5 A NATURAL PHILOSOPHER’S ACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE Last chapter of his collected essays by Wang Chong 王充 (27–ca. 97 CE)

Autobiography of Wang Chong

I, Wang Chong, am a native of Shangyu in Guiji [Zhejiang]; my courtesy name is Zhongren. My ancestors (family named Wangsun) hailed from Yuancheng in Wei Commandery [Hebei]; some branches used the family name Sun. Men of early generations joined the military, and because of their accomplishments, the family was enfeoffed in Yangting in Guiji. However, just a year later, the fief was suddenly rescinded. Nevertheless, the family settled down there and engaged in farming and sericulture. My great-grandfather was bold and wayward and did not get along with the local people. During a famine, he assaulted and killed people like a ruffian, making many enemies. As the dynasty was in turmoil, my grandfather Wang Fan worried that my great-grandfather would be abducted by those he had wronged, so he led the entire household to seek safety in Guiji. They settled down in Qiantang County, where he took up trade. He had two sons, the older one Meng, the younger Song. Song is my father. My ancestors had always been an unruly bunch, but it got worse in Meng and Song’s generation. Both Meng and Song bullied people left and right. Eventually they feuded with local magnates like Ding Bo, so the family moved again to Shangyu.

I was born in the third year of the Jianwu reign period [27 CE]. In playing with other children, I was not inclined toward mischief. My friends loved trapping birds, catching cicadas, gambling, and climbing trees; I was the only one unwilling to join in, much to my father’s amazement. My education began at the age of six. I was polite, honest, kind, obedient, and well mannered. Both serious and on the quiet side, I aspired to become a person of significance. My father never once flogged me, nor did my mother ever chastise me or my neighbors scold me. At the age of eight, I started school. There were more than a hundred boys there, and all of them were at times punished for their misbehavior or thrashed for their bad handwriting. I was the only one who not only made daily progress in learning to write but also did not commit any major offenses. Once I had learned to write, I bid farewell to that teacher and began to study The Analects (Lunyu) and The Book of Documents (Shangshu), reading aloud a thousand words a day. Once I understood the classics and ethical principles, I left my classics teacher and began my private studies. Everyone was amazed at my writing ability. The books I read became increasingly wide-ranging. Despite my many talents, I did not get sloppy, and even though I could talk eloquently, I preferred not to get into arguments. If there was no one around I considered worth talking to, I would stay silent all day. When people heard me talk, they often found my ideas bizarre at first, but by the time I had finished, I had won them over. Such was the way I developed my writing and cultivated my character.

I rose to be an administrator in the personnel department of a county, then held the same office under a chief commandant. Under a governor, I was one of the five chief administrators, with the added duty of overseeing affairs of the Personnel Department. At a prefecture, I was an aide. I was not interested in seeking fame, nor did I work for personal gain. I spoke often about people’s strengths and rarely of their weaknesses. I especially recommended those scholars who had not had a career break and reprimanded only those who made mistakes after being promoted. If I found something reprehensible, I would not praise it. Yet if a mistake was not corrected, I would not condemn the offender any further. I could forgive people’s grave mistakes and take pity on their minor errors. I aimed to be irreproachable but would never boast about it.

Wanting to establish my reputation on the basis of my conduct, I was ashamed that I was recognized mainly for my talents. In company, I would not speak unless spoken to. When superiors received me, I would not respond unless I was addressed. As a commoner, I modeled myself after Ju Boyu’s [Spring and Autumn period] steadfastness in moral principles; at court, I tried to attain Shi You’s [courtesy name Ziyu, Spring and Autumn period] honesty. When attacked, I did not make excuses, nor did I harbor resentment when passed over for promotion. Although I was too poor to have much of a house, I was more content than dukes or kings. My official positions were among the lowest, but to me, they were cushy ones. I did not celebrate when I was assigned an office nor resent it when I lost one. When life was comfortable, I did not indulge myself; nor did I give up hope when life was harsh. I found pleasure in ancient texts and loved to hear different opinions about them. Current books and popular theories tended to annoy me. Living alone, I thought hard about truth and reality.

I am honorable and serious by nature and selective in making friends, and I do not associate with people carelessly. If a person’s conduct is admirable, even if his position is low or he is much younger than me, I definitely treat him as a friend. I love people with exceptional grace and have no interest in knowing people with poor taste. If mediocre people slander me behind my back for some insignificant mistake, I make no effort to explain myself, nor do I bear a grudge against them.

Some might say, “You are so talented, and your writings are so excellent. Why don’t you defend yourself when you are falsely slandered? In the past, Yang Sheng’s [d. 148 BCE] slanders sent Zou Yang [d. 120 BCE] to jail. Without defending himself, Zou would not have been released. Even though you have done nothing wrong, still you should not allow people to defame you. Furthermore, given your ability to clear yourself, you should certainly not let yourself be wrongly accused.”

My response would be that this is to be expected: dirt only shows in clear water; only at high places does one feel danger; only large spaces can be shrunk; empty buckets have nothing in them to be taken. It is only natural that capable gentlemen are slandered. People defend themselves because they want to move up; people justify themselves because they are afraid of being demoted. Since I have no such desires or concerns, I choose to keep quiet. Yang Sheng probably made false accusations because someone made him do it; Zou Yang was probably pardoned because someone intervened. Confucius spoke of submitting to destiny, and Mencius talked of Heaven. People cannot control what may befall them, good or bad. The ancients knew this, so they attributed their lot to destiny or the times they lived in. This gave them peace of mind, as they had nothing to worry about or rail against. When they met good fortune, they did not think it was due to their own effort, nor did they blame themselves when misfortune fell. They felt neither proud when by chance their careers advanced nor discouraged when career setbacks occurred. They did not use straitened circumstances as a reason to seek wealth nor seek security because they dreaded danger. They did not trade their knowledge for salaries, nor did they decline positions to boost their reputations. They did not obsess over advancing their careers just to show off, nor did they blame others when demoted. To them, there was no big difference between safety and danger, life and death. They saw good fortune and adversity as equivalent, failure and success as similar. Therefore, even if they encountered ten Yang Shengs, they would say, “It does not matter.” Realizing this, I leave everything to Heaven and have no need to explain anything.

I am a calm and mild-tempered person with no craving for wealth and power. If a higher-up recognizes me and promotes me ahead of others, I do not cling to my position. If a higher-up does not recognize me and demotes me unjustly, I do not let my low position bother me. None of the times when I was assigned as a county clerk did I ask for a transfer or decline the post. Someone might say, “Your mind is lofty, yet your actions are simple. You only befriend the like-minded and are not selective when it comes to assignments. Since this casts doubt on your integrity and conduct, how can you expect people to follow your model?” My response is that there is no better paragon of virtue than Confucius. Yet Confucius did not mind what official position he was offered. When he was a low-level clerk in charge of the staff at stables and granaries, he did not complain. Confucius was once the minister of works of the state of Lu, and during the peace treaty negotiations between Lu and Qi, he took on the role of a grand councillor, yet he did not appear overjoyed when making the arrangements. When the sage Shun was tilling the land in Lishan, he did not act as if this were temporary. When Yao abdicated and handed over responsibility to him, he acted as though it were nothing exceptional. We should worry about whether we are virtuous enough, not the respect we get. We should be ashamed if our names are blemished, not if our careers stagnate. Fine jade might be placed in a box of tiles, bright pearls in a bag of gravel; however, no one in the world would fail to distinguish these precious gems from the tiles or gravel. A person that the world recognizes for his goodness is esteemed no matter how low his place in society, just as someone occupying a high post can be held in disrepute. If a person conducts himself consistently no matter how high his position and preserves his character no matter what his social status, that should be enough.

Common people tend to admire the successful and ignore the failures. They fawn on the victor while snubbing the loser. When I was promoted to a powerful position, people attached themselves to me like ants, but when I was dismissed and lived in poverty, my old friends and acquaintances abandoned me. During my time of “retirement,” I wrote a twelve-chapter book, A Critique of Common Morality (Ji su jie yi), in the hope that by reading the book, common people would gain insight. Toward that end, I wrote in a straightforward style and used as many common words as possible. When someone criticized the work as shallow, I responded that quoting the classics to little kids or talking to country people using refined language does not enlighten them. On the contrary, it turns them off. When Su Qin [d. 284 BCE] lobbied at the Zhao court, his fancy words failed to convince the powerful Li Dui [fl. 295 BCE]. When Shang Yang [ca. 395–38 BCE] proposed adopting the way of the true king at the Qin court, Duke Xiao of Qin rejected his advice. This is because if you don’t understand how a person thinks and feels, nothing you say can convince him, not even if you use the words of Yao and Shun. It is like giving a cow fine wine to drink or feeding a horse salted dried meat. Therefore, elevated and profound words are suitable only to the high and mighty, not the ordinary folk. People will not take your message to heart even if you force them to listen. When Confucius lost his horse in the countryside, local folk locked it up and refused to give it back. His disciple Zigong tried to get it back with fancy talk but only angered them. When Confucius’s groom went and talked to them in country folk language, by contrast, things went fine. Common people only understand simple and concrete words. Forcing them to read something lofty and profound is like mixing an elixir to cure a cold or wearing a fur coat to fetch firewood or vegetables.

In addition, there are times when propriety is not a must and niceties can be omitted. To make a decision about someone who is clearly guilty, it is not necessary to call on sage Gao Tao [minister to Yao and Shun]. And to prepare a simple vegetable dish, there is no need for renowned chef Di Ya [Spring and Autumn period]. To entertain the common people, there is no need for majestic musical pieces such as Shao [enjoyed by Shun] and Wu [enjoyed by King Wu of the Zhou dynasty]. To worship a village god, there is no need to sacrifice a whole cow. What is unnecessary is also inappropriate, like carving a chicken with a cleaver for an ox, digging up wild vegetables with a long halberd, cutting chopsticks with an iron battle-ax, or using a large basin as a wine cup. Few would think the size was appropriate.

What is eloquence? Using common language to illuminate the profound. What is wisdom? Using simple language to explain difficult issues. The sages and the worthies were good at gauging the reader’s ability, and they wrote accordingly.

I wrote A Critique of Common Morality because I deplored popular sentiment. I also worried about the ruler’s approach to governing, which was solely focused on controlling the people without understanding the right way to do it. After struggling with this, I still could not find the right path. Therefore, I wrote On Government Affairs (Zhengwu). I was also disgusted at the fact that most deceitful books and popular literature lack substance and truth, so I wrote Balanced Discussions. After the deaths of the sages, the interpretation of their works diverged, and with time, many scholars established their own schools. Even an erudite scholar could not judge these scholars’ reliability simply by careful reading of their works. Their teachings were passed down haphazardly. Some were written down, others passed down orally, all more than a hundred years ago. With the passage of time, people began to think that since these are so old, they must be close to the truth. Such belief was so deeply rooted in their minds that they were not able to think otherwise. Therefore, I wrote this book [Balanced Discussions] to reveal the truth. Its contents are rich, its arguments combative. Furthermore, it examines and refutes every preposterous and specious argument. It eliminates empty words and preserves what is simple and solid. It corrects the loose language of this age and revives the honest customs of ancient times.…

My official career has been a bumpy one, and the only thing I have accomplished is writing books to express my ideas. Some might jeer at me, “The great talents are respected because they do well in office, get important positions, have their opinions accepted, get things done, and have outstanding achievements. This is what people consider noble. Now you are down and out in the world; you were repeatedly demoted or dismissed from your posts. You had no opportunity to apply your talents to your official career or use your ability to fulfill official duties. Therefore, the only thing you can do is rack your brain and write essays and books. What good do fancy words do? What do you hope to get from your extensive writings?”

My response would be that no one was more talented than Confucius, yet his talents were not appreciated. He was expelled [by the ruler of Lu]; [a Song official] chopped down the tree [where he practiced rites with students]; [when a Qi assassin came for him], he ran for his life with washed rice [since he had no time to cook]; [for five days in the Kuang region of the Song], he was besieged; [in the state of Wei], his traces were obliterated; when he was tormented by hunger between the states of Chen and Cai, his disciples looked famished. Now my talents do not come anywhere near those of Confucius, and the hardships I suffered in employment do not equal his either, so why is it that I am despised? Besides, the successful are not necessarily wise, nor the distressed ignorant. If you meet someone who appreciates you, you thrive; otherwise, you languish. With good luck, a simpleton can achieve celebrity status; with bad luck, an outstanding man can find himself in dire straits. If you judge a person’s talent and virtue based on his position, then those local officials and fief holders must have been more talented than Confucius and Mozi [470–391 BCE]. A person who has high official rank but low reputation, talks of purity but acts corruptly, has a high salary but does not possess one single virtue, this kind of person really deserves contempt. If someone possesses great virtue and a pure reputation but his official position is low and his salary meager, this is not the fault of his talents, and no one should be burdened by it. Scholars would love to share the hut with Yuan Xian [Confucius’s disciple who was known to be upright and frugal] but are not eager to ride a chariot with Duanmu Ci [Confucius’s disciple who was known to be an eloquent, rich merchant]; they would be happy to be Bo Yi’s [Shang dynasty] companion but are not eager to share the road with [the bandit] Liu Xiazhi [Spring and Autumn period].

High-minded people cherish different things than ordinary people do, so the fame they seek is different from what the rest of the world seeks. Their bodies decay like grass and trees, but their reputations shine along with the sun and the moon. Their condition might be as down and out as Confucius’s, but their writings are ranked with Yang Xiong’s [53–18 BCE]. This is what I consider glorious. Some people have successful careers but mediocre intelligence, high position but little virtue. They might think this is glory, but I consider it problematic. The honor and comfort a person can gain by ingratiating himself with those in power will be gone within a hundred years like everything else. His name will not be passed down to the next generation, nor will a single work by him be known to anyone. Even though his emoluments filled his coffers, his writings and virtues came to little. That is not what I prize. If one’s virtue is excellent and his knowledge extensive, if his ink flows like rain and his words gush up like a spring, if his talent is rich, his knowledge erudite, his conduct noble, and his mind lofty, then even if he lives only one lifetime, his name will be passed down for a thousand years. This is what I consider extraordinary.

I came from a poor and humble family. Some might deride me, saying, “Your ancestors did not build a foundation of virtue for you, nor did they leave any literary work. Even though you wrote some beautiful books, you are nobody’s disciple, so you can never be considered brilliant. A sudden eruption of qi we call a monstrosity, a creature that cannot be categorized, a freak, an unusual occurrence, an abnormality, a violation of common sense, an aberration. Who are your ancestors? Their names have not been recorded in historical texts. Not to mention that you have never studied Mozi’s theories or associated yourself with scholarly circles. All of a sudden, you produced treatises that are thousands and thousands of words long. This must be considered an unnatural transformation. How can we possibly treasure your writings and praise your virtues?”

My answer would be that the phoenix is a bird without a pedigree, a unicorn an animal without a family, a sage a man without forebears, and a precious treasure a thing without a peer. If men of great talents are stifled, the fault lies with the era in which they live. Scholars of worth rise one by one; precious things grow in isolation. Asserting that literature improves from imitating the worthy is as absurd as asserting that the wine spring must have a source and fine grain comes from an old root. When a remarkable scholar appears, his exceptional writings should not be compared to typical literature, and common people will be unable to evaluate them. The exceptional deserves to be written down or engraved on bronze vessels. The Five Emperors did not rise only in one generation; Yi Yin and Taigong Wang [advisers to the Shang and Zhou founders] came from different families. The regions they lived in are a thousand li apart, and their lives were separated by hundreds of years. The value of scholars lies in their refined talents and their caution in the work. They do not bask in their high rank or reputations because they are descendants of a noble line. The calf of a black and yellow cow may be reddish, but he still can be used for sacrificial offerings. The ancestors of a pure scholar may be undistinguished, but this does not prevent him from becoming an exceptional person. Guan was wicked, yet his son Great Yu was a sage. Sou was perverse, yet his brother sage Shun divine. Bo Niu was bedridden with illness, yet his son Zhonggong [Confucius’s disciple] was fine and fit. Yan Lu was mediocre and stubborn, yet his son Yan Hui [Confucius’s disciple] excelled all his peers. Confucius and Mozi had ignorant ancestors, yet they themselves were sages. The Yang family was not eminent, yet Yang Xiong was brilliant. The house of Huan was not distinguished, yet it produced the amazing Huan Tan [23 BCE–56 CE]. A man must be endowed with more than the ordinary dose of original qi to become an able writer.

In the third year of the Yuanhe reign period [86 CE], I was called upon to serve in Danyang [Jiangsu], Jiujiang [Jiangxi], and Lujiang [Anhui] in the Yangzhou region and moved my family there. Later I was appointed assistant governor. My abilities were small, my responsibilities huge. My chief duties were related to personnel affairs, including selection and evaluation. For years, all my plans for writing had to be set aside. In the second year of the Zhanghe reign period [88], I resigned from this position and returned home. As I was approaching seventy, it was time to give up my official carriage.

With my official career definitely over, I could not help but feel that I had not realized my aspirations. Some things went well, others badly, and my health had ups and downs. My hair turned white, and my teeth fell out. I was getting older day after day. My peers went elsewhere, and I had no one to rely upon. Too poor to afford much, I found little to enjoy. The Geng and Xin years passed; my time was drawing near. Even though I was afraid of dying, my mind was still full of silly ideas. I wrote a book, On Macrobiotics (Yangxing), in sixteen chapters. To preserve oneself, one needs to cherish the vital qi, eat moderately, drink less, close one’s eyes and ears to shut out worldly affairs, and garner one’s energy. With the help of medicines and exercise, one can hope to briefly prolong life and stop aging. It may be too late for me but should be useful for future readers. The duration of human life is limited, and people, like animals, live for a while and then die.

To whom can I entrust all the books I have written over the years in the hope that they will be passed down? Human beings must descend to the Yellow Springs and become earth and ashes. Employing the doctrines of the sages and the analytical approaches of the wise men, I have commented on everything from the Yellow Emperor and Tang Yao to the Qin and the Han dynasties. My assessments are as impartial as a scale and as clear as a mirror. I have discussed in great detail every issue from youth and old age to life and death and ancient and present times. How unfortunate that life cannot be prolonged!

SOURCE: Liu Pansui 刘盼遂, ed., Lunheng jijie 论衡集解 (Beijing: Beijing Guji Chubanshe, 1957), 579–92. Another translation was published by Alfred Forke in 1907 in his Lun-Heng: Philosophical Essays of Wang Ch’ung, vol. 1 (repr., New York: Paragon Book Gallery, 1962), 64–82.

Further Reading

• Brown, Miranda, and Uffe Bergeton. “‘Seeing’ Like a Sage: Three Takes on Identity and Perception in Early China.” Journal of Chinese Philosophy 35, no. 4 (2008): 641–62.
• Csikszentmihalyi, Mark. Readings in Han Chinese Thought. Indianapolis: Hackett, 2005.
• Loewe, Michael. Chinese Ideas of Life and Death: Faith, Myth and Reason in the Han Period (202 BC–AD 220). London: George Allen and Unwin, 1982.
• Wang Ch’ung. Lun-Heng: Philosophical Essays of Wang Ch’ung. Translated by Alfred Forke. 2 vols. 1907. Reprint, Chicago: Paragon Book Gallery, 1962.