Time-honored moral lessons forgotten as traditional master-disciple ties dissolve
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Reading a recent Oriental Morning Post article on an art forum in Shanghai on Wu Changshuo’s influence on overseas artists, I was intrigued by a passage on why the famed Chinese calligrapher is held in such high regard in Japan.
“In Japanese art circles the prevailing custom is still quite ‘feudalistic’,” claims Zou Tao, chief of the All Chinese Seal Association in Japan (seals, once a means of authentication, are now widely appreciated as a distinct form of traditional art).
Devoid of political implications, “feudalistic” in this case is a humorous reference to the awe and deference which a Chinese disciple traditionally shows their master or teacher.
Zou went on to say that by comparison it is quite common today for Chinese artists to treat their teachers with much less respect, or even disparage them once they start to win fame for themselves.
The same is apparently not true in Japan, where local people “really practice the time-honored precept of ‘a teacher for a day is a father for a lifetime.’ There passing on the legacy of their masters is considered very important,” Zou said.
This strong allegiance to one’s masters explains Wu’s influence in Japan’s Kanto region, which includes much of the Greater Tokyo metropolitan area. A considerable number of calligraphers there studied under Kawai Tanso (1871-1945), the sole Japanese disciple of Wu Changshuo (1844-1927).
Upon reading this, I felt proud of this evidence of Chinese cultural influence. I was also ashamed, though, that in China today we have little patience for such feudalistic sentiments.
Confucius demonized
For 2,000 years, Confucius (551-479BC) was considered the spiritual fountainhead of every Chinese scholar. Many described him as the teacher of all teachers. Ever since an emperor in the Western Han Dynasty first instituted Confucian thought as the ruling philosophy, he had been held in the highest reverence.
For centuries, emperors, ministers, teachers and students have bestowed sacrificial offerings as a show of devotion to this time-honored figure. His teachings were memorized by rote by pupils, and provided the basic principles for personal conduct, household management, and statecraft.
Master-disciple tie instilled by Confucianism was so binding that exceptions were not even made to emperors. There is a tale of an emperor in the Eastern Han Dynasty who, passing through an area governed by his teacher, had to first pay his respects to his teacher before receiving the honor due to him as the sovereign.
The demonization of Confucius, started around 1919 and culminated in the “cultural revolution” (1966-1976) when Confucius became an object of scorn. At that time, he was condemned as a slave owner, caricatured as a stray cur, and lambasted for all and sundry of China’s ills.
These iconoclasts succeeded in one thing: they severed the links that once bound us to the old world.
As our teachers cease to be our spiritual light, old concepts about respect for teachers can no longer be sustained.
Respect is earned, not exacted.
Education as commodity
In the past, the primary role of a teacher was passing on the dao (the way), the highest truth about self conduct in the world. Today teaching is often a commodity sold to those with money. A student, after purchasing this product, becomes schooled in the art of accumulation.
This narrowly economical view of education is a mockery of traditional Chinese injunction against making scholars into qi (useful utensils).
Today’s “scholars” can thrive without knowing the first thing about time-honored Confucian concepts. As a matter of fact, most college graduates today can only read modernized Chinese prose printed in simplified characters.
Recently a certain Xiong, chairman of the Federation of Literary and Art Circles in Leiyang, Hunan Province, posted some “poems” online which earned him (well deserved) ridicule and criticism from some Internet users. In a huff the chairman stormed a website that hosted these postings and smashed one of the computers. When he was asked to write a note vouching for the vandalism, he did not know how to write za (“smash”), and produced the wrong character.
Many might be surprised how this man climbed to such a dizzying literary height. But how many of us ourselves are still capable of writing an occasional poem, rhymed or not? That feat was once the first requirement of the educated.
Ironically, some masters are still revered in fields outside of scholarship, as evidenced in the recent scandal involving qigong master Wang Lin, who is reportedly being detained by police for his suspected involvement in the murder of his disciple Zou Yong.
Befriended by powerful officials and celebrities, Wang was asked by one of his disciples, a local Party secretary, to assess local cadres on the short list for promotion. But such masters have nothing to do with the dao. They have everything to do with power and money.
To restore our respect for masters, education must return to its first principle, that is: the inculcation of moral values.
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