Four Readings of “Scholarship”

The people who claim to be walking the path of “academia” often take very different routes. Although, in the final analysis, each person’s path is unique, still, in broad and rough terms, there are probably the following four ways of understanding the word “academia.” Of course, a given person may fall somewhere between several paths, but the general direction is probably these four.

The first kind of “academia” I call “the power of the academy,” though that sounds somewhat unsavory. Yet this is indeed the path taken by most so-called “scholars.” What they seek is not their own growth, but labels such as titles, ranks, and authority; the only difference between them and the wielders of power in political and economic spheres is that their stage is the academy.

The second kind of “academia” I call “the technology of science.” What I mean here is not limited to the study of science and technology in the sense of the natural sciences and engineering. “Science” is taken in its literal sense, namely “disciplinary knowledge,” while “technology” refers to the engineer-like manner of probing and mastering things. Apart from the natural sciences, almost every discipline in today’s academic system can be called a “disciplinary science.” Never mind that one field is as distant from another as a mountain is from another mountain; even colleagues in the same department and the same teaching-and-research office may be working on things that are worlds apart. Each person just manages their own patch well, working steadily, cultivating carefully, and not fearing solitude — that is, in fact, a respectable thing.

The third kind of “academia” I call “the art of learning.” The first two kinds of people are all useful talents to society, while the latter two are the ones who eat idle rice. “Learning” means always studying, always asking questions. Doing scholarship is not for fame or profit, but solely out of one’s inner need or the discharge of passion. One need not necessarily be extraordinarily diligent, nor necessarily obsessively persistent; to be spontaneous and unrestrained is the style of an artist. Such a person may also delve into some narrow field, or may be even more freewheeling and unconventional. The greatest difference between this path and the second lies in the fact that what this path esteems is not solidity and expertise, but inspiration and passion.

At this point, it seems as though what I myself am pursuing is this third path. Indeed, this path is the one closest to me, but it still falls a bit short. At Peking University, I have already seen all kinds of practitioners of the power of the academy, the technology of science, and the art of learning. But I do not seem yet to have found a clearly recognizable fourth role. In the history of philosophy, however, I have encountered many possibilities. This kind of “academia” I call “the magic of philosophy.” Of course, magic is also a kind of art, just as art is also a kind of technology; in the end, these four arts are interconnected. But given the uniqueness of magic among the various arts, I have reason to single it out.

As for the difference between magic and other arts, that would take a long story; here I will mention only one point: what makes magic magic is that its true significance does not lie in the products it creates and leaves to posterity. A magician’s work may simply be to turn one set of ordinary things into another set of ordinary things; both its raw materials and its products are crude. Yet when this magic “happens on the spot” before your eyes, its wonder is beyond words.

In the history of philosophy, I have seen many magic notebooks handed down from great magicians, and through these I can still deeply appreciate the peerless brilliance of their magic. Yet times have changed after all; the props that the magicians of those days could casually reach for beside them have now become unfamiliar in our environment, and the transformations that once seemed astonishing to people then may now seem commonplace. After all, true magic reveals all of its power only “on the spot” — performed on the spot, occurring on the spot, witnessed on the spot.

A little magician merely performs little tricks to bring people “wonder”; whereas the greatest magician can create whole new worlds.

January 18, 2009

Latest comments

• Mm, Anonymous~

  2009-01-19 20:32:42 Anonymous 124.206.38.24

  Could magic perhaps be called the consummation of art?
  The last two keywords are one “creation” and one “new” ^_^
  But if you keep holing yourself up like this, how will that do? Could it be that not leaving the house, you know the world; not peering through the window, you reveal the Way of Heaven?

• Gu Dui

  2009-01-19 21:29:09

  No, magic is a particular kind of art; there is immature magic and there is consummate magic. In the sense of “turning stone into gold” and “making the rotten marvelous,” exquisite art is indeed similar to magic. But the achievement of art lies in that “gold,” that “marvelous”; the achievement of magic, however, lies in that “turning,” that “making.” Magic can also be “turning gold into stone,” “turning the marvelous into the rotten”; the wonder of magic blooms in its “happening on the spot.” What I want to emphasize is precisely this difference.
  As for whether I am a shut-in or not, it doesn’t matter much. Even when lying in bed, my world is still infinitely rich.

• Mm, Anonymous~

  2009-01-19 22:47:10 Anonymous 124.206.38.24 

  Hehe, you and Schopenhauer have something in common~ Haha~~

• Gu Dui

  2009-01-19 22:54:18 

  What do you mean?

Translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The original text is authoritative.