To His Excellency, Mr. Shaoxi:

Since we met in the provincial capital, I have wished several times to inquire after you, but laziness has prevented me. Recently, my thoughts have been scattered and tangled; with no kin around, I have no one to speak with. Since coming to know you, I have been like an infant finding a loving mother. For the whole world is muddled, hacking at my spirit, sapping my resolve, with no one to discuss learning or the great plans of state and society, to perfect virtue, or to guide me in establishing myself and navigating life. I grieve that I lost my schooling in childhood and daily mourn the absence of a cultured teacher. Who does not wish to advance? Yet when one seeks a path and cannot find it, wandering at a crossroads, the bitterness is beyond words. Truly, youth is a time of utter hardship.

This summer, I returned home for a brief visit, then came back to the city for a short stay, roaming through Ningxiang, Anhua, Yiyang, and Yuanjiang counties to change the air a little and temper my bones and sinews. On the 16th, I returned to the provincial capital; on the 20th, I entered school; on the 21st, classes began. Yesterday, lectures started, and I take this spare moment to write this letter, setting forth my thoughts for your guidance and response. I earnestly hope you will consider them.

The world today is in chaos. Is this not because people lack a firm foundation in themselves and have no means to shoulder the responsibility of saving the world? With only superficial views, they treat partial deficiencies and boast, "I have the whole plan to govern the world." This is nothing but a lack of clarity in self-reflection and a lack of insight in observing the external world. Where does one’s own foundation lie? This one should know for oneself. To use the wood of a crooked tree to serve as a beam—such a person’s mind is utterly void, merely imitating the willful ways of ancient schemers, using cunning and stratagem as tools to ensnare an age. This is like autumn floods without a source, or duckweed without roots—how can it last? Today, when people discuss notable figures, they name Yuan Shikai, Sun Wen, and Kang Youwei as the three. I will not speak of Sun and Yuan, but Kang alone seems to have some foundation. Yet on closer examination, his foundation cannot be pinpointed in any real substance; it is merely flashy words dazzling the ear, without a single sturdy trunk or spreading branches and leaves. In my humble view, what is called a foundation is simply the promotion of learning. Learning is the base. Today, there is no learning, so the foundation is not solid, and collapse is ever a worry. Among modern men, I admire only Zeng Guofan. Observe how he managed the campaign to recover Gongyang—flawless and complete. If a man of today were put in his place, could he achieve such perfection? The world is vast, society’s organization extremely complex, with a history of several thousand years. The people’s wisdom is blocked, and opening it is difficult. To move the world, one must move the hearts of the world, not rely on visible traces. To move their hearts, one must possess the great foundation and the great source. Today’s reforms start from branches and twigs—parliaments, constitutions, presidents, cabinets, military affairs, industry, education—all are branches and twigs. Branches and twigs are not dispensable, but they must have a foundation. If the foundation is not attained, these branches and twigs become superfluous growths, disconnected, fragmented, and torn. At best, they may approach the foundation; at worst, they run counter to it. To take what runs counter to the foundation and use it as a tool to govern the people—how can this fail to propagate error and plunge a generation or a nation into ruin? And how could there be even a shred of wealth, strength, or happiness to speak of? The foundation is the truth of the universe. All people under heaven are each a part of the universe, and the truth of the universe resides in every human heart. Though it may be partial or complete, some portion of it exists in all. Now, if one were to rally the hearts of the world with the great foundation and the great source, could they fail to be moved? If the hearts of the world are moved, could there be anything in the world that cannot be done? If the world’s affairs can be done, could the nation fail to become wealthy, strong, and happy? Yet today, the world is in chaos. Tracing the cause: first, as said above, there is no clarity in self-reflection; second, there is no understanding of the path by which the world can be moved—hence no insight in observing the external world. Therefore, I humbly believe that in this age, there should be a person of great vision who begins with philosophy and ethics, reforming philosophy, reforming ethics, and fundamentally transforming the thought of the entire nation. This would be like raising a great banner to which thousands rally, or like a thunderclap that all in darkness hear—then it would surge forth irresistibly.

I have long suffered from a lack of knowledge. Recently, reading books and newspapers, I have made rough comparisons of affairs at home and abroad and feel that our nation’s accumulated ills are deep, our thinking too old, our morality too corrupt. Thought governs the human heart; morality shapes human conduct. If these two are impure, filth spreads everywhere, for their influence permeates all things. Thought and morality must be true and real. Our nation’s thought and morality can be summed up in two phrases: false rather than true, lofty rather than real. Passed down over five thousand years to this day, the roots are deep, the leaves thick. Without great force, it is not easy to overturn and cleanse them. Mr. Huaizhong said that a certain Japanese scholar holds that Eastern thought is entirely unsuited to practical life. Truly, his words are correct. In my view, even Western thought is not necessarily entirely right; many parts of it should also be reformed alongside Eastern thought.

Today, people often instruct their children to "have ambition." They also say, "So-and-so has ambition." I think this is most illogical. Ambition means that I perceive the truth of the universe and, illuminated by it, determine the direction of my heart’s purpose. What people today call "having ambition"—such as aspiring to be a military strategist or an educator—comes from observing the deeds of predecessors and the actions of contemporaries, envying their success, and blindly following them as one’s own ambition. This arises from a kind of imitation. To truly establish ambition cannot be so easy. One must first study philosophy and ethics, take the truth obtained from them as the standard for one’s words and actions, set it as the goal for one’s future, then choose endeavors that align with this goal and strive with all one’s might to achieve it. Only then can it be called having ambition. Such ambition is true ambition, not blind ambition. What is initially called ambition can only be described as a tendency to seek goodness, or a tendency to seek truth and beauty—merely an impulse, not genuine ambition. Even so, is such ambition easy to establish? If one does not attain truth for ten years, then for ten years one has no ambition; if one never attains it in a lifetime, then one has no ambition for a lifetime. This is why learning is most valuable in youth.

Today, people learn to write essays, to craft arguments, to judge right and wrong, and to produce a thousand words at a stroke. The world calls this talent, not knowing it is also delusion. Their arguments are merely conjectures in their minds, never having grasped the reality of the universe. Since they have never applied even a little effort to study, whence does truth come? Thus, a certain gentleman once said, "Whether the self of today challenges the self of yesterday remains unsettled; whether I challenge the self of today is also unknown." For as study advances daily, one’s former conjectures reveal their own absurdity. Yet once these are cherished and spoken aloud, the world takes them as the words of a worthy and follows them. Now, knowing them to be absurd, does this not mislead the entire world? I, too, am prone to this fault and must guard against it henceforth. I must devote all my effort to exploring the great foundation and the great source. Once this exploration yields results, it will suffice to explain everything, and with branches and leaves spreading forth, I should not waste time recklessly debating minor points. What do you think of this?

The sage is one who has attained the great foundation; the worthy, one who has partially attained it; the fool, one who has not attained it. The sage reaches far into heaven and earth, discerning the present, past, and future, penetrating the phenomena of the three realms. Like Confucius, who knew all things; like Mencius, who said that if a sage arose again, he would not alter his words. When Confucius and Mencius answered their disciples’ questions, they never found them unmanageable. Fools may be awed, deeming it miraculous, not knowing there is no mystery or cunning—only the attainment of the one great foundation. Grasping this to deal with a hundred confusions, to steer through turmoil, nothing can obstruct it. What mystery or cunning is there? Only religious figures, seeing the masses, become gods—Jesus, Muhammad, Shakyamuni. To enable everyone to act according to their own convictions, not blindly following others’ judgments, nothing but the universal spread of philosophy will suffice. I see people today being used by the strong and powerful—everywhere, in torrents—utterly losing their subjective spirit, turned upside down, toyed with like goods, like clay and wood. Is this not deeply lamentable? If everyone had philosophical insight, naturally hearts would be calm, disputes would cease, truth would prevail, and all delusions would fade away.

A certain gentleman said to me: Why are the foolish many and the wise few? The old and decrepit have their intelligence already clouded; speak truth to them, and they cannot hear; urge them, and they cannot move. This is indeed natural and no cause for surprise. Yet even among the young, there are many who disregard reason and only wish to act. For instance, in a philosophy lecture, they merely grow drowsy and cannot take it in. Life and death are great matters, yet they do not seek to understand these questions deeply, caring only for trivial disputes over fleeting dust. How profound is human folly! I say such people are mostly pitiable. Their disregard for reason is the product of centuries of a corrupt society’s molding—not something they can control. And they are also deeply to be pitied. Several battles rage daily in their hearts: life and death, one; profit, one; praise and blame, one. When these confront them, they waver daily—this way, that way—wandering at a crossroads without a single sure standard to guide their judgment. This is like grass atop a wall, bending whichever way the wind blows. Bending toward evil is a matter of chance; bending toward good is also a matter of chance. A vague social sanction encourages the good and restrains the wicked. All people, driven by this sanction, follow one another in doing good and avoiding evil. Today’s virtues—chastity, child-rearing, bridge-building, road-mending, even filial piety, friendship, harmony, generosity, and charity—are all nothing but blind actions. Such deeds are indeed good, but the sanction and the psychology of the sanctioned are utterly blind, lacking the great foundation and great source of the universe. If we wish to turn these fools entirely toward wisdom, nothing but the universal spread of philosophy will suffice.

The petty burden the noble. The noble should harbor a heart of compassion to save the petty. Politics, law, religion, ritual, institutions, and the surplus of agriculture, industry, and commerce—the daily bustle—are not established for the noble but for the petty. The noble already possess lofty wisdom and virtue. If the world had only the noble, then politics, law, ritual, institutions, and the surplus of agriculture, industry, and commerce could all be abolished and discarded. But alas, the petty are too many. The world’s operations thus take the majority as the standard, sacrificing a portion of the noble to follow them. This is how the petty burden the noble. Yet the petty are pitiable. If the noble care only for themselves, they can withdraw from society and live in seclusion—as the ancients did, like Chao Fu. But if they harbor a heart of compassion, then these petty ones are our compatriots, parts of the same universe as ourselves. If we depart alone, they will sink further into degradation. We should naturally extend a helping hand, enlighten their wisdom, cultivate their virtue, and together ascend to the sacred realm. Then, when all under heaven are sages and worthies, with no common fools, all worldly laws can be utterly destroyed, and we may breathe the air of supreme harmony and drink the waves of the clear sea. Confucius understood this principle, and thus set peace as the goal. Great harmony is our goal. To establish virtue, merit, and words, to devote ourselves fully to this world—this is to harbor a heart of compassion to save the petty.

I have many dissatisfactions with the school, which I shall detail in a letter to you another day. Graduation is not far off. After graduation, I think study is the highest pursuit; teaching and practical work are secondary. I confess I have not yet established my ambition. What stance to take toward the universe, toward life, toward the nation, toward education—all remains unsettled and vague. How could I teach or work? To force myself would not only waste time but also feel utterly muddled. A muddled cause must yield a muddled result. Fearing this, I have long considered organizing a private academy, combining the strengths of ancient lecturing and modern schooling, tentatively for a period of three years, with a curriculum aimed at a general grasp of national essentials. After that, I must go abroad to study, to gain the essentials of Western learning, and then return to the private academy. I have cherished this ideal for four years now. A year from now, it must be put into practice, but the foundation is not yet laid. The obstacles are three: first, people—teachers and friends are needed to avoid isolation and ignorance; second, place—it must be accessible yet free from noise and bustle; third, funds—my family is poor and cannot support me; if I do not teach, I lose a source of income and incur additional expenses. Of the three, this last is the hardest. Yet I plan to emulate Yanzi’s simple bowl and gourd and Fan Zhongyan’s practice of dividing his porridge, hoping to barely sustain myself. I do not know whether you approve of this or not. Also, I would be grateful if you could share your own plans for self-cultivation, to serve as a model for me.

My thoughts are deep, my words long. I wished to express my mind fully, unaware of their triviality.

Respectfully,
Zedong
August 23, 1917