From the Geil Archives (22)—Warring Pens

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A year ago on Round and Square (8 October 2012)—Rural Religion in China: Ancient Beliefs

Two years ago on Round and Square (8 October 2011)—Spring and Autumn Roles: Flatness in America

[a] Armed and ready RF

Click here for Rachel Johnson's other posts in the series "From the Geil Archive"

1-About Me                    2-Naming (Un-)Conventions                3-Out of the Frying Pan          4-Jack of All Trades          
5-Warring Pens

Today's Round and Square Guest Contributor is Rachel Johnson. Rachel, from Burr Ridge, IL, just graduated from Beloit College with a BA in anthropology and a minor in Asian Studies. She was introduced to William Edgar Geil through a course taught by Rob LaFleur, and she is currently working in Doylestown, Pennyslvania with four other interns to research and digitize his archives with the Doylestown Historical Society. She and Geil share a mutual love of travel and of Chinese history and culture in particular, which is what drew her to study him further.

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Please note that all items marked "DHS" are property of the Doylestown Historical Society, and used with DHS permission. If you wish to use an image, you need permission of the Society. Please contact Robert LaFleur (lafleur@beloit.edu), and he will put you in contact with the appropriate people.

Often, working with the Geil archives, the biggest challenge is to decipher who wrote what on the documents we are working with. Sometimes, we can recognize Geil’s handwriting, and his distinctive voice, right away. Sometimes, particularly when working with correspondences to and from Geil, it can be harder to tell who is speaking, especially when it comes to notes written in margins or comments and edits written in a different pen, in different handwriting.

There is one distinctive commenter who shows up occasionally, however, who is of particular interest. I have been referring to him casually, though not particularly creatively, as “the Red Penner,” since the notes are always in a bold, distinctive red pen, in the margins, on the backs, and occasionally right on the pages of Geil’s manuscripts. His comments are contained to the manuscripts for Geil’s books on China, certainly The Great Wall of China, and possibly others as well.

His comments, always insightful and occasionally passive-aggressive, sparked my interest. After deciding that he might make an interesting topic for a blog post, I settled down to do some research, hoping I might uncover a bit more on who this commenter was. (As it turns out, the answer was right in front of me, literally, but more on that in a moment.) 

[b] Pagoda RF

Surprisingly, it was a fairly easy research project. On the back of one of Geil’s manuscripts, the Red Penner comments, “I lived at Pagoda Anchorage in 1882, when my father was Vice-consul there,” and continues to comment on the state of the tea trade, which had gone into decline. A quick Google search of “Vice-consul of Pagoda Anchorage 1882” (referring to the anchorage in the Mawei district of China that was the site of the Battle of Fuzhou during the Sino-French War) brought up the name Herbert Allen Giles, a name which kept tugging at the back of my mind as being very familiar. 

A second Google search later had me rolling my eyes at my own stupidity. No wonder the name sounded familiar! Herbert Allen Giles pioneered the Wade-Giles Romanization system with Thomas Wade, one of the most prevalent and well-established systems of the 20th century. In addition, he wrote literally dozens of books on China. And had a son (okay, many sons, and daughters, but one in particular) named Lionel Giles, who was famous for his translations of Chinese texts, including The Art of War, The Analects of Confucius, The Sayings of Lao Tzu, and The Book of Mencius.

And whose name was written under the very same red pen note that had sparked my research, this time in Geil’s own handwriting. A note which I had glazed over, the name meaning nothing to me ten minutes ago.

Nevertheless, I was proud of my discovery. And it made so much sense! Lionel’s comments were detailed, in-depth, and always, without fail, spot on. His knowledge of Chinese history, culture, and especially language is impressive.

And yet, Geil seemed less than enthused with many of Lionel’s suggestions. Many of the comments were crossed out in blue pencil, a giant X over them, or a slash through them. Many of his simple edits go uncorrected in the final manuscripts. But my favorite comment by far, and the most telling, is on the back of one of the Great Wall of China manuscript pages. It reads simply, “I can’t make anything of the names in this chapter. But I suppose you wish them to stand in their present form.”

[c] Stubborn RF

Part of me wants to remonstrate with Geil for not taking more advice from this renowned translator. Part of me, the writer in me, understands the stubbornness that comes from writing something and not wanting it to be changed, no matter what. 

Mostly, however, I am intrigued.

I want to know more about this little silent battle, this struggle between Giles and Geil (yes, the names confuse me, too) over the proper spelling of Ch’in Shih Huang, over which dynasty Geil meant when he wrote Tsu instead of Chou. It seems like Geil took some of Giles’ comments to heart, but he used his own discretion for what he would change and what he would keep, but I can’t help but wonder what his thought process was when he made these decisions.

I can’t help but marvel about how much information can be crammed into such a relatively small number of notes. Of the tens of thousands of documents in Geil’s archives, only a few dozen have comments from Lionel Giles, and yet in these few comments there is a wealth of information, both overt and subtle. I hope, as I continue to go through these archives, I can discover more about this odd and unlikely relationship.  

[d] Remonstrance DHS

French Bulldog Puppy—The Taoist Body

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One year ago on Round and Square (10 February 2012)—Flowers Bloom: Bloom's Republic II

[a] French Musings PD

I don't know who you are, 
but I will find you...[1]

...and tell you that I just finished reading the foreword to Kristofer Schipper's The Taoist Body. It's not just a book about Daoism/Taoism. It is the result of a kind of ethnographic immersion that is absolutely stunning. 

Oh, and Schipper is my countryman. He is French (like moi)...sort of. He is actually Dutch, but pursued his entire education in France. Anyone who has run the École pratique des hautes études is "French enough" for me, though.

[b] Mastery RF

He studied the history of Chinese religions with two giants of "sinology"—Max Kaltenmark and Rolf Stein (both of whom were students of the great Marcel Granet). The further list of greats with whom he studied is equally astounding (Jacques Gernet, and Paul Demiéville are two more).

And then he did something very, very different. He went to Taiwan...(no that's not it)...

...and he studied intensely to master the intricacies of the Daoist canon (and, no, that's not exactly it, either).

And four years later, in 1968, he was ordained as a Daoist priest by Zhang Enbu, the sixty-third Celestial Master of the Zhang Daoling sect.

Whoa! That's intense. That's fieldwork.

I can't wait to read the book now.

      [1] I like Liam's opening, and he gave me a year's supply of biscuits to use it for the rest of the month.

[c] Contemplative RF

[Originally posted on May 10, 2014]

French Bulldog Puppy—French Sinology

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One year ago on Round and Square (2 February 2012)—The Emperor's Teacher: Talking Points (c)

[a] French Musings PD

I don't know who you are, 
but I will find you...[1]

...and tell you that there is a whole passel of French scholars who spent their lives studying China. Among the greatest are Edouard Chavannes, Paul Pelliot, and the master of Chinese thought, Marcel Granet.

[b] Master RF

So what's up with that?

Well, the long Western tradition of studying other societies (this dates back at least to Herodotus), for one. That's what's up.

How does all of this (the serious study of language, literature, history, and culture) fit together with the more insidious picture of Western colonialism? Ah, that is another (but undeniably linked) story.

Just how linked is another topic for another day.
      [1] I like Liam's opening, and he gave me a box of biscuits to use it for the rest of the week.

[c] Another topic, another day RF

 [Originally posted on May 2, 2014]

Academic Autobiography (1e)—Working the Field

One year ago on Round and Square (26 September 2011)—Hurtin' Country: She Thinks I Still Care
Click here for the introduction to the Round and Square series "Academic Autobiography"

[a] Fields RF

Click here for the other posts in this Round and Square series on John King Fairbank's autobiography:

Working 1          Working 2          Working 3          Working 4          Working 5

V—One Field, Many Farmers

I have only given a hint of this topic’s complexity and the potential for real engagement with serious questions in intellectual history. Fairbank’s is much more than the quirky story of one professor’s obsession with his topic. It is odd that Chinabound does tend to strike readers in that way, though. His focus can be off-putting, even to China scholars. We must return to Chen Pu’s treatise on farming for perspective. Whether or not other members of society like it, the successful “farmer” needs to concentrate relentlessly on his field. Fairbank refers to this in two different quotations that I have remembered from the first time that I read the book, twenty-five years ago, as a beginner in the field he created. 

[b] Variety RF

I imagine that Fairbank anticipated that a number of his readers would be put off by his single-minded devotion to China. Indeed, Fairbank knew people in many fields, and was interested in a wide variety of intellectual and political issues. He counts as college friends the great anthropologists Lauriston Sharp and Clyde Kluckhohn, was a family friend of Felix Frankfurter, and enjoyed the company of colleagues at Harvard in a wide variety of fields. Even a quick reading of Chinabound shows a mind interested in a wide variety of questions. Why, then, would he portray himself as devoted (as the examples below will clearly show) with such fervor to his own career and the field of Chinese studies?

          One day after a reception Wilma had brought Felix Frankfurter, who was 
          a family friend, and Harold Laski home to supper with us and some of 
          her girl friends—a gay party. Come ten to eight, I excused myself to go 
          to Professor Langer’s seminar. “What’s he got that we haven’t got?”
          asked our luminaries. I felt rather insufferably self-righteous and could 
          only say, “It’s part of a plan.” I was still trying to qualify for the big time.[1]

          It has sometimes occurred to me that an area specialist may be rather 
         poor company for someone not interested in the specialist’s area. But I 
         don’t know. I have never spent much time with such people.[2]

I believe the answer to my question above is the same as Chen Pu’s. Complete devotion and fervor is the only way to succeed in Chen Pu’s farming world and Fairbank’s institution building one:

         Only those who love farming, who behave in harmony with it, who take 
         pleasure in talking about it and think about it all the time will manage it 
         without a moment’s negligence. For these people a day’s work results in 
         a day’s gain, a year’s work in a year’s gain. How can they escape affluence?
         As to those with many interests who cannot concentrate on any one and who 
         are incapable of being meticulous, even if they should come by some profit, 
         they will soon lose it. For they will never understand that the transformation 
         of the small into the big is the result of persistent effort.[3]

[c] Relevance RF

Although John King Fairbank certainly did not shrink from work beyond his field, he made his company with others who were committed to the common work. It is here that we see the real relevance to Fairbank’s thought in Chen Pu’s treatise. The skilled farmer does not seek to procure more land. “Owning a great deal of emptiness is less desirable than reaping a narrow patch of land”—this is a phrase that could well have been spoken by John King Fairbank in referring to his interest on two centuries in one country in a rather large world. As he knew well, however, there is nothing small about the best work, and he, was able, like the great archer Pu Qie, to draw a delicate bow and string two orioles with one arrow.

We shall let Fairbank have the last word today, allowing us to finish not with my interpretation but with his own images of growth and production in his field:

          In sum, what can a teacher say of his students and colleagues and their
          works? I participated in some fashion in the conception, gestation, 
          growth, and publication of books by younger professors on their way up 
          in the academic world….They were of a generation that changed the 
          contours and content of modern China’s history as known to the English-
          reading world.  Like senior professors at other universities I presided over 
          part of this creative process. I was, in Dean Acheson’s phrase, “present 
          at the creation.”[4]

Click here for the other posts in this Round and Square series on John King Fairbank's autobiography:

Working 1          Working 2          Working 3          Working 4          Working 5 

[d] Present RF

Notes 
[1] John King Fairbank, Chinabound (New York: Harper Collins, 1983), 3. 
[2] Chinabound, 3-4.
[3] Patricia Ebrey, Chinese Civilization: A Sourcebook (New York: The Free Press, 1993), 190.
[4] Chinabound, 201.

Bibliography

Ebrey, Patricia. Chinese Civilization: A Sourcebook (New York: The Free Press, 1993).
Fairbank, John King. Chinabound. New York: Harper Collins, 1983.

Academic Autobiography (1b)—Working the Field

One year ago on Round and Square (23 September 2011)—Remonstrance: Not Cliché
Click here for the introduction to the Round and Square series "Academic Autobiography"

Click here for the other posts in this Round and Square series on John King Fairbank's autobiography:

Working 1          Working 2          Working 3          Working 4          Working 5

II—On the Farm with John Fairbank and Chen Pu

I begin with a text that John King Fairbank knew well. Indeed, it is interesting to see the prominence Fairbank rightly gives agriculture in his last book, China: A History. Pictures of labor in the fields dot the text in a way that makes a reader of his other books wonder where this "angle" was earlier in his career. In the extended quotation below, the eleventh century “agricultural thinker” Chen Pu writes of farming technique, topography, finance, and labor. Above all, though, he concentrates on the farmer himself, and his need to focus on his work almost to the exclusion of all else. If you want to farm well, you need a single-track mind.

          If something is thought out carefully, it will succeed; if not, it will fail; this is 
          a universal truth. It is very rare that a person works and yet gains nothing.  
          On the other hand, there is never any harm in trying too hard. In farming it 
          is especially appropriate to be concerned about what you are doing. Mencius 
          said, “Will a farmer discard his plow when he leaves his land?”  Ordinary 
          people will become idle if they have leisure and prosperity.  Only those who 
          love farming, who behave in harmony with it, who take pleasure in talking        
          about it and think about it all the time will manage it without a moment’s 
          negligence.  For these people a day’s work results in a day’s gain, a year’s 
          work in a year’s gain.  How can they escape affluence?

          As to those with many interests who cannot concentrate on any one and who 
          are incapable of being meticulous, even if they should come by some profit, 
          they will soon lose it.  For they will never understand that the transformation 
          of the small into the big is the result of persistent effort.  To indulge in pleasure 
          and discard work whenever the chance arises and to meet matters only when 
          they become urgent is never the right way of doing things.  Generally 
          speaking, ordinary people take pride in having prosperity to indulge in 
          temporary leisure.  If there should be a man who remains diligent in 
          prosperity, everyone else will mark him as a misfit, so great is their lack of
          understanding![1]

[b] Bull RF

It has become plain to me that my initial approach to Fairbank and South Dakota was wrong—that by focusing on direct connections to South Dakota, I had missed the broader picture, a hint of which can be found on the very first page of Chinabound and is echoed throughout the rest of the book. Fairbank sought a field he could tend, a field in which he could grow as a person and build something of his own—a place where he could be out...standing...in his field.

After reading Chen Pu’s little treatise, the rhetoric of Fairbank’s Chinabound is startling. He was trying to build something, and the corporate body was Chinese studies in the United States.

          I was born in 1907 in Huron, near where Hubert Humphrey was born at about 
          the same time. One could stand in the corn on the side of town and see it 
          waving in the fields on the other side. From the top of a rise under the big sky 
          of the plains one could look farther over the quarter sections and farmsteads 
          and see man more in control of nature than anywhere else in the world. Later 
          on, when I was choosing a career, Chinese studies seemed like a limitless
          opportunity, stretching away to an unknown horizon, waiting to be explored 
          and cultivated.[2]

[c] Built RF

Reading the passage above made me realize that, even though South Dakota figures in only minor ways in his life, the vision that comes from it is very real. This need not sound ethereal, either. Fairbank’s memoirs, like Chen Pu’s treatise, are practical, focused, and downright driven. John King Fairbank “worked the field” as he quite self-consciously built an academic and policy-making structure in the United States. Even a skim of Chen Pu’s text will show that the two authors valued similar human qualities and did not quite understand those who were less driven and (as they saw it) somewhat more dilettantish. Indeed, neither really understood having any other interests at all beyond cultivating the field (as we shall see).

My fascination with Fairbank has grown, so to speak, in the course of my studies over the years.  In this series of posts, I will give a sketch of some of the major “field-building” themes in Chinabound, but they are part of a broader project that looks at the way that academics build careers (and "fields") around them. And build Fairbank did, producing 57 books, 140 articles and essays, as well as numerous reviews. He is responsible for the development of a research center at Harvard (now named after him), and for training several generations of China scholars. Indeed, almost everyone in the field can trace his or her “origins” back to the research center that Fairbank, with the help of others, built at Harvard. There are six degrees of Fairbank throughout the field (and most are much closer than that).

[d] Degrees RF

When he began, there were almost no well-trained scholars in even the major universities (Chicago was an exception, with the sinologist Herlee Creel, and both Yale and Columbia had people in place). By the 1950s, most major universities had professors of Chinese studies and, in several waves of production that owed as much to world affairs as Harvard training, today even quite small colleges often have positions in Chinese studies. A case in point is my own institution, Beloit College. On a faculty of 100 we have over a dozen professors who work with Chinese sources and have published on Chinese themes, doing research in history, anthropology, economics, education, art history, political science, music, language and literature, religion, philosophy, mathematics, and English. All (one way or another) can trace their Chinese studies “ancestry” back to Harvard, and the program John King Fairbank, Edwin Reischauer, and others built in the 1930s, 1940s, 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s.

In this series of posts, we will deal with one prominent theme in Fairbank’s memoirs—the cultivation of talent—especially Fairbank's very self-conscious cultivation of his own talents, his cultivation of others (both colleagues and students), and finally his cultivation of texts, maps, and supporting materials as he sought to create a body of knowledge and series of institutions that would outlast him and make a permanent impact on the United States’ understanding of China. As you proceed, you will see that I am a bit more ambivalent than Fairbank about the meaning of it all. I find it odd, for example, that his memoir was published just five years after Edward Said's Orientalism, yet contains nary a paragraph that so much as hints at the irony of it all. On the other hand, John King Fairbank built that, and he had help from all over the country and the world. He is unafraid to give credit to all who helped him.

Except, perhaps, to his native South Dakota.

Click here for the other posts in this Round and Square series on John King Fairbank's autobiography:

Working 1          Working 2          Working 3          Working 4          Working 5

[e] Impact RF

Notes

[1] Patricia Ebrey, Chinese Civilization: A Sourcebook (New York: The Free Press, 1993), 188-189.
[2] John King Fairbank, Chinabound (New York: Harper Collins, 1983), 4.

Bibliography

Ebrey, Patricia. Chinese Civilization: A Sourcebook. New York: The Free Press, 1993.
Fairbank, John King. Chinabound. New York: Harper Collins, 1983.

La Pensée Cyclique (2)—Sociology and Sinology

Click here for the introduction to the Round and Square series about Marcel Granet, "La Pensée Cyclique"

[a] Social cycles RF

This series is dedicated to understanding one of the most fascinating intellects of the twentieth century, Marcel Granet (1884-1940). In an earlier era, he might have been considered (at least by bibliophiles considering tomes ranging from De l'esprit des lois to 呂氏春秋 between the world wars) the most interesting man in the world. For me, he is every bit of that (as we say back home). Granet's range of interests in social theory and Chinese literature were profound, catholic, and engrossing. I hope that (whether you are interested in French, social theory, or Chinese) you will give Monsieur Granet a little bit of your attention. The material is not simple, by any means, but it is an ideal way to grasp how knowledge really works.

Sociology and Sinology  
The complete body of Granet’s work reflects a desire to resolve tensions between “real” and “ideal” in his texts, and to show the relationship between cultural ideals and social practice.  Granet was troubled by the inability of all but a few of his students to comprehend the connection between mythique and juridique—the realm of ideas, on the one hand, and the functioning of kinship connections, on the other.  Many were captivated by the study of seemingly esoteric texts, but absolutely overwhelmed by the sociological details and the challenge of interpreting kinship charts.  At the heart of this “tension” lies the demand Granet put upon himself and his students—to interpret the Chinese texts themselves with grace and clarity, all the while bringing to them a theoretical and methodological sophistication that was the result of a half-century of work in (at that time) the rich and growing field of sociology.

Even in his time, few were committed to mastering the sources of two complex scholarly traditions.

[b] Complex RF

An example of this commitment can be seen in a letter Marcel Granet wrote to friends in 1912, in which he describes having to leave his residence in Beijing during the confusion following the end of the Qing dynasty.  In his great rush, he wrote that he could carry only his copies of the twenty-four standard histories of China—a burdensome proposition, indeed, since each of those histories was bound in several volumes.  One imagines the young scholar, who was soon to write of the symbolism of left and right in Chinese culture, burdened with the weight of two traditions in his arms, and each helping to define him in a world that might not understand. We pack up: the twenty-four histories, in their frail cases, decorated with green characters, make a shaky structure.[1]

[c] Social 1906 RF

Needless to say, it would not be possible to carry the twenty-four histories, and it is somewhat odd as an example, since Granet’s published work was much more influenced by classical works of the fifth- to second- centuries BCE.  Nonetheless, if that were his only reading, he would appear to be the quintessential sinologist, immersed in the textual foundations of the Chinese tradition, and perhaps explicating them on their own terms for a Western audience only dimly acquainted, beyond the fashions of chinoiserie, with an East Asian civilization.  He might have been a figure not unlike Arthur Waley.  Translating form Chinese texts in an almost Dickensian manner, he might have opened interpretive worlds for his readers that did not veer too far from their experiences with Western literature.  On the other hand, imagining the opposite end of the spectrum, he might have been more like one of his own mentors, Édouard Chavannes, whose obsession with his Chinese sources was often an end in itself, with publication a sometimes distant goal.

But Marcel Granet, at least as he told it in his letter, did not only bring his treasured Chinese histories with him as he fled the turmoil in Beijing.  He also carried the first run of L’année sociologique, the journal founded by his other mentor, Emile Durkheim, which contained the best writing of a large group of scholars who surrounded the French master.  His letter continues by filling up the other hand, as it were, in his two-sided life: 

               L’année sociologique is in my handbag.  I stuff my suitcases.[2]

[d] Forbidden RF

From that perspective (we might say, on the other hand), the classically trained Granet could well have been a sociologist devoted to studying (and comparing) the early ethnographic writings of scholars as far afield as Australia, North America, Siberia, and China—all without doing fieldwork himself or learning the relevant languages.  He might have been much like Lucien Lévy-Bruhl, working with great erudition but little direct engagement with the societies depicted in ethnographic or textual materials compiled by others.  More favorably, he might have been like his very close friend—and nephew of his “sociological mentor” Emile Durkheim—Marcel Mauss, who wrote with unparalleled synthesizing brilliance from the scattered accounts that were available from early researchers throughout the world.

Marcel Granet was all—and none—of these things. He studied classical Chinese civilization with painstaking care, even as he avidly read and reread the sociological work being published in L’année sociologique and beyond.  Granet’s work represents, more than any writer before or since, a lifelong effort to resolve major issues at the heart of social theory with the Chinese world.  He did not engage in this enterprise as a fieldworker, although he lived in China for a time.  He engaged social theory through his Chinese texts.  Although he lived in China from 1911 to 1913, it was his sinological and sociological texts that drove his work, not the extremely significant events unfolding all around him at the time.  

[e] Towering RF

Granet studied the Classic of Poetry and its commentaries even as a two-millennium imperial order came to an end in the very city in which he lived.  He sought to understand events that would encompass others, and a passing moment in Chinese politics (however important it might appear in retrospect), held none of the fascination or explanatory power for Granet that could be found in the festivals and songs, the dances and legends, of early China.  Rival brotherhoods and sage-king ironsmiths held far more interest for Professor Granet than a fledgling Republican government. Some of the most significant events in China’s modern history were unfolding all around him, and he could not be bothered. Life in China twenty-five centuries earlier—that fascinated him.

It is as simple, and complex, as that.  Obsessively studying China’s past with little regard for its present, and seeking the very heart of Chinese social life in early texts, Granet’s is a sociology driven by early Chinese civilization, and a sinology deeply informed by sociological theory.  The resulting oeuvre is a strange blend of insights that often leave both sociologists and sinologists bewildered, and too easily dismissed for an interpretation here or there that is dated.  

It is not easy to “peg” Granet, although many have tried.  As even a cursory reading of his works will show, Granet’s interests are catholic and his methods both intense and precise.  They also reflect his deep interest in a long tradition of French social thought, dating back at least to Montesquieu, which found its place in the work of scholars surrounding Emile Durkheim and Marcel Mauss.  The range of questions engaged by late-nineteenth and early-twentieth century French sociologists were indeed vast—from personhood to gift exchange and magic to suicide and the very categories of the human mind—and we need to return to their roots if we are to understand Granet the sociologist and scholar of China.

Notes

[1] Marcel Granet, The Religion of the Chinese People [Translated, with an introduction by Maurice Freedman] (New York: Harper & Row, 1973), 12.

[2] Granet, 12.

Bibliography

Granet, Marcel. The Religion of the Chinese People [Translated with an introduction by Maurice Freedman]. New York: Harper & Row, 1973.

[f] Oeuvre RF