Preface of "Nothing Concealed" by Frederic Wakeman, Jr. in July 1970
Preface
I first met Mr. Liu----the "Manchu" or "Prince" as he was then called---on one of those stifling humid days so characteristic of Taipei in the late summer. Moss Roberts, a good friend, had momentarily drawn me away from the daily tedium of Mandarin conversation class (which I will forever associate with chalky rooms and buzzing flies) so that cycling across town to meet Liu was a bit like playing hooky----out of school to meet the scholar Moss had praised so many times.
Perhaps it was this very independence, this very aloofness, which captivated me. For, when winter rolled around, I did find myself uncertainly beginning the first of what would amount to over two years of lessons with Liu Yv-yvn. He started with the Hsiao Ching 孝經, patiently letting me grow accustomed to the archaic flavor of his speech. Then, picking up speed, we moved on to each of the ''Four Books''. As months slipped by, I gradually increased the number of hours until we were spending a full five days per week together. Summer came round again (he change into light and faded silk of the finest quality) and I found the heat making concentration more difficult, bogging me down in the Mencius. By then my schedule called for me to go to Japan, but now even the most extraneous-seeming points were giving me new insights into modern Chinese social history. Finally, just as the fellowship office in New York was persuaded to grant me more time in Taipei, we moved on with relief from Mencius to the graceful perplexities of the Tao te ching 道德經.
The reason for extending my study with Mr. Liu, the reason I later worked with him again on the Book of Changes and the Kung Yang Commentary, was not to "learn" the syntax or grammar of classical Chinese; but rather to absorb more of an understanding of the philosophical connotations of the Confucian canon. This understanding was made possible for me thanks to Liu's unique teaching method. As I look back on it now, it had three characteristics. First was the language of instruction. Liu would intone the text in its original version, then ardroitly fit each character into a vernacular pleonasm by way of explanation. THus, the transliteration was from archaic prose into classicized Mandarin, which was really a language all of his own. It may not have abetted specific translation, but it did lend a richness of connotation which made the underlying text truly come alive. The second characteristic would have outraged the philologists under whom I had first studied classical Chinese in graduate school. Ignoring even the textual discoveries of the Han-hsueh 漢學 thinkers, Liu relied on memory to quote parts of one text in order to interpret the meaning of another one. Though I bridled (How can one use a phrase from the Ta hsueh 大學 to elucidate the Changes?), it became clear that for him the canon was integral. Any single text formed part of an entire body of transmitted knowledge. And that in turn reflected a third feature, his apparent belief that the Classics could still be used as a moral guide and mirror of the world around us.
[to be continued]
Writing this preface, which dwells on a pleasantly full experience of my own recent past, I find myself falling into a decidedly unpleasant past tense. Happily Liu Yv-yvn is still with us, teaching new pupils, imparting more understanding----a good friend, highly esteemed by all of the contributors to this volume. He has given us much more than we have ever returned, so that my doubts that first day of our meeting finally prove true. Still, this book may lighten the debt somewhat even though it is not presented in the naive belief that we are somehow reproducing the veneration of a p'ai 派 for its founder. At the very least we want to signal the appreciation of those who were fortunate enough to study with a master; and truly to say, though we met across different cultures and out of different times, that "nothing is concealed."
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