Recently, Teacher He Huaihong wrote a book review of a work by a sophomore student, which sparked a lively discussion. Teacher He affirmed the philosophical vision and concern for reality displayed in *Sounding West, Striking East*, but he was by no means uncritically flattering; rather, he offered some well-founded criticism. He pointed out some problems in Han Qian’s use of academic concepts, and also offered his views on the book’s style: “As an academic paper, it could still have contained more detailed analytic argumentation and stricter formal requirements than the existing articles; and if it is a commentary, then it could be sharper and more vivid and forceful. If the author can make good use of both styles, and clearly distinguish them from each other, then naturally that would be better.” I think Teacher He’s comments are fair and to the point.
I also took a look at this student’s blog of the same name blog (the articles included in the book basically all come from that blog). First of all, I do not instinctively resist it because of the author’s age; on the contrary, I feel a certain familiarity. I myself began running my own academic blog in my sophomore year, and during my undergraduate years I also accumulated several hundred miscellaneous essays, amounting to over a million Chinese characters. Had I been asked at the time to publish a book titled “Thought Notes of an 85er,” it would not have been impossible.
But looking back now, if I really had published such a book back then, I would probably regret it now. This is not to say that I feel ashamed of my immature thinking at the time—I can still defend the articles I wrote in my undergraduate years, and likewise, I do not believe that Han Qian will be ashamed of his present thoughts a few years from now. The problem is not the content of the writing, but its form.
The same set of ideas, expressed in different forms and on different media, has different meanings. Perhaps my ideas are profound and highly original, but if I want to publish them in an academic journal, I must obey certain formal conventions and routines, such as properly citing predecessors’ or peers’ texts and listing references in a way that can be easily verified. Some people say that it is enough for my ideas themselves to be profound—why must I go and follow those rules? The point is that if I am not merely muttering to myself in my own corner, but am trying to “publish” my work, then I must always seek a kind of “dialogue”: dialogue with fellow scholars, or dialogue with ordinary readers. First I should respect them, and only then am I qualified to expect them to respect me as well; otherwise, on what basis do I think they ought to read me seriously?
“Publication” itself is only a means of seeking communication and dialogue, not an end. Nowadays many people take publication itself as the goal, that is to say, once something is published, it seems to proclaim that I am a big deal, that publication itself is an affirmation of me. As a result, many published works are in fact still self-talk, and will never receive the reader’s genuine respect.
When I myself am making my own “thought notes,” I may simply be talking to myself, or perhaps engaging in a virtual dialogue with the writers of those classic texts. But when I want to publish these notes in any form, then the question that must be considered is: with whom am I conversing? Am I merely using publication to proclaim that I am impressive? Or do I need to use publication as a means to establish communication with some real readers?
Teacher He’s criticism is directed precisely at this point: the positioning of this “notebook” is unclear. If it wants to converse with the academic world, then its basic formal requirements are far from being met: the argumentation is loose and not careful, there is no proper citation format, and it lacks references to secondary literature. There are plenty of renowned masters worth reading; no one would be attracted to read this book just because it was written by someone born in the 1990s. If young people want the academic world to pay attention, they must clearly define their problem consciousness: what question am I trying to explore, what level has academic research on this question already reached, what deficiencies remain, and what breakthrough can my article provide on that basis… And if the readership is positioned as the nonacademic or semi-academic general cultural public, or ordinary university students? Then, just as Teacher He said, the writing should be more “sharp and vivid and forceful.”
But the present situation is that Han Qian’s work still remains at the level of “notes” as a genre: it is neither a rigorous product written for the academic world, nor a popular reading that explains difficult matters in simple terms, but merely notes from the author’s own process of self-dialogue and self-improvement along the road of personal growth. Although the book’s subtitle does make this clear, if that is the case, why must the notes be collected and published as a book?
We know that the youthful notes of some highly esteemed thinkers are also actively edited and published by later generations, but that is because those thinkers had already established their intellectual standing and become objects with whom later generations earnestly wanted to converse. Han Qian, however, is the opposite: it is not that notes are published because of fame, but rather that fame is obtained because notes are published. This is somewhat putting the cart before the horse.
What young people must clearly recognize is that “why write notes” and “why publish a book” are completely different considerations. Recording one’s own intellectual trajectory on one’s blog, continuously conversing with oneself, while also receiving criticism and exchange from classmates and netizens, is a very good form; I myself have benefited immensely from running my academic blog. But publishing a book means something different. Beyond opening up a space for communication entirely different from a personal blog, one’s writing will also become heavier and more substantial. Compared with notes and personal spaces, a finished book is self-contained; it becomes something that seems to have an independent life of its own. Although texts on a personal blog already possess a certain degree of independence, moving from a blog to a book is like the embryo gestating within one’s own body finally being born with a cry; this birth is, after all, a serious parting. As hermeneutics says: once a work is written, it is severed from the author’s control and will construct its own meaning in the exchange between the work and the reader. In this sense, if an author sends a premature child out to interact with readers who have not been shown respect, that is very irresponsible. Writings are like the author’s cherished children; before one can ensure a good environment for their growth, young people should not give birth to them too early.
Translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The original text is authoritative.
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