Don't Rush to Change the World; Reform Yourself First

During high school, my beloved teacher Li Lixin once chatted with me in the hallway and said: "Zhiyuan, don't always think of yourself as a savior!" On another occasion, he wrote a comment after one of my articles: "Don't show your edge too sharply; learn to hide your light and bide your time."

Over all these years, my teacher has never stopped blunting my sharpness, honing me until I reached the state of a sharp sword without an edge. When I was thirty-five, he sent me a mobile phone message around the Dragon Boat Festival, saying in essence that watching me work tirelessly all these years, he and his wife felt very gratified for me. He hoped I would realize my ideals soon, but also hoped I would not always shine like the sun—dazzling and scorching—but learn to be gentle, quiet, and beautiful like the moon.

A middle-school teacher who, for twenty years, never forgot to sculpt his student—this kindness truly moves me. And I, the stubborn student, needed a teacher's lifelong concern and constant guidance to make even modest progress; I must have been truly obtuse. Now I roughly understand where my own problem lies. I cannot help but interfere with the world, cannot help but want to reform it. This kind of personality might be considered a relatively normal civic disposition in Western countries, but in China it is somewhat abnormal, because China is not yet a civil society.

In a civil society, citizens enjoy citizens' rights and fulfill citizens' duties. When they carry out their responsibilities, the law protects their personal safety. But in a non-civil society, citizens do not enjoy citizens' rights, and when they carry out their duties they often face various threats to their personal safety. So it is understandable that people shirk their responsibilities. If we ourselves want to fulfill our duties, let us just bury our heads and work hard; there is no need to demand that everyone fulfill their social responsibilities. Others have no obligation to risk themselves in performing their duties; we must be understanding, and should also understand the life choices they make to evade social responsibility under such a system, choices that may seem unacceptable.

The phenomenon of empty grandstanding is, in this non-civil societal environment, a product of distorted human nature caused by institutional factors. Recently I have read some historical and literary materials and observed how certain cultural masters behaved during several special historical periods in China. I found that many of the great masters I admire personally did not necessarily all maintain their independent character during special periods like the Cultural Revolution. During those times, cultural masters likewise committed many despicable acts.

So, high moral standards can only be achieved under ideal social conditions. Before the world becomes a true Pure Land and ideal state, the existence of the less beautiful side of human nature is consistent with human biological nature; it should be understood and forgiven.

But this does not mean we should therefore abandon our ideals. Rather, if one wants to do something meaningful for the country and society in a nation like China, one needs to learn to combine firmness and flexibility. Too flexible and one cannot stand; purely firm and one easily breaks. The Confucian way of statecraft is built on the foundation of inner sagehood and outer kingship. "Inner sagehood" means reaching, in self-cultivation, a state close to that of a sage.

So what is the state of a sage? First, one must have the awe-inspiring righteous force (haoran zhengqi) that Mencius spoke of, and then a certain resilience. The awe-inspiring righteous force is the yang, firm side of a person; resilience is the yin, gentle side. Without the awe-inspiring righteous force, it is hard to walk the right path. Without resilience, it is hard to walk far on the right path. The truly worthwhile undertakings in this world are not easily accomplished. Even when we exhaust all human effort, success is not guaranteed; if we slacken, there is even less hope.

Today I called my teacher to greet him, and he gave me a few more earnest instructions: first, don't give up pursuing and making something of yourself; use an otherworldly mindset to do worldly work. Second, don't stop reading; he said Chinese traditional culture is vast and profound and requires continued study—lifelong learning—to deeply comprehend. Third, take care to protect yourself; don't casually throw away a capable life on unnecessary reckless courage or careless acts.

To have such a mentor in life, who has honed me for twenty years and, at critical moments, always says the most incisive words to guide me—this is an extraordinary blessing. I think that over the years, despite my many minor faults and many difficulties, I have not suffered a catastrophic fall or committed an unforgivable error. This has much to do with my teacher's quiet care, his encouragement, and his willingness to step forward at key moments to teach me without regard for suspicion.

When I first had the honor of becoming his student, he favored me as a cherished pupil, cultivating me with all his heart, teaching by word and deed, and I truly benefited enormously. After graduating from middle school, he provided lifelong "continuing education." Chinese people list "ruler, parent, teacher" as objects of veneration, and say "one day as a teacher, a lifetime as a father." Such traditions are truly distilled from real life; respecting teachers and valuing the Way is essential.

I have passed through my restless youth and gradually entered a steady middle age. I have come to understand that no undertaking can be accomplished in a year or two; it requires ten, twenty, or even a lifetime of effort to do something with depth that can stand firm. I also understand why the ancients emphasized thick accumulation and slow release, and why great tools take long to mature.

When I was young, my father told me that he named me Zhiyuan—"lofty ambition"—hoping I would "aim high." Now I feel the meaning of this name should be more like: "Live simply to clarify one's purpose; be tranquil to reach far." The road of a lifetime is divided into segments, and each segment is walked differently. When young and full of vigor, one may be bold and unrestrained. In middle age, one should be steady and grounded. Without a bold and unrestrained youth, life is like spring and summer without lush foliage. Without a steady and grounded middle age, life can hardly progress from "spring blossoms" to "autumn fruits" and bear rich harvests. Only when approaching the end of life may one consider gradually entering the realm of "winter storage," following the will of heaven and returning to nature.