universities. Historics adopted various functions of subject-specific professionalization. It was set up as a new and independent text genre only in the course of its increasing scientification during Late Enlightenment. While historians like J. Chr. Neu from Tübingen and A. Westphal from Greifswald published history treatises as early as Early Enlightenment 1700, and 1729 resp. where the humanist-rhetorical conception of history was captured once again, the principles of history as a specialist subject were systematically developed and established in the wake of the theoretical efforts of the second half of the century. Reflections of this kind featured heavily in the publications and lectures; a representative example of those participating in the discussion is J. Chr. Gatterer,

94

On the last topic mentioned, see the statements by Blanke et al. 1983: 216-255.


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who from 1761 onwards published a large number of basic texts95 and regularly held lectures on historics. (f) In the eighteenth century, the University of Göttingen was exceptional in many respects. As early as the 1730s, when the university was founded, it was clear to all those responsible that history was to be represented by its own professorship. Moreover, everybody agreed that the new position was to be filled by a competent historian. In Göttingen, history was represented not only by its own professorship within the philosophy faculty and in “politics” and ”statistics”, but also—in the law faculty—by a chair of constitutional law, the holder of which was mainly responsible for history of the Empire, and finally by numerous extraordinary professorships and Privatdozenten (senior lecturers), who lectured on diverse historical subject areas. The Göttingen philosophy professor Chr. Meiners gave so many lectures on the history of philosophy, customs (historical anthropology), religion and mankind including his publications of various works that he was selected for the special chair for cultural history. Amongst historians, Göttingen was thus justifiably seen as the best university in Germany. Not only did it have by far the most diverse range of taught courses but Göttingen’s historians also represented, co-created and updated the current state of knowledge of the subject. Considering these circumstances, it is no surprise to learn that 36 % of all new professors between 1780 and 1815 had studied at Göttingen for a period of time. (2) It is remarkable how very few of those who later held a history chair actually set out to become “historians”: 96 Almost all future historians started their studies with the expressed aim of studying theology or law—in fact, a large number obtained a degree from theology or law faculties and not from a philosophy faculty. 97 But those who primarily or even exclusively completed their studies in the philosophy faculty often dealt mainly with philosophy or, more often, 95 The influential texts of Gatterer and those of other authors have been published by Blanke/Fleischer 1990, 1991: 290-385. 96 Paragraphs (2)-(4) mainly refer to the Protestant universities. 97 We know about the academic backgrounds of 93 persons who held a history chair between 1700 and 1800: no fewer than 83 (= 89 %) studied either theology or law; 56 (= 60 %) were theologians.

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with classical philology or ancient history; history was, if offered at all, one subject amongst many. There was no specialized educational path for the budding historian that had to be developed yet. The history chair in Freiburg for example, which as late as 1798 was awarded in Konkursverfahren, i.e. in a procedure that did not evaluate qualifications within a discipline but recommendations by their own admission, did not require any specialist knowledge at a time, when universities like Göttingen and Helmstedt already had very clear ideas about the qualifications of a professional historian). Often it was the case that people only started to engage seriously in history once they were offered a professorship. When that happened, however, their achievements were sometimes well above average, and one could in fact go as far as to say that such an offer itself was reason enough for many of them to make a name for themselves—not so much in order to justify the trust placed in them, but rather because the institutional and mainly the material prerequisites had been established. As far as the Protestant universities are concerned, newly appointed professors had increasingly drawn attention to themselves as authors of outstanding historical studies and works before receiving their offers.98 A small number of universities appointed historians from elsewhere who were already specialists in their subject. Göttingen and Erlangen were two of them, who appointed J.D. Köhler, formerly of Altdorf and J.G. Meusel, formerly of Erfurt, respectively. None of them of course held formal degrees, there being no established history degrees at the time, but all of them had published a number of specialist works. Despite all their individual biographical differences, almost all holders of history chairs in the eighteenth century had one thing in common: they were experienced teachers. They had either worked as private tutors or looked after the studies of aristocratic or wealthy middle-class pupils as so-called court tutors in which function they might have accompanied them on their educational trips or “cavalier’s tours”. In most cases, they had also worked as teachers in publicly maintained schools. Some of them performed two or three of those

98

This is true for at least 19 (= 15 %) of the relevant Protestant history professors. Amongst them are such eminent historians as Struve and Buder from Jena, and J.G. von Eckhard or Gatterer from Göttingen, but also scholars who have fallen into oblivion for no good reason, like A.Chr. Borheck from Duisburg or M. Schmeitzel from Halle.


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functions consecutively. 99 A fourth possibility of earning a living before being appointed to a professorship was as assistant or private secretary to a rich private individual or professor. Although the skills necessary for these occupations—proof-reading, writing excerpts, finding references, perhaps drawing up a library catalogue—were primarily of a purely technical nature, they were nonetheless useful skills for the acquisition of specialist knowledge. A number of historians who later became famous started their careers in this way, among them Buder from Jena and J. D. Schöpflin from Strasbourg. These occupations were usually carried out until the person was usually appointed as extraordinary professor which lasted on average for about ten years, and in extreme cases more than twenty. Another common job that preceded a history professorship during the Enlightenment was that of pastoral worker, often in connection with a job as a school teacher. During Enlightenment it was relatively unusual for someone to plan an academic career from the outset; only 24 % of those holding history chairs between 1750 and 1800 did have other jobs before. But even in those cases, the decision to become a historian was not always made from the beginning. In the philosophy faculty in Göttingen, Heeren, to mention just one example, held an extraordinary professorship from 1787 and an ordinary one from 1794 without a precise characterization of the subject; during the first ten years of his teaching career, he gave lectures in philology as well as history, and his decision to concentrate on history came as late as 1787. (3) As far as the question of the influence of social origin on an academic career is concerned, the statistical evaluation of the empirical findings presents an extremely heterogeneous picture. One thing however is certain: during the second half of the eighteenth century, the proportion of historians from non-academic families was very high, at 45 %; all occupational groups were represented. If one takes into account the eighteenth century as a whole, the figure was clearly smaller (28 %), although the picture may be distorted due to insufficient data from the first half of the century. At 36 %, the 99 This is the case for at least 77 (= 64 %). Of those (some are counted more than once), 46 (= 60 %) worked as court tutors or private tutors, 40 (= 52 %) as teachers either in a grammar school or another ‘learned school’ and 9 (= 12 %) as private assistants. 10 (= 13 %) had been parish priests. Cf. in this context Fertig 1979.

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proportion of those coming from a clergy family was surprisingly high.100 Many managed to climb up the class ladder only by means of their education and thanks to their achievements as scholars, occasionally even from being a poor day-laborer’s son to becoming a highlyrespected Hofrat. In individual cases, such as that of Schlözer, who was elevated to the nobility by Tsar Alexander II for his pioneering work on Russian history, Enlightenment historians were even given a title (2 %). G.A. Norrmann, who was appointed chair in Rostock, was the son of a poor bookbinder, and J.Chr. Gatterer from Göttingen was the son of a simple, uneducated soldier who was hostile to education: both of them had to finance their school education by tutoring their younger schoolfellows. Although their individual academic careers did not overcome corporative society as a system, they were nevertheless afforded the opportunity to weaken hierarchies of birthprivilege through the inclusion of professional and thus at least in consequence achievement-oriented criteria. I would like to mention in passing that the preferred subject-matter which Enlightenment historians dealt with in their publications and lectures corresponded to their understanding of their own social role: as far as both function and subject matter are concerned, Enlightenment historiography was a fundamentally bourgeois movement. (4) The changes described above were not without consequence for the status of history within the canons of subjects. History left behind its function as part of an introduction or as an ancillary science to other disciplines—sometimes this happened earlier, sometimes later, depending on the university. The engagement with history was increasingly regarded as being worthy of a separate course of study. While in 1734 one could still have serious doubts about whether history was an autonomous profession, 101 further developments unambiguously took the path towards its specialization. No later than the beginning of the last third of the eighteenth century, history was as a matter of course granted the status of an autonomous discipline.102 In 100 These lists are based on the evaluation of 61 biographies (= 51% of the entire group) and are thus to be viewed with reservation. The number of sons of Protestant theologians is probably even higher, since the description ‘school teacher’ (11 cases) often conceals a trained theologian. 101 Kappen 1734: 8. 102 See for instance Will 1766, § 7 in Blanke/Fleischer 1990: vol. 1, 314.


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fact, the lawyer J. Möser from Osnabrück, who in 1768 published the first edition of his History of Osnabrück, in 1780 on the occasion of the publication of the second edition lamented that nowadays “the field of history ... requires a man’s whole diligence, and not merely a few hours”. Unfortunately, unlike historians at the universities, he could not take up the exploration of history full-time.103 While Möser readily conceded the superiority of professional historians, the altered attitude towards history was also reflected in the historians’ self-conception. Self-confidently, the historian is now characterized as a man of almost super-human ability,104 and this is an expression of an emancipated awareness of his own achievements cut off from corporative bonds: the historian’s professional ethos. At the time the re-evaluation of history within the traditional canon of subjects changed, did the nature of the task of the history professor change. As early as late Enlightenment the aim was no longer exclusively to impart a fixed canon of well-established historical knowledge, but rather to keep up with an ever expanding field of knowledge and even to produce new knowledge. Research and teaching, which up to then were institutionally separated and also with regard to staff, were now linked and systematically related to each other. And this is exactly what J.G.P. Möller, the historian from Greifswald, meant when he emphasized in his autobiographical notes that “a professor has to carry on studying to keep up with his era.” 105 And thus the values of the discipline of the scientific community fundamentally changed: It was no longer collegial relationships within the faculty and the university, or someone’s teaching skills that were crucial factors in deciding who should be appointed, but above all one’s qualification as a specialist researcher. The trustees of the University of Göttingen, for example, cited Heeren’s achievements as a critical historian as the reason for his appointment to full professor. 106 When Schlözer differentiated a historian’s activities into the various functions of collector, researcher, writer, painter, “magazinist” and teacher of history, he attributed most importance to his activity as researcher; without it, according to Schlözer, history was in danger of degenerating into mere fantasy.107 103

Möser 1780: VII. See Will 1766, § 100 in Blanke/Fleischer 1990: vol. 1, 342. 105 Möller 1783: 127. 106 See Blanke 1983: 145. 107 Schlözer 1784: 13-24, 594-599. 104

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(5) The further development of historical studies in the nineteenth century is characterized by its gradually continuing “subjectization”; without a doubt, the University of Göttingen served as a model for this development in the nineteenth century. The establishment of the Austrian Institute for Historical Research in Vienna (1857) and the institutionalization of history seminars in the different universities from 1832 on can be regarded as a temporary endpoint for this process:108 “historian”, i.e. “academic historian” has finally become a profession. These developments were not without consequence for the social selection of university historians, and historians no longer had to start their careers as private tutors or court tutors. The number of former school teachers also decreased: While the percentage of holders of history chairs who had previously worked as school teachers was 68 % in the first half of the nineteenth century and still 59 % between 1850 and 1880, during the three decades leading up to 1880 that had fallen to just under 54%. In this context, it should be taken into account that many future history professors saw a job as a grammar school teacher as a transitional stage and thus only practiced it for a few years, 40 % of them for less than three years. This may have been in order to use that time intensively to undertake research for their Habilitationsschrift. From the outset they often took on a position as a grammar school teacher in a university town with a view to this objective. After a doctorate was obtained, the teaching job was replaced by a job as assistant lecturer in one of the newly-founded institutes for publication and research and the profession of Privatdozent. A not insignificant 35 % of those newly-appointed between 1850 and 1880 worked in one of these research institutes for a period: most of them in one of the projects funded by the Historical Commission in Munich or on the Monumenta Germaniae Historica, while some worked in an archive or in an institution like the Corpus Inscriptionum Latinorum or in the Hansischer Geschichtsverein.109 During Enlightenment, a formal university degree evidently did not play a significant role in one’s future career even though family relationships alone were no longer sufficient, as they had been during

108 109

See in this context the articles and the documentary material in Blanke 1994. See Weber 1984: 59-187, 387-430.


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the seventeenth century.110 It was not only the number and type of academic degrees—Baccalaureus, Licentiat, Master’s degree and doctorate, as well as Dr. theol., jur. or phil.—that differed between universities, but the requirements set for the degrees varied greatly, too. Above and beyond the general statutes, there did not seem to be any obligatory study and examination regulations; those were controlled by common law alone. Only a small number of those appointed to a chair during the eighteenth century had gained the degree of DPhil. (11 %), although in some cases the doctorate was gained without producing a written piece of work and often even in absentia, i.e. without a viva. Occasionally, as was the case with G.G. Bredow, who was appointed history professor in Helmstedt in 1804, the awarding of a doctoral degree was merely a formal, if ceremonial, act: it was performed on taking up office as professor, without proof of further achievements.111 During the course of continuing “scientification” this soon began to change: the sophisticated system of entitlement of the nineteenth century, with its state and partially state-run controls finally led to the doctoral degree being an indispensable prerequisite for an academic career. Between 1850 and 1880, 98 % of newly appointed professors had gained a doctorate, most of them in the philosophy faculty (Dr. jur.: 4 %), although only some of them had written their thesis on a specifically historical subject, whether in the narrow or the wider sense (classical philology: 29 %). The presentation of a written piece of work was the necessary precondition for the successful completion of a doctoral procedure. With “scientification” the subject now took on the character of a specialization, which found expression in the proof of formal qualifications. This was the case not only for doctorates, but also for habilitations. In the eighteenth century, only a fraction of future history professors were habilitated;112 as far as can be seen, the venia 110

We know of only two cases in the eighteenth century of someone, as it were, “inheriting” the chair of history from his father H. D. Meibom from Helmstedt and the above mentioned Withof. 111 A number of other cases have been documented, for example Chr. G. Heinrich from Jena, F. Schiller’s much-maligned colleague. In one single day, Roderique from Cologne gained the degrees of Baccalaureus artium, Licentiatibus and Magister in artibus. M.C. Curtius was exempt from examination by the consent of the sovereign prince; without examination, he was declared Master of World Wisdom (Magister der Weltweisheit) in 1768. 112 Namely 16%. Cf. Busch 1959.

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legendi was not applied for and granted for “history”, but always generally for the entire philology faculty. What is more, in a number of cases the habilitation was primarily an administrative act and there was no need to produce any specific written or oral achievements. Frequently, the doctorate alone was regarded as sufficient for habilitation. In the first half of the nineteenth century, this was still common practice (24 %). Often enough, as was the case with M.Th. Contzen’s habilitation (Würzburg 1837), personal relationships were utilized to make up for the lack of formal qualifications. While between 1825 and 1850 fewer than 43 % of new professors were habilitated, between 1850 and 1880, this proportion rose to over 69%. Apart from a small number of exceptions, the history professorship was now no longer linked to secondary occupations like university librarian, as was still frequently the case in the eighteenth century. It became increasingly rare for individual lecturers to be appointed chair of history without having produced satisfactory achievements in some field as critical historians. Of course, outstanding achievements of synthesis were no longer in demand as much as independent source-critical examinations, editing projects or monographs on specialist topics; according to the newly defined historical self-conception of the discipline, the former always presupposed the latter. The new study practices corresponded to new combinations of subjects. During Enlightenment, history was linked to jurisprudence as far as content was concerned and to some extent also institutionally. The reason that many later history professors gained their first degrees primarily and later exclusively in law is thus almost self-explanatory. In my opinion, the common move from theology to history, however, which many historians made in the eighteenth and early nineteenth century, is to be interpreted differently: it is an indication of an advanced specialization. In the eighteenth century, apart from the close link with jurisprudence, there are no favored combinations of subjects with history. This was about to change, with lasting effect. During the course of the nineteenth century, the final university examination, i.e. Staatsexamen for grammar school teachers became an alternative independent degree in addition to the doctorate (65 % of newly appointed professors between 1850 and 1880); at the same time, classical philology became the preferred subject to be combined with history (69 %). On the one hand, this is without doubt an immediate


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consequence of the new regulations of the teacher training degree course, and on the other it is the result of the hermeneutization of history, which took place during the transition from Enlightenment to historicism. The graduate or, better, doctoral students, i.e. Doktoranden kept on becoming older; in the period between 1860 and 1880, they had an average age of 24 (1840-60: just under 23). Habilitation now increasingly took place from a relatively secure professional position, e.g. from a position as grammar school teacher, on average 5 years after gaining a doctorate. Completion of doctoral thesis to appointment as professor took an average of about 12 years, which means that the newly-appointed specialist historian was about 36 years of age. Such extreme age differences common during the Enlightenment— the youngest history chair (J.R. Huber) was 19 when he was appointed, the oldest ones were well over 50 and had never before held an academic teaching position—were no longer found in the middle of the nineteenth century. In this respect, too, the process of specialization had a unifying effect. As far as the social origin of future history professors is concerned, the percentage of those from an academic parental home is continually on the increase (57 % compared with 42 % of those newly appointed between 1850-80 and 1825-50, respectively), with the professional groups of grammar school teacher, parish priests/church ministers, and university lecturer being over-represented not only in the society as a whole, but also within academic professional groups. The occupational groups from the social sector ‘state and church’ now clearly dominate when compared with occupations from the agricultural and industrial sector. The social narrowing which goes hand in hand with increasing professionalization has its counterpart in the new definition of history in the transition from Enlightenment to historicism. While history during Enlightenment considered all conceivable socio-cultural phenomena, historicist history was to a large extent limited to political historiography in the narrow sense. Processes of industrialization, social issues and the whole field of nonintentional action in general were problems that did not play an important role for historicism. However, one might evaluate the redefinition of the content of historical research, as far as the social origins of the people dealing with it are concerned, a clear narrowing

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can be established compared with Enlightenment. The openness of Enlightenment turned into what was virtually a caste system. During the entire nineteenth century, only one person with a working-class background managed to gain a history chair, namely D. Schäfer, a docker’s son.


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lichen Gebäuden und besondern Seltenheiten der Natur und Kunst in sich begreift; ausgefertigt von Wilhelm Guthrie, Johann Gray, und andern in diesen Theilen der Wissenschaften berühmten Gelehrten. Aus dem Englischen übersetzt. Aus den Originalschriftstellern berichtigt, und mit einer fortlaufenden Zeitrechnung und verschiednen Anmerkungen versehen, Bde. 1-4 (General History of the World, From the Genesis to the Present Time…). Leipzig: Weidmann 1765-67; vols. 6.1 and 6.2, Leipzig: Weidmann 1768/69; vols. 7.1 and 7.2, Leipzig: Weidmann 1772. Jaeger, Friedrich (1994), Bürgerliche Modernisierungskrise und historische Sinnbildung. Kulturgeschichte bei Droysen, Burckhardt und Max Weber (The Crisis of Civil Modernisation and the Development of Historical Sense. Cultural History by Droysen, Burckhardt and Max Weber). Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Jarausch, Konrad H. (1986), “The Institutionalization of History in 18th-Century Germany”, in Bödeker, Hans Erich et al. (eds.) (1986), Aufklärung und Geschichte. Studien zur deutschen Geschichtswissenschaft im 18. Jahrhundert (Enlightenment and Historiography. Studies on the German Historical Studies in the 18th Century). Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 25-48. Jung, Rudolf (1985), “Die deutschen Schulprogramme. Erinnerungen an eine fast vergessene Publikationsform (The German Program-publications of Grammar Schools. Reminiscences on a Nearly Forgotten Genre)”, in Schoppet, Wolfgang (ed.) (1985), 300 Jahre Bibliothek des Gymnasiums zu Weilburg: 1685-1985 (300 Years Library of the Grammar School in Weilburg). Weilburg: Vorstand der ‘Vilinaburgia’, 86-95. Kappen, Johann Erhard (1734), “Vorrede. Wie man die Historie auf Schulen und Universitäten recht und pragmatisch zu treiben anfangen soll (Prologue. How to Begin Treating History at Schools and Universities Correctly and Pragmatically)”, in Gundling, Nicolaus Hieronymus (1734), Vollständige Historie der Gelahrtheit (Complete History of Erudition). Frankfurt a.M. and Leipzig: W.L. Spring, 1-44 (sep. pag.). Kenyon, John (1983), The History Men. The Historical Profession in England Since the Renaissance. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson Ltd. Kraus, Andreas (1963), Vernunft und Geschichte. Die Bedeutung der deutschen Akademien für die Entwicklung der Geschichtswissenschaft im späten 18. Jahrhundert (Reason and History. The Impact of German Academies on the Development of Historical Studies in Late 18th Century) Freiburg: Verlag Herder KG. Küttler, Wolfgang et al. (eds.) (1993-99), Geschichtsdiskurs. Bd. 1: Grundlagen und Methoden der Historiographiegeschichte, Bd. 2: Anfänge modernen historischen Denkens, Bd. 3: Die Epoche der Historisierung, Bd. 4: Krisenbewußtsein, Katastrophenerfahrungen und Innovationen 1880-1945, Bd. 5: Globale Konflikte, Erinnerungsarbeit und Neuorientierungen seit 1945 (The Discourse on History. Vol. 1. Foundations and Methods of the History of Historiography, vol. 2: The Beginning of Modern Historical Thinking, vol. 3: The Epoch of Historisation, vol. 4: The Consciousness of Crisis, the Experience of Catastrophes and Innovations, vol. 5: Global Conflicts, the Work of Remembering and New Orientations Since 1945). Frankfurt a.M.: Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag. Möller, Johann Georg Peter (1783), in Jetztlebendes gelehrtes Mecklenburg (Now Living Learned Scholars of Mecklenburg), edited by Koppe, Johann Christian (1783). Rostock and Leipzig, 121-132.

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1-24 (sep. pag.), reprint in Blanke, Horst Walter Blanke and Dirk Fleischer (eds.) (1990), Theoretiker der deutschen Aufklärungshistorie (Theorists of German Enlightenment’s Historiography) vol. 2. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: FrommannHolzboog, 590-599. Schmidt, Wilhelm Adolph (1837), “Johann Gustav Droysen: Geschichte des Hellenismus, Bd. 1, Hamburg 1836 (Johann Gustav Droysen: History of Hellenism, vol. 1, Hamburg 1836)”, in Neue Jahrbücher für Philosophie und Pädagogik, Jg. 17 (1837), vol. 19, 3-60. Scholtz, Gunter (ed.) (1997), Historismus am Ende des 20. Jahrhunderts. Eine internationale Diskussion (Historicm at the End of the 20th Century. An International Discussion). Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Seibert, Jakob (1972), Alexander der Große (Erträge der Forschung, Bd. 10) (Alexander the Great [Results of Research, vol. 10]). Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Soffer, Reba (1987), “Nation, Duty, Character and Confidence. History at Oxford 1850-1914”, in Historical Journal 30 (1987), 77-104. 2 Vossius, Gerhard Johann (1623, 1651), De historicis Graecis libri IV (Four Books on Greek Historians). Leiden: I. Maire. Walser, Gerold (1956), “Zur neueren Forschung über Alexander den Großen (On New Research Works about Alexander the Great)”, in Schweizer Beiträge zur allgemeinen Geschichte 14 (1956), 156-89. Walther, Gerrit (1993), Niebuhrs Forschung (Niebuhr’s Research). Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Weber, Wolfgang (1984), Priester der Klio. Historisch-sozialwissenschaftliche Studien zu Herkunft und Karriere deutscher Historiker und zur Geschichte der Geschichtswissenschaft 1800-1970 (The Priests of Clio. Historical-social Studies on the Descents and Careers of German Historians and on the History of Historical Studies, 1800-1970). Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang. Witte, Barthold C. (1979), Der preußische Tacitus. Aufstieg, Ruhm und Ende des Historikers Barthold Georg Niebuhr 1776-1831 (The Prussian Tacitus. Ascent, Fame and End of the Historian Barthold Georg Niebuhr 1776-1831). Düsseldorf: Droste Verlag.

IDEOLOGY AND HISTORY: YAO JIHENG’S CRITICIAL SCHOLARSHIP AND THE IDEOLOGY OF NEW HISTORICAL SCIENCE (XIN SHIXUE) Kai-Wing Chow 1. Introduction: Ideology and History Historians who seek to record the truth of the past objectively may find that their truths have to be established first by disproving the “truths” other have presented. In order to claim veracity for their own truths, historians often point to the “sinister intentions” of the author of their sources, the use of “dubious evidence”, or a systematic distortion resulting from an ideological stance inscribed through various paratextual means: commentaries, prefaces, title of book, authorship, etc. 1 The ideology is invisible, since it has assumed the form of the methodology itself. It is disguised as a criticism of errors and duplicity and as a disinterested quest for truth. History continues to reinvent itself as a new ideology while a new form of criticism topples the truth of another ideology. History itself is a tool used both for constructing truth and for deconstructing ideology. If ideology and truth are twins that resemble each other, history is like the mirror image of the twin. There are as many twins as there are mirrors constructed in different frames. And the surfaces of the mirrors are never clean and flat. The “New History”(xin shixue ᮄ৆ᅌ) advocated by Hu Shi 㚵䘽 (1891-1962) and his followers, such as Gu Jiegang 主䷵࠯ (18931980) and Qian Xuantong 䣶⥘ৠ (1887-1939), is just such a new mirror constructed to reveal the historical truth of China. Ironically, their new mirror was constructed out of an ideology they discovered in native scholarly works by Cui Shu የ䗄 (1740-1816) and Yao Jiheng ྮ䱯ᘚ (1647-1715) of the Qing period (1644-1911).2 Yao Jiheng was a classical scholar whose name remained obscure throughout the Qing 1 The use of the concept “paratext” is based on the theory developed by Gerald Genette 1997. 2 For the dates of Yao Jiheng, see Gu Jiegang, “Gu-jin Weishukao Xu” (সҞّ᳌ 㗗 ᑣ Preface to A Comprehensive Study of Falsified Books), and Yoshihiro Murayama ᴥ ቅ ঢ় ᒷ , “Yao Jiheng de Xuewen” ( ྮ 䱯 ᘚ ⱘ ᅌ ଣ Yao Jiheng’s Scholarship), in Lin Qingzhang 1996: 49-50, 283-285.

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period, but in the hands of Hu Shi and Gu Jiegang he became one of the pioneering figures in fashioning a new historical scholarship in the early twentieth century. This essay examines Yao’s ideology in the early Qing context in order to show how his classical scholarship came to be appropriated to lend a historicity to the deconstructionist ideology of Hu Shi and his followers. It shows how the ideology of New History promoted by Hu Shi became history.

2. Deconstruction: Ideology and the Historical Criticism of “New History” The genealogy of modern Chinese historical science is often traced to the ideas of Liang Qichao ṕ ଳ 䍙 (1873-1929), Hu Shi, and Gu Jiegang. What distinguishes this new type of historical scholarship is presumably its critical spirit and empiricism—two important elements of a “scientific history”, a modern mirror that claims to have the power to reveal the ultimate truth of China’s past. Inspired by these modern aspirations, Hu Shi and Gu Jiegang rediscovered a few Qing scholars whose classical scholarship was believed to exemplify these positive qualities. There are two such scholars whose reputations have grown with the fame of Hu Shi and Gu Jiegang.3 They are Cui Shu, the so-called “scientific historian” and Yao Jiheng, who was praised by Hu as “fearless” in his classical criticism.4 The discovery of the critical scholarship of Cui Shu and Yao Jiheng opened a new door into the “national past” (guogu ೟ᬙ). The critical scholarship of Cui and Yao held out hope for the development of a “new historical science” for China. Although Hu did not consider Cui’s critical scholarship as the beginning of a new Chinese historical science, he deemed his study of ancient history to be a significant first step in that direction.5 Cui deserved Hu’s commendation because he declared that “the majority of the books written in the Warring States and the Qin-Han periods are incredible; and the events of high antiquity recorded in them are preposterous”.6 Hu and his student Gu Jiegang also found Yao Jiheng’s classical scholarship similar to that of Cui’s in terms of its focus on exposing forgeries as well as textual and 3

“Preface,” in Shijing Tonglun 1994, vol. 1: 10. Hu Shi, “Letter to Gu Jiegang”, see Lin 1996: 3. 5 Gu 1983: 953. 6 Gu 1983: 953. 4

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interpretive mistakes.7 Yao’s scholarship was cherished because of his efforts to discredit spurious ancient works—Confucian and otherwise (bianwei 䕼ّ). It is the disbelief and deconstructionist criticism of Cui and Yao that were to become the founding ideology for the construction of China’s new historical science—“questioning antiquity” (yigu ⭥স). But as I argue in this essay, the disbelief and deconstruction manifested in Yao Jiheng’s classical criticism was driven by a zealous defense of Confucian classical tradition against what he believed to be heterodox elements and interpretations. It was a purist ideology that was inscribed into his critical scholarship, an ideology at odds with Hu Shi’s radical rejection of the entire Chinese literary tradition. But what Yao Jiheng sought to achieve was much broader than the mere debunking of fakes and mislabeled works. Yao’s ultimate goal was to reconstruct the pure, untampered-with Confucian doctrine. But it was only Yao’s work on forgeries that captured the attention of the two pioneering scholars Hu and Gu in founding China’s “New Historical Science”.

3. Commentaries and Critical Scholarship in the Early Qing The Manchu conquest in 1644 A.D. added fuel to the re-orientation of the gentry culture, especially the reformation of the Confucian ideology. The intellectual and cultural re-orientation was driven by anti-heterodox purism and conservative ritualism. The criticism of Wang Yangming ⥟䱑ᯢ and the syncretic movement (sanjiao heyi ϝ ᬭ ড় ϔ ) turned into a full-fledged condemnation of any teaching which smacked of heterodoxy, notably Buddhism and Daoism. Yao Jiheng, a Huizhou native residing in Hangzhou in the Kangxi reign, was known by the most prominent scholars of the time: Mao Qiling ↯༛唵 (1623-1716), Yan Ruoju 䮏㢹ຝ (1636-1704). His interest in expurgating heterodox and non-Confucian elements that were believed to have infiltrated the Confucian classical tradition was not exceptional. Classical scholarship in the early Qing was driven by two powerful forces: purism and ritualism. 8 Convinced of the corruption of Confucian doctrines by Buddhism, Daoism, and other 7 8

Lin 1996: 3-17. For discussion of these two trends, see Chow 1994, chap. 1, 2.

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heterodox ideas and practices, which had resulted in the erosion of Confucian values and the consequent collapse of the Ming dynasty, many Confucians embarked on a comprehensive endeavor to cleanse the Confucian canon of impurities. A common ideology shared by many purist Confucians in the early Qing was that the enemies of Confucianism were insiders, elements that had long penetrated the Confucian classical tradition in the form of dubious textual additions, unwarranted editorial operations, and heterodox interpretations embodied in commentaries. Doubt was cast on the diagrams in the Book of Changes by Huang Zongxi 咗ᅫ㖆 (1610-1695), who argued that the diagrams were Daoist in origin and had been inserted into the Classic. Yan Ruoju exposed the falsehood of the Old Text Book of History (Guwen Shangshu স᭛ᇮ᳌) by documenting its sources of fabrication. The rise of purism and a ritualist approach to morality prompted attacks on the credibility of the Rites of the Zhou (Zhouli ਼ ⾂) by Wan Sitong 㨀ᮃৠ (1638-1702) and Wan Sida 㨀ᮃ໻ (16331683). The purist fervor of Chen Que 䱇⺎ (1604-1677), Yan Yuan 丣 ‫( ܗ‬1635-1704), and Yao Jiheng (1647-1715) condemned the Great Learning (Daxue ໻ᅌ) as originally a Chan Buddhist work disguised as a Confucian canon.9 Being connected to the scholarly community of the Lower Yangzi region, Yao was by no means blazing a new trail. Acquainted with Mao Qiling, one of the most informed and well-connected scholars of the Kangxi period, Yao must assuredly have been nurtured by the ideological currents of purism and anti-heterodoxy which were raging through the scholarly community at the time. An examination of his attempts to prove that the Great Learning was a Chan Buddhist text will illustrate that the methodology of his critical scholarship was driven by just such currents. Writing commentaries on a canon is the most common and ancient textual device to impose constraints on how a canon should be and can be read. The crucial role of the commentary was clearly evident in the initial phase in the formation of the Confucian canon in the Han dyansty (206 B.C.-220 A.D.). The Confucian canon from the very beginning had a porous boundary, as any text can be endowed with canonicity by means of various linguistic and textual strategies, as well as institutional mechanisms. During the initial phase of canon formation in the second century B.C., commentaries were integral to 9

Chow 1994, chap. 2.


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the exposition of the Confucian Classics (jing ㍧), so much so that the Erudites of the Classics (boshi म ຿ ), pedagogical positions first institutionalized in the Western Han, were distinguished by their commentarial traditions rather than the Classics themselves. The positions of the Erudites had been crucial to the maintenance of the Classics’ canonicity all through the Tang dynasty. With the advent of the Song dynasty and the gradual rise of the Daoxue movement in the Southern Song, a new set of texts—the Four Books—came to replace the Five Classics as the core of the Confucian canon. While the Five Classics remained important components of the Confucian canon, their significance was dependent upon a new ideology that displaced the Five Classics from the center of the Confucian canon. Conflicts and ambiguities arising at the literal and textual levels in the Confucian canon would be resolved in accordance with the criteria formulated by Daoxue Confucians like Cheng Yi and Zhu Xi. The Daoxue Confucians’ reformation of the Confucian canon did not become dominant until the Four Books and the commentaries Zhu Xi wrote for them were made the official texts for the civil service examination.10 This new canon set the parameters for the ideological struggle over interpretation of the Confucian canon. The Great Learning was one of the most contested works because it stood at the center of the Daoxue ideology. And the phrase “investigation of things and the extension of knowledge” (gewu zhizhi Ḑ⠽㟈ⶹ) attained centrality in the debate over the approach to moral cultivation and its relationship to sagehood. Since Wang Yangming’s claim that his interpretation of the concept of gewu zhizhi, which differed from that of Zhu Xi, was based on the Old Edition of the Great Learning (Guben Daxue সᴀ໻ᅌ), the textual integrity of this treatise had been open to question. The appearance of Feng Fang’s 䈤ഞ Stele Edition of the Great Learning (Shijing Daxue ⷇㍧໻ᅌ) in the 1560s presented a strong challenge to Zhu Xi’s textual paradigm of separating the text into the Classic proper and the commentary. However, the Stele Edition did not receive universal acceptance. A few incredulous scholars suspected that it was a forgery by its discoverer, Feng Fang. Chen Yaowen 䱇㗔

10

Wilson 1996, chap. 1.

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᭛ (no date, 1551 jinshi 䘆 ຿ ), an expert in textual criticism, expressed doubt about its dubious origin.11 The collapse of the Ming and the founding of the Qing dynasty did not put an end to the controversy and confusion over the various editions of the Great Learning. The debate, now fueled by purism and a ritualist approach to Confucian ethics, took a drastic turn when Chen Que, a student of Liu Zongzhou ࡝ᅫ਼ (1578-1645), condemned the Great Learning as a work of outright heterodoxy. Chen represented the more radical stream of a growing ideological current that aimed at thoroughly cleansing Confucian texts of heterodox ideas and terms.12 Though a student of Liu who was an avowed follower of Wang Yangming, Chen was repelled by the syncretic trend apparent among many of Wang Yangming’s followers in the late Ming. He was particularly critical of what he believed to be the central message of the work—the stress on knowledge at the expense of moral practice (yan zhi buyan xing 㿔ⶹϡ㿔㸠). For Chen Que, this was clearly a teaching of Chan Buddhism.13 In his view, the teaching of zhizhi 㟈ⶹ (extension of knowledge) resulted in two problems with this ethical teaching: the belief that once one knows the moral principles, there is no more to know; and secondly, knowing is sufficient without practice.14 Chan Buddhism had become a major enemy that many purist Confucians believed to have infiltrated the entire Confucian canon. In his overview of the subversion of the true meaning of the Great Learning, Yan Yuan argued that “Since the Spring and Autumn period, through the Qin and Han, the [meaning] of the Great Learning had been obscured by the hegemons’ policies; since the Tang through the Song, Yuan and Ming, what had destroyed the Great Learning was Chan Buddhism. The hegemons’ schemes can be easily detected, but Chan Buddhism cannot”.15 Yan’s concern over the pernicious effects of Buddhism on Confucian scholars is representative of a growing purism that sought to purge heterodox elements—textual and ideological—that were believed to have infiltrated the Confucian doctrine and its canon. The iconoclastic attack on the Great Learning 11Mao Qiling quoted Chen Yaowen's remarks in Jingdian Qiyi ㍧‫⭥】݌‬, cf. Mao 1981, 2:3 a-b. 12 Chow 1994: 47-48. 13 Chen Que 1979: 557. 14 Chen Que 1979: 586. 15 Yan Yuan, Sishu Zhengwu ಯ᳌䄝䁸 1989: 49.


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mounted by Chen Que was but one of the most forceful manifestations of this purist current that was to sweep across many cultural realms.16

4. Purist Ideology and the Decanonization of the Great Learning and the Doctrine of the Mean Yao Jiheng was another scholar in the early Qing who condemned the Great Learning as a Buddhist treatise. Yao went even farther than Chen in his iconoclastic endeavor, and argued that the Doctrine of the Mean was essentially a Chan Buddhist text and the Great Learning contained substantial Buddhist ideas. He even declared that the Great Learning was a collection of Chan Buddhist teachings!17 He explained how the work contained Chan Buddhism even though it pre-dated the introduction of Buddhism in the Han dynasty. The “principles” (li ⾂) expressed in the Great Learning are the same as those of Chan Buddhism. There was no need for Buddha to come to China because there were already Chan Buddhist principles in existence that the Chinese could themselves perceive without getting them from Buddhists or their works. 18 Yao therefore believed in the universal manifestation of principles—whether Confucian or Buddhist, they could be discovered or recognized in both China and India independently. 19 This grounds the authority to impose a certain reading on a text in an intellectual autonomy similar to that claimed by the Daoxue Confucians and Wang Yangming. Such an epistemological stance would reduce history as a source of authority to the minimum. Yao’s primary approach to these works followed what Chen Que called the “principles”, that is, the “evidence” of Buddhism which Yao found in the work is of an ideological nature. For example, Yao argued that ming mingde ᯢᯢᖋ (illuminate one’s bright virtues), one of the “Three Cardinal Principles” that Zhu Xi had elucidated, was actually a Buddhist idea. There was no such phrase in antiquity, and the meaning of the term mingde in the Book of History is clear and 16 For a discussion of the various expression of Confucian purism and the historical factors that contributed to its rise, see Chow 1994. 17 Liji Tonglu 1994, vol. 3: 433. 18 Liji Tonglu 1994, vol. 3: 433. 19 Yao, however, argued that the principles of Confucianism were not discovered in India. Cf. Lin 1994, vol. 3: 433.

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does not need a superfluous verb “ming” before it. The addition of an extra ming is unequivocal evidence of Buddhism because mingde is treated as the “essence” ᴀ储 (benti) and the first ming is the effort. For Yao, this is nothing but the empty talk of the Buddhists. Yao quoted several Buddhist phrases with the character ming to show their similarity to the ming in the Great Learning. One of the Buddhist passages he cited was the famous poem by the Chan masters Shen Xiu and Hui Neng. The term “clear mirror” (ming jing tai ᯢ䦵㟎) that was used in the poem by both masters was cited as evidence of using the mirror as a metaphor for the Buddhist idea of the original mind. For Yao, the ming jing (clear mirror) first used by Shen Xiu was mingde (bright virtues) and the first ming of ming mingde in the Great Learning resembles the effort one needs to make to wipe the mirror and keep it free of dust, a Chan Buddhist teaching of keeping one’s original mind free of false consciousness.20 Yao argued that the heterodox teachings so well disguised in the Great Learning could not be detected without knowledge of Buddhism.21 However, Yao’s logic of detection can be reversed. One can argue that it was Yao who read Buddhist ideas into the text. It is his knowledge of Buddhism and his purist zeal that drove him to impute Buddhist symbolism into the text. For example, the Great Learning continues to explain how the mind cannot be rectified, as a result of anger, fear, anxiety, and idiosyncratic preferences. Yao argued that all these human mental states are universal and one could not possibly do without them. That the Great Learning asserted that the mind was not rectified when these mental states arose was evidence of Buddhist teaching. For it were the Buddhists who advocated the suppression of anxiety, fear, desires, and emotions. It is the “learning of empty mind and empty nature” (xin kong xing kong zhi xue ᖗぎᗻぎПᅌ).22 But the Great Learning did not call for the suppression of emotions but rather considered the control of emotions an important part of moral cultivation. It is common knowledge that in the Analects, Confucius often spoke of the need to overcome fear and anxiety, and to nurture one’s emotions with music and rites.23 Yao’s method of refutation here primarily involves identifying the putative presence of one of the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism (sidi 20

Liji Tonglun 1994, vol. 3: 434-435. Liji Tonglun 1994, vol. 3: 434. 22 Liji Tonglun 1994, vol. 3: 444. 23 Liu 1994: 262, 264, 300. 21


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ಯ䂺)—the elimination of cravings. By arguing that references to the need to gain control over one’s anger, fear, anxiety, etc., are evidence of Buddhist teachings, Yao pushed his purist hermeneutics into a dangerous zone where the line between Confucian and non-Confucian is blurred. Neither textual nor philological evidence and argument is adequate to ascertain the canonicity of a work. It was primarily ideological evidence that can be “read” out of, or inscribed onto, the text. And ideological evidence is construed significance that may change with the reader’s perspective and intellectual horizon. Yao did not regard language as a crucial and concrete embodiment of ideas. Language is a neutral system of symbols that can be used to articulate both Confucian and heterodox ideas. Languages are simply literary symbols given an ideational content. The signifier and the signified do not have a fixed relationship. Whereas mingde in the Book of History is a Confucian idea, adding a ming to the term would turning it into a phrase that articulates a heterodox idea. The reason for Yao to charge that the Great Learning was a Chan Buddhist text is again based on Yao’s view that the term ming, though a word used in Confucian works, had a Buddhist underpinning. Yao’s hermeneutical method therefore does not rely on identifying terms and phrases that are exclusively Buddhist, for the meaning of the text can be changed by changing the literary structure. Unlike Chen Que, who detected Buddhism only in the Great Learning, Yao found it in another major treatise of the Four Books— the Doctrine of the Mean. Applying the same detective work based on ideological differences, Yao rejected the work as another heterodox work infused with Chan Buddhism. Following the example of many who argued for the return of the Doctrine of the Mean to its place as the forty-second chapter of the Book of Rites, Yao did not write his critique of it as an independent treatise but launched his attack in his General Discourse of the Book of Rites (Liji Tonglun ⾂㿬䗮䂪). He declared that the treatise was a work of Buddhism and Daoism. The methods he used were similar to those he used to debunk the Great Learning. He provided a historical account of how the Doctrine of the Mean was severed from the Book of Rites, first by Dai Yong ᠈並 (378–441 A.D.) of the Song during the Southern Dynasties era. Dai wrote a commentary on it and it became the first commentary on the chapter as a free-standing treatise. Yao pointed out that Dai was deeply immersed in Buddhism. Both Dai and his father were involved in making Buddhist statues. Then

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Emperor Wu of the Liang dynasty wrote a commentary on the treatise. Yao reminded his readers that the emperor’s deep faith in Buddhism was common knowledge. He went on to explain how Zhou Dunyi received lectures on the Doctrine of the Mean from a Chan master. After a few more examples of Buddhist interest in the treatise during the Ming, Yao concluded that “those who are infatuated with Chan Buddhism like the treatise and those who are attracted to the treatise indulge in Chan Buddhism” (hao Chanxue zhe, bi shang Zhongyong, shang Zhongyong zhe, bi hao Chanxue ད⽾ᅌ㗙, ᖙᇮЁᒌ; ᇮЁᒌ 㗙, ᖙད⽾ᅌ).24 Here Yao invoked history to demonstrate how the Doctrine of the Mean was appropriated by Dai Yong, Zhou Dunyi, and the Buddhists, but he provided no evidence for its Buddhist origin. Yao’s historical account of the common interest in the Doctrine of the Mean shared by both Confucians and Buddhists was meant to convince the reader that the treatise was a heterodox work. But his logic can be used to prove that the ideas in the treatise represent the common ground on which Confucianism and Buddhism stand. It is not clear why shared or similar interests can prove that it was a Buddhist work, rather than a Confucian one. Or perhaps it was simply a text which both the Confucians and the Buddhists came to use to express their respective doctrines, which had now become conflated as a result of the use of similar language and conceptual resources by both camps. Yao was not making wild guesses. There were certain principles or standards he used to identify what he believed to be Buddhist or Daoist ideas. These were the Buddhist teachings of which he had intimate knowlege. For him, the fundamental difference between Chan Buddhism and Confucianism was the former’s teaching of ontological nothingness (xuwu ဠྤ). In contrast, Confucian teachings were all relevant to the human world. Yao’s interpretation of the Doctrine of the Mean hardly depended on philological and historical evidence. It was produced by way of analogy made between different ideological systems. When Yao found passages containing ideas suggesting avoidance of involvement in the world, solitary meditation, or ontological emptiness, he would label them Buddhist teachings. 25 For example, he dismissed as Chan teachings the following phrases in the Doctrine of the Mean: “what is 24 25

Liji Tonglun 1994, vol. 3: 315-316. Liji Tonglun 1994, vol. 3: 327, 337-39.


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called the mean is when joy and anger have yet to arise” (xilu weifa zhi wei zhong ୰ᗦ᳾ⱐП⚎Ё) and “when the mean and harmony is attained, heaven and earth fall into place and all living things are nurtured” (zhi zhonghe tiandi wei yan, wanwu yu yan 㟈Ё੠, ໽ഄԡ ⛝ , 㨀 ⠽ 㚆 ⛝ ). Yao was not interested in explaining what these phrases mean, for they all conveyed what he believed to be Chan ideas. “These are all lies….in essence they are all Chan teachings. Why? The principles of Chan teachings are all empty and abstract” (Chan ze qi li xuwu ⽾ࠛ݊⧚㰯⛵).26 Furthermore, Yao argued that in addition to Buddhist ideas, the treatise contained Daoist teachings as well. For Yao, the differences between Buddhism and Daoism were not important; both were heterodoxy. How did he identify ideas that were Daoist? He resorted to the same strategy he used to discredit the Great Learning. He picked out some passages which included terms that he regarded as expressing ideas similar to Daoist teachings. The terms jie shen ៦ᜢ (“abstinence and caution”) and bu du ϡ䋁 (“what one does not see”) and bu wen ϡ㘲 (“what one does not hear”) in the passage jie shen qi suo budu, kongju hu buwen ៦ᜢ݊᠔ϡ䋁, ᘤ័Тϡ㘲) for Yao were clearly ideas similar to Daoist ideas such as “holding fast to quiescence”(shoujing ᅜ䴰) and “reaching emptiness” (zhixu 㟈㰯). They were ideas Yao found in the works of Laozi and Zhuangzi. He further argued that these Daoist ideas were very similar to the Chan Buddhists’ attempt to eliminate cravings aroused by the senses through contact with the material world.27 Another ideological guide Yao used to identify Daoist ideas was his belief that the Daoists entertained a “materialistic” view of the cosmos (qihua zhi dao ⇷࣪П䘧). In one passage in the treatise, a poem containing a reference to “flying birds and jumping fish” was quoted from the Book of Songs and followed by an explanatory note: “meaning that one should be observant about things above and below.” Yao argued that to use “jumping fish and flying birds” to observe the Dao was to regard things as Dao, a typical Daoist approach to the cosmos.28 This view of nature also reminded Yao of Gaozi’s ਞ ᄤ debate with Mencius ᄳ ᄤ over human nature. He regarded the Daoist “materialist” view as the same as that of Gaozi. 26

Liji Tonglun 1994: 322-323. Liji Tonglun 1994: 320. 28 Liji Tonglun 1994: 325-326. 27

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For Yao, both Laozi and Gaozi, however, only anticipated Chan Buddhism. He went on to quote poems by Chan Buddhists that used the “jumping fish” and “flying birds” as metaphors. For Yao, the teachings of Wang Yangming and Chen Xianzhang 䱇⥏ゴ (14281500) were nothing but Chan Buddhism. He quoted poems by Wang and Chen that contained these imageries.29 Having characterized the Doctrine of the Mean overall as a heterodox work, one would expect Yao to jettison the whole text from the Confucian canon. He did not do so. When he explained the “threeyear mourning,” he quoted from the Doctrine of the Mean to support his idea that it was a rite observed by people regardless of social distinctions.30 The Great Learning and the Doctrine of the Mean were not the only two texts that Yao condemned as unorthodox. His quest for pure, uncontaminated Confucian texts led him to question the credibility of individual chapters in the Classics. Unlike the Hanxue ⓶ ᅌ Classicists of the mid-Qing period, who not only enshrined the exegesis of scholars of the Han dynasty, but also placed the Classics above criticism, Yao was not inhibited in challenging the authenticity of some Classics—in part or in their entirety. Commenting on the “Tan Gong” ⁔݀ chapter of the Book of Rites, Yao said, “this chapter is particularly bristling with errors and false statements are everywhere”. 31 The chapter has a passage relating to Confucius’ endeavor to find the grave of his father. Yao reminded his readers that the story had been disputed before and was “false and misleading”.32 But Yao did not offer any reason based on philological or historical evidence. He argued that some passages in the “Wen Wang Shizi” ᭛ ⥟ Ϫ ᄤ chapter had been inserted into the Classics. 33 He often suggested where a chapter might have come from. For him the chapter “San Nian Wen” ϝᑈଣ in the Book of Rites was taken from Xunzi 㤔 ᄤ. Yao argued that the teachings of the chapter were at odds with the rites of the Confucian sages.34 When he commented on a passage in the “Mingtang Wei” ᯢූԡ chapter about the code of differentiation in size and design of chariots 29

Liji Tonglun 1994: 325-326. Liji Tonglun 1994: 142. 31 Liji Tonglun 1994, vol. 2: 77. 32 Liji Tonglun 1994: 84. 33 Liji Tonglun 1994: 319. 34 Liji Tonglun 1994, vol. 3: 407. 30


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and banners, and of jade ornaments worn by emperors in the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, he simply said, “it is just piling up terms without any concern for the ludicrous meaning and repetition”. He did not even bother to explain it.35 Yao can be criticized for inconsistency or subjectivism in the way he used textual evidence. His methodology mostly bypassed the lexical and literary levels and operated at the ideological level. He did not resort to a careful documentation of the historical usage of terms, much less their pronunciation as mid-Qing Hanxue scholars would do, and neither was his approach to the reconstruction of meanings historical. Yao’s eclectic approach to reading the Classics independently of specific commentarial tradition allowed him to draw freely from any source for help. Unlike the mid-Qing Hanxue Classicists, he did not dichotomize the exegetical scholarship of Song and Han commentators into two mutually exclusive camps. There was no authority that Yao would not dare to challenge. Yao had no particular trust in the exegetical scholarship of Song or Ming scholars.36 There is no question that Yao’s critiques of the Great Learning and the Doctrine of the Mean were aimed indirectly at both the Song Daoxue advocates, like the Cheng brothers and Zhu Xi, and at those of the Ming, such as Wang Yangming and Chen Xianzhang. The thrust of the attack concentrated on Chan Buddhism and any ideas which Yao suspected of being Buddhism and Daoism in disguise. The purist salvo of Yao’s works, however, did not spare the exegetical works by Han commentators. Yao was critical of Zheng Xuan’s philological scholarship.37 He was troubled by the liberty Zheng took in changing the words of the Classics whenever he could not make sense of the passages. 38 He often dismissed Zheng’s explanations as “meaningless”, 39 “erroneous”, 40 “pedantic”, 41 and “speculative or unreliable”. 42 His distrust of commentaries was compounded by a zealous purism based on an idealized vision of the Confucian sages. He took exception to Zheng Xuan’s view that the Duke of Zhou actually ascended the throne to become the Son of Heaven. He did not 35

Lin 1994, vol. 3: 46-47. Lin 1994, vol. 2: 192-193. 37 Lin 1994, vol. 3, passim. 38 Lin 1994, vol. 3: 2. 39 Lin 1994, vol. 3: 105. 40 Lin 1994, vol. 2: 65, 71, 74, 92-93. 41 Lin 1994: vol. 2: 78, 83, 96. 42 Lin 1994: vol. 2: 87-88, 163, 165, vol. 3: 46. 36

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think that the Duke of Zhou, being the creator of most Zhou institutions, would “usurp” power by ascending to the throne himself. But he did not discuss the evidence pointing to other possible conclusions. Even when he saw the sentence: “the Duke of Zhou ascended to the throne of the Son of Heaven”, he asked the reader to make a decision as to its authenticity, implying that the sentence was simply falsified.43 He simply rejected the idea outright, arguing that the passages were inserted during the time of Wang Mang when the “apocrypha” (weishu ㏃᳌) were widely circulated. 44 Based on this belief, he argued that the “Mingtang Wai” chapter was a forgery produced by someone during Wang Mang’s time.45 However, the idea that the Duke of Zhou ascended the throne himself had its supporters among Classical scholars and has gained support among ancient historians in recent years. 46 Despite Yao’s criticism of Zheng’s philology, Yao did not reject Zheng Xuan’s glosses as completely unreliable. Occasionally, he found Zheng’s expositions agreeable and convincing.47

6. Protocols of Reading: Recoding the Chunqiu ᯹⾟ (Spring and Autumn Annals) Another major classic on which Yao had written extensive notes in an attempt to expunge heterodox readings and erroneous expositions was the Chunqiu. His Chunqiu Tonglun ᯹⾟䗮䂪 was one of his nine studies of the Confucian classics entitled Jiu Jing Tonglun б㍧䗮䂪. As a terse historical record, the Spring and Autumn Annals was supplemented with three commentaries in the Han dynasty—the Zuo Commentary (Zuozhuan Ꮊ ‫) ڇ‬, the Gongyang Commentary (Gongyang Zhuan ݀㕞‫)ڇ‬, and the Guliang Commentary (Guliang Zhuan Ὢṕ‫)ڇ‬, each with its own protocol for reading the classic. As was the case with most scholars in the early Qing, Yao did not trust commentaries and had no qualms in jettisoning annotations if they “contradicted” the Classics.

43

Lin 1994, vol. 3: 43. Lin 1994, vol. 2: 319. 45 Lin 1994, vol. 3: 43. 46 Gong 1993: 899-908. 47 Lin 1994, vol. 2: 90-91, vol. 3: 150, 159. 44


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Yao believed that the the Spring and Autumn Annals, originally the official record of the state of Lu 元, was edited by the sage Confucius ᄨᄤ. His general attitude toward the commentaries was that “the Classics were lost; they were all lost to the commentaries and annotations, more so in the case of the Chunqiu”.48 To varying degrees, he accused them of pedantry in following rigid protocols of reading on the one hand, and of taking liberties in elaboration using facts not mentioned in the Classic on the other. In his study of the Spring and Autumn Annals, Yao concentrated on refuting the idea that Confucius had adopted a complex system of “rules” (li ՟) to articulate his “praise and censure” (baobian 㻦䊊) with regard to the actions of the historical figures of the Eastern Zhou period. Yao traced the idea of “writing rules” to the Zuo Commentary and the annotator Du Yu ᴰ䷤ (222–284 A.D.) in the Wei-Jin 儣ᰝ (220–420 A.D.). Another major writing rule that had played a major role in obscuring the meaning of the Classic originated in the Gongyang commentary. It was the statement that “ordinary events are not recorded” (changshi bushu ᐌ џ ϡ ᳌ ). The belief that only extraordinary events were recorded in the Spring and Autumn Annals had prompted commentators to read all ordinary events as “exceptional”, and hence as an expression of censure by Confucius. This idea had rendered actions that were originally legitimate and in compliance with propriety “illegitimate” and “illegal.” Through this protocol of reading, the Spring and Autumn Annals had become “a book of punishment” (xingshu ߥ᳌) and Confucius a Legalist (fajia ⊩ᆊ).49 For Yao, the commentators’ search for rules of writing, or a code, to explain how Confucius judged the events recorded in the Classic systematically distorted the meaning of those events, and hence the purpose for which Confucius edited the historical record of Lu. Yao had a specific view of what history as a genre of writing should be and of the characteristics of such a genre. “History is what records events. The Spring and Autumn Annals is a history; as history, the events that are recorded are themselves praise and censure.” 50 Therefore, Confucius did not use any code in his writing; he only recorded events as they happened (zhi shu qi shi Ⳉ᳌݊џ), as an 48

“Preface” to the Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 5. “Preface” to the Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 6-7. 50 “Preface” to the Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 3. 49

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ordinary historian did. Since “history is what records events” (shi yi ji shi ৆ҹ㿬џ), it would “record ordinary as well as extraordinary events” (changshi shu feichang zhi shi yi shu ᐌџ᳌ˈ䴲ᐌПџѺ ᳌ ). 51 To pass judgment on events was to make what Yao called “historical comments” (shilun ৆䂪), and this was something which he believed Confucius did not undertake.52 Of the three commentaries, Yao was particularly disturbed by the Zuo Commentary. The ludicrous and fantastic expositions in the other two commentaries had already received enough attention and censure because they claimed to comment on the hidden meaning through the application of a code of writing. In contrast, hardly any scholars had dared to question the credibility of the Zuo Commentary, because it only comments on events.53 While comments on the meaning could be challenged, comments in the form of additional information on events were difficult to question in the absence of other, contradictory, evidence. For Yao, the Zuo Commentary was only slightly more credible than the other two commentaries, however, the emphasis in the Zuo Commentary on a “system of rules” was the most damaging in obscuring the meaning of the Classic. For this reason, Yao’s comments focus on refuting all annotations which explain what the “writing rules” meant to convey. The fundamental problem with the search for a system of writing rules through which judgment was passed lies in its combination with the idea that only “extraordinary events” (feichang zhi shi 䴲ᐌПџ) were recorded in the Spring and Autumn Annals. This belief resulted in two difficulties: firstly, all events were considered extraordinary, and in the area of rites this became a serious problem, because all the rites recorded came to be seen as illegitimate, since otherwise they would not have been recorded. The second difficulty was that every entry required an explanation. The text of the Classic was treated as a strict code, in which each word needed to be deciphered. There are two major aspects of an event that the rules could apply to: the designation of the persons involved in the event, and the action, including its agent and recipient.

51

“Preface” to the Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 3. “Preface” to the Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 10. 53 “Preface” to the Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 6. 52


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Yao was opposed to the idea that judgment was articulated in the Spring and Autumn Annals through the choice of different appellations in reference to the agent and recipient of an action. An action could be undertaken by different agents: they could be a “state” (guo ೟), its “people” (ren Ҏ), the “rank and title of the person” (jue ⠉), and his or her “personal name” (ming ৡ). Whether an agent or the recipient would be designated by his rank, name, or simply treated as anonymous depended on whether or not he was judged as having breached propriety. In the Spring and Autumn Annals there are numerous entries that mention an action committed by the people of a state, without specifying the name of the persons who were actually involved. There is, for instance, an entry in 668 B.C. “Cao killed its high official” (Cao sha qi dafu ᳍↎݊໻໿). The comment in the Zuo Commentary explained why the name of the high official was not mentioned. According to its “rules”, when an innocent high official was killed, his name would not be entered. 54 In 653 B.C. the Classic recorded an execution: “Zheng killed its high official, Shenhou” (Zheng sha qi dafu Shen hou 䜁 ↎ ݊ ໻ ໿ ⬇ փ ). The Gongyang Commentary explained that the reason why only the name of the state was recorded was because the killing of the high official was ordered by the ruler of the state, suggesting that the fact the ruler was not mentioned was an application of the rule for censuring his killing of an innocent official. The Guliang Commentary provided an additional meaning for the rule of referring to the name of a state alone when a high official was executed: the rule applied when the official was innocent.55 According to the commentaries, Confucius applied the rule of not listing the name of the ruler of Zheng to express disapproval of his illegitimate killing of an innocent official. Yao argued that the differences in designation had nothing to do with any rules. Some names were omitted simply because the historian did not have the information. In many cases, for literary reasons, the historian did not want to repeat the same word.56 In still other cases, the names of the persons killed were not included simply because they had been omitted and forgotten.57 In contrast to the commentaries, Yao argued that “in cases of the killing of a high official, innocent or not, 54

Kong 1980: 1780. Chunqiu Sanzhuan in Lin 1994, vol. 4: 161. 56 Chunqiu Sanzhuan in Lin 1994, vol. 4: 348-49. 57 Chunqiu Sanzhuan in Lin 1994, vol. 4: 160, 359. 55

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the rank dafu and his name are always mentioned; whether it designates the state or the name of the ruler that initiated the action is not the result of applying any rules”.58 According to the commentaries, Confucius also exercised his judgment through the use of different words for the same action. In 684 B.C. for example the Duke of Lu launched an attack on the state of Song. In the Classic, it was recorded: “The Duke invaded Song” (Gong qin Song ݀։ᅟ). The Gongyang Commentary provides an explanation for why the Classic sometimes used “to invade” (qin ։) and sometimes preferred the word “to attack” (fa Ӥ).59 Even though the commentator of the Zuo Commentary did not enter any annotations under this year, he did under the entry “Summer, the Zheng people invaded Xu” (Xia Zheng ren qin Xu ໣䜁Ҏ։䀅) in 665 B.C. The Zuo Commentary explained the differences between “attack” and “invade“ as being with and without the sounding of drums and bells, respectively.60 Neither the Gongyang nor the Guliang had any comments under this entry. Yao did not comment on this point under this entry.61 But under the entry for 684 B.C. Yao refuted the symbolic differences ascribed to the two terms. He recognized the general differences between the two words “to invade” and “to attack.” But he argued that the differences prescribed by the rules in the three Commentaries were preposterous.62 By the same token, the meaning of the word “to fight” (zhan ᠄) was not the same as “to invade” or “to attack”, but the difference should not be understood as the expressions of symbolic censure. For an “attack” would inevitably have involved “fighting”. Yao dismissed other explanations for the choice of the word “to attack” rather than the word “to fight” in recording this event.63

7. Re-coding the Spring and Autumn Annals How objective is Yao? Is there any ideological stance embodied in his criticism? Yao did not operate with a tabula rasa. Similar to his 58

Chunqiu Sanzhuan in Lin 1994, vol. 4: 103, 224, 359-360. Chunqiu Sanzhuan in Lin 1994, vol. 4: 110. 60 Chunqiu Sanzhuan in Lin 1994, vol. 4: 135. 61 Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 116. 62 Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 89. 63 Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 22. 59


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assault on the Great Learning and the Doctrine of the Mean, there are at least three premises that guided Yao’s deconstructionist endeavor in his comments on the the Spring and Autumn Annals. First, as we have discussed in the above section, Yao considered the Classic a history; and as a genre, history recorded events—ordinary as well as extraordinary—as they occurred. Second, Confucius edited the Spring and Autumn Annals in order “to exalt the Zhou king” (zun wang ᇞ⥟). Third, there are special meanings that Confucius expressed through his editing. These special meanings were articulated not through “a system of rules” (li), but a writing protocol that Yao called “prescribing meaning”(quyi প㕽) and “writing methods”(shufa ᳌⊩). Yao distinguished these two types of editing by special markers. For Yao, the “writing method” of Confucius was not a system of rules. It concerned only literary skill (wenci ᭛䖁), a less significant aspect of Confucius’ editing of the Classic.64 Underlying Yao’s critique of the commentators’ obsession with a “system of rules” was his view of why and how Confucius edited the Spring and Autumn Annals. He argued that scholars misunderstood the statement by Mencius, who said that the Spring and Autumn Annals was what Confucius used to perform his role of the Son of Heaven (tianzi ໽ᄤ). What Mencius meant was simply that Confucius was expressing his belief in the need to “exalt the Zhou king”. 65 Commentators had spilt much ink over the phrase “chun wang zheng yue” ᯹⥟ℷ᳜ and how to make sense of the word wang ⥟ (king) following the entry “spring” (᯹ chun) at the beginning of every year. For various commentators the word “king” referred to a great variety of kings: King Wen of the early Zhou, the Kings of the Three Dynasties, or the Zhou king at the time of the entry.66 To Yao, all these expositions were erroneous. He argued that the word “king” should be read as a part of the phrase chun wang ᯹⥟, not “[in] spring, the King.” The meaning that was expressed was not the exaltation of the Zhou king, but the exaltation of “cosmic time” (tianshi ໽ᰖ). Since spring was the beginning of the year, it had the meaning of being the head, like the king.67 This was an expression of Confucius’s exaltation of cosmic time, an example of what Yao called “prescribing meaning”.

64

Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 5. Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 7. 66 Kong 1980:1713. 67 Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 14-15. 65

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The rendering of wang as “king” in these entries also prompted many commentators to concoct explanations for the meaning of entries without the word, citing different “systems of rules” to explain any inconsistencies as the passing of judgment by Confucius on events and actors. Since Yao believed that the Spring and Autumn Annals was a historical work and Confucius did not apply any system of rules in the use of, or failure to use, names, titles, or other appellations, he offered a different explanation.He argued that those entries which mentioned “spring” without the word “king” were the original records of the Lu historians which Confucius used as his sources, and the sage had simply forgotten to enter the word. If Yao is correct, Confucius forgot more often than he remembered to insert the word “king” to “prescribe meaning” in the the Classic.68 Yao argued that the importance Confucius attached to cosmic time could also be seen in his addition of seasonal entries: spring, summer, autumn, and winter, even when there was nothing recorded in the original records of the state of Lu.69 This, he believed, was another example of Confucius’s method of “prescribing meaning” in the Classic. Yao was not opposed to the commonly-held belief that Confucius felt contempt for the rise of the “hegemonic states” (ba 䴌) at the expense of the authority of the Zhou king. He shared with all the commentators the view that Confucius had sought to exalt the Zhou king through the editing of the Spring and Autumn Annals. He simply distrusted the various systems of encoding that commentators had constructed for the Classics. In Yao’s view, the “exaltation of the Zhou king” was accomplished by different methods, not by systems of rigid rules. The exaltation of the Zhou king was accomplished by adding “heaven” (tian ໽) to the word “king”.70 In Yao’s view, the Spring and Autumn Annals, as the original records written by the official historians of the state of Lu, had not entered the word “king” in their records. That in the Spring and Autumn Annals the entries for the beginning of most years include the word “king” was the editorial work of Confucius, a method of “prescribing meaning”. Those references to the “king” which are not preceded by the word “heaven” were simply instances of Confucius’s failure to add it. This 68

Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 331-332. Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 30. 70 Chunqiu Tonglun 1994: vol. 4: 332. 69


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explanation of Yao’s offered an alternative protocol to the various expositions that provided complicated solutions to the problems posed by the respective systems of rules concerning the use and lack of use of names and titles. According to Yao, that Confucius sought to defend the glory of the Zhou King and the Duke of Lu could also be seen in other instances of “prescribing meaning”. When the Zhou king fled the capital as the Di ⢘ nomads attacked, Confucius did not want to humiliate the King and therefore simply recorded the event as the King “moving to reside in Zheng” (chuju yu Zheng ߎሙѢ䜁).71 Similarly, when an official of the Zhou King came to Lu, the Classic simply said: “Duke Ji came” (Jibo lai ⽁ ԃ ՚ ). 72 Yao explained that the official came to pay homage to the Duke of Lu. This violated the authority of the Zhou King and therefore Confucius did not use the verb shi Փ (to send) nor the verb chao ᳱ (to pay homage), he simply used the verb “came” to show his disapproval. This is the sort of special meaning Confucius prescribed through his use of words. In Yao’s own system of encoding, there were different types of “meanings” which Confucius prescribed in his editing that included specific wording chosen to censure or to conceal events humilating to the state of Lu, where Confucius lived. During the Chunqiu period, nomads often ravaged the states of North China. Under one entry, “The Duke (of Lu) went after the Rong on the west bank of the Ji river”, Yao explained that the reason Confucius did not use the words “the Rong came to attack” (Rong lai qin ២՚։), but “the Duke went after the Rong” (gong zhui Rong ݀䗑២) was that the sage wanted to show disapproval of the attack by the Rong people.73 Similarly, under the entry “gong ru Qi” ݀ བ 唞 , Yao explained that Confucius’s choice of the verb “went”(ru བ) to describe the journey of the Duke of Lu to the state of Qi was an attempt to cover up the fact that Lu had become subordinate to Qi. The Duke of Lu’s trip to Qi marked the beginning of the public acknowledgement of Lu’s subservience, but to gloss over this humiliating situation, Confucius used the word “went” rather than a more precise term “to pay homage” (chao ᳱ).74 These explanations come very close to those systems of rules that Yao criticized. Even though he called them “prescribing meaning” (quyi) 71

Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 158. Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 18. 73 Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 100. 74 Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 139. 72

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in contrast to systems of rules (li), they are indistinguishable in terms of the positing of an intention that Confucius had presumably inscribed into the Spring and Autumn Annals through special uses of words. In other words, the Classic still could not be read literally, or the reader would miss the meaning Confucius had prescribed in the text. Under the entry “The people of Qi destroyed Sui” (Qiren mie Sui 唞Ҏ⒙䘖), Yao explained that the word “destroyed” was again used to show Confucius’s disapproval. 75 Yet Yao was making the same mistake as the commentators he criticized. Is not “destroy” a common word? There is no evidence for Confucius’s condemnation of this particular event. Which other word could be substituted in order to convey Confucius’s indifference or neutrality? The problem with Yao’s “prescribing meaning” is that there are no orginal documents from the state of Lu to with which to compare the Spring and Autumn Annals. If indeed Confucius edited the texts, the orginal text and the work of Confucius are conflated into one. This is one of the common problems in the Classics: how portions of the Classics considered paratexts in origin (a preface, a commentary, editorial comments) were incorporated into the original text of the Classics. How much of what Yao marked as “prescribed meaning” was the editing work of Confucius? Even though the examples of “prescription of meanings” that Yao found in the Classic were much fewer than those posited in the three Commentaries, they still presented a problem to Yao’s view that as history, the Spring and Autumn Annals only recorded events as they happened. If the reader did not need to search for a system of rules to decode the text, why would they accept Yao’s alternative system of encoding, which was merely another system of rules for penetrating through the veil of words to the true meanings of the Classic.

75

Chunqiu Tonglun 1994, vol. 4: 93.


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8. Conclusion The adoption of techniques of textual criticism to establish authorship, to restore the “original” form and to distinguish the intellectual identity of a text is often guided by hermeneutical principles grounded in contesting ideologies. The case of Yao Jiheng’s rejection of the Great Learning as a Confucian work clearly shows that the markers or signposts of intellectual affinity and lineage were grounded on a series of strategies that fix authorship to a set of highly selected ideas or values through a series of reductionist attempts that eliminate or deny the fluidity, heterogeneity, and complexity of a text. Without reference to philological or historical evidence, Yao’s freeflowing criticism was a double-edged sword, and the danger is resulting in a major erosion of the authority of other Confucian works was obvious to other scholars. His purism and distrust of commentaries threatened to call into question the entire Confucian canon. Some perimeters and methods had to be established before the critical axe fell on other Confucian works. The increasing acceptance of the exegetical works by Eastern Han scholars in the mid-Qing is evidence for the growing awareness of some of the problems of textual criticism that was not grounded in philology and history. Yao’s view presupposes a specific position on the relationship between language and ideas, a position which was different from that of the Hanxue Classical scholars like Dai Chen ᠈䳛 (1724-1777) and Ruan Yuan 䰂‫( ܗ‬1764-1849). Hu Shi and Gu Jiegang did not fail to take note of the ideological differences between early Qing scholars like Yao Jiheng and the lone voice of Cui Shu in the mid-Qing on the one hand and the Hanxue scholarship of the Qianlong and Jiaqing periods on the other. Hu and Gu noted that the critical scholarship of both Yao and Cui transcended the dichotomy between Hanxue and Songxue that arose in the mid-Qing. They both traced the genealogy of their scholarship to Zhu Xi.76 But the genealogy was not important for the construction of the New Historical science for modern China. The purism and antiheterodoxy that animated Yao Jiheng’s Classical criticism were irrelevant to Hu Shi’s project of laying a solid foundation for the discipline of history in modern China. What captured the interest of Hu and Gu Jiegang were Yao’s efforts at deconstruction. In 1920, Hu 76

“Preface” to the Shijing Tonglun 1994, vol. 1: 9.

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and Gu had many exchanges about their attempts to publish Yao’s works. Even though they were interested in compiling and punctuating all his works, the one which received most of their attention was his A Comprehensive Study of Falsified Books (Gujin weishu kao সҞّ᳌ 㗗), which listed books he found problematic in terms of origin or authorship, together with his comments on them. Hu Shi encouraged Gu to punctuate the work for publication. Gu proposed to write a postscript, in which he would list five tables; the fifth table would show how falsified books had been used in the writing of history (genju liao weishu er zaocheng de lishi shishi ḍ᪮њّ᳌㗠䗴៤ⱘ ⅋৆џᆺ). In Hu Shi’s response, he echoed Gu’s point by stressing that the fifth table was particularly important to Gu’s endeavor and suggested that it should occupy more than half the space in the postscript.77 The logical conclusion Gu Jiegang was able to draw from such a deconstructionist position as Yao’s was that “Since the events in the falsified books are all fabricated, once the traces of forgery have been detected, all the history based on falsified texts will lose ground. As we now see it, I can only say that there is no history before the Eastern Zhou.”78 That seems to be a reasonable conclusion, if one agrees with the criterion according to which forgeries are determined. This remark of Gu’s was echoed by the like-minded scholar Qian Xuantong 䣶⥘ ৠ (1887–1939), who claimed that “assuredly there is little reliable history in most of the Six Classics”.79 The attempts to “examine forgeries” (bianwei 䕼ّ) and “question antiquity” (yigu ⭥স) advocated by Hu Shi, Gu Jiegang, and Qian Xuantong have to be considered in connection with the larger ideological program of these scholars in terms of their general view of Chinese culture. One can easily see the connection between Hu Shi’s call to abandon Chinese culture in favor of European culture and Gu Jiegang’s declaration: “The ancient history of China is a muddled account.”80 If the entire Chinese cultural heritage had no value and the future depended on complete Westernization, as Hu Shi believed, what would one gain by clarifying the muddled account of China’s past? The conclusion is obvious: the truth! But for Hu Shi, Gu Jiegang, and Qian Xuantong, the “true history” of ancient China only served to 77

Gu 1930, vol. 1: 7-15. Gu 1930, vol. 1: 35. 79 Gu 1930, vol. 1: 69. 80 Gu 1930, vol. 1: 187. 78


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bear witness to the inevitable collapse and abandonment of the Chinese cultural heritage in the early twentieth century.81 The “truth” they sought from the very beginning was born of an ideology of deconstructionism, which became incarnated in history—a history that was constructed in part through the Classical criticism of Yao Jiheng and Cui Shu.

81

In the 1920s, Gu Jiegang had an ahistorical view of Chinese ethics. He believed that Confucian ethics of the Eastern Zhou period continued unchanged until the late Qing. Gu 1930, vol. 2: 145.

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REFERENCES CITED Chen Que ຫᒔ (1979), Chen Que Ji ຫᒔႃ (Collected Writings of Chen Que). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Chow, Kai-wing (1994), The Rise of Confucian Ritualism: Classics, Ethics, and Lineage Discourse in Late Imperial China. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Chunqiu Sanzhuan ਞ ટ Կ ႚ (Three Commentaries on the Spring and Autumn Annals) (1962). Taibei: Shijie Shuju. Chunqiu Tonglun ਞટຏᓵ (General Discourse on the Spring and Autumn Annals), in Lin Qingzhang (ed.) (1994), Yao Jiheng Zhuzuo Ji ৔Ꮎਁထ‫܂‬ႃ (Collected Works of Yao Jiheng) 6 vols. Taibei: Zhongyang Yanjiuyuan, Zhongguo Wenzhe Yanjiusuo խ؇ઔߒೃ, խഏ֮ୃઔߒࢬ (Academia Sinica, Institute of Philosophy and Literature). Genette, Gerald (1997), Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gong Changwei ୰९੡ (1993), “Zhougong heyi Shezheng Chengwang ࡌֆ۶‫א‬᥊ ਙ ጠ ‫( ׆‬Why did the Duke of Zhou Assist in Ascending and Ruling the Throne)”, in Xizhou Shi Lunwen Ji ۫ࡌ‫׾‬ᓵ֮ႃ (Essays on the History of the Western Zhou Dynastie). Xi’an: Shenxi Lishi Bowuguan. Gu Jiegang ᥽ᕂଶʳ (ed.) (1983), Cui Dongbi Yishu ാࣟᕻᙊ஼ (Bequeathed Works of Cui Shu). Shanghai: Guji Chubanshe. ̛̛̛ (ed.) (1930), Gushibian ‫׾ײ‬ᙃ (Debating Ancient History), vol. 1. Beijing: Beijing Shuju. Kong Yingda ֞ᗩሒʳ ʻ˄ˌˋ˃ʼ Chunqiu Zuozhuan Zhengyi ਞટؐႚ‫إ‬ᆠ (Correct Meaning of the Zuo Commentary in the Spring and Autumn Annals) Shisan Jing Zhushu Լ Կ ᆖ ࣹ ง (Commentaries and Subcommentaries on the Thirteen Classics) edition. Beijing: Xinhua Shudian. Liji Tonglun ៖ಖຏᓵ (General Discourse on the Records of Rites) (1994), in Lin Qingzhang (1994), Yao Jiheng Zhuzuo Ji ৔Ꮎਁထ‫܂‬ႃ (Collected Works of Yao Jiheng) 6 vols. Taibei: Zhongyang Yanjiuyuan, Zhongguo Wenzhe Yanjiusuo խ ؇ ઔ ߒ ೃ , խ ഏ ֮ ୃ ઔ ߒ ࢬ (Academia Sinica, Institute of Philosophy and Literature). Lin Qingzhang ࣥᐜኦ (ed.) (1996), Yao Jiheng Yanjiu Lunji ৔Ꮎਁઔߒᓵႃ (An Anthology of Essays on the Study of Yao Jiheng) 3 vols. Taibei: Zhongyang Yanjiuyuan, Zhongguo Wenzhe Yanjiusuo խ ؇ ઔ ߒ ೃ խ ഏ ֮ ୃ ઔ ߒ ࢬʳ (Academia Sinica, Institute of Philosophy and Literature). ̛̛̛ (ed.) (1994), Yao Jiheng Zhuzuo Ji ৔Ꮎਁထ‫܂‬ႃ (Collected Works of Yao Jiheng) 6 vols. Taibei: Zhongyang Yanjiuyuan, Zhongguo Wenzhe Yanjiusuo խ ؇ઔߒೃ, խഏ֮ୃઔߒࢬ (Academia Sinica, Institute of Philosophy and Literature). Liu Baonan Ꮵᣪᄓ, Lunyu Zhengyi ᓵ፿‫إ‬ᆠ (Correct Meaning of the Analects) (1994), Zhuzi Jicheng 壆՗ႃ‫( ګ‬The Corpus of Philosophic Classics) edition, reprint, Shanghai: Shanghai Shudian. Mao Qiling ֻ࡛᤿. Daxue Zhengwen Օᖂᢞ֮ (Verifications of the Text of the Great Learning) (1981), Siku Quanshu, ؄஄٤஼ʳ(The Four Treasuries) zhenben ੴ‫ء‬, rare edition (1981), ser. 9, vol. 65. Taibei: Shangwu Yinshuguan. Wilson, Thomas A. (1995), Genealogy of the Way: The Construction and Uses of the Confucian Tradition in Late Imperial China. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1995. Shijing Tonglun ᇣ ᆖ ຏ ᓵ (General Discourse on the Book of Songs), in Lin Qingzhang (ed.) (1994), Yao Jiheng Zhuzuo Ji ৔Ꮎਁထ‫܂‬ႃ (Collected Works


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of Yao Jiheng) 6 vols. Taibei: Zhongyang Yanjiuyuan, Zhongguo Wenzhe Yanjiusuo խ ؇ ઔ ߒ ೃ , խ ഏ ֮ ୃ ઔ ߒ ࢬ (Academia Sinica, Institute of Philosophy and Literature). Yan Yuan ᠱց, Sishu Zhengwu ؄஼ᢞᎄ (Correction of the Mistakes of the Four Books) Yan Li Congshu ᠱ‫ޕ‬ហ஼ (Collection of Works by Yan Yuan and Li Gong) edition, (1989). Taibei: Guangwen Shuju.

WHAT MAKES A GOOD HISTORIAN: ZHANG XUECHENG’S POSTULATE OF “MORAL INTEGRITY” (SHI DE ৆ᖋ) REVISITED Achim Mittag An authoritative answer to what makes a “good historian” (liangshi ߜ ‫ ) ׾‬was early given by Liu Zhiji Ꮵ व ༓ (661-721 A.D.), who enunciated three virtues (san chang Կ९): “literary skill” (cai թ), “erudition” (xue ᖂ), and “insight” (shi ᢝ).1 “Literary skill”, to master the “art of writing” (wen ֮); “erudition”, to have a good grasp of the “facts” (shi ࠃ); and “insight”, to be able to pass “proper judgment” (yi ᆠ). 2 As is well known, Zhang Xuecheng ີᖂᇨ (1738-1801) added to this one further virtue: moral integrity (de ᐚ ). Zhang elaborated on this notion in an entire essay entitled “On the Historian’s Moral Integrity” (“Shi De” ‫׾‬ᐚ; alternative translation: “Virtue in the Historian”), which is found in the “Inner Chapters” (neipian փᒧ) of Zhang’s magnum opus, Comprehensive Discussions of Literary Writings and Historiography (Wenshi Tongyi ֮‫׾‬ຏᆠ).3 Since Liang Qichao ඩඔ၌ (1873-1929), Zhang’s supplement of the good historian’s catechism of virtues has received due attention from

1

Originally in Liu Zhiji’s biography in Jiu Tang Shu ៱ା஼ 102/3173 and Xin Tang Shu ᄅା஼ 132/4522. See also Koh 1957: 38-39. 2 I am following here Zhang Xuecheng’s explanations of the “three virtues” in “Shi De”. Nivison (1966: 230) and Struve (2000: 53-55), in her slightly abbreviated translation of the first two sections of “Shi De”, translate cai and xue more literally as “talent” and “learning”. 3 To my knowledge, the best edition of the Wenshi Tongyi is the one prepared by the Huashi Publishing House (ဎ‫נ׈‬ठष), (Xinbian Ben) Wenshi Tongyi, Taipei: Huashi Chubanshe, 1980. Taking Liu Chenggan’s Ꮵࢭ೓ edition of the Zhangshi Yishu ີּᙊ஼ (Posthumous Writings of Zhang Xuecheng, Wuxing ‫ܦ‬ᘋ: Jiayetang ቯᄐഘ, 1922) as its basis, it includes all other writings. All references to Zhang’s writings in the footnotes are according to this edition. I have used the following two punctuated and annotated editions besides this one: (1) Ye Ying 1985; (2) Yan Jie and Wu Xiucheng 1997. Expressively based on the former, the latter, in addition to introductory remarks and annotations to each text, renders the original texts in modern Chinese. Both editions take as their basis the Zhejiang Publishing House (௨‫נۂ‬ठष) edition of the Zhangshi Yishu, which again is based on the Daliang Օඩ edition prepared by Zhang Xuecheng’s second son Huafu ဎุ in 1831 (reissued in the Yueyatang Congshu ᆕႁഘហ஼). On the editorial history of the Wenshi Tongyi, see the introductory remarks in the Huashi Publishing House edition (p. 1-8) and the materials in the appendix (fulu ॵᙕ; p. 687-708).

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scholars working in the field of Chinese historiography.4 In particular, much weight has been given to the question whether or not Zhang, by articulating this additional virtue, succeeded in supplanting Liu Zhiji as China’s foremost critic of historiography.5 Here I take a different approach, which aims at reconstructing the notion of “moral integrity” in Zhang Xuecheng’s thinking. To this end, I will consider two other essays of Zhang’s, entitled “On Moral Integrity in Writing” (“Wen De” ֮ᐚ; alternative title: “Virtue in the Writer”),6 and “On the Public Spirit in Words” (“Yan Gong” ߢֆ; alternative translation: “If Your Words Are Everyone’s”). 7 In fact, these three essays form a trilogy of mutually correlating treatises. While the second of these three essays, “Wen De”, will only briefly be touched on, the third essay actually deserves detailed treatment. Its key notion, gong ֆ—in Zhang’s use of the term translated as “public spirit”8—also lies at the core of Zhang’s argument in “Shi De”. In Chinese historical thinking, we encounter gong in the compound gonglun ֆᓵ, “the discourse that holds to the general norm (of what is right and wrong)”, a notion which runs like a leitmotiv through the discourses on history and historiography in the later part of the Ming ࣔ period (1368-1644). 4 5

Liang 61980: 16-22. In preparing this paper, I have especially benefited from the following books and articles: Démieville 1961; Qian Mu 41983; Yu Yingshi 21980; Cang Xiuliang 1984. However, there is none to which I feel more indebted than Nivison’s study (1966), which aroused my interest in Zhang and Chinese historiography in the beginning. On the three essays of Zhang’s on which this paper focuses, see Nivison 1966: 127-133, 230-231, 251-252. The alternative titles of the essays mentioned above are Nivison’s translations. 6 For an abbreviated translation see Struve 2000: 55-57. 7 In the three editions used—(1) the Huashi Publishing House edition and the two annotated editions by (2) Ye Ying 1985 and (3) Yan Jie and Wu Xiucheng 1997—the texts of the three essays are found at the following places: “Shi De”: (1) neipian V: 147-150, (2) and (3) neipian III: 219-229 and 254-268; “Wen De”: (1) neipian II: 6062, (2) and (3) neipian III: 278-285 and 331-341; “Yan Gong”: (1) neipian IV: 105117, (2) and (3) neipian II: 157-217 and 194-253. For reasons of convenience, I will refer to the texts of the three essays by giving the page numbers that refer to edition (3), which in each case will be directly fitted into the narrative text as parenthetical references. 8 Due to its many meanings, gong has variously been translated as “impartiality”, “collective good”, “public benefit”, “the commonweal”, or “social consensus”. For a short survey of the origin and development of this notion and its antonym, si ߏ, in Chinese intellectual history, see Li Chenggui 1999 and Tillman 1994: 4-5, 9, 80-81. Relating to, and taking issue with, an article on the notions of gong and si in Song-Ming Confucianism by Mizoguchi Yûzô ᄮ Ց ႂ Կ Tillman (1994) explores these two notions in Chen Liang’s ຫॽ (1143-1194) thought.

WHAT MAKES A GOOD HISTORIAN

367

As is already indicated by the different translation of gong in this particular context, historical thought underwent a significant change from the late Ming to the high Qing 堚 . From studying Zhang Xuecheng’s three aforementioned essays against the backdrop of late Ming historical thought, we can catch a glimpse of this change. Thus, this paper begins with some remarks on later Ming historiography and historical thought, which focus on the rise of the notion of gonglun (Section I). It follows with an analysis of Zhang’s essay “Shi De” in Section II, before we take a look at “Yan Gong” in Section III, which opens with a brief remark on “Wen De”. The paper is rounded up by some concluding remarks.

I. In the second half of the Ming dynasty, due to commercialization, sustained economic growth and prosperity throughout the Jiangnan ‫ۂ‬ ত region, a tremendous change occurred within the cultural landscape. 9 From recent writing in several fields of sinological research and on various topics, we have begun to gain a fuller and much more colorful picture of this change.10 Among the lacunae which still remain to be filled, one concerns historiography and historical thought. Looking into the authoritative works on the history of Chinese historiography, we mainly find a conspicious blank with regard to the period from the early Ming to the late sixteenth century.11 This observation is even more surprising as, in sheer numbers, “there are probably more materials concerning Ming history than any other period of China’s past except for the later nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.”12 To a great extent the large quantity of historical works produced during the Ming period is due to an immense growth of “unofficial histories” (yeshi ມ‫)׾‬, in particular of those “off-brush notes” (biji ࿝ಖ) that were primarily intended “to

9 For 10

an overview, see Schmidt-Glintzer 2003. For an insightful review of recent research literature, see Zurndorfer 2002. To the titles which are reviewed herein one should add the fascinating study by Berg 2002. 11 A case in point is Bai Shouyi 1986: 78-79. 12 Franke 1968: 1.

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recollect the things of the past” (zhanggu ༳ ਚ ), a genre which became the hallmark of later Ming historiography.13 One reason for the relatively low level of interest in Ming historiography might be the widespread opinion that the Ming period lacks any genuine, innovative contribution to history-writing. 14 However, if we apply broader criteria of what constitutes an historical work, as a number of later Ming literary critics in fact advocated,15 then we must credit the Ming period with creating, or at least fully developing, the genre of historical fiction (yanyi ዝ ᆠ ) and thus producing China’s most widely-read historical book, the Sanguo Yanyi Կഏዝᆠ (The Popular History of the Three Kingdoms).16 Moreover, we can discern various trends which point to a growing critical consciousness, such as an enormous increase in works of “historical criticism” (shiping ‫׾‬ေ);17 the renewed attention paid to Liu Zhiji’s Shi Tong; 18 the emergence of what later was termed “evidential research” (kaoju ‫ ە‬ᖕ ), including the first systematic investigation of the problem of forgeries and the first elaborate inquiry into the textual problems surrounding the Shangshu ࡸ஼ (Book of Documents; hereafter Documents); 19 a more critical attitude toward source materials; 20 a keen awareness of the problems of attaining reliable information on a certain event in the past, making a truthful account of it, and passing a balanced judgment about it.21 13

As first observed by Naitô Torajirô փᢏॡ‫( ڻ‬1866-1934), in the second half of the Ming period, this genre did not only see a notable expansion, but was also characterized by a tendency toward historicization; see the discussion by Liao Ruiming 1991: 173-177. See also Xie Guozhen 1982. 14 See e.g. Franke 1988: 727: “The major creative innovations in historical writing occurred earlier and had by Ming times become the models for historical writing.” 15 Mostly found in the paratexts accompanying editions of works of historical fiction. A useful anthology is Zeng Zuyin et al. 1982. 16 For a more recent study on the rise of the yanyi genre, see Rolston 1997: 131165. 17 The section of “historical criticism” in the Siku Quanshu Zongmu Tiyao serves to illustrate this point: among the 122 works listed under the two categories of “sanctioned” (zhulu ထᙕ) and “relegated works” (cunmu ‫ )ؾژ‬more than half are from the Ming period, to be exact 64 works or 52%. 18 Koh 1957: 22-29; Pulleyblank 1961: 151 errs in crediting Qing historical scholarship with the groundbreaking editorial work on the Shi Tong. 19 Lin Qingzhang 21986. 20 Franke 1988: 727, 729-730. 21 An insightful exposition of these intricate problems is found in Xin Shi ֨‫׾‬, a collection of writings shrouded in mystery, which most likely dates from the years of the Ming-Qing transition; see “Dayi Lüexu” Օᆠฃ‫ݧ‬, in Zheng Sixiao Ji, p. 191. For a translation, see Mittag 2002: 16-17. The problem of passing judgments and their validity intrigued late-Ming intellectuals also on a philosophical level as is manifest


369

However, this list of Ming achievements in the field of historiography, even if extended, can hardly capture what must be considered the most characteristic trait of Ming historical culture—an on-going discourse on historical matters among the educated elite, which was predominantly based in the prospering Jiangnan region. To be sure, there have always been debates over historical and historiographical issues, such as the debate over the compilation of dynastic histories for the Song ‫ݚ‬, Liao ᙉ, and Jin ८ dynasties during the later Yuan ց period.22 But these earlier debates closely related to specific staterun, or officially initiated, historiographical projects. Although the malpractices in the Bureau of Historiography were a central issue, the historical discourse that evolved during the second half of the Ming period went on over time and acquired a much more general tone. In contemporary language, this discourse was referred to as gonglun, “the discourse that holds to the general norm (of what is right and wrong)”. The underlying idea of this notion is that there is a “definitive standard” (yi ding zhi heng ԫࡳհᘝ) of what is right and wrong which is valid for all times, but people’s attitudes and moral values inexorably change over time. Hence, there is a need to hold a “discourse” (lun ᓵ) to bridge the gulf between the timeless and the time-bound. Metaphorically speaking, gonglun was understood as the court where any historical case was brought to trial under the “general norm (of what is right and wrong)”. In fact, to maintain and develop this “discourse that holds to the general norm” was considered the ultimate aim of the “study of the historical past” (shixue ‫׾‬ᖂ). A forceful expression of this idea is found in the preface of a world-chronicle modelled on Zhu Xi’s ‫ڹ‬ᗋ (1130-1200) Tongjian Gangmu ຏᦸጼ‫( ؾ‬The String and Mesh of the Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Government), which is attributed to Wang Shizhen ‫( ૣ׈׆‬1526-1590) and which opens with a definition of what history is about: Historical works are books, in which one age is summed up and which represent the discourse that holds to the general norm (of what is right and wrong) [gonglun] for ten thousand generations. What is meant by the term gonglun is that there is a definitive standard for praising what from Li Zhi’s ‫ ޕ‬㋁ (1527-1602) thought-provoking argumentation in the 1599 preface of his Cang Shu ៲஼ (Writings to Be Stored Away); cf. Franke 1988: 732. 22 Chan 1970: 12-21; Davis 1983.

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is good and condemning what is evil (shan qi shan, e qi e ࿳ࠡ࿳Δ༞ ࠡ༞), for acknowledging what is true and refuting what is false (shi shi, fei fei ਢਢΔॺॺ).23 A characteristic trait of this discourse was that political concerns were intertwined with historiographical issues. As to the former, none stirred up more emotions or aroused more debates than, firstly, the affair of the Jianwen ৬ ֮ emperor’s (r.1398-1402) “abdication” (xunguo ᎝ ഏ ) and the Yongle emperor’s ‫ ة‬ᑗ (r.1402-1424) questionable accession to the throne and, secondly, the infamous coup d’état known as “the seizing of the palace gates” (duo men ኆ॰) through which the Jingtai ན௠ emperor (r.1450-1456) was forced to abdicate.24 As to historiography, the debates over these two key events in Ming history found expression in notorious criticism of the malign “veritable records” (shilu ኔᙕ) of the Jianwen and Jingtai reigns,25 which went hand in hand with attempts to sort out fact from fancy in the abundant non-official records.26 These diverse criticisms coalesced during the Wanli ᆄᖟ reign (1573-1620) when a large-scale project of compiling a Ming state history (guoshi ഏ‫ )׾‬was initiated.27 An important contribution of the “discourse that holds to the general norm” was to accentuate the basic distinction of two spheres of historiography: the sphere of “official historiography” (guoshi ഏ‫)׾‬ and that of “non-official” historiography; the term denoting the latter was usually yeshi, literally “the scribe in the wilderness”, yet it also referred to the scribe’s product. 28 Non-official historiography encompassed all different genres of historical writings. In a narrower sense, however, the term refers to “off-brush notes” on historical subjects (see above n. 13). In addition to this twofold distinction, a third sphere—“private”, or “family historiography” (jiashi ୮‫—)׾‬ was occasionally identified.29

23 24 25 26 27 28

Chan 1970: 12-21; Davis 1983. Chan 1970: 12-21; Davis 1983. Chan 1970: 12-21; Davis 1983. Chan 1970: 12-21; Davis 1983. Chan 1970: 12-21; Davis 1983. The term yeshi originated in the later Tang ା period. It appears for the first time in a poem by Lu Guimeng ຬᚋ፞ (d. 881 A.D.), and in a book title in a work by Sha Zhongmu ‫٘ޥ‬ᗪ, written between 889 and 905. See Che Jixin and Wang Yuji 2000, vol. I: 1. 29 As e.g. in Wang Shizhen’s preface to his Shicheng Kaowu; see above note 26.


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All this shows that by later Ming times—“a romantic period, marked by imagination, humor, and passion”30—Chinese historiography had transgressed its earlier confinement to a history “by the officials and for the officials”, to use Étienne Balazs’ famous dictum.31 In general, the reason why we know so little about this remarkable epoch in Chinese historical culture is that the matrix, under which non-official historiography and historical fiction alike had flourished underwent a radical change with the demise of the Ming dynasty and the founding of the Qing Empire. 32 As history-writing under official patronage again took center stage, historiography regained its former character as primarily a state endeavor. As non-official historical writings were used as a channel to fan Ming loyalist and anti-Manchu sentiments, 33 the political establishment under the new regime attempted to contain non-official histories to keep control over the casting of the preceding dynasty’s history into the mold that best served the Manchu conquerors’ need for legitimation. 34 As a result, historical accounts of the Ming dynasty, especially those covering the late Ming period, grew thin35 and “offbrush notes” tended to keep a low profile in politically sensitive 30 31 32

Mote 22000: 851. Balazs 1961: 82. This is not to say that, as anti-Manchu intellectuals from the early twentieth century argued, the establishment of the non-Chinese regime was the ultimate cause of this radical change. Moreover, one must be careful not to overlook the manifold continuities in Chinese seventeenth-century intellectual history by too narrowly focusing on the mid-century cataclysm. This point has been given due emphasis by Yu Yingshi 1992. 33 Among Ming loyalists, there was a widespread sense of obligation to write the history of the fallen dynasty and thereby to secure the continuity of Chinese cultural tradition. A case in point is Huang Zongxi ႓ࡲᘂ (1610-1695), who declared: “When the official historiographers from the Bureau of Historiography (guoshi ഏ‫ )׾‬are gone, the ‘scribes in the wilderness’ (yeshi) take onto them their obligation”, in “Hongguang Shilu Chao Xu” ‫ؖ‬٠ኔᙕၧ‫ݧ‬, cited from Meng Zhaogeng et al. 1999: 3. 34 To this end, a policy of the stick and the carrot was adopted under the Kangxi emperor (r. 1662-1722). On the one hand, and central to the emperor’s effort in history-writing, the project of writing the Ming dynasty’s official history was launched in 1679. On the other hand, “scribes in the wilderness” were intimidated by frightening purges and executions of historians dealing with Ming history. There occurred two infamous cases during the Kangxi emperor’s long reign: the Zhuang Tinglong ๗‫ݪ‬㞀 case of 1663, see Hummel 1943/44: 206-208, 606, 883, and the trial involving Dai Mingshi ᚮ‫( ׈ټ‬1653-1713), see Durand 1992. 35 The dearth of historical records, especially for the late Ming period from the 1620s onward, was noted, e.g., by the prominent theatre entrepreneur, literary critic, and poet, Li Yu (1611-1680?); see his “Gujin Shilüe Xu” ‫ײ‬վ‫׾‬ฃ‫ݧ‬, in Li Yu 1997: 300.

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matters concerning the recent history of the Ming-Qing transition.36 In addition, alongside the banning of salacious and licentious fiction and drama under the Kangxi ൈዺ emperor (r.1662-1722), and even more so under the Qianlong ೓ ၼ (r.1736-1795) emperor, works of historical fiction were increasingly being regarded as belonging to a sort of low-brow literature considered unworthy of a Confucian scholar’s publicly admitted enjoyment. The depreciation of non-official and popularized historical writings was accompanied by the restoration of official historiography to its earlier place of supreme authority. By and large simultaneous with the “Four Treasuries” project (Siku Quanshu ؄஄٤஼, 1772-1782), an ambitious program of recasting the past was launched under the Qianlong emperor, who personally took an active part in it. Throwing himself into the rewriting of Ming history, he initiated this program in 1767 by ordering the revision of the Yupi Lidai Tongjian Jilan ൗ‫ޅ‬ᖵ ‫ז‬ຏᦸᙀᥦ (Imperially Annotated Synopsis of the Comprehensive Mirror Throughout the Ages). 37 The program’s crowning piece was the Erchen Liezhuan ၁‫۝‬٨ႚ (The Lives of Twice-Serving Officials, 1776-1785), a compilation of the biographies of 125 former Ming subjects, who had been instrumental in the Manchu conquest, but who were now condemned as “turncoats”, distinguished by six ranks of relative disreputability.38 Turning now to Zhang Xuecheng’s aforementioned three essays, we must keep in mind that they were written at a time when the Bureau of Historiography set the standards for selecting and compiling documents, framing biographies, evaluating historical figures, etc. Moreover, these standards were not only followed in the writing of local gazetteers, from the “all-comprehensive gazetteers” (yitongzhi ԫຏ‫ )ݳ‬down to the gazetteers of provinces, counties, and

36 37

Xie Guozhen 1982: 98-99. One major item of the ordered revision of the Yupi Lidai Tongjian Jilan concerned the addition of annals for the various Ming princes enthroned after the formal end of the Ming dynasty in 1644. This project was followed by a revision of the Yuding Tongjian Gangmu Sanbian (ൗࡳຏᦸጼ‫ؾ‬Կᒳ Imperially Sanctioned Third Part of the String and Mesh of the Comprehensive Mirror) in 1775 and a renewed revision of the Ming dynastic history (Ming Shi ࣔ‫ )׾‬in 1777. See Struve 1998: 60-62. 38 Crossley 1999: 290-296.


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districts. They were also followed in the writing of clan or family histories and genealogies, to varying degrees.39

II. According to Zhang Xuecheng’s nianpu ‫ڣ‬ᢜ biography, “Shi De” was written in 1791,40 two years after “Yuan Dao” ଺ሐ (“Tracing the Way Back to Its Origins”), one of the key essays in the Wenshi Tongyi, which is commonly regarded as the beginning of Zhang’s mature writings.41 Zhang himself considered “Shi De” to mutually interrelate with “Yuan Dao” and its sister essay entitled “Yuan Xue” ଺ ᖂ (“Tracing Learning Back to Its Origins”).42 In “Shi De”, Zhang’s argument is presented in three steps: (1) In the first step, Zhang expresses his dissatisfaction with Liu Zhiji’s specification of a good historian’s “three virtues” and sets out his reasons for giving priority to “moral integrity”. According to Zhang, if these three virtues are by common sense understood as referring to the ability of “memoralization” (jisong ಖ ፽ ), the command of an “expressive style” (cicai ᢯թ), and the talent of making “dashing arguments” (jiduan ᚰឰ), respectively, one will not get to the nitty-gritty of what makes a good historian (p. 255). As Zhang points out, it is this somewhat simple-minded understanding of the “three virtues” which misled Liu Zhiji to attribute the biases and prejudices in the Shiji ‫׾‬ಖ and the Hanshu ዧ ஼, for which their authors were notoriously criticized, to the fact that Sima Qian ‫್׹‬ᔢ (c.145-c.90 B.C.) and Ban Gu ఄࡐ (32-92 A.D.) wrote their histories as independent historians (yi jia zhi dao ԫ୮հ ሐ).43 Zhang asserts that such a view discounts what is at stake when discussing the virtue of “insight”—nothing less than the “moral constitution of the heart-and-mind” (xinshu ֨๬) (p. 255). 39

The case of Zhang Xuecheng has served Kai-wing Chow (1992) to illustrate what may be described as the imperial ideology’s impact on the writing of clan genealogy. 40 Hu Shi and Yao Mingda 21973: 91. 41 Zheng Jixiong 2001: 206. 42 See “Yu Shi Yucun Jian” ፖ‫׾‬塒‫ޘ‬១, in Wenshi Tongyi, waipian ؆ᒧ III: 324. 43 Cf. Shi Tong, XIII “Wu Shi” ᭝ழ, waipian X, 20/701. Liu Zhiji alludes here to Sima Qian’s maxim of “creating the doctrine of one’s own school” (cheng yi jia zhi yan ‫ګ‬ԫ୮հߢ; Hanshu 62/2735) and to the fact that Ban Gu was imprisoned on the charge of privately compiling a history of the state (guoshi ഏ‫)׾‬.

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(2) In the second step, Zhang sets out to illuminate this notion of “moral constitution of the heart-and-mind”. As we are repeatedly told, such a disposition of the mind needs nourishment (yang 塄). This is to say, it cannot be acquired through a single intellectual effort. How is it to be nourished? The formula which Zhang offers is modeled upon Sima Qian’s famous maxim, “to fathom the boundary between the realm of Heaven and the realm of man” (jiu tian ren zhi ji ߒ֚Գհ Ꮎ ) 44 , and reads, “One ought to be meticulous about discerning between the realm of heaven and the realm of man, striving with all one’s strength for what thereof is heavenly without letting the human inclinations be carried to excess” (dang shen bian yu tian ren zhi ji, jin qi tian er bu yi yi ren ᅝშᙃ֚࣍ԳհᎾΔጐ֚ࠡۖլ墿‫א‬Գ, p. 256). At the core of this formula lies the contrasting pair of the terms “heavenly” and “human inclinations”, which Zhang subsequently relates to the two concepts of qi ௛, “temperament”, and qing ൣ, “emotions” (p. 259). In Zhang’s understanding, “temperament” and “emotions” are the two determining factors of historical writing, 45 symbolizing the “firmness” (gang ଶ) of Yang ၺ life-energy and the “softness” (rou ਫ ) of Yin ឆ life-energy, respectively, and are comparable to “color” in garb or “taste” in food (p. 262). In Zhang’s view, “temperament” and “emotions” can be “heavenly” or “humanly” charged, depending on whether one’s frame of mind is responsive to the “public spirit” (gong) or to a “selfish will” (si ߏ). According to Zhang, pursuing “the public spirit of the great Way” (da dao zhi gong Օሐհֆ, p. 259), enables us to develop a “bright” (chang ࣑) “temperament” and “sincere” (zhi ᐱ) “emotions”, which provide for “the best writings in the world” (tianxia zhi zhiwen ֚Հհ֮۟, p. 259). In the opposite case, when a “selfish will” prevails, one is prone to dissipation (dang ᘒ), outbursts of violent temper (ji ᖿ), and arrogance (jiao ᧀ) or deviance (liu ੌ), self44

Hanshu 62/2735. For an insightful discussion of this maxim of Sima Qian’s, see Li 1994: 368, 400-405. 45 As Zhang explains, since historical writings are about what happened in the past (shi ࠃ), they inevitably deal with the success and failure as articulated in humans’ judgments (de shi shi fei ൓؈ਢॺ) as well as with the vicissitudes of life caused by the different life-spans allotted to all living things (shengshuai xiaoxi ฐಐ௣ஒ). As the assessment of humans’ judgments leads to dissension and dispute, and the contemplation of the different life-spans to melancholy trains of thought, this will eventually excite one’s “temperament” and eventually arouse one’s “emotions”, respectively (p. 259).


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indulgence (ni ᄴ), and obstinacy (pian ೣ), respectively (p. 259-260). In writing, such deviations of the “temperament” and the “emotions” threaten to violate the moral sense (hai yi ୭ᆠ) and to contravene the Way (wei dao ሔሐ), says Zhang (p. 260). (3) In the third step, Zhang returns to the accusations of libel and slander against Sima Qian, intent on invalidating them. On the basis of his foregoing deliberations, Zhang argues that to fathom an author’s “moral constitution of the heart-and-mind” requires grasping the “purport” (benzhi ‫ )ڱء‬of the author’s writing beyond the shape of the text and its stylistic pecularities (p. 263). 46 In Zhang’s opinion, later critics of the Shiji, misled by Sima Qian’s own notion of “being roused to writing” (fafen zhushu ࿇ ᐬ ထ ஼ ), 47 profoundly misunderstood its “purport” and, consequently, falsely refuted it as a “book of slander” (bangshu ᝏ஼).48 In fact, says Zhang, judged by the criterion of the “moral constitution of the heart-and-mind”, the 46

With regard to the Shiji, this argument is elaborated in “Shu Jiao”, xia ஼ඒΔՀ, in Wenshi Tongyi, neipian I: 12-16. After reviewing numerous points of criticism raised against the Shiji, Zhang repudiates these earlier critics as “not comprehending the purport of the ancients’ writings” (bu zhi guren zhushu zhi zhi լव‫ײ‬Գထ஼հ‫ڱ‬, Shiji , p. 13). 47 Shiji 130/3300 and Hanshu 62/2735. For a concise discussion of this famous theory of Sima Qian’s, see Durrant 1995: 14-19. 48 Charges of vilifying the house of Han and disparaging Confucian teachings were publicly brought forward against Sima Qian and his Shiji as early as under Emperor Ming ࣔ০ (r. 58-76 A.D.), see Li 1994: 368. However, it was Wang Chong ‫( ך׆‬137-192 A.D.) with whom the Shiji’s epithet of a “book of slander” originated. Refusing to pardon Cai Yong ᓐಶ (133-192 A.D.), who wished to continue writing the Hanshu, Wang Chong declared that he would not repeat Emperor Han Wudi’s ዧ ࣳ০ (r. 141-87 B.C.) mistake of allowing Sima Qian to write a “book of slander”. Subsequently, this notion was later understood as primarily referring to the “Treatise on the Feng and Shan Sacrifices” (“Feng Shan Shu” ৞᛽஼), which deals with Wudi’s dubious policies in religious and sacrificial matters. For references, see Yan Jie and Wu Xiucheng 1997: 257, note 6. To refute and invalidate these charges against the Shiji, Zhang briefly discusses the “Feng Shan Shu” and three other chapters of the Shiji upon which the accusations against Sima Qian are mainly based: “Treatise on Equalization and Standardization [of Prices]” (“Pingzhun Shu” ؓᄷ஼), “Biographies of Gallant Knights-Errant” (“Youxia Liezhuan” ཾ ং ٨ ႚ ), and “Biographies of Merchants” (“Huozhi Liezhuan” ຄཷ٨ႚ). According to Zhang, the latter two chapters merely show Sima Qian’s passionate sympathy for brave adventurers (gankai ტ༩) and his curiosity about unconventional personalities (haoqi ‫)࡛ړ‬, respectively. As to the first two chapters, Zhang argues that there are two other contemporary texts which essentially reiterate what is said therein; hence, the charge of slander is unjustified (p. 263). The two texts to which he is referring are Sima Xiangru’s ‫್׹‬ઌ‫( ڕ‬c. 179-c. 117 B.C.) “Feng Shan Wen” ৞᛽֮ (in Wenxuan ֮ ᙇ, juan 48; translated by von Zach 1958: 893-898) and Huan Kuan’s ௄ᐈ (fl. 1st cent. B.C.) Discourses on Salt and Iron (Yantie Lun ᨖᥳᓵ); for translations, see Loewe 1993: 481-482.

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Shiji must be juxtaposed to Qu Yuan’s ࡹ଺ (340?-279 B.C.) “Li Sao” ᠦᤵ (“Encountering Sorrow”). As both works inherited the literary tradition of the Shijing ᇣᆖ (Book of Odes; hereafter Odes), they may both rightfully be called “supreme pieces of writing since time immemorial” (qiangu zhi zhiwen Տ‫ײ‬հ֮۟) (p. 263-264).49 I will proceed with the analysis of “Shi De” by making some remarks on the first section, and then on the second and third sections together, which focus on (1) the notion of the “moral constitution of the heart-and-mind”, and (2) Zhang’s concepts of “temperament” and “emotions” and, in addition, his bold juxtaposition of the Shiji and the “Li Sao”. (1) Apparently used interchangeably with de, “moral integrity”, xinshu, “the moral constitution of the heart-and-mind”, is the key notion of the essay. To nourish such a disposition of the mind, the historian, says Zhang, ought to “strive with all his strength for what is heavenly” (p. 256). According to present-day Chinese researchers, what is meant here by “heavenly” is “objective history” (keguan de lishi ড় ᨠ ऱ ᖵ ‫) ׾‬. 50 If this were true, Zhang’s demand for the historian’s pursuit of the “heavenly” would be tantamout to Ranke’s advocacy to write history “as it really was” (wie es eigentlich gewesen). However, this interpretation overlooks an important hint in the text as to how we are to understand Zhang’s notion of “heavenly”. This hint is found in the second section, where Zhang asserts that “the historian’s moral sense is bestowed on him by Heaven, but his writing cannot but rely on human effort for its accomplishment” (shi zhi yi chu yu tian, er shi zhi wen bu neng bu jie renli yi cheng zhi ‫׾‬հᆠ‫נ‬ ֚࣍Δۖ‫׾‬հ֮լ౨լ៶ԳԺ‫ګא‬հ, p. 259). From this assertion we may conclude that it is the “moral sense” (yi ᆠ), i.e., the innate 49 Zhang’s main argument is Zhu Xi’s refutation of earlier critics of the “Li Sao” who variously charged Qu Yuan with airing his grievances against his ruler. Zhang argues that Zhu Xi’s apologia is also valid for Sima Qian and his Shiji (p. 263). For Zhu’s apologia, see Zhu Xi 21987: 2-3 translated by Lynn 1986: 346-347. For his argument, Zhu Xi relied upon Northern Song critics associated with Su Shi ᤕሊ (Su Dongpo ᤕࣟధ, 1037-1101), in particular Chao Buzhi ஻ᇖհ (1053-1110), who in six essays argued eloquently that the “Li Sao” was composed in the vein of the socalled “deviant” Feng and Ya Odes (bian Feng ᧢ଅ, bian Ya ᧢ႁ). With these essays, contained in (Jibei Chao Xiansheng) Jile Ji, juan 36, Chao made a major contribution to the “counter counter-Sao” (fan fan sao ֘֘ᤵ) tradition and the elevation of the “Li Sao” to quasi-canonical status. 50 Yan Jie and Wu Xiucheng 1997: 254, 258-259; Bai Shouyi 2000: 334.


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sense of what is right and wrong and the nourishment of which Zhang deems crucial, that is meant by “heavenly”. The idea behind this argument is not fully understood unless the implied reference to the “five human relationships” (wulun ն଩) is considered as the inherent yardstick of the “moral sense”. As is manifest from Zhang’s discussion of the Shiji in the third section, the one “human relationship” that is at issue in “Shi De” is the one between the ruler and the minister. This becomes even more obvious when we take a short look at the term xinshu, its origin and later development. Although the compound xinshu is found as early as in the philosophical writings from the Warring States and early Han periods (e.g. Guanzi ጥ՗), it appears that the term acquired the specific meaning with which it was used in late imperial times no earlier than the Song period. In the discourse of political ethics, it was brought to prominence through an essay by Wang Anshi ‫( فڜ׆‬1021-1086),51 but ironically it gained wider currency in the wake of the Northern Song ‫ ݚק‬dynasty’s collapse in 1126, as Wang Anshi was made the primary scapegoat for the dynasty’s demise. According to a then often-repeated argument, Wang was to be condemned not so much for his inept reform policies but for the improper “moral constitution of his heart-and-mind”, which had allegedly ruined his teachings and had supposedly infected the entire scholar-official class via the New Commentaries of Three Canonical Books (San Jing Xinyi Կᆖᄅᆠ) compiled under Wang’s aegis.52 Among the various accusations against Wang Anshi, one of the most serious was that he had praised the statesman Feng Dao ႑ሐ (882-954 A.D.), who had served under eight emperors and five dynasties.53 By analogy, Wang was then also held responsible for the treasonous behavior of Liu Yu Ꮵ ᘵ (1074-1143), a former high official serving under the Northern Song dynasty who, by the grace of the Jurchens, was enthroned as a puppet emperor of a newly established buffer state between the Jurchen-Jin in the north and the Song in the south.54 As far-fetched as these accusations were, the term

51

“On the True King and the Hegemon” (“Wang Ba” ‫) ᥹ ׆‬, in Linchuan Xiansheng Wenji 67/430a-b. Cf. Qian Mu 1976, vol. 5: 6. 52 Mittag 1996: 30-31, 34, 49. 53 Wang 1962: 123-145; Chan 1974/75: 17-18. 54 For references, see Mittag 1996: 48, note 88.

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xinshu became firmly established in the late imperial discourse on the minister’s loyalty towards the ruling house. Invested with this meaning, the term entered the historical discourse in the Yuan debate over the compilation of the Liao, Jin, and Song dynastic histories. When asked about the basic requirements for this large-scale project, the renowned scholar Jie Xisi ༿⎔ཎ (12741344) counseled: It is fundamental to employ the right persons. It is not advisable to employ those who have erudition and are talented in writing but who do not know anything about the historical facts (shishi ࠃኔ). Nor is it advisable to employ those who have erudition, are talented and know the historical facts, but whose moral constitution of the heart-and-mind are improper (xinshu bu zheng ֨๬լ‫)إ‬. The appropriateness of the moral constitution of one’s heart-and-mind ought to be fundamental for the art of employing the right persons.55

Jie Xisi’s tacit warning against employing historians whose allegiance to the Mongol dynasty is not assured brings into focus an issue that looms in the background of the essay under discussion—the sensitive problem of the historian’s loyalty in the light of Qianlong’s redefinition of what ought to be considered loyal in the transition from Ming to Qing. That this problem impinged on Zhang Xuecheng’s mind is evidenced by a section in “Yan Gong”, to which we will turn below. In this section, Zhang recalls the case of Chen Lin ຫྱ (d. 217 A.D.), who first joined the staff of the warlord Yuan Shao ಒฯ (d. 202 A.D.) and drafted the latter’s summons to arms, employing powerful language to enumerate the alleged crimes of Yuan’s enemy Cao Cao ඦᖙ (155-220 A.D.). But before too long, Chen Lin switched sides to join Cao Cao’s staff. If he were to draw up the latter’s summons to attack Yuan Shao, surmises Zhang, then his writing would have been just as fervid and exquisite. As Zhang concludes, excelling in writing but not “keeping to the Way” (dang yu dao ᅝ࣍ሐ) is comparable to traveling comfortably in a superb carriage or on a well-built ship without knowing whether one is heading north or south (p. 223-224). These are rather general statements. Nowhere in the two essays under scrutiny is the problem discussed in more concrete terms, that is by reassessing the historians’ caste in the late Ming and early Qing period, including the historians dealing with the writing of Ming history who 55

Yuan Shi ց‫ ׾‬81/4186. See also Chen Guangchong 1984.


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were involved in the two famous cases mentioned above (see above n. 34). As the “literary inquisition” had just reached its peak and the Qianlong emperor’s condemnation of the “twice-serving officials” had just become publicized, the issue was obviously too sensitive to discuss openly.56 (2) Zhang Xuecheng’s use of the two concepts, “temperament” and “emotions”, has been viewed as rooted in Cheng-Zhu philosophy, as an attempt to tap “this Neo-Confucian resource ... to enrich and elevate the historical thought of his own day”.57 It should, however, be noted that in Chinese literary and poetical thought, “temperament” and “emotions” were of course well-established concepts long prior to Song Confucianism.58 Moreover, it seems that Zhang, in using these two concepts as related to Yang and Yin, drew from yet another, more recent source of inspiration, namely a particular strand of late-Ming literary and aesthetic thought, although his argument was eventually directed against it. What in particular comes to mind here is the then commonplace juxtaposition of the Chunqiu ਞટ (Spring and Autumn Annals; hereafter Annals) and the Odes as the two archetypes of writing that embody Yang and Yin. An author from the Ming-Qing transitional era in whose writings this juxtaposition is given a preeminent place is the renowned literary critic Jin Shengtan ८ᆣቮ (d. 1661), who viewed the Shuihu Zhuan ֽྋႚ (Water Margins) and the Xixiang Ji ۫ ༖ ಖ (Romance of the Western Chamber) as “modern” reconfigurations of the Shiji and the “Li Sao” as well as of the Annals and the Odes, respectively.59 The fact that Zhang Xuecheng targeted Jin Shengtan is not at all unlikely when we look at the latter’s instructions on how to read the 56

It should be noted that Qian Daxin ᙒՕࣗ (1728-1804) and Wang Mingsheng ‫׆‬Ꮣฐ (1722-1798), in their stupendous investigations of the dynastic histories that were published in 1782 and 1787, respectively (see below n. 93), refrained from discussing Ming history for the same reasons; see Zhu Weizheng 1999: 212-213. 57 Struve 2000: 52. 58 While “temperament” originated prominently in Cao Pi’s ඦ‫“ ׉‬Dian Lun” ࠢ ᓵ, “emotions” goes even further back to the second pericope of the “Daxu” (“Great Preface” Օ‫ )ݧ‬of the Shijing. Both texts are translated in Wong Siu-kit 1983: 19-25 and 1-11. 59 This idea is developed in particular in the following two texts: “Guanhuatang Pi Di Wu Caizishu ‘Shuihu Zhuan’: Xu Yi” ຃ဎഘ‫ޅ‬รնթ՗஼ψֽྋႚω‫ݧ‬ԫ and “Guanhuatang Pi Di Wu [sic!] Caizishu ‘Xixiangji’ II: Du Di Liu Caizishu ‘Xixiang Ji’ Fa” ຃ဎഘ‫ޅ‬รնթ՗஼ψ۫༖ಖω࠴հԲΥᦰรքթ՗ψ۫༖ಖωऄ, in Jin Shengtan 1997: 221-226 and 341-351. See also the biographical entry on Jin Shengtan in Hummel 1943/44: 164-166.

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Shuihu Zhuan.60 As if anticipating what is centrally at issue in “Shi De”, Jin begins this text by declaring, “As a general rule of our readings, we must get to understand what kind of heart the author harbors in his breast”. Subsequently, Jin refers, as Zhang Xuecheng does too, to the Shiji’s two chapters on the gallant knights-errant and the merchants (see above note 48), but argues the contrary, that they demonstrate that Sima Qian was “full of resentment” (yi dupi su yuan ԫߚ‫ؼ‬മৼ). Pitting Shi Nai’an ਜર➍ (c.1296-c.1370), the alleged author of the Shuihu Zhuan, against Sima Qian, Jin contends that the former wrote merely for relaxation and without nurturing any resentment. Hence, in making judgments Shi Nai’an did not “defy Confucius” ([shi fei] wang yu shengren [ਢॺ] ‫࣍ڐ‬ᆣԳ), as Sima Qian had allegedly done.61 It thus stands to reason, says Jin, that later the epithet of “loyal and righteous” (zhongyi ࢘ᆠ) was conferred on the Shuihu Zhuan, which Jin deems inconceivable with regard to the Shiji.62 Apparently directing his argument against this position, Zhang Xuecheng argues that the Shiji’s “purport” does not lie in giving expression to Sima Qian’s personal grudge and hence should not be discussed in terms of “temperament”, but rather in terms of “emotions”, on a par with the “Li Sao” (p. 263). To understand what Zhang actually means by “emotions” in the present context, we must now proceed to yet another section of the “Yan Gong” (p. 197), which opens by citing Sima Qian’s statement that, “In general, the Three Hundred Odes were written by sages and virtuous men whose passions were stirred.”63 Zhang takes this famous, 60 61

“Du Di Wu Caizishu Fa” ᦰรնթ՗஼ऄ, in Jin Shengtan 1997: 234. This accusation had early been brought against Sima Qian, namely by Ban Biao ఄ๡ (3-54 A.D.) and Ban Gu; see Hou Hanshu ৵ዧ஼ 40B/1386. 62 Jin Shengtan’s criticism of Sima Qian is well in line with the generally critical evaluations of the Shiji during the Ming, which is also reflected in the state examinations’ questions on history and their model answers; see Elman 2001: 496-498. 63 Shiji 130/3300. This statement authoritatively articulates the basis of what may be termed the “aristocratic” understanding of the Odes, in contrast to the view that the majority of the Odes, namely the Guofeng Odes, originated with the common people, were collected by royal officials, and later compiled at court. This opposing view is chiefly based on the statements concerning the “collecting of songs” (cai shi ७ᇣ) in Liji ៖ಖ V (“Wang Zhi” ‫ )ࠫ׆‬11/1328b (references to the Thirteen Canonical Works with their commentaries and subcommentaries are made to Shisan Jing Zhushu [Fu Jiaokan Ji]). Odes exegesis for a long time involved quarrels about these two opposing views, which were also at issue in Zhang’s debate with Yuan Mei ಒ࣭ (1715-1798) over “women’s learning”. Thus, Zhang would have strongly objected to the view expressed by one woman poet who looked on Yuan Mei as her mentor,


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yet not uncontested, statement as a proof that in the Odes, especially in the Guofeng ഏଅ, “the verses expressing the yearning and love between the sexes are metaphorically used to express the longing for one’s ruler and the cherished feelings for one’s friend”, as well as that “the resentment borne by a soldier or a divorced woman conveys the distress of a man loyal to his country and deeply worried about the present times” (p. 197).64 In short, Zhang uses the term “emotions” in a narrow and very specific sense as referring to the committed official’s affection for his sovereign and his passionate concern for the ruling house or the country at large. Hence he concludes his discussion in “Shi De” by saying, What makes the ‘Lisao’ and the Shiji both deeply rooted in the Odes is that their ample criticism is brought forward in gentle wording and they nowhere contravene the fundamentals of social relations (mingjiao ‫ټ‬ ඒ) (p. 264).

******* In concluding Section II, let me first sum up Zhang Xuecheng’s main argument in “Shi De”. According to Zhang, history-writing is determined by two factors, “temperament” and “emotions”. In “Shi De” Zhang is solely concerned with the latter. In his understanding, “emotions” expressed in historical writings may be called “public-spirited” (gong ֆ) when the historian is filled with a passionate concern for the country’s weal and woe. As Zhang argues, since such an emotional engagement

namely the view that, “Of the 300 poems in the Book of Odes, half were written by women”. Quoted in Mann 1992: 56. 64 It must be noted that here, as in other places throughout the Wenshi Tongyi, Zhang Xuecheng proves to be a staunch follower of the traditional readings of the Odes as established by the two Han commentaries by Mao ֻ and Zheng Xuan ᔤ‫خ‬ (127-200 A.D.), in defiance of Zhu Xi’s Odes commentary, which was part of the state examinations curriculum. The difference becomes especially manifest in Zhang’s reference to Ode no. 155 “Chixiao 〇⿿”, to which he alludes to argue his case here. Assuming that in this Ode the Duke of Zhou ࡌֆ makes himself speak through a bird (see also below note 71), Zhang returns to the traditional interpretation which had been superseded by a much less strained reading proposed by Ouyang Xiu ᑛၺଥ (1007-1072). For more details, see Mittag 2003: 194-195. The opposing approaches to the reading of the Odes and their correct interpretation played a significant role in Zhang’s debate with Yuan Mei; see Mann 1992: 51-53 and above, note 63.

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allows for criticism of the present ruler, earlier charges against Sima Qian for having written a “book of slander” are unjustified. Zhang’s argument is steeped in moral philosophy and couched in a language which is not void of antiquarianism. To grasp his message, we must recall that “Shi De” was written in an age of censoriousness, reverberating from the high-pitched moral overtones that were produced by the historiographical projects carried out in the Bureau of Historiography for the Qianlong emperor. To avoid any misunderstanding, Zhang postulates the emperor’s moral yardstick of unswerving loyalty to the sovereign as the core virtue of a “good historian”. Yet Zhang’s message is that even if the bar is put so high, a work such as the Shiji may not be dismissed; on the contrary, it must be regarded as a formidable example of a “good historian’s” work because of the passion that Sima Qian shows in his concern for the Han dynasty. What makes Zhang’s emphasis on the Shiji pertinent to the historiographical discourse of his own day is the analogy between Han Wudi and the Qianlong emperor: both emperors came to the throne two or three generations after the founding of their respective empires, both ruled with vigor and for a long time, both greatly expanded the empire into Central Asia by military force, and both boasted about the greatness of an exuberant age. Yet, “Shi De” leaves the reader with a feeling of incompleteness as nothing is said about how we are to understand what is meant by “temperament”, the other basic factor of historical writing. For an answer, we must turn to the trilogy’s other two essays, “Wen De” and “Yan Gong”.

III. Being a sister treatise of “Shi De” and written in 1796,65 “Wen De” discusses the four virtues, “literary skill”, “erudition”, “insight”, and “moral integrity”, with regard to writing in general. This essay is interesting in our present context because it gives us a hint as to how we are to understand Zhang Xuecheng’s notion of “temperament”.

65

Hu Shi and Yao Mingda 21973: 121.


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At the core of “Wen De” lies the idea that “temperament” brings about “empathy” (shu ஏ), 66 which Zhang defines as “being able to put oneself in the position of people of the past” (neng wei guren she shen er chu di ౨ ੡ ‫ ײ‬Գ ๻ ߪ ۖ ๠ ‫) چ‬. However, Zhang is quick to emphasize that empathy can only be developed by a restrained “temperament”. In the first place, this requires jing ᄃ, “esteem for oneself as for the other:”67 “One must have esteem for oneself as for others”, he says, “in order to achieve empathy” (bi jing yi shu ‫ؘ‬ᄃ‫א‬ ஏ ). Zhang defines jing as the ability “to pull tight one’s ‘temperament’ so that it will not run wild” ([she qi] er bu zong θ᥊ ௛ιۖլ᜕) without specifying, however, what is meant by this with regard to writing. For a clue, we must turn to the third essay, “Yan Gong”. Written in 1782, but revised and finalized only after more than ten years later,68 “Yan Gong” is divided into three parts. Part I (p. 194-209) inquires into six different sorts of ancient texts, elaborating how in antiquity, from the early Zhou down to the Han dynasty, the use of words was “public-spirited”. In Part II (p. 209-226), the decline of this orientation toward the “public spirit” in the literary practice since the Warring States period is examined. Part III (p. 226-253), written in rhymed prose (fu)—the only text throughout the Wenshi Tongyi using this particular style—contains ten poems, each poem depicting the public orientation of certain literary environments as well as of particular genres or styles of writing and literary devices.69 As these poems deal with a greatly diverse subject-matter and abound with references and allusions to the ancient literature from the canonical

66

In the context of the “golden rule” (“What you do not want for yourself, do not do to others”; cf. Lunyu ᓵ ፿ V.11 and XII.2; Zhongyong խ ൉ XIII), shu is commonly rendered as “reciprocity”. In translating it as “empathy”, I follow Struve 2000: 56. 67 I gratefully acknowledge my indebtedness to Prof. Monika Übelhör, Marburg University, for this understanding of jing. 68 Hu Shi and Yao Mingda 21973: 55, and “You Yu Zhu Shaobai” (in Wenshi Tongyi, waipian III: 328), where Zhang speaks about his small selection of essays and letters under the title of Wenshi Tongyi, which was printed in a limited edition in 1796. 69 Namely “drawing up kingly decrees” (zhigao ࠫᎆ), “imperial commissions” (guanju ࡴ‫)ݝ‬, “administrative writings” (wenyi ֮ฝ), “announcements and reports” (commissioned by princes, generals, regional regents, high-ranking officials etc.) (shuji ஼ಖ), “procuring [literary talents]” (muji Ⴅႃ), “poetry in the style of the Bureau of Music Songs” (yuefu ᑗࢌ), “adopting words but giving them a twist” (diancuan រ៚), “imitations” (niwen ᚵ֮), “making use of the imaginary” (jiashe ೗๻), and “the eight-legged examination essay” (zhiyi ࠫᆠ).

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texts down to the Wen xuan ֮ᙇ, this part needs separate treatment. I therefore limit myself to some remarks on the first two parts. Part I is a tightly organized text in six sections. Each of the first three sections is devoted to one Confucian canonical book (the Documents, the Odes, and the Lunyu ᓵ፿), and each of the latter three sections to a group of writings from the Warring States and the Qin-Han period (the Hundred Schools of Thought, the historical works by Sima Qian and Ban Gu, and the exegetical writings of Han scholars). Each section ends with the proposition made at the outset, which runs as the leitmotiv through the entire chapter: The reason why the words of the ancients were public-spirited (gong) is that the ancients never boasted about their writings and never egoistically claimed that they were their own property (p. 194).70

With regard to various parts of the Documents (Sec. 1), Zhang notes that no clear distinction is made whether the speaking voice was that of the king or the minister. In addition, the chroniclers’ records seem as if written by the ruler himself. From these observations Zhang concludes that, The writing and the Way were one organic whole, and words and deeds were in accord with each other. That is just the same as one instrument’s color or one ingredient’s taste which one cannot distinguish when the eight musical sounds complement each other in concert, or when the five flavors work together in a delicate dish (p. 195).

In the second section Zhang argues that the Odes make use of sophisticated literary devices such as speaking through a bird or conveying one’s feelings through a plant.71 But differently than poetry of later times, says Zhang, ”it never occurred to the ancients that such literary devices might be used to gain fame (ming ‫)ټ‬, and thus there was no scramble for artistry in literature or the other arts.” Proceeding to Confucius’ sayings as recorded in the Lunyu (Sec. 3), Zhang points out that Confucius used the Documents and the Odes 70

In the opening section Zhang elaborates on this leitmotiv: “As a writer’s mind (zhi ‫ )ݳ‬craved the Way, his words elucidated this mind of his, and his writing was apt to bring out completely what he had to say. Because the Way that he pursued became in fact manifested in the world and because there was no place to which his mind failed to reach out, it thus was not necessary to claim that his words were indeed his.” (p. 194). For a slightly different translation, see Nivison 1966: 128-129. 71 This alludes to Odes no. 155 “Chixiao” and no. 148 “Xi You Changchu” ㆈ‫ڶ‬ ဝᄑ, respectively. On the former, see above, note 64.


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without particularly indicating the origin of the citations. The reason for this is, says Zhang, that in ancient times “there was never much weight given to the difference between creating something new and transmitting something from the past. Thus, one made use [of extant writings] in order to illuminate the Way and to establish one’s teachings ...” (p. 199). The following section evokes the conventional picture of a rupture that allegedly occurred after the passing of Confucius when his “subtle words” (weiyan პߢ) came to an end and the “great meaning” (dayi Օᆠ) became “perverted” (p. 200). 72 Striving to reform the world, each of the thinkers of the Hundred Schools of Thought (baizi ‫ۍ‬՗) thereupon “grabbed one edge of the great Way” (de yu dadao zhi yi duan ൓࣍Օሐհԫጤ), contending his doctrine’s singularity and hence claiming that his writings were his own, says Zhang (p. 201). Apparently, the rise of the Hundred Schools marks for Zhang the threshold beyond which the decline of writing in the “public spirit” began. Nevertheless, Zhang maintains that this ideal continued to be recognized throughout the Warring States and Qin-Han period. Referring to various “philosophers” (zi ՗) such as Guanzi, Hanfeizi ឌॺ՗, Zhuangzi ๗՗, Yanzi Chunqiu ஶ՗ਞટ, Lüshi Chunqiu ‫ܨ‬ ּਞટ, Huainanzi ෢ত՗, and giving examples from these books, he argues that in each particular case the “philosopher’s” disciples and later followers contributed to the original work without an explicit distinction being made between the original text by the “philosopher” and the later explanations, additions, and supplements (p. 201-202). The same argument is repeated with regard to the early Han commentarial literature that grew up around the books of the Confucian canon (Sec. 6). Again Zhang points to the composite and multi-layered structure of the Han exegetical works, emphasizing that in general it was not indicated which comments and explanations were contributed by the master and which by his students (p. 207-208). The penultimate section aims at confirming the “public-spirited” nature of the Shiji and the Hanshu. Rejecting earlier charges against Sima Qian and Ban Gu of a crude scissors-and-paste compilation and of outright plagiarism, respectively, Zhang points out that history-

72

The locus classicus of this view is the introduction to the bibliographical treatise in Hanshu 30/1701.

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writing must necessarily rely on previous testimonies and earlier written records (p. 204-205). To summarize Zhang’s main argument in the first part: In high antiquity, from Yao ໯ and Shun စ down to Confucius, the author of any and every written work largely came second to the message conveyed or the events and official acts recorded. Only by the Warring States period did individual authors claim their writings to be their own property. Nevertheless, the “public spirit” in writing still held sway throughout the Warring States and Qin-Han period. Part II is divided into eight sections. Its most important section is the first one (p. 210-211), which sets the main theme of this part—the tendency to self-aggrandizement in speech and writing after the “selfish will” had eclipsed the “public spirit” as the dominant motivation for writing. What was the cause of this paradigmatic shift? According to Zhang’s analysis, it was the exhausting of the Way and the depletion of any “real concern” (shi ኔ) in writing: Alas! When the teachings [of the Sages] that had been transmitted for generations declined, there was not any more enough substance to the Way and the scrambling for writing began. Thereupon words could be seized as one’s own property (yan ke de er si ߢ‫ױ‬൓ۖߏ). And when there were not any more sufficient real concerns, the scrambling for fame (zheng yu ming ञ࣍‫ )ټ‬began. Thereupon writings could be seized and boasted about (wen ke de er jin ֮‫ױ‬൓ۖ઒). When words could be seized as one’s own property and writings could be seized and boasted about the heart-and-mind prone to scrambling for fame arose and the Way and its ritual practice (daoshu ሐ ๬ ) disintegrated. When the ancients used words, they wanted to instruct the world, but those born later did so in order to deceive it. It is certainly not that their heart-and-minds were set up for deceiving, but rather because their claiming something to be their own property and being boastful about it caused them to act in this manner whether they wanted to or not. When the ancients used words, they wanted to grace others, but those born later did so to flaunt themselves. It is certainly not that the ancients were explicitly opposed to flaunting themselves, nor that those born later were lusting for it, but rather the deficiency and lack of substance caused the latter to develop this inclination whether they wanted to or not (p. 210).

In the passage that directly follows, Zhang argues that in ancient times the “public-spirited” orientation made writing “easy” (yi ࣐), while writing motivated by a “selfish will” made it “arduous” (nan ᣄ):


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What the ancients wanted to fully comprehend was the Way, and to do so they could not do without speaking. This is just like someone who cannot help laughing when overcome by joy or someone who cannot help moaning when struck by disease. How could it be that one reckoned on giving a sophisticated and intelligent expression of it, or forcing oneself to imitate an established precedent? (p. 210).

As Zhang further explains, the reason for the ease with which the ancients used and transmitted the words of others is that their primary goal was “to achieve a unity in spirit” with the earlier authors (de [qi] xin zhi tongran ൓θࠡι֨հ‫ྥٵ‬, p. 210), thereby creating a chain of “persons united in holding to the Way from time immemorial” (qiangu tong dao zhi ren Տ‫ٵײ‬ሐհԳ, p. 210). In contrast, writers of later times, poised to scramble for fame, could not avail themselves of an intellectual companionship spanning such a period: When now a smart-aleck, who engages himself in writings that lack any real concern, puts on an air of joy without being cheerful and plays the pain-stricken without suffering from disease, is this not already utterly tiresome? And now add to this that his egoistic mind is filled with panic that he might be seen through and that his idle fame was obtained by devious means. As there is no one before him upon whom he can rely and no one after him to whom he can confide, he is squeezed into a precarious position where he is unable to find rest. Is this not arduous? (p. 210-211).

The remaining seven sections need only a brief introduction. Drawing many examples from the early and “medieval” (Han-Tang ዧ۟ା) literature, the following two sections (secs. 2-3; p. 212-213 and 214215) elaborate on how the “seizing of words as one’s own property” triggered “the scrambling for fame”, which, in turn, led to the rise of plagiarism. The next two sections (secs. 4 and 5; p. 217-218 and 221) discuss the preservation of writings that have come down only through citations and references in later works. 73 With regard to ancient inscriptions on bronze and stone, Zhang emphasizes that they have been preserved only because of the information that they contain and not because of their occasionally entrancing antiquarian style (qigu ࡛ ‫)ײ‬. 73 Zhang’s main argument in the fourth section (p. 217-218) is that a reconstruction of lost works from citation fragments is only conceivable in the case where authors have cited from them without the intention to embellish their own writings.

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This assertion introduces the theme of the next section (sec. 6; p. 222). Therein Zhang opines that a writer’s basic virtue is cheng ᇨ , “sincerity”. Intentionally avoiding a high-minded definition, he declares that the most fundamental requirement of “sincerity” in writing is that there is a “cause” (gu ਚ) which sparks our motivation for writing. Any piece of writing without a concrete “subject-matter” (shi ኔ ), however refined and gorgeously written, says Zhang, is worthless. No less important than “sincerity” is what Zhang refers to as “keeping to the Way” (dang yu dao). To illustrate this point, he alludes to the case of Chen Lin (sec. 7; p. 223-224), which has already been mentioned above. Finally, in the concluding section (p. 224-225), Zhang concedes that due to their transmission, words might take on a meaning very different from their original intention. Why then, after all, to bother about postulating a “public-spirited” use of words? Zhang’s answer is that holding to the “public spirit” in speech and writing prevents a distortion of the original words and writings in a way that runs counter to what was originally intended. Hence, such use of words and writings, even though diverging from the original, are worth preserving, not least because they may serve to reconstruct the original words once these are lost. I will now make some brief comments on “Yan Gong”, which focus on (1) Zhang’s view of the tradition of writing (wen) and (2) his notion of gong. 1) A striking feature of Zhang’s two major essays considered here, “Shi De” and “Yan Gong”, is that his overall perspective is concentrated on the ancient times from the early sage-kings down to the Six Dynasties (220-589). There are a few references to philosophers and literati from the Tang and Song period (e.g., Han Yu ឌማ 768-824 A.D. and Zhu Xi), but none to sources from the Yuan and Ming period, not to mention references to authors from the early Qing dynasty or from his own age. It is further noteworthy that the “classical age” undergoes a significant redefinition. For the educated of the Song-Ming period, the “classical age” was commonly seen as having ended, at the latest, with the “burning of the books” under Qin Shi Huangdi ఻ࡨ઄০. By contrast, Zhang’s “classical age” is obviously extended to include the Han dynasty, yet forming two distinct stages; the first extending from


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Yao and Shun down to Confucius (high antiquity), and the second from the passing of Confucius down to the demise of the Han dynasty (late antiquity). It appears that Zhang Xuecheng shared this revision of the “classical age” with the mainstream “Han Learning” (hanxue ዧᖂ) scholars of his day, who revered Zheng Xuan ᔤ‫( خ‬127-200 A.D.) as the epitome of canonical scholarship. The remodelling of the classical/post-classical divide implies an interesting shift of focus in the reflection of the end of the “classical age”, a shift from “outer” to “inner” causes: the Qin bibliocaust as a single key event is replaced by a process of deterioration which the practice of writing presumably underwent. In Zhang’s view, this process was brought about by the succumbing of the “public-spirited” orientation in writing to the “selfish will” (si) of petty-minded authors and the ensuing rise of the “scrambling for fame” (zheng yu ming). Zhang’s obsession with this idea of fame-seeking as the root of all evil also pervades his famous essay “On Women’s Learning” (“Fuxue” ഡ ᖂ).74 Moreover, it seems that this idea was widely shared among the kaozheng community as reflected in the Siku Quanshu Zongmu Tiyao ؄஄٤஼᜔‫༼ؾ‬૞ (General Catalogue with Critical Abstracts of the Complete Library of the Four Treasuries).75 How did the practice of writing (wen) develop beyond the Six Dynasties? Strangely, Zhang is silent on this question. His historical analysis of the practice of writing breaks off abruptly, leaving the entire essay very much up in the air. One wonders whether its third part, which now contains the ten opaque fu poems, was originally designed to continue drawing the line of argument down to Zhang’s own day. If this were the case, we may further conjecture that Zhang considered the reversal of the basic orientation in writing toward the “public spirit” to be still lying ahead of his time, despite all the efforts in the realm of culture which had been undertaken by the Kangxi and Qianlong emperors.76 74 75

Mann 1992: 44. The brief historical survey of the rise of “historical criticism”, which is contained in the Siku Quanshu Zongmu Tiyao 88/750c, may serve to illustrate this point; for a translation, see Mittag 2002: 16-17. 76 Again, Zhang’s position in “Fuxue” is quite similar. Although he acknowledges therein the revival of the good old customs under the Qing (“Since the Three Dynasties there has never been a ruling house so reverent toward the rites!”; quoted in Mann 1992: 48), he abhors the tendencies toward what he perceives as a frivolous women’s culture, calling for its purification along the lines of his ideal of a “a maid at rest” (jingnü ᙩՖ); see Mann 1992: 53-54.

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2) Zhang’s notion of gong rests upon the idea of a pristine unity between the Way and writing (wen);77 the “Way” being understood as the path on which human society embarked during the Three Dynasties (Xia-Shang-Zhou ୙೸ࡌ), following the basic principles and institutions established by the early sage-kings, which held the promise of well-being for All-under-Heaven as a whole. It is a recurrent theme in Zhang’s extensive writings that the “Way” vanished by the time of Confucius, but that its “traces” (ji ᇾ) were still manifest in the Confucian canon. Zhang’s concept of the “Way”, as well as his famous dictum, “The Six Canonical Books are all historical writings” (liu jing jie shi ye ք ᆖઃ‫׾‬Ո),78 lose half of their meaning unless his notion of the Six Canonical Books as “offical documents” (zhengdian ਙ ࠢ ) of the early sage-kings is understood.79 What Zhang means by this is that the sage-rulers in the first place had no intention to produce any writings. “The Six Canonical Books”, he says, “are not writings that the sages produced with intent to write” (liujing ... fei shengren you yi zuo wei wenzhang քᆖ ... ॺᆣԳ‫אڶ‬რ‫܂‬੡֮ີ). 80 When they availed themselves of writing, it occurred for reasons connected with the management of the state’s affairs and concern for the welfare of the people. Together with the records of their words and actions kept by “chroniclers” or “scribes” (shi ‫) ׾‬, these documents were handed down and were eventually compiled by Confucius. This view of Zhang’s concerning the genesis of the Confucian canon constitutes the necessary background for the pair of antonyms, gong and si, around which the argument in “Yan Gong” is developed. Here again we must note that Zhang seems to have been exposed to, or to have responded to, the Ming intellectual heritage, whether or not he was aware of this influence himself. After all, we find his key idea in “Yan Gong”—the idea that the ancients were not intent on writing and that the unity between the Way and writing broke apart after the latter had turned into a craft—already articulated in an anonymous preface to a collectanea from this period, yet without using the 77

One could see this as a historicization of Wang Yangming’s ‫׆‬ၺࣔ idea of the “unity of knowledge and action” (zhi xing heyi व۩‫ٽ‬ԫ). For the impact of this idea on Zhang’s thinking, see Nivison 1953: 126-134. 78 For a magisterial overview of this central notion of Zhang’s, see Yu Yingshi 1989. 79 For the formation and the importance of this idea in Zhang’s thinking, see Zheng Jixiong 2001: 205-207. 80 “Shi Shi” ‫ᤩ׾‬, in Wenshi Tongyi, neipian V: 151.


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antonyms gong and si. 81 It is interesting to note, however, that at various places throughout the writings contained in this collectanea the notion of gonglun is used, yet with its specific meaning so typical of the intellectual discourse of the second half of the Ming dynasty (see above).82 Zhang Xuecheng’s writings will be searched in vain for this specific notion of gong or gonglun. The reason for this seems to be evident: the close association of gonglun with the big subject of “empty talk” (kongyan ़ߢ), which was first introduced during the early Qing period, by the generation of intellectuals who grew up under the Ming dynasty and who then, contemptuous of the dynasty’s and their own failure, looked for an explanation for what went wrong. Garnished by the historical analogy of “pure talking” (qingtan 堚ᓫ), which was held responsible for the downfall of the Western Jin ۫வ dynasty (265-316), 83 the pervasive rationale of the Ming dynasty’s decline and fall was found in the “empty talk” during the later Ming period. Originally used to denounce the “left-wing” followers of the Wang Yangming ‫׆‬ၺࣔ (1472-1529) School, kongyan acquired a much broader area of meaning, unalterably negative, by the high Qing period. Joining in the large chorus decrying kongyan, Zhang Xuecheng sought to establish history as a field of study impregnable by kongyan. Thus, he declared, “The rationale of historical studies lies in the ordering of the world, not in the producing of empty talk in writing” (shixue suo yi jingshi, gu fei kongyan zhushu ye ‫׾‬ᖂࢬ‫א‬ᆖ ‫׈‬Δࡐॺ़ߢထ஼Ո).84

******* To draw a short résumé from our discussion of “Yan Gong”: Zhang’s historical analysis of how speech and writing developed along the lines of “public spirit” vs. “selfish will” is strikingly incomplete and, in addition, there is no discussion of these two key notions with regard 81 Namely the preface to the Xin Shi, which has already been referred to (see above, note 21). 82 See e.g. Xin Shi, “Dayi Lüexu” and “Zonghouxu” ᜔৵‫ݧ‬, in Zheng Sixiao Ji, p. 157 and 196. 83 Among those voices echoing this analogy, the most influential was certainly that of Gu Yanwu ᥽ङࣳ (1613-1682). 84 “Zhedong Xueshu” ௨ࣟᖂ๬, in Wenshi Tongyi, neipian II: 54.

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to history-writing. Nevertheless, the contours of what Zhang meant by his demand that the historian should restrain his “temperament” now become clearer. To put it briefly: the historian ought to bring the past alive through empathy with the historical figures that he depicts, but he should refrain from seeking “fame” by exploiting their life-stories in a self-serving manner and by catering to the readership’s taste. A negative example, which Zhang might have had in mind, is Wang Shizhen’s famous biography of Tanyangzi ᖣၺ՗ (1558-1580), a highly empathetic work, in which Wang was propelled by both noble and not-so-noble motives.85

Concluding remarks In the trilogy of essays discussed here—“Shi De”, “Wen De”, and “Yan Gong”—Zhang Xuecheng has laid out what he understood as true “history-writing” (zhuanzhu ᐷထ), as contrasted to “chronicling” (jizhu ಖࣹ).86 At the core of Zhang’s historiographical concept lie the two notions of “temperament” (qi) and “emotions” (qing). As the trilogy’s two major essays, “Shi De” and “Yan Gong”, actually discuss how to lay these two virtues under restraint, one easily loses sight of the larger picture, that is to say of Zhang’s historiographical concept as a whole, a concept that envisions a grand narrative history. Following Zhang’s explication, the function of such a history is to bring the reader into conversation with the great and not-so-great figures of the past. And its aim is to instruct the reader with lessons which allow him or her to critically assess the present. Therefore the historian ought to excercise “empathy” (shu) and, in addition, he must be filled with “deep concern for present affairs while standing loyal to his country” (zhongguo youshi ࢘ഏᐡழ, p. 197). One is tempted to say that Zhang would have become truly enthusiastic over the great histories of nineteenth-century Europe written in the manner of works of literature such as those by Ranke, Michelet, or Mommsen. Apparently lacking any laudable work from 85 86

Berg 2004. These two contrasting terms are at the core of Zhang’s analysis of the genesis and development of the various forms of historiography in “Shu Jiao”, xia, in Wenshi Tongyi, neipian I: 12-16, here p. 12. For Zhang, “history-writing” (zhuanzhu) necessarily comprises an innovative aspect concerning the literary form, while “chronicling” (jizhu) uses established forms and patterns.


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his own time, which could possibly serve to illustrate his historiographical ideas, Zhang persistently demonstrated the greatness of Sima Qian’s Shiji. However, he was keenly aware that a history modeled upon the Shiji, tainted with a replica’s fecklessness, would fail. Thus, while praising Sima Qian’s innovation of the personcentered jizhuan style, he cautioned against adopting this style, calling instead for the finding of a fresh form.87 To evaluate Zhang’s historiographical concept, it is necessary to recall the contemporary dominant view about how to write a history. This view is articulated, with great authority, in Ji Yun’s ધࣕ (17241805) introduction to the history section of the Siku Quanshu Zongmu Tiyao.88 The following two points are important in our context. Firstly, Ji Yun’s text begins by giving center stage to the Annals and the Zuozhuan ؐႚ (Zuo Commentary to the Annals) as the two ultimate paradigms of historiography. According to Ji, the former exemplifies the principle of “brevity” (jian ១ ), which rules the recording of the past, 89 while the latter spells out the principle of “detail” (xiang ᇡ), which rules “evidential inquiry” (kaozheng ‫ە‬ᢞ). This echoes the usual Ming depictions of the origins of historiography, which converge in praising Zhu Xi’s Tongjian Gangmu as the synthesis of the Annals and the Zuozhuan. 90 It should be noted, however, that there is a new accent in Ji Yun’s characterization, namely in associating the Zuozhuan with “evidential scholarship” (kaozhengxue ‫ە‬ᢞᖂ). The divergence becomes yet more pronounced with regard to the following point. Secondly, in contrast to Ming historical scholarship, which regarded the Tongjian Gangmu as the best model of history-writing (see above, note 90), Ji Yun embraces Sima Guang’s ‫್׹‬٠ (10191086) Zizhi Tongjian ᇷएຏᦸ (Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Government), pointing out that it was preceded by the “Long Draft”

87 88 89

“Shu Jiao”, xia in Wenshi Tongyi, neipian I: 14. Siku Quanshu Zongmu Tiyao, “Shibu Zongxu ‫׾‬ຝ᜔‫”ؾ‬, 45/397a-b. A more literal translation of the term used for “recording of the past”, zhuanshu ᐷ૪, is, of course, “writing of history”, but it lacks the special meaning which Zhang Xuecheng attributes to the notion of “history-writing” as contrasted to “chronicling” (see above n. 86). 90 A case in point is Wang Shizhen’s preface cited above (note 23). For the Ming period’s general tendency to extol Zhu Xi as the “master historian” after Confucius, see also Elman 2001: 490-492, 498.

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(“Changbian” ९ ᒳ ) 91 and complemented by the “Examination of Divergencies [in the Historical Accounts]” (“Kaoyi” ‫ە‬ฆ). What Ji intends to make clear is that Sima Guang, in the process of compiling the Zizhi Tongjian, availed himself not only of the model of the Annals—the “Long Draft”—but also that of the Zuozhuan—the “Kaoyi”. In Ji Yun’s view, the Zizhi Tongjian must therefore be credited with being the ultimate model of history-writing in “modern” times. Ji Yun’s statements mirror a broader shift in the precedence of authorities in historiography, away from Zhu Xi to Sima Guang and not less to Sima Qian and Ban Gu, who reemerged as “the patriarchs of history” in the late eighteenth century.92 This trend was paralleled by the penchant toward critical inquiry of the “Kaoyi” variety, which became the hallmark of Qing historical scholarship. This trend reached its apogee with the two works of Qian Daxin ᙒՕࣗ (17281804) and Wang Mingsheng ‫ ׆‬Ꮣ ฐ (1722-1798), which were published only a few years earlier than the trilogy of Zhang Xuecheng’s essays discussed above.93 For Zhang, the Zizhi Tongjian model as sketched out by Ji Yun comes down to a somewhat sophisticated “scissors-and-paste” historiography. Though upgraded by exhaustive inquiries into the copious records, it is in Zhang’s view still deficient. In a note appended to one of his last essays, written in 1800, Zhang was outspokenly clear about this point, stating that the historian’s efforts at “compiling” (zuan ᤊ) and “examining” (kao ‫ )ە‬do not get to the heart of “historical scholarship” (shixue ‫׾‬ᖂ).94 This estimation is based upon a critique of the conventional view that the Annals and the Zuozhuan constitute the ultimate paradigms of historiography. Zhang’s critique has two aspects, an “outer” aspect 91

What Ji Yun seems to have had in mind, is actually not the “Changbian”, but either the “Charts of Successive Years” (“Linian Tu” ᖵ‫ڣ‬ቹ), or the “Outline” (“Mulu” ‫ؾ‬ᙕ) in 30 juan, which was based on the “General Outline” (“Zongmu” ᜔ ‫ )ؾ‬that represents the first stage in the process of compiling the Zizhi Tongjian. See Pulleyblank 1961: 153, 155-156. 92 From an examination question in the 1685 metropolitan examination; quoted in Elman 2001: 502. As Elman (2001: 499-503) shows, the renewed valorization of Sima Qian and Ban Gu was accompanied by a diminution of Zhu Xi. 93 Qian Daxin’s Nian’er Shi Kaoyi ֥Բ‫ە׾‬ฆ (Examinations of Divergencies in Twenty-Two Dynastic Histories) was completed in 1782, Wang Mingsheng’s Shiqi Shi Shangque ԼԮ‫׾‬೸ዎ (Critical Discussions of Seventeen Dynastic Histories) in 1787. See Zhu Weizheng 1999: 210-214. 94 See “Zhedong Xueshu”, in Wenshi Tongyi, neipian II: 54.


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that concerns the form of historical writing, and an “inner” aspect that concerns the historian’s attitude. In addressing these two aspects, Zhang ends up declaring that historiography is properly comprehended only if understood as having evolved from the Documents and the Odes instead of from the Annals.95 His argument is unfolded in two separate essays as follows: The “outer” aspect is dealt with in “Shu Jiao”, xia (“On the Teachings of the Documents” III ஼ඒΔՀ), one of Zhang’s best known essays. Therein Zhang outlines the genesis and historical development of the main historiographical genres (cf. note 86). Hailing the Documents as the unprecedented model for history-writing, he delineates how this model later developed into the style of historical narrative which was inaugurated by the Zuozhuan and later transformed by Sima Qian into the jizhuan ಖႚ style. In short, the Documents precede the Annals as the archetypal form of historywriting. The “inner” aspect is dealt with in “Shi De”, and this may to some extent account for the importance that Zhang Xuecheng himself attached to this essay. In its third section, where Zhang argues that both the “Li Sao” and the Shiji carried on the Odes tradition, he asserts that the historian ought to “acquire a thorough knowledge of the ‘six poetical devices’ (liuyi ք ᆠ ) and the use of allegorical language (bixing ֺᘋ) before discussing the way of making historical records” (p. 263).96 In other words, the study of the Odes must precede that of the Annals. 97 Why? Because the Odes assembles songs which 95

It should be pointed out that there is nothing heterodox about Zhang’s argument, as the Documents and the Odes, of course, were also both thought to have been compiled by Confucius. Accordingly the Annals, the Documents and the Odes were occasionally referred to as the “Three Histories” (“San Shi” Կ‫)׾‬. 96 “Making historical records”: chun wang zhengyue ਞ‫ִإ׆‬, literally “Spring, the first month according to the [Zhou] king’s calendar”; this phrase is taken from the beginning of the Annals. The “six poetical devices” originate from the “Great Preface” of the Odes. Apart from the three generic terms feng ଅ (“folksongs”), ya ႁ (“elegantiae”), and song ቈ (“sacrificial hyms”), which refer to the three parts of the Odes, they comprise the three poetic modes, fu ᓿ (“recital”), bi ֺ (“simile”), and xing ᘋ (“stimulus”). For the compounded term bixing denoting allegorical language in general, see e.g. the subcommentary to Lunyu XVII.9, 17/2525b, h.8b-9a. 97 This assertion is corroborated by the canonical wisdom about the respective genesis of the Odes and the Annals. As is stated in Mengzi ࡯՗ IVB.22, the latter were produced only after the Odes had ceased to be composed. For the student of Western historiography, Zhang’s postulate of the precedence of Odes study has a familiar ring. Thus, writing in 1767, Johann Christoph Gatterer declared that “since time immemorial history has always given precedence to her older sister—poetry”

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supposedly originated with the “historiographers of the states” (guoshi ഏ‫)׾‬, about whom it is said in the venerated “Great Preface” (“Daxu” Օ‫ )ݧ‬of the Odes that they “understood the indications of success and failure”, “lamented the severity of punishments and of the government [in general]”, and “condemned their superiors”.98 It is on the premise of this particular understanding of the Odes that Zhang formulated his concept of a narrative and critical history as the prerequisite of a good historian. Clearly, this concept of Zhang’s was posited against the brand of “scissors-and-paste” historiography as embraced by Ji Yun and actually pursued by the mass of historians working in the Bureau of Historiography. But this is only one side. On the other side, it should be remembered that Zhang Xuecheng was steeped in the legacy of Ming scholarship and intellectual life, as we have seen in “Shi De” and “Yan Gong”, and engaged in a kind of dialogue with Ming intellectuals. Thus, his insistence on a history that is concerned about the weal and woe of the country and, whenever necessary, is critical of the regime must also be understood as a response to the badly felt absence of gonglun in the stifling atmosphere of the Qianlong emperor’s last years, that is an historical discourse such as was entertained in the second half of the Ming period. If we can draw any conclusion from our analysis of Zhang Xuecheng’s two major essays, “Shi De” and “Yan Gong”, then it is that Zhang in his answer to the question of what makes a good historian comes up with a historiographical concept that, against the backdrop of historiography in his own day, strikes one as being highly unorthodox. At the core of this concept lies a mix of two historiographical ideals or models: the ideal of the pre-Confucian historiographer as an independent, non-conformist, and critical voice, and the model of an appealing narrative history as epitomized by such masterworks of historical fiction as the Sanguo Yanyi and the Shuihu Zhuan. Perhaps for the sake of clarity in arguing his unusual case, Zhang entirely left out the question of historical truth. Thus, at no place in the trilogy of essays under scrutiny here, does Zhang deal with the specificities of historical writings, that is, the problems concerning the and that “when writing history, it was always composed according to the rules for writing poetry”. Gatterer 1767. 98 Adapted from Legge 1960: 3.


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reliability of historical records, the interfusion of fact and fiction in written accounts, or the passing of fair judgments—problems that Zhang’s peers adhering to kaozheng scholarship grappled with in their routine work. Thus, to fully comprehend Zhang’s vision of a good historian, we must see it as an alternative concept that sought—to outline a new path of writing history beyond the official-type historiography, on one hand, and kaozheng scholars’ relentless inquiry into historical details of little relevance to the real problems of the present world, on the other.

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NOTES AND ABBREVIATIONS Note that the Twenty-Five Dynastic Histories (Ershiwu Shi ԲԼն‫)׾‬ are cited according to the standard editions of the Zhonghua Publishing House (խဎ஼‫)ݝ‬. The Thirteen Canonical Works with their commentaries and subcommentaries are referred to in their 1816 standard edition produced by Ruan Yuan ߼ց (1764-1849), Shisan Jing Zhushu (Fu Jiaokan Ji) ԼԿᆖࣹงΰॵீ೮ಖα(1980), reprinted in 2 vols., Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju.

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̛̛̛ (1996), “Wang Anshis posthumer Aufstieg im Konfuziustempel. Zur konfuzianischen Ideologiegeschichte des 11. und 12. Jahrhunderts (Wang Anshi’s Posthumous Career in the Confucian Temple. On the History of Confucian Ideology in the 11th and 12th Centuries)”, in Bochumer Jahrbuch zur Ostasienforschung 20 (1996), 29-66. Mote, Frederick W. (22000), Imperial China 900-1800. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press. Nivison, David S. (1966), The Life and Thought of Chang Hsüeh-ch’eng (1738-1801). Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. ̛̛̛ (1953), “The Problem of ‘Knowledge’ and ‘Action’ in Chinese Thought Since Wang Yang-ming”, in Wright, Arthur F. (ed.) (1953), Studies in Chinese Thought. Chicago, IL and London: The University of Chicago Press, 112-145. Pulleyblank, E. G. (1961), “Chinese Historical Criticism: Liu Chih-chi and Ssu-ma Kuang”, in Beasley, W.G. and E. G. Pulleyblank (eds.) (1961), Historians of China and Japan. London: School of Oriental and African Studies, 135-166. Qian Mu ᙒᗪ (41983), “Zhang Shizhai Wenshi Tongyi ີኔស‘֮‫׾‬ຏᆠ’ (Zhang Xuecheng’s Wenshi Tongyi)”, in Zhongguo Shixue Mingzhu խഏ‫׾‬ᖂ‫ټ‬ထ (Great Works in Chinese Historiography) (1983) 2 vols., vol. 2. Taibei: Sanmin Shuju, 319-337. ̛̛̛ (1976), Zhongguo Xueshu Sixiangshi Luncong խ ഏ ᖂ ๬ ৸ უ ‫ ׾‬ᓵ ហ (A Collection of Writings on Chinese Intellectual History), 8 vols. Taibei: Dongda Tushu Gufen Youxian Gongsi. Rolston, David L. (1997), Traditional Chinese Fiction and Fiction Commentary. Reading and Writing between the Lines. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Schmidt-Glintzer, Helwig (2003), “China im Wandel im 17. Jahrhundert (China's Transformation in the 17th Century)”, in Müller, Klaus E. (ed.) (2003), Historische Wendeprozesse. Ideen, die Geschichte machten (Historical Transformation Processes. Ideas that Made History). Freiburg, Basel and Wien: Herder, 128-145. Shitong, s.v. Liu Zhiji. Siku Quanshu Zongmu Tiyao ؄஄٤஼᜔‫༼ؾ‬૞ (General Catalogue with Critical Abstracts of the Complete Library of the Four Treasuries) (1981), reprint in 2 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Struve, Lynn (2000), “‘Virtue in the Historian’ and ‘Virtue in the Writer’”, in de Bary, Wm. Theodore and Richard Lufrano (eds.) (2000), Sources of Chinese Tradition. Second Edition, 2 vols., vol. II: From 1600 Through the Twentieth Century, 53-55 and 55-57. New York: Columbia University Press, 53-57. ̛̛̛ (1998), The Ming-Qing Conflict, 1619-1683. A Historiography and Source Guide. Ann Arbor, MI: Association for Asian Studies. Tillman, Hoyt Cleveland (1994), Ch’en Liang on Public Interest and the Law. Honolulu, Hawaii: University of Hawaii Press. Wang Anshi ‫فڜ׆‬, Linchuan Xiansheng Wenji ᜯ՟٣‫֮س‬ႃ (The Collected Writings of Wang Anshi). Sibu Congkan ؄ຝហ‫ ע‬edition. Wang, Gung-wu (1962), “Feng Tao: An Essay on Confucian Loyalty”, in Wright, Arthur F. and Denis Twitchett (eds.) (1962), Confucian Personalities. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 123-145. Wenshi Tongyi, s.v. Yan Jie and Wu Xiucheng (1997); Ye Ying (1985); Zhang Xuecheng (1980). Wong Siu-kit (1983), Early Chinese Literary Criticism. Hongkong: Joint Publishing Co.

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Xie Guozhen ᝔ഏᄙ (1982), “Ming Qing Yeshi Biji Gaishu ࣔ堚ມ‫׾‬࿝ಖᄗ૪ (A Survey on the Non-Official Histories and the Off-Brush Notes in the Ming-Qing Period)”, in Ming Qingchu de Xuefeng ࣔ堚ॣऱᖂଅ (The Intellectual Climate in Ming and Early Qing). Beijing: Renmin Chubanshe, 88-104. Xin Shi ֨‫( ׾‬A History of the Heart-and-Mind), in Zheng Sixiao Ji ᔤ৸ߕႃ (Collected Works of Zheng Sixiao) (1991), punctuated and edited by Chen Fukang ຫ壂ൈ. Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe. Yan Jie ᣤࣧ and Wu Xiucheng ࣳߐ‫( ګ‬1997), Wenshi Tongyi Quanyi ֮‫׾‬ຏᆠ٤ ᤟ (A Complete Translation of the Wenshi Tongyi into Modern Chinese), 2 vols. Guiyang: Guizhou Renmin Chubanshe. Ye Ying ᆺᅛ (1985), Wenshi Tongyi Jiaozhu ֮‫׾‬ຏᆠீࣹ (Annotations to the Wenshi Tongyi), 2 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Yu Yingshi ‫ ܇‬૎ ழ (1992), “Ming-Qing Bianqian Shiqi Shehui yu Wenhua de Zhuanbian ࣔ堚᧢ᔢழཚषᄎፖ֮֏ऱ᠏᧢ (The Transformation of Society and Culture in the Ming-Qing Transitional Period)”, in Yu Yingshi et al. (1992), Zhongguo Lishi Zhuanxing Shiqi de Zhishifenzi խഏᖵ‫׾‬᠏ীழཚऱवᢝ։՗ (Chinese Intellectuals in Times of Radical Change). Taibei: Lianjing Chuban Gongsi, 35-42. ̛̛̛ (1989), “Liu Jing Jie Shi ք ᆖ ઃ ‫( ׾‬The Six Canonical Books are All Histories)”, in Wei Zhengtong ଁਙຏ (ed.) (1989), Zhongguo Zhexue Cidian Daquan խ ഏ ୃ ᖂ ᢯ ࠢ Օ ٤ (Comprehensive Dictionary of Chinese Philosophy). Taibei: Shuiniu Chubanshe, 166-176. ̛̛̛ (21980), Lun Dai Zhen yu Zhang Xuecheng. Qingdai Zhongqi Xueshu Sixiangshi Yanjiu ᓵᚮᔼፖີᖂᇨ堚‫ז‬խཚᖂ๬৸უ‫׾‬ઔߒ (On Dai Zhen and Zhang Xuecheng. A Study of the Intellectual History of the Mid-Qing Period), Taibei: Huashi Chubanshe. Yuan Wang Gangjian Hebian ಒ‫׆‬ጼᦸ‫ٽ‬ᒳ (Joint Edition of the String and Mesh of the Comprehensive Mirrors by Yuan Huang and Wang Shizhen) (1985) Shijie Shuju ‫ ੺ ׈‬஼ ‫ ݝ‬edition, reprinted in 4 vols. Beijing: Beijingshi Zhongguo Shudian. von Zach, Erwin (1958), Die chinesische Anthologie: Übersetzungen aus dem Wen hsüan (The Chinese Anthology: Translations from the Wenxuan), edited by Martin Fang, Ilse, 2 vols. Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press. Zeng Zuyin མలឆ Huang Qingquan ႓堚ੈ Zhou Weimin ࡌ೛‫ ا‬and Wang Xianpei ‫׆‬٣ⶓ (eds.) (1982), Zhongguo Lidai Xiaoshuo Xuba Xuanzhu խഏᖵ ‫ז‬՛ᎅ‫ݧ‬ၐᙇࣹ (Selected Prefaces and Postfaces of Chinese Novels from All Ages with Annotations). Wuhan: Changjiang Wenyi Chubanshe. Zhang Xuecheng ີᖂᇨ (1980), (Xinbian Ben) Wenshi Tongyi (ᄅᒳ‫׾֮)ء‬ຏᆠ ([A New Edition of the] Comprehensive Discussion of Scriptural Culture and History). Taibei: Huashi Chubanshe. Zhao Yuanzhu ᎓Ⴜထ (22000), Ming Qing zhi Ji Shidafu Yanjiu ࣔ堚հᎾՓՕ֛ઔ ߒ (A Study of the Scholar-Offical Class in the Ming-Qing Period). Beijing: Beijing Daxue Chubanshe. Zheng Jixiong ᔤ ‫ ٳ‬ႂ (2001), Qingru Mingzhu Shuping 堚 ᕢ ‫ ټ‬ထ ૪ ေ (An Anthology with Annotations of Renowned Texts by Qing Scholars). Taibei: Da’an Chubanshe. Zheng Sixiao ji, s.v. Xin Shi. Zhu Weizheng ‫ڹ‬ፂᙖ (1999), “Qian-Jia Shixue: Fangfa yu Zhenglun ೓ቯ‫׾‬ᖂΥֱ ऄፖञᓵ (‘Qian-Jia Historiography’: Methodology and Debates)”, in Wei Gelin ᠿ ௑ ࣥ (Susanne Weigelin-Schwiedrzik) and Shi Naide ਜ ર ᐚ (Axel Schneider) (eds.) (1999), Zhongguo Shixueshi Yantaohui: Cong Bijiao Guandian


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Chufa Lunwenji խ ഏ ‫ ׾‬ᖂ ઔ ಘ ᄎ Υ ൕ ֺ ለ ᨠ រ ‫ נ‬࿇ ᓵ ֮ ႃ (Chinese Historiography Conference: A Collection of Essays from a Comparative Perspective). Taibei: Taoxiang Chubanshe, 199-221. Zhu Xi ‫ڹ‬ᗋ (21987), Chuci Jizhu ᄑ᢯ႃࣹ (Commentary to the Songs of the South) punctuated by Li Qingjia ‫ޕ‬ᐜ‫ظ‬. Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe. Zurndorfer, Harriet T. (2002), “Old and New Visions of Ming Society and Culture”, in T’oung Pao 87 (2002), 151-169.

IDEOLOGY AND TRUTH CLAIMS IN KOREAN HISTORIOGRAPHY OF THE “EMPIRICIST SCHOOL” Marion Eggert The genre of historiography as we understand it is by necessity based on implicit truth claims: while neither author nor reader of historical writing have to be actually convinced that things have happened “as they are told” 1 for the genre to work, a piece of writing becomes historiography only when we agree that it was intended to convince readers of the factual truth of its story. In introducing some Korean materials to the discussion of truth claims in Chinese language historiography, my aim is not to test the validity of this concept of historiography for the tradition concerned, although some food for thought is offered; a far more thoroughgoing investigation of Sino-Korean historiography would be necessary for this aim. Nor can I offer any in-depth analysis of the historiographical methods employed in my textual sample. Instead, this brief study confines itself to showing how Korean historical writing continued to be bound into the political and ideological struggles of the respective times, and especially, how it served attempts to define ethnic identity. This latter trait, albeit a rather ubiquitous function of historiography, seems to appear in sharper relief in Korea, with its precarious geocultural position and the resulting debates on where to belong culturally, than in more self-contained Chinese scholarship. In this sense, the following examples of Korean historiography may perhaps help to reinforce perspectives that are usefully applied to Chinese scholarship as well. While the focus of this essay will be on a work of history written by an eminent eighteenth century scholar, An Chǂngbok’s ‫ڜ‬ቓ壂 (1712-1791) Tongsa kangmok ࣟ‫׾‬ጼ‫( ؾ‬An Outline History of the East), a cursory glance both at some early examples of Korean historiography and at historiographical trends in the era immediately preceding this historian will help to put the agenda of his historical writings in perspective. 1 The quotation marks are intended to point to the imaginative preconditions of all story-telling which Hayden White has taught us to take note of even in dealing with historiography.

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1. Identity Building and Faction Politics in Korean Historiography: The Early Examples In comparison with both China and Japan, Korea does not boast a very long history of transmitted historiography. The oldest among the extant histories, Samguk sagi 葱纯萩罛 (History of the Three Kingdom’s), was written in the mid twelfth century, more than a millennium after social formations that are now commonly recognized as ancestors to the Korean nation had caught Chinese attention. But the shaping of a “Korean” identity was long in the making, and it is perhaps no coincidence that historical writings of the time when several kingdoms competed on the Korean peninsula are transmitted only as fragmentary quotes in Japanese histories. Samguk sagi, commissioned by a king from a compilation committee directed by Kim Pusik ८ ༄ ሊ (1075-1151), was an attempt on the part of the Koryԁ kingdom (the first to have unified the whole peninsula) to create a historical basis for itself and to clarify its perceived lines of descent and, by default, its preferences for international alliances. The need to do so arose more than two centuries after the founding of the dynasty, when the establishment of the Jin state in northern China forced Koryԁ into a position of uneasy double alliance. Samguk sagi represents the choice to claim descent from the Silla kingdom, the victor in the struggles of the Three Kingdoms, and assert allegiance to China. Only years prior to the compilation of the book, a rebellion that had aimed at transferring the capital northward and strengthening ties with the Jin had been quelled under the command of the very same Kim Pusik. The sinocentric view-point of this history is borne out, among other things, by the mention made of the “Kija legend”. According to this tradition, Kija ጦ՗ was an estranged member of the ruling house in the last days of the Chinese Shang dynasty, towards the end of the second millennium B.C. Having been incarcerated by the dynasty’s corrupt last ruler because of his tiresome moral warnings, he was set free by the conquering Zhou king and fled to Chosǂn, where he founded his own ruling house, thus originating Korean civilisation. One and a half centuries later, when the Mongols had fully established their domination of Koryԁ and professing allegiance to China did not make political sense any more, the monk Iryԁn ԫྥ (1206-1289), again a person close to the court, wrote another history of the Three Kingdoms period which even in its title purported to

IDEOLOGY AND TRUTH CLAIMS IN KOREAN HISTORIOGRAPHY 407

supplement the former work, Samguk yusa 葱纯裝萡 (More Stories about the Three Kingdoms). This work of suibi/sup’il ᙟ࿝ (random notes) format compiled materials less conspicuous, though not completely absent, in Samguk sagi: pious legends, native myths and beliefs, and even some Korean language poems. Most importantly, it recorded for the first time the celebrated “indigenous” myth of origin, the Tan’gun ᚽ‫ ܩ‬myth that has Koreans descending from a god and a bear woman, providing a link to Tungusic culture with what is now regarded as bear totemism. While the Samguk yusa shares its stress on Silla heritage with the Samguk sagi, it is clearly more engaged in tapping local spiritual resources than in integrating Korea into the Sinitic sphere. Almost hundred years earlier than this prose “supplement”, a poem on history had already challenged the authority of Kim Pusik’s version of the Korean past: this was Yi Kyubo’s ‫ ޕ‬৊ ໴ (1168-1241) “Tongmyԁng-wang p’yԁn” ࣟ ࣔ ‫ ׆‬ᒧ (“Compilation on King Tongmyԁng”), written in 1193. At this time, the political situation in Koryԁ had changed dramatically: the China-oriented literati class of which Kim Pusik had been the most powerful representative during his time had been ousted from power by military rulers who endeavored to model their kingdom not after luckless Song China but after the rising northern powers pitted against Koryǂ: the Khitan, Jurchen and Mongols. Yi Kyubo was the foremost representative of young literary men who saw their only hope lay in complying with the interests and needs of these military rulers. His poem makes use of certain legends concerning the founder of Koguryԁ to celebrate the “divine origin” of Koryԁ (the name of which was taken from this earlier northern kingdom); the prose introduction blames Kim Pusik in a tongue-in-cheek way for what would be called “Confucian bias” in modern Korean diction. Yi Kyubo, who sought employment from the ruling Ch’oe house at this time, clearly offered a historiographical alternative to the Samguk sagi, one that would permit looking on the Koryԁ kingdom as part of a chain of powerful non-Chinese states with their own raison d’être. Around the time the Samguk yusa was written, another poem on history was submitted to the Koryǂ king, the “Rhymed Record of Emperors and Kings” (“Chewang un’gi” Ᏹ⥟䷏㿬) by Yi Sǎnghyu ‫( ٖࢭޕ‬1224-1300). This poem consists of two parts of roughly equal length, dedicated to Chinese and Korean history (both of them from

408

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their beginnings to the author’s present) respectively. Just like the “Samguk yusa”, the “Chewang un’gi” allows Korean history to begin with Tan’gun. It differs, however, in stressing, above anything else, the “correct line of transmission” (of legitimate rule), chǂngt’ong ℷ䗮. While the preface speaks of clarifying chǂngt’ong up to the Jin dynasty, the poem does in fact recount Chinese history up to the Yuan. This, together with many other roundabout expressions of opinion, points to the denial of legitimacy to the Mongols as the main objective of the work. Rendering Chinese history as a kind of frame of reference for Korean history clearly places Koryǂ within the Chinese cultural sphere, the only place where the legitimation of power is decided. Not through choice of materials but through their composition, the poem effects a clear-cut statement on Koryǂ’s position within the surrounding world. These few examples may serve to illustrate how deeply Korean historiography has been tied to efforts towards identity-building. Different options for placing Korea in the surrounding power structures have tended to bring forth factions fighting for supremacy and using historiography as a powerful weapon. This perspective can be helpful even for understanding contemporary historiography; it certainly has much explanatory power for later Chosǂn historical writings.

2. Later Chos΅n Historiography Within the Chosԁn dynasty’s long period of rule (1392-1910) historians usually distinguish an Earlier and a Later period, the period of the Japanese invasions (1592-1598) serving as the dividing line. While on grounds of social developments this periodization has been questioned, in intellectual history, and especially concerning our topic, the events at the turn of the sixteenth century certainly served as a watershed. Early Chosǂn historiography consisted mainly of statesponsored enterprises that served to make Korea a more full-fledged part of the Sinitic realm by sticking closely to Chinese, especially Neo-Confucian, models. Private historiography of the sixteenth century served similar purposes. 2 But after the disastrous Japanese

2

Han 1995.


invasions, a wave of private history writing with very diverse ideological aims set in. Mention of a few works must suffice here.3 O Un’s ਇ╤ (1540-1617) Tongsa ch’anyo ᵅ৆㑖㽕 (A Comprehensive History of the East), printed in 1606, was an immediate reaction to the sense of insecurity and instability bred by the invasions. O Un, who was close to the Namin faction, 4 among whom the later scholars Yi Ik (see below) and An Chԁngbok counted as well, seems to have written this work to account for dynastic rise and fall in moral terms and to stress the importance of monarchic authority. Although the narrative starts with Tan’gun, the book stresses Kija as originator of Korean civilization, both explicitly in the introductory “directions to the reader” (p΅mnye ޵螂) and implicitly through the much larger amount of material devoted to the latter, thus firmly positioning the Korean societas as an integral part of the Chinese sphere. The Chosԁn state having just been rescued by the Ming, this was politically and ideologically a rather logical choice, though not the only one possible. That alternatives were available is amply shown by the Amended History of the East (Tongsa poyu ᵅ৆㺰䙎) by Cho Chԁng 䍭ᤎ (1551-? A.D.), completed around 1630 after Cho Chԁng’s faction, the Pugin, had been ousted from power. The Pugin had supported King Kwanghaegun’s (r. 1608-1623 A.D.) prudent policies with regard to the rising Manchu power, including the maintenance of an (as far as possible) neutral stance while at the same time reinforcing the military. The future they envisioned for Korea was not that of a Chinese vassal but that of a strong north-eastern power on a par with the Manchu, whom they may have hoped to maintain an equilibrium of power with the Ming. Tongsa poyu, as Pugin history, accordingly stresses the Tan’gun myth as well as the myths of origin of the early northern states (Puyԁ, Koguryԁ). A long biography is devoted to Taejoyong, founder of the Parhae state (699-926 A.D.) built on the rubble of the 3

In the following section, I draw heavily from Han Yԁngu’s study on later Chosԁn historiography, cf. Han 1989. As these paragraphs basically summarize the respective chapters of this outstanding book, I refrain from providing detailed quotes. 4 Factions among the civil officials having originated in the fifteenth century, factional struggle worsened during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. During later Chosԁn, the major factions were the “Southerners” (Namin), “Northeners” (Pugin) and “Westerners” (S΅in); the latter again split up into a “Young” and an “Old” faction (Soron, Noron) after 1683. The cardinal directions of the names have nothing to do with geopolitical orientation but originated from the dwelling places in Seoul of the first leaders of each group.

410

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Koguryԁ kingdom and northern rival to United Silla (668-935 A.D.), in stark contrast to the exclusive treatment of Silla as the only Korean state of that time by Namin and Sԁin historians. The Sԁin faction, which ousted Kwanghaegun and the Pugin in favor of a clear-cut pro-Ming policy (with the result that there were several Manchu invasions and, finally, acknowledgement of the latter’s claims to hegemony), naturally objected to this perspective on Korean history. One faction member, Yu Kye ܾẼ (1607-1664), in his Outline History of the Kory΅ Dynasty, (Y΅sa chegang 蜁৆ᦤ㎅ [written ca. 1637-1640]), sharply criticized the Koryԁ for their Buddhist leanings and their close relations with the Mongols, thereby taking a stance close to the Namin position. However, he offered a rather different evaluation of the contribution of officialdom to the state’s well-being: the Sԁin defended the rights of the high aristocracy, while the Namin opted for strengthening central power. The book was countered, therefore, by Hwich’an y΅sa ᔭ㑖蜁৆ (Compilation of Koryǂ History) by the Namin Hong Yԁha ⋾∱⊇ (1621-1678) which recounted Koryԁ history from the perspective of central power. A break in this pattern of ideological impulses in historiography might be expected from the new intellectual trends of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, commonly referred to as the school of “practical learning”, sirhak ᆺᅌ. We will test this expectation against the example of one of the scholars often singled out as the foremost representative of this trend.

3. An Chǂngbok and sirhak Historiography Contemporary Korean writing on the intellectual history of the latter part of the Chosԁn dynasty (from the seventeenth to the nineteenth century) is dominated by the concept of sirhak. Except for Yi Hangno ‫ ޕ‬㠬 ‫( ۔‬1792-1868), who enjoys his own fame as a stoutly conservative Confucian intellectual, almost no one deemed an influential thinker of this period escapes being subsumed under the sirhak category. Even more so than the Qing empiricists in China, the sirhak “school” is used as a symbol for an indigenous Korean road to modernity. The literature on sirhak abounds with slogans like “utilitarianism”, “humanism”, “capitalism”, “egalitarianism”, “social change”. Modern outlooks in almost any respect—politics, education, gender issues—are ascribed to individual sirhak thinkers; generally,


they are assumed to have developed an alternative world-view, the essence of which is the pursuit of “factual knowledge”—or truth—as opposed to the perpetuation of ideology. Needless to say, this picture needs differentiation. It has been pointed out, for one thing, that sirhak has never been a school: literati subsumed under this category today have often been part of differing and even opposing alliances.5 This may be the first and most important step in de-constructing the sirhak myth. Many more efforts are necessary, however, to position these Korean scholars within their own contemporary issues and intellectual or psychological needs, rather than those of their modern interpreters. One starting point for such an endeavor would be the disentanglement of notions of “empiricism” as the main intellectual make-up of the school. While sirhak is quite universally conceived of as the sprout of an indigenous “scientific” tradition, academic treatment of the school typically concentrates on ideas rather than methodology. Among the many men subsumed under the “sirhak school”, only one has consistently been labeled a scholar of “evidential research” (kojǎng 㗗䄝): Kim Chǂnghǎi 䞥ℷ୰ (17861856), Korea’s most famous calligrapher, who was also an accomplished epigrapher. Having met Weng Fanggang ֱౖᙓ (17331818) and Ruan Yuan ߼ց (1764-1849) during a sojourn in Beijing as a member of a diplomatic mission in 1810, he played an important role in transmitting mid-Qing scholarship to Korea. Most famous is his “Explanation of [the Hanshu ዧ஼ Phrase] ‘to Search for Truth in the Facts’” (Silsa kusi sǂl ᆺџ∖ᰃ䁾) which is one of only a few Korean texts that explicitly discuss the meaning of the phrase thought to be at the heart of the intellectual movement which lasted several centuries. One of the few other Korean scholars to have been connected with kojǎnghak 㗗䄝ᅌ at least peripherally is An Chǂngbok (ᅝ哢⽣ 1712-1791), author of one of the most influential rewritings of Korean history during the later Chosǂn dynasty.6 It is with his work that I will mainly deal in attempting to give an impression of sirhak historiography. 5

Setton 1997: 10-17. Although (rare) treatments of Korean kojǎnghak do not necessarily include An Chǂngbok, articles dealing with the latter’s achievements as a rule refer to his scholarly style as silchǎngjǂk ኔ ᢞ ऱ (empiricist) or kojǎnghakchǂk ‫ ە‬ᢞ ᖂ ऱ (pertaining to evidential learning). See for example Kang Segu 1986: 71-73; Yu Wǂndong 1983: 12. 6

412

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4. The Text: Tongsa Kangmok ࣟ‫׾‬ጼ‫ؾ‬ In the intellectual history of the later Chosԁn period, An Chԁngbok counts among the more important figures. Scion of a family long affiliated with the rather powerless Namin faction, he harbored little hope of a political career and committed himself to intellectual and moral pursuits instead. He was offered minor posts in acknowledgment of his erudition from 1749 onward, became tutor to the crown prince in 1772, later served as county magistrate for some years, and became minister of the Privy Council, a typical advisory post for elderly worthies, towards the end of his life (in 1789). In 1746, An went to study under Yi Ik (褵㗐 1681-1763), also a Namin and one of the pillars of the modern reconstruction of a sirhak movement, credited with a major role in consolidating a utilitarian attitude—learning has to serve concrete ends in bettering society—and a critical, though fundamentally loyal, approach to Cheng-Zhu traditions. To pigeon-hole Yi Ik as an advocate of administrative and economic reforms, as is often done, does not do justice to this polymath with broad interests and exceptional openness towards both “Western learning” (some of his followers were attracted to Catholicism) and the Japanese kogaku ‫ײ‬ᖂ. His monumental work of scholarly notes, S΅ngho sas΅l ਣྋ⭗ᎅ (Sǂngho’s Trivial Remarks), also bears witness to his commitment to historical studies. While his own plan of writing a history of Korea did not come to fruition, certainly his view on writing history as expressed in the S΅ngho sas΅l must have influenced his disciple. Based on the realisation that history is always written by the victorious and that good and bad, right and wrong cannot be judged on the basis of victory, he comes to the conclusion that “the difficulty in writing history is not the anxiety of endangering oneself but the difficulty in discerning the truth”.7 A commitment to truth instead of ideology (the personal dangers mentioned by Yi Ik are those of factional struggles) can accordingly be assumed to be the guiding principle for An Chԁngbok, who waited for the publication of his book until he could secure a preface from his teacher. If the spirit of the later Chosԁn period is one of giving priority to evidence, it must be reflected in the Tongsa kangmok as the “most 7

S΅ngho sas΅l yusǂn, Ky΅ngsap’yǂn ᆖ‫׾‬ᒧ 4, Nonsamun ᓵ‫׾‬॰ 1, “Chaksa chi nan” ‫׾܂‬հᣄ, cf. Yi 1982 part II, 131.


representative” work of the lively later Chosԁn historiographical scene.8 What is the Tongsa kangmok actually like? The core of the text is an annalistic history of Korea from its mythical beginnings to the end of the Koryԁ dynasty (that is, the end of the preceding dynasty)9 in 17 juan; it follows the format of Zhu Xi’s Tongjian Gangmu ຏᦸጼ‫ؾ‬ (headings telling the main event of each date listed, followed by more detailed explanations) from which the title of the work is borrowed. To this, two juan of topical explorations are attached. The first of these is devoted to what may be called “source criticism”: the respective merits of different historical traditions are discussed, as well as the credibility of certain narratives in the light of natural law. The second juan deals with questions of (historical) geography: identification of place names, boundaries of ancient states and the geographical position of Korea in relation to Chinese and Western latitudes and longitudes. The whole work is introduced in a “heading chapter” which includes the following materials:

Preface by Yi Ik10

Preface by An Chԁngbok

Table of Contents

List of Directions to the Reader (p΅mnye ޵ࠏ)

8

Han 1989: 276. An Chԁngbok later authored another book on the history of the ruling dynasty (Y΅lcho t’onggi ٨ཛຏધ). This work offers a cautious compilation of materials rather than historical narrative of any sort. 10 Yi Ik started to write this preface one year before his death in 1763, but did not complete it. His nephew Yi Pyԁnghyu edited it (and added an explanation to that effect) in 1774. Only then did An Chԁngbok, who had completed the draft in 1756 already, prepare a clean copy and use the work for private teaching. His own preface dates from 1778. Three years later, the book was introduced to the king and since then enjoyed high prestige as a quasi-official history. 9

414

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Tables/ Maps: Succession of Reigns Maps of Korean Kingdoms Diachronic Tables of Official Posts and Titles It is mainly these surrounding chapters on which the fame of Tongsa kangmok as a work of evidential scholarship rests. 11 Obviously, the critical considerations of source texts and the detailed geographical scholarship of the final two volumes warrant such a description, as long as it is not assumed that the methodology must be new for the time.12 Within the introductory volume, the list of historical sources used in the compilation (contained in the pǂmnye section) is especially highly valued as proof of the development of historiographical methodology in eighteenth century Korea. However, it would be wrong to assume that these important chapters are devoted only to “truth”. The introductory volume in particular makes no attempt to conceal from the reader the special ideology it subscribes to. The opening of the book, the unfinished “preface” (ᑣ) by the great sirhak scholar Yi Ik, is not actually a preface which attempts to delineate the order (ᑣ) of the text to follow, but a treatise on its own, that was originally entitled “Explanation of the Hongfan (Great Plan)” (Hongbǂm sǂl ⋾㆘䁾) by Yi Ik and now simply carries the title (probably chosen by his nephew Yi Pyǂnghyu ‫ٖऺޕ‬, who edited it) “On the First Page of the Tongsa Kangmok”. This treatise centers around the idea that, again in the words of Pyǂnghyu, “Kija’s Great Plan is the founding text of the written tradition of the Eastern Country (Korea)”. Tradition has it that before leaving “China” for “Korea”, Kija left the Great Plan, a kind of blue-print for a perfect society, to the new Chinese rulers. In his discussion of the Great Plan, Yi Ik argues that the ideas of moral government have been implemented more fully and transmitted more directly in Korea than in China: “That the Great Plan was blocked in the Realm (China) but implemented in Korea has begun with Kija.”13 11

Kang Segu 1986, 1990. As An Chǂngbok himself states in the introductory remarks to the first part of the first volume, “Ko i” 㗗⭄ or (Explorations of Difference), his methods are gleaned from the identically titled chapter of Sima Guangs Zizhi Tongjian, an eleventh century Chinese work. 13 “Che Sagang p’yǂnmyǂn”, cf. An 1975: 2. 12


“Evidence” for this is found in customs such as the use of white horses during wedding ceremonies, which is said to originate from Shang times and still be practiced in rural Korea. Again in the words of Yi Pyǂnghyu, Proofs that the teachings of the Great plan originated with (the mythical Chinese emperors) Yao and Shun and … at Kija’s time were transmitted to the East, where they still persist, are chiseled out in detail. This has never been discovered before. Although the text is not in the form of a preface, its nature is such that it is essential to this History of the East.14

The opening statement of the book, then, tunes the reader in to Korean history with an unmistakable message about the pivotal position of Korea in the Chinese cultural universe. This statement may be derived from a new look at texts and facts and in this respect be textual scholarship; more clearly, it is an expression of a certain idea as to how Korea should position itself—namely, as the inheritor of the essence of Chinese culture, not only since the Manchus took over in China but since high antiquity, an idea which was by no means undebated in Yi Ik’s time. Next comes An Chǂngbok’s own preface. It starts with an emphasis on “truth”, in the form of a critique of extant histories of Korea for each of which different shortcomings are listed, “but in that they transfer mistakes on the basis of misinformation, and perpetuate errors through errors, they are very much alike”. In explaining his own criteria for good historical writing, however, An does not position truth at the start: Generally, the great task of history writing is to make clear the succession of rule, to be stern on rebellion, to straighten out right and wrong, to praise loyalty and chastity, to detail the legal regulations. In this respect, the extant histories leave much room for debate. Therefore I have abbreviated and added things, have cleansed and excised. Of those items where errors and misinformation reach an extreme, I have made a special record attached at the end in two volumes.15

In harmony with Yi Ik’s treatise, and in close correspondence to Zhu Xi’s work, after which the book is modeled, a moral and not an academic concern finds expression here: the legitimate succession of rule, right and wrong, the praise of moral conduct. Without straining 14 15

An 1975: 2. An 1975: 4.

416

MARION EGGERT

the text, it can even be read as an admission of having tampered with the historical sources in order to reach the desired results. The criteria for distinguishing “errors” and “misinformation” from truth in conflicting historical accounts seem to be derived from the “great task of history writing”, the provision of moral guidelines. The next item, the introduction to the pǂmnye section, reiterates the point that history writing cannot do without a guiding “ideology”. The author starts by accounting for his decision to compile pǂmnye, 16 which he sees as a necessity for compilations of any kind: … all the more so historians, who have to deal with complex and variegated materials: if they do not announce directions to the reader to provide a unifying idea, then they have no means to clarify the teaching behind their writing, or to entrust their intention of moral exhortation. Therefore, when Zhu Xi excised Zizhi Tongjian ᇷएຏᦸ to prepare Tongjian Gangmu, he set forth his directions to the readers in one volume. As soon as one opens the book, both rightful transmission and seizure of authority stand clearly before one’s eyes. Since then, the authors of histories have adopted this as their standard.17

Accordingly, An’s “directions” start with a clarification of the transmission of legitimate rule in Korean history, again asserting that “the lines of descent are the foremost concern of the first chapter of a history book”. In the Korean case, such a clarification of “the lines of descent” means first of all a decision as to where to place the origins of the Korean societas: in the “sinitic” Kija legend, or the “tungusic” Tan’gun myth or else, as the fifteenth century Tongguk t’onggam (Complete Mirror of the Eastern Country) does, 18 to reject both as unreliable pre-history? Concerning this major question, An Chǂngbok’s stance appears somewhat contradictory. In the first of the “general rules” (pǂm ޵), he concurs with Yi Ik’s treatise, placing Kija-Chosǂn at the beginning of civilization in Korea: “The rightful transmission of rule (chǂngt’ong ℷ㍅) starts with Kija, and [the] Tan’gun [story] is appended after Kija’s coming to the East”. This 16

In fact, p΅mnye were commonplace in history books since early Chosԁn times. By explaining what needs no vindication to begin with, An seems to consciously draw attention to the existence of moral guidelines to his historiography. 17 “Tongsa kangmok pǂmnye” in An 1975: 11. 18 The Tongguk t’onggam, an officially ordered compilation of Korean history from the origins (set here at the beginning of the Silla kingdom) to the end of Koryǂ, served as template to the Tongsa kangmok in a way similar to the relationship Zizhi Tongjian/ Tongjian Gangmu. The compilers of Tongguk t’onggam chose to treat history prior to the Three Kingdoms separately in a chapter called “External records” ໪㿬.


accords with the way the first chapter of the history proper actually treats the two culture heroes. However, one of the following “individual rules” (ye ࠏ) states: The rightful line of transmission is Tan’gun—Kija—Mahan—King Munmu of Silla—first king of Koryǂ. No rightful transmission existed during the time when the Three Kingdoms coexisted.19

This is the very way the following “Table of handing down (authority) in the Land of the East” visualizes the chǂngt’ong. An, who belonged to the so-called “right wing” among Yi Ik’s followers—those to whom the idea of Korea as a “small China” meant a justification for isolation politics, while the “left wing” tried to turn it into a basis for reviving channels of communication with contemporary China—may have utilized this oscillation between a moral and a temporal “coming first” in order to foster the idea of Korea as both standard-bearer of Chinese civilization and intrinsically independent from the actual Chinese center of power. An Chǂngbok’s Cheng-Zhu-inspired moral commitment, which so heavily weighs upon the concerns of truth-seeking in his introductory volume, is not devoid of a certain political agenda.

5. Conclusion In spite of its achievements in historical geography and source criticism, An Chԁngbok’s Tongsa kangmok clearly continues the tradition of history writing based on moral or political convictions outlined above. For a marked attempt on the part of an historian to distance himself from political and ideological axe-grinding, one has to wait until the faction-ridden eighteenth century gave way to the nineteenth century, when the concentration of political power in the hands of the royal in-law families diminished the incentive to struggle among the rest of the aristocracy. Han Ch’iyun 䶧㟈༿ (1765-1814), author of the monumental Haedong y΅ksa ௧ࣟᢂ‫( ׾‬printed with a supplement by his nephew Han Chinsԁ 䶧䦁᳌, 1786-? A.D., in 1823), belonged to a Namin family, but was acquainted with scholars from all factional quarters, especially with scholars of the pro-Qing “Northern Studies” group, including the above-mentioned Kim Chԁnghԃi. His Haedong y΅ksa, again a general history from the 19

“Tongsa kangmok pǂmnye” see An 1975: 13.

418

MARION EGGERT

beginnings of Korea to the end of the Koryԁ dynasty, appears as a systematized attempt to fend off any intrusion of personal perspective or value judgment. In structure, it is closer to an encyclopaedia than a history: of the 85 volumes it comprises, only 16 recount political history, while political history, and the remainder are devoted to topics like the military, music, rites, economy, and geography. In content, it is comprised of primary materials from Chinese and Japanese sources,20 with sparse comments wherever necessary to clarify points or to discuss the relative merits of contradictory information. There is no preface, nor any “directions to the reader” that would try to attune the reader to a predetermined perspective. And just as if to avoid siding with one or the other historiographical tradition, neither Tan’gun nor Kija Chosԁn are treated as the beginning of known Korean history but the Chinese records on the Eastern Barbarian (tongi ᵅ་) in general.21 If the diminished fervor of partisan politics was one reason for this new approach, professionalization was another. An Chԁngbok did not see himself as a “historian”, in spite of his authorship of three historical works and several essays concerning history writing. In his “Compass for Teaching the Young” (Hahak chinam Հᖂਐত), he gave the highest priority to studies of the classics, and relegated history books to the very end of the reading-list;22 his collected writings cover a wide range of topics. The subordination of historical knowledge to moral betterment fully accords with his personal role as a classical scholar with an obligation to serve the government. Han Ch’iyun, on the contrary, devoted his life to historical scholarship. Although he took the basic state examinations, he never accepted any official post, in spite of a rather difficult financial situation; and he left no writings besides Haedong y΅ksa, which was uncompleted during his lifetime, although he was known as a gifted writer since his youth. Just as Helwig Schmidt-Glintzer has noted for Chinese historiography of the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries, 23 it is not easy to discover fundamental methodological progress in the works of Korean 20

Han 1989: 393-394. It is interesting to note that in Japan as well, a historiography concentrated on providing “objectively chosen and critically commented source materials” began in the same period with Chǀya kyǌbun hǀkǀ, compiled under Hayashi Jussai between 1819 and 1842, see Goch 1992: 48. This work is in gangmu/kangmok/kǀmoku style which seems to have been introduced to Japan only at that time. 22 Han 1989: 299-300. 23 Schmidt-Glintzer 1994: 176. 21


historiographers of the same period as compared to their Song predecessors (even Haedong y΅ksa, though breaking new ground in its Korean context, is modeled rather closely on Zheng Qiao’s ᔤᖱ tenth century Tongzhi ຏ‫ݳ‬24). The notable differences in thoroughness of exploration and scope of research materials stem rather from growing professionalization. The Korean case may be understood to suggest additionally that professionalization helped not only to make more intensive use of existing methods, but also to emancipate historiography from ideological concerns and to facilitate inquiries for the sake of purely intellectual knowledge. However, this observation only begs the question of what caused professionalization in the first place. For the argument can well be turned around: to look at history writing not as a (minor) part of a gentleman’s overall commitment to self-cultivation and search for (moral) truth but as a profession in its own right already presupposes a turning-away from ideology towards a search for truth from facts. As long as we cannot talk about professionalization in a purely social sense (and Han Ch’iyun’s social status hardly differed from that of An Chǂngbok), it holds little explanatory power. However, the Korean case hints at another explanation: The intimate connection of manipulative historiography with identity concerns which we have found at work at different periods suggests that the degree of stability of national (group) self-consciousness and self-assurance is crucial in determining the relative importance of “truth” versus “ideology” concerns. A look at the developments of Korean historiography after Korea’s forced opening to the West would reinforce this perspective.

24

See Han 1989: 401, n. 30 for a discussion of this thesis put forth by Yi T’aejin. Although Han is reluctant to accept the model function of Tongzhi on the grounds of several differences, most importantly the ratio of biographies which make up more than half of Tongzhi but play only a marginal role in Haedong y΅ksa, the similarity in basic structure remains.

420

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REFERENCES CITED An Chǂngbok ‫ڜ‬ቓ壂 (1975), Tongsa kangmok ࣟ‫׾‬ጼ‫( ؾ‬An Outline History of Korea). Seoul: Kyǂngin munhwasa. Goch, Ulrich (1992), Abriß der japanischen Geschichtsschreibung (A Short History of Japanese Historiography). München: iudicium. Han Yԁngu ឌ‫ة‬ჟ (1989), Chos΅n hugi sahaksa y΅n’gu ཛធ৵ཚ‫׾‬ᖂ‫׾‬ઔߒ (Later Chosǂn Historiography). Seoul: Ilchisa. Han Yǂngu ឌ‫ة‬ჟ (1995), Chosǂn chǂn’gi sahaksa yǂn’gu ཛធছཚ‫׾‬ᖂ‫׾‬ઔߒ (Early Chosǂn Historiography). Seoul: Seoul Taehakkyo ch’ulp’anbu. Kang Segu ৌ‫( ޣ׈‬1986), “Sunam An Chǂngbok-ǎi Tongsa gangmok chirigo-e kwan-han il koch’al ႉတ‫ڜ‬ቓ壂넓 ࣟ‫׾‬ጼ‫چؾ‬෻‫ە‬꾋 隻뼗 ԫ‫ە‬ኘ (An Investigation of the Geographical Chapter in An Chǂngbok’s Tongsa kangmok)”, in Yǂksa hakpo 112 (1986), 49-73. Kang Segu (1990), “An Chǂngbok-ǎi yǂksa kojǎng pangbǂp—Tongsa kangmok (koi) rǎl chungsim-ǎro ‫ڜ‬ቓ壂넓 ᖵ‫ە׾‬ᢞֱऄΫࣟ‫׾‬ጼ‫ؾ‬ʳ (‫ە‬ฆ)ꌷ խ֨냷ꈗ (An Chǂngbok’s Method of Evidential History Research. Focusing on the ‘Text Criticism’ Section of Tongsa kangmok)”, in Sirhak sasang yǂn’gu (1990), 1. Schmidt-Glintzer, Helwig (1994), “Die Modernisierung des historischen Denkens im China des 16.-18. Jahrhunderts und seine Grenzen (The Modernization of Historical Thinking in 16th and 18th Century China and Its Borders”, in Wolfgang Küttler et al (eds.) (1994), Geschichtsdiskurs. Bd. 2: Anfänge modernen historischen Denkens (Historical Discourse, vol. 2, The Origins of Modern Historical Thinking). Frankfurt a.M.: Fischer, 165-179. Setton, Mark (1997), Chǂng Yagyong. Korea’s Challenge to Orthodox NeoConfucianism. New York: State University of New York Press. Yi Ik ‫ޕ‬ᜠ (1982), Sǂngho sasǂl yusǂn ਣ ྋ ⭗ ᎅᣊᙇ (Classified Selection of ‘Trivial Remarks’ by Sǂngho Yi Ik) edited by An Chǂngbok ‫ڜ‬ቓ壂 (1982) reprint Seoul: Myǂngmundang. Yu Wǂndong Ꮵցࣟ (1983), Han’guk sirhak kaeron ឌഏኔᖂᄗᓵ (An Outline of ‘Empirical Studies’ in Korea). Seoul: Chǂngum munhwasa.

HISTORY AND TRUTH IN CHINESE MARXIST HISTORIOGRAPHY Susanne Weigelin-Schwiedrzik Yves Chevrier 1 once stated in an excellent article on Chinese historiography that the writing of history in China is the focus of intellectual debate on questions of morality and politics. The writing of history is the place where these debates develop, and it is the mode in which these debates articulate and present themselves. Chevrier believes that this statement is true both for ancient and modern times, and much of the research we have been doing for the past ten to twenty years shows that even nowadays, when historiography as an academic undertaking is suffering from marginalization, the writing of history still commands much attention and is one of the most important of the myriad intellectual endeavors we encounter in China today. From this point of view, it is quite clear that trying to understand Marxist historiography in Maoist China will help us to understand how intellectuals used the realm of historiography to discuss the many questions that were at stake, say during the Great Leap Forward or the Cultural Revolution. As I will show in this paper, a number of discussions were possible even during the Maoist era, and these discussions were about fundamental questions touching the very heart of what it means to write history. This is to say that in contrast to what most colleagues in the field would suggest, these debates were not only related to political issues defined by the party leadership, but also to fundamental questions related to history, identity and philosophy as defined by the community of intellectuals in China at large or by the historians themselves. Historiography is, of course, not a totally autonomous field uninfluenced by the party leadership. Because of the prominent position of historiography in the realm of intellectual debate in China, the writing of history was closely observed and influenced by the party leadership. But it is important to understand that at the same time that historiography was functioning as a means of propaganda defined by the party leadership, it also functioned as an academic field of inquiry in which historians acted 1

Chevrier 1987.

SUSANNE WEIGELIN-SCHWIEDRZIK

422

and debated according to rules which they set themselves as if they were occupying an autonomous field of cultural activity. Most scholars believe intellectuals in Maoist China to have been highly dependent on patron-client relationships, with leading party members acting as patrons and surrounding themselves with intellectuals responding as their clients to their demands.2 Under these circumstances, intellectuals are believed not to have been able to organize a field of their own. Neither were they able to define and act autonomously according to the self-set rules of the game. Instead, intellectuals were compelled to think and work according to rules set by the party, or more specifically, by their respective patrons. In this paper, I would like to show that this understanding of intellectuals and intellectual inquiry in Maoist China is insufficient. Using Bourdieu’s theory on intellectuals and the cultural field as my framework of analysis, I will focus on Marxist historiography as a field in which different arguments on how to write history reflect different strata or sectors of the academic field. Thus, analyzing the debates on historical methodology means analyzing the field of historiography. In contrast to what other colleagues have already achieved in debating Chinese Marxist historiography, I will turn my attention to the debate on the relationship between historical theory and historical materials, which is of major importance for the historians’ position in the field. Whereas the debates on peasant revolts in Chinese history, for example, were debates reflecting the historians’ relationships to their respective patrons, debates on methodological questions tell us more about the relationship among historians inside the academic field of historiography. This is not to say that I disagree with the findings of those colleagues stressing the political agenda of Marxist historiography. I simply want to draw attention to a hitherto much neglected side of Chinese historiography and by analyzing it as a field of its own to gain a deeper understanding of the philosophical dimension of the debates. The discussion on the relationship between historical materials and historical theory is a discussion on establishing truth in the context of writing history. Even though historical and dialectical materialism have long since defined truth as objective and historical truth to be 2

Goldman 1981.

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found if approached from a materialist and dialectical point of view, Chinese historians recognized at a comparatively early stage of their discussion of Marxism that the basic principles of Marxist philosophy had to be translated into some kind of historical methodology in order to be used as a theoretical framework for Marxist historians in China. They identified the question of relating historical facts to historical theories as the key issue of historical methodology and developed different strategies for achieving this, organising the field of historiography according to different strategies for establishing truth in history. This is how the question of truth in the context of Maoist historiography is both a key issue for our understanding of the philosophical foundations of Marxist historiography in China, and a key issue for our understanding of the structures of the historiographical field. On top of that, analyzing the debates on how to establish truth in history writing as pursued in China at least since the 1930s will help us to integrate Chinese historiography into the international debate on comparative history writing. The truth criterion is a basic question of history writing, and relating historical facts to historical theories is at least one of the basic procedures a historian has to go through in the process of history writing, no matter from which philosophical point of view she or he departs. Thus the truth criterion, if translated into the historical methodology of relating facts to theories, is a question that is asked at such a high level of abstraction that it makes comparison possible. Only if the comparative approach to history writing reaches a high level of abstraction can it avoid comparing apples and pears, and only if the comparative approach selects the appropriate level of comparison can it avoid falling into ideological traps, thus inhibiting us from understanding one another.

The Discussion on shi ৆ and lun 䂪: Defining the Structure of the Field (1957–1960) Chinese historians both ancient and modern are often believed to have neglected theoretical issues. They intuitively know how to fulfil their duties and therefore do not need to ponder the question of how to write history. The discussion of Chinese historians in the aftermath of the Cultural Revolution, however, has drawn our attention to a debate

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on methodological issues of Marxist historiography that has been going on at least since the 1950s. It is the discussion on shi ৆, standing for historical facts or historical materials, and lun 䂪 , standing for historical interpretation or theory. When the discussion first started in 1957, it was a discussion on how to connect historical materials (cailiao ᴤ ᭭ ) with the newlyintroduced theory of Marxism-Leninism and Mao-Zedong-Thought (lilun ⧚䂪) that all academic historians were asked to study at the time. But by the end of 1957, when the universities in mainland China were running a campaign to “put up red flags and pull out white flags” 3 and students were accusing their professors of not being interested in Marxism-Leninism, the terms shi and lun were introduced into the debate. Students criticized their teachers for encouraging them to copy index cards with quotations from historical documents instead of introducing them to Marxist-Leninist ideas on history. The professors, according to the students’ big character newspapers (dazibao ໻ᄫฅ), were still clinging to textual criticism (kaozheng 㗗䄝) and other traditional methods of history writing, constantly violating the principles of Marxism-Leninism. Students from non-academic backgrounds particularly had difficulties in following their teachers’ classes. Textbooks were boring and not upto-date, classes uninteresting and unmotivating.4 The students’ criticism was reiterated in important newspapers and journals. Here the accusations were openly linked to political arguments. Prominent historians such as Song Yunbin ᅟѥᕀ and Rong Mengyuan ᾂ ᄳ ⑤ 5 were accused of being “right-wingers” (youpai fenzi ে⌒ߚᄤ) and focussing on historical documents in an attempt to avoid discussing Marxist-Leninist theories. For them, historiography was but the study of historical documents, and this revealed their opposition to interpreting the past in the light of Marxist principles. But according to the authors of these pamphlets, interpreting historical documents without the guidance of MarxismLeninism was simply impossible, because historical records were written by members of the ruling class who could not but disseminate their class standpoint. Only with the help of Marxism-Leninism, 3

Chen Lei-szu 1959: 120. Lishi Kexue 1958: 31–37, 41–43, 67–70, 79–80, 109–111, 1959: 20–22, 62–71, 80–84. 5 See among others Cai 1957: 28; Bai 1957; Hong 1958. 4

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according to a great number of articles in prominent journals such as Xin Jianshe ᮄᓎ䀁 (New Construction), Shixue Yuekan ৆ᅌ᳜ߞ (Historiography Monthly), 6 Lishi Yanjiu ⅋ ৆ ⷨ お (Historical Studies)7 etc., could those records be analyzed and remarks tainted by the class standpoint of the ruling classes be differentiated from those actually reflecting the events. Historians like Song Yunbin8 and Rong Mengyuan9 were criticized for articles they had written in 1956 and early 1957 during the “Hundred Flowers Campaign”. Song Yunbin had called for pluralism in academic debates, and Rong Mengyuan had voiced his opinion on the relationship between Marxism and history. To him, the principles of historical materialism were not unchangeable, but on the contrary, should be regarded as the result of historical research. Whenever a historian was doing research on history, he should be probing the principles of Marxism-Leninism, and these should only be regarded as true, and therefore guide further scientific research, if found in the historical documents themselves. In the next phase of the discussion, leading historians entered the debate. Chen Boda ຫ ‫ ܄‬ሒ ʳ attacked textual criticism for being “bourgeois” in nature, but insisted at the same time on the importance of analyzing historical documents. 10 Jian Bozan Ⲥ‫܄‬ᨬʳ reiterated Chen’s rejection of textual criticism, but he went even further when attacking those colleagues who preferred to use textual criticism to defend their dominant positions in the universities against younger scholars by profiting from their in-depth knowledge of the historical sources. These colleagues were trying to use their knowledge as their “capital” (ziben 䊛ᴀ) when bargaining with the Communist Party.11 Most radical and interesting in this context was the historian Fan Wenlan ૃ֮ᣴ, who in 1957 already had published an article under the title of “Some Questions Concerning Research on History” stating: Studying Marxism-Leninism means acquiring the spirit of MarxismLeninism. We should definitely avoid copying it in all its details. Studying theory means [learning] how to apply a Marxist-Leninist 6

Liu Yaoting 1957. Fan Baichuan et al. 1957. 8 Song 1956. 9 Rong 1957. 10 Chen Boda 1971a: 106-108. 11 Jian 1958. 7

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standpoint (lichang ゟจ), point of view (guandian 㾔咲) and method (fangfa ᮍ ⊩ ) to solve certain problems. Once we have studied Marxism-Leninism, it can become a compass for our own activities. This is what we call acquiring the spirit of Marxism-Leninism. Applying Marxism-Leninism in all its details means ignoring concrete practice, taking the Marxism we find written down in books for granted and as a formula we can use independently of time and place. This is false Marxism, this is dogmatism.12

Fan goes on in his article to complain that so far no historian in China has accomplished the task of independently analyzing information from the past with the help of Marxism-Leninism and writing it into a Chinese history.13 This article is of major importance in our context, because it teaches a lesson on the relationship between politics and historiography outside the framework we usually apply. It tells us that recent political events do have their influence on debates in the historiographical field, but it also shows us that the way these events are being integrated into the historiographical debate does not necessarily correlate with the intentions of the political patrons. I read Fan’s article on two levels: on one level, he is trying to gain independence from the Soviet interpretations of Marxism-Leninism then dominating the discussions in China. His astounding article is a very early sign of openly articulated criticism of the Soviet Union and the ideological prison that was the result of Soviet influence in China, a criticism that was quite common among intellectuals during the “Hundred Flowers Campaign”, but was not yet officially sanctioned by the party leadership. In this sense, the article is extremely daring and astonishingly outspoken. On the second level, the article is directed against a certain way of writing history in China, and a certain group of people dominating the field of Marxist historiography at the time. Fan Wenlan, who at the time was the director of the Institute of Research on Modern History (Jindaishi Yanjiusuo 䖥ҷ৆ⷨお᠔) at the Academy of Science, believed that Guo Moruo 䛁≿㢹, then director of the Institute of Research on History (Lishi Yanjiusuo ⅋৆ⷨお᠔), was his most prominent rival both in terms of institutional affiliations and propagandistic influence. Even though Fan had had close connections to Mao Zedong ֻᖻࣟ in Yan’an ᓊᅝ and had had considerable 12 13

Fan Wenlan 1957: 1. Fan Wenlan 1957: 4-5.

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influence on shaping Mao’s interpretation of China’s history since the nineteenth century, Mao had picked Guo Moruo to become the director of the most influential institution of historical research. This was not only a personal blow for Fan Wenlan, but also an affront to the professionalism of historians. Historians regarded Guo as a poet and writer rather than a historian, and the fact that he had come up with a proof of Chinese history according to the Stalinist formula of society’s development in five stages had not convinced historians with a solid training in historical methodology that he was pre-eminent amongst them. Of course, Fan did not openly accuse him in his article. But for insiders, it was evident that he was talking about Guo Moruo when he criticized historians for trying to write something about China’s primitive society (yuanshi shehui ॳྟ⼒᳗) by quoting from Engels and then adding a few lines from the Chinese classics.14 This was clearly Guo Moruo’s style, as he had a penchant for writing general histories (tongshi 䗮৆) by collating quotations from Marx, Engels and Lenin with readings from the Chinese classics. Guo, incidentally, was clever and powerful enough not to reply to Fan’s article immediately. He waited until 1959 to write his first and only article on the relationship between shi and lun, taking a moderate stand more or less of the kind Chen Boda had taken.15 The debate at its very beginning also teaches a lesson on status and reputation amongst Chinese intellectuals of the time. In this context, Jian Bozan’s article is most revealing,16 as he articulates openly that the debate on how to write history is also a debate on who holds which position at China’s universities. This debate he saw as being conducted on two levels. First of all, it seems to be a debate between the party-affiliated Marxist historians on the one hand, claiming power and status because of their professional achievements (knowledge of Marxism-Leninism) as well as their “correct” political outlook, and historians of some repute at China’s universities on the other hand, who are not affiliated with the party and only just starting to familiarize themselves with Marxist thought. Secondly, it is a debate among party-affiliated Marxist historians on who amongst them should dominate the writing of history. The discussion on methodological issues was used to diminish the influence of historians 14

Fan Wenlan 1957: 4. Guo 1959. 16 Jian 1958. 15

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who were prominent in their field (such as Song Yunbin ‫ݚ‬ճ൐ and Rong Mengyuan ዊ ࡯ ᄭ ) but not closely associated with the Communist Party, and to reshuffle the power structures among historians who had already turned Marxist. So called “right-wingers” were expelled from their positions and in most cases deprived of their jobs as professional historians. Later on, in the early months of the Cultural Revolution, historians used the discussion on shi and lun in order to establish the dominance of a new generation of Red Guard historians over the then dominant group of party-affiliated historiographers such as Jian Bozan, Fan Wenlan and Wu Han ਇ૙, who had gained their positions by expelling their rivals in the late 1950s. After the Cultural Revolution, the same thing happened again, only the other way round.17 The first round of discussions on the relationship between historical materials and Marxist theory did not result in a clear outcome. In 1958 Guo Moruo started working on his “Outline of Chinese History” (Zhongguo Shigao Ё೟৆〓),18 a publication that shows all the signs of the dogmatism Fan Wenlan had criticized in his article (Fan Wenlan 1957).19 In 1958 and 1959, two volumes of students’ criticism came out, underlining the students’ accusations against academic historiography.20 But in 1959 the campaign against the “right-wingers” lost momentum, and some of the so-called “right-wingers” were rehabilitated and allowed back to their jobs. Under these circumstances, Jian Bozan pleaded that historical materials and theories should be regarded as equally important, criticizing young historians for tending to neglect the analysis of historical documents and historians of the older generation for putting too much stress on historical materials.21 Jian Bozan’s article chimes with arguments we find in Chen Boda’s self-criticism of his above mentioned article of 1958.22 Chen obviously feels that his plea for more attention to Marxism-Leninism had gone too far and now underlines the necessity for some historians to pay more attention to the analysis of historical documents while others specialize in theory. He stresses that scholarly research should always 17

Weigelin-Schwiedrzik 1988: 101-122. Guo 1976-1983. 19 Fan Wenlan 1957. 20 Lishi Kexue 1958, 1959. 21 Jian 1959. 22 Chen Boda 1971b. 18

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start from the concrete (juti ‫݋‬储) and specific (teshu ⡍⅞), but could never be accomplished without referring to the general (yiban ϔ㠀). Only a few months later the prominent economic historian Shang Yue ᇮ 䠲 , who had expressed his doubts about Mao’s way of establishing a periodization for Chinese history and about the fact that too much stress was being laid on theory came under vigorous attack. Wu Zongguo ‫ࡲܦ‬ഏʳ and Zhou Liangxiao ࡌߜᔺ, who spearheaded the campaign against Shang Yue, echoed the campaign against “right opportunism” in the wake of Peng Dehuai’s ᕁ ᖋ ់ criticism of Mao’s Great Leap Forward when they stated that whoever downgraded the importance of theory in the context of historiography was “bourgeois” and “anti-Marxist”.23

The Discussion on shi and lun: Defining the Rules of the Game (1961– 1963) Again we find Fan Wenlan writing the most outspoken article concerning the relationship between historical materials and theory. In 1961 he published his essay “Against Firing Blanks” (“Fandui Fang Kongpao” ডᇍᬒぎ⚂) which falls into two parts.24 In the first part, Fan’s essay reads like a propagandistic pamphlet against “imperialism” and “revisionism” of all kinds, and he is obviously trying to join in the then more and more openly expressed criticism of revisionism in the Soviet Union. In the second part, he reverts to the argument of his 1957 article, stating that there are historians “who cannot be said not to be willing to study Marxism-Leninism and Mao Zedong Thought. But as soon as they start writing they neglect historical events to an unbelievable degree.” 25 Instead he wanted history books to be ... bullets of historical science which can really hit the enemy. These are histories (monographs or articles), which are based on meticulous research. If you want to have bullets like this, you have to do conscientious research on the historical event you are working on. All books that have already been written on the topic have to be systematically studied from beginning to end in order to really understand the event in its development from beginning to end. 23

Wu and Zhou 1960. Fan Wenlan 1961. 25 Fan Wenlan 1961: 3. 24

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Only then can you start analyzing with the help of a Marxist-Leninist point of view and method and with the help of Mao Zedong Thought the reasons for why this incident occurred and why positive as well as negative factors have influenced the course of events to finally be able to assess its tendency.26 Fan’s article is the first to speak about the process of doing historical research in greater detail. It is interesting to see how he does not see any problems in reconstructing the “development of an event” on the basis of analyzing the historical documents and how he introduces Marxism-Leninism at a rather late point in the research. Only when trying to establish causal connections and when integrating the historical event into a macro-historical context does he see the necessity to make use of Marxist-Leninist principles. Fan Wenlan seems to be reacting in this article to an ongoing discussion, which is revealed to us by an article appearing in the People’s Daily (Renmin Ribao Ҏ⇥᮹ฅ) in January 1961. 27 The article reports a discussion among historians in Guangdong who had spent the annual meeting of the Guangdong Association of Historical Studies (Guangdong Sheng Lishi Xuehui ᒷᵅⳕ⅋৆ᅌ᳗) discussing the relationship between shi and lun. Three different arguments came up during the meeting, says the report. Regarding the importance of historical materials, some historians held the opinion that in spite of being written by members of the ruling elite historical documents do to a certain degree reflect an event objectively. That is why they can be used by anyone, no matter what standpoint he might have, as a basis for historical research. Historical documents could even form the starting point for theoretical considerations, and could be collated so that a certain point of view would emerge from the text. This opinion was greeted with some doubts, as some scholars stressed that only with the help of Marxism-Leninism could scholars recognize the essence of a historical event behind the phenomenon reported in the document. Others stressed that analyzing historical documents was not sufficient to be able to write history, although the writing of history could not afford to neglect the importance of historical documents. The author of the text concludes by saying that analysis of historical sources cannot be regarded as scientific research (kexue yanjiu ⾥ᅌⷨ お) per se, as science is always aimed at understanding rules and 26 27

Fan Wenlan 1961: 3. Guangdong Sheng Lishi Xuehui 1961.

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regularities. Historical documents only report on single events, they do not speak about causal connections and laws of historical development. The only way to solve the problem of how to combine the analysis of historical documents with Marxist-Leninist theories on history was—according to the majority of historians present at the meeting—to bring historical materials and viewpoints into concurrence (cailiao yu guandian de tongyi ᴤ᭭㟛㾔咲ⱘ㍅ϔ). By using this kind of wording the Guangdong historians had found a solution that Mao Zedong had used in his “Sixty Points on Work Methods”.28 In this text Mao had stressed that he did not want people to be overloaded with materials when preparing for conferences. Instead they should be given papers that are based on a thorough analysis of the materials and guided by the principles of MarxismLeninism. The materials were “the basis of the basis”, theory should be a “compass” with the help of which the material could be analyzed. It is in this context that a later much debated slogan came up in an article written by Jin Dexing ⣗ᐚ۩: “Yi Lun Dai Shi” ҹ䂪ᐊ৆ (“Theory Takes the Lead over Historical Materials”).29 Jin used this slogan to sum up the major tendency of writing history during the late 1950s, but played with the possibilities of the Chinese language when stating that “taking the lead” (dai[ling] ᐊ [䷬]) was not enough to characterize some of the historical work done at that time, historians were going so far as to “replace” (dai[ti] ҷ [ ᳓ ]) materials by theories. This way of characterizing the historiography of the 1950s has been quite popular ever since among Chinese historians, both when criticizing it or when applauding its successes. In 1962, Jian Bozan30 and Wu Han31 referred to this slogan, and in 1966 their critical use of the slogan was denounced as an insidious attack on “left-wing historiography”.32 In 1962 the critical reappraisal of historiography in the 1950s gained further momentum, with Jian Bozan pleading for a “combination of historical materials and theory” (shi lun jiehe ৆䂪㌤ ড় ) in which historical materials had priority over theoretical approaches.33 He wanted to encourage historians to pay more attention 28

Mao 1958: 373. Jin 1961. 30 Jian 1962. 31 Wu Han 1980a: 203. 32 Yue 1966. 33 Jian 1962. 29

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to analyzing historical records while at the same time stressing the necessity of Marxist-Leninist theory. Wu Han published an article the same year in which he was much more outspoken about the relationship between shi and lun. He wanted “interpretations and theories to evolve from historical materials” (lun cong shi chu 䂪ᕲ৆ ߎ) and thus reiterated Fan Wenlan’s 1957 argument. In a speech he gave under the title of “How to Study History” he explained: As I have already said, theory and historical facts have to concur, theory must not replace historical facts. Instead it should be included in the facts and not forced on them from the outside. That is why we have to use correct methods, master a great amount of reliable data, arrange them adequately and propose a certain point of view by the way we present the facts… If only you put the real facts on the table, a certain point of view will naturally evolve from them, and that is why I go for the slogan “interpretation and theory evolve from historical materials”.34

The discussions on shi and lun during the years 1961 and 1962 were more sophisticated than those of the late 1950s and they were also less political, as they were not conducted in the context of a political campaign. That is why they tell us more about the contents side of the problem. Three different solutions on how to combine theory and facts came up: The solution of the 1950s, with theory taking the lead over materials, was rejected by everyone, especially by the three most prominent historians Fan Wenlan, Wu Han and Jian Bozan. They criticized the historiography of “replacing materials by theory” because for them this meant copying single phrases from Marxist classics instead of learning to apply the methods used by Marx and Engels. They strongly argued against a tendency simply to adopt certain arguments that Marx, Engels and Lenin had developed in the context of European history and demanded a closer look at the records of Chinese history. Even though they were unified in their disapproval of too much theory in the writing of history, they followed different strategies when answering in more detail the question of how to deal with the relationship between materials and theory. Jian Bozan’s stand remained rather unclear, as nowhere in his numerous essays did he refer to where Marxism-Leninism should enter the process of historical research. He continued to stress that materials and theories 34

Wu Han 1980a: 207-208.

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were equally important. He did not have any doubts about the propagandistic mission of historiography, but in contrast to what he called dogmatism he wanted his mission to be fulfilled in a sophisticated and convincing manner.35 Fan Wenlan36 regarded historical materials as a true mirror of what happened in the past, and he believed that historians in their respective present could intuitively grasp the meaning of what was described in historical records. That is why he introduced Marxism-Leninism into the research process only at a relatively late stage, which means that connecting materials and theories was for him only a question of how to come to a convincing interpretation, and not of how to read the historical records so as to gain an understanding of what had happened in the past. Wu Han, a disciple of Hu Shi’s 㚵䘽, was much more skeptical about what was written in the historical materials. He stressed that historians needed a methodology in order to decipher the meaning of historical records, which is why they had to apply textual criticism to the historical materials before establishing the chronology of events. The chronology of events was the basis of their interpretation, and if there was anything in the event that had meaning beyond time and place, that should emerge from its presentation by the historians, without having to refer to theoretical frameworks explicitly. For Wu Han, research into history was always open ended. It was definitely not an instrument for making Marxist theory more convincing or plausible, but aimed at understanding history, i.e. making people understand the relationship between past and present and thus discover the laws of social development as well as rules of human behavior.37 While the majority of these historians who were associated with the so-called “first generation of revolutionaries” tended towards a mode of writing history in which historical records were highly esteemed, a younger generation started articulating itself in the context of the Beidahe ࣫ ᠈ ⊇ Conference (July to August 1962), where Mao Zedong had called for an intensification of class struggle and a revision of false tendencies in intellectual circles. First and foremost 35

Jian 1962. Fan Wenlan 1961. 37 Wu Han 1980a. 36

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among them was Lin Ganquan ࣥ‫ੈز‬, a historian working in Guo Moruo’s Institute for Research on History, who in his paper criticized the slogans “theory takes the lead over materials” and “interpretations and theories evolve from historical materials” and recommended Mao’s definition of the relationship between theory and facts as the only possible solution. 38 Lin summarized Mao’s viewpoint on this question by referring to Mao’s essay “Correct the Party’s Work Style” in which Mao had stressed the necessity to get acquainted with the facts as well as to be guided by Marxist-Leninist principles. MarxismLeninism should be the “compass” for all historians, because only with the help of Marxism-Leninism could the historian distinguish between correct and false, central and marginal, crude and fine.39 Sun Sibai ୪ ৸ ‫ ػ‬, another member of the younger generation of historians, but a researcher in Fan Wenlan’s institute, published an article in early 1963 stating that the slogan “combine historical materials and theory” was officially accepted by the party leadership.40 It meant that theory had top priority, in the sense that it should help historians solve the concrete problems posed by the historical sources. While this interpretation shows a change in tendency towards thinking highly of theory, there are still articles to be found among the publications of the years 1962 to 1963 which tend more to the extremes, as expressed by the use of the slogans “theory takes the lead over materials” or “interpretation and theory evolve from the materials”. Even though on the level of the party leadership, the political orientation was already more radically directed towards class struggle, the intellectual sphere was still undergoing intensive debates, a situation which Merle Goldman once called the most intensive blossoming of flowers ever to be observed in Maoist China.41 The only intellectual who dared to go beyond the boundaries as accepted by the majority in the early 1960s was the philosopher Feng Youlan ႑֖ᥞ. In an article which he published in 1963, he stated: “The study of history (lishixue ⅋৆ᅌ) differs from all the other sciences mainly in one point: the object of its inquiry is not a kind or 38

Lin 1962. Mao 1942. Sun 1963. 41 Goldman 1969. 39 40

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type (lei 串) of things, but the individual (gebie ‫)߹ן‬.”42 The events which form the object of inquiry are—besides being unique—events which have taken place in the past, which implies that it is impossible to evaluate them objectively. According to Feng, it was the mission of those doing research on history to reconstruct the reality in the past on the basis of an analytical deciphering of the records handed down by history. Interpreting the facts meant for Feng Youlan to make use of materialism and dialectics as a tool to understand the meaning of the past on the basis of the reconstruction of the past.43 Only one month after this article was published colleagues started criticizing Feng Youlan. They reproached him for separating the specific from the general, as well as theory from the materials, and thus violating the rules of dialectic thought.44 The reason why they did so was the fact that Feng had introduced the category of the “unique” into the discussion and defined the study of history to be focused on the unique. Thus he denied historians the possibility of arriving at general concepts, as he believed that it was the philosopher’s task to transform the individual into a specific matching the general. In other words, for Feng the task of the historian was to reconstruct history on the assumption that every event in history is individual, in the sense of unrepeatable. While the historian has to find out what happened when, the philosopher looks at the events in the past from a philosophical point of view and integrates what he learns from the historians into his framework. In this process of integration, he transforms the individuality of the historical event as described by the historian into its particularity, which can only exist in the context of the general. This argument was truly revolutionary, given the circumstances in the PRC at the time. It implied that the reality in the past did not imply the meaning of the past. The meaning of the past was a construction and the outcome of a process in which general concepts, which were not part of the past, were applied to give meaning to the reconstructed events of the past. This way of defining history diverged from the general understanding in two ways: on the one hand, it affirmed the possibility of reconstructing the past on the basis of what was said in the historical records without distorting reality in the past; on the other hand, it denied Marxism-Leninism its claim for objectivity by 42

Feng 1963: 41. Feng 1963: 41-42. 44 Chen Yicheng 1963. 43

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stressing that philosophical principles were outside history and could therefore not be proven to be valid by history. In answering his critics, Feng Youlan explained why he believed that historical sources could be a true mirror of what happened in the past. Relying on Marx’s analysis of ideology he argued that ideology was more than what the ruling class conceived to be in its own interests. In order for the ruling class to be able to rule, its ideology of necessity also had to reflect interests beyond its own and declare them to be interests that united society as a whole. With regard to historical records this meant, according to Feng Youlan, that they reflected not only the interests of the ruling class but also the consensus in society about a certain event that was important enough to be recorded.45 Up until the 1990s no historian in the PRC ever dared to articulate this point of view. At the time Feng wrote his essays he seems to have profited from the fact that most of his critics did not really understand him. His remarks were not only the most radical of all, they were also the only contribution to openly defining historiography as a field independent both of politics and philosophy. Although he was criticized quite harshly in the years before the Cultural Revolution started, he survived the campaign and the Cultural Revolution as a philosopher, because he was in Mao Zedong’s confidence. The debates of the early 1960s helped to clarify what was accepted in the field as historical methodology. Shi Suyuan ‫׾‬ᤕ૒ʳ published an article in 1964 in which he summarized the discussion and tried to lay out a pluralism of combinations of shi and lun. 46 In this article he made it quite clear that the slogan “to combine historical materials and theory” was the only slogan everybody in the field could agree to, while the majority of historians rejected the slogan “theory takes the lead over historical materials”. One of the reasons why he could plead for Jian Bozan’s slogan as a common understanding of the field was that he differentiated between doing research on history and writing history. For him, any kind of research on history needed “ideological guidance” (zhidao sixiang ᣛ ᇢ ᗱ ᛇ ), and every historian, consciously or unconsciously, had some kind of ideological framework in mind when looking at the historical records. But when it comes to writing history, according to Shi Suyuan historians tend to 45 46

Fung (i.e. Feng Youlan) 1968. Shi Suyuan 1964.

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select different ways of combining historical data and theory. One of these possibilities would be “to hide theory in the materials” (yu lun yu shi ᆧ䂪ᮐ৆), another “to present both data and theory” (bian shi bian lun 䙞৆䙞䂪), or “to first present the data and then the theory” (xian shi hou lun ‫ܜ‬৆ᕠ䂪). According to Shi Suyuan, history had to rely on a combination of shi and lun, no matter whether it accepted the overall guidance of Marxism–Leninism or of any other ideology.47 Shi’s article was the last one before the Cultural Revolution to openly criticize the slogan “theory takes the lead over materials”, it was also the last attempt to define the consensus of the field and include as many solutions for the combination of shi and lun as possible. Shi's article was also the last attempt to argue that different modes of combining theory and historical data could not be conceived of as mirrors of different ideologies or class standpoints. By drawing a line between research and presentation he obviously tried to propagate the idea that all historians in mainland China had already accepted Marxism-Leninism as their ideological framework and that the differences that had been discussed for the past several years were but differences in presentation. The above described discussions during the early 1960s, the period of “readjustment”, tells us a great deal about the different approaches to writing history, studying the records and establishing the truth of history. Beyond all differences, the great majority of historians believed that the past existed objectively and that what had happened in the past could be known by historians of the present. They also believed that the meaning of what had happened in the past could be identified, and once identified, this meaning was of objective value, not a subjective construction of the historian. The only voice that did not totally subscribe to this set of beliefs was Feng Youlan’s.48 He only believed in the possibility of knowing about what had happened in the past in the way it had really happened, he did not believe in the meaning of history being imbedded in history. For him, what had happened in the past did not have meaning per se, it had to be interpreted so that it would be imbued with meaning, and that meant applying philosophical categories to the past in order to construct meaning. Different philosophies would lead to different constructions 47 48

Shi Suyuan 1964: 32-35. Feng 1963; Fung 1968.

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of meaning which implies, although Feng did not express this openly, that either all of these constructions—if seen in their historical context—have to be regarded as objectively true or none. The question of whether or not theory should take the lead over historical materials divided historians in the PRC at the time for two reasons. On the one hand, some historians were doubtful about the sources, which implies that they were either doubtful about the sources mirroring the events as they had happened in the past or they were doubtful about the historian’s ability to extract the information from the historical sources so that the chronology of events could be established according to what had happened in the past. On the other hand, some historians focused on the question of how to give meaning to the events of the past, with some of them regarding meaning as imbedded in the past and others insisting that meaning was to be found outside the events of the past. In the first case, those historians who insisted that the sources themselves were doubtful usually referred to the “class standpoint” of those who had to write the records. Thinking in the Stalinist framework of society developing in five stages, they could not but come to the conclusion that people living under “feudalism” were limited in their epistemological ability if compared to the cognitive faculties of those belonging to the avant-garde of the proletariat. That is why historians under “feudalist” rule could not write down in their records what had objectively taken place, but were limited by their class standpoint, which again limited their cognitive faculties. Consequently, records of the past could not reflect the objective chronology of events, and only historians making use of MarxismLeninism and thus of the most advanced epistemological tools could deconstruct the class viewpoint behind the records and thus find out what had really happened. Their tool to reconstruct the objective reality was Marxism-Leninism, and what was objectively true was defined by what fitted into the Marxist-Leninist framework. Wu Han also had his doubts about the reliability of the records, but he did not define Marxism-Leninism as the tool with which to probe the reliability of sources. 49 He stuck to the traditional methods of textual criticism in order to find out what could be accepted as a truthful mirror of the past, because he insisted that the meaning of 49

Wu Han 1980a, 1980b.

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what had happened in the past was part of what had happened in the past. And if Marxism-Leninism was the most advanced theory concerning the development of mankind in history, it had to evolve from reconstructing the past and not to be applied to the past in order to construct meaning. That is how he differed in two aspects from the majority of his colleagues: He not only doubted the records, as some of them did, but he also did not take Marxism-Leninism for granted, which means that his aim of doing research on history was defined by his hope to find Marxist-Leninist categories evolving from his reconstruction of history. In this respect, he also differed from those of his colleagues who might have followed his advice and believed in textual criticism as an adequate tool when trying to understand what had happened in the past, but who conceived of Marxism-Leninism as a system of thought that had to be applied to history in order for the historian to be able to find meaning in the past. Whereas Fan Wenlan seems to be pretty close to Wu Han 50 in his understanding of historiography, 51 Jian Bozan, although a close friend of Wu Han’s, differed from him precisely in this aspect of his theory. 52 For Jian, Marxism was a given theoretical framework in which he had to fit his knowledge of what had happened in the past; for Wu Han, Marxism was a growing system of thought to which he as a historian could make contributions by doing research on history and finding its meaning imbedded in it. Feng Youlan, finally, agreed with Wu Han in his concept that the past had to be reconstructed by analyzing historical records. But in contrast to Wu Han, he did not expect to find the meaning imbedded in history, believing instead that the meaning of the past could only be established by applying philosophy to history.

The Discussion on shi and lun: Restructuring the Field (1964–1967) In the spring of 1964 those who had by and large dominated the field in the early 1960s came under vigorous attack. Together with two other authors Qi Benyu ൯‫ء‬છʳ published an article in the then most authoritative journal of the Chinese Communist Party, the Hongqi ㋙ ᮫ (Red Flag) magazine, under the title of “Comrade Jian Bozan’s 50

Wu Han 1980a, 1980b. Fan Wenlan 1957, 1961. 52 Jian 1962. 51

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Historical Viewpoint Has to be Condemned”. 53 In this article Jian Bozan and Wu Han were labeled as “leading representatives of bourgeois historiography”. In their numerous lectures of the years 1961 and 1962 they were said to have developed a counterrevolutionary platform for the historical sciences in China which was borrowed from the historicism of Croce and Popper. It was with the help of historicism that Jian wanted to fight against “dogmatism”, but in fact opened his attack on Marxism-Leninism. Jian was accused of looking at historical events from a very superficial point of view, missing their essence or mistaking their outer appearance to be their essence. His criticism of the slogan “theory takes the lead over historical materials” was but a backwards step towards bourgeois historiography. Qi Benyu, who later on became one of Mao's most prominent ghost writers, brought two new elements into the discussion. First and foremost, he rehabilitated the slogan “theory takes the lead over historical materials”, secondly he introduced a new way of interpreting shi and lun. Reproaching Jian for missing the essence and overestimating the phenomenal side of events, he reinterpreted shi as the phenomenon and lun as the essence of the historical process. 54 What Qi meant to be the “essence” of history is not quite clear, but in the context of the political atmosphere prevailing at the time, his article has to be read as a plea for class struggle and class viewpoint. Qi introduced in this article the scheme which historians during the Cultural Revolution would mainly accord with: to evaluate historical events and historical personalities according to the “advanced standpoint” of the proletariat, and not according to the time and place these people lived in. 55 When Qi was condemning Jian Bozan and labeling him a “bourgeois historian”, he was, as a matter of fact, using exactly this method to “evaluate” his contemporaries. Soon Qi Benyu published another article in which he discussed one of the leaders of the Taiping Rebellion, Li Xiucheng ᴢ ⾔ ៤ . 56 While mainstream historiography had held Li Xiucheng in high esteem, Qi Benyu argued that he was a traitor because he had denied his cause shortly before his execution. In 1964 this article was refuted by many historians, who 53

Qi et al. 1964. Qi et al. 1964. See also Qi 1965. 56 Uhalley 1966. 54 55

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were unaware that Qi was already introducing a new mode of argumentation in his article that would soon become mainstream. Qi Benyu was an outsider at the time, and many historians must have been surprised that he could come up with these unconventional ideas and publish them in the most authoritative journals. By 1965 it must have been clear to them that he was the mouthpiece of a powerful faction in the party leadership, which maybe was hoping that he had no support among academic historians. By 1966, this illusion was destroyed by an article which Yin Da ձሒ, another prominent historian working at Guo Moruo's institute, published under the title of “The Revolution of Historiography Has to Be Fought to the End”.57 Yin Da directed his arguments mainly against Jian Bozan in demanding that the whole of Chinese history had to be rewritten. He complained that this demand had already been put forward in the late 1950s, but as “right-wingers” had dominated the field between 1959 and 1962, the task had never been accomplished.58 With regard to the discussion on theory and historical materials, Yin openly backed the slogan “theory takes the lead over historical materials” and accused all who had criticized this slogan in the past of sticking to the traditional methodology of textual criticism. 59 He did not accept Shi Suyuan’s attempt to differentiate between research and presentation, but went so far as to proclaim that whoever did not apply the slogan “theory takes the lead over historical materials” was an “anti-Marxist”. Yin concluded by expressing his hopes that the younger generation of historians would study Marxism-Leninism hard enough to be able to rewrite Chinese history in Marxist terms. Yin’s article initiated a cascade of publications supporting his demand for a “revolution of historiography” and his applause for the slogan “theory takes the lead over historical materials”.60 Jian's slogan was criticized as being “eclectic” and “bourgeois” in essence. What Jian called lun was not really meant to be theory, as Jian was only interested in understanding single events and personalities and therefore did not even need to refer to the principles of MarxismLeninism. Without the guidance of Marxism-Leninism, historiography would inevitably regress to the traditional way of writing history 57

Yin 1966. Yin 1966: 6. 59 Yin 1966: 5. 60 E.g. Gao et al. 1966 ; Cao Lanting and Liu Shaoyi 1966 ; Su 1966 ; Cao Yongnian et al. 1966. 58

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which, of course, lacked the class analysis that alone had the potential of leading (daichu ᐊߎ) to a new version of Chinese history.61 Even though Wu Han had expressed much more radical arguments on the combination of shi and lun, the articles criticizing Wu Han in 1966 are not very interested in his proposal concerning the combination of theory and data. Of course, his slogan was condemned for being “antiMarxist” and “bourgeois”, but the arguments were comparatively moderate if compared to the criticism of Jian Bozan, which used the most radical arguments.62 Jian, they said, used the slogan “to combine historical materials and theory” only to disguise his true feelings, which were more properly expressed by Wu Han's slogan “interpretation and theory evolve from the materials”. Jian Bozan, Hou Wailu փ໪ⲻ, Li Shu 咢╡, Liu Danian ࡝໻ᑈ and other prominent historians were all accused of diverging from the principles of Marxism-Leninism and of supporting Wu Han’s idea of having the interpretations evolve from the data, although they had never gone so far as to openly back up Wu Han’s slogan.63 Even Zhou Yang ਼᦮ is said to have supported Wu Han's ideas and to have criticized the slogan “theory takes the lead over historical materials”.64 During the early phase of the Cultural Revolution, the discussion on shi and lun was a discussion on the basic principles of establishing truth in Marxist historiography, but most importantly, it was a discussion leading to a reshuffling of power positions inside the academic field of historiography. In this respect, the discussion during the mid-1960s was similar to the discussion during the Great Leap Forward. In both cases, so called leftist historiographers wanting to win top positions in the academic field attacked the highest rank of historians with the help of the younger generation. And in both cases, they came up with the argument that theory had to take the lead over historical materials in order to define their own profile and downgrade the work of those historians who were occupying a leading position in the field because of their high reputation and their professional attitude towards historical data. The most outspoken proponents of the discussion on theory and historical materials all lost their positions, 61

Su 1966. Wu Han Tongzhi 1966. Wu Wenying 1967. 64 Shi Hongbin 1967. 62 63

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some even their lives during the Cultural Revolution. Guo Moruo and Fan Wenlan65 enjoyed Mao Zedong’s personal protection, and though Fan was criticized he was not physically attacked, nevertheless he died in 1969 before the Cultural Revolution ended; Jian Bozan was fiercely attacked until Mao had him sent down to the countryside. Back in Beijing, he published his self-criticism in the People’s Daily and committed suicide together with his wife in 1968.66 Wu Han was maltreated and physically attacked as part of the campaign against him and died in 1969.67 Qi Benyu, who had started his career only a few years before the Cultural Revolution, was already accused of left opportunism in 1968. He was imprisoned and has led a secluded life ever since. Yin Da survived the Cultural Revolution, as did Guo Moruo. His works were published even after the end of the Cultural Revolution, until his death in 1985. With this round of accusations, in which the accused had no right or opportunity to defend themselves, the reshuffling of the field was accomplished. Major historians who had dominated the field since the first round of discussions on shi and lun were now declared to be enemies of Marxist historiography, and the rules of the game which they had defined during the early 1960s were declared to be invalid. What had been defined as outside the field—the slogan “theory takes the lead over historical materials”—was now inside the field, and what had been defined as the consensus of the field—Jian Bozan's slogan “to combine historical materials and theory”—was now placed outside the boundaries of orthodox historiography in the PRC. Even though politics and historiography are closely linked to each other in this round of the discussion, and patrons such as Peng Zhen ᕁⳳ and Zhou Yang were involved as much as their clients Wu Han, Jian Bozan, Hou Wailu and Liu Danian, it was Yin Da, a respected academic historiographer, who seems to have played the most decisive role, in the sense that he as member of the community of scholars was made the spearhead in the process of reshuffling the field. 68 The Cultural Revolution marks the time when everything was subjected to politics and no lines were drawn between politics and other fields of activity. Nevertheless, in the early phase of the Cultural Revolution 65

Liu Danian 1979, 1983. Leutner 1978. Mazur 1996. 68 Yin 1966. 66 67

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the debate obviously had to take account of the fact that the field of historiography had been well structured with regard to the hierarchy of scholars involved as well as to the defined rules of the game. Whenever the reshuffling of the field is at stake, the question of generations arises. During the Great Leap Forward the question was raised by Jian Bozan. He wanted to get rid of the establishment of those historians at China’s universities who had held their positions before 1949.69 His claim was supported by students recruited into the universities since the Communist take-over,70 and the changes in the field of historiography that they all demanded needed a generational change, the take-over of a younger generation. More obviously than during the Great Leap Forward, the Cultural Revolution also aimed at generational change, with the younger generation receiving support from the student generation. If we divide the field into three generations, the clients of the revolutionaries belonging to the socalled first generation formed the first and top rank from the 1950s until the beginning of the Cultural Revolution; the second generation was the generation of their disciples, with both factions in the older generation duplicating the patron and client system between party and intelligentsia with their clients among the second and third generations of historians. When the proponents of the slogan “theory takes the lead over materials” started attacking the establishment under the leadership of Jian Bozan, it was not Guo Moruo who published the initiating article, but authors like Qi Benyu71 and Yin Da72 who both belonged to the second generation and could find support among those longing to be integrated into the field and therefore willing to follow them.

The Discussion on shi and lun: Nostalgia and Remorse (1981–1989) During the Cultural Revolution, historiography did not even pretend to exist as an autonomous field. With every aspect of human life subjected to politics, historians lost their right to form professional 69

Jian 1958. Lishi Kexue 1958, 1959. Qi et al. 1964. 72 Yin 1966. 70 71

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organizations, their means to publish scholarly journals and their opportunity to discuss issues of methodology. As a consequence, discussion of shi and lun was not continued during the Cultural Revolution and had to wait for its end in 1976 before it was revived. The first article after the end of the Cultural Revolution which resumed the discussion on theory and historical materials was written by Li Honglin ‫ࣥੋޕ‬ʳ and dedicated to his teacher Jian Bozan.73 The article appeared in a 1978 issue of Historical Studies as part of the campaign about “practice as the only criterion of truth” which was integrated into Deng Xiaoping’s strategy to rehabilitate most of those cadres who had been stripped of their power by the Cultural Revolution. In this article, Li Honglin took up all the issues that had played a role in the criticism of Jian Bozan during the early years of the Cultural Revolution. With regard to the discussion of shi and lun he stressed that Jian had never intended to regress to traditional Chinese historiography. He backed Jian’s criticism of dogmatist tendencies in Chinese historiography and mentioned the slogan “theory takes the lead over historical materials” without taking a stand as to whether or not this slogan needed to be corrected.74 Li Honglin, who is known for his daring attitude, did not succeed in reviving the debate on shi and lun until two years later. In the meantime, Chinese historians were busy exposing the “Gang of Four” and those colleagues who could be accused of open collaboration. During these years, the debates were still highly politicized and the political climate not favorable to methodological discussions. This is why the discussion on theory and historical materials had to wait until 1980, when the historiographical field was undergoing self-reflection75 to be reopened. The first articles that appeared after the revival of the discussion were mainly aimed at reconstructing the discussions since the late 1950s. 76 There is much more pluralism in these articles than ever before, and authors arrive at evaluations that differ quite prominently from whatever had been discussed before. While the first article only introduces the three different slogans popular in the early 1960s, Shen Jiarong ާቯዊʳ in his publication goes a little bit further by showing his dislike for the slogans “theory takes the lead over historical 73

Li Honglin 1978. Li Honglin 1978: 43-44. Kuhfus 1978. 76 E.g. Li/Ai 1980; Wang Tingliao 1981. 74 75

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materials” as well as “combine historical materials and theory”. His preference is for Wu Han’s slogan.77 Others, such as Wang Tingliao ‫ݪ׆‬ற, stick to Jian Bozan’s slogan and try to give it a more distinct profile by warning against both empiricist and dogmatic tendencies.78 But there are also voices which warn against downgrading the importance of Marxism-Leninism. 79 All in all, the discussions were pretty much in line with the then dominant political climate, which is why Jian Bozan’s attempt at defining the consensus of the field met with a good deal of applause.80 Responding to the demand to combine the so-called “Four Basic Principles” (si xiang jiben yuanze ಯ䷙෎ᴀ ॳࠛ) with “seeking truth from facts” (shi shi qiu shi ᆺџ∖ᰃ) most of the authors tended towards a wording in favor of materials and theory being of equal importance. Looking back at the decades of discussions on shi and lun, Jiang Dachun ᓏՕ⛵ʳ describes the process as split into different phases in which one tendency replaced the other without ever coming to a satisfactory solution. 81 In the 1950s, historiography was treated as equal to textual criticism, provoking the kind of history writing associated with the slogan “theory takes the lead over historical materials”. When “takes the lead” developed into “theory replaces historical materials”, Wu Han demanded that “interpretation and theory evolve from historical materials” which was no solution either, as this slogan, according to Jiang Dachun, puts too much stress on working with historical documentation. Jiang comes to the conclusion that all slogans discussed so far have their pros and cons but should equally be used in relation to different phases of historical research and writing. In every phase of the historian’s work, shi and lun have a different meaning, and the combination of the two should therefore be different according to what the historian aims to achieve. With regard to the ideological framework, Jiang argues that shi should be understood as “the science of history” and lun as “Marxist philosophy”. Marxist philosophy should take the lead over historical materials.82 But when it comes to analyzing the historical process, shi 77

Shen Jiarong 1981. Wang 1981. 79 Zhang Youyu 1981. 80 Zhang Chuanxi 1981. 81 Jiang 1982: 21. 82 Jiang 1982: 22. 78

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stands for historical data and lun for interpretation or explanation. That is why Wu Han’s slogan should be followed and interpretations should emerge from the reading of the records.83 Writing history and presenting one’s findings is—according to Jiang Dachun—always a combination of theory and data, which is why Jian Bozan’s slogan most adequately describes how to solve the problem of presenting the results of historical research. Whether the historian prefers to present more theory than data or whether he prefers to present his theory first before displaying the data is totally up to him and poses no problem if the research which is presented in the text is based on a thorough analysis of the historical materials and the interpretations are arrived at by close analysis of the historical records.84 Jiang’s contribution is interesting in two aspects: First of all, he discusses the debate on the relationship between shi and lun as if there were no political context to it. By so doing, he not only aims at depoliticizing the debate but also claims it to be a discourse among professionals about what, earlier in this article, we have called “the rules of the game”. Secondly, he follows in Jian Bozan’s steps by trying to define a consensus for the field of historians, but goes even further than Jian by including the slogan “theory takes the lead over historical materials” into his definition. This time, “theory takes the lead over historical materials” is neither defined as outside the boundaries of what is acceptable in the field, nor is it defined as the only acceptable solution for the problem of how to combine shi and lun. Jiang’s proposal reflects the power structure of the field after the end of the Cultural Revolution. None of the solutions discussed for the combination of theory and historical materials has yet achieved dominance over their various counterparts, no school of thought can claim to be dominant in the field, no group of historians has the power to exclude rivals from the field. Jiang Dachun is a representative of the second generation preparing to take over after so many prominent historians had died during the Cultural Revolution. Nevertheless, they still seem to seek for support from those of the older generation who are still alive, or by trying to profit from the patron-client relationship they had had to historians who were victimized during the Cultural Revolution. Older historians joining the debate in the early 1980s all cling to Jian Bozan’s slogan 83 84

Jiang 1982: 24. Jiang 1982: 25.

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because it allows them to line up in the overall consensus while at the same time being able to express their individual preference: either to put a little more stress on theory or on data. The only historian from the older generation who diverges from this pattern is the prominent geo-historian Tan Qixiang ᢟࠡ㠅, who was a close friend of Wu Han’s. In his article “Four Suggestions for Further Work [in the Field] of Historical Research” he sharply criticizes the writing of history in the PRC since 1949. 85 Historians, according to Tan, have always overstressed theory and not paid enough attention to the analysis of historical records. This is, according to Tan, one of the reasons why historians in the PRC tend to neglect the historical circumstances under which certain historical events happen. They are not able to evaluate historical personalities and events according to criteria that were true at the given time and place (dangshi dangdi biaozhun ⭊ᰖ ⭊ഄ῭⑪), but prefer to use theoretical frameworks beyond time and space. Even though Tan did not openly refer to Wu Han, his reference to the wording “dangshi dangdi biaozhun” made clear that he was trying to back up Wu Han’s slogan on “theory and interpretation evolving from historical materials”. In 1984 Li Xin ‫ ޕ‬ᄅ , a prominent historian acting behind the scenes of Fan Wenlan’s Institute for Research on Modern History, but closely linked to the party leadership, published an article in which he openly argued in favor of Wu Han’s slogan.86 At the same time, he sharply criticized the slogan “theory takes the lead over historical materials” as well as Jian Bozan’s slogan “to combine historical materials and theory”. For Li Xin, presenting the historical records and reconstructing the past on the basis of what is written in the historical materials is the main task a historian has to fulfill. The historian should present the facts he finds in the records differently according to which “class standpoint” he takes, but as a historian he is always aiming at analyzing the records. Li Xin quotes Fan Wenlan as an example of a Marxist historian who was mainly interested in reconstructing the past from the class standpoint of a communist.87 Li Kan ‫ࠑޕ‬ʳ introduced an idea Ning Ke ᆻৃ had developed into the discussion on shi and lun. Li stated that the discussion on the relationship between facts and theory was in fact a discussion on the 85

Tan 1983. Li Xin 1984. 87 See also Li Xin 1984a: 3. 86

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relationship between historical science and historical materialism. And he said: “The materialist vision of history is not equal to historical science, which means that it cannot replace historical science.”88 He stressed that historical science was only interested in the past, while historical materialism was aimed at connecting past, present and future. Historical science was interested in individual historical events with all their particularities, whereas historical materialism was aimed at generalizing historical experiences and establishing rules of historical development. Historical science had to neglect the wish for generalization and insist on reconstructing the past with all its coincidences, repetitions, details and singularities. Therefore historical science had to have a theory of its own, a theory of the science of history (lishi kexue lilun ⅋৆⾥ᅌ⧚䂪) which again had nothing to do with the philosophical concepts of historical materialism. 89 As a matter of fact, according to Ning Ke, the dogmatism of historiography in the PRC originated from the mistake of identifying historical materialism and historical theory. But it was also based on a misunderstanding of the so-called “laws of history”. Historians understood laws to be all-embracing and were therefore forced by their own beliefs to taboo everything that did not comply with the laws of history. That is why the interest in historical materialism could not but reduce the interest in reconstructing the past in every detail.90 After four to five years of discussion, in which Chinese historians were occupied in understanding what their predecessors had discussed back in the 1960s, and in which no new arguments had emerged, it was again Ning Ke, known to Chinese historians as a very gifted and influential theoretician, who stirred up the discussion on “historicism and class standpoint” some twenty years ago,91 and with him Li Kan, who had transgressed the boundaries of the discursive field and brought up the argument that would help historians to recover from their dependence on politics and find a solution for the establishment of an autonomous field of their own. The interesting aspect in his article from my point of view is the fact that he did not feel the need to stress his independence from politics, something most western observers would expect him to do. Instead he sought independence from philosophy, liberating history from its very task of making 88

Li Kan 1985: 4. Ning 1984: 31. Ning 1984: 30-31. 91 Ning 1964; Dirlik 1977. 89 90

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philosophy sound true or at least plausible. As a matter of fact, Ning Ke’s arguments chime in with Feng Youlan’s plea to separate history and philosophy, 92 thus allowing the historian to concentrate on reconstructing the events of the past on the basis of his analysis of the historical records. Ning Ke expressed this idea long before his colleagues in the field started realizing that the marketization of life in China’s so-called socialist society was driving the writing of history into marginalization, as a consequence of which they started feeling the need to define themselves as a field of their own.93 He opened the floor for all kinds of ideas relating to professionalizing historiography, with Liu Shuyong Ꮵ ᇋ ‫ ة‬, for example, developing a “theory of historiography” (shilunxue ৆ 䂪 ᅌ ) based on historiographical traditions going back to Liu Zhiji ࡝ⶹᑒ and Zhang Xuecheng ゴᅌ 䁴,94 while others want to reshape the writing of history in China by borrowing methods from the natural sciences.95 By the mid 1980s, the field of historiography seemed to have been re-established, and it was the revival of the discussion on shi and lun that served to do this. But once the field had been defined, the discussion on shi and lun turned out to be no longer of interest as the younger generation of historians became enthusiastic about Western historians who were writing stories about the past instead of explaining the past in terms of a given philosophy that tended to distance them from what had happened in the past and make it impossible for them to write history.96

The Discussion on shi and lun in the Context of Marxism-Leninism and Traditional Chinese Historiography For all of us who are familiar with Marxism-Leninism and/or with traditional Chinese historiography, most of the arguments presented above sound quite familiar. Yet it is quite astonishing to realize that Chinese historians, who many of us believe to be negligent of theory and restricted by the political circumstances under which they think and write, have discussed some of the very fundamental questions of historiography in such a lively and long-lasting manner, passing 92

Feng 1963; Fung Yulan 1968. Weigelin-Schwiedrzik 2001. 94 Liu Shuyong 1986. 95 Da 1985. 96 Weigelin-Schwiedrzik 2001. 93

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through phases of “blossoming flowers” as well as through phases of the very Maoist kind of “totalitarianism” in which some of their reflections on shi and lun were believed to be of a “counterrevolutionary”, “bourgeois”, or “insidious” nature. Looking at the different contributions in the context of European Marxism, the difference of opinions among Chinese historians can easily be explained by a schism in Marxist thought that—according to Leszek Kolakowski—goes all the way back to a fundamental difference of thought between Marx and Engels. 97 According to Kolakowski, Marx’s writings are characterized by an anthropocentricutopian tendency focusing on laying out possible future developments on the basis of analyzing the present, but doing this from a point of view which is humanistic and oriented towards mankind. Marx’s intention, Kolakowski believes, was not to analyze capitalism in order to pride himself on having detected the laws of capitalist economy. His intention was to design a future that would enhance people’s lives and that could be achieved because the plan for the future was not only based on people’s hopes but also on people’s actions, guided by the scientific analysis of the present. In contrast to Marx, Engels, though he is said to have had the same ends, had a somewhat different way of developing his argument. Engels’ works reflect—again according to Kolakowski—his deterministic scientism. For him the soundness of an argument depended on its being based on an analysis of the past focusing on long-range developments and trying to detect rules and regularities. Whatever could be identified as a rule of social development was the basis of detecting what men could and had to do for their own future. 98 With the further development of Marxism, especially in the course of the canonization of Marxism under Lenin’s influence, the anthropocentrism we find in Marx’s writings is step by step replaced by a strong tendency towards determinism. The utopianism survived, but was very often presented in the disguise of scientism.99 As a result, Marxism was developed into a closed frame of thought focusing on defining the relationship between past, present and future, in which the future was regarded as the result of developments to be detected in the past, and the past explained from 97

Kolakowski 1977-1979. Kolakowski 1977-1979 vol. 1: 445-446. 99 Kolakowski 1977-1979 vol. 1: 299-306, 427-480. 98

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the point of view of the future. This paradox could only be resolved if Marxism was said to be true and not needing any further probing or development because of its scientific nature. It sufficed to take the laws of social development for granted to both know what the future would bring and how to explain the past. In the context of this system of thought, every single event of the past was but particular in the light of the general, and everything could be integrated into the general theory of social development and could therefore be regarded as particular, not as individual or singular.100 Georg Lukacs was among the first who dwelt on the difference between Marx and Engels. 101 He stressed that Marx did not need a scientific-deterministic approach such as Engels had because he was convinced that the proletariat with its avant-garde position in society was equipped with cognitive abilities that no class in society had ever had before. The reason for this epistemological exclusiveness of the proletariat is the fact that the proletarian revolution, in contrast to all other revolutions in history, not only fulfilled the needs of the working class but was also the precondition for mankind to continue to exist. The proletariat’s demand for a future classless society was not a demand based on its immediate interests, but the result of its singular epistemological capability to grasp the meaning of totality. In this context, Lukacs takes Lenin as an example of a Marxist thinker who was able to define the strategy of the revolution not by going from the concrete to the general, but by looking at everything from a totalistic point of departure.102 If we try to transfer this argument into the realm of historiography, we find a method of writing history that is based on the conviction that the future classless society will and has to be achieved one day. This conviction is the point of view from which the past has to be explained. Consequently, the precondition for writing history is not working on historical records, but understanding totality in its claim for the future. Translating this into the wording of the debate on shi and lun among Chinese historians, this means that theory has to take the lead over historical materials, and the laws of historical development are not to be found in the historical documents but in the 100

Kolakowski 1977-1979 vol. 1: 27-429, 440-441. Kolakowski 1977-1979 vol. 3, chapter 7. 102 Kolakowski 1977-1979 vol. 3: 89-293. 101

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present, with—according to Lukacs—participation in class struggle as the best precondition to detect, understand and apply the laws ruling society.103 If Chinese history is conceived of as integratable into the general as defined by historical materialism, then historians in China do not need to do research on their own history in order to find rules that have already been found. The rules are there, outside Chinese history, and they are the tools by which a history that traditional historiography left unexplained can be imbued with meaning. History is part of the overall teleology in which the future is known before the past is understood, an epistemological approach that is grounded in Marx’s anthropocentric utopianism. But if Chinese history is not regarded as included in historical materialism, as historical materialism was defined without including Chinese history in its field of scientific inquiry, then Chinese history has to be studied in order to find out whether or not it can be conceived of as being particular in the context of the general defined by historical materialism. That is why research on the historical records is so important, and that is why it should be detailed enough to be able to discover the laws of social development in them. “Interpretation and theory evolve from the historical materials” is the slogan that coincides with this approach. It is an approach that reiterates Engels’ scientism and determinism. Two reasons stand out as most important when trying to explain why the difference between the anthropocentric-utopian approach and the approach of deterministic scientism in Marxism-Leninism plays such an important role in the disputes among Chinese historians up until the 1990s. As mentioned above, the question whether or not Chinese history can be integrated into the kind of historical materialism that had emerged without ever analyzing the Chinese situation is logically linked to the issue of whether the historian has to find the laws of social development and human behavior in the historical records or whether he has to explain historical materials by applying the categories of historical materialism to them. This logical link was, as a matter of fact, raised in the debate on shi and lun, with some of the historians complaining that applying the categories of historical materialism and the interpretations which Marxist predecessors had developed to Chinese history in a very detailed manner would force 103

Kolakowski 1977-1979 vol. 3: 98-306.

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them into banning many events in Chinese history from the history books. Li Shu, another prominent historian working in Fan Wenlan’s Institute for Research on Modern History, expressed this openly in an article which he published in People’s Daily in 1961.104 Although this article does not discuss the question of how to combine shi and lun, it has to be read as a programmatic pamphlet of the group of historians pleading for a historiography rooted in the thorough study of the historical records. In this article, Li Shu explained that historians in China should learn from the development of Mao Zedong Thought when trying to define their identity and their task. Mao Zedong Thought, thinks Li Shu, was the result of combining the general principles of Marxism-Leninism with the particularity of the situation in China. Historians should do the same and find specific answers to the questions posed by Chinese history, just as Mao Zedong was able to define a revolutionary strategy responding to the specific needs of Chinese reality. With this article, Li Shu was quite obviously trying to back Fan Wenlan, who had stated in 1957 that ... China and Western Europe are two different places which many particularities. But if we declare the particularity of Western Europe to be of general meaning, then we lose all of the particularity of Chinese history. Nothing is left but a very abstract general, and Chinese history is missing a considerable amount of historical materials.105

Li Shu and Fan Wenlan both declared that Chinese historiography had to fulfill the task of exploring the particular laws and rules of historical development in China. And these particular laws could only be found if the historical records were adequately analyzed and taken into consideration. As in the case of Mao Zedong Thought, Li Shu and Fan Wenlan believed that particularity did not only exist in the context of the general, they also believed particularity to be the reason for difference. This implies that in their thought the general is located at such a high level of abstraction that none of the rules to be found in Stalinist texts on historical development106 could be general enough to have any meaning for explaining the particularity of Chinese history. The laws of historical development in China had not yet been discovered, as Chinese history was believed to differ from Western

104

Li Shu 1961. Fan Wenlan 1957. 106 Stalin 1970. 105

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European history, and Western Europe alone had been the basis of analysis when historical materialism had first come into being. Those who believed that “theory takes the lead over historical materials” wanted to apply the categories of historical materialism to Chinese history because they regarded them to be of universal meaning. It is not by coincidence that even though Guo Moruo did not actively take part in the discussion, researchers from among his disciples were the most prominent to stress the need for theory in historical research. Guo Moruo’s identity as a historian is closely linked to his contribution to the discussion on the “character of Chinese society” back in the 1920s. It was at that time that he tried to prove that Chinese history had developed just as much as any history of any place in the world according to the five stages of historical development known as primitive society, slaveholder society, feudal society, capitalist society and finally communist society. His interest throughout his career as an active historian was focused on finding proofs for the existence of a slaveholder society in China and trying to detect the beginnings of feudal society in Chinese history. All this was aimed at showing that there was no difference between the historical development of China as compared to Western Europe and that consequently Chinese history was part of world history. 107 The slogan “theory takes the lead over historical materials” was based on the assumption that China should not define its identity on the basis of its difference. It should become part of the world by getting rid of the need to conceive of itself as being different and unique. But the different standpoint of historians on the question of universality versus particularity in Chinese history cannot alone explain the difference of approach. Even though it seems difficult to think of a historiography aiming at writing the difference between Chinese and Western European history without referring to the records of Chinese history, a historiography taking historical materialism as universal does not necessarily have to refrain from analyzing the sources. That is the reason why in times of “blossoming flowers” we find so many different slogans and solutions located between the two extremes of “theory taking the lead over historical materials” and “interpretation and theory evolve from the historical materials”. There is still at least one missing link to be found, and this

107

Leutner 1982; Dirlik 1978.

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missing link is the historians’ attitude towards traditional Chinese historiography. During discussions of shi and lun, certain assumptions on traditional Chinese historiography have been expressed every once in a while. Historians who are focused on historical materials are reproached for regressing to traditional historiography, and traditional historiography is often identified with the school of textual criticism prominent in the late Qing era. Nevertheless, a closer look at the philosophical context of the different schools of historians shows that there are more links to traditional Chinese historiography involved than historians openly admit. One among those links is the question of how a historian should conceive of his own task. Should he define his task by explaining the rules of historical development with the help of examples from history? Or is it his task to explore history in order to detect the rules hidden in it? This question relates historiography to the core problem of Chinese philosophy. The dao 䘧 as the universal principle is a metaphysical concept that is not cognizable if separated from the concrete and real. But this does not necessarily mean that it must exist as part of the concrete and real, it can also be thought of as existing outside the real, and claiming universal validity. History is the concrete and real which embodies the universal truth of the dao, i.e. history is the medium that makes the dao cognizable, either by detecting the dao to history or by applying the dao to history. In the first case, the dao is unknown to the historian, and it is his task to find out what the dao could be by doing research on history. In the second case, the historian knows about the dao before knowing history. The dao exists outside history, but history does not have any meaning to the historian unless he applies the dao to it. It is quite clear that there is a coincidence here, starting from this very fundamental problem of truth which is to be found either in the real and concrete or in the abstract and universal via the schism of Marxism, as symbolized by the dichotomy between the anthropocentric-utopian approach and the scienticistic deterministic approach, to the question of whether the categories of historical materialism are pre-given to the historian for him to apply to Chinese history or whether they can only be known and proven to be true if found in Chinese history. This coincidence might be one of the

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reasons why all historians, no matter to which faction in the field they belonged, believed that historiography was the combination of theory and historical materials. It also suggests that Chinese historians were influenced by their decision on two questions of fundamental importance when taking their choice between more theory and fewer materials or more materials and less theory. The philosophical influence materialized in the answer to the question of whether or not the principles, the categories or—traditionally speaking—the dao were inside or outside history; the second influence is related to the question of whether Chinese history was part of world history or stood alone as a particular or even singular case of historical development. As this question stood at the very heart of the identity of Chinese intellectuals, it is a question of equally fundamental importance to the one relating to the dao and history. And the choice is a clear one: whoever goes for the dao as imbedded in history demands the thorough study of historical records, and whoever goes for the thorough study of historical records goes for the particularity of Chinese history, and vice versa: To believe that the dao is outside history and that history can only be understood if the dao is applied to it means to put more stress on understanding the dao and to treat historical materials in a selective way with the sole aim of using events in history to exemplify the meaning of the dao.

Conclusion Coming back to looking at Chinese historiography as a field of quasiautonomous intellectual activity, we realize that during the Maoist era, Chinese historians were unified in their belief that historical materials and theory had to come together in order for history to be written. But they were split when it came to the question of whether the theory existed outside Chinese history or inside, and they disagreed on the question of whether Chinese history was a part of world history or rather a development with its own characteristics. Different viewpoints coexisting in the field strove for a dominant position and therefore fought quite vigorously for the power to define the rules of the game. The discussion on shi and lun as it developed from the 1950s to the 1980s shows, however, that the question of who belonged where was not only a question of power and patron-client relationships, it was also related to fundamentals with regard both to

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Weltanschauung and professional standards. Even though some Chinese historians had to go through the turmoil of the Cultural Revolution and too many did not survive the chaos, the Cultural Revolution itself did not bring a change of paradigm, overthrowing the consensus of the field. The Cultural Revolution led to a restructuring of the field based on the same paradigm that had been used in the previous shuffling of the field during the Great Leap Forward. It was only after the Cultural Revolution was over, that the marketization of everyday life in China led to a demolition of the consensus in the field and the definition of a new set of rules in which the economy plays as much a role as the party in former days.

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̛̛̛ (1979), “Fan Wenlan Tongzhi de Kexue Chengjiu ૃ֮ᣴ‫ݳٵ‬ऱઝᖂ‫ګ‬༉ (The Scholarly Merits of Fan Wenlan)”, in Jindaishi Yanjiu २‫׾ז‬ઔߒ 1 (1979), 28–43. Liu Yaoting Ꮵ໯அ (1957), “Bochi Youpai Fenzi Sun Haibo Shiliao Yongyuan Da bu Dao de Fandong Miulun Ꮝ‫׳؞‬੔։՗୪௧ं‫׾‬ற‫ة‬᎛‫ؚ‬լଙऱ֘೯᠄ᓵ (Repudiate the Counterrevolutionary Absurdity of Right-winger Sun Haibo Saying That Historical Materials Can Never Be Overthrown)”, in Shixue Yuekan ‫׾‬ᖂִ‫ ע‬11 (1957), 11–15. Liu Shuyong Ꮵᇋ‫ة‬ʳ (1986), “Jianli Shilunxue de Biyaoxing ji Chubu Shexiang— Gaishan Wo Guo Shixue Yanjiu Tixi zhi Guanjian ৬‫׾م‬ᓵᖂऱ‫ؘ‬૞ࢤ֗ॣ‫ޡ‬ ๻უΫΫ‫ޏ‬࿳‫ݺ‬ഏ‫׾‬ᖂઔߒ᧯ߓհጥߠ (On the Necessity of Establishing a Theory of Historiography—a Humble Opinion on How to Enhance the System of Historical Research in Our Country)”, in Shixueshi Yanjiu ‫׾‬ᖂ‫׾‬ઔߒ 2 (1986), 10–13. Lishi Kexue ᖵ‫׾‬ઝᖂ (Historical Sciences) (1958, 1959), Lishi Kexue zhong Liang Tiao Daolu de Douzheng ᖵ‫׾‬ઝᖂխࠟයሐሁऱ೐ञ (The Two-Line Struggle in the Realm of Historical Science) vols. 1-2. Beijing: Renmin Chubanshe. Mao Zedong ֻᖻࣟ (1958), “Gongzuo Fangfa Liushi Tiao (Cao’an) ՠ‫ֱ܂‬ऄքԼ ය (౻ூ) (Sixty Points on Working Methods [Draft])”, in Mao Zedong Texte 1979-1982 vol. 3 (1958), 366–376. ̛̛̛ (1942), “Zhengdun Dang de Zuofeng ᖞ ቅ ᤻ ऱ ‫ ܂‬ଅ (Correct the Party’s Workstyle)”, in Mao Zedong Xuanji (1967–1969, 1977) vol. 3, 769-786. Beijing: Renmin Chubanshe. Mao Zedong Texte (1979–1982) (edited by Helmut Martin) vols. 1-6. München: Hanser Verlag. Mao Zedong Xuanji ֻᖻࣟᙇႃ (Selected Texts of Mao Zedong) (1967–1969, 1977). Beijing: Renmin Chubanshe. Mazur, Mary (1996), Shidai zhi Zi: Wu Han ழ‫ז‬հ՗Κ‫ܦ‬Ἢ (A Son of His Times: Wu Han). Beijing: Zhongguo Shexue Kexue Chubanshe. Ning Ke ኑ‫ױ‬ʳ (1984), “Shenme Shi Lishi Kexue Lilun—Lishi Kexue Lilun Xueke Jianshe Shentao zhi Yi չ䈥ਢᖵ‫׾‬ઝᖂ෻ᓵΫΫᖵ‫׾‬ઝᖂ෻ᓵᖂઝ৬๻෡ಘ հԫ(What is the Theory of the Science of History—an Exploration into the Development of a Study Course on the Theory of the Science of History)”, in Lishi Yanjiu ᖵ‫׾‬ઔߒ 3 (1984), 27–34. ̛̛̛ (1964), “Lun Lishizhuyi yu Jieji Guandian ᓵ ᖵ ‫ ׌ ׾‬ᆠ ፖ ၸ ్ ᨠ រ (On Historicism and Class Standpoint)”, in Lishi Yanjiu ᖵ‫׾‬ઔߒ 3 (1964), 1–38. Qi Benyu ൯‫ء‬છ, Lin Jue ࣥໃ, Yan Changgui ᙝ९၆ʳ (1965), “Wei Geming er Yanjiu Lishi ੡ ଀ ࡎ ۖ ઔ ߒ ᖵ ‫( ׾‬To Do Research on History for the Revolution)”, in Hongqi દ዁ 13 (1965), 14–22. ̛̛̛ (1964), “Jian Bozan Tongzhi de Lishi Guandian Yingdang Pipan Ⲥ‫܄‬ᨬ‫ݳٵ‬ऱ ᖵ‫׾‬ᨠរᚨᅝ‫( ܒޅ‬Comrade Jian Bozan's Historical Viewpoint Has to Be Condemned)”, in Hongqi દ዁ 4 (1964), 19–30. Rong Mengyuan ዊ࡯ᄭ (1957), “Jianyi Bianxuan Xinhai Geming yilai de Lishi Ziliao ৬ᤜᒳᙇَ߬଀ࡎ‫ࠐא‬ऱᖵ‫׾‬ᇷற (Proposition to Compile Historical Materials since the Xinhai Revolution)”, in Xin Jianshe ᄅ৬๻ 7 (1957), 52–53. Shen Jiarong ާቯዊʳ (1981), “Shilun Lishixue de Jiejixing yu Kexuexing ᇢᓵᖵ‫׾‬ ᖂ ऱ ၸ ్ ࢤ ፖઝ ᖂ ࢤ (Tentative Remarks on the Class Character and the Scientific Nature of Historiography)”, in Qunzhong Luncong ᆢฒᓵហ 2 (1981), 58–64. Shi Hongbing ‫׾‬દ܎ (1967), “Chedi Qingsuan Zhou Yang zai Shixuejie Fanxia de Taotian Zuixing ኧࢍ堚ጩࡌཆ‫׾ڇ‬ᖂ੺‫ح‬Հऱᄺ֚ᆞ۩ (The Monstrous

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Crimes That Zhou Yang Committed in the Field of Historiography Have to Be Thoroughly Exposed and Criticized)”, in Guangming Ribao ٠ ࣔ ֲ ໴ (1967.2.13), 4. Shi Suyuan ‫׾‬ᤕ૒ʳ (1964), “Shi Lun Jiehe Zatan Wu Ti ‫׾‬ᓵ࿨‫ٽ‬ᠧᓫնᠲ (Five Remarks on How to Combine Historical Materials and Theory)”, in Shixue Yuekan ‫׾‬ᖂִ‫ ע‬8 (1964), 32–35. Song Yunbin ‫ݚ‬ճ൐ʳ (1956), “Chi Zhi You Gu, Yan Zhi Cheng Li—dui ‘Bai Jia Zheng Ming’ de Yi Dian Tihui. ਍հ‫ڶ‬ਚΔߢհ‫ګ‬෻ΫΫኙ ‘‫ۍ‬୮ञᏓ’ ⱘԫ រ᧯ᄎ (Holding an Opinion Needs a Reason, Voicing It Needs a Meaning— Some Experiences with ‘Let a Hundred Schools Contend’)”, in Renmin Ribao Գ ‫ֲا‬໴ (1956.7.14), 7. Stalin, Josef (1970), Fragen des Leninismus (Questions in Leninism). Frankfurt: Fischer. Su Wen ᤕ֮ (1966), “Jian Bozan Tongzhi de Fan Makesizhuyi de Shixue Gangling Pipan Ⲥ‫܄‬ᨬ‫ݳٵ‬ऱ್֘‫܌‬৸‫׌‬ᆠऱ‫׾‬ᖂጼᏆ‫( ܒޅ‬Criticism of Comrade Jian Bozan’s Anti-Marxist Program of Historiography)”, in Guangming Ribao ٠ֲࣔ໴ (1966.4.20), 2. Sun Sibai ୪৸‫ػ‬ʳ (1963), “Tan Lishi Kexue Yanjiu zhong de Ji Ge Wenti ᓫᖵ‫׾‬ઝ ᖂઔߒխऱ༓ଡംᠲ (On Some Questions Concerning the Research in the Science of History)”, in Wen Shi Zhe ֮‫ ୃ׾‬1 (1963), 26–28. Tan Qixiang ᢟࠡ㠅ʳ (1983), “Dui Jinhou Lishi Yanjiu Gongzuo de Si Dian Yijian ኙ վ৵ᖵ‫׾‬ઔߒՠ‫܂‬ऱ؄រრߠ (Four Suggestions for Further Work [in the Field] of Historical Research)”, in Shehui Kexue षᄎઝᖂ 5 (1983), 38–41. Uhalley, Stephen (1966), “The Controversy over Li Hsiu-ch’eng”, in Journal of Asian Studies vol. 25, 4 (1966), 305–317. Wang Tingliao ‫ݪ׆‬றʳ (1981), “You Shi Dao Lun, Lun Shi Jiehe ‫ࠩ׾ط‬ᓵΔᓵ‫׾‬࿨ ‫( ٽ‬From Historical Materials to Theory, Combining Theory and Historical Materials)”, in Lishi Zhishi ᖵ‫׾‬वᢝ 1 (1981), 44–46. Weigelin-Schwiedrzik, Susanne (2001), “Die chinesische Historiographie in den 90ger Jahren: Zwischen Erkenntnistheorie und Marktwirtschaft (Chinese Historiography in the 90s: Between Epistemology and Market Economy)”, in Kaelble, Hartmut and Dietmar Rothermund (eds.) (2001), Comparativ. Leipziger Beiträge zur Universalgeschichte und vergleichenden Geschichtsforschung (Comparativ. Leipzig Contributions on World History and Comparative Historical Research) 11. Jahrgang, Heft 4: Nichtwestliche Geschichtswissenschaften seit 1945 (2001), 53–79. ̛̛̛ (1988), ‘Shi’ und ‘Lun’. Studien zur Methodologie der Historiographie in der VR China (Shi and Lun. Studies on the Methodology of Historiography in the People’s Republic of China). Habilitationsschrift Bochum. Wu Han ‫ܦ‬Ἢʳ (1980), Xuexiji ᖂ฾ႃ (Collection of [my] Studies). Beijing: Renmin Chubanshe. ̛̛̛ (1980a), “Ruhe Xuexi Lishi ‫ڕ‬۶ᖂ฾ᖵ‫( ׾‬How to Study History)”, in Wu Han (1980), Xuexiji. Beijing: Renmin Chubanshe, 202-210. ̛̛̛ (1980b), “Guanyu Lishi Yanjiu de Ji Ge Wenti ᣂ࣍ᖵ‫׾‬ઔߒऱ༓ଡംᠲ (On Some Questions Concerning Research on History)”, in Wu Han (1980), Xuexiji (Collection of [my] Studies). Beijing: Renmin Chubanshe, 221-222. Wu Han Tongzhi (1966), “Wu Han Tongzhi Fan Dang Fan Shehuizhuyi Fan Makesizhuyi de Zhengzhi Sixiang he Xueshu Guandian ‫ܦ‬Ἢ‫᤻֘֘ݳٵ‬षᄎ‫׌‬ ᆠ್֘‫܌‬৸‫׌‬ᆠऱਙए৸უࡉᖂ๬ᨠរ (Comrade Wu Han’s Anti-Party, Anti-Socialist and Anti-Marxist Political Thought and Academic Point of View)”, in Guangming Ribao ٠ֲࣔ໴ (1966.4.10), 2–3.

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Wu Wenying ֮ࣳ૎ (1967), “Lishixuejie de Zichanjieji Baohuangdang Bixu Chedi Pipan ᖵ‫׾‬ᖂ੺ऱᇷขၸ్অ઄᤻‫ؘ‬ႊኧࢍ‫( ܒޅ‬The Bourgeois Royalists in the Field of Historiography Have to Be Thoroughly Condemned)”, in Guangming Ribao ٠ֲࣔ໴ (1967.2.18), 4. Wu Zongguo ‫ࡲܦ‬ഏ, Zhou Liangxiao ࡌߜᔺʳ (1960), “Shi Shiliao Guashuai, haishi Makesizhuyi Lilun Guashuai? ਢ ‫ ׾‬ற ਘ ১ Δ ᝫ ਢ ್ ‫ ܌‬৸ ‫ ׌‬ᆠ ਘ ১ Λ (Do Historical Materials or Marxist Theory Take the Lead?)”, in Guangming Ribao ٠ֲࣔ໴ (1960.7.21), 3. Yin Da ձሒʳ (1966), “Bixu ba Shixue Geming Jinxing dao Di ‫ؘ‬ႊ‫׾ނ‬ᖂ଀ࡎၞ۩ ࠩࢍ (The Revolution of Historiography Has to Be Fought to the End)”, in Hongqi દ዁ 3 (1966), 1–10. Yue Shi ။‫( ـ‬1966), “Yi Ge Fan Makesizhuyi de Shixue Gangling ԫଡ್֘‫܌‬৸‫׌‬ ᆠऱ‫׾‬ᖂጼᏆ (An Anti-Marxist Program of Historiography)”, in Guangming Ribao ٠ֲࣔ໴ (1966.4.3), 2. Zhang Chuanxi ്ႚᡮ (1981), “Xuexi Jian Bozan Tongzhi de Zhixue Jingshen ᖂ฾ Ⲥ‫܄‬ᨬ‫ݳٵ‬ऱएᖂ壄壀 (Learn from the Scholarly Spirit of Comrade Jian Bozan)”, in Jinyang Xuekan வၺᖂ‫ ע‬1 (1981), 94–99. Zhang Youyu ്֖ድ (1981), “Lishi Yanjiu he Si Xiang Jiben Yuanze. Zai Zhongguo Shixuehui Di-er Jie Lishihui Er Ci Huiyi shang de Fayan ᖵ‫׾‬ઔߒࡉ؄ႈഗ‫ء‬ ଺ঞΖ‫ڇ‬խഏ‫׾‬ᖂᄎรԲࡻ෻ࠃᄎԲ‫ڻ‬ᄎᤜՂऱ࿇ߢ (Research on History and the Four Basic Principles. Intervention on the Occasion of the Second Meeting of the Second Secretariat of the Chinese Historical Society)”, in Jiandaishi Yanjiu २‫׾ז‬ઔߒ 4 (1981), 1–7.

BETWEEN NORMATIVE AND INDIVIDUALIZING DIDACTICS: SUZHI JIAOYU (ైᔆඒߛ* AS A NEW TERM IN CHINESE THEORIES OF HISTORY TEACHING Nicola Spakowski Since about 1996, suzhi jiaoyu ( ై ᔆ ඒ ߛ )—literally: “quality education”—has become a term central to theories of history teaching in China. It is used to characterize a new concept of history teaching which is intended to provide pupils with an education that will enable them to meet the demands of a modern society. This modern society, as expressed in the following quotation, is placed in a global setting of competition, with “quality of the nation” (minzu suzhi ‫ا‬ගైᔆ) as its decisive factor: Since World War II, the development of modern science and technology has led to a considerably high development level of productive forces; the world economy is now following the trend toward globalization, toward the internationalization of capital and toward the building of regional blocks. Such a trend is, for each country, ‘virtually a contest of science and technology and of the quality of the nation. In this sense, [it is true that] he who masters an education for the twenty-first century will be in a strategically leading position.’1

Political leaders are quoted as the initiators of a general redefinition of educational goals which provide the broader context of suzhi jiaoyu and can be traced back to the late 1980s.2 Deng Xiaoping, for instance, called for a reorientation of education in three respects (san ge mianxiang Կଡ૿‫)ٻ‬: “Education has to face modern times, it has to face the world, it has to face the future.”3 More extensive quotations abound with terms like “human resources” (renli ziyuan!ԳԺᇷᄭ) and “the quality of the people” (guomin suzhi ഏ ‫ ై ا‬ᔆ ) and represent a model of development that is based on education and information. Jiang Zemin noted in 1997: “The process of the construction of modernization in China depends, to a great extent, on 1 Zhang Zengqiang 1999: 19, quoting from the “Outline of Reform and Development of Chinese Education” (“Zhongguo Jiaoyu Gaige he Fazhan Gangyao” խഏඒߛ‫ࡉ଀ޏ‬࿇୶ጼ૞) of February 1993. 2 For a discussion of suzhi jiaoyu in the Chinese debate on educational reform in general, see Thøgersen 2000. 3 Quoted in Chen Qingjun 1996: 30, no source given.

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raising the level of the quality of the people and on exploring human resources.”4 Suzhi jiaoyu is based on a concept of human nature that is typical of the Reform Era and differs strikingly from Mao Zedong’s view of the people as a “blank slate”. Instead, people are now regarded as being endowed with latent abilities which need to be explored and brought into full play. Psychology, which was stigmatized under Mao as a “bourgeois” discipline, has been gradually rehabilitated since the 1980s and has also gained ground in theories of history teaching.5 The term suzhi is confined neither to history teaching nor to school teaching in general; it can also be found in other contexts. In women’s studies, for example, the call to “raise women’s quality” (suzhi) refers to the need to provide women with the abilities and skills necessary to compete in the labor market.6 It is based on a concept of each person’s latent abilities which have to be developed by education. A closer look at articles on suzhi jiaoyu, however, reveals that the term does not refer to a single concept of didactics but covers both a conventional concept, which is centered on the content of history teaching with the political ideas and social norms underlying them as defined by the state and promulgated by teaching programs, and an entirely new concept of a form of history teaching, which is aimed at increasing pupils’ individuality. It thus corresponds with two quite contradictory concepts in Western history teaching, which might be called “normative” and “individualizing” didactics. 7 The normative concept aims at imparting norms. In an affirmative form it might try to sway pupils to identify with a (national) past; in a critical form it might try to persuade them to become emancipated from it. In both forms, however, it presents a single-perspective view of the past. History teaching in China has experienced both of these normative forms: the critical one under the auspices of Marxist historiography, which rejected national history up to 1949 as one that exploited the 4

18.

5

“Report Given at the 15th Congress of the CCP”, quoted in Zhao Henglie 1998:

Journals on history teaching abound with texts or passages dealing with the psychological dimension of history teaching. 6 See Spakowski 1996, especially p. 27. 7 In contrast to the general trend towards internationalization in Chinese social sciences and humanities, the articles used for this study do not make reference to Western theories or concepts (apart from Chen Qi 1999). The terms I use for characterizing the Chinese concepts are—unless marked as quotations—not derived from Chinese sources.

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masses, and the affirmative one, focusing on the “excellent traditions” (youxiu chuantong ᚌߐႚอ) of the nation, which has been gaining ground since the 1980s and especially in the course of a nationalistic redefinition of the Party’s legitimacy after 1989.8 The individualizing concept, on the other hand, is based on a multi-perspective view of the past. It attempts to teach pupils the complexity of history and the subjectivity of historiography. History teaching takes on the form of a discourse in which the individual, while reflecting on the past, should develop the faculty to judge a multi-layered reality and gain selfdetermination in a pluralistic world.9 In this article, I shall characterize these two concepts of history teaching covered by the term suzhi jiaoyu. My sources are articles on the teaching of history published between 1996 and 1999. The characterization of the two concepts is presented in two separate parts but they should, however, be understood as trends that, in some cases, might also be found in one and the same article. I shall deal more extensively with the new concept since it represents a fundamental reform in didactic thinking that has as yet received little attention.10 In my conclusion, I shall provide a summary of my findings and discuss the perspectives of the different models of suzhi jiaoyu.

Suzhi Jiaoyu Defined in Terms of Its Content and the Underlying Political Ideas and Social Norms Generally speaking, the use of the term suzhi jiaoyu in theories of history teaching can be linked with new directions in teaching programs, and especially with a broader concept of teaching goals which includes “basic knowledge, the fostering of abilities and ideological education” (jichu zhishi, nengli peiyang, sixiang jiaoyu ഗ ៕ व ᢝ Δ ౨ Ժ ഛ 塄 Δ ৸ უ ඒ ߛ ). Suzhi jiaoyu is said to have originated in the shift of attention to the latter two and the provision of concrete guidelines relating to them which is usually traced back to the new teaching programs issued in 1992 and 1996 for junior middle

8

See Spakowski 1999: 143-145. For these basic notions of history teaching, see Jeismann 1988 and Bergmann 1980. 10 For a more detailed study of the older concept of history teaching with its emphasis on patriotic education, see Spakowski 1999: 120-139. 9

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school (chuzhong ॣ խ ) and senior high school (gaozhong ೏խ ) respectively.11 Authors who use the term suzhi jiaoyu in accordance with the conventional approach in history teaching often quote from these teaching programs, thus revealing their closeness to the state leadership and their view of the functions of education. As expressed in the teaching program for senior high school, these functions lie in “the building of a socialist spiritual civilization, the raising of the quality of the nation, the comprehensive implementation of educational guidelines, and in training people who are highly developed in moral, intellectual, physical etc. respects to construct and carry on socialism”.12 Let us now take a closer look at the distinguishing features of suzhi jiaoyu in this conventional approach.

a) Suzhi Jiaoyu Is an Ideological Venture As stated above, “ideological education” (sixiang jiaoyu) has gained an important place in teaching programs which give detailed instructions on the ideas and doctrines (zhuyi!‫׌‬ᆠ) that should be imparted to the pupils.13 Authors who deal with suzhi jiaoyu or one of its subfields 14 are quite outspoken in admitting its ideological function, even with regard to the teaching of traditional thought and ethical values: Zhao Jiajun, writing on the “teaching of the excellent cultural traditions [of China]” assigns “traditional thought” the (positive!) “role of an 11 For the program of 1992, see Chen Qingjun 1996: 29; for that of 1996, see Chen/Chen 1998: 25. Some basic notions of suzhi jiaoyu such as the “fostering of abilities” (nengli peiyang) are even traced back to the discussions of the 1980s, see Feng/Li 1998: 25. 12 “Program of History Teaching in All-day Schooling Common Senior High School” (“Quanrizhi Putong Gaoji Zhongxue Lishi Jiaoxue Dagang” ٤ֲࠫཏຏ೏ ్խᖂᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂՕጼ), quoted from Ye 1996: 22. 13 See, for instance, “Program of History Teaching in All-day Schooling Common Senior High School (Excerpt) (“Quanrizhi Putong Gaoji Zhongxue Lishi Jiaoxue Dagang (Jielu)” ٤ֲࠫཏຏ೏్խᖂᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂՕጼ)ᆏᙕ) in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒ ᖂ!2/1996: 20-24 and 3/1996: 21-24. 14 The most important of these are “moral education” (deyu ᐚߛ), “the teaching of the excellent traditional culture [of China]” (youxiu chuantong wenhua jiaoyu ᚌߐႚ อ֮֏ඒߛ) and “patriotic education” (aiguozhuyi jiaoyu ფഏ‫׌‬ᆠඒߛ).


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invisible control of people’s social behavior”. 15 Zhao Henglie introduces a passage on “moral quality” (daode suzhi ሐᐚైᔆ) by stating: Morality is a social ideology (shehui yishi xingtai षᄎრᢝ‫ݮ‬ኪ). It has been gradually formed throughout history, transmitted by our ancestors, it has brought forth the new by weeding out the old. Among young people, one has to advocate a communist morality, because young people are those who construct and carry on the project of socialism, they have to fight for the ideals of socialism and communism.16

b) Suzhi Jiaoyu Is Defined by Its Content Conventional theories of history teaching do not deal with forms and methods of teaching, but with content. They depict suzhi jiaoyu as a set of knowledge and values and try to provide a systematic presentation of its subdivisions. Since the definition of suzhi jiaoyu seems not to be regulated by the state, lists of subdivisions might differ from author to author. Zhao Henglie (1998), for instance, distinguishes between “cultural quality” (wenhua suzhi!֮֏ైᔆ), “moral quality” (daode suzhi), and “psychological quality” (xinli suzhi! ֨෻ైᔆ). Qian Fang and Liu Xinyu list “cultural quality”, “moral quality”, and “quality of intellectual abilities” (zhineng suzhi ཕ౨ై ᔆ). 17 “Moral education”, however, appears to be a central part of suzhi jiaoyu and as such, again, might be subdivided into, for instance: “(1) the teaching of the direction and fundamental line of politics, (2) patriotic education, (3) the teaching of the revolutionary tradition, (4) the teaching of [China’s] national conditions (guoqing ഏൣ), (5) the teaching of a consciousness of reform and opening to the outside world.”18

15

Zhao Jiajun 1999: 51. Zhao Henglie 1998: 19. Qian/Liu 1998. 18 Fan 1998: 36. 16 17

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c) Based on a Collective View of Society, Patriotism is One of the Main Values Promulgated by Suzhi Jiaoyu Among the various ingredients of suzhi jiaoyu, patriotism is considered as holding a central position: At present, China’s education is facing a new challenge: suzhi jiaoyu. The main task in developing pupils’ quality (suzhi) must without any doubt be the [development of] the quality of political ideas (zhengzhi sixiang suzhi ਙए৸უైᔆ) and of moral quality (daode pinzhi suzhi ሐᐚ঴ᔆైᔆ), their core must be a sense of patriotism.19

This assessment of patriotism is based on a concept of society that places the collective first and perceives it above all in its historical depth:20 A patriotic heart is a strong emotion. It evolves from the blood relationship between people of our era and our forefathers; it evolves from the commonalities of the nation that have been formed throughout [our] long history. It is an emotional bond one cannot easily free oneself from; it is a tie that links the members of the motherland.21

The social background to education that authors depict, therefore, is marked precisely by the fear that pupils might free themselves from links with the nation and its past. According to Zou Ying, who writes about “patriotic education in middle school history teaching in a new situation”, this “new situation” (xin xingshi ᄅ ‫ ݮ‬Ⴈ ) is not only characterized by international competition but also—and this is typical for a neo-conservative stance 22 —by the market economy with its negative effects on the moral standards of society: Today, both the increasingly fierce competition of national strength between each country in the world and the market economy, which is becoming more and more popular, are making new demands on our education system. On the one hand, our pupils face the challenges of international economic competition and technical revolution. On the other hand, the negative effects of the market economy on people’s 19

Zheng 1997: 51. This collective sense can also be found in passages on “moral education”. Accorcing to Zhao Henglie, for instance, suzhi jiaoyu is about the relationship between people and between the individual and society. One has to “benefit the group, concern oneself with others, and concern oneself with the collective”, see Zhao 1998: 19. 21 Zhang 1997: 31. 22 For a more general discussion of Chinese neo-conservatism and nationalism, see Spakowski 2000a. 20


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ways of thinking and action also exert an influence on our very malleable middle school pupils. A small number of pupils are skeptical about the future and the destiny of the motherland.23

Programs of patriotic teaching, like the lists of the ingredients of suzhi jiaoyu, are not fixed but may differ between authors. A very typical one is given by Zheng Xingxia. In his view, pupils have to be taught (1) China’s long history and glorious culture, (2) the search for transformation and progress, (3) ethnic harmony and the principle of unity, and (4) commitment to the state and to society.24 It must be emphasized that the notion of patriotism prevalent in history teaching is by no means a xenophobic kind of nationalism. Rather, patriotism is instrumentalized for the demands of a society in transformation. 25 As one author notes, the constituent elements of patriotism are tied to a particular time. Today’s patriotism, according to him, means “fighting to build the motherland into a prosperous and powerful modern state.” 26 His list of the constituent elements of patriotic education includes, among others, the idea that “science and technology are the most important productive forces” and a sense of internationalism: “Patriotism does not mean ‘blind self-adulation’ (wei wo du zun ੡‫ݺ‬ᗑ༇). Chinese and foreign history both demonstrate that only if we place the State in the context of the entire world, can we find even greater development.”27 However, the collective retains first place in patriotic education. In the end, it has to instil into pupils “national self-respect, [national] self-confidence, [national] pride and a patriotic heart” (minzu zizunxin, zixinxin, zihaogan he aiguoxin ‫ا‬ග۞༇֨Δ۞ॾ֨Δ۞ᎌტࡉფ ഏ֨).28

23

Zou 1996: 31. Zheng 1997: 52. 25 See Spakowski 2000a. 26 Zou 1996: 31. 27 Zou 1996: 31, 32. 28 Zhao Henglie 1998: 19. See also Zheng (1997: 51), who speaks of “national selfrespect, self-confidence and a sense of [national] responsibility” (minzu zizunxin, zixinxin he zerengan ‫ا‬ග۞༇֨Δ۞ॾ֨ࡉຂٚტ). 24

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Suzhi Jiaoyu – Defined as a Form of History Teaching that Fosters Pupils’ Individuality At the heart of suzhi jiaoyu as a new concept of history teaching lies the development of a new personality that is able to cope with the new social and economic setting of competition. Chen Pinzhen gives a general and rather typical vision of this new personality: Suzhi jiaoyu is a practical requirement based on the development of society, of the scientific field, and of the pupils. It is in accordance with the laws of education. Its principal aim is to raise the fundamental quality of all pupils in every respect. It respects the pupils as subjects and fully develops their mental activity. It emphasizes exploring the latent wisdom of the pupils, fostering their capabilities for selfdevelopment and for forming a sound individuality, and developing their special skills. It is an education that faces the world and meets the needs of the future.29

Some authors illustrate the new quality of suzhi jiaoyu by contrasting it with traditional forms of teaching and learning. On the side of traditional theories of teaching (chuantong jiaoxuelun ႚอඒᖂᓵ), they place the “didactic theory of memorizing” (jiyi jiaoxuelun ಖᖋ ඒᖂᓵ) which pays attention to the results of learning measured by the quantity of knowledge imparted to the pupils.30 Its teaching methods are “imparting” knowledge to students or “drumming” it “into” them (chuanshou, guanshu!ႚ඄Δᥒᙁ).31 Suzhi jiaoyu, on the other hand, is called a “didactic theory of thinking” (siwei jiaoxuelun ৸ፂ ඒᖂᓵ ). It pays attention to the process of learning and regards intellectual abilities (zhineng!ཕ౨) as being more important than knowledge.32 Let us go now into detail about the core features of suzhi jiaoyu in this new approach.

29

Chen Pingzhen 1997: 44. Yu 1999: 47. Chen Qingjun 1996: 30. 32 Yu 1999: 47. 30 31


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a) Suzhi Jiaoyu Takes into Account Each Pupil’s Individuality and Individual Talents The new concept of suzhi jiaoyu centers on the individual instead of the collective. According to Chen Pinzhen, suzhi jiaoyu has to respect pupils as persons and foster their subjectivity: Suzhi jiaoyu emphasizes the latent intellectual capabilities of the pupils instead of regarding them as vessels meant to receive knowledge. Suzhi jiaoyu fully develops the subjectivity (zhutixing ‫ )ࢤ᧯׌‬of people instead of regarding them as things (wu ढ). It regards them as persons (ren Գ).33

This new view of the learning person has to be applied to each pupil alike—“each pupil has to be offered the opportunity to participate in classroom activities, to express and to develop his/her capabilities on his/her own initiative”—and it has to take into account “the different foundations, intelligence, interests and special skills” of all pupils.34 The goal of education is not national, but individual “self-respect, selfconfidence and pride” (zizun, zixin, zihaogan ۞༇Δ۞ॾΔ۞ᎌ ტ).35

b) Suzhi Jiaoyu Constitutes a New Relationship between Teacher and Pupils Pupils should occupy the “subject position” (zhuti diwei ‫ )ۯچ᧯׌‬in the process of teaching. Instead of the traditional method of “putting [the teacher’s] lecture first” (yi jiang wei zhu ‫ א‬ᝑ ੡ ‫“ ) ׌‬the classroom should be returned to the students”. 36 The teacher is assigned the role of “guiding and organizing the pupils to learn on their own initiative”37 and the relationship between teacher and student is characterized as a “cooperative relationship of guiding and learning”.38 Pupils’ “initiative” (zhudongxing ‫ ׌‬೯ ࢤ ) and “democracy” (minzhuxing ‫ )ࢤ׌ا‬are catchwords of suzhi jiaoyu and have only

33

Chen Pinzhen 1997: 45. Zhang Zengqiang 1999: 20. 35 Zhang Zengqiang 1999: 21. 36 Zhang Zengqiang 1999: 19. 37 Zhang Zengqiang 1999: 22. 38 Chen Qingjun 1996: 31. 34

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recently gained acceptance within theories of history teaching.39 Zhang Zengqiang explains the first term as “making pupils participate in the entire process of teaching and learning in an active and voluntary way so that they become the masters of learning”. In his view, learning by oneself (zixue ۞ᖂ) is the method that suits the peculiarities of history teaching best. It comprises a process of “reading textbooks by oneself, taking notes, solving problems posed by textbooks or by oneself”.40 Democracy, to Zhang, means a form of teaching and learning marked by “equality, harmony, joint participation and active exchange between teacher and pupils and between pupils”.41

c) Capabilities Prevail Over Knowledge Authors might differ slightly in the enumeration of capabilities that should be developed, but, still, a core set of abstract nouns may be found, for instance, in the following quotation: [The capabilities suzhi jiaoyu aims at] include the most fundamental capabilities required for existing, the capabilities required for taking part in competition, the capabilities required for solving problems, creative power, and even the capabilities required for administration and leadership.42

Among these, “creative power” (chuangzao nengli ໌ ທ ౨ Ժ ), “creativity” (chuangzaoxing ໌ ທ ࢤ ) or “creative thinking” (chuangzao siwei ໌ທ৸ፂ) are the qualities most often dealt with in articles.43 Another new feature of suzhi jiaoyu is that the process of learning itself becomes an object of learning and of critical reflection, even on the part of the pupils. Chen Pinzhen, for instance, describes the process of teaching and learning as a complex interaction between pupils and teacher which he divides into five steps of guiding pupils in critically dealing with problems and with the very process of teaching and learning. These comprise activities such as “writing down” and 39

For an exception, see Qin 1989. His article anticipates the innovative approaches of the late 1990s and reflects the hope for democratic reforms cherished by intellectuals in the late 1980s. See also Thøgersen 2000: 6 on educational debate in general. 40 Zhang Zengqiang 1999: 20. 41 Zhang Zengqiang 1999: 21. 42 Chen Qi 1999: 25. 43 See, for instance, Wang 1999: 8 and Zhao Henglie 1996.


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“solving knotty problems”, “exchanging judgments”, “giving [pupils] feed-back by positive or negative judgments, by giving advice, by criticizing, by praising”, “inducing them to analyze their state of learning”. All this is finally guided by the principle of “teaching pupils how to learn” (jiaohui xuesheng xuexi de benling ඒᄎᖂ‫س‬ᖂ฾ऱ‫ء‬ Ꮖ) or teaching them “lifelong learning” (zhongshen xuexi ึߪᖂ ฾).44

d) Form Prevails Over Content Since capabilities are considered more important than knowledge, proponents of suzhi jiaoyu discuss forms and methods of teaching instead of its content. One of the main tasks of teachers is to impart methods of learning that might be applied to all fields of knowledge. Yu Yichuan, for instance, concludes his article on “history teaching in the twenty-first century” by assigning history teaching a goal that goes far beyond the confines of historiography: History teaching in the twenty-first century lays stress on developing pupils’ ability to study problems. However, this does not necessarily aim at training historians. […] To master this method [of studying independently] is not only very important for learning history, but also for every other discipline.45

History, therefore, loses its status as a direct subject of history lessons. This can also be inferred from the importance of debate as a form of learning. Discussing the principle of democracy (minzhuxing yuanze ‫ ଺ ࢤ ׌ ا‬ঞ ) one author gives the example of a class where discussions did not produce a unified view of a problem. Though this particular lesson did not lead to a concrete “result”, the author nevertheless considered it successful: “From the point of view of ‘learning how to learn history’ the value of ‘debate’ as such far surpasses the content of ‘debate’.”46 To leave open the content of history teaching seems to me to be the crucial point of suzhi jiaoyu and its distinguishing feature in contrast to normative didactics. 44

Chen Pinzhen 1997: 45. Yu 1999: 48. 46 Zhang Zengqiang 1999: 21. 45

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This might, however, also be regarded as a problematic aspect of suzhi jiaoyu. One author who deals with the reforms of history teaching in a more general way is critical of the somewhat formalistic nature of these reforms, stating: “The reformers do not pay attention to the replacement of knowledge, they neglect the reform of the content.”47 He is critical of the fact that this part of the reform is left to teaching programs and to the authors of textbooks. Going through articles which give specific examples of history lessons one can find a very traditional canon of topics and knowledge being taught even under the auspices of suzhi jiaoyu. One author, for instance, teaches “creative thinking” using Qin Shihuang’s “burning the [Confucian] books and burying alive the Confucians” (fen shu keng ru ྡ஼߿ᕢ) as a topic of discussion.48 This is a controversial but nevertheless quite conventional topic of Chinese historiography. Chinese textbooks still adhere to a dynastic and state-centered view of history. They depict the rise and fall of dynasties and the deeds of emperors and other great persons of politics and culture.49 This very concept is laden with political ideas and social norms that do not meet the demands of a modern society. It is bound to conceal the complexity of social, economic, political and cultural developments that characterized history as well. Another problem, of course, is the question as to what extent the very ambitious goals of suzhi jiaoyu are being realized in history lessons. Surveys of teaching methods applied in history lessons and discussions with teachers reveal that traditional forms and methods of teaching are still dominant in China.50 It would seem that proponents of suzhi jiaoyu might not have grasped its innovative elements. The above-mentioned author using the assessment of Qin Shihuang as an example of “creative thinking”, for instance, induces his pupils to express their opinions—just to confirm in the end that opinion that

47 Chen Qingjun 1996: 31. This is also the case with comic-books on Chinese history, where a reform of form does not imply a reform of content. See Spakowski 2000b. 48 Zhao Henglie 1996: 32. 49 See Spakowski 1999:168-172. This feature might also be inferred from questions on Chinese history asked at entrance examinations for universities. The questionnaire for 1999 is listed in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂ!1999: 37-42. 50 Zhang Zengqiang 1999: 19.


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“fits historical reality best”,51 thus breaking with the principle that the process is more important than the result.52

Conclusion Suzhi jiaoyu is an educational concept promulgated since the mid1990s, when reform and opening to the outside world had reached the point of no return. Political leaders became aware of the new demands that globalization and a market economy would make on citizens, and they gave education a key position in raising people’s competitiveness, thus following international trends—“lifelong learning” has become a popular term all over the world. However, what Chinese politicians have in mind is collective (that is: national) rather than individual competitiveness. Suzhi jiaoyu, in their definition, aims at raising “national quality”, which is one reason for their defining the content of suzhi jiaoyu for all citizens alike. Suzhi jiaoyu thus becomes a venture aimed at promulgating political ideas and social norms.53 This is indicative of a normative form of didactics that has a long history in China. Theorists of history teaching who feel close to this concept of suzhi jiaoyu try to present a systematic view of its content with regard to history teaching. They focus on “moral” and “ideological” education and correspond to the collective/nationalist outlook of the state leadership by assigning patriotism a prominent role. There are, however, authors who use the term suzhi jiaoyu to denote a break with conventional concepts of history teaching. By paying attention to the subjectivity and the individual backgrounds of pupils and by laying stress on fostering a personality of (individual) self-respect and pride, proponents of this model display an individualistic outlook. Their focus is on the development of 51

Zhao Henglie 1996: 32. Zhao Henglie is an example of a writer who combines both the conventional and the new concept of suzhi jiaoyu. 53 According to Thøgersen (2000: 2), the Chinese “debate on ‘quality education’ reflects the troubled and contradictory nature of the Chinese modernisation process”. He notes: “[T]he present regime is fully aware that it must primarily deliver economic results to maintain its legitimacy, and that such results can only be achieved by critical and creative persons. It therefore aims at establishing an ideal-type Chinese citizen who has these characteristics, but who at the same time is willing and able to function inside the authoritarian framework of the Chinese state.” See Thøgersen 2000: 7. As regards history teaching, teaching programs clearly pay more attention to the latter aspect. 52

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capabilities which are not confined to the mastering of history but can be applied to other fields of knowledge as well. The process and forms of teaching and learning prevail over their results and content; learning becomes an educational goal in itself. As regards history, problems of judgment should provoke debate and discussion to reveal the complexity of the historical process and the variety of views on it. So how shall these two models of history teaching be assessed? What are their future prospects? With a background of Western individualizing didactics one is reluctant to take sides with the normative model, especially where it obviously aims at legitimizing the Chinese Communist Party’s claim to power. However, given the popularity of the “new nationalism” and of cultural conservatism among broader segments of Chinese society one could assume that normative didactics has its supporters in China. They might regard normative didactics as a remedy for the negative side effects of rapid modernization, about which they make frequent complaint, such as the decline of social morality and the rise in crime rates.54 Furthermore, the creation of a national identity is a matter of concern not only for theorists of education; and the ties people feel to their nation depend, to a great extent, on their shared knowledge about its past. And finally, Chinese education theorists might be aware of the fact that in order to help pupils to find orientation in an increasingly complex world, individualism must be accompanied by additional values. Some Western experts, too, are sceptical about the outcome of individualizing didactics in its most rigorous form.55

54 For Chinese new nationalism and neo-conservatism and the functions assigned to them, see Spakowski 2000a. 55 My thanks to Jörn Rüsen for his critical remark that the logic of individualizing didactics is detrimental to the very aims of the concept.


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REFERENCES CITED Bergmann, Klaus (1980), „Identität (Identity)“, in Bergmann, Klaus (ed.) (1980), Handbuch der Geschichtsdidaktik (Manual of History Teaching) vol. 1. Düsseldorf: Schwann, 46-53. Chen Dexin ຫᐚࣲ, Chen Guangyu ຫ٠ᇛ (1998), “Gaozhong Lishi Jiaoxue Gaige yu Suzhi Jiaoyu ೏ խ ᖵ ‫ ׾‬ඒᖂ ‫ ଀ ޏ‬ፖ ై ᔆ ඒ ߛ (The Reform of History Teaching in Senior High School and Quality Education)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ ඒᖂ!5 (1998), 25-28. Chen Pinzhen ຫ঴ੴ (1997), “Lishi Xueke Shishi Suzhi Jiaoyu de Jiaoxue Moshi Chutan ᖵ‫׾‬ᖂઝኔਜైᔆඒߛऱඒᖂᑓ‫ॣڤ‬൶ (Preliminary Study of the Educational Model of Practicing Quality Education in the Discipline of History)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue Wenti ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂംᠲ!3 (1997), 44-48. Chen Qi ຫࠡ (1999), “Meiguo Lishi Xueke zhong de Suzhi Jiaoyu ભഏᖵ‫׾‬ᖂઝխ ऱైᔆඒߛ (Quality Education in the Discipline of History in America)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂ!8 (1999), 25-33. Chen Qingjun ຫᐜ૨ (1996), “Xin Shiqi Zhongxue Lishi Jiaoxue Gaige Huigu yu Zhanwang (shang) ᄅ ழ ཚ խ ᖂ ᖵ ‫ ׾‬ඒ ᖂ ‫ ᥽ ڃ ଀ ޏ‬ፖ ୶ ඨ ) Ղ * (Past Experiences and Future Prospects of the Reform of Middle School History Teaching in the New Era [Part One])”, in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂ!7 (1996), 2832. Fan Yongming ૃ‫( ټة‬1998), “Youhua Lishi Suzhi Jiaoyu de Si Ge Yaosu ᚌ֏ᖵ ‫ ై ׾‬ᔆ ඒ ߛ ऱ ؄ ଡ ૞ ై ! (Four Essential Factors of Optimizing Quality Education in History Teaching)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂ!7 (1998), 36-39. Feng Yixia ႑ԫՀ and Li Jie ‫ޕ‬ᑥ (1998), “Shuli Danengliguan, Tuijin Suzhi Jiaoyu ᖫ‫م‬Օ౨ԺᨠΔංၞైᔆඒߛ!(Establishing an Outlook of Great Capacities, Enforcing Quality Education)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂ!10 (1998), 25-29. Jeismann, Karl-Ernst (1988), „Geschichtsbewußtsein als zentrale Kategorie der Geschichtsdidaktik (Historical Consciousness as a Central Category of History Teaching)“, in Schneider, Gerhard (ed.), Geschichtsbewußtsein und historischpolitisches Lernen (Historical Consciousness and Historical-political Learning). Pfaffenweiler: Centaurus-Verlag-Gesellschaft, 1-24. Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂ!(History Teaching) 8 (1999), 37-42. “Quanrizhi Putong Gaoji Zhongxue Lishi Jiaoxue Dagang (Jielu) ٤ֲࠫཏຏ೏్խ ᖂᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂՕጼ)ᆏᙕ) (Program of History Teaching in All-day Schooling Common Senior High School [Excerpt])“, in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂ!2 (1996): 20-24 and 3 (1996): 21-24. Qian Fang ᙒ࣋ and Liu Xinyu Ꮵᄅ‫( ڙ‬1998), “Cong Lishi Xueke Tedian Chufa Jiaqiang Suzhi Jiaoyu ൕᖵ‫ ׾‬ᖂઝ௽ រ‫ נ‬࿇ ‫ף‬ൎైᔆඒߛ (Strengthening Quality Education by Starting from the Peculiarities of the Discipline of History)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂ!3 (1998), 28-30. Qin Weixian ఻ፂᖆ (1989), “Rang Xuesheng Siwei zhi Niao Feixiang zai Lishi Yuanye ᨃᖂ‫س‬৸ፂհ຺ଆ࿴‫ڇ‬ᖵ‫଺׾‬ມ (Let the Bird of Pupils’ Thinking Hover over the Open Country of History)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue Wenti ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂം ᠲ!1 (1989), 43, 48. Spakowski, Nicola (1996), “Von der Befreiung zur Entwicklung. Modernisierungsbegriff und Emanzipationsstrategie im feministischen Diskurs der VR China (From Liberation to Development. Theories of Modernization and Women’s Emancipation in Chinese Feminism, with a Summary in English)”, in Berliner China-Hefte 10 (March 1996), 11-47.

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̛̛̛ (1998), “Permanence and Change. The Relationship between Traditionalism and Marxist Historical Thought in Popular History Books in the People's Republic of China", in Berliner China-Hefte 15 (October 1998), 74-87. ̛̛̛ (1999), Helden, Monumente, Traditionen. Nationale Identität und historisches Bewußtsein in der VR China (Heroes, Monuments, Traditions. National Identity and Historical Consciousness in the People’s Republic of China) (Berliner China-Studien 35). Hamburg: LIT Verlag. ̛̛̛(2000a), “New Conservatism and Nationalism in the People's Republic of China”, in asien, afrika, lateinamerika 28 (2000), 485-503. ̛̛̛ (2000b), „Bildergeschichten—Geschichtsbilder. Kontinuität und Wandel des Geschichtscomics in der VR China (Picture Stories—Images of History. Continuity and Change in Picture Stories on History in the PRC),” in Berliner China-Hefte 19 (October 2000), 3-25. Thøgersen, Stig (2000), “The ‘Quality’ of Chinese Education and the New Ideal Student”, in Nordic Newsletter of Asian Studies 4 (2000), internet edition: http://130.225.203.37/nytt/issues/2000/4/Quality/. Wang Hongzhi ‫( ݳݛ׆‬1999), “Xin Zhongguo Lishi Jiaokeshu zai bu Duan Gaige zhong Qianjin—Wushi Nian lai de Zhong Xiaoxue Lishi Jiaocai (xia) ᄅխഏᖵ ‫ ׾‬ඒ ઝ ஼ ‫ ڇ‬լ ឰ ‫ ଀ ޏ‬խ ছ ၞ — ն Լ ‫ ࠐ ڣ‬ऱ խ ՛ ᖂ ᖵ ‫ ׾‬ඒ ‫ ) ޗ‬Հ * (The Advancement of History Textbooks in New China by Continuous Reform— Teaching Materials for History in Elementary and Middle School for the Last Fifty Years [Part Two])”, in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂ!12 (1999), 5-8. Ye Xiaobing ᆺ՛܎ (1996), “Jiaqiang Xueke Nengli de Peiyang, Quanmian Tigao Xuesheng Suzhi—Tan Xinbian Gaozhong Lishi Jiaoxue Dagang zhong Youguan Nengli Peiyang de Lunshu ‫ף‬ൎᖂઝ౨Ժऱഛ塄Δ٤૿༼೏ᖂ‫ైس‬ᔆ—ᓫᄅ ᒳ೏խᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂՕጼ!խ‫ڶ‬ᣂ౨Ժഛ塄ऱᓵ૪ (Strengthening the Fostering of Capabilities in the Discipline, Raising the Quality of Pupils in Every Respect— on the Discussion of the Fostering of Capabilities in the New History Teaching Program for Senior High School)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂ!5 (1996), 22-25. Yu Yichuan ࣍‫א‬ႚ (1999), “Bian Shi Yongheng—Wo Kan 21 Shiji de Lishi Jiaoxue ᧢ਢ‫ݺ—ਁة‬઎ 32 ‫׈‬ધऱᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂ (Change is Eternal—My View on History Teaching in the 21st Century)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue Wenti ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂംᠲ!6 (1999), 47-48. Zhang Jing ്ᙩ (1997), “Zhongxue Lishi Xueke Deyu Yanjiu de Ji Ge Wenti խᖂ ᖵ‫׾‬ᖂઝᐚߛઔߒऱ༓ଡംᠲ!(Some Problems of Studying Moral Education in Middle School History Teaching)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂ 8 (1997), 3135. Zhang Zengqiang ്ᏺൎ (1999), “Rang Xuesheng Chengwei Lishi Ketang Jiaoxue Huodong de Zhuti ᨃᖂ‫ګس‬੡ᖵ‫׾‬ᓰഘඒᖂ੒೯ऱ‫( ᧯׌‬Let Pupils Become the Subject of Teaching Activities in History Classes)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒ ᖂ!1 (1999), 19-23. Zhao Henglie ᎓㠬௺ (1996), “Xuanze de Fangfa he Chuangzaoxing Siwei ᙇᖗऱֱ ऄࡉ໌ທࢤ৸ፂ (The Method of Selection and Creative Thinking)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂ!10 (1996), 29-32. ̛̛̛ (1998), “Lun Lishi Xueke zhong de Suzhi Jiaoyu ᓵᖵ‫׾‬ᖂઝխऱైᔆඒߛ! (On Quality Education in the Discipline of History)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂ! 2 (1998), 18-21. Zhao Jiajun ᎓‫ף‬૨ (1999), “Shitan zai Zhongguoshi Jiaoxue zhong Ruhe Jiaqiang Youxiu Chuantong Wenhua Jiaoyu ᇢᓫ‫ڇ‬խഏ‫׾‬ඒᖂխ‫ڕ‬۶‫ף‬ൎᚌߐႚอ֮ ֏ඒߛ (On the Question of How to Strengthen the Teaching of the Excellent


481

Traditional Culture in the Teaching of Chinese History)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue Wenti ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂംᠲ!1 (1999), 51-52. Zheng Xingxia ᔤਣដ (1997), “Qian Lun Lishi Xueke Aiguo Qinggan de Peiyang ෍ ᓵᖵ‫׾‬ᖂઝფഏൣტऱഛ塄 (A Simple Discussion of the Fostering of Patriotic Feelings in the Discipline of History)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue Wenti ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂംᠲ!5 (1997), 51-52. Zou Ying ም ᥎ (1996), “Xin Xingshi xia Zhongxue Lishi Jiaoxue zhong de Aiguozhuyi Jiaoyu ᄅ ‫ ݮ‬Ⴈ Հխ ᖂ ᖵ ‫ ׾‬ඒ ᖂ խ ऱ ფ ഏ ‫ ׌‬ᆠ ඒ ߛ ! (Patriotic Education in Middle School History Teaching in the New Situation)”, in Lishi Jiaoxue ᖵ‫׾‬ඒᖂ!11 (1996), 31-33.

INDEX OF NAMES Adelung, Johann Christoph 27 Alexander the Great 290, 293-297, 299, 302, 303, 306-308 Ames, Roger 115 Ammann, Ludwig xvi An Chǂngbok ‫ڜ‬ቓ壂 405, 409, 411-413, 415-419 Anaximines 299 Arafat, Yasser 197 Aristobulus 294, 299, 307 Arrian 294, 296, 297, 299, 300, 303, 306-308 Artaxerxes 304 Bahr, Petra xvi Balazs, Étienne 371 Ban Biaoఄ๡ 104 Ban Guఄࡐ 105, 154, 157-160, 192, 373, 384, 394 Barthes, Roland 158 de Bary, Wm. Theodore 119 Bedow, G.G. 325 Behr, Wolfgang xiv Bernheim, Ernst 290, 301 Bian Zhaohua 280 Biao Xi๡ᝣ 204, 205 Biganֺե 183, 191 Bibliander, Theodor (alias Buchmann) 27 Blanke, Horst Walter xvi Bo Yuyang‫܄‬Պၺ 240 Bourdieu, Pierre 422 Boyi‫ ڎ܄‬190, 275 Bopp, Franz 42 Bu YanԽ೘ 201, 202 Buckle, Henry Thomas 147 Buder, Christian Gottlieb 318, 321

Callisthenes 299, 302 Cao Caoඦᖙ 378 Cao Houyanඦঀ৯ 33 Chares 299

Chavannes, Edouard 102 Chen Bodaຫ‫܄‬ሒ 425, 427, 428 Chen Diຫร 38, 39 Chen Hongruຫពᕢ 35 Chen Linຫྱ 378, 388 Chen Pinzhenຫ঴ੴ 472-474 Chen Queຫᒔ 340, 342-345 Chen Xianzhangຫ᣸ີ 348, 349 Chen Yaowenຫᤌ֮ 341 Chen Zhensunຫ஡୪ 271 Cheng, M. 125 Cheng Qiao‫ګ‬៛ 185, 186 Cheng Yi࿓ᙲ 341 Chevrier, Yves 421 Cho Chԁng᎓஧ 409 Chow Kai-wing xv Chu Shaosun፻֟୪, 99, 100, 156 Chu Wei Wangᄑ৖‫ ׆‬209, 210 Cleitarchus 296, 299, 303 Confucius xiii, 20, 53, 54, 64, 70, 72, 84, 85, 95, 96, 98-100, 104, 106109, 144, 145, 151, 156, 164, 166, 179, 191-195, 217, 220, 227, 228, 230-244, 344, 348, 351-358, 380, 385, 386, 389, 390 Contzen, M.Th. 326 Cramer, F. 316 Croce, Benedetto 440 Cui Shuാ૪ 166, 337-339, 359, 361 Cui Zhuാ࣯ 188, 193 Curtius 294, 296, 299, 307 Dai Yongᚮ㌔ 345, 346 Dai Chenᚮᔼ 359 Dante, Alighieri 27 Darius 293, 303, 307 Deng Xiaopingᔥ՛ؓ 465 Design, A. 316 Dilthey, Wilhelm 5 Diodorus 294, 296, 299, 307 Dongguo Chuiࣟພি 193

484 Dong Huᇀध xiii, xiv, 193, 194, 233, 234, 243 Dong Zhongshu ᇀ٘င 67, 72, 195, 236, 245, 246 Droysen, Johann, Gustav 290, 291, 301-308 Du Yu‫ޙ‬ቃ 351 Duan Yucai੄‫د‬ဪ 28, 36 Dubs, Homer H. 148 Dürr, F.A. 315 Duke Ai঩ֆ 239 Duke Huan of QiᏘ௄ֆ 191, 193, 212, 213, 217, 241, 242 Duke Hui of Luᕙ༡ֆ 165 Duke Jiผ‫ ܄‬357 Duke Jian១ֆ 185, 186 Duke Jing of Qiࠡནֆ 166, 188 Duke Lingᨋֆ xiii, xiv Duke Mu of Qin఻ᗪֆ 166 Duke of Bo‫ػ‬ֆ 193 Duke of Zhouࡌֆ 166, 349, 350 Duke Wen of Jinவ֮ֆ 191, 212, 241, 242 Duke Wu of Jinவࣳֆ 214, 215 Duke Xian of Jinவ᣸ֆ 201 Duke Yinឆֆ 234, 238 Duke Zhuang of Qi๗ֆᏘ 188 Duo Jiao᥵཭ 209 Durrant, Stephen xiv, xvi Dushi Zanങஃᢥ 184 Egan, Ronald 199 Eggert, Marion xv Elai༞ࠐ 183, 191 Emperor Zhenzong (cf. Zhenzong) Emperor Wu of Han (cf. Han Wudi) Emperor Wu of Liang (cf. Liang Wudi) Empress Lü (cf. Lü Zhi) Engels, Friedrich 432, 451, 452 van Ess, Hans xvi Fan Kuaiᑕⷨ 101 Fan Ningૃ⓻ 181 Fan Wenlanૃ֮ᣴ 425, 427-430, 432-434, 439, 443, 454 Fan Yeૃᖢ 158, 160

INDEX Feng Fang᠆ܽ 341 Feng Youlan႑֖ᥞ 434, 437-439, 450 Fessmaier, Johann Georg 301 Franke, Otto 148 Fu Shengٗ‫ س‬97 Gan Baoեᣪ 160 Gao Shiqi೏Փ࡛ 165 Gao Yan೏೘ 240 Gaozi೏՗ 228 Gaozi‫ܫ‬՗ 347, 348 Gaozong೏ࡲ 161 Gaozu೏ల 99, 101, 161 de Gaspari, J.B. 316 Gatterer, Johann Christoph 292, 294, 296, 319, 322 Ge Changzhi 265 Gentz, Joachim xv, 72 Goldman, Merle 434 Gongsun Guֆ୪ࡐ 209 Gongsun Jigongֆ୪ࡱ‫ פ‬101 Gongsun Luoֆ୪ᢅ 32 Gongzi Yangshengֆ՗ၺ‫ س‬240 Graham, A.C. 13, 115 Grimm, Jacob 27 Gu Jiegang᥽ᕂଶ 337-339, 359, 360 Gu Yanwu᥽ङࣳ 39 Gu Yewang᥽ມ‫ ׆‬33 Gu Yongߣ‫ ة‬249 Guanyinᨠଃ 259 Guanzhongጥ٘ 212 Guo Moruoພःૉ 426-428, 441, 443-455 Guo Puພᗖ 23 Guo Xieພᇞ 102 Hall, David 116 Han Ch’iyunឌી⤦ 417-419 Han Chinsԁឌ䕡஼ 417 Han Gaozuዧ೏ల (cf. Liu Bang) Han Feiឌॺ՗ 54, 107, 164, 185, 186, 187, 209, 220, 221 Han Wudiዧࣳ০ 37, 96, 382 Han Yuឌყ 163, 388

485

INDEX Harbsmeier, Christoph 115 He Xiu۶ٖ 236, 245 Heeren, Arnold, Hermann, Ludwig 290, 296-300, 306, 307, 323 Hegel, Georg, Wilhelm, Friedrich 42, 116 Heiddeger, Martin 5 Heyne, Christian Gottlob 290, 292298, 300, 306, 307 Henry, Eric 192, 194 Herder, Johann Friedrich 27 Herodotus 95, 102, 103, 178 Hirase TakaoؓႨၼ૴ 207 Homer 102, 103 Hong Maiੋᝬ xv, 255-272, 275284 Hong Shanqing 265 Hong Yԁhaੋ‫ ࣾڿ‬410 Hou Ji‫ٿ‬ᒞ 99, 100, 154, 156 Hou Wailuঀ؆ᗝ 436, 438, 442, 443 Hu Shi઺ᔞ 337-339, 359, 360, 433 Hu Sui໹ሑ 108 Hu Yan (cf. Zi Fan) Huang Shang႓፴ 26, 262 Huang Zongxi႓ࡲᘂ 336, 340 Huber, J.R. 327 Hui Nengᐝ౨ 340, 344 von Humboldt, Wilhelm 42 Hymes, Robert 262 Iryԁnԫྥ 406 Jespersen, Otto 42 Jesus Christ 1 Ji Yunધࣕ 393, 394 Ji Zhaࡱ‫ ؤ‬193 Jia Jiaᇸቯ 101 Jia Yiᇸࡵ 101 Jian BozanⲤ‫܄‬ᨬ 425, 427, 428, 431-433, 437, 439- 442, 444-448 Jianwen৬֮ 370 Jiang DachunᓏՕ⛵ 446, 447 Jiang Yuanৌ଺ 157 Jiang Zemin‫ۂ‬ᖻ‫ ا‬465 Jiao HongྡྷẐ 35, 38, 39 Jieௐ 144

Jie Xisi༿⎔ཎ 378 Jin Dexing⣗ᐚ۩ 431 Jing Fangࠇࢪ 249 Jing Ke౸ၖ 98, 101, 104 Jin Shengtan८ᆣቮ 379, 380 Jingtaiན௠ 370 Josephus 294, 295 Justin 294, 298, 307 Kangxiൈዺ 372, 390 Kant, Immanuel 5, 8 Karlgren, Bernhard 34 Kern, Martin xiv Khayutina, Maria xvii Kija 409, 417, 418 Kim Chǂnghǎi८‫إ‬໛ 411, 417 Kim Pusik८༄ሊ 406, 407 King Hui of Qin (cf. Qin Hui Wang) King Kwanghaegun 409 King Munmu of Silla 417 King Wei of Chu (cf. Chu Wei Wang) King Wen (cf, Wen Wang) King Wu (cf. Wu Wang) King Xiang of Zhou (cf. Zhou Xiang Wang) King Xiaocheng of Zhao (cf. Zhao Xiaocheng Wang) King Xuan of Qi (cf. Xuan Wang) King You (cf. You Wang) King Zhao (cf. Zhao Wang) King Zhuangxiang of Qin (cf. Qin Zhuangxiang Wang) Kluge, Alexander 115 Köhler, J.D. 318 Kolakowski, Leszek 451 Kong Wenzi֮֞՗ 190 Koselleck, Reinhart 13 Lamprecht, Karl Gottfried 147 Laozi‫۔‬՗ 101, 104, 164, 348 Latham, Kevin 125 Lee, Thomas H.C. xi, xv Legge, James 151 von Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm 27 Lenin, Wladimir I. 432, 452 Leutner, Mechthild xvi Li Guang‫ޕ‬ᐖ 101 Li Honglin‫ ࣥੋޕ‬445

486 Li Kan‫ ࠑޕ‬448, 449 Li ShuᕟⰍ 442, 454 Li Xin‫ޕ‬ᄅ 448 Li Xiucheng‫ ګߐޕ‬440 Li Xun‫ޕ‬༈ 249 Liang Qichaoඩඔ၌ 338, 365 Liang Wudiඩࣳ০ 161, 346 Liangqiu Juඩ‫׋‬ᖕ 188 Lin Ganquanࣥ‫ ੈز‬434 Liu BangᏥ߶ 69, 99, 100 Liu BozhuangᏥ‫܄‬๗ 97 Liu DanianᏥՕ‫ ڣ‬442, 443 Liu FengluᏥນᆂ 166 Liu Kwang-ching 119 Liu ShuyongᏥᇋ‫ ة‬450 Liu XiᏥዺ 30 Liu XiangᏥ‫ ٻ‬67, 154, 193, 249 Liu XinᏥ✛ 67, 249 Liu XinyuᏥᄅ‫ ڙ‬469 Liu YuᏥᘵ 377 Liu ZhijiᏥव༓ 110, 160, 273, 274, 276, 277, 365, 366, 368, 373, 450 Liu Zongyuan਻ࡲց 163, 165 Liu ZongzhouᏥࡲࡌ 342 Liuxia Ji਻Հࡱ 221 Lloyd, G.E.R. 93, 105 Lord Bolingbroke 136 Lu Demingຬᐚࣔ 31 Lu Fayanຬऄߢ 26 Lu Jiaຬᇸ 182 Lu Jiuyuanຬ԰ෘ 263 Lüҏ Chen‫ ݵܨ‬33 Lü Dongbin‫ܨ‬੐ᎏ 259 Lü Zhi‫ܨ‬ᆇ 163, 164 Lukacs, Georg 452, 453 Luther, Martin 4 Luziᕙ՗ 228 Mahan 417 Marx, Karl 432, 436, 451-453 Mao Qilingֻ࡛᤿ 339, 340 Mao Zedong'sֻᖻࣟ 125, 126, 427, 431, 433, 443, 454, 466 Marquis (Bao) of Chenຫঀᚁ 232 Marquis of QiᏘঀ 189

INDEX Marquis of Chongശঀ 183, 191 Marquis Wen of Jinவ֮ঀ 214 Marquis Wen of Weiᘯ֮ঀ 184 Martin, Jochen xvi Maskov, J.J. 315 Mason, Caroline xvii Maspéro, Henri 64, 166 Meiners, Chr. 319 Melville, Gert xvi Mengsun࡯୪ 184 Mengzi࡯՗ 85, 86, 106, 209, 218, 219, 237, 241, 242, 347, 355 Meusel, J.G. 320 Michelet, Jules 393 Mittag, Achim xv Mi Zixiaᚦ՗ᅕ 10 Möller, J.G.P. 323 Möser, J. 323 Mommsen, Wolfgang J. 393 Moses ben Maimon 3 Moziᕠ՗ 83, 216, 217 Nagel-Angermann, Monique xvii Nearchus 299, 302 Neu, J.Chr. 318 Niebuhr, Barthold, Georg 290, 298300, 306, 307 Nietzsche, Friedrich 3 Ning Keኑ‫ ױ‬448, 450 Ning Wuzi⓻ࣳ՗ 188, 190 Norrmann, G.A. 322 O Un‫ Ⱕܦ‬409 Onesicritus 294, 299 Peng Dehuai༙ᐚᡖ 429 Peng Zhen༙ట 443 Piࢶ 212 Pines, Yuri xv, 168, 235, 242 Plutarch 293-298 Pompeius Trogus 298 Popper, Karl 440 Praetorius, J. Ph. 315 Prince Dan֜՗կ 98 Prince Biao 150 Prince Chonger of Jin (cf. Duke Wen of Jin) Ptolemy 294, 299, 303, 307, 308

487

INDEX Pulleyblank, Edwin G.

148

Qi Benyu൯‫ء‬છ 439, 440, 443, 444 Qian DaxinᙒՕṷ 28, 394 Qian Fangᙒ࣋ 469 Qianlong೓ၼ 372, 377, 379, 382, 390, 396 Qian Xuantongᙒ‫ ٵخ‬337, 360 Qin Guan఻ᨠ 262, 278, 280 Qin Gui఻ᛁ 262, 278 Qin Hui Wang఻༡‫ ׆‬54 Qin Shi Huangdi఻ࡨ઄০ 59, 98, 101, 104, 109, 110, 121, 389, 476 Qin Zhuangxiang Wang఻๗ᝊ‫׆‬ 209 Qinxi Ba఻֣۫ 184, 185 Qu Yuanࡹ଺ 68, 70, 376 Quirin, Michael xvii Radtke, Oliver xvii von Ranke, Leopold 147, 166, 301, 393 Rawson, Jessica 59 Remer, J.A. 318 Roderique J. I. 313, 314 Röllicke, Hermann-Josef xix Roetz, Heiner xiv Rong Mengyuanዊ࡯ᄭ 424, 425, 428 Ruan Yuan߼ց 359, 411 Rüsen, Jörn xvi Sainte Croix 299 Schaberg, David xv, 72, 168, 169, 206 Schäfer, D. 328 Schelle, A. 315 Schirokauer, Konrad 115 Schleicher, August 41 Schleiermacher, Friedrich, Daniel 5 Schlözer, August Ludwig 296, 322, 324 Schmelzer, J. 316 Schmidt, M.I. 315 Schmidt-Glintzer, Helwig xiv, 418 Schneider, Axel xvii Schöpflin, J.D. 321 Schweiger, Irmy xvii

Schwartz, Benjamin 80 Shang Yueࡸ⢲ 429 Shaoyou (cf. Qin Guan) Shaughnessy, Edward L. 57 Shen Baoxu‫ץع‬વ 193 Shen Hou‫ ঀع‬353 , Shen Jiarongާቯዊ 445 Shen Xiu壀ߐ 344 Shen Yueާપ 160, 161 Shen Zhongާૹ 31, 32 Shi Nai’anਜર➍ 380 Shi Qiang (Scribe Qiang)‫׾‬䩗 5862, 70, 152, 154 Shi Suyuan‫׾‬ᤕ૒ 436, 437, 441 (Shi) Zhiqianΰᤩαཕᤳ 32 Shu Qi࠸Ꮨ 191, 275 Shuxiang࠸‫ ٻ‬190 Shunစ xii, 95, 123, 220, 386, 389, 415 Sima Guang‫್׹‬٠ 272, 394 Sima Jizhu‫ ׌ࡱ್׹‬54 Sima Qian‫್׹‬ᔢ 53, 65, 67, 70, 71, 93-111, 152, 155-157, 159, 160, 163, 165, 166, 178, 187, 192, 195, 209, 216, 233, 268, 275, 283, 373, 375, 380, 382, 384, 393-395 Sima Rangju‫್׹‬㙳Ễ 188 Sima Tan‫್׹‬ᓫ 67, 82, 93 Sima Xiangru‫್׹‬ઌ‫ ڕ‬158, 159 Sima Zhen‫ ૣ್׹‬97 Simon, Richard 5-7 Smith, Kidder 207 Song Yunbin‫ݚ‬ճ൐ 424, 425, 428 Spakowski, Nicola xv, xvi Spinoza, Baruch 5, 6 Spitz, D.A. 316 Ssu-ma Hsiang-ju (cf. Sima Xiangru) Strabo 294, 295 Struve, B.G. 318 Su Qinᤕ఻ 54, 154 Sui Hong⊅‫ ؖ‬249 Sun Sibai୪৸‫ ػ‬434 Tacitus 177 Taejoyong 409 Tai Jia֜‫ ظ‬213

488

INDEX

Tan’gun 409, 417, 418 Tan Qixiangᢟࠡ㠅 448 Tang Xuanzongା‫ ࡲخ‬40 Tang Yuାᇄ 37 Tao Qianຯᑨ 161 Thucydides 102-104, 177, 281 Tian Cheng Chang‫ګض‬ൄ 186 Tian Heng‫ ਁض‬185, 186 Tian Lian‫ض‬ຑ 185, 186 Tian Ren‫ض‬ٚ 101 Tian Shu‫ ࠸ض‬101 Tolomei, Claudio 42 Tong, B. 125 Tsar Alexander II 322 Übelhör, Monika

xvi

Valla, Laurentio 2, 3, 4 Vogelsang, Kai xv Voltaire xiv Vossius, G.J. 294 Wanliᆄᖟ 370 Wan SidaᆄཎՕ 340 Wan Sitongᆄཎ‫ ٵ‬340 Wang Anshi‫ فڜ׆‬377 Wang Chong‫ ך׆‬22 Wang Fu‫׆‬ฤ 121 Wang Guowei‫׆‬ഏፂ 15, 97 Wang He‫ ࡉ׆‬199 Wang Li‫׆‬Ժ 35 Wang Liang‫ ߜ׆‬185, 186 Wang Mang‫׆‬๔ 350 Wang Mingsheng‫׆‬Ꮣฐ 394 Wang Shizhen‫ ૣ׈׆‬369, 392 Wang Tingliao‫ݪ׆‬ற 446 Wang Yangming‫׆‬ၺࣔ 339, 341343, 348, 349, 391 Wangzi Yuqi (cf. Wang Liang) Watson, Burton xiii, 148 Weber, Max 122, 137 Weigelin-Schwiedrzik, Susanne xv, xvii Wei Shouᠿ‫ گ‬161 Wei Shuᠿင 204, 205 Wen Wang֮‫ ׆‬144, 355

Wen Yi 280 Weng Fanggangֱౖᙓ 411 Westphal, A. 318 White, Hayden 160 Wiethoff, Bodo 167 Will, Georg Andreas 292 Willhelm, Hellmut 65 Winckelmann, J.J. 292 Withof, J.Ph.L. 317 Wolf, G.A. 292 Wu Han‫ܦ‬Ἢ 428, 431-433, 438, 439, 442, 443, 446, 448 Wu Wangࣳ‫ ׆‬144, 183 Wu Yu‫ ⑧ܦ‬34-36 Wu Zongguo‫ࡲܦ‬ഏ 429 Xia Wuju୙ྤ‫ ׊‬101 Xian Zhang࢐ີ 189 Xiang Yuႈ壅 100, 163 Xiahou Sheng୙ঀ໏ 249 Xieৈ 99, 100, 156 Xu Chanஊ⼟ 34 Xu Miaoஊ᠓ 32 Xu Shen๺შ 17 Xu Xuanஊሮ 33, 36 Xuan Wang৙‫ ׆‬228 Xue Jixuan᜹ࡱ৙ 264 Xue Yun 264 Xun Qing (cf. Xunzi) Xunziಃ՗ 83, 84, 107, 182, 209 Yan Huanziஶ௄՗ 192 Yan Ruojuᙝૉᛨ 28, 339, 340 Yan Yuanᠱց 340, 342 Yan Zhituiᠱհං 25, 26 Yangshe Xi 150 Yang Xiongཆႂ 23, 55, 153, 154, 158, 159, 252 Yang Zhuᄘ‫ ڹ‬88 Yanziஶ՗ 188-190, 192 Yan Huanziஶ௄՗ 192 Yao໯ 95, 123, 220, 237, 386, 389, 415 Yao Jiheng৔Ꮎਁ 337-340, 343361 Yellow Emperor 95, 96, 123, 157

INDEX Yi࣐ 108, 109 Yi Hao‫ڎ‬ఙ 234 Yi Hangno‫ޕ‬㠬‫ ۔‬410 Yi Ik‫ޕ‬ᜠ 409, 412-417 Yi Kyubo‫ޕ‬৊໴ 407 Yi Pyǂnghyu‫ ٖऺޕ‬414, 415 Yi Sǎnghyu‫ ٖࢭޕ‬407 Yi Yinْձ 213 Yin Daձሒ 441-444 Ying Shaoᚨ ᬐ 152, 155, 158, 161 Yongle‫ة‬ᑗ 37 You Wang৩‫ ׆‬144 Yovel, Yirmiyahu 6 Yuqi࣍ཚ 185 Yu Kye㫃⑻ 410 Yu Ying-shih xii Yu Yunwenᇄւ֮ 263, 264 Yu Qingᇄହ 209 Yu Yichuan࣍‫א‬ႚ 475 Yuan Shaoಒฯ 378 Yue Yangᑗ‫ ے‬184, 185 Zang Wenzhong៲֮٘ 190 Zao Fuທ‫ ׀‬185, 186 Zeidl, Wolfgang xvii Zengziམ՗ 192 Zhang Dake്Օ‫ ױ‬97 Zhang Fu്᎖ 154 Zhang Heng്ᘝ 158-160 Zhao Henglie᎓㠬௺ 469 Zhang Jun്௭ 263 Zhang Qian്ᤳ 98 Zhang Xuechengີᖂᇨ 365-367, 372-397, 450 Zhang Yiren്‫א‬ո 215 Zhang Zengqiang്ᏺൎ 474 Zhao Dun᎓એ xiii, 234 Zhao Jiajun᎓‫ף‬૨ 468 Zhao Wangਟ‫ ׆‬58, 60, 70 Zhao Xiaocheng Wang᎓‫׆ګݕ‬ 209 Zhenzongటࡲ 272, 276, 277 Zheng Qiaoᔤᖱ 419 Zheng Xingxiaᔤਣដ 471

489 Zheng Xuanᔤ‫ خ‬29, 30, 349, 350, 389 Zhi Boཕ‫ ܄‬193 Zhiyiཕ㑎 32 Zhong Ni (cf. Confucius) Zhouથ 14 Zhou Dunyiࡌཉᙲ 346 Zhou Enlaiࡌ஑ࠐ 125 Zhou Liangxiaoࡌߜᔺ 429 Zhou Xiang Wangࡌᝊ‫ ׆‬214 Zhou Yangࡌཆ 442, 443 Zhu Yuanzhang‫ڹ‬ցᑾ 126 Zhu Xi‫ڹ‬ᗋ 35, 36, 117, 263, 264, 341, 343, 349, 359, 369, 388, 393, 394, 413, 415, 416 Zhuangzi๗՗ 221, 270 Zi Beigongzi՗‫ק‬୰՗ 228 Zi Fan՗‫ ح‬214, 215 Zi Gongyangzi՗ֆ‫ے‬՗ 228 Zi Shenzi՗ާ՗ 228, 234 Zi Simazi՗‫್׹‬՗ 228 Zi Nüzi՗Ֆ՗ 228 Zichan՗ข 190 Zihan՗ߔ 185, 186 Zixu՗વ 183, 191 Zong Bingࡲ੢ 122 Zou Yingም᥎ 470 Zuo Qiumingؐ‫ ࣔ׋‬191 Zuo Siؐ৸ 158, 159

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