Reading Fei Xiaotong's From the Soil, Detaching from Society
Mr. Fei Xiaotong's From the Soil: The Foundations of Chinese Society is my favorite work of sociology and anthropology. Fei studied under the famous anthropologist Bronisław Malinowski, the leading figure of the functionalist school of anthropology. This school holds that any cultural phenomenon—whether abstract social phenomena such as social institutions, ideology, and customs, or concrete material phenomena such as walking sticks, tools, and vessels—has the function of satisfying humanity's practical needs; each phenomenon is interconnected and interacts with the others, and each is an inseparable part of the whole.
That is, all cultural institutions, all prevailing social ideas, and even each of us are a single part inside the great machine of society, each with its own function. We are born, and then we continue to produce descendants, all in order to keep adding parts to this society, ensuring that this enormous machine of society keeps roaring along without ceasing. Society is not a benevolent thing; the reason it needs us is to use us to help it keep running. The existence of social rules and social culture is precisely to domesticate us into obedient, well-behaved parts, ensuring that this great machine of society does not break down as it roars on.
When I understood this truth, I could not help but smile. The honors we care about, and even fame, wealth, and position, are merely tools society uses to domesticate us. Society uses these domesticating tools to train us into standard parts, dutifully maintaining the great machine. We social cells have no souls of our own; our souls are given to us by society.
Among the various religions, the reason I like Buddhism most is that Buddhist thought precisely strips a person out of the great machine of society, making them an independently existing soul rather than one of society's standard parts. In plain Buddhist terms, that is: "leaping beyond the three realms, outside the five elements."
From the Soil is the Chinese version of a monumental functionalist anthropology and sociology. In this book, Fei Xiaotong points out, with needle-point precision, that Chinese social culture is built on a rural (soil-bound) culture. What is rural culture? To put it colloquially, it is the village social culture of gossiping busybodies and rumor-mongering. The street-corner chatter of China's rural world is both the place where rural culture brews and the place where it spreads. Rural culture has thus been passed down, generation after generation, by word of mouth.
The street-corner chatter of the rural world is nothing but a small world of this family's long and that family's short. But do not underestimate this humble gossip; it is something that has influenced Chinese people profoundly. This atmosphere of opinion directly shapes the souls of Chinese people. What we do or do not do is, more or less, weighed against the "public opinion" of the streets. And our psychology of keeping up with others is precisely formed in the approval or disapproval of those gossiping busybodies at the street corners.
Although most Chinese people now live in cities, this rural culture that Fei described still influences every stratum of Chinese society. Our new street-corner chatter is now being formed at class reunions, office gatherings, and family and friend gatherings. The purpose of most Chinese people's hard struggle away from home is simply to be respected and recognized within their family, friend, and colleague groups. Some, with a stronger taste for fame and gain, hope to stand out from the crowd and tower over the rest.
More than two thousand years ago, the Hegemon-King Xiang Yu said, "If a person gets rich and ennobled but does not return to their hometown, it is like walking in embroidered brocade at night." This vulgar mindset was condemned by Xiang Yu's father-advisor Fan Zeng as "a monkey in a feathered hat." What does "a monkey in a feathered hat" mean? Figuratively, it is taking a monkey, washing and brushing it, dressing it up, putting a tall hat on it, and riding it on a big horse to swagger about. We think this monkey-in-a-hat is amusing, little realizing that most of us toil diligently our whole lives only to make ourselves into that monkey, putting on a monkey's feathered hat once.
In From the Soil, Fei Xiaotong vividly likens Chinese interpersonal relationships to the ripples formed when a stone is thrown into a pond, creating layer after layer of circles. The first, innermost layer is the layer of relatives and close friends—the people with whom one gathers at festivals to show off wealth, drink, and boast. Then comes the slightly more distant layer: classmates, colleagues, and the like. Beyond that is an even farther layer, but for the great majority of Chinese people that farther layer, like distant ripples, has gradually lost all influence.
To leap beyond the three realms, one must first leap out of these circles and become a solitary person, detached from the herd. This requires great courage, because others will look at you askance. In China, when a person becomes a monk, the family and friend group almost wails and wails to stop them. When a person leaps beyond the three realms and outside the five elements, relatives and old friends will from time to time drag you back to the dinner table with all sorts of invitations; over wine and food, comparisons and interpersonal entanglements naturally cannot be avoided. The gossip culture of the street corners plays itself out right there at the wine table.
If a person wants to live lightly, freely, and with an independent soul, they must inevitably detach from this culture that originated in the rural soil of China. But such detachment is not easy. Sometimes we can detach ourselves, but we cannot ensure that our families also detach from this society. We will still now and then be pulled back into this cultural atmosphere. Thus some people choose to become monks in order to break away from the great machine of society, refusing to be a standard social part, refusing to live so mechanically. I sometimes advise young friends that before entering society, they should first experience the life of a monk, so that afterward, when they enter society, they will not be hounded by the reins of fame and the shackles of gain, running themselves ragged.
For most people, becoming a monk is unrealistic. A more rational approach is to live within society yet see through this social culture—like a bystander rather than an eager participant—meeting all social rules with a faint smile. Not participating in the various rural cultures that spring from the street corners means that, though living in this world, eating, drinking, sleeping, making friends, one can, like a monk, leap beyond the three realms and outside the five elements, living a life of "provisions in hand, no worries in heart."
Such detachment, for body and mind, and even for family and friends, will be of great benefit.