DRAFT not for circulation or citation!!

 

How to do things with books: Language, Science and the Organization of knowledge in Republican China*

 

Bridie  Andrews

History of Science, Harvard University

bandrews@fas.harvard.edu

 

 

 

 

"A man should keep his little brain-attic stocked with all the furniture that he is likely to use, and the rest he can put away in the lumber-room of his library, where he can get it if he wants it.

 

(Sherlock Holmes, in Conan Doyles The Five Orange Pips, 1892)

 

This paper is an attempt to explore the overlooked role of reference works, and dictionaries in particular, in the transmission of knowledge and culture.  I first came across this topic when I noticed that the first dictionary in Chinese devoted to Chinese medical knowledge was published as late as 1921: Xie Guan 謝觀 (Liheng)s Encyclopaedic dictionary of Chinese medicine (中國醫學大辭典).  On examination of the context for the publication of this medical dictionary, I discovered that there was something of a publishing revolution in early twentieth century China.  Not only were modern printing presses being bought and run by the new Chinese publishing houses, but they were also producing new kinds of books: textbooks in new subjects, new kinds of reference works, illustrated newspapers using the imported technology of lithography, and so on.  For many of these publications, the primary justification was science: traditional learning was to be made more scientific in content; was to be presented in a more scientific way; and Chinese people were to be enabled to learn western science itself. 

In this paper, I argue that the early twentieth-century understanding of what it meant to be scientific has shaped the modern Chinese intellectual world.  Tracing the influence of this idealized science is not difficult, since the historical actors of this period were obsessed with it as a yardstick of social and cultural development.  By following this rhetoric into the design of reference books and other aids to acquiring knowledge, we will be afforded a glimpse of how the pursuit of science has changed the whole shape and meaning of Chinese culture.

 

The meaning of science

Science is of course a complex term with a range of meanings, both in English and in Chinese.  I am not so unwise as to attempt a definition of it here.  Instead, I wish only to indicate a couple of key characteristics of science in the early twentieth century that are relevant to this story.

1.       First and foremost, scientific activities were identified by being limited to only observable cause and effect. This meant that the social and ritual elements of many practices were superfluous and even considered harmful as superstition.  Examples of this in medicine would include the religious ritual which usually accompanied variolation and, later, vaccination against smallpox.  As Chang Chia-feng has observed, worship of the goddess of smallpox, dou zhen niang niang 痘疹娘娘 was often an integral part of Chinese families management of their childrens vaccination, even when the vaccination was carried out by someone trained in western medicine.  Since the efficacy of such rituals was not empirically observable in terms of cause and effect, the practices could not be scientific. Of course, this only reinforced a long-standing prejudice among many Chinese literati against superstitious practices, and a pre-existing preference for empiricism among educated Chinese tended also to reinforce this particular understanding of scientific.  This meaning of science is also evident in Western writings, as for example when nineteenth-century homeopaths claimed that their remedies, based on Hahnemanns direct observations of the effects of minute doses of drugs, were more scientific than the heroic interventions of orthodox medicine such as purging, vomiting, and bloodletting.

2.      The word Science, in the form of the Chinese term kexue 科學, entered China from Japan (Nakayama, Fan, Liu 336), where it originally meant a specialized branch of study or specialized studies.  The new education avaiblable to Chinese students in Japan was divided up into ke, specialties, which would have included economics or philosophy as well as the various pure and applied sciences.  This is also the reason why the recent coinage [INSERT DATE, check LIU etc] for encyclopedia in Chinese, is baike quanshu (百科全書, complete book of the hundred specialties/sciences); previously, an encyclopedia in China was called a leishu 類書, book [arranged in] categories. In some cases the new sciences retained the vocabulary of the old categories, but inscribed them with new, scientific meaning and content.  For example, dili 地理, literally pattern of the earth, had been a field encompassing knowledge of the shape of the earth, study of place names and geographical features in historical texts, and geomancy.  In the new encyclopedias and the new university courses, however, the meaning of dili was quickly restricted to modern geography, and emphasized the scientific skills of surveying, mapmaking, as well as study of the distribution of living beings. 

So early twentieth century meanings of science included new, specialized and differently compartmentalized knowledge from abroad, and a strict limiting of explanations to only those where the link between observed cause and observed effect could be explained without recourse to invisible beings or non-natural sources of power. 

We should note that this was before the philosophical ideal of modern science first formulated in the inter-war years by Karl Popper, and criticized from a sociological perspective in the early post-war period by Thomas Kuhn and others.  Before the end of the Second World War, the ideal of science did not necessarily consist of a process of observation conjecture hypotheses experiments refutations better hypotheses scientific laws; nor did it consciously acknowledge the importance of thought collectives and training in scientific paradigms.   A comparative study of just what the ideal of science and the label scientific meant in Euro-America and in other parts of the world around the turn of the twentieth century would be useful here.  For now, we should at least note that the meanings of science have definitely changed. 

 

Printing and Education

Two aspects of social history are vital to this story of the changing meaning of cultural knowledge in China: the history of modern printing and the reform of Chinese education.  Printing is crucial because the modern printing presses, using metal, movable types, brought down the price of books to a level consistent with the achievement of universal literacy.  The reform of the traditional education system meant that what had been a universal curriculum (for those who could afford it) even at high levels of educational accomplishment was replaced with a mosaic of different curricula, each geared towards different educational goals. 

 

1.      Printing

Early Protestant missionaries in Serampore, Penang, Macau and Canton had their tracts in Chinese printed on wooden plaques, in the Chinese manner.  Robert Morrisons Dictionary of the Chinese Language, printed at Macao in six volumes between 1816 and 1823, was innovative in that used characters engraved in steel.  At Serampore, baptist missionaries had created a moveable type with sufficient characters to print scriptural texts, but in general, early translations were printed xylographically.  In 1830 there were still only three sets of movable type in Chinese available to the missionary proselytizers: one each at Canton, Serampore and Malacca.  The fact that these were all outside of China proper was a function of the prohibition against foreigners printing in Chinese, and against Chinese subjects instructing foreigners in their language (Drège, 282-5).  This changed after 1842 and the Treaty of Nanjing, which opened five Treaty Ports to foreign residency, and where extraterritoriality provided the missionaries with jurisdiction over their own activities.   In the mid-nineteenth century, mission presses experimented extensively with different types including steel character-types that divided characters into their constituent, permitting the construction of many more characters by combining radical and phonetic sections.  Lithography was introduced by Walter Henry Medhurst in the first half of the century, where its most common and useful application was in the production of illustrated periodicals, such as the famous Spotted Stone Studio Pictorial (dianshi zhai huabao 點石齋畫報) of 1880s Shanghai.  Lithography also solved another concern of the missionary educators: the difficulty of setting text that combined both Chinese and European languages.  Eventually, electroplating methods for producing type and the invention of stable frames for typesetting combined with more ergonomic methods of arranging the characters increased the speed of typesetting and lowered production costs to a level where they competed favorably with the traditional xylography.  At this point (from approximately the 1870s), Chinese entrepreneurs started to buy and use the foreign printing machinery (see Figure 1, an advertisement from the Spotted Stone Studio Pictorial of 1886).  A good example is Wang Tao 王韜 (1828-97), James Legges famous collaborator, who directed the printing press of the London Missionary Society in Shanghai after it had been sold into Chinese ownership in 1879 (Drège, 303).

Technologies invented by missionaries for the purpose of proselytizing in Chinese were thus essential to the development of an indigenous printing industry capable of producing large quantities of cheap print in much smaller typefaces than before.  As movable type replaced xylography, a whole cottage industry that often depended on female home-based labor for relief-carving the plaques, was slowly eradicated.  Other social aspects of this industrializing process include the fact that traditional methods were better suited for producing ephemeral literature (pamphlets, flyers), especially in the early nineteenth century, when most missionary printing was illegal.  After the Treaties of Nanjing and Tianjin (1842, 1861), stealth and anonymity were no longer major factors constraining the development of larger-scale printing enterprises.

 

2.      Educational reform

Chinas defeat in the 1894-5 Sino-Japanese War heralded a series of political crises which extended well into the twentieth century.  This is the period of the inglorious scramble for concessions by the foreign powers in 1897-8, and the failed Hundred Days Reform in 1898.  The Boxer Rebellion of 1900, which turned into a court-supported anti-foreigner uprising, brought an Allied Expeditionary Force of eight imperial powers (including Japan) into Beijing, where it sacked the Summer Palace in the wake of the retreating court.  Successive military defeats had saddled the government with crippling indemnity payments as well as widespread political unrest.  Drastic measures were clearly necessary, and in 1901 the Empress Dowager Cixi announced the sweeping New Policies (xin zheng 新政).  In educational terms, several different plans for extending education to the broad, male public were discussed and partly implemented between 1901 and 1911, all of which continued to insist on the teaching of the Chinese classics for at least one-third of the teaching hours, but which also included moral education, physical education (at least in the form of military drills), and an assortment of other subjects including mathematics, some science, and a foreign language (Bailey).  In 1901, scholars with overseas qualifications were allowed to sit for the jinshi or metropolitan degree; in 1903-4 a new set of Regulations for Schools was introduced, based on the Japanese education system.  In 1905 the imperial civil service examination system was abolished, and the Civil Service began accepting candidates with diplomas from foreign and Chinese universities and technical colleges instead.  This removed the disincentive to acquiring the new sciences, since mastery of the Confucian classics was no longer the main prerequisite to achieving power and prestige.  Also in 1905, the Qing Government founded the new Ministry of Education, which, by 1911, had reorganised provincial and local education bureaux, introduced national school inspectors, fixed fee levels, published textbooks, attempted to modernise privately owned traditional schools, required foreign owned schools to meet national standards, begun language reform, and opened Language Made Easy schools for illiterate adults. (Cleverly, 39). Between 1903 and 1910, the numbers of students in the new government schools was claimed to have increased from 1274 to 1,625 534. (Cleverly, 39). 

A decree of 1906 stated explicitly that henceforward, education in China was not merely to discover men of talent, but to educate the whole nation and to inculcate loyalty to the throne, respect for Confucius, the awakening of the people to a sense of their national responsibility, the promotion of a military spirit, and the creation of a practical and realistic sense (Purcell, 67).  As we now know, the awakening nationalism and sense of military inferiority convinced many that only a new government could save China: the Qing fell to republican forces in late 1911.  Most of the prime movers in Dr. Sun Yatsens Revolutionary Alliance (tongmeng hui) had been educated abroad, and Sun had himself been one of the first graduating class of the British-run Hong Kong College of Medicine. 

After the establishment of the Republic of China in 1912, the first Education Minister Cai Yuanpei 蔡元培 (1867-1940) ordered that the Chinese classics were no longer to be taught at all. This left seven faculties at the college level: arts, science, law, commerce, medicine, agriculture and applied science (eg engineering).  However, the political instabilities of the warlord period in modern Chinese history meant that enforcement of the new curriculum was patchy at best, and that much education was still carried out in the many small, privately-run traditional schools.  Womens education continued to lag far behind that of men, so that statistics for womens higher education from 1924 show that women comprised only 2.54 of the student population in government universities and colleges, while they made up 14 per cent of the student body in missionary colleges.  (Cleverly, 45-8; Purcell, 70)

Nonetheless, in this era of education reform, with the civil service examinations gone and the Classics on the wane, there was a pressing need for new curricula, new textbooks, and teachers educated in the new subjects of instruction. 

 

The new publishing industry: the Commercial Press and its offspring

The Commercial Press was established in Shanghai in 1897 by 4 people, all of whom came from working at a missionary press (上海美華書館), where two of them worked as typesetters for the China Gazette. (Gao, 1-3)  At the time, the mission press was selling English-language textbooks that had been written for the Indian market, and were known as the 'Indian readers'.  They lacked any vocabulary lists or notes in Chinese.  Some of the Chinese staff added their own notes in Chinese and ran off an initial (and presumably illicit) print run of 2000 copies, and one of them, Xia Ruifang 夏瑞方, hawked them around the Shanghai schools.  The whole run sold out in 20 days.  Encouraged by this success, the founders raised about 4000 yuan as capital and set up on their own.  Their first books were these new bilingual English texts and a science periodical called Science News 格致新報, and the Commercial Press continued to publish books for the modern education system for many years.  By 1906, when the Board of Education 學部 conducted its first review of 108 available textbooks for primary schools, the most successful single collection was the 54-volume () collection of textbooks published by the Commercial Press.  (最新初等小學國文教科書).  So, only 10 years after its foundation, the Commercial Press was already dominating the market for educational materials, and the government-run presses (for instance at the Jiangnan Arsenal) and the mission presses accounted together for only about 20% of the production of approved textbooks. (Wang 1973: 1-4;43-5)

In the year of the founding of the Republic of China, 1912, the Commercial Press' successes in the provision of textbooks for the new school system suffered a setback when the editor of two such series of textbooks, Lufei Kui  陸費逵 (1886-1941) resigned to set up his own publishing company, the China Book Trading Co. 中華書局, taking the series with him.  Lufei was a noted educator: for a while he edited a journal known in English as the Educational Review, and the new education system promulgated by Cai Yuanpei in 1912 was partly designed by him (Whos who in China, 1936: 182). The two houses were to be fierce rivals until the start of the next Sino-Japanese War in 1937 (Wang, 1973: 69).  Between them, they dominated the market for the new textbooks and reference works of the twentieth century.

 

Science, pronounciation, and language structure

Imperial China did not ever have a standard spoken language.  Each area had its own dialect, and many dialects were and are mutually incomprehensible.  Under these circumstances, migrants to the large cities of China organised native place associations for mutual support.  Within the imperial civil service, however, it was of course necessary for officials from any locality to be able to communicate with one another, and for this purpose they were obliged to learn the officials' language, guanhua 官話 or the mandarin language.  De Francis relates the story of how the Kangxi Emperor (reigned 1662-1722), whose native language was of course Manchu and who had learned the Beijing dialect on which Mandarin was based, was incensed with those officials from far-flung parts of the empire whose reports were unintelligible to him. (De Francis:7).

During the 'Hundred Days' Reform of 1898, Liang Qichao perceived the absence of a national spoken language as one of the causes of Chinas political difficulties, and brought the problem to the attention of the Guangxu Emperor, along with examples of phonetic scripts for Chinese. Liang made the explicit comparisons of 96 - 97 per cent literacy in the United States and Germany, over 80 per cent in Japan, with under 20 per cent in China, and linked these statistics to national strength and the absence of a phonetic alphabet (De Francis: 33-40).

By the end of the Qing dynasty in 1911, about a dozen different systems for rendering the pronunciation of Chinese in an accessible way had been devised by various Chinese scholars.  One consequence of any application of a phonetic writing system for Chinese is that communication would be in the vernacular, or something very close to it.  If writing was to be a means by which anyone could communicate, that writing would have to be in the language of ordinary people.  Literacy would no longer be inextricably linked to the canonical texts.  So the concern for increasing literacy rates in China, ironically, spelled the beginning of the end of traditional literary culture.

This change has immense consequences.  As many first-hand accounts of growing up in China attest, the way one acquired a vocabulary in written Chinese in traditional China was by memorizing texts. (For English-language accounts of this process, see (Chiang, 1940), and especially (Wong, Su-ling, 1953: 168-82). )  Only after a text had been memorized by chanting it out loud would a teacher explain what it meant.   Basic written vocabulary consisted of ONLY the contents of the classics and commentaries, and children were tutored by their elders into this shared canon.[1] This system of language learning gave some observers the impression that Chinese was inflexible as a medium for incorporating new concepts, especially since all pre-twentieth century dictionaries contained only explanations of words as they occurred in classical writings (omitting dialect characters, vernacular usages, etc.).  These dictionaries were in fact closer in function to what we would call concordances. 

With the discarding of the canonical texts as the basis for education, and the flood of new translations and transliterations coming into China from Japan and the West, a students parents and teachers could no longer be expected to explain unknown vocabulary.  The vocabulary of science that came from Japan, although expressed largely in kanji, Chinese characters, was full of compounds that were opaque in meaning to a traditionally-educated Chinese.  The novelty of both the language and the concepts led many educated Chinese to lament the apparent absence of scientific thought in traditional Chinese culture.  Fung Yu-lan, for example, published an article in 1922 entitled Why China Has No Science (Fung, 1922).  Wu Zhihui, known to most Chinese schoolchildren as the politician who received the Japanese surrender at the end of the Second World War, was an anarchist student in Paris in the 1920s.  He was so convinced that the Chinese language written and spoken was the source of Chinas high illiteracy, lack of science and poor technological development that he advocated abandoning Chinese altogether and educating Chinese children to speak and write in Esperanto.[2]  Others of his generation such as Zhang Binglin  章炳麟 (1869-1936) thought that the memorization of characters was the main obstacle to the modernization of Chinese culture, and argued that characters should be abandoned in favor of a phonetic script.  (Norman; de Francis; Zhang Binglin).

Exacerbating these frustrations was the view, widely held among foreigners and influential among many Chinese, that the Chinese language lacks a formalizable grammatical structure.  In the mid-nineteenth century, missionary educator Joseph Edkins had argued that Chinese was a primitive language and likely to retain traces of the mythical Ursprache, the language of all humanity before Babel.  Grammarians all over Europe were producing handbooks which minimized the grammatical differences between their own languages and Latin, held to be the language with the most advanced grammatical system.[3]  Ma Jianzhong 馬建忠 (1844-1900), sent as a student to France as part of the Self-Strengthening Movement of the 1870s, is famous not only for producing Chinas first comprehensive and systematic grammar, but also for analyzing Chinese with concepts derived from his study of Latin.  The argument over how to describe the structure of classical Chinese is one that continues today; in the meantime, the structure of modern Chinese has become significantly more like a European language (Wang Li, 1947).[4]

 

Dictionaries and the codification of knowledge

From its publication in 1716 until after the fall of the Qing dynasty in 1911, the standard Chinese language dictionary was the Kangxi zidian 康熙字典.  This dictionary, like most of its predecessors, indicated the pronunciation of each character with two further characters, the first of which indicated the initial sound, and the second of which gave the final and the accompanying tone (the fanqie 反切 system).  However, these pronunciations had been copied from Tang dynasty (618-906 AD) readings, and often deviated greatly from any modern dialect of Chinese.  The Kangxi dictionary therefore also gave a further character as an indication of pronunciation.  This new clue to pronunciation was homophonous with the dictionary entry in the Beijing dialect, and was represented with relatively common character.   A definition followed, but the function of the definition was to facilitate comprehension of the character as it appeared in ancient Chinese texts rather than to reflect current oral usage.  Chinese dictionaries were reference aids for already highly-educated scholars, and not intended for language-learning purposes (Norman, 170-3).[5]

When western missionaries arrived in China, they needed to learn to speak as well as to read and write.  The first romanization systems for the Chinese language were therefore invented by these foreigners, and often varied depending on the dialect spoken by their native teachers.  Although their dictionaries mixed up both vernacular expressions and more formal and literary language, they provided Chinese reformers with new models for the analysis and standardization of spoken Chinese.

In 1912, the editors of The Commercial Press made the first Chinese attempt to replace the Kangxi dictionary  with a modern reference tool when they published the New character dictionary  新字典 under the editorship of  Lu Erkui 陸爾奎 (1862-1935).   This dictionary included many of the new characters coined by missionaries and Japanese to translate scientific terms, and also some characters used to indicate dialect words, which had been ignored by the purely literary dictionares of the past.  The fact that it specifically aimed to replace the Kangxi dictionary  is indicated by a preface from Cai Yuanpei, who listed the inadequacies of the Kangxi dictionary for modern scholars and praised the New character dictionary for correcting many of them.  The New character dictionary was relatively small, however, with only about 40,000 character entries (fewer than the Kangxi dictionary, which had 47,000), 1000 pages, and with no attempt to render the pronunciation of characters in any of the new phonetic ways; it still used the archaic fanqie 反切 system.

Lufei Kui, who had left the Commercial Press in 1912 to set up the China Book Trading Company 中華書局, was also competing with his old employer in the production of a new dictionary.  He, too, aimed to publish a replacement to the Kangxi dictionary, and in 1915 the China Book Trading Company published the Chinese encyclopaedic character dictionary 中華大字典.  Its title page calligraphy was executed by the famous woman calligrapher, Wu Zhiying, and the following pages boasted dedications by both the President, Yuan Shikai, and the Vice-president, Li Yuanhong.  Next came eight prefaces by various literary luminaries (including Liang Qichao) and the editors of the project, Lufei Kui and Ouyang Tuancun. Lufei Kui's preface listed several failings of the old Kangxi dictionary, including its lack of detail, non-inclusion of common expressions, and difficult organization.  He then described how he had marvelled at the convenient organisation of Japanese and English bilingual dictionaries, and decided to apply their principles to Chinese. 

For example, the Character dictionary attempted to provide a standardized pronunciation system - again a version of fanqie, but one based on a Song dynasty work that had recorded the pronunciation of a record number of characters - over 53,000 of them.  The Dictionary innovated further by numbering each meaning of each character, and giving a single example of the usage of each meaning.  It also provided a new, supplementary index of characters ordered by the number of strokes without reference to their radicals, particularly useful for those characters for which the radical is not obvious.  Perhaps most significantly, it was the first Chinese-edited dictionary to include a few common two-character words ('colocations') as subentries under the first character of the word, enabling the dictionary to be used as a 'word' dictionary 辭典 to a certain extent.  The significance of this change is that in contrast to the literary language, the Chinese vernacular was very rich in such two-character words, and increasingly so with the accelerating adoption of neologisms - particularly technical terms - from Japan.

In the same year, 1915, the rival Commercial Press published its second attempt at a modern dictionary, the Word-source 辭源.  In contrast to the Character dictionary, this had no prefaces or dedications.  In place of a preface, the chief editor Lu Erkui wrote a short introduction.  Clearly feeling that Chinas deficiency in modern reference tools was something to be ashamed of, he asserted that a nations level of culture could be correlated with its dictionaries, and that A nation without dictionaries has no culture to speak of (國無辭書,無文化可言也).

The Ciyuan dictionary was a break with the past in that words composed of two or more characters were given separate entries to themselves, and it also innovated in the inclusion of biographical entries, explanations of some idiomatic phrases (chengyu 成語) and encyclopaedia-style explanations rather than bald definitions, especially of new scientific terms and concepts. 

Both these major dictionary projects that reached publication in 1915 were intended to replace the old Kangxi dictionary.   However, neither of them embraced the contemporary movements either to provide an accessible phonetic rendering of Chinese characters or to bring the written language significantly closer to a vernacular.  Indeed, the first preface of the Chinese encyclopaedic character dictionary was written by an energetic opponent of the vernacularisation of written Chinese, Lin Shu 林紓. (Lin is well-known for his translations of foreign novels into elegant literary Chinese.)  Nonetheless, both attempted to fill the perceived need and evident market niche for guides to contemporary usage of the written language, as opposed to the guides to archaic usage and rhymes represented by previous scholarly dictionaries. 

[Note: show slides of the plates from da zidian]

[Add Cihai, 1936, encyclopedic dictionary, with illustrations throughout the text, and appendices to indicate pronunciation according to three different systems; the names and pronunciation of the chemical elements; a comparative table of international weights and measures; and a list of almost 12,000 foreign words with their Chinese translations cross-referenced in the back.  ]

 

Wang Yunwu and the organization of knowledge

Wang Yunwu 王雲五 (1888-1979) is perhaps best known to westerners as the inventor of the four-corner system for looking up Chinese characters in reference books. Since he was also the chief editor of the Commercial Press from 1922, he was able to have this system reproduced in a great many dictionaries and other works.  Every dictionary produced by the Commercial Press after this time had at least an index of characters by Wangs method, and in many works, the body of the work was also arranged this way, with supplementary indexes by traditional radicals and stroke order.  Less well known are his efforts to create a library classification system that would meet Chinas modern needs. 

Wangs four-corner system considers each characters structure, and assigns a numeral value to each of the strokes closest to the corners of the imaginary square in which the character is written.  The upper and lower left and right strokes are independent of the stroke order, so that very little education is necessary beyond the rules of the system itself, in order to determine the four- or five-digit number of each character.  The characters may then be listed in an index, or even arranged in a reference work, in numerical order. 

By adding a fifth (supplementary) digit, referring to the number of strokes of the first type to occur in the character (ie at the upper left), to characters when several ended up with the same four-digit number, Wang was able to claim that 89.9 per cent of all Chinese characters would be found in groups of five or fewer characters under a single number. [slide]  This compares very favorably to the huge numbers of characters found under each of the 214 radicals of the Kangxi system, and the dozens found even when only characters with a certain number of strokes after the radical are grouped together.  (As an example, Wang cites the 205 characters of eight strokes under the radical, and 204 with nine strokes under the same radical in the Kangxi Dictionary.

Wang explained the rationale behind his system like this:

 

            The arrangement of words or characters a condition which never occurs in countries where the phonetic system of writing is in vogue becomes a pressing problem in China.  This very problem is responsible not only for the large proportion of illiterates in the Chinese population, but also for the general inefficiency in almost all kinds of services.  In one way, dictionaries and cyclopedias being a great help to readers, the difficulty of finding characters or phrases contained in them will be a check to self-educators as well as students in general.  In another way, library cards, business filings, commercial directories, telephone lists, etc., are all arranged according to the form of characters, and any difficulty in finding these characters will considerably affect the efficiency of the business world (Wong, 1926:1).

Wang considers the possibility of arranging characters phonetically, but dismisses this solution on the grounds a.  That a phonetic system is applicable only to a unified national tongue, which can hardly be expected of China in the immediate future, and b. That the monosyllabic nature of Chinese characters means that very many characters would be grouped under each sound, further impeding the rapid tracking down of any single character. (Wong, 1926: 4).

To solve these problems, Wang devised eight principles of an ideal lexicographic system, the first four of which are:

1.      That every person can understand and use it;

2.      That every character can be found or located rapidly;

3.      That every character can be found or located directly, without resort to any other index;

4.      That there is absolutely no necessity to understand the order of strokes in a character; ... (Wong, 1926:9)

 

Wangs system, therefore, was designed to be used by students even at a very elementary level of literacy.  He was inspired, he says, by consideration of the Chinese telegraphic code.  In this, every Chinese character is represented by an arbitrarily-assigned four-figure number.  Looking up the appropriate number is as time-consuming as looking up an unknown character in the Kangxi Dictionary, so that the professional translators employed to render telegraphic messages into code have had to memorize the numbers of several thousand characters.  By contrast, the translation process from code back into characters is incomparably faster: the operator merely searches in a single numeral index, and scarcely needs to be literate in order to render the telegraphic message accurately back into character form. 

Wangs twin concerns with the efficiency of conducting business in Chinese, and with the accessibility of his system to the barely literate and to students studying on their own, nicely mirror the cultural concerns of the day.  Chinas fiscal crisis and the quest for wealth and power vis-à-vis the West underlay this whole reexamination of the bases of Chinese culture.   Although many people were eager to acquire the new skills, qualified teachers were in short supply.  Even when there were teachers, this generation of scholars were often suspicious of them.  Ding Fubao 丁福保 (1874-1952), for example, used similar arguments to Wangs to justify organizing characters according to the number of strokes in the first character of each entry in his own Short Dictionary of Buddhism (佛學小辭典 Foxue xiao cidian) of 1919.  He was a lay Buddhist, and deeply suspicious of the Buddhist clergy, whom he regarded as being mired in superstition.  His dictionary was intended as an aid to students who wanted to get at the canonical texts of Buddhism, and therefore to understand its philosophical principles directly.  He, too, stated that his arrangement (by number of strokes in a character) would enable even beginners to find entries simply and rapidly, circumventing the need for consulting either a teacher or the index (Ding, 1919). 

Dings case illustrates the fact that this desire to access information directly was part and parcel of the whole challenge to traditional authority that pervades the history of the period and goes well beyond the May Fourth movement of 1919 and thereafter. 

 

Conclusion

Stephen Owen highlights the difference in Mencius thought between wen , the literary language, and ci , the statement.  For Chinese thinkers since Mencius, he writes, wen the patterned, literary word and the written word is not a figuration or deformation of plain language, but the full and final form of language.  Although it is most open to misunderstanding, wen is also the entelechy of language. (Owen, 25)  As is well known, this regard for the literary language as the depository of culture and the epitome of fully developed thought became a casualty of the Chinese enthusiasm for science in the early twentieth century.

The appearance of dictionaries and reference works document the changing mechanisms of the transmission of Chinese culture in the early 20th century. When these are taken into account, it becomes easy to see why so many people opposed both the vernacular style and the development of a phonetic script.  They feared, with good reason, the loss of the shared literary tradition upon which Chinese élite culture was based.  Indeed, now that we are blessed with hindsight, even the rather conservative measures implemented in the PRC since 1949 to facilitate widespread literacy - the simplification of some characters and the use of the vernacular in most kinds of printed literature - have very quickly produced a generation of scholars who have trouble reading unsimplified characters that is, any book published before the mid-1950s and who struggle to understand classical Chinese. 

To return to the dictionary that started me off on this course, what is perhaps most striking about Xie Guans Encyclopedic Dictionary of Chinese Medicine is the indication it gives us that even specialists could no longer be expected or required to memorize large amounts of classical texts.  In spite of the fact that Xie deliberately restricted the entries in his dictionary to only terms occurring in Chinas own medical literature (the dictionary included no entries about western medicine at all) the very fact of its existence shows that students were moving away from the idea that competence resided principally in mastery of the classical texts.  They were moving towards becoming the kinds of scholars we are today: highly skilled at knowing where to find information, but no longer the repositories of it.

 

Bibliography (incomplete)

 

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* I would like to thank Peter Buck, who patiently listened and suggested improvements to many of the ideas presented here; and to Lesley Wei-chung Ma for invaluable research assistance.

[1] When, as a graduate student, I joined Michael Loewes undergraduate classes in Classical Chinese, and had to read chapters from Wang Chongs Lunheng, or Dong Zhongshus Chunqiu fanlu, I was sometimes surprised that the traditional commentators glossed words that seemed (even to me) as though they ought to be fairly elementary. When we remember that even the traditional type of dictionary was a fairly uncommon item in traditional China, then this glossing of any questionable character by a commentator starts to make sense.  This is especially true for titles in the works of the philosophers () category which were read at a level of educational attainment just beyond that of the rote memorization of the Confucian classics.

[2] To this day there is a greater proportion of Esperanto speakers in China than anywhere in the world.  When my mentor on a research trip in 1991-2 presented me with one of her books that had been published in Esperanto, she was surprised and disappointed that I was unable to read it.

[3] This is the origin of that rule against splitting your infinitives, by the way.  Since they cannot be split in Latin, they ought not to be split in English.

[4] Examples of ways in which modern Chinese has become Europeanized include the much more frequent use of particles (extra characters) to indicate tense, plurals, or parts of speech.  It is also much less frequent to have to infer the subject of a sentence from the context since it is usual modern practice to state this explicitly. 

[5] This observation is confirmed in the first paragraph of the  Editorial principles (bianji da gang 編輯大綱) preface to the first edition of the Cihai 辭海 dictionary of 1936: [about early word books and rhyme manuals]: 大抵可供行文獺祭之用,而不可以供讀書明理之用也。In general, they are useful for writing like otters who sacrifice [fish], but are no use for reading books and explaining them. (Otters sacrifice [fish] comes from an allusion in the Book of Rites to the otter behavior of leaving partially-eaten fish on river banks, from which it came to mean superfluity).